A song of two hearts - Cesela (2024)

Chapter 1: Prologue: Aeterna amantes – lovers forever

Chapter Text

For the course of an entire week, a grand occasion like no other had been in full swing. A flurry of balls and celebrations took over, catering to the elite of society. Kings, diplomats, wealthy nobles, and the powerful all graced the occasion of this monumental triumph. The grand palace was brimming with society's finest, swarming both its walls and hallways for days as the guests arrived to witness the occasion and the servants rushed to accommodate them.

As the lady of the household, it was your duty to greet every arrival. You observed with detached indifference as the bowed and curtsied and showered you with hollow compliments and lavish gifts like offers on an alter to appease the gods.

After a week of this, it had left you with an irritable mood. If Astarion noticed, he never commented, but neither did he try to push you to mingle with their guests. You were grateful for the slight consideration. Though you knew there was nothing Astarion liked more than to show you off, either on his arm or seated on your throne.

The highlight of the decoration of the hall, where to pairs of thrones towering oppressively over room. You were currently occupying yours, masking your boredom behind a lofty expression of indifference. Sipping on a wineglass filled with enriched blood.

Every time someone approached the platform, your retainer, a vampire spawn named Umrylene would whisper their identity and title in your ear. You would give the guest a nod in acknowledgement, before dismissing them with a wave of a manicured hand.

You were grateful for her presence, as it meant you didn’t have to memorize the list of attendants yourself. Umrylene was a drow, she had once been a lieutenant under Minthara, but after the destruction of Menzoberranzan and the subsequent death of the spider queen, Lolth, the drow had pledged her loyalty to you. She had asked for the gift of immortality so that she could serve her new sovereigns for an eternity.

Astarion had been the one to turn her, of course, as he had all the spawns serving as your ladies-in-waiting. They had been gifts from all the corners of the two realms that we now ruled. Unlike the others though, Umrylene was not wearing an exquisite ballgown. She had insisted on wearing pants and carried a silver sword at her waist, just in case anyone dared hurt you.

You had amusingly allowed it, not like you needed the protection. You were the bride of the vampire ascendant, after all. He had gifted you the whispers of the night along will all your other powers.

Besides, the drow looked rather dashing in a tailcoat, even if slightly bulky at the armour she had hidden underneath. She had midnight blue skin, cropped hair with the paleness of moonlight, and the redness of Lolth worship replaced by the eyes of a vampire. She had the lithe body of an assassin. She cut a stately figure, one worthy of being your retainer. Umrylene was as loyal as she was fierce.

As Astarion’s consort, your appearance and actions directly reflected on his person. Only the best was good enough for you. You had learned to stop arguing years ago. There was no point in it anymore. Astarion always got what he wanted in the end.

It had started with power and with you. Then Baldur’s gate, then the Sword Coast. The world followed soon after. But his thirst for more never quenched. In his hybris, he waged war on Shadowfell. Who else to rule the realm of shadows and nightmares, then the Vampire Ascendant and his bride, he had said. Eyes sparkling with dark ambition and greed. Proof that he, that we, were superior in every way to the first vampire.

Even the Pale Knight’s powers and conquests could not compare.

With Dark Justiciar Shadowheart as his general, Shar had not opposed to the invasion into her plane. Encouraged it even, just to see who would come on top. See which of her many dark and twisted creations deserved the throne. Neither Strahd nor the Raven Queen could oppose our forces.

The domain of dread belonging to Strahd fell first. Astarion had brought you to the Fortress of Memory, to dance in the ruins of the Raven Queen’s seat of power. The screams of the souls of the lost your only symphony.

You hadn’t really cared about this dark crusade of his. Perhaps you had once, when he had waged war on Toril. When he had burned cities to the ground for daring to oppose him. Us. Before he had swallowed the sun. But now? Decades, centuries later? You couldn’t quite recall how much time had passed. You couldn’t care less what he wanted to rule.

One plane, two planes, the whole of creation? It didn’t matter. Not as long as you were together.

Let him have it all, you thought. The realms were just playthings when you have eternity and power. As his consort and vampire bride, his conquests were your conquests. Astarion was to be crowned emperor of two realms, and you would be his dutiful empress where you ruled together in the shadows.

“It suits you,” Shadowheart commented, snapping you out of your thoughts. Her expression smug from where she was standing at the bottom of the stairs.

You beckoned her to approach, the guards wouldn’t allow her up the steps otherwise. The shadows shifted on the floor to heed your silent command. Shadowheart saddled up behind your throne taking over the position Umrylene had just occupied a moment ago. The drow withdrew to the shadows with a short but respectful bow. The half-elf leaned her arm onto the top rail so as not to obscure your view of the room. It made her appear more like an attendant than a friend.

She wore a black dress with a long neckline, that cut down to her belly. Silver thread and jewellery accentuated each fold and curve. She wore a matching diadem and hairpiece. She still preferred to have her hair up, even after all these years, as a sign of her loyalty to Shar.

In the deep shadows of her hair, speckles of grey sprouted from the roots. The toxic chemicals from her dye consistently lingered around her like a pungent perfume these days. No matter how much she tried to cover it, the fine layer of cosmetic powder could no longer completely mask the telltale signs of aging around her eyes.

Despite her many attempts, the passage of time had taken its toll upon her beauty, and she no longer looked the picture of youth and vibrancy that she once did. You had never considered her a vain person, but being the only one aging in a room filled with immortal youth must be slowly eating away on her insecurities.

With another flicker of your hand, your ladies in waiting moved to give the two of you some privacy, though Umrylene didn’t stray far.

“What does?” you prompted her.

“The throne,” Shadowheart replied, you could feel her dark gaze flicker over your head, “and the shadow crown.”

You got the distinct feeling she was envious. Not of the power or your status, of course, but the crown had been a coronation gift from Shar herself. You suppressed the desire to touch it. You didn’t want to mess up the hours your ladies in waiting had spent on braiding your hair. Astarion would surely tut with disapproval if a single strand was out of place.

Even now you could sense it. The dark aura emanating from it. A whisper of shadows and twisted magic brushing against your hair and neck. Necromancy oozed from it, though you hadn’t quite had the time to figure out what it was yet. When Astarion had ceremoniously placed it on your head, he hadn’t been forthcoming with said information.

You had been told to wear it, and as his dutiful vampire bride and consort, it was your sole purpose to follow his wishes. Though oddly enough, you found a level of a comfort in its aura. Like it was an extension of Astarion’s affection caressing your hair.

You had never been a spawn. When he bit you, he had given you the Dark Kiss. Turning you into a vampire bride. It had taken you years to realize the difference. He had no control over you, but he had bonded you together forever. Vampire lords could only create one bride or groom. You shared power and a psychic bond. If one where to die, it would cripple or even kill the other.

It was a romantic gesture. A sign of his pure devotion for you, that he would rise you above all others in his eyes and give you the honour of being his for all eternity.

“I’d let you wear it,” you commented drily, “but I doubt you’d want the responsibilities that comes attached.”

Shadowheart chuckled, a chime of silver bells, “’heavy is the head that wears the crown’ is an apt description in this case. The union of the realms has greatly pleased Lady Shar. The dark token of appreciation is justly earned.”

You didn’t reply to that comment. You hadn’t done anything to earn it personally, but as always you were just considered an extension of Astarion. It seemed after all this time, even Shadowheart sometimes forgot you used to be your own person. Once, it might have filled you with despair, but now it didn’t affect you. It was only the truth, after all. It felt right. As the other part of Astarion’s heart, of course you shared the spoils of victory.

“What comes next then?” you asked only to change the topic, “are you returning to Shadowfell after the celebrations?”

“It depends,” she shifted a little behind the throne, the silver jewellery on her clothing rattling as she did, “Lord Astarion mentioned he might have another proposal for my goddess.”

You tried not to react at Shadowheart’s word of reverence. It was still novel to hear her use titles unironically when mentioning him, even in private. As if she had put him up there on a pedestal next to her Dark Lady. It had been a quite recent development after the destruction of the Fortress of Memories.

Despite her having served as general in our forces, the growing respect she showed pleased the vampire in you with a dark thrill.

You had no idea what Astarion was planning next. He hadn’t said, and you hadn’t asked. It didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. He would seek your council when the time was ripe for you to know. You trusted him above all else to do what was best for us and our family. For our ever-growing empire.

“Before I forget, Minthara sends her regards and apologies that she couldn’t make it for the ceremony. She had some loose ends to attend to before she can return from Shadowfell.”

Shadowheart words filled you with a hint of dismay. You swished the blood in your glass lazily before taking a sip. You had hoped the drow would arrive in time for the coronation. She had been one of your closest advisors for years and been one of the leading forces in the victory over the planes of shadows. The most loyal of our servants after helping her destroy Menzoberranzan and get her revenge over Lolth.

You were quite fond of her, it had been years since you last seen her in person as she waged Astarion’s war in the other realm. Only corresponding with her through letters.

“Sovereign,” from behind the throne, Umrylene drew your attention with a quick warning, though you had no need for the alert as you felt his presence before you saw him. Astarion was always there, in the back of your mind. The caress like a whisper of dark desires underneath a pale moon.

He had been so pleased these past few days, that it was hard not to be influenced by his mood. Especially when he showered you in gifts and praises to avert your petulance at having to greet all the guests in his absence.

Your eyes sought his as he stepped up to the platform. The shadows beneath his feet writhed like a pack of excited kittens at his sheer presence, only reluctantly returning to their appointed guard duties once he had passed them.

Astarion’s attire was the embodiment of elegance. His white and silver ensemble was accented with red that matched your gown perfectly. With his silver hair smoothed back, it made him look ethereal like he had wrapped himself in moonlight. A stark contrast in the dim room and amongst the darker garbed guests. We were the beacon of light in the dark. No one else dared to wear white in our presence.

The two of us were an indisputably pair, an elegant, matching duo that would surely have the crowd of onlookers captivated.

You didn’t know who felt more satisfied at the show of ownership. You or him. You were fortune in that regard. Usually, the nature of vampire lords was to live a life of decadence, but after two centuries of forced intimacy and prostitution, Astarion had no interest in having more than one consort. You didn’t have to share his affections, even if you had been inclined to tolerate it.

Naturally, the notion was returned.

“What are my favourite ladies gossiping about?” Astarion smiled, rubies glittering in his gaze as he addressed us. Though his eyes were locked on Shadowheart’s arm. She immediately straightened and let it fall where she had been leaning on the throne.

“Just polishing our upcoming plans to elope,” you smiled playfully in reply, giving him your hand. Astarion caressed it gently and pressed a light kiss against the gloved fingers.

Tilting your half-full glass to the side, Umrylene appeared to take it from your grasp, always anticipated your needs. She disappeared back into the shadows as quickly as she had emerged. Neither of you acknowledged the drow’s actions, having only eyes for each other.

“If my consort feels so lonely that she seeks comfort elsewhere, I must rectify that issue immediately,” he pulled to your feet, one hand resting at the curve of your hip. “A dance, my treasure?”

“Not sure if it’s on your itinerary, if I recall correctly, you have a meeting with the lords of Waterdeep next,” you teased, eyes dropping as you peered at him through your eyelashes with a coy expression.

“That meeting seems to have been mysteriously erased in the last five seconds,” a grin tucked in the soft corners of his lips as he started to tug you away gently but firmly from your seat. “The rest of the evening too, shall you wish it.”

In the corner of your eye, you could see Shadowheart roll her eyes at our antics. Decades later, and we still acted like newlyweds.

You let him pull you towards the dancefloor. One of his hands was firm on your lower back, the other clasp in yours. It was an intimate and possessive touch that brought forth a deep satisfaction within the dark desires that had replaced your soul.

You only ever felt whole when you were in his arms. Our unbreakable psychic connection melded together our minds and bodies in perfect harmony. You could feel the twinkle of affection in his eyes, and the echo of his undead heart that would beat for you alone if it could.

It was him, it was you, and it was us. Aeterna amantes. Lovers forever. Belonging only to each other.

Every brush of his fingers sent a thrill of dark delight down your spine. Astarion always made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered. The only light he needed to brighten the sky. When you were his light, why did we have any need for a sun?

You were his perfect bride, his dark consort, and he was your everything.

Astarion swirled you elegantly across the dancefloor, not leaving a single inch between your bodies as you moved harmoniously together. He always led, and you always followed. The twinkling of rubies and fresh bloodshed in his eyes was still as mesmerizing as the first time you had met. The flickering of candlelight from the chandelier made his hair glitter as if the strands had been spun by pure silver.

You had followed this man to hell and back, and he had placed the world at your feet like a housecat looking for praise. The only opinion that ever mattered to him was yours.

“I can sense your desire,” he whispered into your ear, his warm breath ghosting across your hair and sending another thrill down your spine, “you need only speak it and it shall be yours.”

A smile curled in the soft corners of your lips. He had always known you better than you knew yourself. Always so attuned to every thought and desires that flickered through your mind. It was not uncommon for one part of the vampire spouse bond to be more sensitive than the other. It was a knowledge that made you feel so loved and taken care of.

You pulled a little back to meet his gaze again, “tell me, my love, what are your thoughts on Shadowheart?”

A calculating light flickered across his eyes at your words, searching for the meaning of your innocent question. It took him only a second before a grin twitched on his pretty lips.

“She is loyal and powerful. Ruthless to her enemies. She has grown into her position as Shar’s chosen excellently, and did a marvellous job planning and executing our taking of the Fortress of Memories,” he commented as he dipped you once. As he brought you back up, he pressed a chaste kiss against your jaw as if he couldn’t take his hands of you. “She has made herself an exceptional general for our shadow forces.”

“Don’t you think she deserves a reward for her excellent service?” your tone was deceptively coy but the smile curling in the corner of your mouth was wicked.

“Naturally,” he didn’t miss a beat, acting innocent, “anything particular in mind, my dear?”

You pretended to think about it as you glided across the dancefloor together. The fluttering of your skirts gave you the feeling of flight, barely needing to touch the ground as you moved. You always felt so light in his embrace, as if both of you were suspended in the air, the world falling away into nothingness at a mere touch.

“How about something not even the dark lady can bestow her, “you finally replied with as much innocence you could muster. “She is getting a bit on in years.”

Amusem*nt glittered in his eyes. “How do you propose we assist our dear friend with such a troubling issue?”

The music switched over to a faster waltz, but neither of us made any attempt of following the new beat. Instead, he was merely holding you in his arms as he slowly rocked you back and forward. You pressed a hand against his chest, right above where his heart would have once beat.

“She would make an excellent addition to the family, don’t you think?” you hinted, peering at him through your eyelashes.

Despite his attempt at keeping his expression neutral, he couldn’t hide the swelling of his emotions through the bond that connected us. A mixture of amusem*nt, delight and pride. Your words had pleased him, even if he didn’t show it.

“Are you suggesting we deprive a goddess of her prized champion?” his voice was a low purr, only perceptible by the two of us. His eyes glittering with dark humour.

“She is the Lady of Loss for a reason,” you replied flippantly. You could no longer hide the smirk that curled in the soft corners of your mouth.

His eyes twinkled, the rubies glittering with mischief as he pretended to mull over your suggestion, as if there was any doubt he wouldn’t give you all that you desire. “Our anniversary is coming up. It would make a grand gift for my consort,” the hand that had been holding yours reached for your face, his fingers brushing a lock of your hair behind your ear. The soft and affectionate touch sent a shiver of delight down your spine. “Once we no longer have any need of Shar, of course.”

You tilted your head in thought and a hint of confusion as you tried to figure out what he was alluding to. “Anniversary? Which one?” We had plenty to celebrate, after all. Too many conquests to count.

“A hundred years since the dark mass. Since I ascended and you became my bride,” he explained, though the fact you hadn’t remembered didn’t seem to faze him. His smile was sweet and the physic connection between us only filled with his affection and devotion.

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise. You had spent a hundred years in each other’s arms already? It seems like an eternity and blink of a second all at the same time. A smile spread on your lips at the realization. You were about to reply when a polite cough interrupted.

Astarion’s expression immediately soured with irritation, an emotion strong enough to leak into our bond. You could taste it like bitter ash on your tongue. He didn’t pull away or stop staring into your face as he spoke to the intruder.

“Are you blind to the fact that I am enjoying a dance with my consort?”

“Apologies, your excellency,” the steward voice was soft and showed no sign of fear. Astarion wouldn’t have kept him as the royal chamberlain otherwise, “but the Lords of Waterdeep require a word.”

“Don’t leave them waiting,” you interjected, brushing your fingers against his jaw to soothe his irritation. At the touch, his expression immediately softened. “I will make sure to fill your name on every available slot on my dance card for when you return.”

As if you ever cared to dance with anyone else.

Cupping your hand, he pressed a soft kiss against the gloved fingers. The intensity of his eyes fixated on you with a silent apology. “Looking forward to it already. I shall be but a moment, darling.”

Your hand slipped out of his as he pulled away, and you watched him leave with an ache in your chest. Like a part of you had been ripped away. The psychic bond dimmed until he was only a soft presence in the back of your mind once more.

You turned to return to your seat, however something in the corner of your eyes attracted your attention. A flicker of familiar cloth. Your eyes lingered for a moment, curious if you had seen right.

“Sovereign,” Umrylene slid back into her usual position the second Astarion was gone. You accepted when she offered you your wineglass back. She had refilled it with fresh blood. The sight made an appreciative smile tug on your lips.

You took a sip, enjoying the invigorating flavours of youth and power that coated your palate. She knew precisely which vintage was your favourite. Being the Vampire Ascendant’s bride, you didn’t strictly need to consume blood, but you had developed a taste for it. The rich and heady, yet spicy taste of blood was sweeter than wine. Each sip filled your veins with the song of life.

With the drow following in your footsteps, you walked towards the balcony on a whim. The air was crisp, only emphasizing how full of bodies the grand hall was. You could practically smell the pungent scent of mortal breaths, and the warmth of their skin. Their heartbeats almost loud enough to deafen the music.

It left you with a feeling of annoyance rather than hunger.

Umrylene scanned the balcony for threats with her hand resting on the pommel of her sword. Satisfied with finding nothing, she relaxed and leaned against the door, making sure no one could follow you outside. She could sense you wanted a moment of privacy, though her eyes never left your figure for even a moment.

Placing a hand on the marble banister, you glanced down at the garden below. These days, the only thing that still bloomed was night flowers. Despite your keen night vision, the world was cast in shadows of grey.

Flickering your gaze up, you easily found the hole in the night sky that had once been filled with the brightness of the sun. Nothing remained now but the faint and ghostly white corona, a tiny remnant that something more than an inky void had once resided in the heavens.

How many decades had passed since Astarion destroyed the sun? You couldn’t quite recall.

“It’s a sight that always breaks my heart to see.”

The sudden voice didn’t startle you. You had already been expecting his company.

Gale had stopped smelling mortal a long time ago. The warmth of his body had been exchanged by something different. It crackled in the air with the taste of forbidden power that only the divine could possess. His skin was bronze now as if he wanted to mask the glow of his godhood, but it could not hide the electric blues of his eyes or the lines striking across his forehead.

“I see congratulations are in order,” he continued when you didn’t reply, though his voice was subdued. Incapable of masking his true feeling that hovered right underneath the surface. “The plane of shadows united under one rule, now that’s not a feat that anyone thought possible.”

“That’s a high praise coming from you,” your lips curved into a teasing smile, “I’ll make sure to relay your regards to Astarion.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Gale muttered under his breath. Even after a century, they barely got along. It amused you how easily you could make him squirm still.

Astarion had never said, but you knew he was envious of Gale’s divinity. If only because it was the one power he lacked. He was the emperor of planes now, far more powerful than any simple gods. Yet it irked him to no end that the wizard possessed something he didn’t.

“Why don’t you join the party? I’m sure Shadowheart would be pleased to see you,” you offered, fully knowing he would decline. He had never accepted an invitation in the past. Not since Mystra had died.

For a long moment, he said nothing. His gaze simply digging into the side of your face. You could see the glow of his eyes in the corner of your vision. Gale looked tired, as if he was carrying the weight of the astral planes on his shoulders. If he didn’t know he was immortal, you could have sworn he had aged in the few years since you had seen him last.

You took a sip of your glass, enjoy the sweetness of the blood that coated your palates.

“You have to stop him,” his voice was low and pleading, without any hope to it, “this can’t go on. The gods won’t sit idly by in Elysium forever. Not after what happened to Lathander –“

You snorted with incredulity, “what happened to our fledging god of ambition?” Placing your glass down on the reeling, you fully turned to face him now with an elegant eyebrow lifted, “may I remind you that the only reason you are god of the weave now is because we helped you defeat Mystra.”

He flinched at the words, “I am fully aware,” he gritted through his teeth, “but that doesn’t mean I can just –“

“You made your bed,” you interrupted him again, your tone laced with irritation, “and now you complain that you must lie in it. You are not so innocent in this endeavour.”

Gale’s expression faltered a little, but he didn’t look away. “Toril is one thing, there are plenty of other planes that worships the gods. But with the union of two worlds, the harmony of the entire cosmos is threatened. The more power he collects, the less chance does anyone have of stopping him from invading the next realm and the next after that. Sooner or later there is going to be a great war and billions will die.”

You rolled your eyes at his antics. You weren’t sure why he had suddenly grown a conscience now. The agreement had been simple. In return for our help, he would look the other way when we took over Fearûn. If you remembered correctly, Gale had found a spot in the pantheon of Eberron. A world that had develop machines to capitalize on the little magic that resided in that realm.

With the God of the Weave relocated there permanently, the industry of magical artefacts had doubled to the thousands. The world was booming with magic and technological innovations.

It had been a win-win situation for all parties involved.

“Thanks for stopping by,” you told him with a thin smile, “but I have a party to host. Goodbye, Gale.”

He grabbed your arm before you had any chance to move. His fingers dug into the cloth. The electric blue of his eyes sparkled with desperation.

“I have two regrets in life. The first is selling out the whole of Toril in my foolish desire for revenge. That I wilfully looked the other way as millions died in Astarion’s crusade. The second is that I didn’t fight harder for your love. If I could go back, I would do anything to fix these mistakes,” the admission was soft and his voice pleading. “You have to stop him, Tav. You are the only one who can.”

Your expression turned frosty. In the back of your mind you felt a probing touch, indicating that your irritation was leaking into your mental connection with Astarion. The psychic bond only allowed us to communicate through emotions rather than thoughts.

You were quick to dismiss his concern, hoping he would take the hint that you didn’t require any help. Gale was someone you were quite adept at dealing with yourself. You had been aware of his feelings for a long time, it was something you had used against him in the past.

You felt Umrylene glaring at Gale over your shoulder, but unless you gave the order, she knew not to get involved.

“He is destroying lives, killing people, and devastating worlds. Does that not disturb you? What happened to your sense of compassion? Don’t you still have heart?” His eyes were wide with a genuine concern, his tone urgent and almost pleading.

“No, I don’t,” your smile was cold, and you wondered if your eyes reflected the darkness that lurked within, “I’m a vampire. I don’t have a beating heart. I don’t even have a soul. What is a few lives sacrificed for a grander ambition to me?”

Perhaps once your words would have troubled you, but you just felt indifferent now. You sustained your life purely on the life essence of others. Mortal lives were just a means to an end in the grand scheme of things. Just cattle to be herded. This world was a playground for immortal beings.

Gale’s expression faltered, sorrow curled in the dismayed line of his mouth. Instead of letting go of your arm, he only held on tighter. “I know you don’t mean that, Tav. I know that the woman I once knew and loved is still in there. When the Fortress of Memory fell, I searched through the Raven Queen’s domain. All lost souls are collected there. I found yours. I can save you.”

Even with his eyes already glowing, they brightened with hope. His voice laced with delirium. “Don’t you understand? I can turn you mortal again. You can be free of him, once and for all.”

You tried to yank your arm out of his hold, though even your vampire strength could not compare to his divinity. Your irritation had stoked to anger now.

“I’m not some poor defenceless maiden who is in need of rescue from a monster, Gale,” your voice was low, a hint of a growl tinting your voice.

This time, Umrylene reacted to your tone and took a step closer, a hand already unsheathing her sword. However, when you held up your free hand, she ceased in her tracks. With a light frown she slid the blade back into the scabbard, but she kept a hand on the pommel in a clear threat.

You didn’t need her help either. You were not defenceless; you were a full-fledged vampire and before that you had been a skilled fighter. An adventurer who fought gods and their chosen. It was slightly irritating you that everyone treated you like you were made of glass sometimes.

“You seem all too willing to forget one simple fact. And that’s that I chose this. I am precisely where I wish to be. I gave Astarion my heartbeats because I loved him.”

For a second, his fingers tightened ever so slightly on your arm. “Loved?” he probed, narrowing down on that simple word.

It made you roll your eyes with exasperation. “I love him,” you amended without missing a beat, “He is mine, and I am his. Aeterna amantes. Lovers forever. Till the stars melt and we give ourselves to the night.”

“Those are his words, not yours,” Gale didn’t seem remotely willing to drop the issue. From his tunica, he withdrew a locket. It was made of gold with an intricate design. Your keen eyes could see indescribable runes. Something glowed within.

For a moment your eyes fixated on the light where it swirled inside the locket. Tendrils of yellow that stirred an odd kind of nostalgia in your chest. You had the sudden impulse of wanting to hold it, just to see if it felt as warm as it looked.

It was as if a ray of sunlight had been bottled up.

“Take it,” Gale implored, “it’s yours. I know you will feel different if you do. Whole again. I’m sure it’s been so long since that you have forgotten what it felt like.”

He tried to push the locked into your hands, but you resisted the attempt. You had no interest in this nonsense. You had made your choices. You wanted to be with Astarion forever, and to do that you had to stay a vampire. Even the thought of losing your connection with him made you feel hollow and alone.

“Stop it,” you snarled with anger, “I’m happy with Astarion. This is the life I chose. That I want. You are delusional to think restoring my soul would change any of this. I will just ask him to bite me again. I am about to be crowned empress, and I will not give that up for anything silly like mortality.”

Instead of backing down, Gale only doubled his effort. His expression filled with stark determination and desperation. “You have to stop him,” he repeated, voice tinted with urgency “Astarion is threatening the harmony of the entire cosmos. You have to remember why he extinguished the sun. Remember Tav. Remember the Astarion who loved nothing more than to bask in the sun. You must recall, before it’s too late.”

You pushed his arm away hard enough to fling the locket out of his grasp. It hit the wall with a metallic clank. Gale dove after it, barely managing to catch it before it skittered to the floor.

“No no no no,” he mumbled with despair.

You didn’t even bother looking in his direction. Instead, you turned your back on him as you picked up your wineglass again. You resisted the urge to drain it, and instead took a large mouthful of rich blood as if wanting to cleanse your palate of the whole ordeal.

“Thank you for coming by, but I think it’s about time you left,” your tone was harsher than intended, you had wanted to appear unruffled and uninterested. You could hear him rise to his feet behind you by the rustling of his clothes. The very air tasted almost electric from his leaking emotions.

“You broke it.”

The heartbroken noise brought a smile to your face. A little cruel thing that curled in the soft corners of your mouth. It felt potent and intoxicating, to know you had the power to even make gods weep. You turned to face him when he approached. Your many skirts swirling with you as you did, and you leaned a hip against the reeling. You held the stem of the wine glass between manicured nails.

Gale looked distraught; his mouth pressed into a line of dismay. In the palm of his hand laid the little locket. Rays of golden light was leaking from cracks, whirling in the space between us before snuffing out in the darkness of the eternal night.

“Now you will be truly lost,” he continued, tears already swelling to his eyes, “for every moment that pass, your soul is getting erased to nothing. And you don’t even seem to care.”

“I have no need of it,” you retort with a nonchalant shrug, “I’m going to live forever. Reincarnation is just bullsh*t anyway. I told you. I don’t want it. Astarion has given me everything I could ever possibly want. You are quite quick to dismiss my contribution. I am sovereign of this world. It is a position of power I could never have hoped to achieve in my wildest dreams as a weak mortal. I say, let the pesky and feeble thing disintegrate.”

Your smirk was haughty and cruel as you peered at him through your eyelashes over your glass as you took another sip.

Gale’s expression suddenly darkened. You only had a second to notice that the runes on the locket started to glow in too many colours to count, before he pressed it against your chest.

Time slowed to a crawl as you attempted to stop him, but your efforts were in vain. A golden light erupted between us and engulfed your senses with its radiant glow. With a stuttering gasp, you inhaled the essence. It poured into your mouth and nose and eyes.

You were vaguely aware of dropping your glass. It shattered as it hit the floor, spilling the crimson blood across the white marble. A few drops landed on your white dress. It would have been an irate eyesore if you had the wit to even care at the moment.

Your insides seared with light bright enough to burn, as if banishing the shadows and darkness that had filled the vacuum where a soul had once resided. This pulse of warmth and vitality flooded your veins with the golden glow, causing it to spread like a radiant beacon through your circulatory system.

For just one, brief, delirious moment, you thought your heartbeat had awakened with thunderous strength from its decade-long slumber. But that fleeing sensation soon squashed: your dead and blackened heart remained quiet in your chest.

Then, like a puppet’s strings being cut, your knees buckled underneath you. You would have collapsed on the floor had Gale not caught you.

“Sovereign!” Umrylene’s voice rang with alarm as she rushed forwards, sword unsheathed and already swinging, but before she could swipe at the wizard, a burst of electric blue magic made her freeze mid swing. Her eyes burned with alarm and fear but also a hint of pure rage as she tried to struggle against the hold person spell.

You had barely the wit or time to process what was happening around you.

You inhaled sharply, a stuttering sound that wheezed passed your lips. Shakes and trembles ran down your spine like the fine threads of spider legs. Everything hurt and ached, not physically, but like you were extending an unused limb. The cobwebs that had gathered in the dark crevices of your body was suddenly gone, and with it the realization of how wrong everything suddenly felt.

Your mouth was still coated with the sweet taste of blood. You had chosen your donors earlier today. From infants whose faces you had already forgotten, who would never take their first step. Some poor mother had given away their child as a tribute because it was your favourite vintage. And Astarion only ever gave you the best.

The floodgate of your memories suddenly burst forward. Every morally dubious to straight evil thing you had done throbbed through your head. Where you a moment ago hadn’t really cared, you were suddenly filled with guilt and despair. Tears swelled in your eyes, and you couldn’t even recall the last time you truly cried. If you ever had, since you became a vampire.

It was like someone had turned on a switch in your brain, and you desperately wanted to turn it off again. If only so your insides wouldn’t wreck with pain and guilt and horror.

“By the hells,” you stuttered, your voice like a broken, fragile thing. “What have I done?”

You helped Astarion enslave the world, you watched as he destroyed the sun with a smile on your face. The countless faceless children that had been slaughtered in a one-sided war. Only a few moments ago, you had suggested to turn Shadowheart, believing it to be a helpful reward. You had no consideration to your friends, no care of anything, aside from what you wanted.

No, what Astarion wanted.

You could still feel the connection even now, but instead of the dark euphoria of knowing you were bound together. That he belonged to you, and you to him. Now that same connection felt tainted with a sickening, repulsive feeling.

His presence in the back of your skull was no longer comforting and loving, but instead felt insidious. You could feel his claws digging into your mind, wrapping themselves greedily around your thoughts, enveloping your brain with his dark and possessive touch.

“I got you, I have you, you are alright,” Gale whispered reassuringly, his breath ghosting across your chin and jaw, stirring the bangs of your hair. “Take your time. Everything is fine.”

You glanced at your retainer, watching the sweat roll down her forehead as she tried to fight against the spell keeping her still.

“Release her,” you gasped, adding a hint of command to your voice.

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes flickering between your face and the drow. Then he slowly waved his hand to release the spell. Umrylene stumbled immediately. Her swing faltering before she straightened it, pointing it at Gale’s throat.

“Let the sovereign go,” she snarled, the redness of her eyes burning with conviction.

“Stand down,” you told her with a stern expression, “return to your post, Umrylene.”

She hesitated, her eyes wide with uncertainty. A tremble racked through her body as she fought against duty and her protective side. “Sovereign –“

“Now,” you snapped, adding a sliver of vampiric dominance into your tone. Your newfound soul squirmed in your chest with a hint of guilt of using the dark powers over the spawn. She had no choice but to follow your order this time.

Her eyes turned foggy immediately, and she sheathed her sword before walking backwards slowly as she returned to her post by the door. It was only when she had completed the command, that her expression cleared. She looked both dismayed and furious, but she was glaring at Gale with suspicion burning in her eyes rather than any ill will towards you, her mistress.

You were suddenly aware of how heavy the crown on your head felt. The darkness that once felt intoxicating and alluring, now felt twisted and wrong. Like you could hear the screams and wails of tormented souls. With a shaking hand, you reached up to throw it away, but the moment your fingers curled around the black crystals, dark and corrupted magic seared up your arm. It travelled underneath your skin and pierced into your restored soul.

You cried out in pain, recoiling your hand and pressing it against your chest.

“Why,” you gasped, tears swelling in your eyes with despair and fear, “why did you do this to me?”

Your dark, vampiric nature clashed violently against the purity of your soul. It felt like your insides were being torn apart at the seams as each battled for dominance. Guilt and pleasure overlapped in the confusion of your memories. The lust for power collided with the despair of the knowledge of everything you had done.

The intoxicating recollection of people kneeling at your feet begging for mercy turned to disgust and guilt as you remembered ordering the first person to rise to be torn limb from limb. Repulsion filled your soul, knowing now that you had done so without a care in the world. To make matters worse, you remember how much pleasure you felt in hearing their screams of terror and agony, relishing in each moment of their suffering.

Even as your soul cried out in pain, that insidious vampiric darkness revelled at the memory. Enjoying every second of their screams.

What cruel and twisted fate was bestowed upon you? You were a true vampire with a soul, and you felt the crushing weight of your guilt for all the terrible deeds and atrocities you had committed. Astarion had willingly and gladly sacrificed his soul to gain immense power during the black mass. You, on the other hand, had foolishly traded yours for a perverted and twisted kind of love that you had naively thought was pure and true.

All the while, the insidious darkness had its claws woven into your mind, waiting to see when it could feast upon your innocence and corrupt it.

“I’m sorry,” Gale’s eyes were filled with tears at your pain, “it wasn’t supposed to be like this. I meant to turn you mortal first –“

His words were cut off by a wet gasp. The smell of freshly spilled blood hit your nose before you felt its heat on your skin. It was only a moment longer that you noticed the tip of a sword embedded in his chest. Black tendrils cascaded down the blade, darkening the skin around it. You watched almost detached as it started to spread across his chest. The bronze fading to an ashy colour, and the electric blue of his veins dimmed.

Then Astarion pulled the sword out, and Gale collapsed. You with him as he still held you tightly in his embrace. Without hesitating, the pale elf thrust the sword through the wizard’s shoulder, effectively pinning him to the ground. He let out a sharp grunt of pain, though Astarion paid him no mind as he shifted his attention to you.

With horror, you realized that in your distraction you hadn’t even felt him approach. It only took him a second to pry Gale’s arms off of you and pulled you close, cradling you in his lap. Now that you were touching, his emotions flooded into yours. A dark rage that was evident in the crimson glow of his eyes and the snarl that curled on his lip.

But underneath it all, you felt his fear and concern. It wrapped around your mind tightly in a possessive grip that made you wince from the mental pressure. The vampire bride part of you responded to his attention, purring like a content cat in his lap, taking pleasure at his assertive touch.

But now that your soul was restored, it did not satisfy you as much as it once had. You no longer needed his presence to feel complete, instead all you felt was the darkness of his desires that tried to settle underneath your skin until you needed him as much as he needed you. It felt oily and suffocating, coating your insides until you could no longer breathe without him.

You felt frozen as you peered up at him through your eyelashes, at his beautiful face. An image you had followed to hell without question, that you had given your heart and body to. A hundred years you had spent in each other’s arms. Four times longer than you had been mortal. You could barely recall who you had been before him.

You were filled with horror and fear at the knowledge, that you didn’t remember who you used to be. Before you were his. You could tell the moment Astarion sensed the flood of your emotions as his expression froze for a fraction of a second, before being filled with seething rage and jealousy. His eyes blackening until all that remained was the bloodshed colour of his irises.

“I always knew you coveted my treasure, Gale,” his fingers dug painfully and possessively into your flesh where he had your head pressed against his chest. Not hard enough to draw blood, but enough that we both knew who you belonged to. His eyes flickered from your face to glare down at the wizard with cold distain.

Gale lay gasping on the floor, his hand to his chest, the electric blue of his magic at his fingertips yet the wound wouldn’t heal. His blood coated his chest, turning his purple robe crimson. It pooled underneath him, though you couldn’t quite tell which was his and which was the spilled blood from your earlier drink.

You were close enough that you could feel the liquid lap against your fingertips. The blood sparkled at your touch, evidence of the divinity that fuelled his existence.

Your gazes met, and you could see the pain and the fear in his eyes, but also the desperation that reflected in them.

“That’s why I had a blade forged just to destroy your divinity,” Astarion continued, his smile wicked and cruel. “I will rip it from you, and leave you alive just long enough to watch Shar corrupt the weave so that nothing remains but her shadow magic. It will leave Eberron defenceless to my invasion, thanks to you they are more reliant on pure magic than their silly devices.”

A sliver of fear ran down your spine at his words, at the knowledge of what he was planning. If he destroyed the weave, all magic would cease to exist. It was what had ended the Netherese civilisation before Mystra had replaced Mystryl as the goddess of magic. Millions across the realms would die in an instance. Whoever did not rely on their gods directly for magic, would be rendered powerless to an invasion of Astarion’s dark forces.

And Eberron had been a relatively agnostic realm, not wanting to rely on gods and their powers. Until Gale arrived half a century ago. Had this been all Astarion’s plan from the start? The realization made you tremble slightly, knowing how far into the future he had been planning. He was truly a monster that intended to devour all of existence and rule in the ashes of it.

With you by his side, his bride and consort. Forever.

Before you knew it, you were already struggling in his grasp, trying to break free. Feeling suffocated by his presence. He must have read the intent, as he only tightens his grip. One arm pinning your waist against him, the other pressing your head to his chest. His finger traced the outline of your jaw, your chin, the delicate shape of your nose.

You were certain it was meant as a comforting gesture, an effort to soothe and reassure you. But now... Now you could no longer see it as anything aside from possessive. He was caressing you like a coveted object he adored.

“Shh,” he hushed, as if you were an unruly child, “I have you, my love. Whatever Gale did to you, I will fix it. I will make everything better.”

You felt his influence dig into your mind, the tendrils twisting into your thoughts in an attempt to calm you. Immediately the vampire bride part of you purred complacently. Overjoyed with the attention of just being in his presence. It allowed the fake warmth to spread through your body as you relaxed into his grip. Melted against him as your minds touched and became one with desire. Bride and vampire sire, the eternal dark lovers. A cursed bond that could only be severed in death.

“You won’t get away with this,” Gale gasped, his lips quivering. The electric blue of his eyes had started to dim. “The others will –“

“The gods will do nothing,” he interrupted with cold laugh, “they are cowards. They will cling to their attempt to stay neutral to the point they will let Elysium crumble under their feet before getting involved. They are pathetic and weak. Even the Raven Queen left her charges in the hope to sacrifice them for her own survival.”

His fingers brushed against the crown on your head with a manic glint, and you could feel the power inside shy from the touch. With a jolt you realized what was happening, the screams of the souls that echoed from the black stones were far more sinister than you had originally thought. There was something trapped inside.

The realization chilled you to the bone. There were too many revelations springing up on you all at once.

“You used me as bait,” you accused, anger stoking in your chest, mixing with everything else threatening to spill from your lips.

“Please, love, do not fret,” Astarion was quick to reassure you, his voice full of seductive charm and soothing tones. His hands caressed your arms, and you felt his subtle presence in your mind, the delicate threads of his influence attempting to mollify the rising ire inside you. “You know I would never permit any harm to come to you, my dear. Using Gale's misplaced affections for you were a simple means to manoeuvre him to my tune. It was nothing more than a means of control.”

Of course, it was that simple. Use everyone and everything to our advantage. The vampire bride would have been impressed at his deviousness, but now that you could see the horror all you felt was devastated at this trickery. It felt as though he was plucking out every emotion he didn’t like from your brain, and just moments ago you wouldn’t even have been aware of the manipulations.

You suddenly felt a hand wrap around your wrist. Magic sparkled across the skin and you looked down to catch Gale’s desperate gaze. His lips shaped around words in a language you couldn’t comprehend, magical runes glowed where his blood lay scattered across the marble floor. It seemed he must have come here with a backup plan.

Before anyone had any chance to react, Astarion swiped a blade through the offending appendage, and the wizard cried out in pain as more blood splattered across the floor. The previous glow extinguished.

The Ascendant pulled you to your feet as he forced you to move away from Gale with a hard grip. The hand still curled around your wrist was plucked and discarded on the floor.

You stared in horror at the stump of your friend’s hand, even as he tried to reach for you as if he hadn’t noticed the loss of his fingers.

“Tav,” he gasped, eyes wide with desperation and slightly glassy with pain. The sword embedding his shoulder to the ground kept him from being able to move an inch, “please. We can stop him. Stop all of this from happening. You have to trust me.”

The only reaction his frantic plea was met with was a sharp, sardonic laugh from Astarion. “My bride will never stray from my embrace,” he proclaimed with utter confidence, “you are preaching to the wrong choir if you believe otherwise, you delusional fool. Nothing you do can change the course of our love. No matter what you may think or hope, she belongs to me and I to her. Bound together by our unbreakable vows of eternal devotion. Aeterna amantes. Lovers forever.”

For a brief second you watched and did nothing as someone you had considered a dear friend bleed on the floor. You were suddenly on the precipice of a very important decision. You could close your eyes to the atrocities Astarion had committed and allow him to take away all of these negative emotions swelling inside of you. Guilt and horror over a century of evil actions.

You could choose to let Gale bleed to death on the marble floors after going out of his ways to restore you your lost soul in a foolish attempt to save you. To save the whole of creation. Just be swept back into this dark romance and become the vampire bride again and ascend to your throne by Astarion’s side. Without guilt and remorse eating you up.

You would be choosing love, even if it was this twisted and corrupted and manipulative version. Where you had lost a part of your own identity. But you had him, the only man you had ever loved. What more could you possibly want than his warm embrace and the knowledge that you would always belong together. Astarion could give you everything you ever dreamt of as long as you remained by his side. Power, wealth, immortality, pleasure. The worship of whole worlds.

You could hear the temptation whisper sweetly in your mind like silken threads of his dark devotion as they weaved through your very thoughts. The insidiousness of his very being filling your head with enticing promises, burning away the remnants of your resistance for every second you didn’t fight against him. Revealing a vulnerable part of you that hungered for nothing more than the touch of the man whom you loved.

All you had to give up was the most important part of yourself: your own free will. Just surrender once and for all to his loving embrace. It would be such an easy and simple concession in comparison to the rewards offered. Nothing more would be required of you besides a simple act of obedience.

To watch and wait as Gale bled out on the floor in front of your very eyes.

Or you could do the right thing and try being a hero again. Save the world from Astarion rather than helping him doom it.

Find a way to expel him from your mind and regain your full autonomy.

The impulses of your dark vampire nature and the radiance of your soul clashed painfully in your chest, knotting them to the point you would have been strangled from the strong emotions alone if you were mortal and still required to breathe.

Astarion’s grip was tight and possessive on your arm. Keeping you firmly against him yet forcing you to watch divinity extinguish from Gale’s eyes. The elf's confidence in your eventual submission was absolute, as if you had no choice in the matter. There was a century's worth of conditioning that led you to this point, making your love and devotion to him absolute. You had practically been programmed to crave his attention.

You had always felt alone and incomplete when you weren’t in his embrace, when his mind wasn’t pulsating with yours. And now you knew why.

What other options did you have other than to succumb to his desires?

Tears filled your eyes at the realization that were was no doubt in his mind but utter victory. Like always, Astarion would get exactly what he wanted. Be it the world or you.

Before he could react, you cupped his head between your palms and pressed your lips together. You poured into the bond connecting you all the negative and powerful emotions swelling in your chest. The clash of anguish and confusion and most importantly, your love, into one all-consuming kiss.

He winced at the sudden onslaught of feelings flooding the bond. For a brief second you expected him to sever the mental bond on his side. But then his hand pressed against your back as he returned the kiss. His lips firm and yet soft like velvet against yours. You couldn’t quite tell if he was cradling your face or your mind, perhaps both, as he met your torrent of emotions with devotion and satisfaction of his own. His crimson eyes sparkling with victory.

Not only has he slain his most annoying foe but solidified our bond once and for all.

The taste of his lips and scent of bergamot and rosemary filled your senses. The heady presence of him pulsating in your mind drowning out everything else. Until it was just the two of us and the mingling of our breaths. It was intoxicating.

The trust in his complete control over you and your affections in that moment was the only reason he didn’t notice a stray thought escaping in the torrent of your emotions that flooded the bond. Your lips moving against him and the love brightening the connection distracting him long enough that he didn’t even react as a knife pierced into his shoulder blade.

Before he had time to even grunt you had already ripped yourself from his embrace and stumbled away from him until you were standing practically on top of Gale.

Behind Astarion, you could see Umrylene attempt to stab him again, but he grabbed her by the hair and flung her into the balcony railing hard enough that the porcelain shattered like glass, and she disappeared over the edge with the pieces.

The crimson of his eyes burned with fury and a ferocious growl vibrated through his chest with a flash of his fangs. He grabbed the knife embedded in his shoulder and pulled it out without wincing. He discarded it on the floor without any care. You knew well that the wound would knit itself together in a matter of seconds.

His expression calmed a moment later. As if nothing had happened, he adjusted an imaginary crease in his impeccable attire with a brush of his hand. His fingers traced over the strands of his luxurious silver hair, ensuring every strand was perfectly placed. As your gazes met, he casually swiped his thumb over his bottom lip, smearing the smudges of your red lipstick across his skin.

“You know you can’t hurt me, Tav,” the lack of a term of endearment was the only evidence of his anger even as his tone clang with a hint of amusem*nt, “you are my vampire bride. Your very nature renders you physically incapable of doing so. But to suggest a loyal spawn to do it for you? Even after a century together you keep surprising me. You have always possessed a sly nature, perhaps even more crafty than you are beautiful. There is a reason I chose you as my dark consort.”

You imagined for a second you could feel a hint of pride in him. It had been your last-ditch effort, Umrylene had always been more loyal to you than to him. A mental suggestion rather than a command had fuelled her to harm her maker. Spawns could hurt their sire, but brides could not. You could only pray the drow would be alright, but you doubted Astarion would allow her to live in punishment for your little act of rebellion. There was plenty of other spawns to serve, after all.

“It’s time to stop this nonsense, my love, and return to where you belong. By my side,” he extended a hand in your direction. The glint in his eyes made it clear he wanted you to do so by your own choice. Unlike his spawns, he could not command you to do anything. Though his presence in your head was suffocating.

Tugging and luring you to take his offered hand in yours. If not for the fact you could feel the brightness of a soul pulsing in your chest, you would have instinctively done so without a second thought.

“Do whatever you need to do, Gale, and hurry,” you urged the wizard, not taking your eyes off Astarion.

You grabbed the sword pinning him to the ground and pulled it out. You felt the flare of corrupted magic in a swirl of indigo dance across your fingers before settling back into the blade. It must be recognizing the echo of the Ascendant’s power in you. You kept it between you and the vampire lord.

He only lifted an eyebrow in amusem*nt at your antics, knowing you wouldn’t actually be capable of using it against him.

“You are not going anywhere,” he stated firmly, his tone and expression both rife with authority and self-assurance, “you are mine. I ask for so little. Just let me rule you. Let me possess you completely. Hate me, fear me, love me – I don’t believe it matters, as the embers of any feeling will inevitably fan into burning passion. Give into me, and I will dedicate myself to fulfilling your every whim, every desire. All that is required of you is obedience. Do as I say and I will be a slave to your every command.”

His crimson eyes burned with conviction and dark devotion, his most charming and enticing smile stretched on his lips. A soft breeze made the locks of his hair flutter gently. He was the picture-perfect fairytale prince. Yet in the bond between us, you could sense a sliver of his doubt and insecurity gripping his heart. That fear that you would ever abandon him.

It was a startled realization, that he had done all of this, controlled your every moment, because deep down, in the dark corners of his dead heart, he had been so afraid you wouldn’t choose him. You had believed that insecurity had burned away when he had ascended. No more fear, only confidence and resolve.

He hadn’t trusted your heart and the power of your devotion to him. In his fear of losing you, he had tried to control every aspect of you, hoping to instil in you an unwavering and undying love for him alone.

And now that you had woken from this nightmare, his fear was becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Tears kissed your eyelashes as you stared at him with a crushed expression. “I only ever wanted you, Astarion. I wouldn’t have given you my heartbeats otherwise,” your hand reached for the crown on your head, hovering right above the crystals. You could still feel the corrupted shadow magic lapping at your fingertips. “What did you do to me?”

“I did what I needed to do in order to preserve our love,” despite the honey on his tongue and the sweetness of his smile, his body was coiled with tension as if he at any moment would lunge at you. “All that I am and everything that I have ever done, I did it for us and for my love of you. I would demolish the heavens and shatter the stars if need be. I would tear down the pillars of existence without flinching and no hesitation just to ensure that no one else can touch you. You will always be mine, one way or another.”

You could feel the conviction of his words burning through your mental connection. It was sickening to feel a part of you responding to his possessive and obsessive words. The vampire bride preened at his dark devotion. You were certain just half an hour ago, you would have echoed the same conviction back. The urge to submit to him bristling through you to the point that you took a step forward before you could stop yourself.

You suddenly felt a hand grab your skirt, stopping you from approaching. It snapped you out of the charm that Astarion’s words had spun in your head.

“Don’t do it,” Gale implored, his eyes wide with desperation. His pallor looked almost grey and sickening now. “You can be free –“

The elf's voice cut through the wizard's rambling, his tone loud and authoritative. “There is nowhere you can go,” he proclaimed, his words carrying a hint of danger. Of a dark promise. “Nowhere you can hide where I won’t find you. You are mine, completely and utterly, bound to me for all time. Aeterna amantes. Lovers forever, remember? Such a short amount of time to spend with someone you love, is it not?”

Aeterna amantes. A phrase he had been repeating again and again since the start. It was the mantra of our love. So deeply ingrained in you that even unconsciously you had been repeating them to yourself in your head for so long. It was with dread dancing down your spine like shadows that you realized Gale had been right. You had just been echoing Astarion’s words. You no longer could be quite sure where your thoughts ended and his words started.

Gale had taken advantage of the distraction of our conversation and written runes on the floor in his own blood, but as they started to glow, he could no longer keep his activity hidden. Astarion took notice of what he was doing and used the heel of his boot to brush against the closest to him, effectively destroying it. While this did stop the rune from glowing, the rest remained lit.

The scent of the wizard’s blood was intoxicating, potent with magic. The edges of your white dress already soaking in it, and part of you wanted to take a mouthful, but you supressed the urge for a taste.

“You have gone too far, Astarion –“ you started, but he interrupted you.

“You love me,” he stated, his voice as intoxicating as the promise he offered, “You chose me and followed willingly into this life. Choose me again, like you have done before. Take my hand, my dear, and I will make sure this little relapse is but a distant dream. All will be as it was,” he implored with an alluring smile, though there was a hint of desperation and darkness edging his tone.

“No,” you lifted your chin with defiance and stubbornness. You couldn’t quite recall the last time you had denied him. “I will not.”

At your immediate rejection his eyes flickered with fury. He dropped his hand and the distance between you shrank as took a step forward until his chest was pressing against the tip of the sword in your hands. You could see hunger in his gaze, a dark and dangerous passion he was trying desperately to hide behind a veil of love. His voice remained calm, as soft as velvet.

“Do not defy me, pet. You are no match for me,” he grabbed the edge of the blade and before you knew it, the bride inside of you forced you to drop it instinctively. He discarded it without care. “I would much rather you came willingly, but I’m not above using force if need be.”

“Gale,” you whimpered as you stumbled away from Astarion, “do something.”

“I’m almost done,” the wizard replied, but his voice was drooping and frantic as he pressed his fingers against the floor. He chanted something under his breath that created a blue barrier between us and the stalking Vampire Ascendant.

The moment the magical wall rose, Astarion’s expression twisted with fury. Any attempt at a calm façade gone and he truly looked like the monster from children’s fairytales. His fangs grew and his eyes glowed with crimson and darkness. You could sense his mounting anger in the physic bond. He was beyond pissed now.

The very night thickened with an all-consuming darkness that devoured the stars and the light shining from the palace. It crept across the balcony door and the walls. It surrounded you and Gale like a thick veil that grew heavier and thicker by the moment. The magical barrier was the only shield keeping the darkness from consuming us. You could hear the whispers of the night like a caress, a sound that had once been a familiar comfort now filled you with a mounting dread.

Astarion commanded the shadows to wrap around his hand, forming claws of corrupted magic. He slashed at the barrier, already creating cracks.

“My heart cannot take another day of this,” you pleaded with him, fear and desperation lacing your tone, “I do not recognize who I am with you. Of what I have become. A mere half an hour ago I suggested we turned Shadowheart without a shred of remorse or care. She is supposed to be our friend.”

“She is a pawn,” Astarion’s voice warped with the shadows, taking on a tint of something demonic, “they all are. The world is our playground. Nothing matters but you and I – “

You shook your head, years shining in your eyes at the utter lack of humanity in him. You hadn’t noticed how warped he had become, because you had sold your soul on the same day as he had. It was getting increasingly difficult to think, his magic was oppressing in the air where it clashed against Gale’s. The whole of his presence filled your mind, tangled in your thoughts and emotions as he tried to coax you into returning to his side.

“Get out of my head,” you gritted with anger, trying to focus on your fury lest you lost it in the torrent of his subtle manipulations. “I have to do this to find out who I truly am. If I lose, I’ll be yours. And if I win, I’ll lose you. I need the autonomy to decide which is worse. I can’t do that with you constantly in my head.”

“I am all you need,” he snarled and slashed at the barrier again, “we are each other’s other half, the pieces that form our whole. We need nobody else in this world. You agreed to be mine, forever, and I promised to give you an eternity in exchange. I will do absolutely everything — and yes, I do mean anything — to abide by the vows we’ve both made.”

You felt Gale’s magic flare up around you, turning the very air bright with golden light. Your soul pulsated in your chest in response, drowning out the vampire bride’s insistence that you returned to Astarion’s embrace. That you were acting foolish and making a mistake. You had, out of your own free will, chosen this life. To become his dark consort. He was hurting and only you could soothe his twisted heart, and he yours.

Your eyes were wide open now. All along, you had just been fuelling each other’s darkness. Until there was nothing left, but two monsters clinging to each other. He was your tormentor. Your monster. Your lover. Your everything. In your attempt to save him, you had doomed yourself and the world with it. It broke your heart to realize you had made an error in believing he was worth the sacrifice.

You had no one to blame for your fate and that of the world, other than yourself. Everything that had happened was your fault.

You couldn’t think. The soul and the vampire clashed in your thoughts, pulling you in two different directions. The hero and the bride. Which part was truly you? Which version did you want to be?

“She doesn’t belong to you,” Gale jumped to your defence with a sharp gasp, he fumbled with one hand as he withdrew a box from his tunica. It whirred as it powered up. The runes in the blood seemed to react to whatever it was doing. “Tav is her own person, her own woman. You can’t treat her like a bird in a gilded cage–“

“Are you really choosing him over me, over our love? Over everything I have to offer?” Astarion’s tone dripped with distain, his lips curling in disgust. His eyes never leaving your face as he poured his corrupted shadow magic into the cracks of the barrier. You could sense his fury and jealousy rushing through the bond between you. You tried to stopper the connection, but after a century of it being wide open, you had little not no chance of hindering any of it.

The air crackled with magic, making the hair on your arms rise at the ozone filling the air. Gale’s whole body glowed blue with the last shreds his divinity, turning the very molecules of his body into particles of light. It was in that moment you realized that he was using his own divinity and life force to cast his spell.

Your eyes widened with shock. If you stopped him, Astarion would kill him, if you didn’t, he would die regardless. Gale was sacrificing himself for your freedom, for the chance to the save the world. Tears kissed your eyelashes. If nothing else, you owed him to try.

“No, my love, I’m not choosing Gale,” your voice trembled slightly as you shook your head, “I’m choosing me.”

You grabbed the crown on your head. This time it didn’t hurt you. But as you dropped your hand to fling it away, it turned to slithering shadows in your hand and burrowed into your skin. You gasped in shock at as you grabbed your arm as if you could somehow stop them. You tried summoning the vampiric power Astarion had granted you to control shadows, but they wouldn’t respond to your command as you felt them move underneath your skin where they attached to the edges of your soul.

Before you had any chance to react to the situation, the last of the barrier shattered and Astarion sprung forward in an instant. His hand reached out towards you, yet before he could grasp you, your vision erupted with a burst of golden light as Gale’s box exploded. You felt the faint pull of something tugging at your soul, the feeling of plummeting into an infinite sea of gold. The fabric of reality was being peeled away from your consciousness, isolating you in a void of stillness and silence.

For the first time in a century, you were alone in your own head. The sudden silence was both terrifying and liberating at the same time.

Chapter 2: Glimmer of daylight

Chapter Text

Looking back, you realized it had started with a simple comment. One meant as a teasing joke.

It had happened at some point during the first decade. We had just taken Baldur's Gate, and we had snuck out to steal some precious moments together before the next council meeting. Who knew taking over a city required so much freaking paperwork.

You remembered basking in the warm rays of the sun, savouring its warmth like a contented housecat on a windowsill. It enveloped you in its radiant embrace with the caress of a gentle lover.

Astarion’s beauty was only amplified by the bright hours of the day. The sun kissed the crown of his hair and accentuated the silver colour. The halo framed his face with an ethereal glow. The warmth that reflected in his eyes added a vibrant hue, giving them the lustre of rubies. With his otherworldly beauty enhanced by the sun's radiant glow, he looked like something straight out of a fairy tale.

Your perfect prince charming.

Though your eyes were fixed at the sky, you could feel his gaze on you from the corner of your eyes. His hands slid over your arm, tracing the path the sunlight danced across the skin. It was a soft touch that left goosebumps in their wake. Since he had Ascended, his body had grown warmer than before. However, in comparison to the natural heat of the sun, his body still felt rather chilly.

His breath ghosted across your neck and collarbone, and you could sense his growing desire in the bond between you. You tilted your head in anticipation, exposing the soft skin of your neck to him willingly. Astarion always loved kissing the toothmarks he had left on your skin when he had turned you.

It was a mark of ownership, that you were his and he was yours.

With a soft exhale, he pressed his lips against your cheek instead. A lingering kiss that allowed you to feel his remorse before he pulled back and sat up. The desire still smouldered between you despite the slight irritation of not indulging in each other.

“The magisters can wait,” you suggested, a teasing smirk playing across your lips as you looked up at him, though you made no attempt to pull him back down. “What is the point of being the ruler if you cannot leave people wanting?”

“A tempting offer,” the sly smile on his lips twisted upwards. His eyes began to roam your body, gazing at you with a level of reverence and hunger that was almost palpable.

You could feel the heat of his longing gaze burning away at your flesh, as if he were touching you from afar. It sent a jolt of desire that travelled from your spine down to the soles of your feet. Yet he kept his restraint.

“But we really must return,” he breathed in a husky voice, as if he was tempted to stay a little longer.

“Must we?” you teased, the answer was accompanied by a coy smile that curled in the soft corners of your mouth. You brushed your fingers across your neck and collarbone to draw his attention to the inviting flesh.

Astarion’s eyes lingered at the motion with interest, before he swallowed down the urge to taste. You could feel his disappointment like a living thing in the back of your mind. He rose to his feet with great reluctance. The creases on his tailcoat were quickly brushes away with quick fingers before he offered a hand to help you up.

“Come, my consort, we need to head back.”

You ignored his extending hand, dismissing him with a nonchalant attitude. “I have grown weary of entertaining the lords of Baldur’s Gate. You can go without me,” you replied bluntly, not trying to hide your disdain. “I’m not fond of having my daylight interrupted by those pointless meetings. I would much rather bask in sunlight than to be tucked away inside in the damp darkness with you.”

Astarion seemed taken aback by your sudden act of defiance, his smile faltering only for a moment before he cleared his throat and tried to regain his composure and control. “You would genuinely prefer to remain out in the sunlight than return with me, my dear?”

You stretched in the grass like an unbothered cat, taking in the warmth of the sun and the aroma of the flora surrounding you. “It’s warm, bright, and the air tastes of flowers and life. Why would I want to give up such a pleasure for anything?”

At the time you hadn’t noticed the way he had stiffened at your words, nor the emotion that darkened his eyes.

“Darling,” his voice was a mixture of impatience and affection, “we have an important meeting at the magisters. I need you by my side. So, I insist that you allow me to escort you back instead of lingering in this… speck of dirt and weeds.”

You could practically taste his displeasure in the back of your throat before he masked it. The smile on his pretty lips returned to full force. You could feel his desire for you to join him like a warm presence in the back of your mind, gliding smoothly against your own thoughts with an insistence you could no longer resist. Before you knew it, you had grasped his offered hand and allowed him to pull you to your feet.

Astarion had not let go of your hand until we reached the keep. At the time, you had found the gesture sweet and comforting. The vampire in you enjoyed it with a dark thrill at such blatant show of affection and ownership.

But now you knew better.

Jealousy. You could recognize it now. It had all started with jealousy. A possessiveness that should have alarmed you. It was the little comments you spoke without thinking, yet meant everything to him. The idea festered in his mind, that you dared desire something else that wasn’t him.

Had this darkness always lurked in his heart? Or had you brought it out in him?

It had been so long since that you could barely recall now. By the time Astarion destroyed the sun, you hadn’t even attempted to stop him. You had stood by him and cheered with a smile on your lip, your head filled with the song of his desire for you. A dark and twisted love that felt all consuming and right, until all that remained in your heart was him and him alone.

You woke with the feeling of your lungs burning. A loud gasp that had you inhale air greedily. It barely soothed the raspy sensation in your throat. The air tasted of smoke and burning flesh, as well as the saltness you associated with sea breeze.

You felt stuck between the need to keep breathing and the want to stop. A throbbing headache pierced between your brow; the pressure so tight that you imagined something was physically wriggling inside.

Fluttering your eyelids open, you were vaguely aware of laying on a beach. The sand felt coarse underneath you, and a shell dug into your back. All of that, however, was drowned out by the sight of golden light filtering through the leaves of a tree. Your eyes prickled from the brightness.

It had been so long since you had seen the blue shade of the sky that you had forgotten the name of its colour. Puff of white clouds drifted by, and your eyes swelled with unbidden tears at the beauty. For a brief, panicked moment, you wondered if this was an elaborate and cruel joke. That any moment now the vision would tear away and be replaced by the black void you had grown so used to.

Your eyes burned as you watched the golden hues of sunbeams. Tears kissed your eyelashes. Yet you did not dare look away. You wanted to sear this sight into your mind so that you would never again forget what the warmth of the sun on your cheeks felt like.

For a blissful moment, you took in the beauty of the world. How the sun poured through the vibrant green leaves, and how the grass glittered like emerald jewels. The sand sparkled pearlescent in the light, casting a delicate shimmer over the surface. Having only seen the world in hues of greys for so long, you had forgotten how colourful it had once looked.

Gale had really done it. For the first time in a century, you weren’t glued to Astarion’s side. You were truly free, at least for the time being. You wondered which plane he had sent you to. Eberron seemed the most likely suspect, as you could not sense the wild magics of the feywild.

Then your lungs burned again, and you inhaled air like a fish out of water. The oxygen charred down your throat and coagulated in your lungs and you started to cough. Your hand clasped your throat in confusion, gagging on the air as you tried to recall how to breathe on your own.

Once you managed to catch your breath, you were suddenly aware of a throbbing in your chest. You could feel the rush of your pulse in your ears and the warmth of your skin. With a fervent movement you pressed your fingers against your throat, just above where you knew the puncture wounds were, to check if you were imagining things, but no. There it was, the pulse of a beating heart humming against your fingertips.

Neither could you feel the two little scars from Astarion’s bite. The mark of his ownership was gone, as if they had never marred your skin.

What in the sweet hells was going on?

You sat up in the sand, glancing around you in confusion. Pieces of debrief laid scattered around you. Towering over some cliffs were a sight you had long since forgotten, but the memory flooded through you at the image. The crashed nautiloid.

Stumbling to your feet, you could see a figure laying in the sand a few feet away. With gasping breath that knotted in your chest, you recognized Shadowheart. No longer aging, but youthful like the first time you had met.

You were back on the beach, where it all had started.

You glanced down at your hands. Your nails were no longer long and manicured, but rather short and brittle. Specks of blood coated the folds between your fingers. With a sudden jolt you realized you hadn’t noticed the smell of blood. In fact, all the scents around you were dimmed. You had presumed the sudden brightness was what had been making the world so unfocused but it must be your mortal eyes.

You no longer had the keen senses of the vampire. The darkness that used to whisper in your ears now replaced by thrumming of your pulse and chirps of songbirds.

Impossible. How could this be? You were human again. Mortal. You couldn’t deny the unmistaken sensation of your heart beating in your chest. The vigorous thumping in the beat of a long-forgotten song. For the first time in a century, your head was silent. You could no longer feel Astarion’s presence in the back of your mind.

You were alone. Completely and utterly alone.

For a moment panic tightened your chest in a painful knot.

If you were no long a vampire, his bride, then who in the nine hells were you? You had been under his thumb for so long, a mind warped to his desires, empty of all thoughts that hadn’t explicitly been about him.

You could recognize it now, how much influence he’d had. How much space in your head he had carved out. It was like all the pressure had evaporated and pulled open the curtains. Horror flooded you as you realized you were finally free of an imprisonment of your own doing. And now, you were finally taking your first fresh breath of air after years of entombment.

Then your horror turned to fury. It ignited under your skin with anger. Before you knew it, your fingers curled around a knife that had been sheathed to your belt. Without Astarion’s affections and dark devotion clouding your mind and influencing your thoughts, you could finally feel the fully brunt if your anger at how he had manipulated you for so long.

During your rebellious conversation he had flooded your head with your love for him, but you could see clearly now that you were free from his grasp.

If Gale’s spell had truly sent you back in time, then this was your chance to stop him. Make sure Astarion never ascended. Somehow, you had allowed yourself to save the world just to give it over to a worse monster. One that swallowed up Toril and destroyed the sun. You had once been an adventurer, a hero, the saviour of Baldur’s gate. When had your morals been so corrupted that you had forgotten that you had wanted to save the world, not be responsible for its destruction?

Shame pooled in your stomach as you recalled your conversation with Gale. He had been right all along, you used to have a heart. You used to be a good person, and you hadn’t even noticed Astarion’s influence.

You wanted to tell yourself that your desire for revenge was righteous, but in reality you just wanted him to hurt as much as he had hurt you. You had spent a century as a vampire, you might have been a bride, but you still had all the powers of a true vampire. The darkness and wicked nature still held a clawed grasp on you.

Astarion was yours. He belonged to you just as much as you belonged to him. If anyone was to tear him apart it would be you. The dark seed of your infatuation was still a hot inferno. Like a roaring house fire. You wanted to lose yourself in him, you wanted to consume him. You wanted to possess him. You wanted to ruin him. To destroy him. The very thought of him woke something in you that could only respond with the primal urge to consume him whole.

It was a toxic love. All consuming. Destructive and possessive. You wanted to ruin him first, before he had a chance to ruin you. No, he was yours. Yours to love and yours to destroy.

These were the lingering urges from the bride that he had created. It had followed you and seeped into the crevices of your soul. The dark and all-consuming romance that had soaked the world in blood and darkness. He had laid the world on your feet for mortals and fiends alike to worship as you sat on your throne by his side. His bride, his consort and his empress.

A pressure like something was stabbing into your chest had you doubling over in pain. A sharp cry escaped your lips as you felt as if your mortal soul was twisting and writhing inside of you. Responding to thoughts that weren’t your own. Of darkness that it shouldn’t be capable of. It left you gasping for breath.

You had to. You had to stop him. You couldn’t become that thing again. You couldn’t lose yourself in this twisted and cruel thing, a creature of nightmares. How naïve you had been, to willingly become a vampire without thinking about the consequences.

You took a stumbling step forward, your vision narrowing down on one thought and one thought only. If you were to save yourself, save the world and protect the sun, then you had to kill Astarion before he ascended. You had to tear his heart from his chest and eat it. Make sure he could never be resurrected.

No. No. Not eat him, just stab him as many times as he had stabbed Cazador. Make sure he died in pain that equal the chorus of cries that had filled the sky when he had destroyed the sun.

You clutched your head, drowning in the overwhelming dark desires that flooded your mind. The cruel and twisted thoughts that whispered in your ear and guiding you forwards. You wanted to taste his fear, feel his skin between your teeth as you tore him apart, only vaguely remembering you no longer had fangs. Your anger might not be righteous, but it felt good.

You passed Shadowheart’s unconscious form without a second glance. Your urgency more important, and you couldn’t risk her intervening. You had a hard time separating your memories of her as Astarion’s dutiful general to recall what she had been like before.

It was strange being alone for the first time in a century. Astarion was always there in the back of your mind, and you were always surrounded by his servants or vampire spawns. When was the last time your loyal retainer, Umrylene, had been absent from your shadow?

It made you feel slightly uneasy, a feeling of being vulnerable that itched down your spine like the fine threads of spider legs.

You hoped Astarion didn’t punish her too harshly for your actions. The last you had seen of her was when the Ascendant threw her over the balcony. Though knowing him, he would most likely lash out on something like a child who had lost their favourite toy, before composing himself. You didn’t like the drow’s chances of survival in your absence… but you could not afford to feel guilty.

If you killed him now, she would be safe anyway. In the grand scheme of things, it didn’t matter.

A thought suddenly occurred to you. What if you weren’t the only one thrown back in time. What if the Ascendant woke up in the body of the spawn?

A delighted and cruel smirk stretched across your lips at the thought. The thought of him knowing it was you who destroyed him sent a shiver of thrill down your spine. You were no longer in his control, perhaps he naively would allow you close, thinking you still were. It would make this so much easier.

Unlike a spawn, a vampire bride could not harm their sire. If the sire died, so did the bride or groom. But you were free now, free of his influence. Free to tear him apart for what he had done to you. For what he had taken from you.

Once you reached the vestiges of the crashed nautiloid, you stealthed around the intellect devourers. Wasting no time fighting them and alerting Astarion to your approach as you had a century ago. The path up the little cliff felt nostalgic like you were walking in a dream. For a brief moment you were flooded with the sudden fear that he wasn’t there. What would you do if he wasn’t?

What if he beelined straight to Baldur’s gate to kill Cazador and Ascend? The very idea hitched in your throat with concern. Would you be able to catch up with him in time?

Just as the thought occurred to you, it eased at the unmistaken sight of him. It was a familiar shape that was forever seared into your memory whether you liked it or not. He had his back to you, his face tilted to the sun as he enjoyed the first rays he had seen in over two centuries. It engulfed him with the white and golden light, and you were suddenly floored with a half-forgotten memory of sitting in the sun, enjoying it with him.

You were used to seeing him wearing only the finest satin and spider-silk. So his current clothing felt like a sore thumb in comparison. Despite the careful stitches, the gold embroidery on his padded doublet was slowly unravelling. His silver hair was parted a little differently than you recalled. His curls more flamboyant now, rather than regal after he had regained his reflection.

His shoulders were tight with a certain stiffness that you could easily recognize as fear.

You could tell with a glance that he wasn’t the Ascendant, much to your relief and disappointment. His body language was too off. He no longer carried himself with confidence and power, but more of that of a kicked puppy that feared the cane.

It didn’t matter. You had to stop him. Make sure he never had the chance to ascend and destroy the world. The easiest and fastest way would be to kill Astarion right here and now.

Your fingers curled around the dagger. Your vision narrowed on his form alone as you imagined thrusting your knife into his flesh again and again. You wanted to sense his fear and taste his terror, even if your sense of smell wasn’t as sharp anymore.

In one swoop, you could get your revenge and save the world from the same man that had swallowed the sun because you had the audacity to ask one too many times to bask in its light. He had it coming, he had done this to himself.

You made a grave error in forgetting you were no longer a vampire. That the stealth that you had relied on like a second skin were no longer a natural trait as your foot kicked up sand with what felt like a shattering sound.

The moment you did, Astarion turned around and you had only a second to hide your knife behind your back before he noticed it. You could see surprise flickering across his face that you had almost snuck up on him, before the expression was hidden behind his usual charming façade.

“Well, hello there, darling,” his lips curled delicately around a fang as he smiled at you. However you could sense a tension on his too perfect lips. After a century of watching him stride around with unwavering confidence and charm, the smile felt imperfect and out of place. His unease palpable to your keen eyes.

His entire attitude was wrong from the way he smiled, from the way he looked at you and the way he was standing. It was as if he was putting on an act, an awkward attempt at covering up his unease and nervousness. It made him appear like a clumsy actor trying to salvage a disastrous first audition.

Back when you were young and naïve, you had bought into this act without a second thought.

Your blank stare must have made him restless, as he spoke up in an attempt to break the silence.

“Is there something on my face?” Astarion inquired, his fingers reaching up to touch his skin with a shred of doubt.

You were almost spiteful enough to tell him he had received a nose job in the fall or gone bald, just to see the panic on his face. If there was one thing he had always treasured, it was his vanity.

“Never mind that,” he waved a manicured hand, trying to appear nonchalant, “you seem like a capable fighter. I have cornered one of those brains, think you can kill it?”

It was clear he was trying to regain his footing and take charge of the situation. Trick you into turning your back so he could gain the advantage in the form of a knife to your throat. A pitiful and deceitful act that the Ascendant had long since grown out of in his overconfidence knowing that no one could get close to him anymore.

Two could play at that game, you thought with a hidden smirk.

“Where?” you asked, your eyes not leaving his form, “I don’t see anything.”

Uncertainty flickered in his eyes for a second in the form of his pupils moving off you for a second. His unease felt like a potent drug that had the vampire bride purr in your chest. You had been a predator for so long it was hard to remember having been anything else. He wasn’t the ascendant anymore, yet watching him squirm like pray awoke a deep instinct in you. One that wanted to pounce and tear and feed.

Perhaps if you had still been a vampire, you could have taken advantage of that second he had looked away. But now you lacked the speed, annoyingly enough as you were stuck in your mortal body. You couldn’t take the risk when you didn’t recall the limitations you used to have.

You pushed the thoughts away a moment later, not willing to dissect them right now.

“Right over there,” Astarion shifted his stance as he pointed in a direction, the gesture an exaggerated flourish to divert your attention to distract from the fact his other hand had stealthily slipped behind his back and most likely drawn a hidden blade. At the very least, it was what you fully anticipate he would do.

He was nothing if not predictable. He had only ever been honest about his habitual dishonesty.

Neither of us followed his finger with our gaze. Instead, our eyes were locked on each other. The direction was one where you would be forced to turn if you had any intention of looking.

Clever boy, you thought silently.

You wondered if he could sense the darkness in you. Sense your intent.

“Why don’t you show me,” you countered, struggling slightly to keep a smirk from growing in the corner of your lips.

Before he had any time to reply, a familiar voice drew his attention.

“There you are, I see you survived the crash too,” Shadowheart called out from the bushes.

The moment Astarion looked away to glance in her direction, an instinctive twitch, you lunged at him. The two of you went tumbling to the ground. A surprised noise escaped his lip when his back hit the hard sand, and you were certain sharp rocks were digging into his side. Your knife was pressed between his ribs, threatening to tear flesh. One flick of your wrist, that's all it would take to plunge the knife into his heart—end his life—forever.

You wouldn’t need a stake to kill him if you could destroy his heart first with a sharp object.

A wicked grin spread across your face when you felt Astarion’s own dagger press against the soft, vulnerable parts of your stomach. It was a clear threat. You both remained still, locked in a tense stalemate as you watched each other silently.

The sound of your ragged breathing was a grating noise to your own ears, the annoyance of being short of breath from simple exertion was a weakness you had forgotten about after not needing to use your lungs at all for the past century.

You didn’t hear any sounds that indicated Shadowheart was approaching, something you were grateful of that she wasn’t going to attempt to stop you. On the other hand, the realization you couldn’t hear her heartbeat or smell her warmth anymore filled you with unease. The disadvantage of suddenly not having the senses you used to rely heavily on made you nervous.

For a moment you expected Astarion to speak, to attempt to charm himself out of this situation with his quick wited tongue, but he was uncharacteristically quiet. His eyes simple glued to your face as he waited for your next move.

His body was unnaturally still underneath you, but a small tremble betrayed his fear. It was slightly ironic to know that the one thing Astarion feared more than anything, was dying. He had always been willing to go to far lengths to stay alive. This instinct had led him on a dark and desperate path, choosing everlasting servitude to a cruel master over the fear of the unknown.

In the past life, you recall he had even been willing to sell his soul to Raphael just to keep from becoming a mindflayer.

He was afraid. Always so afraid. No wonder he had taken the chance to ascend when the option had presented itself.

The knowledge that you couldn’t feel the emotion in the back of your mind filled you with dismay. You had wanted to taste his terror. You had wanted him to feel your pleasure. That the last thing he felt as he died was the thrill you received from his cries of pain spilled from his pretty lips.

“Why don’t we sheathe our blades, my dagger happy friend?” Astarion's voice was like silk as he attempted to de-escalate the situation, trying to keep his composure despite the slightest quiver that betrayed his otherwise calm demeanour. “A parley between likeminded seems to be in order lest we are both riddled with holes.”

A silent threat punctuated by the pressure of his blade. It made your blood suddenly boil with a dark whisper. And not in the way he wished it to. Your life was his, and his was yours. You were nothing without him, you had no recollection of what you had been before. But now that insidious thought had festered in your mind.

You could so easily end us both here.

To die by each other’s hands. What a beautiful and perfectly twisted end for our mockery of a relationship. His life was yours to take, and yours his. Live together, die together. The promise you were given by his dark kiss all those years ago.

You were about to twist your knife when something deep within your chest cried out in pain. It knotted tight enough that you couldn’t breathe for a second. It bathed the back of your eyes with a bright, yellow light. It seemed to sear through your veins with radiance as the urges of the vampire bride were purged by guilt and hope.

It was your soul reminding you that you had once loved this man so fiercely you had given him your heart beats. The insidious thoughts of possession and death gave away by a singular idea. Instead of dying, what if you could save us both? Perhaps even all of them. Convince Astarion to not ascend, convince Shadowheart to not become a dark justiciar, to make sure Gale didn’t take the crown and became a god. You could even save Lae’zel from her witch queen.

You had a second chance in life. The chance to do everything different. To be better, to make sure we were all better. If it was even possible.

You could always kill them later if you failed on this mission.

But the question was… could you save yourself?

Your inner turmoil was suddenly interrupted by searing pain in your head. It throbbed behind your left eye with urgency that left you gritting your teeth. Astarion memories flooded into your mind. You had seen them before, but the flood of fear and despair was so strong you could taste it in the back of your throat. Instead of the images of him prowling the night, you focused on the emotions tacked to them.

Then, as quick as they ended, the connection between you cut abruptly. By the nine hells, you had forgotten about the tadpoles and the whole mindflayer affair. You had been too concerned with the future that the more pressing danger had slipped your mind.

Astarion and your breath mingled as you breathed heavily at the sudden invasion of each other’s memories. The feeling of his cold breath grounded you back to reality. This wasn’t the ascendant, but the spawn. His body was cold rather than the warmth you had become accustomed to.

Now it was your turn to be afraid, what memories had he seen? Your original or the new ones? If he knew, if he could see himself on the throne then you were sure he would stop at nothing to claim the power for himself.

“What did you see?” you snarled, your knife digging into his ribs, a grimace of pain warped his lips as it slid an inch between them. He must have been so surprised he had forgotten his own dagger on your stomach as it laid loosely against your skin.

“Mountains,” he grunted, “just mountains. You have led a very boring life, darling.”

Relief flooded through you at the realization he hadn’t seen anything incriminating. Without any fanfare you pushed yourself off him and rose to your feet. You carded a finger through your hair to fix it and turned your back to him as you glanced in Shadowheart’s direction. It was a fake attempt of de-escalating the situation. Pretending you trusted he wouldn’t lunge at you with his knife.

“That was… something,” she commented, her eyebrow lifted with curiosity.

You made a show of sheathing your dagger, before catching a glance at Astarion above your shoulder. He had risen to his feet, probably in an attempt to regain his composure. The only evidence of your assault was a slight cut on his doublet.

Noticing your glance, he quickly turned his torso away and let his arm rest over the fabric to hide the fact he wasn’t even bleeding. He had attempted to make it seem like a casual movement. Too little blood in him for it you gathered. You doubted Shadowheart even noticed or cared.

“I always appreciate a greeting involving threats of violence,” Astarion said with a placating smile, trying to divert the attention. “You were on the ship, weren’t you?”

When you didn’t reply, Shadowheart took control over the conversation. The sharing of whatever information she had on the topic of the tadpole and mindflayers. Followed by Astarion’s dismay. You didn’t really pay attention, though when she suggested we all teamed up to find a healer, you couldn’t help but a flicker of surprise.

You hadn’t remembered her being so friendly. You tried to recall what she had been like before she became a dark justiciar. Perhaps she was simply curious to see if Astarion and you would kill each other out of entertainment?

You were even more surprised when Astarion agreed.

“You make quite a first impression,” he reassured you with a smirk. “Rest assured; I have no hard feelings. Those who points a blade towards another ought not complain when one is pointed back.”

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reply. Instead, you followed Shadowheart out of the clearing. It wasn’t far to go where you knew Gale would be trapped within a teleportation portal. It bothered you slightly that you couldn’t hear Astarion following you, yet you knew he was. His amusem*nt was almost audible.

Your shoulders tensed without your say so. You felt exposed and weak without your previous senses and powers. Being forced to rely solely on your mortal body would definitely be a challenge, especially when you couldn’t recall how weak you had used to be. None of this was going to be easy, and it was a mission you felt wholly unprepared for.

Your heart was filled with confusion. Wondering if you had at all made the right choice. You had told the ascendant that you needed autonomy to decide on your own, but there was no turning back now. You had made your choice when you had accepted Gale’s help. Though you hadn’t expected him to send you back to the beginning.

You wanted to hate Astarion for manipulating you, but deep down you knew you still loved him. You had been in a trans for so long, stuck in that dream of love that he had weaved for us. It had been such a sweet dream, and now you had woken to this nightmare. Where you were free but alone.

The hair on your nape suddenly bristled and you heard the inhale of a breath. Your hand instantly went to your dagger, and you glanced over your shoulder. Astarion was walking a few feet away. At your attention, he smiled but there was a tightening of the line around his eyes that betrayed he was not as calm as he wanted to portray. It was an expression of caution.

For a brief second, you wondered if he had been smelling your hair, before discarding the ridiculous idea. Astarion had no reason to be interested in you currently, after all. You were but a stranger to him now.

Chapter 3: A light in the dark

Chapter Text

When was the last time you had slept outside? A century for sure. Like Astarion had once said: laying down in the dirt is a little novel.

After picking up Gale, the hour had grown late, and it had been decided to set camp for the night. Most of the equipment was scavenged. We had thankfully stumbled over an abandoned camp with tents, most likely the same one as the last time.

Interacting with a mortal Gale was certainly interesting. The sudden realization that you had forgotten his original eye colour took you by surprise. They were a hazel hue that reflected his emotions and his humanity. A touch of brown offering an earthy warmth and flecks of green adding a hint of animation.

The bronze of godhood gave away to the warm flesh of a mortal man. He appeared surprisingly tanned despite his self-imposed confinement in his tower for an entire year.

No longer being able to smell the ozone of his magic put your teeth on edge. You were left having to observe people rather than being able to sense them if you wanted to know their locations. It felt as if someone had cut off one of your limbs and now you were left fumbling around trying to figure out how to function without.

Gale had prepared dinner from the measly rations that hadn’t been ravaged by wild animals. You were surprised to see Astarion by the fire, eating with the rest. Though it only took a moment to notice he was simply moving the same pieces of food around on his plate and distracting anyone to this fact by chatting.

Right. Of course. The others didn’t know he was a vampire yet.

You watched the trio for a long moment, they all looked so… young. Carefree despite the peril of their journey. Less stressed, even Gale who caried a bomb in his chest. After a second, you approached. By habit you sat down on the log next to Astarion.

You realized your mistake immediately and couldn’t keep your body from tensing. Eyes darting in the vampire spawn’s direction to see if he reacted negatively to your presence. If he did, he didn’t show it as he continued chatting about something or the other. Still just stirring his spoon around.

You shifted a little, making more space between you.

Gale handed you a bowl with food, and the scent immediately wafted into your nostrils. It was enough to make your mouth water. With a start you realized you couldn’t quite recall the last time you had eaten actual food. Your diet had been quite liquid for at least a few decades now. When had your Astarion banned solid food in the palace?

You… couldn’t remember. He had shared the contract of Mephistoles with you, yet taken away all the pleasures that came with it. The sunlight and the food. It made you swallow thickly at the realization of how utterly isolated you had become from your former life. Until all the remained was the Vampire Bride at his side.

You could feel the heat of the food through the wooden bowl. The blobs floating around in the stew didn’t seem particular appetizing. But it didn’t stop you from putting the spoon to your mouth. The flavours exploded across your palate. Unused to the texture.

You were used to drinking not eating, and the lack of practice had you bite your tongue by accident.

You winced slightly, but a quick glance around indicated that no one was paying attention to you. Focusing back on the bowl, you took another bite. Trying to pay attention to the flavours this time. They felt warm and comfortable, where blood tasted potent and intoxicating. Like a fine wine. This stew on the other hand reminded you of the circle of life. Of the earth that the vegetables had grown in, and the forest the animal whose meat you were consuming had run through.

A lump suddenly formed in your throat, and it took you a moment longer to realize why your lungs were suddenly burning. Before you could stop yourself, you had already spit out the food and started to cough. Spit and slime coated the back of your throat as you tried desperately to inhale a mouthful of air.

A hand met your back, and you immediately recoiled from the touch as you rose to your feet. The bowl fell from your hands and the content spilled across the forest floor. With a snarl on your lip that grated the soreness of your throat, you hissed at the intruder.

“Don’t touch me.”

Astarion lifted a hand up, attempting to placate your sudden rush of fury. “I was just trying to help,” a small, placating smile curled in the corner of his lips, in that pretty way that he knew to put people at ease.

“I don’t need anyone’s help,” you threw back and turned to leave. Not caring that they would gossip about your strange behaviour. You just couldn’t be around them anymore, pretending like everything was normal.

You had been so focused on the food that you had forgotten to breathe again. How stupidly inconvenient was this mortal body? The Ascendant had enjoyed kissing for hours that you kind of just stopped the habit of breathing. It was driving you insane, these small little inconveniences.

“What an interesting woman,” you heard Gale comment as you walked away, probably thinking you couldn’t hear them. “First two things I’ve heard her say.”

“She wasn’t as intense on the nautiloid. More talkative. Bubbly if you will,” Shadowheart replied, her soft and contemplative.

You wanted to snap at them for talking behind your back, but managed to swallow the impulse.

“Sudden peril will sombre anyone’s mood, I suppose,” the wizard mused.

“Perhaps,” she replied evasively.

You were slightly surprised that Astarion didn’t join in the gossiping, but you could feel his gaze burning into your back as you stalked away.

You decided to crawl into your tent and closed the flap just to get away from the attention. You could still see the light of the fire reflect through the fabric, and you laid down on the bedroll as you sighed deeply. This wasn’t going well at all. You should just kill the pale elf and get this over with. Why were you even trying to do this? It was a silly idea. You were no one’s hero or saviour, you never had been.

The tent felt almost claustrophobic and the bedroll was barely above sleeping on the stark ground. It took you forever trying to find a comfortable position without a stone or a root digging into your back. Even then, sleep didn’t come for you. The air felt cold, and it took you another minute to realize why you couldn’t sleep.

It’s the first time in a long while that you have slept alone. The knowledge made you grimace with chagrin. Astarion had made you completely reliant on him, to the point you couldn’t even sleep without his presence. Without his body warm and solid next to you, more often than not with an arm around your waist. You could always feel him like a warm presence in your mind, lulling you to sleep.

You hated the fact that you felt cold and alone now. The bride part of you craved his touch, missed his warm and protective presence. You squashed down the feeling immediately and closed your eyes. But even your breathing sounded too loud in the small room.

In an effort to distract yourself from these feelings, you focused on the sound of your companions’ voices in the background. You were too far away to eavesdrop – though if you still had been a vampire, you could have heard them from the other side of the forest.

If you eventually fell asleep to the murmured voice of Astarion, you refused to acknowledge it.

You dreamt of darkened shadows that night. Of the black void in the sky. A flicker of images too fast to distinguish. It was like you were walking down endless corridors, with only darkness as your steady companion. The details surrounding you were obscured by the gloom, and the windows revealed nothing more than swirling mist and an infinite abyss. Whenever you attempted to look outside, the reflection staring back at you were distorted.

Your head felt weighted down by something heavy, but whenever you touched your hair, there was only swirls of misty shadows.

When you woke, it was pitch black. Your pulse immediately jumped, betraying your unease. You held your breath, but the thundering of your heart could easily be used to pinpoint you by any creature with enhanced senses. You needed to be calm, the unnatural darkness could only mean one thing. The camp was being attacked by shadows: not even your keen darkvision could see through magical darkness.

You reached for your dagger, and sat up slowly. Had the Ascendant found you and was simply playing a game of hide and seek? You only remembered to breathe when your lungs started to burn again. You tried to keep it slow and controlled, but it was a difficulty you struggled with due to your increasing unease. You refused to call it fear.

You slowly opened the flap of your tent, and with another jolt you realized the entire camp was dark. You couldn’t see anything. It made your breath hitch as a flood of despair rooted you to the spot. How could you expect to defend yourself if you couldn’t see anything? There were too many shadows to fight, and you knew he had to be creeping around somewhere, watching and waiting. Probably with an amused smile as he watched you floundering around like a fish out of water.

Before you knew it, your body was moving. Panic skittering down your spine with one thought and one thought only. You had to get away. You had to get out of the shadows. It was like you could sense them reaching for you, with clawed fingers, ready to swallow you up and present you to their master like eager puppies.

Barely a day ago, you could hear the whispers of the night. Not as loudly as Astarion, but still enough that you could easily wrap a shadow around your fingers and command them. But now the night was quiet, aside from your heavy breathing and the thunder of your pulse. You gritted your teeth at your sudden weakness, but you couldn’t fight if you couldn’t see.

You didn’t bother checking if any of the others were awake, the shadows had most likely muffled and gagged them if they weren’t dead already. You were a fool to think you could keep anyone safe, least of all yourself.

The ground was hard underneath the sole of your feet as you fled. You hadn’t bothered taking the time to put on shoes or grab any of your other equipment in your hurry. You would probably regret it later if your feet cut on some sharp rocks, but for now the only thing that mattered was getting away.

The shadows were closing in. Everything else be damned.

You didn’t get far before you ran into something. You both went tumbling over. A grunt by a familiar voice had your heart racing with dread. You quickly rolled to your feet, dagger at the ready as you blindly swiped in his direction. You still couldn’t see anything. The darkness all consuming. He was cruel for taking your sight, but perhaps he wanted to taste your fear.

“Calm down before you hurt yourself, darling,” Astarion grunted from the pitch blackness, and you didn’t hesitate before striking in the direction, but your blade found only air.

“I’m not going back,” you snarled, “you are not taking me back.”

You felt fingers reaching for your wrist, trying to disarm you. Panic bubbled through you; you didn’t want to become a thrall under his charm ever again. You were awake, for the first time in a century, you were truly and utterly awake to the horrors he had inflicted on you and the world.

You turned the blade with a slick movement and slashed it across his arm. You weren’t expecting to actually hit flesh, so when he hissed with pain, you felt boldened. This was the first time you had ever hurt the Ascendant, perhaps he hadn’t been expected you to be able to do so. But the tables were turned now, you weren’t his dutiful bride anymore. You had the advantage, knowing he didn’t want you to come to any harm.

The victorious feeling suddenly deflated a moment later as a warm light suddenly appeared. It blinded your vision for a moment, and you let out a hiss of pain as you glanced away, before turning your face back.

In the flickering flame on his palm, you could see Astarion’s face. His expression a mixture of wariness and concern. You noticed his clothes now, a worn frilly shirt of linen, not something the Ascendant would ever lower himself to wear again.

Now that you noticed that little detail, you could see the light reflecting off the closest trees. Illuminating in the dark. Glancing up, you could see the twinkling of stars and a sliver of a new moon.

Your breathing was still laboured, your chest heaving from the adrenaline and exertion as you tried to connect all the dots. You weren’t under attack by shadows. He hadn’t found you. You simply didn’t have night vision anymore. Gods below, you felt like such a fool. Panicking over nothing. It had been so long since you were human that you had forgotten you couldn’t see in the dark.

“You calm now?” Astarion asked, a placating smile on his lip but his eyes were hooded with weariness as if he expected you to lunge at him again.

Your eyes were fixated on the flame in his palm. You had completely forgotten about the innate magic of elves, truth to be told. It lapped against his fingers like writhing kittens that reminded you of how shadows used to react to his presence. You didn’t like the comparison. It had been a long time since you saw him use any other kind of magic but the corrupted vampiric ones.

“We need to stop meeting like this before I start taking it personal,” Astarion joked, most likely uneasy by your silent staring.

You slid your hands over your arms and held them against your chest by gripping your elbow. You didn’t care that it made you seem small and defensive in that moment. You were just wearing your night clothes and it was getting cold.

“I had a nightmare,” you lied with a soft voice. You didn’t want to know what would happen if you told anyone the truth.

“Must have been one hell of a nightmare,” he lifted an eyebrow, but thankfully didn’t push the subject. “Let’s return to camp,” he offered a moment later, “the fire died, and I was just getting some more drywood.”

The intonation of his voice indicated he was telling a lie. The unnecessary added detail speaking volumes, as if he felt the need to defend his presence out here despite you running into him. You wouldn’t have questioned it otherwise. No, he was probably trying to cover for the fact he was out hunting for blood.

You showed no indication that you knew he was lying. Let him keep his secrets and you yours. With a short nod you indicated for him to take the lead. In your panic you had no idea what direction you had run in.

You felt like such a fool, but that was something to dissect for another time. You should start making a list of things to remember lest you mucked it up again. On the top of your list were remembering to breathe while eating and the fact you could no longer see in the dark, for starters. It felt so completely bizarre how things that had come natural to you when you were alive was such a struggle now.

Once we reached the camp, getting the fire starting was a simple task. You sat down onto the log, staring into the light. You weren’t going to get any more sleep tonight. A part of you concerned about the panic of waking up in the dark again. You had been humiliated enough for one day.

Astarion didn’t seem concerned about sleep either, but he was an elf. He only needed to trance for four hours to feel rested. Instead, he found a sewing kit and started patching the holes on his clothing. The marks you had made on the fabric.

Watching him like this was so bizarre. Completely at odds with the image of the Vampire Ascendant in your head. That version would never lower himself to patch up his own clothing. Probably would have just thrown them out and ordered new ones to be made. It really hammered in the difference between them.

A century of luxury and power would do that to someone, you supposed. You couldn’t have imagined patching up your own clothing either, for that matter.

“What?” Astarion glanced in your direction, having noticed you staring, “I’m very flexible with my fingers. In more ways than one,” he smirked with a coy expression that wasn’t fooling anyone.

He was just flirting to lighten the mood, but underneath you could still sense the tension of his body. The unease of not knowing what box to place you in. The first time around he had seduced you for his own protection. Thinking you a naïve fool he could bend to his will – if only you had realized earlier that he was completely right. You had been a naïve fool to fall in love with a narcissist.

You wouldn’t make that mistake again. You knew him now, all his tricks. Knew very well exactly what he was capable off. The man who would swallow the sun and rule the darkness. You should kill him. Right now. With his teeth biting down on a piece of string as he kept his hand steady as he patched up his shirt, he would never see it coming.

“You are one of them silent types, aren’t you,” Astarion spoke again, “I like it. All mysterious. Stab first, ask questions later. A woman after my own heart. Though if I may come with one little complaint.”

You couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or not. You had the distinct feeling he was simply filling the silence with noise due to his own nerves. He was not as relaxed as he wanted to portray.

“What?” you decided to humour him.

“Keep the blades from me in the future, I might not be so merciful in response to your provocations again. The first time is just a polite hello. A second time, my bad for lowering my guard. But a third time? I would prefer not to imagine what the outcome of such an incident might entail,” he didn’t look up as he kept working. However, his tone was filled with a threat that left no room for interpretation.

It made you bristle for the wrong reason. His veiled threats were far more polite than you were used to. You could sense the fear that accompanied the words, the uncertainty. Two hundred years he had lived yet he still lacked the spine and confidence to back up his threat. Cazador hadn’t allowed any of his spawns to talk back, you imagined. Yet here he was, pretending he wasn’t afraid of the dangers of the world.

Perhaps this would have been endearing to you once upon a time. Astarion had refused to hide from Cazador, instead barrelling forwards despite the fear that made his knees shake. He had a purpose, either he died, or he ascended. No other outcomes occurred to him. He wanted to stop being so afraid, for his and your sake. He had said he had something to live for now. The moment he ascended the fear was gone. Like it had been sacrificed together with his soul.

Perhaps that was the moment he changed, and everything became different. Perhaps the part of him that you had loved was the man who clung to your shadow for protection.

Perhaps not.

You couldn’t quite recall.

“Duly noted,” you replied, realizing he was expecting a confirmation of his words. The moment you did, he relaxed marginally. Only visible to your keen eyes. You had spent a century learning his body language, of reacting the way he wanted you to. Even without his presence in the back of your mind you could read him like a book. It was disconcerting to learn exactly how attuned you were to his every mood.

Returning to the druid grove was like trying to recall a half-forgotten memory. A feeling of déjà vu where you remembered the lines of a play only after you had heard them. Then there was the blade of frontier, a person you had completely and utterly forgotten existed. Wyll was his name, he hadn’t accompanied the group for long. The moment you had agreed to help Minthara destroy the grove, he had left the party.

At the time, you had let yourself be convinced that it was the best course of action. To play along with the cult for the greater good. Besides, you had let yourself believe they were shadow druids due to a wilful misinterpretation of Kagha’s letter in the swamp just to ease your conscience.

You were given some looks from your companions when you were rather adamant Wyll joined your party. If you were to be the moral compass of this group, then the world would be truly and utterly f*cked once more. No, what we needed was someone who was infuriatingly nice to the point of annoyance.

About halfway into a one-sided conversation with Zevlor as you listened to his plight with disinterest – happy that Wyll took the initiative to look concerned – you recalled you had forgotten about rescuing Lae’zel.

With a frustrated grimace, you left the room without a word. Leaving Wyll to do whatever needed to be done. You tried to remember where you had picked her up. She had been captured by tieflings if you recalled correctly, it shouldn’t be too far away. Of course, there was a chance you misremembered completely.

If you could save three out of four you would take it as a win at this point. Plus, you had Wyll now, perhaps leaving one behind would be fine. That was still four people after all.

Your inner monologue was interrupted with a searing sensation in your chest. Like your insides were being pulled apart. You pressed a hand against it with a grimace and attempted to breathe through the pain.

Right. You had a soul that acted like your conscience now. You could no longer afford to be so indifferent to people’s lives. Sometimes it felt like there was two people in your head. The century old vampire bride and the cheerful soul that wanted to be a saviour. They acted like a devil and an angel on your shoulder. You didn’t know which part was more annoying.

“Is something the matter, dear?”

Your shoulders tensed slightly in surprise. You swallowed down the pain in your chest and straightened your spine as you turned to face Astarion. With a slight grimace you realized you hadn’t noticed he had followed you out.

“Go away,” you grunted instead and turned away from him.

“Not a chance,” he retorted, his expression light and a small smirk curled in the corner of his lips, “whatever mischief you are up to ought to be more interesting than listening to that drivel.”

“If you are trying to get away from being altruistic, you are following the wrong person,” you continued, not letting him affect you, “I was just about to ask this granny if she needs help foraging for herbs in the forest.”

Your eyes searched the cave, looking for a scape goat and only stopping once you noticed a certain old woman. It had been so long that you had completely forgotten about Ethel. The residential hag.

“By all means, go on then,” Astarion smirked, his crimson eyes sparkling with distant stars as he called your bluff, “don’t let me keep you from helping old grannies.”

You sent him an unamused glare. You had hoped to sneak away and rescue Lae’zel. You couldn’t exactly be forthcoming as to exactly why you were backtracking in a specific direction, nor did you have any grounds to insist on going there. If you bored him, perhaps the pale elf would wander off elsewhere.

With a suffering sigh, you approached Ethel. You hadn’t exactly planned on getting involved with this whole thing again, though you supposed if you were trying to be a good person and teach the rest then perhaps you should do something to stop her.

When the burn in your chest flared up in warning at your reluctance, you caved.

What a pain.

Ethel was just as eccentric as you remembered her to be and Astarion was just as amused by her antics. Though the conversation quickly went in a different direction than expected. She had taken one look into your eyes before sparkling with interest.

“You are far from home, aren’t you, petal?” Her smile was deceptively sweet with concern, just underneath the surface you could sense her eagerness. “Something in there that doesn’t belong. And I’m not talking about that little wriggling worm of yours.”

You felt Astarion’s gaze burn into the back of your head with curiosity. The familiar presence sent a shiver down your spine as if you could feel it crawl across your skin. You shifted slightly, succumbing to the urge to roll your shoulder with restlessness.

“Watch your tongue,” your voice turned clip with warning to mask your anxiety, “I am not so blind to your nature either.”

Approaching her had been a grave mistake. You should have known the hag could sense something was off. That you were different. Though you were dying to know precisely what she had noticed, though you didn’t dare with Astarion acting like your shadow currently.

The difference in our usual dynamic made something inside of you squirm with unease. He was the one who was supposed to take charge. The one to talk for us. He led and you followed, he made an order and you listened. Astarion should be standing by your shoulder or the front to protect you, or even hovering over your shoulders so you knew he was there. Not stand a respectful distance away. Part of you wanted to reach out and pull him in, before you squashed the impulse.

It was just a remanence of an old life, you reminded yourself. This was not the Astarion that had held your leash so tightly.

“I wouldn’t presume otherwise, sweetie. Just a simple observation,” Ethel’s smile was the perfect amount of placid to calm your nerves, “you simple must come by my house for some tea. I might have just the thing to help with your current condition.”

You frowned slightly, “you will have no effect against these tadpoles.”

“Oh no, petal, I didn’t mean that condition,” her smile was secretive, her eyes sparkling with interest at the realization she knew something you didn’t. It was enough to make you grit your teeth in annoyance.

Gods below, how you hated dealing with hags. After a moment of reluctance, you gave her an ambiguous nod before turning and leaving. You were curious as to what she was talking about but definitely not sure if this was worth the risk.

“I will see you later, sweeties,” the granny called out, but you ignored it.

Astarion dodged your footsteps, his curiosity still drilling holes into the back of your skull. You sent him an unimpressed glare.

“Anything you want to share with the group?” he asked with a light expression, as if he was nonchalant to the answer.

“You first,” you grunted, your eyes narrowed.

“I really don’t think –“

“Well, it’s a good thing you don’t get paid to think,” you interrupted with a sharp voice.

You watched his brows raise in shock at your words, a budding smile on his lips. Astarion crossed his arms over his chest, eyeing you from head to toe, and you felt something twist in your gut at his perusal.

“Are you always this feisty or is that privilege just reserved for me?”

“I have nothing to gain from humouring a stranger,” your voice laced with irritation, not keen on giving him an inch.

His face fell slightly at your hostility and unwillingness to banter. He held up a hand in defeat. “So much hostility in such a pretty package, aren’t you? Fine, keep your secrets. Can’t blame a man for being curious.”

You tried not to grimace, you should stop letting your temper affect you. You were trying to play nice, but it was difficult dealing with this version of Astarion. These version of everyone, truth be told. You had once been a refined empress, and now you were acting like you had no control over your feelings and impulses. You hated the loss of face. The Ascendant would definitely have tutted at you with disapproval if he saw how far you had fallen.

You felt torn between two directions. The vampire that you used to be and the mortal you were currently. Both skins felt unfitting and wrong. Your moods too erratic for your liking.

“I’m going to go find whatever substitutes a powder room in this gnarly place. Do not follow me,” you warned him and turned to leave. When he didn’t follow you this time, you were relieved he respected your need for privacy.

In the back of your mind, you wondered when the last time the Ascendant had allowed you to walk away from him. It both filled you with a rush of excitement and a pang of wrongness at the same time.

When you returned two hours later with a Githyanki in tow, it was met with a chorus of surprise. Disapproval from Shadowheart understandably, the two having never gotten along. It was only later that you had realized it was because the cleric was afraid of being caught with a stolen and precious artefact belonging to the gith.

Astarion’s curiosity was palpable, like a living thing that crawled over your neck. Though you were grateful that he didn’t ask his questions out loud. He was intelligent enough to know you had lost your tail for a reason. You disliked the fact you hadn’t been as clever about it as you had planned. Perhaps you should have just left Lae’zel to rot in the cage.

Thankfully, none of the other companions seemed at all suspicious about this new development. Instead, they caught you up to speed with what information they had gathered in your absence. The leader of the grove was a renounced healer, but he was currently missing. Presumably kept hostage by the goblins.

A man named Halsin.

A familiar name that niggling something in the back of your mind with a half-forgotten memory. It was only later in the evening as we set camp that the memory resurfaced. Astarion and you had been throwing rocks at a bear inside a cell. The beast had torn down the lattice in its fury and you had killed it. Only for the bear to transform into a man.

There was a slight possibility that this bear had been the druid Halsin, though you couldn’t quite be sure. Had you felt guilty in the aftermath? What kind of hero hurts beasts? You didn’t know, it had been too long since then. At any rate, this time you wouldn’t allow yourself to be persuaded to throw rocks at it, that was for certain.

Mealtime went marginally better this time. Gale had exchanged some of the gear looted from the goblin corpses for fresh rations and cooked up what he called a proper meal with Wyll’s assistance. It had only occurred to you afterwards that perhaps you should have offered to help. That’s what people do when they are equals right?

You remembered to breathe between each bite of food, letting the conversation of the group wash over you. Wyll with his tall tales about monstrosities he had fought, but also mentioned he was hunting for a one-horned devil.

The blade of frontier and his one-horned devil…

You smacked your lips, tasting the story experimentally and felt it stir a memory inside of you. A tall, bulky woman came to mind. Wasn’t she supposed to be a tiefling, or did you remember incorrectly? What had been her name again? Something on the letter K… or perhaps M. She had left the party with Wyll all those years ago, hadn’t she?

You had been so engrossed with your thoughts, that it took a moment to notice Shadowheart approaching you. She cleared her throat to catch your attention. Your eyes flickered to hers in curiosity.

“Astarion mentioned you getting lost in the woods last night without any light to guide your way,” she started, and you immediately tensed with suspicion. She must have noticed your expression tightening as she attempted to smile to appease you as she added, “when you had to relieve your bladder.”

You didn’t answer, simply eyed her carefully. Wondering where she was going with this and exactly why Astarion had gossiped. Was he trying to turn the other companions against you this early in the game whilst everyone was still distrustful of each other? He could probably sense that out of all of them, you were the greatest danger to his life.

You should kill him. Go straight to his tent and decapitate him before this got any further. You couldn’t not risk the chance that the rest would stop you. Your eyes flickered across the camp, expecting a fight. Wyll and Gale was busy with cleaning plates and Lae’zel was outside her tent cleaning her crossbow. You were certain she could have it pointed towards you any second now if she wished.

Astarion was suspiciously missing. Maybe he ran just in case, or slinking up to you right now from the bushes whilst Shadowheart were keeping you occupied. How elaborate was this plan of theirs to take you down? It didn’t matter, they could kill you, you just needed to get to Astarion first. You would not permit him to live past your own life.

Keeping your eyes on Shadowheart, you waited for any signs of attack. Any abrupt movement. You needed to take down the cleric first, if she was immobilized then she couldn’t cast command or hold person on you.

You had to pretend you didn’t know about their plans, keeping your expression calm, you slowly rose to your feet. Not wanting anyone to take it as provocation, if you were to have a chance you needed to be on your feet.

Your eyes flickered to her wrist when she withdrew something from a pouch. The moment her attention was off you, you curled your fingers around a hidden blade. Was she going to cast a spell? You were faster, you were certain of it.

“Here,” she said, holding out her hand. “This will help you with your issue. Seeing as you are the only one of us that can’t see in the dark or cast a light cantrip.”

You froze at her words. Your breath hitching in your throat as you looked at the little stone in her hand. It glowed softly with a white light.

For a long moment you thought this was part of an elaborate plan to keep you occupied long enough for someone to sneak up on you and slice your throat. But when nothing happened, you slowly held out your hand to accept it. She placed it in your extended palm.

“I will need to recast it tomorrow as it will only last for a few hours,” she explained, “but it’s better than nothing. Would be a shame if you were lost in the woods and eaten by wolfs.”

The stone was cold to the touch, the magic just a soft hum of light. You had almost expected it to be warm.

“I…” you trailed of for a moment, genuinely surprised at her actions, “thank you.”

You eyed her warily as she nodded and left. You couldn’t imagine your Shadowheart do anything like this. Had she always had such a bleeding heart? Your fingers curled around the stone tightly and you clenched your jaw.

Don’t fall for it, you reminded yourself. You knew exactly what was going on. Astarion was just trying to win brownie points. To make you lower your guard and get into your good graces. That scheming bastard, you thought darkly. He could have used what happened last night against you, but had decided to pretend to care. You wondered what he had done or offered to convince Shadowheart to do this.

You should throw the stone away. You didn’t want to be beholden to any of them. Couldn’t allow yourself to care if you had to do what was needed to be done. Compassion was a weakness you couldn’t afford –

The pain in your chest flared up again, and for a moment you couldn’t breathe. You pressed a hand against your chest as if you could somehow alleviate the pressure. Your fingers curled into the flesh.

“Are you hurt?” Shadowheart stepped forward, her voice filled with alarm, her hand reaching for you, but you pushed it away.

“I’m fine,” you gritted out through clenched teeth before stumbling away from her, “just need some water.”

You only stopped once you could sink against a tree a few feet away from the camp. You hated the fact she had seen you like this in a moment of weakness. It was lucky that every person in this camp had some dark secret to hide, you thought with an amused grin, that no one dared being overly curious about each other lest their own mystery came to light. Shadowheart had her own strange flare of pain to hide.

The burning sensation only increased, knotting in your chest so tightly your breathing came out in shallow gasps. It tasted like bile in the back of your throat.

“Fine,” you mumbled under your breath, “I get it. I’ll play nice. Just stop.”

Like a miracle, the pain stopped, and you could finally breathe again. You didn’t know what was happening to you, but you could recognize that it seemed to be working like a moral compass. To keep your mind from spiralling completely. The light burning away the darkness that threatened to consume you was perhaps an apt description of the situation.

If you wanted this mission to succeed, you needed your two halves to work together. Balance it somehow. It was just simply too easy to lose yourself in your old thinking patterns. You needed to be better, try to do better, for them. For the world.

You couldn’t be callous and uncaring anymore. Nor suspicious thinking everyone wanted to take advantage of you. You needed to attempt to trust them without having power over them. You had done it once… hadn’t you?

You looked down on the stone that Shadowheart had given you. Just focused on breathing and calming your mind. It glowed softly in your hand. In the end, you didn’t throw it away. It illuminated your tent that night with a soft glow. Whenever you woke, it was reassuring that your tent wasn’t filled with darkness and shadows anymore. That there was a hint of light that reminded you of where you were now.

As long as you could see, you knew for certain that he hadn’t found you. It comforted and soothed you more than you would like to admit.

Come next evening when Shadowheart asked if you wanted her to reapply the cantrip, you were tempted to tell her that you weren’t a child that needed a night lamp, but you didn’t want to risk her deciding to retract the offer.

Chapter 4: Shadow reflection

Chapter Text

Astarion was playing with fire he didn’t understand. You had expected him to stay away from you. You had after all tried to stab him on two different occasions. Yet it seemed he was determined to make you like him. He had taken your indifference to his charming smiles and flirting jokes as a challenge.

You weren’t swayed, slightly amused perhaps, mostly irritated. He should have more wits and survival instinct to know not to poke the bear. Perhaps he was determined to get to the bottom of whatever you were hiding. Like a boy pulling at a girl’s ponytail.

You were just thankful he hadn’t tried to bite you yet, you were pretty sure you would stab him if he did. At this point in the adventure, you were pretty certain he had already attempted it by now last time. You could see his growing hunger, the uncertainty in his gaze as he tried to hide it from their residential monster hunter. He tried so hard for everyone to like him, that it came over as a little overbearing. Trying too hard.

It came as no surprise then, that he immediately latched onto Karlach when she joined the party. Making her feel welcome and using her as a shield. If they could accept a one-horned ‘devil’ that had fought in the armies of hell and a warlock with a fiend yanking his chain, then surely, they could accept a little undead like him that amused everyone with his wits and charms.

Performing tricks, much like Scratch did. All bark and no bite.

It slightly amused you, watching him act so desperate. Every word and nervous smile were soaked with growing unease and fear. He could feel the trickling sand of an hourglass in the back of his mind. He needed to win everyone over before the secret was accidentally revealed. You wondered when he would get desperate enough to try crawl into anyone’s bedroll.

Though even as the thought occurred to you, you couldn’t help the sudden flare of anger and jealousy at the thought of watching Astarion kiss anyone. The emotion overwhelmed you so much you felt like punching something. It was a pressure in your chest equal to the one the soul occupied that you couldn’t breathe.

He was yours, and you were his. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t your Astarion. The bride still coveted him with a possessive passion that made you want to eat his heart. You wanted to dig it out of his chest if he so much as dared to touch anyone else.

We had been practically married for a century. You had loved and coveted him, and you had been his most priceless treasure.

Sometimes you would link your arm with Astarion without thinking, or lean closer just to get a whiff of his perfume. It was different than the one was using in the future, but the familiarity still made something purr inside of you.

Sometimes when he approached you would lean your chin up in anticipation, expecting a kiss in greeting. Or you would brush a hand against his shoulder to read his emotions, only to realize you couldn’t. Once or twice, you had sought his body warmth only for him to run cold.

Whenever he spoke, you would immediately stop and listen. Only remember to breathe again once he finished.

Every day, you tried to remind yourself that you were a human being. No longer a vampire, no longer the bride of the Ascendant. Astarion’s priced possession. You were trying to build walls around you, to establish your independence and separate your identity from him.

But unconsciously, you found yourself reverting back to old patterns, as if you had been trained to accept them. It was as if the walls you had built around yourself crumbled from old habits, and you were once again wrapped up in the web of his control and influence.

Sometimes you forgot yourself. A splatter of blood on your hands and you would automatically lick it off. Only to grimace at the metallic flavour and spit it back out. Praying that no one noticed.

Sometimes you could see Wyll watching you with a contemplative expression, much as he had done Astarion once upon a time. Did he suspect something was awry? Was your behaviour so odd that he could unconsciously pick up on it? It didn’t bode well for you if he started making accusations.

At least Astarion was simple. Pale, red eyes and fangs with a diet of blood. Easy to sus out as a vampire if anyone really thought about it hard enough. But you? Your body might be human, but your mind was vampiric in nature. How do you explain the clusterf*ck of that? Perhaps you should tell them a version of the truth. Of what you are. A time traveller. One returning to the past to save the world from destruction.

They might believe you, but what if you told them that they are the ones who threatens the world? Would it make them want to change their ways, or run to it, knowing that world domination was in their grasp. Everything they desired. Gale would become a God, Shadowheart would succeed in becoming a dark justiciar and Shar’s chosen, Lae’zel the githyanki kith’rak, and Astarion would be the emperor of two worlds.

You doubted the truth would curb their ambition.

After the whole ordeal with Mizora, Wyll had tried to persuade everyone that being open about their secrets were the only way to work as a team. Easy for him to say, having been forced to reveal his hand. It came as no surprise when the only ones to agree where Karlach and Lae’zel, the latter being very open about precisely what her goals were.

Gale, Shadowheart and Astarion kept quiet during the conversation, and you just sat there with an amused expression.

After a century, you barely remembered the events that had transpired all that time ago, least of all the chronology of them. What happened where or how or for what reason.

The Book of Thay being one of them. It was only when you climbed down the hatch of the apothecary in the blighted village that it suddenly occurred to you. You should definitely keep that blasted book away from Astarion this time around. He could do without the whispers. Never did anyone anything good, having insidious thoughts in your head that weren’t your own.

You had become quite the expert on the subject.

It would also be the first steps to keep him from learning how to complete the rite of profane ascension.

While the rest scavenged the room, you conveniently stood in front of the hidden switch. Making sure no one noticed. It was safer that way.

You let the group’s friendly banter drown in the echo of activities, uninterested in participating. Perhaps you could afford being more friendly, but you fell at a loss on how to proceed. You couldn’t quite remember the last time you had friends. For so long, the only one you had needed was Astarion. It had been just the two of you, and an army of servants and spawns.

You had subordinates, not friends. In the end, even Shadowheart and Minthara had been reduced to that, you could recognize that now. It filled you with unease, trying to remember what it had been like when you had travelled with this group the first time around. Had you joked around the campfire with the rest of them? Had you approached everyone individually to grow friendship? Or had you sat alone in your tent as you did now every evening?

You couldn’t quite recall, the memories just a black sludge in the fractured dreams of your past.

Your eyes swiped around the room with disinterest, keeping your expression neutral and aloof in order to deter anyone from approaching. The reflection of a mirror took you two glances before you realized what was off with it. Once you noticed, a jolt of surprise had you stiffening your spine.

You threw a quick glance towards your companions, though no one seemed interest in your corner of the room just yet. You allowed your attention to drift back to the mirror. With a slight hesitation, you approached, bringing your hand to your face just to make sure it was truly you.

Of course, you had never lost your reflection. Astarion, with his many vain and narcissistic habits, always kept plenty of mirrors around. As the vampire ascendant’s bride, keeping your reflection was one of many powers that he shared with you.

No, that wasn’t the issue at all.

When you looked into the mirror, the eyes that met yours were not the reds that you had grown so accustomed to. The bright red irises of the vampire had become so familiar, so deeply ingrained within your psyche, that it took a moment of reflection before you could recognize the change of hue as your own in the mirror.

As a vampire, they had been a softer, paler hue than Astarion’s crimson. He always used to compare them to the sweetness of roses, a symbol of his love and affection. With your new pale and bloodless cheeks and freckles faded from the lack of sun, your eyes had been the most striking feature on your face.

You had intimately known that face, peered at it in mirrors and in the reflection of Astarion’s eyes for three times as long as you had been a mortal.

But now?

You realized with a lightning bolt that you had forgotten the colours of your eyes that you had been born with. The vibrant orbs felt both out of place yet so perfectly aligned with the rest of you. Your cheeks were flushed with the blush of life. The sun kissed skin clear evidence of your adventuring days. Each freckle only deepened the depth of your features, lending a youthful and innocent façade to your appearance.

It felt so imperfect in comparison to the face you had become so accustomed to as a vampire. The pale and porcelain skin of yours, so akin to a delicate and priceless doll, had been the perfect canvas for every angle and curve of your face. Your styled hair had only added to the aesthetic, lending a touch of elegance and refinement to your overall visage.

Each detail, from a flawless complexion to a well-braided hairstyle, as directed by Astarion, complemented your features effortlessly and brought out your natural beauty. The result was the picture of a refined and queenly figure, one that would be the envy of any court in the realms.

Now though, as you stared into the mirror, the image of your former self filled you with part revulsion and part intrigue. The split and dried ends of your hair made them look frayed and unruly, a far cry from the flawless braids that you had previously worn.

Even worse, this was the image that Astarion had first fallen in love with. Your features and appearances had become so much more refined as his vampire bride, so different from the young and carefree beauty he had been drawn to before.

Perhaps it was the life in your eyes and the blood flushing on your cheeks that that attracted him to you initially. You had no clue. Right now, the only thing you could focus on was the wrongness of your face. How it was both foreign and familiar at the same time

The two faces were in conflict, as the woman you had once been, and the woman you had become, were neither quite right and didn't quite fit for long. The conflicting images blurred together, no longer making sense as they overlapped. Each had a piece of your identity, but neither had a complete picture.

It took you a moment longer to realize that the puncture wounds from his bite that marred your neck were no longer there. Astarion had been so awfully fond of showing off the skin for all to see his ownership of you. You couldn’t help but reach up and let your fingers dance over the unblemished skin.

“Have you found something?”

Your shoulders stiffened in surprise; you hadn’t noticed anyone sneak up on you. You quickly dropped your hand from your face as if burned or caught red-handed. For a moment your eyes lingered on the empty space on the mirror, where Astarion’s reflection should have been.

“Nothing of interest,” you replied evasively. It wasn’t a lie.

You could almost feel his cold breath where it stirred the fine hairs on your nape as he leaned closer.

“I wouldn’t say that. Even the gods themselves find distraction in the beauty of a reflected image,” the sound of his playful tone was like a caress that sent shivers down your spine. “Yours is certainly one to behold.”

The air shifted behind you as he moved away, and it only took you a second to realize he had made such a flirting remark just to distract you from noticing the absence of his reflection. He moved into your periphery and behind the mirror. With a dexterous flicker meant to go unnoticed by your keen eyes, he jostled the glass an inch to cover for his blind spot.

“Couldn’t say the same about some of our companions,” he continued, a grin flickered in the corner of his lips, “we better cover it up before their ghastly visage breaks the poor thing.”

You didn’t stop him as he threw a piece of a fabric over the glass, blocking your view of your mirror image. You were amused by his antics, at how hard he was trying to cover up his true nature.

“I’m sure I wouldn’t like to know where I rank on your list of most to least attractive,” you couldn’t help quipping back.

Astarion’s smile possibly grew, his crimson eyes sparkling with humour. He was about to reply when you heard a rustling sound behind you. Tensing, you immediately turned to the noise. With a grimace, you saw Gale by the wall you had been previously guarding. The hidden entrance was now open, and the wizard made a noise of excitement as he walked through the door.

sh*t.

You had become too distracted with the mirror and bantering with Astarion. You hoped you successfully managed to hide your unease. You needed to focus on your mission without any distractions if you were to succeed. Swallowing a grimace, you followed them into the next chamber.

The surprise attack by the skeletons were easily countered. You watched nervously as Gale approached the mirror, could only pray silently that he couldn’t get inside.

But of course. For Gale, that annoying bookworm, it was a simple task of receiving passage. While the rest were occupied with admiring the new room – and the occasional praise to the wizard, you immediately beelined for the book. Perhaps if you were quick enough, you could slip it into your backpack without anyone noticing.

You stepped over the trap you remembered being there – only because someone had triggered it the first time around. Unlocking the door, you pushed it open and reached for the book of Thay.

It was just as hideous looking as you remembered. Appeared to be made of human skin and like a face was attempting to escape the bookbinding. Mouth open in a perpetual scream. Though you noticed vaguely that the purple gem that you remembered being in its jaws was missing.

The moment your fingers touched the book, pain flared up your arm. Like something crawling under your skin. Before you could stop yourself, a scream of pain escaped your lips, and you dropped the tome as if it had burned you. The pain coagulated in your chest, knotting to the point you couldn’t breathe.

It was different to the sensation when you could feel your soul squirm under your skin. This was something else. Something darker and twisted. You could practically taste the corruption in the back of your throat. You doubled over as the pain only increased; whatever necromancy magic that protected the book seemed to clash with something inside of you.

You had no recollection of this happening last time.

“What’s wrong?”

You felt hands on you, tugging you away from the alcove. The distance did nothing to lessen the pain that spread through your body like black tar. It was stealing every shallow breath you tried to inhale, filling your head with a cacophony of whispers you couldn’t comprehend. Coldness spread through you like wildfire, chilling you to the very bone.

“Gale, I think she touched something,” Shadowheart’s fearful voice rattled through your mind.

The pain spread from your chest, radiating up your neck and dug it’s claws into the top of your head. Like nails or bolts drilling into the skin. It was a crushing and suffocating sensation, like something physically covering the sphere of your head. With a gasp you clutched your forehead, expecting to feel blood on your fingertips. Instead, you found that nothing was there, which only served to increase your confusion and fear.

“No one else touch it before I can figure out what it’s doing to Tav,” the wizard immediately barked at someone from somewhere in the room. You weren’t quite sure if you were moving or standing still, everything was spinning.

Your knees gave out on you, and you would have fallen to the floor if not for Shadowheart catching you. Every shallow breath rattled through your lungs, and you weren’t certain if it was the tadpole or something else sinister you felt squirming in your head. It was enough for you to clutch your head at the blinding ache.

“Stay with me, Tav,” Shadowheart’s alarmed voice seemed to drown in the buzzing of your head. You couldn’t even close your eyes before darkness swept you away in the sensation of falling. As if you were slipping through the floor and into an ever-spiralling void.

Images and scenes flickers across your vision too fast to grasp. One second you were watching the sun implode, the next you were basking in the sun in the emerald grass, then you were dancing. You were sitting on your throne, then you were standing on top of endless dead bodies. You were watching the ruins of the Fortress of Memories.

An endless stream of moments in time from the last century. Each and every one having one important component. Astarion’s presence always there in the corner of your eyes. You recalled every smile, every touch, every single glance in your direction, as if all the memories were soaked with him. It felt like they only mattered because he was there, the rest just background noise.

The flashes of images changed, narrowing down on your memories of Astarion. Our hands interlaced, kisses placed against your palm as we sat on our thrones. The vampire ascendant and his bride. Then we were dancing, his embrace tight and possessive. He was leading you in a dance, and you willingly followed.

The room spun, the motion of other people in the periphery of your vision were ignored and forgotten. The only ones that mattered were the two of you. As indicated by the mirrors that aligned the walls. The ballroom was full, but in the reflection, there was only the image of us.

His body was warm and comfortable and his crimson eyes was alit with bliss as he gazed back on you with dark adoration. A smile curled in the soft corners of his lips. You could feel him now, in the back of your head, how he was wrapped around your mind with a soft touch. How his very presence mingled with your emotions and thoughts. And you couldn’t help but feel how right this felt. Like you had been made whole again.

A piece of you had been missing, and now you were finally home. Where you belonged. In his arms. Where everything felt right.

Astarion held you too tightly, too intimate to be appropriate for a waltz. Each turn and slide were as if you were moving as one in an endless song.

“You are mine and I am yours,” he whispered to fill the silence between our dead hearts, the warmth of his breath ghosting across your face. The glow of his crimson eyes was intense as he gazed into yours. “It’s me, its you, it’s us. Aeterna amantes. Lovers forever. This is where we belong. Together.”

“You are my missing heartbeats,” you replied without missing a beat as you turned together. The swishing of our clothes moving as if made of pure darkness. “My morning star.”

The response pleased him as his eyes glimmered with satisfaction. His grip tightened ever so lightly, and you could feel the purr of his contentment of the scene filling your mind with his affection. It made you melt in his arms, the vampire bride wanting nothing more than to stay in this moment.

The touch of his hand crept up your back. His fingers lingered for a moment to caress your neck and the bitemark that bore the scars of his love and ownership. Then he reached for the top of your head, hand hovering just above your hair. In the corner of your eyes, you could see he was touching darkness that shifted and swirled on your head. Almost resembling a crown. You suddenly felt the weight of it where it was squeezing your skull.

You glanced up trying to see what it was, but as you looked, all you could see was the sun being devoured by tendrils of the night. The dying light quickly swallowed by shadows, until all that remained was a void in the sky and faraway stars glittering with a cold glow. A rhythmic noise filled your ears and it took you another beat to notice you were clapping.

You were no longer dancing. Astarion stood a few feet in front of you, a staff made out of blood and shadows and corruption clutched in his hands. Laughter spilled from his lips, a thrilling sound unlike any other you had ever heard him make. The silver of his hair was the only bright object in the night, and you felt transfixed at the image.

He turned to face you again, a wicked and smug smile on his lips and a deep crimson glow in his eyes the only light source. He was speaking, but you couldn’t hear him through the buzzing of your head.

The sun was only a morning star, and now he was the only thing you needed to light your path.

You could feel the vibrations of motion in the air, as if the world itself seemed to tremble at the presence of the Vampire Ascendant. Looking around, you saw a sea of faceless figures kneeling in reverence to the man who had just destroyed the sun. Their faces were turned toward the ground in a display of absolute devotion.

You recognized the faces of Minthara and Shadowheart behind you, their eyes downcast and respectful.

As you cast your eyes down, you noticed the ground was covered with twisted bodies. Some faces that you vaguely recognized and stirred the flashes of forgotten memories of old companions. Though you didn’t dare try dissecting them at the moment. Instead, you turned back to Astarion and slowly bent the knee.

You didn’t get far before he stopped you, his hand on your arm as he pulled you back up.

“No, my treasure, you don’t kneel,” his expression was one of smugness and triumph, something lurking in his eyes you had once read as devotion, but you could now recognize the darker undertone. It was one of satisfaction.

His complete victory was evident, his control over you absolute now that the sun was no longer a distraction in his mind. “You are my only equal. You complete me. The world shall bow to you and adore you just as much as I do.”

You truly believed he had meant it at the time.

You took a step forward, an urgent tug in the back of your mind pulling you to his side.

Then you were lying in bed. Covered in silken sheets and too many pillows to be feasible. A warm breath ghosted across your neck. The gentle caress of hands against your skin left goosebumps in its wake.

You were enveloped by Astarion’s scent. The heady notes of bergamot and rosemary and fine aged brandy engulfed your senses, conjuring up images of all the previous intimate moments shared between the two of you.

The familiarity of his essence was both tempting and tantalizing, a lure in itself. A reminder of all the good and the bad things of the night that he embodied. The blood and shadow magic of the vampire ascendant.

It was all so intoxicating to the vampire bride part of you.

You wanted to inhale his essence until every part of you were filled with him again. Your lungs, your veins, your body. You received your wish as he pushed into you a moment later, and you opened up to his advances like a night orchid under a pale moon.

With shaking arms, you clung to his form. Lifting your hips to meet his. You could feel his pleasure echoing in your mind, each touch and each thrust was shared between the strong bond between you. In these moments of intimacy you were truly one in body and mind.

“Astarion,” you gasped his name at a particular thrust that brushed a spot deep inside of you. You wrapped your legs around his, never wanting to depart from this moment.

“You are so gorgeous,” he whispered against your ear, breathy with devotion, “my beautiful consort. My perfect bride.”

He pressed his lips against yours, and you didn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss. Meeting his passion and desire with the same fervour. Teeth and tongue and lips moving in a dance perfected over the course of a century. It was lucky neither of you required air to breathe.

His fingers pressed into the flesh of your thighs, but the pain didn’t register as he lifted your hip slightly so his co*ck could push deeper. He groaned against your lips with appreciation at this new angle.

It had been days since he had last touched you, since you had touched him. Since you had traded kisses and glances across the room. A warmth pressure pooled in your stomach with need and arousal. It felt so good to have this craving finally satiated.

Astarion broke the kiss, only to press his lips against your cheek instead. His lips possessive and leaving trails of warmth. His gaze was fixated on yours; they were pooling with lust and reverence. It made you feel like you were his entire world, and nothing else mattered but this moment. This intimacy as your mind and body connected.

However, there was an intensity in his eyes you couldn’t quite place. A darkness that tethered on zealousness.

“It’s time for my wayward bride to come home.”

You stilled underneath him, his voice reverberating through the chamber. Both inside and outside of your mind. The vampire bride purred at his words, at his touch, at the feeling of his co*ck thrusting into your all too willing body.

But now you could remember that this wasn’t you anymore. His warm embrace suddenly felt tight and bruising, the scent of him suffocating and the pleasure wrong. You wanted to tear yourself away from his touch and tell him to stop but your throat felt filled with smoke. Your vision started to tremble at the edges. And you closed your eyes as if your vision alone could block you from the sensations.

You felt a cold breath against your neck, and before you could stop yourself you clamped your hand around his throat as you pushed him away. A noise of surprise escaped him. Your heart felt like thunder in your ears, and it was only then you realized your heartbeats had returned.

Fluttering your eyelids open, you stared up at Astarion where he was hovering above you. Your hand was still wrapped around his throat, and cold air replaced the warmth of the body from your dreams.

You noticed absentmindedly that you were fully clothed, your body empty and cold, and your mind was quiet once more.

For a moment you stared at Astarion silently, taking in everything that was wrong with this image. He was back wearing his old doublet, and his silver hair was parted the wrong way. His crimson eyes shifted with unease and a hint of fear. His lips were parted, and you could see his fangs glinting between the gaps.

You abruptly let go of his throat and sat up. Astarion immediately stumbled back. He didn’t need air so he didn’t try to catch his breath, the secret was out of the bag now anyway. He didn’t need to hide his identity any longer, at least not from you.

“You have been asleep for two whole days, and now you decide to wake up. Brilliant,” he muttered as he stroked the flesh you had bruised “just brilliant.”

You didn’t reply, you only stared at him silently, still trying to make sense of the sudden shift of scenes. One moment you had been in bed with the Ascendant, and now you were talking to the spawn. Apparently stopped him from trying to bite you. A realization that made your eyes darken slightly. The very thought of having his bitemark marring your skin again filled your heart with ice.

He must have seen the shift of your expression, as he immediately froze, before lifting his hands up in defence in case you were tempted to hit him. “Listen, I wasn’t going to hurt you. I just wanted a little taste,” he said with an awkward chuckle, trying to lighten the mood.

“Then you should perhaps ask someone who was awake enough to consent,” you retorted, not letting him off that easy.

His eyes flickered to your hands, probably expecting you to have reached for your weapons already. The fact you hadn’t, seemed to calm him ever so slightly, but his whole body was still tense as if he was expecting to have to bolt at a moment notice.

Probably an accurate understanding of the situation. You had already tried to stab him for less. He had probably only dared to try because you had been unconscious for two days. A detail you pushed back in your mind to worry about later.

Astarion grimaced a little. The small tick enough to reveal his hesitation. “There is just something about you that is just… intoxicating. Like your blood is calling out to me,” he admitted, “I can’t really explain it.”

You frowned a little at his words. This was not how the conversation had gone the last time. Not something your Astarion had ever told you, so it must be true. Now it was your turn to feel uneasy. You touched your chest, rubbing slightly as if you could sense whatever scent he could.

“What do I smell like?” you asked with a bathed breath, unsure if you wanted to know the answer.

He looked uncertain for a moment, his eyes flickering from your hands to your face. “You are taking this a lot easier than I had expected,” he tried to laugh it off.

“You are not the first of your kind I have met,” your smile was short, filled with dark secrets he had no chance of ever comprehending, “Answer the question.”

When you didn’t take the bait to change the topic, he pressed his lips into a dismayed line. “Like the whisper of the witching hour under a pale moon. Yet you appear human. I can taste the warmth of your blood in the air and hear the beating of your heart.”

Your breath hitched in your chest at his words. It didn’t bode well that he could somehow sense the change in you. But you were human right now. At least this body was. And you had a soul. There shouldn’t be a trace of the vampire bride, otherwise he would have called you out on it. No, there had to be a different explanation.

When you didn’t immediately reply, his expression shifted and he took an eager step forward as he searched your expression with a mixture of curiosity and glee.

“You know my secret now, I’m a vampire. It seems only fair to share and tell me precisely what you are.”

You tightened your jaw at his request. You hadn’t expected him to be so straight forward about this.

“I’m human,” you replied curtly.

“I don’t believe that for a second, darling. Your eyes are too old,” Astarion didn’t seem deterred at your anger as he dared inch a little closer. It seemed the excitement of having an ally sharing his condition was making him bolder. If there were two, then surely the rest would hesitate to drive a stake through his heart. “The secrets of the night clings like an extra layer of skin to you. Are you a Shade or shapeshifter? Lycanthrope? Or perhaps even a succubus.”

“I’m human now,” you snapped, your eyes narrowing in warning, “that’s all that matters.”

Perhaps you had revealed more than you intended, but it was clear he wasn’t going to let the matter rest otherwise.

He stopped approaching and crossed his arms as he scowled back. “Fine,” he scoffed, “keep your secrets. But I’m not going to defend you if the rest comes at you with pitchforks when they discover your true nature.”

“Says the vampire,” you couldn’t help retort with an edge to your voice.

He froze slightly at your words, his expression was dark as he glared at you, though you could feel a sense of unease and fear just below the surface. “Don’t think for a moment I won’t throw you to the wolves if I have to.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his response. It was a cold and cruel little thing. This was the first glimpse of his true personality you had seen so far. The selfish and bitter little boy. So far, he had tried to mask with charming smiles and flirting words, but now his façade had finally shattered and you could finally see it.

You could take advantage of this fear –

Your expression faltered as you felt your soul flare in your chest, leaving your breathless once more. Right. We weren’t here to be cruel but to make friends. Rehabilitate. Whatever that meant. You swallowed your cruel words and glanced away, breaking the tension in the air.

Now that your attention was off the vampire, you took a courtesy glance around the room. You were laying on a bedroll on the floor. You were still in the basem*nt of the apothecary, just back in the room you had first entered in. It seemed your companions had decided to drag you out here, perhaps to put distance between you and the book of Thay.

“Where is everyone?” you decided to change the topic to something more neutral.

Astarion must have noticed your attempt, as it took him a second before he decided to drop the previous subject. “Wyll and Karlach decided to run back to the emerald grove to see if the druids or any of the tieflings knew anything about this place,” he explained with a grunt, “Shadowheart has kept vigilance over you for a day and a half and finally getting some rest. Gale is somewhere, buried in his books and Lae’zel probably checking the perimeter.”

“So you volunteered to keep watch?” you lifted an eyebrow at him, there was something in his tone you couldn’t quite read, “hoping for a midnight snack I’m sure.”

Astarion rolled his eyes slightly, “something like that,” he muttered under his breath, before his tone turned flirty. “Only time I can really admire your pretty face is while you are fast asleep. Less chance of getting stabbed again.”

You ignored his comment. He always responded with insults or charm when he was feeling defensive you remembered.

“What did you do to the book?” you asked, the second question you were concerned about. Well, the first really. Your eyes slowly searched his body, not entirely sure what you would do if it was in his possession again. Maybe you should end this farce, whatever this strange game you were playing. You were really tempting fate by allowing him to live.

“Gale ate it,” humour filled his tone, even if you could sense a hint of disappointment on his face, “apparently our darling wizard devours magic items. He has a greedy little orb in his chest. At the time, he was hoping it would cancel the book’s influence on you.”

A hint of interest glowed in your eyes at his words. Gale had already revealed his secret to the party? What a curious development. Last time, he had held onto it until he was near bursting and could no longer feed the Netherese orb. If the wizard had consumed it, that meant that the tome was forever out of Astarion’s reach. Hopefully that would keep him from learning how to complete the rite of profane ascension.

It at the very least solved one of your problems.

You still had no idea why the necromancy book had such an adverse effect on you. But perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Astarion could smell something was different about you. There had to be a correlation, one you didn’t have all the clues about yet.

“What time is it?” you abruptly asked, your eyes flickering to the ceiling with a certain unbidden desire that crawled under your skin to see the open sky, just to make sure you were still in the past and that this wasn’t just an elaborate prank.

If the pale elf was surprised at your lack of reaction to his explanation, he didn’t show it. “Right before dawn I’d gather.”

Your heart jumped a little in your chest. You yearned to see the dawn again. You started to rise from the bedroll, but your legs trembled at the sudden motion. Right, you had been bedridden for two days, of course your body would feel weak.

“You should lay down,” Astarion was quick to grab your shoulder in case you collapsed. His touch was cold, and it filled you with unease at the sudden closeness. You would have shaken him off if you believed you could walk without support for even a second. “Get some more rest, I’ll go rouse Shadowheart –“

“I need to see the sunrise,” you interrupted him, a hint of desperation in your voice betrayed your desire.

It was enough that his expression faltered, something flickered in his eyes as he searched your face. Whatever he was thinking, you had no idea. You could of course connect yourself to his tadpole, but you felt reluctant to have him in your head. You had too many things you didn’t want to accidentally reveal to him.

To your surprise, he nodded and helped you to the ladder. It took you a moment to realize that he might be the only one of the group to really empathize with your plight. He had been denied the sun twice as long as you did. You wondered if he basked in the morning light too, just for the insurance that this freedom wasn’t just a cruel dream.

The climb up was arduous with your body trembling with exhaustion, but you finally managed to climb out of the latch. You more crawled than walked to the open wall and lifted your feet over the edge so you could watch the pink of dawn stretch across the sky. The view might have been better from the roof, but you knew you didn’t have the strength to climb up there on your own at the moment. Nor did you relish the thought of swallowing your dignity by asking Astarion for help.

The sight calmed some of your nerves. You weren’t in the Ascendant’s clutches anymore. You were free, though you couldn’t quite shake yourself from the elaborate dream you had. How his embrace had felt so right, how his scent in your nostrils were homey and comforting, and his presence in the back of your mind like you were finally made whole again.

You hadn’t realized before now, that the reason for the empty feelings were due to the void your soul had left behind when you had sacrificed your heartbeats for immortality. For him. He had made you so depended on him, that you felt hollow and incomplete if you strayed from his presence.

It filled you with soberness at the conflicting emotions. The part of you that wanted to return to his embrace and the other that just wanted to be defiant and free.

You could feel Astarion’s curious glances burning across your skin like a living thing. You couldn’t quite recall when he had joined you on the ledge, having been too engrossed in your own thoughts.

“Are you really that afraid of the dark that you must seek the sun at dawn?” he asked after a moment with a hint of humour.

“I’m not afraid of the dark,” you snarled back, not caring that there had been no bite behind his words, “I’m just… not used to it.”

He lifted an eyebrow at the venomous tone, clearly picking up on the fact of how pent up you were in this moment… and decided to ignore it for his own amusem*nt and curiosity. Probably feeling embolden by your exhaustion and lack of sharp objects in the vicinity.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but are you someone’s lost little pet?”

Some of your anger faltered at his words. You managed to suppress a wince. In one way, he wasn’t too far of the mark with his comment. In essence, a vampire bride was just a possession, something the sire owned. Body and mind. The ascendant had called you pet and his treasure, his bride, his consort. Always with a possessive noun.

You were his, and he was yours. There was no difference. You had chosen that life without realizing how much of yourself you had sacrificed in exchange. It felt like too simple of an explanation of our relationship. But in the end… you supposed spawn Astarion had a point.

You were just a lost little pet, away from your owner, trying to figure out who you were supposed to be without his influence. What if the only thing that had ever made you special was his gift?

“I wasn’t allowed in the sun,” you replied numbly, a little evasively.

Astarion exhaled softly, and though you weren’t looking at him, you could sense a sliver of sympathy from him. Uncommon for him to actually show, but this was a subject he could relate to in an intimate fashion.

“How long has it been for you?” he implored with a soft voice.

You took your time replying, instead watched in silence as the first rays of the sun glinted above the mountains. It basked the two of you in the early morning glow and melted the dew on your skin. You tilted your chin towards the light, seeking out the warmth caress as if the simple gesture would allow the sun to embrace you fully.

“I don’t recall,” you murmured in the silence between you once the sun hovered over the horizon. The ascendant hadn’t allowed you to weep for its absence. You hadn’t realized how much you missed the sun until you woke up on the beach, as if the ascendant had plucked every thought and memory from your mind with surgical precision.

“It’s been two centuries for me,” Astarion said conversationally, though his voice was laced with melancholy and pain. He told you about Cazador, being surprisingly chatty, though you had the distinct feeling it was in an attempt to draw your sympathy.

Of course, you had heard it all before. Though his tone was different than what you recalled from your previous life. Less ‘woe is me’ and more trying to find common ground. If he shared, perhaps you would open up too. Though you highly doubted he cared above simply satisfying his own curiosity.

Once his tale ended, silence settled between you once more. You felt his gaze digging into the side of your face, probably expecting some kind of reaction. Sympathy? Pity? Understanding? You weren’t precisely certain what he was searching for, nor could you recall how you had responded a lifetime ago. It was safer to simply say nothing at all.

“It’s custom to share, my dear,” he huffed a little, but there was no malice in his voice, “quid pro quo. You know all my secrets, yet I know none of yours.”

“Do you even care?” you asked, your eyes still on the morning sky. In the distance you could hear the chirp of birds and from somewhere the smell of breakfast being cooked. “Aside from satisfying your own curiosity.”

In the corner of your vision, Astarion’s mouth parted and closed once. You had the distinct feeling he felt a little flustered at your directness.

“Of course I care, darling,” his voice was too silky and smooth to be entirely sincere, “we are all friends here after all. I wouldn’t be so callous as to feel nothing for my comrades in arms.”

When you didn’t rise to his bait and simply kept quiet, he frowned.

“I simply don’t like being on the disadvantage,” he admitted with a soft voice. The glow of the morning sun glittered in his eyes, turning the irises into pools of molten lava that cast a gleaming intensity on his features, “I have been meek and powerless for too long. Can’t blame me for trying to pry some truth from you. Out of all our companions, you are the one who intrigues me the most. I admit, I have never felt a desire to know anyone on a deeper level before you.”

This time, you turned to face him. You scrutinized his expression, searching for a pretty lie, though none of his usual tell-tale signs were apparent. Curiously enough, you believed he truly meant it this time.

“One question,” you amended, deciding to allow him that much, “I will answer one question.”

Surprise flickered across his face at your sudden offer. Giddiness and curiosity made him straighten his spine as he glanced you over with curiosity. You could see his thoughts racing in his mind, trying to determine what he wanted to know the most.

It was slightly strange, to know someone so thoroughly, in and out, every want and desire and thought, yet he knew nothing about you. You imagined how put off he was at this power imbalance. Even if he didn’t know how deep it truly went.

Though, you were no longer the person that he had grown to like once upon a time, and you couldn’t help but wonder with a slight unease how this would change everything.

“What happened to you?” he landed on, a slight challenge in his words.

It made you snort slightly with amusem*nt. Of course he had picked the most vague question that would require the most explanation and prompt follow up information. You had several ways of answering, though you were uncertain exactly how much you wished to share. Obviously not the whole truth.

“I realized too late what it means to love,” you replied after a long moment of silence.

“That’s not a proper answer,” Astarion protested with a frown, displeasure curling on his lips as he pressed them together into a dismayed line.

“It is the truth,” you conceded, lifting a shoulder into a nonchalant shrug in response, “my misguided understanding of affection and love led to a host of calamities and disasters. I was perhaps either naive or wilfully blind to the consequences of my actions. However, my intention was motivated by the feeling of love, or what I thought was such.”

“What a terrible and boring answer,” he let out a scoff of exasperation, his tone dripping with annoyance “romantic clichés are so tedious. And here I had mistaken you for actually being an interesting person.”

“Suppose you were mistaken then,” you replied flippantly, not caring at his clear displeasure. “You are not the first nor the last person I will disappoint.”

Despite his disapproving scowl, there were no bite or heat behind his words. When he spoke anew, his voice was a little softer and without judgement. “I hadn’t realized we were both so alike. Two individuals conveniently lost from our cruel masters. I can only pray we will both stay that way.”

You could tell from his gaze that he was being sincere this time, no longer hiding behind a veil of sarcasm and snark. He was genuinely trying to form some kind of connection. Through survivors guilt perhaps. It was the first moment of pure honesty between you since you had woken up on the beach.

The golden light of the sun still cast a warm glow over all the details of Astarion's features, highlighting the flecks of crimson in his eyes and the shimmering silver in his hair. You had always found him the most beautiful when basking in sunlight. It was a sight you hadn’t realized you sorely missed until now.

You felt the sudden urge to card your fingers through the silver locks and draw him into a heated kiss. Much like you had in your dream. The desire crawled underneath your skin with a familiar intensity. You drilled your fingers into the fabric of your trousers to distract yourself from actually acting on the impulse.

You had to remind yourself you no longer had the freedom to touch him whenever you wanted. He wasn’t your Astarion, after all. Right here and now, you were nothing but strangers to each other.

“I will make sure of it,” you promised, though your voice was light, your thoughts were dark. You fully intended to make sure the past never repeated. Even if it meant you had to kill this version of Astarion yourself.

For once, your soul lay quiet in your chest.

Chapter 5: Little spider

Chapter Text

Wyll and Karlach returned by midday, their search coming up emptyhanded. Though the excitement of seeing you awake and alert soothed their concerns. Neither Gale nor Shadowheart had any answers to what precisely had befallen you. The best guess the wizard had was that the necromancer tome must have had protection layered on it that triggered at your touch.

You knew better of course; this hadn’t happened last time. You would have remembered that, you were certain. However you kept quiet, not arguing lest they became suspicious.

It was suggested you stayed behind while they scouted ahead, getting some more rest, but you refused. Having no intention of staying behind. Especially because they were planning on travelling to the Selûne temple where you recalled the goblins were hiding.

After breaking camp, the party set out. It was about an hour walk before you reached the ravine, a bridge the only connection to the other side. It was simple to talk themselves through the Goblin lookout. A few more feet, and suddenly your party members dropped to the ground with a grunt. The artefact glowed to shield them from the Absolute’s influence.

The familiar voice of the Emperor’s masked the one echoing through your minds, mixing with the Elderbrain’s. You gritted your teeth as you felt the tadpole wriggling in your head. You couldn’t wait to get rid of it again. You had spent too much of your life with someone else’s voice in your mind, you realized with chagrin.

The moment the pressure was released, Shadowheart grabbed the artefact and hid it from Lae’zel’s view. You ignored everyone’s curious conversation about what had just happened as you pressed on, having no interest in spoiling their speculations.

The first thing that drew your attention once you stepped into the camp was Volo performing on a little platform. His body tight with unease and anxiety as he tried to make funny rhymes for the goblins’ amusem*nts.

You froze to the spot as an old memory resurfaced at the sight. The bard kneeling on the ground as he pleaded with you, tears shining in his eyes.

Do not let him destroy the sun. Please, my lady. He must be stopped.

You tried to blink the memory away. A frown appearing on your lip as you attempted to recall when and where this image was from. You heard the sound of clamour and knocking behind you, and you turned to the face the door. Only to realize there was only air and the open forest behind you.

You turned back to the bard. The glimpse of an image of his face covered in blood evaporating from your mind. Something stirred within you, and you pressed your hand against your chest as if you could make it settle back into your bones.

You were vaguely aware of your companions moving around you. Probably taking in the sight and doing recon, yet you find yourself rooted to the spot, staring at Volo as if the sight alone could conjure the memory that were just out of grasp. It felt important, like you had forgotten something crucial.

You swayed slightly on your feet, invisible hands seemed to crawl across your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. An eerie melody in your mind that drowned out the phantom knocking.

They are coming, you thought absentmindedly, with a hint of cold amusem*nt. Only to forget the reason why.

You took an unbidden step closer, your mind feeling muddled. Perhaps if you could get closer, the memory would resurface. You tried to focus on it, on the image of Volo’s distraught expression, of the sound of his voice. Of the knocking that reverberated through your mind with an urgency.

Slowly, you reached out towards the bard, your hand shaking slightly from a tension you couldn’t quite place. The tadpole in your head was quiet, but something still throbbed and threatened to become the start of a migraine.

Fear not my lady, dashing knights has come to the fair maiden’s rescue.

Volo’s boasting voice echoed through your mind, making the ache flare. It was mixed with another, a woman’s voice. Gravel with urgency and authority, with an unmistakable Thethyrian accent.

Secure the perimeter. Hurry, before he can sense we are here.

You blinked, and your fingers found only air. The bard was no longer in front of you, he was being led inside by a goblin. You dropped your hand in confusion. Why couldn’t you recall this memory? You had no recollection of Volo and Jaheira ever meeting.

A glimpse of blood and twisted bodies flickered in your mind again. The dream last night came to mind. Astarion destroying the sun and a sea of kneeling figures. We had been standing on a mound of dead bodies. Your eyes flickered down and for a moment you could imagine standing there again.

Faces twisted in pain and horror… familiar faces.

You stumbled back from the sight, your heart jumping in your chest as dread coursed through your veins at the realization.

Gale hadn’t been the first of your old companions to try to rescue you from Astarion’s clutches… and they had paid the ultimate price for it. Then he had made you forget, plucked it all form your mind. What else had he taken from you? How much of the past had been a fabricated lie? No wonder he hadn’t been fazed during the ball that night when you hadn’t remembered it was almost our hundred years anniversary.

“Is something the matter?” Shadowheart frowned at you as you walked right into her. You cast her a nervous glance, noticing you were back to the present instead of the cusp of a memory.

It all melted away, the knocking, the ruckus, until only silence remained in your head. You swallowed slightly and forced your unease behind a mask of indifference.

“I’m fine,” you replied evasively. Your eyes flickered from the entrance to the temple and back to the Sharran. An idea occurred to you. “I need to borrow the artefact.”

She stiffened slightly, her eyes narrowing slightly with suspicion. “Why?”

“I will return it to you shortly,” you avoided the question and extended a hand in anticipation.

She hesitated, gaze flickering from your hand to your face. A frown tugging on her lips. She swayed slightly with indecisiveness. Then her expression hardened. “I am not to be separated from it. You may borrow it, but I’m coming with you.”

This time it was your time to frown with dismay, though you knew exactly why she was so protective of it. You supposed you didn’t have much of a choice but to bring her along.

“Fine,” you agreed, “you can come with. But follow my lead and stay quiet.”

Happy with the arrangement, she trotted along as you approached the entrance to the temple. You didn’t look at the troll as you passed, putting on an air as if you belonged here as you did. A haughty exterior, you had learned, was an illusion that often worked.

Walking through the temple stirred you with half-forgotten memories, more akin to déjà vu. Conversations echoed against the ruined walls of the cave. Once upon a time the vast cavern of the temple had impressed you, but you had spent decades living in far more luxurious places now. This was just worn down and smelled musty with a mix of rotten eggs.

You walked right passed the goblin priestess, ignoring her presence. Let the others deal with that: your mission laid elsewhere. Shadowheart followed in your footstep without a single comment. She had always been a dutiful follower, be it to Shar or Astarion.

Rounding a corner, you stopped on your tracks. Seeing Minthara again filled you with nostalgia. You had always been terribly fond of the drow. She spoke from the gut and she was as viscous as a spider. Out of all your companions, she had sworn loyalty to you and you only.

Unlike the rest, she had been only out for revenge. Against Orin, against Menzoberranzan and the spider queen. Everyone who had used her and forsaken her. Her nature as dark as her homelands, her eyes burning with righteous ruthlessness. As magnificent as she was loyal.

You had helped her kill Orin, and with the help of Astarion’s forces she had taken the drow citadel and squashed Lolth at her seat of power. Minthara had been a crucial help with the destruction of Toril and the victory over the shadowfell. Next to Shadowheart, Minthara had been another one of the trustworthy generals at our court.

You suspected Astarion had used her affections for you to keep her in line. The drows were a matriarchy society. They would not bow nor follow the rules of any men, but you? With the power vacuum at Lolths death, Astarion had pitched you as their new sovereign. Their new goddess. Any drows that had refused your position had been slaughtered.

One of your favourite spawns had been a drow. She had herself requested to be turned so that she could serve by your side. The last you had seen of Umrylene, she had been thrown over the balcony after stabbing Astarion in the back on your behest. You found yourself missing her presence. She had guarded your shadows for so long, that you felt exposed without her.

It had been quite some time since you had seen Minthara you realized. Not since the start of the invasion of the planes of shadows. You hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, exactly why Astarion had been so insistent that she took charge. Had he been jealous of sharing your affections and attention and sent her away in order to isolate you?

Surely not… though admittingly you could no longer be certain about his motives. You hadn’t known him as well as you had thought… or perhaps the issue was that you knew him all too well.

For a quiet moment, you admired Minthara. The lavender hue of her skin and the silver hair tied up in a bun. It contrasted sharply with her striking crimson eyes that seemed almost molten with freshly spilt blood in the glare of the torches lining the walls. The distinctive seal of the house of Beanre on her neck was an unfamiliar sight, as she had taken it upon herself to burn off the mark in your original timeline when she forsook her spider goddess.

The spidersilk armour cut her figure nicely in comparison to the heavier armour you had grown accustomed to seeing her wear.

You yearned for her council again. She had been the only one of your companions you hadn’t ruined and led astray. She was unapologetic in her ruthlessness and cruelty and had been the one to push everyone towards grasping power by any means.

An unbidden idea squirmed underneath your skin. The only thing you could save her from was the cult, not from herself. Did you really want to mix her into the group? You couldn’t let her influence anyone again, least of all yourself.

Your staring eventually drew her attention. Her striking eyes roaming over you with dismissal – you were human after all.

“Yes? Do you have anything to report from Edowin, human?” she grunted with a gravel voice. Barely acknowledging your presence.

It made a part of you stir slightly at the lack of reverence in her tone, before you pushed it away. You were human now, not a sovereign and Astarion’s bride. She believed you were a follower of the true soul that had been killed by the owlbear, you gathered. Edowin had led a group of humans.

The dismissal and the fact she didn’t recognize you still stung. Even if it was an illogical thought.

“Yes,” you replied, “but not from Edowin. It’s a delicate matter that requires a moment of your time in private, true soul.”

Minthara’s eyes narrowed slightly with suspicion, her gaze glanced over the goblins in the room before focusing back on you and Shadowheart. You could feel your tadpole squirm in your head where she tried to connect to your mind. The moment she sensed its presence, her tone changed. She turned to fully face you.

“You are one of her faithful,” she commented, her tone losing some of her hostility, “the goblins are useless trash, you can speak openly here.”

You didn’t reply audible, you reached through the connection between our tadpoles. ‘I carry an order from mistress Orin. I’m afraid I must insist you come with me. It concerns the weapon.’

Minthara stiffened slightly at the sound of that name. Her eyes fogging over as if under a charm, and Orin was the trigger. The bhaalspawn had been responsible for her forced indoctrination to the cult, after all. And the drow had been compelled to worship her.

“Of course, true soul, I would not be so foolish to ignore an order from one of the Chosen,” she replied immediately, her voice only sounding mechanical because you were so accustomed to every change of her tone. Then her eyes sharpened as awareness returned to them. “Very well, I shall accompany you.”

You could feel Shadowheart gaze like a heavy weight on your shoulder. Though she didn’t say anything, her curiosity outweighing her caution for the moment.

You turned and led the two out of the room. The familiar feeling of having them following in your shadow filled you with nostalgia. It was almost like you were back home as you walked through the palace, usually on Astarion’s arm. The respect and fear of the crowd potent in the air. Whetting your appetite.

Back home?

The unbidden thought made you pause. You tried to shake it from your head, but now it echoed against the walls of your skull. Minthara’s presence conjured dangerous images. Of memories you couldn’t afford to lose yourself in.

You weren’t nostalgic, you were angry. Astarion hadn’t given you any choice but to love him. He had taken everything from you and replaced it with only thoughts of him. It wasn’t home, it was a gilded prison, and you had been too blind to notice. Too conditioned as his bride and consort.

The drow was a dangerous link to that life.

You led them out of the temple and passed the camp as you set out for the forest. If Minthara was any suspicious, you couldn’t sense it. She was perhaps too brainwashed to resist any orders she believed was from Orin. It made your job easier.

Once you felt the presence of the Absolute reign from your minds, you turned to face them. You didn’t bother say anything to the drow, there would be no point in trying to dispute her worldview whilst she was under the influence of the Elderbrain. Instead, you quietly held your hand in Shadowheart’s direction.

When it didn’t prompt a reaction from the cleric, you grunted impatiently.

“The artefact.”

Her eyes flickered from yours to Minthara. Hesitation flickered over her features, it was clear she had no clue what you were up to, and a part of her were distrustful of your intentions. Though, once more she bit her tongue and produced the item. Perhaps she was still more curious than wary.

The metal object was heavy in your palm, the magic it exuded made your skin tingle slightly. Without another word, you held it in the drow’s direction. Her eyes were glued to the artefact.

“The weapon,” she exhaled with a breath in excitement, no suspicion on her face as she reached for it, “excellent. The absolute will be reward us generously for being her most competent and dutiful followers.”

You could feel the wash of Emperor’s panic in your head, but you pushed him away with annoyance. If he didn’t want to lose it, then he knew what he had to sever her connection to the Elder brain too.

The moment her fingers brushed between your naked skin and the artefact, her whole body froze. You could sense the edges of her memories washing over you as our tadpoles connected. Her memories of Menzoberranzan were replaced by your own.

A stygian abyss with spires of dark, gothic architecture made from obsidian and calcite. The spires and pillars were carved with intricate spider decoration dedicated to Lolth. The only light, the artificial purple of magic flickering from many towers, illuminating the hundreds of twisting roads and gates that led from a myriad of tunnels to the tallest of buildings. Hanging ceiling houses were kept aloft by powerful enchantments.

It truly had been a captivating sight.

In your memories, the great spires had been completely demolished, their once pristine stones laying scattered and broken. Half the city lay in ruins, the purple glow of magic replaced with the crackling fire of a raging inferno. Shadows flickered with the tortured screams of the dying, and the heady scent of blood and ash turned the very air thick.

‘The threads of the spider queen are unravelling; the great houses shall kneel or burn with her. In thy name, the screams of their young shall be spun in a song of victory.’

Like one, you and Minthara exhaled deeply at the memory. She could see herself in your mind, garbed in the colours of the crusade. Black and silver with a dash of crimson on her shoulder that marked her position as general. Her smile was feral with hedonism and her red eyes glistened with the bloodlust of war.

Once the news of your arrival on the battlefield, she had immediately left the front line to support you. You had felt Astarion’s call tug on your mind where you had waited safely away from the initial battle.

‘It’s time for your homecoming, little spider,’ you replied with an indulgent and fond smile. As one your gazes turned towards the mushroom plateau, where the noble houses stood separated from the rest of the city. The last stand.

You had wanted to be there when they were punished for their discretions against your most devoted servant –

The memory shattered when Minthara sunk to the ground. Her hand sliding from yours, not even attempting to take the artefact from you. For a moment you felt disoriented, trying to focus back to the present where your blood pumped through your veins with life. Where you were human and no longer a vampire.

Focusing on the heartbeats, you managed to concentrate on the drow at your feet. Her breathing shallow as she stared up at you with a mixture of intrigue and fear.

“What is the meaning of this?” she asked, her body trembling slightly at being severed from the influence of the absolute and the onslaught of your memories. “What are you showing me?”

You focused on the image of Orin’s death. Her crawling across the floor with pain and fear on her face. The burning ruins of Menzoberranzan and the death of Lolth.

Something burned in your chest, a searing pain that had you almost grimacing. You felt the tug of darkness and light as the two parts of you fought for dominance underneath your skin. The desire to regain some of your lost power and status mixing with the want to do what was right. The vampire bride squirming with the moral compass of your newly recovered soul.

“Promises,” you told her swallowing down the struggle inside of you. Your lips curled into a cold smile and your eyes glinting with death. With Minthara returning to your side, you would be unstoppable.

You are not the person anymore –

– power, blood, death, rule. Ours. The world will belong to us.

You couldn’t tell where her hunger ended and yours started. You could see the lust for war in her eyes, the heady ruthlessness of her thoughts. The promises in the memories echoing between us. You could feel her yearning for vengeance, her desire for this future. Your mind parted like a night orchid to her as images of the destruction of the sun, the victory over shadowfell, the reverence and fear of everyone flooded into her.

Intoxicating and alluring with the dark promises of a complete authority over this world. Devotion would be rewarded with power and immortality.

When Astarion ascended, you could give her all of this –

Your soul burned with a searing white light in your chest, enough to steal your very air as you tried to tear yourself away from the mindset of the vampire. But a dark seed had set root and you couldn’t think clearly as you lost yourself in the torrent of memories.

“Yes, I see it now,” Minthara whispered, her voice taking on a familiar reverence and eyes glittering with the zealousness she could see on her face in the images. “Lead and I shall follow, my sovereign.”

She pledges herself so easily to your cause. Her eyes burning with delirium. Despite practically being a princess, she had been born to serve. Her spider queen, then Orin and the absolute, then she had served you and Astarion. Always taking orders so well. The perfect soldier, your perfect general.

Shadowheart served as an extension of Shar, but Minthara? She had been yours. Her devotion intoxicating. The only reason you hadn’t allowed Astarion to turn her yet was because you didn’t want her to be under his thumb as a spawn. You didn’t want to share –

Before you could stop yourself, your hand curled around a dagger and you thrust it into her eye to the hilt. She only spasmed once, before going still. Your breath came out quick and shallow, chest heaving in shock at your sudden action. It took a moment before you dropped to your knees, letting go of the artefact carelessly in the grass as you did.

You pressed Minthara’s head against your shoulder as you tangled your fingers in her silver hair. You didn’t give a damn about the blood smearing your armour.

“I’m sorry, little spider,” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes. Your head was silent, the tadpole stopped stirring now that the connection was abruptly severed. “I couldn’t – I can’t –”

You didn’t know how to end that sentence. You couldn’t think with her in your head, fuelling the darkness lingering just under the surface. The part of you that you refused to acknowledge, that insidious thought that wanted to go back. Where you were powerful and revered, to be crowned empress over two worlds. Return to Astarion’s warm and loving embrace, even if everything about the relationship had been twisted and wrong.

He had given you everything he had promised, and more. Why were you complaining?

Stupid Gale for returning your soul and conscience.

You pressed a kiss against Minthara’s cheek, tasting the metal of her blood on your lips. How you had once upon a time yearned to taste her essence, but instead of a song it was bitter.

“I’ll make them pay,” you promised her with a soft whisper, “I will make sure you get your revenge, my treasured friend.”

She was your friend, not your servant or follower. The vampire in you had twisted and warped your affections. Minthara had never served anyone who truly cared for her. What a depressing realization. You couldn’t be her friend and be their saviour at the same time.

You slowly laid her down on the grass, watching the blood splatter across her lavender skin with more grief than you had anticipated. Regret tangled with your sorrow. She had been nothing but loyal, and you had killed her. You don’t even know if this was a conscious plan or not, if this was why you had approached her and lured her into the forest.

It was another step in the plan to make sure Astarion never ascended. Without her influence, then there would be no loud voice at camp that advocated everyone reached for absolute power. She had been the most vocal about taking over the world.

Without Minthara, taking the underdark would be a struggle, a war that would span decades rather than a half.

You didn’t know how long you sat there in the grass, before you snapped back to yourself. You had wasted enough time already, the others must be wondering where you and Shadowheart disappeared off to. You had kind of forgotten the cleric was there at all, as she had kept quiet at the whole ordeal. You could feel her curiosity burn across your shoulder blades.

It saddened you to know the two had been good allies, if not friends. Yet you were the only one to mourn Minthara’s loss. You would grief for the both of us.

Drying your tears quickly, you forced your emotions back into an indifferent mask. Picking up the artefact, you rose to your feet and handed it to her.

She accepted it gingerly, her eyes flickering between you and the object.

“Well, that was certainly interesting,” Shadowheart commented drily, trying to lighten the mood. There was a question on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it when she saw the flicker of emotion in your eyes. Instead, she wore a tight smile and handed you a handkerchief. “You have a little smudge on your chin.”

You accepted the cloth and dapped on your cheek without caring.

“Let’s return to the others,” you suggested with a quiet voice, turning away from the dead drow and leaving without a second glance. The pain of the struggle between the light and dark still lingered in your chest.

You were left wondering if you had made the correct choice.

Returning to temple you were met with upheaval and chaos; screams and blood and the swinging of weapons and the ozone of magic crackling in the air. You were just in time to watch the goblin priestess dying to a bear claw. Your eyebrows lifted at the sight. It seemed the rest of the party had decided to wipe out the camp in Shadowheart and your absence.

Part of you resented the fact that your first instinct was to seek out Astarion. Your eyes roaming over his form in search of any scrapes or wounds. Other than a few splatters of blood you were certain belonged to another, he seemed high-spirited after the battle. You glanced away the second he realized you were staring, feeling chagrined at your moment of weakness.

The bear turned out to be the druid Halsin. You eyed him carefully, trying to stir any memories of every meeting him. He was certainly a distinctive character, tall and bulky, most unlike the usual features of the elven race. The jagged scars across his face enhanced his handsomeness rather than retracted from it.

The only past memory of him that flashed across your mind was a vaguely shaped corpse covered in blood.

Shadowheart announced to the group that the last of the leaders had been dealt with. After that, it was a simple matter of dealing with any stragglers before the long trek back to the Emerald grove. Your eyes lingered for a while at the spiders locked in the dungeon. There had been talk about whether to leave them or kill them.

You didn’t have the heart to. Akor and Alak had been beloved pets to Minthara. Though she had never been of the nostalgic sort, they had been her only connection to Menzoberranzan during the journey. What would the spiders do without their mistress to command them?

You couldn’t take them with you, they would sooner eat you then obey. Leaving them meant they would sooner or later escape the dungeon. Once they had feasted on all the corpses, they might seek the underdark or leave the temple and attack the locals.

The decision was thankfully taken from you, Halsin spoke with them and convinced them to return to the underdark if he released them. Your eyes lingered for a long moment, then you turned and left. Leaving any reminder of Minthara behind.

You were silent on the trek back to the grove. Wyll was complimenting everyone on their skills in battle, but most were exhausted and quiet like you. Shadowheart kept glancing in your direction, curiosity burning in her eyes. You pretended to not notice.

The first thing to meet you was the laughter. The high-pitched sound of children’s delight. Then the music, a song of joy and life to celebrate the victory. Alfira and Volo playing on their lutes to the great pleasure and amusem*nt of the camp. Rolan was showing off his magic tricks with sparkles of colours like tiny, glittering stars.

They were all alive. Every child, every tiefling, even the druids. You scarcely remembered the goblin party, as you distracted yourself by sleeping with Astarion instead of dealing with the horror you had committed in the belief it was for the greater good.

Looking at them now, you wonder how in all the nine hells, you had ever been able to gaslight yourself into thinking you were anyone’s hero. A saviour. When your hands had already been bathed in blood from day one.

You didn’t even have an excuse for the horrors you had committed, couldn’t put the blame on evil gods or a desire for power. It was a troubling realization, like a slap to your face. Perhaps that was why it had been so easy to close your eyes to the atrocities you had watched by Astarion’s side as his dutiful bride. Simply because you had always closed your eyes.

Clearly you had never been a good person. And the evidence was stacked against you in your desperate hope that you had at the very least, been a kind one.

So many had died because of what you had foolishly thought was mercy.

It hampered your celebratory mood. Instead you found yourself sipping on a bottle of wine and avoiding eye contact with all of your companions. It seemed they wanted your attention; one you weren’t willing to grace them with.

They were celebrating, but your mood was one of mourning and grief. You had killed a friend with your own bare hands. One that you alone in the world would miss. It felt so unfair, knowing how fierce and loyal Minthara had been. She had a dry sense of humour that always amused you. With her death, the future would be forever and irreversibly changed. There were no turning back now, even if you had any desire to.

Unless of course, you were sent back to the beach and restarted this whole messy affair.

Your clear disinterest in company was eventually ignored, when Astarion approached. His expression pleasant and hips swaying suggestively in all his suave.

You did not attempt to hide your grimace, but he did not react to the clear dismissal.

Though the dialogue was different than at the goblin camp, his words still dripped with sultry charm.

“You know, if you find this party so dreadfully dull, we could always make our own entertainment, darling,” a co*cky smile tugged on his pretty lips when you refused to engage him in conversation. As always taking your silence as a challenge.

“Whatever do you have in mind, Astarion,” your smile was thin, nearly dripping with sarcasm. You had all and every intention of rejecting his offer. You were neither in the mood nor interested in sleeping with him. The intimacy you longed for was not one he could provide.

“Your grace and elegance in the midst of combat is nothing short of breathtaking. My eyes are always drawn to the way your body dances and glides across the battlefield like a delicate ribbon in the wind. I would be most grateful for a chance of experiencing it up close,” he extends his hand to you with a flourish, dipping his torso into an elegant and appropriate bow, “may I be so bold as to ask for the pleasure of a dance, my lady?”

His words carried with them a teasing and playful demeanour, one that brought to mind a memory. Of the first time your Astarion had invited you to a dance at the palace in the aftermath of the Elder brain’s destruction. Ever since then, the two of you had celebrated every victory with a dance. When he had taken Baldur’s gate, then Toril, even in the ruins of the Raven Queen’s fortress.

The last time you had been in your Astarion’s arms, it had been in a dance. Before Gale, before everything. The last time you had truly felt bliss – even knowing how wrong you knew it to be now. The past day had been absolutely horrible, could anyone truly blame you for seeking false comfort?

It tore down your defences. Before you knew it, you had already accepted the offered hand. Grasping it in yours. With a pleased smile he drew you in. One hand lightly on your waist as he pulled you into a dance. You melted against him, allowing him to lead. As he always did.

Astarion would lead and you followed eagerly. To hell and back, if he so wished it.

For a few brief moments, it was just the two of you. No people or tieflings. The muddy ground of the camp gave way to a marble dancefloor. The music was one of a perfect melody. A song of two hearts and two minds, moving in unison as if your bodies were one. It was him and it was you, and it was us. The sense of completeness and warmth filled your heart. You felt whole, like the world was finally making sense again now that you had returned to his embrace.

We are meant to be aeterna amantes. Lovers forever. Until the earth falls down.

“I knew it, you are perfect in every way, darling,” Astarion’s voice was husky enough to be a purr as his breath ghosted across your cheek and ear. It sent shivers of pleasure and delight down your spine, and you tilted your head against the touch eagerly. Seeking the comfort and familiarity, to feel the warmth of his affection and devotion.

But the moment you peered into his crimson eyes, the beautiful illusion shattered. His smile was too perfect, too pretty, to be sincere. There was a lack of intensity and devotion as if he wasn’t looking at you with all his attention.

The dark admiration was missing in his gaze, and he was no longer looking at you like you were the missing stars in the night sky. His touch was light and playful on your back, rather than tight and possessive, as if it was easy to separate from you.

Astarion wasn’t leading you in dance like you belonged to him, but instead like he was loaning you his company for the evening. It lacked the confidence and firm grip you were used to. This wasn’t the beautiful duet that you craved, between the vampire ascendant and his bride, but something artificial. This dance felt as passionless as his cold body against yours. No longer warm and inviting.

An emotionless performance rather than the exquisite duet it once was.

Even his perfume was just a touch off-putting and wrong.

Where you could always feel his adoration and contentment in the bond that connected us, there was only silence. Another reminder that this was not your Astarion.

Whatever satisfaction the bride had received from his invitation evaporated in an instance, and all you were left with was a deep disappointment and shallow emptiness. Bitterness filled you at the realization of how strongly you yearned for the Ascendant, even when knowing how wrong that dynamic had been.

You pushed Astarion off you hard enough to make him stumble. His expression flickered between shock and confusion at the sudden rejection, before darkening.

“I don’t get you,” he spoke through gritted teeth, “this switch between acting cold and warm is not cute, you know. I felt your shivers of excitement just now. Clearly you want me, why fight it?”

You watched him silently as he tried to reign in the flash of irritation as he hid it behind another charming mask.

“Let’s try open communication, shall we? Make things a little easier. What is it that you want from me? Sex? A night of passion?” he asked with a sultry voice and a pretty smile that held no genuine warmth to it. Once it would have deceived you, but you knew better now.

He seemed bolded by your lack of reaction, taking the flicker in your eyes as one of interest as he stepped closer until he was only a few inches away. Perhaps he thought you weren’t used to such a straightforward seduction. His hand brushed down your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake, until he reached your hand. With a gentle tug, he brought it to his face and pressed a gentle kiss against your fingers.

The slight touch of his lips left behind ice, lingering like frostbite on your skin. It held no reverence or the usual promise of heated passion to come. The second to last kiss you had shared with the Ascendant had been pressed to your gloved hand, a sign of love and deference. In contrast, this kiss felt empty and hollow.

The dissimilarity was disorienting and unsettling, only adding to your dismay. With a hint of irritation, you attempted you extract your hand from his grasp, but Astarion maintained his grip and pulled you closer, his lips pressing hard against your fingers. As if trying to coax your submission through mere touch alone.

“Let us create a beautiful duet together. Just as there is only one of you, there is only one of me, and together we will make a perfect melody,” he whispered with a husky voice, his eyes not leaving yours. The crimson in his gaze seemed molten and bottomless in a sea of this mockery of his lust. “Let our duet ring throughout the night with the song of our shared passion.”

The glow in his eyes were desperate, too anxious. It was like you could hear the cog in his brain praying that you would fall for his pretty words and prettier lips. You could almost taste his fear at the chance of failure in the back of your throat.

It immediately turned you off even more. You had no interest in sleeping with this man, even if he wore the face that you were ever so attached to.

This time he allowed you to slip your hand free of his, and you immediately took a step back to gain some semblance of space.

“I don’t want a damn thing from you,” you told him with as much sincerity as you could muster. You wanted a warm and passionate touch, not this cold touch filled with desperation and fear.

For a moment you could see his panic flickering across his eyes as he attempted to switch gear before you slipped out of his grasp. Attempting to come up with different approach that would lure you in.

“The way you act as if you don’t know what I feel, like my desires for you are a mystery. Do you want me to tell you exactly how badly I want you?” his deceptively sultry voice was like a whisper of silk, and you read the intent in his eyes before he moved.

You acted swiftly, blocking his mouth with the back of your hand. He froze under your touch, the moment suspended in time as you denied him your lips.

“I meant it, Astarion. I don’t want you,” there was a warning in your voice, but he was already pulling back, finally acknowledging your rejection. “I was made for someone else.”

He didn’t allow you to stray far, as his hand curled around your elbow. With a flicker of annoyance in your chest, you met his gaze. Though you could immediately sense the change in his expression. He had given up the endeavour to seduce you, instead his eyebrows were furrowed with concern as he stared at you with an intensity that you for the first time couldn’t quite place.

“We have both been conveniently lost from our old masters. You don’t have to adhere to another any longer.”

Where his sire had been cruel and abusive, yours had led with love and the manipulation of your affection. You were dressed in the finest silk and satin in the realm and fed only the best, Astarion had lived on a diet of rats and forced to patch his own attire. You had been a bride, a consort, worshipped like a queen. And he was a servant and a prostitute. He could never comprehend your misplaced yearning.

The Ascendant had offered you everything. Every dream you had ever dared dream of… it was only in the last few days that you realized you couldn’t quite recall nor differentiate where yours ended and his started.

“It’s easier said than done,” you hadn’t meant to voice your thoughts out loud, but they were filled with a mixture of bitter and wistfulness once spoken. You pressed a hand against your chest just for the reminder that your pulse still beat with life. “If only my heart would listen to the same logic.”

He frowned at your reply, his gaze searching your face with a something akin to curiosity. Perhaps a hint of aversion at the fact, that unlike him, you didn’t curse your old master under your breath.

“What did he do to you?”

Your eyes twitched at the unexpected softness of his tone, whatever emotion he felt at the core was placated with kindship over our shared affliction. It was not uncommon for a victim to feel fond over their abuser as a self-defence mechanism. Though you doubted Astarion was capable of that much empathy for someone who was practically a stranger to him currently. Or perhaps it was born from a misplaced attachment over the simple fact that this face was the first he had seen in daylight for over two centuries.

“Can’t you tell?” your reply was almost feral in nature, your lips moving in a mockery of a smile, all teeth and no mirth. When you still had fangs, it would be a threatening expression, but now it felt broken into a grimace. “He ruined me. Heart and mind. Down to the very fabric of my being.”

Astarion’s frown only deepened, “you escaped. You are free from his grip. Have some dignity. At the very least respect yourself enough to be your own person. You don’t have to belong to him anymore”.

“I’m not entirely sure if that is a choice. Perhaps I have forgotten how,” you tore your arm from his grasp and started walking away. No longer interested in entertaining this conversation. You had already revealed a lot more than you intended and you were wary if more would slip if you stayed in his presence any longer.

“Fine. Stay in the mindset of a slave. See if I care. Just leave!” he yelled after you, irritation colouring his voice as if you weren’t already walking away from him. “You are not the only tasty morsel around here.”

A sliver of anger shot down your spine at his words, unbidden jealousy stirring at the thought, but you gulped down some air to quell it. You needed to clear your head. Your heart was thundering in your chest, and you ignored the squirming under your skin. You couldn’t quite tell if it was your soul or the vampire bride, perhaps both were unhappy about the direction the conversation had gone.

You didn’t get further than the treeline before Shadowheart interrupted you. “We need to talk,” her expression was pleasant but there was a hint of urgency in her tone.

“It can wait,” you practically barked at her, but for the sake of keeping the peace, you didn’t barrel through her.

“It’s important,” she implored, her eyes searching your face for something. If you didn’t know better, she was looking sympathetic. You were probably confusing it with pity. “About what happened with the drow. You looked… so shattered. Did you know each other?”

You closed your eyes and inhaled sharply, trying to suppress your dismay. You had hoped she hadn’t noticed, but you were a fool to delude yourself otherwise. “It doesn’t matter. There is nothing to say on the subject.”

You opened your eyes again when you felt her touch your arm, a frown of concern on her face.

“Are you alright?”

You quickly brushed your hand off and take a step back, your body coiled with tension. Discomfort at the sudden touch trembling through you. When you had been a sovereign, servants and nobles alike had lost a hand for less. You weren’t used to anyone but Astarion touching you.

Shadowheart’s frown only deepening at your reaction, she parted her lips to ask again, but you interrupted her with a harsh voice.

“Stop pretending you care. You are a Sharran. Start acting like it.”

She flinched as if you had physically slapped her. Her eyes widened with a hint of fear. Her hand already reaching for the holy symbol acting as her arcane focus. She might be out of armour and without weapons, but she always had her magic available at her fingertips.

“How did you know I was a Sharran?” a hint of caution and hostility entered her tone, her eyes flickering from yours to the camp and back, in case this was an intervention.

The reaction made you still. Some of your anger dying in your chest. It was much of the same way you had reacted when Shadowheart had approached you a few days prior. The same suspicion and easy to mistrust. It filled you with a sliver of guilt for being so stuck up in your own head and problems.

“You bear several symbols of worship on your person. Not exactly what I would call subtle, even if an untrained eye wouldn’t be able to recognize their true meaning.”

Her hand faltered, uncertainty shining in her eyes. You could practically see the cogs in her head moving as she attempted to decide her next course of action. Then her shoulders relaxed and some of the tension in the air broke. If you meant ill will towards her, then you would have already revealed her to the others. She took a leap of faith, one that you were uncertain you deserved after the way you had been acting.

“You are familiar with the temple of Shar then?” she asked with a quiet voice, a hint of unease in features at suddenly being on the defensive. She had meant to call you out on your secrets, not to be interrogated on her own.

“A bit more intimate than most outsiders,” you retorted with a shred of humour glittering in your eyes. She had been an ally to the Ascendant, and although you had never met the Lady of Loss directly, you were familiar with the workings of the cult through both of your Astarion and Shadowheart.

She looked thoughtful for a moment, trying to digest your words. Then she nodded as if making up her mind. “In that case, I am sure the Dark Lady had a reason for putting each other on the same path. Your secrets are safe with me.”

You didn’t reply immediately, your eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion. Part of you wanted to reach for her mind and pluck the answer you were so desperately searching for, but that was a two-way door. If you violated her privacy, then she would have no qualm returning the favour.

Your only advantage was knowing you could use the cleric’s own faith against her. She had always been a loyal follower of her goddess, and to whoever her dark lady ordered her to obey. Your head was filled with memories you could use to manipulate her into being your ally.

The moment the dark and twisted thought appeared, your soul started to stir in your chest in warning. With a slight grimace, you knew this wasn’t the right thing to do. If she was to be saved, she needed to break free of her servitude to the lady of loss. Not fall further into her obedience that would one day lead her to killing the nightsong and become a dark justiciar.

No, you couldn’t use her faith against her to convince her to hide who you truly were. Even so, you couldn’t risk anyone knowing.

“What did you see?” you asked with a quiet voice, trying to keep the unease and creeping hostility from your tone. If she had seen too much, you might have to kill her too. If she knew she would succeed in becoming a dark justiciar and shar’s chosen, you doubt you could convince her from straying from the path.

Like Astarion, you might have to kill her to save her from that fate.

The soul burned in your chest, but you ignored it. A bleeding heart wouldn’t save anyone, instead you let yourself sink into the demeanour of the vampire bride. The part that allowed you take the cold and calculative choices. Like killing Minthara for the greater good for the rest of the party.

“A city ablaze,” Shadowheart replied, a hint of awe entering her tone. The yellow in her light-green eyes sparkled with interest. “An army of shadows at your fingertips, and darkness weighting down on your head like a crown. But also… something else. Glittering crimson watching in the dark. Always watching.”

Her words sent a chill down your spine. Before you could stop yourself, you had already grabbed her chin, your lips curling into a quiet snarl that would have been ferocious and beautifully deadly if you still had fangs. “What did you see?” you repeated with a hiss filled with urgency and desperation. If she had seen your memories of Astarion, you couldn’t risk her telling him.

She gasped in pain at the pressure as your fingers dug into her jaw. Her eyes were wide with a mixture of fear and uncertainty. “I don’t know what I saw. It was just a blur of images. You know as well as I that the connection between the tadpoles are dodgy at best.”

The little worm squirmed in your head in response to her words, for a moment you could feel it reach for its twin inside the cleric’s head. It would be so easy to invade her mind to see if she was telling the truth. But that might cause more problem than it fixed.

You had to risk trusting her… or kill her now.

Your hand trembled for a moment with indecisiveness. The clash of decision been light and dark twisted your chest at the conflicting desires. With a gasp you let go of her and turned around. You inhaled sharply, trying to calm the torrent of emotions.

You had already lost one friend today, you had no interest in being responsible for another. Trust. Your heart beat with the word. You had to take the chance. Perhaps she would out you now after your sudden violate display. If they all ambushed you, at least your mission would be over. You could only pray you had done enough to change the future.

“I’m sorry,” the words felt wooden and alien on your tongue. When was the last time you had apologized for anything instead of just taking what you were owed? “There are things in my head that cannot come to light.”

When you glanced at her in the corner of your eyes, you felt a sliver of guilt watching her rub her chin. Another emotion you were unused to. Guilt over your actions. Something that being a vampire had once barred your from feeling. It was strange having to relearn something you had forgotten existed.

“Having had plenty of my own memories taken from me, I suppose it is only fair to be guarded over your own,” she replied with a hint of humour, but there was still caution in her eyes as she watched you warily as if she expected you to lunge at her again.

“I am all for keeping secrets. But this seems too important to ignore. I find having the need to ask,” she hesitated for a moment, before continuing, “that thing in the dark following you… what is it?”

You stiffened, having hoped she wouldn’t probe, but you also knew most of your memories were soaked with Astarion. If not all. Of course, she would be able to sense it. He had been in your head for every second of the day for the past century.

“A calamity,” you replied evasively, though you made sure your words rang with truth, “one that I am burdened with preventing.”

“If you were to share this information with the others, surely they can help?”

Even before she finished her suggesting, a laughter spilled from your lips. It was a broken thing, void of all humour.

“It’s a delicate matter. Theirs and your ignorance the only protection I can give,” your expression was dark as you stared at her. “Perhaps one day I will share, but this is not the time nor the place.”

For a moment you were concerned she would push the subject, but she nodded instead as she accepted your explanation. Always the loyal servant who followed without question or need for an explanation. She had always been an excellent soldier.

When she excused herself, you stood watching her back silently. A part of you still urging you to simply slit her throat and be done with it. If you killed all of them, then all this deceit would no longer be necessary.

No, perhaps the most danger to your companions right now was you. You knew they would be victorious against the cult, the chosen and the Elderbrain. The only mortal danger they truly faced was your dark nature. You were playing a dangerous game letting them live. One that could peril the world.

You weren’t quite sure why you even dared taking the chance.

Perhaps, deep down, you were just being selfish. You would much rather attempt to save your loved ones than the world. Did that make you the hero or the true villain of this story?

Chapter 6: Time for tea

Chapter Text

The morning after the party found most of the companions’ hangover, crawling in from wherever they had spent the night and with whomever. Usually, Wyll was the first to wake, but today you had seen neither hide nor hair of him.

You sported a headache yourself, it throbbed behind your brows with vengeance. The presence of the tadpole just making everything worse. Nausea curled unpleasantly in your stomach, and you swore you could taste the bitterness of swallowed bile in the back of your throat. As a vampire, you had never sported a hangover, but your mortal body wasn’t that lucky. You had forgotten what it felt like.

You spent longer than you would like to crawl out of your tent, hiding a grunt of displeasure as you did. Rising to your feet, you stretched your back. Sleeping on the ground, even in a bedroll, wasn’t something you had become accustomed to yet. Was this something you had been used to when you were mortal? You couldn’t quite recall, though you had the distinct feeling watching how much Gale struggled with it, that this body wasn’t unused to this treatment.

You were still in your camp clothes, but you took your time strapping your armour on piece by piece. The dark leather already malleable to your body after days of wear. As you were tying your wrist guards, you took a courtesy glance around the camp.

You noticed Shadowheart, Lae’zel and Karlach huddled between their tents. They seemed to be talking amongst themselves. It made your shoulders stiffen slightly with unease. You still weren’t sure how far you could trust the cleric. She could easily snitch on you. If the others ganged up on you now, they might have an advantage considering your current hangover state.

Not being able to help the paranoia, you darted closer. Your ears prickling as you tried to eavesdrop into their conversation. You could hear Lae’zel saying something about supping on flesh. Followed by Astarion’s name. It made you stiffen slightly, though you didn’t have the time to even frown before Karlach bolstered loudly.

“Lucky, I would ride Astarion to the feywild and back if I had the chance.”

You felt all the blood in your face drain at the comment. A dark knot formed painfully in your chest, and a sudden surge of hatred and jealousy rose in the back of your throat. It tasted like bitter bile with the texture of the black sludge that you sometimes felt crawling through your veins when the darkness pulsed in you. The vampire bride within seethed with fury, in a mixture of betrayal and possessiveness.

You pressed a trembling hand against your chest in an attempt control the emotions.

“He isn’t ours. Not this version,” you tried to tell the bride, but your emotions were quickly darkening at the influence. You were the one who had rejected his advances, of course he would go elsewhere looking for a sexual transection for protection.

It sickened you to your stomach to see how far he would lower himself. No longer the proud and arrogant man who had keeled the world to its knees. He had been ever so beautiful, with his white curls wedded with the crimson of the innocent.

Yet all you saw now was a shadow of that man. Someone lesser. Weak and cowardice as he prostituted himself for scarps.

Pathetic. Disgusting. Weak. Traitor.

We don’t share. Don’t share. Ours. Ours. Aeterna amantes. Lovers forever. He promised.

You wanted to tear Karlach apart for daring to utter such blasphemous words. You wanted to rip Lae’zel’s heart out and ground it under your heel for daring to touch what belonged to you. You wanted to stab Astarion for the betrayal.

You forced yourself to stumble back and turn away. A mixture of red and black had crept into your vision, and your hands trembled from the strain of not reaching for your weapons. You tried breathing slower to control the urge for violence, but you couldn’t quite catch it. Instead, each exhale released haggard and shaky.

You hadn’t come this far now, just to ruin everything you had tried to accomplish. Astarion could do and sleep with who he wanted. He wasn’t the same man you had loved for a century. He didn’t belong to you. We weren’t one in body and mind. Not anymore.

You are your own person now. You had to hold to the threads of your sanity lest you drowned in the possessive jealousy of the bride and the desire to tear flesh apart with fangs you no longer sprouted.

Stumbling back to your tent. You grabbed your backpack in search for your water satchel. Anything to distract from the darkness curling like a knot in your chest. You didn’t get far, before your eyes sought Astarion’s tent. Your ears had picked up the murmur of a conversation, and you froze to the spot seeing Wyll talking to the vampire spawn.

You could only see the back of his head, but Wyll’s warm smile was displayed for all to see. He seemed rather pleased with himself. He reached out to take Astarion’s hand… and you were surprised to see the pale elf letting him.

You turned away, before you could see what they were doing, not being able to keep looking. The bride viciously clawed your insides, simmering just underneath the skin. For a brief second you considered letting her take over. Just lose yourself in the fury. Astarion had slept with both Lae’zel and Wyll last night?

The dark jealousy clogged your throat. You wanted to snarl and yell and lash out. You wanted to ruin them all. Screw this. You would not be humiliated like this. Letting them all live being a mistake. One that you should rectify this moment.

You had already unsheathed your sword before you manage to snap back in control and wrestle the fury of the bride back down. Gods below, you felt more like a feral animal at this moment. You needed to get away, get some fresh air and some distance from this whole situation before anyone saw you – or worse.

Slinging your backpack over your shoulder, you took the quickest route out of camp.

Even an hour later, the possessive jealousy still simmered under your skin. It felt more like an insidious darkness that was spreading through your veins. Not even the radiant soul could weaken its grip on your mind.

You hated this. This struggle between rationality and the desire to just succumb to this madness. You had to figure out a way to free yourself from this duality before it drove you insane. You couldn’t be both, the dark and the light would tear you apart by the seams if you didn’t do anything to resolve this soon.

Thankfully, you had an idea of where to start. Though, you had to risk leaving the group to do this. You hoped Karlach and Wyll could keep them on track. You knew where they would eventually end up in case you couldn’t catch up. Easiest solution would probably to just head straight to Baldur’s Gate and track down one of Astarion’s siblings. Killing any of the spawns would permanently destroy any attempt of completing the rite of profane ascension.

The idea made you blink a little in surprise. Why hadn’t that thought occurred to you before? It was so simple. Killing Astarion wasn’t the only way of stopping him – though admittingly when you had first woken up at the beach all that had been on your mind was fury and fear and the desire for revenge.

That would certainly stop Astarion, but what of Gale and Shadowheart and Lae’zel? How could you save them from themselves?

Focus, Tav. One thing at a time. Getting answers as to what exactly was happening to you needed to take priority. You couldn’t help anyone if you lost yourself.

A few hours later, you found yourself back at the Blighted village. Following the enclosed town, you took the route leading down to the wetlands. Last time you had been here, you had urged the party to go directly to where you knew the Absolute cult was hiding. It seemed their panic in trying to figure out what had happened to you with the book of Thay had stopped the rest of your companions from exploring the area further.

You felt the shimmer of illusion magic in the air, as if you could smell the wilderness. Back when you had been a true vampire, you could have easily torn it apart with a slash of shadows. It was one of the many powers Astarion had shared with you. For a brief second you were tempted to try. Your fingers already reaching to search for a weak spot, before you shook the idea away.

You didn’t know if you could, and neither had you any interest in meddling with the hag’s magic. You were here for answers, after all. The wetlands were covered in emerald-green grass and colourful flora. The lake and puddles were picture-perfect blue. A few fluffy, white sheep bleated at you as you passed them.

Your lips twitched slightly at how obvious the illusion was. Everything was far too pretty, too perfect, to be real. Without any imperfections, the whole place seemed unnatural.

A few more meters down the road, and you stepped over two bodies lying face down in the water. They looked bloated.

It took you a second to realize that these must be Mayrina’s two brothers. It seemed you were a few days late to rescue them from their fate – not that you had last time either.

Walking further into the wetland, you could see the light smoke wafting invitingly above the treelines. You weren’t far from the teahouse now.

You were about halfway when a half-forgotten memory resurfaced. Hadn’t there been a vampire hunter in the area last time? One that was searching for Astarion? A Gur, you recalled. The vampire spawn had kidnapped their children on Cazador’s behest, and once ascended, you had helped him kill them all.

The memory made your stomach churn slightly with unease. You had slaughtered innocent people long before you became a vampire. Perhaps the darkness had always been a part of you. It had simply been unleashed once the shackles of moral doctrine had vanished.

How could you have any hope of saving the others if you didn’t even know how to save yourself from your own inner darkness?

At any rate, you had to figure out what to do with the Gur. Last time, Astarion had been panicked and afraid, believing Cazador was slowly closing in on him. That he hadn’t been able flee as far from his leash as he had thought.

Might be one of the reasons he had been so blind in his pursue his desire for ultimate power. In a desperate effort to never be in a position of being weak and powerless ever again. He had wholeheartedly embraced the tadpoles and all they could give to boost his strength before his ascension.

Of course, it was later proved that the Gur hadn’t been sent by his old master, but if you eliminated the issue altogether now, then it would perhaps make Astarion feel more safe and secure. That he really got away from Cazador.

Making up your mind, you headed up the path you vaguely recalled the vampire hunter to have set camp. You barely remembered his face, but the pungent smell was unmistaken.

He introduced himself as Gandrel. You stared at him silently as he explained his situation and asked if you had seen a vampire spawn named Astarion. Killing the Gur would be the simplest way of getting rid of him. He had mentioned he intended to seek out Ethel and make a trade in an effort to catch the vampire.

You weren’t keen on having to fight whatever hag magic she bestowed the hunter to track down Astarion.

“Though you walk in the moonmaiden’s light, you will not find the prey you seek here. Only death. Go home,” you decided to attempt persuasion first.

He lifted his bushy eyebrows slightly in surprise. “You are quite knowledgeable. Most are unaware that my people worship Selûne. I appreciate the warning, friend, but I’m afraid it is from dire need that I find the vampire post-haste. My children –”

“You won’t find them breathing,” you interrupted, trying to keep a sympathetic expression on your face but it felt wooden and the muscle too unused to be entirely sincere. Instead, you were certain your face appeared cold and indifferent.

Gandrel’s expression faltered. Uncertainty made his eyes flicker from your face and towards the afternoon sky. The sun filtered through the leaves and bathed your face in the golden light. The sight put him on ease – paranoia of creatures of night, you thought with a hint of humour. It was too bad he was dealing with monsters without that restriction.

“Who precisely are you?” he took a step forwards, his shoulders tightening slightly and the brown hues of his eyes burned with caution. He was not being threatening, not yet at the very least. “What do you know?”

“The hag won’t be of help to you,” you lied, not entirely certain on that topic. “The questions you seek will be answered in Baldur’s Gate. Your prey will simply walk into your camp.”

“Even a vampire is not stupid enough to walk into an obvious trap,” he scoffed lightly, but there was a hint of curiosity in his gaze now underneath the caution.

“For a short time, you will be allies,” you ignored his scoff, “because you seek the same thing. The death of Cazador.”

Gandrel shifted slightly, though he was still not reaching for his weapons. “A vampire spawn cannot defy their sire –“

“This one can, how else did he escaped the clutches of his master?” you pressed, lifting an eyebrow into an elegant curve.

He hesitated for a second. “I suppose you are correct. How do I know I can trust you? Least of all him?”

“Trust in the radiance of She Who Guides,” perhaps you should feel guilty for using his beliefs against him, religious manipulations were always easy with fanatics. Your soul didn’t burn with disapproval, so you pressed on. “Our Lady of Silver has not abandoned her Gur children.”

For a long moment, the hunter didn’t move or react. His eyes flashed with an emotion you couldn’t quite determine. It felt as though the fates were rolling dices to determine whether or not he fell for your deceptive words. A white lie that would keep you from killing him here and now. Possibly even save the world, if it kept Astarion from being paranoid and desperate to seek power in order to protect himself.

“I see the reflection of the moonmaiden in your eyes,” Gandrel started, an easy smile spreading on his lips. “I will heed your warning and prophecy and return to Baldur’s Gate to wait for the vampire spawn to come to us.”

You suppressed the urge to exhale with relief that he had fallen for it. You kept your chin up and your shoulder tight despite the impulse to relax. You didn’t want him to read your body language in case it tipped him off.

“It will be a few weeks,” you warned him, and he simply nodded in acceptance.

He offered you some rest at his camp and a bite to eat, but you declined. Not wanting to linger in his presence any longer in case the truth slipped out. Instead, you bid him adieu and continued on the path to the teahouse.

The hut looked rather cheerful in daylight now that the illusion was still in effect. A red banner hung over the door and fresh flowers grew on the porch. The whole area smelled pleasant, just the right amount of sweet without being overbearing. You wondered if you broke the illusion, the air would be pungent with rot instead.

Knocking on the door, you heard Ethel invite you in with a cheerful voice. You weren’t surprised the hag had sensed you were in the vicinity. Pushing the door, you stepped into the hut. You cast a quick glance around the room, expecting to see Mayrina too, but the pregnant woman was nowhere to be seen. Either Ethel didn’t want you to know about the girl or she had already received what she wanted from her. Namely her baby.

It wasn’t really your concern at the moment.

“I have been expecting you, petal,” the old granny greeted you with a toothy smile. She waved a hand in the direction of a table. Indicating that she wanted you to take a seat. The table was decked with set of porcelain teacups adorned with oleander flowers, and a plate of deceptively alluring biscuits.

To say you didn’t trust any of it, was an overstatement. Though you weren’t here to make enemies at the current moment. You decided to oblige her and slid into the offered seat. Picking up the teapot, Ethel poured what appeared to be black tea into one of the cups and pushed it in your direction.

You didn’t move to accept it.

“Don’t be so paranoid, sweetie. There is nothing nefarious in the cup. You are amongst friends here,” she chastised lightly with a smile.

“Pardon me for not trusting the mischievous nature of the fey,” you retorted icily. You had nothing to gain to keep secret that you knew what she was.

She didn’t even blink. Probably already figured as much. Instead, her grey eyes sparkled with an emotion you couldn’t quite determine. Amusem*nt perhaps?

“Please. I procured it just for you. I insist you try,” she sat down on the opposite end of the table and gestured towards your cup. “On my word and that of my coven that the beverage won’t turn you into a frog.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly, not being able to keep your suspicion from your face. Hags rarely did anything unless it benefited them in some way. Much like you had as a vampire. You had more experience than any on this topic. You searched her face and body language, searching for any sign of what she was up to.

Not finding anything nor any sign of deception, you picked up the teacup and inhaled. Trying to find a hint of whatever it was in the aroma. Despite the light steam drifting from the surface, the cup was cold in your hand. The scent was sweet and made your teeth water with desire. It hadn’t missed your attention that she deliberately hadn’t mentioned the word ‘tea’.

You knew you couldn’t trust your senses. Hag magic was powerful enough to even mask scents and create new sounds with their illusion. You hesitated for a long second, fully knowing this was probably a bad idea. Yet you couldn’t keep your curiosity at bay.

Placing the porcelain against your lips, you took a small sip. Immediately the flavours exploded on your tongue. Filling your insides with a familiar song. The vampire bride purred with satisfaction and urged you to consume it all. If your soul pulsed in warning, it was quickly drowned out.

You couldn’t stop yourself from gulping it all down. The liquid felt thicker and stickier than tea, cloying your mouth and throat until you couldn’t breathe.

It was a taste of home. Of embrace in moonlight and dances of shadows. The sensation spread across your insides with a feeling of vigour and vitality. Your body felt light with bliss and desire. It was the taste of youth. It had always been your favourite vintage.

The realization made you stiffen in surprise. Almost gulping the liquid back up as horror surged like bile in the back of your throat. You dropped the cup. It shattered on the floor. Spilling the few remaining drop of crimson across the wooden planks.

Even now, the vampire bride wanted to lick it up from the floor, but you pushed it away. Instead grasping at your soul with a desperation made you choke. Human, you are human, a mortal. You repeated like a mantra in your head.

You only glanced up when Ethel laughed. A throaty chuckle of amusem*nt. She was leaning her elbows on the table. Her eyes glittering with dark amusem*nt as she peered at you. A wicked grin curling in the corner of her lips that felt more fitting on her hag form.

“There is more where that came from, if you’d like another cup, dearie,” she offered with a croon.

You were ashamed of the fact that a part of you wanted to accept the offer, even fully knowing what it was. You should have known she had something nefarious up her sleeve – the worst kind possible. It wasn’t magic or a potion or anything like that.

“I shouldn’t be surprised at the fact you have a steady supply of infant blood in storage,” you replied bitterly, curling your fingers into the soft flesh of your palm to ground yourself.

“Harvested just this morning,” she replied with a pleased expression, “if you had been a day earlier, you could have said hello to the donor.”

You frowned slightly at her words. A little perplexed at the whole situation. From what you could recall of the past, Ethel had wanted a child of her own. One she could swallow and turn into a hag. Which she had, in Baldur’s Gate before you had killed her, permanently. Your eyes went to her stomach, but you couldn’t see any bulge. You weren’t sure if it would be covered by illusion magic too, though you had a distinct feeling she wasn’t with child.

Which could only mean one thing. Ethel had killed Mayrina’s baby and was serving its blood at this grotesque tea party.

A puzzling predicament. For the first time since you had woken up on the beach, you couldn’t predict someone’s actions. She was not acting according to the script. It both troubled and peaked you with curiosity.

“Why does it taste like it used to?” you couldn’t help but ask out loud. The few times you had accidentally tasted some blood, it had been metallic and unappetizing to your palate.

“Easily remedied with some magic I have laying around,” she replied with a secretive smile. She picked up the teapot and poured another cup that she slid towards you. This time you placed a hand on top and pushed it back, not wanting the temptation.

“Thanks for the offer, but I think it best we get down to business,” you replied with a thin smile. You felt both nauseated and wanted another sip at the same time. As the Vampire Ascendant’s bride, you hadn’t felt the usual bloodhunger of your kin, but that didn’t mean you hadn’t enjoyed the taste. Drinking blood from thinking creatures were akin to a heady and intoxicating vintage.

Especially the young had tasted particularly vigorous with their youthful innocence, not yet tainted by bitterness of adolescence.

Ethel tutted a little, as if she disapproved of your no-nonsense attitude. Though she allowed you to slide the cup away without complaint.

“Information,” you grunted, “tell me what you know.”

For a brief second, you expected she demand something in return first. Yet the smile on her lip didn’t waver. It put your teeth in edge, not knowing what she was up to.

“Can you feel it?” she crooned, leaning a little closer. Eyes sparkling with feverish interest. Her hand lifted to her head, hovering just an inch over her grey hair. “The heaviness of it. I can taste it in the air. The dark and twisted magic. It’s as if the night has weaved itself around your heart.”

You placed a hand on your chest, your eyes widening slightly in shock. You could feel the bride simmering under the surface, like a physical thing that felt cloying and out of place.

“Wherever you came from, you brought with you a seed of darkness and shadow magic with a heady and potent intensity I have never before tasted,” she continued, her gaze on your chest as if she could see straight through you.

Your stomach dropped slightly at the realization that she might not have the answers you were searching for. You couldn’t blame her. Astarion had been the first Vampire Ascendant to ever exist. Naturally, no one would have any experience on the subject.

Whatever Astarion had put in that blasted shadow crown, it must have followed you. No wonder you had been feeling strange. You had thought it was your morality that had been clashing in your mind; it hadn’t occurred to you that you had been cursed.

“What does that mean?” you asked anyway, your tone urgent with desperation, “how do I get rid of it?”

“How about I put this in terms you can understand, petal,” she held up two fingers, “two souls. One body. One does not belong. It will consume you whole and possess you if not remedied.”

You frowned in confusion, “you said it was a seed of darkness –“

“Same thing, sweetie,” she tutted, as if you were being wilfully stupid. “It has its own consciousness, haven’t you been able to tell?”

“So, I’m carrying two parasites,” you grit out, with a sense of dark humour. Not just was the tadpole threatening to turn you into a mindflayer, but you have also something else to battle. You wonder which would win first.

“In a manner of speaking,” Ethel replied with a cackle that that sent shivers down your spine at how amused she sounded. Then her expression turned more serious and eager. “I could help you with one of those small problems of yours. Let me save you. I could very easily take custody of the seed. I will take good care of it.”

Her mask cracked with how desperate she sounded. Her eyes burning with dark desires. She had managed to keep her ambition hidden so far during this conversation, but you could see her now. This was the angle. The other shoe dropping. She had invited you to the teahouse in an effort to appear as a friend and a saviour. She wanted the seed badly. Enough to kill the infant she had been wanting to turn into a hag for the sake of hospitality.

She was feeding the part of you that you had named the vampire bride. Stoking the darkness lurking in your soul. No wonder the two entities clashed so violently. How much did Ethel know? Could she sense that it thrived on blood?

Whatever she wanted to do with it, it couldn’t possibly bode well.

“And give you something so powerful for free?” you replied evasively, trying to calculate a way out of this conversation, “I am not that naïve nor foolish.”

You expected her to scoff and try to lie and say that she was just trying to help out of the goodness of her heart. Instead, she looked completely serious.

“Name your price,” she was quick to reply, all her masks had fallen, “whatever you want in exchange, if it is within my power and that of my coven, I shall grant it without any repercussions. What is it that you truly desire, petal? To be prettier, to be richer, to be loved? I will even sweeten the pot and add in help with the little wriggler swimming in your brain juices for free.”

Her desperation and willingness to promise anything was enough for you to know why you shouldn’t go along with it. Even if you had been tempted.

Though, now that the question was in the air. You couldn’t help but ponder it. What precisely was it that you truly desired? Why were you here? What was your purpose?

You had already tasted ultimate power, wealth, immortality and all the pleasures the world had to offer. You knew what it felt to be loved, even if it was the twisted version Astarion had to offer. You had lived in a grand palace and been crowned sovereign of the world.

And you had thrown all that away… for what? To be a hero again? To right your wrongs, when you had realized that you had never truly been a good person for the start? This whole endeavour was starting to feel foolish. Who were you kidding… you didn’t belong here. Not really. You had taken the place of a naïve girl and filled the world with even more darkness than you had left it.

“Is there any way I can go home?”

The question escaped your lips before you could stop yourself. The vampire bride purred in satisfaction at the suggestion. Like a warm and contented cat on the windowsill. It was with a jolt you realized that your soul had been quiet since you sipped on the blood.

Most likely Ethel’s intent, you sighed with a level of chagrin.

You were so tired of all of this. Of this struggle. Of pretending you were alright, that you could do this. You hated that you missed your monster. That you yearned for his touch and his presence. Astarion had only ever been good to you, aside from the fact he had been controlling you out fear of losing you. But you had been blissfully happy… hadn’t you?

If given the choice… you wondered if you would go back. Ask for forgiveness. That you had acted foolish. The truth was, you struggled with differentiate what was real and what he had made you. Without him, you didn’t know who you were and where you truly belonged.

“Oh, petal,” you swore she actually sounded as if she pitied you, “that is something that is regrettably not within my power. Nor do I have any inkling of how. For the time being, you should consider this place your home.”

Your stomach churned slightly with realization. You had said home… slip of the tongue. You had meant to say back. Not home.

“And if you wish to live and survive here, you need to get rid of that darkness poisoning you,” she continued with a warm tone. As if she was just a kind, old grandmother who wanted to help.

“What would you do with it?” you asked, not being able to bite down your curiosity any longer. It was the one thing that eluded you. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good, but you really wish you’d know the answer to said question.

Ethel wriggled her finger at you with a secret smile, “that is for me to know, and you to ponder. Unless of course, you trade me the seed for said information.”

You weren’t remotely surprised at her response, and it made you snort slightly with amusem*nt. She was a crafty, old hag, that was for certain. Never give anything for free.

“Then you have nothing I desire,” you replied and rose to your feet.

Her expression twisted for a second, the features of the hag peering out with anger, before the mask clicked back on.

“If you don’t want to trade, nothing stops me from simply taking it from you,” her threat was accentuated with inhuman growl, “and I promise you that it will be a far more unpleasant experience. Let me give you a hint, you won’t survive the extraction.”

You could feel the darkness swell in your chest at the threat. Your head filling with the intoxicating song of violence and bloodshed. And power. It manifested like a heavy weight on your head, digging itself into your skull, heady and throbbing.

You had killed Ethel twice already; a third time would be easy when you knew all her tricks already. For a brief moment, you could feel the shadows of the room respond to your emotions. Vibrating with the silent growl of the Vampire Ascendant’s bride lodged in the edges of your soul.

With a jolt, you realized the power you felt was fuelled by the blood you had consumed. It allowed you to tap into the whisper of the night that you had been unable to hear ever since you woke up on the beach.

The illusion of the room suddenly shattered. The yellow sunlight bathing the room was exchanged by a paler glow. The sweet scent became rotten. The old granny in front of you transformed into her hag form. Her pallor now green, teeth sharp and mushroom grew on her head.

Glancing at her hands, you could have sworn she seemed uneasy for a second. She wasn’t the one who had broken the spell.

“Oh petal, you have no idea what you are capable of, are you?” she sighed a little in both disapproval and awe, “so very beautiful and powerful. If only you accepted the darkness and unlocked the true extent of your abilities. Imagine the feats we could accomplish together.”

You placed a hand on the table and leaned over. Hedonism glistened in your eyes and death spread on your lips. The darkness was cloying your veins and filling your heart, the vampire you had been peering out of your gaze as you locked eyes on your prey.

“You are quite mistaken, Ethel. I know precisely what I am capable of. I have had gods and fiends alike bow their knees to me without even lifting a finger. I held the love of a powerful man who swallowed the sun in jealousy because it dared to shine on me. I have no fear of you and your ilk. It is you who should tremble before me.”

She broke the staring contest first. Her eyes skittering across the room before landing on the floor. She seemed appropriately cowed, though you could sense a rising anger in her. She was not used to the feeling of being powerless.

“It seemed I underestimated the situation,” she was quick to admit, “apologies, dark one. But I have been truthful. You cannot remain in that mortal body indefinitely. It will tear apart, sooner or later.”

You tried not to flinch at the sudden change in her tone. The jolt of surprise was enough to crawl your mind back from the clutches of the vampire bride. You couldn’t quite tell where you ended, and she started. The darkness still flowed through your veins, intoxicating and potent as when you had been a true vampire.

The realization you could cow even a hag filled you with dark delight. A dangerous thing to be smug of, but you couldn’t help it. It felt good to be revered again. You had spent decades on the top of the food chain after all.

You had… killed and slaughtered so many people.

So many babies sacrificed just to sate your thirst.

Focus Tav. You could break down over this later.

“What do you propose?” you grit out through the throb piercing through your head in that moment. The tadpole started to wriggle against the darkness. You needed to crawl yourself back to sanity. You needed the brightness of your soul to guide you back. To guide you home.

Ethel had awoken something that should have stay slumbered. Something that you had only gotten a taste of when Minthara had flooded your mind with her cruel ambition and desire for revenge.

“A new vessel,” the hag sounded eager, her grey eyes shining. “I was planning on gobble up a babe and give birth to my very own a hag daughter. Put the seed in her. Imagine our combined powers. The wild magics of the feywild with the shadow magic of shadowfell. A body that was half fey, half shade, would be more than strong enough to hold your essence. We would be unstoppable. The astral planes would have no choice but to worship you.”

What a delectable thought. A goddess once more.

No. No. No.

There was something you had said. Something you shouldn’t have.

You had been proud of the fact Astarion had destroyed the sun in jealousy. Flattered at the thought, even. For just a brief second, it had made you smile with satisfaction. Gods below, you are losing it.

You hadn’t come here to threaten the balance of the astral plane again by taking over worlds. That was Astarion’s ambitions, not yours. The thought of reigning alone on that throne filled you with ice. You had wanted to be free of this darkness, not succumb to it completely. You were supposed to be better, to be good, and save the others. Not doom everything once more.

Perhaps the saying ‘you either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain’ was an apt description of the situation. Because it was precisely what had happened to you.

Surely, Astarion hadn’t destroyed the sun for you? You were certain there had to be another explanation. One that wasn’t so f*cked up.

You stared at Ethel for a long, silent moment. She seemed so certain you would accept her proposal. Be reborn as her daughter, half hag, half shade or whatever the f*ck you were supposed to be now. You were neither human nor vampire. Something else, corrupted and wrong.

Would it even be you, in this moment, if you accepted? Or would everything you were right now be erased forever. Would you forget the past and the baggage attached?

An easy way out. To just make everything stop.

But that would also destroy everything you had been trying to do. You were meant to do good. To save the others. If you were destined to die – and though you had no reason to believe Ethel’s words, you also had no reason to doubt her – then you would make damn sure you lived long enough to save your companions. To make sure the future that you came from never repeated.

Even if it meant giving up on the man you had once loved.

“I decline,” you told her and turned your back as you walked to the exit.

For a brief moment, you expected Ethel to stop you. Though when she called out, she wasn’t angry or desperate.

“Beware. The more you feed the darkness, the faster you will lose yourself. I’ll be right here if you ever change your mind, petal.”

Her cackling followed you out the door and all the way through the swamp. The illusion was long gone, the colours faded and the flora dead. The redcaps milled around, still pretending to be sheep, and the chirp of songbirds replaced by croaking of frogs.

The sun had already set by the time you returned to the Blighted village. You felt… untethered. Uncertain as to where you should go and where you belonged. You weren’t sure where your companions were either. You had left the camp without a word goodbye. For all you knew, they had already passed this village whilst you were in the swamp.

You were exhausted. Mentally and physically. There was no point in trying to track them down tonight – if you even should. The darkness your Astarion had cursed you with could be detriment. You didn’t know what it was or why he had done it. Perhaps it would be better if you stayed away and simply hoped you had done enough. If you were lucky, Wyll and Karlach could keep the rest on the straight and narrow path.

You could only pray, even if you didn’t have any particular gods you believed in.

You had only grabbed your backpack when you had left. You regretted it now, as you didn’t even have a bedroll. Deciding to hunker down in the basem*nt of the apothecary, you found some pieces of rations in your bag. They were stale and chewy. It washed away the last traces of the blood from your mouth. You desperately missed Gale’s cooking.

You were alone. Completely and utterly. A novel thought. When was the last you had truly been on your own without anyone hovering over your shoulder?

The temperature had dropped now that the sun was down, and the basem*nt was cold. You huddled under a blanket and tried to get some rest. The room was uncomfortably dark. You missed Shadowheart coming to your tent every night to recast your nightlamp. Embarrassed to admit it, but you had become reliant on the light to remind you of where you were whenever you woke from a nightmare.

You eventually managed to sleep, but it was restless and filled with familiar red eyes glowing in the dark.

At some point during the night, you woke up with stomach cramps. You huddled over with a grimace, wondering slightly if Ethel had poisoned you after all – or if your body was rejecting the blood you had drank. Pressing a hand against your lower stomach, it felt like something was both twisting your insides and piercing them.

Your breath was shallow, and you almost called out for Shadowheart before you remembered the cleric wasn’t here. Closing your eyes, you grimaced. Wondering if this was where you died. In a moist and stuffy basem*nt in the middle of nowhere. How ironic. You had been a queen, an empress, lived in grandiose luxury.

Only to die here. A nobody. Without anyone knowing, or caring for that matter.

Your body felt shivery and hot. The tadpole squirmed behind your eyes, only amplifying the headache that was throbbing in your head. If you were dying, the blasted thing was doing nothing to help you. The parasite had cured a vampire of its aversion to sunlight, yet it couldn’t save you from whatever illness currently plagued you.

You laid on the cold floor, trembling and in pain. At some point you must have fallen asleep, as the next thing you knew, you could see morning light shimmering through the floorboards above. Your stomach pain had lessened, but still shimmered underneath the surface.

You had survived the night, but your headache had been exchanged by nausea. Uncurling from your position, you notice you felt wet between your legs. Investigating, you realized you were bleeding. Panic jumped to your throat in the form of acrid bile. That could not be a good sign.

Gods below, where was a cleric or a healer when you needed one? You had made a grave mistake tracking down the hag on your own. You should have known she wouldn’t have allowed you to leave her domain without consequences after you had turned her down. Gods below, you had even threatened her.

You didn’t move from your position until midday when hunger and the urge to pee drove you to move. Your body felt stiff from sleeping on the cold floor on top of only a blanket.

It was only later after you had relived yourself that you realized something very important. You were mortal now and a woman… it had been a century since you had your last period. You had forgotten how much the cramps hurt. Usually, you had taken a potion to stop it when you were traveling. But honestly, it wasn’t something that been on your mind at all. You had completely forgotten what it was like to be human.

Now you felt foolish, that your first reaction had been thinking you had been poisoned. It had just been a normal function of your living body. You had your heartbeats back, you required air to breathe, and you had regular periods.

It was enough to make you laugh. Giggle at the absurdity of it all.

At least, now that you were aware of what the problem was, you could move on to the next issue.

Leaving the basem*nt, you noticed something felt out of place. Like the very air had been disturbed. It took a moment, before you noticed a bottled flask on the counter. It was filled with an unmistaken crimson colour. A note was attached around the neck.

For a few seconds you stood rooted to the floor. The sunlight shimmered through the liquid, creating a reflection of pink over the wall. You slowly reached out and turned the note.

It read:

‘Don’t drink it all at once, petal. You know where to find me.’

It wasn’t signed, but it didn’t need to be. You knew precisely who it was from. For a brief moment, you considered smashing it against the nearest wall. Nothing good could ever come from accepting gifts from a hag. Yet, you couldn’t find it in yourself to reject it.

In a pinch, the blood could fuel the dark powers lodged in your chest and save you. Save everyone. If you could use it for good, surely it was worth using? You couldn’t say no to such a thing.

The moment you picked up the bottle, you felt your soul squirm in your chest. Pulsing with radiant heat that felt scorching under your skin. It was so abrupt that you almost dropped it. Sometimes during the night, the effects of the blood had lessened and you could sense your soul again. It made you hesitate for a second, pondering if you should heed it.

Yet the temptations whispered in your mind was too heady to ignore. You needed it. If you were to succeed in saving everyone, you needed all the powers you had access too. Even the shadow magic. You quickly put the bottle in your backpack before you gave into the impulse of ridding yourself of its contents.

You stayed in the village for another day. Between your cramps and indecisiveness, you figured it was the best choice. If the party hadn’t come through here already, it was the best place to wait for them. Whether they had decided to take the mountain pass or go through the underdark to the Shadow-cursed lands, they would have to travel through this location.

Of course, if they had already passed you, then you would have to beeline to the Shadow-cursed lands on your own and rendezvous there.

You were filled with nervous energy as you waited. Halfway thinking you were already too late, the other portion wondering if you even should meet up with them again. You could threaten their safety.

Your choices were taken out of your hands by midmorning on the second day. You had seen them from the distance as they crossed the bridge. You were curious to see that someone had joined them, a figure you had completely forgotten about.

It was Jergel, or rather, Withers has he had gone by all those years ago. It had slipped your mind to free the old undead. The detour to the forgotten crypt must be the reason why the party was delayed. They had taken so long that you had believed they were long gone.

“Thank Balduran we found you,” Wyll had greeted you with a smile when you met them at the entrance of the village. He had hurried up to you, looking as if he wanted to hug you, but respected your desire not to be touched when you stiffened at his approach.

“We have been worried sick. We have looked everywhere for you,” Gale chimed in, his hazel eyes dancing with warm hues.

“We even picked up this weirdo because we missed you,” Karlach grinned, pointing a thumb over her shoulder towards Withers, “don’t worry, he is a poor replacement for your wit.”

The undead didn’t seem at all bothered by her comment. You could feel his heavy gaze on you. It prickled across your skin. You wondered if he could tell, just like Ethel, that there was something off about you. You didn’t have the energy to deal with it now, but it was definitely something to ask him about later. Perhaps he had a better solution to your predicament than Ethel.

Having pushed the subject out of your mind, you focused back on your other companions.

You were surprised to see they were all relieved, even happy, to see you.

Not even Astarion made any snide remarks at your absence, and as your gazes met, he gave you a short smile and a nod.

For a moment your insides twisted. Reminding you of the fury and jealousy from the vampire bride that had drove you to flee the camp in the first time. It surged up with vengeance – between everything else, you had completely forgotten about this. The bride wouldn’t let you, not anymore. She was still angry at the perceived betrayal – even though it had nothing to do with spawn Astarion.

You forced yourself to look away. It was easier to battle her back down when he wasn’t in view. You focused back on the people around you.

“Why?” the word slipped past your lips before you could stop yourself. The whole ordeal confused you. At how genuine they seemed. You had doubted they cared all that much aside from the loss of prowess. But now that it was out in the open, you couldn’t help but want to know the reason.

“Because we are mates,” Karlach was quick to reply, “and mates stick together, soldier.”

Wyll nodded with agreement – it was strange to see them so close friends, as they had been wary around each other since Mizora. “Karlach is right. We are more than a team, and we should stick together. Besides, we wouldn’t be a group without you.”

“Chk. There is strength in numbers. Even the mightiest warrior may fall if no one watches their back,” Lae’zel added, as if you were a misbehaving child. Though there was a hint of fondness underneath her harsh words.

Your stomach suddenly dropped. You had been so hyper focused on Astarion, that you hadn’t realized you had treated everyone else like a side character. As if their presence didn’t matter… they deserved better than that. They spoke truth, you saved Shadowheart on the ship, pulled Gale from the portal, insisted Wyll joined the party. Freed Lae’zel, defended Karlach… without you, this team would never have existed.

When was the last time you had interacted with any of them aside from Astarion? Had a proper conversation? You couldn’t quite recall… You only spoke occasionally with Shadowheart when she came by your tent to cast light. Only when you needed her for something. You had forgotten to treat them all like a person. Like they mattered.

You had been entirely unfair towards them.

“I’m sorry,” you swallowed a lump, your stomach churned with guilt. Though your soul pulsated with a comfortable warmth as if it approved. You had suddenly apologized twice in less than a week after decades without. “I didn’t realize.”

“It’s alright,” Wyll was quick to reassure with a placating smile, “we are all back together now. Just… give someone a word next time you decide to take a trip on your own. That way we’ll know you haven’t been kidnapped or worse.”

His words were met with a murmured agreement from the rest. It made your cheeks burn in embarrassment. You were supposed to be good and save everyone. How could you possibly do that if you coldly kept everyone at arm’s length?

If you were to have any hope of keeping the darkness at bay, then you had to be more compassionate and considerate of your companions. The people you cared for the most.

“I promise,” you replied solemnly, fully intending to keep your word in the future.

They summarized what they had done in your absence. Adopted an old skeleton in a crypt and met a devil. You had completely forgotten about Raphael too. So many old memories, you wondered how much you had forgotten in the grand scheme of things.

Shadowheart approached you afterwards. Once the novelty of the reunion had died out.

“I’m glad to see you well,” she smiled. The yellow in her green eyes sparkling as she did. Her hand hovered over your arm, before she thought better of touch you. “I hope your mission was successful.”

You stiffened slightly at her words. Of course, she thought you were on some personal quest to stop a calamity. She didn’t push for any details, clearly used to taking orders without question. She was the same in the future. Her memory loss only solidifying her belief that soldiers didn’t need information to do their job.

Perhaps unravelling the lack of information sharing was the first step towards freeing her from Shar and teaching her to make her own choices based on the facts in front of her… unfortunately for you, you could not risk sharing.

“In a manner of speaking,” you replied evasively, a tight smile on your lip.

She didn’t seem at all bothered, only returned the smile and walked past you. You followed her retreating back for a moment. Your lips pressing into a thin line of dismay. Guilt churned painfully in your stomach. You had been so focused on Astarion, you had forgotten about the rest of them. That you had sworn to save them all, yet you hadn’t even done a single thing so far in that endeavour.

You had a lot of work cut out for you, if you were to figure a way to convince Shadowheart not to kill the Nightsong once we reached the Shadow-cursed lands.

The party pushed on, intending to reach Waukeen's Rest before nightfall. Halsin had mentioned it was an inn, and everyone seemed eager at the prospect of sleeping in a proper bed for once. None of us having had the chance since before nautiloid snatched everyone up.

It was only when you smelled the fire and saw the smoke that you remembered that it had burned down last time. There went your chances of sleeping in a warm bed tonight. They spent the rest of the evening digging through the smouldering remains for survivors – and stealing stocking up on food.

The others had packed your tent and bedroll, the consideration making your heart flutter slightly in appreciation. You were surprised at the gesture. You didn’t have to sleep on the hard ground for the third day in a row.

Come dawn, Astarion had sought you out. You had found a spot where you could see the horizon. The pink light of dawn already peaking over the mountains in the distance. He didn’t ask for permission as he joined you on the log. He didn’t speak as you watched the sun rise in silence. You only looked away once it was too bright and started to prickle your eyes.

You should return to camp, you were certain Wyll was already up and started preparing breakfast. Yet Astarion didn’t make any move to leave, so neither did you. The morning birds chirped in the trees and the dew on the grass slowly started to melt.

Astarion shifted slightly next to you, moving an inch closer. His familiar scent embracing you once the breeze wafted gently between you. The morning sun made the silver in his hair glitter and his curls fluttered slightly.

Having him this close filled you with conflicting emotions. The side of your body closest to him, seemed to prickle like tiny needles. The vampire bride couldn’t decide between violence or satisfaction of having him close. You had the urge to both stab him and kiss him at the same time.

You should move, get some space, yet you found yourself rooted to the spot. Body unwilling to listen to you. Instead, you drove your nails into your palm in an attempt to ground yourself, to not lose yourself to the dark urges within.

You only turned your head to face him when you heard him rustle through his clothes.

“Here,” he handed you a piece of dark glass. It was big enough to cover the length of one of his fingers and the edges were jagged. You would have discarded it as trash was it not for the mischief glinting in his eyes.

With a lightly suspicious frown, you accepted it. Though when you didn’t make a move to do anything, his long and elegant fingers wrapped itself around your wrist and lifted your hand to your face. You stiffened, a slight tremble shaking through you as you forced yourself to sit still. You weren’t sure what would happen if you let the vampire bride take over. The fury and dark desire simmered just underneath the surface. You wondered for a second if he could feel it like a physical thing moving under your skin.

You glanced at him warily, wondering what he was up to. Then you peered through the glass. He had pointed it towards the sky. The sun was a bright orb, but didn’t burn your eyes as you stared at it with wonder.

“Wyll picked this up at Dammon’s forge from a broken vizor after the party. It’s covered in soot or treated with heat or something. Can’t say I know much about the subject, but the important bit is that it’s made to be staring at bright source of light without searing your eyes.... like the sun,” Astarion explained with a soft timbre, seemingly attempting to appear more nonchalant than he looked.

“I’m surprised you wanted to share,” you commented lightly, not sure how to react to the sweet gesture. You had expected him to sulk for longer after your rejection at the party.

“Maybe I just wanted someone to appreciate the sun with,” he glanced at you from the corners of his eyes and withdrew his hand. Yours kept the glass hovering over your face for a few more second, before you dropped it in your lap.

He had almost looked tender for a moment. You understood where he was coming from. It was oddly nice knowing someone could empathize with the need to see the sun rise. Just for the reminder that you could. Though perhaps a little morbid that you found the sympathy with the one person who had been the one to deny you it.

“You missed out on a lot of fun. I have gossip to catch you up on” Astarion switched the topic, a small grin sneaking into the corners of his lips. It was with a strange understanding that you realized this was his attempt to indicate that he had missed your presence. A curious development. “At the night of the party, apparently Wyll and Lae’zel had a tryst in the forest. I’m certain they flopped around like dying fish and called it a night, with the way the gith has been ignoring our residential romantic.”

For a moment, you stared at him in surprise. You had been under the understanding that Astarion had shared the night with either or both. You didn’t want to ask… yet you felt the burning need to know.

“You didn’t…?” you trailed off, biting your lip. Knowing it wasn’t really your business. You had been the one to reject him, after all.

“Weren’t really any other tasty morsels available. My wine bottle was far better company,” he replied with a drawl, a teasing smile tugging on his lips, yet his crimson eyes were softer. Almost molten as they glittered in the early morning light.

You closed your eyes and looked away. The feeling that had knotted in your chest since you had left the camp suddenly eased and you felt lighter. The simmering fury and jealousy from the vampire bride rescinded completely and instead purred with satisfaction. You could finally breathe without the influence, as if you were finally alone in your head again.

Gods below, you were a complete mess. The pendulum was constantly going back and forward between killing him and trying to save him. It was starting to give you motion sickness.

You looked down at the piece of glass you were holding. It had clearly been chipped to have less jagged edges now that you peered closer at it. This must be why Wyll had been at Astarion’s tent that morning. Giving him a present the warlock was pleased with. It all made sense now.

You wondered if it was Wyll’s attempt at letting Astarion know he knew he was a vampire and he was alright with it. You weren’t entirely sure if the pale elf had picked up on the subtle hint, he could be too much in his head sometimes to really notice.

Silence settled over us again. Astarion kept glancing in your direction, and you couldn’t quite tell what was going through his mind. It felt as if he was debating whether or not to say something. Then with an exhale he finally spoke.

“When we couldn’t find you… I thought perhaps your old master had retrieved their lost pet.”

Your throat hitched slightly in surprise and you tilted your head back to look at him again. This was definitely not what you had been expecting. You couldn’t quite determine how to read into this conversation. Surely Astarion hadn’t actually been concerned? We were practically strangers. What precisely was his angle here?

It was difficult to think when both your soul and the vampire bride seemed to vibrate under your skin with anticipation. For once, the two parts seemed to be in accordance rather than discourse. It put your teeth on edge, having to try being rational.

The glass had been one thing – a piece offering perhaps or to gain brownie points. Probably both. But this was something different.

“Worried about little old me?” you asked, trying to prod.

Astarion made sure our gazes met before replying. “If you can be found, so can I. Just concerned for my own hide,” the light tilt of his voice soothed the sting of his words. A grin tugged on his lip as if he wanted to convey the truth underneath.

He hated being vulnerable. This was the closest he would ever come to admit that he had been a smidge concerned for your wellbeing. Mates, Karlach had called us. Perhaps we were slowly turning into some kind of estranged family. You had been so stuck in your own head and with your own issues that you hadn’t quite noticed everyone had grown a little closer.

An unbidden smile grew on your lips, and Astarion’s eyes brighten slightly at the sight.

“I think that’s the first time I have seen you properly smile,” he teased with a smirk.

You wiped the smile from your face and threw him a grumpy expression in return. “I don’t make habit of it.”

“Why not? It suits you,” he commented without missing a beat. The morning light glittered in his silver lashes. It softened his face.

You hated how your heart fluttered slightly at the unbidden openness. That might have been the first true compliment he had given you without attempting to flirt. A smouldering warmth spread inside your chest, and you couldn’t determine if it was the soul or the vampire bride that was the most pleased.

Before you knew it, you leaned your head against his shoulder. A light touch, but you could feel him stiffen. You could sense his uncertainty – about fifty percent of the time we were this close, you had stabbed him. Successfully so.

His scent was stronger this close, and his body was unnaturally cold. Though this time you didn’t let it bother you. You weren’t using him as a substitute this time.

When you didn’t move again, he slowly relaxed. Though you weren’t sure if he forced himself to or not. You felt his arm twitch slightly, before moving.

“Lay one finger on me, and I will slice you in half,” you threatened, though the vulnerable softness of your voice indicated that you had no intention of doing so.

His hand froze where it hovered over your shoulder, a second later it withdrew. Just because you had instigated the touch, didn’t mean you wanted the fake embrace he surely felt obliged to give.

He chuckled softly. The sound like silver bells that shivered down your spine. “That’s the Tav I know,” he commented drily, “I had wondered where your sharp claws had gone. You are a deeply mistrusting person. I respect that.”

You believe he meant it this time. It suddenly occurred to you that he hadn’t tried to flirt with you a single time during this conversation. Perhaps it had gotten through his thick head that he didn’t need to seduce anyone to carve a spot for himself on the team.

Maybe, just maybe… despite all your flaws and hiccups, your influence here had been a positive one. You weren’t friends… but at least you were slowly becoming something more than strangers.

This was nice. Having someone to watch the sunrise with without any ulterior motives. For once, both the vampire and the soul were quiet in your chest, leaving you alone to enjoy the brief moment of peace. You didn’t know what the day would bring, but for now. For now, you could relax.

Astarion didn’t try to touch you again. The wind ruffled through your clothing and hair. You could feel him inch a little closer. It was only when he inhaled softly that you realized how close your faces where. There was a strange light in his eyes, as if he was far away, caught in a mesmer. His head dipped a little in an unconscious twitch, his nose almost brushing against your hair.

You could feel the coldness of his breath ghost across the tip of your ear as he inhaled. The sensation sent goosebumps down your neck and spine, in a not so unpleasant way.

“Don’t,” you warned, adding steel to your tone. Your body stiffened with uncertainty. Not entirely sure what his intention was. The conversation had been pleasant and platonic up to this point, and you didn’t relish the thought of him souring it by attempting to seduce you again. “Don’t make this weird. Stop sniffing me.”

He froze, clarity returning to his eyes. He immediately straightened his head, though did not make a move to jostle you from his shoulder. “Apologies,” he tried to laugh it off with a smile, but it felt brittle and insincere, his expression more pensive than anything. “You just have such an intoxicating fragrance. It appears to have grown stronger since the last time I saw you. Spicier so to speak.”

There it was. The reminder of everything that was wrong with you. The illusion of peace shattering and you returned to reality. With a sigh, you pulled away and rose to your feet. Astarion didn’t try to stop you, but his previous expression was now hidden behind an unreadable mask.

“Thanks for the loan,” you handed him the piece of glass. “Let’s return. Hopefully Wyll has already finished preparing breakfast, so I don’t get roped into helping.”

For a moment he said nothing, simply searched your expression. You expected him to smile at your lame attempt at a joke, but for once you couldn’t quite read his body language.

“Right,” he replied a second later, “you go. I’ll catch up in a minute.”

Without another word, you turned to leave. Leaving him to whatever thoughts plagued his mind. Getting close to him was getting dangerous. Whatever the Ascendant had done to you, it clearly attracted creatures of the night. You couldn’t risk Astarion finding out the truth.

Chapter 7: Blood allure

Chapter Text

You made an effort to spend more time with the others. If only sitting quietly by the bonfire as they talked. You didn’t know how to engage in small talk, but neither did anyone seem bothered by your lack of engagement in conversations. It made you more at ease around them.

After the ordeal with the Githyanki patrol, the party discussed which road to take to the Shadow-cursed lands. Halsin suggested the path through the underdark, but leaving the sun so soon wasn’t something you were all that keen on. Instead, you supported Lae’zel’s desire to take the route through the mountain pass.

No one overly objected and Halsin easily acquiescing to the party’s decision. He was the newest member after all, and didn’t have grounds to object. You weren’t precisely sure how to act around the druid. You were surprised he had joined the group. Though you had never spoken to him in your past life. He had died without a single word.

You weren’t entirely certain how to interact with both Karlach and Wyll either. They hadn’t stayed around for long and you hadn’t a clue what they had been up to after leaving. You learned things about them you hadn’t known before – at least you didn’t think you had.

Karlach had an engine for a heart in her chest, a ticking bomb that would consume her in hellfire if she didn’t get it fixed. Wyll was apparently the son of a duke of Baldur’s Gate. You wondered if you had met him in your past life, if he had been one of the many people slaughtered or enthralled when Astarion took the city.

You couldn’t recall. It had been so long.

The trip over the mountains was a relatively peaceful one. A few days of respite without any bandits on the road or random quests popping up left and right. It was only once you reached the Rosymorn Monastery that you had to be on guard again. Lae’zel was eager to reach the crèche and finally cure everyone of the mindflayer tadpole.

The whole place made you slightly nervous. You had travelled through the underdark last time, perhaps leaving the path you knew and could predict had been a bad decision. Yet your desire to not leave the sun had led you on this path.

You had no clue how to help or save Lae’zel from her Witch Queen. Last time she had mindlessly served Vlaakith. Perhaps the crèche would give you some ideas on where you could start.

Getting into the monastery proved troubling. Astarion was incapable of opening the front door, and it was decided to split up to find a different way inside. You, Karlach, Shadowheart and Gale went one way, eventually ending up on the roof.

There was a snag with some giant eagles. A large nest stood in the way of your path. You wished Halsin had gone with you at that point so that he could have persuaded the birds to let us pass. Unsurprisingly, it ended in a fight.

You got scratched by a talon, it had torn through the sleeves of your shirt but left only shallow cuts on your forearm. Not enough that you bothered Shadowheart for some healing. It barely hurt; you were more annoyed about the rip in your clothing than anything.

You found yourself a little spot of sunlight by the strange contraption on the roof. You wondered what it was for. Gale and Shadowheart had stumbled over a puzzle and were discussing theology, arranging weapons around the room. Karlach looked just as bored as you, leaving it for the cleric and wizard to figure out.

Noises of fighting, the swing of metal and grunts, echoed from somewhere below. Karlach decided to investigate, promising not to wander far. You proposed going with, but she told you to keep a lookout.

It didn’t take long before she came back with the rest of our companions. They had apparently stumbled over the wine cellar and fought some drunk Kobolds, much to everyone’s amusem*nt. Karlach was carrying two caskets of firewine, her smile giddy with anticipation. Something to enjoy at camp later, she suggested with a grin.

Astarion was uncharacteristically quiet where he trailed after the others. You expected him to come up with some witty quip about his dislike of Kobolds, but instead his gaze was fixated on you with an emotion you couldn’t quite read. It felt too intense for your liking.

Focusing back on the others, some decided to continue searching through the many rooms of the roof, whilst Wyll joined Gale and Shadowheart in the chapel. Astarion ignored any attempts of the others to invite him to continue exploring.

The moment you were left alone he approached with a singular intent. It made him look almost predatory. You watched him silently, wondering precisely what had gotten into him.

“Is something the matter?” you asked, lifting an eyebrow. Not bothering to move from your seat in the sunlight.

He ignored your question as he stalked closer. When he was within arms-reached he grabbed your wounded arm before you had any time to react. You winced slightly as he jostled you.

“What in the sweet hells are you doing –“ you protested with a grunt, narrowing your eyes.

Once again, he didn’t respond. He yanked at the sleeve of your shirt hard enough to rip some of the cloth to expose your wrist. Smudges of fresh blood trickled down your skin, and you stilled when he pressed it against his mouth. His nostrils flared as he inhaled the scent of your blood. The corner of his lips was already stained with the crimson liquid.

You could feel his mouth tremble against your skin, with his lips parted you could also feel the grazing of a stray fang. His cold breath ghosted across your wrist, stuttering and desperate, and he had barely the restraint to keep his tongue from lapping at the exposed blood.

You stared at him in interest, unable to keep a shudder down at the hungry fog in his crimson eyes. They seemed almost aglow. The dark desire within them sent a thrill down your spine and the vampire bride flooded your insides with delight. In that moment, you were the only thing he could focus on. Your scent and the taste of your blood. It had all narrowed down to you and only you.

The way it should be, the bride purred with satisfaction in your head at having his sole attention. It reminded you of the way the ascendant had used to watch you. Warmth pooled in your chest, you partly wanted to press your wrist against his hungry mouth and let him bite you, and both wanted to withdraw your hand just to see if he would follow it like a dog with a bone.

His grip on your arm tightened as if he could read your intent. Manicured nails dug into your skin almost hard enough to draw blood in a possessive hold. You were slightly surprised he had been able to keep himself in check for so long, with the way he was currently acting.

“Tell me no,” his voice husky with desire, quivering slightly with the soft plea. His eyes burned in a mixture of desperation and hunger. Barely able to keep himself in check. “Tell me to stop.”

You could feel him tremble, a soft whine rising from his throat. It only fed the bride within you, it was intoxicating to watch him unravel at the taste of your blood. Warning bells rang in the back of your mind, trying to remind you why this was a horrible idea. Yet you felt rooted to the spot in fascination and perhaps a hint of arousal as you watched the desperation on his face.

You had never seen him like this before. Unravelled and exposed to his predatory instincts. Yet, you couldn’t help but admired his control. Despite nearly being consumed by his bloodlust, he was still waiting for consent.

Your chest felt heavy and you felt your pulse pounding in your throat.

When you didn’t reply, he suddenly wrapped his lips around your wrist. His mouth big enough to envelop it. His tongue darted to lick a stripe across the shallow wound, a sensation that send a shiver through your body. He groaned in appreciation at the taste, a low and husky sound, and you could feel the edges of his fangs digging into the soft skin.

If you wanted to stop him, you needed to do speak up now. Wrestle your arm from his tight grasp… yet you couldn’t find the urge to do so. Just desire. You should probably loath the thought of having his bitemarks mar your skin again – even temporary – but in that moment you couldn’t find yourself caring.

The vampire bride was purring in your head, wriggling with want. Flooding your veins with dark desire too heady and potent to refuse. You could feel it spread through your body and made your head swim with a singular focus.

“I should have figured bloodplay was your kink, Astarion,” Shadowheart’s dry comment cut through the fog.

Astarion dropped your hand like he had been burned. He stumbled away from you. Eyes wide with panic, looking everywhere but at you. Some of your blood was still on his lips, and he was quick to wipe it away. He glanced nervously towards the cleric, who just raised an elegant eyebrow at his antics.

She looked amused at the whole ordeal, her light-green eyes glittering slightly.

Astarion’s chest was heaving and his breathing shallow. With a lingering gaze towards you, he suddenly turned and left without a word.

You watched him go. Pulling your hand to your chest as you did. Perhaps that hadn’t been one of your brightest ideas. You felt the dismay from the bride, before it shimmered back down, and you could finally think.

“You’d think with the way he was acting I had walked into something far more elicit,” Shadowheart commented with a smirk as she approached you. “And here I thought he would be into some voyeurism.”

You didn’t reply, only feeling a little ashamed of the fact you hadn’t been able to control yourself better.

Her expression softened slightly, “I didn’t mean any offence. Let me see your arm.”

You wordlessly held it out, and her fingers gently travelled over your skin. He hadn’t bitten you, though if she hadn’t interrupted, you were certain he had only been seconds away. Her hands started to glow as the wound knitted itself back together.

“Astarion owes me a new shirt,” you commented afterwards, looking in dismay at the torn fabric. It elicited a smile from the cleric.

After the ordeal, Gale managed to solve the puzzle in the chapel, and Karlach and Lae’zel found a path into the temple below. During the fight after meeting Vlaakith, you were curious to see Astarion dancing like shadows across the battlefield. Faster and stronger than you had seen the spawn fight before.

It seemed the few drops of your blood had fuelled him. A troubling and curious development.

After the fight, Lae’zel had been troubled. Her expression drawn and lips pressed into a line of dismay. You wondered what was going through her mind, but you didn’t dare ask. Vlaakith had ordered her death, the queen she had spent her whole life serving. It must be quite a shattering shock. To be considered a traitor when she had done her absolute best to follow her orders.

Lathander’s blood was retrieved without destroying the monastery. The emblem Gale had picked up after solving the puzzle in the chapel coming in a clutch, saving them all.

The party decided to set camp away from the creche, just in case there were more githyanki in the area. You wondered if it bothered Lae’zel having to kill her own kin, though she didn’t say anything. Probably just suppressing it until she had time to properly digest everything that had happened.

The moment we set camp, Astarion left. Muttering something about hunting. Part of you wanted to go after him, not trusting that he wouldn’t run away. Though the logical part knew he wouldn’t. He was smart enough to know he wouldn’t survive on his own. He was nothing if not predictable in his fear and desire to live.

You settled by the fire. Accepting a bowl of stew and enjoyed a cup of the firewine Karlach had dragged with her as you half listened to the conversation around you. Only really paying attention when a particular topic came up.

“What’s up with Astarion? He has been acting strange all day.”

“Perhaps he is having an adverse effect from Lathander’s blood?” Wyll wondered with a slight frown, gaze darting towards the legendary mace the party had pilfered. Supposedly containing the blood of the sun god, according to the myth at least.

“Why would that bother him?” Karlach wondered, her yellow eyes shining with curiosity.

“Because he is a vampire,” Shadowheart explained with a short grunt, taking a swig of her cup.

“What? He is a…” the tiefling trailed of, first her eyebrows lifted in shock, then a frown marred her brows. “sh*t. Yeah. That checks out.”

You were slightly amused by her surprise. Though it was a good sign that she accepted it so easily. You couldn’t quite recall if she had been there at all when it was revealed the first time around.

“Wait,” she continued, glancing around the campfire as she peered at the other companions. “Why am I the only one surprised by this?”

“Chk. Even his kin are known to the gith,” Lae’zel huffed, her chin lifting slightly in an air of superiority. It was good to see that she still acted like normal.

“Yet you can’t remember how to pronounce tiefling,” Karlach muttered under her breath, masking her words with a swig of her cup. But the smile curling on her lips indicating that it was meant as a joke.

You weren’t sure if Lae’zel heard her or not, as she did not respond, but it did bring an amused tug on the corner of your lips. This comradery was so… foreign to you. Having been too used to the matter of courts. Your interactions in the past century had been only either with Astarion or with people you had considered subordinates, not comrades.

It was… nice. You didn’t know how much you had missed casual banter before now.

“White hair, pale, red eyes and sporting fangs? A quintessential textbook vampire, if I've ever seen one. Yet despite his vampiric nature, our resident bloodsucker has not displayed any of the typical inclinations towards pure evil or hints of mastery over the arcane arts of dark magic. Taking in account the circ*mstances at hand, I would make an academic deduction by suggesting that he is a mere spawn,” Gale added with a lecture-like air.

It made the barbarian roll her eyes in mock boredom, though you could tell she had been paying attention.

“Perhaps we should enlighten him that we know all about his predicament?” Wyll chimed in, ever the boy scout. No wonder he had left last time when you had destroyed the Emerald grove in a mistaken belief that keeping your cover as a cultist was the only way through.

Wyll was the kind of sweet and honest that you wished you had been. You had lived long enough to become suspicious and cruel. You could try to fake it, but you would never be as good aligned as the Blade of Frontier.

“I have a better idea,” Shadowheart said with a smirk, her eyes glittering with dark mischief, “let’s make a bet as to how long it takes him to either realize or admit it.”

“Hells yeah,” Karlach grinned, “I’m in.”

The warlock attempted to dissuade the notion, that betting amongst comrades was detriment towards team spirit, but when Lae’zel slapped a pouch of gold on the makeshift table, he was forced to give in to peer pressure.

You bet a hundred gold he would confess before we reached the Shadowcursed lands. Like you, he was too stuck in his own head to realize the obvious, or so you presumed.

When you left to refill your cup, Wyll rose to his feet and followed you. You glanced at him curiously, and he gave a short but reassuring smile in exchange.

“Can we talk?”

You lifted an eyebrow. Wondering what he could possibly want to talk about in private. It made you a little uneasy, but you nodded. He led you a little away from the camp, but you were still close enough to see the flickering of fire and hear the laughter of your other companions.

“Now that the topic is aired, I did realize early on that Astarion was a vampire,” Wyll started as he turned to face you, his lips still curled into a smile, “adverse effect of the trade to always be vigilant on such matters, I’m afraid. Even amongst people I consider more than just comrades in arms. Having said that, I must admit I haven’t quite figure you out just yet.”

You tried not to stiffen at his words. Keeping your body language calm, though you dearly wished you had topped up your drink before following him. You considered lying, but what would that earn you? Suspicion? You needed Wyll’s help if you were to keep everyone on the good and narrow path.

The gods below knew you weren’t capable of being the moral compass of the party, not with the darkness spreading inside of you.

When you didn’t reply to defend yourself, he barrelled on.

“I can tell you are much older than you appear. It’s in the eyes. What are you? You are certainly not as human as you appear,” despite his words, there weren’t any accusations in his tone. Nor was he going for his rapier.

“It’s a delicate topic,” you replied after a moment with a mixture of evasion and a silent plea to drop the matter. You weren’t ready for anyone – if ever – to learn the whole truth. You had hoped you could get away with it, but that was just wistful thinking. You knew everyone were paranoid and suspicious of everyone and everything, and far too perceptive to your liking.

You were curious to see his expression softening lightly. “We are a group of miscreants; everyone has their own secret. A heartless tiefling, a vampire, a Sharran cleric and a wizard with a nuclear bomb in his chest. I myself am a servant of a devil. Know that you are amongst friends. No one here will judge you for your past. It’s fine if you are not ready to share with the party. I just need to know only one thing. Are you a danger to the group?”

Your lips parted slightly in surprise at the fact he wasn’t pushing. You thought this was going to be an interrogation, but instead he was being understanding. Your soul pulsated warmly in your chest, encouraging. It was a strange feeling, that made you heart flutter ever so slightly, to be around someone who was truly good for the sake of being good.

You weren’t sure to berate him for being naïve or jealous that he still believed in the good in people. Whatever words you spoke here, he would accept it. Be it a lie or the truth, you were certain. Wyll would let you gaslight him with a pretty lie.

Gods below, you were getting tired of this. Always being on edge, always suspicious and paranoid.

His words made you realize one important thing. You had been slightly concerned that the shadow seed you carried with you would compromise your mission, that your continuation of travelling with them would eventually put them in danger. Instead, perhaps this was the one place you truly belong.

In a party of misfits and morally different viewpoints. They were all dangerous in their own way. Could all be compromised.

“I cannot promise that,” the words slipped from your lips before you knew it, “But I think, this is the safest place for me. I trust you to stop me if anything happens. Can you promise me that?”

You might still have to kill some of them… but if you lost the battle against the darkness, perhaps the rest could be saved.

“You have my word,” Wyll’s expression was solemn, neither asking for particulars nor doubting the convictions behind your words.

It made you smile, just a small thing that ghosted across your lips. You regretted not being his friend in your last life, and not heeding his advice. Perhaps if you had, everything would have turned out differently.

You were still awake when Astarion crawled into your tent. He stiffened slightly when he noticed you weren’t asleep. Yet it didn’t seem to deter him as he plopped down next to you. Laying half onto the bedroll and half on the ground. If he was uncomfortable by a root digging into his back, he didn’t show it.

The glowing stone from Shadowheart’s light cantrip illuminated the tent, casting his face in a pale light. His cheeks were slightly flushed and his eyes a little glassy. You knew him well enough by now to know it was not because of overindulge of alcohol, but rather from blood. He was wearing his leisure clothing, the white of his frilly shirt looking almost dirty in contrast to his silver hair.

His presence next to you felt almost burning. The vampire bride’s thrill coursing through your veins, tugging at you to get closer, but you stubbornly refused the impulse. Gods below, had you been this pathetic in your need of the Ascendant’s presence? The knowledge troubled you a great deal.

You eyed him warily, an elegant eyebrow lifting in a silent question, though he pretended not to see it. His crimson eyes were locked on your face, a pensiveness marred his brows.

Having overindulged on blood, he seemed almost alive. His skin wasn’t its usual pale pallor and instead he sported a healthy blush. His body heat had risen by a few degrees, though still much colder than what you were used to from the Ascendant. If not for the fact your mind was quiet, you could almost pretend it was him.

A thought that you were immediately ashamed for thinking.

“If you aren’t careful, you are going to hurt yourself thinking so hard,” you grunted after a moment, just to break the silence.

Astarion didn’t take the bait. Instead took his time replying. When he finally did his voice was soft and subdued.

“I can’t get the taste of you out of my mind. I just fought a bear and drank it dry, yet the only thing I could think about was you.”

You looked away, breaking the staring contest. The intensity and earnestness in his voice too much to bear. Instead, you focused your gaze on a hole in your tent. You could almost trick yourself into thinking you could see the twinkling of a star. You propped your head slightly with an elbow.

“I have never drunk blood from a thinking creature before… but no one else smells as intoxicating as you. I’d hazard a guess the flavour wouldn’t be able to compare. There is something different about your blood, isn’t there?”

You tried not to grimace at the question. The truth was… you had no idea. Your Astarion had never made that comment your first time around, other than the fact the preferred to drink from you, simply because your blood tasted of your affections and like home.

Whatever was happening, was a recent development, you were certain. Whatever the Ascendant had done to you, must be evident in your veins. Perhaps the seed Ethel had spoken off was already changing the molecules of your body, or Astarion could simply taste the darkness.

“I don’t know,” you admitted with a soft voice, barely above a whisper.

A thought suddenly occurred to you, and you sat up to reach for your bag. It didn’t take long to dig out the bottle the hag had gifted you.

Astarion didn’t move from his spot, his gaze only mildly curious as to what you were up to. His slender feet were sprawled, making him appear like a lounging feline.

“Can you do me a favour?” you glanced down at him, hoping that he wouldn’t ask too many questions.

He sat up slowly, though he didn’t look suspicious. At least not yet. “Depends on what it is.”

You huffed slightly in amusem*nt, of course. We didn’t trust each other that much. You uncorked the bottle and held it in his direction. His eyes darted towards it with a mixture of wariness and curiosity. The texture of the crimson liquid was rather obvious.

“What does this smell like to you?”

“Trying out a new perfume?” he teased, an automatic response. He always made teasing remarks whenever he felt uncertain. You expected him to refuse, but after a moment he took the flask from you and held it under his nose. He sniffed lightly. “Just like blood. Surprisingly not stale for being bottled up. Why? What is this about?”

Your stomach dropped slightly, you weren’t quite sure what you were expecting. Something, maybe. You were certain Ethel wouldn’t have hexed it with something nefarious, considering she was trying to persuade you into an alliance.

“Could you taste it?” the question spilled from your lips before you could stop yourself, needing to know if he reacted to the blood the same way you had. Perhaps it had the same effect as yours.

This time he frowned, disapproval curling on his lips. “I’m neither a connoisseur nor your test subject, dear.”

It was worth trying, you weren’t surprised at his refusal. He was anything, if not cautious. He was up to try anything, providing someone else did it first. Always watching after his own hide. You didn’t try to persuade him any further, and you reached for the flask with an air of defeat.

He immediately moved it out of reach.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t try.”

“But – “ surprise flickered across your face at his sudden change of behaviour. Before you could react, he had already placed it against his lips and taken a swig.

Truth be told, you had expected him to just dab a drop on his finger to taste, not actually swallow a mouthful.

You watched in fascination as his Adam apple bobbed as he swallowed. For a second, you held your breath, almost like you were waiting for something to happen. You were halfway expected to have to go fetch Shadowheart in case something did.

Pulling the flask away, Astarion looked down at it and licked his lips. Catching the few stray drops that lingered on the skin. Then he shrugged slightly.

“Full bodied, sweet flavour. Good, but a little young for my taste,” he described without being prompted. One of his silver eyebrows lifting into an elegant arch as he peered at you with curiosity. Clearly expecting an explanation.

“You don’t feel any different?” you were a little hesitant to ask, but you had to know.

“Different how?” he pushed with a smirk, clearly not willing to play along unless you asked for specifics.

You grunted a little, but you decided to humour him. It was the least you owed him after him doing you the favour of drinking strange liquids gifted to you by a hag. Without question to boot.

“Powerful,” you clarified, but still keeping it vague. Not giving him too much.

He shook his head slightly, “if you are asking if it makes me feel like your blood did. Then no. It just tastes perfectly normal.”

You took the flask from him and took a sniff yourself. It just smelled metallic to you, almost salty. Like blood did ever since you woke up on the beach and was mortal again. Though you felt the bride squirm under your skin with the desire to consume it, even if it wasn’t appetizing. It made you put the cork back in and place it back into the backpack, just to get some space from it.

“That’s it? Experiment over?” he asked curiously, then a teasing smirk tugged on his lips and made his eyes glitter, “you know what you are supposed to say now, dear.”

You rolled your eyes slightly, almost wanting to be childish. But when you spoke it was with a soft and appreciative tone: “thank you for helping me, it was very kind.”

“A little over the top. Almost makes it sound insincere, but I’ll take it,” he smirked back.

The expression made him look younger with less tension. You weren’t quite sure, but it felt as though he was less nervous around you this time around. Perhaps it was because he didn’t know about the Gur… or because you hadn’t murdered a whole grove of people. On the other hand, you could just be fooling yourself into thinking there was a difference.

It had been such a long time ago, after all. You could hardly remember.

Your Astarion, the Ascendant, was charming and cunning. With the world on his shoulders and an army at his command, some of this playfulness had been lost in transition you realized. No place for it in a world of power and authority.

The worst part of it all, was that you knew you had also changed. You couldn’t recall anymore what you had been like before. A little less serious, perhaps, more sweet and honest probably. Naïve for sure.

It was disheartening to know, that you could never regain that relationship that blossomed between you. You were too different of a person to the one that Astarion had fallen in love with once upon a time. You weren’t quite certain if that was a good thing or not.

“Are you going to tell me why you decided to invade my tent? Yours accidentally placed in a puddle or something?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light and flippant. Hoping he would take it as his que to leave. “If you are looking for warmth, try stealing some from Karlach or Halsin. He will sometimes sleep in his bear form. All warm and cuddly.”

The previous playfulness died slowly on his face, replaced by a much more intense expression. His crimson eyes flickered from your face and to your neck, quick enough that you were sure he hadn’t meant for you to notice. But you had.

In response, you immediately placed a hand over your neck, shielding the skin from view. You suddenly felt a little underdressed, sitting alone with him in your tent, wearing only your night attire. You kept your expression cool, a silent rejection.

“Not even if I ask nicely?” he attempted, not trying to skirt the issue. Then he pressed, but he didn’t sound hopeful, “not even as a reward for helping you out? How selfish of you.”

“I could argue that I have already bid you to a drink,” you replied icily, without a hint of humour. You were not going to budge on the subject. A gnawing feeling in your stomach told you that it was a bad idea to humour him. Not when you didn’t know why he was attracted to your blood or what the repercussions would be.

Before you could react, he pushed you back down onto the bedroll and crawled on top of you. You were too shocked by the sudden action that you forgot to struggle as he pressed your arms to the ground, his fingers soft but firm around your wrist.

“Astarion,” you protested with a grunt, narrowing your eyes.

“I won’t bite, darling, I just want to try an experiment,” he promised, sounding almost out of breath as he pressed his nose against your hair. You could hear him inhale deeply, his eyelashes fluttering slightly as a look of bliss flickered across his face.

Every inch of you that he touched felt tingling as if your insides were boiling. The vampire bride purred with pleasure in your mind. You could feel her spreading from your head and all the way down to the tips of your toes. The unwelcome desire for more felt thick and potent where it coursed through your veins.

“You scent is sweeter than moonlight and your touch warmer than the beams of the sun,” he spoke in a breathless moan. He nuzzled his face in the silken strands of your hair, rubbing his cheeks against them like an eager kitten. “Each and every time we touch, it’s like your pheromones respond to my presence by increasing tenfold. Drawing me in, inviting me to a taste. And now that I have savoured you, the desire for more is an overwhelming urge.”

You quivered slightly at his tone, his words filling you with both a cold chill and a burning desire. You hadn’t known he could sense it when the bride reacted to his very presence. You had been under the assumption it was your body that betrayed you – the scent of your interest and the flutter of your heart.

You recalled how deafening it had felt around mortals when you yourself was an undead. How easy it had been to read them when their very bodies betrayed their fear or arousal with your heightened senses. Though, truth be told, you weren’t quite sure how much a spawn differed from a true vampire in that regard. You had also had the gift to hear the whispers of the night as the vampire ascendant’s bride.

Astarion slid a hand up your arm, over your shoulder and covered the left side of your neck with his palm. It felt both burning and cold against your skin at the same time. Everywhere he touched left a trail of sparkles that only fuelled the desire pooling in your stomach. Before you knew it, your body betrayed you by shifting to accommodate more of him.

A soft whimper escaped your lips as you exhaled. The bride vibrated in your chest, pleased at the current situation. It clashed against your soul, but you couldn’t quite tell if it was against or for this, not with the whispers of desires and lust heating your veins.

“By the sweet hells. It’s like your blood heats at the anticipation of my touch. You are like ambrosia to vampires,” Astarion murmured with a quaver in his voice. His eyes were darkened with desire, the crimson of his irises nearly swallowed whole by the inky blackness. “The thought of Cazador catching even a hint of your aroma fills me with such dread... perhaps a smidgen of possessiveness,” the last phrase was spoken with a low growl emanating from his chest.

It sent a not unpleasant shiver down your spine. His tone was comparable to the possessive affection of the ascendant. When his fingers tightened around your wrist, you let out a breathy noise of need from your lips as you shuddered against him.

It wasn’t the timid touch from the party, playful and soft. But now it was firm with clear desire. In this moment it was just the two of you, nothing else but pure want in his face. He wanted you, even if your rational mind tried to argue that it was your blood that had him so fired up, but the vampire bride was incapable of understanding the difference.

Before you knew it, you had wrapped your free arm around his shoulder, drawing him tighter against you until you were pressed chest to chest. Your legs wrapped around his hips, and you could feel the hint of his growing arousal digging into your lower stomach.

This time it was Astarion who shuddered with breathy sound that ghosted over your hair. You didn’t stop him when his lips pressed against your neck. Trapped between his mouth and his hand, you couldn’t move your head an inch, even if you had wanted to. His tongue lapped hungrily at the throbbing vein, though you absentmindedly noticed that he wasn’t showing a hint of teeth. He had promised not to bite, and he was still lucid enough to heed it.

He shifted his hips a little. The hand on your neck moved down to your thigh, fingers pressing into the fabric of your pants as he moved your leg gently but firmly into a new position. It was only when he grinded against the heat between your legs that you realized what he was doing. An appreciative groan escaping his lips as he did, muffled against your skin. You could feel every hard and throbbing inch of him, even through our clothing.

It sent sparkles of pleasure and lust through your body, and you gasped softly at the sensation. At the promise of more. Your head spun with thoughts and desires, you couldn’t differentiate between your own lust and that of the bride. You weren’t sure what you wanted more. His co*ck or his bite: you just knew you wanted – no, needed, to feel him again.

You mentally and unconsciously reached out, searching for him. For that bond you had shared for a century. To your surprise, you easily found a connection. It eagerly let you in, or perhaps you were the one who accepted it.

Your mind was suddenly flooded with desperation, hunger and confusion. You tried not to flinch at the sudden downpour. The sensation was sharp, followed by the familiar squirming of the mindflayer tadpole in your skull. With a jolt, you realized that the connection you had reached for had connected our tadpoles. The sudden feedback of desire and the intoxicating touch looped between us, making us both shudder with pleasure.

This felt nothing like the vampire bond between a bride and their sire. It was sharp and uncontrollable, a flood that you couldn’t thread through. Too many sensations and the whispers of thoughts that didn’t belong to you on the edges of your mind. With the Ascendant, you could only feel each other’s emotions, this… was far more overwhelming and all-consuming.

You could so easily lose yourself in this.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you gasped, though despite your words, you only tightened your grasp on his shoulder as you clung to him. In response Astarion’s fingers dug into your thigh as he rolled his hips again, creating sparkles of pleasure that echoed between you. It was intoxicating. You weren’t sure if he was the one who moaned, or you. Perhaps both.

“We need to stop,” you tried again, not sure if you were speaking out loud or in his mind. Perhaps both. You could feel his teeth graze your skin, the inviting throb of your pulse as if you were the one with your lips wrapped around the vein in your neck.

So close to that delicious price. That delectable taste. Yet so far away. You could feel his fervent desire, the want, the need, his desperation for just one single drop. To taste the power in your blood. A flash of his memories flooded through the tadpole bond. For just a second, you could sense how your scent alone was driving him wild.

Potency of what a drop of your blood had tasted on his tongue, fuelled his body with power he had only dreamt of. Like the world had slowed down, and his vision felt much sharper. In the dark corners of the room, he could sense the secrets of the night like the whispers of the witching hour under a pale moon. A mystery he yearned more than anything to learn.

All that from just a drop. A high he had never felt before, and once he had come down and the effect had disappeared, he had felt cold and powerless once more. And so, so very hungry for more. He had fought a bear and drank it dry just in an attempt to quell the desperate hunger. And once he couldn’t take it anymore, he had come crawling to your tent to beg for another taste.

“Please,” he whispered on the edge of a plea. You could feel him in your mind. Heady and desperate. Begging you to not ask him to stop as he mouthed the words against your skin. “Just a taste. Let me worship you.”

You quivered at the tone, swallowing thickly as you tried to ground yourself but it was hard with his hunger and lust in your head and his lips on your neck. The bride purred with satisfaction at the attention. Of finally being bonded again, even if it was in this warped and strange way. It tried to convince you that this was how it should be. You and Astarion. One in body and mind.

Aeterna amantes, it whispered as it swelled in your chest until you couldn’t breathe unless you gave into the overwhelming desire between Astarion and the bride. You couldn’t quite find your own voice where you were drowning in the chaos.

“One taste,” he pleaded, the corner of his fangs grazed along your skin. His breath was moist and shallow, as if he was desperately inhaling the flavour of your skin in an attempt to carve it to memory. “I’ll make it worth your while. I am capable of giving you unbridled pleasure that’ll make your wildest fantasies seem tame by comparison. I offer myself willingly to your every desire. All I ask is to be allowed one single taste…”

When he placed a kiss against the spot that had once been scarred with his teeth mark for a century, you suddenly felt your body move on your own. You trembled with need, your core clenched around nothing, and you felt wet and aching. The desire to feel him again washed over you. Every inch. To be full and complete again. You felt thrusted into the backseat as your hand mindlessly grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged his head up.

Your lips pressed against his. Hungry and greedily you licked into his mouth, your lips moving against his, bruising and possessive. Astarion responded in kind, like he knew instinctively exactly how you liked to be kissed. Each touch of his tongue sliding against yours sent thrills of desire through you. The vampire bride purred with satisfaction in your head.

Astarion eyes were wide and wild, the crimson in his eyes completely devoured by darkness. The few stray thoughts making it through the mental connection between our tadpoles were a stuttering chaos of need and want. A hint of confusion at the overpowering lust, but mostly just hunger. For you, for your blood. The loop between him and the bride was intoxicating, and you wondered where your desire ended and his started.

His hand let go of your wrist that he had pinned to the ground when he crawled on top of you earlier. He used it to cup your jaw to lift your face a little so he could get better access to your mouth as the kiss deepened. The taste of his lips and tongue was intoxicating and heady, making your head spin with desire. He had always been an excellent kisser.

You trembled a little as his thumb stroke your cheek, as it slightly reminded you of the ascendant’s loving but possessive touch that he would give you whenever you kissed. It made you feel desired.

In this moment, it wasn’t you and the spawn, but the bride and the ascendant moving together in a practiced dance perfected over a century in each other’s arms.

It was only when your now free hand grabbed his and slipped it under the waistband of your trousers that a swell of panic rose in your chest. You were no longer in full control, your whole body squirmed with pleasure and desire, the bride peering out of your eyes and moaning lustfully. She was the one goading him on, and Astarion eagerly followed the direction, his fingers already gliding across your vulva. When his thumb grazed your cl*t, sparkles of electricity jolted through you. A breathy noise escaped your throat at the sensation.

You had to stop this before it went any further. Before you lost yourself completely.

Closing your eyes you tried to focus on the hunger, on the bride you felt spreading through your veins with the dark lust. But it was difficult affair when you could feel the tip of one of his dexterous fingers gliding between your folds and teasing your entrance whilst his thumb circled your cl*t. It made you shudder at the boiling desire flooding your core.

It had been too long since you had been intimate like this. You wanted his fingers, his lips and tongue on you, you wanted his co*ck or his bite, you didn’t care. You just wanted him. Craved every part of him.

He must have sensed your lustful thoughts through the psychic connection still open between you, as he didn’t hesitate to sink one of his digits into you. You let out another stuttering breath as you clenched around the finger, pretending you hadn’t missed the feeling of his touch more than you would have liked.

He swallowed the noise you made eagerly where our mouth was pressed together into a dance of lips and tongue in heated passion. In response, your fingers tightened in his silver locks, and he let out an appreciative groan – though you weren’t quite sure if the sound was genuine or just a seductive performance.

In that moment, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was this. You and him, together again. The scent of him and the taste of his lips were intoxicating to your senses.

You let the sound of his desire for you flood through your mind, fuelling the lust boiling under your skin. Your other hand was still curled around his wrist, where the bride was still goading him on in an invitation to touch and stroke. A second finger joined the first as he started to thrust them eagerly into your heat, his fingers grazing the velvet walls in search of your g-spot.

He only took a second to locate it – you slightly wondered if you had unconsciously guided him through the psychic connection. Astarion started to rub the spot, sending sparkles of pleasure and electricity through your body powerful enough to make your toes curl. You couldn’t stop the moan from escaping your throat, your legs tightened around his hips as if he would dare to leave now.

In response he chuckled with amusem*nt at the reaction. Any other moment you would have been embarrassed, but right now you didn’t care. Breaking the kiss, he started to press butterfly kisses against your jaw – the coolness of his lips a balm against your heated skin – before letting his mouth return to your throat.

Despite both of your minds being flooded with lust and desire, an overwhelming feedback between you that seemed to only increase the longer we were touching. Instead of words, the tadpole connection was flooded only with desires and sensation, your minds so closely connected you were certain he could feel his own touch on your skin. Despite the lack of rational thought as it was drowned in this pool of lust, Astarion was still careful not to have his teeth or fangs graze you as he tasted the sweat on your skin. You could practically feel the throbbing of your pulse against his lips.

His hand cupping your face started to glide down your neck, over your shoulder, the pads of his fingers teasing your collarbone before cupping a breast through your nightclothes. His thumb didn’t hesitate to circle the areola in teasing touches. It made you shudder and gasp again.

The unbidden desire to have control over your limbs again just so you could touch him back and get rid of these pesky clothing rose in the back of your mind. It made you feel guilty for a second. It seemed the bride preferred to take him up on the offer to worship your body.

Every touch, every kiss, made your skin flush and your core throb with arousal and lust. The onslaught of sensations coursing through you was overwhelming. You could still feel the weight of his erection through your clothing where it pressed against your inner thigh. Eager to not be ignored. It’s presence one of tantalizing promises of a night of passion. One that you knew intimately that he could deliver.

You tried so desperately to cling to your rationality and break free from the spell that was flooding your senses. The bride was in control of your body right now, taking what she so desperately desired – and perhaps, deep down, a part of you did too. The part that just wanted to give in and let this happen.

You mentally tugged at the core of the bride within you, letting the memories of the power you had felt in Astarion’s mind guide you. You realized that what he had felt was a fraction of what it had been for you when you had been a true vampire. The heady and intoxicating powers, a part of it was still there. Even if it was just an echo.

A seed, you realized. A dark seed of power embedded in your very soul.

This close to Astarion, with your body flooding with energy, the power came without a fight. Wriggling against your command like eager kittens to be used.

“Enough,” you hissed both against his ear and echoed in his mind. “I said stop.”

All movement stilled above you. You felt more than heard his breath hitch in his chest. His body was wound tight. Then his hand dropped from your thigh, his fingers withdrawing from your undergarments, and he pulled himself to a seated position. Your legs fell from his hips as he did.

“Yes mistress,” the words escaped his lips before either of you could react. The familiar fog in his eyes from whenever you used your vampiric dominance over a vampire spawn cleared a moment later. His eyes widened in shock. You could feel his unadulterated fear and horror flood into the still open psychic bond between the tadpoles.

Astarion scrambled to his feet, he backed away from you until he hit the edges of your tent. Without turning or looking away, he reached behind him to blindly claw at the fabric, searching for the opening.

The moment you were no longer touching, the vampire bride resided from your mind in an air of irate disappointment. Your autonomy over your body came rushing back in the form of pins and needles.

You sat up, surprised that it had worked hitching in your throat. The psychic connection was abruptly severed, making you both flinch at the pain that throbbed through your skulls. Using the mindflayer powers always left you with a feeling of exhaustion. You weren’t sure if it was you or Astarion, or even the tadpoles themselves, who had severed the connection.

It didn’t matter. The vampire spawn trembled with fear and uncertainty. You had never seen him like this before. So devastated and fearful, he was watching you like you were… a monster. Before you could figure out what to say, he managed to rip the flap open and fled from your tent.

Your breath left you with shallow and heavy. Chest heaving as if you had been running a marathon. It was with a mixture of disappointment and dread churning in your stomach that you had to finally admit to yourself that you hadn’t really escaped the Ascendant. His bride and the powers he had granted you were still in there somewhere. A part of you still belonged to him.

If your Astarion appeared before you now, you knew without a shred of doubt that you couldn’t fight him off. Not a second time.

He had said that there was nowhere you could hide. That you would always belong to him. Forever.

You collapsed back on your bedroll. Wincing slightly as it made the squirmer in your head pierce with vengeance. You draped an arm over your eyes and blinked away the tears that had swelled in your eyes with dismay.

You hadn’t known that using that power would actually work. You just wanted everything to stop. The bride’s and Astarion’s desperate lust. Just wanted to be able to think clearly again. The fact you could use the vampiric dominance on a spawn that wasn’t yours… was both a fascinating and troubling knowledge.

Thinking about it, your Astarion had turned all of the vampire spawns. You had always just assumed your ability to exercise your command over them was because you were his bride. That you shared them.

Maybe that wasn’t the whole truth.

f*ck. You couldn’t even ask anyone.

If you had known you wouldn’t have done it. The unease churned in your stomach with a feeling of despair. Has everything been ruined now? You couldn’t try to convince him to not ascend now that he knew his nature was weak not only to Cazador but also towards someone else. Who knew how many other people could exercise command over him?

He was afraid of you now. He wouldn’t trust you anymore – if he ever had. He had gotten a taste of the power flooding through your veins and you had felt his desperation for it.

You were back to scratch. Everything had unravelled in the blink of an eye.

The only option left was to kill him… before it was too late.

You wondered briefly if he would flee the camp. You were too tired to run after him tonight, but if he wasn’t still here come morning you would beeline to Baldur's Gate and wait for him there. He would come for Cazador, sooner or later, of that you were certain.

If you left the party now, you would lose Shadowheart to Shar, but it was a trade you were willing to make. The chance of Astarion ascending was the largest threat of the two.

You hope he didn’t run.

Yet…

You hoped he ran, just so you could finally stop this charade. Stop playing house.

Your soul burned and twisted as the thought entered your mind. It so abruptly washed over you that you grunted in pain and pressed a hand against your chest as you felt the radiance. It had been quiet for so long, drowned in the darkness of the vampire bride. But now that she had rescinded with disappointment with Astarion leaving, you could finally sense it again.

“We have till Baldur’s Gate,” you whispered into the tent, hoping the words would soothe it. A promise to yourself. “If he is beyond saving by then, we’ll kill him.”

You weren’t sure there even was a way, yet the soul burned with the hope that you would find one. Part of you were certain you didn’t have the power nor strength to save any of them, least of all yourself.