kindred

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/49859419.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Categories: F/F, F/M
Fandom: Baldur's Gate (Video Games)
Relationships: Astarion/Tav (Baldur's Gate), Astarion/Charname (Baldur's Gate),
Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character(s), Astarion
(Baldur's Gate)/Original Character(s)
Characters: Astarion (Baldur's Gate), Tav (Baldur's Gate), Shadowheart (Baldur's
Gate), Lae'zel (Baldur's Gate), Halsin (Baldur's Gate), Gale (Baldur's
Gate), Karlach (Baldur's Gate)
Additional Tags: Medium Burn (slow burn within the constraints of the canon game
lmao), Rewrite, I can fix him, Trauma, Sex, Smut, Healing, Bard Tav
(Baldur's Gate), Human Tav, Bisexual Female Character, Childhood
Trauma, Past Child Abuse, Praise Kink, Exhibitionism
Language: English
Series: Part 1 of we can live forever if you've got the time
Stats: Published: 2023-09-04 Updated: 2024-01-09 Words: 119,437 Chapters:
43/?
 kindred
by aevallare

Summary

And it's then, with his fingers buried inside her and her back scraping against the bark of the
tree, that she looks into his eyes and sees –

Nothing. Like he isn't even there.

"Stop," she says, breath ragged with pleasure that feels like poison.

He might be the most beautiful creature that she's ever seen, bathed in this moonlight, and the
wicked smirk he puts on only strengthens his case. "What, darling? That close already?"

“You don't want this,” she says simply, still out of breath, and for the first time since she’s
met him, Astarion seems speechless.

auri knows people, and that's how she can tell; astarion is deeply, deeply fucked up.

Notes

i can fix him. or something. i can also make him really sad first.

welcome to the obligatory bg3 longfic i'm so happy to have you here. <3
 auri

For Auri, the world has always been a matter of song. Other things were important too, of
course, but home as Auri knows it has always been a fickle thing. She’s only ever
consistently found it in song. People came and went, but the music she heard in everything
was the only constant in a life defined by nomadism. Well, and Viv. There was also Viv.

But where once she heard melodies, now there is only the parasite wriggling beneath her
skull. If Auri focuses hard enough, she thinks she can hear it squelching, squirming against
her brain matter. She’s never been squeamish, but with every step forward, it burrows deeper.
She knows it. The tadpole has a song, too, but it’s vile and dark. Auri wouldn’t miss it if she
never heard it again. It’s a bastardization of everything Auri has ever cared about, tainting
every crevice of her consciousness.

The lyre hitched to her side feels heavy, the sand does a poor job of supporting her cheap
boots, and Shadowheart makes for quiet company that is wholly uninterested in conversation.
In essence, Auri’s alone with the tadpole and its discordance.

Well, with the exception of the mind flayer that tried to possess her. It had made for
dangerous company, no matter how brief the encounter had been. Auri had very nearly
succumbed there. For a moment, she’d almost stooped down and pressed her lips to its face.

The pommel of Shadowheart’s mace had proved her savior. She’d jabbed it into Auri’s side
frantically, and in that moment, Auri had wrested back control.

“Didn’t expect to be able to repay my life debt that quickly,” Shadowheart had deadpanned,
but when Auri had glanced at her, there was a hint of humor in Shadowheart’s eyes.

Auri exhales a laugh through her nose, no matter that the memory is from only minutes
before. Life wasn’t normal before the nautiloid, but it certainly is less so now. Auri has no
choice but to roll with the punches. Her anxiety about the worm accomplishes nothing, and
though she can’t shake it, she can at least try to push it to the background of her thoughts.

“What did you do before you had a parasite in your head?” Auri asks, trying for lighthearted
small talk.

Shadowheart fidgets. “I don’t remember.”

“You don’t–”

“Look,” Shadowheart says, facing Auri fully, light glinting off her armor, “We’re in this
together, whether we like it or not. And I won’t forget that you saved me from the pod when
you could have walked right past. But that doesn’t mean I trust you fully. Don’t take it
personally.”

It’s reasonable enough, despite the obvious lie about not remembering, and it hadn’t stopped
her from saving Auri from the mind flayer’s influence before, but Auri deflates a bit anyway.
The distraction from their affliction had been very short-lived.

Would it be better or worse to have the githyanki from the ship with them? The conversation
wouldn’t be improved, but at least they would have more hands when happening upon brain
things and full-fledged, almost-but-not-quite-dead-but-can-certainly-make-Auri-dead mind
flayers.

It is with all of this context that Auri cuts herself a little bit of a break for believing the silver-
haired elf that’s pale as the moon when he says that he has a mind flayer cornered. It’s been
quite the day. When she plays it back in her head later, his every movement is too calculated;
even the quiver in his voice is meticulously acted.

She should have known better, because bards are storytellers, yes, musicians, artists. But
before all else, they are observers. Of celestial bodies and magic and the threads that weave
the world together.

More than any other thing in the universe, though, they are observers of people. The elf is in
fine clothing that’s well-cared for; he’s clearly used to finery, and at a glance, he appears to
attend to his appearance carefully. His eyes dart between her and Shadowheart quickly, and
Auri can almost see the calculations running in his head, sizing them up. And yet Auri
somehow isn’t able to notice until the moment that the elf tackles her to the ground with a
knife to her throat, that there is something deeply, deeply wrong with him.

She wouldn’t have even needed to be a bard to come to that conclusion, steel pressed against
her flesh. But it’s more than that. For a fleeting instant, when the arm not wielding the knife
is pressed up against her breast, Auri sees a cocktail in his eyes that she knows all too well.

Desperation, defiance, and disdain, all in equal measure. It's like looking in a mirror.

"I saw you on that ship," he hisses, made all the more dangerous-sounding by a mouth filled
with teeth that almost look like fangs. “You’re in league with them. Those–”

Shadowheart makes a grunting noise that pulls both Auri and the elf’s attention, but it doesn’t
last even for a second. The knife clatters to the ground at the same moment that the worm
stills in Auri’s head.

And then it pulses.

She clutches her head; the elf does the same. Behind her, there’s a thudding sound that might
be Shadowheart falling to her knees. Auri knows this sensation now, but that doesn’t make it
any less jarring when –

The streets are dark but still busy. People notice me, but only if I want them to. The sun is
coming up soon. There isn't much time. I’m not sure–

The worm pulses again (Auri's sure she felt it that time) and the memory slips away.
Confusion flickers across the elf's face, and Shadowheart thankfully has the presence of mind
to pick up the knife. Auri sees her reach forward from where she fell to the ground from the
corner of her eye.
"What was that?" the elf asks, his violent agenda not the priority in the face of the parasite,
though he’s still holding her to the ground.

The strain of the intrusion has knocked Auri off-kilter, but Shadowheart says, “It’s the worm.
It… connects us.”

His gaze flits to her when she speaks, but only momentarily, and then he refocuses on Auri.
“That makes sense, I suppose,” he says slowly, finally pulling away and brushing off his
clothing as he stands. “As much as anything that’s happened lately makes sense.”

He’s clearly a threat, but in the same way that Auri and Shadowheart could be perceived that
way. He’s no mind flayer or demon.

He’s just a person, for better or worse. When he chuckles, it’s not quite genuine, but
Shadowheart has the knife now, at least. “And to think, I was ready to decorate the ground
with your innards. Apologies.”

Shadowheart snorts, no doubt having come to the same conclusion that Auri has; he isn’t
sorry at all. Still, Auri says, “I follow the logic, though I wish it hadn’t resulted in a knife to
my throat. I’m Auri.”

The worm connects them, and Auri has no idea what’s coming next. That he’d attacked her
isn’t as important as the fact that they almost certainly have a mutual goal – not becoming
mind flayers. Still, he tilts his head to the side like he’s surprised that she’s taken the assault
in stride.

In fairness, it should be more upsetting, but being attacked with a knife seems mundane after
the nautiloid. What’s a little attempted stabbing between acquaintances?

“Astarion,” he says as an introduction. “I was snatched from Baldur’s Gate.”

Auri nods. “I was in Baldur’s Gate, too.”

Astarion raises an eyebrow and looks her over again, more intently this time. It’s not the
same as the brief sizing-up he’d done before. When he’s satisfied (or dissatisfied) with his
analysis, he says, “Yes. We run in different circles, no doubt.”

That is probably the understatement of the century, particularly considering that Auri was
only in Baldur’s Gate for four days. They were due to leave today. Her heart twists; it’s
impossible that the others made it. She’d seen them all being swallowed up, stolen, the bright
colors of their troupe garish against the horror of the nautiloid’s inevitability.

Auri flexes her fingers involuntarily. Astarion’s gaze flits to the action, but he stays silent.

“Not to interrupt,” Shadowheart interrupts, looking at Auri, “But I’d like to keep moving.
We’re on borrowed time as it is. So if you could hurry it along, I’d appreciate it.”

“Borrowed time?” Astarion repeats, and Auri nods.

“The worms aren’t just for show,” Auri says (is it behind her eyes? Something is twisting
there), “They’re going to turn us into mind flayers.”

The laugh that Astarion barks out startles Auri enough that she jumps. “Of course. Why
wouldn’t it turn me into a monster?” He runs a hand through his hair, a sardonic smile firmly
in place, his other hand on his hip. “Although, we haven’t been turned yet. And there’s also
the possibility of what power they could afford us. Maybe it’s too early to abandon all hope,
should we be able to find an expert.”

“We?” Shadowheart’s patience wears thin, and Auri doesn’t miss the thinly veiled desire on
his tongue as he says the word power.

Auri turns back to look at her, and Shadowheart shrugs – I don’t care as long as we keep
moving. And when she turns back to Astarion, he winks at her.

Oh, yes. Auri knows his type. He’s just like her, though he’d no doubt deny it if pressed.

A performer.

“Joining up might not be a bad idea,” she says, though she doesn’t acknowledge the wink.

A grin that she might call predatory spreads across Astarion’s face. “I had planned to go this
alone, but perhaps not,” he says, “And you seem like a useful person to know.”

“Do I give him the knife back?” Shadowheart asks, voice skeptical.

Astarion dismisses her immediately. “No need. I have plenty.”

“Yes, I see no way this can go wrong at all,” Shadowheart mumbles to herself, but she turns
her back to them anyway and begins walking, throwing the knife over her shoulder in a poor
display of safe practice despite Astarion’s words. Auri dodges it, but Astarion catches the
knife effortlessly, stowing it away in one swift and smooth action. He’s a rogue if ever she’s
seen one.

Auri would venture that she and Shadowheart (despite her words) have come to the same
conclusion without voicing it; if they have a mutual goal, then Astarion’s not dangerous to
them, nevermind the fact that his first instinct had been to pin Auri to the ground and threaten
her with bodily harm.

The worm writhes, mutilating more of her brain matter by the moment. Or not. The damage
it’s doing is entirely up to her imagination, and each step seems to magnify Auri’s paranoia.

“I never caught your name, darling,” Astarion says lightly, walking next to Shadowheart.

Shadowheart looks at him skeptically, not flinching at the pet name, mocking it instead. “I
didn’t offer it, darling.”

Astarion outright pouts (“You wound me!). Shadowheart picks up the pace so he isn’t in step
with her, and Auri doesn’t feel any better about the situation they’re in, but at least for the
moment, she isn’t alone.
“A bard, a rogue, and a cleric,” Auri says. Shadowheart’s body language grows stiffer, and
Astarion feeds off it, a smug smirk on his face as he falls into step next to Auri instead. “I
wonder what else we can find.”

Astarion breathes out dramatically. “Lots of trouble, no doubt. And hopefully decent wine.”

It’s still stifled by the parasite, but there’s a song in here, a story worth telling. Auri can
already see it beginning, though she’d prefer to hear it. Auri brushes her fingers along the
strings of her lyre that’s still at her hip, strumming it thoughtlessly, a fruitless attempt at
staving off the anxiety mounting in her chest. Its song eludes her. What she’s left with is the
tadpole.

All they have to do is not turn into mind flayers. That’s a simple task, surely.
 astarion
Chapter Notes

ok ngl i didn't realize how fast things progress with astarion canonically until i started
writing this chapter and realized that it would have taken me a minimum of 30k words
to get to this point normally lmfao

also, i am not a gale hater, but astarion sure sort of is lol

tw: astarion stuff

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The world is irreconcilably horrible. Centuries of experience have taught Astarion that.
That’s why, when he’d woken up on the beach in sunlight, he’d assumed the worst. Running
through all possible explanations, he’d settled on hallucination as the most likely case, a side
effect of the worm now nestled safely in his mind.

But his hand had scooped up as much sand as it could hold, grains of it falling between his
fingers, and the sea had lapped at the shore, and after several minutes of sitting stock-still,
Astarion had been forced to see reality. The worm must still be to blame (or thank), but with
every passing second, it became clearer and clearer that it was no figment of his imagination.

The day seemed blinding at the time, though when he thinks back on it, the sky had been
quite gray. Its brilliance was no doubt amplified by the fact that Astarion hadn’t felt sun on
his skin for two hundred years.

And it’s outright poetic that the same day he doesn’t burst into flames in the light of day, he
(for reasons he himself still does not fully understand) ends up the traveling companion of
someone whose personality seems to boil down to anthropomorphized sunshine.

That’s what she is, this Auri, a bard with very few brains and no instinct for self-preservation,
if Astarion’s time with her thus far is any indicator. Initially, he’d thought it a ruse. Keep your
friends close and your enemies closer. They’re all at risk of becoming mind flayers at any
moment, and trusting each other becomes less and less sensible with every companion she
collects. But Astarion watches as she seduces information about a crèche from Lae’zel and
pulls Gale from an unstable portal, all the while entertaining Shadowheart’s skepticism and
dancing with Astarion’s particular brand of savoir-faire.

It’s only a few days later, when they reach the druid’s grove by coincidence or fate, that
Astarion is convinced. It’s not a bit. Auri is just like this. The magnitude of her infuriating
selflessness had only really become clear during the fight just moments before when she’d
insisted they all throw themselves in the line of fire for some idiots they don’t even know.
But she hadn’t really given them a say in the matter. Red hair gleaming in the sunlight, green
eyes flashing with mischief, she’d tumbled forward with intent, dodging a goblin’s
shortsword to shout, “Hey! You boiled lump of a bugbear!”

So they slaughtered several goblins and a bugbear, and just as Astarion had prepared to hold
out a hand for compensation, she’d dismissed any reward.

Baffling.

How might githyanki blood taste? Truly, a question for the ages. He wouldn’t turn up his
nose at Shadowheart’s either. Free of Cazador’s leash (for the time being – Astarion doesn’t
have the kind of optimism required to even imagine true freedom), his hunger feels unbridled
and his senses feel dull. The fighting has exhausted him in a way that he wasn’t expecting,
and he’s starving.

Gale stands at Auri's side as she speaks to the tiefling child she's just liberated from Kagha's
clutches. Astarion can hear Auri laugh and say, "Yes, I know that one, Arabella, but–"

"Please!" Arabella grabs the hem of Auri's tunic. Gale chuckles just enough to make Astarion
roll his eyes, and when he does, he almost misses what happens next.

Auri swallows hard. She's uncomfortable.

Gale, blithering wizard that he is, hasn't noticed. He jabs a playful elbow into Auri's side and
says, "Certainly we're not so pressed for time that we can't hear a song."

And again, Astarion rolls his eyes. Idiot.

Auri reaches towards her lyre with quivering fingers. He had thought it odd for a bard to not
even touch their instrument in combat, but they'd dispatched the opposition quickly. It hadn't
really been necessary. Now, though, he wonders if there might be a deeper reason.

It's not in his nature to step in. He's more than content to watch this awkward scene play out;
in fact, Astarion almost relishes it. Unfortunately, Shadowheart is too pragmatic to grant him
that sliver of joy.

"Yes, Gale," Shadowheart says, "We aren't in a hurry or anything. We should definitely take
our time."

Gale at least has the good manners to blush. "Of course.”

Auri exhales, and the quiver in her fingers stops. “Next time. Okay?” She puts a hand on
Arabella’s head and ruffles her hair, and Arabella pouts, but doesn’t protest.

“Promise?” she asks.

“I promise.” Auri nods and smiles so wide that it threatens to split her face in two.

She’s as foolish as Astarion thought, promising things like that as if she isn’t likely to be dead
or a mind flayer tomorrow morning. He shakes his head. It’s so like a human to be that naive,
and she’s fairly young even by their standards – late twenties if he had to guess.

The grove is beautiful, but Astarion’s always been a creature of the city. All these druids and
their reverence – Astarion doesn’t see the point, though he does admire Kagha’s instinct for
self-preservation. He leans against a tree; Auri dispatches Shadowheart and Lae’zel to set up
camp while she, Astarion, Wyll, and Gale finish up errands, so in all likelihood, they will
return to a bloodbath.

When every face turns away from Auri, though, she exhales, like she bears the weight of the
world on her back. It’s a physical iteration of the same emotion that had taken hold when
he’d touched Auri on the beach. The memory floods back into him, unbidden.

I smile because it makes Viv happy. Lights dance in the tent despite the storm raging outside.
We’re sold out. There are so many eyes, and they’re all watching–

“Astarion?”

Dulled senses, indeed.

He’s not the type to be startled, but he’s even less the type to be so unaware of his
surroundings that he can be startled. Still, seemingly without meaning to, Auri has
accomplished just that, walking into arm’s reach without him noticing. She’s staring up at
him, head tilted to the side with something that looks like concern, which is even more
alarming.

Auri blinks twice. “Are you alright?”

She has a certain charm to her, in her own remarkably average way. The freckles spattered
across her nose are marred by speckles of goblin blood. Astarion smirks in the way that
always gets him what he wants, and says, “Better now, darling.”

It always works. It deflects, it seduces, it annoys, but it always works.

But Auri squints, skeptical. “You seemed far away.”

Astarion’s lips part, but he recovers in only a moment, the smirk firmly back in place. “And
leave you alone? I’d never.”

Her cheeks pinken (the smell of blood rushing to her face is–), but the answer doesn’t satisfy
her. He can tell by the way that her nose briefly wrinkles, but she has tact enough to not press
the issue. Instead, she smiles again, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Good,” she says simply, like they know each other, as if they’re friends, and walks past him
without looking back.

The smell of her lingers long after she walks away, and he resolves to slip away for a hunt at
the earliest opportunity.
Disappointingly, Lae’zel and Shadowheart have not killed each other when Astarion, Auri,
Gale, and their newest victim, Wyll, return to camp. Wyll seems too well-adjusted for their
crew, but there’s surely something wrong with him besides the tadpole. Time will tell if that
suspicion proves true.

Night falls quickly, and it’s strange to say they have a routine when they’ve only known each
other a few days, but they fall into it nonetheless. Gale takes up cooking, Lae’zel and
Shadowheart bicker until their voices fade into white noise, Astarion keeps to himself unless
alcohol is flowing, and Auri joins each of them in turn, blending perfectly into whatever
company she chooses.

Camaraderie is not something that comes naturally to Astarion; he’d had his siblings, and
Cazador, too, but that’s the shittiest excuse for a family Astarion’s ever seen. He keeps his
distance and tries to ignore the gnawing hunger that intensifies by the moment. Astarion’s
eyes sag as Gale places a too-familiar hand on Auri’s back.

She doesn’t shrink away from the touch, and as Astarion watches, the campfire illuminates
her face. If he looks for it, it’s easy to see that the smile’s often an act. Astarion’s takes a
different form, but he’s done the same thing countless times.

People see what they want to see.

The hunt wasn’t enough. The doe he’d killed had taken the edge off for the moment, but it
wasn’t enough. He’s exerted himself more than normal, yes, but the animal blood should
have slaked his thirst. It always has before, and the deer was much more filling than any
number of rats–

Ah. Of course. The tadpole.

Coexisting with a parasite had to have its downsides (outside of the inevitable transformation
into a mind flayer).

It would be easy. Everyone’s settled down into their bedrolls, and Auri’s back is to him. No
one notices him anyway if he doesn’t want them to, and Astarion’s fangs are sharp. The pinch
probably wouldn’t even wake her.

His eyes flutter shut. She would be sweet, he thinks; he doesn’t know what human blood
tastes like, but she’s silhouetted by the light of the fire, and her hair looks like flames, too.

He’s an outsider in this group. Surely biting into the person that assembled them wouldn’t
diminish his social standing more than could be salvaged when none of them care whether
he’s here or not anyway.

Astarion isn’t in control of his body when he takes a step forward. His hunger moves him of
its own volition. The second step is easier, then–

“Astarion.” Auri’s voice is low, and she doesn’t turn towards him, but for the second time
today, she startles him, and she poses him the same question. “Are you alright?”
It begs the same answer. “Better now, darling.”

His voice sounds strained to his own ears, but Auri doesn’t acknowledge it. “Do you want to
talk about it?”

That sounds like a nightmare. It’s taking every bit of his willpower not to tackle her to the
dirt and drain her dry. The only sounds he can hear are the crackling fire and her blood
pulsing through her, never mind the five other living bodies sprawled around the camp.

“If you’re looking for my tragic backstory, our relationship isn't quite there yet, my dear.”

She turns to him, rolling over but not sitting up. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re very
funny?”

This bard– she is so strange.

“No,” Astarion says honestly, “They usually settle on insufferable or irritating.”

It’s impossible that she can see him; he’s too far away from the light. Still, he can see Auri’s
eyes slowly looking around, trying to adjust to the dim light, to locate his exact position.
“Are you hungry?”

Her gaze falls on a place about a meter from his face. It would be funny if her question had
been anything else. “Beg pardon?”

Auri sits up finally, pulling her legs up underneath her. “I know you think me a fool,
Astarion. That doesn’t actually make me one.”

She knows. Astarion’s eyes narrow.

“That point might hold more weight if you were actually looking at me rather than at a point
in space that couldn’t be further from my face.”

How does this conversation end? Does she try to stake him?

“If you were closer, you’d be easier to see.”

Astarion runs his tongue over one of his fangs hesitantly; he’d been moments from biting her
anyway. Talking about this while she’s awake can’t be any worse than Auri waking up with
his mouth on her neck. “You say you’re not a fool, but–”

“You’ve had plenty of opportunities to kill me these last few days if that’s what you wanted
to do,” Auri interrupts, “And whether you like me or not, our chances at finding a solution for
the tadpole problem are greater together. Self-preservation dictates that killing me would be
stupid.”

Internally, Astarion concedes the point. Perhaps Auri is not as much a fool as he thought.

He steps forward into the light. The rest of their companions still sleep soundly around the
fire. “What gave me away?”
“Besides your rakish good looks?” A half-smile tugs at her lips, and she shrugs. “Call it a gut
feeling.”

Fine. She hasn’t tried to kill him yet. She can keep that secret if it makes her feel better about
the fact that he doesn’t know if he can walk away without tasting her.

“So. Are you hungry?” she asks again.

Starving.

“Animals usually are enough to get by,” Astarion says, eyeing a chipped nail to avoid staring
at the way Auri’s pulse is nearly beating out of her skin. “But the pace we’ve been
maintaining, and the exertion of our efforts – I admit that my normal methods have not been
enough to satisfy, as of late.”

Auri nods slowly. The green of her eyes bores into whatever’s left of his soul. “Well? Here,
or would you prefer somewhere more private?”

Astarion manages not to take a step back in surprise. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

She sighs and stands, brushing off her clothes. “For someone your age, I expected a bit more
in the critical thinking department.”

The incensed noise that escapes his throat is involuntary. “I–” he starts, but she snorts out a
laugh that stops him completely.

“It doesn’t please me to see you suffer, Astarion,” Auri says, and despite the laugh, she seems
to mean it, walking towards him without hesitation. “And if Lae’zel wakes up to see you with
your teeth sunk into me, she’s not exactly the type to ask questions first.”

So she isn’t going to try to kill him, and she’s consenting to him drinking from her?
Astarion’s respect for her grows by the moment, though he might be in shock.

“Are you coming?” she asks, stopping at his side for only a moment to look up at him. “I
can’t see that well in the dark.”

“You are aware of what you’re doing, aren’t you?” Astarion’s mouth moves of its own
accord. “You’re asking a vampire to follow you into a forest in the middle of the night.”

It's the first time his affliction's been named. Astarion expects it to shock her out of whatever
possessed her to be so agreeable. Instead, she starts walking forward towards the trees.
“Perspective, Astarion. What I’m doing is making sure you aren’t miserable.”

No. She is a fool, after all.

He follows her.

Her heart thuds in her chest with every step forward. Despite her brave, even nonchalant,
words, Auri is nervous. That’s not new; the more that he watches her, Astarion can see that
she practically sweats anxiety.
“How does this work?” she asks, her tone still mild despite her racing heartbeat.

They’re a decent distance from the camp in a small clearing, the woods pressing in on them
from every side. “Traditionally, I would drain you dry, drop your corpse without a second
thought, turn into a bat, and disappear into the night.”

Auri snorts again, a wholly inappropriate reaction. “Make it worth my while at least, then.”

He hasn’t answered her question at all, but she brushes her hair to the side anyway, revealing
the throbbing artery that Astarion’s been resisting for hours.

Auri nods, and that’s enough invitation for Astarion’s hunger-addled brain. He steps forward,
pushing his body into hers until she’s pressed between him and a nearby tree. Her breath
quickens with each step backward, the pounding of her blood hypnotic, and in a bloodlust-
stricken trance, Astarion buries his fangs in her flesh, a hand at her waist and the other in her
hair.

She gasps as he punctures her flesh, but Astarion barely hears it. The sheer vitality of her
pours into him, and Auri tastes better than anything he could put into words. She’s nectar
incarnate and this is strength in liquid form, though the slightly bitter aftertaste is a surprise.
How can he ever drink from an animal again when this is so near?

One of Auri’s hands stabilizes against the tree behind her, and the other braces against his
shoulder.

Flashes of emotion burn through him unbidden, the worms connecting them somehow even
more intimately. Auri’s fear shoots up his spine, but she isn’t scared of him; she’s scared of
everything. Dim pleasure dampens that angst, relief at being held even if it is at the cost of
her blood, and finally, most alarmingly of all, contentment.

In a dark way, Astarion supposes that makes sense. A vampire wanting to drink from her and
then doing so is a logical chain of events. It’s expected, which is more than they can say
about everything else lately.

Blood drips down his chin. He should wipe it away, but he can’t make himself care. He’d
have to release Auri from his grip for that, and that’s a non-starter. Her emotions start to fade.
They don’t disappear, but they distance themselves.

“Astarion…” Auri’s voice comes out as a whimper, and he registers the sound, but he doesn’t
quite hear it. The blood is intoxicating and there’s nothing else in the universe that matters.
Every part of him can be tentacles tomorrow if he never has to relinquish this.

Her hand bunches into his shirt, and she repeats his name, more weakly now even as she tries
to sound firm. “Astarion.”

And at last, he returns to himself, the world brighter than it's ever been.

Astarion pulls away from her neck and Auri slumps against the tree, eyes barely open and
sliding to the ground. “Apologies, darling. I may have gotten a bit carried away.”
 That’s the understatement of the century, but it’s explanation enough. He crouches next to
her, though she seems to be struggling to stay awake. He hasn’t taken enough to kill her, but
he had lost himself. A few moments more, and she would have been in a much more dire
state.

Still, bloodlet though she is, Auri wears a half-smile when she looks at him. “Feel better?”

He feels like the world could not stand against him.

“Marginally.” He puts a finger under her chin and tilts her face up. “You should eat
something and then sleep.”

Auri hums noncommittally. “I’ll eat in the morning,” she says, drowsiness in every syllable,
and her eyes flutter shut.

When Astarion removes his hand from under her chin, her head lolls forward, fast asleep in a
matter of seconds. And with the silence of the woods around them, he swipes a thumb at the
pinpricks of blood pooling where his fangs had been only moments before.

Auri’s breathing is normal. She’ll be fine. He licks the remainder of the blood from his
fingers.

“This is a gift, you know,” he says to her sleeping form, “I won’t forget it.”

Chapter End Notes

thank you for reading my loves you can find me on tumblr and twitter!
 auri
Chapter Notes

i'm very normal btw

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Auri wakes disoriented. She doesn't remember falling asleep, and she knows she didn't make
it back to her bedroll, but that's where she is.

The collar of her tunic covers the only evidence remaining of what she and Astarion engaged
in last night. Auri sits up slowly, and despite the care she takes in moving, dizziness still
threatens to overwhelm her.

Astarion had told her to eat before she went to sleep. She probably should have listened.

The camp is already bustling; she should hear the music in it, but she doesn’t. Auri’s heart
sinks. Every morning that she wakes, she hopes that the situation will have resolved itself,
but that hasn’t been the case yet. There’s no rhythm to the world, and she used to hear it in
everything. What would happen if she tried to pluck away at her lyre? She’s petrified to find
out.

Shadowheart shouts something vulgar at Lae'zel, who responds instantly in turn. Wyll
watches both of them from a distance nervously. Gale, apparently undisturbed by the chaos of
camp, remains focused on whatever arcane tome holds his attention today. And Astarion is
staring straight at her.

He raises an eyebrow in Auri's direction, and she manages a thumbs up, though she's starting
to wonder if letting him drink from her was a mistake. It's not a question of ethics, but of
practicality. If she can't shake the lightheadedness, breaking Halsin free from whatever
situation he's found himself in will be much more difficult.

The world swims. Gods.

She reaches for her pack in search of water, and when she pulls it open, she finds a sweet roll
nestled atop her waterskin and all the other nonsense she’s accumulated since she started this
journey. Auri tilts her head in confusion, and when she looks up, she finds Astarion, still
staring, with a self-satisfied smirk.

The smile that spreads across Auri’s face is one of disbelief. Of course she didn’t make it
back to the camp on her own, just like she didn’t procure this sweet roll for herself.

“Where’d you get that? It looks delicious.” Shadowheart’s standing over her shoulder, and
when she speaks, Auri jumps.
She doubts that Astarion would want them to know that he’s extended her this kindness.
Thankfully, a lie comes easily. “I bought it off of one of the tieflings in the grove. Alfira, I
think her name was.”

Astarion’s smirk widens; she can see it in her peripheral vision. An unbidden blush rises to
her cheeks. Shadowheart pouts, not seeming to notice. “That’s a shame. If you had more, I
was going to buy one from you.”

“Sorry,” Auri says, “This one’s all mine.”

She bites into the sweet roll. Cardamom and cinnamon explode into her mouth, and Auri’s
head tilts backward in ecstasy. Shadowheart huffs. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

Auri would like to take the day off, but that’s not realistic, so who does she take to infiltrate
the goblin camp? Astarion’s a no-brainer. Under normal circumstances, Auri’s a fine enough
healer on her own, but she doesn’t trust her music, so Shadowheart is a necessity. That leaves
a final slot. She almost always feels better with Lae’zel at her back, but it’s hopefully not
going to be an outright blitz, so Auri doubts her skillset is best suited for the job. Wyll is a
possibility, but it’s not impossible that someone there could place his face. That leaves Gale.

She’s not unhappy with that team.

Auri tears away a piece of the sweet roll and holds it out to Shadowheart, who takes it and
pops it into her mouth so quickly that it almost seems like a reflex. She moans with pleasure.
“Okay. You weren’t rubbing it in. That was delicious.”

“Anything for you, Shadowheart,” Auri laughs. “Ready to go play house with some goblins?”

“Give me another bite of that and I’ll do anything you ask.”

Auri shoves the remainder of the roll in her mouth as the pout returns to Shadowheart’s face.
“Go get Gale. I’ll grab Astarion.”

When she pushes herself to her feet, the faintness returns, but she doesn’t fall to her knees
with it. Auri lets her eyes flutter shut while she restabilizes, and when she opens them again,
Astarion stands in front of her. “Rogues,” she says, faux-annoyed.

He eyes her critically, though even that comes off as an act. “Bards.”

She laughs, and that seems to surprise him. “How are you feeling?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” His eyes drift to her neck, and Auri manages not to fidget.

“I’ll be fine. Probably should have listened when you told me to eat before I fell asleep.
Thanks for the roll, by the way. Where’d you get it?”

“Stole it off one of the druids while you were making sure Kagha knew what a bleeding heart
you are. You sharing it with Shadowheart wounded me.” He presses the back of his hand to
his forehead like he might faint, and when Auri chuckles again, a ghost of a genuine smile
lands on his face, though it fades as quickly as she notices it. “Why didn’t you tell her?”
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he’s talking about, and it’s a fair question, but the
thought had never even crossed Auri’s mind. “Why would I?”

“Most people, in my experience, would feel an obligation to inform their companions that
they’re breaking metaphorical bread with a vampire.”

“It’s not my secret to share,” Auri says. Gale and Shadowheart approach from the left; she’d
best wrap this up quickly. “You’re not going to bite any of them. If you need to feed again,
you have me.”

Her haste has made her reckless with her words. She hears what she’s said too late.

“I have you,” Astarion says, voice silky, and Auri knows that it’s a weapon, but that doesn’t
make her immune to it. “Duly noted, darling.”

Auri rolls her eyes, but his charms are evident nonetheless. “Completely independent of the
bullshit, keep an eye on me today. I don’t feel completely recovered.” The bluntness cuts
through his normal behavior. He nods, and she continues, “I also wouldn’t mind more sweet
rolls.”

He exhales a laugh. “Maybe you’d taste sweeter for it.”

“Are you complaining about my flavor–”

Shadowheart coughs, and for the second time today, Auri jumps, startled. “We’re not
interrupting, are we?” she asks, Gale at her side.

Auri says, “Not at all.”

“We were just discussing how the most likely way she dies is someone coming up behind her
and greeting her, since she appears to be very near a heart attack every time it happens,”
Astarion says.

Auri hefts her pack up onto her back, and huffs, “Rude.”

There’s still no music, and Auri tries not to mind. Unfortunately, the dread mounting at the
base of her neck is an ever-present reminder that she is very frightened, all their jokes aside.

Generally speaking, goblins aren’t known for their intelligence, but it’s still suspiciously easy
for Auri to talk their way in. The tadpole makes it simple, though she could do without the
disapproving looks from Gale and Shadowheart on her back. Astarion, at least, spares her any
judgment.

Life is easier for a True Soul in these moments, though. Auri has no doubt they’ll have to
fight later. There’s no reason to start now.

They walk towards the encampment from the guard outpost, and it had been too easy.

Hear my voice.
There’s a woman speaking, and then the pressure of a thousand hands pushing down on Auri.
No one in sight is touching her, but she’s forced to her knees. Auri cries out in shock; she
can’t even turn to make sure they’re out of the goblins’ earshot.

The world goes black, and where previously she’d had Astarion, Gale, and Shadowheart,
there’s no one. Panic replaces everything else, and her breathing quickens.

She’s alone. Completely and utterly alone. The music was gone before and Auri didn’t think
that it could get worse, but now there’s nothing. There’s only silence.

Auri tries to steady her breathing but fails. The base level of dizziness she’d been grappling
with from the blood loss merges with her hyperventilation, and she’s only a moment from
fainting. She needs Viv. She can’t do this alone. She–

There are three figures: an elf, a man, and a woman. The tadpole twists in her skull, and Auri
only manages not to whimper because her breathing is so uneven.

A psychic grip closes around her neck and forces her gaze upward. These are my Chosen,
comes the voice again, Aid them, and you will become as they are.

She can’t breathe. It doesn’t matter how hard she tries.

Light shatters the darkness and Auri regains control, clutching her chest as the artifact
levitates in front of her. She gulps air like she never has before, and Gale’s at her side in a
moment. “Did you see that too?” she asks, looking frantically from him to Shadowheart to
Astarion.

“Yes. You’re shaking. Are you–” Gale reaches out to her as he speaks, and Auri slaps his
hand away.

“Don’t touch me,” Auri hisses, and Gale recoils. “I’m fine. I’m–” Her voice cracks. “Sorry,
Gale. Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he says, and he seems to mean it, though he does keep his distance as she
stands. The music’s still gone and her legs feel unsteady, but she’s breathing. She’s okay.

Gale looks concerned. Shadowheart stares at her with something that Auri, if she’s
uncharitable, might call pity.

Auri hates it.

“I’m sorry,” she says again. The smile comes easily, and it seems to satisfy Shadowheart and
Gale, at least. “It just took me by surprise.”

Astarion’s eyes linger a moment too long, then he shrugs, signature smirk well in place.
“Penchant for dramatics? Truly a woman after my own heart.”

Shadowheart scoffs, and the tension finally dissolves. Auri swallows hard. Her hands are still
shaking, and she wants desperately to reach for her lyre and bury herself in song.
Would it answer? If she begged the strings, would it return? Shadowheart and Gale’s
conversation is white noise, and her feet carry her forward despite the limbo Auri’s found
herself in.

“If you’re going for dissociated basket case, you’re doing a marvelous job, darling.”
Strangely, Astarion’s jab returns a sense of normalcy to Auri.

She sighs out a laugh. “Have you ever met a sane bard?”

“Hmm.” Astarion mulls it over. “I actually think not being sane is a bardic prerequisite.”

The smile that tugs from her is real. “As opposed to you, who is always well-grounded and
pragmatic.”

“And remarkably good in bed.”

“Of course. How could I forget?”

“I’ll forgive you this singular trespass, but take care that it doesn’t happen again.” When
Astarion finishes with a dramatic flourish of his hand, Auri snorts, and he cringes at the
sound. “Ghastly noise. So unbecoming.”

In response, she snorts again.

The goblin camp proper is as vile as Auri’d imagined. It smells of blood, dirt, and cooking
meat, and Auri’s not convinced that the meat is traditional. Rotisserie dwarf is on the menu if
a glance over the bonfire is any indicator. She grimaces.

There’s a screech to her left, not human, and Auri’s head whips towards the sound.

“It can be hard to tell,” Gale says, “But I believe that one is a trader. Was there anything we
wanted to be rid of?”

“The tadpole,” Auri says absently. Shadowheart sets her mouth in an unamused line.

“Ah. Well. I doubt he’ll be able to assist us with that, but perhaps we could offload some of
the…” he trails off, looking for a delicate word to describe Auri’s penchant for hoarding.
“Some of the trinkets we’ve collected thus far.”

An animal’s cries ring out again. Auri forces a pleasant smile to her face; it’s not Gale’s fault
that the world is horrible. “You can call it junk, Gale. I know it’s mostly junk.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say it’s junk–” Gale starts almost guiltily.

“It’s junk.” It amuses Shadowheart, at least. “I’ll go with him.”

“Thank you,” Auri says, and the moment that they start walking, she cuts the briskest pace
she can manage towards the sound.
It’s an owlbear cub, much too young to be away from its mother. It’s locked up in a cage that
dangles from a nearby tree, swinging slightly. When Auri approaches it, it whimpers,
cowering as far away from her as it can. There are cuts on its flank, and Auri’s eyes narrow.

“Here to play?” A female goblin sidles up, dressed in drab dregs like all the rest, and Auri
swallows her fury as much as she can manage.

“Play?” She’s not quite gnashing her teeth, but it’s close.

“Yeah. We let the thing loose. You chase it around. If you catch it, you win.”

“Where’d you get it?” Auri asks.

The goblin cackles. “Ate its mother a few days ago. No reason not to get some use out of the
cub.”

Auri’s fingers are twitching again, but it’s not with anxiety this time. “I think I’ll pass this
time. Thanks.”

The goblin shrugs. “Your loss.”

When the goblin walks away, the cub tentatively steps forward again. The cage moves with
it, unsteady. It whimpers. Auri leans towards the cage, ready to stretch her fingers through the
grate, but she thinks better of it at the same moment. “I’ll be back, okay?” she whispers, her
eyes locking with the cub’s. “I promise.”

It can’t understand her, but that doesn’t matter. “Bleeding heart,” Astarion sighs behind her,
but it doesn’t sound like a criticism, exactly, though he doesn’t seem to approve, either. She
hadn’t heard him follow, but that’s not really a surprise. No one would hear Astarion if he
didn’t want to be heard.

“I thought you liked me better bleeding,” she says, her gaze never leaving the cub.

“Guilty as charged.”

He doesn’t elaborate. The cub growls at a passing goblin with a club. “This cub didn’t do
anything to deserve this.”

“Innocence is seldom rewarded.” He sounds more sober than usual, and Auri purses her lips.

“I’ll be back,” she repeats, and she hears the clank of Shadowheart’s armor approaching.
“Anything of note?”

“Eh.” Shadowheart shrugs at the same time that Gale shakes his head. “He bought most of
your junk off of us, which is good. I imagine we’ll be able to sell it all again later, since we’re
almost certainly going to slaughter them all on the way out.”

“Yes. We are.”
 The venom in Auri’s voice seems to take Shadowheart and Gale by surprise, but Astarion
doesn’t flinch, and finally, she turns away from the cub.

Chapter End Notes

thank you for reaaaaaaaaading i hope you enjoyed! :D find me on tumblr and twitter!
 astarion
Chapter Notes

hastily edited because i found out i'm going to be very busy tomorrow and wanted to get
this posted for you guys :3 forgive me in advance for any and all errors!

taking liberties with how magic works a bit btw in the universe its my city and you're
invited to live in it <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gods, but he feels alive.

He sees, hears, smells everything. If he doesn’t focus, it’s overstimulation. The colors are too
bright and everyone’s pulses are pounding.

And Auri still makes no sense. He could have drunk her dry last night, and the first thing she
does this morning is ask if he’ll keep an eye on her.

Her idiocy is Astarion’s gain, though. He’s not hungry. When’s the last time he wasn’t
hungry? Before the worm, he’d eaten whatever Cazador deemed him worthy of, and it had
always been shit, but it had sated him, he’d thought.

He was wrong. No rat could compare.

Keeping an eye on her isn’t difficult, not when all he can think about is how there’d been a
hole in his stomach all this time and he’d never even noticed it was there. He’s literally drunk
on her, except it’s dialed him up to a version of himself that he’s never even envisioned
before.

And she’d said he could drink again–

“Um, do we really think that’s the best idea, Auri?” Gale voices his milquetoast opinion, and
Auri usually heeds it (probably because his disgusting do-gooder tendencies tend to align
with her own upsettingly heroic agenda), but she doesn’t even seem to hear it. She walks up
to the priestess (a priestess named Gut – what is wrong with goblins?) and lets herself be
branded with the symbol of the Absolute.

Even during this flirtation with freedom, Astarion is too much a slave to like the sight. “Your
stock lowers by the moment, darling,” he says. Unfortunately, Gale is the one standing next
to him. Shadowheart is much more fun to banter with, though Auri would be his first choice
in present company.
Gale looks at him in disapproval. Astarion huffs. “The girls would have thought it was
funny.”

“The girls…” Gale starts and then looks irritated at himself for parroting back the epithet
Astarion used. “They indulge you.”

Astarion gasps like what Gale has said is a knife to the heart; in his peripheral vision, Gut
starts to lead Auri up a flight of stairs, Shadowheart on her heels.

“If the girls indulged me properly, we’d all be much happier,” Astarion says, and when Gale
frowns, it stokes a spiteful flame of satisfaction in Astarion’s heart. Technically speaking,
there’s nothing wrong with Gale. It’s just these selfless types; they rub Astarion in all the
wrong ways, and while Auri’s cut from the same cloth, she let him drink from her, so her
idiotic penchant for doing the right thing works in his favor.

He doubts Gale would make the same offer, so, unfortunately for him, he’s just annoying.
Auri’s a midnight snack. Gale is a gnat.

That nearly rhymes, but not letting Auri out of his sight is probably more important than
ruminating on that.

“I do wonder what’s going through her head much of the time,” Gale says.

Auri, Shadowheart, and Gut stop just short of an open door, and Auri holds out a hand to
Shadowheart that Astarion reads as stay here. To her credit, Shadowheart opens her mouth to
protest, but when Gut walks into the next room, Auri follows her without hesitating.
Shadowheart looks back at Gale and Astarion and throws her hands up in frustration as the
door slams behind them.

He sighs. “I presume there is nothing between her ears but dead air.”

“She’s so stubborn,” Shadowheart seethes. “She’s so desperate that she’ll do anything–”

“What are they doing?” Gale interrupts, and Astarion at least has begrudging respect for his
willingness to cut Shadowheart off.

“Gut said she had a solution to our ‘problem,’ if only Auri would follow her to her chapel.”
Astarion uses air quotes for maximum effect.

Shadowheart blinks at him, apparently surprised, and yesterday, Astarion wouldn’t have been
able to hear from that distance. Today, it felt like breathing. Gods, he’s been hamstrung for
two hundred years.

“You heard that and didn’t stop her?” Gale asks, and Astarion rolls his eyes.

“I’m not her keeper–”

“She wouldn’t have listened, Gale. She didn’t listen to me.” When Shadowheart interrupts,
Astarion is surprised.
“So chivalrous, Shadowheart. Jumping to my defense.” Astarion bats his eyelashes at her,
and Shadowheart makes an annoyed noise from deep in her throat.

She crosses her arms. “Defending you is collateral damage. I was just calling Auri an idiot.”

“Respectable. Both win my heart.”

Gale chews his lip and the minutes tick by. Shadowheart paces in front of the door, and the
cultist chatter around them turns to white noise. There are murmurs of the Absolute and how
delicious that dwarf roasting outside is going to taste and how True Soul Minthara raiding the
grove is going to happen soon. Astarion can also hear how Shadowheart’s breathing gets
more and more panicked as time passes, and finally, Gale must notice too, because he says,
“All you’re doing is making me nervous.”

So Shadowheart clenches and unclenches her fists, like that’s somehow better, until there’s a
soft thudding noise from inside the chapel. Gale and Shadowheart are on the door in a
moment, but it swings open before either of them can touch the handle, and a sheepish Auri
emerges.

“Um. Hi,” she says, gaze flitting to each of them in turn.

“Well?” Shadowheart’s impatient to hear whatever Auri’s learned.

Auri steps delicately out of the chapel, shutting the door behind her with as much subtlety as
she can manage, looking side-to-side as if worried someone will notice. “A few things,” she
says, stepping away from the chapel and back towards where they’d initially met Gut.
“Firstly, don’t worry – the tadpole is still lodged in my brain, so we still have that connecting
us all together.” She moves to give a thumbs up and instantly grimaces; on another look,
Astarion sees that she’s been gingerly babying each hand as best she can. “Secondly, Gut is
dead. So. There’s that.” Gale’s mouth drops open and Shadowheart presses a bemused hand
to her forehead before Auri continues, “Thirdly, finally, and perhaps most importantly on a
personal level, I may have dislocated both of my thumbs while trying to escape some
restraints if you could please patch those up for me?” Her last words are a statement turned
question, and they fall out of her mouth in a mashed-together jumble as if Shadowheart might
refuse if she enunciates clearly.

Astarion laughs without thinking, an uncharacteristically unmeasured response, and all three
of them look at him, bewildered. “Oh, please. She’s thumbless, and you’re looking at me like
I’m the problem.”

Auri looks at the floor, too embarrassed to meet Shadowheart’s eyes. “I thought I could just
pop them back in myself but, weirdly enough, that’s difficult to do with both thumbs out of
commission.”

Exhaling through her nose, Shadowheart takes each of Auri’s hands in turn and re-sets her
thumbs in place. Both pops of Shadowheart’s ministrations are punctuated by Auri’s pathetic,
stifled yelps.
“We’re supposed to be finding a druid, if you recall,” Shadowheart says, unamused, and Auri
nods like she’s been scolded.

Auri winces as she tests each thumb, and Gale asks, “How did you manage to kill her so
quietly?”

It’s a good question, and Astarion had been wondering the same. Auri’s hardly a wonder of
martial arts, and he’s still yet to hear her touch her ever-present lyre. But her smile is
disarming, as effective as any blade in its own capacity, and she says, “Oh, you know. Just
lucky, I guess.”

It’s not an answer in the slightest, but Auri’s cocktail of deception is potent. Shadowheart and
Gale both accept it, and neither questions her further, though by all rights they should. When
Auri starts moving at a decisive pace, all three of them follow instinctively, and Astarion is
unwilling to unpack why.

With Halsin in tow, they dispatch Minthara with relative ease. Begrudgingly, Astarion admits
that a well-executed thunderwave from Gale made everything but Minthara herself absolutely
trivial. And, well, they also have a bear. So that’s exciting.

And yes, Halsin can turn into a bear, which is nice, but what they have in him also is yet
another fool who is seemingly only concerned with doing the right thing. He also keeps
eyeing Astarion in a way that makes him feel a bit like he’s under observation.

“I’m going to see if I can dredge up any information, but we’re killing the hobgoblin.
Obviously.” Auri’s eyes are on the mind flayer corpse in the center of the room. “I talk to
him. After that, well. You know.”

She sends Halsin, Shadowheart, and Gale to the flanks, and Astarion asks, “What of me,
fearless leader?”

Auri looks up at him. This close, with the clarity that her blood has brought, she reminds him
of a rabbit. Every muscle is spring-loaded, and she’s prey just waiting to be hunted.

“Stay close. I told you to keep an eye on me, after all.”

Astarion searches for anything ulterior, and he finds nothing. And that’s somehow more
discomforting than any kind of lie, considering how quick she is to be anything that people
want her to be.

That’s a game that Astarion knows and is comfortable playing. Earnestness is not a look he
wears well.

He coughs. “Maybe don’t go behind closed doors with goblin priestesses, if my eyes are to be
of use to you.”

Auri pouts, and, thankfully, the sincerity is gone. “Don’t be jealous. You know you’re the
only one allowed to spill my blood.”
It’s a joke, and a funny one, even, but something in it lands dangerously low in Astarion’s
stomach. The feeling is unfamiliar.

“I’ll be in the shadows, darling,” he says, and if he wasn’t still blood-drunk on her, he might
not hear what she says next. But he is, so he does.

“And I’ll feel safer for it.”

They wipe the camp. For a long time, violence was the only joy Astarion knew. He’s good at
it. When his blades tear through flesh, that makes sense. It’s simple. Goblin blood adorns
every visible surface. The ground swims in it and it stains Gale’s robe, mats Halsin’s fur,
drips from Shadowheart’s mace, and mars Astarion’s daggers. Auri’s hair is painted with it,
her still-untouched lyre swinging from her side.

Astarion knows this. He understands it.

“Is this enough?” Auri asks, and Halsin’s bear eyes hold hers. He transforms back, the light
of the magic dazzling as the sun sets around them. The fur disappears as Halsin comes back
into himself, towering over Auri.

He reaches down and lays a hand on Auri’s head, and she flinches when he makes contact,
but apparently comes to terms with it. She lets Halsin’s hand rest there. “I was always going
to help you. I just had to finish this first. I appreciate the help.”

Astarion can hear (smell) the blood rush to her cheeks.

“We weren’t going to just leave you there to do that alone,” she says.

“Oh, I probably would have,” Astarion says, wiping blood from both daggers and sheathing
them.

Gale scoffs. “Without a doubt, you would have.”

“I also would have left you in the rock by the beach.”

Shadowheart coughs in a way that sounds suspiciously like laughter. Astarion smirks.

Removing his hand from Auri’s head, Halsin takes a step back. “I will return to the grove.
The Kagha problem needs solved sooner rather than later, and the tieflings’ dilemma only
adds to its urgency.” He nods at each of them in turn and ends by looking at Auri again. “Will
you join me?”

“Yes,” Auri agrees, “I just–” There’s a sharp cry from not far away that Astarion recognizes,
and Auri’s head whips towards it. “There’s just something I have to do first. I’ll meet you all
at the front of the camp.”

Auri turns and darts in the direction of the owlbear cub’s cage, and Shadowheart, Gale, and
Halsin make for the bridge, though the half-smile on Halsin’s face leads Astarion to believe
that he knows exactly what Auri needs to do. None of them wait for Astarion, and so he’s left
with a choice.

The one who lets him drink her blood, or the ones who would likely excommunicate him if
they found out about his condition?

It’s not a choice at all.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Auri says to the whimpering cub, and her fingers (always quivering, never
steady) fumble with the rope that the goblins had used to keep the cage closed. “I’ll get you
out of there. Just give me a second. I–”

She exhales unsteadily, breath quaking like her hands. In different circumstances, it would be
comedic to let her struggle, but for reasons he doesn’t understand, Astarion doesn’t find much
humor in it. Auri hasn’t noticed him yet, but every part of her is shaking, and without a word,
he pulls out the dagger he’d wiped clean only moments before and cuts the rope in two.

His presence startles her, and it would be a lie to say it’s not endearing. She jumps into the air
as the door to the cage swings open. Auri turns to look at him, frantically wiping at her eyes.

Her eyes are glossy, wet.

Astarion doesn’t understand why and he doesn’t want to. She doesn’t try to explain it either,
thankfully. Instead, she turns back to the cub.

“Do you think it can jump down on its own?” she asks, though it doesn’t really seem like
she’s asking him, so he doesn’t answer.

But then she moves forward, reaching both hands towards the cage.

“Oh, you can’t be serious,” he says, impulsively grabbing her arm and pulling her back.

She doesn’t shrink from his touch, but when she looks up at him, her eyes shine like tears still
threaten to spill over. He can see the marks he left on her neck from this angle, peeking out
from under her collar. “It’s going to hurt itself!”

“Look, I know you love doing things in the most difficult, self-sacrificing way possible, but
that is an owlbear, and trying to grab it is stupid.”

“It’s a baby, Astarion!” Desperation colors her voice like this matters to her as much as
anything so far on this journey has.

Astarion sets his mouth in a line. Their gazes are locked, and from the corner of his eye, the
cub jumps effortlessly to the ground from the cage.

Auri chokes out a laugh. Her forearm is still firmly in his grasp, and she says, “Well, I
suppose you did say it. It is an owlbear. Stupid to think it couldn’t jump down.”

He releases her, then, and says, “Yes, well. We don’t keep you around for your intellect.”
 She laughs again, a strangled giggle, and the cub cautiously approaches them, sniffing Auri’s
boots and Astarion’s after. She kneels when the cub is in front of him, and Astarion says,
“Oh, honestly–”

Then, like it takes every bit of courage that she’s ever known, Auri steels herself, opens her
mouth, and sings. It’s not much – she vocalizes five short notes and waves a hand over the
cub’s injured flank. Magic flows into the wound, and it heals before their eyes.

“So you are a bard after all,” Astarion says, but Auri’s eyes are wet again, and she doesn’t
answer. The cub nips at the sleeve of Auri’s tunic as thanks and disappears into the
wilderness just outside the camp.

Auri stands, and when she speaks to Astarion, her voice is flat. “We should get back to the
others.”

The camp is empty, or it will be once they leave. Her voice was beautiful, but there was
something missing. Astarion can’t put a name to it.

She doesn’t wait to see if he follows her, but he does.

Chapter End Notes

what NERDS. thanks for reading <3

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 auri
Chapter Notes

i uh. lost myself a little in the sauce here. and then suddenly it was 4k words. oops.

fwiw, and you'll probably understand when you get there; auri almost understands
astarion's hangups, but not quite.

tw: alcohol, sexual situations

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Her voice had been all wrong. The thought echoes through her head for hours after she’d
sung to the cub. Its wounds had healed under her hand, and she can still hear Astarion’s voice
(“So you are a bard after all.”), but it had been wrong. It had sounded fine; Astarion’s lips
had even parted like he’d been surprised the sound had come from her, disaster that she is.
She knows that look well.

But her voice – it was weak. Auri’s voice has never been strong compared to her skill on the
lyre, but it’s like the tadpole is leeching from her, and that would make sense, wouldn’t it?
It’s a parasite. Its only purpose is to feed until it becomes a mind flayer.

Ceremorphosis.

The grove’s beauty is tainted by her malaise. If someone asked her what she was worried
about, she could probably point at the worm as the cause, but truthfully, turning into a mind
flayer bothers her less than the fact that when she’d opened her mouth to sing for the owlbear
(and Astarion, by proxy), her voice had sounded so artificial.

Auri sits on a stone bench that she can only describe as uncomfortable, and she draws her
legs up underneath her. Her companions flit around the grove, tying up any business they
might have before returning to camp. Auri’s invited the tieflings and the druids alike to a
celebration, which will certainly spell disaster in some shape or form, but Halsin has
promised to attend, so it probably won’t completely go to shit.

Lae’zel is engaged in a staring contest with a wolf while Gale eyes both of them nervously,
and Auri’s not sure who she would bet on. She can hear Wyll in the distance, laughing from
deep in his stomach as he helps the tieflings pack their caravan. Shadowheart crouches
nearby in a patch of flowers, smiling as she delicately runs her fingers along the petals of an
orchid; one of the druids, the one with the bird, stands next to her, watching fondly.

One of Mol’s underlings tries to pickpocket Astarion as Auri watches, and she snorts pre-
emptively. They couldn’t have picked a worse person to try to steal from. He turns to the
tiefling girl, an unamused expression on his face, and hits her over the head with the hilt of a
dagger. Even with the hustle and bustle of the grove around them, she can hear the child’s
incensed yelp. She rubs her head and shouts something vulgar before leaving Astarion be.

“I wanted to thank you again.”

Auri’s getting very tired of being startled, even though it’s more or less her base state of
being. She jumps when Halsin speaks, and he chuckles. “Apologies. Your companions have
mentioned you can be a bit…”

“Paranoid?”

“If I’m to quote them, I believe they said that you are ‘jumpy and lacking in both vigilance
and general situational awareness.’” Auri rolls her eyes; the assessment’s wrong on at least
one count, but she’s not willing to argue the point. Halsin gestures at the spot next to her on
the bench. “May I?”

“It’s your grove,” Auri says, “I don’t think you need my permission.”

He sits. “It would barely be a grove at all if not for the help of you and your friends. I don't
know how I can ever repay this debt."

Auri shrugs. "I don't really believe in the concept of debt."

Her blood has enhanced Astarion's already considerable skillset. He's shown that a hundred
times today already, and he does so once more when he hears what she says even at this
distance, turning to her and rolling his eyes at her words. Auri laughs.

Halsin wears a guarded half-smile as he watches the interaction. "Forgive me if I overstep,

but I would be remiss not to make sure that you know that your rogue friend is not what he
seems."

His eyes linger on her neck, and Auri's skin tingles under Halsin's gaze.

"Are any of us?" Auri’s voice comes out sharper than intended. Her own defensiveness
surprises her, but she knows where it comes from.

There’s too much of her in Astarion not to defend him. She swallows, looking away from
Halsin and down at her hands.

Halsin holds a hand up. “I meant no disrespect. I simply felt an obligation to tell you if you
weren’t already aware.”

Silence falls between them, the ambient noise of the grove filling in the quiet. Eventually,
Auri says, “I know what he is.” Broken. She doesn’t know everything, but she knows that
he’s that. And that he’s a vampire, which is more what Halsin is probably referring to. “He
won’t hurt us. I believe that.”

Halsin nods. “I’m in no position to doubt your judgment after all you’ve done for me.” He
stands, casting an appraising gaze around the grove before them. “I’ll see you at your camp
tonight. Joining the festivities is the least that I can do after everything that you’ve done for
me and for the grove.”

“What a sacrifice on your part,” Auri says, “A night of drinking and dancing with passable
company.”

He chuckles again. “Well, when you put it like that, who am I to argue?

Auri tilts her head to the side, a sweet smile resting easily in place.

What Halsin said and how she responded stick with Auri all the way back to the camp. She’s
helping Gale by prepping vegetables (the only responsibility he’ll afford her) and playing the
conversation back in her head.

She hadn’t lied to Halsin. Auri believes what she said wholeheartedly; Astarion won’t hurt
them. Probably. As long as their goals align, there’s no reason he would. But there’s more to
it than that.

Auri trusts him more than she should, given the evidence, because sometimes, it’s like
looking in a mirror. He’s a version of herself that could have conceivably come about if one
or two things in her life were just a little bit different.

Well. Minus the vampirism, probably. There aren’t many alternate timelines Auri can
imagine where she ends up a vampire. But there also aren’t many timelines where she ends
up with a tadpole under her skull.

The knife slips.

“Shit.”

It slices into her index finger, and Gale looks at her. Normally, he is by far the most patient of
their company, but that changes when there’s food on the line. Sternness comes over him that
would put Lae’zel to shame. “You’re going to contaminate everything. Go.”

Wyll, on the other side of the campfire, has been tasked with boiling potatoes, and he can’t
quite stifle his laugh. The withering look that Gale shoots him could peel paint from walls,
and Wyll immediately schools his face into something more presentable. Gale holds out a
hand, and Auri, like a scolded child, hands him the knife and accepts the dismissal.

Auri stands and puts the bleeding finger in her mouth. The blood doesn’t taste bad, per se,
but it’s hard to understand its appeal to Astarion.

Though, as she thinks about it, he hadn’t said she’d tasted good. Auri’s a little offended, now
that she’s thinking about it. Her eyes drift in his direction, and he’s reading a book. Usually,
when she looks for him, Astarion already knows that she is, but he hasn’t noticed her
attention at all.

But his nostrils are flaring and he’s flipping through pages too quickly. He’s not actually
reading.
Oh. She’s very stupid.

When she pulls her finger from her mouth, blood still pools around the wound, and every
muscle in Astarion’s body clenches. She doesn’t totally understand it; they’re around blood
all the time, and he never reacts like this. Clearly, though, it’s affecting him for the worse.

Auri licks the blood away and bandages the cut tightly. Her head’s not swimming anymore.
Conceivably, it would be fine to let Astarion drink again after the party.

She thinks.

After the cut’s taken care of, Auri finds him still flipping through the book at breakneck
speed.

"Apologies if I made you uncomfortable. We spend a lot of time around blood. I didn't think
it would affect you."

He shuts the book with one hand. Behind his lips, Auri thinks she can see his tongue run over
his fangs. "I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about, my dear."

"I think I'm well enough that you could drink again, if you want." When she finishes her
sentence, Astarion's pupils flare with desire. "Just– if you could take less, it might be easier
on me in the morning."

He nods like that won't be a problem, and Auri doubts it's a lie, exactly, but she also knows
that he'd do anything to drink again.

"After the party," Auri says, "If that's okay?"

"Whatever you like," he says, and Auri swallows hard. Not a person on Faerûn would be able
to find him unattractive, and he's looking at her like he wants to swallow her whole. How
could she be immune to that?

Auri's voice is thick. "After the party, then. In case I don’t feel well afterward."

"You don't–" Astarion pauses and pinches the bridge of his nose. "You don’t have to let me
drink. I know it affected you for the worse today.

Each word seems like it causes physical pain as it comes out of his mouth, and Auri tilts her
head to the side. From Astarion, it’s an unprecedented amount of consideration. "I'll see you
at the party. And, well, after the party, I suppose."

Astarion’s gaze follows her as she walks away, and when she throws a look back over her
shoulder, there’s something in his eyes that she can’t place.

When the party begins, it’s loud within moments. The food is incredible, alcohol flows in
every direction, and the tieflings particularly seem to have been looking for an excuse to let
loose. Auri can’t blame them. She can’t imagine finally having relief from the anxiety that’s
been hanging over them.
The fire burns bright and the food is good. Children’s laughter carries on the air. Alfira plays
a tune that Auri doesn’t recognize. For a brief moment, Auri feels peace settle in her stomach.

The peace instills a new sense of anxiety. What does she do with calm?

She sits by the fire, the joy around her bleeding into the night. There should be a song in it
and there’s not; the peace she’d felt briefly is replaced with grief.

“I thought a bard would be more fun at a party,” Shadowheart says. The light of the fire
illuminates her; she’s holding a glass of something that doesn’t look like wine.

Auri deflects. “What are you drinking?”

Shadowheart holds the glass out to inspect the drink before taking another sip. “I don’t know.
Lae’zel said it would kill any non-gith that tried to drink it–”

“So, naturally, you have to drink it.”

“Naturally.” Shadowheart steels herself and takes another sip, grimacing. “It’s awful.”

“So don’t drink it.”

Shadowheart’s eyes find Lae’zel, lurking near the place her bedroll usually is, and she downs
the rest of the glass in one fell swoop. “Ugh.” She puts the glass down. “That was horrible.”

Auri laughs. Alfira’s music grows louder, and the partygoers pair off as Auri watches,
swaying with varying degrees of skill. Shadowheart exhales a labored breath; whatever drink
Lae’zel had given her clearly is taking its toll. Auri stands and grabs both of Shadowheart’s
hands.

She can hear this song, at least, even if it’s not hers.

“What are you doing?” Shadowheart asks, standing still even as Auri tugs at her.

“You’re going to dance with me,” Auri says, and she doesn’t expect the reaction that she gets.

Shadowheart’s face goes entirely red, a blush engulfing her. “Oh, absolutely not–”

“Oh, absolutely.”

With one particularly forceful yank, Auri manages to pull Shadowheart off-balance, and she
stumbles forward. There’s not a universe where she’s able to do that to a sober Shadowheart,
but that’s not the situation. Shadowheart laughs nervously, but she lets Auri twirl her in an
uncomfortable spin, and as the alcohol settles in her, her movements loosen.

She even smiles, a grin so wide that it’s infectious. A wolf whistle comes from Wyll’s
direction, and Auri laughs (it almost feels real, this ephemeral happiness), and Shadowheart
pulls one of her hands from Auri’s to show him a middle finger. His laugh in response is
hearty, so full that Auri aches with it, and as Shadowheart takes her hands again to move just
out of time with the beat, Auri almost feels like she’s home.
“I’m an awful dancer,” Shadowheart says, but she’s smiling, and gods, but it’s real and it’s all
worth it if Auri was able to give Shadowheart a shred of genuine joy after everything that’s
happened so far and everything that’s yet to happen.

Auri nods, smiling brightly back at her. “You are.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, by the way,” Shadowheart says, a sly look on her face, only
slurring her words a little, “But Astarion is staring at us like he’d like to kill me.” Auri
laughs, but Shadowheart continues, “Don’t act like you haven’t noticed how attached he is to
you.”

And Shadowheart’s right, but not for the reasons that she thinks she is. Auri shakes her head
and rolls her eyes. Shadowheart moves in for a good-natured dramatic, drunken dip, and as
Auri’s body leans back, Shadowheart loses her grip, and Auri drops to the ground with a
thud. Shadowheart gasps. “I’m so sorry–”

But Auri laughs again, and once she starts, she can’t stop. The giggles are hysterical and
uncontrollable. It’s just like something Viv would have done. Shadowheart scrambles to help
her up, and when she does, Auri grabs both of her forearms and pulls her down into the dirt
beside her.

Shadowheart’s incensed gasp fades into the white noise of the party around them. “You’re
horrible,” she says, but she’s still smiling.

“I wish it was under different circumstances, but I’m glad you’re here, Shadowheart.”

Shadowheart’s lips part, and she looks up at the stars. “I’m never drinking whatever Lae’zel
gave me again,” she says, and it’s a deflection, but Auri won’t fault her for it.

“All these people, and none of them are offering to help you up.” Wyll appears over them,
offering each a hand and pulling them both to their feet. “Where do I get whatever you were
drinking, Shadowheart?”

“You’ll have to bother Lae’zel for it,” Shadowheart says, and Auri brushes the dirt from her
clothes. And even though nothing has changed, really, for whatever reason, the spell is
broken. The feeling of home dissipates.

She likes parties just fine, but that’s enough for now. At least for a little bit. Shadowheart and
Wyll hold each other’s attention long enough for Auri to slip away into the treeline at the
edge of camp.

There's a small creek nearby, and Auri doesn't even notice that she's wandering towards it
until she finds herself there.

The current lapping against the rocks is a kind of siren song. Auri finds herself unlacing her
boots and removing her footwraps to sit on the embankment, feet in the water.

“Do you ever give a single thought to how easy you would be to murder?”
For once, though, Auri doesn’t jump. Astarion’s voice falls over her like a blanket. “You
wouldn’t murder me. You like me too much.”

“Like is a strong verb. Tolerate is perhaps more true to life.” He steps up next to her, and
Auri pats the ground next to her. “No,” he says.

“Oh, come on,” Auri says, “I’m going to let you sink your teeth into my neck. The least you
can do is sit with me.”

Astarion wrinkles his nose, and Auri expects him to refuse again, but after a moment, he
lowers himself to the ground, acting like it’s a form of torture the entire time. “Don’t push me
in the water. I’m fairly certain that it won’t do anything to me, considering sunlight is no
longer a problem, but it will mess up my hair.”

Auri laughs. “Why’d you leave the party? You’d been nursing that wine a long time.”

“Yes, and it was horrendous,” he huffs. “Why did you leave the party? You’re the belle of the
ball.”

“Hmm.” She’s not sure how much of the truth she wants to share. “I’m good at being the
center of attention but I don’t enjoy it.”

“And yet, you’re the one that initiated taking Shadowheart for a spin.”

“Shadowheart deserves to feel like a person every now and then instead of just a vessel of her
faith. I want her to feel like she belongs. I want everyone to feel like they belong.”

Astarion’s eyes bore into her, and with great effort, Auri meets them. “And you think hiding
that a vampire walks among them will engender that feeling of home?”

He spits the last word like it’s profanity. The vitriol surprises her; though it’s buried behind
his normal mask, Auri can still hear it. Behind his normal, apathetic tone, a part of him is
resentful of what she’s said.

She shakes her head slowly. “No. I just think the vampire should be allowed to feel safe until
he wants to tell everyone himself.”

The tension in him breaks. Whatever peek she’s just been given into something true about
Astarion has disappeared. The self-assured swagger never left his voice, but it’s back in full
form. “You are aware that idealism like that gets people killed, aren’t you?”

But Auri can play that game. She puts on a smirk to match. “Well, it’s a good thing that I’ve
got a vampire to keep an eye on me when all that naivete gets me in trouble.”

She expects him to play along; Astarion’s quick with a joke, and they’re almost always funny.
But instead, he tilts his head back to look up at the moon, and he exhales a laugh. He looks
like a vampire from a storybook; perfect skin, white hair, equal parts dangerous and inviting.
He doesn’t look at her when he says, “Oh, you are a wicked little thing.”

And Auri’s not sure whether that’s a joke or not, so she doesn’t say anything.
The water reaches up to her ankles. In another universe, this is exactly the kind of situation
where the lyre would be calling to her. Instead, she feels shackled to it.

“Are you hungry?” she asks instead.

His head tilts to the side to look at her, his neck still exposed to the moon. “Far be it from me
to turn down a meal that is both delectable and consenting, but you do understand that, once
again, you are asking to be put in the most vulnerable position possible with a creature that
could exsanguinate you at any given moment?”

Delectable, though. And she had worried that she hadn’t tasted good.

He’s trying so hard to convince her not to be kind to him, but Auri’s tired, and if there’s
anyone in this camp who might understand that, it’s Astarion, though she doesn’t expect him
to drop the ruse.

So she bares her neck, too, though instead of looking at the sky like Astarion’s been doing,
she continues looking forward at the creek. “You won’t,” she says, and there’s no
performance for the moment.

He can be whoever he wants. She’s just Auri.

Last time, he had been starving. It had been hard to feel anything for the desperation the
worm was pushing from his mind to hers. Tonight, it’s different.

Astarion’s still eager – to expect anything else would have been unrealistic – but there’s a
hand wrapped around the back of her head to steady her, and he drinks steadily, not like this
might be the last meal of his life. His other hand finds its way to her hip, and without the fear
he might lose control clouding their connection, his worm speaks to her.

She tastes like the sunlight that day on the beach. I didn’t know. Should I have known? She
gleams with it–

Auri gasps as the wonder pours in, and when she does, the hand in her hair twists at the same
time the one at her hip tightens its grip.

When Astarion briefly pulls away, her blood drips from his mouth. “You’re not the only one
with a tadpole, you know,” he mumbles into her neck. “You enjoy this.”

He’s right, of course.

“You could enjoy it more, if you like,” he continues, and a shudder runs down her spine at the
invitation. Auri sheds her outer layers, standing as she drops clothing to the ground until
she’s left in her underclothes. Astarion looks her up and down appraisingly and doesn’t seem
terribly dissatisfied with what he sees, but he doesn’t undress. Instead, he pushes her
backward until she’s flush with a tree.

He lifts her legs and she wraps them around his waist at the same time that her arms snake
around his neck, the tree perfect leverage even with the discomfort that the bark brings. His
tongue runs along the place he’d bitten just moments before, and she shivers with
anticipation.

“Impatient.” His breath is hot against her neck, a stark contrast to the eerie coolness of his
hands. The apex of her legs is warm enough for both of them, she thinks, and as his right
hand trails along the inside of her thigh up towards the waistband of her underwear, Auri has
no doubt that Astarion is a consummate professional. “But there are worse sins, I suppose.”

His first finger slides inside her easily; she’s extremely wet, considering that the foreplay thus
far has consisted of Astarion drinking her blood.

Her cheeks burn with something that straddles the line between lust and embarrassment.
Astarion grins, and Auri doesn’t know if it’s the worm or her body language that betrays her,
but a second finger joins the first shortly thereafter.

Auri squirms; she’s far from a virgin, but it’s been a long time since she’s had someone else
attending to this particular need. Her breath catches in her throat, and perhaps it’s ill-advised,
but she wants a kiss, wants that connection.

And it's then, searching desperately for that intimacy with his fingers buried inside her and
her back scraping against the bark of the tree, that she looks into his eyes and sees–

Nothing.

His gaze is empty, like his mind is far away even as his thumb brushes against her inner thigh
in a manner that Auri can only describe as expert. She wants him, and her body aches for the
release that he could no doubt provide many times over, but if Auri knows anything, she
knows people.

"Stop," she says, breath ragged with pleasure that feels like poison.

To Astarion's credit, he does as she asks, and immediately, both his hands now resting on the
undersides of her thighs. Her breasts are pressed flush with his chest, her clothes in a
haphazardly discarded pile a few feet away. She's fully exposed, and she's yet to know his
body at all.

He might be the most beautiful creature that she's ever seen, bathed in this moonlight, and the
wicked smirk he puts on only strengthens his case. "What, darling? That close already?"

Something’s not right.

“You don’t want this,” she says simply, still out of breath, and for the first time since she’s
met him, Astarion seems speechless.

His hold on her doesn’t loosen; if anything, his grip on her thighs has tightened. “Pardon?” he
manages finally, cocking an eyebrow like he’s heard her wrong. “I think you’ll find–”

When Auri presses a light touch to his cheek, he stops cold mid-sentence, recoiling from her
hand.
 “You don’t owe me anything. For the blood, I mean. I didn’t expect anything in return. And I
won’t in the future, either.”

Astarion doesn’t move for a beat, and Auri unwraps her legs from around his waist, finding
her footing on the ground. He bounces back as quickly as he’d gone rigid. The smirk returns
to his face, and with a shrug, he says, “Your loss, my dear.”

He turns in the direction of the camp. They’re far enough away that the firelight isn’t visible,
but the moon is bright, illuminating both of them. If Auri wasn’t nearly naked and still half-
panting, an outsider happening upon them would never know how close they were to what
might have been the best sex of her life. Astarion’s posture is unaffected and casual, which is
easier to pull off fully clothed, in Auri’s opinion. She begins to pull on her discarded articles
again, and though he’s nearly gone from the clearing, she calls out, “Astarion.”

The night is still, and her voice carries without much effort. He turns back at her words just
as she finishes pulling her shirt back over her head, but he makes no move to walk back
towards her.

Talking is easier with her clothes on. "I like having you here," she says, and a pregnant pause
falls between them.

Then he cracks that smirk that's a shield. "Oh, darling. You’d be helpless without me."

He disappears into the treeline, and all Auri can hear is the sound of the creek, babbling.

Chapter End Notes

please be kind (this chapter made me very nervous)! thank you for reading!
find me on tumblr and twitter!
 astarion
Chapter Notes

have i said lately that you're all lovely? you're lovely.

EDIT: OMFG I FORGOT TO SAY LOOK SOMEONE DREW AURI LOOK LOOK
LOOK LOOK

See the end of the chapter for more notes

To say that things did not go as planned would be an understatement. Astarion’s meditation is
restless, and the feeling of satisfaction in his stomach curdles with the way her eyes had
peered into his.

“You don’t want this.”

That hadn’t been the tadpole telling her that. Auri had looked at him and seen something.

His skin crawls.

There’s an angle to what she’s doing. Astarion just doesn’t know what it is yet.

But she didn’t have him totally pinned down, which is some small solace. Auri had acted like
his advances were out of some sense of obligation, and that’s not quite right. It's nothing so
noble as that.

His goal has been the same for as long as he can remember.

Self-preservation.

The tadpole makes reading people trivial, and she had wanted him. When his fangs had
broken her skin, she had gasped, but it wasn't in pain. It was pleasure.

His hands are cool but I'm warm enough for the both of us. Gods, when’s the last time I felt
wanted? A kiss–

She'd wanted to kiss him.

This gambit works. It always works.

Except it didn’t.

She’d been all but bare in his arms, writhing in his hands, cheeks flushed with the sweetest
thing he’s ever held on his tongue, and she’d said, “You don’t want this.”
So he returns to the thought that’s plagued him nearly since he joined up with her.

Auri makes no sense.

There’s laughter that’s probably joyful that rips Astarion from his attempted meditation.
When his eyes open, Astarion feels like he might as well have never closed them, but the sun
is dawning on the horizon. The sight still feels more like magic than any spell a wizard could
cast. He’s lived without it for so long.

He’d be satisfied with détente, where the tadpole is concerned. The only downside thus far is
the obvious – ceremorphosis – and that’s been delayed far past anyone’s wildest estimates, no
doubt thanks to this infernal dream visitor that everyone around camp keeps blathering about.

Astarion’s seen the visitor too, of course, but what are they supposed to do about it?

The tieflings' caravan had joined their camp for the evening, and they're spread around this
morning to say their final goodbyes. Astarion doubts they’ll make it to Baldur’s Gate. There
are too few fighters among them.

The laughter comes again, and Astarion’s eyes seek out the source instinctively. It’s that
idiotic child that Auri had made them save from harpies (if anyone from the caravan is
destined for death, it’s that one). With distaste, Astarion realizes that he remembers his name
– Mirkon.

Mirkon sits on a log that had been used as a makeshift bench at the party the previous
evening, and Auri stands in front of him, her back to Astarion.

“Toss another whenever you’re ready,” she says, and Astarion can’t see her face, but he can
hear the grin in her voice.

Mirkon reaches down in front of the log and comes back up with an apple. “Are you sure?”

Auri’s head bobs in a nod. “I can go up to six, probably.”

Oh, gods. Despite everything that’s happened since yesterday, this is perhaps the most
shocking thing Astarion’s seen since the parasite was dropped into his eye.

She’s juggling.

Astarion presses his knuckles to his mouth in disbelief, stifling the genuine laugh that had
threatened to slip out.

When Mirkon finally throws the apple in her direction, Auri dips to the side in a display of
showmanship, and as she does, Astarion can see that she has four in the air.

He realizes, in a moment so short that it can hardly be called a moment at all, that he has no
idea how she’s going to react to seeing him after last night. It’s not a situation that Astarion’s
familiar with, and briefly, he wonders if his attempt to ingratiate himself with her might have
had the opposite effect.
That would be a fitting end, he supposes, but Cazador probably wouldn’t want back a be-
tentacled spawn anyway. That might even be a net positive.

But when she turns, her eyes find him. Astarion doesn’t know what to expect; whatever game
she’s playing is still out of his grasp, after all.

When Auri sees him, she smiles. There's no mistaking the look on her face, although, once
again, it makes no sense.

She's relieved.

“Hi,” she says, letting the apples fall into her hands. Auri’s eyes sparkle. “I didn’t know if
you’d still be here after…”

She thought he would leave. And the thought upset her. Astarion’s lips part, an unfamiliar
feeling in his chest, but his mouth is faster than anything else.

“I told you, darling. You’d be helpless without me.”

But she’s not interested in banter. Auri’s in one of her terrible, earnest moods. She just nods,
still smiling. “Too right.”

“You said you could go up to six!” Mirkon’s outrage is unserious, but still irritating,
considering how it pulls Auri’s attention immediately.

“I can! But I can’t show you till we see each other in Baldur’s Gate, so you’ve got something
to look forward to.” Auri tilts her head to the side and grins even wider for Mirkon, and when
she does, Mirkon’s cheeks darken. The soft laugh that pulls from Astarion’s chest is
involuntary. She turns so she’s facing Mirkon wholly again, and she holds out the apples.
“Take these. We can spare them, and you’ll need them on the journey.”

Astarion rolls his eyes; it’s not like they’re flush with supplies, and it’s typical of Auri to give
some of what little they have away. When Mirkon takes them from her hands, his face
threatens to burst into flames. “T-thanks,” he stutters, barely able to meet Auri’s eyes. He
fumbles to put the apples in his pack. Afterwards, Mirkon manages, “Where’d you learn to
juggle?”

“Oh.” Auri scratches the back of her head like she had forgotten that juggling isn’t in
everyone’s normal repertoire. “Before all this, I was in a circus.”

Astarion bites his lip and clenches his eyes shut, barely able to contain a laugh. Mirkon looks
like he has more to ask, but one of the tieflings calls his name, and he frowns. “Um. Thanks
for everything, Miss Auri.”

“Auri’s fine, Mirkon.” Auri ruffles his hair, and Mirkon looks like he could sink into the
ground. Astarion’s never seen such obvious infatuation. “Safe travels, okay?”

He nods, still blushing like he could combust at any moment, and sprints towards whoever
was calling his name as fast as his legs can carry him.
“The circus?” Astarion asks as soon as Mirkon’s gone, uncontrollable amusement in his
voice, but she doesn’t rise to the bait.

“Yeah. I was in a traveling troupe for a long time.” A wistful air falls over her. “I did a lot of
children's entertainment: juggling, tightrope, sleight of hand tricks. Sometimes I’d introduce
different acts.”

“You enjoyed it.” Astarion wouldn’t hide his incredulousness anyway, but he couldn’t if he
tried.

“I did.” Auri wraps her arms around herself in a hug. “It’s the only home I ever knew.”
Silence falls between them, and Auri waves at the retreating tiefling caravan. After a
moment, she asks, “What about you?”

“The circus never held much appeal for me.”

“No.” Auri rolls her eyes. “What did you do before all this?”

“I made my living eating rats and seducing unsuspecting victims,” he says, and Auri purses
her lips like she won’t accept that as an answer. Astarion sighs. “I was a magistrate back in
the city. There’s not much to tell.”

“I doubt there’s not much to tell. I think you probably just don’t want to tell it.”

She doesn’t mention last night again, and Astarion doesn’t bring it up. Whatever tenuous,
unspoken balance they’ve struck is acceptable for now.

Karlach is, put mildly, a force of nature, but Auri, predictably, thinks that she will fit right in.

Lae’zel had argued the detour would take too much time, but Auri wouldn’t hear it. “If we
fail and we become mind flayers, I don’t want anyone to have any regrets,” she’d said, and
Lae’zel had chk-ed but Auri got her way, because Auri always gets her way.

They had left to slay Karlach, at Wyll’s behest, and instead, Auri had recruited her. It had
been a disappointment, really; Astarion had been looking forward to a fight. Instead, some
fraudulent Paladins of Tyr were their consolation prize.

Standing over their corpses, Karlach looks like she’s a moment from bursting into flames,
and not because of a pre-pubescent crush a la Mirkon. She towers over Auri, every muscle
quivering, and Astarion’s hands drift to his daggers instinctively. Wyll meets his eyes and
shakes his head.

“Karlach.” Auri uses a tone of voice similar to the one she’d used on the owlbear cub. “Look
at me.”

Karlach’s chest is heaving with the effort of keeping still, her engine dangerously close to
overheating. “I’m not going back,” she hisses.
“Karlach,” Auri repeats her name again, and Astarion watches her reach out, ready to take
Karlach’s face in her hands.

“Darling.” When Astarion speaks, it’s a warning. The burns touching Karlach would cause
would require healing that would put Shadowheart out of commission for a full day. Auri
flinches at the sound of his voice, and she pulls back, though it seems to cause her physical
pain.

“Karlach,” Auri says her name for a third time. “You are never going back to Zariel.”

“Yeah.” Karlach laughs shortly, immediately, instinctively. “Yeah. I am never fucking going
back!”

Her chest flares with infernal fire as she roars, every bit a barbarian’s rage, and Karlach
draws her axe. Auri takes a tentative step backward and Astarion finds his grip on each
dagger, but Wyll grabs Auri by the arm before he can make a move. “Let her ride it out; we’ll
wait outside.”

Whether she hears Wyll or not, Karlach bellows out another laugh that’s wrapped in a roar.
Auri lets Wyll lead her out of the building at a brisk pace, Astarion on their heels, and once
they’re a safe distance away, Auri flops down into the grass. She presses a hand to each
temple and rubs circles there.

“She’s…” Wyll trails off, a wry smile on his face.

“A hothead?” Auri finishes with a snort. There’s a crashing sound, and as they watch, the
west side of the building collapses.

“Whatever she’s slamming that axe into in there must have been structurally integral,”
Astarion deadpans.

A mad cackle punctuates another crash. Wyll shakes his head, laughing in disbelief. “You
attract the strangest crowd.”

“Me?” Auri looks up at him, incredulous. “We only even went looking for her because of
you.”

Wyll flicks his wrist in a dismissive way – who’s to say? Auri shakes her head, but there’s a
smile on her face.

They burn a day on finding Karlach, but when they get back to camp with a tiefling in tow,
no one bats an eye. Auri’s smile puts all unease to rest, even with the time bomb ticking in
each of their brains. As the sun sets, they have lived yet another day without becoming mind
flayers.

And Astarion still doesn’t understand what happened last night.

He drags a hand down his face, and he’s not much a fan of chatting with people around camp
at the best of times, but usually, people leave him to his business. It’s extremely unusual for
Lae’zel to strike up a conversation, and yet, somehow, the stars have aligned to put Astarion
in this unenviable position.

“Why have you not yet bedded her?” Lae’zel asks, and briefly, Astarion wishes that the
remaining rays of sunlight would burn him to a crisp.

Astarion looks at her without turning his head. “Why have you not yet bedded her?”

“I’ve tried,” Lae’zel says. “Last night, I proposed sex following the gathering. I was told that
time was spoken for.”

The mystery of last night thickens. “Thrilling,” he says.

“I am no fool, istik. I see the way she looks at you.”

Astarion rolls his eyes. “Would you get to the point, please?”

“I do not understand her,” Lae’zel says, her arms crossed and staring across the camp at Auri.
She sits next to Halsin, talking animatedly with her hands, no doubt planning their next
move. “But she invests much in our…” Lae’zel trails off and closes her eyes as if the next
word that she is about to speak is painful. “Comfort,” she spits out finally. In Lae’zel’s
mouth, it sounds like profanity. “She should be extended the same courtesy.”

Well, Lae’zel, he thinks bitterly, If you must know, using sex to manipulate my way into her
graces was my plan, and it failed spectacularly.

“Being thoughtful doesn’t suit you,” he says instead.

And Lae’zel, conversationalist that she is, says, “Chk.”

The sun finally sets. Astarion doesn’t need to drink, but he’s had Auri’s blood two nights in a
row. Going without feels like a loss.

Thinking of her summons her, apparently. Halsin’s gaze follows her as she walks the length
of the camp, away from him and straight towards Astarion.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, and he can’t help it. It’s a compulsion to look at her neck.

He answers truthfully. “Well enough.”

“You can drink again, if you need to. I was fine today.”

And she just can’t be like this. Selflessness isn’t a character trait; it’s a fantasy. There can’t be
people that are like this, because if there are, then he wouldn’t be the way that he is.

“What do you get out of this?” he asks, careful to keep his voice low even as he hisses the
words. Halsin still watches, though everyone else’s attention has been stolen by the aftermath
of Shadowheart having an argument with Lae’zel. “You aren’t letting me drink for free.
What’s the catch?”
 Astarion’s snarling even as he tries to stay quiet; Halsin’s eyes narrow in his peripheral
vision. Auri hasn’t noticed. She’s staring at him like he’s slapped her.

Auri swallows hard, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I–” She closes her eyes and exhales
through her nose before looking up at him again. “I know we don’t know each other that
well. But I–” Auri stops again, shaking her head.

“Say it or go. Don’t waste both our time,” he says, and this time, she bites her lip.

“I don’t know you, but I think you’re like me,” she says finally, and whatever he was
expecting her to say, it wasn’t that. “And I think the difference is that someone saved me, and
nobody saved you.”

He’s told her nothing. She doesn’t know about Cazador, or about his siblings, or about
everything he’s done, and she’s still fired an arrow straight at his core.

“You don’t know anything.” His voice is ice, and she finally forces herself to make eye
contact with him, then.

“No, I don’t. But if you could stop being an idiotic prick and just let me help you, I’d like to
learn.”

The blood pulses in her neck, so decadent that it fills him to the brim with desire.

Fuck it.

It’s not like things can get any worse than they are now (Cazador notwithstanding). He might
as well take from her whatever he can. Whatever it costs him later, whatever she asks – he
can deal with that when it comes.

Halsin’s watching. Most of the camp is still awake. She’s staring at him defiantly, the fire in
her eyes gleaming, and when he pulls back her collar, she doesn’t resist for a moment.
Instead, Auri tilts her head to the side, exposing the spot he’s already marked twice over.

Gods be damned. Let them all watch.

And he sinks his fangs into her skin.

Chapter End Notes

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 shadowheart
Chapter Notes

I FORGOT TO PUT IT AT THE BEGINNING WHEN I POSTED LAST CHAPTER

BUT SOMEONE DREW AURI LOOK AT HER LOOK AT HER BEHOLD HER
WITH YOUR EYEBALLS

you might be thinking to yourself, 'hm, this is kind of a short chapter,' and to that i say,
"there are a thousand words of dry-ass exposition on the floor that i have saved you all
the horrors of reading"

enjoy <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Shar does not take more than her followers can withstand losing. She is the Lady of Loss,
yes, and Shadowheart has lost much, her memory not the least of things, but what she has
gained–

The camp buzzes at dusk as their new tiefling companion settles in, and Shadowheart still
feels the pull of her faith (a collar around her neck and a warm, guiding hand, all at once), but
it’s so warm here. She had thought she would be out of place, as Sharrans always are, or that
she would remain unseen, as Sharrans should always strive to be.

Instead, she sits next to Lae’zel, who is coming down from a self-righteous tirade about how
frivolous it is for Shadowheart to like flowers. There’s something about her that gets under
Shadowheart’s skin without fail, and she doesn’t understand why. There are infinite big
personalities in this camp, but it’s Lae’zel that she clashes with most, and no one else even
comes close.

Peace rankles in her stomach. Even her conflict with Lae’zel has begun to feel familiar.
There’s no time for complacency. She has a mission to complete, and tadpoles to deal with
besides.

But still, a smile tugs at her lips as Karlach bellows out a laugh as forceful as any crash of
thunder. Gale seems like he might fall over from it, but he’s grinning back while Wyll
watches on, the tip of one thumb between his teeth.

The biggest surprise, though, is probably Halsin. Shadowheart had expected him to remain
with the grove after everything they did to make sure he returned to it. Instead, he
relinquished his title without thinking and pledged himself to their company.

Internally, Shadowheart rolls her eyes at the thought. Their company. They’re more than the
sum of their parts, certainly, but it’s not as though they all would have found each other in
every universe.

Halsin has his own agenda, sure, but just like everyone else, he joined up with Auri. She’s
brought each of them in, one by one, as if they are ducklings that need led to water. She and
Lae’zel haven’t killed each other, though by all rights they should have three times over. Wyll
has gone from hunting Karlach to making fast friends with her. In the last week alone, Gale
has spent less and less time staring alone into the fire when he thinks everyone’s asleep. And
Astarion–

Astarion’s an enigma wrapped in a mystery. The only thing that anyone knows about him is
that he’s wickedly skilled with his daggers and incapable of being honest, though
Shadowheart would venture that Auri knows more. Every morning when Shadowheart
wakes, she thinks he might be gone. But he isn’t.

That’s just Auri’s magic. She even has that insufferable, pompous rogue wrapped around her
finger, and whether she’s done it purposefully or not, she never leaves him out of her party.

Where Auri goes, Astarion follows.

Shadowheart doesn’t know what she’d call it, but she doubts Astarion’s trust comes easily.
She also doesn’t really care that much.

The point is that they’re not all trying to kill each other, and that’s what matters with the
ragtag crew that Auri is holding together by sheer force of will and charisma alone.

Shadowheart’s exhausted. She could doze off right here, still sitting up. Her eyes drift shut,
the crackling fire and ambient noise of conversation a kind of song.

Peace shatters as easily as it’s occasionally found. It’s always temporary.

Simultaneously, Shadowheart hears the roar of a bear and Lae’zel’s unmistakable battle cry.
She springs to her feet, head swiveling to read the situation. She’s without her armor and her
mace and shield are both out of reach, and she hasn’t even identified the threat–

The lunging githyanki and bear are probably as clear a trail of breadcrumbs as she’s going to
get, though, and both are charging in the direction of Astarion’s tent.

Shadowheart’s feet carry her in the same direction, as fast as her legs will allow, and what she
finds is an audience surrounding Halsin and Lae’zel who appear to have backed Astarion into
a corner, Auri between them.

“What–” Shadowheart starts, and more of the scene registers.

Blood drips from Astarion’s mouth. His chin is covered in it.

And rivulets of red flow down Auri’s neck.

“Vampire.” Shadowheart’s voice is barely a whisper.

“He attacked you,” Lae’zel hisses. “There is no excuse. You are not even dressed for battle.
A vampire has no place here.”

“A little dramatic today, aren’t we, Lae’zel? Pointing a sword at our dear, sweet bard after all
that talk about how important her comfort is?”

“Do not speak, monster. That my blade has not already ripped through you is nothing short of
a miracle.”

“He has never bitten me without my consent.” Auri is practically snarling, and that’s
shocking enough. Vitriol comes off of her in waves. The only time that Shadowheart has seen
her in a remotely similar state was when they found the owlbear cub in the camp.

Halsin’s paw slams into the ground, and Shadowheart swears she feels the ground shake.
Lae’zel has a sword at the ready, though it’s smaller than the one she normally carries. She
towers over Auri, and they’re close enough that their bodies are nearly touching.

Astarion wears a grin that Shadowheart can only call manic, and he’s made no move to wipe
the blood on his face away. Auri’s thrown her entire body in front of him, though he nearly
dwarfs her, staring up at Lae’zel and holding a dagger in Halsin’s direction.

“He has bewitched you–” Lae’zel says, and Halsin takes a step forward. When he does, Auri
brandishes the dagger.

Auri loses this fight every time, even if Astarion would try to come to her aid. The knife in
her hand might very well not even pierce Halsin’s skin.

“I am no fool, Lae’zel,” Auri sneers. “I’ve known what he is for days. That you’ve found out
like this is regrettable, but it changes nothing. He is no threat to any of us.”

“You say that with puncture wounds in your neck,” Shadowheart says, and when Auri’s head
whips around to find her, Lae’zel disarms Auri as if she was never any threat at all.

She wasn’t a threat. Not at all.

Auri knows that. She’s not stupid. The dagger was her making a stand. She’s still looking at
Shadowheart.

“Of all people, follower of Shar, I thought you would understand the sanctity of secrets,” Auri
spits. Shadowheart recoils; her faith had come out quickly in these close quarters, but the
point is an effective one nonetheless. Auri turns back to Lae’zel, sparing a look at Halsin as
well. She raises her voice and scans the people around them as she speaks. “If anyone takes
issue with Astarion’s condition, they’re welcome to leave. I maintain that he isn’t a threat to
anyone here, and I would venture that we all have things that make us very dangerous to
varying degrees.” Her gaze lingers on Gale a moment longer than anyone else, and he looks
away, down at the ground.

To Lae’zel, she says, “You’re welcome to kill him. But you’ll kill me first.”

Lae’zel doesn’t flinch, though her eyes search Auri’s face.

The silence that falls over the camp is heavy, and it might last an eternity. Finally, Auri
breaks it, looking at Halsin. “You knew what he was, too. You trusted me in the grove when I
vouched for him. Trust me now.”

Halsin can’t speak while he’s shifted, but he stares at Auri without blinking, and after another
eternity, the druidic magic holding his form dispels and he stands before them an elf again.
He nods at Auri.

“Unless he proves a threat to us, he will not come to harm by my hand. You have my word,”
Halsin says, and he looks to Astarion. “You have my apologies for acting rashly, though I
hope you can understand my reaction.”

Astarion seems uncharacteristically thrown off-kilter by genuine remorse. He blinks twice.

“Well. What’s a little threat of bodily harm and maiming among traveling companions?”

Lae’zel holds her ground for a moment more, but finally, she lowers her sword. “Chk.”

And finally, the spectacle is over. People meander to their bedrolls, though more than a few
still cast Astarion a suspicious eye, but Shadowheart lingers.

“Is camp life always like this with you lot?” Karlach asks as she walks away, half-laughing
with Gale at her side, and he sighs.

“Auri, at least, is usually calmer. But she doesn’t always have the clearest head where
Astarion is concerned.”

Auri speaks to Astarion animatedly. Though Shadowheart can’t make out every word, it’s
certainly a reprimand. When Auri throws her hands up in frustration, though, Astarion
catches her forearm in his hand, and for whatever reason, Shadowheart can hear him clearly.

“Eat something before you sleep.”

Auri clenches her eyes shut and exhales through her nose as if she’s trying not to be
overcome with overwhelming emotion, pulling her arm away. “I will.”

Shadowheart’s waited long enough that everyone else has retreated to their tents and sleeping
spaces. It’s only her and Auri that remain in the empty space in front of Astarion’s tent.

“I–” Shadowheart starts, but Auri holds up a hand, and though Shadowheart doesn’t know
why, she stops.

“I’m sorry. Singling you out like that was cruel. I shouldn’t have done it. I just…” Auri trails
off and wraps her arms around herself like she can hold herself together if only she squeezes
hard enough. “You remind me of someone that I loved very much, and I think I treated you
unfairly for it. I’m sorry.”

Auri’s so small, and every bit of her is quivering, and Shadowheart doesn’t exactly
understand what Auri’s trying to tell her, but she says, “Apology accepted,” anyway, because
what else can she say when Auri’s eyes are glistening with contrition?
 The smile that Auri offers her in return is a sad one. “Good night, Shadowheart. I’ll see you
tomorrow.”

And without any further explanation, Auri walks away, and Shadowheart is alone in the
center of the camp.

She leaves the dagger that Auri had dropped in the dirt.

Chapter End Notes

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 auri
Chapter Notes

PLEASE be kind if you see errors my eyes are not cooperating but i promise i tried to
edit love you
also i changed the geography of the map. my city

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Auri knows it’s a dream because her nails are chewed down so far that when she brushes her
fingers against anything, they hurt. At the slightest provocation, the raw, sensitive skin of her
nail beds bleeds freely. She hasn’t bitten her nails in years.

Auri stands on a crowded street. To her right, she sees things she recognizes; the big top is set
up in a courtyard, and Auri would know Viv’s lightwork anywhere. Her colors dance; their
iridescence dances in lanterns that Viv crafted specifically to showcase them.

The city itself is unfamiliar, but that’s not a surprise. Le Cirque Éphémère has been to every
corner of Faerûn, but they never stay long enough in one place for Auri to cherish any
specific location. Almost all of her good memories are in the tent itself.

“Are you still sulking?”

Auri hears Viv before she sees her, the low rasp of her voice a weighted blanket quashing the
torrent of anxiety that functions as her base state. Auri’s breath hitches in her throat.

She looks exactly as Auri remembers her (she couldn’t look like anything else, extracted
from her memories as this image of Viv must have been). Her tawny skin is striking, and the
antlers that wrap around her head in a crown are adorned with ivy and small flowers that Auri
can’t name. Viv’s in her show robes, made up for a performance, and she’s always been
stunning, but her absence has only amplified Auri’s wonder.

This is a dream. Why does it feel so real? Tears well up in Auri’s eyes, and she chokes out,
“Viveka.”

Viv’s golden eyes dance and she exhales a giggle. “What, Aurora?”

Hearing her full name in Viv’s mouth makes the tears spill over. Auri lunges forward,
clutching Viv desperately in her arms, and Viv exclaims softly in surprise at the contact.
“What’s gotten into you?” she asks, but Auri can only shake her head, face buried in Viv’s
chest.

“I don’t know how to do this without you,” Auri whimpers.

Viv’s hair is long; when she pulls away from the embrace and holds Auri by the shoulders,
Auri can see that it reaches nearly to her waist. “Are you okay?” Viv asks, and the laughter is
gone completely from her voice.

The worm wriggles in Auri’s skull; even here in her dreams, it haunts her. Auri grips her head
with both hands and falls to her knees. Viv drops to the ground with her, face painted with
fear. “What’s happening? How do I help you?”

There’s a wet patch on Viv’s robe where Auri had sobbed into it. Auri shakes her head, and
hopelessly asks, “How do I find you?”

“I’m right here, Auri. I don’t understand.”

How could she? This is all in Auri’s head, and if Auri knew where Viv was, that’s where she
would be.

“You’re even more beautiful than I remember,” Auri says, and a sad smile spreads across
Viv’s face.

“Oh, impossible.” She flicks her hair off her shoulder, a caricature of flirtiness. “I’ve always
been this perfect. You can’t improve on that.” Viv stands and holds out a hand to pull Auri up
from her knees. A gust of wind catches her hair, and as it flutters, Auri reaches out.

And Viv disappears.

The scenery falls away. The city disappears and the big top blinks out of existence until
Auri’s left in an abyss. It’s so dark that when Auri clenches her eyes shut, she can’t tell the
difference.

Auri releases a guttural scream into the void, tears rolling down her cheeks, and for the first
time since she woke up on the nautiloid, Auri hears song.

It’s in every chord of her cries. Grief mingles with rage, and loss threads itself through every
note of the aching music wrenching itself from her chest. Auri’s body quivers with it.

Pain manifest is the only way Auri can describe it, and even as every inch of her suffers for it,
a treacherous hum of relief takes hold in the pit of her stomach. Suffering is something Auri
understands. This makes sense. It’s not absence or longing or some other nebulous concept
that leaves Auri adrift. The pain makes sense.

Gods, but she hurts, and it grounds her.

When Auri’s eyes open again, the abyss is gone. The dream visitor stands before her, a light-
skinned halfling with hair like obsidian, and they’re in the place where he and Auri have
always spoken before.

Auri’s still on her hands and knees, but she isn’t screaming anymore, though she’s not sure
when she stopped. Her fingernails aren’t bitten to nubs, but this is still a dream, or the visitor
wouldn’t be here.
“Who is she?” he asks.

Auri’s voice trembles. “She’s everything.”

“That’s not an answer,” the visitor says, sounding almost amused.

“It’s the only answer that’s anywhere close to explaining what she is to me.” Auri pushes
herself up off the ground and wills the tears to stop with moderate efficacy. “She saved me.”

“From what?”

Auri looks up into the air above them. “From everything. From a cruel and uncaring world.
From myself. From being alone.”

The visitor hums a sound of agreement but doesn’t press the issue. Auri’s thankful. Talking
more about Viv would accomplish nothing but heartbreak. He says, “I told you I’ve put the
worm into a dormant state so you won’t transform, and that still holds true, but there have
been… complications.”

Auri’s mouth goes dry. “Complications?”

“You are not at risk of transformation,” the visitor assures her again, “But the parasite does
grow stronger. It would not surprise me if it tries to exert some form of influence.”

Panic grips her. “What does that mean?”

The visitor, remorseful, looks away. “I’m afraid I do not know and that only time will tell.”

The music is ripped away from her again. As abruptly as she’d found it, it disappears. The
pain, the suffering, and the grief remain.

Auri wakes to the pale light of dawn, nearly drowning in cold sweat. The sun has only just
begun to peek over the horizon, and the camp still sleeps around her. She rises from her
bedroll to survey the camp, and nothing appears to be amiss.

No small part of her had thought she might wake to bloodshed, after everything that
happened with Astarion last night, but other than the marks on her neck, there’s no evidence
that it even happened at all.

They’ve mapped out a plan for what happens next. Halsin laid it out clearly; their next step
must be Moonrise Towers, and it’s no short walk to get there. The journey takes them through
a mountain pass that Lae’zel is certain holds a githyanki crèche, and after that, through the
Underdark. Only then do they reach the Shadow-Cursed Lands. It will be days (if not weeks)
to their destination, and who knows what they will find once they are there?

And all the while, as the dream visitor so eloquently stated, the tadpole grows stronger.

Letting the camp sleep a while longer won’t do any harm, though. They had been up late into
the night, making preparations, and the spectacle between Halsin, Lae’zel, Astarion, and Auri
had left the camp buzzing. A well-rested team will fare far better than an overtired one.

Absently, out of habit more than anything else, Auri touches the lyre at her side. She’d heard
the music again, however briefly, when she’d seen Viv in her dreams.

It has to be in there, doesn’t it?

She grips the lyre.

Brute force has never been her style, but if the music won’t come of its own accord–

Determined, thinking of anything but Viv and the tadpole in her brain, Auri walks into the
woods.

She doesn’t go far from the camp. If people begin to wake and she isn’t there, they’ll worry,
especially after yesterday. There’s an outcropping of stone nearby, and when she finds it, she
takes a seat atop it.

With the lyre in her hands, Auri feels like she holds the weight of the world. The strings taunt
her. What once was a solace now feels like a punishment, but Auri can’t understand what
crime she must have committed to deserve it.

Auri exhales a steady breath, steeling herself, and holds the lyre properly. She wills her hands
steady and plucks the strings, sending up a prayer to any god that might be listening.

The notes lay flat in the air in front of her, and it’s worse than she imagined possible. What
she’s done is perfect, technically speaking, and yet it’s soulless and empty.

She breathes out again. She’d known this would probably happen, and getting discouraged
after one try would be ridiculous. Auri steadies her hands again, readying herself to play once
more–

“The camp would doubtless have loved to wake to the dulcet sounds of your lyre since that
would mean I had not managed to drain you dry in the night.”

When Astarion speaks, Auri, as she always does, starts, very nearly falling off the
outcropping where she’d somewhat precariously perched herself. She puts her lyre to the side
and presses a hand to her chest, and Astarion smirks. “Your heart’s racing, darling, and I’ve
barely even started.”

There’s no reason he wouldn’t be attuned to her pulse, but the words sound so intimate
anyway. “I should still be upset with you,” she says instead.

“And yet?”

He stands in front of her. She’s just barely taller than him when sitting here. “And yet,” she
agrees, wryly smiling in defeat. “The next time you want to do something so stupid, could
you do it less publicly? I don’t like standing between you and a githyanki sword.”
“And miss the chance for you to valiantly defend my honor to any and all who will listen?
You underestimate my ego.”

Auri snorts. “If there’s one thing about you that I know, it’s that your ego is unmatched in
terms of size.”

Astarion taps his cheek. “I can think of something else about me that could perhaps give my
ego a run for its money.”

And Auri outright laughs. “Well, if you recall, I didn’t get to see that, but we have a lot more
ground to cover. Who knows what parts of you I’ll see in the interim?”

Astarion’s chuckle isn’t the haughty, self-satisfied one that Auri’s familiar with. The corners
of his mouth curve upward, and it warms the empty place where her music should be. “I
know they would have killed me if you hadn’t intervened. I owe you twice over.”

“You don’t owe me anything. We’ve been over this.” Auri rolls her eyes and moves to jump
down from the outcropping, but Astarion steps forward, effectively pinning her in place.

“What did you mean?” he asks, and Auri’s reminded that, despite his manner around her,
Astarion is quite dangerous, fangs or no. The red of his eyes matches the blood rushing to her
face. “When you said that you think we’re alike, what did you mean?”

There’s no reason to lie to him, but it feels taboo to say it all outright. If she puts a name to it,
it defeats the purpose of the farce. Their masks are different, but the whole point of the masks
is to conceal.

“You’re a performer,” Auri says finally. His hands are on either side of her, and there’s no
escaping his gaze. “So am I. When people look at us, they see what they want to see.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and Auri’s said the wrong thing. She’s sure of it. Astarion’s eyes go
dark, but he doesn’t move except to lean in closer.

“And what do you see, then, when you look at me, little bard?” His voice has dropped to a
lower register, and Auri can barely breathe.

I see someone that the world has done terribly, horribly wrong.

Auri doesn’t know how she’s going to answer. She bites her lip before opening her mouth,
because she can’t leave him with nothing. “I–”

“Auri!” Karlach’s voice bellows from the direction of camp. “If you don’t get back here and
fast, Gale might fireball the woods to find you, presuming you haven’t been vampired to
death!”

“Vampired is not a word, Karlach.” That’s Shadowheart, exasperated, and the voices are
coming closer.

Karlach and Shadowheart have saved her from answering for now, but this conversation isn’t
over. One look at Astarion tells Auri that. He steps away, and Auri hops down to stand again,
 hitching the lyre to her hip. She adjusts it, looking down at her belt, and when she looks up,
Astarion is still watching her.

“I see a friend,” Auri says, and Astarion’s face morphs entirely. Shock warps his visage like
she’s said something incomprehensible, and she continues, “Or someone who I’d like to call
a friend, if he’d let me. It’s his call.”

Karlach and Shadowheart are both still calling her name. “Coming!” she shouts back, and to
Astarion, she asks, “Ready to get moving?”

“Erm.” It’s a far cry from his usual eloquence. “Sure.”

Auri grins. It feels real, despite the anchor of a lyre at her side and the nervous thrumming of
her heart in her chest.

“Then let’s go.”

Chapter End Notes

find me on tumblr and twitter! thank you so much for reading <3
 astarion
Chapter Notes

my breakfast this morning was 6 oreos and a glass of milk

I'M SO BAD AT REMEMBERING THINGS PLEASE LOOK AT THIS AURI
PLEASE PLEASE SHE'S SO EVERYTHING
tw: some cazador stuff

See the end of the chapter for more notes

So, to recap –

The camp knows that he’s a vampire.

He was not immediately staked upon discovery (though they did try).
Auri wants to be his friend.
Auri wants to be his friend?
Auri wants to be his friend?

What is Astarion supposed to do when she says things like that? It’s unlike him to be
flustered, but when she turns and walks away, he just follows her, like some kind of puppy.
Hells, he’d bitten her while the entire camp watched, and she’d managed to convince them he
wasn’t a threat.

People aren’t like that. They’ve never been like that. But she’d put herself between him and
Lae’zel. She’d held a piddly excuse for a knife out to hold off a bear from gutting him head
to toe.

Auri’s the sun around which every person in their camp orbits, and she’d saved him. The
whole point of biting her like that was to expose her, and she’d turned it back on him
completely.

She’s yet to tie her hair up today. Normally she wears it gathered at the base of her neck with
a few strands loose to frame her face. It falls long against her back, closer to orange than red,
really, though she’d wrinkled her nose when Wyll had teasingly called it ginger.

That Auri shows him her back at all is foolish. She’d be so easy to betray, all soft curves and
bouncing locks. It’s rare that she even notices someone walking up behind her, her martial
prowess is nonexistent, and any magic she might possess is rendered useless by her
reluctance to play her lyre or sing, but they’re all still following her.

This morning is the first time he’s heard her play the lyre. It was a sad, empty, broken thing,
her music, just like it had been when she sang for the owlbear cub, and when the notes had
faded into the ether, she’d hunched over, trying to make herself as small as possible.
Astarion should have kept watching. He should have waited to see what happened next. But
she’d looked so pathetic, there, curled in on herself, and the words had escaped from him,
unbidden. Auri’d startled like she always does, though this time it had the extra comedic
effect of her nearly tumbling off the outcropping of rock she was perched upon.

They’re walking in the direction of where they’d heard Shadowheart and Karlach’s voices,
and Astarion’s struck by how easy it is to slip out of the performance with her. If he’s not
careful, he can be something that even flirts with genuine. It isn’t, because he doesn’t know
how to be that anymore, but–

He hasn’t seen himself in centuries. He doesn’t even remember what he looks like. But when
Auri looks at him, eyes the color of sage, he almost buys into the bit that she’s selling.

“I don’t know you, but I think you’re like me.”

It’s nonsense, of course, but for that one brief moment, he had almost felt like he had a
reflection.

Upon finding them, Auri walks boldly up to Shadowheart and Karlach and wishes them a
good morning. Shadowheart and Karlach both look right past her at Astarion, who graces
them with an eyebrow lifted into his hairline.

But neither of them says anything, and Auri, as she’s proven herself so adept at doing, draws
the spotlight back to herself. “What do we think a society of Lae’zels is going to look like? I
keep going over the concept in my mind. A crèche sounds like such an unforgiving place, to
hear her speak of it.”

“I can’t imagine they’ll be waiting with wine and roses,” Shadowheart says flatly.

“Leave me behind, then, darling,” Astarion says, and Auri looks over her shoulder at him.
“Wine and roses are what I deserve.”

“You do seem the romantic type,” Karlach says, a wide, unambiguous grin on her face.
“Other than the fangs, of course.”

She’s making jokes about his condition. That bodes well for the damage control that Auri’s
done. Astarion smiles sharply, teeth on full display. “For some, that’s part of the appeal.”

Shadowheart shudders, but she’s a good enough sport to say, “Can you at least maul Auri in
private next time? I don’t mind the blood, but your self-satisfaction is too much to bear.”

Auri barks out a laugh, but her cheeks are dusted with that delicious pink that he doubts he’ll
ever tire of seeing.

Halsin cuts an imposing figure whether wild shaped or not. He towers over Auri and is a
good head taller than Astarion. Were all of this (whatever this is) with Auri not happening,
Astarion would go so far as to say that Halsin is exactly his type.
He smells a lot like dirt, of course, but nobody’s perfect. In fairness, Astarion thinks that they
probably all do after all this time in the wilderness.

In truth, he doesn’t mind adventuring itself in the slightest. He could do without the looming
threat of ceremorphosis, but otherwise, the pay is good (when Auri lets them accept it) and
there’s ample opportunity for bloodshed. But still, Astarion has always been a creature of
comfort, and the fact of the matter is that they are constantly sleeping outside in tents and
trudging through bogs and picking leaves out of their hair.

All of that is what Astarion could do without.

The wind picks up as their altitude increases, ruining the hair of everyone in the party. Auri’s
bun is in place again, but it’s messier than usual because of the weather. For all the
excitement of their current lifestyle, there’s also a lot of time spent walking in inclement
weather.

Astarion would prefer being curled up with a glass (or five) of wine, but alas. At least here,
he can eavesdrop on Shadowheart and Auri’s conversation, which is much more thrilling than
whatever Weave nonsense Gale is prattling on about to Wyll.

“So are you going to tell me who it is that I remind you of?”

Auri snipping at Shadowheart yesterday seems to have been completely forgotten. They walk
side-by-side, so close that they could lock arms if they wanted.

“Ah.” Pain flickers across Auri’s face.

Shadowheart hasn’t noticed. “Oh, come now. You can’t say I remind you of someone and
then not tell me about them. What was their name?”

Her goddess notwithstanding, Shadowheart usually has a bit more tact than this.

“Viv.”

Auri utters the name like a prayer, and Shadowheart mistakes her reverence for wonder.

“Viv. And who is this Viv?”

There’s a carefree grin on Shadowheart’s face, too bright for the darkness of her worship,
and–

“Viv died.”

The wind goes still as if it has a vested interest in everyone knowing that Auri’s said that. Her
two-word statement drifts into the ear of even unwilling participants of the conversation, and
the smile slips from Shadowheart’s face.

“O-oh. I’m sorry.”

Everyone else makes an ill-concealed effort to act like they didn’t hear, save Karlach, who
wears a look of genuine sympathy. They’re all so busy making sure that they don’t upset Auri
further that they don’t see what Astarion sees.

Her fingers twitch.

It’s not her usual, quaking hands, though she’s always shivering like a very small dog might.
It’s something else.

She’d done the same when she’d told the goblins they were all True Souls and countless other
times besides. It’s a tell.

Astarion would put money on Viv not being dead, whoever she is.

Auri’s lying.

Halsin redirects the conversation to a flock of birds flying overhead, and everyone pretends
that they’re very interested.

When he’d seen into Auri’s mind by way of the tadpole, he’d seen flashes of Viv. Humanoid,
but not quite human, and not an elf, a dwarf, a gnome, or anything else he recognized
besides. That unto itself is a feat; Astarion had hunted all manner of beauties for Cazador. A
glimpse of Viv would have been enough for Astarion to know that she would make for a
prize unmatched. She’d been brown-skinned, golden-eyed, and adorned with a crown that
seemed to grow from her temples.

They’ve gone as far as they can for the day, and when Auri’d made the call, they’d set up
camp accordingly.

She’d disappeared with their resident wizard shortly after. Astarion had thought little of it,
though there’s something about Gale that makes Astarion wish he’d kicked his hand back
into the malfunctioning rock that Auri had pulled him from.

It’s been an hour, though, easily. If he’d been gone with Auri that long, everyone would think
he’d killed her. Since it’s harmless Gale, no one seems concerned.

Astarion’s eyes shut and he exhales through his nose. Where Auri and Gale are is none of his
concern.

He can’t name the emotion that washes over him when she walks back into camp (relief relief
relief), but she beelines towards him anyway, flopping down in the dirt next to where he
stands.

The soft laugh that escapes him is more genuine than he intends, but it’s too comical. “Hello
to you too, darling.”

Eyes have followed her to where she sits. Despite the fact that Auri had mostly smoothed
things over following his outburst, trust is not a commodity that Astarion has ever earned
easily.
Not after the first night, anyway.

Auri sighs. It’s long and drawn out, and she stares at the ground, exposing the base of her
neck, and once again, Astarion is struck by how easy she would be to kill.

“Can you do me a favor?” Auri’s voice wavers.

“For you, darling, anything.” That’s only half a lie. He’s more likely to do a favor for her than
for anyone else in the vicinity– well, in the world, probably, but that’s only because he’s not
in the habit of doing favors.

“Say something suave and sexy and funny. Make me laugh.”

She sounds exhausted, and she’s still not looking up at him. What a strange woman, seeking
out his company without an orgasm in mind.

“As much as I would love to oblige, I fear using even a tenth of my charisma where you’re
concerned risks incurring Lae’zel’s wrath.”

“Am I not worth the risk?” she asks, and she looks up at him. Her legs are pulled up to her
chest, arms wrapped around them.

Doe eyes. Rabbit heart. There should be a spark of mischief in her, but it’s absent. Astarion
chafes with it. Auri’s looking for comfort, and she’d already refused the only way he knows
how to give it.

What can he give her, then? She’s asked for it so plainly, but–

“I fear most of my talents lie in bed or in battle,” he says, and Auri swallows hard like he’s
disappointed her.

She looks away from him, back into the dirt. “You think so frighteningly little of yourself. It’s
painful to see sometimes, especially when you’re the only one I don’t feel like I have to put
on an act for.”

This vulnerability is–

He doesn’t get to continue the thought. Her gaze snaps back up to him again, and it stops him
cold. It pierces him more thoroughly than any dagger.

“I know we’ve been walking all day, but would you like to join me for a stroll?”

And there it is again. The mask is back on. Astarion’s not surprised until he realizes that it
isn’t for his benefit. Gale has inched closer, expression like a sopping-wet kitten, and
Astarion says, “I did say anything, darling.”

He holds out a hand. He can’t even say it’s instinctive. A helping hand is hardly his usual
modus operandi.

Auri also seems surprised by it. Her lips part in shock, but it’s only for a moment.
She doesn’t give Astarion a chance to retract the offer. She takes his hand in hers and pulls
herself up, and the touch lasts a moment too long, but he’s paralyzed by a radiant smile.

He’s not vulnerable to the sun anymore, but there’s something in him that’s weak for that
particular kind of brightness.

“Well, scary vampire,” she says, and if Astarion didn’t know better, he’d say she was
projecting her voice just enough for everyone to hear it. “Escort me into the night?”

He laughs, short and soft. “You’re going to get me killed.”

“Not to worry,” she says, all bravado like she learned it from him. “I’ll protect you.”

And it’s a joke, surely, but with everything that’s happened, Astarion finds that he almost
believes her, even though she’s mediocre with her magic and worse with a weapon.

There’s no treeline to disappear into here. Astarion feels the gazes follow them, and Auri’s
smile has faded to her usual performative one. He shakes his head just the slightest, because
of course she has a motive.

She’s showing everyone how much she trusts him. She’s earning their favor on his behalf by
walking into the night with him, presumably far enough away that no one will be able to help
her if he turns out to be the villain that they all think he might be.

And, in fairness, he is that villain. Their assumptions aren’t wrong. In another world, Auri
might have made a pretty little pet for Cazador. She’s on the plain side, of course, and hardly
well-bred, but her magnetism – no one can deny that.

As the light of the campfire dims behind them, Auri’s smile fades, too. She’s tired. They all
are.

She stops, and it’s so abrupt that Astarion nearly walks into her. He stops himself in time, and
she points to a nearby rock that could more accurately be called a boulder.

“That’s a nice stone, isn’t it?”

A baffling question.

“As far as stones go, I would say it’s above average.”

“I agree.”

It’s rounded on top, and Auri scales it ungracefully, taking a seat. “You’re welcome to join
me.”

The baffling question is followed by this baffling request, but there’s no real reason to refuse
her, so he does as she asks.

They sit in silence, the wind whistling around them, until Astarion asks, “Why did you ask
me out here?”
“Hmmm.” The hum comes from deep in Auri’s chest like she’s pondering her answer. “I
didn’t want to be alone, but I don’t really have the energy to put on a show. You understand
that better than anyone, I think.”

She’s half-right. Astarion just doesn’t know where the performance ends and he begins.

“And everyone’s always prying,” she continues, “I know they mean well, but I just…” Her
voice trails off. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.”

“Is that why you lied to Shadowheart about Viv?” The question is almost involuntary. Auri
certainly has her reasons, and Astarion doesn’t care enough to wonder at them, but he asked
anyway with undetermined logic.

She looks at him from the corner of her eye like she wasn’t expecting the question. Astarion
expects a reprimand or for her to brush the question off, but instead, she turns her body to
face him. His legs are over the side of the stone, but Auri pulls hers up underneath her so she
can look at his profile. He tilts his head to the side to meet her gaze.

“Can I make a proposal?”

“You already turned down sex with me, love. I don’t really–”

“Gods, Astarion,” she says, and she’s trying to sound exasperated, but somehow, against all
odds, he’s made her smile, and the blush is back on her face. The flicker of pride that sparks
in his stomach is unfamiliar. “Nothing like that.”

“What’s this proposal then?”

“A truth for a truth,” she says, as if it’s that simple. To him, it sounds like a nightmare.

“Absolutely not.”

She continues anyway. “Ask me what you like. I’ll tell you the truth. And if I can’t, or if I
won’t, then I’ll say that. I won’t lie.”

Astarion purses his lips, and Auri wiggles in dissatisfaction. “I’ll let you go first, even. And
you can always say you don’t want to answer. Just don’t lie.”

This is dangerous. This is a mistake.

But he can always still lie, if he wants.

“Alright,” he says, leaning back and putting his arms behind him to hold himself up. “I saw
Viv for just a moment when we were connected that first time on the beach. I’m sure your
tadpole showed you something from my memories as well. Who is she? And why did you lie
to Shadowheart about her being dead?”

“That’s two questions.”

“Oh no, I’ve violated your completely made-up and unenforceable contract.”
Auri snorts. “Fine.” She breathes in and out through her nose like she expected this question,
but it doesn’t seem to make answering any easier. “When I said someone saved me, I was
talking about her. She found me a spot in the troupe, encouraged me to follow my music, and
she was my constant protector.”

Auri’s eyes are misty. Astarion scrutinizes her. “You loved her.”

She nods. “Oh, yes. Desperately. But that was never going to happen, even though I was
willing to rip my heart out and tear it in two for her.”

“Why?”

“Three questions, now,” Auri says, and Astarion rolls his eyes. She shakes her head, but she’s
still smiling, however sadly. “I wasn’t her type, you could say.”

Astarion can’t help it. “Hard to understand. You’re a delectable little thing.”

She swallows hard. Her heartbeat races, but she manages to continue. “She was never
interested in people of the female persuasion, but even if she was, I was always a little sister
trailing after her. And as far as lying about her being dead…”

Auri chews her lip. If she’s not careful, she might start bleeding (though Astarion wouldn't
complain). “Viv is… Viv is mine. I don’t want to share the memory of her when it’s all I have
left and I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again.”

It’s a fourth question, but if he frames it like a statement, he’s not really asking. “You don’t
want to share her, but here you are telling me.”

Auri looks up at the sky like she’s considering each star individually. “Oh, I don’t know,
Astarion. There’s just something about you.”

It’s not really an answer. “That sounds like a lie.”

Auri snorts. “Oh, fuck off. Accept that I like you already. Gods.”

And that’s a lie if ever he’s heard one, but he’ll let it slide. It wasn’t an answer to a question
anyway.

“My turn,” she says, and Astarion steels himself. “What did you really do before all this?”

It’s a simple question. Astarion wants to dodge it. There’s no universe where he wants to
answer. “Exhuming my past will result in nothing but heartache for all parties.”

She holds her hands up in surrender. “I already told you. If you don’t want to answer, don’t
answer. Just don’t lie.”

He groans, tilting his head back. “You were supposed to protest so that I could get self-
righteously angry and storm off without giving you anything of substance.”

Auri sticks her tongue out at him; it’s the same color as the blush that he likes so much.
 “I…” If he doesn’t look at her, it’s easier. “I was a slave. That’s all a vampire spawn is, really,
and I’m not a true vampire. I was bound to the Szarr family. I might still be.”

Concern paints her face. If he stops, he’ll lose his nerve.

“Vampire spawn are made by vampires – unwilling puppets. A vampire drinks your blood,
and you’re their ever-obedient servant. Spawn don’t have the same power.” He runs a thumb
over his neck almost subconsciously. “To become a true vampire, a spawn must drink a
vampire’s blood, which is simple enough in theory, but it doesn’t happen. Vampires don’t
care much for competition.”

She doesn’t say anything. Auri just keeps looking at him with that same too-kind expression
that makes him want to bolt. He says, “So I suppose the simple answer to your question is
that before all this, I did whatever Cazador Szarr asked.”

He expects pity. An apology that’s meaningless because she could never have been at fault
for any of it. Instead, she asks, “Can I give you a hug?”

There’s no universe where he’d expected her to ask that. “I… would prefer that you didn’t.”

Auri bites her lip again, but she nods. “Thank you for telling me.”

“The mind flayers and I aren't the only monsters out there, unfortunately.”

Anything he might have said afterward is interrupted by a laugh expelled from Auri’s throat
at the speed of sound. His head swivels toward her, and she’s clapped a hand over her mouth,
mortification in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. I just–”

“What? I am not in the habit of being laughed at–”

“No, no.” She crawls forward so she’s closer to him, as near as she can be without the two of
them touching. “I wasn’t laughing at you. I just… I can’t see you as a monster.”

Foolishly sweet. The world should have swallowed her whole long ago. He’d thought her
plain before, but he can’t help but find her almost beautiful as she looks at him like he’s the
only thing she’s interested in despite a camp full of people who would cater to her every
whim if only she asked.

Her hair’s a disaster; the trek hasn’t been kind to it, and there’s a crumpled leaf stuck in the
tendrils that hang loose to frame her face. Before he can think better of it, he pulls it from her
hair and lets it fall to the ground.

Chapter End Notes

astarion and auri playlist drops next chapter probably if i can get off my ass and finish
the moodboard. thanks for reading!! <3
tumblr and twitter!
 auri
Chapter Summary

hi pals. my brain is exploding (migraine). if things are written bad or if there are typos if
my grammar sucks, you simply do not see it o7

i didn't finish the moodboard because the brain-exploding has been happening for about
four days, but behold - an auristarion playlist!

please enjoy <3

Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

He didn’t drink from her. Auri hadn’t offered, but as they explore the monastery, that’s all she
can think about. These mountains are unparalleled. Auri’s never seen anything like them.
And all she can think about is how the night had grown long, how they’d sat there on that
freezing boulder, how he’d let her lean closer to him, and how he’d picked a twig (a leaf?
Doesn’t matter) from her hair. Astarion hides everything, but that had felt delicate and real–

And he’d told her the truth. Auri believes that wholeheartedly. Being a slave, being bound to
the Szarr family – none of that was a lie. His face had shifted to something softer, then,
though she wouldn’t be able to pinpoint the change if someone asked. Astarion had stared at
anything but her, like her presence would make the pain of speaking about it unbearable.

He'd shared all of that for nothing in return. Yes, she’d told him about Viv, but otherwise, he
hadn’t tried to wheedle blood from her with the truth.

The others don’t trust him. That’s fine. Frankly, Auri can’t blame them. He does nothing to
engender trust, and he had assaulted her outright while everyone watched.

Idiotic elf.

The thought’s punctuated by a soft, absent, affectionate smile that she doesn’t notice she’s
wearing until Lae’zel is standing in front of her. “Auri. You must be present. A crèche is no
place for a lovestruck child.”

“Lovestruck–” Auri manages outrage, but it’s cut off by Astarion and Shadowheart laughing
almost in unison. She shoots them her meanest glare, but they are a vampire spawn and a
cleric of Shar respectively, and she is a musicless bard. Auri pouts instead, huffing. “Fine. It’s
your lead, Lae’zel.”
She nods like an alternative had never crossed her mind. “In all likelihood, you three will be
killed as soon as we step foot inside.”

“Delightful,” Astarion drawls.

Shadowheart nods. “For once, I find that I agree with him.”

From anyone else, Auri would assume the words were a joke, but Lae’zel is simply… not the
type.

Lae’zel walks forward and Auri flexes her fingers, forcing herself to take a single deep
breath. Shadowheart walks past her, apparently comfortable falling in behind Lae’zel, which
is something that Auri is very interested in parsing out.

“Have you noticed they aren’t trying to kill each other?” she asks Astarion under her breath.
Lae’zel and Shadowheart cut quite an imposing figure. The gossip would be more satisfying
if they weren’t about to walk into a crèche where Lae’zel has said multiple times now they
will likely meet their demise.

As if he echoes her thoughts, Astarion says, “This conversation would appeal to me more if
we weren’t about to walk into certain doom.”

Auri barks out a laugh that draws Lae’zel and Shadowheart’s attention, and though they say
nothing, Auri feels like she’s being reprimanded.

“Sorry,” she says, more to herself than anyone else, and Astarion laughs his soft laugh, the
one that she’s never heard him give to anyone but her.

“Well,” he says, “All I can say is that if we die in there, you’ll regret not having sex with
me.”

Astarion says it like she hadn’t wanted to, like every inch of her body hadn’t ached with
desire for him.

He’s confusing, but pieces of the puzzle that he is click into place all the time, and this is a
silly time and place for a revelation, but she doesn’t get to pick and choose when they come
to her.

Sex is like his daggers. It’s a weapon.

Something in her cracks.

Auri knows so little about him, though she’d named from the start that he was desperately
broken. But little by little, as the details filter in she’s filled with overwhelming pain on his
behalf. Her own life has hardly been idyllic, but–

What happened to him?

He looks almost holy when the sun hits him just right, something worth worshiping, and a
gust of wind pushes an unruly curl of hair from his forehead. The deep breath she’d forced
herself to take has long-evacuated her lungs.

Astarion raises an eyebrow at her. Auri’s been quiet too long. She should have answered him,
but she can’t even remember what he said.

“Darling?”

Lae’zel and Shadowheart are waiting for them. Astarion crosses his arms and looks at her
with something Auri might actually call concern.

“Sorry,” she says again, mouth dry. “I’m just…” She wants to lie to him, but she’ll feed him a
different truth instead. “I’m actually pretty scared this time around.”

Auri’s not sure why she says it. For whatever reason, they all see her as their leader, and the
weakness won’t accomplish anything, but it’s so easy to drop her guard with Astarion.

He quirks his lips in a half-smile, and Auri’s never quite sure what he’s going to say. In all
likelihood, he’ll poke fun; jokes are easy, and she knows that he likes it when he can make
her laugh.

Instead, he comes close; Astarion’s so quick when he wants to be, and he bridges the gap
between them in a second. His lips are at her ear. Lae’zel watches with disapproval;
Shadowheart seems torn between anxiety over Auri’s well-being and interest in her reaction.

“You told me to keep an eye on you after that first night that I drank.” He’s close enough that
Auri can feel his breath on her skin. “Why in the nine hells do you think I’d let anything
happen to you here?”

And they’re alike, yes, in a myriad of ways, but Auri would give anything to know the ways
that they’re different, too.

Astarion breezes past her, then, and the force of him alone is almost enough to pull Auri
along.

She wonders if he’d be so magnetic if he wasn’t like a warped reflection of her, but it doesn’t
really matter. She’s drawn to him all the same.

They all follow her for reasons that Auri doesn’t totally understand, but the string that
connects her and Astarion is different.

They’re all going to die, probably, before this is all over, and she likes him. Auri’s eyes flutter
shut, and she exhales a laugh. Lovestruck, as Lae’zel put it, is probably a bit dramatic, but
yes, in another life, she thinks that she and Astarion could have been… well.

Auri always did love a tragedy.

They weren’t killed the moment that they walked into Crèche Y’llek, but it was hardly a
warm welcome. Already in the short time that they’ve been there, Lae’zel has worn a look of
stark disapproval at Auri’s actions several times. As they exit the training facility, Lae’zel
rounds on her. “You should not have interfered.”

The vitriol shouldn’t be surprising, but it is. “He was a child, Lae’zel–”

“The weak exist to be culled,” she spits. “Just because your race would allow such frailty
does not mean it is acceptable for my kind.”

That pricks something deep and sore in Auri’s chest, and her reaction is instinctual. She can
match Lae’zel’s venom, when pressed, even if Auri’s bite would probably hurt far less. “Then
perhaps I should have left the great githyanki warrior that you are hanging in that cage by the
beach.”

Lae’zel’s lips curl back in a snarl. “If you think I needed some pathetic little istik to come to
my rescue, you are gravely mistaken.”

There’s bile in Auri’s throat. This is a hill that she’ll die on.

But in a turn of events that likely no one could have predicted, it’s Astarion that de-escalates.
“Not that I don’t love any excuse for disproportionate violence, but you two do remember
that we’re here to remove the worms squirming around in our skulls and not discuss child-
rearing tactics, yes?”

Shadowheart blinks at him in surprise. It’s a surprisingly effective bit of logic from someone
who usually thrives when they’re all at each other's throats. Auri can admit that about
Astarion, no matter how much she likes him.

Lae’zel’s eyes narrow. Despite her convictions, she’s rarely unreasonable, and Astarion is
talking sense, for once.

“Chk.” Lae’zel makes that sound she’s so fond of from deep in her throat, and Auri looks
away first. “It is unsettling to agree with you, vampire.”

“You can just say that I’m right, darling.”

The look that Lae'zel gives Astarion should vivisect him. Instead, she says, "We are wasting
time. The zaith’isk must be our top priority.”

Auri doesn’t plan to leave the crèche without exploring every corner of it that she can, but if
she can do it without a parasite in her head, that would be preferable, so she nods. “Yes. I
agree.”

The crèche is imposing. Stares follow their every move, and Auri does her best not to look
more suspicious than she already is as a human in an environment where she most certainly
does not belong.

“The more you try to shrink into yourself, the more they stare at us,” Shadowheart says.

“Oh, apologies. I should really be more comfortable in this situation.” Auri tries for
cleverness, but the attempt falls flat, though she’s treated to an amused half-smile from
Astarion.

Auri lets Lae'zel steer the conversation with Ghustil Stornugoss since it's well-established by
this point that her moral code is at odds with githyanki etiquette. While they speak, she
examines the zaith'isk.

It’s an intimidating thing, more like a creature than a device. The flesh of it looks half-alive,
and the metal is marred with pocks. It looks hungry. When Lae’zel looks at it, it’s with
reverence. Astarion and Shadowheart both regard it with skepticism, and Auri’s inclined to
side with their first impression.

Everything about the crèche has been cruel, and the ghustil’s enthusiasm doesn’t seem to be
borne of a desire to help them, exactly. Her eyes linger on each of them in turn, though
Lae’zel has had the foresight to leave out that each of them has a tadpole in their heads.

No, she’s offered herself alone up for slaughter. Auri hasn’t listened to the conversation as
closely as she probably should have, and Lae’zel steps towards the zaith’isk.

Auri doesn’t think. She just reaches out and grabs Lae’zel’s arm. “Are you sure? Maybe we
should talk about this–”

Lae’zel takes the contact as an offense. She jerks her arm away from Auri’s grasp like her
touch is toxic. “Purification is my duty, istik. I do not expect you to understand.”

How can she argue with that?

You cannot allow her to do this.

Just as Auri’s come to terms with Lae’zel’s decision, the dream visitor presses at the edges of
her consciousness. The worm wriggles in protest, and Auri tries not to grimace at the
sensation, though the ghustil wouldn’t notice anyway. She only has eyes for Lae’zel, who sits
in the chair, and the zaith’isk. “Sit, child, and let the zaith’isk end your suffering. Focus on
the parasite at all times. The zaith’isk will do the rest.”

The chair tilts backward, and the jaws of the zaith’isk near Lae’zel’s head. The zaith’isk
chitters in anticipation, and two of its pincers erupt with light.

Lae’zel’s face contorts with agony in an instant.

If you do not stop her, she will die.

Shadowheart’s eyes are wide; the ghustil offers words of encouragement. “Lae’zel–”
Shadowheart starts, panic blooming in her voice.

Feel it.

Auri’s mind rips as the dream visitor speaks and Lae’zel lets out a scream so shrill that the
fabric of reality might split. Auri’s knees buckle, but she manages to stay upright.

Does this feel like purification to you?

Astarion’s lips are moving. He’s talking to her, but Auri can’t hear anything. White-hot pain
pulses from her extremities into her core, but it’s not Lae’zel’s. Legions of githyanki have
died this way, minds shattered by the zaith’isk, and the torture they endured flows through
her. Auri falls to the floor, finally, though Astarion’s quick enough to buffer her fall. The
ghustil doesn’t even seem to notice.

“Is the plan truly that we are going to stand here and watch her die?”

That’s Astarion again. His voice is far away even though she can feel the pressure of his
touch through her armor. Gods, it hurts it hurts ithurtshurtshurtshurtshurtshurtsHURTS–

She’s on her hands and knees. A spider skitters across the floor. The world swims like a
bomb has just gone off, and Astarion’s crouched in front of her. His lips are moving again but
the sound’s missing. It’s not just the music that’s gone. She can’t hear anything. The ghustil
motions frantically at what’s left of the zaith’isk – what happened to it? It’s little more than
debris, now. Shadowheart’s red in the face, screaming at the ghustil, and she has Lae’zel’s
arm pulled over her shoulders to support her.

He has beautiful lips. She hadn’t gotten to kiss him. It’s not fair, really, the way they stretch
over his fangs–

“Auri!” Astarion shouts her name this time, and it rings in her ears with astounding clarity.
His hands are in her hair and his eyes bore into hers, pleading, though Auri isn’t exactly sure
what for.

The world re-focuses around her as she starts to come back to herself.

“You’ve never called me by my name before.”

Astarion laughs in disbelief. “Yes, darling, the romance of it all. Are you feeling well enough
to work your magic on that doctor? Because as things stand, Shadowheart is setting gith/non-
gith relations back centuries, and they weren’t in a great place already.”

Auri stands; her head is sore like she’s recovering from the worst migraine in existence, but
otherwise, she can’t even tell that what just happened had happened.

It’s not clear what the ghustil is more passionate about – the destruction of the zaith’isk or the
parasite that she assumes is still in Lae’zel’s head – but Auri can tell one thing for certain.

Ghustil Stornugoss has no intention of letting a mind flayer tadpole leave this room.

“Ghustil,” Auri manages, the cold sweat on her brow a perfect match for her wavering voice,
“Forgive me for speaking out of turn, but look in her eyes. The parasite is dead. Nothing
could have survived that.”

The ghustil notices Auri, then, for the first time. She scrutinizes her with a gaze so shrewd
that Auri has to force herself to meet it. Shadowheart’s chest heaves with the effort of
whatever she’d been screaming during Auri’s episode. Lae’zel seems to be experiencing
something similar to what Auri had, though amplified a thousandfold.
 After a pause that feels like hours, the ghustil finally speaks again. “Very well. Though I am
loath to admit it, istik, I can see you speak truth.”

The ghustil steps away and surveys the wreckage of the zaith’isk again. “My life’s work…”
she trails off, her mania subdued for the moment, at least. To Lae’zel, she says, “I must report
what’s occurred. For now, you may recover here. Do not do anything rash.”

As soon as the ghustil leaves the room, Lae’zel hisses, “Vlaakith does not abandon githyanki.
The zaith’isk was tampered with, and the only culprit can be the ghustil. There is no other
explanation. We must inform the ch’r’ai–”

Lae’zel tries to walk forward without Shadowheart’s support and makes it two steps before
stumbling. “You can’t do anything like this,” Shadowheart says, but there’s no malice in it.

“Can you help her?” Auri asks, and Shadowheart’s eyes narrow.

“Don’t patronize me.”

Auri holds her hand up in surrender. “Okay. Astarion and I can scout the rest of the crèche in
the meantime, or some of it at least.”

Shadowheart nods, and Lae’zel says, “I’m fine–”

“You are not fine,” Shadowheart snaps. “Lie down.”

Lae’zel wants to protest; Auri can tell. But she also can’t walk, so with Shadowheart’s
assistance, she complies.

“Don’t kill each other while we’re gone. I want a front-row seat for that when it inevitably
happens,” Astarion says, but his eyes linger on Auri as they step out of the infirmary.

“What?” Auri asks, but it’s a stupid question. She knows what he’s wondering about.

Why did the zaith’isk affect you like that and not Shadowheart or me?

“Nothing,” Astarion says instead, teeth sharp. “Lead the way, darling.”

Chapter End Notes

tumblr and twitter!

i am going to sleep now perhaps forever please be nice i did my best i hope you enjoyed
i love you goodbyeeee see you in three days or whatever with next update shoutout to
amanda and also if anyone from my world of warcraft guild found this you can bring it
up to me in dms but keep it OUT of the guild discord server <3
 astarion
Chapter Notes

GOOD NEWS - my brain is no longer exploding

BAD NEWS - if i stare at a screen any longer my eyes my fall out of my head so please
take any mistakes in stride (i feel like i say this every chapter lmao)

i hope you enjoy! this chapter was almost 5k words before i trimmed it down LOL

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Catching Auri had been an instinct. Astarion’s uncomfortable with the implications of that,
but there’s enough going on that at least no one calls him on it. She’d crumbled in his arms
until she was on her hands and knees, the pressure of the tadpole’s psychic force crushing her.

The whites of her eyes – they’d gone dark. Gray-black tendrils had appeared from the corners
of her eyes to her temples like the tadpole (or something else) was possessing her. Every bit
of her trembled, but not in the nervous way she always does.

It was power. It had seeped from her skin like her body couldn’t contain it. If Astarion could
have just a taste of what was radiating off of her before–

“I know it was a near-death experience and all, but Lae’zel and Shadowheart seemed awfully
cozy in there for people who are always at each other’s throats at camp.”

Astarion clears his throat. Looking at Auri now, there’s no evidence at all of what happened
with the zaith’isk.

Despite his growing fondness for her (because that’s what it is; he’d be a fool not to
recognize it), jealousy rumbles in his chest. The things he could do with that power…

He could be truly free with it.

She would probably help him if he asked. She helps everyone else, and she’s…

If he thinks the words, Astarion might break the spell, but they come unbidden anyway.

Auri’s fond of him. Try though he has to find an ulterior motive for the way she treats him,
Astarion’s found no evidence that she’s guilty of anything but enjoying his company.

He hasn’t answered her, but she seems undeterred by his silence. Usually she’s quick to catch
on if he’s acting suspicious, but she’s undoubtedly thrown off-kilter by… whatever it was that
happened in the infirmary.
They can talk about it later.

Astarion blinks. That’s an astonishing thought. He wants to talk to her. In retrospect, it

shouldn’t be that surprising. He’d spent an hour or more sitting on a godsforsaken rock
talking to her and he’d told her–

Well. He hadn’t told her everything, but he’d told her quite a lot.

He’d told her more than he’s told anyone since he was turned.

Between the two of them, Auri bears a much closer resemblance to prey, but Astarion’s the
one tempted to run.

No. He’ll talk to her when they leave the crèche. She always seems to be looking for an
excuse to get him alone anyway.

“I don’t want to take too much time, but I can’t leave here without seeing what the hatchery
is like,” Auri says, and she’s normally upsettingly genuine with him.

Whatever had happened in her head with the zaith’isk has scared her. That’s not difficult to
accomplish, considering she seems a moment from a nervous breakdown at any given
moment, but this is different. And while he’s thinking about that, why had she snapped at
Lae’zel that way before, when Lae’zel had disapproved of how she’d handled the altercation
between the githyanki child and his instructor? It’s not like her to get worked up like that
about a differing opinion.

So many questions, but truthfully, it’s not any of Astarion’s business. Auri can keep the
information to herself, or she can tell him. She isn't a mark; there's no need for Astarion to
wheedle the information from her. She’s spilling her guts to him most of the time anyway.
Auri would be easy to crack if he wanted. She’d been unraveling in his hands that night in the
woods until she’d called it off.

“What do you want with a gith hatchery?” he asks instead.

“Oh, come on,” she scoffs, “Don’t you want to see the kind of environment that results in all
this?” Auri gestures around her in all directions, though her hand lingers to point at a portrait
of Vlaakith that even Astarion would call self-important.

He almost can’t help it. His lip curls into a snarl. Cazador’s mansion had dozens of portraits
like this, each one more nauseating than the last.

Auri raises an eyebrow. “Not a fan?”

And this is neither the time nor place for more soul-baring where Cazador is concerned,
though something about her is remarkably adept at pulling such information from him, so
instead he says, “I’m considering a career change.”

Auri blinks, and an amused smile settles into place on her lips like she and Lae’zel hadn’t
undergone some kind of psychological torture only moments before.
“Is that so?”

“Yes.” He’s still looking at the portrait of Vlaakith. “I think I’d make for an unparalleled
vandal.”

Auri blinks again, and her smile widens to a grin. Satisfaction that’s a bit too close to pride
spreads in his stomach (I made her smile like that). “As I think about it,” she says, “I agree. I
think you’d be outstanding.”

He’d been joking, mostly, but as he watches, Auri looks left and right furtively before
reaching into her pack and pulling out a bit of charcoal. She holds it out to him, and, well, he
can’t back down, especially when that spark of mischief in her eyes is as charming as
anything he’s seen in the last two centuries.

He works quickly, until Vlaakith’s visage has been suitably desanctified, and when he’s done,
he steps away with a flourish.

Auri covers her mouth with her hand when she sees what he’s done, which is draw a large
penis on her left cheek. When she pulls her hand away, she’s biting her lip like she’s trying
not to burst into laughter. “We need to go. We have to go.”

The grin on Astarion’s face is impossible to contain – it comes from a version of himself that
he doesn’t know or can’t remember. It’s ridiculous. Everything about it is. They’re in a
githyanki crèche. Shadowheart is tending to whatever psychic torment that Lae’zel had just
gone through. Auri’d gone through similar. And, of course, there’s the overriding factor of
the parasites in their heads.

And they’re walking away from a picture of Vlaakith that Astarion has adorned with a
sloppily-drawn cock.

It’s hilarious. It’s objectively hilarious. And Astarion doesn’t know how, but he’s still
smiling, and Auri’s giggling like a child, and somehow, this is the happiest that he’s been in a
very long time.

Astarion’s handiwork does not end in their immediate execution, though it’s unclear if it’s
because no one has noticed what he’s done or if they just don’t know that he’s the culprit. It’s
also possible that they’ve executed Shadowheart and Lae’zel for the crime, but that’s a
problem for him to deal with later.

Gods, he hopes they haven’t killed Shadowheart and Lae’zel. Auri would be a mess.

Though, that moment of joy is probably worth their deaths, for Astarion. And Auri – with
enough time, he could trick her into feeling better.

There’s an acrid smell that taunts his nose enough to force a grimace from him, and when the
door to the hatchery swings open, it floods him. The pool steams with it
There’s enough acid in this room that it hurts Astarion’s eyes; he squints. Auri only wrinkles
her nose, which he supposes is the benefit of having worse senses. There’s greenery near the
walls and rocks that protrude from the acidic water, large enough that they could almost be
called small islands. A lone githyanki stands on one of the rock platforms watching over a
singular, unhatched egg and one guard otherwise near the entrance.

He still doesn’t understand why Auri wanted to see this. “This place smells vile–” he says to
her, but Auri isn’t listening. She’s already pathing toward the guard standing watch at the
edge of the pool.

“Hi,” she says to him, hands clasped behind her back. The smile on her face is one he’s come
to know well; it’s the one she wears when she’s about to get what she wants. “Can I ask you
something?”

Unfortunately, she may be in the one place in Faerûn that’s immune to her charms. The guard
looks her up and down and says nothing, apparently unimpressed. Undeterred, she presses, “I
expected to see more eggs. Is this really all there is?”

The guard’s traditional githyanki distaste for the lesser races wars with his pride. Eventually,
he decides on a course of action. He says, “Leave, istik, and take the pale one with you.”

Astarion makes an incensed noise at being referred to in that way, but Auri says, “Oh, of
course. Apologies for disturbing you.”

Sniffing haughtily, the guard turns back to continue looking out over the pool, and when Auri
turns away from him to walk back towards Astarion, she rolls her eyes.

“The crèche makes you feisty,” Astarion says under his breath, and Auri snorts.

“I want to talk to him,” Auri says, and she points to the gith standing alone in the center of
the pool. He’s staring at the single egg remaining forlornly.

“Not to be the bearer of obvious news,” Astarion drawls, “But the guard told us to leave.”

She tilts her head to the side and considers him then. Astarion raises an eyebrow. Auri says,
“Oh, Astarion, are you so washed up that you don’t think you can sneak up there?”

A challenge, then.

She’s in rare form today, all wit despite the nerves that he knows are frantically fraying under
her skin. Auri’s still looking at him.

“I must admit, I enjoy your approach,” Astarion says, and again, despite everything, he feels
that tingle of joy. “Do try to keep up, darling.”

The grin she wears is infectious. She’s playing a part to hide how scared he knows that she
must be after everything that happened in the infirmary, but it’s a part she’s playing well. If
he wasn’t so accomplished himself, he might not even recognize it.
But there can be fun in playing a bit, and Astarion knows that better than anyone. Auri’s gaze
darts to the guard, and when she’s satisfied that he isn’t watching, she gets a running start and
scrabbles up the nearest rock pillar. It’s not quite graceful, but it’s close, and Astarion follows
her with ease. When he’s scaled the pillar, though, she grabs him by the elbow, pulling him
nearer. “What–” he starts, and she points to the ground he’d very nearly stood on.

“Traps. And I bet they’re everywhere.” The exhilaration of the acrobatics that Auri clearly
enjoys is at odds with her always-anxious personality. “Maybe– this was actually a really
foolish idea on my part. We should turn back.”

But no, she doesn’t get out of it this easily. Astarion steps backward, keeping an eye on the
guard all the while. “I’m sorry, darling, I couldn’t hear you. You’ll have to come closer.”

And he leaps to the next pillar, and she, with an incredulous smile on her face, does the same.
It makes sense that Auri’s good at this, if Astarion thinks about it; she said she’d done
tightrope walking in the circus, which is a ridiculous combination of words to string together
about a person that he has to admit that he’s coming to respect.

All those years locked up in Cazador’s clutches, and he could have been out prancing in
githyanki crèches with an idiotic jester who’s too nice for her own good instead.

Auri’s apparently forgotten that they’re sneaking by the time they reach their destination.
Astarion takes care to land quietly, but Auri announces her arrival with a dramatic flourish
for effect that immediately draws the attention of the gith she’d wanted to speak to.

He whips around at the sound and Auri whispers, “Fuck,” no doubt because she’d been so
lost in the game that she’d forgotten herself.

When the gith sees them, his eyes widen, and he opens his mouth to call for help. “Guard–”

He doesn’t get further than that, though, because Astarion’s behind him in one fluid
movement, dagger pressed against his throat.

“Astarion–” Auri starts in disapproval, and Astarion shakes his head.

“What? You wanted to talk to him. It’s hard to do that if we’re dead, which is what we’ll end
up being if the guard notices that we’re still here.”

Auri purses her lips. “I’m not interested in killing him for it.”

Astarion scoffs but removes the dagger from his neck. “Be a darling and don’t make me slit
your throat then. I wouldn’t want to make her unhappy.”

The gith’s mouth is set in a line, but for the moment, he doesn’t yell for help, so Astarion’s
methods are effective at least in the short-term. Auri says, “Sorry. I’m Auri. This is
Astarion.”

“I don’t care. I just want you to leave,” he says flatly, and Auri frowns.
“Look,” Auri says, “There should be a lot more eggs than that one. I was just curious.
Despite the dagger to your throat, we really don’t mean any harm.”

The gith regards her with suspicion, but eventually, he sighs. “I am Varsh Ko’kuu. And there
were more eggs, but they’ve long hatched; this one is simply taking its time.”

“Patience is generally in short supply in a place like this,” Auri says, “I’m surprised you’re
willing to wait this long for one egg.”

There’s a flash of anger in Varsh’s eyes at that. “I am custodian of this hatchery,” he says,
pride evident, “The others believe that this egg is not fit for life, but my start in this world
was identical. My custodian took a chance on me. I am inclined to do the same and give it as
much of a chance as I can.”

Auri’s face softens in a way not altogether different from how she had looked when Astarion
had asked about Viv. “People like that,” she says quietly, “Their grace – if it can be called
that – is finite.”

Varsh’s eyes flutter shut. “I know. Time for this one runs short.”

Varsh shouldn’t be sharing this information with them, but Auri’s magical once she gets
going. “I’m the same, you know. By all rights, I shouldn’t be alive. I only am because
someone took a chance on me, like your custodian did with you. What you’re doing is
commendable.”

Foolish, in Astarion’s book, but he’s long-established that he and Auri don’t see the world the
same way.

Varsh still hasn’t opened his eyes. “I fear it won’t matter.”

“It could,” Auri says, “If you let us take it.”

Varsh’s eyes shoot open, and Astarion looks at her with alarm at the same moment.
“Darling–”

Auri holds up a hand to stop him, and he can read the look on her face as clear as day.

Trust me.

And despite the years of conditioning telling him to do anything else, Astarion holds his
tongue.

“What would you do with it?” Varsh asks with understandable skepticism.

“I would try to find another crèche,” Auri says fervently, “One that might be more forgiving
or at least more understanding.”

Varsh bellows out a laugh, a harsh, booming thing, and when he does, it attracts the guard’s
attention. Astarion tenses and Auri does the same; the guard steps forward, ready to make a
move, but Varsh dismisses him with a wave of his hand.
Astarion can’t help but laugh. It’s so Auri to sneak up here and then endear herself to
someone who can get them off the hook if they get caught.

“That you say that proves you understand little,” Varsh says, but there’s no malice in it.
“But…” he trails off and his gaze drifts, again, to the egg. “I cannot deny your fervor. And I
also cannot deny the truth of your words. Even in the short time that we’ve spoken, I can see
that you and I are alike, little istik.”

To hear Lae’zel tell it, istik is supposedly a neutral term, but every time Astarion’s heard it,
it’s been laced with condescension. This time, though, in Varsh’s mouth, it sounds almost
affectionate. Varsh nods, more to himself than anything, and says, “Very well.”

As Astarion watches, Varsh casts a spell on Auri. Astarion moves to protest, but as if he
predicts it, Varsh says, “This will protect you from the acid in the pool. Fetch the egg and
bring it here so that I may ward it as best I can before you take it.”

Auri nods and bounds down the rock face before Astarion can blink.

“Your lover is convincing, though I fear her kindness would be all too easy to take advantage
of.”

The second part is something Astarion already knows. “She’s not my lover.”

Though not for lack of trying.

“Hm.”

As Varsh and Astarion watch, Auri dances between the traps in the pool with deftness until
she’s before the egg. She crouches down before it and caresses it tenderly, and with what
strength remains from the last time he drank her blood, he can hear her say, “Don’t worry,
little one. I’ve got you.”

“If she is not yet your lover, then she would like to be,” Varsh says, and Astarion is not in the
habit of taking relationship advice from githyanki, so they stand there in silence until Auri
returns with the egg.

When they retrieve Shadowheart and Lae’zel from the infirmary, the ghustil is still nowhere
to be found, and Auri keeps mum about the egg which is nestled firmly in Astarion’s pack, a
slew of protective spells upon it.

“How are you feeling?” Auri asks, though Lae’zel walks normally and Shadowheart has
already said that she should be fine.

Lae’zel doesn’t answer with words, settling instead on a withering glare that reprimands Auri
for even asking the question.

They exit the infirmary and head back down the hallway in the direction they’d been told the
inquisitor would be, and after everything that had happened in the hatchery, Astarion had
nearly forgotten about his artistry on the portrait of Vlaakith.
Lae’zel, of course, notices it instantly, though apparently no one else has yet. If they had,
Astarion doubts the portrait would still be hanging. She makes a hissing sound and whips
around to Astarion and Auri. “Only an istik would do something like this! Which of you is
responsible for disrespecting my queen in this manner? To disfigure her face with such a poor
representation of genitalia–”

Lae’zel can’t finish her sentence, though her indignation is clear. Astarion looks down at his
nails, and Auri parts her lips, the picture of innocence. “Lae’zel, I’ve never even seen a penis,
so I couldn’t possibly have done this.”

Shadowheart snorts and Astarion has to laugh. Auri is many things, but he can tell that
inexperienced is not one of them.

“Vampire–” Lae’zel starts again, snarling, but Shadowheart puts a hand on her shoulder.

“We don’t have time for this right now. We need to find the inquisitor.”

And Lae’zel, though it looks like it causes her physical pain, does not dissect him on the spot.

As they traverse the crèche in search of the inquisitor, they learn something alarming.

The inquisitor is not there on a spontaneous visit. He’s there for the artifact sitting in
Shadowheart’s pocket.

Auri manages to convince the captain that they need to see the inquisitor with the information
they’ve managed to acquire on their travels, and as they ready themselves to walk into the
chamber where he is, Auri stops them.

“Look,” she says, and she’s looking at all of them, but Astarion’s pretty sure that he knows
what’s coming, and it’s really addressed to Lae’zel. “They’re going to try to take the artifact,
and we can’t give it to them. We all agree on that, right?”

Lae’zel’s eyes narrow, which isn’t an answer, while Shadowheart and Astarion nod. Auri
holds Lae’zel’s gaze for a moment longer, but then she turns and walks into the chamber.

“Interesting,” the inquisitor says. Astarion fights to remember his name – they’d mentioned it
at the gate. W’wargaz. “My ardents had reported that an istik had survived when the ghaik
ship fell. You have accomplished much since. I am pleased to finally meet you. It cannot
have been easy to escape.”

They are vastly outnumbered here. Astarion doesn’t betray the thought, but he has no doubt
that Shadowheart has come to the same conclusion. They share a look of understanding as
Auri says, “It wasn’t. I doubt I would have made it without my companions, especially
Lae’zel.”

W’wargaz is imposing, and given the githyanki emphasis on competence, Astarion thinks
Lae’zel might appreciate Auri’s praise in such well-ranked company, but her face remains
blank.
 “Hm.” W’wargaz seems unimpressed. “To business. I have my suspicions that you may be in
possession of something that you found on the ghaik ship. Something that belongs to us.”

Shadowheart fidgets. Astarion wills her to stay calm.

Auri jumps in that way she does when something surprises her, and it does nothing but
heighten W’wargaz’s suspicions. Astarion can hear her heart rate increase; under different
circumstances, he might call the sound delicious.

“Apologies,” Auri says sheepishly, “I– We– do have what you seek, but I can’t give it back.”

“Auri–” Lae’zel speaks, then, but Auri looks at her sadly.

“You know we can’t give it to them. If we do, we all die. Everyone at camp dies. I die, you
die, Astarion dies, Shadowheart dies.”

Astarion’s never cared much for Lae’zel, really. He finds her way of thinking rigid and her
humor lacking, though he can’t complain about her fighting prowess.

But something in her is affected when Auri speaks. The hard lines of Lae’zel’s face soften,
and she looks almost mortal, so different from the cold githyanki warrior that they’ve all
grown accustomed to.

“I need you to trust me,” Auri says, and she gives Lae’zel the same look that she’d given
Astarion in the hatchery.

Trust me. Trust me. Trust me.

And Lae’zel, even though it goes against every fiber of her being, bites her lip, and nods.

Auri turns back to W’wargaz. “I’ve consulted my companions, and we’re all of the same
mind.” Her voice is confident, but Astarion sees the way that her hands shake. Auri hadn’t
told him she was scared for nothing. “We can’t give you the artifact.”

W’wargaz exhales a sigh. “Very well. If you wish to die by our blades, then I will oblige. You
will not leave this room with the Astral Prism.”

When he draws his weapons, so too do his adepts.

Their party does the same, and Lae’zel says, “I pray my trust in you is not misplaced.”

“It’s not,” Auri says, but it almost isn’t her. It’s something different, and when Astarion
glances at her as he prepares to reposition, Auri’s eyes grow dark, gray-black tendrils
blooming at her temples.

Chapter End Notes

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i hope you liked it! thank you so much as always for putting up with my self-indulgence
<3
 auri
Chapter Notes

it's action-packed. hope you enjoy <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

An hour ago she was playing hopscotch across an acid pool with Astarion.

You will die here, the dream guardian says, and as Auri watches, friend and foe alike arm
themselves. Your friends are strong, but the enemy outnumbers you, and you… He trails off
as if unsure that he wants to continue. You show immense strength in other ways, but not in
this one.

Auri’s convinced Lae’zel to take up arms against her own kind. Shadowheart murmurs a
blessing for them. Astarion has already begun slinking into the shadows where he feels most
comfortable.

If they die, it won’t be because her companions aren’t competent. She’s the weak link. She
always has been, even when her music was hers.

Auri’s eyes dart briefly to her lyre, though she isn’t willing to give up looking at W’wargaz.

I don’t want you to die here, the visitor says, but Auri doesn’t see a way out. They number
only four, and one of them is a music-less bard. Let me help you.

How? Auri sends the thought into the void, praying it finds its mark.

Embrace the parasite.

Every muscle in Auri's body locks up, and as if sensing her hesitation, the guardian says, You
will remain yourself, but you will be able to protect them.

Auri can’t afford to let them down. She can’t.

Is this a mistake?

Do they live otherwise?

If the options are fucking up or dying, then, well–

She’ll fuck up.

Auri takes a shuddering breath that runs down her spine like ice and drops any pretense of
protecting herself from the tadpole.
And it takes everything in her not to drop to her knees and weep.

Music floods her, coursing through her bloodstream like it never left. She’d felt it in her
dreams only a few nights ago, but this is different. It pours through her, a veritable hurricane,
and this isn’t a dream. It’s real.

From behind her, Lae’zel says, “I pray my trust in you is not misplaced.”

There’s no anxiety. Her fear has evaporated.

“It’s not.”

The words are Auri’s, but the voice is not. It’s a dark, dangerous thing, and it comes from
somewhere deeper than her chest. The music is different, too; she’s not borrowing it, exactly,
but it doesn’t feel like her own. It’s a twisted, mangled perversion of what Auri used to hear
in every waking moment, but still, it sings. The hair on her arms stands straight up, and for a
moment, she forgets that W’wargaz is there.

“You are already half-ghaik,” he hisses, and then he spits in her face.

The saliva is viscous, the same consistency as warm honey. It slides down Auri’s cheek, and
for a moment, she’s a little girl again. Flashes of memory run rampant through her in quick
succession.

Dirty knees. Empty stomach. A tall shadow. Spit on Auri’s forehead.

A scream. Thorns. “I’ve got you. What’s your name?”

Light.

“Auri.”

Vibrant smile.

“I’m Viv.”

No one has pulled the proverbial trigger yet, though from the corner of her eye, Auri can see
Astarion snarling. W’wargaz stares at Auri, waiting for her to make a decision, as if he hopes
she’s changed her mind.

Auri tilts her head to the side and considers him briefly.

And she decides not returning the favor would be impolite.

She’s much shorter than W’wargaz, so she only succeeds in her spit reaching his neck.

“You’re already dead,” she says to him, and that’s all the encouragement that Shadowheart
needs. She pushes forward and puts herself between Auri and W’wargaz, shield up, and
Lae’zel’s not far behind, no hesitation in her eyes despite the torture this doubtless is.
Auri doesn’t know where Astarion is, but that’s fine. He’s at his deadliest when he’s unseen,
and with Lae’zel and Shadowheart in front of her, she’s as safe as she can be given the
circumstances.

The music’s everywhere now, warped though it is, like an old familiar friend that’s gone
through a transformation. But Auri belongs to it just like she always did, save this short time
when she’d lost it, and in turn, it belongs to her.

Her lyre’s an extension of her again as she pulls it from her waist, and it’s different, yes, but
different isn’t wrong.

And gods, but she feels strong.

Astarion emerges from the shadows like he was born for it, and his daggers bury themselves
in an adept thrice before Auri can blink. Blood spatters on his skin as the adept falls, a grin
bursting with bloodlust wide on his face, and it’s a skillful assassination, but another moves
to retaliate.

And Auri strums her lyre.

She could cry, but there’s no time for that, and anyway, what use does she have for tears?
She’s overflowing with magic, though it feels like it’s borrowed, and for once, Auri feels like
she’s worth more than a mean word or two to an enemy.

Auri sends her magic forward in Astarion’s direction. The githyanki at his back freezes,
greatsword mid-swing, but all momentum’s been sapped from him. His eyes dart back and
forth frantically, but he’s completely paralyzed.

Astarion’s eyes meet hers, and Auri plays on. He pauses to take in the sight of the
immobilized adept before driving a knife into his neck, and when Astarion looks at her, Auri
can’t initially place the look in his eyes, but she does recognize it eventually.

Envy.

Puzzling.

“What–” Shadowheart starts, noticing Auri’s magic herself, but she’s stopped immediately by
a psychic assault from W’wargaz. Her shield drops to the ground and she cries out, though
she manages to keep hold of her mace.

But Lae’zel’s tough enough to be a shield all by herself. She swings back her greatsword,
intending to break his concentration, but W’wargaz wards her off with a wave of his hand.
Magic flows freely from him; Auri can see the strands, no doubt the influence of the tadpole.

The melody’s cold, but that doesn’t matter. Auri’s dizzy with joy even though they’re fighting
for their lives and more, besides. She plays on, the force of her song snapping the threads of
W’wargaz’s magic, and Shadowheart gasps in relief as she’s freed from his link.

Astarion is on the edges of her vision, tearing through bodies at a breakneck speed, spurred
on by her lyre at his back. This is Auri but more, her but useful, and when Shadowheart slams
her shield into W’wargaz with such force that the whole crèche could probably hear, he falls
to the ground. Lae’zel wastes no time in pushing her sword tight to his neck, hissing gith
words that Auri doesn’t recognize. Astarion plunges a blade into a final adversary, and with a
bloody gurgle, the last of W’wargaz’s guard falls.

Auri plays the song to resolution, and her exhalation afterward is one of satisfaction despite
the bloodshed around them. Shadowheart is looking at her with a mixture of disgust and fear
that Auri doesn’t understand. The music’s still with her, but it’s fading fast.

Auri’s lips part in confusion, but Astarion says, “Godssake, Lae’zel, kill the bastard.”
Lae’zel’s eyes had been focused on Auri, too, and as if she’d forgotten herself, she hurriedly
presses her sword through W’wargaz’s neck.

Corpses are scattered around them, but as Auri hitches her lyre to her hip again, she’s acutely
aware that she’s the only one who’s put her weapon away. Astarion’s daggers are at his sides
where he stands next to her but they’re still in his hands, and Shadowheart and Lae’zel are
both staring at her like she’s a cornered animal.

“What the fuck is that?” Shadowheart asks, bordering on hysterical.

“What the fuck is what?” Auri parrots back, and in response, Lae’zel grabs for
Shadowheart’s shield and props it up so that Auri can see herself in it.

The first thing she notices with a melancholy that would be difficult to put into words is that
Astarion is nowhere to be seen in the reflection. From the corner of her vision, she sees him
glance away, as if the reminder of his vampirism is painful, but she doesn’t have time to think
on it, because she can see just what Shadowheart’s so scared of.

Auri’s eyes are so dark that her pupils aren’t even visible, and where there should be laugh
lines, there are gray-black threads of something that can only be the parasite’s influence,
instead.

She’d said that if the choices were between fucking up and dying, she’d fuck up, but this–

“Hells–” Auri stumbles backward and falls to the floor, frightened by the sight of her own
face.

Who is that? It isn’t her. It can’t be her. But it is – as Auri watches, her face returns to the one
she’s always known, but Lae’zel, Shadowheart, and Astarion are all looking at her
expectantly, and Lae’zel and Shadowheart in particular look just as likely to kill her as they
are to help her to her feet.

And the music is gone again.

“This isn’t a game, Auri!” Shadowheart sounds more scared and hurt than angry. “If you’re
turning, you need to tell us. We haven’t done all this just for you to be the one to kill us.”

“I’m not turning.” Auri scrambles to a standing position. “I just– I needed to be stronger.
There were so many of them, and I wanted to be able to help. There’s no way that we would
have lived if I was just the deadweight that I usually am in a fight–”

There’s a burst of light from the center of the room, and for the moment, Auri’s ill-advised
decision-making is not everyone’s focus.

“Inquisitor W’wargaz was potent,” says a disembodied voice, “We are impressed.”

Auri only knows that it’s Vlaakith who appears before them from the painting that Astarion
vandalized. Lae’zel’s weapon clangs to the floor and she falls to her knees a moment after.
“M-my queen!”

Auri’s mouth goes dry. No amount of bargaining with the tadpole will matter here. This is a
fight they lose.

If they make it out of this, Auri hopes that they’ll let her explain.

“You are permitted to look upon me,” Vlaakith says, “You are invited to kneel.”

“The Deathless Queen has spoken,” Lae’zel says. “You will obey.”

Lae’zel stares up at Auri with beseeching eyes, but neither Shadowheart nor Astarion kneels,
and Auri isn’t in the habit of bending a knee to someone who would force children to fight to
the death for their right to survive.

Auri waves.

Astarion chokes on a laugh, despite everything, but Shadowheart stays silent, and Lae’zel
exhales hard through her nose.

“I expected little of istik education, but here we kneel before our Queen.” When Vlaakith
finishes speaking, Lae’zel yanks Auri’s forearm with such force that she has no choice but to
kneel.

Lae’zel’s disapproval is nothing compared to the look of disdain on Vlaakith’s face. She
comes closer to Lae’zel, and wonder, panic, and fear bleed from her in equal parts. Vlaakith
says, “Your choice of allies is most vexing, Lae’zel. They do not become you.”

They share gith words that Auri does not know, though they don’t seem hostile, and though
it’s a risk, she can’t bear Shadowheart’s distrust for a moment longer. Through the tadpole,
Auri reaches out, and though she hesitates, Shadowheart lets her in.

Please. I’m still me.

Vlaakith and Lae’zel are still talking, and Lae’zel’s panic is mounting, but Auri has no way to
tell why unless they switch back to Common.

Shadowheart bites her lip. This isn’t the time for this conversation; Auri knows that.

But still.
I trust that you believe that, comes Shadowheart’s reply, and for now, that’s enough to quell
at least a measure of Auri’s anxiety.

And that’s good, because Vlaakith rounds on her. “Istik.” There’s no warmth in Vlaakith’s
voice. Auri doubts that she’s even capable of it. “You bear that which is ours. You admitted as
much to W’wargaz, and I can tell besides. But are you friend, or are you thief?”

Auri’s still on her knees, and there’s no right answer to Vlaakith’s question. Vlaakith must
mistake Auri’s silence for subservience, because she says, “A test, then, to see if you are as
capable as you profess to be. The Astral Prism – it is corrupted.”

There’s hunger in Lae’zel’s voice; all she wants is to prove herself, and Auri’s heart aches. “I
will cleanse it for you, my Queen. Tell me how.”

But Vlaakith isn’t looking at Lae’zel. She’s staring at Auri, even though Shadowheart is the
one with the Prism in her pack. Vlaakith conjures a projection of it to levitate in her hand.
“Inside lives a broken mind. They are an agent of the Grand Design, and they’ve sabotaged
the Astral Prism, which is our final and only defense against the return of the Illithid
Empire.”

When she clenches her fist closed, the illusion disappears. “Kill them.”

Auri manages not to gasp as the pieces click into place, and the dream visitor says, You
mustn’t.

Vlaakith can’t hear him. The voice is in Auri’s head, and the others don’t react, either. She
continues, “Do this, and I will cleanse you and your allies.” She turns away from Auri and
back to Lae’zel. “Do this, and you shall ascend.”

Ambition and desire cloud Lae’zel’s face. “Ascension? My queen–”

“I can’t.” Stepping on Lae’zel’s words feels traitorous, but she can’t see the forest for the
trees. After all this, if Auri fails to protect them here, then what was it all for? “The Prism
protects us from the Absolute.”

Vlaakith’s eyes narrow, but before anything else is said, Lae’zel lunges forward and plunges
her fist into Auri’s face. “Do not defy my queen!”

Auri falls on her back, head cracking against the floor, and the world swims. Shadowheart
and Astarion are on either side of her, and when Auri’s vision begins to refocus, Vlaakith has
disappeared, though her voice is still audible. “You are being lied to, istik. Autonomy begets
consequences.”

The Prism is pulled from Shadowheart’s pack and it levitates forward until it stops in midair.
Vlaakith continues, “Use this to enter the Prism. Or don’t. The choice is yours.”

And then Vlaakith is gone entirely.

Blood runs down Auri’s face not far from where W’wargaz’s spit had been before, and
Astarion’s body twitches with the effort of not looking like he’s staring. Shadowheart says,
 “Sorry,” and resets her nose without warning, which is even more alarming considering Auri
hadn’t realized it was out of place to begin with. She mutters a healing spell, and as
Shadowheart’s magic washes over her, Auri hears the guardian again.

You have to stop her! She can’t– You need me as much as I need you!

She’s so tired.

Lae’zel is walking straight toward the Prism. Neither Astarion nor Shadowheart have noticed
– Astarion’s too focused on her blood (though maybe that’s uncharitable; Auri likes to think
he’d miss her, if she died), and Shadowheart’s too worried about her health. Auri thinks she
might have a concussion.

AURORA!

The guardian is screaming. It’s so loud.

GET UP!

She forces herself to stand despite Shadowheart’s protests, but everything feels like it’s
underwater. She’s not going to get to Lae’zel in time. Each step feels like it takes an eternity.

Lae’zel reaches out a hand to the Prism, and with what little energy she has left, Auri throws
her body forward. She makes contact with Lae’zel’s back, but it’s too late; all Auri succeeds
in doing is pushing them both into the Astral Prism.

There’s vomit in her mouth.

The warm hum of magic envelops them both, and they aren’t in the crèche anymore.

Auri hopes that the egg is alright.

Chapter End Notes

tumblr and twitter!

i wrote like 90% of this chapter to 'maneater' by nelly furtado and 'gods' by newjeans,
which is the 2023 league of legends world championship anthem looool i hope you
enjoyed! see you next time :3
 astarion
Chapter Notes

GREETINGS. I AM DEEPLY IN LOVE WITH BURNERIHARDLYKNOWHER,

WHO HAS ONCE AGAIN CREATED AN AURI BEYOND MY WILDEST
COMPREHENSION.

hope you enjoy!! <3

also sorry about uh. all the fucks. there's a lot of fucks in here. oops

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Astarion can still feel the power Auri had wielded in the air. It’s long since vanished from her
person, but the aftereffects are potent.

And, well, her person has also vanished. Lae’zel’s hit to her head and the subsequent fall had
her stumbling into the Astral Prism, leaving him and Shadowheart in a room full of githyanki
corpses.

But Astarion’s finding it hard to focus. Lae’zel and Auri are in mortal peril, no doubt (likely
with each other as the cause), but there’s a puddle of Auri’s blood on the floor, and Astarion’s
dignity is at war with his thirst.

She’s in danger, certainly, and Lae’zel is, too, though he cares much less about that. But that
blood isn’t cold yet–

Shadowheart snaps her fingers in front of his face. “Shar help me, if you bury your face in the
fucking blood on the ground when Lae’zel and Auri need us, I will stake you myself.”

The sharpness of her voice pulls Astarion at least partly from his hypnotized state. “I think
the Lady of Loss would be more than happy for you to find yourself without them.”

Shadowheart scowls, fists clenched like she wants to hit him. “And I would think you would
care that your willing blood bank might be about to dry up.”

She’s objectively correct, of course – that’s all Auri ought to be, and that’s worth quite a lot –
but Shadowheart putting a name to it makes Astarion glower.

She smirks, smug. Shadowheart had known, somehow, that that would wriggle under his
skin, and that makes him want to help even less on principle alone, but–

She’d said she'd wanted to be his friend.

“Fuck!”

The exclamation is involuntary. Shadowheart’s expression is one of self-satisfaction, like

she’s pleased with Astarion’s turmoil, which is typical.

It was supposed to be easy. He was supposed to sleep with Auri, make her need him, make
her want him.

And he’d succeeded in two out of three. So how has he ended up like this?

Astarion shakes his head, fisting his hands in his hair, and repeats himself. “Fuck!”

Why does he give a shit? He’s not supposed to care. He didn’t even know he still could. That
part of him should be long-dead.

Centuries of self-preservation resist every step he takes forward, but it’s like a higher power
urges him on. Every piece of him tells him not to, but he reaches out and lets the Astral Prism
envelop him anyway.

He should have known what would be inside; it’s right there in the name, after all. Astarion
finds himself in a pocket of Astral Plane, and Shadowheart’s right behind him. It’s beautiful,
and that doesn’t matter, but Shadowheart exhales a reverent, “Gods.”

Astarion’s always been quick, but he’s even lighter on his feet here. Around them, islands of
stone are suspended in the air; a skeletal fist threads its fingers through the mass that they
stand on. There are crystals left and right, and not three steps in front of him, there’s an arch
that’s pulsing with arcane energy. It floods all of Astarion’s senses, and the tadpole squirms
with it.

It doesn’t like being here, and Astarion doesn’t much care for it either, so he and the parasite
are in agreement.

But if he focuses, he can smell her. The bouquet of her blood blooms through the
claustrophobia of the magic, and it’s not even trying to find her.

She’s in there. Astarion would bet his life on it.

Astarion doesn’t realize he’s vocalized the thought until Shadowheart says, “How do you
know?”

‘I can smell her!’ seems an altogether too creepy sentence, so instead he just walks ahead
through the arch. Shadowheart will follow or she won’t, but Astarion knows that she will,
because it’s her fault that they’re here in the first place. She’d played on his growing
weakness where Auri is concerned and he’d let her and now they’re in a pocket of the Astral
Plane and searching for a stupid little jester and a brainwashed githyanki zealot.

Why hasn’t he run? He could run. It would be so easy. Cazador would find him eventually,
but Astarion’s fast and he’s smart. He wouldn’t let himself hope, but he might have a sliver of
a chance.
A memory comes unbidden.

“I just think the vampire should be allowed to feel safe until he wants to tell everyone
himself.”

Auri has her feet in the water of a shallow creek; Astarion shakes his head, incredulous. “You
are aware that idealism like that gets people killed, aren’t you?”

She hasn’t broken eye contact since she noticed that he was there. The smirk on her face is
small. “Well, it’s a good thing that I’ve got a vampire to keep an eye on me when all that
naivete gets me in trouble.”

Fuck.

This magic doesn’t want him here. He knows little about the arcane (it hadn’t come up often
as a topic of discussion in his line of work), but Astarion can feel magic pushing down on
him as he presses forward until he hears a voice that can only be Lae’zel’s shout, “You lie!”

Shadowheart bolts at the sound, shouldering past Astarion and sprinting as fast as her legs
will carry her. Astarion grimaces, but Shadowheart’s not faster than him even in her wildest
dreams, and he’s already besmirched his own character today by giving decidedly too many
shits, so he may as well commit all the way. He dashes ahead, too, passing Shadowheart in a
matter of moments, and not long after, he emerges into a clearing that he recognizes.

Astarion’s only met the dream visitor a couple of times, but it’s not the kind of encounter you
forget. It had still been a dream, though, and this is decidedly not. Lae’zel has her sword to
the guardian’s throat (a comical sight, really; the sword is taller than he is and Lae’zel towers
over him besides), and Auri sways unsteadily, but she’s still standing. The head injury is
taking its toll, but she’s fighting it with everything she can.

“You are a thief, a liar, and a blasphemer,” Lae’zel hisses. “I will strike you down in
Vlaakith’s name and ascend–”

“Vlaakith has deceived you,” he says calmly, hands folded behind his back. “Think logically.
What reason have I to lie? I want the same as you – freedom.” His face softens. “I’m on your
side. I have been since the beginning.”

“You are a worm in Auri’s ear,” Lae’zel says, but her conviction is shaken.

Auri’s voice is weak. “He’s not the enemy, Lae’zel. I know it’s hard to believe it, but
Vlaakith’s tricked you. She’s tricked your entire people. You deserve better than–”

“She is my Queen!”

Shadowheart’s finally joined them, and as her eyes take in the scene before her, she bites her
lip. She opens her mouth like she’s going to speak, but Auri, who hasn’t noticed their arrival,
speaks first.

“Yes,” Auri says, “She is. And she has done your people a terrible injustice over and over and
over again.” Auri’s gait is wobbly; she’s not well, and it isn’t difficult to see. She tugs at
Lae’zel’s wrist gently, and Lae’zel lets herself be disarmed.

“She’s my Queen,” Lae’zel repeats, but it’s defeated.

Auri pulls at Lae’zel’s wrist again, and Lae’zel turns away from the guardian, sword at her
side. “I know. And I also know that I’m asking you to take a lot on faith right now, but I only
want what’s best for all of us, and I care about you, Lae’zel.” Auri looks like she’s going to
throw up. She sways like she’s drunk. “Vlaakith doesn’t. I don’t know everything about what
she’s done, but I know she cares about herself. She doesn’t care about the githyanki, and she
doesn’t care about you.”

Astarion doesn’t know what conversation happened before he and Shadowheart arrived, but
Lae’zel is shaken. Shadowheart moves like she wants to get closer, and Astarion doesn’t
know why, but he stops her, holding a hand out across her breastplate.

Lae’zel doesn’t pull away from Auri’s hand, and Auri takes that as encouragement. Like
there isn’t a halfling standing right there like some sort of menacing chaperone, Auri releases
Lae’zel’s wrist from her grasp. With an effort that looks gargantuan, given her unwell state,
Auri stretches up on her tiptoes to make herself as tall as she can and throws her arms around
Lae’zel.

Shadowheart’s eyes widen, and Astarion has to admit that he is also interested in seeing how
this plays out. Lae’zel’s eyes are unfocused, and her sword falls to the ground, and Astarion
briefly thinks that symbolism is a bit heavy-handed, but she doesn’t reject Auri’s embrace.
She stands in Auri’s arms stiffly, and her lips are moving but no sound comes out.

“You won’t regret this,” says the guardian. “I will protect you.”

And as if she was hypnotized into staying upright and the guardian’s words have released her,
Auri collapses and Lae’zel catches her, even though she’d been the one holding Lae’zel
together.

Astarion doesn’t remember leaving the Astral Prism, but the last thing he can recall is the
guardian saying, “You’re in no condition to fight your way out of the crèche.”

Astarion had said something witty, surely, as Lae’zel had hoisted Auri up into her arms while
he could only watch, but that’s irrelevant, because he blinks, and afterward, he, Lae’zel,
Shadowheart, and Auri are on the outskirts of their camp. The crèche is near, but they are
decidedly out of danger, and Astarion isn’t even entirely sure what happened, but
Shadowheart is yelling and Lae’zel is still holding Auri and Auri’s eyes aren’t opening and
her eye is bruising and there are red marks around her neck and when Astarion puts it all
together, he’s furious.

His voice is ice-cold. “You tried to strangle her.”

It’s not in Lae’zel’s nature to lie. “Yes.”

Shadowheart’s stopped yelling. Astarion doesn’t even know what she was upset about. It
doesn’t matter. “Give her to Shadowheart so I can kill you.”

“Astarion, stop it–” Shadowheart tries to intervene, but Astarion’s not having it.

He cuts her the meanest look he can manage and says, “This isn’t negotiable, but all of this
proves me right. Being good in this world earns you nothing.” Astarion spits the last word,
and Lae’zel closes her eyes and exhales through her nose. “She’s made us into some sort of
traveling band of do-gooders, and for what? For you to knock her out cold with a concussion
the first time she tries to exert a fraction of her will, which, I might add, was only concerned
with keeping us all unceremorphosized? Oh, pardon; the concussion doesn’t really get the
message across. Maybe if you put your hands around her neck and squeeze, you’ll show her
what comes of all her selfless kindness.” Astarion’s twitching with rage. “What a crime,
Lae’zel! She cared so much that she wanted to defy a god in order to protect us! We should
definitely kill her the very first time she does something we don’t like!”

Shadowheart looks at the ground as if she is somehow partly culpable for Lae’zel’s
transgressions.

But before he has the pleasure of sinking his blades into seventeen different vital spots on
Lae’zel’s body, Auri stirs. Blearily, her eyes open, and she searches for him. It has to be him
that she wants to see, because she looks up at Lae’zel and then her gaze drifts to Shadowheart
before settling on Astarion with a soft, sad smile that causes her to wince.

“It’s not her fault, Astarion. Please.”

Astarion’s eyes narrow. It’s unbelievable. Even now, half-unconscious in Lae’zel’s arms,
she’s worried about other people. Auri’s struggling to stay awake, as if she’s unwilling to let
her eyes close again until Astarion puts her mind at ease.

He huffs, but the anger’s already leaching from him. Upsetting her will accomplish nothing.
“Fine, darling. But I’m not happy about it.”

There’s so much to talk about – the egg in his pack, her newly-found powers, whatever Auri
talked to the guardian about, Lae’zel’s apparent willingness to be a turncoat – and the only
one Astarion’s interested in having a conversation with can’t even walk at the moment.

“Thank you,” she says, and if Astarion still had a heart, it would ache from her earnestness.
She’s too soft for this world, too kind for this quest, and too beautiful to be limp in Lae’zel’s
grasp.

She’s so plain. Astarion’s never liked freckles, and he isn’t fond of redheads, and she’s so
short.

But gods, she’s beautiful somehow, and he’d almost lost her today. The thought had filled
him with fear.

And the implications of that? Astarion doesn’t like them.

Chapter End Notes

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 auri
Chapter Notes

HI. I AM BAD AT EDITING. TAKE IT AS IT COMES. I LOVE YOU. amanda you

can send me all my mistakes in dms. <3

tw: non-sexual abuse of a child (flashback), suffocation (flashback), cazador stuff

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Auri must have slept because she’s in a different place than she was the last time that she was
awake, but it doesn’t feel like it. Her body feels like it’s been in limbo for hours, and though
she wakes groggy, it’s accompanied by the feeling that she hasn’t rested at all.

She’s lying on something soft, and Auri’s surroundings look like the inside of her tent, but
every comfort of the camp seems to have been afforded for her. Every moderately
comfortable, pillow-like object they have is propped up around and under her.

When she opens her mouth to groan with all the aches and pains her body has ever felt, she
doesn’t recognize the voice that comes out. It’s a pathetic rasp. She means to ask, “What’s
going on?” but she only succeeds in an incomprehensible croak instead.

It’s a whisper only for herself, but when the mangled question leaves her lips, there’s
someone by her side in a moment. “Hey,” Wyll says, and he’s kneeling next to her. He
reaches out, his touch intended to comfort her, but –

She’s sick. She’s so sick. She’s never been this warm before, but she’s shivering, and when the
other orphans try to help her by piling their meager excuse for blankets on top of her, Auri
doesn’t know if that makes it better or worse.

Sleep eludes Auri. Or it doesn’t. She’s not sure. She fades in and out of lucidity as the children
around her whisper, but that’s fine.

When the whispers go quiet, that’s when she’s scared. The Founder doesn’t care about them,
really, but she isn’t cruel.

Her son is another story.

When Auri’s weak, that’s when he comes. He’s not that old but he’s older than Auri is, and
Auri’s always been small. She’s the smallest child in the orphanage, and that’s why she’s his
favorite. He can hold her down easily (he doesn’t even need two hands), and he can press her
face into the bed until oxygen eludes her.
That’s all he wants. He wants her to squirm and struggle under the force of his grip while she
can’t breathe. He wants to watch her struggle for air until life has all but left her body.

Auri tries to scramble away from Wyll’s hand, but as soon as she does, the world spins. She
can’t get away from him no matter how much she wants to.

“Don’t touch me!”

She tries to scream it, but she can only manage a whimper, and it’s not fair. Wyll’s never done
anything to her except be a friend.

And even this he handles with grace.

He immediately stops trying to touch her, and he holds his hands up so she can see them.
“Hey, you’re okay. You’re alright. No one’s going to hurt you. You don’t have to cry.”

Is she crying? Auri only feels the tears after Wyll names them, and she wants to crumble. She
wants to disappear into the ground and let the dirt swallow her up. Acting is too much right
now; she doesn’t have the capacity for it.

Mercifully (as if it’s a surprise – when has Wyll ever been anything but kind?), he asks, “Can
I help you back onto your bedroll? If Shadowheart or Astarion walk in here and see that I’ve
managed to force you out of resting, I’ll be in for the tongue-lashing of my life.”

Empathy pours from Wyll’s every word. He wouldn’t hurt her while she’s vulnerable like
this. He wouldn’t.

She nods slowly, and this time, Wyll doesn’t try to touch her. He holds out a hand and lets her
take it at her own pace, and with his help, she settles back into the nest.

“I’m going to go get Shadowheart,” Wyll says, and he starts to stand. “We’ve been taking
turns keeping watch while you slept, but she was adamant we fetch her as soon as you wake
up.”

“Wyll.” She can’t raise her voice above a whisper, but Wyll must have been listening for it
because he stops as soon as she speaks. “Is Lae’zel okay?”

Wyll snorts. Auri’s too tired to figure out why what she’s asked is funny, but he must read the
question on her face. “Astarion said,'' and Wyll clears his throat before putting on a terrible
impression of Astarion. “‘Knowing Auri, the first thing that that fool will ask about is
Lae’zel.’”

Auri doesn’t have the energy to blush or laugh, which are the two reactions she’d like to have
in equal proportion, but Wyll’s a good enough sport to laugh at himself for her. “Of course,”
he says, and he looks at her slyly as he continues, “He said it and then went around pillaging
every soft thing we have to make you comfortable…” Wyll trails off and shrugs before
winking at her. “But you didn’t hear it from me.”

And he steps out of her tent without another word.

All of that talking, and Wyll didn’t answer her question anyway; teasing her about Astarion
was more a priority, which she would understand under different circumstances, but–

The flap’s pulled open again, and Wyll’s head pops into view. “And yes, Lae’zel is fine,
though she’s been more reserved than usual since your misunderstanding, which is what
Shadowheart’s been calling whatever happened in the crèche that none of them seems to be
willing to talk about before they get to chat with you first.”

Wyll disappears again, but this time, a modicum of the anxiety coursing through her releases
Auri from its grasp.

She hasn’t thought about the Founder’s son in a long time. When Lae’zel had wrapped her
hands around Auri’s throat, it hadn’t been the same. She doesn’t blame Lae’zel. The world
was shifting under her, and she needed someone to blame.

Auri looked responsible, in the moment. She understands that.

Shadowheart’s there in a moment, but Auri hears her before she sees her.

“You really think I’m going to let you in there before I see to her when, knowing her, she’s
going to take one look at you and say, ‘Oh, Astarion, you look positively parched. Want to
latch your teeth onto my neck while I’m recovering from–’” Shadowheart interrupts herself,
fishing for words. “Everything,’” she hisses, like that’s sufficient.

And Astarion, in a low growl that’s unlike his usual tone, says, “I’m well aware everyone
thinks I’m the monster in this camp, but I’m not the one that did that to her.”

Tense silence falls between them.

"Sulk all you like," Shadowheart says finally. "You're not going in there until I'm done."

She doesn't wait for a response. The tent flap lifts and Shadowheart lets herself in.

“Hi–” Auri starts, but Shadowheart holds up a hand to stop her.

“Your throat’s a mess. You shouldn’t be talking at all until I’m done with this round of
healing spells, at least. Wyll didn’t listen to my very simple instructions of fetching me
immediately when you woke, but what do I know? I’m just the cleric, after all.”

Shadowheart exhales a shuddering breath and kneels at Auri’s side, a sympathetic look on her
face. Auri starts to try to prop herself up with her elbows, and the sympathy evaporates.
“Stop it! Lie down and rest, at least until I’m done.” She softens again. “Please.”

So Auri does as she asks, and Shadowheart gets to work. Her healing feels so much different
from Auri’s. When Auri heals herself, it’s an injection of music into the bloodstream.

It’s different for every healer. When Halsin had passed an expert hand over her wounds in the
goblin camp, vitality had flowed into her, flowers blooming and vines reaching to stitch her
back together.
With Shadowheart, it’s cool and cold, the embrace of night made magic. The chill of it glides
into her throat, soothing every raw spot, and Auri nearly moans with relief. Shadowheart
smiles despite herself, though she’s far from done. She passes a hand over Auri’s forehead,
and some of the dizziness dissipates, though many of her aches and pains remain.

Shadowheart sits back, still on her knees but no longer leaning over her. “That’s the worst of
it, but I’d recommend at least another two days of rest before we make for the Underdark.”

When Auri nods, her head doesn’t pound with it. “Can I sit up?”

Shadowheart laughs. “You’re such an amiable patient. Yes. Do you need help?”

Auri’s better now. She could let Shadowheart touch her. It would be fine. “No. I’ve got it.”

This time when she pushes herself up with her elbows, Shadowheart doesn’t protest. “How
are you feeling?”

It’s a big question, but it masks the one Shadowheart isn’t asking. “I’m not turning into a
mind flayer. I didn’t know exactly what was happening, but I was in control. I promise.”

It’s the truth. She was never going to hurt Shadowheart, Lae’zel, or Astarion. They’re the
reason she wanted those powers in the first place.

And just like before, when they’d been in the crèche, Shadowheart looks at her and says, “I
believe that you believe that.”

Shadowheart isn’t fully satisfied, but she isn’t going to interrogate her anymore. How can
she? They’re all just out here doing the best that they can, and Auri made a decision with the
information she had available.

“Oh, you’re funny, Lae’zel. I didn’t know you had it in you.” That’s Astarion outside the tent
again, tongue dripping with disdain.

Shadowheart’s head whips around and she says, “Hells–” before scrambling to her feet.

“I am not in the mood to discuss this with you, vampire,” Lae’zel says, but her usual
terseness is missing.

“Well, that’s really my gain.” Every word Astarion speaks is drenched in venom; Auri can
hear his vicious smile. “Because if you plan to push past me and barge into that tent, I’ll have
the privilege of making your insides become your outsides.”

Shadowheart stumbles out of the tent ungracefully. “You two need to stop.”

But Shadowheart’s magic has worked its, well, magic. Auri struggles to a standing position,
and all three of them are still arguing with each other. She’s dizzy, but not unbearably so, and
her throat feels like someone’s poured warm honey down it.

When she emerges from the tent into the light, Auri squints like she’s never seen the sun, and
when her eyes adjust, she’s treated to a scowling, unamused Lae’zel, an uncomfortable,
mediating Shadowheart, and a devil-may-care, scathing Astarion.

“Stop it.”

When Auri speaks, all three of them freeze. She’s still quiet, but she sounds like her again
instead of that feeble excuse for a voice. A ripple of relief so minute that Auri thinks she
might have imagined it flutters across Astarion’s face.

Shadowheart rounds on her. “As I was telling these two idiots, you need to rest! Get back in
there and lie down, now!”

But Shadowheart’s made a mistake in healing her if what she wants is for Auri to be
complacent. “Oh, come on. I think the fresh air will do me good!”

Shadowheart’s eyes narrow; she’s not in the mood for Auri’s games. Apparently, her
obligation as a healer takes priority. “No.”

If Auri doesn’t defuse this situation, though, Astarion or Lae’zel (or both) is liable to end up
dead.“You wanted to speak with me, Lae’zel?” Auri asks, and the way Astarion’s face had
briefly softened upon seeing her dissolves completely when she says Lae’zel’s name.

“Yes.” Lae’zel swallows, though it’s hard to tell. She’s uncomfortable. That’s unlike her. “I
will not apologize for my actions in the crèche and in the Astral Prism; with what I knew and
with my upbringing, reacting any other way would have been impossible.”

It’s cold but logical. Auri nods.

“Still,” Lae’zel continues, and her eyes shut. “I regret that… I regret that you came to harm.”

“So,” Astarion drawls, unimpressed, “You’re not sorry, but you wish she didn’t have a
concussion and the imprint of your hands around her neck.” He spits the last word.

Lae’zel doesn’t look at him. She has eyes only for Auri. “As much as I am loath to admit it,
Astarion has the right of it. I do not regret my actions, because they were the result of
everything I’ve ever known, but I do regret that you came to harm for it.”

It’s as remorseful as Auri can imagine a githyanki getting.

Auri tilts her head to the side and steps past Shadowheart to stand in front of Lae’zel. “I hope
you are never my enemy,” she says, and for the second time, she wraps her arms around
Lae’zel in a tight embrace.

Lae’zel stiffens again, but this time, Auri’s treated to a wooden pat on the back in return, and
Auri smiles. Unfortunately, the smile seems to have been a step too far for Auri’s still
recovering body, and to Lae’zel, she says, “I need you to help me back into the tent, please. If
I walk by myself, I think I’ll fall over.”

Shadowheart snorts (it seems like most of her irritation has fallen away at the sight of their
reconciliation) and Astarion frowns, but Lae’zel supports her back into the tent. The second
that she’s nestled back into her bedroll, sleep threatens to claim her, and for the moment, all
feels right with the world.

Except for her body. That needs some more time.

When she wakes again, she doesn’t know how much time has passed, but it’s dark. There’s
no light bleeding in from the closed flap of her tent, though a candle burns in the corner on
the table she’s made out of an empty fruit crate.

“Good morning. Well, evening. It’s the middle of the night if we’re being honest.”

Astarion’s voice is smooth, buttery, and absolutely lovely to wake up to. “Hi,” she says back.

“It’s my watch; I was instructed to be here until you wake up just to make sure there weren’t
any complications.” His inflection makes it clear that those were Shadowheart’s orders.

“Thank you,” Auri says, and she sits up, rubbing her eyes. He’s stolen a couple of items from
her nest to make a seat for himself.

“I can go, though, as long as you’re feeling well enough. I’m sure you’re still tired. If you
need Shadowheart, I can fetch her, instead.”

“No. Stay.” The words burst from her before she can even consider them. She adores
Shadowheart, but being with Astarion is… simple. “If– if you want.” Auri scrutinizes him.
“How long have you been sitting like that?”

“A few hours, at least.”

“Doesn’t your back hurt?”

Astarion looks at her, unimpressed, and by way of answer, she starts pulling things from the
nest to toss at him. “Lie down. Sitting up like that with no back support sounds like a
nightmare.”

She manages to hit him square in the face with a cotton shirt, and he looks at her, skeptical,
but starts arranging things in a makeshift mattress of his own. “We’ve been sleeping in the
wilderness for weeks and you’re complaining about back support. Truly a woman after my
heart.”

But despite his teasing, Astarion blows out the candle as if lying near her is a vulnerability
that he isn’t yet willing for her to see. There are shuffling sounds, and Auri can’t see, but
when they settle, he seems to be lying down.

“I am feeling better, though,” Auri says, second-guessing herself. “You really don’t have to
stay if you don’t want to.”

“And turn down the company of your addled self? Perish the thought.”

Auri smiles, but it falters. “You probably have a lot of questions.”

“If you’re talking about how you suddenly became extremely adept at combat, then no, I’m
not interested at all.”

Her smile returns as quickly as it had faded. “Oh, well, that makes things simple for me,
then.”

But she’s not getting out of it that easily. Auri hadn’t believed she would.

“A truth for a truth, then, darling? That was the game we played the other night, if I
remember correctly.”

Of all the things that Auri expected him to say, this was quite low on the list. He’d been so
skittish when she suggested it before.

“Same rules,” she says, “We don’t have to answer. We just can’t lie.”

Astarion nods. Her eyes have adjusted enough by now that she can make out his form even in
the darkness of the tent.

“How did you tap into the power you found when we fought the inquisitor?” he asks, his
voice equal parts envy and fascination.

Auri chews on her lip. It’s a single question, but it requires a lot of truth. “I… asked,” she
says honestly. Astarion huffs, unsatisfied, and Auri continues, “No, really. I– you’re all so
skilled in combat, and I haven’t been able to connect with my music since they fed the
tadpole into my eye. I’m useless in a fight outside a cutting word or two. The dream guardian
must have felt my desperation, because he came to me and said he could help. And I was–”
her voice cracks, but she manages not to lose her composure. “I can’t bear the thought of
losing any of you. We were miserably outnumbered. All I could think at that moment was
that it didn’t really matter if I gave in to the parasite or not. If I didn’t do something, we were
all going to die, and it was going to be my fault.”

Astarion’s quiet. The only sound in the tent is her own breathing. “Whatever happened to me,
it gave me my music back. And I’m still myself.”

He still doesn’t say anything, and Auri doesn’t know what she’s done wrong. Astarion’s
always so quick with a joke; what does she do with him when he’s pensive like this?
Thankfully, he saves her from having to figure it out.

“You were incredible,” he says, and there’s not a sliver of performance in it. The darkness
seems to have made him honest.

And Auri has no idea what to say to him, but her face is so warm.

Astarion laughs his soft laugh that she’s grown so fond of. “I can smell you blushing.”

Auri covers her face with her hands. “Gods.”

But he laughs again, so her embarrassment’s worth it. Unfortunately, there’s something else
that she’s just realized she should be mortified about. “Wait– you must be starving. It’s been
days since you’ve eaten–”

“Auri,” he says, still amused. “I’m not going to drink from you when you’re on Shadowheart-
mandated bedrest. Think of the consequences I would endure.”

“I wouldn’t tell.”

“I know, love.”

The silence that follows isn’t tense. It’s almost peaceful, all things considered.

Auri’s almost dozed off – it’s not intentional, but she feels safe and comfortable and at ease –
and then Astarion asks, “Well?”

“Well, what?”

When she mumbles her answer, Auri can hear the smirk in his reply. “You were falling
asleep.”

“Maybe.”

“I just wondered if you weren’t going to pose a question in return. That’s the game, after all,
isn’t it?”

And he’s right, of course.

Auri shifts so she’s lying on her side. She can’t make out the details, but Astarion’s on his
back staring up, one leg straight and the other bent, his arms behind his head.

“Why do you want the power I managed to find?”

The air might as well go out of the tent.

“You don’t have to answer, Astarion,” she says almost immediately. “You don’t owe me
anything.”

“Cazador will come for me unless I kill him,” he says, “And I will never be his slave again.
I’d have you stake me first.”

Even the hypothetical lances Auri’s heart. “I don’t know if I could.”

“You’d be doing me a kindness,” he says, chuckling darkly. “You asked me not long after we
met what I did before all of this, and I told you I made my living eating rats and seducing
unsuspecting victims.” He pauses. “You didn’t believe me, and I only shared it because I
knew you wouldn’t, but it was more or less the truth. I ate whatever vermin he allowed me
and slept my way into the hearts of whatever toys Cazador wanted to play with.”

“Astarion–” she starts.

 “I don’t need pity,” he says, every bit a wounded animal. “But he’s a vampire lord and I’m a
spawn, so when I saw you wield that power, all I could think was what an incredible boon it
would be.”

Her chest aches. He’d refused her embrace before, the last time that he’d opened up about
Cazador. She doesn’t want to ask again for fear of scaring him away.

“My power’s yours whenever you want it,” she says instead. “Whatever part of it I’m able to
wield, anyway.”

Auri’s eyes are so heavy. He’s still lying on his back.

“Oh, little bard,” he says under his breath, “You are more dangerous than you know.”

It’s an astonishingly incorrect read of her. “Gale banned me from helping with the cooking
ever again after I cut my finger.”

“Strategically speaking, that was a sound move. Now you’re never expected to contribute to
that chore again.”

Auri laughs softly, quietly. The void of sleep will claim her any moment.

“You’re falling asleep.”

“Mm.”

“I’ll go,” Astarion says, amused, and he sits up as she watches.

“What do you mean? You’d just leave me here, undefended? You have to stay to keep an eye
on me.”

Astarion freezes. Auri’s overstepped; she’s sure of it. “If I stay, I’m going to trance.”

“I know.”

“I won’t be very good at keeping an eye on you in a trance.”

“I know.”

Astarion’s chuckle is the real one. It’s the most beautiful sound in the world.

“We’re going to talk about the egg I’ve been hiding from everyone tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“Alright.”

Chapter End Notes

tumblr and twitter!

thank you for reading! i love you!

 astarion
Chapter Notes

HI I AM SOOOO NORMAL RIGHT NOW <3

I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY THIS I'M SQUEALING LIKE A LITTLE
SCHOOLGIRL

See the end of the chapter for more notes

He’d told her he was going to trance, and that had been Astarion’s intent, but his mind races.

Astarion cannot fathom how he’s gotten here. He can see Auri clearly in the dark, but
blowing out the candle still created an artificial barrier between them.

And she couldn’t see him, of course. Her perception is unnerving at the best of times, and it’s
unbearable when he’s sharing…

Well. He doesn’t need to put a name to it.

But truly, what is wrong with her? He’d offered to leave so she could sleep, and she’d bade
him stay.

Auri had asked him to stay when she woke. Auri had offered herself up as a tool to help him
be free of Cazador (futile though the thought is). Astarion had bared whatever remained of
his shriveled, shattered excuse for a soul to her. And she’d asked him to stay again.

And he had. And he still is.

The makeshift bedroll he’d put together from the materials Auri offered her from the nest
Astarion had more or less raided from everyone in the camp is less comfortable than the one
in his own tent, but he’s still here. He’d told her they’d talk tomorrow and he’d meant it. If he
reached over right now, he could tangle his fingers in her hair.

Astarion’s not going to. But he could if he wanted to.

He rolls to look at her. Auri’s fast asleep. Her mouth’s wide open and she’s sleeping facing
him, the very picture of vulnerability.

She’s not scared of him. She doesn’t hate him. And he doesn’t hate her. In fact, if Astarion’s
honest with himself (a frightening thought), he… likes her.

Auri sleeps with her hair down. She didn’t before, back before they’d invested in tents. Or
perhaps she normally does; she’s recovering, after all. Maybe this is atypical. It’s tangled and
in her face regardless. A murmured grumble slips from Auri’s sleeping lips, and affection
overwhelms him.

There are so many different things to worry about. He shouldn’t even be able to like her.

This would have been easier if Auri had just let him fuck her. That’s something Astarion
knows. He understands that.

This– this is unfamiliar. Foreign.

It would have hurt if she died.

With mounting alarm, Astarion’s eyes flutter shut. “Shit.”

He sits up and is treated to Auri talking in her sleep. “Yes, Viv. Yellow should be a fruit.”

Astarion likes her. He’s terrified. But how can’t he laugh? She’s charmingly idiotic even
when she’s not awake.

The tent feels claustrophobic. When he stands, Auri doesn’t stir. Why would she? He’s
quieter than anything they’ve met so far.

The camp outside is near-silent but for the fire, but Astarion hasn’t thought this through.
There’s always someone keeping watch. And he’s going to step out of Auri’s tent in the
middle of the night.

Although he doesn’t mind, he supposes, if the camp thinks he’s sleeping with her, as long as
they don’t kill him for it.

A quick sweep of the camp leads his eyes to Wyll. There are worse people that could be
witnessing this. Wyll, at least, will not try to stake him instantly. Probably. Wyll waves at him
in greeting, and Astarion nods in return.

It’s unusual for Astarion to be startled, but he’s so focused on the fiction he’s composing
about Wyll not killing him that he doesn’t notice the owlbear cub until it whimpers at his
side.

“Gods!”

Astarion startles like he’s Auri or something, complete with a too-high gasp. Wyll raises his
eyebrows. “Is that an owlbear?”

And yes, it is the owlbear cub Auri had set free in the goblin camp. It’s staring up at Astarion
with guarded hesitance.

To Wyll, Astarion says, “Yes.” To the cub, he says, “Can I help you?”

The cub whimpers again, and on another look, Astarion can see that it’s nursing one paw
gingerly. Now that the initial surprise has faded, he smells blood, too.
Wyll eyes the interaction warily, walking over from where he’d been perched by the fire. “It
doesn’t look like it wants to hurt you. What’s it here for?”

Astarion sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s… hurt, I think.”

“And it came here.”

Wyll wasn’t with them in the camp; of course he wouldn’t know about the cub. “Auri set it
free when we were rescuing Halsin. It must have followed her scent here.”

Or his scent, Astarion supposes. He was with her when she healed it, after all.

Without thinking, Astarion crouches to the owlbear’s level. It retreats slightly at the sudden
movement, and Astarion rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue in disapproval. “Do you want
help or not?”

A strangled noise escapes Wyll, and Astarion shoots him a withering look. “Do you have
something you’d like to say?”

“Not at all. Carry on.”

Astarion holds out an impatient hand to the owlbear, and it scrutinizes him for a long
moment. Astarion says, “You came to me, stupid beast. Show me the wound or leave.”

With tentative steps forward, the owlbear cub outstretches the offending paw, and Astarion
takes it in his hands. Reflexively, the cub bites Astarion’s finger, though not hard enough to
draw blood, and Astarion tilts his head to the side and looks at it with a menacing glare. “Do
that again and I will bite you back, and it will not end pleasantly for you.”

Whether the owlbear can understand him or not doesn’t matter; it’s seemingly figured out
Astarion’s tone. Wyll produces the strangled noise again, but Astarion’s focused on the cub.
He exposes the cub’s paw pads, and Astarion’s no healer, but it’s not difficult to find the
culprit of the cub’s pain. A massive thorn protrudes from its paw.

With expert dexterity, Astarion removes the thorn and tosses it into the fire, releasing the
cub’s paw from his grasp. It continues to stare at him expectantly, and Astarion throws up his
hands. “If you wanted a healer, you’ve come to the wrong person. There’s a brainwashed
cleric in there–” He points to Shadowheart’s tent. “And an incarnation of the Oak Father
himself down that way.” He points down the small hill where Halsin had made camp.

The cub doesn’t answer because it’s an animal, and Astarion, despite the many words leaving
his mouth, cannot communicate with animals. It licks his hand almost affectionately instead
and limps out of sight.

“Stupid beast,” Astarion says again, rising up to his full height once more.

Wyll says, with a barely contained laugh, “I thought you were supposed to be a heartless,
bloodsucking monster.”

“And I thought you were supposed to be keeping watch.”

“I am. Didn’t you see how I defended camp from that fearsome owlbear?”

“Yes. You were truly wondrous,” Astarion says, but his heart’s not in it. His gaze drifts to his
own tent.

“You’re not really going to make her wake up alone, are you?” Wyll asks, eyebrow raised.
Astarion sets his mouth in a line.

He flicks imaginary dirt from his nails. “I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.”

“Oh, really?” Wyll smirks at him, every bit the devilish folk hero his reputation claims him to
be. “Well, maybe I’ll make a move, then.”

The snarl that that provokes from Astarion is instant.

Wyll’s smirk widens, and he winks. “Gotcha.”

Astarion’s snarl turns to a scowl. He turns and walks back into Auri’s tent. He definitely
doesn’t hear Wyll’s satisfied laugh.

When his trance breaks, Astarion’s alone. It’s not alarming, exactly, but Auri is supposed to
be resting.

He blinks twice.

Outside, the camp is alive. What time is it? Cracks of sunlight peer through the tent flap, and
Astarion heaves himself up from the semi-comfortable sleeping surface and emerges outside.

As soon as he does, Wyll fixes him with a knowing grin, but there’s not time for that.
Everyone else in the camp is gathered near Shadowheart’s tent for reasons that Astarion can’t
immediately ascertain, but he isn’t complaining. It means Wyll’s the only one who saw him
slink out of Auri’s tent.

That doesn’t last long, though. The sea of people parts and the owlbear cub comes bounding
out through the gap they’ve made, and Astarion manages to say, “Hells–” before it reaches
him and launches itself into his chest.

“Fancy that,” Wyll says. “He likes Astarion. Who would’ve thought?”

Astarion hates Wyll. He’s just decided.

The cub is heavy enough that the force of its assault knocks Astarion to the ground, and he
hits the dirt with a thud.

Auri’s standing over him in a moment, and she sounds almost annoyed when she says, “Well,
at least he remembers you.”

“Is it a he?” Astarion asks, shoving the cub to the side and sitting up only to be tackled by it
once more.
“As far as we can tell,” Auri says, arms crossed, and Astarion hadn’t imagined it; she is
annoyed.

A knowing smirk spreads across his face, though he imagines his smugness is tempered by
the fact that he is still trying to wrestle the cub off his chest. “Don’t be jealous, love. I’d
prefer to be on my back for you any day.”

Auri’s face flushes, so his words have their intended effect, and Karlach asks, “Well? Can we
keep him?”

Her eyes plead with Auri, and finally, when Astarion pushes the cub away for a third time, he
manages to get back on his feet. The cub weaves between Astarion’s feet, threatening to trip
him if he takes a step, and Shadowheart laughs. “If we let him stay, we’ll have doubled the
number of creatures in our company that like Astarion.”

Astarion makes a faux-offended noise, and Auri laughs, perfect blush still on her face.

“Okay. He can stay. And if he bites people, well, that’s not a dealbreaker for me anyway, I
suppose.”

The novelty of the cub doesn’t dissipate, and though it stays glued to Astarion’s side for
much of the day, it eventually takes a bit of a shine to Lae’zel, and although his relationship
with Lae’zel is strained at the moment, it’s a relief.

Auri seems back to her usual self; as the owlbear cub had learned yesterday, Astarion is no
healer, but he thinks they could have set out for the Underdark this morning. She’s bouncing
around the camp like she always does, trying to bring a smile to every face she can.

Shadowheart seems irritated that she isn't taking it easy, but mostly, she just seems happy that
Auri is okay.

Astarion listens as Auri tells each person in turn an edited version of the previous day's
events. As far as everyone knows, the only thing of note that occurred was that the zaith'isk
failed to purify them and that the dream visitor lives in the Astral Prism.

When Gale questions her about her injuries, she laughs. "It's nothing to worry about."

Astarion's gaze flits to Lae'zel involuntarily.

But Auri makes her rounds, and a second day of rest won't hurt them as long as they all
remain themselves, and she doesn't mention her newly-found illithid potential to anyone.

Astarion can understand that. They'd judge her for it or covet it.

Well. Maybe it's only him that's coveting it.

Regardless, she works her magic skillfully, putting everyone at ease as best she can before
they trek down into the Underdark.
They’re probably going to die down there. But they were probably going to die in a lot of
situations so far, and they haven’t yet. Somehow.

Astarion watches as the others eat. He’d made a show of pretending to eat before the truth
came out, but there’s no point now. He can eat regular food, still, but it provides no
nourishment. There’s no need.

He is hungry, though. He’d sated himself with whatever wildlife he could find as Auri
recovered, but it’s not the same. Nothing compares to that satisfaction.

Astarion’s been dead a long time. Tasting her was almost like being alive again.

Almost.

She almost always leaves him for last, though, like he’s the last person that she wants to talk
to before she sleeps, and tonight is no different. As the others retire, Astarion takes a spot on
one of the logs they’ve set up as seating near the fire.

When Auri approaches, he smirks. “Saving the best for last, are we?”

“You could say that,” she says, a laugh in her voice. “Or maybe I just have the first watch and
you’re always the last to go to bed.”

“Who’s to say?” Astarion shrugs, and then he nods to where the cub has curled up on the
other side of the fire. “He’s gotten comfortable.”

“I don’t know why he doesn’t like me,” Auri pouts, and she sounds genuinely distraught.

“Beasts know beasts.” Astarion winks, and she punches his upper arm lightly.

“Hardly.”

“Speaking of creatures that we’ve accidentally acquired on our travels, though…”

Auri sighs. “Yeah. I know. The egg. I’m going to talk to Lae’zel about it tomorrow. I don’t
even know what a githyanki egg needs to survive. Just leave your pack close to the fire, for
now. Hopefully the warmth helps it along.”

“Unless the cub rummages through my things and eats it in the night.”

Alarm paints Auri’s face. “He wouldn’t!”

Astarion shrugs again, but Auri actually seems somewhat distressed by the thought. “I’m sure
it’ll be fine.”

Auri chews her lip. “Thank you for holding onto it. You didn’t have to do that.”

“What was the alternative? Your pathetic little arms carrying it about? Unlikely.”

“I mean it,” she says, pushing back against his joke. “I appreciate it.”
Astarion rolls his eyes. “You’d be unbearable if I didn’t.”

“True.”

The fire crackles and the camp dies around them. For all intents and purposes, all that's left is
Astarion, Auri, the campfire, and the moon.

"If you're tired, I can take your watch." Why he offers is beyond him, but Shadowheart would
surely be pleased.

"I'm fine," she says, "And, truthfully, I wanted to say again that you can feed if you like. I
know that you’re hungry."

When she names his thirst, something dark and dangerous thrums in his stomach. Auri
doesn't understand. She doesn't know the temptation–

“Again,” he says through gritted teeth, “Shadowheart will kill me if I drink from you while
you’re supposed to be getting better. And I’ve eaten, besides.”

“I’m fine,” she repeats, more forcefully this time. “And even if I wasn’t feeling completely
better – which I am – I would gladly bear it so you weren’t suffering.”

Astarion’s not strong enough to resist when she insists, and when Auri turns, straddles the log
to face him, and pulls down her collar to expose the spot he’s come to know so well, a shiver
runs through her.

How could he ever refuse?

He mirrors the way that she’s sitting, and Astarion tries to be gentle, but it’s impossible. The
moment that his fangs touch Auri’s skin, he’s possessed. All he can think of is her: her
beauty, her blood, her power.

He wasn’t scared of me.

It’s a novel thought of hers that the parasite exposes. Auri knows precisely what he is and is
worried that he’d be scared of her?

Too delicate. Too soft. Too sweet.

Every drop of blood he swallows invigorates him, and his thumbs press into the space above
her hips so hard she may well have bruises in the morning. Auri’s fingers wrap in his hair the
same way that he’d thought he could do to her last night, if he wanted, and gods, if undeath
had been like this the whole time, maybe dying wouldn’t have been so bad.

His bite intensifies at the thought, and in response, her hips buck and her hands tighten their
grip on his hair.

He could drink forever–

He has to stop.
With great difficulty, he pulls his mouth from her neck and finds her breathless, consumed by
him in more ways than one.

He knows the feeling.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks the question before he truly processes the words, drunk on the
headiness of her blood. The tadpole’s made her desire manifest. It burns into him like a
sunbeam might have before all this, back when he crept the night with no regard for anything
but his self-preservation. She wants this, too, but he needs to hear it. He wants to hear it.

Red trickles from the marks he’s made on her neck. The trail her blood leaves is almost
obscene.

Auri’s staring at him, at her blood dripping from the corners of his mouth. She leans forward;
Astarion can feel her breath on his skin. She’s so small. If he opened his mouth wide enough,
the monster he is might be able to swallow her whole.

She reaches out a quaking hand and wipes away some of the blood from his lips.

Doe eyes.

Rabbit heart.

A thousand prey animals combined couldn’t be half as vulnerable as she is.

“Yes.” Her answer is immediate, selfish. Auri recognizes it immediately and backpedals. “Do
you want to?” she asks, voice a whisper so low that if his senses weren’t amplified by
drinking that Astarion might think he imagined it.

Astarion doesn’t know what happens next, and he doesn’t know how he knows the answer he
gives.

“Yes.”

Auri’s lips part like she isn’t sure that she believes him. It’s the same look she’d given
Astarion that night in the woods, back when everything was simpler and the world hadn’t
been turned upside down.

She looks at him like she’s terrified that she’ll break him.

And that’s how Astarion knows that, yes, he wants to kiss her more than he’s wanted
anything in the last two hundred years except for his freedom.

Where does this go? He doesn’t know.

And that’s… terrifying. And it’s thrilling. And he’s not in love with her, but Astarion doesn’t
know if he’s ever kissed someone because he wanted to. He can’t remember.

So in an embrace not altogether different from the one he’d held Auri in as he drank,
Astarion pulls her close. She doesn’t flinch from his touch. She melts into it.
 Auri’s breathing is labored and her heart races in her chest. Astarion can see her pulse pound
in her neck. Every movement she makes in his arms is electrifying.

“Only if you want to.”

He’s still coming to terms with the revelation, but yes, he wants to. That’s revolutionary unto
itself. Who knew that he could still want?

He answers her by taking her mouth with his, and Auri moves like being separated from him
would be a tragedy so great that she couldn’t physically bear it.

Chapter End Notes

BLOODY KISS.
BLOODY KISS.
B L O O D Y K I S S.

tumblr and twitter!

we ball!
 auri
Chapter Notes

the fanservice of it all. or something.

it's a short chapter, but we need to be in astarion's head in the morning, so. here we are.
kekw
tw: blood. sexual situations. etc. yknow, astarion stuff

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The thought occurs to her that she’s doing a poor job keeping watch.

Metaphorically speaking, Auri’s on fire. Her own blood’s in her mouth, diluted by the taste of
Astarion, and her pulse hammers in the place where his teeth had been just moments before.

It’s only a kiss, but she feels like she’s never known pleasure before this. If Astarion wasn’t
so cool by nature of his condition, Auri thinks she might burst into flames in a literal sense.

He has one hand on her hip and the other on her waist and every part of her quivers. She's
experienced enough to know that he's much better at this than she is. Astarion nips at her
bottom lip, but not enough to draw blood, and when he does, Auri lets out a sinful moan. He
smirks into her mouth, and how close they are isn't enough. Like he knows exactly what she's
thinking (maybe he does; who knows what the tadpole's made him privy to?), Astarion says,
"Up then, love."

Auri scrambles closer, decidedly unsexy in her haste, but it doesn't seem to put him off. He
pulls her into his lap, and her arms wrap around his neck, and she can feel him beneath her
(harder, harder), and gods, she wants to move against him, but she knows this is fraught for
him even if she doesn't quite understand how, and the last thing she wants is to hurt him.

It's his lead, and it’s hard for Auri to breathe, but she wants him to know that. “You’re in
charge–”

Astarion steals the words from her when he cants his hips upward, and she whimpers. “Is that
what you want, darling?”

Gods, yes. His voice is too much and the words only amplify its effect. Her core feels like it’s
about to explode. She doesn’t even know how to vocalize what she wants. “I want you,” Auri
manages, but it comes out like a whine, and he freezes under her.

Auri’s blood runs cold.

A hand trails up from her waist to find the place where he’d fed, and when his fingers brush
against it, Auri shudders reflexively. When Astarion pulls his hand away, the red is stark
against the paleness of his skin.

“You were my first, you know,” he says, staring at the blood on his fingers. “I’ve fed on
vermin exclusively for two hundred years. You can’t imagine what you taste like after that.”

Somehow, the thought had never crossed Auri’s mind. He’d shared a bit about Cazador’s
cruelty, that eating vermin was the norm, but–

“You’ve been starving for centuries,” Auri says softly.

“I’m not a good person,” Astarion says, as if that’s an answer, as if it’s even relevant to the
conversation.

The look in his eyes is the same as that night in the woods. Astarion’s gaze is level with hers,
but he’s looking right through her. Auri doesn’t even know if he’s talking to her.

And she doesn’t want to push him, but she would venture that wherever he is in his head isn’t
a very nice place.

She lets her hands slide back from around his neck, and lightly, she takes his face in her
hands. “Astarion.”

The light comes back on behind his eyes, and for the moment, at least, he’s back here with
her in the camp. Astarion flinches, not like he’s scared of her, but like he’d forgotten she was
there. And in her mind–

How many people have I led to certain death? I’ve been on my back for more.

“Are any of us good people?” she asks, head tilted to the side. The red of his eyes is vibrant,
and Astarion’s lips part.

One hand holds her steady in his lap; he’s between her legs. Astarion’s still underneath her.
Every muscle in Auri’s body is coiled tight. She’d unravel if he touched her just right.

The hand that isn’t stabilizing her drifts up to her wrist. Astarion pulls it from his cheek and
inhales deeply.

“You are.”

There’s no hint of performance in his words. He’s dropped the sultry mask entirely, though
Auri’s no less attracted to this version of him.

But he doesn’t know what she’s done. And Auri won’t think about it, because if she’s going
to eventually share what she did all those years ago, she’ll do it herself. She won’t let the
tadpole take it.

“I’ve done plenty of wrong,” she says, “But I don’t believe in good and bad. I don’t think it’s
that simple.”

“You’d feel differently if you knew me.”

“Likewise.”

The kiss he gives her then is gentle, and he was always going to be better than all the romps
under the covers and quick-and-dirty orgasms that have made up most of Auri’s history, but
this is unparalleled. Her heart thumps in her chest, entirely out of Auri’s control.

“Wicked little thing,” he mumbles into her mouth, still drunk on her blood, and heat starts
pooling in her stomach again. “You know I could kill you before anyone could help, if I so
chose?”

It’s a warning, in his way. It’s a way out if she wants to take it.

And Astarion’s stubborn.

So Auri challenges him instead.

“So do it.”

Astarion blinks like she’s done the thing he least expected, but then his nostrils flare and his
pupils dilate, and this third kiss is anything but gentle. There’s a noise to Auri’s left, but she
doesn’t care. She can die like this. That’s fine. It was probably just the cub snoring, anyway.

Time and time again he reminds her that he thinks he’s a monster, but a monster wouldn’t
hold her like she’s the only thing binding him to this mortal coil. A hundred bolts of lightning
shoot through her as his kisses leave her breathless. Astarion pushes her onto her back, and
Auri doesn’t know where this goes. She’s happy to take whatever he’ll give her as long as he
gives it willingly.

Auri’s so overstimulated that she’s worried she’ll come if he so much as looks at her right–

She hears the sound again, and this time, her conscience won’t let the threat of slaughter pass.
In unison, she and Astarion pull away from one another and search for the source, and Auri
wishes the ground would open up and swallow her because what they find is Gale, standing
across the fire, holding a wedge of cheese, eyes wide.

“Hells–” Auri starts and she tries to stand up, but Astarion doesn’t move. If anything, his
hips lower, forcing her flush with the log-bench. His knees are firm on the ground, and he’s
fully on top of her. Auri’s eyes flutter shut. The weight of him on top of her isn’t fair.

He wouldn’t make her stay if she pushed the issue, but–

“Hello, Gale of Waterdeep,” Astarion says, and as Auri watches, the mask slips right back on.
“Here to watch?”

“I, erm, actually was here to tell her I’d take over her watch, since that’s what I presumed
was–”

“You wouldn’t mind a show while you gallantly keep the camp safe, would you?”

It’s hard to keep the tadpoles apart when they’re this close. In Astarion’s head, she hears–
She could have anyone in this camp if she wanted, but the wizard pines after her so brazenly,
all lingering glances and arcane parlor tricks designed to attract her attention. I could drain
him dry for it. She’d probably forgive me, if enough time passed.

“Astarion–” Auri starts again, face aflame for a million reasons, but he leans down and nips
at her neck. She understands this performance; if Astarion plays this roguish rake, Gale won’t
see the vulnerability that Astarion has cracked himself open to show her. He’ll be what Gale
expects to see, instead. He’ll be a monster.

But her desire’s real. Her hips roll involuntarily, and in her ear, for only Auri to hear, Astarion
says, “While the wizard is watching? Scandalous, love.”

Trying not to whimper for what her body’s desperately craving, Auri says, “Stop.”

As soon as she utters the word, Astarion pulls back, though his coy grin never falters and
every part of her wants to beg him to stay. They have time – not much, given the parasites,
but still.

Auri doesn’t want to rush him, either, and she doesn’t trust him not to rush himself.

And, well. Gale is still standing there. Astarion’s risen to his full height, and the owlbear cub
is still asleep by the fire, and finally, Auri has the wherewithal to scramble to her feet. There’s
a confusing cocktail of feelings swirling in her gut – lust, affection, embarrassment. All Auri
wants to do is retreat to the safety of her tent and try to make sense of everything, but she
can’t, because leaving Astarion (cocky smirk wide, hand on his hip, blood smudged all over
his face) and Gale (comically holding a cheese wedge, scowl on his face, a moment from
exploding the orb in his chest on principle alone) alone here seems likely to end in
bloodshed.

But for Gale’s benefit as much as her own, Astarion brushes a long finger down her cheek.
Auri exercises gargantuan restraint to not lean into the touch. “Till tomorrow then, darling.
I’m sure you’re tired after, well– everything.”

It’s a masterclass in doublespeak. To her, he’s saying to rest, that he knows she’s still
recovering and that he appreciates and recognizes that him drinking from her comes at a
personal cost. To Gale, it sounds like things went much further than they have.

Astarion doesn’t wait for an answer. He retreats to his tent without another word (without
even acknowledging Gale), and Gale stares at her like he’s waiting for her to say something.

“That’s, um.” All the words seem wrong. “Is that the cheese we bought in the grove? It’s
pretty good stuff.”

Gale blinks and looks down at his hand like he’s forgotten he’s holding it. “Yes. It is.” An
uncomfortable pause falls between them, and he continues, “You’ve got a little something,
um…” He trails off and gestures to her neck.

If it’s possible, Auri’s blush deepens. When Gale draws attention to it, she can feel the blood
still running from the wounds Astarion inflicted, aided by gravity and her own racing heart.
 “O-oh. Thanks,” she says sheepishly. “I– I’m sorry you saw that?” Why does she say it like
it’s a question? “That must have been uncomfortable for you.”

“Not at all.” Gale looks like he would rather disintegrate than have this conversation. “In
Waterdeep, that would have been a normal evening.”

Auri’s flustered, still, completely off her game. “Are– are there a lot of vampires in
Waterdeep?”

“No.”

Of course there aren’t, Auri. She’s a buffoon, a fool, an idiot.

“O-oh. Yeah.” This is maybe the most uncomfortable that Auri has ever been, and a mind
flayer manually inserted a parasite into her eye barely more than a tenday ago. “Well, um.”
How many times has she said um? “I should probably be getting to bed, then, what with–
what with recovering from the concussion, and all. Thanks for relieving me.”

“Anytime,” Gale says.

He wants to say more. Auri can see it in his eyes. He’ll say it eventually, she’s sure, but Auri
can’t deal with more tonight. There’s already too much for her to sort out, and if she can hold
Gale off until tomorrow, then she doesn’t have to deal with it when she’s trying to sleep.

“Good night, Gale,” she says before he can utter another word, and she flees to the safety of
her tent, which somehow still smells of Astarion.

She’s not going to sleep at all.

Chapter End Notes

tumblr and twitter!

so. my life is about to get kind of busy. and inquiring minds have previously described
my pace as "batshit crazy," "insane," and "an undeniable indicator of severe mental
illness." basically, on wednesday i'll be leaving to go visit family for 5ish weeks and i'm
doing the rounds here beforehand.

i'm not going anywhere, of course, just don't be surprised if the pace drops back from
"damn this woman updates every 2-3 days" to "oh my god i can't believe you made us
wait 3-5 days for a chapter i'm unsubscribing"

love you thank you for reading i love a deeply inappropriate astarion and thank you to
distractedrighter for a bit of inspiration vis a vis blood racing wounds flowing etc etc <3
 astarion
Chapter Notes

TO BE CLEAR: I LOVE GALE.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The trance is restful enough, though Gale’s interruption has left Astarion with a befuddling
thought that he’s still grappling with come morning.

How far would he have gone?

Auri had made it very clear that she was willing to take no more than he was willing to give
(a novel concept unto itself), but he had been enjoying himself.

Showboating for Gale was reflexive, but the way Auri quivered under him was anything but
rote. The parasite didn’t even transmit thoughts as she wriggled; it was fragments of
sentences that didn’t make sense, emotion and desire in a language of physical need that
couldn’t be condensed into words.

Giving a shit about that is weird, but Astarion couldn’t count the number of orgasms he’s
given since he’s been turned. He’d have enjoyed watching one wrack her body. And that’s not
normal, but neither was it normal for her to take his face in her hands and call him back when
he’d slipped back into old, familiar habits.

With one hand, he rubs his temples, and when he does, his shirt makes a ghastly crunching
sound.

This makes sense in retrospect. As he pulls it away from his chest slightly to inspect it, he
frowns. This shirt is, embarrassingly, a source of pride with what little he has to his name,
and Auri’s blood stains it in several different places.

Salvaging it is hopeless, no doubt, but he may as well try. It’s still early, and they have to
pack up camp anyhow.

There’s a small, secluded creek that he remembers being nearby, and when he gets there, he
pulls his shirt over his shoulders and kneels there.

Dried blood turns the water red as he tries to rinse it clean, though the current washes it away
as soon as he notes it.

The feeling of the sun on his back is indescribable. It’s rare that Astarion thinks about the
poetry carved into his back, but the hand not holding his shirt secure in the stream drifts to
his scars. He still has no idea what it says.
The shirt’s not turning the water red anymore, and Astarion frowns, scratching at the patches
of blood with his nails. He succeeds in pulling a little more of the color from the fabric, but
it’s exactly as he thought. The attempt was futile; now, he has a pink shirt.

He tosses the shirt on a nearby branch and finds a suitable place to sit. They’re slumming it
anyway. He might as well take a seat in the dirt. Astarion sits on the edge of the creek as the
sun rises higher in the sky. He hasn’t felt the sun on his back since this whole thing started.
It’s hard to imagine feeling more exposed, but he’ll hear anyone coming. Pulling the still-wet
shirt over his head wouldn’t take more than a second.

Behind him, in the distance, he can hear the camp beginning to come to life.

If he’s lucky, Karlach will pack up his things for him so he doesn’t have to. She seems like
the type, if the mood strikes her.

Today, they set out for the Underdark. It promises to be perilous, and Auri will no doubt
require that they stop for every injured creature they find along the way.

Alarmingly, Astarion finds that he’s almost looking forward to it, but that’s the rub of this
whole tadpole experience. For everyone else, the last tenday or two has been the worst
experience of their lives, probably, given the inevitable threat of ceremorphosis.

For him, it’s almost been a holiday.

Well, except for the screaming.

No, even with the screaming they’ve encountered, it’s still less screaming than he was privy
to around Cazador.

The point of all this is that there is screaming, and it’s happening right now, and the source is
undoubtedly Auri.

Astarion’s head whips towards the sound; it’s not coming from the direction of camp, and it’s
far off. He’s on his feet in an instant, but when he parses her cries, it becomes clear very
quickly–

She’s not in danger.

She’s furious.

And that, well– Astarion doesn’t need to save her from that. In fact, he’d very much like to
hear how it plays out. If she hadn’t let him feed last night, he wouldn’t be able to hear it at
all. If Astarion were to venture a guess, the distance from camp is intentional.

“I don’t need saving–”

He doesn’t know who Auri’s screaming at. They seem to be making an effort not to raise
their voice in return, but Auri’s voice rings out like a bell. “I am not some child, Gale!”
And Astarion doesn’t have to wonder who she’s talking to anymore. His shirt is nearly dry,
thin and threadbare though it's becoming, and he pulls it on and takes off in the direction of
their conversation.

“I am not treating you like a child,” Gale says, as if Auri is a child. “But he’s a monster–”

The shadows of a tree hide him well enough. Gale and Auri are too focused on one another to
ever notice him. Astarion doesn’t take offense at Gale’s words – he’s right, after all – but
Auri does.

Her eyes flash angrily. “He’s not a monster–”

“He is!” Gale interrupts her, hands up in an attempt to show that he’s on her side despite their
disagreement. “You were covered in blood when I found you last night. Who knows what
might have happened if I hadn’t shown up?”

Auri chuckles a dark laugh. “I might have had the best time I’ve had in a long time, so you’re
right; I should really be thanking you for the save.”

She’s so upset, and Astarion can’t quite parse why. Gale seems similarly frustrated, and that
Astarion understands. This is much different than the show Auri’s usually putting on.

“Look,” Gale says, and Astarion can feel a shift in tactic coming. “I just want to make sure
you’re safe, and that’s hard to guarantee when Astarion’s got his fangs in you.”

Auri takes a step forward so she’s nearly touching his chest. It might be intimidating if she
wasn’t the shortest person in camp. “Why? Because you’d rather it was your mouth at my
neck? Just because Mystra chose you doesn’t mean I have to.”

For a moment, Auri almost sounds dangerous in the same way that she had when she’d
borrowed from the tadpole.

Gale stiffens. “Understood. Apologies for any… misunderstanding.”

For reasons that Astarion doesn’t understand, Auri crumbles. Her body deflates and she
presses a hand to her forehead like she’s willing the emotion not to spill out of her on sheer
willpower alone. “Wait. No. I– I appreciate your concern. Really. But I can take care of
myself.”

Gale softens again and he steps forward, putting a hand on her cheek. Every muscle in
Astarion’s body tightens reflexively. “I do understand. Truly. Just as long as you know you
have options to warm your bed.”

Auri stares at him. It’s a surprisingly straightforward plea for Gale, who normally wraps his
desire in the most flowery purple prose possible. Astarion’s lips have nearly curled back into
a snarl. If it wouldn’t upset her, he’d tear out Gale’s throat before Auri could blink.

She pats the hand on her cheek awkwardly, pulling it away from her face after. “I’ll keep it in
mind,” Auri says. “I value your friendship, Gale. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. I hope that
this doesn’t make you think less of me.”
Gale’s still unsatisfied, which makes sense following such a resounding rejection, and he
says, “And it’s never too late to change your mind.”

Auri nods, and Gale walks back in the direction of camp, and as soon as he’s out of sight, she
sinks to the ground and pulls her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and
ducking her head like some sort of overly-emotional woodlouse.

When Astarion steps out of the shadows, Auri doesn’t notice him because she never notices
anything. “Copper for your thoughts, darling?”

He manages to startle her so well that she leaps to her feet and actually pulls a dagger from
her belt. Astarion holds his hands up in surrender. “If that’s something you’re interested in,
I’m game, but I’d prefer to have a conversation about it first.”

“Oh.” Auri’s eyes are wet and she puts the dagger away again. “Of course you’re here.”

Astarion raises an eyebrow. “Hello to you, too.”

They’re all exhausted, but the bags around her eyes are more pronounced than usual today.
Astarion doesn’t know if it’s because he fed from her last night or if it’s something else. She
still doesn’t greet him. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough to know that you have once more defended my honor, though I’m still not sure
why.”

Auri looks up at him. She sits back down in the dirt and she blinks at him twice.

And then she laughs.

“Gods, you’re an idiot.”

Astarion blinks back.

“Pardon?”

“You’re an idiot,” she repeats, but it’s barely understandable. Auri’s crying now, and laughter
tumbles out of her at the same time. “You’re an insufferable, adorable, showboating idiot.”

He can’t help it. Her laughter’s infectious and warmer than the sun. He exhales a chuckle,
too, a smile of his own on his face, and Astarion didn’t know it was possible, but her grin
widens even further.

“I love the way your face lights up when you’re enjoying yourself,” she says, and Astarion
cocks an eyebrow, but he can’t wipe the smile from his face.

He turns and looks behind him. “Surely you’re talking about someone else. I am the epitome
of grim sullenness.”

He means it as a joke, but when Astarion turns to face her again, Auri’s blanched.
“Y-your back–” she starts, and Astarion steps away, eyes wide.

His shirt’s wet. His white (half-pink), thinning shirt is wet.

Any humor in him dissolves. “You didn’t see anything,” he hisses.

“No, I– I’m sorry. I didn’t–”

“I don’t want your pity.” Telling her would have been different from her finding out like this.
It would have gone better. She wouldn’t be looking at him like the pathetic creature he is. He
fights off the snarl and the hundred biting words on his tongue and forces himself to say,
“Cazador– it’s a poem. Cazador carved a poem into my back. I have no idea what it says.”

“A poem?” Auri’s voice is soft, just like she is, and–

She’s a bard.

And maybe it’s okay. Maybe it’s okay if it’s her.

Astarion looks up and shakes his head as if looking for a sign to stop him, but when nothing
happens, he bites the inside of his cheek.

Auri’s staring up at him. She hasn’t run from him yet.

He pulls the shirt over his head and turns around.

Her silence lasts an eternity, but mercifully, she doesn’t touch him. “You…” Auri’s voice
trails off like she doesn’t know how to proceed. “You said this was a poem?”

“That’s what he told me,” Astarion snaps, looking over his shoulder at her. “It’s not like I can
see it.”

She’s standing at a respectable distance. “I’ve never seen a poem like this, Astarion. It looks
like Infernal–”

“And how would you know what Infernal looks like? I can’t imagine there was much time for
your studies at the circus, given all the juggling–”

“Trying to be cruel so people can’t see you’re scared isn’t becoming,” Auri fires back, and
Astarion rolls his eyes.

“I’m not scared.”

“You are. You’re letting me see something you never show to anyone. I’d be scared.”

Astarion huffs.

“Viv knows Infernal,” Auri says quietly. She’s still staring at his back. Astarion can feel her
eyes on him. “I helped her with things sometimes, though I was never really smart enough to
add anything of value.”
“What value does knowledge of Infernal have in a circus–”

“Do you want to know what it looks like?” Auri interrupts him, and it’s a deflection, but…

“What do you mean?”

Auri repeats herself. “Do you want to know what it looks like?”

“...Of course I do.”

“Then let me in.”

It’s a monumental ask, but when Astarion feels Auri’s parasite press against his mind, he
drops the walls.

I’ve got you, she says, and then there’s an image projected into his mind. His back is in his
mind’s eye, but Astarion’s wonder at the sight is eclipsed by the scars.

They’re wickedly ugly. What did he do to me?

It’s not a question Auri can answer, and she doesn’t try. Panic grips him, a fist that squeezes
in his chest in the place where his heart ought to be, but Auri’s still there. I will never let him
have you again.

And it isn’t her call, of course. Cazador will take him back, and Astarion will have no say in
the matter.

But she means what she says. Her conviction is unhidden, naked as they both are in the
recesses of his mind.

Auri has the best intentions, though they won’t mean anything when push comes to shove.

She retreats from his psyche. Astarion’s gaze has unfocused; he’s staring into the distance.

Out loud this time, he asks again, “What did he do to me?”

Auri still can’t answer. She walks in front of him so they’re standing face-to-face. “Can I
have your shirt for a second?”

Astarion’s disoriented. He hands it to her without thinking.

“Thanks,” she says, but he barely hears her. It’s only as she sings her short, broken, beautiful,
half-full song that Astarion feels present again, and as he watches, her magic spreads through
the threads, cleansing it of her blood.

“It’s the least I can do,” she says, handing his now-pristine shirt back to him. “I was the one
that made such a mess of it, after all. I may not know Infernal, but I can prestidigitate.”

The shirt is warm in his hands like it’s been lying in the sun for hours.
“Oi, Fangs!”

Gale has been eyeing Astarion with murderous intent since he and Auri had walked into
camp together. Astarion probably won’t die by his hand while everyone is around, so he isn’t
terribly worried. Karlach waves a hand in front of his face.

“I packed up your tent for you. Figured you’d appreciate the extra time with your girl.”

“Auri is not my girl,” Astarion deadpans.

“You say that,” Karlach says, not easily deterred, “But you knew exactly who I was talking
about.”

Astarion clears his throat, and Karlach continues, “And she absolutely is your girl to hear
Gale complain about it to Wyll.”

Of course he can’t keep his mouth shut. Astarion doesn’t particularly care that everyone
knows he’d had Auri under him last night, but he imagines it will make her uncomfortable,
and for some reason, that annoys him.

“They are, no doubt, hatching a plan to dispose of me as we speak.”

Karlach isn’t one for deception, and even if she tried, Astarion would notice it instantly. She
says, “Nah. Wyll told him to get over himself. I do feel a little bad for the guy, though.”

Her response doesn’t make sense.

“What?”

“I feel bad for him. He doesn’t have bad intentions or anything; he just really likes Auri and
even though he’s not going about it exactly the right way, I can understand where he’s
coming from–”

“No.” Astarion shakes his head; he doesn’t care about Gale. “What you said before that.”

“Oh, Wyll?” Karlach hitches a pack that probably weighs as much as Astarion does. “He told
him to get over himself. Said if Gale likes Auri as much as he says he does, he should just
want her to be happy anyway.”

Wyll is, effectively, a monster hunter. And Astarion is, by every definition, a monster.

Not quite every definition, Astarion supposes, as he remembers Auri saying the opposite, fire
in her eyes.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Karlach says, pulling Astarion’s attention again. “Why don’t you
use your teeth more when you fight?”

“I’ve got daggers. Why would I use my teeth?”

“Just seems a shame to have fangs like that and not put them to work.”
 “I have no interest in tasting a goblin. Daggers do the job well enough.”

“I suppose. And I guess you want to be hungry when you know that Auri’s on the menu
later.”

Astarion barks out a laugh that’s real, and Karlach grins like she can’t contain all the emotion
stored in her chest, and Gale is still staring lightning bolts into the back of his head, and he
doesn’t have any idea what Cazador’s tainted his back with (not a poem, in any event), but
the Underdark awaits.

And somewhere close by, Astarion smells sulfur.

Chapter End Notes

tumblr and twitter!

tomorrow i am travelling for one million years, BUT. BUT.

tomorrow, you will probably get a chapter.

listen to me. the chapter will be baby. and i DO mean baby. so when you get the
notification that a sub-1k chapter has been published, you have been forewarned.

thank you for reading. i love you. <3

 ?
Chapter Notes

IF YOU SEE MISTAKES OR WACKY FORMATTING NO YOU DON'T I AM

POSTUNG THIS FROM MY PHONE IN THE SKY

also it's not really that baby after all. god

tw: non-graphic depiction of pregnancy and childbirth

who wants. some. oc lore -dabs-

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Hags are universally reviled. Their cruelty knows no bounds and their deals exploit the
desperate, but there’s the rub –

Desperation is a mortal constant.

And the mortals? They never learn. They make deal after deal after deal, and they never learn
from the mistakes of those that came before them.

A girl’s parents were no different.

For years, they’d tried for a child in vain. It tore their marriage asunder, but the mother was
growing old. There was no time to try with another.

The hag offered immediate results.

“I’ll give you the most beautiful baby in Faerûn, but you must be willing to pay the cost,” the
hag said.

“Anything,” the mother said, and the deal was struck.

What she loved most was the price for her child, but the mother thought herself clever.

And the hag, as all hags are, was cruel. The terms of the deal were unclear, and the mother, in
her haste, had presumed the cost was the father. She had no one else – her family was long
dead and she had no friends to speak of.

But days passed. And so too passed months. And the father remained, unchanged and elated
at their long-awaited success in conceiving.

The mother was a different story. She became round with child, but the personal cost was
great. As if the babe was sapping her of all vitality, her eyes grew sunken, her skin grew
sallow, and her nails turned yellow. There was never nourishment enough to sustain herself
and the child both, and in the ninth month of her pregnancy, she heard the hag's voice.

Think hard. What precisely is it you love most?

The father was at her side as he had been since the mother made her deal. He held the
mother's hand and wiped sweat from her brow. Her body heaved and shook with labor, and
with each contraction, death drew nearer.

To the father, she voiced her final request –

"If you don't kill this child, it will kill me."

She trembled with fear, but the father simply stared.

"You would kill our child?"

Enraged by his question, she hissed, "It is not our child! You were not enough; I went to the
hag! And if you do not kill whatever creature it tricked me into birthing, you will be left to
raise it without me."

The father dropped her hand.

"For years, I have stood by you as you have grown bitter, self-absorbed, and callous. I loved
you with everything I could and more, but the truth is clearer now than it has ever been
before. You will never love anything as much as love yourself."

The mother died.

And Viveka Sterling was born.

But she learned that story much later.

Viveka came to Le Cirque Éphémère before she knew what a circus was. She was only a
babe, to hear Amar tell it. He’d just become ringmaster and they were packing up to leave
Waterdeep, and that very same night, he’d found her father leaving her on the doorstep of a
nearby orphanage.

Her father was tall, light-skinned, and thin. His hair was dark, too. That's all Amar
remembered because, according to him, he was too focused on the babe in the basket. Her
father looked left and right, skittish, and once he was satisfied that no one was watching he
left.

So Amar watched. He waited for the babe to cry out to alert someone from the orphanage, but
an hour passed, and the child made not a sound. Finally, Amar approached, worried the babe
might be somehow dead.

But she wasn't. Viveka slept contently in the basket, a note left at her side.
Viveka Sterling

Borne of a hag deal

Mother deceased

Father unwilling

Amar looked at Viveka again, and when he did, her eyes opened. They were a honeyed gold
that seemed like magic unto itself, and when he examined her closer, he found the beginnings
of antlers sprouting from her temples.

And what he did next was impulsive, yes, but a child like that would never have survived in
the circumstances her father had left her in.

When he picked up the basket, Viveka smiled, and Amar never doubted the decision once
afterward.

Viveka grew up around oddballs and outcasts, and when Amar finally put a name to what she
was the year that she turned fourteen, it hadn't shaken her. The deal with the hags wasn't one
that she made, and the circus loved her, and she loved the circus. That was more than enough.
She never wanted for anything, and with time, she even became a skilled artificer.

The nubs at her temples grew into a crown. Ivy twisted around them and flowers adorned it,
and her beauty met its only match in her signature lightwork.

Viveka never wanted for family, and even when she learned how she was abandoned, she
almost felt grateful. How could she feel anything else when Amar had wrapped his arms
around her and hugged her so tightly that it wouldn't let a single negative emotion in?

There was nothing to miss. She had everything she could ever want.

And then came Neverwinter, just after her twentieth birthday.

They were there for a tenday and they performed seven times. Viveka relished it. She
excelled in the spotlight, and audiences loved to look at her. She was an exotic, unknown
beauty, and Neverwinter had proven an enthusiastic city.

Two nights before their scheduled departure, Viveka went on a walk.

The streets were quiet; their performance had run long, and most people were asleep.

The silence meant that Viv heard it clearly when a rough voice laughed. "Stupid little brat. As
if I'd spare something for a runt like you."

Viveka's feet carried her toward the sound before she could even process what she'd heard. A
tall man in a dark cloak stood over a slip of a girl.

And as Viveka watched, he spat on her.

The rage boiled deep in her chest, and the vine of thorns sprang from her hand before she
could second-guess herself. It pulled the man closer to Viveka and away from the girl, and
when he was near enough to look Viveka in the eye, she said, "Leave her alone."

The man rolled his eyes, but when he moved to walk away, Viveka released him. She kneeled
down in front of the girl, smiling as kindly as she could manage.

"I've got you," she said, holding out a hand. The girl eyed her nervously. Viveka tilted her
head to the side. "What's your name?"

The girl's voice was small, like the world had stomped on her since she was born. "A-Auri."

"Auri," Viveka repeated. "I'm Viv."

She'd never shortened her name before, but for some reason, it just seemed right.

Auri was fifteen when Viv found her, and it took no needling at all to convince Amar to find
a place for her. Le Cirque Éphémère spirited her away from Neverwinter, and Auri came to
fill a hole in her heart that Viv didn't even know was there.

For thirteen years, Viv and Auri had a home in the circus. They were closer than sisters, and
in time, Auri became a better bard than Viv could ever have imagined when she saw her that
day in Neverwinter. They sought out the circumstances of Viv's birth and convinced Amar to
steer clear of Neverwinter whenever possible.

"They'll arrest me if I'm seen there," Auri had said one night, shoving roast chicken into her
mouth.

It took another four years for Auri to tell her why.

It was like a fairytale until Auri was stolen.

They'd said good night to one another after their fourth performance in Baldur's Gate. To say
it plainly, it had been underwhelming, but they had two performances yet. Auri hugged Viv
tightly, and Viv picked her up off the ground and crushed Auri into her chest as best she
could manage.

"See you in the morning!" Auri said, all freckles and a toothy grin–

But she was nowhere to be seen at breakfast or at lunch, or at their midday performance, or at
dinner. When she told the city guard, they didn't take her seriously.

Auri was an adult, after all, and she'd only been missing a day.

Another day passed, and still, Auri was nowhere to be found. Amar offered to put off their
departure, but Viv couldn't let him.

"You'll never make it through the winter if you don't move on. There are too many people
counting on you."
Viv was right and he knew it, but he also knew what was coming next. Neither of them
needed to say it. His eyes closed. "You both will always have a place here when you find
her."

Viv threw her arms around Amar's neck, and she didn't cry.

Finding the hag that her mother made a deal with wasn't as difficult as she thought. It was as
easy as returning to Waterdeep and asking the right questions.

The hag looked like an old woman, but Viv knew better, and when the woman laid eyes on
her, she cackled out a laugh that was anything but kind.

"What a delight to see you here, hagspawn. This is a pleasant surprise. Come to claim your
birthright?"

Viv shook her head. "I've no interest in that."

The hag sighed. "A shame. You must be here for a deal, then."

Viv nodded.

"I need to find my sister."

The hag grinned, malice oozing from her. "Is that so, dearie? And what would you offer in
return?"

The point of no return.

"Anything."

Desperation is a mortal constant.

Devils are universally reviled. Their cruelty knows no bounds and their deals exploit the
desperate.

And the mortals? They never learn. They make deal after deal after deal, and they never learn
from the mistakes of those that came before them.

A magistrate was no different. He made a deal with a vampire long ago, but that's a tale of the
past.

Astarion is no longer a mortal, but he still hasn't learned.

When Raphael spirits him away to a house of lavish excess that is more like what Astarion is
used to, he promises a reprieve from the parasite. Astarion's wiser than he was when he let
Cazador damn him, though.

"Forgive me if I'd like a moment or twelve to consider your offer."

"Of course, of course " Raphael says, all smiles. He's confident that Astarion will come
crawling back. "But I'll be your savior eventually, you beautiful, broken thing. And if you're
fool enough not to take me up on the offer – though you will, because they always do –
perhaps I'll extend it to that little bard you're so fond of."

If it's meant to rile him, it doesn't. "Do. She's more desperate to be rid of the worm than I
am."

Raphael frowns like Astarion isn't playing by the rules, but he taps a finger against his lips.
"Hm. Perhaps I shall. She does seem to have a weakness for monsters, after all, and I could
make her very comfortable here–"

Astarion's eyes flash red; he's in no position to make demands of a devil, but what he says is
instinctual. "That's enough."

"The mouse has teeth." Raphael smiles, but there's no mirth in it. "Until next time, then." He
holds up a hand, claws long, and then he pauses. "Unless you had something you wished to
add?"

The scars on his back feel alive when Astarion's mind drifts to them.

Astarion picks his words carefully. "I don't suppose that translating a bit of Infernal would be
in your wheelhouse?"

Raphael eyes him appreciatively. "I could be convinced. But as you said – allow me a
moment or twelve to consider it."

It's a deal with a devil. Astarion doesn't know what he expected.

"I'll pay," Astarion says.

Raphael laughs, a booming, dramatic thing. "Yes. You will."

And Astarion thinks himself clever. But the devil, as all devils are, is cruel.

And desperation, it seems, is not something to which mortals hold sole claim.

Raphael deposits him back near where he came from, but the camp is still a walk away.
Astarion groans. He's been walking all day.

"Um, excuse me?"

A melodic voice pulls him from his irritation, and Astarion turns at the sound. Auri's not here
to stop him, and he's not in a great mood, so it's unlikely this person lives to see another
sunrise.

The source of the voice is a woman, and Astarion’s eyes widen. She's tawny-skinned and tall,
and her eyes are a bewitching gold.

He knows this woman. He doesn't know what her being here means.
 "Excuse me?" she repeats. Astarion's mouth is dry.

"Viv?"

Chapter End Notes

I LOVE YOU I HOPE YOU LIKED IT

 auri
Chapter Notes

hi! hello! hey!

tw: alcohol mention

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Auri sits on the ground between Shadowheart’s legs. They’ve laid out a bedroll underneath
them to protect themselves from the rocky ground where they’ve made camp just inside the
cave that will lead down into the Underdark. Auri’s hair is down and Shadowheart’s fingers
weave deftly through it, more steady than Auri’s will ever be.

“So is he as good as he acts like he is?” Shadowheart sections her hair into two parts.

Come to think of it, the he in question is nowhere to be seen. Astarion had set up his tent and
disappeared shortly after. That was an hour ago.

“Who?” Auri asks instead, willing the inevitable blush not to come.

Shadowheart exhales through her nose, and after a pause, she lightly slaps the back of Auri’s
head. Auri jumps, and Shadowheart, unamused, says, “Don’t be an idiot.”

And the blood rises to her cheeks. “I– he’s, um. We only kissed–”

“No.” Shadowheart pulls the hair tight against Auri’s scalp, but it doesn’t hurt. “Don’t play
stupid. Gale says he found you two having what he called ‘all kinds of illicit fun’ last night.”

“Gods.” Auri puts her hands to her face. “It’s– it looked like a lot more than it was.”

“To hear him tell it, it sounds like you were on the verge of having such an inappropriately
exciting orgasm that it could have altered his relationship with the Weave upon witnessing
it.”

Auri's face can't get any hotter, and she's certainly not going to tell Shadowheart that things
had nearly reached a boiling point with Astarion barely even touching her below the waist.
She shakes her head in response, and Shadowheart yanks the locks of hair she’s in the
process of braiding.

“Sit still. And tell me what happened. If you don’t, I’ll just have to believe Gale’s version,
and believe me when I say that you do not want me to do that.”
What has Gale been telling them? Auri can’t turn to look at him; Shadowheart requires her
head be held steadily.

“We only kissed. Really.”

Shadowheart scoffs with skepticism, but she lets the left plait lie, finished, as she ties it off,
and she moves on to the other half of Auri’s hair.

“It didn’t go any further than that. I let him feed and things just kind of… escalated.” The
heat in Auri’s face spreads to her core, and she lets her eyes flutter shut, trying to control the
physical reaction she’s having to the memory. “We kissed, and then we kissed again, and then
by the third kiss, I was on my back, but all the clothes were on–”

“Why?”

Shadowheart has something in her mouth. It’s probably whatever elastic she’s going to use to
secure the second braid.

Auri thinks she’s misheard. “Why what?”

“Why did the clothes stay on?”

“Well, as you may have heard, a wedge of cheese and Gale made an appearance.”

Shadowheart slaps the back of Auri’s head again. “Don’t be stupid. He slept in your tent the
other night.”

“We didn’t have sex then, either. He was just making sure I was okay.”

"He could have again."

“I–”

The words catch in her throat. The answer’s an easy one, but being honest feels like betraying
him, even to Shadowheart, who Auri trusts implicitly even though she probably shouldn’t.

The answer is that Astarion’s so vulnerable under all that well-placed armor that he’s fragile
as porcelain. When Auri holds him in her hands, she can almost feel the cracks under his
skin. He’s never voiced it in so many words, but Auri can feel it; every move he makes sings
how wholly he’s been hurt and how he’s been made a victim time and time again since being
made a spawn.

“I don’t know,” Auri says instead, and Shadowheart clicks her tongue against the roof of her
mouth, unsatisfied.

But she doesn’t press the point. “Fine. I’m not going to make you tell. I just think a little fun
wouldn’t kill you.”

Auri would love to have a little fun. She just isn’t sure that Astarion’s built for it, despite
everything about him signaling otherwise.
She’s not about to have a little fun if it means grinding what little of Astarion’s trust she’s
earned into the dirt.

A second braid falls against Auri’s back, and Shadowheart says, “All done.”

Auri pulls both braids over her shoulders. The plaits are loose enough that Auri could thread
her fingers through them if she wanted. “They look like water.”

Shadowheart laughs. “They’re called fishtail plaits.”

Auri turns to face her. “Will you teach me sometime?”

Shadowheart blinks as if she hadn’t expected Auri to ask. “Um. Sure.”

“Thanks.” Auri grins and stands, holding out both hands to help pull Shadowheart to her feet.
Shadowheart mirrors her with a small smile of her own and accepts the help without a word.
“Um…”

“What is it?”

Auri chews her lip. She doesn’t know how to ask without sounding juvenile. “Is Gale really
making it sound so… horrible?”

Shadowheart raises an eyebrow. “It’s not as though anyone thinks less of you, if that’s what
you’re asking.”

Auri pinches the bridge of her nose. “It isn’t.” She exhales a sigh. “I don’t want people to
think I’m being taken advantage of–”

She’s interrupted by Shadowheart letting out a barking laugh that startles the owlbear cub
from his nap. “He’s a murderous vampire who I’m still not convinced won’t turn on us at the
first opportunity, but if there’s anything I learned about him while you were recovering from
that concussion, it’s that Astarion is unlikely to do anything he’d perceive as hurting you. The
rest of us – that’s a different story.”

Auri rubs the back of her neck, looking at anything but Shadowheart’s face, and Shadowheart
laughs. “I don’t understand it, but we probably don’t have a lot of time left. There are very
few roads out of this where we’re all still alive. We might as well enjoy things while we’re
here.”

And Auri can’t really argue with that, but Astarion is so delicate–

"You cannot simply abscond into the woods and return with some creature–"

Lae'zel's self-righteous tone is stomped on by Astarion's incredulity. "I'm sorry to tell you that
your high horse routine doesn't hold a lot of water with me these days given the whole throw-
a-tantrum-and-knock-Auri-unconscious show you put on not so long ago.”

“It was not a tantrum.” Lae’zel shakes her head, and from behind her, Auri can’t see
anything. She steps forward and peeks around Lae’zel to find Astarion, arms crossed and
expression unimpressed. He’s with someone else, too, but Auri doesn’t get an opportunity to
analyze them.

“Auri!” The woman with Astarion breathes out Auri’s name with so much reverence that it
almost sounds like a spell, and the moment that Auri registers both the sound and the source,
she’s shouldering past Lae’zel.

“Do–” Auri’s ears ring and the parasite squirms behind her eye. It’s been a long time since
it’s acted out this way, or maybe Auri’s just grown used to it and it’s acting out for reasons
she can’t comprehend. She flinches with it. “Do I know you?”

The woman bounds across the space between them in only a few steps. She’s tall with
pointed ears but decidedly not an elf, or at least not any kind of elf that Auri’s ever seen. Her
beauty is so pronounced that it’s almost eerie, and Auri would never forget a face like hers,
but the woman takes Auri in her arms with fierce desperation like they’re nothing short of
family or lovers. She’s sobbing – Auri can feel her tears on the crown of her head.

Lae’zel tears the woman away with a roar, but Auri grabs the woman’s forearm.

Home home home home home she’s home this is home it feels like home.

The thought’s intrusive and it doesn’t make sense, but something deeper than conscious
thought aches in Auri’s bones. “Do I know you?” she repeats, but it’s barely more than a
whisper.

Why does this hurt?

The woman’s crying, still, her golden eyes shining. She nods, and Auri feels like it must be
true. She must know who this woman is because watching her pain hurts Auri so exquisitely.

She must have loved this woman.

Astarion ducks under Lae’zel’s arm. “Oh, honestly, darling, you can’t be serious.”

“She is,” whispers the woman. She hangs her head, one hand tangled in her own hair. From
her temples, Auri can see an antler-crown growing.

“Very funny,” Astarion says, but Auri doesn’t get the joke. When she doesn’t laugh, Astarion
huffs and throws up his hands. “You won’t shut up about Viv most of the time, but I hand-
deliver her to you and you don’t show even the slightest bit of gratitude? Cruel.”

Auri blinks.

“Who’s Viv?”

When Auri speaks the name, it resonates in her chest like church bells echoing in a sanctuary.
Viv collapses to her knees, sobs wracking her body.

Auri stares at her in a state of dissociation. The melancholy that rises in her is inexplicable.
“I– I don’t know who you are,” Auri says, voice thick with emotion she shouldn’t be feeling.
“Darling, please, the bit is not landing. Please hug and kiss and get this over with so we can
figure out what happens next.” Astarion crosses his arms, but this is too much. The stimuli
crash into Auri from all sides: Viv crying, Astarion staring, emotion boiling from within.
Auri takes a step backward, and she might have tripped and fallen if Shadowheart didn’t
steady her.

“That’s okay,” Viv says, choking out the words between sobs. "I found you, so everything
else will be okay. Do you remember–"

Viv's face contorts with pain and she falls into the dirt, clutching her throat. The agony is so
great that she seems completely unable to make a sound, twitching with it.

Auri’s at her side, but she would be for anyone, and Astarion’s looking at her like he’s never
been more confused in his life. When Viv comes back to herself and sees Auri on her knees
next to her, a small smile spreads across her face. “Even when you don’t recognize me,
you’re still the kindest person I know.”

A fist clamps around Auri’s heart.

There’s movement behind her. Auri expects it to be Shadowheart or Astarion, but it isn’t. It’s
Gale.

This is a surprise on multiple levels. Auri’s barely spoken to Gale since their altercation, and
he’s normally content to let her take the lead. As Viv’s tremors stop, Gale reaches out. “May
I?”

Viv looks to Astarion of all people for something – confirmation that Gale’s to be trusted,
that he isn’t an enemy. Astarion shrugs, which does nothing to put Viv’s mind at ease, and
Gale sighs, unamused. “I just want a better look at whatever magic is doing this, because it is
magic. It’s unfamiliar, but if I could examine you a bit closer…”

Viv still seems skeptical, but she rises back to a kneeling position and looks up into Gale’s
eyes. Gale stretches his hand out further and touches the place her antlers grow from. After a
moment, he looks away, shaking his head. “You’d think a hexblood would have more
hesitation about making a deal with a hag.”

“I didn’t have many options,” Viv says, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. “I needed to
find Auri. I had to make sure she was safe. I did. No price is too high for that.”

“It’s as the wizard says. You came from a hag deal. You’d think you would have been more
cautious,” Halsin says, voice especially calm juxtaposed against the hammering of Auri’s
heart. “Hag deals are no small thing.”

“No, they aren’t,” Gale agrees. “And I don’t think it’s any mystery what you gave up.” He
turns from Viv to look at Auri. “She gave up your memory of her.”

“She’s the most important thing in my life,” Viv says, and she stands again. “I’d do anything
for her. I’d give up anything.”
There’s something unspoken in that.

And she’d do anything for me.

Auri can’t remember anything, but that must have been true. If it wasn’t, she wouldn’t feel
like her heart was breaking.

“And she can’t say anything to remind you of your history, or the hag tugs on her leash,”
Gale continues.

Pieces of Auri’s mind are missing.

I’m blackout drunk. I’m crying. I’m talking to someone but I can’t see them.

“I killed them all.” It’s something I should be wailing, but I’m not. I say it quietly, like I’m
entrusting it to someone precious.

“I killed them all.”

Astarion flinches like he felt the memory.

“You have to let me stay,” Viv pleads with Auri. “I know you don’t know me, but he’ll vouch
for me.”

She points at Astarion, who covers his mouth with both hands. “My, you are precious. You
should know that my word means less than nothing to these people.”

Auri rolls her eyes. Astarion’s self-deprecation, at least, is familiar. Shadowheart says, “Him
vouching for you would actually make us less inclined to let you stay.”

“You can stay,” Auri says, because that can’t be a mistake. Everything in her yearns for Viv
even if she doesn’t understand why.

She knows why, now, thanks to Gale. But she doesn’t understand it.

Tears bubble up in Viv’s eyes again. “Thank you,” she says, and she stands, gripping Auri
tightly in her arms again. “You won’t regret this. I promise.”

Auri thinks that that promise must have meant a lot, once. She doesn’t know what to say
next.

But Karlach does. “If you don’t move too much in your sleep, you can bunk down with me.”

Viv whips around to face her and dips her head. “You’re too kind. I won’t disturb you at all; I
promise.”

“You couldn’t disturb me if you tried.” Karlach grins. There’s no one better at defusing a
situation. “It’s more that we’d put all our healers out of commission treating the burns you’d
get.”
Viv blinks at her like she doesn’t understand. How would she? But she doesn’t stumble at the
thought. To Karlach, she says, “Thank you nonetheless,” to Auri, she says, “I’ll make this up
to you. I swear it,” and to Astarion, she says, “I’ll never be grateful enough to you for
bringing me here.”

Astarion recoils like Viv has slapped him, but she doesn’t see. Her eyes linger on Auri until
Karlach says, “This way,” jerking her head over her shoulder.

“Of course,” Viv says, and she follows without another word.

She walks like a dancer, grace incarnate. “Are you sure about this?” Shadowheart asks. She
stands on Auri’s left side and Astarion is on her right.

Auri pauses. “No.”

“Okay.” Shadowheart purses her lips. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

The others disperse. Auri doesn’t know what to say. Astarion breaks the silence instead. “Are
you alright, darling?”

“I don’t know,” she says honestly. Astarion hums, off-key no matter what sound he is going
for. Auri asks, “Who is she?”

Astarion sighs, hands in his pockets. “To hear you tell it, love? She was everything.”

The fist around Auri’s heart squeezes. He’s right. She knows that he’s right.

But Viv’s gone. She’s been erased. And if Gale is right, then Viv can’t even talk about it.

“What do I do now?”

Her voice is small. No one is supposed to hear. But Astarion’s so quiet and she’s grown so
comfortable in his presence that Auri had forgotten he was there. He steps in front of her and
pulls her hair over her shoulders, fingers gentle with the plaits.

“You wake up tomorrow. And then you wake up the next day. And then the one after that.
And you remember her, or you don’t, but you’re the same insufferable little do-gooder
regardless.”

Auri laughs just as quietly as she’d spoken. He rubs the unplaited hair at the end of each
braid between his thumb and forefinger.

“And then we turn into mind flayers?” Auri asks.

Astarion exhales a slight laugh. “Maybe. It wouldn’t be so terrible if we lost Gale to

ceremorphosis.”

“Does the gossip bother you? I meant to speak with him, but…”
 Astarion raises an eyebrow. “Gale’s loose lips are a miniscule price to pay for the fun we had
the other night.”

The way that Astarion puts her at ease should be criminal. She blushes again, and Astarion
gives her the roguish half-smirk that Auri’s come to know well.

“Will I get to kiss you again?” Auri asks. Her hair falls from his hands, and Astarion’s eyes
flutter shut.

Auri bites her lip. She’s spooked him. It was too straightforward, and she knows Astarion
wants to be anywhere but in the light.

“You’ve never worn your hair like this,” Astarion says instead.

“Oh.” Auri tries not to let the disappointment cloud her chest. “Shadowheart did it. Do you
like it?”

Astarion looks up and laughs. “The most important person in your life waltzes in here and
you ask if I like how your hair is done. You never cease to amaze.”

“It–” The woman that walked into camp is nothing to her, but she’s supposed to be, and how
can Auri say that as far as she’s aware, it’s Astarion that’s the most important person in her
life after so short a time? “You know I like you, right?”

The confession slips from her before she can stop it, and Astarion’s lips part. “Let’s get you
to remember the love of your life before you decide you’d like to stay involved with someone
like me.”

Every muscle in his body is coiled. “Astarion–”

The walls are up. His performance is perfection, and he isn’t going to let her in. “Good night,
darling. Things are never boring when you’re around.”

He doesn’t wait for her to answer; he escapes to his tent, and Auri’s left standing alone in the
middle of camp with a hint of sulfur so subtle in the air that she barely notices it.

Chapter End Notes

twitter and tumblr!

thank you so much for reading! i love you!
 astarion
Chapter Notes

hastily edited pls be kindddd. if you saw me say "hey I'm going to update in 30
minutes!" and then not do that and then suddenly like 3 hours passed? no you didn't. in
that time this chapter grew like 700 words. love u.

for anyone about to take umbrage with the spells viv knows - she's a maverick artificer
and she has sorcerer spells because arcane breakthrough <3

hope you enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Astarion watches the dawn. It’s the last one he’ll see for a while. The sun doesn’t pierce the
Underdark’s depths, as the name implies. He never feels warm except in the moments after he
feeds, but lately, the sun has been able to give him a semblance of peace.

But not today.

Auri had been a fleeting source of happiness, and that should be enough. She’d treated him
with kindness, had said she wanted to be his friend–

That’s enough. It has to be.

His palms are wet. Astarion blinks.

When he looks down, he’s dug his nails into them so deeply that he’s drawn blood.

Astarion rolls his eyes.

“Hells.”

When he holds up his hands, blood trickles down to his wrists.

“Good morning!”

Viv’s voice is downright musical. If Astarion’s mood weren’t so dour (if she wasn’t Auri’s
happy ending, if Astarion hadn’t been an absolute fool, if he hadn’t had the hubris to think for
the barest moment that he could keep her), he might find her company pleasant.

He turns to look at her. He smiles.

“Good morning.”
And she’s not so astute as Auri is. She doesn’t see that he’s only a sliver of self-control away
from ripping out her throat. Viv holds out a hand, and in it, Astarion sees half of a butter bun
topped with cheese and ham.

“I brought this for you,” she says, and Astarion bites back the bile on his tongue.

“I’m not hungry.”

Viv steps up next to him. “You haven’t eaten anything. You left the camp as soon as you
woke up.”

“Correct.”

“You should eat something. I can’t imagine it’s going to be an easy journey–”

Astarion turns to her and bares his fangs. Her eyes widen, and he says, “Vampire.”

To her credit, she only blinks twice, and in response, she says, “Oh.” She doesn’t question his
condition, and her body language doesn’t change, though she does start, “But, the sun–”

He doesn’t have it in him to explain the nautiloid, the parasites, ceremorphosis.

“Occupational hazard.”

Viv doesn’t question it, even though she should. He’s just told her he’s a bloodthirsty beast
and given a complete non-answer to her implied question. Instead, she puts a hand to her
mouth and giggles.

Astarion wants to hate her, but for Auri, it was always going to be Viv in retrospect. There’s
no room for someone like him in anyone’s life, much less hers. “I’m surprised you’re here
instead of trying to win back the heart of our beloved bard.”

Any humor drains from her face. Viv flinches and takes a half-hearted bite of the bun she’d
brought for him. “I… can’t imagine this is easy for her. I’m trying to give her space.”

Vitriol seeps into his voice. “How very noble. Stealing her memories away only to give her
space on your return.”

He expects her to rise to the bait. Instead, she just sounds miserable. “Yeah. You’re right. It
probably sounds very selfish to you.”

And that’s funny. It’s hilarious, frankly. The smirk comes easily. “Selfish is nothing short of
my brand.”

Viv quirks her lips like what he said doesn’t strike her as humorous. “Well, you brought me
to her. You make a good first impression if nothing else.”

“I tried to slit Auri’s throat when I met her.”

“You didn’t, though.”

What is it with these idiotic circus women and thinking he’s somehow redeemable?

Astarion doesn’t answer.

Viv finishes off the bun, though her earlier lightheartedness is nowhere to be seen. “I meant
it, though. You didn’t have to help me, and you did. I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

Why can’t he simply be allowed to lick his wounds in peace?

“I didn’t do it for you,” he snaps. “I did it for her.”

A ghost of a smile dusts Viv’s lips.

“Yeah. She has that effect on people.”

And Astarion doesn’t know what love feels like, but the wistful adoration on Viv’s face must
be close to the personification of it.

He lets his eyes flutter shut. He knows how to play this.

He’s not an amateur.

Astarion swallows the pain, the jealousy, the fear and smirks widely.

The vulnerability was an ill-thought-out experiment. The masks have kept him alive for
centuries.

The Underdark is dark. And it smells weird. And the air tastes bad.

And the walk feels much more dour when he’s pretending that he doesn’t notice how Auri
isn’t speaking to anyone despite everyone trying to speak to her.

Astarion doesn’t care, though. He definitely doesn’t. And he’s not thinking about it at all until
Shadowheart sidles up next to him.

“What did you do?”

“Pardon?”

She’s practically hissing. “Auri’s been studying the ground the entire morning except for an
occasional stolen, forlorn glance in your direction.”

“That’s a shame,” he drawls, “I deliver the love of Auri’s life to her on a silver platter, and
still she can’t resist my charms.”

It’s characteristic blustering on his part, but Shadowheart’s unamused.

“She looks like you killed the family dog–”

Astarion’s not having this conversation. “Oh, please, the owlbear’s right there, and if push
comes to shove, we can always make Halsin turn into something appropriately comforting.”

Shadowheart’s eyes narrow, and briefly, Astarion thinks that that’s the end of the
conversation, but he’s not that lucky. “You’re so fucking stupid.”

That, thankfully, is the last word, and Shadowheart has at least succeeded in making him feel
even worse, but she takes pity on him enough to send a healing spell in the direction of his
scabbing palms.

They do a lot of walking, and they’re supposed to be traveling quietly, but subtle is not
something that Karlach is capable of being. She has, apparently, succumbed entirely to Viv’s
considerable charms. To Wyll, she extolls Viv’s worth: “She’s opened up a whole new world
of violence to me. Check this out.”

Astarion has to look. He doesn’t have a choice. When Karlach decides that she wants to put
on a show, it never fails to deliver, though rarely in the way that she wants it to.

Today is no different.

As Astarion watches, Karlach rears back with her greataxe. He hears Auri’s pulse quicken
with fear. “Karlach, don’t–”

But it’s too late. Karlach’s mid-trajectory, and she either doesn’t hear Auri or is too wrapped
up in what she’s doing to care. With force Astarion could never emulate, she hurls the
greataxe at a rock formation that, on further inspection, looks strangely like a drow.

The greataxe lands squarely in the rock-elf’s chest, blade first, and after cracks split from its
location of impact in all directions, it dislodges itself and flies back into Karlach’s hand as if
she’d never thrown it at all.

“We’re keeping Viv forever!” Karlach punctuates her exclamation with a hearty, ground-
rumbling laugh.

The ground is actually rumbling.

Every hair on Astarion’s body stands straight up. His daggers are in his hands in the same
moment that he shrugs off his pack, but Auri says, “Run. Run now. Something’s coming, and
it’s–”

She doesn’t get to finish her sentence. Auri’s heart’s beating as fast as it had been when she
was underneath him, and this situation is far less enjoyable (though at least it doesn’t make
him feel like he’s ripping whatever’s left of his own heart out of his chest).

It’s a spectator.

“Oh, shit.”

Astarion’s legs move toward the others on reflex alone. The cub, Karlach, Wyll, Gale,
Lae’zel, and Shadowheart have all successfully scrambled down a nearby rock face, but the
rest of them aren’t so lucky. As the spectator looms above them, Astarion, Auri, Viv, and
Halsin can do nothing but watch as a ray shoots from its eye at a stalactite so large it might as
well be called a boulder. The attack severs it from the ceiling and it crashes largely into the
ground in one piece.

So it’s the four of them and the spectator, which is lovely.

“The drow– they’re petrified,” Auri says, looking downright petrified herself.

As if in response, the spectator reanimates one to Astarion’s right. The drow reaches for the
staff on her back, snarling at Astarion, and he buries his daggers on either side of her neck.

“They don’t appear to be friendly,” Astarion says dryly, and Halsin, apparently in agreement,
glows golden with druidic magic. Before their eyes, he shifts, and with a massive paw, he
demolishes one of the petrified drow and then another. A whip of thorns sprouts from each of
Viv’s palms to constrict a third, and with a twist of her arms, it crumbles. Halsin looks at her
approvingly (as much as a bear can, anyhow), and Viv grins. “I was always the fighter
between the two of us.”

And now it’s the four of them and the spectator, and to be frank, Astarion doesn’t really know
where to begin.

There’s a hand on his upper arm, and he bristles instinctively. Astarion turns, ready to bury
his teeth into the culprit, but Viv just smiles. “Make like a spider,” she says, and Astarion
doesn’t know quite what that means, but Auri’s staring at them even though Halsin’s having
an intimate moment with the spectator as they speak.

Astarion’s feet feel steadier, and magic flows through him, passing into his extremities.

Make like a spider.

Oh.

A ray of necrotic energy shoots from one of the spectator’s eyes, and Auri barely manages to
sidestep it. She looks at Astarion, and he can feel the fear bubbling in her throat like it’s his
own.

He can’t help it. It’s reflexive, like she’s as much a part of him as the worm behind his eyes.

You’ve got this, darling.

Astarion sends the thought in Auri’s direction, and the second that he does, relief blooms in
her eyes.

He wasn’t trying to hurt her last night. That’s just the only thing he’s good at. That’s why she
shouldn’t want him, and why he shouldn’t have the hubris to want her.

But.
“Spare me the lecture later, Halsin,” Auri says, though Astarion doubts that Halsin hears,
considering he’s engaged in melee combat with the spectator as they speak.

It’s terrifyingly beautiful to watch Auri’s eyes go dark and her lips curl dangerously. Viv
freezes at the sight, but that’s not Astarion’s concern. She’s added an extra dimension to
Astarion’s deadliness, and if Viv does nothing else before this spectator is dead, that should
be enough. It’s nice having Halsin here as a shield made of meat, but there’s little that could
stop this flavor of Auri, and Astarion’s hardly a slouch either.

The spectator’s occupied with Halsin as is, and though Viv still eyes Auri warily, she draws
her rapier and mumbles something that Astarion can’t hear. The blade ignites with green
flames that dance, and there’s confidence in Viv’s eyes that Astarion doubts is misplaced.

The bear, the blade, and the bard all hold the spectator’s attention, and Astarion’s easy to miss
when he wants to be. With Viv’s spell flowing through him, he runs toward the wall.

When he reaches it, he steels himself. This is either going to work, or he’s going to end up on
his back in a very embarrassing way.

The physics of this are also confusing, but there isn’t really time for hesitation. Behind him,
he hears Auri’s lyre come to life, and he places the tread of his boot on the cave wall, takes a
deep breath, and lifts his other foot from the ground.

And he doesn’t fall. And Astarion grins.

Angles of attack multiply a hundredfold when he isn’t constrained by gravity, and the spell
generates even more value because their battleground’s a cave. There are any number of
surfaces ripe for climbing, and there are many more stalactites than just the one that the
spectator sent crashing to the ground.

So he climbs, and when he reaches the ceiling, Astarion reevaluates. Auri’s music bleeds
magic so strong that Astarion can almost see it wrapping around Halsin as he bears the brunt
of the spectator’s assault. Viv is quick, too (though it’s nothing compared to Astarion’s
speed), her rapier flashing green as she peppers the spectator with attacks.

Astarion leaps from stalactite to stalactite until he reaches a middling-sized flowstone that’s
positioned nearly on top of the spectator, and for a moment, he bides his time.

The spectator’s rays glance off Halsin, Auri’s music doing a magnificent job of deflecting
them, but the spectator doesn’t lack in cunning. It identifies her as the thing making this bear
nearly immortal, and it turns and lashes out with its mouth. The bite hits its mark. Auri
stumbles, but doesn’t fall, and in the meantime, Viv and Halsin both strike. It screeches out a
wounded wail and makes to retreat, flying up far above their heads, but, well–

Astarion is on the ceiling. And it bit Auri. And he really should be the only one biting Auri.

The spectator’s trajectory is nearly straight up into Astarion’s waiting arms, but, well, he’s
always had a flair for dramatics.
Astarion launches himself from the flowstone with as much velocity as he can manage, and
he’s plunging to the ground daggers first, but the spectator’s there to break his fall. He drops
ten meters and then his daggers slash through two of the beholderkin’s eyestalks before he
sinks them into its body.

This time, it roars, and by Astarion’s hands, it dies.

And then, Astarion is still falling, and there’s a lot of air left between him and the ground.

This probably won’t kill him, but he isn’t sure. There’s at least twenty meters left to drop, and
the spectator’s corpse isn’t really going to break his fall in a meaningful way.

There are more embarrassing ways to die, probably, and just as Astarion starts to resign
himself to the possibility, he hears Auri’s lyre again, warm and soft just like she is. The notes
cradle him like an embrace, and it’s so tender that he thinks if it were anyone else’s magic, he
might reject it on principle.

But no, it envelops him, and the body of the spectator hits the ground beneath him as he
floats harmlessly down, unscathed.

Halsin stares at Auri sternly, back to his elven self and healing them each in turn, and Auri
shrinks under his scrutiny as her eyes return to their normal color. She’s in for a difficult
conversation later, no doubt, considering most of their party hadn’t known just how wholly
she’d begun embracing the tadpole. Viv fidgets.

“We–” Auri swallows hard. Halsin’s still glowering at her. “We should get back to the
others.”

“Yes,” Halsin says, halfway through becoming much more aerodynamic than normal. “We
have much to discuss.”

A crow stands where he stood just moments before, and it takes flight, soaring up and over
the obstacle that blocked them off from the others.

“You’ve got her? I can get myself back, but I can’t take another person.” Viv chews her lip as
she speaks.

Auri’s tiny; there’s not a doubt in Astarion’s mind that he can carry her up and over the
boulder in the way. He nods.

A veil of mist surrounds Viv and she reappears atop the massive rock before the fog engulfs
her again and she disappears, presumably rejoining everyone else.

They’re alone, at least for the moment.

“Even if you hate me, Astarion, I’ll always look out for you. I swear it.”

She thinks he hates her. And that’s why he can’t have her. He’s done nothing to earn even a
fraction of that devotion in either of his lives, mortal or undead.
But he’s also not sure he’s strong enough to resist it, even if she only wants him because she
can’t remember Viv.

“I don’t hate you,” he says, and the truth burns like he’s expelling the sun from his throat.
“I’m just not very good at this, and once you remember her, you won’t want whatever this is
at all.”

Auri bites the inside of her lip and looks up, shaking her head. “I don’t even know her.”

But she will. Astarion’s sure of it.

This conversation’s going nowhere, and it’s only going to make Auri upset. Astarion turns his
back to her, a display of trust that he couldn’t imagine showing a tenday ago, and crouches.
“Get on.”

Auri blinks. “What?”

Astarion rolls his eyes, though she can’t see his face. “If we don’t get back over there, they’re
going to start thinking I killed you, or worse, had sex with you.”

He says it to make her blush. Instead, Auri just sounds miserable.

“In another life,” she says, and she takes a step closer. “You and I could have been something
good.”

Her feet bring her even closer, and finally, she climbs up onto his back.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe they could have been good.

But that’s a fantasy, and dreams don’t get to come true.

Astarion stands. She shoulders his pack as well as her own, and her chest is pressed flush
with his back, the layers of their clothing the only thing separating her from his scars. His
every muscle tightens, but it's her. It's okay if it's her.

Auri’s face is at his shoulder. “Can I steal just one more kiss?”

No is the only correct answer. He’s not strong enough to keep up the charade if–

“Yes.”

He expects her to climb down, but she doesn’t. Auri hugs herself to his body even tighter, and
her face is next to his. Her breathing’s shallow and her heart races.

Auri presses her lips to his cheek in a kiss so tender that he aches, and when the touch of her
lingers on his skin, Astarion can’t help it.

“If we ran, they’d never catch us, you know.”

She exhales a laugh. “They’d never catch you, maybe. I wouldn’t get very far.”
 He’d never let them catch her, and he isn’t even sure who they are.

“I’m your friend as long as you’ll have me, Astarion,” she says, and hells, he could just run
off with her. They’d be halfway across Faerûn before anyone put together he’d stolen her.

“As long as it's still my teeth in your neck, darling,” he says, but it tastes like ash in his
mouth.

Chapter End Notes

thank you for reading <3 i'll give this another proofreading pass asap lmao
tumblr and twitter!

ps: in dms we have been calling this "white boy on the ceiling" chapter
 auri
Chapter Notes

GREETIGNS
GREETINGS, EVEN

these two are just. the worst.

auri likes to swear in here

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Astarion’s more lithe than Auri could ever imagine being, and he hasn’t even fed in the last
couple of days. His arms are looped through the crooks of her knees and hers are slung
around his neck. She’s flush with his body, but neither of them speaks as he carries her back
toward the others.

It’s not fair. She wants to be furious with him. It’s not his decision who she cares about, and
she wants to scream it.

I don’t love you, but I could if you let me.

Auri squeezes her eyes shut and wills the tears away, but her arms around his neck must
tighten without her meaning to, because Astarion says, “I don’t need to breathe, technically
speaking, but I would prefer you not strangle me nonetheless.”

“How does that work, exactly?” If Auri talks, maybe she won’t cry. “I’ve seen you bleed.
You sigh to prove a point, on occasion.”

“If we find a vampire anatomist someday, maybe they can tell you.”

Gravity pulls at her as Astarion scales the boulder in their way, but she clings to him, and his
grip on her never falters.

He’s flighty and rude and difficult. Auri wants to protect him with her life.

He doesn’t get to choose what she feels about him, but he’s rejected her, and that’s his right.
Auri will swallow all that bitterness and absorb all that pain if it makes him feel safe.

So, fine. If he’s making the executive decision that they can’t be together romantically, she’ll
respect it. And if he changes his mind, she’ll be there all the same.

And she’ll take whatever he’s willing to give, how little or much that might be.

They crest the boulder; Auri can see all their companions on the other side.
She can do this. She can. She can be his friend, and that can be enough.

Astarion’s gait has been steady the entire time, but as they’re halfway down, he loses his
footing. It’s entirely unlike him. He’s always the picture of nimbleness, and a surprised yelp
that would be charming in most other circumstances escapes from him.

Below them, Auri hears Viv.

“Oh, shit–”

With gravity once more reigning supreme, Auri comes unstuck from Astarion, and they don’t
fall long, but Astarion makes a pained grunt when he hits the ground face-first, and she isn’t
even a moment behind him. She lands the same way, right into his back, and when her body
makes impact with his, Astarion makes a strangled groan.

Auri rolls off of Astarion, gasping for breath, and the situation would be hilarious if Auri
didn’t feel like she’d just had her heart broken.

She laughs anyway because if she doesn’t, she’ll cry. Astarion lets out another dramatic,
over-the-top groan, selling the bit, and Auri reaches out and punches his shoulder lightly.
“You alright?”

“I believe I’m dying again, darling.” The words sound like they cause him physical pain, but
it’s a performance she’s come to know well. Auri chuckles again despite herself.

“I’m sure we can find someone to nurse you back to health,” she says, and then she
remembers the conversation that they’ve just had. Her face falls. “Oh. Sorry.”

Shadowheart’s at their side and Viv’s not far behind, but before either of them is quite in
earshot, Astarion says, for only her to hear, “It’s not your fault I’m irresistible.”

He winks at her, and Auri gets it. He wants to go back to how things were before the kiss,
never mind that there was tension bubbling under the surface long before that.

Her stomach clenches as Shadowheart gives them each a once-over, and Viv, sounding
sheepish, says, “I’m so sorry, I– I must have dropped the spell.”

Astarion pushes himself off the ground to a kneeling position and says, “Not to worry, my
dear. The sight of me has that effect on people.”

Viv’s cheeks darken, and Auri knows what’s happening. He’s playing the game that makes
him feel safe; it’s the same one she’d indulged when they met. The pet names don’t mean
anything, really – Astarion’s been calling her darling since the moment they met – but–

Resentment boils in Auri’s stomach. When Shadowheart offers a hand to help her to her feet,
Auri slaps it away.

She has no right to be jealous.

And yet.
Myconids are known for their pacifism if Halsin is to be believed, but they decide to bunk
down and rest for the night just in case things break bad. They hadn’t expended everything in
their earlier fight, but Auri would rather be safe than sorry.

It will also give Auri a bit of time to sort through the cocktail of conflicting emotions rattling
through her. She’s exhausted, and not just because they killed a spectator earlier.

But she’s not there yet, because Halsin has decided to stage an intervention.

Auri stands before him with her arms crossed, but she might as well be sitting with the way
he towers over her. She has to crane her neck to look into Halsin’s eyes.

Under his scrutinizing gaze, and as everyone else in the camp listens, Auri tells them
everything. She tells them about the guardian and the worm and Vlaakith (Lae’zel doesn’t
even protest) and the githyanki egg (which everyone but Astarion protests). She tells every
secret she has but one.

“Power like that–” Gale starts, shaking his head. “You absolutely shouldn’t be toying with it
unless you know the price.”

The hypocrisy– the audacity–

Auri sees red.

"You of all people are not allowed to be mad about my… utilization of the tadpole," she says,
pointing at Gale, a bomb on the brink of exploding at any moment. She turns to Karlach, her
second explosion-adjacent companion. "And neither are you." Wyll, of course, has a pact
with Mizora. "Nor you."

Her righteous self-defense comes to a screeching halt when the person next in line is Halsin.
He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow. Auri wilts, just momentarily. “Okay, you probably
have the right to be upset.”

But the rage won’t be forgotten. Auri turns back to Gale, the vitriol pouring from her like a
fountain. “I will not be lectured at by someone who was so blinded by love that his very
existence is a threat,” Auri spits. “I won’t out your secrets, Gale of Waterdeep, prodigal
wizard and failed Chosen, but how dare you judge me for wanting to keep us all safe?”

She’s screaming. She doesn't care what danger this tantrum might attract. It’s too much.
Everything is too much, and she tries so hard to keep it together for everyone, and it’s just not
enough.

She’s not enough.

“I am doing everything I can to get us all through this alive and less than a month ago I was
just a stupid fucking jester, Gale! Everyone else is fucking– Mystra’s former Chosen, an
archdruid, the Blade of Frontiers, a githyanki prodigy, a runaway champion of Zariel, a cleric
with a personal mission from Shar, and who knows exactly what the hells Astarion has going
on? I did– I did card tricks! My claim to fame was that I was the best juggler in the troupe!
So if everyone could please get off my back, I’m doing the best that I–”

Gale hugs her.

All conviction evacuates her body, and Auri’s knees buckle. Things with Gale have been so
tense, and it’s an olive branch of the highest order. It’s selfless, and it’s kind, and Auri’s so, so
tired.

“I just want to keep everyone safe.”

The voice doesn’t sound like hers. It’s pathetic. Pitiful.

Gale hugs her tighter, and when the tears spill over, Auri doesn't know if they'll ever stop.
"I'm sorry, Gale. I'm so, so sorry."

If he lets her go, she'll fall to the ground, but he doesn't.

She's a sobbing, blubbering mess. She should be embarrassed, but she doesn't have the
strength for it.

Auri doesn't know how long they stand there, but Gale doesn't release her until she pulls
away herself.

"Feel better?"

No. Not really.

"Yes."

They don't question her anymore about the tadpole. Halsin says, "Just be careful. Power and
corruption are siblings," and that's the end of it.

As they disperse, Auri watches. Gale squeezes her arm once more before making his way to
the fire, and not far away, she can see Viv and Astarion talking as if they're old friends.

These feelings she's having – they're so juvenile. But they compound with everything else
and gods does it hurt when all she wants is to take the last two days back and for things to
return to the way they were.

Viv smiles sadly at something he says, and rot festers in Auri's stomach.

When the sun sets, Auri's mood is no better. Jealousy still rankles under her skin, though
Lae'zel doesn't leave her side at the fire until everyone else has gone to bed.

"You are the fiercest of us," Lae'zel says as farewell. It's the first thing she's said since she sat
down beside Auri.

And then Auri's alone.

She's alone with the campfire, with the sleeping owlbear cub, with the memory of the mental
breakdown she subjected everyone to, and with the fact that Astarion doesn't want her
because he thinks she wants–

"I made this for you."

Auri jumps, startled, but when she turns, all she finds is Viv, holding a jar of lights that dance.
The worm wriggles at the sight of her, and Auri doesn’t understand why. It’s almost like the
parasite is happy to see her.

It isn't Viv's fault this is happening. Not really. Blaming her isn't fair.

"What are they?"

Viv swallows hard, like Auri's asked a difficult question.

"They're a combination of dancing lights and faerie fire that I invented. For–" Viv's eyes
bulge, and she doubles over, gripping her chest. The jar crashes to the ground and the glass
shatters. She stumbles again and Auri catches her before she can fall.

"Godsforsaken hag," Viv hisses through her teeth. Tears prick at her eyes. "I just wanted to
do something nice for you– to give you something that–"

Pain wracks her body again, and Viv clutches her head with her hands, but she manages to
stay on her feet. "I know you don't know me," Viv says when she can speak once more, "But
I want you to trust me. I'll prove that you can. I'm in your corner no matter what, and I know
that I've stolen a lot from you, but I swear that I'm on your side."

Softly, Auri says, "Astarion keeps saying I loved you. I must have told him that before you
made the hag deal. Is it true?"

Viv bites her lip. She's trying to think of a way to respond, to finesse the deal's fine print.

Eventually, she shrugs.

Auri snorts. "Some answer that is."

Her laugh draws a wide smile from Viv, and she is beautiful. She's so gorgeous that she gives
Astarion a run for his money.

"There's a way to break hag deals, you know," Viv says. She keeps her voice low,
conspiratorial.

Auri wants to despise her, but she oozes charisma. Who wouldn't fall in love with this
woman? "What's that?"

"Kill the hag."

The thought should grip her with fear. Instead, it just modifies the anxiety that’s been her
base state since the nautiloid snatched her up. It’s ridiculous. The idea of facing a hag should
terrify her.

But what’s one more crisis? Just add it to the pile.

“Sure.” When Auri laughs, there’s no mirth in it. “Why not?”

Auri rejects everyone who comes to try and relieve her of her watch. Fatigue aches in her
bones, but trying to sleep will be fruitless. There’s too much running through her mind –

Break the hag deal

Astarion
Get her memories back
Astarion
Make it through the Underdark alive
Astarion
Maintain everyone’s trust now that they all know she’s using the parasite
Astarion
Take appropriate care of the githyanki egg
Astarion
Get to Moonrise
Astarion
Convince everyone she’s not losing her mind after falling apart in Gale’s arms as
everyone watched
Astarion
The tadpole
Astarion
The tadpole
Astarion
The tadpole
Astarion–
“Surely there are better positions for staring off aimlessly into the distance.”

Auri yelps in surprise, and despite everything, the sound of Astarion’s voice fills her with
warmth. He laughs, low and quiet, and takes a seat next to her.

Auri pulls her feet up underneath her so she’s sitting cross-legged. “If you’re here to relieve
me, don’t bother. I won’t be able to sleep anyway.”

Astarion waves a hand to dismiss the thought. “As if I have anything so selfless in me. I’ve
tranced already, and you looked so lovely and lonely out here.”

It’s a game. It’s not personal. Auri knows that. That doesn’t make it easier. She clenches her
eyes shut. “Don’t do that.”

Astarion cocks an eyebrow. “Do what?”

“Gods, Astarion, don’t make me say it.”

“If it’s not my company you’d enjoy, I can always go find our wizard for you. You were all
too ready to fall into his arms earlier.”

He smirks wickedly. There’s something truly nasty in his tone, something that dances with
jealousy despite the fact that he’s the one who put up these boundaries, but Auri’s too raw to
play. “I’m trying–” Auri exhales out her nose and starts over. “I’m trying to respect your
wishes, and I understand the flirting is just– just part of your act, but it feels exceptionally
cruel given…” Auri fumbles for the words, and she ends lamely, “Everything.”

“As I said, Gale’s tent is–”

“I don’t want Gale,” she snaps. “I’ve been unfair to him on occasion, yes, and he was there
for me today. That doesn’t mean I’m interested in crawling into Gale’s bed just because you
haven't bothered to ask if I'm alright.”

Astarion’s smirk falters, a crack in the mask.

“I know that you have to do… whatever it is you have to do,” Auri says softly, “I respect that.
I’m happy to be your friend. But that doesn’t make this easier.”

Astarion watches her from the corner of his eye. Auri can feel herself quivering.

“You know,” he says finally, “You ought to stand up for yourself more often. You really are
too soft for this miserable, miserable world. If you aren’t careful, darling, people will take
advantage.”

This is Astarion from the beach. This is the Astarion that she met that very first day.

With gargantuan effort, Auri swallows the pain of it. “It’s to your benefit, isn’t it? I imagine
you’re hungry.”

The performance drops for a fraction of a moment as his gaze darts to her neck, a flicker of
surprise crossing his face. She has no idea how she’s going to get through this. His drinking
has felt intimate from the start.

“Well,” he says, dark, sultry, “If you’re offering, who am I to refuse?”

Auri shouldn’t be offering, in all honesty, but how can she do that to him? Forcing him back
to a life of eating whatever fauna the environment has to offer seems exceptionally cruel
when drinking from a thinking creature makes him into an entirely different person.

She wants him to be strong. She wants him to feel good. Withholding that from him just
because he doesn’t want to sleep with her anymore – that isn’t fair.

Like a mantra, she repeats her thoughts from earlier, just after they’d killed the spectator.

I can be his friend, and that can be enough.

It has to be.
 Silently, and to no god in particular, she prays that he’ll be gentle. The whirlwind of volatility
in her head won’t calm, and her tremors worsen. It’s a panic attack looming, and her breath
quickens, and her heart feels like it’s battering her ribcage.

Breathe.

Astarion’s voice in the recesses of her mind is a warm blanket that shuts out the fear. When
his fangs break the skin on her neck, it hurts much less than everything else today has, but
she gasps nonetheless.

Being his friend isn’t enough, but it’s going to have to be.

Chapter End Notes

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i'm going to visit a friend for a couple of days so you might not hear from me again until
Tuesday or Wednesday. i hope this is enough to tide you over until then! thank you so
much for reading <3

oh! and someone asked - we aren't going to be in the underdark TERRIBLY long. i
expect we'll be into act 2 in 5/6 chapters or so ^^
 astarion
Chapter Notes

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See the end of the chapter for more notes

Trancing means it takes Astarion half as long to feel fully rested as everyone else in camp
(save Halsin, of course), and he’d tranced before he found Auri outside, but he’s not
interested in taking watch. He’d rather pass the time stewing in his tent, wiping the remnants
of Auri’s blood from the corners of his mouth with his thumb and then licking it away.

He can still feel her in his head and in his mouth. She hadn’t meant to, he’s sure. No one
would want to transmit that horrid, aching pain that had pulsed in her blood.

Her blood had tasted like misery, oil blotting out the sunshine that she usually emanates. Auri
had let him drink as much as he wanted even as her mind writhed in agony, a quivering mess
of torment and resignation.

I just want him to stay.

He’s perfected the craft of hurting people. That the idea of losing him pains her is testament
to how skilled his manipulations have become.

They’ll be on the move again, soon. Auri had said they’d comb the myconid colony for any
orphans whose kicked puppies were missing (paraphrased on Astarion’s part) and then keep
moving onward.

That, at least, is what Astarion was told was the plan.

On the other side of the camp, he hears Gale’s voice. “Auri said we’re splitting up. She wants
to get her memories back.”

Even if Astarion weren’t a glutton for gossip, his ears would perk up.

There’s a pause, and Lae’zel says, “I will fetch the vampire.” There’s the sound of skin on
skin and then a snarl. “Unhand me, wizard.”

“She was very specific about Astarion not accompanying us.” Gale’s trying to be quiet, but it
doesn’t matter. Astarion can hear insects scratching around in the cavern walls if he wants.

Another pause. “She always–”

“You, me, Wyll, Viv,” Gale interrupts. “Auri was clear.”

He’s alone, but he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

She’d take Gale and leave him to, what? Chat up some very large fungi?

Absolutely not.

They’re easy to follow as they weave through the Underdark in a direction Astarion can’t
quite discern. Once they’re out of earshot of camp, they start chatting amongst themselves,
and it’s easy to pick up what they’re doing.

Auri has become very invested in recovering her memories for reasons that she’s hesitant to
share. Viv, due to the deal she cut and her heritage (she thinks), can lead them straight to the
hag responsible for Auri’s memories being gone.

And aren’t they lucky? The way to the hag isn’t even far!

Even at the distance he’s keeping, Astarion can see as each of them steps into a circle of
mushrooms that swallows them in a flash of magic. Viv goes first, Auri follows, then Gale,
then Wyll, and Lae’zel, with a quick look around, is the last.

But she doesn’t see Astarion because Astarion doesn’t want to be seen. He counts the
seconds, and when enough have passed, Astarion steps nimbly up to the circle himself.

He eyes it momentarily, but the tadpole hasn’t killed him and neither has this stupid little bard
that he keeps sticking his neck out for, so surely a faerie ring won’t either.

Auri’s on the other side, and they’re still friends, right, even if Astarion doesn’t understand
the word, even if he fucks everything up at every turn. She’s taken Viv and Gale both and left
Astarion to rot–

But he’d told her they couldn’t be together, so. Maybe they’re even. Sort of.

Astarion steps into the faerie ring, and there’s no sensation at all besides the burst of light that
accompanies the magic.

He’d thought he wouldn’t see the sun again for some time, but the circle’s brought him back
topside. Astarion covers his eyes with his forearm until they adjust to the brightness, and
when he refocuses, he finds that he’s in the most sinister place he’s seen besides Cazador’s
mansion.

The ground beneath Astarion’s boots squelches with bog water and the air reeks with the
stench of redcaps. Patches of fog obscure his vision, and they don’t seem to be a natural
phenomenon. For a moment, it’s sensory overload; he has to bite the inside of his cheek to re-
center himself, and when he does–

There she is. Astarion can smell her. The tainted sunshine of her blood leaves a clear trail for
him to follow.
The fog clings to him; it seeps under his armor like the cold fingers of the grave, but
Astarion’s already dead and his tombstone’s far from here. He pushes through the fog toward
the siren song of Auri’s blood, and if he wasn’t just off a feeding, he might run headfirst into
the side of a house that can only be inhabited by a hag.

Astarion’s close enough that he can hear them all inside, and Auri asks, “What now?”

“You can’t see it?” Viv asks, and there’s a beat of silence. “There’s a door there.”

Gale says, “The house recognizes you. We’re strangers.”

Auri and company left a door ajar; Astarion scales the stairs leading up to it and slides
through the gap with ease. Inside, the hag’s home is a teahouse in every sense. Perfume hangs
in the air, thick and heavy, but it does a poor job of masking the rot and decay in the air. The
place reeks of hag, but Astarion wouldn’t smell it without Auri’s blood amplifying him.

The floor will creak if Astarion takes a single wrong step, so he doesn’t, and as he walks
deeper into the house, he’s just in time to watch Lae’zel disappear into the hearth. Wyll and
Viv are nowhere to be seen, no doubt already on the other side, and Auri makes to follow.
Before she can, Gale grabs her arm.

Auri startles when he touches her, and her heart rate quickens. Astarion bristles.

“Are you sure?” Gale asks her. Astarion could be across the room in a moment, and Gale’s
useless if someone’s up close. A dagger in his neck would do nicely, though there’s
something poetic about cutting out his tongue.

“They’re my memories, Gale. I want them back.”

Astarion can see Gale’s face. He’s stricken with wistful pining as Auri turns and follows
Lae’zel, and after a moment, Gale does the same.

And Astarion can’t very well kill Gale if he can’t see him, so Astarion steps into the hearth,
too, all the while maintaining appropriate distance.

Viv leads them down into the hag lair with confidence. She doesn’t hesitate at any turn, and
they spiral deeper underground, passing by thralls that pay them no mind. Masks litter the
floor, and each thrall wears one. Unmasked victims vocalize their torment, and as the party
walks by, their necks crane, presumably to watch Viv. No one speaks a word, unwilling to
disrupt whatever fortune has delivered them this far without a fight.

The tunnel they’re walking through opens up into a cavern. Astarion’s crept slowly closer to
them as the shadows have intensified and the smell of putrefaction has become almost
unbearable.

There’s a pit in the middle of the cavern and the sound of rushing water far below. They’re
already so deep underground that it can’t lead anywhere but the Underdark. The others try to
step stealthily forward, but Gale and Lae’zel have never heard of subtlety in their lives.
Astarion crosses the threshold into the cavern, hugging the wall, but when he does, a cackle
echoes against every surface around him. He freezes, and so does everyone else but Viv.

“I said I would give anything.” Viv projects her voice, but she sounds small, given the venue.
“She didn’t agree.”

The cackle comes again, but it’s localized. The hag manifests in front of Auri, and Viv steps
between them. She’s monstrously old, green, and her hair is slicked with grease and dirt.

“I said,” the hag starts, trailing a clawed finger down Viv’s cheek, “I would take whatever
would hurt you the most. I never said I would take it from you.”

Viv doesn’t flinch at the hag’s touch. “That wasn’t the deal, Ethel.”

Ethel’s laugh grows meaner and crueler. “You said anything, hagspawn. You of all people
should know the weight that that carries.”

Viv doesn’t answer, and Ethel turns to Auri. With a shove, she forces Viv away. Viv yelps in
surprise as she falls to the ground, and Auri’s eyes flash angrily. Lae’zel, Wyll, and Gale
ready themselves, and Astarion, again, creeps closer.

Ethel grips Auri’s chin and tilts her face up. “But my spawn didn’t have all the details, did
she? I’m no fool. My self-preservation trumps my lust for cruelty.”

“What do you mean?” Auri asks, sounding hypnotized. That beautiful, dangerous, gray-black
is blooming in her eyes, and Ethel cackles again.

“Call off your dog that’s searching for a flank, and I’ll tell you.”

“All my companions are here with me–” Auri starts, but Ethel doesn’t give her a chance to
finish. Without letting Auri go, she thrusts her other hand in Astarion’s direction. Paralysis
grips him, and it isn’t stage fright. Ethel’s magic pierces him from every angle, and he can’t
move.

They notice him, then, as his body betrays him, and Cazador flashes to the front of his mind.
His eyes are the only thing he can still control. Panic and rage flood through him in equal
parts, and when Auri’s gaze finds him, the power behind her eyes pulses.

“He’s not my dog.”

The voice is hers, but it isn’t. The parasite’s threaded through it, adding a lower register that
Astarion recognizes from their fight with the spectator. Her tone itself is a threat, and Ethel
recognizes it.

“Yes, you are a dangerous thing, aren’t you, petal?” Ethel regards her with respect. “Death
and I are old friends, but that doesn’t mean I seek its company.”

Auri’s eyes snap back to Ethel. “Let him go and give back the memories you took from me.”
Ethel cackles again. “Not much of a negotiator, are we, dearie? How about this– I return your
memories, but I keep your dog as my new pet. He’s deliciously miserable.”

There’s a whimper in Astarion’s throat that somehow squeezes out despite the hold Ethel’s
suspended him in. Glee paints Ethel’s face. “Deep down, you like being leashed, don’t you?”

“Release him. Now.”

The tadpole buries Auri's voice; she sounds nothing like herself. The darkness around her
eyes flares like smoke over a fire that’s being stoked.

Ethel tilts her head with interest at Auri, but she snaps her fingers with the same hand she’d
used to bind Astarion, and he falls to the ground, gasping.

“It was just such a good deal, petal. Your location was such a small ask, and in return, I could
take something that would cause exquisite pain not only to my spawn but to you and the
vampire as well.”

“It was a small ask then,” says the Auri that’s not quite Auri. Viv, Gale, and Lae’zel watch
her with growing apprehension as she finally slaps the hag’s hand away from her face. “But
the terms have changed.”

“Oh, they have?”

Astarion’s so focused on Auri and Ethel that he doesn’t notice Wyll until he’s kneeling next
to him. “You alright?” he asks.

“You’re no healer even if I’m not.”

Wyll chuckles a dark laugh. “True.”

Wyll helps Astarion to his feet, and Astarion doesn’t have time to wonder at Wyll’s
motivations.

“Yes,” Auri says in answer. “You give me back my memories and let us leave with no
resistance, and I won’t reach into your skull and extract your brain.”

There’s silence in the cavern. The voice of the Auri that’s not quite Auri echoes down into the
pit.

“Very well, petal. I know better than to fool with powers that far outstrip my own,” Ethel
says, and she places a hand on either side of Auri’s head. “You clearly do not, and that misery
will be worth this loss a hundredfold.”

Magic flows from her claws into Auri’s temples, and Auri sucks in air in a ragged gasp that
sounds like she’s forgotten how to breathe. The illithid power disappears from her visage and
voice both, and Astarion blinks.

And the hag is gone. Auri stands stock-still.

“Auri.” Gale steps up and puts a hand on Auri’s arm, and she doesn’t move. “Say something,
please. Hag magic is dangerous, and–”

Auri turns then, eyes glittering and an unrestrained grin splitting her face. “I’m fine, Gale,”
she says, and then she has eyes for only one person.

“Aurora,” Viv says, and Astarion wonders how he never pieced together that Auri must be a
nickname.

The dam breaks. Tears roll down Auri’s face in rivulets. She tackles Viv in a hug that sends
them both tumbling to the ground.

“Viveka.”

Auri says the name like it’s a prayer.

Aurora.

Lights in the darkest night. Spirals of color that illuminate a black, black sky.

Astarion crosses his arms and leans up against the side of the teahouse. He can hear the
others in the distance, bickering about whether or not Auri’s still to be trusted after what
they’ve just seen.

That’s beside the point as far as Astarion’s concerned. They’re wasting time here while Viv
and Auri have some kind of melodramatic reunion, and Astarion just wants to get going.

How long has he stood here? It feels like an eternity. The others' voices have long-faded as he
wallows in the melancholy of being correct in his predictions.

As soon as her memories had flooded back into her, Auri had fallen into Viv's arms like that's
exactly where she'd belonged.

There are footsteps behind him. It's Auri's gait.

"Finally–" he starts, but she cuts him off.

"A truth for a truth?" she asks. She's breathless. The sex must have been good.

Astarion raises an eyebrow at her as she steps in front of him. This is a strange time to do
this.

"Alright."

"You start."

"Why did you leave me at camp?"

The question's pathetic when it leaves his mouth, but Auri's face doesn't hold any pity.
"You were being cruel, and I was scared. I didn't want to put myself in a position where you
would hurt me."

She's to the point. He'll give her that.

"My turn, yes?" Anticipation and anxiety dance in Auri's eyes. Astarion nods.

"Do you want me?"

Astarion feels himself locking up. "Darling–"

Auri shakes her head. "Don't think about anything else. If there was nothing to stop you,
would you want me?"

What she's asking is infinitely cruel.

He could lie.

He should lie.

"Yes."

The word lingers there between them. Auri looks up at him, beautifully freckled and so short
that he has no choice but to look down his nose at her.

Doe eyes.

Rabbit heart.

"If it's too much," she says, softer than anything in this world should be capable of being,
"Stop me."

This game that they're playing – Astarion doesn't understand it. She's gotten Viv back, but
Auri's here with him. Anxiety pours off of her, but everything about her body language seems
concerned with putting him at ease.

"I'll always be your friend, Astarion." When she reaches up to cup his cheek with her hand,
he doesn't even flinch. "And I like you. I got my memory back to prove it. You don't have to
believe me, but I'd like to show you until you don't want me anymore."

She's not making sense. Auri doesn't make sense. She never has.

Her thumb brushes along his cheekbone. "Give me a chance to treat you how you deserve."

She's confounding. He wants to run, but she’s magnetic. He’s trapped in her orbit and he
somehow isn’t unhappy about it.

Auri stretches up at the same time that she pulls him downward, bringing them closer
together. Astarion can feel her breath on his face.
 "I'm yours for as long as you want me," she says. Her lips meet his in a chaste kiss, a blossom
of warmth against the chill of his mouth, and nothing makes sense, but Astarion is holding
her, and he doesn't know how he ever thought that friendship would be enough. She’s making
a mistake.

"I'm yours," she says again, or maybe it's just echoing in his mind because he isn't sure that
anything else matters but the sound of those words and the feeling that he's almost alive.

He understands that much.

She kisses him again, longer, reverent. He’s coherent enough to respond this time, and when
he wraps a hand around the back of her head, Auri smiles into his mouth.

Astarion still thinks she’s making a mistake. But she knows it, at least, and she’s doing it with
intent.

Lights in the darkest night. Spirals of color that illuminate a black, black sky.

Chapter End Notes

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i'm going to go lie down now <3
 auri
Chapter Notes

tw: bigotry because astarion's an asshole about the gur

hope you enjoy! <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Later, she’ll give Astarion the tongue-lashing he deserves. For now, she’ll settle for giving
him tongue.

Having her memories of Viv back is strange because once they were returned, it was like they
were never gone at all. Viv slotted into the spot where she always was.

But she remembers everything from the time Viv was stolen from her thoughts. Astarion was
cruel to push her away, and an idiot not to listen all the times that she said Viv was like a
sister. His self-preservation takes no prisoners, and she’s raw from it.

But she’s weak where he’s concerned. She’s weak everywhere, really.

Auri isn't half as strong as he is, but Astarion lets the force of her kiss push him backward
against the side of the teahouse. His hands cradle her face.

"I'm still a monster," he says, as if she's forgotten that he thinks that. There's no convincing
him otherwise, but Auri can't agree.

"You're not." His touch is cool; it brings relief that Auri didn’t know she was seeking. "But
even if you were, so am I."

A shudder runs through him, and this time, Astarion kisses her. His mouth is cool against
hers, but she feels like she’s on fire.

“I’ll ruin you.”

It’s not a threat. It’s a warning. It’s the same as when he’d said he could kill her if he chose.

And her response then had gotten him on top of her, so Auri figures she can play the game
out the same way.

“So do it.”

It has an identical effect to the one it had last time. Astarion kisses her hard, like if he doesn’t,
he’ll starve, but he’s hesitating still. Auri slings her arms around his neck. She’ll never be
close enough, even if heat leaches from her in every place their skin touches.
Astarion gathers her in his arms, lifting her so she can wrap her legs around his waist. Into his
mouth, she says, “Maybe I’ll ruin you.”

He laughs darkly. A fang threatens to puncture her lip. “Darling, I was ruined a long time
ago.”

He can’t see himself the way that she does. To Auri, he’s a survivor, astoundingly clever, so
quick with a joke, a marvel in battle. He’s so beautiful it hurts, yes, but Auri’s seen plenty of
beautiful people. She’s even slept with a few.

He’s different.

Auri wants him to consume her. The only time Astarion looks truly at peace is right after he
feeds, and the price of giving him that semblance of calm is so small.

He’s in her head always, in more ways than one. He buries his face in the crook of her neck,
and Auri thinks that he’s heard her thoughts, but he doesn’t bite her. She doesn’t know what
he’s thinking, but she can guess. And if she’s wrong, well–

She’s pretty sure she isn’t.

“Why didn’t you trust me?” Auri asks.

He pulls away just enough to look at her and cocks an eyebrow.

Auri quirks her lips. “Sit down.”

Astarion barks out a laugh. “Absolutely not. The bog water seeps into everything and I’m not
interested in having a redcap take a chunk out of me.”

Auri frowns. “Fine. Put me down, then.” He obliges, and she says, “Will you walk with me
for a little while?”

“I imagine the others have already been waiting for us for some time–”

It’s a deflection that Auri saw coming. “I sent them back to rendezvous with the others at the
myconid colony. I wanted to speak to you alone.”

So they walk. And they don’t really speak until they’ve stepped into the woods by the
teahouse. The faerie ring isn’t far, but Auri didn’t want to be near the hag’s house anymore.

“Diabolical. All this just to have me all to yourself.”

“Stop it.” Her voice comes out sharper than intended. Auri had planned on having this
conversation later, but if it’s happening, then it’s happening. “I’m not playing games right
now. You’re just about the only person I take all the masks off for. Now answer me – why
didn’t you trust me when I told you I liked you? I know I didn’t have my memories, but when
I did, I told you Viv and I would never work.”
“I don’t trust anyone. Don’t take it personally.” It’s a half-truth, but he’s not done. “And I was
right, wasn’t I? You fell right into her arms and presumably between her legs the second that
you remembered her.”

Ice rushes through her. Auri wishes that he’d hit her instead.

“I– What?”

She can only imagine what she looks like. Pain lances her heart. Astarion’s confused, and to
her it’s so clear–

“You–” She’s not going to cry. She isn’t. “You thought, what? That I got on my knees for Viv
and then came up here to seduce you? You think that I'd do that to you?”

“Darling, please. You have to know how you talk about her.”

“And do you know how I think about you, Astarion?” This won’t make a difference to him,
probably, but she has to say it anyway. “Do you have a clue? I think you’re fierce in battle
and a riot to be around. I think it’s hilarious when you poke and prod at the others. I want to
keep you safe more than I want to get this tadpole out of my head. I trust you with my life.
You’re–” she stumbles over herself. Some bard. “You’re kindred to me. We understand each
other in a way that I’ve never expected to find.”

His lips are parted. Auri wishes she was taller. It’s hard to get her point across when she has
to look up at him. If she was stricken before, Astarion looks the same now.

“There’s no hierarchy between you and Viv, Astarion. I’ve got enough room in my heart for
both of you, but I told you that she’s like my sister, and if I’d had my mouth between her
legs, don’t you think you would have tasted it on me?”

Astarion weighs his words carefully, and the pause drags on for an eternity.

And she never gets an answer because Astarion’s head snaps towards something that Auri
can’t sense.

His nose wrinkles with distaste, and Auri’s self-righteous rage dissolves into anxiety. “What
is it?”

“A Gur. And they somehow smell worse than usual.”

Auri can’t understand why that’s eliciting this reaction. “One of Selûne's Children?”

“Unfortunately.” His distaste has evolved into disgust and disdain.

The Gur are much-hated by nearly every group of people that Auri has ever met. That
Astarion holds hate for them in his proverbial heart isn’t a surprise. He had much higher
status in Baldur’s Gate than Auri could ever have aspired towards, even as a spawn. But
Auri’s always had a fondness for the Gur. They were nomadic, too, and they crossed paths
often.
"Only one?" If that's all he says on the matter, Auri won't press the issue even though she
finds his comment vile. "They usually travel in groups. I'd like to speak to them. Which
way?"

Astarion purses his lips at her, but she imagines he's just grateful to have escaped the clutches
of Auri's monologue. In a way, she's glad, too.

With Astarion's nose leading the way, they find the Gur easily.

"Stay here," she says, and Astarion laughs. When she doesn't do the same, he frowns.

"Oh. You were serious?"

"Yes. I can't imagine you're going to add much to this conversation by talking about how
much this man smells."

"But he does, darling, and Gur are always cutthroats or vagrants."

Auri rounds on him. "And you are a vampire, so you should have manipulated me until I no
longer served a purpose and then mutilated and drained me, but instead, you kiss me like I'm
the only thing that matters. So maybe people aren't always quite what they seem and you
could quit being an asshole, yeah?"

She’s raised her voice without meaning to, and it draws the Gur’s attention, which means
Astarion slipping away into the shadows is no longer feasible.

“Are you alright, miss?” he asks. Auri knows that she’s red-faced and sweaty, and even at her
best, she looks pathetic next to Astarion.

“O-oh,” she says, and she takes a step closer, making a show out of turning her back to
Astarion. “I apologize. My companion and I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

The smell hits her, then, and it’s all she can do not to clap her hand over her nose and mouth.

“Told you,” Astarion snickers, and Auri shoots him a sharp glare from the corner of her eye.
His racism is unamusing, and that’s not what she’s smelling, anyway. It’s some concoction
the Gur’s wearing, and it’s repulsive.

"Forgive the stench. It's a necessary precaution for a monster hunter." He smiles amicably,
and Auri returns it. "I'm Gandrel."

Next to her, Astarion’s body has gone rigid. She almost rolls her eyes. He thinks he’s better
than the Gur, fine. He doesn’t have to be awful about it.

“Auri,” she introduces herself, “And this is–”

Astarion interrupts her. “Savael.”

Auri keeps a pleasant look on her face, but she’s confused, and then it clicks.
Monster hunter.

She manages to maintain a pleasant expression, but she can feel the blood drain from her
face.

I’m going to kill him, darling. Astarion’s voice is in her head. I’m not asking permission. I’m
letting you know.

“You must be here for the hag,” she says to Gandrel instead. “That’s what brought me and
Savael here as well.”

“Interestingly enough, the hag is not my target. I hope to make a bargain with her. I’ve been
tasked with hunting a vampire spawn who has thus far eluded me. My employer won’t take
kindly to my failure.”

“A monster hunter making a deal with a hag?” Auri’s skeptical.

Gandrel pauses, a wry smile on his face. “Desperate times call for desperate measures. My
prey has proven adept at evasion.”

The worm in Auri’s head pulses with Astarion’s panic. It’s overwhelming, like Auri’s panic
has been multiplied a thousandfold. Every muscle in his body is coiled, and if Auri doesn’t
play this right, he’ll rip out Gandrel’s throat before Auri can blink.

But if it’s Astarion that Gandrel’s looking for, killing him is counterproductive.

“Savael and I are well-traveled. Maybe we’ve seen the spawn you’re looking for.”

Astarion’s fear roars through the tadpole. He thinks Auri’s betrayal is imminent and
inevitable, and it takes every shred of self-restraint not to comfort him outright. His fingers
twitch and Auri grabs his hand before he can kill Gandrel in one fluid movement. The contact
shocks him, but he’s disciplined enough not to show it.

Trust me. Auri pushes the message through their connection. He doesn’t like to be touched if
it’s not on his terms, but she’d all but had her tongue down his throat earlier. Hopefully he’ll
forgive her this trespass.

The movement doesn’t escape Gandrel’s notice. Auri weaves her fingers through Astarion’s;
as long as Astarion doesn’t blow up the ruse, it’ll be seen as an expression of affection. He’s
still tense, but for the moment, he doesn’t try to pull away.

“The spawn’s name is Astarion.”

Astarion was right. Auri’s heart plummets to her stomach, but she runs her thumb over his
knuckles.

Just let me kill him. It’ll be quick.

It would be simpler to let Astarion kill him, but Auri still thinks that’s shortsighted. There’s
no doubt in her mind that Gandrel’s employer is Cazador. Killing Gandrel solves the
immediate problem, but misleading him buys them much more time.

“Hm. Astarion.” She presses a finger to her mouth with the hand not holding Astarion’s,
never releasing him. “I feel like that’s a name I’d remember.”

“About as tall as your friend there,” Gandrel says, nodding at Astarion, his eyes narrowing by
the moment. “Same silver hair, too.”

The noose tightens.

Brilliance strikes.

Auri snaps her fingers. She’s not sure if this will work, but if it doesn’t, they’ll just have to
kill him. It’s unfortunate, but she’s not letting Cazador get anywhere near Astarion again for
as long as she breathes. “Oh,” she starts, and again, she strikes a bargain with the parasite in
her head. Auri lets the power sing through her, and she continues, “We heard about this,
didn’t we? That cobbler in Neverwinter– didn’t she say there was someone matching your
description snatching up victims in Waterdeep?”

“Yes,” Astarion says, but his discomfort’s on full display. His usual guile is missing from his
voice. “That does sound familiar.”

Gandrel’s suspicion hasn’t waned. He stares at Astarion, and Auri wraps her words in magic,
blanketing them in honey. Her voice drops to a lower register, the same one that had
possessed her in the hag’s lair, and she says, “Yes, I think so too. If I were you, I’d try my
luck in Waterdeep, and I’d forget you ever saw us here.”

Gandrel’s eyes glaze over, and he says, “Yes. Thank you for the advice.”

He walks away, hag apparently forgotten with Auri’s bewitchment. Auri doesn’t know which
direction leads to Waterdeep, but she’d venture he’s headed towards it.

“Masterful, darling,” Astarion murmurs once Gandrel’s out of earshot. “Though I’d be remiss
not to warn you about using that beautiful darkness of yours while the others are around. I
doubt they see it the same way that I do.”

Astarion’s right. She shouldn’t abuse the tadpole’s power; the others already think she’s a
hair’s breadth from going off the deep end. But what he’s saying is also a deflection. His fear
still brims under the surface. Astarion had no doubt known that Cazador was searching for
him, but this is tangible evidence.

Auri starts to unlace her fingers from his. “Sorry about just grabbing your hand like that.”

Astarion’s grip on her hand tightens like he doesn’t want to let go, so she doesn’t release him.
Auri still hasn’t gotten an answer to any of her questions. If he doesn’t believe that she’s
picking him over Viv (which, again, is a competition nowhere but in his head), she’ll just
have to remind him until she’s blue in the face.

“I’m choosing you,” Auri says, and pain and relief flood Astarion’s face in equal measure as
she pulls his face to hers. She drinks him in with the same vigor Astarion has when his fangs
 are at her neck.

He doesn’t trust her. Cazador is still out there. They have parasites in their brains.

Still, she’s got Viv in her pocket. They’re making good time across the Underdark. She’s
learning how to harness the tadpole.

This isn’t really peace. But when his fingers slip under her armor to touch the bare skin of her
stomach and her lips brush against his cheekbone, it’s at least a ceasefire.

Ethel had called Astarion her dog. The comparison had ignited her.

But a leash pulls both ways.

Chapter End Notes

next chapter: the myconid colony and a bit of filler before the forge

i think 3 chapters till we're in act 2! thanks for reading!

tumblr and twitter!

 astarion
Chapter Notes

hello i'm so sorry i did not respond to comments last chapter i promise i will try to get to
them i am so sorry but the spirit of auristarion overtook me and i wrote a 3k+ word
chapter the day after posting a 2.5k word chapter so hopefully you will forgive me i love
you.

please enjoy. <3

THIS ONE GOES OUT TO AMANDA. THANKS FOR KEEPING ME IN CHECK.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The feeling of Auri’s hand in his burns long after she’s pulled away. It’s the concentrated
power of the sun distilled into Astarion’s skin.

She should have sold him out as soon as his name fell from Gandrel’s lips. Astarion’s a small
price to pay, after all, to not have a vampire lord on their tail. She’d grabbed his hand instead,
rubbing her thumb over his knuckles as if that would be enough to convince him that she
wasn’t like everyone else–

But Auri isn’t like everyone else. She proves it over and over and over again, even when
there’s no gain in it for her. Astarion keeps waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under
him, but it never happens.

“Misdirecting Gandrel to Waterdeep gives us more time than killing him outright,” she says
as they walk back towards the faerie ring. “Think about it. If we kill him, he never reports
back to Cazador. If we send him to Waterdeep, he tells Cazador that he’s heard a rumor that
that’s where you are. Even if it’s only one extra day, it buys us time.”

Begrudgingly, Astarion has to concede that she’s correct.

For the second time today, a smell that Astarion isn’t expecting overwhelms him. Sulfur
floods his senses, and the shock of it almost makes him stumble. They’re nearly to the faerie
ring, but Auri tilts her head at him.

“Astarion?”

“It’s nothing–” he snaps, because he’s not in the mood to be reprimanded for considering a
deal with the devil, but she’s not that easy to throw off.

Her eyes narrow. “You don’t just get to get away with whatever you want because you’re an
exceptional kisser. I already let almost everything you do slide–” Auri smells it then, too. She
gags. “What is that?”

Raphael takes her question as an invitation to appear, and Astarion exhales through his nose.
There’s not an easy way to write this one off, now.

“An opportunity,” Astarion says under his breath. Instinctively, he steps forward. Auri seems
surprised but lets him shield her with his presence.

“Well? Have you given any thought to my offer, little mouse? Though, given present
company, I suppose you’re more like the cat.”

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Auri says, disarming smile on her face. “I’m Auri.”

“Raphael.” He bows just slightly, with a theatrical flourish. “A pleasure.”

Astarion doesn’t want Raphael anywhere near Auri, but she says, “So. I’m the mouse, and
Astarion’s the cat. What does that make you?”

Raphael grins, every bit the devil he is. “Why, my dear,” Raphael starts. The sound of the pet
name from his mouth makes Astarion bristle. “I’m the fox.”

“Can we take this somewhere private, Raphael?” Astarion asks. The question feels like
subservience, but he needs Raphael.

He has to know what his back says. He can’t bear not knowing any longer, not when the
world is shifting so much.

Auri seems hurt by the request, but Raphael scrutinizes him with interest. “Of course,” he
says, and when he snaps his fingers, Astarion’s transported once again to Raphael’s lush
abode, overflowing with food and drink and drenched in the smell of sex. He does a quick
scan of his surroundings and Auri’s nowhere to be found.

That’s a small comfort, at least.

“A lovely little prize you’ve caught yourself. I’d seen her from a distance, of course, but your
bard is even more charming up close. If she’s on the table, I’d give you nearly anything you’d
like.”

Astarion blinks at him, unamused. “Unfortunately for you, she’s only interested in the dregs
of society. All of this is much too lavish for her liking.”

Raphael quirks his lips into a frown. “A shame, though you do seem to be doing a fine
enough job at making her miserable as is.”

Astarion bites the inside of his cheek. Raphael’s trying to throw him off-balance for whatever
contract he inevitably thrusts into Astarion’s hands, and, much to Astarion’s disdain, Auri’s
become a weak spot. “I’ve decided to hang onto the parasite for the moment, though I
wouldn’t say that I’m rejecting your offer outright. I’m more interested in hearing your
thoughts on my little translation project.”
When Raphael sighs, it’s little more than punctuation for his transformation. Raphael as a
devil is a terrifying sight; he dwarfs Astarion and his eyes pierce with hellfire.

“When you reach the Shadow-Cursed Lands,” Raphael says, “You will doubtless meet an
enemy of mine. That is the price I ask to assist you. When you find him, I’ll make it clear.”

An assassination? That’s no price at all. Astarion nods.

Flames begin to swirl around Astarion again, and in the moments before Astarion’s returned
to the bog, Raphael says, “And take good care of the little mouse, because if you don’t, I
will.”

When Astarion blinks, he might as well never have been with Raphael in the first place. He’s
only a few paces from the faerie ring, and Auri’s no doubt–

No. She’s still here. Her footsteps dance on a dilapidated stone wall nearby. Auri hasn’t left to
find the others. She’s waited for him while he negotiated with Raphael, and as he watches,
Auri does a quick and simple two-step to a song that she’s humming.

Auri seems at home here even though they’re in the middle of a bog that smells rancid.
Astarion can sense at least four redcaps in the immediate vicinity, but she either doesn’t know
or doesn’t care. She turns and claps, all the while keeping time with a soft smile on her face,
completely unaware that she has an audience.

How has she found that joy when everything around them is so hopeless? Astarion exhales a
wry laugh, and when he does, Auri notices him. She startles like she always does, and she
loses her footing, falling flat on her back in the mud with a yelp.

He could kiss her again if he wanted. She’s made it very clear that she wouldn’t mind.

Instead, he says, “Grace incarnate, as usual.”

She sits up, coated in grime, and flicks a hand at Astarion. Mud flies from her fingers,
splattering against his breastplate.

“Are you going to tell me what that was about?”

Realistically, he could. It’s not the same, but every time that Auri draws on the parasite’s
power, she’s making a deal with illithids.

“No,” he says, sniffing, “And I’m not helping you up, either. You’re going to smell like the
bog for days.”

Humans live such short lives. She doesn’t have the experience that he has in hiding what he’s
feeling. The others might not notice it, but he does. Hurt flashes through her eyes for just the
barest moment, and–

I want to protect–
Astarion doesn’t want to hear it. He cuts off the tadpole connection as soon as it opens
between them, and in his distraction, Auri grabs at his wrist, pulling him down to the ground
with her.

Auri laughs, smiling widely, and there’s no evidence of the pain he’d glimpsed on her face
only moments before. “You don’t have to help me up. I’m not above dragging you down into
the dirt with me.”

The mud is everywhere, and Astarion only gets more uncomfortable as it dries. When they
reach the myconid colony at last, Astarion is in a foul mood that’s only tempered by the
memory of Auri’s lips and the ever-burning phantom feel of her hand in his.

Well. Maybe his mood’s not so foul at all. And, weirdly enough, Astarion has options,
because Viv knows Infernal if Auri is to be believed.

That begs the question – who would he rather let in on the secrets of his back? A literal devil
or Auri’s first love?

He isn’t sure.

And speaking of Auri’s first love, what had that reaction been about? Astarion can concede
that, given Auri’s vehement denial of it, she probably had not had sex of any form with Viv.
There was no hint of deceit when she’d ripped into him for the assumption.

She’d taken his assertion as a slight of her character and then said that she liked being around
him.

Confounding woman.

Astarion perches atop a mushroom that gives a bird’s eye view of the colony. Shadowheart
and Lae’zel are having an almost friendly conversation near a trader at the entrance to the
colony. Viv, Halsin, and Karlach accompany Auri as she speaks to a mind flayer called
Omeluum that they have been assured is not evil (Astarion is not convinced). Everyone is
accounted for but one, and Wyll is not normally known for his stealthiness, so his absence is
suspicious. Astarion scans the colony once more; surely his scouting has just been sloppy.

Oh. There he is.

“Nice little spot you’ve found,” Wyll says from behind him. Astarion had felt his footsteps
the second that Wyll had stepped onto the mushroom cap. Wyll sits next to Astarion, nodding
at the mud all over his armor, and continues, “Fun with Auri, I take it?”

“Fun.” Astarion rolls his eyes. “I would have preferred to stay clean.”

The performance is weak. Wyll chuckles. “You can’t even pretend to be mad at her. It’s a
good look for you.”

Besides Auri, Astarion would venture that Wyll is his favorite of the people he calls
companions nowadays. It’s a bit baffling, given the whole monster hunter thing, but there’s
little that makes sense nowadays.

When Astarion doesn’t answer, Wyll says, “Far be it from me to tell anybody how to live
their life, but having a good time with her isn’t a crime.”

Astarion squints at him. “What’s wrong with you? Why are you telling me this?”

“I like you well enough,” Wyll says, “But her?” He points at Auri for effect. “She’s holding
us together through sheer force of will. She said as much yesterday at camp. You’re the only
one she completely lets her guard down around.”

Astarion scoffs. “Idiot.”

But Wyll doesn’t laugh. He does that thing Astarion hates – he continues being earnest. “I’m
well aware that you haven’t been a good man, Astarion, but that sort of thing doesn’t really
matter anymore. What you do starting today? That’s what matters. And she’s convinced that
you’re a person worth knowing.”

Below them, Auri leans in to try to hug Omeluum before realizing that Omeluum is, in fact, a
mind flayer.

“What’s the harm in proving her right?”

Omeluum, upon realizing that Auri is trying to hug it, pats her on the head with a tentacle.
Auri laughs and the corners of her eyes crinkle.

Astarion’s lips twitch. He almost smiles.

Traveling alone would have been so much easier.

“You claim to have a lot of insight for someone with only one eye,” Astarion says.

“I don’t really think insight is dependent on the number of working eyes a person has.”

“If you don’t think about it terribly hard, my charm means that everything I say makes
sense.”

Wyll barks out a laugh, and Astarion has successfully navigated this conversation without
actually conceding any ground. As he’s patting himself on the back for it, the mushroom
beneath them shakes.

“Shit.” Astarion stands quickly, and Wyll also jumps to his feet, ready for a fight, but the
movement seems isolated to this mushroom specifically. Below them, the myconid sovereign
lumbers forward, and fungi are hard to read, but the sovereign doesn’t look happy. It makes
its way toward the mushroom where Wyll and Astarion stand, but Astarion can’t see anything
until he peers over the edge and down the stalk.

“Hells,” he mutters, and the owlbear cub headbutts the base of the mushroom again. Once
more, the mushroom trembles, and when the cub looks up and sees Astarion, it chirps.
Wyll chokes on a laugh. Astarion doesn’t acknowledge it.

He vaults over the edge of the mushroom cap, swinging down until he can lunge for the stalk.
Astarion launches himself forward and wraps a hand around the stalk to slide down until he
reaches the ground.

The cub chirps again, bouncing once Astarion’s in front of him, and Astarion pinches the
bridge of his nose.

Spaw looks down on them both, and Astarion hates the idea of having almost anyone in his
brain but Auri at any time, so before Spaw can transmit anything, he says, “Apologies; his
bark is worse than his bite.” He scoops the cub under one arm and turns without another
word, cutting a brisk pace out of the colony. Viv, Halsin, and Auri are on the way, and as he
passes them, he says, “You might want to finish up your business quickly. The cub isn’t a fan
of fungi.”

Auri bids Omeluum farewell and says, “The next time I see you, I’ll have figured out how to
give you a hug,” before whistling a sharp, three-note tune that apparently means move out.

Astarion doesn’t look back, but Auri jogs to catch up with him anyway.

Astarion doesn’t trust the cub, so he only drops him unceremoniously once they get back to
camp.

“Idiot.”

“His name is Harold,” Auri calls from where she’s setting up her tent.

Astarion grimaces. “You can’t be serious, love.”

“He doesn’t answer to it,” Karlach adds.

“I wouldn’t either. We might as well have named him Leaf. Or Rocky.” When Astarion
finishes speaking, the cub rubs up against his leg, chirping happily again. A laugh explodes
from deep in Karlach’s chest.

“No way. No way. Auri’s been trying to get him to answer to Harold for ages.” Karlach
crouches down and pats the dirt. “C’mere, Rocky. C’mere.”

The cub bounds toward Karlach, and her guffaw bounces off the walls of the Underdark. Auri
glowers, chewing her lip. “Rocky. What a stupid name.”

“Agreed,” Astarion says, “That’s the point I was making, though it seems to have backfired
on multiple levels.”

Auri huffs. It’s infuriatingly charming. She nods at him and curtly says, “Armor off.”

Astarion raises an eyebrow. “I’d prefer to split a bottle of wine first.”

Red flushes her face. “No. I’m going to clean your armor off. It’s too much to prestidigitate
clean, but there’s a stream not far to the south.”

“Want company?” Karlach asks, and Auri nods.

“Sure. We can take–” Auri grimaces like it’s painful to say. “We can take Rocky, too.”

As if to add insult to injury, the cub perks up again at the name, happy to pad after her and
Karlach once Astarion has shrugged off his armor.

There’s much to consider, but somehow, Astarion’s mind is blank as he sits on a cushion in
front of his tent. He’s exhausted, and not just physically. Parts of him feel like they’re coming
back to life the longer that this journey goes on, and Cazador–

Cazador’s always there. He’s a shadow on the wall even when Astarion can walk in the sun.

“Hi. Do you have a minute?”

Viv’s looking down at him sweetly, head tilted to the side. When Astarion doesn’t answer,
Viv fidgets, and it’s frankly quite fun to watch her sweat, but eventually, Shadowheart says,
“He’s not busy; he’s just an asshole.”

Astarion exhales a laugh, and he has to admit that he’s grown a bit fond of Shadowheart, too,
as this journey’s gone on.

“I just wanted to ask you a question,” Viv says.

“My answer will almost certainly be a lie.”

Viv, for reasons unknowable, takes this as a reason to sit next to him. “How old were you
when you were turned?”

That is not what he expected.

Astarion blinks twice; the question shocks honesty from him. “Thirty-nine.”

“Hm.” Viv rubs her arms. “I was born this way. The hag’s curse has always been part of me. I
guess I was just curious.”

“If you think we have a bond strong enough to force the story of my turning from me, you are
sorely mistaken.”

Astarion’s voice is sharp, but Viv’s not put off. She shakes her head. “No– I didn’t mean to
pry. I just wondered how it must have been different for you.”

There’s not a person anywhere who could dredge the details of that night from his lips. He
shrugs. “I used to be able to see my reflection in the mirror. Now I can’t. Oh, and the blood-
drinking, of course. That was an adjustment.”

Viv frowns. “You haven’t seen yourself since you were turned?”
Astarion waves a flippant hand. “My face gets the job done. That’s comfort enough.”

“Hm.” Viv doesn’t believe him. Astarion doesn’t care. “She really likes you, you know.”

As if Viv’s words summon her, Auri, Karlach, and Rocky walk back into camp. All three of
them are soaking wet, but it’s smiles all around.

“Are you in love with her?” Astarion asks. The question surprises him even as he asks, but
Viv just tilts her head back.

“Look at her, Astarion. Who wouldn’t be?”

And Viv’s right, of course. Auri’s red hair shines like flames when she gets too close to the
fire, and her smile brightens even the darkest crevices of the Underdark.

Viv elbows him in the side, and he somehow manages not to bare his teeth and snarl. “She’s
been my sister a long time, and even if she wasn’t, she’s not my type.”

“You know,” he says, “She said that to me once before herself, and then immediately threw
herself into your arms once she remembered you.”

Viv snorts. Astarion wonders if Auri learned the horrid affectation from her. “I’m going to
tell you what she said to me after everyone left the hag’s lair and it was just me and her alone,
okay? And you can’t tell her I told you because if you do, my life will end.”

Astarion sets his lips in a line, unamused.

“She told me,” Viv says, leaning closer conspiratorially, “That given the right moment, she
would very much like to suck you silly.”

Astarion puts a hand over his face and once he starts laughing, it’s somehow difficult to stop.
He strangles it into a cough after only a moment, but not before Auri’s shining face turns
toward them.

“I’m not a threat, Astarion. If it all plays out how Auri seems to want it to, I’m more likely to
wind up as something of your sister-in-law.”

“Getting a little ahead of yourself. There hasn’t even been any sucking yet.”

Viv stands, still smiling. “That’s okay. I’m patient, and so is she.”

Rocky crosses the camp almost faster than Astarion can react, but thankfully, he’s content to
nestle into a cushion next to him rather than tackle him to the ground. Viv nods as farewell,
and in the middle of the camp, Auri says, “Tomorrow, we tackle the forge and liberate
gnomekind!”

Of course they will. Astarion rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.
Chapter End Notes

tumblr and twitter!

want you guys to know also that when viv says, "I'm patient and so is she" she initially
said something else.

initially she said "that's alright. i love a slowburn."

and i was told that it would be TOO MUCH LIKE SEVERAL SUPERNATURAL
SEASONS THAT ARE BAD but i wanted to tell you my funny meta joke anyway. i
hope you enjoyed. i love you. goodbye. <3
 auri
Chapter Notes

this chapter's shorter, but i really want to be with astarion for the next bit, and also, i
update every two days, so i pray you will forgive this trespass.

also, as you might have noticed, I'm not interested in following canon to the letter; it's
boring and no one wants to see all that rehashed. we played the game! i tell you all this
to ask you please not to come for me when you see things change. i promise it's with
intent. <3

also, 3k kudos? what the fuck. i love you.

also also, i have to be up in 6 hours so I'm sorry if I've made insane typos <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Auri isn’t sure exactly what’s going on, but Astarion’s making a deal with something infernal
in nature. She knows that much. And if she had to guess, what he’ll get in return has
something to do with the scars on his back.

Viv can help him with that, but the vulnerability required is so much to ask of him.

The second that the thought flits through Auri’s mind, she frowns at herself. What a stupid
thing to even ruminate on. A deal with the devil or asking Astarion if he’ll let Viv translate
his scars? It shouldn't even be a consideration, but it's not really her call to make.

And speaking of Viv, Auri is never letting her leave her side again. She can’t think of a better
person to take with her into the Grymforge, and she wouldn’t want to leave her behind
anyway. Astarion, too, has become her constant shadow, and though she still isn’t sure where
they stand, it’s better between them than it was a day ago.

She can understand him balking at her relationship with Viv. She and Auri are closer than
sisters, and Auri knows that Astarion doesn’t really know how to do anything where
relationships are involved.

But Viv is magnetic. Auri watches as Astarion reluctantly hands over one of his daggers, and
she recognizes the look on Viv’s face as she tests the balance of the blade.

Viv’s concocting something.

“How are you feeling?” Halsin asks next to her. Auri’s heart rate explodes, and she grips her
chest.
“Hells, Halsin–”

He chuckles. “Your deal with the parasite has not made you more perceptive, I see.”

It’s not passive-aggressive, exactly, but he’s fishing for information. Auri can’t blame him.
The tadpole’s grown stronger since she began drawing on its power, but she’s still in control,
and after speaking with Omeluum, she has no fear of continuing to do so.

Absently, she runs her fingers over the ring in her pocket.

“If you feel yourself changing– truly changing,” Omeluum had said, “Wear this. It will limit
the parasite’s influence, but the cost will be its powers.”

Halsin had heard that conversation too, of course, but his caution is understandable. “I feel
like myself, Halsin. I promise.”

When Halsin hums, Auri’s confident that he doesn’t believe her, but there isn’t anything she
can do about that. He nods in Astarion and Viv’s direction. “They’ve become fast friends,
haven’t they?”

Viv’s taller than Astarion is by no small amount; she holds his dagger above his head, and as
they approach, Auri can hear him say, “I’m not going to jump for it, you wretched little
hexblood–”

Astarion’s arms are crossed petulantly. When Viv laughs, the smile it pulls from Auri is
instinctual. She hadn’t dreamed she’d see Viv again this soon. When Viv notices them, she
drops the dagger back into Astarion’s hands and waves at Auri brightly.

Auri smiles. Halsin says, “It’s no small feat to have the bond you do.”

“I know,” Auri says. Viv moves to group up with Auri and Halsin, but she’s distracted, and
Astarion knows it. His eyes dance with mischief, and he extends a leg to trip her, but Auri
says, “Watch your feet,” and Viv sidesteps his cruelty just barely.

She barks out a laugh, and Astarion pouts. “Auri was more fun before we had you on board.”

“Ready?” Halsin asks. Viv and Auri nod excitedly, and Astarion huffs.

“Oh, of course. You know how much I love getting my hands dirty.”

No one approved of Auri’s decision to let Gut brand her with the Mark of the Absolute, but
the duergar guarding the boat that will take them to the forge are convinced easily by it.

“Why did you let them do that to you?” Viv whispers once they’ve boarded the boat, and she
looks from Auri to Astarion and Halsin as if they are somehow responsible for it.

Astarion shrugs and shakes his head. “I’m with you. Gruesome.”

“I was imprisoned at the time,” Halsin says.

Viv frowns, but Auri says, “I wasn’t about to turn down a chance at getting this parasite out
of me even if it meant letting a goblin brand me.”

The Underdark hasn’t been as sinister as Auri had thought it might be, but this particular leg
of the journey unsettles her. There’s no wind, but they move forward steadily by the duergar’s
hand. Astarion’s found the highest point that the ship will allow, and Halsin stands at the bow,
hands folded behind his back.

Viv sits down on a grimy bench covered in substances that Auri doesn’t want to consider and
pats the space next to her.

“Full disclosure,” Viv says in a hushed whisper when Auri obliges, “I want to kill every last
one of these duergar. I would even if Spaw hadn’t asked us to. I don’t like slavers.”

From above, there’s a chuckle when Viv finishes her thought, and Auri looks up. Astarion’s
perched in what Auri can only call a crow’s nest, though it looks nothing like its namesake.
He looks every bit a pirate rather than a vampire. Auri shoots him a look, willing him silent,
and Astarion grins, all teeth. “Don’t look at me like that, love. You know violence and sex are
my only callings.”

Auri snorts because she knows that Astarion hates the sound, but for once, he doesn’t protest.
She isn’t sure why, at first, but there are lights in the distance, and Halsin says, “We’re nearly
there.”

Auri breathes in deeply. Viv reaches over and squeezes her hand. “You’ve done great so far
without me,” she says. “Imagine how easy this will be now that we’re back together again.”

And Viv, of course, doesn’t know that this has been all kinds of pain at every turn, so Auri
just smiles and nods.

Auri leads them for reasons that she still doesn’t fully understand, but Halsin and Viv fall into
step next to one another right behind her and Astarion’s satisfied to bring up the rear. Every
now and then when Auri looks over her shoulder, she can’t see him, but he must know that
she’s looking. When the anxiety starts to creep up her throat and when her eyes dart side to
side seeking him out, Astarion always pops back into her vision with a razor-sharp smirk.

It’s a small relief, given the brutality of the Grymforge. Auri knew that the gnomes were
slaves, but it’s so much worse than she’d imagined. They suffer at every turn, and all Auri
can do is bear it.

The duergar eye them with suspicion, but once again the Mark of the Absolute proves useful.
None of them would dare impede a True Soul.

And Auri doesn’t relish violence like Astarion does, but every time there’s the crack of a
whip against a gnomish back, she grows more and more convinced that there’s not a peaceful
resolution to this, particularly given Spaw’s heartfelt plea to eliminate the duergar threat.
Astarion’s face is schooled, though Auri can’t imagine that he’s not desensitized to this
violence. To him, this probably seems tame. Halsin hardens by the moment, and he cuts an
imposing figure anyway.

But somehow, Viv’s complete and total inability to bluff had slipped Auri’s mind. Viv winces
at each instance of brutality that they pass, and as they continue through the Grymforge,
things don’t get any better.

There are four gnomes wielding pickaxes, and they labor fruitlessly to clear away a rockslide.
One slows his pace, and when he does, the duergar overseeing them puts a boot into his back,
knocking him belly-first onto the floor. “Pick it up, maggot, or you’re in for much worse.”

Viv’s not able to bite her lip fast enough to contain the gasp that escapes her.

The gnome in the myconid colony had warned Auri about the duergar in charge at the
Grymforge, second only to True Soul Nere. Sergeant Thrinn. She looks even crueler in
person. At Viv’s outburst, Thrinn turns and sizes her up. Viv is almost twice her height, but
Thrinn oozes intimidation. Viv swallows hard, and Thrinn scans each of them in turn.

“Something to say?” Thrinn crosses her arms. “The human and the pale one – I could have
done with warning from the lookout that there were True Souls coming. I can sense the
Absolute in you. But you–” Thrinn points at Viv. “And you–” Halsin receives the same
treatment. “If you have something to say about my operation, take it elsewhere. I have a True
Soul buried under all this rubble and if I don’t retrieve him, the Absolute’s going to have my
liver.”

“I–” Viv starts, and Auri’s not sure what she’s going to say. The situation is delicate at best,
and Thrinn wasn’t lying about the True Soul being trapped in that rockslide. Auri can feel
their tadpole prodding at hers, but she’s not particularly interested in letting someone that she
doesn’t know in.

“Please, pet, mind your manners.”

Astarion’s words are silken honey. His voice is the one he’d used on Auri all those nights ago
at the tiefling party (it hasn’t been that long, really, but they’ve been through so much). Auri
blushes even at the memory, but the voice isn’t for her.

It’s a weapon, or, more accurately, a shield, and he’s using it for Viv. He saunters up next to
her before addressing Thrinn. “You’ll have to forgive her. She usually knows her place, but I
must admit that I find her sense of justice to be part of her…” Astarion trails a finger down
Viv’s cheek. Yesterday morning, the action would have filled Auri with raging jealousy.
Today, she appreciates it for what it is. “Charm.”

Auri manages not to shudder at the intensity of his performance, and it seems to satisfy
Thrinn, but she looks to Halsin, then, and Auri’s too knocked off-kilter to put on a convincing
show. Having to go after Astarion in any kind of act is always embarrassing, but their cover
depends on it, so she lays a hand on Halsin’s arm that hopefully comes across as possesive
and silently begs him not to protest.
He doesn’t. In fact, he even half-smiles.

“Not to be forward,” Astarion says, moving closer to Thrinn, “But I just had a little chat with
our friend in there.” He nods at the rubble. “Something about poisonous geysers and how
he’s tempted to strangle those little gnomes he’s trapped in there with? In any event, he’d
appreciate being freed sooner rather than later.”

Auri had shut the intrusion out. Astarion let it in.

Thrinn rolls her eyes. “I imagine he would. If we don’t, it’s both our heads for the Absolute.”

“Any suggestions for how we might do that?” Auri asks.

Thrinn purses her lips, unamused. “You showed up with a brick shithouse of an elf on your
arm. Try throwing him at it.” From her peripheral vision, she sees Astarion eyeing Halsin like
he can’t decide whether to feel jealousy or lust. Thrinn continues, “I don’t care what you do,
but we’d better get him out of there.” She pauses, again casting a suspicious glance over
Halsin and Viv. “And keep your playthings close – we wouldn’t them to have an accident.”

There’s a shifting sound from behind Thrinn; as Auri watches, a boulder comes loose from
the rockslide. Thrinn turns, and the gnomes fear her wrath too much to stop working. They
don’t even look up.

The boulder hits the ground.

Four gnomes become three.

The others don’t stop working.

Viv claps a hand over her mouth and steps backward. When she does, she meets Astarion.
Auri’s every muscle tenses. Halsin puts a stabilizing hand on her back.

Astarion’s voice, the one he uses when they play their truth game, sounds in Auri’s head.

I’ll bleed them dry for you if you like, love. Is that what you want?

He doesn’t give a shit about the gnomes. Astarion only cares because she does. The fact
rankles under Auri’s skin, but this is hardly the time for the moral high road.

So what does she have? How does she get these gnomes out alive and then get to the
Shadow-Cursed Lands? Auri lets her eyes flutter shut for a moment.

She has herself.

She has a rogue who’s quicker than any mortal could dream of being.

She has an archdruid with a heart of gold.

And she has–

 She has Viv.

Auri’s eyes shoot open.

Oh, darling, I like the way you think.

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Auri’s idea is stunningly chaotic. Astarion approves of all points but one.

Astarion frowns, a hand on his hip. Auri sets her mouth in a line.

“Pouting at me doesn’t automatically mean that you get your way. And it makes sense like
this; you and I can speak through the tadpole if we need to.”

What Auri says makes sense. Astarion pouts anyway.

He should be thankful, he supposes. Splitting up does make sense, and without Auri to guide
his hand, he can get into all the trouble he likes, and Viv isn’t so insufferable.

And if another of their companions has to accompany Auri in his place, there are worse
candidates than Halsin. Out of them all (besides Auri), he’s the one least likely to have
ulterior motives. He’s a do-gooder type, too. He and Auri are cut from the same cloth.

“So, one more time – the plan,” Auri says in a hushed whisper. “You and Viv are going to
buy, steal, or salvage whatever you can to make explosives to free Nere and to arm these
gnomes. Halsin and I are going to keep scouting the area and try to make inroads with them
in the meantime.”

Viv nods. Astarion huffs. Halsin chuckles.

“Don’t worry, vampire. I’ll take good care of her.”

Astarion squints. For some reason, the bait doesn’t tempt him, even though it should. “I see
the appeal. I wouldn’t blame her.”

Auri flushes, face brighter than the lava all around them, and that’s compensation enough.

But don’t get any ideas, darling. He sends the words to Auri via parasite, and she bites her
lip.

Beautiful thing. If Halsin actually touches her, Astarion will gut him.
“Shall we get going then, pet?” he asks Viv.

Playful jealousy teases his and Auri’s connection. Likewise, darling.

It’s his own pet name for her turned against him. Desire pools in his stomach.

She feels possessive of him. Fascinating.

Astarion turns; Viv’s on his heels. There’s a hand on his forearm, and he whips around
instinctively, but it’s Auri, and it’s alright if it’s Auri.

“Keep Nere out of your head,” she says.

Astarion smirks. “Give me something else to think about, then.”

Auri doesn’t budge. The worm in Astarion’s head writhes, and he’s familiar enough with the
feeling to know that it’s her seeking entry.

When he lets her in, it’s like when she’d shown him the scars on his back but infinitely
sweeter.

His hands cup my face. Imagine how good I could make him feel if we weren’t in the middle
of a bog outside a hag’s lair. Kisses taste better when there are pillows to fall back on. My
lips meet his and it puts any lightshow of Viv’s to shame. I want to take him someplace where
I can watch him melt in my hands–

Astarion’s breeches are tight. He coughs. Auri’s smirk is razor-sharp, and Astarion doesn’t
have a reflection but he recognizes it anyway.

It’s his smirk.

Whether she knows that she’s done it or not, Auri’s added him to her arsenal of masks.

She’s under his skin. It’s uncomfortable and thrilling.

“Shall we go, then?” she asks Halsin. He nods, and when Auri turns, he’s on her heels.

Stay safe, says her voice in his head. She's cycling through personas, unwilling to show that
she's scared herself as well as terrified of being unable to free the gnomes.

In response, he sends the image of her underneath him by the fire at camp a few nights ago,
his hips pinning her down.

She tries to sound unamused, but she’s flustered. Be serious.

You started it.

When Auri and Halsin are gone, Viv says, “So. What’s next?”

Astarion exhales. “Do I look like a leader to you?”

Viv smiles, smug. “You look like you’d do anything to make Auri happy.”

“I can’t stand you.”

“Has anyone told you that you’d fit in perfectly in the circus?”

Astarion glowers. “No.”

“Our troupe needed a knife thrower; we never found one worth a rat’s ass.”

“Gods. I’m going to kill you.”

It got Viv’s mind off the gnomes’ sob story for the moment at least.

It doesn’t last. There’s a cry and the sound of blood splattering on the floor. Viv flinches.
Astarion scoffs. “No wonder Auri’s so soft if you were the person she was looking up to all
these years. If it bothers you so badly, let’s get started. The faster we blow this place to the
hells, the faster these gnomes can return to whatever pathetic excuse for a life they had before
they were enslaved.”

Viv chews her lip, but she nods. “I– I don’t really need much. Auri didn’t give me a chance to
explain it all, which makes sense given the circumstances, but I can make regular
smokepowder bombs with what I have in my bag.” She jostles it for effect.

“Oh.” Astarion raises an eyebrow. “Job well done by us, then.”

Viv nods. “Yeah. Mostly. But these duergar are almost all well-armed. The bombs will hurt
them, but–”

Astarion rolls his eyes. Of course they have to do more. “But?”

“But I could make the bombs deadlier. I just need junk metal. There’s plenty of it around; if I
could shave the metal down to shards, I could infuse the shards with a latent heat metal spell,
and–”

Astarion holds a hand up. “I don’t care. Will it make the fight uglier?”

“Infinitely.”

“Good enough for me.”

“I can sweet-talk the trader over there.” Viv nods at the person in question. “I don’t doubt
he’s got something he’d be willing to let us take off his hands.”

Astarion’s face twists in disgust. “You’re going to buy components? What is wrong with
you?”

“What would you suggest–”

“Steal them, obviously.”

“I–” Viv stops. “Okay. How about this? I’ll go buy or wheedle whatever I can from him. You
go and steal from… whoever you want. Just stay close.”

“Or what? You’ll report me to the authorities?”

“Worse. I’ll report you to Auri.”

“Oh, please. She’s got all kinds of buttons that defuse her in a second flat.”

Viv quirks her lips, unamused. “And she’d be thrilled if you’d make good on those buttons,
but here we are.”

Astarion exhales a laugh. Viv fishes in her pocket and produces a smooth stone, tossing it to
him. There’s a lyre with ivy winding through it carved on top of it.

“It’s a sending stone. I’ve got one that matches. You’re quicker and sneakier than me; I’ll
never be able to find you without help if I don’t know where you are. If we need each other,
we can speak through that, and at least we can tell Auri we didn’t really split up if this breaks
bad.”

Unfortunately, Astarion sees the logic in this line of thought. He stows it away and nods, and
then he fades away into the background, slipping away in that intangible way he wouldn’t be
able to explain to anyone else.

Still, he hears Viv snort. “Stupid vampire.”

It sounds almost affectionate. He smirks.

The duergar are complacent in their dominance. Astarion finds himself with an abundance of
weapons and tools while barely lifting a finger. It would be funny if his disgust didn’t grow
by the moment.

They’re investing all this energy in freeing these gnomes. It could be directed in infinitely
better ways. They could, for example, be killing the gnomes, which would at least be fun.

No one spared a fraction of this for him, and he had to do much worse than swing a pickaxe
all day.

For Auri, though, he complies, flitting behind and around any number of guards, pilfering
what he can. Astarion keeps an eye on Viv, too, but she seems to be doing just fine on her
own. He watches her pack grow heavier, and his does, too.

There are platforms that stretch the length of the forge high up above where the work is being
done. Astarion’s not sure what they’re for, but they’re to his benefit. They give him an easy
way to move without being noticed, and it wouldn’t have been a struggle anyway, but like
this, it’s effortless.

So he bounces between Viv and Auri. Halsin can take care of himself, but he also doesn’t
leave Auri’s side once for the duration of their crusade to ignite revolution in the hearts of
gnomekind. She spins every gnome they speak to in her web of bardic magic, the kind that
she doesn’t need the Weave for. Auri swears that she and Halsin and Viv and Astarion will
fight on the rebels’ side till the end, whatever the end may be, and even worse than that, she
means it.

Where was Auri when he was praying to every god he could think of seeking some kind of
reprieve? Her great-great-grandparents weren’t even born then, sure, but the principle of the
question stands. People like her aren’t real. They can’t be real because if they were, he
wouldn’t be the way that he is.

But Astarion is the wretch that he is, and Auri’s an angel made mortal. He’s accepted, mostly,
that her kindness is real, even if it’s difficult to stomach.

No one gets saved in this world, but Auri never got the memo.

That’s not Auri’s fault, he supposes. If he can blame anyone for Auri’s behavior, it’s probably
Viv.

When he looks for her, her bag is so heavy that she can scarcely lift it. Viv’s struggling to
find something in her pocket, and Astarion supposes it would be a waste of the sending
stone’s magic, so he spares her the trouble.

Once he’s next to her, he asks, “Find what you were looking for?”

It would scare Auri enough that she’d almost hit the ceiling. Viv just grins.

“Ready to make some trouble?”

“Do I look like I’m built for anything else?”

Viv’s quicker at making bombs than she should be, and every time Astarion thinks that he’s
got Auri figured out, she manages to surprise him.

To each gnome that she’s radicalized (or that was itching for rebellion already), she says, “I
don’t much care to speak to the True Soul stuck in there. Once your friends are out, let loose.
We’ll have your back.”

And then she hands each one a smokepowder bomb that she’s christened the Viv Special,
because apparently her boundless kindness and mercy does not extend to the subjugators of
these gnomes.

Astarion abstains from handing them out, but the others seem to have a wonderful time, and
when Auri’s satisfied, she says, “Get them back, Sergeant,” to Thrinn.

Guards and slaves alike heed Thrinn’s call, and once Auri deems their distance appropriate,
she tosses the bomb at the rockslide–

And nothing happens.

Auri blinks.

Astarion fights bravely to not double over with laughter and is only vaguely successful.

“O-oh,” Viv starts sheepishly, “That– that one was from an old batch, I think. It probably just
needs a little help.”

“A little help?” Auri asks.

“Yeah. A flame or something.”

“I don’t really think walking up there and lighting it is a smart solution–”

“Oh, for– just back up,” Astarion says, and he focuses on the bomb and incants, “Ignis.”

His magic is a mostly pathetic thing, but it’s useful every now and again. Auri’s mouth is
wide open and she’s staring at him.

“You can do magic?”

“My dear, I contain multitudes.”

Viv, for all her performance anxiety, has created a marvelous bomb with the aid of his fire
bolt. It obliterates the rock slide, and True Soul Nere crawls out without a shred of the dignity
that Astarion imagines he’d prefer to project. The gnomes inside run, coughing, to their
brethren, and Nere starts, “The Absolute–”

Auri’s eyes narrow. She’s so good at talking, but she’s very much against doing so in this
moment. Nere gets two words only.

“Get fucked.”

And bombs fly.

It’s a slaughter; Thrinn’s people are completely unprepared for an assault like this and Nere is
weak from his time trapped with the poison geysers. Explosions echo off the cavern walls,
but Viv’s bombs are as precise as bombs can be. They make small, concentrated blasts to
avoid friendly fire, and the metal she’s repurposed as shrapnel meets its mark in several
cultist bodies.

Several pieces embed themselves in Thrinn’s face, and when they do, a wicked grin splits
Viv’s face. She says something, but Astarion can’t hear what it is in the clamor. When she
does, every bit of metal that had found a home inside a bomb glows red.

And the duergar tear themselves apart trying to pick the pinpricks of molten heat from their
skin.

They fall, each more mangled than the last, and again, Astarion has nary lifted a finger.

It was a good show, though. Astarion would give it a 7/10.

And, well, he lifts a single finger. There’s a grunting, gurgling guard that’s spitting up blood
next to him, and Astarion eventually puts him out of his misery.

They haven’t managed to save all the gnomes, but most have come out of this in one piece.
Astarion cleans blood from his daggers with the ragged shirt on one that didn’t. Halsin looks
at him with distaste, but Astarion, shockingly, doesn’t care at all what Halsin thinks.

Auri’s swarmed with grateful gnomes who offer their praises and promises of unparalleled
rewards when next she sees them, but, as usual, she refuses.

“There’s no reward that can match you all leaving here free. I’m sorry for the ones you lost,
but please, just make it home. I have friends who are waiting outside the forge; they were
ordered to dispose of the duergar guarding the dock. It should be safe for you now, or as safe
as the Underdark can be.”

Astarion groans. “Did you really tell them to clean all those idiots up after we went through?
Why not have them do that first? It would have saved us having to see that ghastly little mark
on your hand.”

But freedom fighting has left Auri in a mood that Astarion’s rarely been blessed to see. Her
smile’s sparkling when she looks at him, and he can’t see her freckles for the duergar blood
peppering her face. “We couldn’t have done it without you. You know that, right?”

Astarion scoffs, and maybe his ears do pinken just the slightest, but Auri’s earnestness is a
known quantity. “Yes, yes, darling, we’ve been over this. You’re useless without me.”

But Auri doesn’t blush. She doesn’t flirt back. She doesn’t tease him. She just keeps smiling
at him like the entire room isn’t looking at her.

The high of battle wanes. Viv holds out a hand to Halsin for a high-five; when he indulges
her, she pulls it away at the last second, and he rolls his eyes, laughing. When she grins,
Halsin ruffles her hair, and when he does, Viv almost looks bashful. The gnomes shuffle out
slower than Astarion would like, and he’s paying too close attention to them.

Taking his eyes off Auri is a cardinal sin. In the aftermath of the chaos, Astarion’s missed
Thrinn’s still-beating heart.

Auri’s kneeling next to Nere’s corpse, inspecting it for something, though Astarion hasn’t the
faintest idea of what. He doesn’t even know if she’s found what she’s looking for or not when
she stands, but Thrinn’s lying nearby, and they’d all thought her dead.

Astarion only hears her pulse when she’s pooled all her energy into one final, suicidal assault.
Thrinn staggers to her feet, and the world slows down. Her face is charred black. As her last
act, she summons everything she has left and then some, and she launches herself at Auri.

When Thrinn makes impact, it knocks the air from Auri’s lungs, and Astarion’s faster than
anyone they’ve met so far, but today, he’s too slow.

His speed counts for nothing. She reaches for him as she falls.
 Thrinn and Auri hurtle off the ledge.

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Chapter Notes

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Auri only hears the music when the tadpole winds the tendrils of its influence through her
gray matter. It’s not her song, exactly, but it makes up the base. It’s a dangerous, hypnotic
thing, but they’re mutually dependent, the parasite and her. She needs it, and it needs her.
Sometimes, when the air is still and she’s alone in her tent, Auri almost feels like it’s
speaking to her.

Maybe she should be surprised when the tadpole in Nere’s head presses against her
consciousness even when its vessel is dead. When it speaks to her, it doesn’t use words.

She recognizes the feeling.

Authority.

Auri’s feet move themselves. The others are celebrating.

She kneels. Her hand is at Nere’s hairline and a cool blanket drapes itself over the ever-
burning coals of her anxiety and fear. She knows this feeling. They need each other, these
tadpoles and her.

Auri calls the parasite home, and it embraces her in return – but something’s different.

She stands, the power singing through her, and the sensation of wriggling in her skull is
doubled, briefly, and then there’s turmoil and flashes of flailing, a desperate grab for power
that Auri can’t comprehend.

Auri takes a step back at the intensity of the conflict. There’s a voice in her head, and it’s not
Astarion.

care, sister.

The voice is one that she’s never heard before. It’s wispy, feathery; it skates along the inside
of her skull like a leaf on the breeze.

It should startle her, but its warning sounds urgent. Auri tries to heed it, but she’s too slow.
Thrinn makes contact with her in the same second that Auri turns to see her approach. Wind
rushes past Auri’s ears and Astarion’s fingers brush hers, but he comes up just short.

That's not fair. She heard him.

Not her not her anyone but her–

Auri freed the gnomes, at least. And Astarion only complained once. That's progress. And
she'll die knowing who Viv is.

They can do it without her. They can.

Thrinn’s dead. Her body goes limp and her corpse releases Auri from its grasp. How long has
she been falling?

She can’t breathe. The forge was already sweltering, and the lava grows closer by the
moment. She’s going to die.

Auri doesn’t want to die.

She clenches her eyes shut. Hopefully, it will be fast.

She doesn’t know if Astarion can hear her but she has to hope. In another two seconds, she
won’t even be able to try.

Take care of Viv–

When Auri tries to look upward, as if that will make Astarion more likely to hear the message
she’s sending out to him, there’s a mass of flesh and feathers falling towards her.

Maybe she’s dead already. Owlbears can’t fly, and there’s no reason that an owlbear would be
here anyway.

Take care of her yourself.

Astarion’s in her head again, but he doesn’t sound like himself. Bitterness taints that voice
that Auri’s come to adore.

The owlbear’s closer now; it’s diving headfirst at her. Auri will die from its claws before the
lava swallows her up.

Auri clenches her eyes shut. Faintly, she registers the smell of burning hair. She braces
herself for incineration – is that what it will feel like? She’s so scared that she can’t even cry.

But her inevitable death never comes. Something wraps around her midsection, and her eyes
spring open.

The owlbear is real, but owlbears still can’t fly. Its claws tear at her tunic but without malice.
It fights for purchase on her body, trying desperately not to pierce her skin, and it finally
gains control in time to veer off toward a platform that’s nearly buried in the lava. It lands
ungracefully on one paw, apparently concerned with her bodily well-being, and nothing
makes sense. She briefly wonders if being torn asunder will hurt less than her body melting
into nothing, but then, the owlbear releases her.

Auri backs away from it; its chest is heaving from the effort of the dive, and it looks at her.

Its eyes are the deep green of the Emerald Grove. They’re Halsin’s eyes.

Auri bursts into tears and throws herself forward, wrapping her arms around Halsin’s owlbear
neck.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she sobs, and Halsin chirps in a way all too sweet for the
owlbear’s menacing disposition. He nuzzles his beak in her hair, and Auri fists her hands in
his feathers. “I was going to die,” she whimpers. “I was all but dead.”

Auri’s shivering, and Halsin rumbles out a comforting purr that vibrates her entire body.

“How do we get back up?” Auri sniffles.

Halsin doesn’t get a chance to answer.

There’s a clanging sound. Auri steps away from Halsin, and they both search for the source.

The platform where Halsin and Auri are standing is one of five; a thin metal bridge connects
them to form a circle by connecting four of them, and there’s a fifth in the center, a sea of
lava separating it from the others with a walkway to connect it to the platform to Auri’s left.
A walkway is opposite Halsin and Auri on the other side of the circle, apparently the mouth
of some kind of tunnel.

There’s a clanging sound again.

sister. care.

The voice warns her again as if she couldn’t have guessed that danger was coming. Next to
her, Halsin’s alight with his magic, and he becomes an elf again before her eyes.

“What is that?” he asks, no hint of humor on his face.

Auri’s breathing is too fast. There are stars in her vision.

A third clanging sound rings out.

She and Halsin are alone down here. Viv and Astarion won’t be able to help with whatever’s
coming.

The fourth clanging is accompanied by movement in the tunnel, and when she sees what
crawls out, she’s not breathing too fast anymore. Auri can’t breathe at all.

It’s a construct of monstrous proportions. Molten metal flows through its core, and light
shines off its metal plates. It’s not made of any material that Auri recognizes, and its head
swings to look at her and Halsin.

“THREAT IDENTIFIED.”

Auri can’t move. She’s frozen to the spot. Halsin is saying something, but Auri can’t hear it.
Halsin grips her shoulders, and his mouth is still moving.

When she doesn’t react, Halsin steps away. His magic envelops him once more as panic seeps
from Auri, and the feathers that sprout from him this time are different. Halsin spends so
much time as a bear that watching him shift into any other creature feels unnatural, but he
doesn’t even wait until his wild shape is complete to take to the air. Auri’s eyes are still
locked on the construct as Halsin becomes a giant eagle fully.

He swoops forward, going on the offensive. Halsin rakes his talons against the construct’s
plates and achieves nothing for his trouble. His assault bounces off the construct harmlessly
and–

sister. the druid will fail.

The voice manages, finally, to snap Auri from her fugue state. She doesn’t have time to fall
apart.

The construct swings at Halsin, and he dodges the attack barely.

let me help.

When Auri opens herself to the parasite, it couldn’t be clearer that the voice she’s hearing is
the tadpole. The music rips through her, but she still doubts she and Halsin will be enough on
their own.

To Astarion, she calls, I need you, and she prays that he can hear. This is much farther apart
than they usually are when using the parasite to speak, and all she can do is hope, but her
hope counts for something.

He still doesn’t quite sound like himself, but he says, Bait that thing into the middle.

And Auri isn’t going to argue. When she relays the information to Halsin, she isn’t sure that
he hears. His attention is entirely consumed by avoiding the construct’s blows, but when Auri
finally manages to arm herself with her lyre and wrap him in music, Halsin’s speed doubles.
When it does, he flies a circle around its head, apparently trying to confuse it before once
fruitlessly clawing at its face with his talons.

Auri doesn’t understand why, then Halsin’s eyes meet hers and he dives closer to the lava,
making a direct path for the center platform.

He’s trying to goad it. He wants to convince the construct that he’s the threat and that Auri’s a
non-factor.

Auri bites the inside of her cheek.

They’re going to get out of here alive. They have to.

Halsin plays the mouse in the highest-stakes cat-and-mouse game that Auri’s ever seen.
When the construct steps into the lava, it causes waves that are taller than Auri, but it presses
forward as though the heat doesn’t affect it at all.

Finally, the construct steps onto the middle platform. Halsin hovers over the lava to Auri’s
right, and she doesn’t know why Astarion wanted them to do this–

But the hammer drops, then, in an all too literal sense, and Auri gets it.

She’s been so focused on Halsin and the construct that she hasn’t given their surroundings the
attention that they deserve. This is a forge after all, and the more that Auri considers it, the
middle platform looks a lot like an anvil.

And when she looks up, Auri sees a ledge where Viv stands at a console of some kind,
pulling levers at a pace that certainly makes it look like she knows what she’s doing. Auri
blinks, and when her eyes open again, Viv slams her open palm into the console, a manic grin
on her face.

When she does, there’s a creaking sound, and then something looses itself from the ceiling
above them.

Viv’s grin is infectious. Auri’s face splits with one that’s similar, and the forge hammer drops
directly on top of the construct. As it falls, there’s a flash of silver that Auri would recognize
anywhere.

he’s here, sings the parasite in her brain, like her relief at the site of Astarion is infectious,
and the forge hammer crashes on top of the construct, knocking it prone on the anvil.

“Viv says it’s made of adamantine,” Astarion says, projecting enough that Halsin can hear
him. “The lava should overheat it, but otherwise, it’s invulnerable. So hit it. Now.”

Halsin doesn’t need to be told twice. He launches forward, and this third time, his talons
prove effective. He peels adamantine from the construct’s shell, and Astarion doesn’t wait for
Halsin to invite him to join. Viv’s enchanted him, surely, because he makes the leap from the
platform where they’re standing to the anvil in the middle effortlessly. His blades cut through
the construct’s limbs effortlessly, and he and Halsin both retreat when the construct manages
to start moving again.

The construct runs a cooling process of some kind; Auri can see its plates changing color
accordingly.

But she’s tired. She wants this to be over.

She’s still in control, but her lyre seems superfluous. It’s her music, after all; the instrument is
just a conduit.

Auri attaches the lyre to her belt again and holds out both hands. The magic rips through her,
a melody unmatched by any she’s ever heard before, and it’s not the one she’s used to, but it
could be hers, if she lets it. Why wouldn’t she want it to be? It’s eerie and beautiful and she
can wrap herself in it like an old friend.

Auri wills the construct molten, and the magic makes it so. It stumbles as it tries to find its
feet once more, and Auri hears the creaking sound once more and the distant sound of Viv’s
gleeful laughter.

The hammer drops a second time, and Auri’s spell has devastated the construct’s structural
integrity. Astarion’s on her left and Halsin’s on her right and as they watch, Viv flattens the
construct to a shadow of its former self. The hammer sits on its chest, and after a moment,
Viv’s laugh rings out, audible over the bubbling of lava all around them.

“That was amazing!” she shouts down to them. “Now let’s get out of here; I hate this place.
You can ride the hammer back up.”

Halsin bows his head to Auri and Astarion in turn, the best impersonation that a giant eagle
can do of a nod, and takes flight, wings lifting him up toward Viv.

And, as it always seems to be at the end of these things, she and Astarion are alone. Auri
turns to smile at him, to say thank you, to tell him how grateful she is that he came to help–

But when she does, he isn’t there. He’s leapt to the center again courtesy of Viv’s
enchantment.

Auri blinks twice. Pain grips her chest.

She doesn’t know what she’s done wrong, but she walks around herself, and when she steps
onto the hammer-turned-elevator, Astarion doesn’t say anything.

The myconids let them shelter in their colony. When Auri drops Nere’s head before Spaw, his
relief flows through her. He names her friend to every myconid, and his sincerity is
endearing. He lets them set up camp in a spot he claims is coveted, though to Auri, it looks
the same as everywhere else in the colony.

And Astarion’s avoiding her. He has been since the forge. She sits in front of her tent as
everyone else makes camp and runs the mission back in her head, and she doesn’t understand
why.

When Shadowheart sits next to her, Auri jumps. Shadowheart chuckles.

“Are you feeling alright?” she asks, and Auri nods tightly. Shadowheart deadpans, “Never
better. Got it.”

There’s no reason not to tell Shadowheart except that it’s embarrassing. “He’s been ducking
me since we killed that construct thing. I don’t get why.”

Shadowheart laughs. Auri frowns, pulling her knees up to her chest. Shadowheart holds up a
hand. “Sorry, sorry. It’s not really funny, I just– you saved all of those people and wiped out
the duergar for Spaw, but you’re moping because Astarion hasn’t talked to you for a few
hours.”

Auri buries her face in her knees. Shadowheart’s right, of course, but that doesn’t make
hearing it any easier. “I just don’t get it.”

“If you wanted uncomplicated, you went for the wrong person in camp.”

Auri snorts but she doesn’t look up. “There’s not a right person in the camp if I’m looking for
uncomplicated.”

Shadowheart shrugs. “Halsin’s right there. He’s pretty well-adjusted.”

Again, Auri doesn’t look up. “Viv’s staking a claim. She made that very clear.”

“Hm.” Shadowheart sounds surprised. “Good for her.”

“Yeah.”

Shadowheart doesn’t say anything else, and for a while, the only sounds are of people
shuffling about camp. When she looks up, Shadowheart rises to her feet, brushing dirt from
her clothes, and she walks away without another word.

Astarion’s tent is right there. Auri’s never been inside. She doesn’t know if he’s even in there.

Auri crosses the camp before she has a chance to second-guess herself. She pulls back the
flap to Astarion’s tent.

It’s empty.

Auri breathes out a sigh of relief and steps inside.

She doesn’t know how long she waits there. Astarion’s tent is infinitely more plush than hers;
the only sharp edges in sight are daggers laid out meticulously on a cloth and the corners of a
few books that Astarion has piled in a corner. She’s always thought that Astarion smells
better than most other things out on the road, and his tent is the same but amplified. It’s
vanilla, brandy, and lilies.

It’s surely been at least an hour. Was he so upset that he left?

The tent flap moves, and Astarion steps in in one fluid movement. He steps to the side,
holding the flap open still. “I appreciate your willingness, but I’m not hungry, darling.”

There’s a bit of blood on his face. He’s been hunting. Auri bites her lip. “I don’t know what I
did, but I’m sorry.”

Astarion’s eyes narrow. “You’re sorry?”

She doesn’t even know what she’s apologizing for. “Clearly I–”
Auri’s sitting cross-legged on one of Astarion’s many cushions. Astarion drops the tent flap
and is in front of her before she can blink. He grabs her chin and there’s no hint of tenderness
as he crouches before her. “What are you sorry for?”

“I must have hurt you somehow. I don’t know how, but I need you to know that it wasn’t on
purpose–”

Astarion looks upward and laughs mirthlessly. “Gods, you’re a fool. You know that, don’t
you? Everyone here coddles you because you’re just so sweet, but where’s your fucking
backbone, darling?”

Auri’s breath catches in her throat and she tries to pull away, but his grip on her chin tightens.
Her heart races. “What do you mean?”

“What do I mean?” His voice oozes down her skin. “I mean that I treat you like shit and you
come here and apologize to me. You should want me to grovel under your boot.”

“I don’t understand–”

“Of course, you don’t understand. How could our darling little Aurora understand?” When
Astarion speaks her full name, again she tries to recoil. He doesn’t let her. “How could she
understand that the monster she took pity on and let live in her camp was so gripped with
absolute terror as her body hurtled into the abyss that he tried to dive after her?”

She gets it. She understands. She doesn’t agree, but she understands.

“Astarion, please–”

But he won’t let her finish. Auri has barely been able to squeeze a word in this entire time.
“Do you have any idea what it’s like to care about something after all this time?” The
sharpness leaches from his voice. Auri’s lost in his eyes, ruby red and broken. “You could
have died today.”

Auri lets the back of her hand stroke his cheek. “I’m sorry,” she says again, and Astarion
huffs, exasperated.

“Why are you sorry–”

“For scaring you,” she says, because that’s the crux of it all. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He goes rigid.

“Do you still want me to leave?” Auri asks.

Astarion swallows. “Yes.”

Pain lances her heart, but she nods. “Okay.”

He doesn’t release her, though. His fingers are cool against her skin, and she leans forward to
brush her lips against his. When she pulls away from the kiss, she asks again.
 “Do you still want me to leave?”

Her chin is still in his hand. His thumb brushes her jawline.

“No.”

Chapter End Notes

tumblr and twitter!

what you get on my social media is me being insane and occasionally previews of
upcoming chapters

thank you for reading now i pray that sleep claims me <3
 astarion
Chapter Notes

ALERT. ALERT. LITERALLY SO SICK FANART DROPPED BY ARTISTMIEN.

HOLY SHIT I AM UNWELL.

additionally. it is blowjob city. this has been a psa. we do it sexual style this time. sorry
if that's not your jam <3 also. um. a little bit softdom auri? not really. you'll see.

tw: astarion stuff??? i feel like i say this every chapter

See the end of the chapter for more notes

He wants her to stay, and when he says so, she gives him what he wants.

Astarion doesn’t know what she wants, though.

“You said you weren’t hungry. Did you mean it, or were you just being cruel to try to get me
to leave?”

He scoffs. “You think it cruel that I didn’t pierce your skin and feed on you?”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

Astarion hasn’t responded because his answer lays bare just how fucked he is. His answer is
that for her, he’s always starving.

“Neither did you.”

“I asked first.”

He releases her chin from his hand, finally, and Auri’s just told him that she’ll stay, but his
body aches. It’s inevitable that she’ll leave. Everything she’s supposed to want is out there.
He can hear Viv chatting away with Wyll by the fire. If Auri stepped out of his tent and into
the camp proper, they’d welcome her with open arms. Halsin’s out there, too, Astarion’s sure,
and he’d seen the way Auri had melted into him after he’d saved her.

Astarion wasn’t able to, but Halsin was.

When Auri stands, Astarion lets his eyes close. Hurting her would be easier. He knows just
which buttons would make her snap and shatter. There are any number of things he could
elaborate on to break her:

spineless
gullible
 desperate
naive

When his eyes open again, she should be gone, but she isn’t. In the dim light of his tent, Auri
asks, “Do you mind?” and she points at an unlit candle nearby.

“Taking advantage of my magical prowess, I see,” he says, but his heart’s not in it. Auri
breathes out a laugh in response, and he mutters, “Ignis.”

His fire bolt illuminates the candle, and Auri’s face glows. “Thanks.”

So. She’s not leaving. Not yet, at least.

Auri wanders over to the corner of his tent that hides his sorry excuse for a library. He’s
accumulated three books that are even remotely worth keeping, and Auri asks, “May I?”

Astarion nods, and when he does, Auri smiles. She flops down ungracefully onto the cushion
there and picks up the book from the top of the pile.

She considers the cover and then reads the words aloud. “The Elf Song. Interesting choice.”

He doesn’t know why he held onto it. Auri cracks the book open and tilts her head to the side
as she reads.

And then she opens her mouth again.

That was a lie. He knows why he kept it. He kept it because she’s a bard.

And she shows him just what a bard she is when she starts to sing.

O, sing a song of Balduran

Who founded Baldur's Gate.
Empire golden built on trade,
Could not avert his fate.

Astarion is selfish by nature, but he's been feeding on her for so long, and what has she ever
gotten from him in return? His blades have been at her disposal, sure, but that's mutually
beneficial.

He doesn’t want to lose her. It pains him to admit it, but he was ready to launch himself into
the lava after her earlier today, and he only has one thing to offer besides violence.

Old habits die hard.

When three, though dead, assailed his port

Transformed, he fell their thrall.
Succumbed as threat from nether years
Arose to conquer all.
She sits cross-legged, the bangs she never bothers to gather up into her bun falling forward
toward the pages of the book. There’s enough room for him to slide behind her, a leg on
either side of her. Auri’s body tenses in anticipation, but she sings, still.

Now hope is gone, or so it seems

But game's not over yet.
New cards are drawn, new hands are played
Newcomers place a bet.

When he presses his chest against her back, Auri exposes her neck like it’s a reflex. Her heart
pounds in her chest, and Astarion buries his face in the place where her collarbone meets her
shoulder.

She has no idea what she smells like. She smells like being alive again.

Her voice quivers. He presses his lips to her neck in the spot where Auri’s let him feed time
and time again, but his teeth stay sheathed.

A knave, a wizard, devil, gith:

The odds are cast anew
And Baldur's fate now turns upon
The whims of fortune's few…

When he kisses his way up to her jaw, a shudder runs through her.

“I feel like that song cut off early. Isn’t there more?”

“Astarion…”

“I could make you sing another way instead if you like.” Astarion can’t see it from behind,
but he smells the blood race to her cheeks. “I have no doubt you’ll feel incredible wrapped
around my cock, darling. I’d love to see what noises that beautiful little voice of yours might
make while you’re on top of me.”

A moan escapes her at the thought, and yes, this is something that he understands. His hands
find the front of her blouse, and slowly, painfully, he starts to unlace the strings that hold it
tight to her chest.

Her breathing quickens, and she swallows hard. Astarion smirks, nipping at her earlobe but
not hard enough to draw blood.

And Auri asks, “A truth for a truth?”

This game always ends with him feeling like eagles are picking away at his liver. Astarion
inhales through his nose. Maybe he’ll actually refuse to answer, this time.

He asks first, before she can stake a claim. "Why are you here?"

She raises an eyebrow like that's a strange question.

"Because I want to be."

She says it like it's so obvious, as if his company is in high demand. There isn't much time to
ruminate on it, though, because she poses her question immediately after.

“You know that you don’t have to give me an orgasm for me to stay, right?”

Astarion freezes for only a fraction of a second.

“Yes.”

A fraction of a second is long enough for Auri.

She turns so that they’re facing one another. Their noses are nearly touching. The look on her
face couldn’t be plainer.

He’s spoiled the integrity of their game. He’s lied. And she knows.

But she doesn’t call him on it. Instead, she says, “If it’s too much, stop me. Whenever you
want.”

He raises an eyebrow but nods, and that’s invitation enough for Auri to pull herself into his
lap.

“Because if you don’t like what I’m doing, then I don’t want to do it,” she says, pressing her
forehead to his.

She wants him, still, just as much as she did that first night that he tried to seduce her, and he
doesn't need the worm to know that. He can smell it between her legs.

"You're in charge, love," he says, and weirdly, he means it. “And if it’s too much, I’ll stop
you.”

He thinks he means that, too, and he’s said exactly the right thing, apparently. The grin she
gives him is real, radiant, and he finds himself smiling back softly in return.

Gods, but he's beautiful. He knows that, I hope.

“You won’t regret it,” she says. “I promise.”

Auri’s kiss pours the sun into him. She rocks back and forth in his lap, setting a languid pace
that teases his cock hard.

“You said I’m in charge,” Auri breathes into his mouth. “The only thing I want is for you to
feel good. So tell me if you aren’t feeling good. Understand?”

Her voice is firm but no less kind. Astarion’s eyes close, but Auri pulls him back, tucking a
stray curl of hair behind his ear. “Do you understand?” she asks again, and he looks at her,
then, as if her voice is magnetic. “I don’t want to do this if you don’t understand.”
Gods. She’s an angel. No one is ever taking her away. Not Gale, not Halsin, not Cazador, not
the fucking Absolute itself.

“I understand,” he says, and she kisses him again. She’s the thing that’s holy, but if he focuses
hard enough on how her teeth brush against his lips, he almost feels undefiled.

Astarion had thought that he’d loosened her shirt slowly, but Auri takes an eternity to loose
his cock from his breeches. Her fingers brush against him as she works, and finally, blissfully,
she takes him in her hand. Astarion hisses out a groan, and Auri says, “I’d prefer to do this
somewhere with a bed, but–”

“It’ll be more than fine, I’m sure,” Astarion answers with more urgency than intended, and
Auri smiles before she starts kissing her way downward.

It’s not unusual for his pleasure to be part of the other person’s fantasy, so yes, this makes
sense so far, but he’s breathless still as her hand strokes him and he falls back on his elbows.

“Comfortable?” she asks, as if she’s not between his legs, mouth temptingly close to taking
him.

His elbows dig into the ground. “Never better.”

Finally, Auri runs her tongue from the base of his cock to the tip.

And gods, he’d thought her holy before.

Her hands are rough. The years of playing the lyre have taken their toll. Briefly, he thinks that
it’s almost uncomfortable with her hand around him, but that thought only lasts a moment.
Pleasure takes hold, and then her mouth is on him.

When Astarion’s eyes shut, it’s involuntary. Cold is his base state; his temperature poorly
self-regulates, but it’s not worth thinking about most of the time. Auri’s mouth reminds him
he’s cold because the warmth of her spreads to him in a way that’s almost more sensual than
what she’s doing with her tongue.

Tenderly, she takes him, inching his cock further down her throat with every bob of her head.
Her hand becomes less and less necessary.

“Hells,” he whispers to himself, but Auri hears. She pulls away until her mouth is free,
looking up at him with concern. When she sits up, presumably to see him better, one of her
breasts slips free from her shirt. Her sleeve falls down her shoulder, and she doesn’t seem
concerned with pulling it back up.

Hells. This time, he thinks it to himself.

“Do you want me to–”

He grips the back of her head and pulls her close enough to kiss. Astarion drinks her in again,
the taste of her, the way that her hair’s almost completely fallen free.
“Don’t stop,” he says, voice husky. “Please.”

“If you insist,” she says, but she’s only teasing. She presses another kiss to his mouth and
then snakes her way back down between his legs. His words have reassured her, and Auri’s
pace quickens. His cock slides between her lips and down her throat again and again, and she
looks up at him once more, so concerned with his pleasure that Astarion almost feels shy.

Her eyes are watering from taking him. Their gazes are locked.

His cock twitches.

“I’m close, love,” he says. He isn’t sure why he announces it; maybe just spending himself in
her mouth seems presumptuous.

And Auri’s mouth is busy, but her parasite pushes into him.

Then come for me.

Astarion doesn’t know if sex has ever been intimate for him. If it was, he can’t remember it.

This is.

She takes him once again, burying his cock in the warm, wet heat of her mouth, and his cock
twitches once more before he comes, emptying himself into her. Astarion’s eyes roll
backward, and Auri’s pace slows as he rides out his climax.

When he finally manages to pry his eyes open again, Auri pulls away at last. Her warmth is a
monumental loss, but it’s hard to complain when she rises to a kneeling position, tilts her
head to the side, and swallows.

And then she just sits there. And she smiles at him. And she says, “You’re beautiful, you
know. Truly.”

It’s the same thing her tadpole had whispered to him earlier, but there’s something raw about
this as he sits up.

She’d meant what she said earlier. She doesn’t expect anything from him. Auri pulls her shirt
back up over her shoulder, tucking her breast away with a pat that would be humorous in any
other situation and lacing up her blouse again.

She makes no move whatsoever to seek out her own pleasure.

Tentatively, as if he expects a reprimand, Astarion re-laces his breeches, and as he’s doing so,
the tent goes dark. He can still see, of course, but Auri can’t. She laughs like she isn’t in the
pitch-black with a vampire. “I suppose this was a lot to ask one candle to witness.”

“I don’t know,” Astarion says, and Auri blinks, looking at a spot over his right shoulder.

“You don’t know what?”

“No reflection, darling,” he says. “I don’t even remember what I looked like before. It’s been
a long time.”

Auri’s lips part. She’s still searching in vain to find his face in the dark.

“Would you like to?”

“Would I like to what?”

“Know what you look like.”

Astarion blinks.

“I–”

She’s looking at that spot over his shoulder so earnestly.

“Yes,” he says honestly.

“Your eyes are so intense that I could look into them for hours. When you laugh, it’s like a
twice-earned reward; the sound is like music I’ve long-lost, and the corners of your eyes
crinkle like maybe you’ve forgotten for just a moment how horrible the world is.”

“I certainly do not have wrinkles around my eyes–”

She doesn’t let him protest. She continues, “And your hair– how do you manage to keep it so
lush out here? I feel like I’m more dirt than skin, but you manage to look pristine even when
you’re covered in goblin blood. It curls around your ears always, but when it gets damp,
that’s the best. It’s just a little unruly, then, and I feel like I’m bearing witness to a secret.”

Astarion’s mouth is dry. This is too close. He–

“It’s a bit hard to take you droning on about my looks seriously when you can’t even see me.”

Auri frowns, but she isn’t upset. “Is that so? Where are you, then? It’s not fair that you can
see me and I can’t see you.”

She crosses her arms, still pouting, and the half-smile that she can’t see on Astarion’s face is
real. He reaches out and pulls her into him, leaching warmth from her with every move.

Auri touches his face as if to confirm that she’s actually found him, and Astarion deadpans,
“Oh, sorry, I must have pulled you into Gale’s lap instead.”

But she doesn’t take the bait. She answers in earnest instead of playing along. “I’m not
interested in being in Gale’s lap. Or in Halsin’s, for that matter. I saw how you were looking
at him when we came back.”

He rolls his eyes, but again, she can’t see. “You say that, but you’re awfully quick to fall into
their arms.”
Auri’s eyes ignite; even she has boundaries for Astarion’s prickliness. “What, you think I’m
crawling between their legs and swallowing their cum? Really?”

There it is. He’s finally managed it.

He never deserved a fraction of this. He’ll be thankful for what he got, or as thankful as he
knows how to be.

Astarion shrugs. Auri can’t see him, but she must feel his body language. She’s practically
snarling.

“Fine. Well, how about this? How about I show you exactly how I see you without words as a
middleman, and you can decide if I’m just looking for a quick fuck even after how I’ve tried
desperately to make you see that you are what I want?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer. Her parasite presses against his own urgently, stronger than
he remembers it being before, and he allows it entrance, because if she’s going to toss him to
the side, he’d like to be selfish this one last time.

His world explodes with light.

On the beach, there’s an elf. He’s stunning; in retrospect, I should know he’s dangerous. His
cheekbones are sharp and his hair is perfect and his eyes are a deep red that hypnotizes at a
glance. His height is nothing to write home about, but I’m effectively a shrimp, so I guess I
don’t really have a leg to stand on. He’s pale, too. When was the last time he spent more than
ten minutes in the sun?

There’s not time to digest what he’s seen.

He bit me in the middle of camp last night as everyone watched. I know they all think I’m
foolish. I wanted to get away from everything for a second and see if I could coax out the
music, even for a little bit, but it hurts so much. I don’t want to be alone, but I don’t want
everyone to look at me.

Astarion is a relief. He never looks at me with pity, but he also never asks me to explain. I’m
glad he’s the one that found me out here. I’m glad he’s here.

The scene shifts.

He brought me Viv. I didn’t know her, then, but it’s one of the most selfless things anyone’s
ever done for me. He thought I wouldn’t want him once I saw her, but he brought me home.

He’s home, too. I wonder if he would hate that.

When he comes back to himself, his lips are parted.

Tears prick at Auri’s eyes.

“I understand that this is complicated for you, but this is the second time you’ve done this.
When I found you outside Ethel’s lair and told you I wanted you, you made some joke about
 me sleeping with Viv,” she says. She’s trying desperately not to cry. “But if you believe
anything I’ve ever said, please believe this– I meant what I said that day when I said I’m
choosing you. I want you, and I want every piece. Don’t deflect by acting like I could have
Halsin or Gale or Viv, because I don’t care. Either quit trying to convince me someone else is
better for me or tell me you don’t want me, too.”

She gave him his face back.

“You’re right,” he says, broken glass in his throat.

When she kisses him this time, the force she uses is almost painful, like she’s worried that
he’ll slip away. “I know you don’t believe it,” she murmurs, “But at least try to. For me.”

And again, she’s right. She deserves that much.

He can’t tell her everything. Not all at once.

But he’ll try to do what she asks, because she’s the one asking.

“I told you you were beautiful,” Auri says. She’s half-asleep in the crook of his neck.

Astarion exhales a laugh through his nose.

“Wicked little thing.”

Chapter End Notes

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and AGAIN. I CANNOT STRESS ENOUGH. THE FANART.
 auri
Chapter Notes

hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
i love you.

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“I would advise you to show caution.”

It’s been a long while since Auri last saw the dream guardian. The halfling sits next to her as
she lies on her back, staring upward at the sky of the Astral Plane.

She scowls. “If this is about Astarion, I have no interest in your input on my love life.”

From her peripheral vision, Auri sees the guardian wave a hand dismissively. “I assure you,
who you take to bed is not of concern to me. I meant only that my ability to keep the parasite
in check is undercut by your willingness to commune with it so openly. Its powers are yours
and will not affect you, but the more that you expose yourself to it…” He trails off. “It’s
uncharted territory.”

Auri has never had reason to distrust the guardian. In all interactions, he has seemed to have
her best interest at heart, and in the past, he has always encouraged her to embrace what
benefits the tadpole has to offer. She doesn’t know why that would change now.

Skepticism colors her response. “It hasn’t changed me except when I’ve asked it to.”

The guardian raises an eyebrow. “You’ve not been communing with it in a more… two-sided
way, then, besides the powers?”

The worm squirms in her brain, burrowing deeper in an attempt to hide.

It’s not scared, but it’s nervous. The guardian’s not quite an enemy, but it certainly isn’t a
friend to the creature that’s made a home inside her brain.

Auri’s lips part. She isn’t quite sure what she’s going to say, but the parasite pulses out a
wave of panic that Auri can feel herself.

And it occurs to her that the tadpole didn’t exactly ask to be inserted into her eye. It’s a threat
to her, yes, and common knowledge holds that all mind flayers are evil, but Omeluum
wasn’t, and–

They say the same thing about vampires. And it can’t be all evil if there’s music in it that it
lets Auri borrow and change at her whim.
Auri swallows.

“Not at all,” she says.

The guardian tilts his head to scrutinize her, but Auri doesn’t flinch.

Eventually, he nods, apparently accepting her answer. “I understand.”

The parasite relaxes.

“I ask simply that you remember your goal.”

But Auri’s goals have changed, though she hadn’t noticed until the guardian put a name to it.
She’d wanted to get rid of the tadpole, she’d thought, but that isn’t quite right.

She doesn’t want to turn into a mind flayer. Whether the tadpole stays or goes is another
matter.

The guardian fades away, and so, too, does the beauty of the Astral Plane.

“You’re going to wake her.”

Auri half-rises to the sound of Astarion’s voice. There’s muted giggling and Rocky’s satisfied
chirping.

Auri mumbles an incoherent sound and rolls over, seeking silence. She buries her face in the
nearest available surface, and thankfully, the surface does not protest.

“She’s a pretty heavy sleeper. She might not.”

Viv’s here, too, but Auri can’t make herself care. She’s curled up next to something strong
and secure, though she isn’t quite sure what it is, and she’s not willing to open her eyes to
find out. Whatever it is isn’t warm, exactly, but she fights to get closer to it anyway.

“Regardless, you’re all welcome to see your way out of my tent,” Astarion hisses, and Auri
can feel the rumble of his voice against her skin when he speaks.

Her eyes shoot open. Her nose is nestled into the crook of Astarion’s neck, and her body is
pressed flush with his side. They’re both fully clothed, thankfully, but when she’d rolled over,
she’d slung a knee up over his hip. She looks up at him for a brief moment, and when she
meets his gaze, Astarion smirks.

Auri’s face bursts with her blush. “Gods!” she squeaks out, and she tries to scramble away.
The flap of Astarion’s tent has been torn off completely, and Rocky seems just proud enough
to be the one that wreaked such havoc. Viv, Gale, Wyll, and Lae’zel stand in the place where
the flap once closed Astarion’s tent off from the outside world. “I–” Auri’s words are gone.
“I’m so sorry. I must have fallen asle–”
She doesn’t get to finish. Astarion sits up as she tries to stand and loops a finger through her
belt to pull her back down into his lap. She yelps but Astarion steals the surprised sound from
her mouth with a kiss.

She’d thought it impossible to blush harder, but she does. It’s a chaste kiss, really, all things
considered, but it’s the first time that he’s initiated since the night he’d asked her permission
to, back when Gale interrupted. His hand is at the back of her neck, pulling her closer, but he
stops the kiss after only a second.

His tadpole’s in her head. Her parasite doesn’t even ask his for permission anymore.

You told me to believe you. Presumably you choosing me isn’t a secret if you’re asking me so
earnestly to do so.

Auri’s blush evaporates. It’s replaced with a grin so wide that it even shocks a genuine half-
smile from Astarion.

“Mystra help us,” Gale mutters under his breath.

Lae’zel is more pragmatic. “At last the games are at an end.”

Wyll wolf-whistles and Auri’s blush returns in full-force.

Viv just squeals. Auri braces herself for what she knows is inevitable, but she holds up a
finger nonetheless. “No–”

It was futile. She’d known that. Viv tackles her out of Astarion’s lap and onto the bedroll
where she’d been sleeping only moments before.

Astarion pinches the bridge of his nose. “Gods.”

She sang for him. He let her stay the night.

Her heart skips a beat.

The elevator before them leads to the next terrifying step in their journey, but no one is keen
to spend longer than they have to here. Despite where they’re headed, everyone packs up
camp as quickly as possible.

The other thing that everyone is doing is shooting sly glances her way. Auri’s not shy, and
she’s certainly not ashamed of Astarion, but she does wish that they could act a bit more
normal about it. No one’s looking at Viv as she practically hangs off Halsin’s arm, for
example.

And Auri lied anyway, she realizes. There’s one person who isn’t hurrying to gather their
things.

Gale stares into the fire like he had when he’d first joined Auri’s company. Auri bites her lip.
She still has a lot to do, but–
“Lae’zel?”

Lae’zel is the picture of efficiency always. She’s been ready and waiting to leave for several
minutes. When Auri speaks her name, Lae’zel nods in acknowledgment.

“Would you mind packing up the rest of my things? I–”

Lae’zel stares at her blankly. Finally, Auri says, “I think I need to speak with Gale.”

To her surprise, Lae’zel says, “Yes. It seems he suffers from something besides your
rejection, which he reacted embarrassingly poorly to as is.”

There’s a staccato-sounding laugh from the direction that Auri knows Astarion is in. Auri
blushes again.

“Go,” Lae’zel says, and she begins working.

“Thank you,” Auri answers.

Lae’zel looks at Auri from the corner of her eye. “Chk.”

Most people in camp still busy themselves with their belongings, and Gale is so entranced by
the fire that he doesn’t notice her approach either. “Gale?” she says tentatively.

He doesn’t startle. He doesn’t even look at her. His hands are folded behind his back and he
sighs. “Apologies. Have you been standing there long? I’ve been somewhat absorbed in my
thoughts.”

“Oh, ages,” Auri says, laughing, but Gale doesn’t reciprocate. “That was a joke.”

“Ah.” He’s hardly listening to her at all. “Apologies again.”

Auri frowns. “Are we all going to die if you look away from that fire?”

That manages to properly catch his attention. “What?” he asks, turning to face her finally.

Auri crosses her arms. “You’re staring into the fire like if you lose focus for a moment, we’ll
all explode. So tell me what’s going on.”

Gale sighs and tilts his head back, running a hand through his hair. “I–” He swallows hard
and his eyes drift shut. “Do you mind if we go somewhere private? This isn’t exactly
something I want everyone to be privy to. You’ve been discerning about my circumstances
thus far, but the others…”

Auri nods. “Of course.”

She hadn’t meant to be testing Astarion’s resolve about believing her so quickly, but this is
clearly much more important than his issues with jealousy. His eyes are on them as Gale
leads her from camp to a quiet spot nearby, and when Gale is satisfied that they’re alone, he
says, “While you were in the Grymforge, I received a visit from an old friend. Well, you’ve
probably heard of him. Elminster?”

Auri’s eyes bulge. “The Elminster?”

“The very same!” It’s a poor attempt at his usual good humor. Gale says, “He had a message
for me.”

Auri waits for more. It doesn’t come. “Okay? And?”

“The message was from Mystra.”

Auri doesn’t know everything about Gale and Mystra’s relationship, but she knows that one
is a god and the other is Gale. Her eyes narrow.

“And?” she repeats.

He sighs. “She believes that the Cult of the Absolute is a threat to the Weave and to reality
itself.”

His gaze drifts down to his chest, and Auri can’t help it.

She barks out a laugh.

Gale looks at her sharply.

Auri laughs again. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think about it.”

Again, Gale runs a hand through his hair. “I was hoping for a little more productive
conversation than that.”

Astarion is rubbing off on her. She pulls Gale closer by the collar of his robe. “There is no
productive conversation to have. If Mystra wants you to kill yourself, then she can do it
herself. But you listen to me, Gale of Waterdeep; you are not her plaything any longer. And I
plan on taking down that cult without my friend dying, neither by his own hand nor anyone
else’s. Understand?”

She has to stand on her tiptoes to reach Gale’s collar effectively. She lets him go and stands
flat on her feet again. “I’m not losing you, Gale. I’m not losing anybody. We’ll find another
way.”

“And if there is no other way?” he asks. “What then?”

The panic that’s her constant companion wells up in her chest, but there’s something keeping
it under wraps. The parasite twists and turns.

do not worry, sister. i have you.

It swallows the anxiety. All Auri’s left with is determination.

“There’s another way,” she says. “And if there isn’t, then we’ll make one.”

Silence falls between them, but Auri isn't backing down on this one. She stares at Gale
defiantly. “It's your body, Gale,” she continues. “I'm not going to tell you what to do. But I
know that the tale of Gale Dekarios isn't meant to end with him exploding.”

Her words sit in the air between them. Gale looks right through her until he exhales a
humorless laugh. “Astarion's very lucky, you know.”

All determination drains from her. Auri bites her lip, sheepish. “I do what I can.”

“Don't–” he stops himself, measuring his words. “You're a good friend, Auri. And I mean
that. I just want you to be careful.”

“Look at me,” Auri says, and she points to herself. “Have I ever been anything but careful?”

She jerks her head over her shoulder. They should be getting back to camp; the Shadow-
Cursed Lands await. Gale falls into step next to her, and Auri says, “Mystra never deserved
you.”

“Mystra is why I am who I am.”

“The people that hurt us affect us. They don't make us.”

That has to be true.

“Without her, my hold on the Weave–”

Auri stops walking and turns to face him. “You are her loss, Gale. Not the other way around.”

Gale mirrors her, and then he puts a hand on her head.

“Where would any of us be without you?” he asks. The look in his eyes is still a little softer
than Auri would like, but he knows that they're friends. She's made it very clear.

She laughs. “Much further along probably.”

“You really are the best of us,” Gale says, and Auri waves a hand.

“The best looking, at least,” she says, and she winks, and finally, Gale gives her a real smile
before walking again, Auri following.

The parasite writhes behind her eye.

Do you have a name? Auri asks them.

what is name?

It’s what you’re called. I’m Auri. I’m walking with Gale.

i am auri?
Auri manages not to giggle as they re-enter camp. Everything is packed away, and Gale nods
at her before stepping toward his things.

Not quite. I’m Auri.

but i am part of you?

Yes. Auri pauses. How are we able to talk now?

the other wished you harm. i do not want you to come to harm. i ate them.

Auri blinks. The other?

the other like me that was not me. you met them in the elf’s head.

They ate the other tadpole. And they did so to protect her?

You… ate the other?

yes. The parasite’s voice fills with something like pride. it wished you harm. i ate them.
now their power is mine. and now i can talk to auri. you are auri.

Warmth fills her. Gale has mentioned before that tadpoles know nothing when they are born;
all this parasite has ever known is her.

She can make them a friend.

Exactly right. I’m Auri. What should I call you?

you already have names. tadpole. parasite. worm. any is fine.

Those aren’t names, Auri insists. And if we’re going to be getting to know each other, I’d like
to have something to call you.

gale?

No. The tadpole is funny, though they almost certainly don’t mean to be. Gale is his name.
Auri looks at him to prove a point.

hm.

The tadpole seems to be at a loss.

Well. Do you mind being called a tadpole?

no.

What about Polly, then?

is it a good name?
 I think so.

As if to spite her, Rocky bounds up to Astarion, nipping at his hand. Auri frowns. Harold was
a fine name, too. Astarion looks over his shoulder at her, and Auri waves.

do we like the pale elf, auri?

That’s an understatement, she thinks. Her feelings about Astarion grow more complicated by
the day.

Yes, Polly. We like Astarion very much.

“Ready, darling?” he calls. He’s very pointedly not looking at Gale, but he hasn’t threatened
to kill him for speaking to Auri alone, which is progress.

Lae’zel has gathered all Auri’s belongings together in a way that Auri will never be able to
replicate.

The others look to her, and Auri shoulders her pack.

“Let’s go.”

Chapter End Notes

tumblr and twitter!

thank you for reading!!

ps: a heads-up that the updates may slow down a smidge as i'm finishing up holiday at
my parents' and will be heading home next saturday. you'll still hear from me before
then for sure, but between that and the new world of warcraft raid, i'm quite busy for the
next week. thanks in advance for your patience!
 astarion
Chapter Notes

me: i am going to take a break

also me: unless.......

STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING. BEHOLD. ARTISTMIEN HAS ONCE MORE
CHANGED MY LIFE FOR THE BETTER. see it on her twitter post / my tumblr post

tw: horror elements, mentions of cazador

ps: a migraine is splitting my head in two i hope you enjoy if you see typos no you don't
goodbye <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

They stand before the elevator and the fact that Gale required Auri for a private conversation
seems almost trite in comparison to what they’re about to do.

Astarion normally thrives in the dark and yet he isn’t looking forward to this at all.
Instinctively, his hand drifts to the dagger at his hip–

And he quickly finds that it isn’t there.

Halsin’s lecturing. “Any moment that we are without light, we are at risk of being turned by
the curse.”

Astarion doesn’t care. His dagger is gone. When he checks for the other one, it’s also
missing. His head jerks around, and Auri, next to him, furrows her brow. “What’s wrong?”

“My–”

“Oh!” Viv bounces over, interrupting her conversation with Shadowheart. “Sorry. I borrowed
these.”

In her outstretched hands lie both of Astarion’s daggers. He snatches them away, cradling
them protectively against his body. Indignantly, he says, “You borrowed them–”

Viv nods, completely unashamed. “Yep. And I made them better. Hold them properly.”

Astarion purses his lips. That she stole them at all is upsetting. Still, he holds them as if he’s
readying for combat, and Viv says, “Imagine how the sun feels on your skin.”

“What?”
“It makes you feel warm, right? It doesn’t have to be the sun. Just think of something that
makes you feel warm.”

This exercise seems very foolish, all things considered, but Auri’s staring at him with
interest, so again, he does as Viv asks. He remembers how the sun felt that day when he woke
up on the beach, before Auri, before she shook the foundations of his world. Instinctively,
he’d shielded himself from it, but there was nowhere to hide.

And then he didn’t burn. The heat spread through his body in a way he thought he’d never
experience–

The daggers burst with light.

Astarion drops them. Viv’s jaw drops in disbelief.

“What in the hells was that?” Astarion asks, pointing at the blades.

Viv sputters, “I– I infuse two weapons for you, and you– you drop them?”

“Well, you could have warned a man. I could have died for all I knew.”

“Oh, honestly. You should be grateful. Everyone else is going to have to carry a torch.”

Astarion blinks at her. Viv crosses her arms.

It occurs to him that this is a kind gesture, even if it’s likely only because her affection for
Auri affords him some form of grace in Viv’s mind.

He kneels and collects the daggers, re-securing them on his person, and when he stands
again, he says, “Thank you.”

If Viv was irritated before, he wouldn’t know it from the way her body language changes
when he expresses gratitude. “Anything for my future brother-in-law.”

That people are acknowledging his relationship with Auri publicly is strange, but not
unwelcome. That they are not trying to kill him for it is stranger. Astarion smirks at Viv and
blood rushes to Auri’s face. The smell is unmatched.

“Gods, Viv–”

“What? I was only able to steal from him because he was tied up holding you all night.”

Astarion doesn’t mind at all that people know he and Auri are trying… whatever this is. But
he would much have preferred that they be found out during a moment that was less soft.

He was vulnerable, though no one seemed particularly concerned with taking advantage of
that fact. His only concern was letting her sleep as long as she wanted.

She’d been so warm, curled up against him. Auri’s hair had been a mess and she’d drooled
more than a little on his shirt, but for some reason, it hadn’t mattered to him. Then, of course,
the owlbear had bounded in, the flap of Astarion’s tent in his mouth, and that tender moment
that Astarion had barely managed to convince himself to enjoy was over.

It wasn’t a moment. It was hours. It wasn’t enough.

He’s going to fuck this up. He doesn’t want to, particularly, but he’s going to, because she’s
just so good and he’s–

He’s what he is.

But Astarion wants this. He does. So if he fucks it up, it isn’t going to be intentional.

That’s the best he can offer, really. It probably won’t be good enough, but–

“Ready, sweetheart?”

He wants it to be.

“Sweetheart?” he rounds on her, eyebrow raised, wicked smirk in place.

Auri’s blush deepens. “S-sorry. Too much? You’re always–”

“You can call me whatever you like, love.”

Auri glows. They step onto the elevator.

Strictly speaking, Astarion doesn’t need to breathe. It’s a habit more than anything else, and
he does it both as a form of camouflage and because it feels strange not to.

When they step out into the Shadow-Cursed Lands, Astarion decides to make an exception.
He will not be breathing any of this air if he can help it. He spent a long time under Cazador’s
thumb. This evil is comparable.

To be frank, he doesn’t want Auri anywhere near it.

“I think it’s best to pair off,” Auri says. “We shouldn’t split up or anything like that, but this
way, if we do get separated, there’ll be one person with a light and another who can just be
concerned with fighting if fighting needs to happen.”

Immediately, Viv loops her arm through Halsin’s. Auri snorts.

Wyll and Karlach nod at each other in unison.

Before Astarion can stake a claim, Shadowheart points at Auri.

“No,” Astarion says.

Shadowheart’s eyes narrow. “Yes.”

Auri shrugs. Astarion scowls.

That leaves Gale and Lae’zel.

He opens his mouth, but before he can ask Lae’zel to take pity on him, Lae’zel says, “Auri is
useless in combat. Shadowheart requires an actual partner.”

“What?” Auri squeaks, but Shadowheart laughs.

“You can hold the torch,” she says, and Astarion admits that it would be funny if the result of
all this wasn’t being paired up with Gale.

“Stay close,” Halsin says, as if Viv isn’t practically plastered to his body. “The curse is
pervasive and persistent. Don’t let down your guard for a moment.”

Astarion stares at Gale. Gale stares at Astarion. The others start walking, and Auri calls over
her shoulder, “Don’t fall behind.”

“I don’t like you,” Astarion says to him.

Gale’s mouth is set in a line. “I don’t like you either.”

The convoy is moving. Gale and Astarion still haven’t taken a step.

“Hey, Gale.” Wyll’s voice interrupts them, “Karlach decided she’d prefer your company to
mine.”

Gale starts, “That’s–”

“Preferable to you and Astarion ripping one another limb from limb? Yes, I agree. Go.”

Wyll falls into step beside him as Gale cuts a quick pace to catch up with Karlach. Astarion
says, “You should know that you forever have a spot in my bedroll, should you desire it.”

Wyll barks out a laugh. “He’s not that bad. You’ve barely given him a chance.”

Astarion rolls his eyes, and Wyll says, “Mind getting those daggers going? I don’t think you
need to have them in hand for the magic to work.”

It’s an intriguing thought. Astarion conjures up the memory of the sun again, and just as they
had the first time, the daggers alight.

Wyll nods, impressed. “Viv’s got flair.”

“She does,” Astarion concedes.

Every step has weight here. Curses bleed from the vines, from the ground, from the trees.
Halsin shakes his head every other step, and Astarion finds that he doesn’t particularly think
it’s an overreaction.

Fog impedes his vision, but he can still make out Auri up ahead. Lae’zel is on her left and
Shadowheart is on her right. They’ve sandwiched her and the torch she carries between them.
A creature darts from the darkness at Karlach, and Gale vaporizes it before Astarion can
blink.

Begrudgingly, Astarion admits that it was a skillful display of skill. Wyll chuckles.

“What?” Astarion asks, and Wyll shakes his head.

“You just hate him so much.”

“I hate most people so much.”

“I don’t really think you get to play the mysterious loner much longer. I know it’s part of your
mystique, but come on.”

Wyll is probably the only one that Astarion would even consider taking criticism from
besides Auri. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Up ahead, there’s a screech. It’s too far to be any of their number, but it’s distinctly
humanoid-sounding. Auri’s head jerks toward the sound, but the fog thickens to deafen his
hearing. The shadows around them loom large.

She’s going to do something stupid and heroic. Astarion can feel it in his bones. Every
muscle in his body coils but he manages to make it a step forward before he hears Wyll
exclaim, “Shit!”

Ahead of him, Auri’s pointing forward. As Astarion watches, Halsin wild shapes into a bird,
and Viv puts something around his neck before he takes off. Behind him, there’s the sound of
a rapier cutting through air and then something much more solid than air.

Wyll gasps, and finally, Astarion turns.

There’s a shadow-cursed vine around each of Wyll’s legs, and they’re dragging him off the
path and into the woods.

Astarion lunges, but the vines move at supernatural speed. They yank Wyll away, and
Astarion has to make a last-minute decision.

He has no desire to leave Auri.

Wyll disappears into the treeline.

Auri has Shadowheart and Lae’zel. She has everyone else.

He’s the only one with a shred of a shot at saving Wyll.

“Fuck!”

He sprints into the woods. It’s so pitch-black that even his darkvision doesn’t grant him sight
that’s much good for anything further than a few paces in front of him. It’s enough to avoid
trees and obstacles, but not to find Wyll, who’s gone silent.
But Astarion can smell him.

The smell of Wyll’s warlock blood (vitality infused with infernal taint) isn’t familiar like
Auri’s is, but Astarion can seek it out if he tries.

Wyll’s north.

Astarion tears forward following the scent, and he isn’t keeping track of how far. He’s
gaining ground, though; the smell grows stronger and stronger, and it doesn’t make sense that
he’s so quickly catching up until Wyll’s blood might as well be in his nose.

If Astarion was a regular elf, he doesn't think he’d even be able to see Wyll. The area is thick
with trees, and everything moves too much despite there being no wind in the air. But from
the corner of his eye, Astarion sees it–

A flash of light from the hilt of his dagger reflects off of Wyll’s rapier.

All that’s visible of Wyll is the arm that’s holding the rapier and his face. The vines grow out
of a cavern formed from a tree trunk. The darkness inside the hollow swallows Wyll; both
vines slither up, one to wrap around his face and the other fighting to pull his arm in.

And from the darkness within the tree, for the briefest moment, sees a flash of movement by
something that’s shaped very similarly to a tongue.

This time when Astarion lunges forward, he’s more successful. With one hand, he grabs
Wyll’s arm, and with the other, he drives a dagger into the vine pulling at Wyll’s face.
Narrowly, he misses Wyll’s uninjured eye, but Wyll is in no position to complain.

The hollow of the tree squeals as black shadow leaks from the place where Astarion’s dagger
pierces the vine. The tongue-like shape from within the tree darts forward and wraps around
Astarion’s wrist.

The injured vine starts to regrow. It encases the blade of his dagger and spirals up to the hilt,
fibers of plant and shadow threading together until they threaten his hand. There’s no choice
but to drop it, and his other dagger’s held out of commission by the tongue.

It pushes at the hem of Astarion’s sleeve. When the tongue touches his skin, he manages not
to physically recoil, but barely. It’s rough like bark, but infinitely more alive. Thorns so small
that Astarion can barely see them mangle his skin, but one of his daggers is on the ground
and the other is useless if he can’t move his hand.

He needs his hand, the one with the dagger, free.

This is going to be disgusting.

Astarion tries not to think about it as he bares his fangs and sinks his teeth into the tongue.

The tree squeals again as the taste of hatred and darkness flows into Astarion’s mouth. He
gags as the tongue releases him from its grasp, and as Astarion wrests control of his hand
again, he doesn’t hesitate. He plunges the dagger into it with his newly freed hand, and this
time, the squeal is more like a scream. The vines and tongue both retreat, and Astarion wants
to rip whatever blighted plant this is apart, but there isn’t time.

He pulls Wyll away before the tree can recuperate, scrambling backward ungracefully as
Wyll tries to get to his feet.

When Wyll is finally able to stand again, he says, “Your dagger.”

Astarion is still holding the one that he’d used to free Wyll, but the other lies on the ground in
front of the hollow. Quickly, he retrieves it, never taking an eye off the tree before darting
back to Wyll’s side.

“I owe you,” Wyll says. Rips adorn his clothing, and he’s shaken, but Wyll isn’t the Blade of
Frontiers for nothing. “We need to get back to the others.”

And Wyll’s right, of course, but there’s something else here with them, and it doesn’t smell
like the cold cruelty of everything else here that’s been touched by the curse. Astarion’s eyes
narrow. “Do you feel that?”

Wyll’s frozen. “Shit.”

It’s the smell of sulfur.

Astarion expects Raphael; it would make sense, after all, that Wyll would be more attuned to
things infernal in nature. He isn’t sure how he’s going to explain this away. Astarion isn’t
sure that he’s going to take Raphael’s deal, but he doubts that the others will take it in stride.

He doesn’t have to worry about that, though, because it’s not Raphael at all. It’s another fiend
entirely. Infernal fire bubbles up before them, swallowing the tree that had nearly made them
a meal only moments before, and when it disappears, a cambion stands before them.

“Mizora,” Wyll says, voice brimming with loathing.

Mizora cuts an imposing figure, and to Wyll, as if Astarion isn’t even there, she says, “Oh,
pet. You’ve been naughty.”

Wyll bristles, but Astarion’s frozen. He recognizes that tone; Cazador took it many times. It
never ended with anything good. It meant only pain and subjugation worse than what he was
already experiencing.

Wyll and Mizora exchange words; Mizora is the source of Wyll’s powers. Wyll exclaims that
Karlach isn’t a devil, she’s a tiefling! Mizora cites back legalese that leaves no way out.

As a magistrate, Astarion has to admit it; he’s impressed.

Mizora says, “Perhaps a tug on your leash will set you right, then, and remind you not to fail
me next time.”

The same fire that heralded Mizora’s arrival encircles Wyll, and–
Astarion knows this story.

It’s not his, but it’s close.

Horns sprout from Wyll’s head as he falls to the ground, and his nails elongate to claws.
Astarion doesn’t look away, and as Wyll screams, Mizora chuckles.

“Don’t misbehave again. If you do, well– you know the price for breaking your pact.”

Wyll can’t even look up at her. His chest is heaving with the effort of bearing the pain of
transformation.

Mizora turns to Astarion as if noticing him for the first time, looking him up and down. “You
are delectable,” Mizora says. Astarion doesn’t flinch. “But you’re someone else’s pet, I
suppose. That’s a shame.”

That’s her way of saying farewell, he supposes, because she disappears in another fiery
display.

Astarion looks down at Wyll. He’s on his hands and knees, staring at the claws that are now
his own.

“Get up.” Astarion’s voice is cold. He can’t put a name to what he’s feeling, but he’s
disgusted that he’s feeling at all.

“I just need a moment,” Wyll says, but there’s no self-pity or self-loathing in it.

It’s just shock.

Astarion shakes his head and looks up. He holds out a hand. “Get up.”

Wyll looks at Astarion’s hand blankly.

Astarion scoffs. “My arm is getting tired. Is the Blade of Frontiers so easily cowed that being
given horns and claws keeps him on his knees?”

Wyll takes his hand, finally, and pulls himself to his feet.

“You’d understand how this feels better than most, I suppose.”

Astarion doesn’t answer. He has no interest in divulging that story to anyone. Wyll must
understand, because he says, “You saved my life, you know.”

“I just hate murderous plants.” Astarion wants this conversation to be over.

Thankfully, Wyll doesn’t press the issue. “How far off the path are we?”

“No idea. Was a bit more concerned with locating you than with leaving bread crumbs.”

“How do we find the others again?”

 When Astarion opens his mouth to say that he doesn’t know, swallowing the bile that bubbles
up in his throat when he realizes he has no idea what's happened with the others (with Auri),
he remembers that there’s something tucked away in his pocket.

Chapter End Notes

once more. the fanart. you must witness it. shower her in praise. her work is insane. her
twitter post / my tumblr post

you can also find me on twitter here!

 auri
Chapter Notes

i promise i'll be answering your comments. i just wanted to get this out today for the
anon who sent me a message on tumblr earlier.

i hope that every day waking up gets easier. i'm in your corner.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The shadows press in from every side, and Auri does all that she can to quell the panic in her
stomach. Shadowheart and Lae'zel flank her as Viv puts a pendant enchanted with light
around Halsin's neck. He flies away, his chosen wild shape a hawk, to seek respite.

They're left to fight the monsters without him.

Blades clash against corrupted flora. Magic singes the fog that snakes down Auri’s throat
with a vengeance.

Auri turns to take stock as her companions beat the threat away. She clings to her torch,
unwilling to unleash Polly with so many eyes watching.

Wyll is missing.

Auri's mouth is dry.

Someone else is missing, too, but Astarion is good at not being seen when he doesn't want to
be. The seconds tick past, though, and he doesn't make an appearance for even the barest
moment.

The blood drains from Auri's face.

To Shadowheart, Auri says, “Wyll and Astarion are gone.”

“Gone?”

A creature that Auri can’t name slams the entirety of its body into Shadowheart’s shield. She
grunts with the effort of repelling it, but Lae’zel’s blade flashes and bisects it. It falls to the
ground, and Shadowheart spits on its corpse. “What do you mean gone?”

“I mean gone.” Auri’s trying to still her breathing, the panic overwhelming all her faculties.
Polly’s there, too, making a valiant attempt to quell her anxiety, but it’s too big. It’s too much.
It winds through her blood and up her spine; Auri’s bones creak and rattle with it, and her
lungs feel like they might burst.
sister. stop.

Auri can’t. She’s shaking.

Lightning tears through a vine that threatens to wrap around Auri’s throat. Gale’s a master
when he’s in his element, and it’s impossible not to see why Mystra made him her Chosen.
Viv’s green flames crackle each time they slice against the curse, and when she cackles, Auri
wonders if she’s ever known fear.

What would it be like, Auri wonders, to not be paralyzed by her own incompetence? If Wyll’s
hurt, what could she even do?

And Astarion. He’s trusted her–

sister. breathe. please.

“I can’t!”

When Auri shrieks, the world freezes. The onslaught ends and the fog slinks back from
whence it came, and Auri falls to her knees. She’s sobbing, and she’s long dropped the torch
she’d been tasked with carrying. Her legs squelch into muddy vines as she falls and her hands
fist in her hair. The elastic she uses to tie back her bun snaps and her hair falls loose around
her shoulders.

She can’t hear anything.

She can’t see anything.

The world is blank but for her wailing, but that isn’t true. Not really.

The orphanage is there. So is the Founder’s son.

And so is Rhys.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m s–”

Viv shouts, “Don’t touch her!” The world starts to come back into focus, but it’s blurry.

Rhys was so small.

Shadowheart steps closer, but Viv grabs her arm to pull her away.

Rhys was the only child in the orphanage smaller than me. His parents died in a fire, the
Founder told us. He had burn scars on his face.

“Auri.” Viv’s voice cuts through the memory. “You’re here with me, okay?”

He wasn’t much older than me, but he was still smaller, somehow. I didn’t mind. It was nice to
have a friend my height. When we held hands, I could look over and smile at him without
having to crane my neck.
“You aren’t in Neverwinter, Auri. You’re with me. This place is horrible, too, but you’ve got
friends here.”

The other kids in the orphanage were usually nice, but they weren’t my friends the way that
Rhys was. We told secrets. He was the first one I told about what the Founder’s son was
doing. He told me we should do something about it.

“You’re with me, Auri. You’ve got me, and you’ve got Shadowheart, and Lae’zel, and Gale,
and Karlach, and Wyll, and Astarion–”

Astarion.

Auri snaps back to coherence. “Astarion and Wyll,” she says. Her cheeks are still wet from
crying, but the reminder of their absence shocks her out of her panic attack. “They’re
missing, Viv, we have to–”

“I’ve got it covered,” Viv says, because of course she does. She reaches into her pocket and
pulls out a stone. “Remember these?”

Auri would never forget. Her lyre’s carved on top, and Viv’s ivy weaves through its strings.
“Our sending stones.”

Viv nods, smiling kindly at her. “Exactly. Astarion has the other one. We can just ask where
they are–”

She doesn’t get to finish her sentence. The stone in the palm of her hand glows, and Viv
blinks as Astarion’s message presumably comes through. She listens silently, and Auri
pretends she can’t feel everyone else staring at her.

Astarion’s fine. He’s okay. He’s alive.

A pressure valve in her chest releases.

When his message is relayed, Viv nods and presses her lips to the stone, sending a message
back. After a moment, she slides the stone back into her pocket and snaps her fingers. When
she does, dancing lights shoot into the air, making a line northward.

“I told him that he and Wyll can follow my lights south and they’ll find us.”

Auri nods. “Thank you. All of you. And I’m s–”

“Do not apologize,” Lae’zel spits. “You are like this always, and your behavior will not
change. We choose to follow you regardless of this fact.”

“Such a charmer,” Shadowheart deadpans, but there’s no malice in it.

“We ought to make a fire, then, yeah?” Blackened plant fibers stain Karlach’s axe. “Astarion
and Wyll have to find their way back, and it doesn’t make much sense to get moving if
Halsin’s going to come back looking, too.”
Karlach’s right. There’s no point in making camp proper, but a fire should keep the curse
away while they wait if Halsin is to be believed. “Yeah,” Auri agrees. “Yeah.”

Karlach grins at her, and now that Auri’s back to herself, Viv grips her tightly in an embrace.
The hug is nearly backbreaking, but Auri has to bite her lip to stop herself from bursting into
tears again.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Viv murmurs. An antler presses into Auri’s cheek, but it doesn’t hurt.

It was Auri’s fault. It was entirely her fault. Everything that happened at the orphanage was
because of her.

But she can’t tell Viv that. Viv knows a different version. She hasn’t told anyone the truth.

Halsin finds them first. Astarion and Wyll find them after. Wyll’s been through something
horrible, and it makes Auri’s breath catch in her throat.

Astarion’s gaze challenges each of them as if daring someone to comment on Wyll’s horns
and claws. “What happened?” Auri asks without judgment.

Wyll looks at Karlach, and then back at Auri again. “I finessed my pact. I paid a price.”

She doesn’t want to cry anymore.

Then don’t, love, Astarion says to her, and Auri squeezes her eyes shut.

I thought you were dead.

I’ve been dead two hundred years, but who’s counting?

Auri lets out a strangled laugh despite herself, but she wraps her arms around Wyll anyway.
“I’m just glad you’re okay,” she whispers to him, but Astarion hears, and he should know that
it’s for him as well.

Sending Halsin ahead was a good idea. When they reach Last Light Inn, Jaheira is waiting for
them, and apparently, Halsin’s word is as good as any proof of their intentions.

“Do you need a healer?” Jaheira asks.

“I’m more than capable,” Shadowheart says, though she’s sporting a gash along her chin that
will almost certainly scar. “I just need the space to heal them.”

Jaheira nods. “Understood. Rest up tonight. We’ll settle on a plan of action in the morning.”

Auri wants to argue. They should keep moving. But she’s tapped, and she hasn’t even fought.
The emotional toll of her episode combined with her fear at Astarion’s absence has drained
her entirely.
“Regrettably,” Jaheira continues, “We have a finite amount of space. You’ll have to double up
in the rooms upstairs.”

Auri’s been sleeping on the ground in a tent for weeks now. They could all have to share one
bed and it would be an improvement.

She and Viv have slept in the same bed many times before. It’s a logical arrangement. But
when Auri seeks her out, Viv shakes her head, jerking her thumb at Astarion as
inconspicuously as she can manage.

So they pair off, but Auri doesn’t wait to be chosen, this time. At Astarion, she smiles and
nods shyly, and he smirks, his hands in his pockets.

The innkeeper tosses Astarion a key as he walks by, and he catches it effortlessly.

At your leisure, darling, his mind says to hers, because everyone else has already begun
helping themselves to the rations that the Harpers have so generously provided.

But Auri isn’t that hungry even though she should be.

She grabs a small loaf of bread and an apple and follows Astarion upstairs.

Auri just catches a glimpse of him as he disappears into the room at the end of the hall, and
she takes a deep breath before she enters the room herself.

“I thought you were dead,” she says, voice cracking before the door even swings shut behind
her. It’s the same thing she’d said before, but she doesn’t know how else to say it. She sets
the bread and apple down on the small table that’s the only furniture in the room besides the
bed.

Astarion’s taken a seat on the edge of the bed after slipping out of the outer layers of his
armor.

“Again, I’ve been–”

“Don’t you dare,” she hisses. “I don’t want to hear another joke about how you’re undead. I
was terri–”

She’s in love with him, she realizes, all at once. Auri knows what love is, and she knows it
well. It’s been fleeting, mostly, in the past, but this is love, too.

Astarion tilts his head at her. He’s seeking the end of her sentence, but again, Auri’s forgotten
how to breathe. She starts shrugging out of her armor, too, to stall for time.

There’s no chance that she can tell him she loves him, not when he barely feels like she wants
him for more than sex. He’s waiting, still. Auri’s lips part and she’s almost scared to speak. If
she’s not careful she’ll wax poetic on the cut of his cheekbones, the sharpness of his wit, his
resilience and self-sufficiency.
And she was always going to love him, she thinks. Auri’s had a soft spot for him from the
start.

Auri takes in a shuddering breath. She can bear this even if he never reciprocates.

She can.

She has to.

“I don’t know if I could do this without you,” she says. “I’m so proud of you for saving Wyll,
but if something had happened to you, I–”

Auri’s throat closes up with fear. Astarion stares at her like she’s said something
unfathomable, and finally, he says, “Come here.”

When she obliges, he pulls her to stand between his legs. Auri’s barely taller than him while
he’s sitting.

When Astarion kisses her, she sees stars. Emotion pours into her that she doubts Astarion
even knows that he's projecting, and Auri could choke on them. Their parasites have given
each other free rein, so she hears his every thought–

I’d promised myself I’d be her shadow. Does she know how impossible it felt to run in the
opposite direction? Does she know how much I wanted to keep running when I realized just
how hard it was?

She clamps down on her parasite’s response. He needs to feel how much she cares, how she
adores him, and how her heart’s fuller for knowing him.

But he can’t know that she loves him. Not yet.

When he pulls away, the place where his lips were aches. Astarion nestles his face into her
collarbone.

“You are the only person in the universe that would miss me if I was gone,” he mumbles into
her chest, and Auri doesn’t have the time to explain just how wrong that statement is, because
again, he kisses her.

Desire rushes into Auri, and it’s different from when they were in his tent. He’d tried to
seduce her, then, like he doesn’t have her under his thumb whether or not sex is on the table.

Astarion’s starving. She can taste it in his kiss; one of his fangs pricks at her lip, but she
doesn’t flinch when he draws blood. He goes still, and into his mouth, she says, “Feed.”

He hesitates, but then his tongue runs over the place where he’s just punctured her skin. Auri
shudders.

“We don’t deserve you,” he says, half-drunk already on what little blood he’s drank.
“Especially not me.”
And he’s wrong again, of course. There’s no chance of her convincing him that that’s the
case, but she has to argue the point anyway.

Auri lets her wrist come between them. He inhales deeply, and his eyes flutter shut.

Gods, but she loves him. She does.

“Even if you didn’t,” she says, “I think I still get to decide who’s worthy of my time.”

Astarion’s eyes are locked on her wrist.

“Feed,” she repeats, not unkindly, and he heeds her this time. She gasps when his teeth meet
their mark, and her knees go weak at the sensation. Auri manages to stay standing, but he’s
not looking at anything but the red that’s running from her wrist.

Rivulets of her blood trail down Auri’s forearm and Astarion’s chin. This feels more intimate
than when he’d fed from her; she can watch as he loses himself in her, and that’s intoxicating
in its own right.

It’s so wonderful to be wanted.

Her vision starts to flicker and her knees buckle. Every time they do this, he could kill her.

Astarion’s eyes flash in recognition. As Auri’s body weakens, he comes back to himself in
time to stop her falling to the floor.

He could kill her, but he never does.

Astarion hasn’t fed that much, but the panic attack from earlier–

He helps her onto the bed, and Auri slips off her boots in a daze.

“Alright, darling?”

His face is soft. He looks at her like she matters.

She can’t tell him. She can’t tell him about the orphanage. She can’t tell him about Rhys.

But soon, maybe. She might even tell him the truth. If anyone would understand, he would.

She can’t tell him she loves him.

Auri smiles. “Never better.”

It’s a lie, but Astarion won’t call her on it even though he undoubtedly knows that she isn’t
telling the truth. He wouldn’t anyway, but he lied in their last truth game. He’ll permit her
this trespass.

“Was it enough?” she asks.

Astarion’s pupils are wide with bloodlust in the most literal sense. “No. It won’t ever be.”
Auri blushes. He could devour her entirely and she thinks she might thank him.

Instead, she falls back onto the pillow, moaning at the softness of it under her body. “Have I
ever told you where I’m from?”

Astarion blinks at her. “I suppose not.”

“Neverwinter.” Her throat tightens, and he falls back to lie next to her. “I lived there until I
was fifteen. Viv found me, then.”

“Unlucky for her,” Astarion says dryly, and the absurdity of the situation is just too much.

Auri laughs. Astarion raises an eyebrow, but that only makes her laugh harder. What he’s said
is funny, but it’s just–

Everything.

It’s being in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. It’s having a parasite named Polly in her head. It’s
being in love with a vampire.

It’s being a stupid, terrified little girl.

“You should eat something,” Astarion says, but Auri’s eyes are heavy.

“I would have died in Neverwinter,” Auri says by way of answer. “I wanted to die. But I’m
so glad that I didn’t.”

“Why’s that?” he asks, but it’s a sincere question.

“There are a lot of reasons,” she says blearily, and that’s the truth. Viv. Amar. Music. “But
lately, it’s been the tadpole.”

Polly practically purrs in her mind, but Astarion scoffs. “The tadpole?”

Auri turns to lie on her side. Astarion stares at the ceiling. Her blood is drying at the corners
of his mouth. She licks her finger and wipes it away. He squints, looking at her from the
corner of his eye. “Gods, woman,” he says, but he doesn’t manage to sound irritated.

“The tadpole gave me you,” Auri says, eyes half-closed. “How can it possibly be all bad?”

“Most would call my continued presence a curse.”

“Call me cursed, then. I don’t plan on ridding myself of you.”

“I tried to slit your throat when we met.”

“Details,” Auri sighs dismissively. “Will you be here when I wake up?”

Auri’s eyes are shut. There’s a pause. “Do you want me to be?”

“Yeah. We should lock the door.”

 “Is that so?” Auri can hear the ghost of a smile in his voice. “Planning to ravish me so
thoroughly?”

“If I had the power, sweetheart,” Auri manages, the haze of sleep threatening to claim her,
“I’d give you the world. All you’d need to do is ask.”

He doesn’t answer. Sleep beckons.

She dozes off for the briefest moment, but a cool hand on her cheek wakes her. Auri keeps
her eyes closed, and Astarion’s lips brush against her forehead.

“Wicked little thing,” he whispers, and Auri pretends that she’s asleep until she is again.

Chapter End Notes

tumblr and twitter

thank you for reading. happy thanksgiving if you celebrate. today i'm so infinitely
grateful for each of you.
 astarion
Chapter Notes

um. ok. so. if you aren't interested in the smut just like. don't read after the line break.
there's some character stuff going on in there but nothing plot-relevant, so. if you wanna
skip it, you can. (i love you.)

uh. ok. i'm so nervous lol.

tw: praise kink if that's not your bag. blood. etc. cunnilingus. you get it. you get it.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Astarion blinks and Auri’s asleep. She trusts him entirely, nestled up next to him in a bed that
isn’t even comfortable but feels godly compared to the ground-and-bedroll combination that
they’ve all become accustomed to. She needs more time to sleep than he does to trance, and
Astarion can hear that the party downstairs is growing raucous.

Auri’s snoring already. Incredible. Astarion rolls his eyes.

She’d brought bread and an apple up, which isn’t nearly enough in Astarion’s opinion. Auri’s
arm is slung over his waist, and delicately, he pushes it aside and slides out of bed, careful not
to wake her.

He won’t be gone long.

Light on his feet, Astarion slips out the door and down the stairs. Karlach and Wyll are
playing a drinking game from what he can hear; at a glance, Astarion sees Shadowheart and
Lae’zel sitting together in a corner, whispering things to one another that he’s unlikely to be
interested in hearing. Gale and Viv converse about something arcane and stupid while Halsin
and Jaheira reminisce about old times.

But his mission to retrieve food for Auri is forgotten when he sees a familiar figure shaking
hands with a tiefling child whose name he can’t remember.

“Well played, Mol,” says Raphael, and Astarion’s eyes narrow. Mol wrinkles her nose and
walks away, and Raphael looks to Astarion. “What a surprise meeting you here. You didn’t
bring your beautiful little mouse this time?”

“Firstly,” Astarion says, crossing his arms, “I don’t think it was a surprise whatsoever.”

Raphael shrugs.

“Secondly, as I’ve said multiple times, I would much prefer to keep her out of it.”
The thought of Auri upstairs, sleeping, defenseless, floods him. Raphael knows that she’s up
there, no doubt.

Neither of them mentions it, though.

“Won’t you sit?” Raphael asks, and though it feels like a trap, Astarion does.

Astarion stares at the board between them. “This has never really been my game.”

“Think of it as a metaphor.” Raphael’s smirk is vicious, though Astarion isn’t sure why. He’d
already agreed to the deal the last time that they saw one another.

Astarion moves a pawn forward, and behind him, there are footsteps on the stairs. Astarion
breathes out through his nose. Of course Auri woke up in the five minutes he took to walk
downstairs.

“Astarion?” Her voice is groggy still with sleep.

He turns to look at her, willing any emotion out of his voice. “I'll be up in a moment. Go back
to bed, darling.”

Auri blinks at him, and as she wakes, she notices Raphael.

She squints, but she doesn't comment.

Through the tadpole, she says, You have other options, sweetheart. Don't forget that.

Astarion doesn't answer. He turns his back to her and faces Raphael once more.

After a moment, her footsteps retreat, and Astarion says, “What do you want?”

“Want?” Raphael tilts his head to the side. “I want plenty of things. But I’m here because I
like to make a habit of checking in on my investments.”

“I already said–”

When Raphael laughs, Astarion stops.

“What ego,” Raphael says, “To assume that I’m talking about you.”

If breathing was a faculty that Astarion required, he doubts he’d be able to.

Auri’s upstairs.

He remembers why he went downstairs in the first place, thankfully, before he climbs them to
join Auri again. His strangely good intentions were soured by the talk with Raphael, but as
Astarion runs the calculus, he isn’t an immediate threat.

Raphael hasn’t tried to speak with Auri yet. She would have told him. Astarion’s sure of it.
So for now, he’ll push that fear to the back of his mind.

When he pushes the door open to their (his chest swells with something that feels like
happiness at the thought) room, Auri sits on the bed cross-legged. She stares at him.

“What was that about?”

And Astarion, honestly, answers, “I don’t know.”

Auri eyes him until she’s satisfied, and though she isn’t pleased, she says, “Okay.”

The apple she brought up earlier is in her hand, and the loaf of bread is suspiciously absent.
Astarion holds out what he brought for her from downstairs.

“What is it?” Auri asks, taking it from his hand.

Astarion has no idea. It’s smoked meat of some kind. “Protein.”

Auri makes a valiant attempt not to laugh, and for the moment, at least, it seems that Raphael
has been chased from both of their minds. She takes a bite from it and blinks.

“What is it?” Astarion repeats the question back to her.

“No idea. It’s good?”

“Why did you say that like it’s a question?”

“Because I’m not sure.”

Astarion chuckles, and when he does, Auri glows. She takes another bite. “Yeah. It’s good.”

“You look good with meat in your mouth.”

Auri nearly chokes when she laughs, but she’s still smiling. “High praise. We do have a bed
here.”

They do. Auri pops the last bit into her mouth.

And Astarion makes a decision.

He’s reminded of another situation where she swallowed, and he crosses the room faster than
a mortal ever could, pushing her down onto the bed.

“Hi,” Auri says, breathless.

She’s consented time and time again. He has no doubt that she’ll revoke it if she wants,
considering she’s stopped things every time she was worried about him.

“Hello, love.”
He has her wrists in one hand, and he pulls at the hem of her shirt with the other. “Off,” he
says, and she complies the second that he releases her hands, doing the same for her
undershirt.

“We don’t have to–” she starts, but when he rubs a thumb over her nipple, a quiver stops her.

“I know,” he says. The last time he’d had her like this, she had barely been a person to him.
His tongue flits across her breast, and a fang brushes harmlessly against the same nipple. A
muted groan escapes her despite the way she tries to swallow it.

He unlaces her breeches deftly, pulling at them and her smallclothes at the same time, and
finally, she’s bare underneath him.

How didn’t he find her beautiful back then in the woods? It wasn’t that long ago. To an elf,
it’s barely been a blink of an eye since the tiefling party.

He’d thought her plain.

One hand rests on her thigh; the other’s on the breast he’d teased. She’s flushed with desire,
and it seems like it causes her physical pain to do so, but she says, “Astarion, you really–”

“You’re always such a good listener when people come to you with concerns, complaints, or
requests,” Astarion says, the hand on her breast tracing circles on her skin. “So would you
please listen to me when I tell you that I want to do this?”

She’s staring at him, already flushed, quivering beneath him, and she gives him a breathless
nod. Her defenses are dropped; her tadpole brushes against his unbidden.

The sound of Auri’s voice in his head is stronger, like her time borrowing its power has had
further-reaching effects.

I don’t want him to feel like–

She’s the only person in the world who’s ever worried about taking advantage of him, and all
he wants is for her to be out of her head. Astarion nips her inner thigh, just enough to draw
blood, and Auri yelps in surprise but not displeasure. His nostrils flare; the smell intoxicates
him already.

“Stop thinking,” he says, “And let me extend you the same kindness you've shown me."

Astarion’s tongue glides along the pinpricks of blood pooling where his fangs broke her skin.
Auri takes a shuddering breath, and as Astarion watches, she forces herself to relax.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and a shiver runs up her body. He smirks, and yes, he’d thought as
much, but the realization crashes over him.

He’s going to enjoy this not only in theory, but also in practice. How strange.

“Oh, you like that, hm?”

Astarion has barely touched her except to undress and bite her, and already she’s shaking.
Auri’s fallen back onto the pillow, but the movement of the blankets beneath her confirms
that he’s correct.

He knows what most people want from sex at a glance, and he knows Auri much better than
most people he’s taken to bed. She wants to be bitten; she wants to hear his voice; she wants
him to enjoy himself–

She wants to know that she’s done well. She wants to feel wanted.

“Because you are such a good girl,” he says, pressing his lips to her bare hip. Auri whimpers,
and painstakingly slowly, he kisses his way up her body. “We all would have gone our
separate ways without you and been picked off one by one.” Astarion buries his nose in her
neck and breathes in, but he doesn’t stop. “But you forced us together and gave us a reason to
stay. You’re so good for all of us.”

His mouth keeps moving upward until he finds her ear. “But you’re especially good for me,
darling.”

“Astarion.” Auri exhales his name, and his hand slides down the soft skin of her stomach.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?”

When the words leave his lips, Astarion realizes that the answer matters much more than just
as a way to turn her on. Auri’s hair is loose and tangled, splayed all over the pillow, and her
mouth is open, staring at him with–

Devotion. That’s the only name he can put to it.

There’s a lump in his throat that he can’t explain, and Auri threads her fingers in his hair.
He’s on top of her, their faces nearly touching.

“I’m only yours,” she says. Auri’s eyes bore into him, a green too perfect for the red that
she’s shown him his gaze holds. The hand in his hair brushes the tip of his ear. “I’ve been
yours a long time. I said as much the morning after you fed from me the first time.”

It’s true; the memory rushes back.

She’s the most painfully average creature that I’ve ever seen. “If you need to feed again, you
have me,” she says. Crumbs of the sweet roll I left in her pack dot the corner of her mouth.

It was different then, but yes. She’s his. He’s felt possessive of her in the past, but when she
says it again here, it feels real. They’re hardly the most beautiful words that have ever spilled
from her lips, but Astarion can’t think of ones that he’d rather hear until she follows it up
with–

“And you’re mine.” Auri smiles sweetly at him like there’s nowhere else in the world that
she’d rather be.
His lips crash into hers, graceless, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Auri kisses him back
greedily, as hungry for him as he is for her, and he’s going to make her feel so good that she
never thinks of anyone else again.

“Touch me,” she breathes into his mouth, “Please.”

He smirks. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Astarion’s hand pauses its descent just before it reaches the bundle of nerves between her
legs, and Auri wriggles beneath him. “You’ve been so patient, love,” he says, “What’s
another moment or two?”

“Another moment without your touch is a moment too long.”

It’s harder to tease her when she’s so earnest and honest about how badly she wants him.
Without tearing his gaze from her face, his hand brushes against her clit, and Auri’s breath
hitches. “Please don’t make me beg.”

There are a million things that he could say to that (first and foremost that he has no intention
of making her beg for anything in her life unless it’s part of a fantasy), so he says nothing.

His fingers make an experimental pass over her clit once more. When Astarion applies even
the basest amount of pressure, Auri bites her lip.

He’s going to relish watching her fall apart for him.

His first finger slides in with no resistance, and just as he’d kissed his way up her body, he
kisses his way back down again. Astarion pauses when he reaches her hips, and she squirms
both in anticipation and as a reaction to his finger inside her.

Sex is more of a science than an art. It’s a matter of finding the right spot for each person, but
it’s hard to be too logical about that when Auri’s whimpering before him.

“Already so close?” he teases, but his cock doesn’t think that any of this is funny in the
slightest.

“Been–” Auri’s words are stolen by Astarion’s mouth. His mouth finds her clit, and she
moans immediately, fists bunching in the bed linens. “It’s been a long time, sweetheart.”

His tongue runs over the bundle of nerves, and Auri shudders. From the corner of his eye, he
can see the place he’d nipped her earlier. Astarion adds a second finger to the first and pulls
away with his mouth. Auri whines when he does, but she doesn’t complain when his fingers
curl to find the spot that makes her throw her head back. “Hold on for me for a bit, won’t
you, darling? I haven’t finished having my fun.”

Auri swallows hard and untangles one of her fists from the sheets to give him a thumbs up, a
notably unsexy but oh-so-Auri confirmation.

His fingers hold a steady pace, and when he presses his mouth to her again, Auri cries out.
His lips draw at her clit, and it’s convenient that he can send the thought, Be careful, darling.
The whole inn will hear, along their connection.

“Let them hear,” she exhales, wrapping a hand in his hair, nails scraping along his scalp.
“They all think we’ve been having sex for weeks.”

He grins despite himself. How do you want it?

“However you want to give it. Anything is perfect as long as it’s you.”

Astarion’s tongue doesn’t stop, and she’s making a stalwart attempt not to shatter at his
efforts, but Auri’s at the edge of release. He can smell it in her blood.

“Astarion, I can’t–” She sounds as though catching her breath is an impossible task, and
somehow, Astarion’s just as lost in this as she is. “Feed.”

It’s her desire mingling with what she can undoubtedly feel him projecting through the
parasite. It occurs to him briefly that she likely wants it more because he wants it, and if there
was any semblance of performance left in him, it falls away.

There’s nothing in the world but her and him and the way that their bodies are made for one
another.

She moans with loss when his mouth leaves her clit, but her disappointment’s short-lived.
Astarion’s thumb takes over the work that his tongue started. Her hand’s still in his hair and
she’s trying desperately to grind herself against his fingers.

Auri’s every muscle clenches as her back starts to arch. Her blood sings as sweetly as she’s
ever played the lyre, and Astarion’s not even fully in control when he buries his teeth in her
thigh. He catches only a glimpse of her blown-out pupils before climax claims her.

Her blood rushes into his mouth, aided by her pounding pulse, made all the sweeter by her
orgasm. His cock strains against the fabric of his breeches, but it’s difficult to care when the
taste of her cunt mingles with the seduction of her blood. Auri’s body convulses with
pleasure against his hand and mouth both.

His fangs mutilate her as she writhes.

The shock of it tears Astarion from his fervor and he starts to pull away, but Auri gasps out,
“I’m fine. Drink.”

And she’s not fine, but she’s divine in his mouth. Every time he tastes her is like the first
time, but–

He doesn’t want it if he has to mangle her for it.

Astarion’s every base instinct protests, but he forces his mouth away, and as she rides out the
last waves of her orgasm, Auri pushes herself up on her elbows.

“Why’d you stop?” she asks, still panting.

 Blood is all over his face. “Because I wasn’t interested in nicking an artery and having you
bleed out in front of me.”

Her face is flushed and she’s staring at him like he’s the only thing that matters.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever come that hard in my life,” she says. There’s an airy grin plastered
to her face, but as the post-orgasm high starts to fade, Auri asks, “Are you alright?”

She’s asking him that when he’s left a massive gash in her leg.

He’s better than alright. He might be the best he’s ever been.

Astarion nods. Auri reaches out both arms toward him.

She wants him to stay. She’d said as much, but there’s always a part of Astarion that assumes
she’ll change her mind.

When Astarion lets her pull him into her, Auri tucks curls of his hair behind both his ears.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re incredible?” she asks.

The answer, of course, is no, or at least not that Astarion can remember. He doesn’t answer,
and that’s answer enough. Auri’s eyes soften in that way that makes Astarion squirm, and she
kisses him with no regard for the red that paints his skin.

It’s soft and sweet and all too short. When she pulls away, she says, “Because you are
incredible. And I’ll tell you every day until you’re sick of it.”

“How could I ever grow tired of you extolling my prowess?”

Auri laughs. It’s the most beautiful sound in the world. The sheets are more red than white.
Her own blood stains her lips.

“Your thigh–” Astarion starts, but Auri just kisses him again.

“I’ll heal it in the morning.”

“You don’t want to ask Shadowheart?”

“No. Not particularly.”

Raphael was never here. This is the only thing that matters.

Auri’s snoring again. Astarion rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

Chapter End Notes

i hope you. enjoyed. thanks for reading. please be nice to me. <3

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 auri
Chapter Notes

to call this a filler is incorrect. i guess we'll call it a short transition.

look. this chapter. she is not fun.

tw: cazador stuff. violent imagery. astarion stuff.

saying that i hope you enjoy is incorrect so. buckle in lmao.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Auri’s repressed Rhys entirely.

She’d thought she had, anyway. He’d come to the forefront of her thoughts when she’d fallen
apart in battle, and now–

The bliss of Astarion’s touch fades as the abyss of sleep engulfs her. It’s the same feeling as
when the dream guardian visits her, but there’s no serene pocket of astral plane to greet her.

This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. But it’s not just a dream. It’s a psychic construct, and she
isn’t allowed to wake up until whatever force that’s stitched it together frees her.

Everything here is familiar. Each floorboard creaks exactly as Auri remembers, and the
windows are stained with frost and grime. If she were to walk up the stairs to her right, Auri
has no doubt that she’d find her bed.

She can’t swallow. She can’t move. She–

“Hi, Auri.”

Everything stops. Ice floods her veins.

She’s not here. She’s not. She’s in bed with Astarion. It’s not real.

“Auri?”

Rhys’s voice rattles in her ribcage. “No,” she manages. “Not you.”

He steps in front of her though, and yes, it’s him. He’s been frozen in time; he looks exactly
the same as the last time Auri saw him.

He’s a ghost. He’s her monster.

Rhys’s head tilts to the side, and that’s not a mannerism of his. It’s one of hers.

Rhys opens his mouth again, his hair falling shaggily over his horns. She’d forgotten how
blue his skin was. He looks like an ice storm made flesh–

Touched by the infernal and the very picture of the cold.

“I apologize, sister,” says Rhys’s form, but it isn’t him. It’s Polly. “I thought this form would
make it easier. I caused you pain, instead.”

“Anything else,” Auri gasps out. “Please. Anyone else.”

Polly blinks at her, the picture of innocence – gods, Rhys was so small. Was he really so
small–

Auri clenches her eyes shut and forces herself to breathe. When she opens them again, Rhys
is gone, and she’s staring at herself. “Forgive me,” Polly says. She bites her lip and looks
down. “I only know what I see in you. I tried to do what the other one does, but I just made it
harder.”

Polly’s made herself into a perfect replica of Auri. She’s even copied Astarion’s claim on her
neck.

“It–” Auri exhales slowly through her nose. Polly isn’t Rhys. She’s fine. “The other? The one
you ate?”

Slowly, Polly shakes her head. “No. The other other. The one that comes at night.”

Polly was little more than a larva when the mind flayer fed her into Auri’s eye on the
nautiloid. She sounds like a child.

The one that comes at night.

Chills consume her.

“The guardian?”

Polly nods.

“He has his own plans. But he is like me.”

“What do you mean?”

The orphanage falls away. Auri and Polly stand in an abyss without footholds.

Polly pauses as she fishes for words, pressing a finger to her lips. “He is me if I grew up
without Auri.”

When fear floods her, Polly takes her hands. “Whatever you decide, he won’t hurt you. I
promise.”
Auri had never been under any delusions about the dream guardian having his own agenda.
Polly helps squash the panic attack. Auri’s hands quake in hers. “Is he friend or foe?” she
asks.

“It’s hard to know the difference.” Polly frowns like she knows the answer is unsatisfactory.
“But I’ll protect you. I promise.”

She isn’t sure that Polly can, but Auri believes that she means it.

Polly freezes.

Auri’s heart rate quickens. “What is it?”

Tears well up in Polly’s eyes. “He needs you.” When Polly speaks, adoration and care pour
into Auri in equal measure. She doesn’t have to say his name.

“You need to go. Do not fear the other. I have you.”

Auri’s still scared. She’s always scared.

But she squeezes Polly’s hands. They feel only half-materialized. “And I have you."

Auri’s seen Astarion trance once before, and this isn’t a trance. Her blood is everywhere from
the wound he left on her leg – the sheets crackle with it – and somehow that’s not the most
frightening thing in the room. Sweat pours from Astarion’s forehead, and there’s a grimace
on his face that seems immovable.

He’s sleeping. He’s dreaming.

And he’s stuck in whatever it is that he’s dreaming about.

He’s facing her, and Auri’s not sure what the protocol is for this. She can’t just let him stay in
the nightmare, but he’s so particular about touch. “Astarion,” Auri says softly, but there’s no
movement at all to indicate her words are effective. After a moment, he furrows his brow;
he’s half-snarling.

“Sweetheart,” Auri tries again, but it’s more of the same. A growling sound escapes him, and
Auri touches his cheek gingerly.

Astarion startles awake with a hiss, eyes wide with the kind of panic that only years of
trauma can instill. He scrambles backward off the bed, hands fumbling for one of the daggers
that he normally has at his belt only to find none. His fangs are bared, but Auri manages not
to flinch as she sits up.

“It’s me. It’s only me.”

Recognition starts to dawn in his eyes. Auri’s still naked from the activities of hours past; she
has no idea what time it is. She has both hands up to look as non-threatening as she can (as if
she was ever a threat), and Astarion blinks, his arms falling to his sides.
He won’t look at her.

“You’re okay,” she says softly, and Astarion’s every angle is sharp.

Finally, he meets her gaze, and it’s still him, but he’s entirely unlike the lover that she had last
night.

“I am not some wounded animal,” he spits, and Auri winces.

“I know you’re not,” she says. “I didn’t mean to–”

“Of course you didn’t. How could you possibly–”

Auri doesn’t let him finish. He’s done this before. He’ll go on a cruel tirade to hurt her so she
doesn’t ask him about whatever he’s feeling.

Quietly, she says, “Come back to bed.”

He freezes.

“Please.”

Astarion eyes her like she has ulterior motives. Auri wishes she was wearing anything at all.

Eons pass, and finally, Astarion sits down next to her.

Silence sits uncomfortably between them, and with the immediate situation defused, Auri
twists to face him. When she does, she cries out, a hand instinctively moving to her leg.

Astarion pulls the blanket away, and the fragile scab that had formed over the wound from
Astarion’s activities last night has split open. Blood flows freely, and Auri says, “Shit,” in the
same moment that Astarion’s pupils dilate.

He stares at her exposed thigh before clenching his eyes shut. “I’ll get–”

“I’m fine,” Auri says, smiling weakly, and she vocalizes the bravest series of notes she can
manage, holding a trembling hand over the gash. Her work is nothing close to Shadowheart’s
– this will certainly leave a scar. With Polly’s help, it might not have, but this hardly seems
the time.

Astarion’s still disoriented. His eyes linger on Auri’s newly-healed flesh. Again, Auri thinks
that this interaction would be easier with clothes on.

After a beat, Auri swallows. She’s lightheaded, but for some reason, sitting up seems
important. “What was it?” she asks.

“What was what?”

“Whatever you were dreaming about.”

“Elves don’t sleep. You know that,” he snaps, and Auri’s eyes narrow.
“You’d really bury your face between the legs of a woman that you think is that stupid?” she
asks, and Astarion’s hackles rise.

“My face has been in plenty of less-than-desirable places, darling.”

Yes, this is familiar, this particular brand of vitriol. This is how he gets when Auri’s close to
something that matters.

“Astarion.” Auri wishes that she knew his last name. “Just because I try to be kind doesn’t
mean that you get to be downright vile when I touch on something that makes you feel seen.”

Astarion could kill her in seconds flat, and that’s a conservative estimate, but Auri holds his
glare. Through gritted teeth, he says, “You don’t understand.”

“Then make me.”

He doesn’t back down and neither does she. The tension threatens to snap and shatter every
window in the inn until Astarion asks, “A truth for a truth?”

“No.”

The denial is cold, but Auri just can’t. She’s sitting here naked the night after she’d bared
herself to him entirely, and he just–

“What?”

Genuine shock colors his response, but Auri’s stubborn. “Don’t you remember? You lied the
last time we played. It defeats the whole point.”

When he doesn’t say anything else, she doesn’t say ‘I love you,’ because there couldn’t be a
worse time than this for that confession. Instead, she says, “I care about you. I understand
that you find that unthinkable. But I can’t help you if you don’t let me in.”

“What do you want to know, then?” The anger is back because it’s still easier than being
scared. “Do you want to know how Cazador compelled me even when I wasn’t resisting?
How I eventually broke hearts and bodies and minds in the hope that I’d be allowed to retain
some semblance of control over myself? How I starved in solitary confinement for years at a
time? How I was lucky enough to warrant special attention? How I was his favorite? How his
blade dug down into my muscles to leave these scars on my back? How I’m going to take a
deal with a devil to know what they mean?”

No.

He continues as Auri blanches. “Because that’s the beautiful truth of it. I lied when I said I
was only good at sex and violence. I’m also exquisitely skilled at attracting pain. But don’t
worry; you’ll no doubt experience that all for yourself when he flays you alive and makes me
watch.”

All air leaves the room. Auri doesn’t know what to address first.
She starts at the end. “That’s what you dreamed. That’s what you saw.”

“Yes,” he spits. “I watched as he skinned you. And you cried. And you begged. And I could
do nothing because I’m a spawn and he is my master. So there it is, darling; that’s the whole
truth. Are you satisfied?”

There’s no good answer to his question. Of course she isn’t satisfied. She’d like to tear
Cazador apart with her own hands. But she can’t formulate a sentence beyond, “You can’t
make a deal with Raphael. It’s not worth it. I don’t know what he asked of you, but it can’t be
worth it–”

Astarion shakes his head, incredulous. “How could you possibly know–”

“Because I know what he asked of me!”

As soon as the words leave her lips, Auri wants them back. She clenches her eyes shut and
wills the tears not to come.

“What do you mean?”

Astarion’s voice is void of any inflection.

“He–” Auri stumbles and chokes on the words. “He sent someone when we were at the
goblin camp. They–”

Incredulous understanding washes over him. “Gut.”

Auri swallows hard. “Yes. He– he sent a warlock that killed her. She took me to him.”

“And what did he ask of you?”

Sickly sugar drips from his every word. For the first time, Auri can’t read him at all.

“He wanted what was left of my music.”

“And did you give it to him?” Astarion asks, fury lingering in his eyes. “Is that where this
power that you’ve learned to wield comes from? Did we think it was the parasite and instead
you were infernally touched?”

“Of course not!” The tears spill over, then. Astarion leans in closer, and Auri resists the urge
to shrink away. “I couldn’t–”

“And you mean to tell me that all this time,” Astarion says, looking at his nails, “You knew
Raphael’s nature. You knew that we could use him to figure out what my scars say. And you
simply hid it?”

Auri does recoil, then. “I– I don’t understand. You’re upset that I didn’t tell you about a deal
that I didn’t take? I– I told you about Viv! I said that she could help–”
 “All this talk about trust–” Each word that comes off his tongue is coated in bile. “And
you’re nothing but a fucking hypocrite.”

She doesn’t understand. Even when she hasn’t agreed with him, she’s almost always
understood–

Astarion stands and dons his armor without a word, and then he unlocks the door to their
room and opens it.

“Don’t wait for me.”

He doesn’t look back. Auri’s heart shatters.

And he’s gone.

Chapter End Notes

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this was hard to write lmao

ps: you're not insane. this is auri revealing the proposed deal. happened during astarion
pov in like chapter 4 or something :thumbsup:
 astarion
Chapter Notes

this chapter brought to you by taio cruz. he's not relevant to this chapter. i just listened to
a lot of his music while writing this. the vibes were extremely incorrect.

tw: mild (?) horror, some graphic imagery

ps: if i haven't answered your comment i will i promise!!

pps: I KNOW HER NAME IS NOT ANNABEL JUST KEEP READING

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Astarion can admit to himself that he has perhaps overreacted the second that he walks out
the door of the inn, but all that he has left is his pride.

It’s probably for the best, anyhow.

He'd watched Auri’s flesh peel away under Cazador's blade, her hair bathed in her own
blood–

For the second time in too few days, his nails dig into his palms until they break the skin.

And what right did she have, anyway? He’d tried to do exactly as she asked, though his
failure to succeed is no surprise.

‘A truth for a truth?’ he’d asked, like that wasn’t how they’d always done things, and she’d
narrowed her eyes because he’d lied–

And then she’d revealed how she’d been lying herself.

It’s not that she’d withheld information, not really. It’s not that she’d pretended not to know
Raphael when she’d seen him in the bog. It’s not that he’d enjoyed something sexual for the
first time in centuries. It’s not that she’d looked at him with disgust when saying that he lied
before admitting to a lie herself. It’s not that the idea of something happening to her has
somehow become worse torture than anything that Cazador could do to Astarion himself–

It’s none of these things. It’s all of them. It’s all of them at once.

Blood drips down his palms.

‘What ego,’ Raphael had said, ‘To assume that I’m talking about you.’
Outside the inn, it’s quiet. A few of the harpers mill about, but there are no faces that
Astarion recognizes after a quick scan. The tieflings appear to have turned in for the night.

That’s for the best. There’s dried blood all over him, and he hasn’t even decided if he’s
coming back or not.

Even if he wanted to, Auri’s their darling, and he’d left her in tears on a blood-soaked bed.
There’s no universe where the others let him get close again.

Good things souring is inevitable. Auri would have preferred he prostrate himself before Viv
and beg for a translation of the marks on his back, exposing himself to the people he spends
every day with on nothing but goodwill alone.

Deals with devils are deals with devils, but he would know what he was getting into, at least.
Every moment with Auri and her ilk is uncharted territory. A devil is out for themselves.

That makes sense.

Rotely, he summons light to his daggers. The cruel irony of him being able to venture out into
the curse only because of Viv’s handiwork doesn’t escape him, but Astarion doesn’t care. He
doesn’t even know where he’s going. He just needs to think.

Did he ever know how it could hurt, letting someone in? He’s long forgotten, if he did.

The forsaken forest leading away from the inn is a fitting environment for his foul mood. He
has no idea where he’s going. He could slip back through the Underdark easily enough, but
then what?

Astarion bristles. It’s one set of shackles for another. When did he become so naive?

There’s nothing good for him waiting in the afterlife, but gods, the way she had looked with
all her anxiety stripped away, how she’d unraveled in his mouth, how she’d begged for him
to feed–

Astarion groans in frustration and tangles a hand in his hair. It catches when he does, his hair
matted with Auri’s blood, and with an irritated hiss, he rips his hand back again. Without
thinking, he licks at his thumb; even dried, almost stale, Auri’s vitality blooms in his mouth.

What’s he going to do?

He should run.

He should run.

He doesn’t know what happens next, but the only thing that makes sense is to run –

To the south, there’s the sound of childish laughter. Astarion’s no fool, of course; it certainly
isn’t what it seems.

But it’s not like he has anywhere else to go at the moment.

Astarion takes a single step forward toward it, and then there’s someone speaking. They don’t
sound like the same person (or thing) that laughed. “I don’t want to play–”

He recognizes that voice.

It’s one of the tiefling children. It’s the one that Auri saved from Kagha. What was that brat’s
name? Annabel?

It doesn’t matter. He was already going toward the laughter. He might as well see what’s
going on.

“You’re no fun.”

Whoever said that is the one who laughed, and Astarion doesn’t need to see them to know
that they’re curse-touched.

As he approaches, he hears Annabel say, “I don’t have time for hide and seek. I need to find
my parents.”

“But I’ve waited all this time for someone new to play with. Everyone that comes through
here seems so boring, and you seem like you might actually be fun!”

The child that Annabel is talking to is nothing that Astarion recognizes at all. He’s shadow-
cursed, yes, but something else, too – he’s almost ethereal. He’s not like the husks and
shambling corpses they’ve seen so far. The horns at his forehead are tainted by the curse, and
so too is his right eye. Under his shirt, the rot spreads, too.

Neither Annabel nor the spirit she’s speaking with have noticed him. When he steps into
vision, Astarion says, “There you are, Annabel, my dear! What were you thinking, running
off like that?”

Annabel looks at him like she’s more confused than relieved at his presence, and Astarion
wills her to play along. “Your mother and I have been looking everywhere for you.”

“Oh, you’re her dad, mister?” The spirit child asks, and Astarion tries not to look too
disgusted at him falling for the ruse that Astarion himself put forward.

This child – whatever he is – is powerful. Astarion doubts that he’s strong enough to face him
on his own. Annabel looks like she’s ready for a fight, but her actual value in combat is
probably minimal.

The child tilts his head to the side just a little too far for it to look natural, and he says, “I bet
my daddy is stronger than you.”

Astarion stares at him. What a strange thing to–

“Look out!”

Annabel summons magic to the palms of her hands, and when she does, vines grow from the
ground behind Astarion. He whips around to see her target and finds a shadow that looms
over them both, and the boy chuckles as her vines try fruitlessly to gain purchase.

“I told you he was strong.”

Astarion’s instincts were right. This is not a fight that he wins. Annabel’s frozen, and the
child says, “I just wanted you to play–”

Astarion doesn’t wait to hear more. He darts forward and snatches Annabel up by the
midsection. She yelps when he does, but there’s nothing in the Realms that’s faster than him
when he puts his mind to it. Annabel’s a weightless thing, and Astarion tucks her under his
arm effortlessly. She flails initially as Astarion ducks past the shadow, and once they’ve
cleared it, he hisses, “Quit struggling unless you want us both to die, you stupid girl.”

Annabel’s smart enough to see the wisdom in his words. She goes limp in Astarion’s arms,
and like that, she’s as light as a pack filled with all the useless junk that Auri makes him carry
around. He vaults a vine that lashes out at his knees, and reflexively, Annabel shrinks into his
side.

Astarion tenses at the increased contact, and that second without vigilance is enough for
shadowy claws to lash out and rake slashes across his cheek. He grunts and stumbles, and
when he does, the darkness presses in. Shadows slither up his nostrils, damp with rot and
evil, and he fumbles for a dagger at his hip.

His speed’s hampered, though. He’s got a tiefling under one arm and a curse crawling up his
body, and when its tendrils snake around his neck, he snarls. He doesn’t know what the right
move is– does he drop the girl–

“Hey!” Annabel shouts, and the shadow doesn’t stop its assault, but she fumbles with
something around her neck, and then–

Light.

The shadow screeches and its grip loosens for the barest moment. Astarion takes advantage.

He sprints as fast as he can in the direction of Last Light.

And Astarion’s fucking fast.

He doesn’t carry her all the way back. Once they’re out of danger, he drops Annabel
unceremoniously to the ground, and she hits the dirt on her stomach.

She groans.

“This is the part where you pay me,” Astarion says, wiping sweat from his hairline.

Annabel stands, brushing dirt from her clothes. “I remember you. You were with the nice
human. Auri.”

Even Auri’s name hurts right now. He forces the wound in his chest not to ache.
Astarion rolls his eyes. “Yes, I’m the mean elf that was with the nice human. Now pay up.”

She squints at him and crosses her arms.

“Honestly, Annabel,” he huffs, and when he says her name, she points a finger in his chest.

“My name is Arabella.”

Astarion shrugs. “Like it makes a difference.”

“Your girlfriend would think so.”

Astarion bites his tongue in a very literal sense. “You have no idea what you’re talking
about.”

“I know that you couldn’t stop looking at her at the party after we left the grove,” Arabella
says snidely, but her face softens as they approach Last Light. “My parents aren’t here, are
they?”

“I haven’t a clue.”

Astarion has no idea how this is going to go. In all likelihood, Shadowheart or Viv will stake
him upon entry to the inn. No doubt they’ve all seen how upset he made Auri, and that’s a
cardinal sin to the lot of them.

He could still turn and run. He’s done his good deed for the century.

“What’s your name, by the way?” Arabella asks.

He’s so lost in his head that he answers without thinking. “Astarion.”

He should run.

“Thank you for saving me, Astarion,” Arabella says.

She walks forward into the protective barrier.

Astarion follows.

There’s been a fight while he was gone. Debris litters the clearing and the door to the inn has
been ripped clean off its hinges.

Arabella looks up at him for an explanation, and he says, “I don’t know. It wasn’t like this
when I left.”

“Hey!”

That’s Karlach. Here it comes. Astarion braces himself. Why hadn’t he run–

“Fangs is back!”
Astarion blinks.

What?

Karlach has a log hefted over her shoulder and she smiles at him. “Find anything we can
use?”

Astarion blinks again.

“Pardon?”

He doesn’t know how to act. This isn’t–

“He saved me,” Arabella says, glancing at him in an upsettingly Auri-like way. Karlach looks
at him, impressed.

“Did he now?” Her shit-eating grin spreads wider. “Better go tell Auri. She’s been tearing her
hair out worrying about you.”

For a third time, Astarion blinks as Karlach walks past him. When she has, Arabella looks up
at him. “Consider that my payment.”

A surprised chuckle escapes him.

“Fair play.”

When they breach the doorway into the inn, Arabella’s eyes dart frantically about. “They’re
not here,” she says, and if Astarion doesn’t answer, he can pretend that she’s talking to
herself.

Auri stands at a makeshift war table with Jaheira. Her armor’s stained with blood in that way
that Astarion loves and her hair is tied up even more sloppily than usual. She has a finger
pressed to her lips and her other arm is on her hip, diligently studying the map before them.
Shadowheart stands right behind her, and when she sees Astarion, she nods.

There’s no hostility in it.

He fought with Auri. The inn was attacked. He wasn’t here.

Why is no one furious with him?

Auri still hasn’t noticed him. She points to three separate pins on the map, and Jaheira makes
a noise that sounds like agreement. Auri puts a hand over her shoulder, seeking a high five
from Shadowheart, and she gets it. She smiles.

She’s so beautiful.

And she sees him.

Her posture changes in such a minute way that no one else could ever hope to notice. Relief
and anxiety pour from her into him.

I didn’t know if you were coming back.

Her earnestness is almost suffocating.

Neither did I.

Auri recoils like he’s stabbed her, and she disguises it poorly as a sneeze.

“If Astarion’s back, we should get moving as quickly as possible. Did you get any info while
you were scouting?” Shadowheart asks, and then, what Karlach said makes sense.

No one’s calling for his head because Auri’d lied to all of them.

“Unfortunately, no,” Astarion says. The mask was never off, really; he just needs to readjust
it. He raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms. “I found a child, though, for what that’s worth,
and she twisted my arm into making me promise that she could come with us until we found
her parents.”

Arabella brightens beside him. She’d no doubt expected to be left behind at Last Light. They
should leave her behind at Last Light.

Auri’s face shines with kindness when she recognizes Arabella. “I remember you. You’re the
one that had the brilliant idea to steal the idol from the druids. Arabella.”

Arabella nods vigorously. “Astarion said you’d help me. You will, won’t you?”

Auri’s eyes find his. He has no idea what he’s going to do.

“Of course we will,” Auri says.

Auri moves out from behind the war table, and her mind seeks him. They need to talk.

But not right now. He can’t talk right now. He needs time–

To Arabella, he says, “If you don’t behave, we’ll feed you to our pet owlbear.”

Then, just like he’d done only hours before with Auri naked in bed behind him, he leaves her
reaching out for him. And for reasons that he doesn’t really understand, since Auri is right
there, Arabella’s on his tail.

Astarion doesn’t even know where they’re going, but he supposes that it doesn’t matter.

“Do you really have an owlbear?” Arabella asks.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Viv waves frantically at him from her place at Halsin’s side. They’re speaking with the
blacksmith, no doubt to scrounge up whatever supplies they can before they head wherever it
 is that Auri wants them to go.

Auri had said he had options, where the mystery of his back was concerned, and she was
right. Astarion just needs to make a decision.

The devil he knows, or the devil he doesn’t?

Viv’s no devil, really, but what she symbolizes is far more terrifying than any fiend could be.

Chapter End Notes

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i'm going to bed now goodbyeeee

 auri
Chapter Notes

HELLO. GREETINGS.

tw: some body horror, voluntary loss of bodily control

HAVE FUN

ps: if you see typos mistakes etc my eyes they are not cooperating. <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

When Auri lied for Astarion, it had been an instinct. The words had flowed from her with
ease. Her only concern had been shielding him from scrutiny.

She’d pressed him too hard. The moment that he'd walked out the door, she’d wanted all of
the words back.

She’s always been a little pushy, intentions be damned.

She just wanted to help–

Tears prick at Auri’s eyes, but she manages to blink them away. There’s no time for this.
There’s not. And Astarion–

He came back.

He didn’t leave her.

That’s enough, for now. He wants time. She needs to give it to him.

They’re setting up camp; they have no idea what’s waiting for them in the House of Healing,
and they aren’t even sure what they’re looking for, but there has to be something to wake Art
Cullagh.

When Jaheira had laid out the plan, it had seemed simple enough. Their impossible journey,
when broken down into pieces, doesn’t seem insurmountable. It seems difficult, yes, and like
the odds are against them at every turn, but their objectives aren’t so outlandishly
unattainable.

In Auri’s mind, she goes over it again:

Stop the Shadow Curse

 Find Thaniel
Wake up Art Cullagh
Go to the House of Healing

Kill Ketheric Thorm

Infiltrate Moonrise Towers

Intercept cultists and liberate a moonlantern from them
Find a weakness to Thorm’s immortality

Fix Things with Astarion

Apologize
Apologize
Apologize

Again, tears threaten to fall, and Auri’s thankful that Isobel’s blessing has removed their need
to be completely illuminated. People are less likely to see that her performance is falling
embarrassingly flat in the dim light they’re traveling under.

Auri can see enough, though. She can see Viv sharing a laugh with Wyll and Halsin. Gale
holds a sword in a combat stance that Lae’zel calls pathetic. Arabella stares up at Astarion
with the kind of wide-eyed infatuation that only a child can feel, the owlbear at her side
wearing a not-too-dissimilar expression.

Astarion looks uncomfortable but not unhappy with Arabella’s attentions, and when she tugs
at his sleeve, he purses his lips and cocks an eyebrow before scruffing the collar of her shirt
and dropping her onto Rocky’s back.

Arabella yelps in surprise and Rocky trills with delight. Auri feels like she should stop it
from happening; Rocky’s still an owlbear, after all–

There’s a hand on her shoulder, and Shadowheart says, “They’re fine. Let her forget that her
parents are probably dead for a little bit.”

When she puts it so bluntly, it puts everything into perspective for Auri. Her eyes soften.

They’ve all lost so much, and Arabella’s only a child. Auri hadn’t even wanted to think about
it for fear of making it a reality, but Shadowheart’s right. Chances are slim that Arabella’s
parents are alive.

The light is dim, still, as they make camp, but Auri can see Astarion’s soft smile once
Arabella is otherwise occupied. Rocky careens around the camp, her hands fisted in his
feathers, and the sound of children’s laughter feels foreign and wrong here.

It also feels like the only thing that matters.

“Why did you lie?” Shadowheart asks. Auri’s watching the spectacle, but Shadowheart is
watching her.
Auri blinks. “What?”

“Why did you lie?” Shadowheart repeats. “I’m sure you had your reasons for covering for
him, but I know you didn’t send him out to scout when he could have been in your bed. What
happened?”

If anyone would have noticed, it would have been her. Auri chews her lip. “I don’t know
what you’re talking about.”

Shadowheart lets out an exasperated sigh, and then she tugs at a hair that’s fallen loose from
Auri’s bun. It’s a wordless command to follow her, and Auri does, tearing her gaze from
Astarion’s beautiful face. Shadowheart gestures to a spot by the fire and says, “Sit.”

When Auri does, Shadowheart settles in behind her. Auri pulls her knees up to her chest, and
Shadowheart’s hands seek out the elastic in her hair, pulling it free. Her fingers comb through
Auri’s hair, catching on any number of tangles, and Auri winces, but Shadowheart doesn’t
stop.

“You know,” Shadowheart says softly, “You’ve done a remarkable job at keeping us together.
I admit that I was… skeptical, to say the least, when I met you on the nautiloid.”

Auri snorts. That’s an understatement, for sure.

“But little by little, you’ve made us each your friend. We don’t all like each other, of course,
but if not for you, I don’t think we would have made it this far.”

It’s an echo of Astarion’s sentiments from last night when she’d laid herself bare for him.
Auri swallows hard.

“But,” Shadowheart says, her fingers nimble in Auri’s hair, “You hide yourself from us. You
ask us to give, and – I don’t mean to imply you’re selfish – but you guard yourself more than
anyone else here except him.”

She points to Astarion for effect, and Auri breathes out through her nose.

“I, of all people, know what secrets are worth,” Shadowheart says, “But you’re asking for a
lot of trust when you only seem to half-trust us.”

“I do trust you,” Auri says softly, and that’s the truth. She trusts each of them with her life.

Shadowheart pulls hair up over Auri’s ear and begins braiding forward. “I know. But you also
don’t. And you don’t owe us everything anyway. I just thought maybe you should be made
aware if you didn’t know.”

And she’s right, of course. Shadowheart’s work continues as Auri wallows in the truth of it,
and Rocky finally bucks Arabella to the ground. She hits the dirt and still, she’s giggling.

“I don’t pretend to know what it is between the two of you,” Shadowheart says, “But he’s
delicate. You know that.”
Auri moves to hang her head, and Shadowheart tugs on the braid that seems to be nearing
completion. “Stop it. Feeling sorry for yourself will ruin my work.”

“I hurt him,” Auri says.

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Well, he’s hardly been broken by it.” As if to punctuate what Shadowheart says, Astarion
sidesteps Arabella and saunters over to Viv and Wyll. “Hurting him means you’re both
invested. And you’ll make it up to him, won’t you?”

If he lets her, yes. She’ll make it up to him a thousandfold.

“Since when do you give relationship advice?” Auri asks.

Shadowheart laughs. “Who else would give it? Look around.”

She’s got a point.

“Viv isn’t bad at it.”

“Viv might be a good choice,” Shadowheart concedes. “Wyll would probably be the only
other one I’d even consider.” Shadowheart pulls the end of the braid over the shoulder where
she’d started. “There you go.”

Auri had thought she’d feel worse after this conversation with Shadowheart, but she doesn’t.
She doesn’t feel lighter, exactly, but it was perspective that she probably needed.

“What’d you do this time?” she asks, turning to face Shadowheart.

“Crown braid,” Shadowheart says, smiling, “I left the end loose, though, in case he wants
something to pull on.”

Auri flushes. “After that conversation, you really–”

Shadowheart laughs.

The ambush is set to happen in the morning in some ruins to the west of their camp. Auri
takes first watch.

It’s been a long time since she’s taken a watch and Astarion hasn’t kept her company for part
of it.

When Lae’zel relieves her, sleep is hard to find.

Tactically, they should have the advantage. All of her companions have found positions that
obscure them from view, and Auri herself lazes in full view.

They hate this plan, she knows, but Polly has assured her that this is the best course of action.

their forces are strong, sister. but you have power.

So Auri sits, both feet dangling off of a rotting wooden platform a few feet above the ground.

And then Astarion is in her head.

They’re almost here. Five minutes out. I can hear them on the path.

His voice is clipped, but Auri could exalt anyway. It’s the first time he’s addressed a word to
her since he’d found her at Jaheira’s war table.

Thank you, she sends back. All she wants is not to spook him further.

They’re almost as many as we are. Astarion pauses, and then disgust curls through him. I can
see the lantern. A drider’s holding it.

Auri’s breath catches in her throat and panic swirls in her stomach. Polly presses against her
fear, trying to quell it, but Auri’s only ever heard tales of driders. They sound fearsome, and
if she dies here while Astarion hates her–

I don’t hate you.

Astarion’s voice clips through again, and Auri flinches. I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to project
that–

I know.

There’s nothing soft in him, but Auri doesn’t care, and there isn’t time anyway. She can see
the moonlantern the drider carries, and her stomach clenches.

Drider are fearsome foes, if the stories are to be believed, though they normally prefer to lie
in wait for their prey. Auri does everything she can to look tasty, though she hardly looks a
threat at the best of times.

when they get close, Polly says, use me.

Anxiety that isn’t her own tugs at the depths of her stomach. Before she has a chance to
marvel at the raw and desperate subtones of Astarion’s fear, the drider finally comes into
view.

Auri’s breath catches in her throat. The drider’s a beautifully tragic thing; his eight legs
skitter across the shadow-touched ground, and she can’t decide if what she’s feeling is
wonder or disgust.
They haven’t noticed her yet. Auri wills her breath steady as the drider and his convoy come
closer, the moonlantern illuminating the blood that paints his body. Astarion’s scouting was
correct. The drider has a convoy with him of a half-orc and several goblins. The goblins
squabble as they approach, and it’s only a matter of moments, now–

They’re going to walk past her. They’re going to walk straight past her without noticing that
she’s even there.

Auri blinks twice, and then she says, “Stop.”

Their entire party stops. “Did you hear that?” asks one of the goblins. Half of the drider’s
eyes blink. Polly pushes for space, and Astarion’s there, too.

Let us–

“You would disrespect a True Soul?” Auri asks in that voice she’s come to know as an
entirely different part of her.

Almost comically, every head snaps toward her. Auri tilts her head at the drider, unwavering.
The drider considers her.

Auri’s gaze doesn’t waver (though she’s not entirely sure where to look), and–

When Polly pulses, squirming behind her eye, Auri feels something new from the drider.

Something horrible.

A voice whispers in Auri’s head. It speaks in a language that she doesn’t understand,
fragmented, tortured.

And for a brief moment, there’s a single, crystal-clear image – a male drow, crouched down,
inspecting a mushroom with curiosity.

Auri doesn’t feel like herself.

“Kar'niss,” she says, “The Absolute speaks highly of you.”

Kar'niss’s body language changes entirely. “I beg my Queen’s forgiveness, True Soul. I
should have been there to guide you this far. You are truly favored, to have come this far
without a lantern.”

Again, she sees the drow; he darts between buildings until he reaches a Temple of Lolth. It’s
the day of his trial, after all.

Auri maintains her composure just barely.

I don’t want to do this, Polly.

Polly doesn’t respond for a moment. we need the lantern, auri.

And Polly’s right, of course. Astarion would laugh at her indecision.

Kar'niss seems so young in his memories.

Do it, Auri says to Polly, because she isn’t strong enough.

For the first time, Polly takes the lead, and she does a better job than Auri could have ever
imagined. She stands; Auri’s lips are moving, but she’s not the one in control.

Polly’s voice is dark but wispy; it disintegrates into the trees around them.

“You have served your purpose, drider,” she says, and she holds out a hand. “The Absolute
has declared you are unworthy of the lantern you hold.”

Kar'niss doesn’t move. “But, my queen–”

“You dare to address the Absolute as if you are anything more than a tool!” Polly hisses. Auri
shrinks into the recesses of her own mind. Polly snaps her fingers. “Your fate is sealed. You
can die devout, following the orders of the Absolute and a True Soul, or I can slay you
myself.”

“Majesty,” Kar'niss says, “Did I– did I not serve you well?”

Auri crumbles and collapses, but Polly waits. The rest of the convoy eyes Auri warily, but
eventually, Kar'niss says, “Very well, my queen. If that is your wish, then they shall have it.”

The young drow failed his Trial of Lolth, Auri sees. It would have been better for him to die.
Instead, his goddess cursed him.

Kar'niss hands Polly the lantern. It gleams like a beacon, and Kar'niss and his party stare until
Polly raises the hand not holding the lantern. Illithid energy flares from her fingers, but it’s all
for show.

“You carry the blessing of the Absolute as reward for your piety. The shadows will not harm
you.”

It’s a lie, of course. As they turn and walk away into the shadows and out of earshot, Polly
fades away and gives Auri the reins once more. The moment that Auri is herself again, she
collapses, sliding down the moonlantern until she hits her knees.

what is it, sister? Polly asks.

Auri shakes her head, tears falling freely, because she doesn’t know how to explain.

“Impressive,” Shadowheart says. The others have left their respective hiding places, and
Viv’s crouching in front of her.

“Auri, what’s wrong?” Viv asks, concern in her eyes, and again, Auri shakes her head,
because how can she explain that what made Kar'niss a drider is her own fatal flaw, too?
She could feel every tortured fragment of his mind in hers.

He sought nothing more than recognition, acceptance, from powers that far outstripped his
own.

The source of the lantern’s light is a pixie, Auri learns. Her name is Dolly. She weeps and
begs for her freedom, and Auri doesn’t wait for input from the others.

Auri struggles to her feet and pushes her fist through the glass.

They had all balked when Auri released the pixie from the lantern. By all accounts, she
shouldn’t have. She might have doomed their mission entirely.

But Auri couldn’t just leave her in there.

She rolls the bell that Dolly had given her in her hands. Once freed, she’d giggled, zipping
forward into Auri’s face, smiling brightly and kissing her on the nose.

“If you need me,” Dolly had said, “You’ll always have a friend in the Feywild.”

Halsin had healed her hand with a nod, like he understood.

Auri sits by the fire. She’ll lead a party to the House of Healing in the morning, and the night
grows long. It’s hard to tell here in this place where light can never be found, but Auri’s
watch must be nearly up.

“Why did it affect you so?”

Astarion’s voice rips her from her thoughts, and Dolly’s bell nearly tumbles to the ground as
Auri jumps. She’s terrified of saying the wrong thing, so, with quivering fingers, she asks the
very thing she berated him for at Last Light.

“A truth for a truth?”

Astarion sighs and he sits next to her.

“Is that a trap?”

“Not at all.” Auri bites her lip. “I owe you an apology. I know that was…” She trails off.
She’s usually good with words, but they so often seem to fail her where Astarion’s involved.
“You were trying to talk to me. And I didn’t listen. I’m sorry.”

Astarion hums a non-committal sound and crosses his arms. He doesn’t say anything else,
and if Auri’s learned anything in the last day, it’s that she doesn’t want to push him.

The fire crackles.

“You have to understand,” he says after what feels like an eternity, “I–” Astarion exhales
through his nose and starts again. “I have never cared about anyone besides myself. Perhaps I
did when I was mortal, but if I did, then I don’t remember it or them. This is–” Again, he cuts
himself off, shaking his head. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know what happens
next.”

And then he laughs, a slight, breathy sigh of a thing. Auri looks at him, and he says, “But
how exciting not to know. You’re not a target. Not a mark. So…” He brushes a lock of hair
from her face, and Auri can’t help it. She leans into the touch. “Whatever could you be?”

A truth for a truth? Auri had asked, and he’d side-stepped it entirely. Astarion had given her
honesty unconditionally.

It’s an apology.

“Can I kiss you?” Auri asks, and Astarion smirks, looking back into the fire.

“I think we’re past the point where you have to ask anymore, darling.”

Warmth melts her every extremity, and when Auri leans up to kiss him, Astarion meets her
halfway. She pours every form of reparations that she can into his mouth and prays that he
can feel them.

His lips sap her of warmth, but Auri would endure it a thousand times over.

When he pulls away, she says, “We take things at your pace. I promise.”

That’s an apology, too. She hopes he recognizes it. She thinks he does, because he presses his
forehead to hers.

They’ve spoken about everything but Raphael. Auri doesn’t know how to broach the subject,
and he’s just so delicate–

“Viv’s going to translate my scars,” he says, and Auri goes still, heart pounding and eyes
wide open. His forehead’s still pressed to hers. “I asked that she show discretion– As you
might imagine, the vulnerability of asking for help from someone I see every day and whose
motives I don’t know made the devil’s deal immensely appealing–”

The admission makes Auri’s mouth go dry. She’s crying, and she doesn’t need to hear the
rest. She throws her arms around Astarion and whispers, “I’m so glad.”

Astarion’s frozen but he doesn’t push her away.

“Thank you,” Auri says between sobs, “For trusting me.”

One of his hands rests at the small of her back and pulls her in closer. The other rests feather-
light in her hair.

She’ll share her own secrets, she resolves. She’ll share all of them. But not tonight. Tonight,
she buries her nose in his chest, and Astarion lets her.
Chapter End Notes

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 astarion
Chapter Notes

sometimes i think to myself "after i cut out the nonsense, these chapters are kind of
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Astarion holds her for a long while. Technically, it was his watch next, anyway. Auri’s got a
gift for falling asleep in any situation and at any time; the moment that her tears had stopped
(soaking his shirt, though she doesn’t seem to care in the slightest), she’d drifted off.

So he holds her. And no one stakes him for it.

And he feels…

Happy?

He’d let Viv sketch the scars on his back like they were some kind of schematic, and still, he
feels happy.

It would be funny if it wasn’t so confusing.

Shadowheart’s set to take watch after him, and when an agreeable amount of time has passed,
he lifts Auri in his arms and deposits her as safely and soundly as he can manage in her tent.

She sighs when he puts her down, like it causes her pain to be parted from him, and Astarion
allows himself the brief indulgence of looking at her.

He doubts he’ll ever understand it, but he’s starting to accept it. She has chosen him, despite
all of his flaws.

Perhaps it shouldn’t have come as such a surprise to him that she isn’t as perfect as he might
have thought her to be. If she was perfect, she never would have picked him. She would have
found anyone else.

She lied.

He lies all the time.

If he thinks about it, it’s almost… comforting? He can be her liar and she can be his.
She’s his.

Astarion tears his gaze from her and backs out of her tent. Auri’s tent flap is barely still
behind him when Shadowheart emerges into the clearing. He nods silently at her – the
movement must have woken her – and moves to find his own rest.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Astarion freezes at Shadowheart’s words. He squints and looks at her. “It’s my tent.”

“Well, you might think that, but I saw Arabella crawl in there with Rocky. If you want to risk
waking a sleeping owlbear, be my guest.”

His mouth is wide open. “That little urchin–”

Shadowheart shrugs. Astarion’s at a loss.

What are his options?

“Astarion. Really.”

Shadowheart’s staring at him like he’s never had a single thought in his brain. “What?” he
asks.

She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Go sleep in Auri’s tent.”

“A little presumptuous, I’d think–” Something hits him on the forehead and he lets out a
surprised yelp. A pebble falls to the ground immediately after the impact. It interrupts his
train of thought entirely.

Still, Shadowheart stares. When he doesn’t answer, she picks up another pebble and throws it
at him without hesitation. He flinches away from it, failing to deflect it. “What in the hells is
your problem?”

“Quit being fucking stupid,” Shadowheart hisses, and she jabs a finger in the direction where
Astarion has left Auri sleeping. Astarion’s mouth is dry. Shadowheart’s face softens. “Let her
adore you.”

He tries not to think too hard about the implications of what Shadowheart says as he returns
to Auri’s side. She’s still sleeping but she’s shifted to lie on her stomach, her face turned to
the side. The scabbed-over bite marks on her neck are fully exposed.

Astarion’s lips part.

He lies down next to her; there’s still more than enough time for him to trance. Gods, but
she’s ugly in her sleep. She snores, and she drools, and her mouth is always wide open.

But he’d lied down to face her. He’d wanted to look at her, strange creature that she is.

Marvel that she is.

Her bangs have fallen in her mouth. A soft chuckle escapes him, and when he pushes the hair
back out of her face, her hand moves up to rest on his.

“Astarion,” she mumbles, still asleep, and she rolls over again so her chest is flush with his,
her face curled into his neck. When he dreams, it’s almost always a nightmare. Auri,
apparently, dreams of him, a piercing thought. Auri holds his hand to her cheek, and once his
name has slipped from her lips, she lets out a silence-shattering snore.

He exhales a laugh that’s real. His other arm is stretched out over her head, and when he
kisses her forehead, Astarion almost feels glad to be alive.

When Astarion’s trance ends, Auri’s eyes are open. A part of him recoils, still, fearful that,
despite everything, his presence here will be unwanted.

But she smiles. She’s on her side watching him, her head propped up on her elbow.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Auri says to him.

Affection blooms in him. In response, he says, “Your breath is awful.”

She falls onto her back, laughing. “You’re such a romantic.”

Auri’s shirt has ridden up to expose the soft flesh of her stomach, and she makes no move to
hide it away. “What can I say, love?” he murmurs, hand drifting to the spot, “You bring it out
in me.”

When Astarion’s fingers drift along her skin, Auri shivers. The camp is coming to life
outside, but here, they’re still alone. The warmth of her is intoxicating unto itself, and she
responds to his touch by pressing the lightest of kisses to his lips. Auri’s meant it every time
when she said that they’d take things at his pace, and when he returns the kiss with force, she
matches it. He could kiss her for eternity if she didn’t need to breathe.

There’s hunger in her kiss. Astarion recognizes it because he feels it, too, and that’s a
development that will take time to get used to. Auri’s teeth bite at his lip, and when he returns
the favor, careful not to draw blood, she grins into his mouth.

“My breath is awful,” Auri says. She’s trying to tease him, but she’s almost panting. “But
you’ll kiss me like that?”

“Imagine how I’d kiss you after a bath.”

Auri tilts her head back and laughs, not so loud that the others will hear that she’s awake.

“When is the last time I had a warm bath? Gods.”

The question’s rhetorical, but he wouldn’t care about answering anyway. He’d rather kiss her
again.

And again.
And again.

Auri pulls herself on top of him with ease. He’d still forget centuries past if he could, but the
heart thudding in her chest almost makes the time it took to find her worthwhile. Astarion’s
hands fall to her waist as her hips meet his like it’s the only logical place for her body to be.

With her hands on his chest, Auri says, “Waking up next to you is the best thing that’s
happened to me in a long time.”

Astarion can’t blush, and he’s grateful for it.

She leans down to kiss him once more, and he isn’t sure if it’s of his own accord when his
hips thrust upward. Auri whimpers as his hands slide down to her ass, and yes, who gives a
shit about sex, but sex with her?

That’s something worth fantasizing about.

Outside, Lae’zel announces, “The vampire is not in his tent.”

Astarion outright growls. Auri laughs like he can’t smell that all the blood in her body is on
fire. She grinds down and elicits a groan from him and then has the audacity to smirk.

“We’ve got time, sweetheart.”

And she’s right, he supposes, but how much?

Auri’s wholly uninterested in keeping the truth of their sleeping arrangement a secret. He’d
planned to slip out of her tent unnoticed, but she hadn’t bothered.

“Not your girlfriend,” Arabella had snarked. “Right.”

“I only slept in there because you co-opted my tent.”

And Arabella had rolled her eyes, and Rocky had headbutted both of Astarion’s calves, and
he’d only just barely been able to keep standing.

“Thank me later,” Arabella had said, and Auri had called his name, so he didn’t get to
strangle a little tiefling girl.

Gale and Auri stand side-by-side at the front door of the House of Healing in front of him.
Lae’zel is just behind them, her arms crossed. Gale is doing a lot of frantic, glowy hand-
waving to check for wards if his words are to be believed. Astarion, frankly, thinks that this
all seems a little absurd, and finally, Lae’zel’s arms drop to her sides.

“We are wasting time,” she says, and she shoulders between them to push the door open and
walk inside.

Gale’s jaw drops to the ground and Auri bites her lip, trying not to laugh. Astarion slides
through in Lae’zel’s wake. “Things are always so much simpler with Lae’zel around.”
Gale scowls, but he and Auri step inside, too. The door swings shut with a slam behind her,
and Auri jumps. Cobwebs and dirt come loose at the motion, but nothing compares to the
overwhelming smell of death that permeates the air.

“This place is cursed,” Gale says, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“I need neither the Weave nor you to tell me that, wizard,” Lae’zel says, and gods, yes,
Astarion does like her.

“Quiet!” Auri hisses, and Astarion doesn’t know how he missed what Auri’s hearing. He
must have been too entertained by Lae’zel.

There’s a voice down the hall. It chitters, never stopping to take a breath. Astarion stops and
focuses; if he’d drunk last night, he’d know for sure, but he’s nearly certain.

“Whatever it is is undead.”

He can smell Auri’s sun-dappled blood, the steel in Lae’zel’s, and whatever arcane nonsense
that Gale has going on. Something else living is here, too, but it’s much further in, and it
probably won’t be alive much longer.

Auri looks at Astarion and taps a finger to her lips twice, and he knows what that means. He
disappears like he’s made of fog, and Gale uneasily says, “A useful trick, that.”

“I think calling it a trick is underselling it, but yes, it is.”

Auri’s heart is racing. Anxiety rolls off of her, and just as he pushes his parasite forward
towards her, she calms. Her pulse steadies and her nearly-omnipresent fear has evaporated.

Strange.

Astarion takes the lead, though no one would know it. He keeps out of sight as the chittering
voice grows closer, and when they find the source, it’s more or less what he’d expected.

She’s a husk of an undead. She wears a nurse’s uniform, the skin around her mouth peels, and
the smell of her is even worse than the sight. Astarion resists the urge to put a hand over his
mouth and nose, and to Auri, who’s leading, the nurse asks, “Are we poorly? Are we here to
see the doctor? Are we desperately poorly?” The nurse pauses and Auri puts on the most
miserable face she can manage, nodding. The nurse mirrors her. “Yes, yes, we’re not so well.
But not so poorly we can’t wait. Join the line; you’ll be seen.”

There is, for what it’s worth, no line.

“But my friend,” Auri starts, biting her lower lip until tears spring to her eyes and gesturing
at Lae’zel, whose eyes widen. She watches Auri warily as she continues, “I might be able to
wait, but look at her! She’s positively green with illness.”

Astarion grins. The nurse makes a shocked sound.

 “Oh, my,” she says, and Auri’s won. The nurse ushers them onward, though she’s unwilling
to leave her post. “You’ll find the doctor at the end of the hall. Don’t delay!”

Marvelous, he sends on to Auri, and she has no clue where he is, but the soft smile she wears
is for him alone.

Their objective here is upsettingly vague; they’re supposed to find something that stirs Art
Cullagh from his coma. What that could be is entirely unclear.

Astarion stays hidden as they comb the hospital until they’re out of view of the nurse. He
slips into step at Auri’s side wordlessly.

Horrible things have happened here; that much is clear. Suffering is everywhere he looks, and
though that’s been the case most everywhere that Astarion’s been, this is different somehow.

He hates hospitals, he decides. He’s never been to one before that he can remember, but this
instance is enough.

Lae’zel prods an overturned gurney with her foot and looks at Auri. “I feel that House of
Healing is a poor name for this place.”

Astarion barks out a laugh.

They inch ever closer to the only still-alive thing in this place, but Auri leaves no stone
unturned. She’s determined to find the thing that will awaken the person who will no doubt
give them a quest to find another thing.

And there are two rooms left, then. Multiple eerily similar, also chittering voices rattle behind
the door at the end of the hall where the nurse at the front desk had sent them.

There’s softer murmuring behind the other door, and that’s the one that Auri opens. A plaque
next to the doorframe reads Children’s Ward.

Auri stares at it for too long before stepping into the room.

There’s another nurse there. Every other room has been filled with empty beds or, at worst,
skeletons.

This nurse has patients. She frets over them, pacing back and forth.

Her patients, of course, are dead. Their hearts are still.

They’re tieflings.

Auri knows who they are. She squeezes her eyes shut and looks away.

Astarion clenches his fist.

Chapter End Notes

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Auri never knew her parents.

According to the Founder, her family was reasonably wealthy, and that was how she wound
up in the orphanage. Other than that, the information she has is–

Well. She doesn’t have any.

What she knows is this–

She would have rather been on the street than in the orphanage. None of what happened
would have happened if she hadn’t been there.

But it did happen, and she’s here, and she’s the way that she is. She’s standing in the House
of Healing with Arabella’s parents’ corpses in front of her and a monstrosity tending to them.

Tears prick at Auri’s eyes. How is it fair? How is anything in this life fair? What’s the point
of living in a world where she turned into the pathetic thing she is, where Astarion was made
to act like a monster, where Arabella–

Auri chokes on it. Arabella’s dead parents are in front of her with a husk of a nurse fussing
over them and all Auri can do is cry about it.

Locke and Komira were so sweet to her. When she’d escorted Arabella out of Kagha’s
clutches, they’d insisted that she take Komira’s locket. Auri had refused, of course, until they
quit offering, but melancholy had struck her in a way that she’d struggled to put a name to.

She understands it now, looking at their corpses, a lump in her throat.

They were good parents.

Auri wanted that. She deserved it, even.

And Locke and Komira certainly didn’t deserve this.

Did the nurse kill them?

Does Auri care?

It’s not fair–

“Oh!” The nurse notices them, finally. “More patients? How are we feeling–”

Auri wants to draw her rapier and thrust it through the nurse’s stomach. Is it the nurse’s fault?
Who knows? Auri doesn’t really care. Does it even matter? Arabella’s an orphan, now, just
like Auri is, and again, again, again, she thinks, it’s not fair.

She wants to hurt something.

Her hand is on the hilt of her rapier, but she doesn’t get the chance to do anything. So fast
that Auri can’t even see him move, Astarion dashes forward and buries a dagger in her neck
and abdomen simultaneously.

“Astarion–” Gale starts, shocked, and Auri feels like she should reprimand him, but she
won’t.

She wanted to do the same.

Astarion pulls his daggers from the nurse’s now-twice-dead corpse, and when he does, she
slumps to the ground.

“Sorry,” Astarion says, voice cold, not apologetic in the slightest, “My hand slipped.”

Maybe the nurse didn’t kill them. Who knows? It doesn’t matter anyway. Auri steps over her
corpse and kneels next to the bed. As delicately as she can, Auri searches their bodies.
Tieflings run warm by nature, and they’re colder than Astarion is. Her fingers shake as she
looks, and eventually, Gale starts, “Auri…”

He says it with pity. Auri shakes her head. “The locket. I want the locket. I want to give
Arabella the locket–”

“She has it.” There’s no feeling in Astarion’s words, but Auri freezes anyway. When she
turns to look at him, he’s in the doorway, his back to all of them. He continues, “When I
snatched her out of the forest, she used it to hold off the curse. She has it.”

Astarion’s the picture of silence. If Auri didn’t watch him walk out of the children’s ward,
she might think he never left.

To Auri alone, he sends, What do you say we kill whatever wretched excuse of a creature is
the physician here?

And, yeah. That sounds satisfying, even if it won’t make Auri feel any better. That’s what
they were going to have to do anyway. The plan is still the same, even if Auri feels like her
heart’s been ripped from her chest.

Before she can think better of it, Auri stands and presses a kiss to Locke’s forehead and
Komira’s after. Auri swallows hard, and she can’t tell if her emotions are hers or if the fury
she’s feeling is Astarion’s, simmering under her skin and along their tadpole connection.

“We’ll be back,” Auri says. It’s all she has to offer.

Gale’s compassion and Lae’zel’s guarded concern follow her out into the hall.

It’s no surprise that Arabella’s parents are dead. Auri had scarcely hoped that they were alive.
Seeing their bodies shouldn’t have shaken her this way.

But she isn’t the only one, and Astarion’s far more hardened to this world than she is. Killing
the nurse wasn’t enough. He wants to take his rage out on something else.

The door to the ward shuts. Gale is the last out.

“Don’t let your judgment be clouded,” Lae’zel says, though her voice isn’t unkind. “The
child will not be alone. Our purpose remains the same.”

Polly squirms behind Auri’s eye. why are you upset?

I– How can she explain it? Arabella’s an orphan now.

yes. Polly offers no moral judgment. but auri is, too.

And look how well I turned out. Auri’s words fail. She doesn’t deserve that. She doesn’t
deserve any of it. She’s only a kid. I was only a kid–

but auri, if–

Quiet. Auri’s command is sharp, but Polly doesn’t obey.

Who are you talking to?

Astarion’s intrusion shocks Auri from the conversation, but Polly’s still talking. sister, we–

I said, quiet.

Polly listens this time, Auri drawing on the illithid power without fully intending to. She
expects Polly to withhold it, but when Auri seeks it out, it answers without hesitation.

At the end of the hall, there’s a scream.

Auri can feel the shadows in her eyes. They pulse. She reaches out; the moment that she
walks through this door, she’s going to level everything inside.

There’s a cool hand on her forearm that stops her only moments before her fingers wrap
around the door handle. Her neck swivels to find Astarion staring down at her.

Lae’zel and Gale haven’t caught up. The pace she’s cut down the hall has left them trailing
behind her.
When Astarion pulls on her arm to make her face him properly, Auri’s power flares again,
untamed if not out of control.

Astarion’s eyes narrow. “Don’t threaten me, love.”

Auri’s mouth goes dry. She–

“Are you still you?” he asks. There’s no hint of a joke in his voice.

Is she?

Polly?

When she reaches through the thread that binds them, Polly doesn’t answer immediately.

auri.

I’m sorry.

Polly doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t need to. She presses up against the heat of Auri’s rage,
and just as Astarion’s hand on her skin does, it grounds her.

To Astarion, Auri says, “Yes.”

He nods.

“Then I’m with you.”

“Do you still want to kill the bastard?” Auri asks.

He barks out a laugh. “You think that’s why I stopped you?”

Her hand is still on the handle.

“I’m always ready to kill, darling. I’d just have a much harder time justifying burying my
cock in a mind flayer.”

The air leaves her lungs, but still, he isn’t joking. Astarion is deathly serious. Lae’zel and
Gale have finally caught up.

We’ll talk about this later, he says, like he isn’t the most capricious creature in the realms. His
fists are still clenched. He’s as furious as she is.

She’ll come clean about Polly, then. It’s the least that she can do.

Malus Thorm’s head rolls and the corpses of his nurses litter his operating room. They
weren’t quick enough to save his final unfortunate subject. The only sound in this room
following the carnage that they wrought is blood dripping from his body to the floor.
Auri hugs Art Cullagh’s lute to her chest and tries not to tremble. She doesn’t want to go back
to the children’s ward particularly, but she’ll have to eventually. She sent Gale and Lae’zel to
fetch Halsin; they need more muscle to give Locke and Komira the funeral they deserve.
According to Gale, tieflings prefer cremation to a burial.

She’d been very clear about not saying anything to Arabella until she and Astarion were
back.

“I want to tell her myself,” she’d said, and Gale had nodded.

She’s not sure why she’s taken that burden upon herself, but it seems right. From one orphan
to another.

And there’s something else to deal with right now.

Auri’s eyes flutter shut and steels herself before she opens her mouth. She’d promised to be
open with Astarion, or at least more so than she had been in the past.

“I was talking to the tadpole.” Auri speaks quietly, and when she opens her eyes, Astarion is
staring at her expectantly. When she doesn’t continue immediately, he gestures with his hand
as if urging her to continue. She sighs and chews the inside of her cheek. “They don’t seem to
have bad intentions. The only thing they’ve ever known is me. We’re kind of…” Auri
hesitates to finish the sentence, but she takes the plunge anyway. “Friends?”

She clenches her eyes shut again and braces herself for whatever’s coming next. After an
eternity, Auri hears a strangled laugh.

When she looks at Astarion, he has a hand over his mouth, and he’s making a valiant effort
not to chuckle.

With alarm, Auri asks, “What?”

Arabella’s parents are dead. They’re in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. They’re both covered in
viscera. Tens of corpses are on the ground around them.

And Astarion is laughing.

“It’s just–” When he starts talking, a laugh does slip out. “Everyone else is worried about
their parasite. And you’re befriending yours.”

Auri blinks. Astarion’s smiling at her and despite the pit that’s still in her stomach, she feels
relief.

“Can you still control it?” he asks, but he doesn’t seem that concerned, all things considered.
Of all their companions, he always would be the one most likely not to be put off by it.

Auri starts to nod, but then she hesitates. “Polly doesn’t really need to be controlled–”

And he laughs again. It’s the most beautiful sound in the world, better than any music Auri’s
ever made. She wishes they were anywhere else.
“You’ve named it,” he says in disbelief before repeating himself. “You’ve named it. Polly.”

When he speaks Polly’s name, she practically purrs. Anxiety grips Auri for a split-second as
she responds, Astarion’s tadpole letting her in with no resistance.

Polly knows everything about Auri, really. She could tell him whatever she wanted.

i’m polly, she says, and Astarion’s eyes widen. i can’t wait to kill your master.

And yes, that’s a sentiment that Auri shares, though she’s not sure quite how Astarion will
take the intrusion. His smile fades to his usual smirk, though, amused despite where they
stand and what they’ve seen, and he says, A pleasure. I’m Astarion.

i know who you are. auri dreams about you often. she never wants to leave camp
without you. she–

“That’s enough, I think.” Auri’s face ignites and she forces the conversation to end before
Polly can put a name to what Auri thinks every time that she sees Astarion’s face (I love you),
but Polly seems satisfied. She nestles back into Auri’s brain matter contentedly.

“What a marvelous creature,” Astarion says, but Auri almost feels like he’s talking to her.
She opens her mouth to respond, but Astarion’s head swivels to the door. “The others are
here. I just heard Lae’zel behead the nurse at the front.”

The circumstances come rushing back, and it sobers them both. Astarion moves to meet
them, but Auri grabs his hand, and he stops.

“Don’t tell the others. Please.”

He exhales a laugh and turns to face her.

“The woman who hid my vampirism and then defended me for it at the end of Lae’zel’s blade
and Halsin’s claws, worried that I’ll spill her secrets.”

Auri winces and looks at the ground. Astarion’s gloved hand tilts her chin back upward and
kisses her without regard for the gore that she can feel sticking in her hair.

Reassurance floods through her.

“What good would it do either of us if I betrayed your trust, little love?”

The nickname’s a new one. Why is it that every time he walks away, she’s left breathless?
The world is terrible and yet he touches her with such tenderness anyway–

Astarion’s hand drops from her face, and behind him, Gale, Lae’zel, and Halsin appear in the
doorway.

“Where are they?” Halsin asks, and the near-constant lump in Auri’s throat returns.
 “The children’s ward. It’s the second door on the left when we walk out of here,” Auri says.
“Gale mentioned that tieflings normally prefer cremation.”

Halsin nods. Out of everyone here, he’s the one most able to give an estimation of what
Locke and Komira would want and what would give Arabella the most peace.

“Their bodies – what state are they in?”

“If I had to guess, they’ve been dead for some time–”

“That’s not what he’s asking,” Astarion interrupts. “They aren’t mangled or anything like
that. If it’s a funeral rite you’re after, they haven’t been turned into ground meat.”

It’s a terribly cold way to put it, and Auri flinches, but Halsin nods. “Lae’zel, will you assist
me?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, but Lae’zel follows him without a word. Gale mingles
awkwardly in the door, and even if they weren’t in the worst, most terrible place ever, Auri
has no desire to be alone with Gale and Astarion. “I’m going to see if they need help,” Auri
says, as if she will be of any use at all, but she doesn’t get the chance to even try. By the time
she’s in the hallway, Lae’zel has Komira over her shoulder and Halsin has Locke in his arms.

Auri’s left with the same feeling she started with.

It isn’t fair.

Chapter End Notes

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 astarion
Chapter Notes

HERE WE GOOOOO ok ok ok ok if you want something that doesn't fit the vibe of this
chapter at all i watched this like 4x while writing lmao. spoilers for bg3 endgame but
hopefully that's not a concern if you're here in this fic

tw: death. fire. grief.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

What would he have done if Auri was turning? He’d have killed her. It would have been a
kindness.

Every muscle in his body still tenses at the thought. Has there ever been a person who he’s
hesitated about killing?

And her tadpole – Polly – she’s been listening this entire time. Every secret that Astarion’s
divulged, every moan he’s pulled from Auri’s throat, every laugh that she’s stolen from his
mangled, broken existence is something that Polly’s been privy to.

It’s a worrisome thought, yes. He’s not in the habit of being vulnerable in any capacity, and
the idea that there’s been a worm listening this entire time –

Well. He has one, too, he supposes. The only difference is that Auri’s been talking to hers.

Whatever he and Auri have makes for a foursome if he thinks about it, so he decides not to.

With all things equal, he’d rather have the eldritch creature in Auri’s brain on his side rather
than against him, so the first words that she spoke being i can’t wait to kill your master are
about the best ones he could hope for.

They’re back in camp. He hasn’t had a chance to talk to Auri about everything anyway, and
he’ll withhold his judgment until then, but for now –

Auri didn’t ask for the parasite in her head more than any of them did. She wields it as a
weapon instead of carrying it as a burden.

And if she starts to turn, then–

Astarion’s not so soft, yet.

He can hear Auri talking to Arabella. Auri’s taken her into her tent for some semblance of
privacy, but it doesn’t matter. Astarion’s not even sure that he wants to hear what they’re
saying, but he can’t stop listening. He could leave camp, but his feet won’t move.

Halsin’s out there, preparing Locke and Komira’s bodies. Auri had wanted to cremate them
back at Last Light, but there’s no good way to get them there.

“Everyone's been acting weird since you got back. What's going on?”

Astarion crosses his arms.

“You should sit down.” Auri's voice wobbles.

There's a long, pregnant pause, and then, Arabella –

“They're dead, aren't they?”

Auri inhales sharply but she doesn't say anything. Maybe she nods.

Arabella says, “Yeah. I figured.”

“I'm so sorry,” Auri says, like it's her fault.

Arabella’s crying. Why wouldn't she be? “I mean, I knew they probably were. But I hoped–”

A sob tears itself from Arabella's throat, stealing the end of her sentence, and Astarion is
surprised that Auri has managed to last this long without crying. But when Arabella breaks
(when she lets out a wail that sends shadow-cursed birds into flight from the trees around
them), Auri does, too.

All movement in the camp freezes. The only sound they can hear is Arabella crumbling.
She’s going to attract every creature from here to the Underdark, but no one makes any move
to quiet her.

That’s what they hear, but Astarion hears something else, too.

He hears Auri wrapping Arabella in her embrace. He hears another set of tears.

He hears Auri whispering, over and over again –

“I’m so sorry, honey. I’m so sorry.”

Everyone’s mourning, and that’s all well and good, but Astarion doesn’t know quite what to
do with himself.

Being out of the way will just have to do, and no one complains. Minutes turn to hours and
Arabella’s whimpers have long faded when Halsin approaches him to say, “We’re ready.”

Astarion blinks at him. “Okay?”

Halsin waits for him to say more, but Astarion doesn’t. “Fetch your lover and Arabella.
They’re in her tent.”

And Astarion doesn’t see how that’s his responsibility, exactly, but Halsin doesn’t give him
time to protest, so Astarion huffs and turns toward Auri’s tent. He pulls the flap open without
announcing himself, ready to make a joke, to do anything that will lift the veil of grief that’s
fallen over the lot of them–

And he stops cold.

Auri’s curled around a sleeping Arabella. Tears have dried on Arabella’s cheeks and her face
is puffy, but she seems to be at peace for the moment. Auri holds her to her chest, Arabella’s
tail draped over her legs.

And Arabella might not be crying, but Auri still is. She strokes Arabella’s hair gently,
soothing her with nonsense sounds that Arabella can’t even hear, and there’s no joke that
Astarion can make about this. She doesn’t even look up at him. Astarion isn’t sure that she’s
noticed him at all.

“Halsin says they’re ready.”

When Astarion speaks, Auri steels herself but she doesn’t startle, stopping her own tears, and,
like it’s the most difficult thing she’s ever done, she runs a thumb along Arabella’s cheekbone
to wake her.

“It’s time to say goodbye, Arabella,” Auri says, and Arabella’s eyes open slowly. There’s a
fraction of a moment where she doesn’t remember what’s happened, and then, as Astarion
watches, the cruelty of the world pours back into her body.

Children are so weak. Arabella’s possessed by grief again as Astarion watches.

He can’t look any longer.

He steps back outside, and peace continues to elude him because Viv finds him.

“Hi. Do you have a minute?” she asks. He cocks an eyebrow at her (now?), but Viv looks
side to side uncomfortably before gesturing to her own back. “It’s about– Y’know–”

Well, today has been so much fun thus far. Surely news about whatever Cazador has
engraved in his back will lighten the mood.

Everyone’s so absorbed in what they’re doing and the emotional distress of the last hour that
no one will pay any attention to the conversation they’re having. Astarion crosses his arms.
“Well?”

“Well,” she says, looking frustrated, “I’ve gotten a start, but it’s going to take some time.
It’s… convoluted.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know, exactly. It seems almost legal in nature? Most of my knowledge of Infernal
comes from when I was studying hellfire–”

“You were studying hellfire–”

“Not important. I–”

“Why in the hells were you studying–”

“Well, as you might imagine, the hells were in fact a focus of my research. I wanted to make
hellfireworks. It’s not important. Focus. All I wanted to tell you is that it seems like it’s part
of a contract. I’ll keep working on it. I don’t know more than that right now, but I hopefully
will have more when you get back.”

An Infernal contract on his back. As if Cazador didn’t have enough ways to torture him
without getting devils involved.

The funeral pyre is traditional if Halsin is to be believed. He looks to Karlach for guidance
and asks if he’s missed anything, but Karlach shrugs.

“I’ve never been much of a traditionalist.”

So they all bow to Halsin’s expertise, and Arabella’s parents are each afforded their own
luxurious wooden plank as a vessel to the afterlife.

Again, Astarion’s fists are clenched. He doesn’t care, really, but Arabella looks so pathetic
curled into Auri’s side, a far cry from the fierce thing he’d snatched up in the woods.

Halsin is the only one of them aside from Arabella who really knew Locke and Komira, so he
does the majority of the talking, a lit torch in one hand.

What does all this matter? People die every day. They send plenty to the grave themselves–

Halsin says, “They leave the mortal world a better place than it was when they entered it,
survived by their daughter, Arabella.”

Arabella chokes out a sob, and Halsin holds out the torch to her, his face somber but not
unkind.

“She wanted you to have it,” Auri murmurs, quietly enough that only Astarion and Arabella
can hear. “She wouldn’t want you to–”

“I can’t take it from her,” Arabella says, and Auri doesn’t press the issue. Instead, she kisses
the top of Arabella’s head, and Arabella steps forward. Tenderly, she places the locket in
Komira’s hand, and then she says something in Infernal that Astarion doesn’t understand.
Whatever it was must have been poignant, though, because Karlach looks down at the
ground.

And Arabella sets the pyre aflame.

She returns to Auri’s arms. Astarion watches the locket long after everyone else has dispersed
and Auri tells them the plan for what comes next.

He barely even hears when she says, “We’ll go back to Last Light and regroup, and then
we’ll split up. If we’re going to try to infiltrate Moonrise anyway, Astarion and I stand a
better chance than any other duo here. The rest of you will stay with Halsin and get to work
dispelling the curse.”

The fire’s enchanted. It burns so hot that it seems almost infernal itself.

The locket glimmers long after Locke and Komira’s bodies burn, tarnished by the flames but
still whole.

Every tiefling at Last Light is united by the loss of Locke and Komira. Each of them wants to
scoop Arabella into their arms and shield her from the pain, but she won’t leave Auri’s side.

They’re not staying long, Auri’s decided. It’s a day’s journey to Moonrise, if Jaheira’s to be
believed, and she doesn’t want to waste any more time.

Privately, Astarion thinks that the idea of sitting still doesn’t appeal to her because she’ll
wallow in this pain, but it’s hardly his place to say.

Astarion’s armor is on and his daggers are at the ready. When Auri gives the word, they’ll go.

How she’ll rid herself of Arabella, who has been clinging to her arm since they’d returned
from the House of Healing, Astarion isn’t sure.

He picks absently at a fraying thread that’s coming loose from the hem of his sleeve. Surely
they’ll be going soon –

“Look,” Auri says, and she crouches down when she speaks to Arabella. “You can’t come
with us.”

Astarion’s eyes bulge. Her joining them in a combat capacity had never even occurred to
him. He'd meant that she could tag along-

“Why not?” Arabella’s petulant, and Auri bites her lip, shaking her head. “I– I have my
magic! I’m good in a fight–”

And Astarion has to admit that that’s true, but Auri says, “You’ll be safe here with them.
Alfira’s said she’d look out for you.”

If it wasn’t so earnest on Auri’s part, Astarion would laugh. That plea will never work on a
child who stole the druids’ idol to try to keep her family safe.

“I don’t want to be safe! I want to do something that matters.” Arabella stamps her foot on
the ground, every bit a ten-year-old. “I won’t hold you back. I promise. Just let me–”

Auri’s eyes flutter shut and she stands. “I have to talk to Jaheira. I’ll be right back.”
When Auri disappears into Jaheira’s room, Arabella’s hands go to her collarbone as if she’s
searching for the locket she’d left with Komira.

Talking to Jaheira will likely take a few minutes, so Astarion takes a seat, propping his feet
up on the table. Arabella’s been crying for hours, and Astarion’s not sure what the correct
way is to handle that, so he draws a dagger to pick dirt out from underneath his nails. “You’re
never going to convince her that way.”

His tone shocks her out of any emotion but surprise. “What?”

“You’re never going to convince her that way. She’s too worried about keeping you safe.”

Tears brim in Arabella’s eyes again, and that is the opposite of what he wants. He’s not
equipped for that at all. “Then what am I supposed to do?”

Astarion motions her over, and as she sits next to him, he sets his dagger on the table, putting
his legs down to lean forward on his knees so he’s more or less at her eye level.

“You have two options,” he says, holding up his index and middle fingers. “One: you do as
she says. Stay here. Assist the others with lifting the blight on this land or however Halsin
says it. If you prove capable enough, that might convince her. Two: don’t listen and follow us
anyway.”

There’s no threat of tears, now. Arabella’s mouth is open. “What horrible advice.”

Astarion shrugs and leans back in the chair again, taking the dagger in his hand again.
Arabella pouts but doesn’t say anything else, but at least she isn’t crying anymore.

Gods. Auri surely will be back soon. Surely.

Again, Arabella’s fingers search for something at her neck, and then she’s crying again.

“It seemed like the right thing to do,” Arabella says, trailing off in a way that leads Astarion
to believe that he’s supposed to say something.

“Hm?” he offers. Gods. Auri can’t have that much to talk to Jaheira about.

“The locket. I’m glad I left it with her, but–”

Astarion can almost see the lump form in her throat. “Would you do it again?” he asks.

Quietly, as though she’s on the cusp of falling apart once again, Arabella says, “I don’t know.
I just– I don’t have anything left of them, now.”

Finally, Auri emerges. When she looks at Astarion, he stands. Arabella doesn’t move. Pain
flashes across Auri’s face, Arabella’s dejection taking its toll, but then she looks at Auri.

“I’ll do what you say,” she says, determined. “I’ll stay here. But while you’re gone, think
about it. Please. I want to come with you. I’ll prove I’m worth having along.”
 Auri’s lips part, but then she nods. “Okay. Deal.”

The sad smile on Arabella’s face feels, for some reason, like a victory.

Auri ruffles Arabella’s hair and says, “We’ll be back soon. It’ll only be a day or two.”

Auri jerks her head toward the door, and Astarion follows as she starts walking, but Arabella
calls his name just before he steps out of the inn. He stops and looks over his shoulder,
waiting for a follow up, and for a third time, Arabella’s hand seeks the locket she left behind.

“Take care of her, okay?”

What a strange, charming little girl.

Astarion turns to face her properly. She swallows hard like she’s nervous, and he smirks
despite himself.

Arabella’s cheeks darken, and Astarion reaches into his pocket.

It’s much worse for wear, but the chain of the locket that Komira gave Arabella tangles in his
fingers, and he tosses it to her, the dim firelight inside the inn reflecting off of it.

Arabella gasps and fumbles it, but she catches the locket anyway. As recognition dawns in
her eyes, tears threaten her again. Astarion winks at her and turns away to leave the inn
before he can see the aftermath, waving goodbye lazily as he goes.

Chapter End Notes

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 auri
Chapter Notes

hey everyone! my eyes are in a rough spot today, so please forgive errors. this one's for
mrs-theirin, who got me a neil newbon cameo for christmas that hit at the exactly
emotionally vulnerable point that it needed to. i love you, quill. thank you so much.

tw: violence, gore, body horror, exhibitionism, um.

last bit is basically all smut, so if that's not your bag, feel free to skim xd

i'm also a bit behind on comments from last chapter, but i'll catch up. my eyes are just.
well. the world's going a little grayscale lol. hope you enjoy <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“It was sweet, what you did for Arabella,” Auri says. They haven’t quite breached the barrier
that protects Last Light from the curse outside, and Astarion looks at her from the corner of
his eye.

“I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

Auri shrugs. “All I know is that if I was Arabella, I’d be utterly infatuated with you for the
rest of my life after that.”

Astarion’s smirk is almost embarrassed. “As if you won’t already be infatuated with me for
the rest of your life, darling.”

Auri’s breath catches in her throat like the fact that she loves him might spill out of her mouth
if she doesn’t swallow it, but Astarion doesn’t wait for an answer. He strides out toward the
darkness as if he belongs to it, a light on each hip thanks to Viv’s augmentation of his
daggers.

Auri jogs to catch up, but he stops cold just short of walking over the boundary. She nearly
runs into his back, though she manages to adjust in time, stepping up next to him. Astarion
doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Auri furrows her brow. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you going to turn?”

Polly flinches, burrowing somewhere deeper in Auri’s brain. Auri blinks. “What?”

“I’m aware that this isn’t the best time to have this conversation,” Astarion says, “But–”

turn?
When Polly speaks in Auri’s head, Astarion’s gaze snaps to her.

He can hear you? Auri asks.

should i not let him? what does it mean? turn?

These are loaded questions. Auri doesn't know how to answer. He means– Auri starts but she
doesn’t get to finish.

I mean that I would prefer the first person I’ve cared about since I was made a monster to
stay a human.

Auri wants to balk at the framing, but Polly doesn’t understand. what else would she be?

Astarion’s gaze bores into hers like if he looks into her eyes deeply enough, he’ll spy Polly
behind the whites of Auri’s eyes.

When Astarion pushes into her mind, Auri lets him. Through their connection, he shoves
images of the nautiloid, of the mind flayer, of Omeluum.

You could turn her into that. Astarion says when he’s done, and Auri doesn’t think that using
Omeluum as an example is fair, but it’s nothing if not an effective point.

Polly’s quiet for what feels like a very long time, and then finally, she says, i don’t want auri
to change.

The sentiment’s genuine; Auri believes that in her core. The question is whether or not Polly
has a say in the matter. From the way that Astarion is peering at her, she would guess that
he’s come to the same conclusion. When neither of them answers, Polly says, i love auri.

And yes, she means that, too.

how do i not turn?

The information Auri had poured into her appears to have given Polly some semblance of
understanding, and Auri reaches into her pocket to find the ring Omeluum gave her days ago.

She holds it up to inspect, and Astarion raises an eyebrow.

“I deserve a better proposal than that, darling.”

Auri blushes despite herself. “No– Omeluum gave me this.”

“Who?”

“The mind flayer from the Underdark. He said that if I felt myself changing more than I
wanted to put the ring on. I wouldn’t have any of the powers I’ve been using, but I also
would still be me.”

Useless, weak, subpar Auri is what she would be.

She holds it out to Astarion. “Take it.”

“Why would I–”

“Because if I’m that far gone–” Auri stops herself, biting her lip. “I like how I feel when I use
the tadpole’s powers. I don’t trust myself.”

Astarion’s been called her dog more than once, but it’s her leash that she’s handing him.

With quivering hands, she proffers it again. Auri swallows hard and closes her eyes.

And he takes it.

Control slips through her fingers, but she trusts him. She does.

Astarion tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, and Auri says, “It won’t come to that.”

She doesn’t know who she’s talking to, exactly.

It’s rare, all things considered, that Auri and Astarion have much more than a stolen moment
alone together. They’re both uninterested in attracting the attention of whatever the Shadow-
Cursed Lands may have to offer, so the conversation is kept to a minimum until Moonrise
looms before them.

She’d thought that he was upset with her. Anxiety blooms when communication dies, but it
puts her mind at ease when his daggers cut through vines to clear a path for them to walk
through and he bows, all theatrics, a consummate showman.

He smiles at her.

They’re fine. The fear is laid to rest, at least for a moment.

The plan is simple; ride Auri’s charisma as far as it will take them and find a weak spot
where Ketheric Thorm is concerned.

They walk up to the doors as though they belong there, and Auri can’t help but think that
they’re missing a lot of specifics.

But it’s too late to think about that.

“Do I knock?”

Astarion deadpans. “You’re not serious.”

“O-of course not,” Auri stutters, and Astarion lets out a laugh that’s almost a snort, but
there’s no time to unpack it because as soon as she pushes the doors open, there’s a yell.

“We did as we was told!”

A goblin voice rings out as Auri and Astarion step into the hall. Something akin to a trial is
playing out before them, three goblins under interrogation, when Auri sees the man on the
proverbial and literal throne.

All air leaves her lungs. She recognizes him from the vision she’d had from the Absolute at
the goblin camp so long ago. An aged half-elf.

Ketheric Thorm.

He’s imposing but bored, half-watching the goblins grovel. A half-orc conducts the
proceedings.

“You failed to retrieve the artifact,” says his disciple. “You failed to protect your True Soul.”

She punctuates her words with a psionic wave that sends both Auri and Astarion staggering
backward. Polly recoils but stays silent.

The half-orc says, “You do not deserve to live.”

And Auri, despite the headache clattering in her skull, sees an opportunity.

“Stop. Nightwarden Minthara is to blame.”

When Auri speaks, silence falls over the hall, and Thorm’s posture straightens.

Astarion, to his credit, doesn’t visibly balk when she speaks, and she continues, “They served
the Absolute faithfully.”

There’s a prodding behind Auri’s eyes. She recognizes it as the Absolute’s influence, just as
she has with True Souls, but it’s stronger.

Thorm stares straight at her.

“And you are?”

“Viveka. Savael and I are both True Souls.”

“And you saw these goblins at work?” Thorm asks. “You vouch for their devotion?”

Astarion’s at her back. He trusts her to talk them in.

“Their work came up short, but lack of devotion to the Absolute was not the cause.”

“See?” The goblin that was arguing before speaks again. “Praise the–”

“Unfortunately, faith without action is sickly. Anemic. In a word, useless.”

Thorm’s indictment crashes through the hall despite him never raising his voice.

“Coddling failure is no longer an option, and, faithful or not, you failed. We are too close to
the end – and the beginning – to tolerate work like yours.” He nods to the half-orc, standing.
“Kill them. Now.”

The goblin who spoke freezes, but a second one hisses at Thorm’s proclamation. “You
creaking sack of shit!”

Thorm chuckles like he’s amused, and this second goblin turns, pulling an axe off one of the
guards’ person. She’s quick, but it strikes Auri as strange that no one moves to stop her. In a
last-ditch effort to escape, the goblin hurls the axe at Thorm.

She hits her mark.

The axe nearly bisects him, embedding itself in his chest. Auri gasps and puts a hand over her
mouth, stretching out her other arm as if to shield Astarion (from what, she isn’t sure).

They’d come here to kill Thorm. Has this goblin really–

As soon as the thought crosses her mind, Thorm’s head tilts to the side. With a single-minded
intensity, he pulls the axe from his body, and as Auri watches, his flesh stitches itself back
together. Black and green threads of magic intertwine to make him whole again, and he steps
forward as his disciple says, “I’m sorry, my lord. She’s an unbeliever – she’s outside my
control.”

Almost amused, Thorm steps forward. His armor clangs with every movement, and when
he’s in front of the now-quivering goblins, he drops the axe.

It clatters as it hits the floor, and Thorm says, “Try again.”

Auri’s eyes widen.

The goblin follows his command, though it’s not like she has an option. This time, she buries
the axe in his neck.

And Thorm laughs.

“Weak.”

Axe still lodged in his neck, he picks up his assailant in one hand and with the other crushes
her skull.

He pulls the axe out and drops it to the ground in tandem with the goblin’s corpse. Thorm
turns to Z’rell. “Do with the others as you see fit,” he says, before addressing Auri, “And
you, True Souls. You may be blessed, but I am Chosen. Remember that as you walk my
stronghold. Partake from our stores as you wish. We will all need strength for what’s to come.
If you require lodging, you will have it.”

When Thorm turns his back, Auri chances a glance at Astarion.

I’m with you, Astarion says through the tadpole, I have no desire to sleep over at the house of
a man who crushes skulls with one hand.
They’re regarded with suspicion, but that’s hardly a surprise. Otherwise, though, they eat
their fill (Astarion slides his portion onto Auri’s plate when no one’s looking – “I’ll drink my
portion later; don’t worry”) and then are given the run of the place with the exception of the
upper floors.

Naturally, the upper floors are the correct place to investigate, but they pick up information
even just sitting here. Among the indoctrinated, secrets don’t seem to be much of an issue.
They’re all in the Absolute’s thrall anyway.

There’s someone called Balthazar. There’s a relic. The Nightsong. Thorm’s sleeping quarters
are on the floor above them.

So, naturally, they need to go upstairs. And that is a place where they will attract much more
than just suspicion.

But Auri’s quiet when she wants to be, and Astarion’s near silent.

And it goes well, really. She and Astarion have chemistry anyway; that’s just like breathing at
this point. They don’t attract attention as they work their way toward the off-limits areas of
Moonrise, and as they near a secluded corner near the stairs, Astarion pauses.

He’s quick. She never saw him coming. Even if she had, she probably wouldn’t have stopped
him.

“What–” she starts, air ripped from her lungs as he pins her to the wall, his chest flush with
hers.

“Eyes on me, love. We’re being watched.” As Astarion speaks, color drains from her face.
They aren’t supposed to be here. There’s no way they can fight their way out if they get
caught. Panic wells up in her throat, but Astarion takes her chin in his hand and says,
“Breathe. It’s one goblin up in the rafters, and a goblin isn’t smart enough to know the
difference between us looking for a way to kill an immortal Chosen and us trying to slip
away for a private moment.”

His lips are at her ear. Every hair on Auri’s body stands straight up. Astarion’s fingers toy
with her waistband, and it’s probably only in her imagination, but she swears she can feel the
goblin watching.

“This is a bad idea,” Auri says, but her voice quivers as his thumb brushes against the
sensitive skin of her stomach.

“Then tell me to stop.”

Her mouth is a desert.

“Are you really going to do this here?” she asks, heat already pooling in her stomach.

Astarion tilts his head to the side. A smile tugs at one corner of his mouth like he’s almost
satisfied with himself for once. It’s impossible to forget how beautiful he is, but every now
and then, he drops every pretense and she’s allowed the privilege of witnessing him without
any of the smoke and mirrors.

“Tell me to stop,” he repeats. His hand pauses, giving Auri a moment to decide. He won’t
make her do anything that she doesn’t want to do, and isn’t this just so Astarion, truly
enjoying himself without any deceit as they try to evade suspicion?

Gods, but she loves him. She does.

When Auri doesn’t protest, his hand slips into her leggings, and her head falls back
preemptively against the cool stone of the wall.

“You should be careful, showing me your neck like that,” he says, and the devil-may-care
tone may be back in his voice, but he doesn’t seem to be enjoying himself any less. His touch
feathers over her clit, and the shiver that runs through her is accompanied by one of his
fingers sliding into her with ease.

When she whimpers, she accompanies it with, “Sweetheart…”

“So wet for me already,” he says, “I might almost think that you like being watched.”

There’s a thrill to it that Auri can’t deny, yes, but the truth of the matter is much simpler and
far more saccharine.

It’s just him.

Astarion puts a knee between her legs to push them further apart, and she gasps as the finger
inside her curls to press at the spot that makes it difficult to stand. “What do you think,
darling? Can you take another?”

Auri will take as much as he wants to give. She wants to scream it; she wants him to believe
it. She wants him to know it doesn’t matter what it is so long as it’s him and it’s real, never
mind that this particular situation only happened because a goblin’s looking on.

She knows when he’s pretending, and this is real.

Auri hasn’t answered his question. His thumb drags across her clit, and when her mouth
opens to cry out, Astarion steals the sound with a kiss. She grows slicker, still, and as her
body reacts, he whispers into her mouth, “You have to be quiet for me. We don’t want to get
caught, do we?”

He punctuates his words with a second finger. Auri never wants anyone else to touch her
body again.

The pressure inside her builds, and he’s right, but staying quiet feels impossible. Auri’s hips
lift off the wall at the expertise of his touch, and she buries her face in his shoulder.

There’s a chuckle in his voice, altogether sincere. “Am I the one being bitten this time?” His
voice doesn’t help matters. His words are breathy against her ear, and he grinds the heel of
his hand against her clit. Auri’s arms are around his neck; he’s free to do what he wants with
her and her nails scrape against his scalp. “If you’re going to do that,” he says, an
undercurrent of desire threading through his tone, “Then maybe we should find Thorm’s
bedroom so I can fill you more properly–”

Fuck.

With restraint she may never find again, Auri forces herself to look up at him.

“If you think that I want the first time that you come inside me to be a stolen, hasty quickie
inside Moonrise Towers, you are greatly mistaken,” she hisses, but all conviction leaves her
when he presses her flush against the wall again.

Another finger joins the first two, and the feeling of fullness while even tangentially thinking
of his cock inside her has Auri’s knees buckling. Astarion doesn’t let her fall, but still, his
fingers don’t stop.

“Then be a good girl and come on my fingers instead,” he says, his thumb back on the bundle
of nerves that makes every muscle in her body spasm. “Before the idea of burying my cock in
your cunt becomes too appealing.”

It’s not fair– He’s so–

Auri’s back arches and her head rolls back; Astarion’s hand is there before her skull can crack
against the wall. She pulls him forward to crash her lips to his because if she doesn’t, she’ll
scream her climax for the entirety of this wretched stronghold to hear. His fangs tear at her
lips through no fault of his own, and his fingers fuck her through the orgasm.

She makes a strangled sound, trying so hard to be quiet. Her hips chase the last few moments
of release, and finally, her body calms. Astarion’s fingers leave her, and the loss makes her
shudder.

“I can’t believe we just did that.” The grin on her face is incredulous, and when Astarion
releases her from his grip, her knees again almost fail. “I don’t know if I can walk.”

He smirks, a mask half-worn. “I am quite talented, aren’t I?”

He makes her feel this way, and still, that insecurity lurks under the surface.

“You’re perfect for me,” Auri says softly, and as she watches, the performance peels away
until all she can see is a man.

When Auri doesn’t look away, he clears his throat awkwardly. “We should probably keep
moving.”

Auri nods, affection overflowing, before remembering that they had an onlooker. When Auri
looks toward the spot where Astarion had said there was a voyeur, she sees nothing.

Puzzled, she asks, “Where’s the goblin?”

“Pardon?”
 “Where’s the goblin?” Auri repeats.

“I was more focused on the situation at hand, but once it became clear what we were doing,
he ran off.” Astarion pauses as if looking for the most effective way to embarrass her.
“Presumably, he had a condition that needed attending to, if you catch my drift. But we were
just having so much fun that I didn’t think it prudent to point it out in the moment.”

Auri’s speechless. Anything coherent is stuck in her throat, so instead she lets out a wordless
laugh.

When he smiles at her, it’s almost boyish.

I love you, she thinks.

The coast is clear and the stairs are before them. He asks, “Coming, darling?”

They all say she’s the leader, but she’s just as likely to follow Astarion anywhere.

Chapter End Notes

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again, quill, i will never ever ever be grateful enough.

i think you'll see me before then, but the holidays are busy, so if i don't, a very very
lovely new year to all of you. <3
 astarion
Chapter Notes

I'M GOING TO RESPOND TO YOUR COMMENTS I'M SO SORRY THE

HOLIDAYS ARE SO BUSY

behold! fanart i commissioned of auri and astarion sitting on a rock from a scene many
chapters ago LOL. crunchy-n-crumbly if you're out there i love you

tw: araj

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The goblin being in the rafters hadn’t been a lie. There had been one, lurking there, his eyes
following them. His gaze had lingered on Auri as she’d clung to Astarion’s shadow. She’s not
as skilled as he is (an unfair comparison, really), but she’s much quieter than the rest of their
companions.

But the goblin – Astarion had spotted him long before, patrolling back and forth in the
rafters, rarely pausing but to give something a cursory glance. He’d stopped outright when
he’d noticed Auri, who isn’t quite as adept as Astarion at slinking through the shadows.

His eyes had roved up and down Auri’s body, and for a moment, Astarion had thought about
how simple it would be to throw a dagger through his neck.

Instead, he'd pushed Auri against the wall, and if the goblin had made an exit only a moment
after, what was the harm in him keeping up the charade?

She's always beautiful, even when she's ugly, but it's different when her body is begging him
in every way that it knows how. Why wouldn't he take advantage of the opportunity?

Auri had thrown her head back, not a trace of anxiety on her person as his fingers unraveled
her. The only time that she seems to be completely at peace is when it’s just the two of them
and their baggage doesn’t get between them.

What kind of idiot feels at peace with a vampire?

But when she came down off the high of her orgasm, she was still looking at him with
adoration, and Astarion doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to that. He’d gotten himself
together, then, made a quip because that’s safe and familiar–

And Auri, in a tone like he’s something worth protecting, had said, “You’re perfect for me.”

She’s absolutely mad.

As the expert on stealth, still, Auri falls into step behind him. Her blood pounds in Astarion’s
ears. She can’t help it, of course – it’s an occupational hazard of being alive – but that doesn’t
make it less distracting. He’s consumed by it. Auri’s wormed her way into his very being in a
way that’s–

There’s a yank on his forearm that surprises him. He turns to snarl at the source but only
finds Auri, pursing her lips at him.

“There’s a scrying eye right around the corner,” she whispers, and it’s been too long since
Astarion has drunk for him to be capable of blushing, but the tips of his ears feel warm with
phantom embarrassment anyway. She continues, a grin spreading across her face, “I noticed
and you didn’t?”

They’re behind enemy lines in a very literal sense. Astarion can still smell the aftermath of
her climax on her like it’s a perfume. Her pulse keeps time so loudly that he might mistake it
for his own heartbeat.

She looks happy.

He did that. Does that, even. It seems very much a present-tense kind of thing if the way
she’s still looking at him is any indicator.

“Thorm’s bedroom is right there if the smell’s any clue,” he says as answer. The only trace of
him stronger is coming from downstairs where Thorm is in the flesh, no doubt. “We should
probably take a look, even if you’re not interested in letting me get you on your back in
there.”

The scrying eye passes by. Auri’s pressed tight to his body, and his hand moves to shield her
before he even realizes what he’s doing. It doesn’t see them, and after a moment, Auri says,
“I never said anything about not getting you on your back, though, did I?”

Astarion exhales a laugh, ignoring how ill-fitting his leggings seem to be becoming in the
groin area. “I think I’d even enjoy being on my back for you, darling.”

All humor leaves her, like Astarion has said something wrong, but there’s no time for that
conversation. The scrying eye’s patrol will lead it back to them sooner rather than later, but
Astarion’s as quick with a lockpick as he is on his feet. He kneels in front of the door, saying,
“Have you ever thought of picking up that knocking spell that unlocks things?”

Auri’s eyes scan side-to-side as he works. “Yes, the spell that lets out a knock that could be
heard from here to the Underdark really would have suited our purposes.”

His thieves’ tool breaks; Astarion scowls, and Auri laughs, a quiet sound. He pulls another
from a pouch at his hip and starts again, but then her breath’s at his ear.

“Or maybe you’re just so pretty on your knees.”

A second set of tools loses the fight against the lock; it’s difficult to deny his erection, now.
“This is serious–” he sputters, unused to having the tables turned against him. That’s a line
that he might have used–

And again, Auri laughs. “Sorry. I’ll stop teasing.”

The third time, thankfully, is the charm. The door opens and Auri slides past him into the
room, though Astarion stays on her heels. The door latches again behind them, and Auri says,
“Oh, fuck.”

There’s a once-living warhound before them, as fearsome in death as it must have been when
it still was flesh and blood. Auri takes a step back and nearly collides with Astarion’s chest,
but then, she collects herself.

Her hands shake as they always do, but she holds them out, palms forward as if to
masquerade that she’s unarmed, and, in a display that Astarion knows all too well, Auri turns
her gaze downward.

She shows deference to the hound.

Astarion bares his fangs, ready for a fight, but Auri, as she’d done with Gandrel, drops one of
her hands to grab at his fingers.

Trust me.

She holds the hand that he’d used minutes ago to bring her to orgasm like he’s just as worth
her attention whether he has a use or not–

And the dog’s growls quieten until they’re silent. They’re inferior beings and it’s uninterested
in their agenda so long as they don’t cause trouble, it would appear.

“What are we looking for, exactly?” Astarion asks. When she extricates her fingers from his,
he bites his lip.

Auri shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine.” She rubs the back of her neck, looking at the
dog again. “Do you think we could steal that dog?”

“No. And I don’t know why you’d want to. I’ve got teeth enough to keep us covered.”

Thorm isn’t an organized man. Papers are strewn around the room with seemingly no rhyme
or reason.

There are hints of the man that he was here, before he became whatever freak he is now, and
as he and Auri comb the room to the best of their ability, they see more.

Ketheric Thorm loved his wife and daughter.

Ketheric Thorm became the Chosen of Myrkul to raise his daughter from the grave.

Ketheric Thorm has entrusted the retrieval of a relic known as the Nightsong to a
necromancer named in his letters as Balthazar.
The necromancer, Balthazar, has taken his research to the Thorm Mausoleum.

“Is it enough?” he asks.

Auri wrinkles her nose.

“We’ll find out when we get there.”

They’ve already overstayed their welcome. The dog’s begun to grow restless again. There's
no need to stay.

They make it back downstairs without notice, varied correspondence shoved into Auri’s bag.

They’re hardly prisoners here. They can leave whenever they like. “Ready?” Auri asks,
looking up at him.

Astarion almost nods, but then he smells it.

They’re in the great hall where Thorm and his disciple had held court, but Astarion’s head
swivels to the left. Auri furrows her brow. “What is it?”

Astarion doesn’t know how to answer. It’s blood, but rotten, rotted. It’s the antithesis of how
Auri tastes, and it sings to him anyway for reasons that he can’t name.

“You wouldn’t mind a detour, would you, darling?” he asks, and without waiting for a
response, he follows the scent.

Auri follows. She always does.

No one gives them a second glance when Astarion opens the door that hides the source,
though a glance up at the rafters reveals the same goblin that had been watching them earlier,
and Astarion can’t help it. He pauses just briefly, turning his glance upward, and winks at
him.

He crosses forward into the room, Auri with him as she always is, and what he finds within is
perversely fascinating. It’s a lab of the sanguine variety. Jars, bottles, and phials of blood are
on every visible surface, and red is splattered all over the floor. All this vitality waiting, and
for some reason, Astarion finds that he hungers for none of it at all.

Nausea pools in his stomach. What is that smell? There’s nothing wrong with most of this
blood, but there’s something in here that even the sunshine of Auri’s veins can’t drown out.

Then he sees the drow.

She has her back to them, but Astarion doesn’t need to see her face to know that her blood is
toxic. When she turns and notices them, her face lights up, and her gaze lingers on Astarion
in the same way that the goblin had watched Auri.
He knows that look, or a version of it at least. There’s bile in his throat. It’s a mixture of the
smell of the drow’s blood and the expression on her face.

“What a pleasure,” she says, nodding her head at each of them in turn. Her eyes never leave
Astarion. “I’m Araj Oblodra, trader in blood and the sanguine arts. It’s a delight, truly, to be
in the presence of two True Souls, especially a pale one such as yourself.”

She knows.

Every muscle in Astarion’s body goes rigid, and he can tell that Auri doesn’t understand, but
she knows he’s uncomfortable. Finally, Araj looks away from him, and to Auri, she asks,
“How did you come to be in possession of such a creature?”

Auri’s face turns to steel. “Excuse me?”

Araj giggles, covering her mouth with her hand. “Oh, come now,” she says, as if she and Auri
are old friends. “I’d be exceptionally poor at my craft if I didn’t recognize a vampire spawn
when I saw one. Where did you find such a specimen?”

“He’s–” Auri wants to keep the peace, but she’s furious; Astarion can see her temper warring
with itself. “He’s not a specimen, and he’s not my possession, either. He’s his own person.”

Her words should warm the place where Astarion’s heart used to be, but there’s no time. Araj
huffs, as if Auri’s given a ridiculous answer (and she has, if all of vampire history has
anything to say about it), but she steps forward, looking into Astarion’s eyes as closely as she
can.

He doesn’t step back, but he wants to.

“Ever since I was young,” Araj says, circling him, a carrion bird (and he’s nothing but a
carcass, after all), “I’ve always been obsessed with vampires. They straddle life and death;
their fangs take a person to the brink, and it’s their decision whether to push them over the
edge or not.”

“What do you want?” Astarion asks. His voice is cold, altogether different from the furious
heat rolling off of Auri. Her anger isn’t unexpected, but it’s pointed. There’s a level to it that
Astarion doesn’t understand.

“I have always craved a vampire’s bite,” Araj says. She reaches out to touch his arm, and
Auri’s lips curl into a snarl. “So I propose this – your bite for a potion of unimaginable
strength.”

Dark energy bleeds into Auri’s eyes. Araj is so focused on Astarion that she doesn’t notice
despite speaking to Auri. “What do you say? Will you allow him to–”

“I don’t speak for him.” Polly has wormed her way into Auri’s words. Astarion can’t tell
where one ends and the other begins.

But Araj is single-minded. She rolls her eyes. “Very well. What do you say? A bite for me
and a potion for your master?”
The illithid energy in Auri pulses, and like she had done to him before, Astarion grabs her
hand.

Trust me.

Doe eyes.

Rabbit heart.

The black recedes, but Astarion doesn’t drop her hand.

“I’ll have to pass,” Astarion says. “Maybe next time.”

Finally, Araj’s hand leaves his arm. She frowns, rolling her eyes. “Idiots.”

Auri lets Astarion lead her back into the hall, and when he drops her hand, he says, “That
display was a little drastic, given all your talk about how I’m my own person and can make
my own decisions.”

“I–” Auri blushes, looking down at the ground. “You–”

“Say it,” he says.

“I don’t want you to drink from anyone but me.”

She was fury incarnate when Araj wanted her to speak for him, but she was something else,
too, and Astarion can name it now.

Auri was jealous.

Her fingers twitch with it.

“And if I did?”

The question springs from him unbidden. He doesn’t know why he asks. Auri bites the inside
of her cheek and her eyes are wet.

Like they’re the hardest words she’s ever spoken, she says, “That’s your right. No one owns
you, Astarion. I meant that. I always will.”

It’s equal parts comforting and confusing.

“Every animal has left me wanting since the first time I tasted you. I have no interest in
drinking from anyone else.”

Relief dispels the tension from her body.

“Shall we go?” she asks.

Astarion nods.
 “You’re cute when you’re feeling possessive, by the way.”

Her blush returns in full force. “Shut up.”

Chapter End Notes

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 ?
Chapter Notes

i really hope you guys like this and i hope you had wonderful holidays!!

tw: gore, fire, child death

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Who the best keepers of secrets are in Faerûn is hardly a consensus. Some would argue that
it’s the whores in the brothels; others would say spies and assassins for the obvious reasons.

Thisobald Thorm would say that secrets are safest with barkeeps. He has, after all, kept the
Thorm family secrets safe for this long.

Long ago, Reithwin was something different, but today and for as long ago as Thisobald can
remember, it simply is.

He tends the bar. He always tends the bar.

Outside, a storm rages. It’s rare that weather is severe enough that it cuts through the curse,
but thunder bellows and lightning flashes through the grimy windows.

The door swings open.

Thisobald tends the bar, but it’s rare that there are patrons. It’s nearly unheard of.

“Just because we’re soaked doesn’t mean I have a death wish,” comes a soft female voice,
annoyed but not unhappy.

There’s someone with her, a man. “Honestly, darling, I’d rather be dry and dead than sopping
wet and alive.”

“You’re already dead.”

“Oh, fine. I’d rather be twice-dead. Look around. It’s quiet here. What’s the worst that could
happen?”

They descend the stairs, and Thisobald can see them. The woman is a short, red-haired
human with a lyre attached at her hip, and the man’s an elf with silver hair and an especially
disaffected look on his face.

“I have to admit, though,” says the elf, “I expected a bit more ambiance.”

The human snorts. The elf’s expression softens.

And they notice Thisobald, then, sitting at the bar. Both freeze for a moment, but when
Thisobald makes no move, the human walks up to the bar and sits.

It’s been a long time since he’s had someone to drink with. He fills two tankards and sets one
before her. She regards it with caution, but when Thisobald brings his drink to his mouth, she
does the same.

The elf stands behind her, and he smirks.

“Hi,” says the human, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. When was the last time
Thisobald spoke?

She’d had a lyre at her hip. Thisobald nods at it. The sounds that come from his throat aren’t
the voice that he remembers.

“Song.”

The human’s lips part as if she’s surprised to hear him speak, and wariness lights in the elf’s
eyes. “Care, darling.”

But the human smiles. It’s a sweet, beautiful thing. The concept of warm briefly registers.

“What harm has a song ever done?” the human asks, and the elf scowls but stays silent as she
takes the lyre in her hands. She tilts her head to the side and looks at Thisobald. “Risk,
romance, or regret?”

“Risk.”

When she strums her lyre, the elf’s eyes drift shut. He’s content to listen, Thisobald thinks,
and then her magic wraps around him, and he doesn’t know if the elf sees what he sees, but
the human’s music brings light. When he blinks, the Waning Moon is gone, and he’s standing
in a body that’s much too small.

Still, Thisobald hears the lyre. The human’s skill is undeniable, and her magic is no small
thing either.

Then she starts to sing. And her voice – he can see her words as if he’s living them himself.

There are githyanki everywhere. One, my ally, stands behind me and the same elf that’s in the
Waning Moon is at my side. There’s a half-elf, too, a cleric, and I’m the smallest of the lot,
but they all look to me for instruction.

The other githyanki – the enemies – draw their weapons. The githyanki that I call a friend
says, “I pray my trust in you is not misplaced.”

Fear spreads through me. I’m not enough. I never have been.

But I’m not alone. The tadpole in my skull twists and writhes and I speak with something I
don’t truly understand.
I don’t need to understand. I just need to protect them. I need to protect the half-elf, the
githyanki, and especially the elf.

So I make a deal. Ceremorphosis is a small price to pay to be worthy of these people that I’ve
come to care for.

And the risk yields great reward. I don’t become a mind flayer. I become something better.

For a brief, incredible moment, I almost don’t hate myself.

When the human’s song ends, the Waning Moon returns.

The elf stares at her, but the human has eyes for Thisobald alone as she lays down her lyre.

“Who placed the curse on this land?” she asks.

That’s not a secret, and she’s paid, besides. “Father Ketheric created. Father Ketheric
sustains.”

The human looks over her shoulder at the elf, and he raises an eyebrow and then shrugs.

“How did you become… what you are now?” The human hesitates as she asks, as if the
question is taboo.

“Father Ketheric’s laughter. Not joy. Not ever-never. Only laughter.”

That’s worth drinking to. When Thisobald raises his mug, the human does the same. She tilts
it back as Thisobald watches, and if her drink is as full as it was before, he doesn’t notice.

“Another?” he asks. A drink or a story – he’s not sure what he’s asking for. The elf smirks.
There’s a rumble from deep in Thisobald’s stomach followed by a tearing noise.

The human nods. “Romance or regret?”

A story, then.

“Romance.”

The human’s smile spreads, and for a moment, she glances over her shoulder. “Sorry,
Astarion.”

That’s the elf’s name. What’s the human’s name, Thisobald wonders.

“Don’t embarrass me, darling,” Astarion answers, but it’s affectionate, and Thisobald has an
idea of what he’s about to see before the human strums her lyre again. This song is different.

It’s devotional.

I sit next to Astarion by the campfire. Everyone else has gone to bed. It’s my watch, but he’s
here with me anyway. It’s so strange seeing someone who sees me, too, and not just the tricks
I perform.
My head still hurts, but I feel like myself again. We could have traveled today, but
Shadowheart wanted to play it safe.

It’s hard to complain when Astarion’s next to me, but he mistakes my pensiveness for fatigue.

“If you’re tired, I can take your watch.”

He shows kindness in ways that others might not notice, but I do. He wouldn’t offer this to
most people. I don’t know if he’d offer it to anyone else at all.

“I’m fine. And truthfully, I wanted to say again that you can feed if you like. I know that
you’re hungry.”

Astarion grits his teeth. He doesn’t want to hurt me, whether he can admit it or not.

“Shadowheart will kill me if I drink from you while you’re supposed to be getting better. And
I’ve eaten, besides.”

“I’m fine. And even if I wasn’t feeling completely better – which I am – I would gladly bear it
so you weren’t suffering.”

He wars with himself as I watch, but I can see what he wants even though he refuses to name
it. I turn to face him, the log that we’re sitting on between my legs, and his pupils dilate.

When I pull down my collar, he doesn’t hesitate. He tries to be gentle, but he’s too hungry. His
fangs pierce my skin and I gasp. Astarion feeds until my vision swims, but he’ll stop. He will.
I know he will.

And he does.

When he pulls away, my blood paints his face. I’m dizzy from a multitude of things, not least
of which are desire and blood loss.

I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight than him.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, and I suppose he wasn’t the only one who was ravenous.

When that song ends, an aching floods Thisobald.

“I’m Auri, by the way,” says the human. Again, she puts down the lyre.

“Thisobald.”

“Thisobald,” Auri repeats back, nodding. “What can you tell me about your father?”

For a third time, they both drink. Why does the brew not affect her? She’s so small; surely
she should be feeling the effects.

No – he can’t tell her that. He can’t. He promised to keep the secrets.

But she’s looking at him with such wistful hope in her eyes. If Thisobald tries, he can almost
imagine that it’s the way she’d looked at Astarion.

“Another song,” he says, and when she doesn’t balk, he continues. “A secret. One you’ve
never told. And I will do the same.”

Auri goes stiff. Astarion’s mouth opens and closes again as if he wants to say something but
thinks better of it.

Her fingers shake, but she reaches for her lyre anyway. In answer to a voice that Thisobald
doesn’t hear, Auri murmurs, “I know.”

And again, she plays. Grief, guilt, pain – these are all things that the Waning Moon already
knows. Her song pulls at these familiar threads and makes them manifest until Thisobald is
once more in a place that he doesn’t recognize.

I’m in a dark house. Beds line the walls on either side of me, a sleeping child in all but two.
In mine, we aren’t asleep. I sit back to back with a small tiefling boy with skin the color of
ice.

“Rhys,” I say, “Will this work?”

Rhys nods. His horns bump against the back of my head. “It’s easy. All you have to do is drop
the lamp.”

When he stands, I do the same. He thrusts an oil lamp into my hands. My fingers shake and
the flame wavers. Rhys sees it all. He knows exactly what it means.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

I shake my head. “Twice the people is twice the noise.”

“I can do it for you, then–”

“No.” I don’t want him to get in trouble. The Founder’s son is my problem. I swallow hard,
and before I can change my mind, I creep out of the room.

The halls are dark. I’m trying to be quiet; I know every place that the floorboards creak and
avoid them, but still, my feet thunder in the silence. The candle is heavy in my hand. There
have to be better ways to do this, but we don’t have the luxury of figuring one out. The
Founder’s son almost killed me the last time that he came in the night. My vision had gone
black even after he’d let me up, and I’d gasped for air for minutes afterward.

So the candle it is. I’ll light his bed on fire. I’ll be safe. Rhys will be proud of me.

I push the door to the Founder’s son’s room open. The creaks echo along the hallway I’ve just
slunk down, and I can see his sleeping form stretched long across his mattress.

He gets his own room. We sleep fourteen in ours.

My resolve strengthens. It’s not fair. None of it’s fair. Life has never been fair.

I’m at his bedside now. He sleeps quietly. He isn’t so scary when he’s sleeping, either. He’s
just a human like me.

Maybe this was a mistake.

I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just want him to leave me alone.

When I bite my lip and take a step backward, I’m not focused, and I’ve never been in here
before. I don’t know the floor. I don’t know which planks make sounds.

The wood creaks.

The Founder’s son’s eyes open, and what he sees is me standing at his bedside with a lamp
positioned to light his sheets on fire.

What happens next happens quickly.

His face contorts with rage. I stumble further backward and fall to the floor, but I keep my
grip on the lamp. When I try to scramble away, nonsense falls from my mouth, excuses that
make no sense, but he doesn’t care.

When has he ever cared about anything but hurting me?

He grabs me by the wrists and yanks me off the floor. Pain rips through both my shoulders as
he does, and I cry out and drop the lamp at the same time. He screams, spittle flying in my
face, but behind me, oil spills from the lamp. It’s followed by the sound of fire spreading
across the floor towards the window.

The Founder’s son drops me. Curtains ignite.

It’s been dry this year. The orphanage goes up in flames like a tinderbox. I’m small enough to
wiggle out of the eternally-stuck, cracked window, but behind me, children and adults alike
scream.

I don’t run for help. I don’t do anything. I watch.

Something tugs at my sleeve.

“Auri, what happened?” Rhys asks. It makes sense that he slipped out, too. He’s smaller than
I am. “This wasn’t supposed to–”

A wailing shriek splits the smoke-struck sky. All the stars are blacked out.

Rhys takes my hand but doesn’t say anything else, and neither do I. By the time the city watch
arrives and tells us that everyone but us is dead, I can’t even feel Rhys’s fingers in mine.

I hear them talking. They think we aren’t listening, and I don’t know if Rhys is or not, but I
am.
“The tiefling – he’s a firebug. There’s no way this was an accident.”

I grip Rhys’s hand tighter, but the watch separates us, and still, I listen.

“That’s arson. It doesn’t matter if a kid was responsible. Whoever did this isn’t going to see
the sun for a long time. Each of those bodies is another charge.”

And then they’ve got me alone. And I’m so scared.

“Do you want something to drink?” the guard asks, and I realize something horrible.

The guard doesn’t suspect me at all. In fact, he’s concerned about me.

And that’s when I open my mouth and say the thing that I’ll regret for the rest of my life.

“I saw Rhys start the fire.”

The song comes to a shuddering conclusion, and when Auri puts down the lyre this time, she
does it with such force that it skids a bit along the counter.

Astarion doesn’t quite flinch at the sound, but he starts, “Darling–”

“I’m fine,” Auri answers, but it comes out as a damaged hiss. She’s crying. “There. I’ve
never even spoken that story out loud. Tell me – how do I defeat Ketheric Thorm?”

“Father. Father is father. Eternal, invincible, forever, except not.”

Her fists slam into the bar. There’s a splitting sound from his belly. She snarls, “I gave you
what you wanted. Pay it back.”

Auri’s voice twists with a power that Thisobald recognizes. The words fall from him as his
intestines begin to spill from his stomach. “You must not, can not, will not mention her. The
customer is always right, but also wrong.”

Her magic fills him. He would feel almost alive if he couldn’t see his guts on the floor.

“Tell me, you wretched thing.”

It’s that power again; it spools in Thisobald’s stomach, taking up space that his organs used to
fill. It’s at odds with the magic that brought him back to life, and they each try to beat the
other into submission.

“I– I know you. I knew; I know; I am knowing. You want Father's personal mysterious secret.
No, not, never! Talk and... perish, die, buried. Buried in Thorm tomb. Father told me. I can't
perish. No, nay, neither. Too strong, too–”

He doesn’t get to finish. Astarion’s arms are crossed behind Auri when her eyes pulse black.

There’s another splitting sound, then another, and then a third. Each one is more urgent than
the last.
The last thing Thisobald Thorm sees as the strength his father gave him falls away is Auri’s
sneering face.

The storm outside has gone quiet.

She could have told another story the way that she'd planned to. She could have kept the last
part to herself. Auri’s fury intermingles with humiliation. She’d said it out loud. She’d shared
the absolute unfiltered truth to wheedle information from that malformed, blighted creature–
she’d let Astarion hear it–

Her shame is on display for the most important person in her life to see, and they don’t know
any more about how to stop the curse than they did when they walked in here but for a
cryptic reference to she.

The barkeep’s innards decorate the floor, the counter, and her person. Polly pushes up against
the inevitable panic attack, but it doesn’t matter.

Auri spoke it out into the world. She’s never said it out loud; Rhys doesn’t even exist in the
version that she told Viv. What she dredged up can never be drowned again, and sobs choke
her.

“Auri.” When Astarion says her name, it’s soft. It’s how she treats him on occasion; she
recognizes it.

When his fingers brush her shoulder, she clenches her eyes shut. With venom, she says,
“Don’t touch me.”

Astarion pulls away, both hands up in surrender, and he doesn’t say anything else. He lets
Auri sit in silence with her misery until she finally asks, “Am I a bad person?”

When Astarion barks out a laugh in response, Auri fists both her hands in her hair, trying to
force herself to breathe. Chunks of what remains of the barkeep swim in the tears that pool on
the counter. Astarion says, “Oh, honestly, darling, you can’t be serious.”

Empathy has never been Astarion’s strong suit. Auri knows that. She whips around to face
him anyway, all but feral.

He doesn’t shrink from her gaze. “You’re the one that got up on a high horse about not
believing in good or bad people if you recall.”

And he’s right, of course, but he doesn’t understand. That doesn’t apply to her. She exists
outside the grace that she tries to afford everyone else. “It’s not the same–” she chokes out,
but Astarion purses his lips and shakes his head.

“So, what? You accidentally burned down an orphanage. You feel guilty for selling out your
friend.” When Astarion scoffs, Auri flinches. “Do you remember who you’re talking to? You
could have set the orphanage on fire on purpose and I wouldn’t care.”
 How could he ever understand when he’s endured the life that he has? Auri starts to look
away in resignation, and Astarion says, “No. Look at me.”

Auri does as he says reflexively. Astarion’s gaze burns cold. “You were a child, and we all do
what we have to in order to survive. I understand that better than anyone.”

From anyone else, Auri would think that a cold analysis. From Astarion, it’s monumental
compassion. When she doesn’t speak, he says, “Your only mistake was not killing the bastard
that was hurting you sooner, collateral damage be damned.”

Auri doesn’t agree, but she sees his words for what they are. He’s taking the blame from her
shoulders and displacing it.

She stands slowly. Astarion never looks away as she does.

He’s being kind in the only way he knows how.

“Can I hug you?” she asks. She’d posed the same question a long time ago and he’d declined
then.

Astarion exhales his soft laugh, the one that makes Auri’s heart skip a beat, and he says, “I’ve
had my face buried between your legs and you’ve had my cock in your mouth and you ask if
you can hug me.”

It’s a non-answer, but he’ll stop her if it’s too much. She has to believe that, after everything.
She steps as close to him as she can manage and wraps her arms around him, burying her
face in his chest. Astarion inhales sharply, body going stiff, and when he doesn’t return the
embrace, Auri accepts it. She starts to pull away, but he returns it, then, his chin resting on the
crown of her head.

“What am I going to do with you, wicked little thing?” he murmurs, and maybe the word
wicked should hurt after she’s laid her soul bare, but from his mouth, it doesn’t.

He exhales, unsteady, like he wants to run, but he stays, and despite the grief and guilt that
tug at her every extremity, Auri’s body feels light.

Chapter End Notes

twitter and tumblr!

thank you so much for reading, and if you don't hear from me before then, happy new
year!!
 astarion
Chapter Notes

i have written. 10k words. in like 5 days. fuck me.

we run the emotional gamut here, guys. don't tell me this isn't realistic because i've been
through almost this exact gauntlet myself before lmao

tw: cazador

enjoy!!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Astarion’s nose wrinkles.

Auri smells, quite frankly, awful. She’d smelled worse in the enclosed space of the Waning
Moon, wrapped up as tightly as his arms would allow. When Thisobald Thorm’s stomach had
given way, she’d been front and center.

He’d held her anyway. She’d sobbed into his chest and he’d had no idea what he was
supposed to do, but he can’t have done too terribly because she’d clutched at him like if she
let go she’d be lost forever.

And Astarion had let her. Auri’s fingers had grabbed at his back, touching the places where
Infernal was carved into his skin, and Astarion hadn’t felt bile rise in his throat.

When her sobs had lightened to sniffles, Astarion had kissed the top of her head again as if
the action just made sense.

And they’d left. And Auri hadn’t spoken a word the entire way back.

When they finally reach Last Light, the settlement is quiet. A few Harpers act as a security
detail, keeping watch, but otherwise, there’s not much movement.

Auri speaks at last but it’s only a singular word.

“Arabella.”

Astarion purses his lips. “She’s almost certainly with Rocky somewhere.”

Auri’s gaze seeks her out anyway, craning her neck from side to side. She’s just stopped
crying entirely; her cheeks are still stained with tears, but as Astarion watches, her eyes grow
wet again.
He can’t see her cry again. He can’t.

Astarion shoves the key to their shared room into Auri’s hands, and the action’s abrupt
enough that it shocks the tears from spilling over. She blinks at it.

“Go lie down.”

“But, Arabella–” Auri repeats, and Astarion shakes his head.

“Go. Lie down.”

Auri closes her hand around the key and looks down at the ground. Something painful wells
up in Astarion’s chest.

“I’ll check on her,” he says, and Auri barely seems to hear, but she nods and walks into the
inn.

Once the door shuts behind her, Astarion runs a hand through his hair. He’s so tired of not
understanding.

She hadn’t even meant to burn down the orphanage. What’s the point in feeling guilty over it?
And throwing Rhys to the wolves – that had just made sense. Why should she be punished
for something if she could not be punished for something?

How would she feel, he wonders, if he told her the unfiltered truth of everything he’s done?
She knows the broad strokes, of course, but Astarion’s been careful not to share details.
Would she hate him if he told her about how he wound up in Cazador’s pocket in the first
place? She’d balked at the way he’d spoken to that Gur by the hag’s hut, after all. And the
idea of telling her about Sebastian–

This is hardly the time to spiral. Letting Auri have her moment seems prudent.

Astarion closes his eyes and inhales through his mouth, seeking Arabella’s scent, and
initially, he can’t find it. His eyes open again, and he does the same a second time.

Ah. There she is. He’d missed her before because she’s wrapped up in the owlbear’s musk.
Astarion follows the trail and it leads in the opposite direction of the inn, which is unexpected
until he finds Arabella curled up under Rocky’s wing at the base of a tree. They’re both
sleeping.

He exhales a laugh through his nose. The inn wouldn’t let an owlbear in if he had to guess.
That should be satisfactory enough for Auri.

When he steps into the inn himself, it’s a bit busier, but not much. There are a few people
milling by the fireplace, and when Astarion makes eye contact with the innkeeper, he nods at
the stairs. “Your girl’s upstairs. I didn’t bother changing the sheets. Whatever you two did up
there is your problem to deal with, but she didn’t stop to let me give her fresh bedding.”

With everything that’s happened, Astarion's almost forgot the state they left the room in. The
bed was more crimson than white when they set out for Moonrise. The innkeeper pulls a
fresh set of linens from behind the counter and pushes them towards Astarion and he asks,
“You don't happen to have a bath here, do you?”

The innkeeper sets his mouth in a line, and Astarion holds up a hand. “My intentions are
entirely undepraved, I assure you.”

“There's a bath upstairs, but there isn't any water. Supplies are low as it is.”

Of course they are. Astarion wants to be something that flirts with kind and it has to be as
difficult as possible.

“Not a problem,” Astarion says. “Unrelated, but could you point me to where the archdruid
supreme and the mad artificer are sleeping?”

Once he clarifies that he’s talking about Halsin and Viv, the innkeeper points him down the
hall, and before he can second-guess his own actions, Astarion knocks on their door.

There’s not an immediate answer. Astarion scowls and knocks again, resolving that he’ll just
pick the lock if no one responds, but then he hears movement inside. There’s an unintelligible
grunt that Astarion can’t parse, and then Viv’s voice blearily says, “No idea.”

Someone inside stumbles, and Viv laughs. Finally, the door unlocks, and Astarion’s met with
a half-dressed Viv. Her legs are bare; behind her, Halsin is no doubt still naked underneath
the covers. Viv blinks. “Astarion. Is everything okay?”

“Never better.” He gives her his most disarming smile. If Auri wants to tell Viv what
happened, it’s her prerogative. Astarion’s barely comfortable knowing that Auri’s trusted him
with what she clearly regards as her deepest secret. “Would you mind terribly if I borrowed
your druid for a moment?”

Halsin has the decency to cover up before accompanying Astarion, and he hadn’t been lying
about the time required. It takes only a moment for him to do what would have taken
Astarion monumental effort.

Halsin looks at him expectantly as if waiting for another task. He’s done everything
Astarion’s asked without a judgment or snide look.

There’s so much wrong with these people that Astarion’s beginning to believe that there’s
something wrong with him. Auri does things for other people without ulterior motives, yes,
but she’s an outlier–

Astarion still hasn’t said anything. Finally, Halsin says, “If you need me for anything else,
you can use the sending stone. I’ll have Viv listen for it.”

When Astarion doesn’t say anything, Halsin nods like he’s been dismissed, and he steps out
of the room. Astarion doesn’t know how to say it, so he’ll just… have to.

“Thank you.”
Gratitude tastes like poison, and when Halsin looks at him with surprise, Astarion bristles. He
knows better. Why–

Halsin smiles gently. “You’ve done well. She’ll appreciate it.”

All self-righteous aggression leaves Astarion’s body. Halsin walks back down the stairs
without so much as looking back.

Infuriating.

And then Astarion’s in front of a door with Auri on the other side. He assumes that she’s in
there, anyway. He’d be able to hear her breathing normally, but he hasn’t fed in some time.
He’ll hunt once he’s done here and he can trance afterward.

When Astarion tries the door, he expects to find it locked, but she’s left it open for him. He
thinks maybe she’ll be asleep, given the silence, but she’s awake. Auri’s eyes are wide open.
She lies on her back in the still-bloodsoaked bed, wordlessly staring at the ceiling.

“Arabella’s fine,” he says, leaning in the doorway. “She’s sleeping outside with her fiercest
protector, Rocky.”

Auri’s hand twitches. Astarion thinks it was probably supposed to be a thumbs-up. Again, his
chest aches.

“Could you do me a favor?” Soft isn’t something that comes to him naturally, but for her,
he’ll try. “You still smell like that horrid tavern. Would you mind?”

Auri blinks and then sits up mechanically even though he hasn’t exactly asked her to. When
she does, Astarion steps forward and takes her hand. “Come with me, love.”

She trails after him down the hall to the room where Astarion’s taken advantage of Halsin’s
magic to procure her a warm bath.

Auri barely even reacts. Her gaze is empty, and that’s something that Astarion knows all too
well. She’s pulled him back from it herself, a time or two.

“Come on. Before the water gets cold.”

Still, she doesn’t move until Astarion tugs at the hem of her shirt. Auri thankfully removed
her armor herself before climbing into bed, and when she jumps at the contact, he vaguely
remembers hearing Viv in the woods when he’d sprinted after Wyll.

“Don’t touch her!”

She’d said the same in the Waning Moon (“Don’t touch me!”). When he pulls away, her eyes
refocus the most minute amount.

“Not right now,” she says, and Astarion doesn’t understand. “I don’t want it to be like this.
Not the first time with you. I’m sorry.”
And that’s familiar, too, in a dark and terrible way that Astarion hates. “No, darling. Me
neither. This isn’t that.”

Auri’s always small, but this is different. She’s disappeared inside herself, shrunken away,
and Astarion comes to the terrible realization that this has been inside her all along and he’s
never even really noticed.

When Astarion checks the water, it’s cool enough not to burn. She shrugs out of her clothes
rotely, leaving them on the floor, and steps into the bath without complaint, sinking down into
the water. Auri’s eyes flutter shut with something close to relief, and Astarion says, “There’s
soap there next to you. I’m going to change the bed linens. Don’t drown yourself while I’m
gone.”

He turns to leave, but he meets resistance. Auri’s grabbed onto his sleeve, giving it a weak
tug. Her voice wobbles when she says, “Stay. Please.”

When he pauses, Auri releases his sleeve, and as he’d done just moments before, she pulls at
the hem of his shirt underneath his armor. Astarion’s lips part. “This isn’t about me, darling.”

What a strange sentence to speak out into the universe. Her hand is still on his shirt and she’s
staring up at him. How often does she ask for the things she wants? It’s rare that she voices a
desire of her own.

How can he say no to that?

Auri’s seen his scars already, but keeping them from her is instinctual. She sees right through
him, though, like she always does.

“I won’t look. They don’t upset me, but I won’t look if you don’t want me to.”

She’s so upset that she can barely talk and she wastes her words on that. When Auri shifts to
the side to make space for him, she makes a point not to look in his direction. Astarion’s
layers fall to the floor one at a time until he’s bare, and finally, he, too, slides into the bath.

Cold doesn’t bother Astarion. He rarely notices it unless it’s extreme. Warmth, though–

They might be able to hear his sigh of contentment downstairs as the water swallows him up.
Auri’s turned from him, but even from this angle, he can see that she quirks her lips, and that
makes him warmer than any bath might.

But she doesn’t say anything. She sits there, thinking about gods-know-what, and there’s
nothing Astarion can do about it. He just wants her to feel better.

He asks the question before he even processes that he wants to ask it. “Is it alright if I touch
you?”

Auri jumps like she’s forgotten that he’s there, but then she nods, wide-eyed and startled.
Astarion pulls her closer until her back’s nearly touching his chest. When his fingers brush
her shoulder, she shivers, but she doesn’t pull away.
Her hair’s a tangled mess, but his fingers are deft. This elastic doesn’t look like hers but one
of Shadowheart’s, and Astarion vaguely remembers that her hair had been loose when he and
Wyll had found their way back to the others on the path after getting separated. As delicately
as he can manage, like she’s the most important lock he’s ever picked, he unspools her hair
from its updo until it falls around her shoulders.

He’s already shown his gratitude once today. And he likes Auri much more than he likes
Halsin.

“I wanted to thank you.” Steam rises from the water as Astarion slips the elastic around his
wrist. “For what you said to that wretched drow. Araj.”

Her hair’s long enough that it touches the water and then some. “Lie back, would you,
darling?”

Auri complies wordlessly, eyes still unfocused. Her hair flares out in the water, stark red
against his pale skin. He’s noticed before, but it’s impossible to miss that the freckles that dot
Auri’s face are present everywhere.

Astarion’s never felt so out of his depth in his entire life.

He combs his fingers through her hair, and as he works the tangles away, she sits up once
more. Auri’s hair is long; he knew this, but with water weighing it down, it falls between her
shoulder blades.

Sex would be easier than this. It would be much easier.

Astarion swallows. “I hunted pretty things for my master for centuries, and my body was
better at it than any other weapon I might have used. What I wanted – that never mattered.”

The soap is hard; it’s made for bodies, not hair, but that’s hardly a concern when they’ve been
living the way that they have. Grime collects under his nails as he works the soap through her
hair.

“You–” He exhales a dark laugh. “With you, it’s… different. I was ready to bite her for you.
I–” His tongue presses up against one of his fangs. “If you’d asked me to, I would have.”

Her body tenses as he speaks, and this time when he laughs, it’s affectionate. “But you didn’t
want me to. You wanted the opposite and you were ready to tear her mind apart for it. And
despite how strongly you felt that way, you let me make the choice anyway. You wore how
much it would hurt you if I drank from her plainly on your face, and you said it was my
choice anyway.”

When he’s satisfied with the job he’s done, Astarion again leans her back, rinsing scum and
soap both from her hair. After, she turns to face him, though the light still isn’t quite back on
behind her eyes.

“It’s a little intimidating, to be honest.” And honest isn’t something he’s good at being, but
he’s already acting monumentally out of character. “Can you come back to me for just a
second, love? It’s important that you hear the next part because I’ll be damned if I’ll ever
admit it again.”

Auri doesn’t react at first, but when Astarion grabs her wrist, she wakes. Auri blinks, no less
sad or broken, but present, at least for the moment. He can feel her heartbeat there, where her
hand meets her arm.

“Everything about me has been manufactured to seduce anything with a pulse. My instinct is
that nothing’s changed, but time and time again, you defy that. I should still be just a means
to an end, but…”

Astarion would have hunted her, once. He did at the tiefling party.

“You won’t let me. You give me no choice but to stop seeing myself as a slave. You treat me
like I’m more than just a thing to be used, even when that would be so much easier.”

“How could I?”

She sounds like herself again or at least close to it. The other times when she’d spoken, her
voice had been far away. When he’d asked her to come back, Astarion hadn’t expected to
lose his words once she did.

Auri’s always been weak. It’s an objective fact, though Polly strives to change it. But it’s rare
that Astarion’s thought her fragile.

She looks it here.

Auri’s fingers tangle in his hair. It occurs to him that he’s never been naked with her before,
and as always, she surprises him.

“Can I?” she asks.

She’s seen his back before. It’s fine. When he tenses every muscle, it might suggest the
opposite, but it’s fine.

When Astarion turns and dips his head into the water, Auri’s fingers massage his temples
before doing the same to his scalp. He comes up out of the water, and she says, “I’m not
looking. I promise.”

It’s all but impossible for her not to. When Astarion looks over his shoulder, she’s craning her
neck upward, trying staunchly not to look anywhere beneath his hairline.

“You can, love. It’s… fine if it’s you. Tolerable.”

He tilts his head back and she works the soap through his hair thoroughly. The water’s turned
a reprehensible shade of gray as the filth has flaked off their bodies, and when she rinses his
hair, it only gets darker. To Astarion, it’s still warm at least, but Auri shivers.

“Am I a bad person?” she asks.

Astarion turns to face her. “Does it matter?”

She flinches like he’s said the wrong thing. Yes, he’s out of his depth entirely.

He sighs. “You know I’m not the right person to ask that question. What I can tell you is
that–”

I love you.

The words are there. He almost says them. It’s all he can do to stop his body from going rigid
at the realization. If Auri was at her best, she’d notice in an instant.

In this specific context only, her self-loathing is a mercy.

“What I can tell you is that how I feel for you doesn’t change regardless of how you perceive
the morality of your actions.”

Auri nods and wraps her arms around her chest, and he’s done better this time at putting her
mind at ease. “Thank you. For doing all this. I–”

He loves her.

“You don’t need to thank me. I just wanted you to smell better before I took you to bed.”

He loves her.

Auri laughs. It’s delicate, still, like she’s a hair’s breadth from breaking, but the room goes
bright with proverbial light. “Take me to bed, then, sweetheart.”

He loves her.

When they’re back in their room and the linens have been changed, Auri curls into herself
under the covers. Astarion expects her to fall asleep the way that she always does, instantly
and without fanfare, but instead, her eyes remain open, staring at him.

“What?” he asks, an eyebrow cocked.

“Get in bed and I’ll tell you.”

He chuckles and blows out the candle that serves as their sole light source, obliging. The dark
is fairer to him than to her; Astarion can see her move closer as he climbs into bed. Neither of
them bothered dressing, and her hair’s splayed out in a wet mess all over the pillow. His isn’t
much better if he had to venture a guess.

“Well?” he prods, and a wistful, sad smile comes over Auri’s face.

“It’s just strange to think that all that was happening to me in Neverwinter while you were
hunting in Baldur’s Gate. Those things were happening to us at the same time. And now
we’re here.”
Yes, they are. And he’s fallen in love with her and he didn’t even know that it could happen.
He didn’t know that he was capable of it.

“If you’re ever looking for another institution to accidentally burn down, I know just the
place to take you.”

“Promise?” She answers without hesitation, a determined look on her face.

How couldn’t he have fallen in love with her?

“It’s a date,” he says instead, and that’s enough for her smile to turn from bittersweet to
genuine, and the sight is for him alone.

And she says, “For you, I’d raze that palace.”

Those words are as sweet as any declaration of love, even though she’d never stand a chance.
She’d still try.

Astarion takes her face in his hands and presses his lips to hers. When he pulls away, Auri
rubs his nose with hers.

“You did the right thing back then,” Astarion says, “Because if you hadn’t done what you did,
I never would have found you.”

Auri’s mouth opens. He’s sure he’s said the wrong thing. Her bottom lip quivers.

I love you. He could say it. It’s right there. What would it cost?

He’s paralyzed by the thought, but it doesn’t matter because Auri’s lips crash onto his.
Adoration pours into him by way of the tadpole alongside a hundred different emotions, but
hesitation isn’t one of them.

“I don’t want it to be like this,” she’d said before, and when the thought crosses his mind, it’s
too raw. She hears it.

Out loud, she says, “If you want me – if you want this – then I do, too.”

Being naked with her had been innocent enough, but the world shifts when she speaks.

Astarion wants and so does she.

Her lips on his are hungry. “What do you want?” she asks, almost breathless already and he
hasn’t even touched her.

It’s a question that he’s rarely considered, but the answer is easy.

“You.”

When her breath catches, any lingering reservations fall away. She kisses him again, and she
moans into his mouth when his hand finds her breast. When he rolls onto his back, she’s
quick to follow his lead, climbing on top of him wordlessly.

She pulls her hair over her shoulder and her knees are on either side of his hips. He was
already hard, but looking at her–

“You’re beautiful.”

Auri was already flushed, but even more blood flushes to her neck and face when the thought
slips from his lips. “So are you,” she says. Anticipation’s made her slick. He’s only the
slightest movement away from being inside her, and he’s not interested in rushing this, but
they’ve taken their time in every other way. “It’s not fair that I can’t see you.”

He can give her that.

Astarion turns his head to find the candle he’d snuffed out only moments ago and chants a
hurried, “Ignis.”

The room illuminates, and in the low candlelight, Auri blooms into color. Her chest and neck
are blotchy with blood.

“There you are,” she says, reverent, and when she leans down to kiss him, his cock rubs
against the soft skin above her clit. Astarion sighs into her mouth and she rolls her hips
against him.

The world is horrible, but Astarion can tolerate it when Auri’s on top of him. She bites at his
lip before she pulls away, and when her hand finds his cock, he thrusts into it on reflex. Auri
positions herself so he’s just barely touching her entrance, and even though it looks like it
might cause her physical pain to do so, she asks, “You’re sure?”

She’s the one who’s had a miserable, guilt-ridden, shame-laden day, but she’s checking on
him.

“Please, love.”

He’s almost begging, he realizes, but she doesn’t call him on it. She doesn’t tease or poke
fun. Auri just watches him with her sunshine gaze as she finally guides him inside her.

Auri takes him slowly, and Astarion knew she was warm. She always is. But this is different.
It’s not like this is the first time he’s ever had sex with a living creature, but it’s so different.
Auri lets out a gasp before biting her lip, and her hips lower to meet his until he’s fully inside
her.

“Gods,” Auri chokes out, and then, to him, she asks, “Good?”

Perfect, actually. If he’s not careful, he’ll finish before they’ve even started. He swallows
hard and nods.

And Auri moves.

His fingers find her thighs while her hips move against him, and when Astarion remembers
how to move, he matches her rhythm. The payoff is immediate. When he pushes into her,
Auri’s head tilts back and she tightens around him.

One of his hands drifts to her waist, but she never stops moving. It strikes him that they fit
together perfectly as her fingers splay across his chest.

“You’re incredible,” she says, and she’s so fucking warm and he’s in love with her and then
her pace slows and she asks him, “Are you hungry?”

And the answer is always but she already knows that. His nostrils flare at the thought, but he
says, “I don’t want this to be about–”

“I know,” she says. “It’s alright. I promise.”

She doesn’t have to tell him twice. Auri grinds her hips against him one last time before
Astarion pulls her down on top of him. Her hair’s everywhere, still; he doesn’t care, but she
pulls it to the side to expose the place he always bites. The wounds never fully heal; she
never makes him wait that long between feedings.

When he thrusts into her, Auri’s entire body moves with it. Her mouth is open and her breasts
move against him. She’s wet enough to soak him.

“Come with me?” she asks.

When she speaks, it’s almost enough to send him over the edge, but he holds on, slamming
into her again before sinking his teeth into her neck. Auri cries out and Astarion finds that he
doesn’t care at all if Shadowheart and Lae’zel next door can hear. Her vitality rushes into him
as he fucks her, and briefly, Astarion thinks that he could do this forever. Every time he
thinks that Auri can’t possibly get any slicker, she does, and her blood’s so sweet–

When he looks at her, her eyes are half-lidded. If he hits the right spot once or twice more,
she’ll clench around him.

And then he hears her.

It’s not words that he hears exactly. It’s too frantic for that; Auri’s thoughts are scrambled by
what they’re doing, which isn’t a surprise. He’s not feeling the most put-together at the
moment himself. What he understands isn’t even a feeling exactly.

She’d let him feed forever. She’d let him drink blood from her body until she had none left
because she trusts him enough to believe he won’t.

And after that, there’s something else, something that she almost certainly doesn’t mean for
him to hear.

I love him. I love him. I love him.

Astarion’s hands are on her hips. When he fucks up into her, he pushes down on the small of
her back simultaneously. “Please– Astarion, please–”
 He’ll make her beg another time. Not tonight.

He tears his mouth from her flesh and fists a hand in her hair, kissing her hard, and when he
does, Auri comes undone.

She gasps into his kiss, her fingers clenching at the pillow underneath them as her body
trembles. When she pulls away from him, trying more than anything to be quiet, a thread of
saliva painted red with her blood still connects them.

When her cunt tightens again, Astarion follows. With a shuddering gasp, he spills himself
inside her, and they come down from it together.

Astarion’s thankful he doesn’t need to breathe. When Auri catches her breath, she kisses him
again.

He loves her. She loves him.

“What happens now?” she asks. The adoration in her eyes is tempered with anxiety.

He has no fucking idea. His cock’s still inside her.

“I don’t know,” he says, and that’s the truth. “But this? This is nice.”

Auri smiles.

Astarion can’t stop repeating it in his head. He loves her. She loves him.

It’s the most terrifying realization he’s ever had in his life.

Chapter End Notes

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TO THE MAUSOLEUM
 auri
Chapter Notes

the dream guardian is calling about your tadpole's extended warranty

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“I have been unable to reach you.”

The blissful high of the waking world and Astarion’s arms is far away when the dream
guardian pulls Auri from the dreamless void.

Auri blinks. She’s clothed, at least. When Polly speaks, she sounds far away.

–auri? au–ri?

Auri can barely make out her voice.

sc–ared–

Auri’s heart clenches in her chest. The halfling stares at her as if waiting for an explanation.

“Strange,” Auri says.

His eyes narrow. “Yes. Very.”

auri. c–an’t–

“You’ve grown deft with your tadpole,” the halfling says, and Auri nods.

“Yes. I don’t plan on turning into a mind flayer anytime soon, though, if that’s what you’re
getting at.”

When he considers her, unease rumbles in Auri’s stomach. He’s skeptical, calculating–

–hu–u–urts.

The dream guardian watches her wordlessly, but Auri has nothing else to say.

“You need me and I need you, you know.”

Auri isn’t sure about that, exactly. She and Polly are on much better terms than she is with the
halfling.

And Auri’s very familiar with what threats sound like these days.
When the guardian fades, Auri expects to wake. She expects to be back in Astarion’s arms,
safe and warm even if both the safety and warmth are illusions. Instead when the scenery
fades, she’s nowhere. When something once more comes into focus, it’s only a figure.

When Auri sees herself, it’s like looking in a mirror but for the wispy black eyes and
uncomfortable posture. Polly bites her lip and looks around furtively, as if there’s anything
here to see.

“You asked before if the other was friend or foe,” Polly says.

Auri nods. “Yes.”

“He might be either for you, but he is not my friend.”

In the black of Polly’s eyes, there’s something else. Auri steps forward on instinct; there’s no
ground to walk on, but her feet move her anyway.

Auri reaches out to touch Polly’s cheek and Polly doesn’t flinch. When her thumb brushes up
against the soft skin beneath Polly’s eye, there’s a murky red-black.

“Did he hurt you?” Auri asks.

Polly shakes her head. “No. I just couldn’t find you. I looked too hard.”

She says it like her words make sense. Auri finds that somehow they do, though there are no
words to explain them. When Auri hugs her, her body is more solid than it has been before.

“You protect me. I protect you,” Auri says.

Polly returns the embrace.

“And we protect Astarion?”

“Yeah. We protect Astarion.”

Auri finally wakes to Astarion’s voice, and despite the dream guardian, she feels something
akin to serenity. He’s still here. He knows every horrible thing about her, and he’s still here.

He also sounds annoyed, though he doesn’t seem to be talking to her. “Yes, you’re truly being
very normal about this–”

There’s a pounding at the door and all peace leaves her. “What’s wrong?”

Astarion’s lips part when he looks at her as if he’s surprised that she’s there. “Nothing.”

Arabella’s voice is shrill in the way that only a ten-year-old’s can be. “You got back last night
and didn’t tell me?”

The doorknob rattles. Auri blanches.

“Did you lock the door last night?”

Astarion’s sitting up; the cover’s at his waist, but his chest is bare. Auri’s always warm, and
her entire body’s exposed save for a leg that’s flush with his.

“I, erm.” It’s charming when Astarion loses some of his usual savoir-faire, but in this
particular instance, Auri’s mortified. “I may have had more pressing matters on my mind.”

And yes, the memory of last night looms large for Auri, too, but then the door opens. She
scrambles to cover herself, though Astarion seems comfortable remaining bare-chested. Auri
clutches the blanket to her body just in time for the door to slam against the wall.

Arabella stands in the doorway, and somehow, Auri feels scolded.

Arabella’s gaze flits between them. Auri wants to dissolve into the bed. Astarion bends a
knee to rest his arm on it, looking characteristically nonplussed.

As far as people that could have found them–

Arabella’s face splits into a grin so wide that it must hurt. Without a moment’s hesitation, she
screams, “I knew it!”

Auri pulls the cover of her head, but not before she sees Astarion run his tongue over one
fang and chuckle. The door shuts again, and Auri can’t see anything, but footsteps that are
presumably Arabella’s sprint down the stairs. Auri can still hear her laughing.

“Embarrassed of me, are you, darling?” When Astarion speaks, there’s no malice in it. It’s
entirely good-humored. Auri might even call his tone happy.

Auri shakes her head and he chuckles again. She says, “I just didn’t think our relationship
status was going to be such a matter of public interest.”

“What’s not to be interested in?” he asks. “Every one of them would be in love with you if
you’d let them. I’m just the one you chose to take to bed.”

When the self-loathing starts to creep into his voice, Auri bites her lip. There's something
deeper and sadder than usual in his tone even though just a moment ago he'd seemed
carefree.

“The door’s shut, right?”

Her question must take him by surprise. There’s a pause before he answers. “Yes.”

It’s exactly what Auri wants to hear. She flings the cover off both of them and Astarion looks
at her in surprise, but before he can react, she climbs on top of him in a way not all that
different from how she had last night. Astarion falls back onto the pillow again, and she lies
down on his chest.

“You took me to bed if memory serves.”

Auri can feel his length hardening underneath her. His fingers trace her jawline. “Remind me
what happened next?”

She wants to more than anything. If Auri had her way, they’d stay in this bed forever. But the
inn is alive and what they’ve learned still looms over them. Astarion’s hand runs down the
curve of her waist until it meets her hip.

The door opens again, this time without even a knock as warning. With a yelp, Auri pulls at
the blanket, covering both of them again even though she is still very much on top of him.

She expects Arabella again, but–

“Gods, Lae’zel–” Auri exclaims, but Lae’zel doesn’t care.

“The wizard requests your presence for breakfast. Everyone requests that you are both
clothed.”

The door closes again. To Astarion, Auri says, “We should probably–”

She’s not allowed to finish a sentence this morning, it seems. Astarion cuts her off by
wrapping an arm around her waist and swapping their positions. Auri’s on her back
underneath him; he props himself up on one elbow, and his other hand’s on her cheek. He
dips down to kiss her like it’s the only thing that matters, and her hips lift in response.

“Next time, darling,” he says, hunger in his eyes, “I’ll be on top, I think.”

He can have her however he wants. However, wherever, whenever – Auri can't think of a
single thing that he could suggest that she wouldn't try.

They don’t have time for her to say that in a way that would be satisfactory, so instead, she
offers a single word.

“Promise?”

Astarion smiles at her, soft and real, and she almost doesn’t see the fear behind his eyes.

Their armor is still disgusting, but Auri’s able to prestidigitate their clothes clean, at least.
They’ll deal with the armor after breakfast. When she steps out of their room, Astarion’s on
her heels.

“Are they going to make this weird?” she asks.

Astarion makes a noncommittal humming noise. “You said yourself that they think we’ve
been having sex for weeks.”

“Yeah.” Auri half-jogs down the stairs. “But–”

Auri’s looking over her shoulder and talking to Astarion. She doesn’t notice Viv at the
bottom of the stairs until she runs into her. Astarion smirks, and Viv’s smile is so wide. The
blood rushes to Auri’s cheeks even as she says, “Stop it.”

“I haven’t even said anything–”

“Stop it–”

“You can tell me to stop, but Shadowheart and Lae’zel could apparently hear every second–”

Auri wants to die. This can’t be happening. “Stop it–”

Astarion steps past them and takes a seat next to Arabella, who looks at him slyly. She’s
repaid with a light slap to the back of the head.

“You’re telling me everything later,” Viv says, looping her arm through Auri’s and pulling her
toward the table.

Auri scowls. “No one ever treats you like this and you’ve been fucking Halsin since the day
you got here basically.”

Viv doesn’t answer. She just laughs, and then Auri’s sitting at the table between her and
Shadowheart, because of course she is.

“Good morning,” Shadowheart says.

What Viv said still rings in Auri’s ears. Auri can’t even look at her. “Uh. Hi.”

Shadowheart butters a piece of bread and holds it out to Auri. “Here.”

“Um.” Auri takes it. “Thanks.”

Viv’s hands are folded under her chin and she’s staring at both of them. Shadowheart picks up
another piece of bread and butters it.

Auri bites into the bread.

“I just figured you’d need the energy. It seemed like you were using a lot of it last night, and
Astarion presumably drank his fill while you were outright screaming his name, so you must
be in dire need of sustenance.”

There it is.

Viv chokes on a laugh. Astarion shakes his head, but he’s chuckling. Auri buries her face in
her hands. Wyll, who sits on Arabella’s other side, covers her ears.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Shadowheart continues, “I’m thrilled that the two of you found such
delight in one another’s bodies. I simply think that, in the future, it would be nice if it did not
come at the expense of my sleep.”

Muffled by the fact that her mouth is smashed into the palms of her hands, Auri says, “I’m so
sorry.”
Through her fingers, Auri can see Shadowheart point a butter knife at Astarion. “Gag her
next time.”

Auri can’t do this. She clenches her eyes shut, but that doesn’t stop her from hearing the
smirk in Astarion’s voice. “Gladly.”

“That’s enough, I think!” Auri’s attempt to cut the conversation off comes out as a squeak,
but Wyll removes his hands from Arabella’s ears and Auri will change the subject if it kills
her. “How did things go while we were gone?”

And they swap stories.

Auri tells them the whole truth. She just leaves out the Waning Moon entirely. Astarion
makes no move to correct her.

Arabella had led the others to some child spirit and Halsin had woken Art Cullagh and now
all they have to do is get Halsin’s childhood friend Thaniel back from the Shadowfell by
opening up a portal and holding off the curse until Halsin drags him out through sheer force
of will alone.

So it should be easy, really. They’ve got a plan and everything.

“I’ll take a few people to the Thorm mausoleum,” Auri says. “The rest of you can keep
working on the curse, I guess, unless Halsin has something else he’d suggest.”

Halsin shakes his head. “Who will go with you and Astarion?”

Auri’s blush had just faded, but it returns in full force. “Why do you just assume that
Astarion is–”

“A cleric would be nice,” Astarion says. Arabella watches, almost entranced, as he fiddles
absently with a dagger.

Auri glares at him but when he raises an eyebrow, she deflates. “Yeah. A cleric would be
nice.”

Shadowheart stands. “I’ll get my things.”

“Wyll?”

He nods. “My pleasure.”

Naming Wyll and Shadowheart to her party signals an end to breakfast for them all, but
Lae’zel is the first of the others to stand. She looks straight at Auri.

“That a bard sings is no surprise. Still, we would all be better for it being a private concert
next time.”

The joke comes with no warning. Conversation had long moved on from the topic of how
Auri apparently kept the entire inn awake. The table goes quiet. Auri stares at her, wide-eyed.
Finally, Viv dissolves into laughter. When Lae’zel cracks a joke, it always lands.

Auri will never live this down, but after that, it doesn’t take long to set out. It’s Astarion that
they end up waiting on, and when he finishes speaking with Viv, his mouth is set in a hard
line.

Are you alright? she asks him.

Auri can hear his clenched teeth even though his mouth doesn’t move. Never better.

She didn’t expect to have full access to the recesses of all his thoughts and emotions just
because they had sex, but the sarcastic dismissal is still irritating. Auri wrinkles her nose.

Viv’s told him something about his scars and it was unpleasant, if Auri had to guess. She
won’t push.

But she would still like to know.

They make quick time; in an alarming turn of events, navigating the Shadow-Cursed Lands
has started to become almost rote. Astarion’s daggers light the way, and Shadowheart
illuminates what his daggers can’t until almost a full day has passed and they’re standing in
front of the Thorm mausoleum.

Auri chews her lip. She wants to be done with this sooner rather than later, but rushing into
this seems ill-advised.

“I think we should bunker down for the night and get some sleep so we’re fully rested for…
whatever we find in there.”

None of them answer, but none of them take issue with her suggestion either. They set up
camp with little more than whispers between them; there’s no need to attract danger when
they’ll almost certainly walk into it in the morning.

When the tents are erected and the fire’s been lit, Wyll says, “Well. Smooth sailing so far, at
least.”

That sentiment lasts roughly thirty seconds.

Auri doesn’t hear anything. Shadowheart and Wyll don’t either if their body language is any
indicator.

But when Astarion’s head swivels, Auri trusts him.

He’s been in a strange mood all day, but circumstances haven’t really fostered much
conversation.

“What is it?” she asks.

Astarion’s eyes narrow. “A problem.”

 Auri grabs for her rapier, but Astarion shakes his head. He holds out a hand and Auri reads
the gesture clearly even as he says, “Not that kind of problem.”

Auri furrows her brow but does as he suggests. “Then, what–”

When Astarion raises his voice, Auri jumps. They’ve been so quiet all day.

“I know you’re out there, you idiotic little brat.”

Nothing happens for a moment, and then there’s a rustling sound that even Auri can hear.
Astarion crosses his arms and stares at a thick-trunked tree.

And nothing happens.

Shadowheart squints. “What’s happening right now?”

Astarion sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose before gritting his teeth. “Fine.”

He walks in the same direction as the rustling noise and he disappears behind the tree. He’s
only out of sight for a moment before Auri hears a yelp and a voice that she recognizes
saying, “You said–”

“I did not mean–”

Astarion drags a small, flailing child out from the shadows by her collar. Wyll says, “Shit.”

All the blood drains from Auri’s face. “Arabella?”

Astarion shoves her forward and her knees hit the ground. He crouches down to be at eye
level. “I’m going to kill you, you moronic–”

“You said I should just follow–”

“I meant that you should follow when we leave for Baldur’s Gate, not follow us to a fucking
crypt–”

This can’t be happening. Auri’s breath comes in too short, too fast bursts. Somehow, she
manages, “You told her to follow us?”

Astarion says, “Of course not,” in the same breath that Arabella says, “Yes, he did!”

Smooth sailing, indeed.

Chapter End Notes

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