The Vampire Spawn with the Green Hand and a Tadpole

by Monkey_Madness123

Summary:

Astarion wakes up with his hand glowing an eerie green and a relentless tadpole squirming in his mind with no idea where he is. He's thrust into a heroic quest to save Thedas, but his path is filled with peril. He not only battles external threats but also grapples with his unrelenting thirst for blood. Whispers and speculations swirl around him, labeling him as a possible demon from the Fade or a runaway slave from Tevinter. Regardless, he's known as the infamous Herald of Andraste, a figure whose mere presence sparks chaos, uncertainty, and awe.

Trouble is bound to ensue with a vampire at the helm of the Inquisition.

Notes:

This may not be accurate lore for Baldur's Gate or Dragon Age. Baldur's Gate was only recently released and I have yet to get very far into the game. I have also not played Dragon Age in quite some time- so don't expect everything to be lore accurate. If you notice any major discrepancies, feel free to let me know- and I may or may not fix it. Updates will be every Sunday and Wednesday. Until then: Enjoy.

Chapter 1: Astarion's Arrival in Thedas

It all began with falling, triggered by some crazy lunatic who took it upon themselves to crash the nautiloid ship. As Astarion hurtled towards the ground, his mind raced with a mixture of fear and resignation. He couldn't help but reflect on the bizarre turn his life had taken. From being a vampire spawn to becoming a captive aboard a nautiloid ship, it seemed like a cruel twist of fate that he would meet his end in such a manner. The prospect of impending death felt surreal, a fate he hadn't expected to meet quite so abruptly.

The wind rushed past him, and he could feel the pressure building as he descended faster and faster. Despite his vampiric abilities, he knew that there was no way he could survive a fall from such a great height. The ground below seemed to be approaching at an alarming rate, and he braced himself for the inevitable impact. 

Yet, that’s not exactly what happened. He didn’t get a peaceful death– no. Instead, he found himself abruptly jolted awake by the presence of a human woman adorned in formidable armor. Perhaps she was a cleric; it was difficult to discern in his disoriented state. To be perfectly honest, he couldn't quite piece together the events leading up to this bewildering situation. One moment, he had been plummeting to his apparent death; the next, he discovered himself confined within a dimly lit chamber, bound by chains, and clutching a mystifying green vortex of magical energy in his hand.

Astarion looked down at his hand once again and gasped in pain as the magic sent an agonizing stab of pain up his arm. This… thing   was hurting him quite a lot; yet, beneath the agony, Astarion sensed an unmistakable uniqueness—a profound, almost overwhelming power. Its aura practically hummed with potent magic, suggesting the tantalizing possibility of harnessing its abilities for his own purposes, provided it didn't claim his life in the process.

A low, pained grunt escaped Astarion's lips as the writhing tadpole within his skull sent shockwaves of discomfort through his mind. The tadpole seemed to react to the hand, and not in a good way. It was a painful reminder to Astarion that, shockingly, had even bigger problems. He knew he had to find a way to free himself from these confining chains and seek the aid of a skilled healer without delay. The prospect of transforming into a mind flayer was a nightmarish scenario he couldn't bear to contemplate, especially with the added complication of possessing a potent and mysterious green hand.

Astarion's thoughts were abruptly interrupted as the woman circled around him, her gaze bearing down on him with a palpable aura of anger.

"Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now. The conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you," the woman's words dripped with dark suspicion and fury.

“You think I’m responsible?” Astarion asked incredulously. 

The woman seized his arm, thrusting his glowing green hand in front of his face. "Explain this," she demanded, her tone filled with impatience, as if Astarion held all the answers about why his hand was suddenly radiating an eerie green light.

"I... can't," Astarion muttered, his gaze averting from the woman's piercing eyes.

"What do you mean you can't?" The woman's anger flared, her frustration growing by the moment.

“Oh, of course, I’m an expert at knowing everything that magically appears on my hand out of thin air. It’s not like I’d have any reason to be confused by this mysterious phenomenon, or anything," Astarion retorted, his voice dripping with a mixture of sarcasm and resentment.

"YOU'RE LYING!" Cassandra shouted, advancing towards him, but she was swiftly held back by another woman.

"We need him, Cassandra," the other woman interjected, turning her attention back to Astarion.

“So… what now?” Astarion asked, hoping that torture was off the table. He had endured more than his fair share of pain and anguish for one day, and the prospect of further suffering was far from enticing, especially under Cassandra's stern gaze.

"Do you remember what happened? How this began?" the gentler of the two women inquired, her tone less accusatory and more curious.

Astarion didn’t trust either of these women, and he most certainly didn’t need them prying into his life. While he was usually skilled at fabricating stories to remove himself from troublesome situations, in this case, honesty might be his best course of action. It was a way to clear his name and, hopefully, gain access to much-needed medical attention.

"I remember... falling. I thought I was as good as dead. Then... darkness," Astarion replied, revealing a partial truth. He was cautious about withholding certain details, especially regarding the mind flayers, as he wasn't sure what they knew. He recognized that divulging his nature as a vampire spawn, capable of transformation into a mind flayer, would likely lead to his demise, particularly now that he possessed a mysterious, glowing magical hand.

"Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take him to the rift," Cassandra instructed, guiding Leliana toward the exit. Leliana departed without so much as a backward glance at Astarion.

As Cassandra began unchaining Astarion from the floor, he took the opportunity to ask the question that had been nagging at him since his arrival. "So... what did happen, if you don't mind me asking?" Astarion asked, hoping that Cassandra would provide some much-needed clarity about the events that had transpired between his fall and his current situation. He wasn't entirely certain how much she knew, but any information she could offer would be valuable in piecing together the puzzle of his recent experiences.

"It will be easier to show you," Cassandra replied, assisting Astarion to his feet but keeping his arms chained. Astarion couldn't help but feel a surge of confidence; all it would take is one teeny-weeny bite, and her life would be over- if the need arose.

Cassandra led him towards the door, and despite his initial hesitation due to the light outside, she tugged him through it and into the open. Astarion instinctively winced and shielded his face with his arm, anticipating the searing pain of exposure to daylight. However, as he gradually realized that he wasn't burning, he cautiously turned his face to the sky.

What he saw was beyond unexpected—it was utterly bewildering. The heavens were filled with a colossal swirling mass of dark clouds, illuminated by eerie green light and punctuated by bursts of lightning. Astarion knew that mind flayers possessed formidable power, but this display in the sky was on an entirely different scale. It was evident that whatever was unfolding above had no direct connection to his recent near-death experience aboard the mind flayer ship.

Astarion couldn't help but feel a sliver of gratefulness for the cloud cover that shielded him from the harsh rays of the sun. If not for the protective shroud above, he was certain that the sunlight would have been a death sentence. It had been nearly two centuries since he last saw the sun, and he had no intention of facing it today.

“We call it the breach. It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It’s not the only such rift- Just the largest. All were caused by the explosion of the conclave. Unless we act, the breach will grow until it swallows the world,” Cassandra explained, her tone laden with gravity and urgency.

Astarion began, his protest abruptly halted as another wave of excruciating pain surged through his hand. He couldn't help but gasp, overwhelmed by the intensity of the agony, and he sank to his knees, his hand clenched tightly in a futile attempt to alleviate the pain that continued to spread.

“Each time the breach expands, your mark spreads… and it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time,” Cassandra said, looking down at him with a slightly pitiful expression. 

“You said it may be the key, but to doing what?” Astarion asked, his curiosity overcoming his reluctance, as Cassandra seemed to possess more knowledge about his mysterious hand than he did.

"Closing the breach. Whether that's possible is something we will discover shortly. It is our only chance, however. And yours," Cassandra replied, her voice carrying the weight of the situation.

"I... understand. I'll do whatever I can. Whatever it takes," Astarion reluctantly affirmed, conceding to Cassandra's request even though he found the situation highly irritating. He had no desire to become embroiled in the affairs of unstable magical portals in the sky, but it appeared he had little choice. The glowing hand seemed to pose a more immediate threat than the mind flayer tadpole, and he really didn't want to die. 

Cassandra helped him to his feet once again and led him through the camp, providing some context for the dire circumstances they faced. "They have decided your guilt. They need it. The people of Haven mourn our most holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between mages and templars. She brought their leaders together. Now, they are dead. We lash out, like the sky, but we must think beyond ourselves. As she did. Until the breach is sealed. There will be a trial—I can promise no more," she explained, and with a swift, decisive cut, she finally freed Astarion's arms from their restraints.

Astarion couldn't care less about the idealistic rhetoric Cassandra was spouting about peace and Divine Justinia's goals. What mattered to him was that she seemed to trust him enough to release his restraints.

"Where, exactly, are you taking me?" Astarion asked, as they walked out of the town. 

"We're headed to the valley," Cassandra replied succinctly, offering no further details as they walked out of the town. The journey ahead remained shrouded in uncertainty, and Astarion couldn't help but wonder what awaited him in this unfamiliar and troubled area.

Astarion couldn't help but inject a note of sarcasm into his response as he followed her down the path. "Oh, what fun," he muttered under his breath.

Notes:

2023-09-11 chapter updated to fix verb tense issues during dialogue and content flow issues. Story line remains the same.

Chapter 2: Astarion meets the Apostate

Astarion didn't seem to be in as much of a hurry as one might expect, given their pressing situation. The path they traveled was adorned with a trail of valuable spoils, a testament to the misfortunes of the now-deceased. It proved too tempting for Astarion to resist—a scattered bounty of golden coins, glistening gems, and other precious trinkets lay strewn across the ground, some of them tucked away in the pockets of the dead soldiers. Each time he spotted a gleam, he bent down to snatch it up and stuffed it into his already bulging bag. Cassandra watched him with growing annoyance; she didn't try to physically stop him, but the frustration was evident in her eyes. After observing Astarion loot yet another lifeless body, Cassandra could no longer contain her irritation, and finally spoke up.

"Astarion," Cassandra said, her voice carrying a hint of exasperation, "We need to keep moving. We don't have time to pick up every last piece of treasure we come across. The longer we linger here, the more likely it is that something... unpleasant will catch up with us."

Astarion, however, responded with a touch of sarcasm, defending his actions. "Ah, spare me the drama. He clearly wasn't going to use that gold. I mean, really, we're mending a bloody chasm in the sky that's spewing demons left and right. No harm in grabbing a tiny memento as a token of our heroic deeds, right? And honestly, if I can't liberate a tiny shiny keepsake while we're saving the realms, then someone's clearly not appreciating the finer points of adventuring, are they?" he retorted as he casually pocketed the dead man's gold.

Cassandra fixed Astarion with a gaze dripping in pure disappointment. "This isn't some grand adventure—our world may well come to an end if we fail to put a stop to this," she chided. "Your life should be payment enough, and you'll have no use for that gold when you're dead."

Astarion sighed in resignation. "Fine, I'll keep going. I'm done with him, anyways," he replied, finishing up his looting spree and standing up.

As they continued their journey, Astarion was struck by another agonizing surge of pain emanating from his hand. The illithid tadpole residing within his head also seemed to react negatively to the magical disturbance, squirming and causing an unpleasant sensation in his head. The intense discomfort caused him to lose his balance, and he collapsed to the ground, his mind spinning from the pain. Though the agony passed relatively quickly, Astarion was left with a lingering sense of nausea. 

Cassandra, her concern etched across her face, rushed to help him back onto his feet. "The pulses are coming faster now. The larger the breach grows, the more rifts appear, and the more demons we face. We should hurry," she explained. With that, she picked up the pace from a walk to a jog, and Astarion did his best to match her stride, keeping pace alongside her as they pressed forward.

Astarion couldn't help but feel that this day was getting progressively more chaotic, so it wasn't entirely surprising that the bridge met such a fate. He and Cassandra were sent tumbling to the ground below as the explosion engulfed the structure. As Astarion regained his bearings, he looked up just in time to witness a ball of green light striking the ground nearby. To his astonishment, the light transformed into a grotesque creature, and the ground surrounding it began to crack and splinter. The parts of the ground that fractured took on the same vibrant green hue as his cursed hand.

"Stay behind me!" Cassandra commanded, drawing her sword and charging at the demon. Astarion, however, had a different plan in mind. He scanned his surroundings for a potential hiding spot, hoping to establish a contingency plan in case Cassandra died in the confrontation. While he had confidence in her abilities, he couldn't help but feel that he would be better off if he had an actual weapon at his disposal. Under normal circumstances, his fangs would be considered formidable weapons, but today was anything but normal, and he had no intention of getting close enough to bite that monstrous creature. Even the mere thought of sinking his teeth into it made him queasy.

With his sharp eyes, Astarion swiftly located a dagger placed atop a nearby crate. This discovery infused him with newfound hope concerning their prospects for survival. Without hesitation, he sprinted over to claim the weapon. Casting a quick glance back at Cassandra, he acknowledged that she was managing the demon reasonably well, but it was evident that she could benefit from additional support. Taking advantage of the distraction caused by Cassandra's unrelenting assault, Astarion stealthily and silently maneuvered around to the backside of the demon. 

Once fully positioned behind the demon, Astarion wasted no time and plunged his dagger deep into the demon’s back, the blade piercing its flesh with a vicious thrust. Without hesitation, he yanked the dagger free, only to plunge it back into the demon once more for a second brutal strike. As he pulled the dagger away once more, a splatter of blood burst forth from the mortally wounded creature, coating Astarion in the gruesome aftermath. Yet, he remained utterly disinterested in the blood that now clung to him. He just knew that the blood would be completely vile if he were to ingest any of it. For the first time in ages, he felt a profound sense of disgust at being covered in blood, causing him to shudder in revulsion. 

“Drop your weapon. Now!” Cassandra commanded. She pointed her sword at Astarion, treating him as if he were another monster. Well, technically he was, but Astarion was certain that she didn’t actually know about his vampirism. 

“ Excuse me? I just saved your life!” Astarion said, flabbergasted. He had no intention of dropping his newfound weapon, especially not when there might be more of those demons lurking ahead.

Cassandra sighed, her initial aggression giving way to a more measured tone. "You're right," she conceded, lowering her sword. "You should keep it with you. I cannot protect you. I should remember that you agreed to come willingly."

As they continued along the path, more of those demons appeared, but they proved no match for the combined forces of Cassandra and Astarion. Their journey progressed at a steady pace, despite Astarion's ongoing habit of looting anything of value he could find, much to Cassandra's enduring exasperation. Cassandra couldn't even fathom how Astarion had fit everything into his bag. 

"We're getting close to the rift! You can hear the fighting," Cassandra informed Astarion as they raced toward the sounds of battle.

"Who's fighting?" Astarion inquired, matching his pace with Cassandra's as they approached the tumultuous scene.

"You'll see soon enough. We must help them," Cassandra replied, surging ahead to join the ongoing battle. Astarion followed closely behind, ready to lend his assistance.

As Astarion neared the heart of the battle, he laid eyes on the source of the turmoil – a rift, resembling the one in the sky but considerably smaller in scale. It appeared as though the very fabric of reality had been torn asunder, leaving behind a jagged rupture in what should have been empty space. Emanating from the center of the tear was a dark and potent energy, and Astarion didn't require his enigmatic glowing hand to sense the ominous nature of this rift. Despite the dire circumstances, he couldn't help but feel a surge of relief. Facing the monsters spewing forth from this rift was far preferable to being on the nautiloid ship or in the clutches of Cazador. Honestly, fuck Cazador. 

The battle ended almost as quickly as it started. No enemies stood a chance with the current group fighting. The group consisted of: Astarion, Cassandra, A dwarf with a crossbow, an elf with absolutely no hair on the top of his head, and a few other random soldiers that had nothing notable enough for Astarion to care about. As the final foe fell, the bald elf grabbed Astarion's wrist and thrust his hand toward the rift in the air.

“Quickly! Before more come through!” The elf shouted. Astarion felt a pulling sensation from his hand that almost seemed to soothe the former pain from the mark. He could only watch in amazement as the rift in the air rapidly contracted, leaving no trace that it had ever existed.

With the rift sealed, Astarion withdrew his arm and turned his attention to the unassuming elf who had orchestrated this feat. The elf's appearance was utterly unremarkable, dressed like a humble traveler, but Astarion could sense an extraordinary power emanating from him. He could smell the man’s blood, and it was so intoxicating that it was almost begging Astarion to take a sip. It seemed to promise not just nourishment- but also power, life, and secrets. The allure was almost overwhelming, and Astarion found himself salivating at the mere thought of tasting the man's blood. Never– in all his years as a vampire– had he ever met someone who had such enticing blood.

As tempting as the blood was, Astarion managed to resist the urge, his rational mind prevailing over his vampiric instincts. He was already walking a thin line with the group, and any overt display of his true nature would likely result in immediate hostility.

"So, what just happened?" Astarion inquired, still somewhat puzzled by his hand's ability to close the rift.

"Whatever magic opened the breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized that the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the breach's wake—and it seems I was correct," the other elf explained, eyeing Astarion with a hint of suspicion. There was an unsettling sense that the elf had detected something unusual about him, but had yet to fully discern what it was.

“You theorized that?” Astarion asked, giving Solas a skeptical look.

"Yes. It seems like you hold the key to our salvation," Solas replied, his own gaze still tinged with suspicion. "Forgive me—perhaps introductions are in order. My name is Solas."

Cassandra seemed to sense Astarion’s distrust for Solas. “Solas is an apostate,” she clarified, as if that meant anything to Astarion. 

“Technically all mages are now apostates, Cassandra. My travels have allowed me to learn much of the fade, far beyond the experience of any circle mage. I came to offer whatever help I can give with the breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed, regardless of origin,” Solas explained. 

Astarion shrugged, his ignorance regarding the term evident. “It’s a pleasure. I’m Astarion,” he replied, giving a small nod towards Solas. “But I’ve never heard of an apostate before. What does that mean?” he added. The fact that he hadn't heard of such a fundamental term as "apostate" seemed to surprise everyone around him.

“You’ve… never heard of an apostate?” Cassandra asked slowly. She’d previously assumed Astarion must have been a city elf– as he clearly was not Dalish– but now, she wasn’t so sure. She made a mental note to have Leliana investigate his origins once they had dealt with the breach.

“An apostate is a mage who is not a part of a circle,” Solas explained. 

“Oh, right. I understand. I was just a little confused– that’s all!” Astarion lied, trying to play off his ignorance. Solas’s explanation didn’t help much, because Astarion also didn’t understand exactly what they meant by ‘mages’. He did understand that he’d asked the wrong thing, though. Apparently, ‘apostates’ must be common knowledge around here. It made him wonder how far away he really was from Baldur’s gate. The final leap from the nautiloid ship had transported him to an unknown location, sparking a hint of excitement at the prospect of being so far from home. Moreover, it meant he was far removed from Cazador's reach.

"And I'm Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong," the dwarf chimed in, joining the group and shifting the conversation's focus.

“That’s a nice crossbow you have there,” Astarion replied, relieved to redirect the discussion toward a different subject.

"Ah, isn't she? Bianca and I have been through a lot together," Varric replied, casting a fond glance at his crossbow.

“You named your crossbow Bianca? How delightful! A beautifully named murder weapon, I must say,” Astarion quipped, a hint of smugness in his tone.

“Of course. And she’ll be great company in the valley,” Varric replied with a small grin. For some reason, Varric’s response seemed to annoy Cassandra. Astarion decided he liked Varric-they would get along well.

“We must get to the forward camp quickly,” Cassandra stated, turning her back to them and walking. 

“Well… Bianca’s excited!” Varric said, then followed. 

Notes:

2023-09-11 Chapter updated to fix verb tense issues. Content remains the same.

Chapter 3: Astarion Closes the Breach

After a few fights and another fade rift, Astarion and the group reached the forward camp. Which was, apparently, just a big bridge with some soldiers and supply crates. While Astarion wasn’t sure that having the ‘forward camp’ on a bridge was the smartest idea– especially after what happened on the last bridge he was on– he was more than happy to search through all of the crates and take whatever health potions he could find. No one was stopping him from taking them all, anyways. 

Further ahead, Astarion spotted Leliana engaged in a heated argument with a man who appeared determined not to yield. Sighing, Astarion approached the two bickering figures, with the rest of his companions trailing behind him. It was evident that the man was quite self-absorbed, attempting to assert dominance over Leliana, but instead, he only came across as foolish. Astarion was curious to see how this would play out.

“Ah. Here they come,” The man stated, seeing Astarion heading in their direction.

“You made it. Chancellor Roderick, this is–” Leliana began to say, but was cut off by Chancellor Roderick mid-sentence. 

“I know who he is. As Grand Chancellor to the chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution,” the Chancellor said, snubbing his nose and pointing at Astarion. 

Astarion’s face twisted in shock. “Now hang on a minute, I—” 

He was interrupted as Cassandra took a step forward in front of him. She put her arm out in front of Astarion, as if to hold him back. “Order ME? You are a glorified clerk. A bureaucrat!” She said, scoffing at the Chancellor. 

“And you are a thug, but a thug who supposedly serves the chantry!” The Chancellor said.

“We serve the most holy, Chancellor, as you well know,” Leliana commented. 

“Justinia is dead! We must elect a replacement, and obey her orders on the matter!” The Chancellor replied. 

Astarion crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. “Can we just kill him and move on? Clearly no one likes him. We’re still in a rush, if you didn’t forget.” 

“YOU brought this on us in the first place!” The Chancellor shouted at Astarion.

Astarion turned his head to look towards Cassandra and Leliana. “ Pretty please? I can make it fast,” He asked, looking over the side of the bridge. All it would take is one solid shove…

“Absolutely not,” Cassandra replied to Astarion, to which Astarion pouted in response. Cassandra gave Astarion a quick glare, then turned back to face the Chancellor. “We need to stop this, before it’s too late. We must get to the temple; it's the quickest route.”

“But not the safest. Our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains,” Leliana added, pointing up towards a small mountain peak. 

“We lost contact with an entire squad on that path. It’s too risky,” Cassandra responded. 

“Just listen to me. Abandon this now, before more lives are lost,” The Chancellor begged, but his pleas were ignored. 

Astarion mentally began planning on how he was going to pickpocket the Chancellor without getting caught by the others, but had to abandon that thought when Cassandra turned her back to the Chancellor and faced him instead. “So how do you think we should proceed?” she asked him. 

Astarion looked taken aback at the question. “Wait, you’re asking me ?” he asked, shocked by the sudden big decision put on him. He was used to following orders; not being the one to make them. 

“You have the mark,” Solas chimed in, after being silent this whole time. 

“And you are the one we must keep alive. Since we cannot agree on our own…” Cassandra added. 

“Well, then… I say we charge. I’d really like to stay alive; so the quicker we get to the breach, the better,” Astarion said, although a part of his mind still wondered if any of this would even matter. Even if he was able to reach the breach and close it, he might turn into a mind flayer right after anyways. Solving the issue with his hand wouldn’t matter if he turned into a tentacled freak. He really wanted to hurry up and get the breach closed, because he really needed to find a healer. It had already been incredibly painful to be changed into a vampire spawn– he didn’t think he would be able to handle a transformation into yet another monster. 

“Leliana, bring everyone left in the valley. Everyone,” Cassandra ordered. 

Astarion followed his companions forward and out of the forward camp. Along the way, they encountered more demons, more dead people strewn alongside the roads, and yet another rift. Astarion closed the rift quickly this time, finding it easier to do so with each rift he closed. The more he closed, the more stable his hand seemed to feel too, which was a much-needed relief. Astarion truly hoped that closing the big one in the sky really might be enough to stop the mark from killing him. 

“You’re getting quite proficient at this,” Solas commented, after the rift was sealed. 

“Let’s just hope it works on the big one,” Varric said, staring up at the sky. 

“Me too– I’m sincerely hoping to stay alive today. As… riveting company as you all are, I’d really rather not spend my last moments with you,” Astarion said.

Varric smirked at that, then asked, “Are you sure? We could step up our game a little. I’m sure it's not too late to bring in confetti and to do some interpretive dancing. I bet our seeker here would love to add some dramatic background vocals, too.”

“Absolutely not,” Cassandra replied. 

“And where, exactly, would we get confetti from?” Solas asked Varric. 

“You’re a mage, Solas. Think of the possibilities! A little confetti couldn’t be too hard to conjure up from a guy like you,” Varric responded. 

Solas looked mildly disappointed in Varric, but never had the chance to respond because they had reached the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The temple itself was essentially non-existent, but the recent events had left a permanent mark upon the land. The entire area was completely scorched; devoid of any life. Corpses were strewn about everywhere; although the bodies were so destroyed that only charred bones remained. Tall, jagged rocks surrounded the area, evidence of the massive explosion that had recently occurred. It would take centuries– maybe even more– before the land here would start to be healed by nature. The area– which had once represented the hope for peace and unity– was now nothing more than an eerie wasteland.

Cassandra slowed her walk, once they entered the area of the former temple. “The Temple of Sacred Ashes. Or, what’s left of it. That’s where you walked out of the fade and our soldiers found you. They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was,” she said to Astarion, looking solemn as the group walked past the charred bodies. 

“So this is where I landed? At least I didn’t end up like them. Burning to death doesn’t seem particularly fun,” Astarion said, kicking a charred body to the side. As he walked, Astarion couldn’t help but notice that there were no signs of a nautiloid ship in the area. There wasn’t even a shred of evidence that anything illithid had ever even seen the area– besides his tadpole, of course. It made him wonder what exactly had happened in between the time he was falling to the time he was waking up. “So you’re saying I walked out of one of those rifts?” He asked, wanting to clarify exactly what had happened to him. Nothing seemed to be adding up. 

“Yes. After the conclave exploded, you walked right out of the fade. You were directly in the center of it all. Do you really not remember anything?” Cassandra asked. 

“Certainly not anything like that,” Astarion replied. 

The group soon reached the center of the temple ruins, where there sat a large, broken, statue of a woman. Above the statue was the largest rift Astarion had ever seen– at least four times the size of any rift he’d encountered thus far. The rift appeared to be magically connected– with tendrils of green reaching far into the sky– to the breach. Astarion looked up at it with dread, wondering how the hells he was supposed to close it all and not die. 

Varric was in a similar state of mind. “The breach is a long way up…” he said, then continued forward down the path. 

Cassandra stepped in front of Astarion, temporarily blocking his view of the rift. “This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?” she asked him. 

“I’m assuming you have a plan for how exactly I’m supposed to close this?” Astarion asked, looking back up at the breach in the sky. 

“That rift was the first, and it is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we will seal the breach,” Solas instructed.  

“Then let’s find a way down,” Cassandra said, then began leading them down a path to the feet of the statue.

“Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice,” A ominous male voice said, loud enough for anyone in the area to hear. 

“What are we hearing?” Cassandra asked. 

“At a guess– the person who created the breach,” Solas responded. 

“Which– let me point out– is clearly not my voice. Whatever happened here, I didn’t do it,” Astarion said. 

“Keep the sacrifice still,” The same ominous voice bellowed. 

“Someone please, help me!” A new, feminine voice said. 

“That was Divine Justinia’s voice!” Cassandra said, recognizing the second voice immediately. 

As the group approached the rift, the voices seemed to get louder. Astarion’s hand pulsed, but this time, it was not painful. In a way, it almost seemed to connect with the rift. 

“What’s going on here?” Astarion’s voice echoed. Astarion was shocked to hear his own voice– because he had not just spoken. He couldn’t remember having ever said that sentence at all. 

Cassandra also seemed surprised to hear Astarion’s voice echoed throughout the temple. “That was your voice. The most holy called out to you. But…” she trailed off, staring at Astarion as if trying to figure him out for the first time. 

“Run while you can. Warn them!” replied Divine Justinia, fear present in her voice. 

“We have an intruder. Slay the elf!” The ominous voice ordered. 

“You were there! Who attacked? And the Divine, is she…? Were the voices true? What are we hearing?” Cassandra questioned, demanding answers from Astarion. 

“I swear, I don’t remember. I wouldn’t lie about that!” Astarion responded, being completely confused by the whole situation. He wondered if the voices were a lie– just a trick to keep the focus off of whoever was actually responsible. 

“Echoes of what happened here. The fade bleeds into this place. This rift is not sealed, but it is closed… albeit temporarily. I believe that with the mark, the rift can be opened, and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side,” Solas said. 

“That means demons. Stand ready!” Cassandra ordered. 

Astarion held his hand up towards the rift, deciding just to get this over with. As the rift re-opened, Astarion was knocked back several feet. It was, without a doubt, the most powerful rift he had encountered. A massive horned figure then sprang out of the rift. It was extremely tall, and covered in thick scales resembling heavy armor. Some of the soldiers around shot arrows at it, but they just uselessly bounced off of the demon’s body. 

Astarion decided that– with as many soldiers as there were– the demon was not his problem. He was there for one thing, and one thing only– to close the rift. So he ran around to the back side of the rift, away from the demon, and plunged his hand into the air once again. Apparently this was the right thing to do, because the longer Astarion worked on closing the rift, the weaker the demon became. 

He was interrupted about halfway through by more demons popping out of the rift. They were the small ones this time– the kind he’d fought in other rifts earlier– so Astarion worked on dispatching them while the others finished killing the big one. Once the demons were killed, Astarion raised his hand to the rift once more. The rift promptly closed– sending a massive green light directly into the breach above them. The power it took to fully close the rift proved to be too much for Astarion, as he fell to the ground– unconscious. 

 

Notes:

The "intro" is finally complete. The breach is sealed. The story, up to this point, has been very closely aligned with the actual game (and much of the dialogue is the same), but that will change in the future. It will still follow the same plot-points as the game, but it will now be focused more on- well, Astarion. He IS the reason you clicked on this story in the first place, after all.

Chapter 4: Astarion Fears the Sunlight

When Astarion awoke, he was in a small room laying on a reasonably comfortable bed. It was clearly someone’s house, evidenced by the few pictures adorning the walls and the casual decorations around the place. The room generally had a very ‘homey’ feel to it, which Astarion wasn’t used to. As he sat up, he became aware of some company in the room with him. Another elf was there– a small woman, perhaps the owner of the house. She was carrying a small basket filled with some potions and vials. “Oh!” She said, startled. The basket slipped from her grasp and she backed up a few paces towards the door. “I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!” she stammered, a mixture of apology and anxiety in her voice.

“Is there any particular reason I shouldn’t be awake…?” Astarion asked, his gaze narrowing as it settled upon her. 

The elf sank down onto her knees, lowering her head until it touched the floor – adopting the very stance that many choose for moments of prayer. “I beg your forgiveness and your blessing. I am but a humble servant. You are back in Haven, my lord. They say you saved us. The breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. I’m certain Lady Cassandra would like to know you’ve awakened. She said ‘At once’. She’s in the Chantry, with the Lord Chancellor. ‘At once’ she said!” The elf said, quickly getting to her feet and running out of the room. 

Astarion shook his head, puzzled by what just happened. He took another moment to look around his room, to gather his bearings, then glanced back down at his hand. The glowing green mark was still very much there on his hand, but it felt much less angry than it had before. Had it not emitted such a radiant glow, he almost might not have known it was there, since he could no longer feel it. There was, however, a much more unpleasant sensation of burrowing and biting within his skull. The tadpole was present, and active– so it made him wonder exactly how long he had left before his transformation would occur. He felt great about still being alive, but not-so-great about having just spent who-knows-how-long asleep while he had limited time left before he sprouted tentacles. The fact that he’d been ‘asleep’ was worrisome too, because he hadn’t ‘slept’ in the traditional sense in almost 200 years. He must have really been on the verge of death for him to go completely unconscious the way he had been. 

A small window was situated on the opposite wall from where Astarion sat on the bed. It was a very typical window, and most people would have thought nothing of it, but the sight of the window made him very nervous. Mainly because there was a significant amount of sunlight shining through the window. This posed quite a problem for Astarion because he wouldn’t be able to leave the room until nightfall, but Cassandra was expecting to see him sooner. The LAST thing Astarion wanted to do was wait around in this tiny room until nighttime and just hope that he doesn’t go full mind flayer in the meantime. No; he needed a healer sooner than that. 

The vampire spawn cautiously approached the door while thinking of ways to get to Cassandra without having to be near the sun. Perhaps he could pretend that he was too sick to go see her– thus making her have to come to him. Yes- that sounded like a good plan, he would just need to find someone close by that could inform her of his inability to leave the house. He slowly cracked the door open, being careful not to let any of the sun’s rays slipping through the crack touch his skin. He froze at the scene before him– There were many people at the foot of the house, forming two lines, expectantly waiting for Astarion to leave the house so that they could cheer him on. 

“Oh, fuck me,” Astarion muttered under his breath, closing the door. He hoped that none of those people waiting outside had actually seen him. If this is what he was going to get for helping people, then he would certainly be doing it less from now on. He absolutely did not need that kind of attention on himself. Now he was in an even worse situation– people very likely knew he was awake, and were expectantly waiting for him to leave the house. Which he could not do without the sunlight burning his skin. He was also certain that if the townsfolk discovered that he was a vampire spawn, he would find himself with a stake immediately shoved straight through his heart. That is, if they didn’t pin him down and let the sunlight burn him into a crisp first. 

In his slightly panicked state of mind, Astarion backed away from the door– but had forgotten about the basket the elf had dropped earlier. He tripped over it, falling backwards and reaching behind him to catch himself. He landed on the floor with a thud, but froze when he felt a slightly warm sensation on his unmarked hand. He blinked slowly as he realized that a streak of sunlight– pouring in from the window– was laying softly against the skin of his hand. There was no pain in the slightest; just a comforting, warming , sensation that Astarion hadn’t felt in almost two hundred years. 

Astarion took an extra moment to hold his hand up, exposing more of it to the direct sunlight. There was nothing interesting happening at all– which was absolutely fascinating to Astarion. Gingerly, he rose to his feet and immersed his full face into the sunlight. He gained a newfound confidence once he realized the sunlight truly wasn’t affecting him. He wasn’t quite sure which part of him he should be thanking for this– the hand or the tadpole– but regardless, this was an unforeseen advantage he wouldn’t take for granted. He was going to do everything in his power to stay alive long enough to hunt Cazador down and kill him. The possibilities would be endless for doing so, now that he could stand in the sun. 

With greater assurance, he approached the door, this time opening it fully and stepping into the sunlight– an experience he hadn't had in nearly two centuries. To his astonishment, there really was no pain whatsoever. Just the opposite, in fact. His skin tingled pleasantly like the gentle caress of a lover. Astarion stood still, taking a moment to savor the sensation– but was rudely pulled out of his thoughts when his stomach let out a twinge of pain. He was very hungry, and unfortunately, he could not eat sunlight. It was time for him to get a move on with finding Cassandra, so that perhaps he could find himself a meal afterwards. 

As Astarion made his way out of the house and through the crowd of people, he noticed a lot of them were talking about him being ‘the Herald.’ Although he wasn’t quite sure what that actually meant, it was clearly a sign of respect. Some people had even chosen to bow to him as he walked by– just like that other elf girl had done when he woke up. He was enjoying this immensely. People were seriously bowing to HIM– a vampire spawn who spent many years luring people to their deaths. This was honestly hilarious to Astarion. 

Astarion quickly found his way to the ‘Chantry’, which was just a large building surrounded by obvious religious symbols. He didn’t know what god the chantry was dedicated to, however, as he didn’t recognize any of the symbols. As he entered the building, he could hear the voices of Cassandra and the Chancellor (who Astarion still thought they really should have killed earlier) arguing behind some doors across the hall. He approached the doors slowly, leaning over and pressing his ears to the doors first to listen in to the conversation. They were arguing about Astarion again– and the Chancellor apparently did not hold the same respect that the other townspeople had for Astarion. The Chancellor still wanted Astarion to be sent to ‘Val Royeaux’ to be imprisoned and put on trial, but Cassandra was arguing against it. 

He briefly wondered if he should just make the Chancellor his next meal– it would save him from having to spend time hunting, anyways. It’s not like anyone would miss the Chancellor if he were to just ‘go missing’. But alas, Cazador had forbidden Astarion from stealing the blood of thinking creatures. Yet…. here Astarion was, far away from Cazador, able to walk fully in the sunlight. Did Cazador even still have that kind of control over him anymore? Could he actually bite someone without repercussions? The thought of actually biting a person made him feel slightly uneasy, because he’d never actually bitten anyone in all of the years he’s spent as a vampire spawn. Perhaps he really would just go hunting for animals until he was absolutely certain that he was away from Cazador. He pushed those thoughts aside and opened the door. 

“Chain him! I want him prepared for travel to the capital for trial,” The Chancellor ordered, pointing towards two guards standing at the entrance of the door. 

“Disregard that and leave us,” Cassandra said to the guards. The guards immediately left the room, choosing to follow Cassandra’s orders– not the Chancellor’s. 

Astarion laughed loudly. “Well, isn’t this just the comedy show that never ends. Honestly, why is he even still here? Clearly he holds no authority. Let’s just kick him out and be done with him,” he said. 

The Chancellor was seething in anger, most of it directed at Astarion. “Isn’t it a little too convenient that you still live? You failed– the breach is still in the sky– and yet here you stand before us, perfectly healthy. We should execute you. You may have conned Cassandra and Leliana into thinking you’re some Herald – but I see you EXACTLY for the monster you are!” he yelled, waving his finger in Astarion’s face. 

“I somehow doubt that,” Astarion muttered under his breath, crossing his arms in response. 

As it turned out, Cassandra and Leliana had made a plan for stripping the Chancellor of his power, anyways. Cassandra had slammed a book on the table and declared ‘The Inquisition reborn.’ Most of their conversation about it had gone right over Astarion’s head, but he understood that, essentially, Cassandra had declared their own governing body and had kicked the Chancellor to the curb. 

The most intriguing part of the conversation, however, was that Cassandra (and many others) believed Astarion to be the Herald of Andraste; Andraste being the goddess that they all worshiped. They believed that Andraste sent Astarion to them to help them in their time of need– which Astarion thought was absurd . I mean really, there’s no way a goddess would ever send a dangerous vampire spawn– that could turn into a mind flayer at any moment– to help people fix the magic hole in the sky. There was absolutely something else going on here, to which Astarion attributed to the mind flayers. Still, Astarion was more than happy to accept the title of ‘Herald of Andraste’ in the meantime. There would be obvious benefits to people believing he is some savior sent by a goddess. He just hoped they didn’t actually expect him to be able to help much. 

After Cassandra declared the Inquisition reborn, and the Chancellor left the room, Astarion picked up the book that Cassandra had set on the table earlier. He flipped through a few pages, only to find out that he couldn’t actually read the strange writing on the paper. It was clearly in a different language, using characters Astarion didn’t recognize, so he frowned and set the book back down. It was disappointing, because he’d been hoping to read it to learn more about this area. 

“You can borrow it, if you’d like,” Leliana said to him, seeing Astarion showing interest in the book. She mistook it for him showing genuine interest in the Inquisition.

“No, there would be no point. I can’t read it,” Astarion said, shrugging and shaking his head. 

Leliana tilted her head slightly, as if puzzled. “You can’t read it,” she repeated, as if confirming what he’d just said. It wasn’t totally odd that an elf might be unable to read– as many elves grew up in unfavorable circumstances– but it did give another clue to her about what his background might be. 

Of course, Leliana had used up her time, and many of her resources, to try and find information about Astarion while he’d been unconscious. Unfortunately, she’d come up with basically nothing; it was almost as if Astarion had appeared out of thin air. Nothing about him seemed to make any kind sense, either. He looked like a noble– his clothes were finely stitched, with rich colors and intricate details– and his hair was perfectly styled with his soft curls swept to the side. He had piercing eyes and a very toned body, creating an image of what some might consider to be the perfect man– wealthy, with sharp features and a very flattering figure. 

However, if he truly was the wealthy noble he appeared to be, someone would have heard of him. One of her sources somewhere would have been able to find out information about him– especially since there were incredibly few wealthy elves around. Astarion also was incredibly pale; as if he hadn’t been outdoors in years. Wherever he’d been– he hadn’t been working outdoors. There were other signs to support that he wasn’t wealthy at all, despite his appearance– like the way he’d been looting almost everything he passed on his way to closing the breach. A rich man wouldn’t have needed to collect coin from dead bodies. He also was generally lacking knowledge that most people would assume was common knowledge, such as his confusion around apostates, circles, and even Andraste. She knew many elves didn’t worship Andraste, but those elves were mainly Dalish– and Astarion was most certainly not Dalish. His inability to read was also a clue that his upbringing had actually not been one of a wealthy man, but rather the opposite.

There was also the matter of the deep scarring on his back– which had been discovered while Astarion was unconscious– that disturbed Leliana. Someone had carved shapes and symbols into Astarion’s back, which she didn’t recognize, but she doubted that Astarion had willingly let it happen. The scarring was both intricate and deep; it would have been both very painful and very time consuming to achieve. So, as much as she wanted to believe that Astarion was just some rich man’s son, her thoughts led her elsewhere– to somewhere much darker. 

She knew of another elf that had a similar appearance as Astarion– Fenris, an elf from Varric’s stories. Fenris also had strange markings on his body, white hair, and an inability to read. However, Fenris had been a slave. Leliana hoped she was wrong to assume that Astarion might also have been a slave, but it would explain some of his curiosities. She also had noticed that Astarion had yet to ask where he was, or how he could contact home, which most people would have done almost as soon as they’d woken up. Which further made her think that Astarion didn’t want to return home… possibly because he was a slave. The connotations of a slave being dressed up to look rich and attractive didn’t sit right with her though, nor did the deep scarring on his back. She thought that perhaps she should just ask Astarion about his background, before she drew up too many unreasonable conclusions. 

“Astarion, when you have a moment, can we speak privately? I have some things I would like to ask you,” Leliana asked him. 

“Oh. Fine. Before we do that, though… is there a healer around, by any chance?” Astarion asked, wanting to prioritize the parasite over anything else now. 

“A healer? Are you still ill?” Cassandra asked, looking concerned for Astarion. 

“Not really. I just had a few questions to ask, mostly. Nothing to worry about,” Astarion lied. 

“In that case, you should speak to Solas. He knows much more about that mark than anyone else. You’ll find him at his house, which will be to the left once you exit here. Just let me know when you’re ready to chat with me. Cassandra and I have some preparations to do, in the meantime,” Leliana responded. 

“Off to visit Solas, then,” Astarion responded before departing the room.  

Chapter 5: Astarion's Half-Truths and Half-Lies

Notes:

Early chapter release due to oncoming hurricane. There is a chance I will lose power, so I wanted to release it early just in case. Next update should still be on Sunday, unless the weather has other plans.

Solas looked up and nodded gently towards Astarion as he approached. “Astarion, it’s good to see you up and moving. I had hoped you might come seek me out. How are you faring?” 

“All things considered, I could be worse. So, are you a healer? Leliana sent me your way, since you seem to know the most about this mark on my hand. But there’s another private matter that requires a skilled healer to fix. It’s rather important. Should I talk to you? Or perhaps… there’s a better healer around?” Astarion asked carefully. 

“I assume this is related to the worm-like creature living in your skull,” Solas said, his face blank. 

Taken aback, Astarion leaned away in disbelief. “You knew about it? ” he asked, and wondered why Solas hadn’t done anything about it. He looked at Solas with unease– as he wasn’t sure about what else Solas might know about him, if he’d found the tadpole so quickly.

“I possess only the knowledge of its existence, but I am unfamiliar with its nature. I stumbled upon it while I was caring for you. Please, come inside my cabin. You can explain what it is and I’ll see what I can do,” Solas suggested, motioning to the house they were standing in front of. Astarion accompanied him into the cabin, and upon entering, Solas directed him to sit down on the bed. Astarion acquiesced, though a lingering uncertainty about Solas remained. There was an undeniable air of suspicion surrounding Solas that Astarion couldn't quite shake off. Something was off about Solas, but Astarion still couldn’t figure out what. 

“So how did you come to have a worm in your skull?” Solas asked, positioning himself before Astarion and gazing intently into his eyes, as if attempting to discern the presence of the parasite within him. It was unsettling, but Astarion really needed the tadpole out of his head, and Solas seemed to be his only option right now. 

“It’s… a bit of a long story. Essentially, I was abducted by mind flayers and kept on their ship, where they infected me with this tadpole. I was lucky to escape after a dragon attacked the ship and we crashed,” he explained.

Solas studied him for a moment, as if trying to fully grasp what Astarion had just said. “You were on a ship that was attacked by a dragon?” he asked, his tone carrying a hint of skepticism. 

“Yes, although I’ll admit my memories from that time are a little… askew. I seem to be missing some memories in between the time the ship crashed and my arrival here. I don’t actually know much about the parasite, but I did find a book that referenced them once. From what I’ve read, the first step in becoming a mind flayer involves memory loss. I hope you understand why I need this fixed as soon as possible. I won’t exactly be helpful to the inquisition and all that if I’m transforming into a mind flayer,” Astarion said, his tone laced with a sense of urgency.  

“So the parasite will transform you into a mind flayer? I’ve never heard of one. What exactly is a mind flayer?” Solas asked, curious more than anything else. 

“To put it simply– well, a hideous hive-minded monster with tentacles for a mouth. They’re quite dangerous, too, so it would be much more in your favor to remove the tadpole than to have me transform– especially since I have a magic hand. We wouldn’t want a monster to be able to open rifts, now would we? Think of the chaos that would cause,” Astarion replied. 

“How long will you have, if this tadpole isn’t removed?” Solas questioned. 

“Well, from what I’ve read, the transformation starts on the first day, and takes about 7 days to complete. I’m not quite sure how long I’ve been asleep for, but I really should get this tadpole removed. We’re running out of time.” 

“You’ve been asleep for the past three days,” Solas responded dryly. 

“ What? Three whole days ?” Astarion exclaimed, shocked and confused. He should have already started transforming by now, but besides some memory loss, he felt remarkably unchanged. 

“It’s possible that the mark is interfering with it. That’s partially how I noticed that you harbored a parasite in the first place; the mark was reacting to it as you slept. Just lie back on the bed, and I’ll see what I can do to remove it,” Solas said, motioning for Astarion to lie back. 

Astarion quickly raised his hands before him. “Hold on! Let’s start with a promise that you won’t kill me, ok? Or, let’s say, take out an eyeball or something. I would like to leave here looking just as pretty as when I came in.” 

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m merely using my magic to investigate the parasite further. You DO want my help, don’t you?” Solas asked.

“I– well, yes. Fine , continue,” Astarion said, lying back on the bed and resting his head against the pillow. 

Solas placed his hand on Astarion’s forehead. Astarion felt magic flow from Solas’s hand– but so did the tadpole. Astarion winced at the incredibly uncomfortable sensation of the tadpole burrowing deeper into his brain, sending a wave of shivers down his spine. He gritted his teeth as he felt intermittent stabs of pain as the tiny tendrils scraped against neural pathways, squirming and probing at his brain as if trying to hide from Solas’s magic. He became disoriented, his surroundings blurring and twisting as a sudden wave of nausea fell over him. 

Solas withdrew his hand when he saw it was becoming too much for Astarion to handle. “I won’t be able to remove it– not without killing you, anyways. There is a powerful barrier over it– whoever put it there did not want it to be removed. However, the magic in the mark is likely weakening it, so I don’t think you will have to worry about immediate transformation. I may also know of a potion that could weaken it further, but it will take me some time to gather the supplies. You’ll be safe– for now. If you do notice any more symptoms coming on– please come see me right away. That mark and I are likely the only things keeping you alive right now,” he said. 

Astarion was disappointed that it couldn’t be removed, but it was still extremely relieving to hear that there wasn’t an immediate threat of becoming a mind flayer. He could use this time to enjoy his new freedoms– such as basking in the sun, and perhaps eating better prey than rats– as well as using this time to hunt Cazador down.

“You wouldn’t mind if we just kept this as a little secret for now, just between us, would you? I wouldn’t want to worry the others if they heard that their precious Herald might turn into a monster at any moment,” Astarion said. 

“You wish to keep this a secret? Fine. I will honor your wishes for now, but eventually there may come a time when they need to know,” Solas responded. 

Astarion stood up from the bed, and nodded at Solas. “I understand. Thank you, for what it’s worth. I’ll see you around,” he said, then walked out of Solas’s cabin. 

Now that Astarion was no longer worried about the tadpole, he wondered about the extent of his new freedoms. He already knew that he could withstand the sunlight, but what else could he do? Would he be able to walk through houses, unannounced? Could he finally see himself in a mirror, after all of these years? Could he feed on a human? 

Well, technically he could have always done that last one; if it hadn’t been for Cazador. Still, the thought of it made him excited. It occurred to him just how starved he really was– he was absolutely famished. The urge for blood surged within him, intensified by the bustling camp teeming with people whose hearts pulsed with every passing moment. Many of them were weak too; it would be almost effortless for him to entice someone away in the depths of the night for a satisfyingly bloody meal. The prospect almost seemed laughingly easy– who would expect their ‘Herald’ to be of the biting variety? It would serve them right, though, for flaunting their necks around so carelessly. 

Astarion quickly shook those thoughts out of his head. He knew they were only being driven by his hunger, and he knew the consequences of biting someone could be horrific. He didn’t actually want to hurt anyone, nor did he want to be staked for doing so. He was just so hungry that his mind couldn’t think clearly. He knew he needed to keep this part of him hidden at all costs. He wouldn't become like Cazador– he wouldn't let that side of him win. He hoped the night would come soon so that he could go hunt before he did something he would regret. This was the first time he's been around people who actually wanted him around, so Astarion didn't want to ruin that so soon by revealing his true vampiric nature. 

He still had some time to kill before nightfall would arrive, though, so he went back towards the chantry to find Leliana. He had no idea what she wanted to speak with him about, but this could be a good opportunity to ask her for some maps. He still had absolutely no idea where he was, after all. He didn’t recognize the name of the town, the goddess they worshiped, or the script they used. Honestly, it was a miracle that he even understood the language. 

As Astarion made his way back to the chantry, he couldn't help but notice the numerous stares he garnered. Evidently, the fascination that people held for him was far from fading. Some individuals offered friendly waves, while others refrained, yet overall, it marked one of the warmest welcomes he had experienced within a town. His stroll back to the chantry was proving rather pleasant, until the serenity was shattered by a derogatory shout: "knife-ear!"

Astarion came to an abrupt halt, pivoting on his heel to confront the human that had just shouted at him. “ What did you just say?” he asked, not actually sure what to make of the ‘knife-ear’ comment. It held an unfamiliar sting, and he suspected it was intended as an insult.

“I said that you’re nothing but a filthy knife-ear. You’re no Herald! You and your disgusting blood magic probably put the damned thing in the sky in the first place!” The man shouted, throwing a mug of beer directly at Astarion. Astarion swiftly stepped to the side and watched as the mug flew right past him. The man had disheveled hair and a wild look in his eye, and was practically swaying where he stood. 

Astarion signed inwardly, his patience being tested. He had dealt with his fair share of insults, but that didn't mean he enjoyed it. "Ah, my friend," Astarion said, his voice dripping with a sarcastic sweetness. "I must commend your ability to string words together even in your current state. Quite the feat."

The man scowled, his face reddening with anger. "You think you're better than us? Fancy clothes, fancy words, but you're still nothing but a disgusting knife-ear!"

Astarion's lips curved into a mocking smile. "Oh, my dear fellow, you wound me with your eloquence. Consider this a warning. Your drunken courage is laughable, but should you choose to test my patience further, you will find that my bite is FAR worse than my bark,” he said, then turned on his heel and continued walking. The man made no further attempt to follow–or harass– him, but it did leave him wondering what he’d done to make the drunkard hate him so much in the first place. Perhaps the man just hated elves. 

Astarion chose to forget the encounter for now, and he soon found Leliana standing outside of the chantry, talking to a few people Astarion didn’t recognize. 

“Astarion! How are you feeling? Did your talk with Solas go well?” Leliana asked, as she saw Astarion approaching. 

“Yes. You wanted to talk?” he asked.

“Yes. Come inside the chantry– we’ll speak privately,” She said, leaving her companions behind and leading him into a private room. 

“So, what did you wish to speak about?” Astarion asked, leaning back against a desk in the center of the room. 

Leliana paused for a moment, as if deciding how she wanted to start the conversation. “I just wanted to know if there was anyone at home you’d wish to contact. There must be people wondering where you’ve gone,” she said. 

“No. I’d really rather not talk to anyone from there. It would be better if they thought I was missing, or dead. Although, because I am curious, how far away am I from Baldur’s Gate?” He asked. 

“Baldur’s Gate? I’ve never heard of it. Is that where you’re from?” Leliana asked, while making no attempt to hide her confusion.

“Yes, but you’ve really never heard of Baldur’s Gate before?” Astarion asked, looking puzzled. He must be much farther away than he’d first thought. “Where am I exactly, anyways?” 

“You’re in Haven. It’s a small town in the Frostback Mountains,” She replied, but saw how confused Astarion still looked. “It’s in Ferelden,” she added, realizing her mistake. If Astarion really had been a slave, especially if he’d been a slave for a long time, he’d be unfamiliar with most locations. 

“I’ve never heard of Ferelden. What else is nearby?” Astarion asked, hoping to find some idea of where he was. 

“We’re next to Orlais,” she replied, but saw that Astarion still showed no signs of recognition. “What about Nevarra? The free marches? Anderfels? Not even… Tevinter ?” she asked, putting a careful emphasis on that last word. 

“None of those places ring a bell. Perhaps tomorrow we should locate some maps and proceed from there," Astarion proposed, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice as the lack of recognition gnawed at him.

Leliana supposed it was a little bit of a relief that Astarion wasn’t from Tevinter, but it wasn’t enough to throw her suspicions of him away yet. “I suppose that’s why we weren’t able to find out any information about you. We had asked around, but no one seemed to know you,” 

“You tried to investigate me? You were asking people about me?” Astarion asked, his tone turning ominously dark at the revelation. Things could go from good to very bad quickly if Cazador had caught wind of Astarion being here. 

Leliana noticed the immediate change in Astarion’s demeanor. “You appeared out of the fade with a mark on your hand. We had to,” she explained. 

“Well, stop. Don’t. I don’t need you prying into my life like that,” Astarion said, a new fear growing at the thought that Cazador might find him again. 

“Look– I’m sorry if you feel like we were trying to pry into your life. That wasn’t our intention. But… I’d like you to be honest with me, please. Is the reason you don’t want us to know about your life– is the reason why no one seems to know you– because you were a slave?” Leliana asked gently, not wanting to upset Astarion further but also wanting to know the full truth. If he really had been a slave, they would need to make sure to make arrangements to keep Astarion away from his master. No doubt that if his master found out Astarion was a part of the Inquisition, his master would either use it as an excuse to either have control over the Inquisition or try to reclaim Astarion as ‘stolen property’. Not to mention that Astarion had also been abused, based on the scarring on his back. She didn’t know where Baldur’s Gate was located, but she did know that Tevinter was hardly the only place with enslaved elves. 

Astarion stood still for a moment, his mouth agape, a flash of fear falling across his face. Her guess hadn’t been wrong– but it made him wonder how much she knew. Did she know that Astarion was a vampire spawn? Was she just trying to get him to admit it, so that she could kill him? A slave was a very oddly specific thing for her to guess, so she had to know something. He might not have seen himself in a mirror in almost 200 years but he DID know that he didn’t look like a slave. 

“Look– I’m not trying to… insult you. I just know that elves being enslaved is quite common in other places. I’m the spymaster here, so it’s my job to look into people, and based on some of the things I’ve noticed about you… I just thought there’s a reasonable likelihood that you were a slave. But don’t worry– if you really are a slave, we have no intentions of EVER bringing you back to your master. You’re here now– so you’re free. We would just like to be prepared, in case your master does come looking for you,” Leliana responded. 

Astarion pondered that for a moment, slowly connecting the dots between the earlier drunkard and the mention of enslaved elves. Maybe elf racism really was a thing here– which isn’t good for him, but it at least meant that she didn’t know anything about his vampirism. He’d much rather have mugs of beer thrown at him for being an elf than stakes thrown at him for being a vampire spawn. 

Astarion sighed and looked down at the ground, as if ashamed. “I— yes. I was a slave. Although, I don’t think you could ever truly prepare yourself for my master, if he were to come looking for me. I’d prefer it if you just didn’t look into it anymore. If he thinks I’m dead… I’d rather have it stay that way,” he responded. Honestly, he was almost glad that Leliana gave him this excuse. Now he could pass off any of his quirks as ‘being a former slave’. Plus, the others would probably look at him with more compassion, and be more willing to listen to him, if they knew he’d been a slave. It’s not like he was lying about being a slave, anyways. It was just a bit different than the type of slavery Leliana was thinking about. 

“Thank you for trusting me. You’re free now– we won’t let your master try to claim you. If anybody bothers you here– please feel free to let us know. Please don’t ever feel like we will force you into doing something you wouldn’t want to do, either. Although I hope you understand the importance of that mark on your hand to the Inquisition, we won’t force you to work for us. If it helps; we will pay you, too. You are one of the most important people to the inquisition, after all,” Leliana said to him, gently putting her hand on his shoulder, as if to comfort him. 

“Oh don’t worry– I’ll stick with you all, at least for now. I have no idea where I am, anyways. It’s not like I have anything better to be doing,” Astarion responded, giving her a smile. “Well, anyways, it’s getting late and I’m getting hungry. I should get going,” 

“Right. If you need anything, please feel free to ask. Just meet me back here at the chantry tomorrow– there’s some people I’d like you to meet,” Leliana said. 

“Sure thing. See you then,” Astarion said, then walked out of the chantry. It wouldn’t be long now before it got dark, and Astarion was hungry. 

Notes:

2023-09-11 Verb tense issues around dialogue resolved.

Chapter 6: Astarion has a Small Bite to Eat

Haven was quiet at night. The tavern had long since died down, leaving the town to their slumber. The only people still awake were a few guards silently patrolling along the walls that were trying hard not to fall asleep themselves. Now that the breach had been closed– and the immediate threat of demons were gone– everyone rested peacefully in bliss, unaware of the bloodthirsty monster lurking within the camp. 

Astarion stood in the middle of Haven, where there were seemingly endless tents full of sleeping, helpless bodies. Cazador’s words replayed in his head as he gazed upon the tents: First, thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures. Second, thou shalt obey me in all things. Third, thou shalt not leave my side unless directed. Fourth, thou shalt know that thou art MINE. 

He was terrified at the thought of what Cazador might do to him. If he was late returning to Cazador– Cazador would flay him again. That’s if he was lucky; with how long it would take him to return to Cazador, he might end up in a much worse situation than ever before. The year he spent sealed, starving , inside of a dusty tomb wishing for death might be nothing in comparison to what Cazador would do to him now. He wanted to give up on the Inquisition and run back to Cazador as fast as he could, so he at least would only receive a minor punishment. Yet… here he was, able to walk in the sunlight– and Cazador could not. Was he truly free, or was this just a fluke? Would Cazador hunt him down and hurt him if Astarion disobeyed his rules? 

“You look lost, fangs,” Varric said from behind Astarion, startling him and pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Fangs?” Astarion asked, turning to face Varric, a slight hint of worry showing on his face. 

“I’ve seen those pearly whites of yours, peeking out as you speak – got a bit of that snake fang vibe, in a good way, of course. But enough about that for now. You seem a bit distant tonight – something on your mind, or did you venture out here for a good old staring contest with the stars?” Varric asked, crossing his arms. 

“I just…couldn’t sleep. The thoughts of demons and rifts were keeping me up,” Astarion smoothly lied. 

“Hah, listen up. I'm right there with you. Life's decided to toss you into the fire, making you the savior of the realm, pitted against all manners of twisted demons. And on top of it, you’re the herald to a god that you know nothing about. Life’s crazy, isn’t it?” Varric said, giving a small smile to Astarion.

“You could certainly say that.”

“Look–life's got its way of throwing punches, no doubt about that. But here's the thing – you don't have to take those hits all by yourself. We're in this with you. Whatever is bothering you– don't be afraid to come talk to us about it. We won’t judge. Oh, and don't underestimate the power of a good night's sleep. It's like armor for your sanity, believe me. Tomorrow will be a long day, so you should get some rest,” Varric said to him. 

“I will soon enough– I’m just going to take a short walk to clear my head,” Astarion replied, lying once again. 

“Sure thing. Just a head’s up: It might be wise to keep a bit of distance from the lake. There’s been some reports of wolves in the area. I’m not so sure that the townsfolk would like to wake up and see their Herald torn to bits.” 

“It would take more than a few wolves to tear me to bits. I’ll have you know, beneath this charming exterior, I’m quite the formidable foe,” Astarion replied, gesturing to himself. 

“Ha, no doubt there. Among the elves I've had the pleasure of meeting, you're easily the most ripped. But even with all that muscle, it's probably wise to steer clear of those wolves,” Varric responded, chuckling lightly. 

“No need to worry– I’ll stay away from the lake. Until tomorrow, Varric.” 

“Have a good night, fangs. Hope you can get some sleep,” Varric said, then wanders back into his tent. 

As soon as Varric disappeared back into his tent, Astarion looked out towards the direction of the lake. There really weren’t many animals around here; the mountains were too cold and snowy for most creatures. Wolves, however, meant lots of warm blood. He was hungry and the wolves were his easiest option, so how could he refuse? Well, not his easiest option to actually bite , but still his tastiest option around to hunt. Since Cazador wasn’t around, there was no reason he needed to stick to his diet of rats and bugs, and the thought of tasting a wolf’s blood made him salivate . 

Astarion snuck off into the night, heading to the frozen lake, where he hoped to find the wolves Varric had mentioned. Amidst the moon's silvery glow, he prowled through the trees that bordered the frozen lake. His senses were heightened, keenly attuned to any signs of the gentle, rhythmic beat of life forces around him. 

Under the pale moonlight, he followed the tracks of the wolf, each step bringing him closer to his elusive prey. The crunch of snow beneath his boots was the only sound in the serene night. As he drew nearer to the lake's edge, Astarion spotted his quarry—a magnificent white wolf, its coat glistening with a hidden vitality. The wolf's eyes, like orbs of burning amber, locked onto him, and it emitted a low growl, recognizing the predator in Astarion. Astarion was lucky; this wolf was alone. It was a young wolf, having just left its pack in search of a mate to form a new pack with. It would be an easy target for Astarion; he felt delighted that he wouldn’t be facing an entire pack of wolves tonight. 

Astarion lunged at the wolf; and missed, the wolf’s agility temporarily outmatching his own. His lips curled into a sly smile, as the thrill of the hunt coursed through him. The wolf was clearly not going to go down without a fight, but that made it much more thrilling to Astarion. The wolf’s heart beat faster as it defended itself; but that only served to make Astarion even more interested. The delicious life force that Astarion so desperately craved was right in front of him, ready to be taken. 

The chase was on, a dance of predator and prey under the stars. The wolf darted and twisted as Astarion lunged forward once again, this time getting nicked on the leg by Astaron’s knife. The wolf bared its teeth at him– to which Astarion bared his own teeth back– then it lunged at him, in an attempt to claw and bite at Astarion. It was a failed attempt, because as soon as the wolf lunged towards him, Astarion twisted and pushed the wolf to the ground with all of his might. The wolf fought against his hold, but it was too late– as Astarion had sunk his fangs into the wolf’s neck. The wolf's growls turned to desperate whimpers as it realized the inevitability of its fate.

The wolf's blood flowed into him, hot and rich, an elixir that pulsed with primal energy. As he drank, he could feel his strength returning, his body rejuvenated by the potent life force of the lone white wolf. Astarion drank deeply, savoring every drop. He pulled the limp wolf closer to him, relishing in the feeling of the hot blood flowing into him on the freezing cold night. It was a true picture of serenity; the image of a successful predator, feasting under the moonlight as snow fell softly around them.

The blood gradually slowed as the wolf’s heart became weaker and pressure dropped; Astarion’s moment of bliss was ruined. The wolf had run out of blood, and now there was nothing left but a cold, lifeless corpse in his arms. He dropped the corpse to the ground– as it meant nothing to him anymore– and stood. He wiped the blood away from his mouth with his sleeve, then turned back towards Haven. He felt stronger, more powerful, and most of all: happy. It was a pleasant sensation– where he had felt so tired before, he now felt rejuvenated. “That was delightful ,” he says, into the empty, quiet air of the night. He still had a few hours before sunrise, so he walked back to his room in Haven. 

Apparently, the cabin he had woken up in was actually the room he was meant to sleep in; as its previous occupant had succumbed to a demon during the battle. He couldn’t complain though– it gave him a decent amount of privacy that a tent would not have given him otherwise. He laid down on the bed and closed his eyes, falling into his meditative sleep. It wasn’t a true ‘sleep’-- As Astarion could not currently do that– but it was still rest, nonetheless. It was still a time to let his body recover as he relaxed and let the world around him drift away. 

The next morning, Astarion made his way back to the chantry, where Cassandra was waiting for him. He felt much better this morning than he had in ages ; and he had a cheerful mood to show for it. 

“So, I couldn’t help but notice the new banners hanging up everywhere. I love the new sword-through-the-eyeball look. It certainly does paint a vivid picture of the fate awaiting our enemies, doesn't it?” Astarion said, a small smile on his face. 

Cassandra sighed, looking mildly irritated already. “It’s the constellations of Visus and Judex– the ‘watchful eye’ and the ‘blade of mercy’. It’s a symbol representing both the Templar Order and the Seekers of Truth. The early inquisition used this symbol– so I thought it would be suitable to use it again, since we are the inquisition reborn,” she explained to him. 

“How very boring. I liked my version better,” Astarion responded. 

“How’s your mark? Does it trouble you?” Cassandra asked, intentionally changing the subject. 

“Not anymore. Now that it has stopped killing me, I think I quite like it,” Astarion said, raising his hand in the air and looking at the bright green light emanating from it. It was true– Astarion needed the mark to stay as a vampire spawn right now. He also was enjoying being able to walk in the sunlight once more, so he didn’t want to be rid of either the mark OR the tadpole until he’d killed Cazador (as he still wasn’t sure which one was allowing his freedom). Plus, he could tell the mark was powerful, and it was a power Astarion intended to explore to its full extent. 

“It’s good you feel that way. Your mark is now stable– as is the breach. You’ve given us time, and Solas believes that a second attempt might succeed– provided the mark has more power. The same level of power used to open the breach in the first place. That is not easy to come by,” Cassandra said. 

“We’re going to give this more power? I’M going to have that much power?” Astarion asked, feeling a little bit excited at the thought. Perhaps he should be more concerned about powering up something they barely understood– but he wasn’t, because gaining more power and more freedom is exactly what he wanted right now. 

“That is the plan, so that we may close the breach for good.”

“Have I ever told you how beautiful and smart you are, Cassandra? We should be friends ,” Astarion responded, feeling giddy at the thought of obtaining more power.

Cassandra didn’t respond to Astarion– possibly because she found him to be annoying– and instead just led him into a room at the back of the chantry. There was an exceptionally large table in the middle of the room, which was covered by a large map. Astarion glanced down at the map, attempting to look for anything he might recognize– but there was nothing. He had absolutely no idea where he was. 

“May I present Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces,” Cassandra said, looking at a man with blonde curly hair and thick armor. He had quite an attractive face, and Astarion just knew that this man probably had people swooning left and right for him. 

Astarion smiled to himself, briefly picturing Cullen shuttering under him as Astarion bit into his neck. The man would taste like an aged brandy, bergamot, and vanilla, and Astarion would take great pleasure in it. The thought of having that man pinned below him, whilst Cullen willingly tilt his head and allowed him to drink, was actually quite hot . Not that it would ever happen, though. 

“Such as they are. We lost many soldiers in the valley, and I fear many more before this is through,” Cullen said, completely unaware of the picture Astarion was currently painting of him.

“This is Lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat,” Cassandra said, motioning towards another woman in the room who was wearing a very striking gold outfit. 

“I’ve heard much. It’s a pleasure to meet you at last,” Josephine responded. 

“And of course, you know Sister Leliana. She is our spymaster,” Cassandra continued. 

“You seem happier this morning. Sleep well?” Leliana asked. 

“Very well,” Astarion responded, even though the night had involved incredibly little sleep at all. “You all seem to be a very impressive group of titles,” He continued, addressing the rest of the room. 

Cassandra then looked back towards Astarion, and motioned at his hand once more. “I mentioned that your mark needs more power to close the mark for good.”

“Which means, we must approach the rebel mages for help,” Leliana said to Astarion. 

“And I still disagree. The templars could serve just as well,” Cullen added, seemingly not too keen on the idea of approaching the mages. 

“We need power, Commander. With enough power poured into that mark–” Cassandra said, but was interrupted by Cullen. 

“--Might destroy us all. Templars could suppress the breach, weaken it so–” Cullen continued. 

“Pure speculation,” Leliana said. 

“ I was a templar. I know what they’re capable of,” Cullen insisted, with slight frustration in his voice. 

“Unfortunately, neither group will even speak to us yet. The chantry has denounced the inquisition– and you, specifically, Astarion,” Josephine stated, temporarily ending the argument over templars and mages.

Astarion shrugged. “Well it’s not like I wanted them around anyways,” he said, knowing that his life would be a little better without Chancellor Roderick in it. Or any other clerics, to be honest. Usually, large religious groups worshiping a god whose symbolic imagery involved the sun weren’t too keen on vampires.

“The chantry is frightened. Too many people are calling you– an elf– the ‘Herald of Andraste’. The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you. Their opinions of us would only become even worse if they discovered that you were a slave. We cannot count on their help and we are not popular enough to approach anyone else yet, either,” Josephine stated. 

“Chancellor Roderick’s doing, no doubt,” Cassandra said plainly. 

Astarion shrugged at that. “I did tell you that we should have killed him.”

“Let’s be honest– they would have censored us no matter what,” Cullen said, knowing that the chantry would have denounced the Inquisition in any scenario. 

“There is something you can do, Astarion. A chantry cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak with you. She is not far, and knows those involved better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable. You will find mother Giselle tending to the wounded in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe,” Leliana said to him. 

“Look for other opportunities to expand the Inquisition’s influence while you are there,” Cullen added.

Josephine nodded her head at that. “We need agents to extend our reach beyond this valley, and you’re better suited than anyone to recruit them.”

“So, let me get this straight. You're suggesting I venture out and work my charms on folks, all in the hopes of recruiting them to aid the Inquisition?" Astarion inquired, a slight sense of déjà vu creeping over him.

“Essentially, yes. Will that be a problem?” Cassandra asked, studying Astarion’s expression. 

“Oh, absolutely not. These irresistible looks of mine are practically a recruitment tool on their own. I bet they'll be clamoring to join the Inquisition the instant they lay eyes on me. It'd be a missed opportunity if they didn't," Astarion remarked confidently.

“Good. We’ve already sent scouts to the Hinterlands, and they are waiting for you. Varric, Solas, and I have all agreed to tag along with you. Meet me back here, whenever you’re ready. I suggest visiting the blacksmith first to get new armor and weapons, before you go. There have been reports of fighting in the area, so be ready,” Cassandra said. 

“Don’t worry, darling. The Hinterlands are in for quite a surprise,” Astarion responded, a mischievous grin forming across his face. 

Notes:

2023-09-11 Verb tense issues around dialogue resolved.

Chapter 7: Astarion REALLY has a Small Bite To Eat

Astarion's exploration of Haven had begun, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of relief as he ventured out into this new environment. The blacksmith was his first destination, as it held the promise of better protection than his current wear. He particularly wanted new shoes, as his current ones were much better suited for the city than the snowy wilderness. 

Astarion's elegant demeanor remained intact as he approached the blacksmith– a burly and skilled craftsman who had a keen eye for his customer's needs. With a subtle smile, he addressed the blacksmith, "Well, hello there," he said, his voice dripping with his usual natural charm. "I appear to be in desperate need of new armor and weapons. Do you have anything available that I could leave with, today?” 

The blacksmith nodded in understanding and immediately set to work showcasing the diverse assortment of armor, elaborating on their practical advantages and the artistry invested in their creation. Astarion's discerning gaze eventually fixated upon a pair of sturdy boots that appeared to align perfectly with his requirements.

"I'll take those boots," he declared, not a hint of hesitation in his tone. His attention then wandered further, scanning the shop's wares with a keen eye for refinement. "And that armor," he continued, his fingers gesturing toward a particularly sophisticated set. His gaze then shifted to a display of intricately crafted daggers nearby. "And those daggers there," Astarion added. His choices were some of the best available from the blacksmith, and were undoubtedly expensive.

Astarion accepted his choices from the blacksmith with an appreciative nod, his fingers tracing the fine craftsmanship of the armor and its practical design against the elements. The sly grin remained on his lips as he turned his attention back to the blacksmith.

With an air of nonchalance, he casually remarked, "Cassandra did mention something about covering my expenses. After all, we can't have the Herald of Andraste gallivanting around without proper protection, now can we?" His voice carried an easy confidence, concealing the fact that he was, in fact, lying through his teeth about the source of payment. But really– if Cassandra was going to drag him around to close rifts and gather support, the least she could do was pay for his belongings. 

With his newly acquired items in tow, Astarion ventured deeper into Haven, leaving the blacksmith's workshop behind. He roamed through the stables, the tavern, and a few additional locales, yet none managed to captivate his attention. In the grand scheme of things, Haven proved to be nothing more than your run-of-the-mill, uneventful small town (if you looked past all of the soldiers in the area). 

As Astarion strolled through Haven, he walked by a seemingly ordinary house that undoubtedly belonged to someone else. However, a thought crossed his mind, and he paused. His newfound freedoms had sparked a tantalizing curiosity– Could he enter the house, uninvited? 

With a measured and deliberate approach, Astarion moved closer to the door of the house, his every step marked by caution. As he slowly pushed the door open, it creaked softly, revealing the dimly lit interior. He carefully placed one foot across the threshold, a mixture of anticipation and excitement coursing through him. To his surprise, nothing stopped him. Encouraged by this, he took another step inside, a self-satisfied smile forming on his lips.

As he wandered through the unfamiliar house, Astarion couldn't help but ponder the implications of his newfound abilities. The notion of entering buildings unannounced and moving about in broad daylight was, in a word, extraordinary. It made him wonder just how far these newfound freedoms could take him– and what vampiric restrictions still existed, if any. 

Astarion stumbled upon a mirror hanging on the wall beside the bed. He regarded the mirror from a distance, a surge of curiosity welling up within him. The possibility of finally glimpsing his own reflection after nearly two centuries of absence filled him with a mix of anticipation and longing.

It had been an agonizingly long time since he last beheld his own visage. With the emergence of his vampiric nature, he had lost touch with the image of himself. While he knew the basic components of his appearance - the pallid skin, the pale crimson eyes, the shock of white hair, and the distinctive fangs - the possibility of actually seeing them once more held a different weight altogether. The desire to know what he truly looked like had gnawed at him for years, and now there was a chance that he might finally see himself. 

With cautious and deliberate steps, Astarion inched closer to the mirror, his anticipation building with each move. He finally took that decisive step to stand directly in front of it, hope in his eyes. However, what he saw in the mirror left him thoroughly disappointed.

His newfound freedoms did not, it seemed, extend to having a reflection. The mirror revealed only the empty room behind him, mocking his desire to see his own face once more. Astarion let out a heavy sigh of disappointment, his hopes dashed.

As he turned away from the mirror, a sense of resignation settled upon him. Perhaps he should have known better; luck had seldom been on his side. He reached for a small bag of gold sitting on the nightstand, deciding to take it with him as a consolation prize.

He would need to be careful around reflective surfaces, if his vampiric identity were to remain a secret. 

Astarion decided that he was ready to leave. With his decision made, Astarion retraced his steps back to the Chantry. There, he rendezvoused with Cassandra, who wasted no time in summoning Varric and Solas to join them. The group was now ready to embark on their journey together.

“We’ll have to walk for now– unfortunately, we don’t have enough spare horses for this trip. It will take us about 8 days to get there, so get comfortable,” Cassandra said. 

“Eight days of walking? Seriously? Ugh. Fine. This is going to be boring,” Astarion remarked, clearly not thrilled about the prospect of a long trek on foot.

Varric, always one to lighten the mood, chimed in with his characteristic enthusiasm, "Ah, come on now. This is what adventures are made of! But don’t worry– I've got a treasure trove of stories to keep us entertained during our long walk."

Cassandra took a moment to address Astarion with a more serious tone. "We will also be working on teaching you important things you'll need to know along the way," she explained. "This will encompass history, knowledge of current leaders, and other vital information. You are, well, rather lacking in education, so we'll start filling in those gaps. That includes learning to read."

Solas contributed to the conversation with a note of seriousness, saying, "It is quite likely that we will encounter rifts along the way, as well. Closing them is imperative. We must remain vigilant for potential enemies during our journey."

"Well, Solas certainly has the right idea. Dealing with demons should make things more... captivating. History lessons seem dull," Astarion commented, his enthusiasm laced with a dark edge.

"So, you'd pick demon-slaying over learning to read? Note to self: never get on your bad side," Varric said, with a small smile on his face. 

With the preparations seemingly in order, Cassandra took charge. "Well, if we're all set, let's head out," she announced, setting the group in motion as she led them away from Haven and into the surrounding forest.

Their journey had only just begun when they encountered a disturbance near the frozen lake along their path. Several soldiers appeared to be gathered there, and one of them noticed Cassandra's presence, signaling for her to approach. Curiosity piqued, the group slowly made their way closer to the commotion.

"Seeker," the soldier began, "I think you might want to see this. Look at this wolf—something's happened to it, something not right." The soldier's words were laden with concern as they directed Cassandra's attention to the peculiar sight before them.

Cassandra bent down to examine the dead wolf more closely, her brows furrowing in concern. Her experienced eye focused on the wounded leg, and she spoke thoughtfully, "This wound on the leg... it appears the creature was attacked. The injury seems to be from a sharp weapon, possibly a knife."

Solas joined her, his inquisitive gaze falling upon the lifeless wolf. He leaned in for a closer inspection, noting the two puncture wounds in its neck. His hand gently rested on the wolf's fur, and he channeled his magic, searching for the source of the animal's demise.

Astarion couldn't hide his discomfort any longer and interjected with a touch of impatience. "Is it dead enough for you?" 

Solas, his curiosity piqued, continued his examination despite Astarion's comment. He pointed at the neck, his voice carrying a note of concern, "Look at this bite wound here. It's been completely drained of blood, but this wasn't the work of an ordinary animal," he added, his expression serious. "Whatever creature attacked this wolf possessed the ability to drain it of blood through a single bite wound." Solas's words hung in the air, a testament to the unnatural and unsettling nature of the situation.

"Think it could be a demon? They do love making trouble," Varric chimed in, his tone lighthearted despite the ominous circumstances. "We should definitely stay alert on our way to the hinterlands. Whatever went after this wolf might still be lurking nearby."

“Come on, let’s just get going. We can’t just hang around and gawk at every dead thing we pass on the way to the hinterlands,” Astarion insisted. 

Solas gave Astarion a questioning look, a greater silver of suspicion being set upon him. Solas recognized the nervous behavior– the lie– and knew that Astarion was hiding some hidden knowledge about the creature's demise. “I can’t imagine being drained of blood is normal from where you’re from, Astarion. Do you not find this at least a little bit interesting? What do you think might have caused it?” Solas asked, trying to interrogate Astarion. 

Astarion dismissed the matter with a nonchalant tone, echoing Varric's earlier sentiment. "It's most likely just a demon, as Varric suggested. If we come across it, we can deal with it then. But really, can we please move on? Staring at a corpse won’t bring it back to life.” 

"It's blood magic," Cassandra said, sounding more concerned than previously. "A powerful blood mage in the vicinity could have orchestrated this. It's even possible that this mage is linked to the breach. We should inform the others,” Cassandra advised. 

“It’s a good thing I told you to stay away from this area last night, fangs. Or else this wolf might have been you,” Varric added. 

“You were out last night? Thank the Maker nothing happened to you,” Cassandra said, sounding concernred. 

Astarion, growing impatient, interjected, “Yes, it's a good thing that I was nowhere near this area. Now do you plan on staring at the wolf all day, or can we get going?” 

Each member of the group couldn't help but harbor a degree of suspicion regarding Astarion's odd responses to seeing the wolf. However, they also realized that pushing the matter further wouldn't yield any additional information. If Astarion knew something, he seemed determined to keep it to himself.

Varric and Cassandra exchanged a knowing glance, silently acknowledging their shared skepticism about Astarion. The unspoken tension hung in the air as they decided to proceed with caution, unsure of what secrets Astarion might be keeping. 

Cassandra turned her attention to the soldiers, issuing clear instructions, "Take the wolf back to Haven and bring it to Leliana. Ensure that a thorough investigation is conducted to uncover any potential clues we may have missed here. Inform her about the possibility of a blood mage in the vicinity and urge her to have her spies on the lookout for any relevant information."

The soldiers acknowledged her orders with nods of agreement. Cassandra then refocused the group, declaring, "Alright, let's keep moving." With the matter of the wolf addressed, they resumed their journey towards the hinterlands.

The following days passed without any notable incidents. Astarion's encounter with the dead wolf had left a mark, and he chose not to indulge his vampiric hunger, sensing the growing suspicion of his companions. He didn't want to risk further arousing their doubts– especially if they found him sneaking away from camp at night. 

Despite his efforts to restrain himself, Astarion's growing hunger and irritability persisted. The tantalizing memory of tasting the wolf fueled his cravings, making him long for that exquisite taste once more. To make matters worse, he found himself constantly surrounded by companions whose blood he knew would be irresistibly delicious. The struggle to suppress his vampiric instincts weighed heavily on him as the days passed.

Along their journey, Cassandra put in significant effort to teach Astarion how to read the language, and with the additional help from Varric, they made moderate progress in teaching him the basics. Solas also attempted to teach Astarion about the fade, however, his attempts to educate Astarion about the Fade seemed to fall on deaf ears. Astarion's lack of relevant cultural context made it nearly impossible for him to grasp what Solas was trying to convey.

The others also tried occasionally asking questions about Astarion, but he wasn’t very willing to talk about himself. He had a habit of either making a sassy reply, or changing the subject quickly. 

During one of these attempts, Varric asked, "So, fangs, any love interests back home?" as they walked alongside the road.

“No, I do not. I was a little too busy with… what’s the word again…oh yeah– serving my master ,” Astarion responded, deliberately introducing an uncomfortable air to the conversation. Lately, he had been using this 'slave' excuse with increasing frequency, finding it to be a convenient way to evade questions about his past. 

“Understood. Sorry if I stirred up any unpleasant memories,” Varric responded. The group had collectively decided to avoid delving too deeply into Astarion's past from that point onward.

With only a few days left on their journey, Astarion found himself growing increasingly hungry, unable to endure another day without feeding. The presence of animals and people around him had become irresistibly tempting, and he yearned for the renewed strength that a hearty feast would provide.

As night descended upon the camp, Astarion quietly rose to his feet, casting an observant gaze upon his companions' tents. Initially, he had considered going hunting for an animal once more. However, his thoughts soon drifted back to Cazador, who had strictly forbidden him from drinking the blood of thinking creatures. But if he was really free to walk in the sunlight, was he truly free of Cazador, too? Free of his rules?

Astarion's gaze swept over his slumbering companions, their forms concealed within their tents. The opportunity to test his newfound freedom seemed incredibly tempting– almost too easy. All he needed to do was bite one of them, and he was confident that – with enough stealth – he could accomplish it without rousing anyone from their sleep. He didn't intend to drain them, as he had done with the wolf, but rather, he simply craved a taste, enough to quell his curiosity. After all, a small amount of blood wouldn't be missed, and he was consumed by the need to confirm that he was genuinely free from Cazador's control.

Astarion's gaze shifted from one sleeping companion to another, contemplating who among them would be the least likely to retaliate violently if they were to wake up. The answer seemed almost glaringly obvious: Varric. Varric was easy-going and generally appeared to be more open to unconventional ideas than either Cassandra or Solas. Which didn't necessarily mean he would be receptive to being bitten , but what Varric didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

With silent, deliberate movements, Astarion entered Varric's tent, gazing down at the slumbering dwarf. He could smell Varric’s skin– hear his pulse beating– and it was beckoning him to come take a bite. Carefully, he crouched over Varric, ensuring not to awaken him. He positioned his mouth over Varric's neck, allowing his breath to caress the skin. Then, he sank his fangs into Varric's flesh, feeling the surge of warm, rich blood gushing into his mouth. He gulped down the blood greedily, an intoxicating delight washing over him as the rich, delicious taste filled his senses. It coursed through his veins, satiating his hunger and invigorating his heart. 

About a minute later, Varric’s body stirred beneath him, and Astarion knew then that his feeding time was over. Varric’s heart was beating erratically, the small body trying to make up for the sudden loss of blood. Astarion backed away, licking his lips and feeling delighted by the glorious blood coating the back of his throat. Silently, he slipped out of Varric's tent and returned to his own, a contented smile gracing his face. For the first time in centuries, Astarion felt well and truly happy. 

Varric awoke moments after Astarion's departure, feeling disoriented and weakened. It was a peculiar sensation to experience after a night's sleep, to say the least. His neck throbbed with lingering soreness, and he instinctively reached up to investigate, only to be shocked by the discovery of two distinct puncture wounds in his neck—a bite mark. As he removed his fingers, he saw that the tips were now stained with blood. The realization sent a jolt of panic through him.

In the midst of his panic, Varric hastily grabbed his crossbow and bolted out of his tent, hoping to catch the culprit red-handed. However, his disappointment grew as he found no signs of anything amiss within the otherwise quiet camp. It was as though there had never been an intruder in his tent at all. Despite the absence of any immediate evidence, suspicion still gnawed at him, and his thoughts turned to Astarion. He had seen how suspicious the other had acted around the wolf– although desperately hoped his theory was wrong. 

With his suspicions deepening, Varric approached Astarion's tent with caution, clutching his crossbow tightly. He wanted to believe that Astarion had nothing to do with the strange incident, but he couldn’t shake the deep suspicion rooted in the back of his mind. Slowly, he peered inside the tent, his heart pounding, and was slightly relieved to find Astarion peacefully asleep in his bed. There were no signs of any suspicious activity, and it seemed as if Astarion hadn't left his tent at all. 

Slowly, Varric walked back outside the tent, wondering what that meant for him. While the possibility of Astarion being the culprit still lingered, the fact that someone had invaded his tent and bitten him without him noticing left him deeply unsettled. He didn’t know what was going on, but he truly wished that Cassandra had been wrong about the whole ‘blood mage’ thing. If she wasn’t… then a blood mage just stole some of Varric’s blood, and the possible consequences from that could be horrible. 

Varric decided to spend the rest of the night on high alert, keeping a watchful eye on the camp, his senses attuned to every subtle sound of the wilderness. The incident had left him wary, and he couldn't afford to let his guard down.

They would need to be more careful in the future.

Chapter 8: You're a Mage, Astarion

The next morning, Astarion emerged from his tent with a sense of rejuvenation and joy coursing through him. He was the last one up, but to be fair– he was still getting used to moving around in the daytime instead of at night. His meditation-like 'slumber' had extended a bit longer than intended; but that was alright, because today he felt more fresh– more alive– than he had ever been before. The little taste he’d stolen from Varric had filled him with an immense sense of energy and happiness. 

However, he couldn't help but observe that his companions didn't seem to share in his newfound cheerfulness. Instead, a profound sense of unease and apprehension was etched across their faces. It was understandable, because Astarion knew exactly what they’d be concerned about. He had witnessed Varric awakening shortly after he had departed the night before, and while vampire bite wounds typically healed quickly, there was no doubt that Varric had discovered he had been bitten.

"You all appear quite concerned. Is there something troubling you?" Astarion asked, approaching the group while feigning ignorance about the situation. Although, he did feel a twinge of remorse, especially considering that Varric had always been exceedingly friendly to him and was likely frightened now. Yet, Astarion knew that the dwarf would recover from the loss without issue. Varric would ultimately be fine– and sharing is caring. 

Cassandra regarded Astarion with a stern gaze. "Varric fell victim to an attack last night, carried out by the same creature that assaulted the wolf. It's highly probable that a blood mage now possesses Varric's blood."

“I suppose I ought to be thanking my lucky stars that this supposed mage didn't kill me when it had the chance. But who knows what it wants from us…” Varric said, trying to hide his worry. 

Astarion pretended to be taken aback. "Truly? How dreadful," he remarked before adding, "I suppose now is as good a time as any to ask: What exactly is a blood mage?"

"I do tend to forget sometimes that you're not exactly well-versed in magic, though in this case, ignorance might be bliss," Cassandra responded. “Blood magic is a dark and treacherous branch of the magical arts. It involves using blood to wield powerful and forbidden spells, and it's the kind of magic that taints the very soul of those who practice it. They can do all sorts of nasty things with a drop of someone's blood, even control them. But if this mage is somehow tied to the breach... Well, let's just say they could potentially unleash something far worse. We must maintain vigilant night watches, and, for added safety, I suggest having two people on watch at once,” Cassandra explained. 

Solas fixed Astarion with a scrutinizing gaze, his suspicion of Astarion's involvement evident. "If you possess knowledge about this matter, you must share it with us," Solas urged. The rest of the group cast inquisitive glances in Astarion's direction, having sensed his likely connection to the wolf as well. They awaited his response with growing curiosity.

Astarion hesitated for a moment before admitting, "Well, I do have a suspicion. I believe it might be a vampire, but I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to worry you. They are ferocious creatures. But don’t worry– I’ll help keep watch tonight. I’m not used to getting much sleep, anyways.”

"A vampire? What sort of being is that?" Solas inquired, his curiosity thoroughly aroused. The concept of a vampire was entirely unfamiliar to him, which was quite surprising. Astarion's frequent revelations about unfamiliar topics continued to intrigue him, leaving Solas pondering the true nature of Astarion's homeland.

"It's a creature that feeds on the blood of others. They're undead, immortal beings that snatch lives away in the darkest hours of the night and all that. They have a severe hypersensitivity to the sun, so we should be safe during daylight. Also, they typically can't enter homes without an invitation, but I suppose our tents don't quite qualify as 'homes.' Nonetheless, we should exercise caution. They can be remarkably charming and exceptionally lethal," Astarion explained, shedding some light on the nature of vampires for Solas and the rest of the group.

"So, these vampires typically kill their prey? Well, I guess you could say I've hit the jackpot in the 'staying alive' department. Though, if you had told me I'd be a buffet for a bloodsucking nightmare on this journey, I'd have laughed in your face," Varric quipped.

"If that vampire only swiped Varric's blood without taking his life, we might be dealing with something more intricate than a simple bloodsucker. I'd wager that this vampire is in cahoots with the blood mage responsible for the breach. I'll dispatch a raven to Haven and have them delve into vampire lore and connections," Cassandra proposed, her determination shining through.

"I've never come across vampires in my studies, Astarion. It's quite intriguing that you seem to be more knowledgeable about them," Solas admitted, his curiosity unabated. However, as he contemplated the situation, Solas couldn't help but piece together some unsettling connections. He knew that a blood mage wasn’t involved in the breach, and the vampire's decision not to kill Varric, despite an opportunity to do so, shed some light on the situation. 

Solas considered the evidence before him: Astarion's unusual appearance – his paleness, fangs, and red eyes – and the ritualistic scars on his back. It all pointed to the possibility that Astarion might be the vampire. The only inconsistency was Astarion's claim of walking in sunlight, but Solas couldn't dismiss the idea that Astarion might have fabricated that information, especially since he was their sole source of knowledge regarding vampires. He decided to keep a watchful eye on their enigmatic companion.

Astarion nonchalantly shrugged, attempting to throw suspicion off of him. "Honestly, I've only heard tales, you know, the kind parents spin to spook their children at bedtime. I never actually considered they might be real until now," he replied, feigning innocence.

Cassandra pressed for more information, asking, "Is there anything else about vampires we should be aware of?"

Astarion cautioned them, his words serving as both advice and a veiled warning. "Don't bother trying to track it down and eliminate it – they are exceptionally hard to kill." 

“If there’s an undead creature that can go around draining people of their blood– we need to kill it,” Cassandra asserted firmly, her resolve unyielding.

Astarion, on the other hand, urged caution, attempting to redirect their focus. "What I meant is, we should wait until we gather more information. Right now, we have more pressing concerns with the rifts and the breach. While I may not be well-versed in blood magic, if it indeed is a vampire, Varric should be safe for the time being. The demons pouring through the rifts take precedence over a vampire seeking blood," he suggested, emphasizing the urgency of their current predicament.

Solas concurred with Astarion's viewpoint, saying, "I'm in agreement with Astarion. Our priority should be the breach, not the vampire." He held his suspicions about Astarion's true nature close, planning to investigate further when the opportunity arose.

Varric sighed but ultimately nodded, placing his trust in Astarion. "Alright, let's press on. If the vampire decides to rear its ugly head again – and it seems to be tailing us – we'll deal with it then," he conceded.

The journey to the Hinterlands over the next few days remained uneventful for Astarion. He found Cassandra's insistence on having two people keep watch at night a minor annoyance, as it curtailed his nocturnal hunting activities. However, he was willing to endure it for a few days, especially with Varric's blood having revitalized him. Although he began to feel moderately hungry as they reached the Hinterlands, it didn't significantly affect his mood or well-being.

Once they arrived in the Hinterlands, the group encountered a significant amount of conflict. Apparently, there were mages and templars engaged in battles throughout the area, though Astarion still didn't fully grasp the implications of those terms. Nevertheless, the situation left them with no choice but to engage in combat. The mages and templars showed no inclination to negotiate, as they were too engrossed in their own violent skirmishes, setting things ablaze and wreaking havoc. In the name of "peace," the group took it upon themselves to kill these warring factions.

Shortly thereafter, Astarion encountered Mother Giselle at a modest Inquisition encampment where she was diligently caring for the wounded. One particular individual she attended to adamantly rejected the idea of allowing a mage to heal him, and Giselle was in the midst of persuading him, emphasizing that the mages were there solely to provide aid. Astarion found it rather perplexing that the man harbored such deep-seated distrust for magic. In his view, a straightforward healing spell would be far more efficient and preferable to other, more conventional methods of treatment.

"Mother Giselle?" Astarion interjected, breaking into her conversation with the reluctant man.

"I am. You must be the one they're referring to as the 'Herald of Andraste,'" Mother Giselle acknowledged, turning her attention toward him.

"Well, why have I been brought here? It must be of some significance, since we traveled all this way,” Astarion said. 

“I know of the chantry’s denouncement, and I am familiar with those behind it. I won’t lie to you: some of them are grandstanding, hoping to increase their chances of becoming the new divine. Some of us are simply terrified. So many good people, senselessly taken from us… Fear makes us desperate, but hopefully not beyond reason,” Mother Giselle explained solemnly.

She continued, her gaze steady, “Go to them. Convince the remaining clerics that you are no demon to be feared. They have heard only frightful tales of you– some chantry leaders have convinced them that you are a desire demon, in disguise, ready to kill them all. You should give them something else to believe.”

“Hold on– a desire demon ?” Astarion asked, his expression displaying a mixture of surprise and confusion.

Mother Giselle acknowledged his reaction, her tone thoughtful. “Yes, and I can see why. Your appearance is quite... distinctive , and the fact that you were seen emerging from a rift at the Conclave has given rise to speculations. I'm sure you're aware that most elves don't quite resemble you, with your stature, red eyes, and sharp teeth. While I remain uncertain about the truth of the matter – whether you are indeed a Herald sent by Andraste, a desire demon from the Fade, or simply a pawn of fate – what I am certain of is that you possess the capability to do good. Therefore, you will assist us. I will make my way to Haven and meet you there. I'll also inform Sister Leliana about the whereabouts of the Chantry members," she explained before departing, leaving Astarion to contemplate the complex web of beliefs and suspicions that surrounded him.

Astarion couldn't contain his laughter once Mother Giselle had walked away. "A desire demon? This is absolutely hilarious. Clearly, Chancellor Roderick is quite the storyteller, but who knew he had such strong feelings about me?"

Varric joined in the jest with a playful grin. "Honestly, Astarion, I wouldn't be the least bit surprised. You're a complete stranger to this world, and your physique is more robust than any other elf I've come across. Plus, let's not forget the dramatic entrance you made, quite literally stepping out of the Fade," he teased. 

Cassandra appeared to give the matter some thought but refrained from further comments. "Putting rumors aside, we should lend a hand to our forces here. They seem to be struggling, and your assistance will undoubtedly boost morale," she stated firmly.

With that, the group set off to aid the Inquisition forces at the camp. They engaged in a flurry of activities, including hunting, combat, and scavenging, all aimed at gathering supplies such as food, blankets, and potions for the camp's benefit. Surprisingly, the Hinterlands proved to be quite bustling with tasks, some of which might have seemed trivial but held significance for the group, such as assisting Druffy– the prize-winning druffalo– in returning to its farm.

Druffy was discovered trapped between some rocks, evidently spooked by the nearby Fade rift and making a run for it. Astarion had never laid eyes on a druffalo before, but it appeared to be a typical farm animal at first glance. However, what truly impressed him was when they neared the Fade rift, and the druffalo unexpectedly joined the fray, actively participating in the battle against the encroaching demons. It was an unexpected and astonishing display of courage from the seemingly ordinary farm creature.

The encounter with the Fade rift had indeed proven to be a grueling battle, even with Druffy's unexpected assistance. The rift was larger than expected, and the demons more formidable. Astarion found himself on a rocky perch, attempting to seal the rift, when a demon struck him with a spell from behind, causing him to accidentally drop one of his weapons into the stream below.

Quickly pivoting to confront the demon, Astarion yelled, " Ignis !" A potent fireball surged forth from his hand, engulfing the demon in flames and swiftly ending its threat. The party rallied together to vanquish the remaining demons, and Astarion successfully closed the rift. As the battle concluded, the group redirected their attention towards Astarion, clearly having a few concerns of their own. 

“Maker’s breath, Astarion! Why didn’t you tell us you were a mage?” Cassandra demanded, her tone a mixture of shock and mild anger.

Astarion appeared genuinely puzzled by their reaction. "I don't believe I am one...?" he replied, sounding uncertain.

Cassandra wasn't having it. “We literally saw that fireball you cast, Astarion. Don’t try to lie to us!” Cassandra said, getting visibly angry.

“Yeah, Fangs, that was a rather hard-to-miss display of magic,” Varric added. 

"Well, yes, but that's because I'm a high elf. I'm certainly no sorcerer, so don't expect much magic beyond that," Astarion clarified, as if it were obvious.

Solas, who had been relatively quiet until now, cast Astarion a curious and enigmatic look. "What precisely do you mean by 'high elf'?" he inquired, seeking further clarification.

Astarion wore a deeply puzzled expression, utterly baffled by their reactions. "It's just... my race? You know, having an affinity for magic, living almost a thousand years, and all that?" he explained, somewhat bewildered. He had assumed this was common knowledge, and he couldn't fathom why Solas, in particular, appeared so taken aback. He had thought Solas was also a high elf and, as such, would be familiar with such information.

“You mean to imply that you’re one of the ‘ancient elves’? That you can live long?” Solas asked, still maintaining his perplexed expression when looking at Astarion.

“I’m not sure what you mean by ancient elves, because I’m certainly not ancient. I’m only about two hundred years old, if you must know. I barely just reached adulthood, by high elf standards,” Astarion explained, although it was a slight lie. While he was telling the truth about being two hundred years old– he wasn’t sure he could claim he was an adult, since he died in his 30’s– far under what most elves consider ‘adulthood’. 

"By Andraste's ass, Astarion! You're not messing with us, are you? You're really two hundred years old?" Varric exclaimed in sheer disbelief.

Solas probed further, his curiosity unabated. "Is this a common trait among your people? Are there more 'High Elves' in your homeland?" he asked, demanding answers. He wasn’t sure if this was even the truth– or an attempt at a lie to further cover up his vampirism. Yet, he detected no semblance of a lie when Astarion spoke. 

Astarion appeared genuinely surprised by their lack of knowledge. "Wait, there really aren't any high elves around here? I apologize; I assumed you all knew. Honestly, I thought you were a high elf too, Solas," he admitted.

“Definitely not ,” Solas said, perhaps a little too quickly. “But we must speak more about your homeland later. Ancient elves are a special interest of mine, and if there’s truly some still out there…” his voice trailed off, his curiosity clearly piqued.

Cassandra managed to shake off her initial shock and regain her composure. "Well, I suppose that would account for your distinctive appearance. 'High Elves,' as you call them, haven't been present in this region for millennia. It's imperative that we learn more about your origins – there might be some hidden enclave or pocket of your people, assuming, of course, that you are indeed telling the truth," she stated, her skepticism evident.

While Cassandra's doubts about Astarion's true nature persisted, she couldn't deny that he had yet to exhibit any hostile behavior toward them and had, in fact, aided them on multiple occasions. She highly doubted he was involved in any way with the opening of the Breach.

"I wouldn't precisely label Baldur's Gate a 'hidden pocket,' but I concur that we should seek it out," Astarion replied. 

Varric chimed in, playfully teasing Astarion, "An ancient elf, a former slave, wielder of magic, and sporting a green, glowy hand. Our Herald is becoming more surprising by the day. It seems you're harboring quite a few secrets, aren't you?" He then offered a slightly unnerving thought. "Though, you're not doing much to dissuade suspicions of being a desire demon. Such demons could very well take on the guise of an ancient elf, ignorant of their extinction in this world," he mused, casting a knowing glance in Astarion's direction.

Astarion couldn't help but chuckle in sheer disbelief at the surreal turn of events. The situation had grown even more bewildering than he had ever anticipated. He knew the truth – that he was a vampire spawn from Baldur's Gate – but his companions were now shrouded in uncertainty, unable to discern fact from fiction. He had genuinely been unaware that High Elves were absent from this region, but the doubt was now cast, especially with the Chantry spreading around that he was a desire demon.

Despite the mounting suspicions, his companions had yet to make any hostile moves against him, which he found reassuring. However, he knew that he would need to clarify the truth at some point, though he wasn't sure how to go about it just yet. For now, the mysteries surrounding his identity remained unresolved, and Astarion couldn't help but find the situation oddly amusing in its absurdity.

They successfully returned Druffy to the farm and assisted the Inquisition in acquiring additional horses. While Astarion had never been particularly fond of horses, he recognized the convenience of having one for the return journey, which would reduce their travel time to a mere three days back to Haven. After completing their various tasks and aiding the Hinterlands to the best of their abilities, they decided to spend one final night in the region before embarking on their journey back to Haven the next day.

Late at night, with the camp shrouded in darkness, Solas quietly approached Astarion's tent, a pair of wine glasses in hand. "Is this a suitable moment for a conversation? I've brought some wine," he offered, extending one of the glasses toward Astarion.

Astarion hesitated briefly but ultimately accepted the glass. "Yes, I don't see why not," he replied, taking the glass of wine. His curiosity was piqued as he observed Solas take a sip from the other glass before bringing the wine glass to his own lips. He inhaled the wine's sweet aroma, finding it surprisingly enticing. This was no ordinary wine. Astarion couldn't resist taking a rather large sip, savoring the exceptional taste.

"This is actually quite exquisite . What kind of wine is this?" he asked, studying the reddish liquid in his glass with intrigue.

“I thought you’d enjoy it. Mine is a traditional sweet red. Yours, on the other hand, is just animal blood that I diluted with water,” Solas revealed, his tone even.

Astarion's eyes widened as he looked back down at his glass, the realization dawning upon him. "Ah, shit ," he muttered under his breath, kicking himself for not recognizing the taste of blood sooner.

“ Shit indeed, Astarion. You might want to start talking,” Solas said to him, crossing his arms and waiting for much-needed answers. 

Chapter 9: Astarion's Secret is Revealed

Astarion decided to down his 'wine'. By now, Solas was already aware of his true nature, and letting the blood go to waste would be senseless. . Clearly, Solas had expended considerable effort in preparing the drink, and it seemed only fitting to enjoy it. Astarion turned his gaze once more toward Solas and offered a nod of acknowledgment.

"Yes, alright. I'm a vampire," Astarion admitted, his tone carrying a hint of defensiveness.

"You killed the wolf and bit Varric," Solas accused.

"I might have, yes. But does it truly matter in the grand scheme of things? Varric wasn't harmed. It's merely a small amount of blood – nothing substantial, really," Astarion replied, attempting to downplay the significance of his actions.

"What truly matters is how many lies you've woven since your arrival here. I was willing to keep the worm in your brain a secret, but this has gone too far. The others are growing suspicious of you as well, you know. The extent of your deception has become absurd. Why didn't you just come clean about being a vampire?" Solas asked, his frustration evident.

Astarion scoffed, his anger and sarcasm blending. " Are you kidding me? Since I arrived, all I've heard is 'demon this' and 'blood mage that.' Oh, and let's not forget waking up in bloody chains , surrounded by sword-wielding zealots, some of whom despise me just for being an elf! Honestly, can you blame me for wanting to keep the fact that I'm a bloodsucking monster under wraps? Gods!"

The slightly heated discussion between Astarion and Solas drew the attention of their fellow camp members, prompting them to approach and inquire about the commotion.

Cassandra stepped forward and asked, her gaze shifting between the two companions, "What's happening here?"

Solas replied in a casual tone, "I was just inquiring why Astarion never saw fit to inform us that he's a vampire."

Astarion's mouth fell open in shock, and if looks could kill, Solas might have been in danger. "What? Why would you tell her that?" he retorted incredulously.

"You're a vampire? The creature you were describing, the blood-drinker? The one who attacked Varric?" Cassandra questioned, her voice filled with urgency, demanding immediate answers.

Astarion's frustration was palpable as he sighed heavily. "Yes, alright! I'm a vampire. Might as well shout it from the rooftops," he confessed, his tone a mixture of exasperation and resignation.

Cassandra swiftly drew her sword and pressed it against Astarion's shoulder, dangerously close to his neck. Her eyes bore into him, her grip unwavering. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't end you right now," she threatened, her posture poised for action. Varric stood nearby, clutching his crossbow, his expression tense, ready for whatever might transpire.

“See, Solas? This is why I don’t tell people!” Astarion retorted, looking angry and offended. “Look– I’m not going to hurt any of you. You need me alive, and all I need is blood,” he said, trying to reassure them, although fear was gnawing at him beneath his facade of confidence.

“You LIED to us!” Cassandra shouted at Astarion, her fury palpable. "You attacked Varric! How much of what you've said is actually the truth?! Were you involved with the breach, too?" Cassandra demanded, her sword pressing against Astarion's neck, a thin trickle of blood seeping from the cut, intensifying the tension in the air.

"W-Wait! I had no involvement with the breach, and there's a reasonable explanation for everything! Please, let's not rush into anything," Astarion pleaded, his fear now evident as his face twisted with worry. He held his hands out in a gesture of surrender, fully aware that he was in a precarious situation and mentally preparing for the worst.

"Ah, well, let's give our fanged friend here a chance to spin his tale, Cassandra. Maker knows I'm all ears," Varric said with his trademark wit, fixing his gaze on Astarion. He couldn't help but admit his own surprise at not having pieced together the truth earlier, especially given that he had jokingly referred to Astarion as 'fangs.' The two puncture scars on the side of Astarion's neck, matching the wolf's more recent bite, should have been a clear indicator.

Cassandra regarded Astarion for a brief moment before she reluctantly lowered her sword. "Fine. But remember, any tricks or lies, and it won't end well," she warned sternly.

Astarion let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you. I promise, I won't deceive you," he said, his tone earnest.

Cassandra wasted no time and fired her first question. "So, where are you really from? That 'former slave from a distant land' story of yours was clearly fabricated. I’m not sure how I ever believed it– it sounds so fake now that I say it aloud," she remarked, skepticism tinging her voice.

“Oh, I never lied about that. I truly am from Baldur’s Gate, and I was indeed a slave," Astarion affirmed.

"So, how did they manage to shackle you, Fangs? Can't imagine it was a stroll in the park. Blood magic in the mix, perhaps?" Varric chimed in, his curiosity tinged with a hint of concern.

Astarion shook his head. "No, it's not blood magic. My master is a vampire named Cazador—and I'm his spawn. He killed me and transformed me into what I am now, enslaving me in the process. Vampires have dominion over their spawn, so I had no choice but to obey his commands, as terrible as they may be. He's far more powerful than I am," Astarion explained, his voice carrying a hint of resignation.

“What about the other stuff you told us about vampires? Like the sun sensitivity. That must be fake– you can clearly walk in the sun,” Cassandra asked. 

"I'm not entirely certain how I can stroll in the sun like it's a casual affair, but I suspect that peculiar mark on my hand might have something to do with it. It's been close to 200 years since I last glimpsed sunlight before ending up here," Astarion replied. 

"You truly are 200 years old, but it's solely because of your vampiric nature. Your 'high elves' story was nothing but a fabrication," Solas accused.

“What? No. I didn’t lie about that, either. It genuinely surprises me that you don’t know what I’m talking about. I am a high elf. A vampiric, undead high elf– but a high elf nonetheless. It's simply how I came into this world," Astarion clarified.

Solas scrutinized him intently, searching for any trace of falsehood but found none. "Very well. If you are indeed telling the truth, then I suppose I'll have more questions for you later," he conceded, his skepticism still present but tempered by Astarion's apparent honesty.

"Well, here's a burning question: why in the Maker's name did you bite me?" Varric asked, a mix of curiosity and mild annoyance in his tone.

Astarion hesitated before answering, "I... I wanted blood, and you seemed like the least likely person to kill me if you woke up while I was indulging myself."

Varric arched an eyebrow and quipped, "You know, I'm not entirely sure if that's a compliment or not. But hey, I'll take it as a vote of confidence."

"Well, it's quite evident that you're capable of feeding on animals. So why on earth did you choose Varric instead of another animal?" Cassandra demanded, her tone firm.

Astarion continued to explain, his emotions evident. "Cazador strictly forbade me from feeding on 'thinking creatures.' I subsisted on whatever he permitted, which was typically foul, decaying rats, and occasionally a live one if I lucked out. Sometimes, it came down to bugs if I wasn't so fortunate. But after being here... I just had to know that I could bite someone. If Cazador's hold over me remained intact, I wouldn't have been able to. Yet, as it turned out, I could," he admitted, his face a turbulent sea of emotions. "Plus," he added with a wry smile, "you all do smell rather delectable . It was hard to resist."

"That's quite the gruesome tale, my friend. But it seems you're finally rid of that bastard. If this 'Cazador' ever dares to show his face around here, well, let's just say he won't be leaving in one piece," Varric said with a trademark grin, his tone carrying both reassurance and a hint of righteous indignation.

“"So, Cazador is still lurking in Baldur's Gate?" Solas asked. 

"Yes, I believe he's there, or at least I hope so. I can't imagine he's thrilled that I've slipped away, so he's likely searching quite fervently. It would be... well, more than just unfortunate if he ever discovered my whereabouts. We wouldn't stand a chance in a fight," Astarion explained, his voice tinged with unease.

"I've noticed those scars on your back—do they play a role in how he controls you, or are they related to your transformation into a vampire?" Solas asked, his curiosity evident.

"No... it's a poem, one that he took the time to lovingly carve into my back over the course of a night, making multiple revisions as he went," Astarion replied, his voice heavy with the weight of those memories.

“What does it say?” Solas asked. 

"I've never actually seen my scars," Astarion admitted, his discomfort becoming more pronounced. Discussing his past abuse was deeply unsettling for him, and he wasn't ready to reveal all his secrets to the current group.

Solas seemed surprised and asked, "Not even in a mirror?"

Astarion shook his head. "No... I don't have a reflection," he explained, revealing another aspect of his vampiric nature that set him apart from the others.

Varric, intrigued by Astarion's revelation, excused himself momentarily. He returned a minute later with a small handheld mirror in hand and held it up for Astarion to see. Varric inspected the mirror, then shot Astarion a genuinely surprised expression. "Well, I'll be damned. You're not kidding. You really don't have a reflection," he exclaimed, his tone a mix of curiosity and amazement.

"I've been telling the truth all along," Astarion reiterated. "So, any more questions, or can I finally get some rest? Tomorrow promises to be a long day," he said, though in reality, he wasn't actually tired. He simply wished to bring this conversation to a close.

Cassandra acknowledged, "I do have plenty more questions, and I'm sure Leliana will as well once we're back in Haven. However, I may have misjudged you to some extent. I won't kill you—under one condition," she stipulated.

Astarion leaned in, curious about her condition. "Go on," he prompted.

Cassandra made her demand clear. "You will not bite any more innocent people," she declared firmly.

"Very well, I can agree to that," Astarion said, nodding in acknowledgment. He couldn't help but notice that Cassandra had specified 'innocent' people, which left some room for interpretation. He considered that this might allow him to bite non-innocents, particularly their enemies. If they were already planning to kill someone, what harm could a little bite do?

"Good. Just remember, if I discover that any part of your story was a lie, you'll have much greater problems to contend with," Cassandra warned sternly, leaving no room for misunderstanding.

With the intense conversation behind them, the group decided to call it a night, their lingering wariness towards Astarion somewhat eased by his candid responses. Astarion ventured out to hunt a boar that night, fully aware that his companions were keeping an eye on him.

The following morning, the group mounted their horses and departed from the Hinterlands, making their way back to Haven. During the journey, the group continued to ask Astarion more questions, allowing them to gain a deeper understanding of their unique situation. As days passed, their initial suspicions began to wane, and they gradually grew more comfortable around Astarion. True to his promise, Astarion limited his feeding to animals along the way, upholding the truce he had struck with Cassandra.

The group reached a consensus that Astarion's vampirism would remain a closely guarded secret. Instead, they decided to craft a cover story that portrayed Astarion as a former slave from Tevinter, who had managed to escape when his master died while attempting to spy on the Conclave. While presenting Astarion as an elvhen slave from Tevinter might not make them any new friends among their potential enemies, it could elicit sympathy from those who empathized with the plight of slaves, potentially gaining their support.

During their journey back to Haven, the group began to familiarize Astarion with the very basics of Tevinter, equipping him with enough knowledge to convincingly pose as someone from the region if the need ever arose. While none of them were experts in Tevinter culture, they possessed a general understanding that allowed them to provide Astarion with a basic grasp of the essentials. They believed that this cover story would suffice for the time being, considering it unlikely that the Inquisition would draw the attention of Tevinter. After all, there was no reason to expect anyone from Tevinter, who might be able to expose Astarion's deception, would be in their vicinity anytime soon… or so they hoped.

As the group continued their journey, they stumbled upon a Fade rift that had gone unnoticed until now. The immediate area was scattered with corpses, suggesting that they were not the first to encounter the rift. These bodies appeared to be relatively old, perhaps having been here for a week or two. Astarion, proficient in closing Fade rifts, took it upon himself to seal it. Following the successful closure, he began to search the corpses for any valuables, a practice he often indulged in. However, as he approached one of the human corpses, he experienced a startling sensation. It was as if his mind suddenly connected with something, and an uncomfortable tingling sensation surged through his head, leaving him bewildered and uneasy.

Astarion's eyes widened in horror and disbelief as he watched a tadpole emerge from the corpse's eye socket. The grotesque creature began to crawl around the face, its movements unnervingly deliberate. He couldn't shake the sensation of a strange connection forming between himself and the tadpole, as if the creature was imploring him to take it and consume it. The very idea sent shivers down his spine.

"Sweet Andraste's knickers! That's disgusting. I've never laid eyes on a maggot that size before," Varric exclaimed, his revulsion plain as day as he observed the tadpole emerging from the corpse.

Cassandra, her tone resolute, added, "That's precisely why we should avoid disturbing the bodies." She promptly crushed the tadpole under her boot, killing the creature and unknowingly severing Astarion’s mental connection with it. 

Ignoring Cassandra's admonition, Astarion proceeded to carefully loot the body, recognizing that the creature emerging from the corpse was not a maggot but a tadpole, a sight he was all too familiar with. The body didn't yield much, but Astarion managed to retrieve a silver necklace adorned with an unfamiliar symbol and a letter from the pocket.

With a sense of curiosity and apprehension, Astarion gingerly opened the letter and was taken aback when he realized he could read it. The sender of the letter and its recipient appeared to be from Baldur's Gate or the surrounding regions. While the letter didn't contain much information, it issued orders for the recipient and other individuals referred to as 'True Souls' to make their way to Moonrise Towers to receive a blessing from someone called the Absolute. Astarion couldn't decipher the full meaning of the message, as the terms were unfamiliar to him, but the fact that he could read it left him with a sense of accomplishment and curiosity.

"What do you have there?" Solas asked, noticing Astarion reading the letter.

"A letter—something I can actually read. Look," Astarion replied, displaying the document.

Solas leaned in for a closer look, scrutinizing the unfamiliar language. "This doesn't resemble any language I've encountered in my travels. It's quite intriguing," he remarked, his curiosity piqued.

The journey back to Haven proceeded without any major incidents. Upon their return, the group split up, each member attending to their respective duties. The day following their return, Cassandra called a meeting in the Chantry war room, with the intention of having Astarion explain his situation to Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine.

Astarion recounted the details of his vampirism to them, eliciting shocked expressions from the trio. Recognizing that his words alone might not be sufficient to convince them, Astarion took out a clear glass filled with blood and drank it in front of them, dispelling any lingering doubts. Josephine quickly excused herself, her complexion turning slightly green.

However, Astarion's respite at Haven was short-lived. He was promptly dispatched to Val Royeaux upon his return. Val Royeaux appeared to be a typical affluent city in Astarion's eyes, but what intrigued him the most was the pervasive fear that seemed to grip the populace upon the Inquisition's arrival. The Templars were awaiting their audience, as the Chantry had sought additional protection against both the Inquisition and the Herald. Astarion couldn't help but find the situation somewhat amusing. What truly took him by surprise, though, was when one of the Templars struck a Chantry mother, causing her to collapse to the ground. Really, Astarion hadn’t been expecting that one.

After some deliberation and discussions, the Templars decided to depart from Val Royeaux, leaving Astarion without any significant new allies, except for a group led by an elf called 'Sera' and her Red Jennies. While their mission in Val Royeaux hadn't achieved everything they had hoped for, it had created a substantial political stir and established the Inquisition as a formidable presence committed to closing the Breach. So, despite not being a complete success, the journey had proven worthwhile.

Once back in Haven, Astarion couldn't deny his weariness from constant travel. The role of the 'Herald of Andraste' had proven to be far more demanding than he had anticipated. However, he knew that it was still much more preferable than being under the control of Cazador. After some much-needed rest, he headed to the Chantry the following morning to continue discussions and planning with his inner circle.

A man donned in sturdy armor stood near the entrance of the Chantry, attempting to engage with several individuals, only to be repeatedly ignored. Evidently, his frustration was mounting, but he refused to give up.

Astarion observed the situation from a distance, initially tempted to let it be. However, his curiosity got the best of him, and he decided to approach the man. With his usual casual charm, Astarion addressed him, "Hello, darling. Do you need something?"

The armored man nodded, relief apparent on his face. "I've got a message for the Inquisition, but I'm having a hard time getting anyone to talk to me," he explained, scrutinizing Astarion.

Astarion responded with a flirtatious tone, "Truly? How surprising. I don't see how anyone could truly ignore you, with a face like yours. Well, I'll hear you out."

"Thanks. I'm Cremisius Aclassi, with the Bull's Chargers Mercenary Company. We mostly work out of Orlais and Nevarra," Krem introduced himself, his demeanor steady. "We got word of some Tevinter mercenaries gathering out on the Storm Coast. My company commander, Iron Bull, offers the information free of charge. If you'd like to see what the Bull's Chargers can do for the Inquisition, meet us there and watch us work."

Astarion raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Oh, you're a mercenary company looking for work? Why should I hire you?"

Krem responded confidently, "We're loyal, we're tough, and we don't break contracts. Ask around Val Royeaux. We've got references."

Astarion couldn't resist a playful comment, asking, "And why do you want to work for the Inquisition? I can't imagine it's just to see my pretty face."

Krem responded matter-of-factly, "The Iron Bull thinks you're doing good work."

Astarion chuckled at the unexpected endorsement. "Really? And here I thought everyone was scared of us. That I'm some kind of desire demon from the Fade who opened the breach to ruin all of Thedas…or something like that. You said your commander is 'The Iron Bull'? That's certainly a unique name."

"Yeah, well, he's one of those Qunari, you know, the big guys with the horns. We usually just accept contracts from whoever makes the first offer, but you're the first time he's actually gone out of his way to pick a side," Krem explained.

Astarion nodded thoughtfully. "Oh, he's a tiefling. Alright, I suppose I'm intrigued enough. I'll consider your offer."

Krem smiled appreciatively. "I appreciate it. We're the best you'll find. Come to the Storm Coast, and you can see us in action."

"Very well," Astarion replied before slipping into the Chantry to continue his day. The thought of joining up with the mercenary group promised a refreshing diversion from the tiresome political machinations he had recently been entangled in. Tomorrow, he would ensure that meeting 'the Iron Bull' took precedence over whatever else may be going on. 

 

Notes:

Sorry Sera lovers- I'm not going into depth about Astarion's meeting with her. She's just not that important right now, and may never be. The Iron Bull, however.... (:

Chapter 10: Astarion Meets the Bull

The Storm Coast certainly earned its name that day, living up to its rainy reputation as Astarion and his companions made their grand entrance. Rain, relentless and unforgiving, pelted the party as they arrived at an Inquisition campsite. While Inquisition scouts had smartly established the camp not too far from the shoreline, it seemed than the meager shelter offered little sanctuary from the ceaseless downpour. Nature wished to remind them who was in charge, it seemed.

Astarion hadn't journeyed this far merely to sit around at a campsite, though. Consequently, he, accompanied by Cassandra, Solas, and Varric, descended the hill towards the coastline to rendezvous with the Iron Bull. As they descended, Astarion couldn't resist stopping to gather more elfroot, which he'd been amassing since their return from the Hinterlands.

"Still hoarding that elfroot, I see. Care to enlighten us on why?" Varric asked, noting that Astarion now had an entire bag brimming with the herb.

“No. It’s nothing you need to be concer–” Astarion began, his response cut short by a piercing screech that reverberated through the sky. He halted, the screech prompting him to pause and cast his gaze upward. His eyes widened in awe at the sight of a dragon gracefully gliding through the sky, disappearing into the distant horizon.

"Well, well, look at that! Didn't have 'dragon sighting' on today's agenda, that's for sure. This is your first time seeing a dragon, isn’t it, Fangs?” Varric said. 

"Ugh, I wish. It's a cruel twist of fate, isn't it? Most folks lead their lives without ever catching a glimpse of a dragon, but it appears I'm destined to have these encounters," Astarion remarked, his tone filled with resignation.

"Wait, seriously? When in the Void have you crossed paths with dragons before?" Varric asked in disbelief.

"They were in the middle of attacking a ship I had the pleasure of being on," Astarion revealed.

“Wait, you can't just leave it at that. You've got to give me the whole story," Varric urged.

"Well, if you're absolutely craving the sordid details, let me oblige. Yours truly was abducted and unceremoniously stowed away in a cage aboard a ship, treated like some rare collectible. Then, as if my day hadn’t been interesting enough, a group of dragon-riding warriors decided to crash the party, and, naturally, we ended up with a rather spectacular crash landing. My cage, fortunately, didn't survive the ordeal, allowing me to make a swift escape," Astarion recounted, skillfully omitting any mention of the 'mind flayer' aspect.

Cassandra shot Astarion a stern, disbelieving glare. "You're lying. People riding dragons? That's utter nonsense," she accused.

"Well, it's surely a riveting tale, and that's saying something coming from me. I can't say I'm entirely sold on that yarn, either," Varric added, his skepticism evident.

"Well, darling, how else do you think I managed to slip away from my exalted vampiric master?" Astarion asked with a sly grin.

"By giving him a dose of sass until he couldn't take it anymore, perhaps? Definitely not by dragons . Chuckles, you got any thoughts on this?” Varric asked. 

Solas shrugged nonchalantly. "He has mentioned the dragons to me once before.” 

Varric raised an eyebrow. "And you actually believed him?"

"I didn't find a reason to doubt him. At the very least, he's telling the truth about being abducted and placed on a ship," Solas replied.

“Fangs, if you’re seriously telling the truth about dragons, I'd love to hear the full story later. If you’re comfortable, that is,” Varric said, understanding that being kidnapped and held in a cage usually wasn’t for good reasons.  

Astarion, on the other hand, responded with a wry grin, "Are you kidding? This whole ordeal has been a delightful twist of fate. I can only imagine the look on Cazador's face when he realized I was stolen right out from under his nose. Now here I am, walking in the sunshine, even if I'm still in the dark about how I got here. But, as they say, beggars can't be choosers,” he said, then added, “enough about dragons, anyways– we have an ‘Iron Bull’ to meet.”

A little farther down the path, on the beach, a skirmish unfolded. Astarion spotted a familiar face among the combatants – Krem, the person he'd encountered outside the chantry. Astarion realized that these must be the Bull's 'Chargers'. Without hesitation, Astarion leaped into the fray, his blades flashing as he expertly dispatched his foes left and right. By the time the battle was over, Astarion’s face was covered in splashes of blood, but the rain was slowly washing it away.  

Astarion turned around, only to find that he was nearly face to face (well, face to chest) with an imposing figure who was clearly not tiefling. Or, at the very least, the most colossal tiefling he had ever encountered. While the man did possess horns, they were the largest Astarion had ever laid eyes on, and his sheer size dwarfed him. With shoulders that seemed impossibly broad, he loomed over Astarion to an extent that left him at a loss for words. Honestly, Astarion couldn't even fathom how to classify this imposing being, for he had never come across a creature resembling the Iron Bull. For a brief, unbidden moment, Astarion couldn't help but entertain the curious thought of what Iron Bull's blood might taste like. After all, the massive warrior seemed to have an ample supply of it.

“Chargers! Stand down. Krem– how’d we do?” The Iron Bull's commanding voice cut through the aftermath of the skirmish, and he strode past Astarion to confer with Krem.

“Three or four wounded, Chief. Two dead,” Krem reported dutifully.

"Good, that's what I like to hear. Let the throatcutters finish up, then break out the casks," Bull ordered Krem before turning his attention to Astarion. "So, you're with the Inquisition, huh? You must be 'the Herald' that I've heard so much about. Glad you could make it. Come on, have a seat. Drinks are coming," Bull invited Astarion.

"Iron Bull, I presume?" Astarion inquired.

"Yeah, the horns usually give it away," Bull replied with a wry grin as he settled down on a nearby boulder.

"They are a rather impressive set of horns," Astarion complimented.

"You've never met a Qunari before, have you?" Bull asked.

"No, but you're certainly making a memorable first impression," Astarion responded with a smile.

"Heh. Thank you. I assume you remember Cremisius Aclassi, my lieutenant," Bull remarked, gesturing toward Krem.

Krem nodded in acknowledgment of Astarion. "Good to see you again. Throatcutters are done, chief," he reported.

"Already? Have 'em check again. I don't want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offense, Krem," Bull replied.

"None taken. At least a bastard knows who his mother was. Puts him one up on you Qunari, right?" Krem quipped as he turned and strolled away.

“So, you’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but we’re worth it… and I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us,” Bull stated confidently.

"Oh, Iron Bull, your confidence is almost as impressive as your fighting skills. Expensive, you say? Well, they do say that fortune favors the bold, so, who am I to argue with such a persuasive pitch?" Astarion said. He had no stake in the Inquisition's finances, so he didn't particularly care about Bull's cost. He was more than willing to agree now and let the others worry about the payment details later.

“You won’t just be getting the boys– you’re getting me. You need a frontline bodyguard, I’m your man. Whatever it is– Demons, Dragons? The bigger the better,” The Bull declared, rising to his feet and taking a few strides forward, making sure to emphasize his size. “There’s one other thing. Might be helpful, might piss you off. Ever heard of the Ben-Hassrath?” 

“Not particularly,” Astarion replied. 

"It's a Qunari order. They handle information, loyalty, security, the whole package. Spies, basically. Or, well… we’re spies. The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere. I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports on what’s happening. But I also get reports from Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais. Sign me on– and I’ll share them with your people,” Bull explained. 

Varric took this opportunity to tease Astarion. "Well, there you have it. That's what upfront honesty looks like, Astarion. Maybe you should jot down a few pointers from our friend here," he said with a chuckle.

"So, let me make sure I've got this straight. You're a spy, and you just... spilled the beans to me? I must admit, your mastery of the 'spy' gig leaves a lot to be desired," Astarion commented, his tone dripping with sass and a healthy dose of skepticism.

"Whatever went down at that Conclave is nothing short of a disaster. Someone needs to close that Breach, and so whatever role I play, I'm on your side. It's better you hear it straight from me," Bull stated firmly.

Astarion pressed further, a note of concern in his voice. "And... what exactly would you be including in these reports about us?” He had a genuine reason to worry– the last thing he needed was word of his vampirism spreading around, should Bull ever find out. 

Bull let out a faint chuckle. "Nothing that would put you in a bind, I promise. I know about your past as an escaped slave, and I won't be dishing out anything that could stir up trouble. My focus will be singing praises about the Inquisition's success, all to dissuade the Qunari from launching a full-blown invasion to deal with the Breach," Bull explained, his eyes locked onto Astarion's face. His trained eye for expressions told him that Astarion's main concerns went beyond just the "escaped slave" aspect; there were evidently larger secrets at stake. "And if it eases your mind, I'm more than happy to let you review those reports before they take flight," Bull offered.

"Yes, I'll have Leliana give them a once-over before you send them," Astarion corrected. As much as he would love to read what Bull had to say, he couldn’t.

"Right. Does that mean we're officially on board?" Bull inquired.

“That depends. Are you fine with spending an excessive amount of time doing nothing but thieving, looting, and collecting supplies?” Astarion asked. 

“You’ll be paying me. So if that’s what you want me to do, I’ll do it,” Bull confirmed. 

Varric nodded his head in agreement. “I swear, it’s like he’s cursed to put his hands on everything. And don't get me started on the ludicrous quantity of elfroot he's hoarding, with not a word of explanation."

"That falls under the category of information reserved for those who actually need to know. Spoiler alert: You don't," Astarion replied to Varric, intentionally being vague. 

Cassandra, her discomfort apparent at hiring a spy, chimed in with a stern warning, "But don't even entertain the idea of working against the Inquisition. You've witnessed our capabilities in battle now, and if you step out of line, I'll have our Herald here eat you alive. You'd be nothing but a memory before you even think about making an escape," she threatened.

Astarion let out a laugh, his tone laced with amusement. " Really? Are we using me as a scare tactic now? Well, I can't say I mind. I'd love the opportunity to take a bite out of someone like him," he said, running his tongue tantalizingly across the tips of his fangs, savoring the thought.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Bull replied, his gaze locked onto Astarion as he intensely studied the elf's every mannerism and detail. He couldn't help but see why the Chantry was so agitated – Astarion was undeniably an enigmatic figure. The elf possessed a physique that stood out among his kind, lacking the typical slender frame of most elves. He almost had a human quality about him, were it not for his pointed ears and sharp features. Astarion was undeniably attractive, and his flirtatious demeanor only added to his allure.

Yet, Bull also couldn't ignore the other aspects of Astarion – the striking red eyes and sharp teeth that appeared when he spoke. There was also the matter of his hair, now dampened by the rain but still revealing its unique grayish-white hue. It shouldn't have been natural, but it clearly was. Most disconcerting of all was the way Astarion looked at him, as if he were peering at something deeper than just Bull's outward appearance. It left Bull feeling somewhat unsettled.

Bull's instincts and training kept ringing warning bells about Astarion, but he couldn't pinpoint the exact source of his unease. Despite the enigma that Astarion was, he couldn't deny the elf's undeniable charm. Under different circumstances, Bull might have been more than willing to demonstrate just how captivating a Qunari could be, preferably in the privacy of the night. However, Astarion remained an enigma, and caution prevailed. The flirtatious and sarcastic demeanor could be a response to past trauma, consistent with having been a former slave from Tevinter. It didn’t take Ben-Hassrath training to know that– depending on the owner– it wasn’t unusual for attractive elvhen slaves to be used as prostitutes or whores. 

Nonetheless, Bull couldn't dismiss the persistent feeling that there was something inherently dangerous about Astarion. He couldn’t deny that the elf's mannerisms continued to point towards the "desire demon" theory that the Chantry had been so vocal about, potentially adding a disturbing layer to Cassandra's earlier warning. However, the fact that Cassandra, the formidable "Right Hand of the Divine," was not only willing to tolerate Astarion but also decided to keep him close, suggested that Astarion's intentions, whatever they might be, were likely not malicious. The "Herald" was undoubtedly worth further investigation. Whether he was truly a former slave or something altogether different remained a mystery yet to be unraveled.

“Krem! Tell the men to finish drinking on the road. The chargers just got hired,” Bull shouted across to Krem.

“What about the casks, chief? We just opened them up– with axes !” Krem protested. 

“Find some way to seal them– you’re Tevinter, right? Try blood magic,” Bull suggested nonchalantly.

Krem groaned in exasperation but begrudgingly went to find a way to seal the casks.

Bull grinned and turned his attention back to Astarion. "We'll catch up with you in Haven," he stated.

"It'll be a delight to have you on board. Catch you there," Astarion replied, then turned on his heel and gracefully departed from the group, making his way back to the camp in search of a reprieve from the relentless rain.

Once Astarion and his companions had departed, Bull approached Krem, who seemed to be awaiting his input.

"What's your take on him, chief?" Krem asked as Bull drew near.

"That's still up in the air. I couldn't get a solid read on him. But I'd like you to have a chat with him once we're in Haven. Try to bond with him over Tevinter," Bull suggested.

"But won't that potentially stir up bad memories for him?" Krem asked, raising a valid concern.

"Maybe, or maybe it'll bring up no memories at all. That's what I'm curious to find out," Bull explained.

"You think he's lying about being a former slave from Tevinter, don't you? Do you think those rumors about him being a desire demon hold any water?" Krem asked, echoing the doubts that had crossed Bull's mind.

"It's possible, though it seems unlikely. But then again, a giant magical hole in the sky was also unlikely, yet here we are. Like I said, I couldn't quite get a read on him, and the rain didn't help," Bull admitted. 

Krem raised an eyebrow and remarked, "Blaming the rain, chief? You sure it's not just because he was turning on the charm and flirting with you? He's quite the looker, and you do have a thing for the sassy ones."

Bull sighed, acknowledging the point. "That's my concern, Krem. He's a bit too good-looking, too charming, and far too self-assured for what a former slave should be."

Krem nodded sympathetically. "Well, let's hope, for your sake, that your gut feeling is wrong, Chief."

Bull simply replied, "That remains to be seen."

Chapter 11: Astarion Has One Last Bite to Eat Before Redcliffe

The journey back to Haven passed without much incident. While the Iron Bull and his chargers were also en route to Haven, they maintained their distance from Astarion's party, traveling at their own pace. Upon Astarion's arrival at Haven, Leliana and Cullen wasted no time and ushered him right into the war room. It was clear that they had something of great importance to discuss. Without granting Astarion a moment's respite, they directed him straight into the war room, where Josephine was already waiting.

"The incident you provoked in Val Royeaux has presented us with the opportunity we were seeking. We can now approach either the mages in Redcliffe or the templars for assistance," Josephine explained.

"Opting for the templars would still be the wiser choice. The rebel mages lack the coordination necessary to be of substantial help," Cullen argued.

"Lord Seeker Lucius has proven to be a different man from what I remembered. I have reservations about approaching the templars as our primary option," Cassandra countered.

"We should consider all possibilities. Most of the templar order likely wouldn't follow Lord Seeker Lucius anyway," Cullen added.

"Alternatively, the Herald could simply journey to Redcliffe and meet with the mages," Leliana suggested.

Astarion was rapidly losing patience with the ongoing debate. "Oh, pardon me for interrupting your riveting debate,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “But could someone enlighten me on why I was summoned to this thrilling gathering? Clearly you still have some issues to work out, and I’m rather hungry.” 

"I concur. Let's cease this bickering. However, Redcliffe should not be dismissed outright. The mages may present a viable option," Josephine argued.

"But the Templars are more organized and could serve as a safer choice," Cullen insisted.

Cassandra turned to look at Astarion. “What about you, Astarion? What do you think we should do?” she asked him. The group turned their heads to Astarion, awaiting his response. 

“Well, to be perfectly honest, I’m not even sure why you’re arguing about this. There’s a gaping magic hole in the sky– so why in the hells would we ever choose the people with swords over the people that are actually practiced in magic? I mean, honestly,” Astarion said, sounding exasperated. 

"That settles it then. We shall head to Redcliffe to seek the aid of the mages. Astarion, I understand we've just returned, but there's no reason to unpack. We depart tomorrow. The sooner we close the breach, the better," Cassandra declared.

"Alright then. Redcliffe's not far from where we were in the Hinterlands, right?" Astarion asked. 

"Yes, it shouldn't be more than a couple of days' journey," Leliana confirmed.

"One more thing, Astarion," Josephine interjected, "that group you hired, 'The Chargers,' arrived shortly before you did. You should meet with them today to express your gratitude for their arrival."

"I'll make sure to do that. Anything else on your agenda?" Astarion asked.

"No, that's all. Go and enjoy the rest of your day," Josephine replied.

"Thank you, I intend to," Astarion responded.

Exiting the war room, Astarion walked out of the Chantry. It appeared that more people within wanted to engage in conversation, including Mother Giselle, but Astarion had no desire to deal with them at the moment. He purposefully ignored them and left the room. The remainder of the day was spent gathering supplies for the upcoming trip, discreetly relieving unsuspecting individuals of their belongings, and using the proceeds to acquire new armor, clothing, and weapons. Apparently, telling the blacksmith that the Inquisition would cover the expenses was a deception that would only work once.

As the sun began its descent, Astarion entered the tavern, where the Bull and his Chargers were currently stationed. They sat together, enjoying themselves and sharing drinks. Upon spotting Astarion, Bull grinned and beckoned him over.

"Ah, good! We're not drinking alone," Bull remarked, gesturing towards his Chargers. "I wanted to introduce you to the Chargers, at least the ones here right now. Some of them went off in search of stronger spirits," he added. "We've got Rocky and Skinner here. Over there are Stitches, Dalish, and Grim. A wild bunch of misfits, but they're my crew," Bull explained.

Astarion nodded politely. "Charmed," he said.

"Rocky is our top sapper. He can demolish enemy fortifications faster than a golem," Bull boasted, pointing to Rocky.

"I'm also working on my own version of Qunari blackpowder. Almost got it!" Rocky exclaimed.

"Yeah... not quite," Bull chuckled.

Curious, Astarion asked, "What's Qunari blackpowder?"

"It's an extremely explosive powder, a closely guarded secret known only to the Qunari. It detonates without the need for magic," Bull explained.

"Oh, so it's akin to smokepowder then?" Astarion asked, his cultural insight failing him one again. 

"Smokepowder? Can't say I've ever heard of it," Bull replied.

"It's a fine, black powder that explodes. Typically stored in wooden barrels, and if you happen to ignite one of those barrels, well, the whole area goes up in flames," Astarion explained.

"That... does sound remarkably similar to blackpowder, yeah. You seem quite well-versed in it. Where have you come across smokepowder before?" Bull asked, casting a suspicious glance Astarion's way. Even the other Chargers in the vicinity wore expressions of confusion or surprise.

Astarion realized he had said something amiss once again, given the suspicious looks all around him. While he didn't quite understand why smokepowder was raising eyebrows, he sensed the need to fabricate a story. "In Tevinter... someone I knew had a significant supply of it," Astarion smoothly lied.

Bull scrutinized Astarion's expression but found no obvious signs of deceit. "So, you're telling me there's someone in Tevinter with a stockpile of blackpowder?" Bull repeated.

"Yes... I wasn't aware it was such a closely guarded secret," Astarion replied, maintaining his lie.

“Who is it? That’s some… concerning news,” Bull said. 

“I never learned his name,” Astarion replied.  

Bull caught on to his deception this time. It was clear that Astarion knew more than he was letting on about the subject, but Bull decided not to press further. "That's too bad. Anyway, this is Skinner," he said, gesturing to her.

"So, how did you end up joining the Chargers?" Astarion inquired, glad for the shift in conversation.

"I killed some people," Skinner replied bluntly.

"Ah, how... entertaining," Astarion quipped.

The rest of the Chargers continued to introduce themselves, and Astarion got to hear snippets of each member's stories. It was evident that Bull held a deep affection for each of them. After the introductions concluded, Bull got up. "I'm going to grab another drink," he announced, walking away. Most of the other Chargers began chatting among themselves, leaving Astarion seated beside Krem.

"Don't pay him too much mind. I know he's got a tough exterior, but you'll warm up to him," Krem said to Astarion, attempting to initiate a conversation.

"Marvelous. We could always use a hulking brute to dispatch our enemies," Astarion replied.

Krem nodded. "So... I heard you're also originally from Tevinter," he began.

"If by 'originally' you mean enslaved and forcibly confined there, then yes," Astarion retorted, feigning anger in his tone, hoping to deter any further discussion on the topic.

"I'm sorry. I can only imagine how difficult that must have been," Krem offered sympathetically.

"You truly have no idea, " Astarion replied.

"Well... for what it's worth, I'm glad you made it out. No one should endure slavery, but I'm glad you found your way out. If you ever need someone to talk to..." Krem started.

Astarion promptly interrupted him. "I'd sooner chew off my own foot," he retorted rudely. He rose from his seat and walked away from Krem and the Chargers. Their inquiries were becoming a bit too probing for his liking, and he had no intention of spending the entire evening fabricating stories.

As he approached the exit of the tavern, Astarion spotted the inebriated man who had thrown a mug at him when he had first arrived at Haven. This time, however, the man had a group of companions with him.

The man seemed to notice Astarion. "Oh, look! It's our esteemed Herald," he jeered, spitting in Astarion's direction.

"You're still here? I thought you would have drowned in a puddle of your own drunken urine by now. How… disappointing ," Astarion shot back.

"Oh, shut up! We know what you truly are, you filthy fucking demon. That's why no one should trust a damned knife-ear!" the man shouted at Astarion.

Another one of the man’s friends decided to pitch into the conversation too. “Yea, you might have charmed your way up to the top of the Inquisition, but you won’t charm us, demon. I’ll fucking kill you if you dare even come near us, or our families. What’s left of our families anyways, after you murdered them all with other demons from the breach! I swear I will get my revenge, if it’s the last thing I do!” 

Astarion's mouth dropped agape momentarily, stunned and speechless. He hadn't expected them to be so openly vocal about their accusations. Shaking off his shock, he began to respond but was interrupted when a large hand settled on his shoulder. Looking up, Astarion saw Bull towering over him.

"You. Out," Bull commanded, pointing toward the group and motioning towards the exit.

"Yeah, whatever. Let's get out of here. I don't want to linger near that demon anyway," the initial man grumbled, then exited the bar, followed by his companions.

"I didn't need you rushing in to rescue me, you know. I'm quite capable of handling them on my own," Astarion remarked to Bull.

"I don't doubt that," Bull acknowledged, "but you're the Herald, and it wouldn't look good to incite a brawl in front of all these people. Besides, you're paying me to keep you safe. You looked like you recognized those troublemakers, anyways. Have they given you problems before?" Bull asked. 

"I've had the pleasure of meeting the guy in the middle before—the one who spoke first. He was intoxicated and hurled a mug at my head," Astarion replied candidly.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you never see them again,” Bull assured him. 

“Are… are you going to kill them? Can I watch?” Astarion asked, a little hint of excitement in his voice. 

Bull clarified, his expression showing slight concern, "No, I meant I'll escort them out of Haven, with your spymaster's approval."

"Oh, well, that's unimaginative. But, whatever," Astarion remarked nonchalantly.

"You should go get some rest. Tomorrow's going to be a long day. Cassandra told me I could accompany you when you meet with the mages, as long as you're fine with it," Bull mentioned.

"Fine, you can come," Astarion agreed. He realized that he'd need to exercise more caution with his vampirism, but he couldn't deny the usefulness of having the Iron Bull around.

"Fantastic. I'll see you tomorrow morning then. Give me a heads up if that group bothers you again," Bull said, patting Astarion's shoulder gently.

"Will do," Astarion replied before leaving the tavern and stepping back onto the street. Despite saying he was going to rest, he had other plans. While he had vowed not to feed on the blood of the innocent, the racist drunk hardly qualified as "innocent." No one would miss him if he vanished. Sure, his friends might accuse Astarion of killing him, but they were all intoxicated, and their claims wouldn't be taken seriously, especially after their overtly offensive remarks in the tavern. 

Astarion discreetly trailed the inebriated man to his residence—the same man who had thrown a mug at him some time ago. He had warned the man before about the consequences of his actions, but unfortunately, the man hadn't taken him seriously enough. Astarion waited until the man was sound asleep in his bedroll before making his move. Ensuring no one was watching, he stealthily entered the man's tent, silently maneuvering past his slumbering form.

The man stirred, an instinctual sense of danger coursing through him. His eyes snapped open to find Astarion looming over him. Panic welled up in him, and he began to open his mouth to scream, but Astarion acted swiftly, clamping his hand over the man's lips to stifle any noise.

"Shh, hush now. No need for a fuss. You knew this day would come," Astarion whispered, his fangs ominously revealed.

In a desperate attempt, the man tried to push Astarion away, his terror palpable, but his efforts were in vain. Astarion sank his fangs into the man's neck, and the sweet taste of blood began to flow. The man never stood a chance against Astarion's strength and hunger. The man gradually weakened, his struggles fading until he finally succumbed to the inevitable.

Astarion greedily consumed the blood, reveling in the exhilaration of ending someone's life. He savored the warmth of the blood on his tongue, feeling the man's heartbeat slow as their lives intertwined. He felt a strange mixture of satisfaction and disappointment as the blood ceased to flow, marking the man's death.

Once finished, Astarion sat up, wiping the blood from his lips and grappling with the guilt of willfully taking a life. He knew what he had done was wrong, yet he couldn't deny the perverse enjoyment it had brought him. Standing up carefully, he contemplated how to conceal the lifeless body but was interrupted by an unexpected wave of euphoria washing over him. He giggled and staggered toward the tent's entrance.

"I'm... I'm drunk ," he mumbled to himself, recognizing the sensation in his head—a feeling he hadn't experienced in over two centuries, yet one that was strangely nostalgic.

Astarion ventured out of the tent, making a valiant effort to remain upright. He grinned, seemingly unable to stop himself from smiling, but the challenge of hiding the body now loomed large. His drunken search for a suitable hiding place was interrupted when he spotted a man approaching him. "Oh, Krem! What brings you out so late?" Astarion slurred, his speech noticeably unsteady.

"Astarion? Are you... drunk ?" Krem asked incredulously. "Damn," he muttered, moving closer to Astarion and grasping his arm to steady him. "Chief is a fool for leaving you alone after what happened. I knew we should have stayed with you."

"I'm... perfectly fine," Astarion protested, though he leaned far too heavily to one side for Krem’s liking. 

"No, you're not. Ugh... I don't even know where you're supposed to sleep. Come on, you're coming with me," Krem insisted, gripping Astarion's arm and guiding him toward a different cluster of tents.

"Where are you taking me?" Astarion inquired in his drunken stupor.

"Chief's tent. You're his problem for the night," Krem informed Astarion, continuing to walk with the stumbling vampire. Astarion couldn't help but find the absurdity of the situation somewhat amusing, even though he was helpless to do anything about it. The world was spinning around him, and the effects of the alcohol were undeniable. He made a mental note to exercise caution in the future, particularly when considering biting an alcoholic.

Krem led him to Bull's tent, where Bull promptly stepped outside. "What happened to him?" Bull asked, looking at Krem for an explanation.

"Dunno, Chief. Found him stumbling like this. Not sure where he normally sleeps," Krem responded.

"Bring him in. He can stay with me tonight," Bull ordered.

Astarion wanted to object, but Bull firmly grabbed his arm and guided him into the tent. Even in his intoxicated state, he understood that he couldn't deal with the dead body while Bull was present.

"Quit resisting, Astarion. I'm just getting you settled in for the night. You've had more than enough to drink," Bull said, lifting Astarion with ease and placing him down gently on a bedroll. "Sleep, Astarion. Don't try to wander off again, or I'll know. I'll be right outside," Bull added before exiting the tent.

Astarion internally cursed as he realized he had little choice but to abandon his plans for the night. He had been caught, and his inebriation rendered any attempt to move discreetly out of the question. He lay on the bedroll, the buzz of the alcohol coursing through him, waiting for it to subside.

The following morning, Bull returned to the tent and roused Astarion from his meditative slumber. "Boss. You alive?" Bull asked.

Astarion sat up, surveying his surroundings and the weight of the previous night's events settling on his shoulders. "Is that supposed to be a joke?" he retorted to Bull.

Bull shrugged. "You could've drunk yourself to death. Had to check."

Astarion rolled his eyes. "Really? And when was the last time you actually witnessed someone succumbing to excessive drinking?"

"Last night, apparently. I went to speak with Leliana about those people, but it turns out one of them was found dead in their tent, from alcohol poisoning, according to Leliana," Bull stated, his tone tinged with suspicion. Bull couldn't shake the feeling that the timing of Astarion's drunken wandering and the man's death was far too convenient. He was leaning toward the belief that Astarion harbored a dark secret—one that Leliana seemed willing to cover up. It was an intriguing mystery, and Bull was determined to unravel it by keeping a close eye on Astarion.

"Oh, really ? That's... convenient. What about the others who were with him?" Astarion inquired, a wave of relief washing over him upon hearing that the death had been attributed to alcohol poisoning. However, he suspected that if Leliana had discovered the body, she might be quite angry with him for taking a life. He decided to steer clear of her before their upcoming trip, though he couldn't deny his gratitude for her discretion.

"The others were kicked out of Haven this morning. You won't be seeing them again. How are you feeling, anyway? You were pretty drunk last night," Bull observed, genuine concern in his voice.

"I'm feeling perfectly fine, thank you. I simply overindulged a bit last night, that's all," Astarion replied. 

"Well, you should avoid excessive drinking, especially if you're feeling down or angry. It won't help, and it's clear you can't handle it well," Bull advised, his concern evident.

"Fine, I won't do it again," Astarion promised as he felt Bull's penetrating gaze. "Now, shouldn't we be off on our adventure? We're supposed to find mages and close the breach," he suggested.

"Yes, so get up and get changed. Everyone's waiting for you," Bull instructed.

"Right, I'll be back in a moment," Astarion acknowledged, heading back to his own quarters. He changed into fresh clothes and armor, gathered his belongings, and then returned to Bull's tent, where Varric and Solas were also waiting.

When Solas noticed Astarion approaching, he gave him a knowing look. "I heard someone died last night," he said, his tone slightly accusatory.

Astarion casually shrugged it off. "He was a drunken racist. I'm sure no one will miss him. I certainly won’t,” he replied. 

"We should simply exercise caution and watch our actions," Solas advised.

"If this is about how much I drank last night, don't worry. It won't happen again," Astarion assured him, his words carrying a hidden meaning.

"I would hope so. Although, you're right; it's probably for the best that he's gone. No one would have welcomed his presence, anyway," Solas remarked, displaying a lack of genuine concern for Astarion's actions.

"Excellent! Well, this has been a real chinwag, but how about we hit the road to Redcliffe?" Varric suggested, trying to get the group in motion.

"I agree. Let's set out," Astarion concurred, taking the lead as the group left Haven behind.

The journey to Redcliffe was estimated to take only a few days, and Astarion had sated his thirst the previous night, so he anticipated not needing more blood until they arrived at their destination. Consequently, there was no worry about Bull catching him sneaking off during the night, preserving his secret for the time being. However, Astarion couldn't deny that he should disclose the truth to Bull sooner rather than later, especially since the rest of the close-knit group already knew. He didn’t want to, though, because he remained uncertain about whether he trusted Bull enough for that revelation.

Bull, on the other hand, absolutely didn't place any trust in Astarion anymore. He had picked up on Solas's accusatory tone, effectively solidifying his suspicions that Astarion was responsible for the death of the drunken man from the previous night. Now, all he needed to do was find a way to coax Astarion into revealing his well-guarded secret.

Notes:

Up next, it's what I know you've all excitedly been waiting for: Dorian Pavus.

Chapter 12: Astarion Meets the Magisters and the Mages

The journey to Redcliffe proved relatively uneventful, a welcome relief for Astarion. Throughout the trip, the Iron Bull persistently probed into Astarion's past, particularly about Tevinter, but Astarion adeptly maneuvered to avoid divulging too much. Astarion's companions also played their part in diverting these conversations, which intrigued the Iron Bull even more. Bull had no doubt that Astarion was not an escaped slave from Tevinter, and he also suspected that Astarion never slept, as he had often caught Astarion pretending to do so. Despite Astarion's peculiarities, Bull saw no signs of malevolence; Astarion didn't appear to have any murderous intentions.

Upon reaching Redcliffe, a massive fade rift materialized right in front of the gated entrance, prompting the group to leap into battle, dispatching the demons and wraiths that emerged. However, this battle had an unusual twist: in certain areas around the rift, Astarion experienced extreme slowness, making combat extremely challenging. Yet, when he moved a few steps to the right, time seemed to speed up, and he could fight normally. Once the rift was closed, the guards opened the gate, granting them access to Redcliffe.

Inside, an Inquisition scout approached Astarion, revealing that nobody had been expecting their arrival. Solas found this puzzling, especially since Grand Enchanter Fiona was the one who had invited Astarion and the Inquisition for negotiations with the mages in the first place, at least according to Leliana.

Perplexed, Astarion chimed in, questioning the sudden change in attitude, "So, the mage leader we came all this way to meet doesn't even remember inviting us? Is this some poor attempt to backpedal?"

An elvhen mage hurried towards them, abruptly breaking into their conversation. "Inquisition agents, my sincerest apologies. Master Alexius is currently overseeing matters, not Grand Enchanter Fiona. However, he has yet to arrive; we anticipate his arrival shortly. In the interim, you are welcome to converse with the former grand enchanter. She can be found in the tavern, which has been temporarily vacated for the purposes of our negotiations," the mage informed them.

Astarion exchanged bewildered glances with his companions but decided to proceed cautiously. "This had better not be a trap. I put on my elegant attire today, not my murder attire. I’d hate to get bloodstains on it," he muttered before leading his companions into the Redcliffe Village tavern.

Varric gave a wry shake of his head. "You know, Fangs, I've got my doubts that bloodstains are high on your list of concerns."

Upon entering the tavern, they found only one woman and a few guards inside – the former Grand Enchanter Fiona, a petite elf with a notable air of authority. “Welcome, agents of the Inquisition. What has brought you to Redcliffe?” Fiona asked. 

Astarion shot back in his typical sardonic tone, "Well, you invited us."

Fiona's response was adamant, "You must be mistaken. I never invited you here."

Astarion retorted, a hint of exasperation in his voice, "Well someone clearly did. We're supposed to be getting support from mages to close the breach in the sky."

Fiona shook her head and replied, "Unfortunately, the situation has changed. The free mages here have pledged themselves to the Tevinter Imperium."

Astarion stared at her with his mouth agape. “What, seriously? Tevinter? I was under the impression that they wouldn’t be involved with anything here!” 

The Iron Bull, clearly displeased, added his two cents, "See, this is why you can't trust mages," gesturing toward Fiona.

Solas offered a more measured response, shaking his head slightly, "I understand your fear, but you deserve better than Tevinter's slavery."

Fiona brushed aside their comments, saying, "As someone indentured to a Magister, I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you."

Astarion couldn't contain his confusion, gesturing wildly as he questioned her, "Hold on a moment. You, an elf , chose to side with a Tevinter magister—a place that literally enslaves elves—over working with us? Why in the hells would you do that?"

Fiona explained her decision, "This pact with Tevinter may not have been my first choice, but we had no other option. We're losing this war, and I needed to save as many people as possible."

“By committing them to be ‘indentured’? How is that any better? ” Astarion asked, disbelief still present in his expression.

As the group processed this information, a door creaked open, and they turned to see a hooded human, accompanied by a younger man, entering the tavern. The hooded man greeted them, "Welcome, my friends! I apologize for not greeting you earlier."

Fiona introduced the newcomer, "Agents of the Inquisition, allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius."

Magister Alexius approached, focusing his attention on Astarion. "You're the survivor, aren't you? The slave who emerged from the Fade? Fascinating ," he remarked, scrutinizing Astarion from head to toe.

Astarion responded honestly, "You're certainly a long way from Tevinter. I didn't expect any ‘magisters’ to be in this area." 

Alexius acknowledged the difference, saying, “Indeed I am, although you’re not exactly Ferelden either. You’re from Tevinter also, albeit from a much lower position than mine.” He motioned to a nearby table and took a seat, gesturing for Astarion to do the same.

The Iron Bull interjected, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. "He's the Herald of Andraste now—show some respect."

Alexius chuckled in response, "Oh, come on now. You don't really believe that."

Astarion chimed in, sarcasm in his voice, "What, you're telling me you don't think I'm a desire demon or the Herald of Andraste? I'm almost offended. Everyone seems to love calling me those." He sat down in the chair opposite from Alexius. 

Alexius dismissed the notion, "I've met some desire demons in my past, and they're most certainly not you. The Chantry around here spreading those lies clearly have no idea what they're talking about."

"I'd be disappointed, but you're clearly just a man of poor taste," Astarion replied, gesturing to Alexius's outfit. Despite being relieved that someone finally believed he wasn't a demon or the Herald, Astarion couldn't help but be wary of this Tevinter magister.

Alexius continued the conversation, shifting the topic to more formal matters, "Felix, would you send for a scribe, please? Pardon my manners—this is my son, Felix." He motioned toward the younger man who had entered with him. "I am not surprised you're here—containing the breach is no small feat. There's no telling how many mages will be needed for such an endeavor. Ambitious, indeed."

A moment later, Felix approached the table, but stumbled toward Astarion. Felix fell towards the ground, but Astarion caught him before he could fall completely. After a quick recovery, Felix apologized, "Herald, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."

Alexius looked at Felix with concern. “Are you alright?” he asked his son. 

Felix assured his father, "I'm fine, father," though he appeared unwell.

Alexius made a decision, saying, "Come, I'll get your powders. Excuse me, friends, but we must continue this another time." He left the room with Felix, clearly prioritizing Felix’s health over the meeting with Astarion. Fiona and the guards followed after, leaving just Astarion and his group at the tavern. 

"That was quite the spectacle," Varric remarked.

Astarion responded, "Felix, his son, is seriously ill. I could smell it in him– but that's not why he collapsed. He slipped this note to me," Astarion explained, handing the note to Varric.

Bull gave Astarion a skeptical look and questioned, "Did you just say that you could smell the sickness  in him?"

Astarion backtracked, realizing his slip, "Yeah, I mean, haven’t you been around sick people before? They have a very distinct smell. It's not exactly pleasant. I’m surprised you didn’t notice it." 

Solas redirected the conversation, asking Varric, "What does the note say?"

Varric read aloud, "Come to the Chantry. You are in danger." He couldn't resist a sarcastic jab at Astarion, adding, “Wow, Fangs. You’ve really got a knack for making friends, don’t you?” 

Astarion smirked, "Well, this should be interesting. Let's head to the Chantry. Maybe we can kill something."

“Whatever happened to not ruining your clothes?” Solas asked, a small smile present on his face.

“I changed my mind. A little blood won’t hurt me,” Astarion replied. 

As they approached the Chantry in Redcliffe, they garnered mixed reactions and curious glances from Chantry members along the way. Given their diverse group of a qunari, a dwarf, and two elves (one of whom was a mage and the other the fabled Herald of Andraste), it wasn't surprising. They overheard whispers, rumors, and debates, some labeling Astarion as a demon, while others believed he was a slave freed by Andraste herself for the purpose of helping them. Astarion paid no mind to the chatter, leading them straight into the Chantry.

Upon entering, they were immediately thrust into battle. A sizable rift was within the Chantry, and a tan, mustached man was vigorously beating the ever-loving-shit out of a demon with a staff. "Good, you're finally here. Now help me close this, would you?" the man called out to Astarion.

Astarion responded with a grin, "How could I resist such fun ?" He charged into the fray with his daggers drawn. 

The rift displayed the same peculiar time fluctuations as before, with some areas moving fast and others slow. Nevertheless, the group, aided by their newfound sorcerer ally, managed to swiftly close it. Astarion placed his hand up to the rift one last time, a surge of green magic emanating from it, sealing the rift shut.

"Fascinating. How does that work, exactly?" the mustached mage asked. 

“I thought it was fairly obvious, but if I must explain– it’s magic,” Astarion replied sarcastically to the man. 

The mage chuckled, “You don’t even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers, and boom! Rift closes.” 

Solas interjected, "Who are you?"

Astarion assessed the man before him, carefully observing his appearance. It was evident that this individual enjoyed a life of privilege, a human likely in his thirties. His grooming was impeccable—hair elegantly swept up, and a perfectly curled mustache. Every detail of his appearance exuded meticulous care, and it seemed to be working quite well for him since the man possessed undeniable attractiveness. Astarion couldn't help but feel relieved that he was no longer in Cazador's employ, as this man epitomized the exact type of person Astarion hated having to bring to Cazador. 

"My apologies, I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?" Dorian introduced himself. 

Bull offered a teasing warning, "Watch yourself. The pretty ones are always the worst."

Astarion couldn't resist a playful jab, "If that were true, then why did you join me?"

Bull retorted, "It's because of you that I know it's true." 

Dorian glanced between Astarion and Bull, then commented, “I can understand all of the rumors surrounding the Inquisition now. You’re quite a suspicious bunch, aren’t you?”

Astarion continued to jest, "Yep, this room is full of nothing but suspicious characters. You should join us; you'd fit right in."

Dorian considered the offer, stating, "That's an offer I'd actually like to take up. Magister Alexius was once my mentor, so my assistance should be valuable, as you can imagine."

Solas asked, "Shouldn't Felix be here? We were expecting to meet him."

“I’m sure he’s on his way. He was to give you the note, then meet us here after ditching his father,” Dorian explained. 

Astarion leaned in with a sly grin, asking, "So, what's your real reason for wanting to join us? Besides my stunning looks and dashing personality, of course."

“Well, I’m sure you noticed that Alexius conveniently reached Redcliffe and took control of the mages just before you could– as if by magic, yes? That’s exactly right– to reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself," Dorian said. 

Astarion commented, with a hint of resignation, "He can manipulate time itself ? Well, why not? My life only seems to keep getting crazier. Let's add time magic on top of it."

Solas, his curiosity piqued, added, "That is fascinating, if true... and almost certainly dangerous."

"The rift you closed here—you saw how it twisted time around itself, sped some things up and slowed others down. Soon there will be more like it, and they'll appear further and further away from Redcliffe. The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable, and it's unraveling the world," Dorian ominously warned. 

Felix approached the group, having just entered the Chantry behind them. "My father's joined a cult. Tevinter supremacists. They call themselves 'Venatori.' And I can tell you one thing: Whatever he's done for them, he's done it to get to you," he said, addressing Astarion.

Astarion asked, puzzled, "Why would he rearrange time and indenture the mages just to get to me?"

Felix shook his head, uncertain, "They're obsessed with you, but I don't know why. There are many rumors surrounding you—perhaps it has to do with those?"

Dorian nodded in agreement, "He's right—you do have a lot of rumors about you. You can also close rifts. I can see the Venatori wanting to control you—whether you're a slave, a Herald, or a demon. Or maybe they just see you as a threat?"

“So all of this is really just for me ? And here I didn’t get Alexius anything,” Astarion said. 

Dorian suggested humorously, "Send him a fruit basket. Everyone loves those."

Felix emphasized, "If the Venatori are behind any of the rifts—or the breach—then they're worse than I thought. They—and my father—need to be stopped."

Dorian addressed Astarion, saying, "You know you're his target. Expecting the trap is the first step in turning it to your advantage. I can't stay in Redcliffe. Alexius doesn't know I'm here, and I want to keep it that way. But whenever you're ready to deal with him, I want to be there. So, I'd like to join you."

Astarion replied with a sly smile, "How could I say no to such an enticing person?"

Dorian accepted, saying, "Good. We should be headed out then—Alexius will get suspicious if Felix is missing for too long."

"We have a camp not too far from here. You can follow us there," Astarion proposed. 

Dorian added, "Perfect. Oh, and Felix? Try not to get yourself killed."

“There are worse things than death,” Felix responded. 

"That I can agree with," Astarion said, before leading the party out of the Chantry.

Astarion, Dorian, Bull, Varric, and Solas returned to their camp, a small area located just outside of Redcliffe Village. The camp consisted of some tents and a campfire in the center. Astarion had deliberately chosen the tent furthest from the others, with plans to sneak out and find himself a meal. This time, he had come prepared, with jars in his pack and a good supply of elfroot. The elfroot would prevent the blood from clotting in the jars, acting as an anticoagulant. He hadn't tested this method yet, but he had received the tip from Minaeve, the head creature researcher back in Haven, and had no reason to doubt her.

Astarion had also discovered that elfroot leaves had an addictive effect, especially on elves. Thus, it was likely that some of his companions suspected him of being addicted to elfroot, given how much he had been collecting lately. He wasn't even certain if vampires could become addicted to elfroot, but it was a risk he was willing to take in exchange for having a portable source of blood as he traveled.

That night, as Astarion was ‘preparing to sleep’, Dorian approached him outside of his tent. "Herald," Dorian began.

Astarion corrected him, "I'd prefer it if you called me Astarion, actually."

Dorian questioned, "You don't believe you're the Herald of Andraste?"

Astarion replied with a smirk, "Hardly. No God would want me to 'save the people,' 'do good,' and 'stop the evil breach.' Unless they were playing a practical joke on the world, anyways. But I doubt you came to chat about that. Is there something you wanted?"

Dorian studied Astarion, taking in every aspect of his appearance. There was no denying that Astarion was exceptionally attractive. It was easy to see why some might entertain the notion that he was a 'desire demon.' Dorian had encountered demons in his dreams before, and some of them had taken the form of elves bearing a striking resemblance to Astarion. However, deep down, Dorian couldn't help but acknowledge his own desire for a strong, well-built man to shower him with love and affection—an unattainable wish in Tevinter. Despite these fleeting thoughts, he believed Astarion's appearance could be entirely attributed to the influence of magic, rather than any demonic origin. He had known several households in Tevinter that altered their slaves' appearances to look attractive and powerful. 

Dorian pressed on, adding, "Well, I simply wished for a private conversation. I've heard rumors that you were once a slave in my homeland. There are also whispers suggesting you're a desire demon from the Fade, though, given the lack of any attempts to enter my body and possess me, I'm more inclined to believe the former—that you were a slave."

Astarion couldn't resist a flirtatious comeback, "Well, I can most certainly enter your body if that's what you're into," winking playfully.

Dorian looked slightly taken aback. “Wait, is that something you’re comfortable with? Well, not that I mean to pry into your past, but relationships between two men…?” he asked.

“Dorian, I was something of… well, a prostitute, for lack of a better word. I’ve had my fair share of experiences. Why in the hells would I care about your preferences?” Astarion responded. 

“You were a…? Oh. I’m sorry. My apologies if I crossed a line. Can we just start this conversation anew?” Dorian suggested.

“Just spit it out, Dorian,” Astarion said. 

“Right. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t uncomfortable with me being here. I know my countrymen can be quite… cruel to slaves, and I’m not like that. I wasn’t ever a part of that,” Dorian explained. 

“Have you possibly considered that I wouldn’t have invited you along, if I hadn’t wanted you here?” Astarion asked.

“Well, I don’t know. I just wanted to clear that up. I know some of your companions are wary of me,” Dorian said. 

Astarion laughed a little. “Well, some of my companions are still wary of me . I wouldn’t look into it that much,” he said. 

“Well… good. I look forward to fighting alongside you,” Dorian said. 

“Same. I’ll see you tomorrow, Dorian,” Astarion said, and watched as Dorian walked away. It was almost a little sad, but Dorian was the exact type of person that would be so easy to lure away. A bit of charm and attention, and Dorian would likely succumb to his advances. Astarion could sense that Dorian yearned for the touch and companionship of another man, which led him to contemplate the idea of getting closer to Dorian. If it took only a modicum of affection and intimacy to win him over, the temptation was undeniable. Dorian was undoubtedly a formidable sorcerer, and having such a powerful ally constantly by his side would be advantageous. If he were fortunate enough—assuming Dorian developed strong feelings for him—he might even manage to convince Dorian to let him feed off him, though he knew he was getting ahead of himself.

Astarion waited in his tent until well after dark when his companions were asleep before venturing out to hunt. He covered the bottoms of the jars in elfroot and stealthily slipped out of camp. H is hunt that night proved to be quite successful, as the nearby woods were teeming with bears. Although he sustained minor scratches in the struggle, he eventually managed to subdue one of the bears. The spoils more than compensated for the scratches, as he not only indulged in drinking directly from the bear's neck but also expertly sliced open its arm, allowing the blood to drip into his jars and fill them to the brim. The bear's ample blood supply more than satisfied his needs for the night.

Astarion felt genuine excitement as he witnessed the blood not clotting, thanks to the elfroot mixed in. Now, his sole concern was keeping this secret hidden from the companions who remained unaware of his blood-drinking habit. As long as they refrained from inspecting his tent, it should remain undetected. With utmost caution, Astarion stealthily returned to the camp, slipping into his tent unnoticed. He discreetly stashed the jars in the corner, ensuring they remained concealed from any curious onlookers unless they ventured directly inside the tent.

The next morning, they received word from Leliana’s ravens that they were to remain in Redcliffe; as Magister Alexius had issued a formal invitation to Astarion to meet at Redcliffe Castle. Everyone was aware that it was a trap, but Dorian proved to be invaluable, offering a way for Leliana's associates to infiltrate the castle and ambush Alexius. Alexius, of course, still had no idea that Astarion met Dorian, or that his own son was actively working against him. 

Over the next few days, the group aided Redcliffe with various activities as the Inquisition prepared to confront Magister Alexius once again. The plan for Redcliffe Castle was straightforward: Astarion would engage Alexius to distract him while the Inquisition struck at the opportune moment. However, Astarion harbored few hopes of things going according to plan, seeming as it never had in the past. 

When the time had come, Astarion visited Redcliffe Castle, accompanied by Cassandra and Bull. They were initially stopped at the gates by some guards, as Alexius insisted on meeting Astarion alone. Astarion refused, and after feigning departure, the guards called them back, allowing him to enter with his companions. Magister Alexius sat upon a throne, awaiting Astarion's arrival. The room was filled with Venatori guards, poised to attack. Alexius approached Astarion, pleased to see him. “My friend! It’s so good to see you again. I’m sure we can work out an arrangement that benefits all parties. The Inquisition requires mages to close the breach, and I have them. So, what will you offer in return?” Alexius inquired.

“Oh, nothing much. I was hoping you'd simply hand over the mages and call it a day. After all, I'd hate to soil my fingernails with your blood,” Astarion replied, casually examining his fingernails.

“ Excuse me? You're in a castle surrounded by Venatori. What makes you think you'd win?” Alexius challenged.

“What Venatori?” Astarion asked. At that moment, Leliana's spies emerged from the shadows, eliminating every Venatori in the room except for Alexius and Felix. 

“You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark– a gift you don’t even understand– and think you’re in control? You’re nothing but a mistake,” Alexius retorted, seemingly undeterred by the demise of his guards.

“What was the point of the breach, then? Clearly you’re responsible for that,” Astarion said. 

“It was to be a triumphant moment for the elder one. For this world!” Alexius proclaimed. 

Felix stepped forward, interjecting, “Father, listen to yourself. Do you know what you sound like?”

Dorian, appearing from the shadows, added, “He sounds like the villainous cliche everyone expects us to be.”

"Dorian, I offered you a chance to join us, and you declined," Alexius said, his gaze filled with resentment.

“Stop it, father. Give up the Venatori. Let the mages fight the breach, and let’s go home,” Felix urged. 

“No. It’s the only way, Felix. The Elder One can save you!” Alexius declared fervently.

"Save me? I'm already dying, Father. Just let me pass peacefully. I don't want this," Felix pleaded.

"There is a way, as promised by the Elder One. All I need to do is eliminate Astarion..." Alexius shifted his attention back to Astarion. From his pocket, Alexius retrieved an amulet, which began to emit sparks infused with the same eerie green energy found in fade rifts and emanating from Astarion's hand.

"NO!" Dorian cried out in alarm, recognizing the amulet's significance. He swiftly brandished his staff and attempted to cast a spell at Alexius to disrupt the magic, but his efforts were only partially successful. In an instant, a rift materialized right beside Astarion and Dorian, pulling them both into its depths before sealing shut behind them.

Notes:

My work schedule is changing-- so updates will be on Saturdays and Wednesdays now, instead of Sundays and Wednesdays.

Chapter 13: Astarion's (not-so)Great Time Traveling Adventure

Astarion and Dorian tumbled out of the rift, landing with an undignified splash in knee-deep water. Astarion, his annoyance evident, rose to his feet, shaking the water off his hands in disgust. He glanced around the room, only to discover that they were in a cell in a castle dungeon. 

"What in the hells just happened?" Astarion grumbled, his gaze darting around their eerie, watery surroundings. He quickly patted himself down to ensure all his belongings were intact before fixing a pointed look on Dorian. "Where are we, and what did you do?"

Dorian, equally bewildered but with a touch of excitement in his eyes, muttered to himself as he scanned the mysterious locale. “Displacement? Interesting,” he mused, his fingers dancing in the air as if tracing invisible threads of magic. "It's probably not what Alexius intended. The rift must have shifted us... but to where? Could it be the closest confluence of arcane energy?"

Astarion's patience waned. "Well, wherever this is, I have no intention of staying in this damp and wretched dungeon," he declared firmly.

Dorian's expression brightened with an epiphany. "Wait! I think we might still be within the castle's confines. Of course! It's not merely where the rift moved us; it's when! Alexius used the amulet as a temporal focus. It transported us through time!"

Astarion raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. " Time travel , you say? I can't say I've ever experienced that particular delight before. It certainly adds a new layer of intrigue to our adventure." 

Dorian nodded, his mind racing to unravel the mysteries of their predicament. "We'll need to determine precisely when we've arrived. Let's explore our surroundings, discern where the rift has taken us, and then, if possible, find a way back."

Astarion mulled it over. "So, if Alexius didn't intend to toss us into this time-traveling chaos, what exactly was he trying to achieve?"

“I believe his original plan was to remove you from time completely. If that happened, you could never have been at the Temple of Sacred Ashes or mangled with the Elder One’s plan. I think your surprise at the castle hall made him reckless. He tossed us into the rift before he was ready. I countered it, the magic went wild, and here we are. Make sense?” Dorian explained. 

Astarion smirked, his ego undamaged by their bizarre situation. "Well, that's his own fault. If he'd bothered to do his research, he'd know that I'm not so easily disposed of by a stray spell."

Dorian's expression turned solemn as he contemplated the ramifications of their journey. “I don’t even want to think about what that will do to the fabric of the world. We didn’t ‘travel’ through time so much as punch a hole through it and toss it straight into the privy,” he said, his voice filled with gravitas. Then, with a hint of reassurance, he added, “But don’t worry– I’m here. I’ll protect you.” 

Astarion's lips curled into a flirtatious smile as he leaned closer to Dorian. "Oh, Dorian," he purred, his voice oozing with seductive sarcasm, "how utterly delightful to have you as our fearless guardian amidst this tangled web of time."

Dorian cleared his throat, his cheeks still tinged with a faint blush from Astarion's flirtatious banter. “Shall we press on?” he asked. 

“Of course,” Astarion replied. He gestured towards the cell’s door with a dramatic flourish of his hand. 

Dorian made his way to the unlocked cell door and swung it open. They proceeded down a watery corridor and ascended a small staircase, emerging from the waterlogged lower dungeon. As they explored their immediate surroundings, they couldn't help but notice the peculiar sight of large, crimson crystals jutting out from the walls and floors. Some of these crystals had grown so large that they obstructed doorways, compelling the duo to seek alternative paths through the castle. The floors were covered in a thick layer of dirt, a testament to the castle’s apparent neglect.

After further exploration, Astarion and Dorian stumbled upon two guards stationed in a hallway. One was human, and the other was a halfling. As they approached the guards, Astarion felt an uncomfortable sensation as the tadpole in his head made contact with the individuals standing before them. 

“Ah, another true soul. What brings you to this part of the dungeon?” the human guard asked. “There’s nothing of interest down here, just a few prisoners. If you’re looking for something more exciting, you should pay a visit to General Thorm upstairs. The demon army will be here soon– I’m certain he will have something for you to do.” 

The halfling guard scrutinized Astarion for a moment, as if trying to recollect where he had seen him before. He probed at Astarion’s memories, employing the tadpole’s abilities, while Astarion attempted to shield himself from the mental assault. Regrettably, his efforts were in vain. 

“Wait a minute, this is–” the halfling guard began but was suddenly gripped by violent gasping and choking. The human guard followed suit, both of them screaming in unbearable agony. Dorian and Astarion stood in shock as tentacles erupted from the guards’ mouths, their skin turning gray, and blood spurting from every orifice. The tentacles continued to force their way out, and in a horrifying instant, the transformation was complete– leaving two newborn mind flayers standing before them. 

Astarion recognized the grave danger they faced and acted swiftly. In one deft motion, he thrust his blad into the neck of one of the newly transformed mind flayers before spinning around and driving his weapon directly into the gut of the other. He toppled one to the ground and relentlessly delivered a series of lethal stabs to its head. Astarion rose to his feet, wiping the blood from his face with his forearm before turning his gaze toward Dorian.

Dorian had approached the remaining mind flayer and conjured a fire spell that engulfed the creature in flames. The air was filled with the acrid scent of burning flesh as the once-human guard was consumed by the inferno. " Vishante Kaffas ! What in the world just happened here?" Dorian exclaimed, his face a tableau of sheer horror and astonishment at the nightmarish scene they had just witnessed.

"Mind flayers," Astarion explained with a grave tone, the memory of the horrific transformation still fresh in his mind. "They host a parasitic creature in their brains that violently mutates them into those abominations we just saw. They're quite dangerous, so we must exercise caution in our interactions from this point forward."

Dorian's face remained a mixture of horror and concern as he probed further. "I saw your reaction to them before they… transformed . You seemed unwell, as if afflicted by a severe headache. Are you carrying one of those parasites?"

Astarion raised his hand, his unease palpable. "Yes, I am host to one, but fear not—I am on your side. This mark," he said, displaying it, "seems to be preventing the transformation, at least according to Solas. For now, our priority is to escape this place. I find it most unsettling."

"Agreed," Dorian concurred. "We must make our way out of here as fast as possible. However, I have a multitude of questions waiting for you once we are free from this wretched place."

With that resolution, the two of them ventured down the corridor, nearly passing by Varric unnoticed. Astarion did a double-take before approaching Varric, who was locked within a cell and appeared unwell, with a hint of vibrant red in his eyes.

"Andraste's sacred knickers, you're alive?" Varric exclaimed, disbelief etched across his face. "Where have you been? How did you escape?" he asked, approaching the cell's bars.

"We didn't escape. Alexius sent us into the future," Dorian clarified.

“...Everything that happens to you is weird,” Varric said to Astarion. 

"Believe me, I'm well aware," Astarion replied. Concern painted his features as he observed Varric's condition. "You don't seem well, Varric. There's something in your blood– I can smell it even from here. What happened?"

“Bite your tongue. I look damn good for a dead man,” Varric said, faking offense. 

Dorian interjected with a glimmer of hope, “If we get to Alexius, I might be able to reverse all of this. I might be able to send us back to our own time, stopping this future from ever happening. Simple, really.”

Varric's expression darkened as he revealed more about their current predicament. "It may not be as straightforward as you think. Alexius is but a pawn. His 'Elder One' assassinated the empress, led a demonic invasion of the south, and allied with a figure named 'Ketheric Thorm,' who's recruiting people here and indoctrinating them into worshiping a deity called 'the Absolute,' for reasons unknown. They have control over nearly everything," Varric cautioned. "Alexius is not your primary concern."

Astarion chimed in resolutely, "Nevertheless, we must find a way to change this grim future. We need to return to our own time."

"I'm pretty sure you're both insane, but if taking on Alexius is the plan, count me in," Varric agreed.

Astarion deftly picked the lock of Varric's cell, freeing him. The trio continued their exploration, searching for more companions. In their conversations, Astarion also learned that they had been transported one year into the future, a daunting revelation. With only a year until this bleak reality became a certainty, they had much work ahead to avert this catastrophic future.

Their journey led them to the Iron Bull, who appeared to have suffered a similar fate as Varric—poisoned by the red crystals throughout the castle and confined within a cell. Bull, seemingly encased by boredom, was chanting, "Three hundred bottles of beer on the wall, three hundred bottles of beer. Take one down, pass it around..."

As Astarion approached the cell, Bull turned to face them. “You’re not dead? You’re supposed to be dead. There was a burn on the ground and everything,” he stated matter-of-factly. 

“Alexius didn’t kill us. His spell sent us through time. This is our future,” Dorian explained. 

Bull countered, “Well it’s my present. And in my past, I definitely saw you die.” 

Astarion retorted, "I'm no more dead than you."

“Ugh. Now dead and not dead are up for debate. That’s wonderful,” Bull said, groaning. 

Dorian, growing impatient, concluded, “This conversation has taken a turn for the moronic. Just come with us. We’re going to fight Alexius.”

“Let’s move. No time like the present,” Bull said, as Astarion freed him from the cell. 

The party stumbled upon the torture chambers soon after. Astarion approached a closed door, and behind it, he could hear the harrowing sounds of someone being subjected to brutal torment—Leliana. Despite the excruciating pain she endured, Leliana adamantly refused to answer her torturer's relentless inquiries, all of which revolved around Astarion. They demanded to know how Astarion had managed to be present at the temple, steal the mark, and escape unscathed. However, even Astarion himself didn't possess the answers they sought. The tortured cries on his behalf were unbearable, compelling Astarion to burst into the room.

Leliana hung suspended from her arms, bound by chains that dangled from the ceiling. The moment she spotted Astarion, she used her legs to constrict her torturer's neck, swiftly snapping it and causing the tormentor to crumple to the floor. "You're alive!" she exclaimed.

Astarion, appreciative of her resourcefulness, nodded in response. "That was quite impressive," he complimented.

"Anger is a powerful force, stronger than any pain. Do you have weapons?" Leliana inquired.

"Always," Astarion affirmed, approaching her and promptly setting her free.

"Good. The magister is likely in his chambers. We should take caution to avoid Ketheric," she advised.

Dorian, curious about their situation, couldn't help but ask, "Aren't you at least curious about how we ended up here?"

Leliana's tone remained stern as she replied, "No."

"Alexius sent us into the future. None of this was meant to happen. We need to undo his spell. If we can return to our own time, we can prevent this future from ever occurring," Dorian explained, despite Leliana's lack of interest.

Leliana's anger flared. “And mages always wonder why people fear them… no one should have this power. This is all pretend to you– some future you hope will never exist. I suffered. The whole world suffered. It was real .”

Dorian pressed on, wanting information. “So what happened while we were away?” 

Leliana cut him off with a firm command: "Stop talking."

“I’m just asking for information,” Dorian said defensively. 

“No. You’re talking to fill the silence. Nothing happened that you want to hear,” Leliana declared, shutting down any further discussion.

"Very well," Dorian acquiesced. "Let's proceed and find Alexius. I imagine he'll be in the more luxurious part of the castle, if such a place exists," he remarked, signaling their readiness to move forward. Astarion led the way out of the room, the rest of the group following closely behind.

Their quest for Alexius demanded extensive exploration, consuming valuable time before they finally encountered him. The magister was situated within the grand throne room, but he was not alone. A heavily armored man occupied the throne itself, while Alexius stood nearby. Astarion deduced that the man must be Ketheric Thorm, the enigmatic figure his companions had so vehemently warned him about.

Ketheric remained seated on the throne, his gaze fixed upon Astarion. "You're too late. You've sown chaos wherever you tread, yet your arrival is too belated to halt anything. Nevertheless, Corypheus requires that mark of yours," Ketheric addressed Astarion.

Bull, unable to contain his fury, dashed towards Ketheric, thrusting his weapon into his neck. To their astonishment, Ketheric merely sighed and pulled the weapon away from him. "That won't suffice, and I have more pressing matters to attend to. You’re meaningless to me. Alexius, kill Astarion and his companions swiftly. Failure to do so will seal your son's fate," Ketheric ordered, rising from his throne. 

Astarion watched in disbelief as the immortal man departed from the throne room, leaving them alone with Alexius. Without hesitation, Alexius launched an attack and conjured a rift into the Fade, summoning demons to assail Astarion and his party. Astarion swiftly dispatched the demons and sealed the rift. However, Alexius promptly reopened another. It was a relentless battle, marked by Alexius' persistence in reopening rifts and summoning demons.

Despite the challenges, the group eventually triumphed, and Alexius lay lifeless on the ground. Dorian approached the body and retrieved the amulet Alexius had used to create the rifts—the same amulet that had transported Dorian and Astarion through time.

“This is the same amulet he used before. I think it’s the same one we made in Minrathous. That’s a relief. Give me an hour to work out the spell he used, and I should be able to reopen the rift,” Dorian explained while examining the necklace closely. 

"An hour? That's impossible! You must depart immediately," Leliana insisted.

The ground suddenly trembled beneath them, and chunks of stone from the ceiling plummeted to the floor, a consequence of the violent shaking. "The Elder One. Corypheus. His army is here," Leliana stated.

Bull stepped forward, determined. "We'll go on ahead and eliminate as many of them as possible."

"Astarion, Dorian, you must leave. Our only chance at survival lies in preventing this day from ever occurring. Cast your spell. You have as much time as I have arrows," Leliana declared before heading towards the grand castle doors with Bull and Varric.

Dorian immediately set to work on the amulet, painstakingly deciphering the intricate spell required to transport them back to their own time. Meanwhile, an onslaught of demons surged into the throne room, accompanied by an even more unsettling presence—mind flayers.

" Fuck . Dorian, we need that spell now ," Astarion urged, his eyes fixed on the overwhelming army that confronted them.

Leliana, Bull, and Varric fought valiantly, striving to hold back the relentless tide of foes, but the odds were insurmountable. It became apparent that continuing to stave off the enemy would only result in their own demise. Astarion watched in horror as his companions, one by one, met their tragic end, their anguished cries echoing through the throne room as enemy weapons pierced their bodies.

"You move, and we all die!" Dorian shouted at Astarion, a stark reminder to remain still. With immense effort, Dorian finally succeeded in opening a rift beside them using the amulet.

Just as Astarion and Dorian were about to leap through the portal to safety, a haunting voice, one Astarion had hoped never to hear again, pierced the chaos. It sent a paralyzing fear through him, sending a chill down his spine.

"Oh, my prodigal son. You didn't truly believe you could escape, did you?" Cazador's voice reverberated through the room as he approached Astarion and Dorian from the shadows.

"No. It...can't be," Astarion said, his voice shaky as terror gripped his heart. 

Dorian observed Astarion's terror, and although he didn't fully grasp the history between Astarion and Cazador, he understood the urgency. "Astarion, we have to go!" he shouted, attempting to drag Astarion through the rift. However, his efforts proved futile.

With a mere raise of his staff, Cazador ensnared Astarion in a potent red magic, rendering him immobile. "It's a pity, Astarion, that you amounted to so little . You seem to have forgotten— you're MINE and will ALWAYS be mine ," Cazador declared, slowly advancing towards Astarion.

Dorian felt conflicted, torn between his desire to escape through the rift and his determination to rescue Astarion. Astarion was the one capable of closing the rifts and altering their circumstances, but Cazador, an apparent formidable mage versed in obvious blood magic, had ensnared Astarion in an unknown spell. Furthermore, the demon horde was closing in. "Stay away from him!" Dorian shouted, focusing his magical energy on protecting Astarion. However, his efforts seemed futile as Cazador remained unaffected.

Astarion struggled desperately against Cazador's magical grip, but he found himself powerless against the overwhelming force. He cried out in despair, the trauma, fear, and anguish crashing down upon him as he faced the horrifying prospect of falling back under Cazador's control. The pain and terror he had tried to escape returned with devastating force, and he frantically sought a way out of this nightmarish situation.

Cazador regarded Dorian with disappointment, his voice carrying a tinge of bitterness. "It's a shame you killed Alexius—he was working on crafting a rift that could return me and Astarion home. It appears you're well-versed in the amulet's properties, though. You'll serve as his replacement," Cazador declared, his gaze unwavering.

Dorian vehemently shook his head. "I think not . Release Astarion. I'm warning you!" he retorted, his tone laced with a veiled threat.

Cazador responded with a mocking laugh. "Do you believe you can intimidate me? You have no choice in the matter," he scoffed, advancing towards Dorian.

Dorian took a few cautious steps backward, aware that he couldn't retreat too far with the demon army closing in. The horde had momentarily halted, perhaps in deference to Cazador, who may have held a position of authority among them. Regardless, Dorian knew that venturing too close to the demons would likely result in his death.

In a swift and brutal maneuver, Cazador lunged at Dorian, wresting the mage's staff from his grasp and sinking his teeth deep into Dorian's neck.

"Dorian! NO! " Astarion's anguished cry pierced the air as he witnessed Cazador's attack on his friend. However, Astarion soon realized that Cazador's hold on him had loosened, and he summoned all his strength to break free from the magical bonds that had restrained him. Knowing he couldn't rescue Dorian without causing his friend's demise, Astarion opted for the only alternative he could think of in the moment—shoving all three of them through the rift, propelling them back to the present.

Chapter 14: Cazador Learns to Caza-Don't Mess With Astarion's Friends

Notes:

Extra long chapter this time. Enjoy ;)

The rift's violent upheaval forcibly separated Cazador from Dorian, much to Astarion's immense relief. As they were hurled into the present, their bodies crashed unceremoniously onto the unyielding stone floor. Just before they crashed, the onlookers, including Alexius, Felix, Bull, Varric, and several of Leliana's Inquisition spies, very briefly bore witness to the harrowing sight of Cazador biting into Dorian. Their collective reaction was a tableau of profound shock and horror, a response to the unexpected and gruesome scene that unfolded before them. None of them recognized Cazador, and none had anticipated his sudden appearance.

Tragically, despite Cazador being forcefully dislodged from Dorian, Dorian's condition remained perilous. He lay crumpled and unconscious on the floor, his heart racing wildly within his chest. His complexion had turned a ghostly pallor, his skin was clammy, and even in his unconscious state, his breathing came in rapid, shallow gasps. Astarion, though not needing his vampiric senses to discern the gravity of the situation, knew that Dorian had lost an alarming amount of blood. The dire reality was that Dorian teetered on the precipice of death as his vital organs struggled to contend with the rapid blood loss. 

Astarion knelt down by Dorian's side, while Cazador stood across from them. "Damn it, Dorian, hold on. Don't die!" he pleaded, gently shaking Dorian. He then directed his furious gaze at Cazador. " I'll fucking kill you! " Astarion growled, springing to his feet and charging toward Cazador, knife at the ready. With the present moment offering the sanctuary of allies and a respite from the looming threats of demons and mind flayers, Astarion believed his odds were marginally improved.

Unfortunately, before Astarion's blade could breach Cazador's defenses, a swirling maelstrom of crimson magic enveloped Astarion's wrist, keeping him immobilized. Adding to the frustration, Cazador remained unperturbed as the knife drew close. Astarion strained against the magical restraint, but it resisted his every effort. Concealed beneath his shirt, the ritualistic scarring on his back faintly glowed.

"No, you won't. You can never harm me. Allow me to remind you of that ," Cazador said. A subtle crimson radiance engulfed Astarion as Cazador reasserted his will- his dominance- back over Astarion.

Suddenly, the significance of all that had transpired seemed trivial compared to the dread of once again falling under Cazador's control. Memories of centuries of torment and abuse resurfaced as Cazador's influence overtook Astarion. His mind became consumed by thoughts of Cazador, compelling him to surrender completely and yield to Cazador's every whim. Astarion fought desperately to construct mental barriers, but it proved futile against the overwhelming assault.

The tadpole in his mind writhed with a deep intensity as it also attempted to resist Cazador's mental manipulation. Regrettably, the green, enigmatic magic in Astarion's hand also reacted to the tadpole, quelling its resistance to Cazador's control. It appeared that the mark's ability to subdue the tadpole now worked against Astarion, preventing the tadpole from resisting against Cazador. Astarion found himself nearly wishing for the fate of becoming a mind flayer rather than enduring the renewed tyranny of Cazador's dominion.

However, the room was not devoid of witnesses to the unfolding turmoil. A single glance at Cazador, and the horrifying fate he had inflicted upon Dorian, along with his sinister designs on Astarion, left everyone in no doubt that Cazador was truly one evil motherfucker. Just before Cazador could assert complete control over Astarion, the Iron Bull stepped boldly forward, wielding his greataxe like a harbinger of defiance. With a mighty swing, he aimed for Cazador, disrupting the spell over Astarion.

Cazador managed to narrowly evade Bull's swing, and though it momentarily distracted him from his mental assault, it was too late. Astarion's resolve crumbled as the tadpole failed to shield him from his master's grasp. Slowly, Astarion backed away from Cazador, his eyes ablaze with crimson, as he regarded his companions. Cazador issued a chilling command, now that Astarion was once again under his dominion: "Eliminate your friends, then return to me."

Iron Bull watched as Astarion's expression shifted and muttered, " Shit. "

"Okay, everyone, it's high time we put an end to this monster," Varric proclaimed, a wry smile tugging at his lips as he aimed his crossbow squarely at Cazador.

Astarion, unable to resist Cazador's direct command, charged toward Bull. Despite his inability to thwart Cazador's influence completely, he intentionally chose to target Bull first, sparing Varric and the others. Bull, known as the group's heavy-hitter, would be better equipped to fend off Astarion than Varric. However, this meant that Bull would be occupied with defending against Astarion rather than assaulting Cazador.

Varric attempted to battle Cazador, firing crossbow bolts from a safe distance. He wasn't alone in this endeavor; all of Leliana's spies in the room also directed their efforts against Cazador. Some rushed towards the menacing figure, while others opted to pelt him with ranged attacks. Unfortunately, their strikes seemed to have minimal effect, as Cazador displayed rapid regeneration in response to the damage inflicted.

"Well, Fangs, a little heads-up about your old boss would've been nice," Varric remarked, though he knew Astarion wouldn't respond.

As for Alexius (and Felix), they remained oblivious to Cazador's identity in the present time. While Alexius had served under Corypheus in a misguided attempt to save Felix, the Cazador of their current era had not yet arrived in Thedas to cross paths with Alexius. Consequently, Cazador was perceived as a hostile figure by Alexius as well, given the harm he had inflicted on Dorian. Despite recent disagreements with Dorian, Alexius had never wished for Dorian's demise at the hands of a stranger. Alexius was uncertain about the nature of Dorian's affliction, induced by Cazador's bite. Whether it was poison or some other malevolent force, he knew he had to act swiftly to aid Dorian's survival.

Fortunately, Alexius, being a Tevinter mage, possessed knowledge of a few healing spells. While Bull grappled with Astarion and the others confronted Cazador, Alexius knelt beside Dorian, invoking a healing spell in an attempt to alleviate his dire condition. Dorian's state showed some slight improvement, though he remained in a perilous state of decline.

Felix joined him at Dorian's side, gently cradling Dorian's head. "Dorian, please , stay with us," he pleaded. Observing that his father's magical intervention fell short of the desired effect, Felix reached into his pack and retrieved a healing potion. He carefully administered it to Dorian, who managed to drink it. Thankfully, Dorian's condition took a turn for the better this time, with his breathing steadying and his heart rate gradually normalizing. The pair continued their efforts, casting spells to further aid Dorian's recovery.

Amidst the ongoing chaos, Bull grappled fiercely with Astarion, attempting to wrestle him to the ground. Meanwhile, others in the room engaged in the battle against Cazador. The sounds of combat drew those who had been waiting outside the room to enter, including Cassandra, Leliana, Solas, and several other Inquisition members.

Cassandra, entering the fray, observed the Inquisition attacking an unmistakably malevolent mage at the room's rear. She witnessed Astarion assaulting Bull with ferocity and Tevinter mages tending to Dorian. "What in the Maker's name is happening here?" she demanded, charging into the battle with her sword and shield.

"It's about damned time you joined the party! We're trying to take down this evil guy," Bull replied, grunting in pain as Astarion managed to land a deep knife wound in his side, causing profuse bleeding. The injury would certainly sting later and require some stitches. It wasn't the only such wound, as Astarion displayed impressive skill in causing harm while still showing restraint by not killing Bull.

"Come on, Astarion, fight it. I know you've got it in you. Shake off that control," Bull urged, shoving Astarion away. Bull couldn't help but notice that Astarion still retained some semblance of his true self. Unlike Astarion's usual elusive and stealthy approach in battle, he now confronted Bull directly, opting for a straightforward assault. This choice made Astarion easier to fend off, and it was one that he was certain Astarion had intentionally made. 

Solas, foregoing words, dived headlong into the battle, casting protective barriers over several companions and launching basic spells at Cazador. His curiosity about the unfolding events remained unquenched for the moment, as the priority was fighting Cazador and dealing with Astarion under Cazador's control.

Cassandra approached Cazador, swinging her sword and making contact, though her success was short-lived. A surge of lightning coursed through her and several others nearby, momentarily causing her to stumble before she regained her composure. Solas's protective barrier spared her from more grievous harm. Cassandra saw that Cazador was a vampire and a mage, but his combat abilities bordered on godlike. Several Inquisition spies had already fallen victim to his relentless onslaught, and it seemed that any damage inflicted upon him resulted in rapid regeneration.

Finally, Bull managed to seize both of Astarion's arms, wrenching them behind his back and causing Astarion to drop his weapons. Bull exerted pressure on Astarion's wrist, cutting off circulation and forcing him to the ground. Bull then straddled Astarion's legs, using his weight to pin Astarion down with his chest pressed against the floor. Astarion squirmed and bared his fangs, but Bull's overpowering grip rendered him immobile.

Leaning close to Astarion, Bull whispered in his ear, "Stay down, Astarion. Fight this . I know you can. Forget about trying to kill me and focus on breaking free from his control."

Despite his best efforts, Astarion couldn't shake off Cazador's influence. It seemed his body refused to cooperate, and he continued to struggle beneath Bull's hold. " Sunlight ," Astarion managed to mutter, the word barely audible.

"Sunlight? What do you mean?" Bull asked aloud, puzzled by Astarion's cryptic remark.

Solas, having overheard their conversation, interjected, "He means we need sunlight. He's mentioned it before—sunlight is a vampire's weakness. We require sunlight to defeat this being," he shouted, trying to make himself heard over the din of battle.

"Well, that's fantastic, Solas, but last I checked, it's nighttime, " Bull responded sardonically, maintaining his hold on Astarion.

"Not for me, it isn't," a voice declared. Bull momentarily glanced up to identify the source—it was Alexius, standing beside an awakened Dorian, who leaned against Felix. Raising his staff, Alexius cast a spell that flooded the room with blinding light, causing Bull to wince. The spell was so intense that even Astarion cried out in pain as the light seared his skin. Bull, witnessing Astarion's agony, leaned over him, shielding as much of his body as possible from the harsh radiance.

In an instant, the blinding flash caused Cazador to disintegrate into mist that swiftly dissipated. To bystanders, it appeared as if Cazador might have met his demise, though Astarion understood that Cazador had merely withdrawn for the time being. Alexius ceased the spell and looked utterly drained. Casting such a potent incantation had consumed a significant amount of his mana, but it seemed the sacrifice was worthwhile. Alexius hadn't anticipated an alliance with the Inquisition, even if it was temporary, but the unfolding events hinted at a more complex and enigmatic reality than what Corypheus had led him to believe.

Dorian, maintaining his stance but relying on Felix for support, took a sweeping glance across the room. "Well, that was absolutely... exhilarating , I must say. It would have been rather nice to be informed that Astarion's master has an affinity for sinking his teeth into people , though," he commented, a touch of exasperation coloring his voice.

Bull, still pinning Astarion to the ground, observed him closely. "Astarion? You back with us?" he asked cautiously.

"I—I'm all right. He's gone. For now," Astarion replied, his voice trembling. As soon as Cazador had vanished, he felt a resurgence of control, akin to how it had been before their time-travel ordeal. Wherever Cazador had retreated to, it seemed distant enough that Astarion no longer posed a threat to his friends. Astarion's eyes glistened, as if tears were about to fall. His distress was understandable. Cazador's return to dominance despite the presence of the tadpole in his head had shaken him to the core. He had been powerless to resist Cazador's orders, despite his determined efforts.

Furthermore, the realization that the Cazador they encountered hailed from the future meant that a 'present' day Cazador still existed. Not only could Cazador exert control over him, but now two iterations of his malevolent vampiric master existed at the same point in time. Astarion could only hope that the two Cazadors would become adversaries, rather than allies, though he knew it might be too much to wish for. And that was not to mention the nightmarish future they had glimpsed and would need to prevent.

"For the love of Andraste, what happened ?" demanded Cassandra, seeking answers.

Dorian stepped in to provide an explanation. "Alexius attacked us and sent Astarion and me hurtling into the future. Specifically, a year ahead. We encountered a demon army, abundant red lyrium, bizarre tentacled creatures Astarion referred to as 'Mind Flayers,' and, well, him," he stated, gesturing toward the spot where Cazador had stood. "Although I should probably be thankful that Alexius was here; otherwise, I'd likely be dead."

Many in the room, including Alexius and Cassandra, regarded Dorian with curiosity.

"Time travel? You mean it actually worked ?" Alexius asked, a hint of excitement in his voice.

Astarion lifted his head, an irritated expression on his face. "Yes, it worked, but let's not forget that you tried to kill me. We also had to kill you in the future, which wasn’t fun."

"I also just saved everyone here. Doesn't that count for something?" Alexius retorted.

Cassandra, visibly frustrated, acknowledged, "Very well. Dorian, you can provide more details on our way back to Haven. Alexius, you'll be taken as a prisoner to Haven until we have the full story. This entire affair seemed designed to eliminate Astarion, so you’ll have to forgive me when I say that I don't trust you."

Alexius appeared offended but acquiesced. “Fine. But I expect to hear the full details about what happened, too. Especially the details about who that evil elf mage was. About what he was.”

"Well, this has been quite the adventure, but could you kindly get off me, Bull? You're crushing me here, and I have no desire to be squashed into a pulp today," Astarion quipped. He remained pinned on the ground, with his hands bound behind his back, and Bull's full weight pressing down on him—a decidedly uncomfortable predicament. Not to mention that Bull had sustained several bleeding wounds, some of which were dripping onto him, stirring his vampiric hunger.

"Oh, no . I'm not releasing you until I'm certain you're no threat to everyone. You did just try to kill me. You're going to be tied up until I'm sure you're harmless," Bull stated firmly.

" What ? Come on, I'm no more dangerous than I was before!" Astarion protested.

"No, we have no way of knowing if you're still under his control. The last thing he ordered you to do was to kill us. You could be pretending until the right moment comes along," Bull pointed out.

"He's gone now. I can feel it," Astarion assured. He flashed Bull a grin, trying to convince him to let go, but the smile unintentionally revealed his very sharp fangs- which wasn't helping his case.

"I'm not letting you go until you explain everything and I know you won't try to kill us in the middle of the night. I see those fangs of yours, and I noticed how you reacted to the sunlight—you're clearly of the same ilk as your master. I'm keeping you restrained until I get the whole story," Bull insisted, glancing around the room. "Can someone bring me some rope or, better yet, chains?" he requested.

A minute later, chains were brought in, one set for Alexius and another for Astarion. Cassandra secured Alexius's arms, while Bull shackled Astarion's arms behind his back and bound his legs together.

Though Astarion felt somewhat irritated by his captivity and the inability to move freely, he couldn't help but feel relieved that none of his friends, including Dorian, had perished. He recognized that Cazador had aimed to transform Dorian into a vampire spawn, a fate Astarion wouldn't wish on anyone. At least, not on anyone lacking the tadpole's semi-protective influence. While it was clear that the tadpole had limitations regarding how much it could safeguard Astarion, he still found solace in the ability to bask in the sunlight. Alexius's spell had been painful, but Astarion saw a distinction between walking under the sun's gentle rays on a typical day and enduring a spell involving concentrated sunlight. The tadpole had its limits, it seemed.

Moreover, Astarion understood the rationale behind his confinement. The prospect of Cazador's return, regaining full control over him, and losing his autonomy once more filled him with dread. The fear and horror of surrendering his bodily agency resurfaced, leaving Astarion uncertain about how to protect himself from that fate, if such protection even existed.

Once Alexius and Astarion were securely restrained, Bull hoisted Astarion into his arms in a bridal-style carry. They began their exit from Redcliffe Castle, heading back to their camp located just outside the fortress walls. However, this proximity meant Astarion's face was dangerously close to one of Bull's still-bleeding wounds on his shoulder. Astarion struggled internally, fighting the urge to lick the wound. Such an act would be highly socially inappropriate, especially considering Bull's current wariness toward him, but the tantalizing sight of fresh blood proved irresistible. Yielding to temptation, Astarion surreptitiously ran his tongue over Bull's open wound, savoring the taste of blood on his tongue. It was a small reward for allowing Bull to keep him bound.

Bull felt the unexpected sensation of Astarion's tongue on his wound and glanced down, issuing a stern command, "Stop that." 

Astarion audibly sighed but complied with Bull's request. “What a waste,” he remarked. 

Cassandra followed closely behind, leading Alexius with her. Dorian and Felix trailed along, making their way back to the camp as well. Leliana stayed behind, coordinating efforts to ensure the incident remained a well-guarded secret. Despite the harrowing events, if word got out about the Inquisition's involvement and Astarion's true nature, it could spell trouble for the organization.

Upon returning to the camp, Bull gently placed Astarion on the ground in front of the campfire. Cassandra kept Alexius's arms chained, though she no longer held onto them tightly, as it seemed Alexius was willing to cooperate. While she had confiscated his staff and restrained him, he showed little inclination to resist or escape, consumed as he was by curiosity about recent events. She settled Alexius down on the ground near Astarion. The group decided to take a brief respite, focusing on tending to their wounds, including Bull's, before commencing the interrogation of Astarion, Alexius, and Dorian.

During this interlude, Dorian approached Astarion, appearing solemn yet more lively than one would expect after nearly falling victim to a vampire's predation. "You could have abandoned me there," he began, his voice tinged with gratitude. "The rift was open, and you could have just jumped through, leaving me to perish. It might have been the smarter choice, given that your master wouldn’t follow. But you didn't, and I appreciate that. Truly."

Astarion replied with a touch of nonchalance, a sardonic smile gracing his lips, "No need to get all sentimental on me. I owed you one, after all. Without your timely intervention, I'd probably still be in his clutches. Let's just call it even, shall we?"

Dorian settled beside Astarion, his tone tinged with a blend of exasperation and humor, "You know, we could have had this heart-to-heart about your true nature before things spiraled into this mess."

Astarion's voice held a hint of aloofness as he remarked, "Well, I certainly didn't anticipate being thrust into the worst possible future. Next time maybe you should warn me before we time travel," he said, his shoulders lifting in a casual shrug.

As Cassandra, accompanied by the other companions, approached the group, she declared, "It's time for explanations. What exactly happened in the future?"

Bull interjected, his tone laced with harshness, "No, first things first. What the fuck are you , Astarion? You're no demon, but you're unlike any creature I've encountered."

Astarion recoiled slightly, sensing the hostility in Bull's voice, but answered truthfully, "I happen to be a vampire spawn, created by Cazador himself, about two centuries ago. He did it to make me his subservient slave, completely under his command. Vampires wield absolute authority over their spawns, leaving me no choice but to obey. Any resistance on my part would result in unbearable agony. I mistakenly believed I'd gained my freedom when I acquired this mark, but as it turns out, I was quite mistaken. It seems that he still can control me when we are face-to-face."

Dorian pondered the revelation, his voice laced with scholarly curiosity, "You know, I believe I've come across vampires in Tevinter lore. There's a tale of a blood mage attempting to craft a new, obedient undead being through rather questionable blood magic, only to end up being drained of blood by that very creation. It goes by the name 'vampyr,' if my memory serves me right. I stumbled upon it in an ancient tome some time ago, though it slipped my mind until now. This certainly sheds light on Cazador's rather insistent bloodsucking tendencies."

Astarion nodded, adding, “While I don’t know about that story, he most certainly was going to drain you. He intended to turn you into a vampire spawn, like me. All he needed was to drink your blood, bury you, and wait for you to rise again as an eternal, immortal slave." 

Dorian shivered at the thought. Bull leveled a scrutinizing gaze at Astarion, raising an eyebrow, "Can you do that? Turn others into your vampire spawn?"

Astarion shook his head, clarifying, "No, that's a power reserved for true vampires like Cazador. I could only do it if I drank some of Cazador's blood, but I can assure you he's not the sharing type."

Bull pressed further, "But you do drink blood. That's how the guy from the bar died, right? You drained him, and Leliana covered it up. How often do you need blood?"

Astarion disclosed with a languid drawl, "I like to have a sip every few days, give or take. But if you ask me what I fancy, I go hunting for animals most nights. That usually keeps me well-fed and satisfied."

Bull probed, "And what happens if you don't get blood?"

Astarion admitted, "I get hungry, and it affects my combat abilities, health, and stability. If I go too long without blood, I become obsessed with it and will attack the first living thing with it. But I assure you, none of us want to see me reduced to that point, and there's no reason for it. There are plenty of animals around."

Cassandra arched an eyebrow as Astarion spoke, her tone pointed, "And yet, you continue to indulge in biting people. First Varric, and now that man from the bar."

Astarion's reply carried a nonchalant air, coupled with a sly smirk. "Well, I've explained this before. Varric received a nibble because I needed to be certain I'd truly escaped Cazador's grasp. You see, Cazador had sternly prohibited me from sinking my fangs into anyone, so being able to do so was a sign of my newfound freedom. As for the chap at the tavern... well, let's just say he was practically begging for a bite," Astarion elucidated.

Dorian, his interest piqued by the discussion, added with a hint of intrigue, "So you're a reanimated bloodsucker? I must say, I wouldn't have guessed. You do have quite the attractive visage for someone who's risen from the dead."

Astarion responded with a touch of vanity, "Well, of course. Just because I'm dead doesn't mean I don’t have standards."

Cassandra persisted, "Now, about the future..."

This time, it was Dorian who took the lead in explaining, his tone more scholarly, "The amulet thrust us a year into the future, and let me tell you, it was a nightmarish year. However, we can use this newfound knowledge to prevent that future from ever occurring. From what we gathered, Corypheus was originally meant to possess the mark, but somehow, Astarion acquired it instead. Corypheus had an army of demons, including a formidable dragon. Another individual, Ketheric Thorm, played a significant role, and we were repeatedly warned about him. Thorm is immortal; we witnessed him casually removing Bull's axe from his own body. Fortunately, he didn't confront us directly, or things would have been much worse."

Astarion chimed in, "Ketheric Thorm also appeared to have started a 'Cult of the Absolute.' He was manipulating people, some of whom transformed into Mind Flayers, though I'm not entirely sure why. My guess is he might be infecting them with tadpoles, turning them into Mind Flayers."

Cassandra sought clarification, "Mind Flayers? What are those?"

Astarion provided a chilling description, "They're grotesque, pink creatures with tentacles covering their mouths. They feed on brains and pose a significant threat. They operate as part of a hive mind, controlled by a greater intelligence. Mind Flayers emerge when someone is infected with their 'tadpoles,' worm-like parasites that infiltrate the host's brain. The transformation is agonizing."

Solas seized the opportunity to add a revelation, "What Astarion has neglected to mention is that he, too, carries one of these parasites in his head."

The group reacted with shock, and Cassandra voiced their collective concern, "What? So you mean you might transform into one of those creatures?"

“Well… yes. I may have a parasite in my brain right now, but so long as I have the mark, the parasite can’t do anything,” Astarion clarified. 

Dorian summed up the sentiment succinctly, "That's utterly horrifying."

Varric couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of the situation. "Astarion, you're like a box of Chantry relics. Just when I think I've got you figured out, you pull something else out of your sleeve.”

Cassandra inquired further, "What about Cazador? Was he also collaborating with Corypheus and Ketheric, I assume?"

Astarion nodded his head. “Yes. He, apparently, will find his way here within the next year.” 

Dorian added, "Although, he seemed somewhat lost. He wanted me to use the amulet to open a rift 'back to his home.' Wherever he's from, it appears he can't return without the amulet."

Astarion elaborated, "That's probably right. That's why he desired you as his spawn, to compel you to serve him. Whatever happened—however he ended up here—he couldn't return on his own."

Dorian speculated, "So it's likely he'll still be around, if he’s dependent on us to go back."

Leliana returned to the camp at that moment, ending the grim discussion. "I have news. The mages have been ousted from Redcliffe by the king, and they are in search of refuge," she reported. 

Astarion perked up at this revelation, "Oh, really? Well, why not invite them to join the Inquisition? Didn't we require the assistance of mages?"

Cassandra nodded her head in agreement. “We did want the help of the mages– it’s why we came out this way in the first place,” she said. 

Leliana acknowledged their decision, "Very well. I'll initiate discussions with the Grand Enchanter Fiona," she said before departing once more.

Astarion turned his attention to Bull, a hopeful expression on his face. "Now that I've spilled all of my delicate secrets, can you please untie me? I promise I won't bite," he implored.

Bull, however, remained resolute. "No, you'll stay bound for the night. You're a potential danger, and we can't rule out the possibility of Cazador returning. I'll release you once we reach Haven," he insisted.

Astarion voiced his frustration, "Ugh. What am I supposed to do until then? That's several days away, and I'm famished . How am I supposed to hunt if I’m tied up?"

Bull reassured him, "We'll find you something along the way, but I'm sure you can hold out for the night."

Astarion let out an exasperated sigh and gave an exaggerated shake of his head. "Alright, have it your way," he muttered before turning his attention to Dorian, who remained by his side. "Speaking of which, Dorian, could you do me a small favor?" he asked.

Dorian looked at him with curiosity and concern. “What is it…?” he asked cautiously. 

Astarion grinned mischievously, "I have some blood stored in jars in my tent. Would you be so kind as to fetch one for me?"

Bull, his expression slightly wounded, chimed in, "Hold on a second. If you had blood stashed away, why the hell didn't you tell us?"

Astarion argued, "Well, obviously because I didn't want to remain tied up. That's why."

Despite the exchange, Dorian stood up and entered Astarion's tent. He spotted the jars of blood and noticed elfroot at the bottom of them. That was a mystery for another time. He retrieved a jar and returned to Astarion, holding it out to him.

Astarion grinned appreciatively, "You'll have to feed it to me, I'm afraid, unless you plan to free my hands for this."

"Feeding you it is, then," Dorian remarked as he crouched beside Astarion. Some members of the group averted their gaze, not wanting to watch Astarion drink blood.

With care, Dorian opened the jar and gently raised it to Astarion's lips. He, along with Bull and Alexius, couldn't help but watch in morbid curiosity as Astarion eagerly gulped down the blood from the jar. His fangs were clearly visible through the glass as he drank. Dorian couldn't quite put it into words, but there was something undeniably fascinating about the way Astarion consumed the blood with such intense craving. His gaze remained fixated on Astarion, his fascination bordering on complete enchantment.

Varric broke the silence, his voice laced with humor. "Well, the rest of Thedas is going to have a field day when they find out that this is the so-called 'Herald of Andraste.' What am I supposed to put in my epic tale of our daring exploits now?"

Chapter 15: Astarion has a Larger Bite to Eat

Remaining true to his promise, Bull kept Astarion securely chained throughout their journey back to Haven. None of their companions displayed much enthusiasm for freeing the pale elf, either. Astarion had attempted to persuade Bull to release him once more during the trip, but Bull insisted that the chains would only come off upon reaching Haven, where they could closely monitor him. The constant suspicion grated on Astarion, and the discomfort of the chains left his body aching. Yet, he had little say in the matter, and that made the journey back anything but peaceful. Astarion's persistent complaints filled the air almost constantly.

On the second night of their journey, as everyone settled in at the campsite and Astarion leaned against a tree, Solas approached him.

"You've certainly landed in a rather peculiar situation," Solas mused, looking down at Astarion. "It's fascinating how, the moment a hint of disloyalty surfaces, they resort to chaining you up. One could almost draw parallels to your previous master, given how they're treating you."

Astarion responded with a touch of sarcasm, "Believe me, I'd opt for these restraints over Cazador's clutches any day. While this may not be a lavish carriage stocked with the finest delicacies, it's certainly an improvement over anything Cazador had to offer. I haven’t had to eat a single rat since coming here.” 

Solas continued, "Nevertheless, it's rather disgraceful how they've handled this. You lost control of your body, and the first reaction was to imprison you. Though, I can't say I'm surprised. There has always been deep-seated distrust and fear surrounding mages and elves, of which you are both. Frankly, I'm surprised Bull hasn't subjected you to even harsher treatment, given how the Qunari typically deal with mages."

Astarion, sensing Solas's attempt to turn him against Bull, replied, "Alright, I’ll bite. How do the Qunari treat mages? Judging by your expression, I assume they don't pamper mages with golden baths and feed them the ripest grapes straight from the vine.”

Solas explained with a solemn expression, "They would chain you, leash you, sew your lips shut, cover your face with a mask to deprive you of sight unless permitted. You'd be under the complete control of a Qunari, and if you were ever found separate from them, even accidentally, you'd face certain death. Your existence would be that of a meaningless slave, with your senses severed from the world. That's how the Qunari handle their mages, and it appears Bull has already taken the first step with you." He added, "Although, for you, it could be far worse, given your blood-drinking habits."

Astarion scrutinized Solas's face for any signs of deception but found none. "Wait, seriously? They do that to all magic users ?" he asked, as if seeking confirmation of the startling revelation.

"Yes, so it should come as no surprise that Bull promptly restrained you at the first opportunity. He is a spy, after all. Who knows what secrets he's divulging to his Qunari allies? He could have arranged for them to intercept us along the way, and in your current state, you'd have no means to defend yourself," Solas pointed out.

"So, what's your angle in all of this? Why drop this on me now?" Astarion asked, his curiosity aroused by Solas's timing. Though the information was unsettling, he remained convinced that Bull had no sinister intentions. Bull had shown too much kindness to the Chargers for Astarion to believe he'd be the kind of guy to abuse someone for being a mage.

"I'm not making a point of anything– I'm merely cautioning you to use care in your choice of allies. Even Dorian, Alexius, and Felix might not hold you in high regard, given your elvhen heritage. To them, you're little more than a potential slave. If we were in Tevinter, they would most likely consider enslaving you," Solas explained.

Astarion responded, still puzzled, "Is elven discrimination really that pervasive? I still can't fathom why people treat elves so strangely here."

"Stay here longer, and you'll witness it firsthand. No one will extend you the respect you deserve simply because you're an elf. We should stick together, so to speak, so that I can assist you in navigating these unfamiliar situations. I would never have chained you for what happened," Solas asserted.

Astarion, with a deadpan expression, countered, "Yet you're not exactly setting me free either..."

Solas earnestly stated, "And I would release you if it were reasonable to do so. You and I should stand together from now on. I don't want to see you exploited."

"Well, considering you're practically begging , I'll consider it. But only if you reveal why your blood smells more enticing than anyone else's here. What are you hiding?" Astarion questioned. He remained convinced that Solas was a high elf, despite Solas's denial, and couldn't understand why Solas concealed his true identity. There was an undeniable air of mystery surrounding Solas, something Astarion had sensed all along but hadn't yet uncovered.

Solas offered a false denial, "I'm not quite sure what you mean. I have no secrets."

"That's hardly fair, you know. I had to divulge all my secrets to you. It's only right that you do the same. I won't breathe a word of it to anyone," Astarion responded, seeing through Solas's deception.

"Perhaps, with time. But not now," Solas conceded, acknowledging that he held a secret but was unwilling to share the details.

Astarion nonchalantly shrugged. "If that's how you want to play it, maybe I'll just cozy up to Bull and Dorian instead. We could make quite the trio, perhaps even indulge in a little Ménage à trois," he quipped with a sly grin. Then, adopting a more serious tone, he continued, "But honestly, if you're not willing to open up about yourself, I'm not sure why I should invest my trust in you."

"You'll come to understand—given time. For now, I strongly recommend keeping your distance from the others. I really do want you by my side," Solas concluded before walking away.

Astarion couldn't dwell too long on Solas's words as Alexius approached him, a blend of nervousness and curiosity dancing across his expression. Although his hands remained bound, Alexius was otherwise mobile, allowing him to approach Astarion for a private conversation. 

"So, I have a question about your vampirism," Alexius began.

"Just one? That's a rarity. Usually, there are plenty," Astarion quipped sarcastically.

Alexius looked at Astarion with sudden sincerity. "If someone were terminally ill and turned into a spawn, like you, would they stop being sick?" he inquired.

"Planning to track down Cazador to transform Felix into a spawn, are you? I strongly advise against it. I've seen you make countless poor choices, but offering your son to Cazador would be the worst of them all. He'd ruin Felix in ways you can't even begin to imagine. Trust me, I know ," Astarion warned him. 

"Well... not exactly. I was hoping that you could turn him so that he might be saved," Alexius admitted.

"As I've already mentioned, I can't. I'm a spawn," Astarion replied, looking upwards in annoyance.

"You also mentioned that if you drank Cazador's blood, you'd become a full vampire, not a spawn," Alexius pointed out.

Astarion gazed at Alexius, a mixture of intrigue and shock on his face. "Hold on. Let me get this straight. You want me to drink Cazador's blood so that I can transform your son into my own vampire spawn?” he asked, and let out a laugh in utter disbelief. “Well, there’s one small problem with your plan– Cazador can control me. He has to let me drink his blood, and that would never happen,” he added. 

"What if I helped you? I know of some spells that could weaken him. The next time Cazador pays us a visit, I could help you feed on his blood. You'd become a full vampire, free of Cazador, and you'd save Felix in return by turning him into a vampire as well—a full vampire, mind you, as I won't aid you in enslaving my son," Alexius proposed.

Astarion contemplated Alexius's offer, unable to hide a wicked grin at the thought. "You know what? Yes, I'll do it. If you help me become a full vampire, I'll turn your son," he agreed. In truth, he had no intention of turning Felix into a true vampire, as vampires rarely got along, and he had no desire to grant anyone else such power. However, the idea of having his own spawn to command as he pleased was exhilarating.

"Good. I'm pleased we reached an agreement. Of course, this means I should be working alongside you, not languishing in a prison," Alexius responded.

"Fear not; if you assist me in dealing with Cazador, I'll ensure the Inquisition doesn't detain you any longer. Well, at least once we return to Haven. I, obviously, can’t do much about that right now," Astarion assured Alexius while glancing at the chains restraining him.

"Much appreciated," Alexius replied, nodding before departing.

Astarion couldn't help but notice Bull giving him a questioning look from across the camp as he observed the two of them conspiring. However, Bull didn't mention it. The rest of the journey proceeded relatively peacefully, with Dorian and Astarion engaging in constant conversation on the way back. Despite Solas's "concerns" regarding Dorian, the two of them were getting along remarkably well, and Astarion saw no reason not to trust Dorian. In fact, he found Dorian quite enjoyable to tease.

Just before their arrival back in Haven, Bull finally removed Astarion's chains. It wouldn't befit the Herald of Andraste to return to the small town in chains, anyways. Astarion felt a wave of relief as he finally stretched his muscles, a sensation he hadn't experienced in days. He looked forward to hunting and savoring something other than the jars of prepared blood. Solas had been right about one thing—Astarion had no intention of ever allowing himself to be chained again. If he had his way, he would soon become a full vampire, free from the threat of chains–metaphorical or not– forever. True vampirism would grant him true freedom—especially since trifles like the sun no longer bothered him. He craved that power now, thanks to the idea Alexius had planted in his mind.

Upon their return to Haven, Astarion was immediately summoned to a meeting in the war room. In this meeting, Cullen and Josephine were briefed in full detail about the events at Redcliffe, their expressions contorting in horror as they learned about the impending future and the dire consequences if certain events were not prevented. Nevertheless, they all agreed on one thing—the knowledge of the future had its advantages. They now knew precisely who and what they were up against.

However, there was little they could do about the future until they permanently closed the breach. Despite the chaotic events at Redcliffe, Astarion had succeeded in his original mission—to secure the mages. Now that they were allied with the Inquisition, they could assist Astarion in removing the ominous breach from the sky. In theory, at least. No one was certain if it would work, but they were willing to try.

Cassandra circled the war table, eyeing the other members of the group. "First and foremost, we must decide what to do with Alexius. We cannot forget that he attempted to kill Astarion," she declared.

"We could always just kill him. It might actually work in our favor. Let's not forget that Astarion is believed to be a Tevinter slave—it would be fitting if we executed Alexius. It might raise suspicions if we didn't," Leliana suggested.

Josephine disagreed, shaking her head. "The rumors about Astarion being a demon are still prevalent. Killing Alexius might only fuel those stories further. We should maintain a more merciful image and have Alexius work for us instead. His cooperation, whether voluntary or not, could help us secure additional allies," she proposed.

Cullen had a different perspective. "I don't see why we don't simply imprison him for the time being until we've dealt with the breach. Putting him in a cell wouldn't draw negative attention."

"Well, actually..." Astarion interjected, offering a small smile to the group. "I've already reached an agreement with Alexius. He's willing to work with us. He can ward off Cazador with his sunlight spell when Cazador inevitably comes searching. Cazador also expressed interest in the amulet that Dorian now possesses—Alexius and Dorian can collaborate to decipher its purpose," Astarion explained.

"You agreed to this without consulting us first?" Cassandra demanded, feeling slighted. 

Astarion nodded. "I've spent the past several days in chains, surviving on stale, lukewarm blood, uncertain when Cazador might appear in the dead of night to reclaim me. Oh, and speaking of which, there are now two Cazadors to worry about. So, forgive me if I decided to make some friends on my own," Astarion replied irritably.

Cassandra sighed but conceded the point. "Very well, then. Alexius will join the Inquisition's efforts."

“Fantastic. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go get myself a nice, hearty meal, before I attempt to close the breach. Especially considering that we aren’t even sure if I’ll survive ,” Astarion replied, sounding even more irritable, then walked out of the war room. 

As Astarion headed toward the outskirts of Haven, intending to enter the forest for a hunt, Bull intercepted him, blocking his path. "Wait. Where are you going?" Bull asked.

"Hunting. I'm hungry," Astarion responded, trying to push past Bull.

"Stop. I can't let you go alone, knowing you're in danger. Cazador might be waiting for the perfect moment when you're by yourself to snatch you," Bull insisted.

Astarion rolled his eyes but complied. "Are you offering to go hunting for me, then? If so, I’d like to request for you to bring me back a nice, big bear. You seem like you’re big enough to take one down by yourself. Just try not to spill too much blood.” 

"Not exactly. I've been thinking— you're in need of a bit of blood, and I happen to have an ample supply. How about you bite me instead? You're tasked with closing the breach later today, so it would be wise for you to have a substantial meal now. Opting for me is considerably safer than sneaking off and risking abduction by your former master," Bull suggested, while giving Astarion's shoulder a reassuring pat.

Astarion blinked in astonishment, momentarily rendered speechless. "Wait, really ? Aren't you afraid that I might kill you or something?" he asked.

Bull responded with laughter. “Oh, come on. That's a good joke. My bicep alone is the size of your head – I could effortlessly overpower you. But more importantly, I trust you wouldn't even contemplate such a thing. I'm trained to read faces, and I've observed that deep down, you're a decent person. Yes, you've endured immense trauma, but there's goodness within you. You value your friendships here and are genuinely committed to aiding the Inquisition – that's ample assurance for me that you wouldn't pose a threat.”

“Be careful, or I might interpret that as a challenge,” Astarion playfully retorted. However, his gaze unmistakably fixated on Bull’s neck, and he found himself salivating at the prospect of sinking his fangs into the hulking figure before him.

“Let's return to my tent,” Bull encouraged him.

The two of them strolled together to Bull’s tent. Bull seated himself on a chair and tilted his head, baring his neck. Astarion positioned himself before Bull and placed his hands on Bull's shoulders for support. “You're genuinely sure about this?” Astarion asked nervously, momentarily resisting the urge to thrust his fangs into Bull’s neck. The last thing he wanted was for Bull to become more apprehensive or mistrustful.

"If you're not up for biting me, I can always find someone else willing. I'm pretty sure Dorian, under the right circumstances, wouldn't mind taking a bite," Bull teased, attempting to lighten Astarion's mood.

“Oh, I assure you, my bite is far more pleasurable than anything Dorian could provide,” Astarion remarked, casting Bull a predatory glance. He permitted his fingertips to caress the curve of Bull’s neck, eliciting a shiver down Bull’s spine as they both waited in anticipation. With an almost erotic finesse, Astarion delicately sunk his fangs into Bull’s neck, resulting in a sharp moment of pain followed by intense pleasure for Bull. 

As Bull’s life essence flowed into his mouth, the world ceased to exist around him. The taste was intoxicating, a symphony of sensations that overwhelmed his senses. He never would have imagined that the tough qunari– who he’d previously thought was uncomfortable with Astarion’s bloody habits– would openly allow him to drink from him. He instinctively climbed into Bull’s lap, his body seeking an easier, more comfortable position as he fed from the bigger man. 

This was the first time that Astarion had fed on someone willing– and his excitement was almost bursting through his skin. As he drank, his senses heightened. He could hear the Bull’s heartbeat, feel the rhythm of Bull’s life force. Every drop of blood was a revelation, an intoxicating experience that overwhelmed his senses. The world around him seemed to fade away, and in that stolen moment, he was consumed by the ecstasy of the feed.

Nothing could disrupt Astarion in this moment, a fact proven beyond doubt when Dorian unexpectedly entered Bull's tent. "Hey, Bull, have you seen Astar–" Dorian's sentence abruptly halted upon observing the scene before him. "Never mind. Clearly , you've found him," Dorian remarked. He turned to exit the tent but paused, casting a contemplative glance back at Bull.

Bull snorted, his gaze locked onto Dorian. "You can watch – I can tell you're curious," he offered to Dorian, all the while Astarion continued to savor Bull's blood.

"I didn't–" Dorian began, attempting to deny his curiosity initially. However, he sighed in resignation when he realized Bull was correct. Since discovering that Astarion consumed blood, he had been intrigued by it, pondering how it functioned, what it appeared like, and what the experience felt like. Dorian drew closer to Bull and Astarion, leaning in and tilting his head to observe with morbid fascination as Astarion drank from Bull. His view wasn't ideal, yet he inexplicably felt drawn to witnessing Astarion feed, as though it were the most delectable spectacle in the world. The bite he had endured from Cazador had been excruciating, but he now discerned that Astarion was causing Bull no pain. It left him wondering what it might be like to be bitten once more.

Eventually, Bull decided it was enough and pushed Astarion away. Astarion appeared to return to his senses, his consciousness gradually reconnecting with the world. "That was truly delicious. Thank you," Astarion said appreciatively, licking his lips to cleanse them of blood. As he turned to leave the tent, he glanced back at Dorian and smirked. "You know, if you ever want a bite, all you need to do is ask," he remarked, winking before exiting the tent.

Bull smirked at Dorian, observing Dorian's bewildered expression as Astarion departed. "Admit it. You're jealous," he remarked.

Dorian gave Bull a puzzled look. "And what, precisely, would I be jealous about?" he inquired.

Bull grinned. "You're jealous that he bit me instead of you. There's something about him that fascinates you, and you want to be bitten the same way I was," he replied.

Dorian blushed and shook his head. "I assure you, I'm merely curious about his vampirism, nothing more," he insisted.

"Keep telling yourself that," Bull retorted with a snort. "Anyway, was there a particular reason you were searching for Astarion?"

"Oh, yes. The mages are prepared to assist in closing the breach – Cassandra and Leliana were looking for him," Dorian explained. He added, "With any luck, that colossal, foreboding mass of clouds in the sky will be gone by tonight. I, for one, eagerly anticipate celebrating its disappearance."

"Then let's not waste any more time. Astarion will undoubtedly benefit from all the assistance he can get," Bull declared, rising from his chair.

“To the breach we go,” Dorian confirmed.

Notes:

We're finally almost to the breach; which means finally almost to Cole; which means finally almost to Skyhold.
I never thought, when I first started writing this, that it would take 50k words just to reach Skyhold -_-
we chugging along tho

Chapter 16: Astarion's Sacrifice for Haven

Closing the breach for good had gone surprisingly smoothly, much to Astarion's astonishment. He had braced himself for the usual twist of fate, the unexpected turn of events that often accompanied his actions, but this time, it had been refreshingly straightforward. No demons had poured out, no cataclysmic showdown had taken place—it was almost disappointingly ordinary.

Standing before the gaping tear in the sky, Astarion watched as mages cast a spell he didn’t know, and then he raised his palm to the sky. With a familiar gesture, he sealed the breach, just as he had done with countless smaller rifts before. It drained him, but a moment of rest brought back his strength, leaving the sky free of turmoil, demons, and the chaos that had loomed over them. 

The people around him erupted in cheers, and for once, Astarion allowed himself a tiny, unspoken feeling of pride. "I'm almost disappointed that it was so easy," he remarked, a hint of irony in his voice. "It would have been much more fun if demons popped out, and we all had to fight. That was honestly rather dull."

Varric shrugged and smiled. "Well, I'll have to say—it's a damned good sight to see a nice, clear sky again."

Solas shook his head. "There will be many more rifts across Thedas still. And don't forget about the army of demons and mind flayers we still have to contend with."

Varric let out a disappointed sigh. "Well, that's a real party pooper. Me? I'm thinking of going all out with the celebration later. We can leave the army business for tomorrow. For now, let's just raise a glass to the sky getting back to its usual self."

Astarion found himself nodding in agreement. "Indeed, who could resist a splendid celebration? I'd bet that with sufficient alcohol, I could coax Cullen into a bit of a striptease."

Varric chuckled in response. "You're on," he replied with a grin.

As evening descended upon Haven, the town came alive with a massive celebration in honor of the breach's closure. It seemed like everyone had joined in—laughter, dancing, and the clinking of glasses filled the air. The worries and fears that had plagued them were momentarily forgotten, and the people reveled in the newfound sense of relief.

But Astarion knew better. He knew that Cazador still lurked, an imminent threat that could strike at any moment. The looming specter of an army and more mind flayers haunted his thoughts. Unlike the carefree revelers of Haven, Astarion had every reason to remain vigilant. He chose not to engage in the party, despite his earlier words to Varric. 

While he had no intention of indulging in the festivities, he did have a plan. He sought out Dorian, the charming and powerful sorcerer who had shown a keen interest in him. Astarion recognized an opportunity—a potential ally who might become fiercely devoted to his protection.

Dorian, a necromancer who had once studied under Alexius, possessed formidable magic and knowledge. Astarion wagered that Dorian could be a valuable asset in the trials ahead, provided he could manipulate the man into staying by his side. Yet, he had a feeling that Dorian would be incredibly easy to manipulate. 

Astarion was well aware of Dorian's attraction to him. It was as clear as day, given the man's unmistakable interest in his fellow men, not to mention the frequent, lustful glances he had caught Dorian casting his way. He had even noticed the occasional flutter of Dorian's heart when they were close. The mage's curiosity about Astarion's vampirism, expressed without judgment, further fueled his belief that convincing Dorian to be not only his ally, but his willing donor, would be relatively effortless.

With the revelry of the party as the backdrop, Astarion set out to find Dorian. He discovered the mage standing alone outside the tavern, his face buried in a bottle of wine. It was evident that Dorian's drinking had little to do with celebration and much to do with trying to drown his sorrows.

"You don't seem too pleased for someone who's meant to be celebrating," Astarion remarked as he approached.

Dorian looked up, his eyes weary. "Ah, Astarion. It's hard to embrace the festivities when you've glimpsed the grim future these people are blissfully unaware of. I imagine it’s the same reason that you’re not partying, either." He took another swig of his wine, grimacing afterward.

“Not a fan of your wine?” Astarion asked. 

“Hardly. This Ferelden stuff tastes dreadful ,” Dorian said, then offered the bottle to Astarion. “Care to give it a try?” 

Astarion declined with a knowing smile. “I think we both know that I prefer something a little more… full-bodied and red .” 

Dorian sighed and sipped his wine. "I suppose I'll just continue drinking alone then. I should be used to it, really."

Astarion leaned closer, a suggestive grin on his face. "Or, I have a better idea—why don't we go have some fun?"

Dorian raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Fun? What do you have in mind?"

“By the hells– sex , my dear. A night of passion,” Astarion replied, slipping into a sultry tone.  

Dorian's cheeks flushed, his expression shifting into one of surprise, rendering him momentarily speechless.

Astarion pressed on, his tone playful. "Oh, don't give me that look – I know you desire it. You've yearned for me ever since our eyes first met," he purred.

Dorian's initial shock transitioned into curiosity. "But what about the others? What would their reaction be if they discovered us slipping away together? I can only imagine the gossip in Haven – rumors of a Tevinter mage entwined with a former slave wouldn't exactly be well-received."

Astarion's voice turned seductive as he continued, his words weaving a tantalizing spell over Dorian. "Yet, deep down, you crave those whispers of scandal, don't you? You ache to feel my presence, to experience the ecstasy of my touch upon your flawless form," he murmured, watching as Dorian seemed to melt under the allure of his words. It was almost pitiable, but after two centuries of charming and seducing, Astarion knew precisely how to ensnare someone's heart with just a few sentences.

Dorian was practically melting under Astarion's words, his resolve weakening. "I... kaffas . Yes, I want that," he admitted, his eyes trailing hungrily over Astarion's form.

“Then let’s go back to my cabin, shall we?” Astarion asked. He took Dorian's hand and began leading him toward his cabin, their desires unabated. But their potential night of passion was interrupted by a sudden shout from Cullen.

“Forces approaching– to arms!” Cullen yelled, warning of enemies approaching Haven. 

“Shit, now? It has to be now?” Astarion grumbled in irritation, though deep down, he couldn't help but chastise himself for expecting anything different. Naturally, the stroke of good fortune he'd experienced earlier in the day was destined to dissipate, and it was only fitting that Corypheus and his army chose this very instant to launch their assault.

Astarion and Dorian sprinted toward the gates to join their companions—Cassandra, Varric, Alexius, Bull, and Josephine—already assembling in anticipation of the looming threat. Solas and Leliana were conspicuously absent, likely busy with crucial preparations.

Cassandra addressed Cullen with a stern expression. "Cullen, report. Who approaches?"

"One of our watchguards reported a massive force—bulk of it's over the mountain," Cullen replied, his irritation evident.

Josephine inquired, "Under what banner do they march?"

Cullen's answer was grim. "None."

Astarion muttered to himself, drawing his weapons as the pounding on Haven's gates grew louder. "Can't anything ever go right for once?"

"I can't come in unless you open!" came a young male voice from the other side of the door.

Dorian and Astarion exchanged glances, the unspoken question in their eyes. Astarion shrugged and moved to open the doors. As they swung open, an armor-clad warrior stepped forward but abruptly halted when a knife pierced through his back. He collapsed to the floor, revealing a young blonde man with a wide-brimmed hat, brandishing knives.

"I'm Cole. I came here to warn you, to help. People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know," Cole said, addressing Astarion.

"Belated, but not unwelcome," Astarion retorted, offering another nonchalant shrug. "You display remarkable knife skills, and an impressive dose of weirdness to match. If you're so inclined, you're welcome to join our motley crew; you’d blend in with us easily.” 

Cole nodded appreciatively. "The templars have come to kill you," he warned.

Cullen stepped forward, his anger evident. "Templars? Is this the Order's response to our negotiations with the mages? Blindly attacking?"

"The red templars went to the Elder One. You know him? He knows you. You took his mages," Cole replied, briefly glancing at Alexius before returning his gaze to Astarion. "The other one—the pale one—wants you back. He's very angry you left," Cole added, pointing up at a distant cliff. "There."

Astarion followed Cole's gesture and squinted at the figure of Cazador standing next to a towering creature with red protrusions from its skull. He could feel their mutual loathing emanating from that distance, and Astarion responded in kind, raising his hand and displaying his middle finger in a defiant gesture.

"Well, does anyone have any ideas? That's quite the Templar army, and I'd rather not have a meeting with Cazador under these circumstances—in the dead of night with an army closing in," Astarion said, lowering his hand. Though he craved power, he understood that facing Cazador now would only lead to forced vampiric servitude. Running away seemed a far more appealing option.

Cullen took charge. "Haven is no fortress. If we're to stand a chance against that monster, we need to control the battlefield. Get to the trebuchet and aim it at the mountain. You might trigger an avalanche, giving us time to evacuate Haven."

"Well, that should slow them down, and I'd dearly love to see Cazador turned into a snowman," Astarion quipped. He turned to Bull, Dorian, and Varric. "You three are with me. If Cazador tries to control me again, do us all a favor and knock me out. Just don't let him take me,” he warned.

"We'll evacuate the town to the Chantry. Meet us there when you're done," Cassandra instructed. The group split off, with Astarion and his team heading toward the trebuchet and the others staying behind to ensure the townspeople reached the Chantry safely.

The path to the trebuchet was anything but clear, as templars engaged them every step of the way. They stood no chance against Astarion and his team, especially with Astarion's newfound strength from the Qunari blood coursing through him. He was faster, stronger, and fought with unparalleled skill, his daggers cutting through the templars like a hot knife through butter.

When they finally reached the trebuchet, Astarion operated it expertly, firing it at the mountain as planned. Luck seemed to be on their side, as a massive avalanche tumbled down the mountainside, burying the templar army under several feet of snow.

Varric couldn't help but let out a low whistle. "Well, would you look at that? Now that's one creative way to handle an army."

Bull nodded in agreement. "That was impressive."

Astarion, with a sly grin, teased, "As if you expected anything less than impressive? I'm wounded."

Dorian's voice broke the moment of celebration. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there's a dragon coming for us." He pointed up at the dragon, which had seemingly appeared out of nowhere and was heading straight for Haven. "We should probably leave, unless we want to become dragon food."

"I'm ready to leave. Cazador is still lurking about somewhere, and I’d rather not see him," Astarion said, turning away from the trebuchet and running. The group sprinted back inside the walls of Haven, making their way to the Chantry as quickly as possible. As they entered, the doors slammed shut behind them, locking and barricading with a large piece of wood.

Astarion surveyed the scene inside the Chantry, seeing the townspeople crowded together, their faces etched with fear and uncertainty. Cole was supporting Chancellor Roderick, who was doing his best to help others.

"What a charming boy," Chancellor Roderick remarked when he noticed Astarion.

"He tried to stop a templar. The blade went deep. He's going to die," Cole explained matter-of-factly to Astarion.

Astarion couldn't help but express his surprise. "What are you doing here? I thought you left and were out there somewhere giving speeches about how I'm a demon who's going to kill everyone."

Roderick replied, "There are worse threats out there, as you've noticed. I came back to help."

Cullen, eager to address the situation, approached Astarion. "Astarion! Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us."

Cole interjected cryptically, "I've seen an archdemon. I was in the Fade, but it looked like that."

"I don't care what it looks like. It has cleared a path for that army. They'll massacre everyone in Haven!" Cullen's voice seethed with anger.

"They don't care about the village. They only want the Herald," Cole responded, his gaze fixed squarely on Astarion.

Bull chimed in with a practical suggestion. "We could always trigger another avalanche. Redirect the trebuchets—bury Haven entirely, including them."

"Are you suggesting we sacrifice everyone here? Quite bold. Let's do it," Astarion replied with a hint of dark humor.

"No, don’t do that. Chancellor Roderick wants to help. He wants to speak before he passes," Cole interjected, looking toward Roderick.

Chancellor Roderick, teetering on the brink of death, addressed the group. "There's a path. You wouldn't know it unless you've taken the summer pilgrimage, as I have. The people can escape. Andraste must have shown me so that I could... tell you."

"What do you mean?" Bull asked, his arms crossed in curiosity.

“It was a whim that I walked down the path. I didn't mean to start– it was overgrown. Now, with so many in the conclave dead… I’m the only one who remembers,” Roderick said. “If this simple memory can save us, this could be more than a mere accident. You could be more.” 

"It could work, but we'll need a distraction. Someone to keep them at bay while Haven escapes..." Cullen's gaze remained fixated on Astarion. As Astarion looked around, he saw the others were staring at him too.  It seemed that everyone expected him to be the one to stay behind and create the diversion.

Astarion had no intention of volunteering to face the dragon, Corypheus, and Cazador. None whatsoever. "Yes, we should find a distraction," he agreed, attempting to break the silence.

"Preferably someone with a higher likelihood of surviving an avalanche," Cullen added, his unyielding stare still locked onto Astarion.

Astarion sighed in exasperation. "Ugh. Gods. Fine, I'll do it. But if I end up back with Cazador, I swear I'll hunt down and kill each and every one of you, whether he orders it or not." His anger was palpable in his words.

"You don’t have to do this," Dorian pleaded, his eyes fixed on the group. It seemed that he was the sole advocate for an alternative course of action. Yet, deep within himself, he recognized that Astarion being the diversion offered the best odds for success. That didn't mean he had to be fond of the notion. In fact, he detested it. Astarion was not only a close friend, but he had also expressed genuine interest in Dorian. Now, that connection might be torn asunder.

Chancellor Roderick slowly rose with Cole's assistance. "Herald, if you are indeed meant for this, if the Inquisition is destined for this, then I pray for you."

"Prayer has never quite done it for me, but I appreciate the sentiment," Astarion replied. Chancellor Roderick moved away to guide the others along the concealed path out of Haven.

With that, Astarion departed from the Chantry. As he made his way toward the front gates, his companions worked diligently to aim and set the trebuchets. Just as he was about to reach the gates, the dragon swooped down and unleashed a torrent of fire with such force that it sent him tumbling several feet backward, crashing onto the ground.

Struggling to his feet, Astarion saw both Cazador and Corypheus approaching, and a profound sense of fear and dread washed over him. A fleeting thought crossed his mind—that he should end his own life before Cazador could regain control of him—but he swiftly dismissed it, knowing that many were relying on his actions. He desperately hoped that the plan would succeed, allowing everyone to be buried under the avalanche, and for him to escape before Cazador's influence returned.

Cazador spoke first upon seeing Astarion. "How kind of you to come out and greet me. Have you reconsidered? Are you ready to return to my side?"

“I’m going to fucking kill you. That’s why I’m out here,” Astarion replied, gripping his weapons tightly.

Cazador shook his head, a malevolent smile curving his lips. "Don't delude yourself, boy. You're well aware you can't end me, and it's high time you returned to my side. Kneel ," he commanded.

Astarion promptly sank to his knees, his face a mélange of sorrow and dread. He hated his companions for making him do this. There wasn't a single soul on this earth worth sacrificing his freedom for once more. He couldn't fathom why he had agreed to this plan in the first place, as he would much prefer to witness the entire population of Haven slaughtered than to fall back into Cazador's clutches.

Corypheus, seizing the opportunity, raised his hand, gripping a peculiar orb. He chose to interject, disrupting the exchange between Astarion and Cazador. "Splendid. I have come for the anchor. The procedure to extract it shall commence forthwith." The orb emitted an eerie, otherworldly glow.

Astarion was consumed by searing agony as he felt a wave of pain radiating from his hand. He let out a scream of sheer torment as the parasite inside his skull writhed, forcing him to collapse to the ground. His head throbbed with excruciating pain.

"Stop! I need him alive ," Cazador interjected, forcefully pushing Corypheus and disrupting his concentration. The pain slowly subsided, allowing Astarion to take a shaky breath, whimpering as he struggled to recover from the ordeal.

"You can have him after I've reclaimed the anchor. Now, command him to stay still. His struggle has bound the anchor more firmly than it should be, but I can still retrieve it," Corypheus declared.

Cazador bristled at Corypheus's presumption. "You think you can order me ? Astarion is mine. The anchor is but a gift for aiding me in capturing him. If you believe you have any right to command me—"

Cazador's words were cut short as the trebuchets launched, and a cascade of snow began its descent down the mountain.

Astarion swiftly leaped to his feet, the compulsion from Cazador no longer binding him. He sprinted as fast as his legs would carry him away from the impending disaster. However, he stumbled, and just as the snow reached him, he dove into a hole in the ground that led to an underground tunnel. The snow piled over the surface, burying everything and everyone in Haven. Astarion landed hard, pain coursing through his body.

He hadn't been aware of the existence of this underground tunnel before, making his discovery seem almost too fortunate. Such luck was foreign to him and made him briefly contemplate whether Chancellor Roderick's prayers had somehow worked, whether this "Andraste" or "Maker" might have chosen to assist him. However, Astarion swiftly dismissed the idea, concluding that sheer luck was the more plausible explanation. Gods had never shown him any favor before.

Lying on the ground, he took deep breaths, attempting to steady himself. He then sat up, considering his situation. Cazador and Corypheus were likely entombed beneath the snow, and even with a dragon, it would take them some time to dig their way out and get to Astarion. For now, it appeared he was safe.

His immediate challenge was to find a way out of this tunnel and somehow locate the concealed path the others had used to escape Haven. It seemed like an intimidating, even futile, undertaking, especially considering that the path was probably obliterated by the snowfall.

Nevertheless, he would have to try anyway, and he could only hope that he wouldn't freeze solid on his way out.

Chapter 17: Astarion's Fight Against a Wintery Wonderland

Notes:

Whoops! Late chapter release. I took a nap after work yesterday instead of finishing the chapter... and that nap lasted much longer than intended. Anyways, here's the chapter now.

Also, I struggled to find a solid interpretation of how a vampire might fare in extreme cold. But we all know how the tadpole has changed Astarion anyways; so any discrepancies can be chalked up to the tadpole.

It was a regrettable circumstance that vampire spawn were not immune to the cold. Otherwise, Astarion's journey to rejoin his companions in Haven would have been significantly quicker. Instead, he found himself shivering in the underground tunnel he had stumbled upon. While the tunnel offered some protection from the immediate snowfall, the bitter cold still penetrated its depths.

Moreover, he had lost all sense of direction. The avalanche had buried the entrance through which he had fallen, and he had no desire to return in that direction, especially with Cazador lurking. Consequently, he had no option but to choose a path and follow it.

After approximately half an hour of trekking through the frigid tunnel, Astarion finally spotted the exit. Regrettably, it was obstructed by a rift, but Astarion hadn’t expected any less due to his lack of luck lately. Fortunately, there were only a handful of demons, and Astarion managed to dispatch them single-handedly before closing the rift. However, he felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. It would have been a straightforward task on a milder day, but the biting cold sapped his energy with every move, leaving him drained. He longed to rest, but he knew that doing so would only worsen his situation. His priority was reuniting with his companions as swiftly as possible.

As Astarion approached the tunnel's exit, a significant issue became apparent: nothing but a vast expanse of snow surrounded him, piled high. Although he could clamber atop the snow, the mountain's slope was the only reference point in the blinding whiteness. Everything else was obscured by the avalanche and the steadily intensifying snowfall.

Astarion had no alternative but to trudge through the snow, sinking with each step. Not only was he freezing, but he also expended a great deal of energy simply moving forward through the deep snow. Unfortunately, his progress was painfully slow throughout the day, exacerbated by the worsening snowfall.

Astarion came to the stark realization that the serene snowfall that had initially cloaked Haven had evolved into a relentless snowstorm. He was now ensnared in the tempest, without any refuge in sight. The once-clear path ahead had become obscured, reducing his visibility to nearly nothing. He had no choice but to come to a halt, despite the fact that stopping in these treacherous snow conditions seemed unwise. Continuing to wander aimlessly in such blinding snow would only compound the danger, potentially leading him further astray.

With no better option, Astarion made his way to a cluster of trees on the side of the path and sat down in the snow at the base of one. That's how he spent the night, meditating under the tree, awaiting a break in the snowfall. His body had grown numb from the cold, and the only thing keeping him alive was the Qunari blood he had consumed in Haven. He knew he'd probably be dying now if it weren't for that.

Several hours later, the snowfall subsided, and Astarion awoke from his trance. He was so numb now that he couldn't even feel the cold; he couldn't feel much of anything anymore. His body was yearning for blood, and although he could typically go much longer without it, the combination of the cold and the energy he expended was forcing him to need it much sooner. Unfortunately, there was no blood to be found in this desolate area. Not a single animal was in sight, or even nearby. Astarion was certain that his vampirism was the only reason he was still alive. Anyone else would have frozen to death. 

Astarion rose from the ground, a slow and arduous process that required an additional minute to dislodge the ice that had formed on his boots. He resumed his ascent up the mountainside, enduring an entire day of anguish. His senses clamored for blood, and his energy reserves were nearly depleted. He couldn't be entirely certain he was heading in the right direction, but he had to maintain his faith, for there was nothing to turn back to. His only options were to continue his journey in search of his companions or perish along the way.

Despite his efforts, he didn't encounter anyone that day. Eventually, his strength gave out, and he simply collapsed on the ground, unable to take another step. He had lost all sense of time, the bitter cold and the howling winds and snow being his only companions.

Astarion couldn't determine how long he lay there, but his body seemed to compel him to rest, despite the frigid conditions. His hands and feet had gone completely numb, and he could hardly move them. As he lay on the ground, he wondered if this was to be his final resting place. After all he had endured, was he doomed to die alone in the unforgiving cold on a mountainside?

Sometime later, a sensation rippled through Astarion's mind as the parasitic entity within him stirred, recognizing Astarion's impending demise. The parasite had no wish to meet its own end; if Astarion perished, so would the parasite. The internal disturbance roused Astarion from his stupor, propelling a final surge of energy through his weary body. He had lost all sense of time, as well as any connection to reality. He continued his journey, his feet dragging in the snow, entirely numb to the world around him. His consciousness had drifted away, leaving his body to move mechanically, as though it were an empty vessel, following an instinctual path.

He pressed on in this condition for what seemed like an eternity, his body devoid of sensation, his mind an empty void. The insatiable hunger for blood had grown so overpowering that it had become his sole sensation, a constant, gnawing ache. Paradoxically, it was this unrelenting hunger that propelled him forward, the only tether to his fading existence.

On the third night, though Astarion couldn't determine the hour, he stumbled upon the camp housing his companions and the remnants of Haven. He wasn't sure how he had managed to find it, perhaps driven by an instinctual awareness of where the source of blood resided. But he couldn't muster relief upon his arrival; he could feel nothing but an insatiable hunger for blood. His body teetered on the brink of death, and the prospect of fresh blood was the only thing keeping him going, while his other faculties longed to collapse and never move again.

Approaching the camp, he heard the discord of an argument between several individuals, but he couldn't truly focus on it. The only thing of significance was his unrelenting thirst for blood and the pervasive numbness that had enveloped his entire being, rendering him incapable of moving with any degree of grace.

A heated debate raged on, its focus squarely on Astarion and what should be done about his situation. The argument had captivated the attention of all his companions, with some passionately engaging in the discussion, while others simply observed the growing turmoil. Unbeknownst to the group, Astarion had quietly approached, their fervent argument preventing them from noticing his arrival.

At the forefront of the disagreement, Dorian clashed with Cullen and Cassandra. "We have to go back! He's probably out there, dying, because we left him !" he shouted.

"It's been three days, Dorian! If he were still out there, he'd be dead. We must move on ," Cassandra firmly insisted.

Bull chimed in, "What we need is a plan. As much as I hate to admit it, it's safe to assume that Astarion has been enslaved by Cazador once more. We need to rescue him at all costs."

Cullen shook his head and responded, "Don't you think we know that? But what can we do while we're stranded out here in the cold like this? We're running out of supplies, and we can't even think about helping Astarion until we've reached safety. We need to leave ."

Dorian reiterated his stance, "We can't leave yet! What if Astarion is still out there, searching for us? If we leave, he's as good as dead! I won't have that on my conscience."

"Like I said before, it's been THREE. DAYS. If he was still out there, he'd be dead!" Cassandra's frustration was evident in her voice.

Cullen nodded and gestured with his arms, "No one will stop you from staying here longer, Dorian, but the rest of us are leaving. We need to accept his sacrifice and move on."

"Vishante Kaffas! YOU'RE the one who practically instructed him to go out there in the first place. How can you just leave him now!" Dorian's expression conveyed his anger, and he looked as though he might strike Cullen if given the chance.

Bull intervened, placing a reassuring hand on Dorian's shoulder. "Woah, woah. Calm down. Fighting each other won't help Astarion. He's right, we're running out of supplies. We need to find a better place, away from the snow, and then we'll go save Astarion."

Leliana added, "We also have to consider the possibility that he's dead. I sincerely hope that's not the case, but we have to consider all options.”

Bull grunted, shaking his head in disbelief. "Nah, not Astarion. He's a tough son of a nug. The tough ones never keel over that easily. I’m thinking that Cazador has him.” 

Varric added his two cents, "You know what, Tiny's got it right. That guy's got more plot armor than even Hawke– he wouldn’t be dead. We're gonna save him as soon as we can, mark my words."

Dorian raised an eyebrow and retorted, "And what's your grand plan then? We just wait around, twiddling our thumbs, while Astarion's off in Cazador's torture chamber? They could be halfway to Baldur's Gate by now, and we wouldn't have a clue how to follow them!"

"True, but Cazador doesn't either, not while you and Alexius are here with the amulet. Cazador needed a rift to return home, remember?" Bull pointed out.

Dorian sighed and said, "You know what? Fine, whatever . I'm done arguing about this." He stormed off toward the small tent he'd been assigned at the edge of the camp, his frustration palpable.

As the argument raged on, Astarion had approached the nearest person, who now happened to be Dorian. Astarion, already pallid but now nearly blending into the surrounding snow, his crimson eyes and clothing the only contrasts, opened his mouth as if to speak to his companions, but his exhaustion silenced him.

His body appeared to act independently, utilizing the last reserves of his energy to bite Dorian. Astarion didn't discriminate whose blood he sought; his body gravitated toward the nearest person, which, in this case, was Dorian. Deep down, Astarion had no desire to drain his companion, but he wouldn't have been able to stop himself even if he had tried.

The blood scorched like fire on his tongue, its incredible warmth feeling like a searing burn as it slid down his throat. He couldn't savor the taste; he merely gulped down as much as he could, as rapidly as he could manage. Deep down, he sensed that he should not be doing this, but his body craved more, and Dorian's body seemed all too eager to be drained.

Dorian, on the other hand, was in a state of panic, as he once again felt his life slipping away to a vampire. To make matters worse, Dorian feared that Astarion might be under Cazador's control once more, compelled to end his life. The thought of dying, at the hands of his enslaved friend, filled him with terror. "Astarion, stop ," he implored, feeling disoriented. Summoning all the strength he could muster, he yelled, "Help! Someone!" to alert his companions.

"Shit," Bull exclaimed as he noticed the situation, sprinting toward Dorian and Astarion. He all but hurled Astarion off of Dorian, who was still too feeble to resist in any way. Dorian cradled his neck, visibly dazed, but was in a much better state than the last bite he’d received. 

Dorian shook his head to clear the dizziness and staggered back a few steps. "I guess he doesn’t need rescuing after all," he mumbled before heading off to down a health potion.

"Get the blood," Bull ordered Varric before approaching Astarion. "Don't even think about biting me. I'm here to help," he reassured him.

Bull effortlessly took hold of Astarion, who was still far too weakened to offer any resistance, and ushered him into a nearby tent, away from the prying eyes of the rest of Haven. It was crucial to prevent the residents of Haven from discovering their 'Herald' engaged in such a feeding. It was evident to Bull that Astarion was in dire straits, evident not only from his appearance but also from his unsteady gait and reluctance to use his hands – troubling signs for someone who had just come in from the cold, vampire or not. Yet Bull knew that the immediate priority was to replenish the man's blood, then worry about the rest later.

Varric followed them into the tent, carrying jars of blood, which he handed to Bull. Bull promptly opened the jars and guided them to Astarion's lips, making him drink them all. After finishing, Astarion's awareness gradually returned, and he began to shiver and shake intensely. Yet, this trembling was a sign of progress.

"Well, you're quite the welcoming sight, aren't you?" Varric quipped, a smirk playing on his lips. "I’ll never get used to watching you drink blood."

Astarion cleared his throat and replied, "That wasn't animal blood."

"You got that right. Had a stash of my own blood ready, just in case we had to lock you up when you came back. Happy to see we won't be needing to," Bull grunted, noting no signs of Cazador's grip on Astarion.

Dorian entered the tent with a stack of clothing and approached Astarion. Fortunately, the amount of blood Astarion had taken from Dorian had not caused significant harm, easily remedied with some healing potions. "We need to get you out of your armor – you're cold and wet," Dorian stated.

"I'll leave you to it. I'm delighted to have you back, fangs. I missed your smug pale face," Varric quipped before exiting the tent.

Bull proceeded to unfasten Astarion's armor, beginning with the gloves. The hand bearing the mark appeared normal, the mark retaining its vivid hue. However, as Bull removed the glove from the other hand, he was confronted by fingers that were almost entirely black, a clear indication of severe frostbite. Frostbite had also taken hold of Astarion's pointed ears and toes, as Bull discovered.

Dorian and Bull exchanged a knowing glance but refrained from discussing the frostbite further. Dorian then assisted Astarion in changing into warmer clothing, while they wrapped him in thick blankets, ensuring his hands and feet were well insulated. Astarion remained utterly dependent on their assistance, his movements slow and lethargic, as if he had been entirely drained of energy, despite the blood he’d drank. 

"I'll go get Solas," Dorian said, recognizing that Solas was the closest thing they had to a healer who understood Astarion's true nature.

As Bull attempted to administer a health potion to Astarion, Dorian returned with Solas, who carried a bag of medical supplies.

"I'll require some privacy while I work," Solas requested of Bull and Dorian.

"I'll step out of the way," Dorian agreed.

"No, this tent is too cramped. You might be overwhelming his senses with the scent of blood right now. Please leave," Solas said, offering an excuse to encourage their departure.

"Fine," Bull acquiesced, then exited the tent alongside Dorian.

Once they had left, Solas regarded Astarion with curiosity. "You should be dead, you know. No one else would have survived this cold for that long," Solas remarked.

"I'm not that easy to kill," Astarion replied weakly.

"And for that, I am grateful," Solas replied, briefly turning away from Astarion to rummage through his bag. He retrieved a metal cup, a knife, and some clean rags. With precision, he made a small incision on his forearm and placed the cup beneath it to collect the dripping blood.

Astarion nearly leaped across the room at the tantalizing scent of Solas's blood but couldn't due to his weakened state. "That smells so good ," he admitted.

Solas waited until the cup was partly filled, then pressed clean rags against the cut on his arm, maintaining pressure for a minute. While Astarion fixated on the cup of blood, Solas closely inspected his own arm to ensure it had stopped bleeding.

He extended the cup to Astarion, who swiftly snatched it with his marked hand and guzzled down the blood. The blood had an intense, potent flavor that coursed through him.

"You'll have to forgive me, but I don't trust you to drink directly from my veins, at least not in your current condition. Consider this a small gift, as you won't receive it again," Solas said as Astarion consumed the blood from the cup.

Solas pressed on, his voice calm and measured, "I cannot overstate my relief that you've returned unbound by another's will. Considering the time you spent in the cold, by all accounts, you should not be standing here. Your survival is a marvel. Yet your closest companions should have safeguarded you above all else, yet they seemed willing to let you sacrifice yourself. Take heed of the company you keep."

Astarion finished the blood, having licked the cup clean to savor every last drop. "Hmm? What was that?" he asked, having paid no attention to Solas, completely absorbed by the blood. The blood had revitalized him, and its flavor had been exceptional. While it left him craving more, the intense bloodlust he had upon arriving at the camp had now faded.

"You're exhausted and need time to warm up. We can talk tomorrow morning. Rest for now," Solas said, feeding Astarion another health potion, albeit one with a rather unpleasant taste, before leaving. Solas glanced at Astarion's frostbitten ears with a slightly mournful expression. Astarion might soon lose his distinctive pointed ears, a change that would be somewhat sad to witness.

Solas left Astarion in the tent for the night to recuperate, and everyone respected his request to refrain from disturbing Astarion with questions until he had fully recovered.

Fortunately, Astarion's recovery was swift. By the next morning, he felt significantly better. He could stand and walk, and the necrosis on his toes had receded. The deep black color on his ears and hand had also faded, leaving only a faint hint that would soon disappear. In any other case, the affected areas would have continued to deteriorate until they fell off naturally, but Astarion defied conventional expectations. His body, fueled by fresh blood, healed in extraordinary ways not typical for non-vampires.

Astarion didn't waste any time. Fueled by his newfound vitality, he exited the tent, his face contorted in anger. His sudden appearance drew attention from both the residents of Haven and his companions. To the people of Haven, he appeared to be nothing less than the Herald of Andraste, having survived an army, an avalanche, and three days in the snow. It could only be attributed to the guidance of Andraste.

In the eyes of his companions, however, Astarion was a vampire spawn who had just endured three grueling days in the cold, which would understandably put anyone in a foul mood.

"Ah, Astarion! You're looking much better. Glad to see it," Bull greeted him.

Astarion retorted sharply, "Oh, really ? I'm looking much better , am I? You'll have to forgive me for not looking pretty after spending three whole days with nothing but the godsdamned snow!"

Bull raised his hands in surrender, while Krem, standing nearby, chimed in, "See, chief? What'd I tell you? I knew he'd come back fine. He's resilient like that. You were worried for nothing."

"I always knew he'd come back fine," Bull declared.

"Sure, chief, sure," Krem replied, rolling his eyes. "I don't need fancy Ben-Hassrath training to see that you were worried. And rightfully so – he should be dead by all accounts. I guess blood magic was enough to keep him alive."

Intrigued, Astarion interrupted, "Blood magic? What in the hells are you talking about?"

Krem explained, "I saw you drinking Dorian's blood last night. You looked like you were on the brink of death, and I'm pretty sure I saw frostbite on your ears. Now you're up and about with no sign of frostbite. What else could it be but blood magic? Don't worry; I won't judge. Bull seems to trust you, and I trust his judgment. As long as you're not using it in unsafe ways."

"You saw that?" Astarion asked, his expression shifting. "Well, yes, it was blood magic. Satisfied?" he lied. 

Krem shrugged. "Yeah. I'm really glad you're back. Bull has been in a mood for several days since you went missing. You mean a lot to a lot of people. If blood magic is what will keep you with us, I won't complain."

Cullen approached Astarion with a slightly saddened expression. "Astarion, it's great to see you back. Truly. You saved all these people by staying, and we – and I – will be forever grateful for that," he said, gesturing to the crowd of Haven residents gathering to watch.

Astarion's words dripped with sarcasm and bitterness as he fired back, "Oh, thank you so much . What a generous gesture after the ordeal I've been through. A mere, kind thank you . Well, do me a favor and take your gratitude and shove it. Perhaps I should have let them all die. Saving them wasn’t worth the pain I just went through– I will not be doing that again."

"Yet, you still did, and I thank you for that," Cullen said.

However, Astarion remained far from calm, and the gratitude he received did nothing to ease his distress. He responded with bitterness, "I had nothing for so long. Not even my body, which belonged to Cazador, to lure fools into his palace. I've shared my bed with thousands, half of whom I barely remember. Most of them didn't even offer me temporary solace. And yet, I finally had freedom. I could make my own choices, live as I wished. And yet, I still allowed you to pressure me into something I didn't want. It was easy to forget that I actually have a choice in such matters now, or perhaps I don't. This 'Inquisition' has done nothing but exploit me since my arrival. I might as well still be some kind of slave," Astarion's words were cutting.

Cullen attempted to defend the Inquisition, saying, "Now, hang on. That's not fair. You know that's not true."

Astarion retorted sarcastically, "Oh, isn't it ? I must have imagined the two times I was chained up. Ha. Ha. Silly me."

Bull added, "And I'd chain you up again in a heartbeat if it prevented you from becoming a slave once more."

Cole also chimed in, probing into Astarion’s mind, "You disobeyed, you were sad, dark, buried alive. It felt endless, and you wanted death. You begged for death, but none came."

Astarion's expression shifted from anger to sadness as Cole's words resurfaced painful memories. He said, "Don't do that. Don't delve into my mind. You're not helping."

“Sorry,” Cole replied. "I was only trying to help. You have a lot of sadness and fear." 

Solas, who had been quietly observing the conversation, stepped forward and proposed, "Maybe we should focus on something more productive? I'm familiar with a nearby location that would offer plenty of room for the Inquisition. It's almost like a fortress, and it would shield us from any surprise attacks, unlike Haven. Relocating there to escape this frigid weather could be a wise decision."

Cullen inquired, "Really? An open fortress, uninhabited, close by?"

Solas confirmed, "Yes, I discovered it during my travels. It's old but well-suited for our purpose. It's called Skyhold."

Dorian expressed his willingness to go there, saying, "If it gets me somewhere warmer, I'll go anywhere."

“I’ll… consider it, so long as there’s animals around for me to hunt. Don’t think I’m going to just willingly follow whatever you all want from now on, though,” Astarion said. 

Cullen concluded, "Good. It's settled then. We'll start packing to depart tomorrow."

The rest of the day passed without incident. Astarion spent most of the day brooding and recovering, fending off numerous people who wanted to talk to him. The people of Haven had gained a newfound respect for Astarion, even though it wasn't the adoration and hope associated with a typical hero. He had effectively dispelled any rumors about being a demon and proved that he was the Herald of Andraste. With Astarion's arrival, things seemed to be looking up.

The following morning, Astarion felt completely back to his normal self. His journey through the snow was no longer evident, and he felt thoroughly rejuvenated. In fact, he felt even more powerful than before, as if Solas's blood had enhanced his abilities. Solas was an enigmatic figure in Astarion's eyes, and he couldn't overlook the fact that Solas seemed to "just happen" to know about a location in the mountains. Astarion was deeply suspicious, and now that he felt better, he intended to probe further.

Leliana interrupted his thoughts, holding a small piece of paper, and approached him. "Do you have a moment? I'd like to speak to you in private. I just received a raven from one of my scouts now that the heavy snow has ceased. They found someone else who was lost, claiming to be from Baldur's Gate," she said.

Astarion's interest was piqued. "Really? I was starting to think that the only way to Baldur's Gate was through a rift, given how much Cazador wanted that amulet," he remarked.

Leliana nodded and continued, "It appears that you’d be right. My scout saw this person emerging directly from a rift. Demons attacked them, but they managed to fend them off long enough to escape the rift's vicinity." 

Astarion paused, his expression turning to one of surprise. "Really? Do you have a name?" he asked.

Leliana nodded her head, then looked back down at the paper in her hands. “Yes, its–” 

Notes:

So... who do we think is gonna show up? >:)

Chapter 18: Astarion's Unexpected Promotion

"It's Karlach," Leliana stated before casting an expectant gaze in Astarion's direction, as if anticipating his reaction to the name.

Astarion responded with a nonchalant shrug. "Karlach? Doesn't ring a bell," he confessed. "Though, I must say, it's rather unsettling that folks from Baldur's Gate are making their way to us through these rifts."

"Yes, it's indeed a problem, especially when people from your hometown have such unique... appearances," Leliana added. 

Astarion couldn't resist a self-assured grin. "Rest assured, no one else from Baldur’s Gate can match my extraordinary looks," he mused, running a hand through his hair. "But why the fixation on appearances? Karlach isn't another vampire, is she?"

Leliana shook her head quickly. "No, nothing like that. Well, I hope not, at least. Apparently, the Inquisition scouts took her into hiding because she has red skin, horns, a tail, and even a glowing chest, among other peculiar attributes. If rumors spread about you being a demon, I can only imagine what they might think of her ."

Astarion pondered the situation. "I'd say she sounds like a tiefling, but I'm a bit hesitant after how that label backfired on me last time . Although the glowing heart part has me puzzled. Why did your scouts decide she wasn't a demon– with her unique looks?"

"Well, as you've probably noticed, the demons that emerge from the rifts aren't exactly pleasant," Leliana explained.

Astarion interjected, "You mean they're hideous and monstrous."

"Exactly," Leliana confirmed. "And they don't engage in conversation before attacking. People thought you were a desire demon based on mage stories of encounters in the Fade, but demons like that don't usually step right out of rifts."

Astarion quipped with a smirk, "So, if you're hot and willing to chat, you're not a demon. I'll remember that, just in case. Especially if rifts start disgorging people instead of just demons. Wouldn't want to mistakenly stab a non-demon."

“Apparently, she’s hot in more ways than one. My scouts didn’t go into details, but apparently her skin is literally too hot to touch,” Leliana stated.

Astarion pondered the situation. "So, what's the plan for her, then? We can't simply send her back to Baldur's Gate, can we? And she doesn't have a glowing hand, right?" A sudden realization dawned on him. "Wait, when you said 'glowing heart,' you didn't mean—"

Leliana quickly clarified, "No, not like your hand. It's a different kind of glow, as far as I understand."

Astarion chuckled, "Good, at least I'm the only one capable of closing rifts. You can't replace me anytime soon."

"We wouldn't dream of replacing you, Astarion. Despite your peculiarities, you're well-liked, and we're committed to you. We're also devising a plan to deal with Cazador," Leliana assured.

Astarion raised an eyebrow. "Really? You’re planning to kill Cazador and you didn't tell me?"

"You... weren't around, were you? Did you think we were just idling away the days while you were absent?" Leliana remarked. "Although I must admit, we did have some differences in our approach. But the unanimous agreement, when you didn't return, was that Cazador had taken you. We weren't about to simply surrender you to him."

Astarion nodded with a mixture of relief and gratitude. "Of course, I knew that," he said, though his expression betrayed his previous fears of abandonment.

Leliana redirected the conversation back to the matter at hand. "In any case, what should we do about Karlach?"

Astarion appeared to savor the opportunity to call the shots. " Ooo , I get to choose? Well, I suppose we should eventually make her acquaintance. It could be beneficial to glean any information she has about reaching this place from Baldur's Gate, given my elusive memories from that time. Nonetheless, our current circumstances aren't exactly conducive to a meeting..."

Leliana proposed a solution. "I'll have my scouts continue to shelter her and send a group to retrieve her. We'll keep her safe and concealed within the Inquisition for the time being. It wouldn't be wise for Cazador to discover her arrival; he'd likely want to question her as much as we do. What do you think of having the Bull's Chargers meet her and bring her back once we've secured a safer location? They've been eager for some action."

Astarion nonchalantly shrugged. "Fine by me. Frankly, I couldn't care less about our course of action as long as it leads to me escaping this wretched cold. I miss the city. All this hiking and wilderness, it's simply not my cup of tea," he grumbled. 

Leliana assured him, "If Solas keeps his word, you won't have to endure it much longer. I'll let you finish your preparations, as we'll be departing shortly."

As the Inquisition prepared to depart, Astarion made an effort to approach Dorian, only to find the mage consistently avoiding him. Every time Astarion neared Dorian, the mage would quickly find an excuse to engage in a task in the opposite direction. This situation was disheartening for Astarion; he could tell that Dorian was uncomfortable around him. A sense of guilt washed over him for the reckless attack he'd unleashed on Dorian. It wasn't lost on him that Dorian had been one of his favorite companions, and now he feared that he had damaged their relationship, assuming that Dorian would no longer want to be around him due to his vampiric nature.

For most of the morning, Astarion stuck close to Varric, the only person treating him with a semblance of normalcy, as if nothing had happened. He had no desire for others' pity or to be viewed as a ticking time bomb. He craved a sense of normalcy, and Varric was the only friend willing to offer that. Even Bull seemed to regard Astarion with apprehension, as if he was on the brink of snapping.

Astarion had considered spending time with Solas, who also didn't exhibit discomfort around him or offer pity. However, he couldn't help but feel a slight unease, as Solas had recently grown increasingly attached to Astarion, wanting his company more than usual. Astarion hoped it wasn't due to romantic interest, as, well, he had standards . Besides, Varric was much better at lightening the mood.

As the Inquisition readied for departure, Astarion left Varric and joined Solas, Cassandra, and Leliana.

"Are we ready to go? Because I certainly am. The sooner we leave this place, the better," Astarion declared.

Cassandra spoke up, "Yes, and we'd like you to take the lead."

“Well, there’s one tiny problem,” Astarion said. 

“Which is?” Cassandra asked. 

"I'm utterly clueless about where to go," Astarion nonchalantly replied. 

Leliana intervened, clarifying, "What she means is that we want it to appear as though you're leading us, while Solas will guide you discreetly. You already have the appearance of being 'guided' by Andraste, having made it here safely. We'd like to maintain this illusion, as rumors of you being a demon have largely subsided."

“Well you should have just said that to begin with,” Astarion replied, placing his hands on his hips in mock exasperation. “Anyways, we’d better get going.” 

Solas nodded and directed Astarion, "We need to head in that direction," gesturing with his finger. "You'll walk ahead of me to maintain the illusion."

Leliana interjected, "One more thing, I spoke with Bull, and he's sending his Chargers to meet Karlach. They'll break off from us once we find a safer location."

Astarion agreed, "Then let's not dawdle. We should move out."

They set off on their journey, and while Astarion couldn't help but feel dismayed about the length of the trip, he was at least relieved to be in the company of others and close to a source of warmth. As they progressed, the snowfall lessened, although it never entirely disappeared, given their mountainous surroundings. The heavy snow and the bitter storm Astarion had previously endured were now behind them.

During their trek, Solas broached a topic that several companions thought was too soon to discuss, understanding that Astarion needed a respite from his recent ordeals. Solas, however, was determined to uncover the truth. Several others listened in, curious about the conversation.

Solas asked straightforwardly, "What happened to you before the avalanche? I saw you speaking with Cazador and Corypheus."

Astarion responded matter-of-factly, "Cazador ordered me to kneel, and Corypheus used some sort of magical orb in an attempt to remove the mark from my hand."

“And the orb failed?” Solas asked. 

Astarion lifted his marked hand, stating, " Obviously . I didn't paint this on this morning."

“Solas continued, "I happen to know about that orb. It's an ancient elvhen artifact, and it was the key to Corypheus opening the breach. Its activation likely caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. The orb is a foci, used to channel ancient magics."

Solas pressed further, "What occurred after the orb's failure? How did you escape Cazador's control, given that he still held power over you?"

Astarion explained, "They argued until the avalanche struck. Corypheus made a mistake; Cazador prevented him from using the orb further, believing it was killing me. Corypheus attempted to order Cazador to command me to remain still, but Cazador resented being told what to do, especially by Corypheus. They quarreled, and the avalanche began. I managed to flee from them and found an underground tunnel just as the avalanche descended."

"And by sheer happenstance, you discovered an underground tunnel with its entrance conveniently revealed?" Solas inquired with a hint of curiosity.

Astarion casually shrugged his shoulders again. "Frankly, there should've been some kind of sign or barrier, don't you think? Anyone could've stumbled into that pit without warning. Haven's collapse might have been a silver lining; it was a catastrophe waiting to occur," Astarion mused.

Solas commented, "It's fortunate that you found it, unlikely as it may seem. That hidden passage saved everyone from a considerable ordeal."

Astarion confessed, "Believe me, I was ready to die in that snow if I hadn't chanced upon that tunnel. I'd rather be frozen in ice and snow forever than return to Cazador as his slave."

Solas acknowledged, "Noted. Let's hope it never comes to that again."

It took just under three days for the Inquisition to reach Skyhold, but the sight was beyond impressive. It wasn't merely an abandoned fortress; it was a full-fledged castle situated on a rocky island-like formation within the mountain. The only connection to the rest of the mountain was a bridge stretching across deep chasms, forming a formidable moat.

Astarion enthused, "I love it! There's no way any army could sneak up on us here. I bet even Cazador would die if he fell off those fortress walls."

Solas added, "You'll be pleased to know that, despite being in the mountains, this area is teeming with mountain animals for hunting. They can supply everyone, including you, with food until we establish a proper supply route."

Astarion grinned and started walking across the bridge leading to Skyhold. 

The rest of the Inquisition set up tents while they celebrated and shared a meal. While Skyhold showed signs of ruin, with collapsed stones in the castle area, it was nothing that couldn't be restored with some effort. This sight brought hope to the Inquisition, signifying the beginning of its recovery. The presence of fresh green grass and trees in the area delighted Astarion, who had grown weary of the monotonous snowscape.

In the following days, Skyhold continued to grow and thrive. Supplies arrived consistently, and work was underway to improve the fortress. Word had spread about the Inquisition's presence, attracting more individuals eager to join and assist in various ways. In just a few days, the Inquisition evolved into a bustling town with a tavern, mess hall, and a small infirmary. The Inquisition's army also expanded, with Cullen diligently leading and training them.

Astarion used this time to relax and hunt animals during the night. Being in Skyhold and feeling secure against any potential attacks from Cazador brought immense relief. He could finally enjoy the luxury of a bath, something he had looked forward to for the past week. During this period, he encountered new faces and reconnected with individuals he had previously met in Haven.

Astarion also took the opportunity to corner Dorian, who had been deliberately evading him. He bided his time until he spotted Dorian in the library, amidst the ancient tomes and shelves. Stealthily, he observed as Dorian moved into a corner, engrossed in searching for a book. With calculated swiftness, Astarion advanced, closing the distance between them and essentially cornering Dorian, leaving him with no escape route but to face Astarion.

With crossed arms, Astarion accused, "You've been avoiding me."

Dorian, trapped in the corner, admitted, "Well, yes, I have. I just needed some time to think. My apologies."

“Some time to think? You haven’t even let me near you in ages!” Astarion remarked, edging closer. He noticed the sudden increase in Dorian's heart rate, cluing him in to the issue. "You're scared of me now, aren't you?" he asked, before retracting a step.

Dorian retorted with a sheepish grin, "Me, afraid of you? Ha! Never. You're dangerous, of course, but beneath that sarcastic facade, you're really quite a softie. Cazador might instill fear in me, but not you. "

"A softie? Seriously ? Ugh, you're fortunate I appreciate that pretty little face of yours, or I might have more to say about that. So if you're not trembling in fear of me, then what's the matter? Why the sudden avoidance?" Astarion asked, concern evident in his features. 

Dorian explained, "It's not about fear; it's about appearances. People have grown fond of you, especially after your return from Haven. I'm a Tevinter mage, and you're an escaped elvhen slave, at least as far as they know. It doesn't reflect well on me to be seen with you, and they don't trust me. I thought it might improve your image if I kept my distance."

Astarion stepped closer, forcing Dorian to retreat against the wall in the corner. Placing his hand beside Dorian's head, he stated, "Since when did I care what the rest of the Inquisition thinks? I'll do as I please, regardless of their opinions." 

As Astarion leaned in, Dorian's heart raced, and the scent of arousal hung in the air. Astarion noticed the effect he had and pushed further, "Though, that's not the real reason you've been avoiding me, is it? There's something you're not telling me."

Dorian found himself taken aback by Astarion's proximity. He noticed the precarious situation he was in, with Astarion's face so close to his own. It would be effortless for Astarion to sink his fangs into Dorian's neck. He paled, pondering whether Astarion might want more after having tasted his blood once. But the formidable elf trapping him against the wall triggered another set of emotions he couldn't easily dismiss. Dorian knew his father would be scandalized if he discovered Dorian's intense attraction to Astarion: an elf, a vampire, and a man .

Anxiety gripped Dorian, and he stammered, "You're not planning to bite me, are you?" He couldn't help but notice Astarion's faintly visible fangs and their dangerous proximity to his neck.

Astarion replied with a mischievous tone, "No, not unless you desire it. Believe it or not, I prefer my victims to be willing, even begging , if possible. Someday, I hope to make you beg as well." Astarion maintained his position, still interested in pursuing an intimate connection with Dorian, even though sex didn't particularly excite him. He understood it would be beneficial to have Dorian fully on his side, even if it required more persuasion due to Dorian's recent avoidance.

Dorian blushed and responded nervously, "Well, good. I'm relieved we've clarified that. I'm not quite ready to be bitten again, not after being attacked, twice."

Astarion reassured him, "I wasn't truly myself then. I never intended to hurt you, and I'm sorry if I did. But I assure you, if you ever trust me enough again, I can make it an enjoyable experience for you. I want to bite you properly this time. Even in my starved state, your blood was exquisite, and it left me wishing for more." Astarion stepped back and added, "If you ever feel ready for that."

As Astarion backed away, Dorian released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The experience left him feeling like prey under the gaze of a predator, yet that dangerous allure of Astarion inexplicably excited him. "Maybe," he found himself admitting, "but not now. I'm not ready for that." Memories of the recent attacks sent shivers down his spine, making him acutely aware of the fear he felt about being bitten again.

Dorian understood he was now afraid of being bitten, and the memories of helplessness as his life drained away were not easily forgotten. As attractive as Astarion was, the thought of being attacked again left him unsettled. He also had trouble reconciling the danger Astarion presented with the inexplicable attraction he felt toward him.

"Fair enough," Astarion relented. "I suppose I'll catch you later. It's evident you're sorting through some matters, so I won't stand in your way if you wish to keep your distance. But I must say, I miss your company greatly. Everyone else is dreadfully dull. Well, except for Varric, perhaps, though I suspect even he is growing weary of my presence. You know where to find me," he added with a smirk and a slight turn before making his exit, leaving Dorian alone in the library once more.

As Astarion left the library, he crossed paths with Leliana, who shared the news that the Bull's Chargers, along with Karlach, were en route to Skyhold. Astarion had been eagerly awaiting this opportunity to converse with someone who could genuinely connect with his shared experiences from Baldur's Gate. In the meantime, he had spent his days in Skyhold exploring the vast castle, which was quite time-consuming given its immense size.

While wandering, he stumbled upon Cassandra, Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine engaged in a private conversation. They paused upon seeing Astarion approaching. The group, except for Cassandra, dispersed, leaving him puzzled.

"People arrive daily from every settlement in the region," Cassandra began as she gestured for Astarion to follow her. They ascended a staircase while she continued, "Skyhold is becoming a place of pilgrimage. If the word has reached them, it has also reached Corypheus and Cazador."

Astarion responded with confidence, "Let them try to make an appearance here. I'd swiftly dispatch them both, giving Cazador no opportunity to even think about enslaving me. Well, I'd push Cazador off the edge, to be precise. As for Corypheus, we might need Bull; he's probably too big for me to push off on my own."

Cassandra expressed her gratitude and admiration, saying, "It was your assistance that brought us to this point. Your decisions sealed the breach, and your unwavering determination carried us out of Haven. Without you, we wouldn't be standing here today. Every one of us recognizes this."

She guided Astarion to the top of the staircase where Leliana awaited, holding a ceremonial sword. As Astarion peered over the edge, he saw the bustling courtyard filled with Inquisition members, and even his companions, including Dorian, gazed up at him with pride.

"The Inquisition is in need of a leader," Cassandra continued as Astarion admired the crowd below. "And it’s you ."

Astarion raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely perplexed. "I... what ?" he said to her. "You're saying you want me as your leader? You all... actually chose me for this position?" His surprise left no room for his typical sarcasm.

Cassandra affirmed, "All these people owe their lives to you, and they are well aware of it. They will follow you."

"But... wouldn't you rather be the leader of the Inquisition?" Astarion asked, as he had seen Cassandra as the one taking charge since the beginning.

Cassandra admitted, "I won't deny that the thought crossed my mind. However, deep down, I believe it was meant to be. There would be no Inquisition without you. So, we have all unanimously decided that you are the best leader."

"All of you?" Astarion asked, his face displaying a mix of emotions. He felt both touched and astounded by their desire for him to lead. "Well, it's high time you recognized my talents," he  added with a smirk.

Leliana, holding the sword, extended it to Astarion, saying, "Accept the sword, Astarion, and become the leader of us all– become the Inquisitor."

Astarion gently took the sword's hilt, his emotions evident on his face. He turned to face the people below, while Cassandra stepped closer to the edge.

Cassandra raised her voice to ask Joesphine, "Have the people been informed?"

“They have. And soon, the world!” Josephine shouted loudly from below. 

Cassandra then shouted down to Cullen, "Commander, will they follow?"

Cullen addressed the crowd, asking, "Will you, Inquisition, follow? Will you fight?"

The crowd responded with cheers, many shouting "yes" while raising their fists.

"Will we emerge victorious?" Cullen continued, met with even louder "yes" responses, the crowd's excitement growing.

Cullen pointed his sword upward toward Astarion and declared, "Your leader, your Herald, your Inquisitor!"

Astarion's initial astonishment turned into a wide grin as he lifted the ceremonial sword into the air. The entire crowd erupted into cheers, and Astarion relished the moment. He stood there, his sword raised high, basking in the applause and adoration.

After a moment, he lowered the sword, and the cheers gradually subsided. Astarion was officially named 'The Inquisitor,' the leader of the entire Inquisition, and it felt absolutely exhilarating. 

Notes:

Congrats to all of those who guessed Karlach!

To the people who guessed Gale: When I had first started writing the story, I had intended it to be him. I played with the idea of him accidentally 'investigating' a rift and getting sucked through, or something along those lines. He's also a fun character; which is why I'm also assuming so many of you wanted it to be Gale. Unfortunately, he didn't make the cut, because the closer I got to the point of writing in someone else; the less sense it made for it to be him. He would serve little purpose for actually being in the story with Astarion, and there's already too many characters involved-I didn't need another random one that had no purpose of actually being there. So I had to pick someone else that made more sense to the future of the story: which is Karlach.

To the people who guessed Dragonborn/Durge/Tav: Tav is busy elsewhere.

To the people who guessed Shadowheart: Like Tav, she's needed elsewhere.

To the people who guessed other bad guys: Astarion already has enough on his plate, he really doesn't need even more.

Chapter 19: Extra Chapter: Karlach

Notes:

enjoy this extra mini-chapter.

Karlach had experienced quite a few trying days, to say the least. Yet, considering the circumstances, she managed to find at least a sliver of solace in the thought that things could be much worse. It had all started in the underdark during a fierce battle with Tav, Shadowheart, and Wyll against True Soul Nere and his henchmen. The skirmish had almost reached its end when she found herself unceremoniously shoved into a nearby pool of lava. Her fiery nature notwithstanding, there was no way she could have survived a plunge into molten rock.

Just as her skin made contact with the searing lava, a brilliant flash of green light occurred. Before she could fully comprehend the situation, she was yanked through a mysterious portal. It wasn't exactly her preferred mode of escape, but it was better than the alternative. The new world on the other side of the portal was bizarre, to say the least. Everything was strangely green, the laws of gravity seemed capricious, and she was pursued by unnervingly large spiders.

Fortunately, her stay in this bewildering realm was brief. She spotted another portal, just in the nick of time as the grotesque creatures were closing in on her. Without much contemplation, she hurled herself through the portal. The next world she encountered was far more agreeable, perched at the fringe of a forest. A meandering path led to a bridge where a few human guards were stationed beside a banner bearing an unfamiliar emblem.

As Karlach observed her surroundings, she realized she wasn't the only one who had stumbled through the portal. Several bizarre creatures had also made the leap. It was challenging to categorize these monstrosities, as they were perhaps the ugliest beings she had ever encountered, which was certainly saying something. Alas, they displayed no signs of amicability, so she skillfully wielded her battleaxe, doing her best to eliminate them. However, it became evident that the more she killed, the more spawned in their place. Frustration mounted, and she decided it was time to retreat. Luckily, the grotesque beings didn't show any great enthusiasm for pursuing her too far.

She made a beeline for the guards stationed on the nearby bridge, their weapons raised with a mix of fear and shock as they beheld Karlach's arrival. She had no illusions about the likelihood of receiving assistance from these people. It was more probable they would try to attack her as well. With that in mind, she dashed away from the scene and bolted into the forest, zigzagging through the trees until she felt it was safe to pause and catch her breath.

Perched on a fallen log, she rummaged through her pack, hoping to find something of use. Regrettably, she had left most of her belongings back at camp at Tav's insistence, in order to leave room for potential loot. Consequently, all she had on her was an extra set of clothes and a variety of mushrooms. It was a dire situation, and she found herself sitting on the log in a state of defeat, contemplating her next move.

Karlach had some knowledge of what had befallen her. This was not the first instance of individuals vanishing through a mysterious green portal that seemed to materialize out of thin air. The druids had described a similar event occurring once at the Emerald Grove, where a healer named Nettie had simply vanished. The group had also personally witnessed such a portal at the Goblin Camp, where several goblins in the midst of battle were abruptly sucked into one of these mysterious rifts, much to everyone's astonishment. Yet, despite these encounters, not even Gale, the knowledgeable wizard of the group, had any inkling about the true nature of these enigmatic portals.

The only person in their group with any inkling about these mysterious portals was their 'dream visitor.' This enigmatic figure had persistently stressed the importance of not only locating the Absolute but also finding the individual responsible for these portals, a crucial element in thwarting the cultist conspiracy. Their dreams had offered a vague image of an elven man with curly hair, extending his hand with a potent green magic emanating from it. The image lacked the clarity to discern specific features, but the group had assumed it was likely an elven sorcerer instigating the sudden emergence of these portals.

Naturally, they had no insight into the elf's intentions, but they suspected that they were likely malevolent and needed to be stopped. Despite their determination, the group remained clueless about how to actually track down this enigmatic elf. Thus, they proceeded with the arduous journey through the underdark, aiming to reach Moonrise Towers eventually.

Karlach's circumstances had changed dramatically, given her unanticipated journey through one of these portals. Yet, she couldn't help but reflect on how the portal had seemingly saved her from certain death. Perhaps, she mused, the elf behind these portals didn't harbor the sinister intentions the group had originally assumed. Despite her contemplations, the reality remained: she was stranded in an unfamiliar location, devoid of supplies and direction.

Before she could delve deeper into her predicament, a dwarven woman materialized from the forest's concealment, her bow poised in Karlach's direction, flanked by the same human guards from before. "Oh, for the love of– can't a girl catch a breath of fresh air in peace?" Karlach grumbled, her hand tightening around her trusty axe, readying herself for what could be an impending showdown.

“State your name and purpose!" the dwarf commanded, maintaining her bow's aim.

"Karlach. And, well, I don't really have a purpose? To be honest, I'm not entirely sure where I am. I'm a bit lost," she replied, hoping to avoid a skirmish with these people.

“Where are you from?” the dwarf asked. 

"Uh, well, technically, Baldur's Gate? Although, I was in the underdark and Avernus before I—" Karlach began, but the dwarf interrupted her.

" Baldur's Gate ?" The dwarf uttered in wonder, gradually lowering her bow. "You're from Baldur's Gate ?"

Karlach found the dwarf's reaction perplexing. "Yes, why? Are we close?" she asked, a glimmer of hope in her voice. 

The dwarf shook her head. "No. It's just that I have special orders to search for anyone claiming to be from Baldur's Gate. I honestly didn't expect to find anyone, especially not someone who just leaped out of a rift, and certainly not someone who looks like you—no offense," she explained.

Karlach observed the dwarf, still clutching her axe. "So, are you still considering trying to kill me, or...?" she inquired.

The dwarf secured her bow on her back. "No, not if you don't intend to harm me either, of course," she added.

"No, and thank the gods. I really didn't want to have to kill you guys," Karlach admitted, sheathing her axe. "So, would you mind telling me where I am exactly?" she asked.

"We’re deep in the Hinterlands, situated within Ferelden," the dwarf explained, yet Karlach displayed clear confusion at this unfamiliar place. "It would be wise for you to accompany us; we are representatives of the Inquisition. Consider yourself fortunate, for had others come across you, they might have resorted to violence on the spot. We have a nearby cabin where you can take refuge. We have many questions we'd like to ask, if you are willing," the dwarf proposed.

Though Karlach hesitated to place her trust in this group, she decided to take the chance, as her only other option was to fend for herself in the wilderness. Fortunately, it turned out to be a wise decision, as this group, all things considered, proved to be quite amiable. They were quite intrigued by her appearance, as it seemed no one in the vicinity resembled her in any way, which didn't come as a surprise to her.

Karlach also learned about the 'Inquisition,' a prominent organization in the area dedicated to closing the portals referred to as 'rifts.' It was led by the 'Herald of Andraste,' a former slave with the unique ability to seal these rifts. While the dwarf didn't know precisely why she had been instructed to look out for individuals from Baldur's Gate, Karlach figured that if they harbored any ill intentions, they would have already made their move.

Several days passed, during which Karlach stayed with the group in their cozy cabin, as the dwarf awaited instructions from her spymaster. Eventually, they received word that a team of individuals would be dispatched to escort her to the Inquisition, as the 'Herald' desired to meet her. She felt apprehensive, of course, fearing that this individual might turn out to be a bad guy. Nonetheless, she followed her instincts, which urged her to proceed with the Inquisition. Additionally, her concerns regarding the tadpole situation were mounting, and she hoped to find someone knowledgeable about it, particularly since she was unsure if Shadowheart's prism still offered her protection. If it didn't, things could take a turn for the worse quickly. 

True to their word, a few days later, a small group of apparent mercenaries arrived at the cabin to meet her. She observed their faces contorting with surprise, accompanied by a few gasps – a reaction she had unfortunately grown accustomed to.

Krem, who led the group in Bull's absence, approached Karlach and nodded respectfully. "You must be Karlach. I'm Cremisius Aclassi, but everyone calls me Krem. We'll be the ones responsible for escorting you to the Inquisition," he announced.

"Nice to meet ya," Karlach said with a friendly smile on her face. 

"If you don't mind me asking, are you some kind of Qunari?" Krem inquired, eyeing her horns but clearly uncertain. He had never seen any Qunari with tails, red skin, or glowing chests.

“A Qunari? What’s that?” Karlach asked. 

"Well, if you're not familiar with it, I suppose not, then. My apologies – just never come across someone with your unique look. The Chief's gonna be damn surprised when he lays eyes on you, I reckon," Krem remarked, the hint of a chuckle in his voice.

"No worries. Despite this infernal look, I promise I'm no devil or anything – just a tiefling with more than her fair share of misfortune," Karlach reassured.

"A tiefling? I've heard that term... the Herald mentioned it once," Krem responded, recognizing the peculiar word Karlach used.

"I'm looking forward to meeting him," Karlach remarked, already sensing that this 'Herald' likely possessed more knowledge about her situation than anyone she had encountered thus far. She really hoped the 'Herald' wouldn't turn out to be evil. 

Chapter 20: Astarion Meets a New Friend

Astarion relished his newfound role as Inquisitor, perhaps a bit too much. His companions handled the bulk of the workload, including paperwork, leaving him with just a couple of responsibilities. He mainly focused on keeping himself informed through meetings with his allies and making critical decisions related to the Inquisition. Astarion also invested time in meeting visiting nobles to bolster the Inquisition's influence, a task at which he excelled. He certainly knew how to make an impression. 

Despite his status as Inquisitor, his closest companions insisted that he attend 'educational sessions' about Thedas and its intricacies. They were well aware that Baldur's Gate, wherever it might be, was a considerable distance away, and Astarion required updated knowledge to effectively lead the Inquisition. Most of these lessons were led by Josephine, who– as the Inquisition's diplomat– was best equipped to educate Astarion on matters concerning the world at large. She also persisted in his reading lessons since Astarion couldn't rely on Josephine and Leliana indefinitely for paperwork.

With Alexius and Dorian's guidance, Astarion also delved into magical studies. It became apparent that, despite his evident magical abilities, he couldn't manipulate magic in the same way as Thedas mages could– a topic that had intrigued Alexius immensely. Nevertheless, they continued his magical education, striving to impart knowledge about mages and the Fade in general.

During this period, Dorian ceased avoiding Astarion, but his behavior remained far from ordinary when in Astarion's presence. Dorian grappled with mixed feelings, unsure whether he was scared of Astarion or drawn to him. While he dismissed the idea of genuine fear, he couldn't deny the increased intensity of his heartbeat and the desire to evade Astarion's penetrating gaze. It was as if Dorian had suddenly gained a new perspective on Astarion, recognizing him as something more than an elf – a man with razor-sharp fangs, always ready to strike.

Nevertheless, Dorian had witnessed Astarion feeding on Bull without causing any harm. In spite of acknowledging the considerable danger that Astarion represented, Dorian couldn't deny the magnetic attraction he felt. Astarion's physical appeal was impossible to ignore, and Dorian believed it would be foolish for anyone not to acknowledge it. Yet, the thrill of danger added an entirely new layer of fascination, one that held a unique allure for Dorian. Since the incident , his body responded in an unconventional manner every time he found himself in Astarion's presence, leaving him torn between the fear of a vampire's bite and a profound attraction.

Moreover, Dorian grappled with an unsettling sense of how he should be feeling towards Astarion. Astarion had hinted on multiple occasions that Cazador had compelled him into unwanted sexual acts. Despite Astarion not being from Tevinter, this fact still made Dorian feel morally conflicted about experiencing any degree of sexual desire for him. Astarion was an elf, and Dorian was painfully aware of the existence of people in his homeland who bought and sold elves for sexual pleasure. Although Astarion's circumstances were different, the fact that he had been subjected to similar acts against his will weighed on Dorian's conscience. This inner turmoil intensified due to his Tevinter origins, making it feel wrong for him to desire someone who had endured a history of sexual exploitation. Dorian knew that Astarion didn't share the same reservations, as they had almost engaged in a sex once before. Nevertheless, Dorian wanted to ensure that Astarion never felt pressured into such intimacy.

As a result, Dorian found himself entangled in a web of confusion regarding his feelings for Astarion. One thing became undeniably clear, though – every time their eyes locked, his heart raced, and he sensed that Astarion could discern his heightened emotions. He had observed how Astarion's eyes would dilate slightly, and the vampire would subtly lick his lips, appearing as though he yearned to taste Dorian's blood. Fortunately, whenever Dorian was in the company of both Bull and Astarion, Bull managed to keep Astarion distracted most of the time. Bull seemed to recognize Dorian's internal struggle and would redirect Astarion whenever needed. While he understood that Astarion wasn't doing this intentionally, it confirmed Dorian's suspicions that the inherent vampiric nature within Astarion hungered for his blood. So, Dorian was grateful to Bull, at least until he could resolve his inner conflicts and find clarity. Because of this, Dorian found himself spending more and more time around Bull. 

Alexius wasn't the sole individual eager to impart knowledge about the Fade to Astarion; Solas had an abundance to share on the subject as well. Frankly, it was all rather tedious for Astarion. Solas also attempted to educate Astarion about elves and elvhen culture, although much of it went over Astarion's head, given his contrasting beliefs about elvhen culture. In fact, Astarion often felt like he was spending more time teaching Solas about the elves in Faerun than the other way around. Solas, however, had displayed a deep fascination, hanging on to every word Astarion said about elves, especially when Astarion mentioned the drow, which seemed to trigger a barrage of endless questions from Solas.

During his downtime, Astarion found himself in conversation with Varric. Varric recounted the tales of his previous adventures, particularly the story of Hawke and his companions. Varric had subtly hinted that he might know the current whereabouts of Hawke and Fenris, and that they might be interested in meeting Astarion in the future. Evidently, Fenris had a strong reaction upon hearing that the Herald of Andraste – the Inquisitor – was an escaped slave. However, this information was given unofficially because officially, Varric "didn't know" where Hawke and Fenris were.

As the day drew to a close, Astarion found himself with no specific tasks at hand. His body felt reinvigorated and content, thanks to the plentiful supply of blood he had enjoyed in recent days. He didn't feel the need for rest or respite. Night had only just fallen, and it would be a few more hours before he would venture out for another round of hunting. The area teemed with wildlife, and Astarion had even started stockpiling blood for future use. He had a whole shelf in his room filled with jars of blood. With access to the Inquisition's finances, he had secured an order of elfroot, which enabled him to store significant amounts of blood in his room. He had raised some eyebrows among those unaware of his secret due to the quantity of elfroot he ordered "for personal use," but no one dared to confront him directly, likely because of his role as the Inquisitor. Astarion even maintained a small booklet in which he recorded the flavors and characteristics of various blood samples, akin to a wine connoisseur's notes.

Needless to say, Astarion found himself in high spirits. He was not only the leader of the Inquisition, granting him more political power than he had ever possessed, but he also had unrestricted access to blood, with nearly no limitations. Although he had yet to feed on a person again, he knew that he would in the future. The random instances of elf racism had also ceased, as he held the esteemed title of Inquisitor, demanding respect from all. Of course, Astarion acknowledged that some people might still gossip about him behind his back. Nevertheless, the only thing that could make him even happier now was if Cazador were to drop dead. 

However, not every moment of his day was filled with excitement; there were times when it could be rather dull. So, one evening, when he found himself with a lack of other diversions, he opted to pay a visit to the local tavern. As he stepped through the entrance, he encountered a young elven woman, Sera, who he had admitted into the Inquisition some time ago. She had an irate expression as she approached him.

"You pompous, self-important git! Have you finally deigned to grace us 'little people' with your presence?" Sera spat her words at Astarion, her resentment evident.

"I'm sorry— what? " Astarion responded, his voice laced with shock and bewilderment.

"You're one of those rich, arrogant nobles who think they're better than the rest of us. You're the kind who despises 'little people.' I don't like that, and I don't like you, you arse-faced prig," Sera shot back at him.

“Rich nobles that hate the ‘little people’? You do realize I was a slave , right?” Astarion countered.  

"I recognize a prat when I see one. You act just like those high-and-mighty nobles," Sera insisted. "Could be worse though– you could act elfy,” she added. 

"I put my life on the line to rescue the residents of Haven, including yourself. If this is the gratitude I receive... well, you're welcome to depart. I'd suggest doing so tomorrow," Astarion retorted, his tone laced with frustration.

“Wait, what? That’s it ? You’re kicking me out?” Sera asked. 

"Indeed. I'd suggest you begin packing," Astarion replied, sauntering past her with an air of indifference, and heading toward Dorian and Bull, who were seated at a nearby table.

"Ugh. You arsehole!" Sera shouted as he walked past. 

As Astarion approached the table where Dorian and Bull sat, Bull cast him a questioning look tinged with concern. "Everything alright?" he asked, glancing at the departing, angry Sera.

"Why is it that every time I set foot in a tavern, I become the target of someone's foul temper? It's utterly confounding. She wasn't even drunk," Astarion lamented. 

Bull gave Astarion a solid pat on the shoulder. "You enjoy having the power to toss folks out, don't you? No longer require my backup, huh?" he commented with a gruff chuckle.

"As if I ever needed it in the first place," Astarion replied.

"Apparently not," Bull said, recalling the fate of the last person who had dared to insult Astarion in the tavern.

Dorian interjected, "So, what brings you out this way? I highly doubt it's for beer."

Astarion scoffed. "There's much more to do at a tavern than just drinking beer," he said.

"Oh really, like what?" Dorian asked. 

"Take flirting, for instance. I used to be a regular in taverns, you know. They were excellent hunting grounds. I'd engage in some flirtatious banter, entice them, and then lead them back to Cazador for a nice meal," Astarion divulged.

Dorian expressed his concern, saying, "I sincerely hope that's not your plan at the moment."

Astarion sighed, then continued, "Of course not. But, you wouldn't be opposed to a little flirtation, would you? It's what you desire, isn't it?" He leaned in closer to Dorian, observing the quickening of Dorian's heartbeat.

Dorian responded with a sarcastic tone, "Oh, absolutely, darling. I've been waiting for the day someone as charming as you would sweep me off my feet. My heart flutters with anticipation."

The Iron Bull couldn't suppress a hearty chuckle and remarked, "Hey, what's all this flirting going on? Am I not good enough for you, Astarion?" He playfully diverted Astarion's focus away from Dorian.

Bull had observed Astarion's recent behavior around Dorian and didn't approve. He saw through Astarion's tactics and knew that Astarion was trying to manipulate Dorian to stay close. He felt a twinge of sympathy for Astarion, understanding that beneath the veneer of manipulation was someone who was profoundly frightened, lost, and traumatized by Cazador.

However, he felt a deeper sympathy for Dorian, who seemed to be inadvertently caught in Astarion's manipulative web. Dorian had his own painful experiences related to his sexuality, and it wasn't right for Astarion to take advantage of that, whether intentionally or not. Bull understood Astarion's underlying fears and knew that his actions might not always be rational. His plan was simply to guide Astarion and intervene when he saw him trying to influence Dorian. After centuries of apparent relentless abuse, Bull didn't hold high expectations for Astarion's behavior; all he could do was support or re-direct Astarion until they finally managed to defeat Cazador, allowing Astarion to escape his near-constant hidden state of fear.

Thus, they enjoyed the rest of the evening with high morale, engaging in lively conversation and playful exchanges. Bull took special care to make Astarion feel at home and prevent any sense of isolation, considering Astarion's newfound role as the Inquisitor. He also held hope that Astarion and ‘Karlach’ would develop a camaraderie, recognizing that Astarion could benefit from a friend who shared his origins.

The next morning, Karlach was due to arrive in Skyhold. Astarion had been instructed by Leliana and Josephine to sit on the throne while awaiting her arrival, as it conveyed an image of power and influence. They had no way of knowing whether Karlach would be a valuable ally or a potential adversary, as they were uncertain if she had already aligned with Cazador or if she was merely an individual accidentally pulled through a rift. To maintain an aura of intimidation, Astarion was advised to wear the most opulent Skyhold attire he had. Not that he had any objections – he thoroughly enjoyed the sensation of power.

Karlach's arrival took place around noon, with Astarion seated regally on his throne. As she entered the front hall, audible gasps and astonished expressions abounded among those present. To say that Karlach was unlike anyone they had ever seen would be an understatement. Even Leliana appeared astounded, and it was a rare sight to see her so taken aback. 

Astarion chuckled audibly, a look of appreciation in his eyes as he gazed upon Karlach's striking presence. "Well, isn't this a delightful sight?" he murmured to himself.

Karlach approached the throne, accompanied by the Chargers assigned to bring her to the meeting. When she drew close enough to see Astarion, she stopped in her tracks. "It's you ," she remarked, recognizing the curly-haired elf with the green magic hand.

Before Astarion could respond, both he and Karlach winced, experiencing a connection between their tadpoles. Astarion witnessed a series of perplexing images – druids conducting some form of spell on a statue, a team in the midst of battle, and goblins. Their mental connection severed, and Astarion blinked away the peculiar sensation.

"Oh, gods. Another true soul. Curse my luck," Karlach muttered, her enthusiasm waning as she looked less pleased to see Astarion now.

"Hold on, just a moment. You bear a tadpole as well, don't you? And what did you mean by 'it's you'?" Astarion questioned.

"A tadpole? Wait – just to clarify – you haven’t been having this sudden urge to worship the Absolute, right? You're not one of those brainwashed cult fanatics?" Karlach asked.

" Excuse me ? Do I look like a 'cult fanatic' to you?" Astarion retorted, sounding offended. This meeting with Karlach was certainly not unfolding as he had anticipated.

"Well, sort of, right? I mean, you're on a fancy throne and everything. I've bumped into my share of true souls who had a thing for thrones," Karlach remarked.

"Fair point. But rest assured, I'm no cult fanatic," Astarion reassured with a sly grin. "The only divinity I bow to is a finely crafted glass of red ‘wine’, preferably one crafted by Solas."

"Well, that's a relief. Most folks I bump into with tadpoles tend to be a tad hostile," Karlach remarked. She went on, "I'm Karlach, a kickass tiefling with a heart of infernal machinery. I got yanked through one of your fancy portals and landed here, completely lost."

" My portals? I can assure you – I had nothing to do with those rifts. I've spent too much time having to close them, anyway," Astarion stated.

"Wait, really? I thought you were the one who created those portals..." Karlach said.

"Excuse me – we haven't crossed paths before, have we? I have an excellent memory for intriguing encounters, yet somehow, your face doesn't ring a bell, even though you seem so convinced we've met," Astarion said.

"Oh, yeah! We saw you in a dream once, mate. Me and the rest of my companions. We were told we would have to find you at some point because of all the portals," Karlach explained.

"Perhaps we should have a private conversation. I'd like you to fill me in on everything," Astarion proposed, rising from his seat. "Come with me to the war room – it's a more suitable place for our discussion."

Cassandra interjected, her eyes fixed on Karlach. "Are you sure it's wise to be in a room alone with her? We don't yet know her intentions," she cautioned.

"Well, if you ever hear a cacophony of screams, shouts, or the delightful sounds of combat, by all means, feel free to barge in. But if it's oddly quiet, you can rest assured that I'm just peachy on my own," Astarion retorted with a sardonic tone.

Astarion led Karlach to the war room. As they walked, Karlach observed her surroundings with a sense of wonder. She didn't say much during their journey, but her nervousness was palpable, considering the attention she attracted from onlookers. Astarion could empathize with her – he knew how suspicious people in Thedas could be about demons, and since there were no tieflings in the area, it was likely that bystanders believed she was some kind of demon. She did have a particularly devilish appearance, even by Faerun's standards.

Upon arriving at the war room, Astarion pivoted to address her. "Allow me to introduce myself properly," he began with a wry smile. "I'm Astarion, Inquisitor Astarion. I also share the humble roots of Baldur's Gate.”

"Oh, I see now," Karlach remarked, connecting the dots. "So that's why you were on the lookout for folks from Baldur's Gate. The companions I traveled with to get here said you were from a place called Tevinter," she continued. "So, that tadpole in your brain makes sense now. Were you aboard that ship, too, by any chance?” she asked. 

"The nautiloid ship? You were on that death trap as well? I can barely believe I survived its crash," Astarion exclaimed.

“Yep– the same one. I'm a bit fuzzy on the details, but it seems my survival involves some artifact stolen by one of my companions. Anyways, it's such a relief to know I'm not the sole survivor here from Baldur's Gate and that floating nightmare of a ship," Karlach replied.

"Likewise. Anyways, you mentioned seeing me in a dream. Care to elaborate on that?" Astarion asked, steering the conversation in a new direction.

Karlach shrugged. "My companions and I saw you in a dream. Apparently, we had to find you if we were going to stop the Absolute's plot – but none of us were really sure why. I was in mid-battle with a 'true soul' when I got sucked through one of those rifts. It saved my life, though, so I'd much rather be here than there," she explained.

"I keep hearing 'true soul.' What does that mean?" Astarion asked.

"People with tadpoles – except they don't know they have tadpoles and think they hear the voice of a god called the 'Absolute.' We were on our way to Moonrise Towers – because all of the 'true souls' were headed there, and no one knows why. What we do know is that the man in charge of Moonrise is Ketheric Thorm – and he's an evil shithead that we needed to kill," Karlach said.

"Wait – Ketheric Thorm ?" Astarion asked, surprise evident on his face.

"Yeah... why?" Karlach asked, confused by Astarion's reaction.

“Well, I’d hate to break the news to you, but your companions don’t succeed in killing him,” Astarion said. 

“What makes you say that? We’ve done a damned good job at killing all the bad guys so far,” Karlach said.

"Your companions won't kill him because he ends up here – in the future. I... well, to put it simply – I time-traveled – it’s a long story. In the future, Ketheric Thorm is here, " Astarion explained.

“Oh, blast. This is turning out to be far more weird than I initially thought," Karlach remarked.

"Believe me, I'm acutely aware of that. The future here is rife with horrors, and my mission is to prevent it from materializing. That includes stopping Ketheric and, well, others, " Astarion explained.

"Oh, good! I mean, not good for the future, but I'm sure glad to meet someone else who's trying to save the world and all that. We should team up – I'm sure my companions could really use some help from, well, this side of those rifts," Karlach said.

"Well, I've brought even stranger characters into the Inquisition, so you'd make a valuable addition. Just be prepared for people to label you as a demon – the folks here can be superstitious and discourteous to anything that even vaguely resembles a demon. I'll have Leliana create a cover story for you. So, yes, I'm more than willing to form a partnership with you – but there's one condition ," Astarion stated.

"And what's that?" Karlach asked with her arms crossed.

"Well... there's no easy way to put this. I'm, well, a vampire spawn. My master is Cazador Szarr – you might have heard of him – and, um... he's here, in Thedas. While he can't maintain full control over me – probably due to the tadpole – if we're face to face, he has full dominion over me. I literally cannot resist obeying his commands – and he's allied with Ketheric. I need you to help protect me from him. Especially since you don't seem... well, biteable . I could use a companion he can't drain..." Astarion explained, his expression showing a flash of trauma, which didn't go unnoticed by Karlach.

"You're a vampire ?" Karlach exclaimed, studying Astarion. It was clear to her that he was telling the truth – he was quite pale and had fangs. Although he was trying to conceal it, she could tell he was frightened. Karlach understood what it was like to be coerced into servitude, to have no control over her life. She knew how dreadful that could be, and despite not knowing Astarion very well, she was willing to take her chances with the vampire. "We can't change who we are or what's been done to us. All we have is the choices we make from here on. And from what I can tell, you're reliable. I promise, if that Szarr fiend dares to approach you, I'll separate his head from his shoulders," Karlach pledged.

"Thank you," Astarion said, relief washing over him as Karlach responded positively to the news of him being a vampire. There was something else he intended to do when confronting Cazador next – taking Cazador's blood to become a full vampire. However, Karlach didn't need to know that, at least not yet. After all, they had just met. "But please, keep this a secret. Very few people know that I'm a vampire, and I'd prefer to keep it that way. As you can imagine, most people wouldn't react well."

"Understood. Thanks for entrusting me with this. I'll ensure you don't regret it," Karlach assured.

"Now that it's settled, why don't I gather my companions? They'll be eager to hear your full story, and I'm certain they'll have a plethora of inquiries concerning you, Ketheric, and various other matters. They'll also assist you in becoming familiar with the area. We'll arrange a suitable cover story, and one of them can guide you around. Welcome to the Inquisition," Astarion said.

"Thanks. By the way, would you mind continuing the search for people from Baldur's Gate? Just in case one of my other companions gets pulled through a rift as well. One of my fellow travelers, a wizard named Gale, was also studying the rifts, and there's a decent chance he might end up being yanked through," Karlach asked. 

"Of course, I’m already having my mages investigate the rifts as well. We also possess an amulet – the same one that allowed me to time travel – which might have the ability to open them. That's what Cazador seemed to believe, at least. I will ensure that our search for people from Baldur’s Gate continues, especially if this becomes a recurring event," Astarion replied, then looked at her chest. He added, "Although I do have one more question for you..."

"Let me guess – my engine," Karlach said, pointing to her chest. "I'm surprised you waited this long to ask."

"Ah, yes. Your engine. I can feel the heat from here," Astarion said. 

"Exactly. This infernal engine in my chest heats up whenever I'm nervous, excited, or just about any emotion, really. It gets so scalding that I can't touch people without burning them. So, if you know of any experts in infernal engines..." Karlach paused, her voice carrying a hint of hope.

“I wish I could help you, but Thedas doesn’t know much about infernal anything ,” Astarion said. 

"Yeah, I figured as much," Karlach said, sounding slightly disappointed.

Following that, Astarion introduced Karlach to his companions: Cullen, Leliana, Josephine, and Cassandra. As anticipated, they bombarded Karlach with numerous questions. Surprisingly, she answered their questions honestly, a marked contrast from Astarion's initial reticence when they had first encountered him. The interrogation consumed most of the day. Eventually, they began to trust Karlach. Nevertheless, the group found it challenging to devise a suitable cover story for her. Creating a cover story for Karlach was notably more complex than concocting one for Astarion, and they couldn't reach a consensus.

In the end, they decided that the most suitable cover story was the truth – that Karlach was a tiefling from a distant city called Baldur’s Gate. It was understood that many questions would arise from this, but it wasn't a significant concern. At this point, the Inquisition's influence was growing steadily, and Karlach's arrival wouldn't change that. She wasn’t the Inquisitor and couldn't close rifts, so she wasn't the primary figure people associated with the Inquisition.

Rumors might circulate regarding Karlach, but they were unlikely to have a significant impact. In the past, when the Inquisition was smaller, these rumors might have posed a more significant threat. However, the faith and trust people had in the Inquisition wouldn't easily waver due to a few rumors and questions about Karlach. Astarion was the primary concern, and as long as his cover story remained intact, the Inquisition would remain unaffected.

Unlike Astarion, Karlach was exhausted at the end of the day– so she was shown to her room, and left alone to rest. Astarion spent some time that night out hunting– as he usually did, where he filled up on blood and also collected an additional jar’s worth, just because he could– and made his way back to his room with it.

Upon returning to his room, he noticed something unusual. Someone was already inside – it was Sera, the elf he had previously asked to leave. She was holding some paint, possibly intending an ill-mannered act of revenge against him, and appeared completely shocked. Her gaze was fixed on his shelf of blood.

Sera was startled when Astarion walked in, but she quickly looked between his shelf and the jar he was still holding. "You really are a demon, aren't you? Bloody piss, shite, fuck! Stay back! I'm warning you!" Sera shouted, dropping the paint on the floor and quickly pointing her bow at him.

“Ah, fuck . Why couldn’t you just leave when I asked ?” Astarion lamented.

Notes:

yea-- this chapter is late. Next chapter might be late too, because I spent so much time on this one. This was one of those chapters where I was unhappy with it so I re-wrote it like 5 times, then eventually realized I just needed to post the damned thing and move on. Anyways, Karlach is officially part of the Inquisition now.

Also, hope ya'll aren't too attached to Sera. >:)

Chapter 21: Astarion Murders in Cold Blood

Notes:

What? An on-time chapter? *Gasp*

Astarion silently shut the door, careful not to make a sound, while Sera's bow remained trained on him. He then turned to face her, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Hold your fire. I can explain everything," he assured.

"Why should I bloody trust you, huh? You're all creepy, like a demon with your blood wall! I'll put an arrow through you, and then spill the beans to the lot of 'em!" Sera hollered, releasing her arrow aimed squarely at Astarion. 

With remarkable agility, Astarion dodged the arrow, closing the distance between them. "If you kill me, everyone in this place is doomed," he warned, hands still raised.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sera asked, firing another arrow that– once again– missed its mark.

"It means Corepheus, the 'big bad,' in simpler words, intends to build a demon army and exterminate everyone unless I intervene. I'm no demon, and if you could just put those arrows away for a moment, I can give you a proper explanation," Astarion urged.

Sera still had her bow trained on Astarion, but she withheld from releasing an arrow. "Well, spit it out then, and make it quick," she prodded.

"Blood magic," Astarion lied, attempting to deceive her. While he knew that blood magic wasn't well-regarded either, it seemed a better alternative to being labeled a 'demon.' "I'm a blood mage, and this is my collection of animal blood for using blood magic safely, without harming anyone."

"That's not much better!" Sera retorted.

"Please, lower your weapon. There's no need for us to fight," Astarion pleaded.

"Not until you let me out of this room— alive, " she insisted, as Astarion was still blocking her path to the door.

"Sera, consider your situation. You're facing a blood mage in a chamber filled with blood. I'd advise you to relinquish your weapon before things get really messy," Astarion warned, his tone laced with a more menacing edge, resorting to intimidation after his attempts at persuasion fell flat.

Sera hesitated, her fear evident, but slowly lowered her bow. "Fine, just let me go, okay? I don't want any part in.. .this ," she said.

Astarion's lips curled into a cunning smile, and he pounced on her, his fingers clamping around her arms to stifle any resistance. "My dear Sera, you had your opportunity to depart earlier, but you decided to linger," Astarion purred, ushering her towards his balcony.

"HELP! Someone, please!" Sera cried out, struggling to break free from Astarion's grip.

"You know the beauty of my room, Sera? It's secluded, perched at one of the highest points in this castle. Which means, no one can hear your cries up here. No one even knows you're here," Astarion remarked as he released his grip on her within the balcony, only to swiftly clasp his hand around her neck instead.

Astarion shoved her over the balcony railing, maintaining his firm hold on her. Sera's legs clung desperately to the railing as she sobbed. The only thing preventing her from plummeting into the chasm surrounding Skyhold and certain death was Astarion's grip on her neck.

"I find myself rather uncertain as to why I shouldn't release my grip, Sera. You've directed a slew of insults my way, infiltrated my chambers, and aimed arrows in my direction. My companions are under the impression that I've dismissed you. Your sudden absence wouldn't raise many suspicions," Astarion mused before inquiring, "Now, what brings you to my doorstep in the first place?"

"T-The elf. Baldy. He told me you'd be gone ," Sera choked out quickly.

“Sorry– who? Baldy? You don’t mean Solas, do you?” Astarion asked. 

"Can't tell you his name! The bloke who blabbered about you hating the little people. Saying you wanted 'em all dead 'cause they're dirty," Sera replied.

Astarion appeared visibly perplexed but detected no deception in Sera's words. "What? I never said that," he insisted, then gently lowered her back onto the balcony. His arm was tiring, and he had more questions to ask. Throwing her off the balcony would be a waste of blood, anyway.

"Whatcha mean, you didn't say that? The elf—he swore you did. That's why I was furious with you at the tavern..." Sera said, her face still twisted with confusion. "And the same man said you'd be away all night! He even taught me how to sneak in here," she added, desperately wishing Astarion wouldn't kill her.

"Oh, shit . This was a trap. He sent you here to be my next meal," Astarion deduced, his expression shifting abruptly. He then detected the faint sounds of footsteps outside his door and understood he had to act swiftly. "Sorry about this, but I have no choice," he murmured into her ear, seized her shoulders, and buried his fangs in her neck.

"Ah! Damn it!" Sera cried out, struggling to push Astarion off, but she was rapidly growing weaker as Astarion consumed mouthfuls of her blood. "Help," she murmured weakly, to no one in particular.

A knock came from his door, unsurprisingly, and he already suspected who it was. Astarion withdrew his fangs from Sera and turned his gaze toward the door. "Who is it? I'm a little occupied," he inquired, fully aware of the situation unfolding.

"It's Solas. I know it's late at night, but I finished that potion I was working on. It should significantly weaken your tadpole. I hope you don't mind the hour; I know you don't sleep," Solas explained as he entered the room without waiting for permission, a small vial in his hand.

Astarion suspected that Solas's excuse for this late-night visit was flimsy at best, as the potion could have easily waited until morning. Nevertheless, he decided to see what Solas had to say for himself. "I told you, I'm busy, " he reiterated.

Upon entering the room, Solas feigned surprise at the situation before him. "Oh, I understand now. You're indulging in some blood," he remarked with a mild tone. "My apologies for intruding."

Astarion glanced over at him, still holding Sera to prevent her from falling. "And you're fine with it? You're not going to stop me?” he asked.

Solas gently shook his head. "No, I will not. You must have your reasons for seeking her blood, and you hold the title of Inquisitor. If you deem someone deserving of death, who am I to oppose? Unlike your other companions, who might find your actions unsettling , I don't share their reservations. I understand your need for blood, and I have no desire to impede it. It's an integral aspect of your being, and I wish to witness you at your strongest," he explained, moving closer to Astarion and Sera.

"So, you're at ease as long as I'm not sipping from you ," Astarion retorted.

“Naturally, I stand by your side. There's no need for you to resort to feeding on me when there are countless adversaries at your disposal. I will never cast judgment on you for draining the life out of an enemy, Astarion. In fact, I wholeheartedly endorse it. Please, continue to draw those you hold in disdain into your chambers. I won't hinder you, and I won't divulge your actions to your fellow companions, given their sensitivity, ” Solas replied. 

Solas continued, “Furthermore, your room provides a convenient balcony for disposing of them when you've completed your task. The remains will remain hidden from prying eyes," Solas stated nonchalantly as he walked over to a table in the room, depositing a small vial of potion upon it. "Now, I shall leave you to conclude your business. Consume this elixir once you're done; it will aid in managing the tadpole," he advised.

Astarion's fangs punctured Sera's tender flesh with almost effortless grace once more, and a low, gratified moan escaped his lips as her crimson essence cascaded into his eager mouth. It was a feast of life, a rush of vitality that coursed through him, invigorating every fiber of his being. He couldn't deny the pleasure that coursed through him, the intoxicating allure of fresh blood. He was drawn deeper into her, finding himself unable to stop, his instincts overpowering his rational thoughts of saving her. In those precious moments, the world outside vanished, and he was consumed by the exquisite sensation of her essence nourishing him. He couldn't help but savor the flavor; drinking from a living, breathing person was a rare treat, and it always surpassed the dull taste of the blood of animals that he had endured for so long. His lips stained scarlet, he drank more deeply, losing himself in the sinful delight of his inescapable desires.

Solas observed the macabre scene unfolding before him, his face bearing an inscrutable smirk. As he watched Astarion drink voraciously from Sera, the edges of his lips curled upward with a mixture of amusement and detached fascination. He didn't intervene; instead, he silently relished the spectacle, the girl's life ebbing away with each passing moment. When it was clear that Sera's fate was sealed, he casually turned and left the room, an unsettling satisfaction in his heart at witnessing Astarion's ruthless efficiency.

Once Solas was gone, Astarion allowed Sera's lifeless body to drop to the ground, wiping the blood from his mouth with his sleeve. "Fuck," he muttered, realizing what Solas had orchestrated. Solas had deceived Sera, manipulated her into becoming Astarion’s 'enemy,' and convinced her to enter his room precisely when Astarion was returning from hunting, so that Astarion might be tempted into draining her. While he couldn't fully comprehend the purpose behind all this, one thing was clear: he could no longer trust Solas. 

He stepped over Sera and approached the table, lifting the potion and scrutinizing it. Doubt clouded his mind about whether he should consume it without knowledge of its contents, especially since he no longer trusted Solas. The tadpole, once an ever-present concern, had lost some of its urgency, especially since he had met Karlach, who also carried a tadpole but had yet to transform into a mind flayer. Astarion set the potion back on the table, running a hand through his hair, contemplating what to do about Solas, particularly since he couldn't fathom Solas's true intentions in sending Sera to her death.

What he did know was that he was tired of being manipulated, taken advantage of, or exploited. The cycle of trauma seemed unending, one harrowing ordeal giving way to another. Was it too much to ask for a brief respite, a moment of peace before the next storm? Even the title of Inquisitor hadn't shielded him from this fate; if anything, it had made him a more attractive target for manipulation. Trust was now a scarce commodity in his life. Had Sera been just another ill-fated pawn in a game to manipulate Astarion? And who else in the Inquisition might be attempting to control him? Bull? Cassandra? Uncertainty clouded his judgment, leaving him with only one person he felt he could rely on: himself. Yet, even that trust was wavering, given how easily Cazador could strip away his identity when they met face to face.

The reality was that he didn't have much of an identity to begin with. Whoever he had been before becoming a vampire spawn was a distant, fading memory. Now that he was relatively free, he struggled to define who he truly was. He had spent his time merely following the Inquisition's commands, often risking his life, without fully grasping his own desires.

Most people could readily list their likes and dislikes, offering a clear self-description, but Astarion couldn't. The best he could provide was:

1. He's a vampire spawn.
2. He enjoys blood (refer to #1).
3. He takes pleasure in stabbing people (refer to #1).
4. He craves more power to protect himself (refer to #1).
5. He's trying to manipulate people around him to stay close (refer to #4).
6. He holds the puzzling title of Inquisitor.
7. He’s in an unfamiliar place that he frequently struggles to understand.
8. He likes listening to Varric’s stories.

Yet, he didn't know his true likes or dislikes, as his sense of self had been shattered by Cazador. He wasn't even sure what activities he enjoyed anymore, except for listening to Varric's tales. He suspected he might like reading books, but his understanding of the local writing was too limited for him to read a story. Perhaps a children's book, but certainly not an adult one.

Astarion walked to the door and locked it, placing his trust in the solitude of the night. After changing into fresh clothes, he settled into his bed and commenced his deep meditation, hoping to find some clarity as he rested and pondered his ever-complicated existence.

The following morning, Astarion rose from his slumber and gazed down at Sera's lifeless body, still crumpled on the floor. A part of him harbored a glimmer of hope that perhaps he hadn't drained her completely, that she might awaken and escape during the night, but it wasn't to be. Although he felt a twinge of remorse for ending the life of a girl who had clearly fallen victim to manipulation, it didn't impact him significantly. He had long severed emotional connections with people, after all those he had lured back to Cazador.

Astarion carefully lifted Sera's lifeless body and, without hesitation, cast her over the balcony's edge, watching as she disappeared into the gaping chasm far below. The only lingering evidence of Sera's brief visit was the can of paint on the floor, which he promptly discarded over the balcony's edge. A few stubborn streaks of paint had seeped out and marred the floor, and Astarion covered them hastily with a nearby rug. The paint had dried, leaving an indelible stain, but the rug did its job in concealing the unsightly blemish for the time being.

Fortunately, given that his companions had witnessed Astarion expelling Sera from the Inquisition, there would be no questions about her sudden disappearance. The sole person privy to Sera's fate was Solas, the very person who had orchestrated her death in the first place.

Sera's death had been entirely unnecessary since Astarion hadn't been in dire need of blood at the time. However, he couldn't afford to let her blood go to waste. It was his life force, the very essence that sustained him, and it didn't discriminate between friend or foe. Astarion sought to maintain his strength for the impending challenges he knew lay ahead. The shadow of 'future' Cazador loomed over him, and 'present' Cazador could reappear at any moment. This time, he vowed to be ready. Whoever he faced next, be it the future or present version of Cazador, Astarion had every intention of not only ending their existence but also drawing blood to transform him into the true vampiric form he desired. 

Astarion allowed his mind to drift to an enticing scenario: defeating one incarnation of Cazador only to confront another version as a fully realized vampire. He savored the image of Cazador's shocked countenance, grasping the full significance of Astarion's newfound might. Above all, he yearned for the gratification that would come from putting an end to Cazador once and for all.

Furthermore, he couldn't contain his excitement about the plan for an entirely different reason. As he envisioned becoming a full vampire, he relished the prospect of creating his own spawn. Dorian and Felix, in particular, appeared as ideal candidates to stand at his side as he asserted dominance through the Inquisition.

With these thoughts in mind, Astarion changed into his day clothes and descended to the war room to meet with his advisers, as was his customary routine. Upon arrival, they informed him that the "Arcanist" had arrived, suggesting he should meet with her before commencing their daily tasks.

Astarion ventured into the Arcanist's workshop, essentially a large cave within Skyhold. Upon entering, he laid eyes on the "arcanist" – a female dwarf who was bustling about the room engaged in various activities.

"You must be the arcanist," Astarion greeted her.

"Oooh, you're him! The Inquisitor. I'm Dagna – Arcanist Dagna. It's an honor, your worship," Dagna responded with a hint of excitement in her voice. Her gaze drifted to his hand, and she remarked, "Is that it? The hand-anchor mark? It's pretty. The breach was pretty too, in a 'destroy everything' kind of way," she added, accompanied by a faint chuckle.

"So, what exactly is an arcanist? What do you do?" Astarion inquired.

"I adopted the title because I'm a magical researcher, philosopher, and master of practical application. And I like it. I can't actually do magic since I'm a dwarf, but that also means no risk of possession. Safer than a mage!" Dagna explained.

Astarion couldn't help but marvel at the differences between this world and Faerun. The inability of dwarves to practice magic in this realm remained an enigma to him.

Seeing his confusion, Dagna continued, "Basically, I create things. I can craft all sorts of exceptional armor and weapons for you. Just bring me the right materials, and I'm sure you'll be amazed," she offered.

Astarion raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued as he listened to Dagna's explanation. "Crafting exceptional armor and weapons, you say? That sounds intriguing. Perhaps we can discuss some custom-made pieces. I might have a few materials stashed away that could be useful," he replied with a slight smirk, already thinking of the possibilities.

"I’d love to! Now that it's settled, may I have a drop of your blood?" Dagna requested suddenly.

" What ?" Astarion responded, taken aback by the unexpected request.

"It's just a drop – I promise! Specifically from your hand. I'm interested in seeing if the mark has had any effect on you, and a drop of blood can reveal a lot," Dagna explained.

"Very well. Since you seem so eager," Astarion replied, extending his hand as he prepared to provide a drop of his blood for Dagna's experiment. He was intrigued by what Dagna might discover. He knew it wouldn't reveal anything about the mark on his hand, but possibly the unique properties of the blood he consumed, which he was interested in seeing her react to. 

"Wait, really? Thank you!" Dagna exclaimed, hurrying to retrieve a small rectangular piece of glass. She returned to Astarion with the glass, and he used his dagger to gently prick the top of his finger, causing a drop of blood to form. He watched as Dagna pressed it against the glass.

"Thank you, Inquisitor! I'm so excited!" Dagna expressed her enthusiasm before darting off to her tools with the blood sample. "Come back later, and I'll share my findings with you," she called after him.

Astarion gave a faint smile. "I'll look forward to it," he replied, watching as Dagna rushed off to examine the blood sample. He then turned and left the room, intrigued by what the results might reveal.

 

Meanwhile, Karlach had roused from her slumber at a reasonable hour, relishing the night of rest she had enjoyed. The Inquisition had kindly provided her with a room of her own and a comfortable bed, a luxury she hadn't experienced in what felt like an eternity.

Eagerly, she rose and made her way to the mess hall, her stomach growling with hunger. The prospect of a proper meal was a welcome change from the hodgepodge of foraged items Tav had managed to find during their travels.

As she walked past various tables in the hall, audible gasps and hushed whispers followed her, a reaction she had been forewarned about. Nevertheless, she managed to obtain her food without any significant issues and scanned the tables for a suitable place to sit. She understood that people might feel uncomfortable sitting beside her.

Before she had to deliberate for too long, another horned man– a Qunari– who sat alongside Krem waved her over.

Approaching the table, Karlach greeted the man with a friendly smile. "You must be Iron Bull. Your Chargers didn't stop talking about you during our journey here," she said.

"Karlach, right? My companions filled me in about you. I’ve heard good things," Bull replied. He refrained from making any comments about her unique appearance, suspecting she preferred not to be endlessly reminded of it. From what Krem had shared, he believed Karlach to be a genuinely good person.

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you. Mind if I join you? I'm absolutely famished, and it feels like forever since I've had a proper meal," Karlach asked. 

"Sure, plop down," Bull welcomed, nodding towards an empty chair at the table beside him. "Astarion's roped you into his plans, eh? We'll likely be crossing paths frequently since I serve as something of his bodyguard." 

Karlach raised an eyebrow, curious, "Aren't you supposed to be with him then? No offense."

Bull clarified, "It's more of a 'when he's out' kind of arrangement. He doesn't need my protection in Skyhold."

Krem chimed in, "He never joins us for meals, so it's unlikely someone could poison his food here. But if someone were truly determined, they might attempt to sneak into his room and attack him."

Bull chuckled heartily and shook his head. "Yet I'd feel sorry for anyone who tried that. No– Astarion is safe within Skyhold. It's when we're on the move that he needs my protection."

Karlach was intrigued and asked, "How often do you travel, then?"

"Quite often, actually. This might be the longest break I've had since I started traveling with him. So, don't get too comfortable here, Karlach, because I think that we'll be hitting the road again soon," Bull replied.

"Really? Any idea where we're headed?" Karlach asked. 

Bull gave a nonchalant shrug, remarking, "Beats me. All I'm certain of is the Inquisition's got its hands full, and they'll probably need Astarion's skills on some other front. We've got plenty of those pesky rifts to seal, among other headaches to tackle."

Karlach considered, "I suppose I wouldn't mind being back on the road. I'm not exactly accustomed to staying in one place for too long. So, is it just us, or will there be more folks joining us on this trip?"

Bull explained, "That's ultimately Astarion's decision, but between you and me, I'd wager he'll bring you, me, Dorian, Alexius, and Varric."

Krem interjected with a question, " Alexius ? You think he's going to bring Alexius with him?" 

Bull nodded in confirmation, "I saw the two of them huddled together, conspiring about something. Not sure what it was about, but whatever it was, it put a smile on Astarion's face. I think he'll want Alexius close."

Karlach, still unfamiliar with the Inquisition, inquired, "Who's Alexius?"

Bull gestured toward a different table where Alexius, Dorian, and Felix were seated. "The older gentleman over there. He's a Tevinter magister, a mage, who initially tried to kill Astarion when they first crossed paths. He was working for the wrong side, but Astarion seemed to strike a deal with him, and now he appears genuinely willing to aid us. That's why I'm curious about their little conspiracy."

Krem chimed in, "Dorian, the man with the mustache, is someone you'll see around frequently also. The Inquisitor has quite a soft spot for him."

Karlach laughed, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "Oh, a soft spot, huh? You mean romantically, right?" She seemed unaware of the possible romantic connections within the group, but understood that even a vampire would want to be connected with someone in that way. Dorian, with his charming demeanor and distinctive mustache, certainly had a certain appeal, she mused.

Krem replied, "Oh, absolutely . We're all taking bets on when we'll see Dorian making a swift exit from Astarion's room in the morning."

"By the hells, I'd love a connection like that! I miss being able to... you know, touch people," Karlach sighed, her expression wistful. 

Bull, now intrigued, wondered, "Bets ? How come I didn't know about this?" he asked Krem. 

Krem explained, "You've been a bit sensitive about the whole Astarion and Dorian situation lately, Chief, so I didn't think to include you in the wagers."

Bull interjected sternly, "I have good reason to be sensitive about it, so cut the gossip about Dorian and Astarion, and definitely no bets ."

Krem pouted but didn't press the issue further, realizing Bull's seriousness. 

Karlach asked, "And what's the deal with that other fella sitting there?" She cast her gaze toward the man at the end of the table.

Bull explained, "That's Felix, Alexius's son. To put it bluntly, he's seriously ill and doesn't have much time left. There's no cure for his condition."

Karlach expressed her sympathy, saying, "Oh, that's truly unfortunate. Poor bloke. There's nothing anyone can do to help him, then?"

Bull nodded in agreement, "There isn’t. Anyway, you'll meet them all soon. Stick with me today after breakfast, and I'll show you around."

Karlach appreciated the offer, saying, "That sounds great. This place is enormous, and I have no clue where to start."

Bull added with a chuckle, "Although don't be surprised if Josephine decides to steal you away for some education at some point. She's doing the same with Astarion right now, teaching him about Ferelden and other things because his knowledge is somewhat lacking. I’d imagine yours is as well."

Karlach groaned, "Ugh, classes sound boring . I'd rather be swinging my axe at something."

Bull laughed, saying, "I couldn't agree more, Karlach."

 

Later that day, as Astarion left his meeting with Dagna and headed to Josephine for his usual lessons, he was halted by Varric halfway through his journey.

"Hey there, Fangs. I've got a little chat I've been meaning to have with you, you know, to make sure you're not taken by surprise down the road," Varric started.

Astarion tilted his head, his interest piqued. "Go on, Varric. I'm listening," he replied, a curious expression on his face.

Varric explained, "Hawke and Fenris, the characters from those stories I've been sharing with you recently...You recall when I hinted that they might come knocking on your door one day?"

Astarion nodded, recalling the characters Varric had mentioned from his stories. "Yes, I remember. So, what's the news about them?" he asked.

Varric pressed on, "You see, I've just got a letter, and it looks like our friends Hawke and Fenris are en route to our little corner of Thedas. I've got a plan to smuggle them in, of course."

Astarion listened intently to Varric's words, his curiosity piqued. "Hawke and Fenris are coming here? How much do they know about me?" he asked.

Varric reassured him, "Just what the public knows. They think you're a former slave, and your master died during the Conclave."

Astarion nodded, absorbing the information. "Very well. I'll be prepared. Just let me know when they arrive," he replied, considering the implications of this unexpected meeting with great interest.

Varric confirmed, "Will do."

Chapter 22: Astarion Meets the Other (Ex)Slave

It didn't take Varric long to locate Astarion once more, which led Astarion to suspect that Varric had intentionally delayed revealing their arrival until they were practically at Skyhold. Not that Astarion minded much, he was genuinely curious about meeting the individuals he'd heard so much about from Varric, even if he didn't completely buy into Varric's embellishments of their stories. Astarion had little faith in the concept of heroes; they didn't seem to exist in the real world.

After all, no one had ever come to rescue Astarion during his darkest moments. Instead, those so-called "heroes" would have likely killed him on the spot, given the chance, simply because he was a vampire spawn. In Faerun, the immediate reaction to hearing those words was to drive a stake through the heart - vampire spawns were seen as too dangerous to save, deemed as nothing but monsters that needed to be eliminated.

So, Astarion wasn't particularly excited about meeting 'Hawke,' but he was curious about Fenris because they shared a common experience – both had been slaves. Of course, their forms of slavery were vastly different, but the common thread intrigued him. He couldn't be sure about the extent of Fenris's suffering, but he had a nagging suspicion that he might have preferred Fenris's fate over his own. Whatever Fenris had endured, it likely couldn't compare to the ceaseless torment Astarion had suffered. Admittedly, it wasn't entirely fair to compare their experiences, as Astarion had more than 160 years of painful existence behind him. Maybe even more, given that he didn't know Fenris's exact age.

Despite their shared past, Astarion's curiosity about their meeting extended only as far as their common experience as slaves. He didn't anticipate any significant help from them, other than possibly serving as additional combatants when the need arose. He doubted that the 'hero' would have any interest in assisting a vampire spawn– should he ever find out– and it was equally unlikely that Fenris would be inclined to aid him.

Based on Varric's accounts, Fenris held deep-seated aversions to mages, magic, Tevinter, demons, and more – all of which made sense, but it posed a problem for Astarion. He needed Tevinter mages to stand a chance against Cazador, and Astarion was determined to defeat Cazador and finally become a full-fledged vampire. Being a vampire spawn was unbearable, to the point where Astarion was almost inclined to agree with those who believed that the most merciful thing to do to a vampire spawn was to put it out of its misery. He had no intention of remaining a spawn, especially when freedom from Cazador was tantalizingly within reach.

So, it was regrettable that Astarion was contemplating turning Felix and Dorian into spawn. By doing so, he would strip them of their individuality, rendering them mere tools at his disposal. Alexius hadn't wanted his son to die, but Astarion knew that becoming a vampire spawn was a fate worse than death. They would lose their autonomy, surrendering complete control over their bodies and minds to him. This alone was torment enough.

Yet, Astarion craved the power and freedom that came with being a full vampire. Vampire spawn were, in his eyes, repulsive, but he saw the next opportunity to turn someone into a spawn as an inevitable choice. After all, no vampire he'd ever heard of existed without creating spawn. So, if he was destined to have spawn, it might as well be Dorian and Felix. Especially since Alexius had essentially pleaded with him to make Felix a spawn. As for Dorian, well, Astarion couldn't help but imagine having him as a forever companion. He was charming, witty, easy on the eyes, and a potent sorcerer – a perfect candidate if Astarion was going to reduce someone to being his spawn.

Nonetheless, he hadn't reached that point yet, as he had yet to locate Cazador once more – and he needed to concentrate on the present. The current moment involved Varric's sudden entrance into Josephine's chamber while she was trying to coax Astarion into reading a letter she held in her hand.

Varric sauntered over to them, his face wearing a mask of seriousness. "Hate to butt in, but there's some important stuff Fangs absolutely has to know. I'm gonna need him to join me," he declared.

Josephine's face contorted with concern. "Something important? Is there a problem?" she inquired.

"No, not exactly, but it's... well, it's private," Varric explained.

"Don't worry, Josephine. I'll come back later," Astarion assured her, fully aware of Varric's true motive.

"If you're sure," Josephine conceded, watching them as they departed.

Astarion followed Varric out of the room. Varric led him to the top of one of the outer walls, a relatively secluded spot where few people ventured. As Astarion entered the area, he spotted what he could only assume was Hawke and Fenris.

Hawke was a robust human with short brown hair and a distinctive red streak across his face. Standing beside him was Fenris, another elf, with white hair and mysterious glowing markings adorning his skin. Fenris possessed considerable strength, though not as lithe as some of the other elves Astarion had encountered. Still, he had a lean build, and while Fenris was only slightly taller than Astarion, the contrast between their pallor was quite apparent – one being a vampire, the other not.

As Astarion and Fenris stood side by side, their presence created a striking juxtaposition for those around them. Despite their shared characteristics as elves and former slaves with white hair, they didn't bear a striking resemblance to each other. Fenris had a muscular yet lean physique and featured the distinctive Thedas elvhen look. In contrast, while Astarion's features remained sharp, they had a more aesthetically pleasing quality, a face that had charmed countless individuals over time. Astarion exuded an undeniable attractiveness and allure, a quality that made people continually discuss the Inquisitor's looks. While Hawke was sure the rumors of Astarion being a "desire demon" were greatly exaggerated, he couldn't deny that Astarion was undeniably attractive.

Seeing the two elves together – so alike yet so different – underscored the subtle distinctions between Astarion's “Faerun” features and Fenris's “Thedas” features. Not that Astarion would know, though, since he hadn’t seen his reflection in centuries.

Fenris couldn't help but notice Astarion's enticing, desirable features, and he understood the implications. Those crimson eyes couldn't be natural, which meant one thing – Astarion's appearance had been altered, most likely through his master's magic. It wasn't unheard of for masters in Tevinter to use magic to modify their slaves' appearances– and it seemed Astarion was the victim of that as well. 

This realization led Fenris to believe that Astarion had been primarily used for sexual purposes, a deeply disturbing thought. What disturbed him even more, however, was the knowledge that humans had once referred to Astarion as a "desire demon." He understood the extreme offensiveness of such a label, especially for someone who had likely endured multiple acts of violence and violation, only to escape and find freedom. It was inconceivable to label someone who had suffered in such a manner as a demon, let alone a desire demon. The thought angered Fenris immensely, and it made him wonder why Astarion still was willing to help when people had insisted on calling him derogatory terms. He hoped it wasn’t because Astarion was simply used to being called derogatory terms. 

As Astarion and Varric approached, Hawke gave Astarion a quick nod and introduced himself, "Inquisitor, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm Hawke." Hawke took a moment to study Astarion, noting both the similarities and differences between Astarion and Fenris.

"A pleasure. And you must be Fenris," Astarion replied, his gaze fixated on Fenris and the intricate lines etched across his skin. He was familiar with the markings, having heard Varric's stories, but seeing them in person was a unique experience. Astarion couldn't deny the allure of Fenris's blood either; it was as though the lyrium markings on Fenris's skin had tainted his blood, creating a concoction nearly irresistible to a vampire.

Fenris nodded in acknowledgment. "That's correct," he confirmed. He noticed Hawke's gaze on Astarion and responded with a stern look. Hawke, looking back at Fenris, appeared slightly confused, as if he was unaware of what he had done wrong.

“So, what brings you to the Inquisition?” Astarion asked. 

"Your past... you served a Tevinter Magister," Fenris remarked, his words sharp and uncompromising.

Hawke's eyes widened at the candid remark. "What he meant to say is that we thought the Inquisition could use some assistance. You closed the Breach in the sky and are still dealing with rifts, and we came to help. We've also heard that Corypheus is involved, and, well, we have experience fighting him," Hawke explained.

Fenris interjected, "That's not what I meant to say."

Astarion decided to overlook Fenris's comment for the moment and replied to Hawke, "Alright. If you have any advice on defeating him, it would be good to hear. I've already had to face him once before, and, well, it didn't exactly go well."

Varric interjected, adding a touch of humor to the conversation. "You dropped an avalanche on his head. You buried him under many feet of snow. I think we have different opinions of what 'going well' means," he joked.

Astarion rebutted, "Well, he would be dead if things had gone well.'"

Hawke shook his head. "From what I've heard, that's exceptionally hard to do. I've already killed him once, yet here he is."

Astarion shrugged, acknowledging, "Seems like an annoyingly common trait. Corypheus isn't the only one I'm hunting who refuses to die."

Hawke and Fenris exchanged puzzled glances. "Really? Who else?" Hawke asked.

Astarion divulged, "There's this guy named Ketheric Thorm. I haven't seen him recently, but I did some time-traveling to the future, and he was there. He appeared to be invulnerable."

Fenris's countenance darkened as he inquired, "This 'Ketheric' fellow, did he have ties with Corypheus?"

Hawke, still trying to wrap his head around the time-traveling revelation, asked incredulously, "Wait, did you say you time-traveled?"

"Yes, I have some mages with me who possess an amulet capable of time-travel. The first time was a bit of a fluke, though, so I have them researching that amulet further. Besides, our adversaries were after it, so it's better for me to hold onto it," Astarion elaborated.

Fenris appeared increasingly agitated. "Mages? That can time-travel? That sounds alarmingly like some Venatori I knew about... who had been dabbling in time magic..."

Astarion sought clarification. "Was one of them Magister Alexius, by any chance?"

Fenris clenched his jaw. "Yes, he was one of the prominent Venatori I was tracking. Please tell me you're not involved with them..."

Realizing that Fenris would eventually learn about his companions if he stayed with the Inquisition, Astarion decided to address the issue directly. "I have Magister Alexius working for me," he confirmed.

Fenris stared at Astarion in complete disbelief. "What? How could you? You were a slave—you understand all too well what that magister would do to you in Tevinter! Why in the world would you work with him?"

Astarion defended his decision, saying, "Look—I'll concede that he tried to kill me when we first met, but we reached an arrangement. The crucial point is that he's now dedicated to me, not Corypheus or the Venatori."

Fenris couldn't contain his anger. "An arrangement? Whatever he desires from you—you don't have to comply. He's the exact kind of man who'd keep you as a slave if given the chance. He probably still sees you as nothing more than a slave, and he'll seize the first opportunity to make you his. He should be dead for his crimes, not collaborating with you!" he shouted.

Astarion stood his ground. "Well, he is working with me, and that's how it's going to stay."

Fenris couldn't fathom it. "Don't you get it? You're free now—free to make your own choices—so why in the Maker's name would you willingly work with Alexius? It is willingly, right? He's not threatening or coercing you into this?"

Astarion laughed dismissively. "Ha! As if. I could kill him in a heartbeat if I chose to. You don't need to worry—he's inconsequential. At least, his power pales in comparison to my former master. You're right about one thing though—I'm free now and capable of making my own choices, and this is the choice I've made. Accept it or leave."

Hawke, attempting to defuse the situation, intervened, saying, "Alright, maybe we should discuss something else. Our purpose here wasn't to question your choices, after all."

Fenris shot a glare at Hawke. "Don't tell me you're taking his side!"

Hawke placed a hand on Fenris's shoulder. "We can talk about this later tonight, if necessary, but not now," he suggested.

Reluctantly, Fenris agreed, "Fine. Later."

Astarion changed the subject, asking, "So... Do you plan to stay here?"

Hawke nodded. "Yes, if you'll have us, that is. I'll admit our reason for coming isn't solely related to Corypheus. We've noticed something else is amiss with the Wardens. We'd like you to accompany us to Crestwood for an investigation."

Astarion raised an eyebrow. "You're asking for my help?" he inquired.

"Yes, I have a Warden friend, Stroud, who was investigating corruption within the Warden ranks. He told me he was hiding in an old smuggler's cave near Crestwood. I had hoped to discuss the strange red lyrium we've been encountering lately with him, but we haven't been able to contact him since," Hawke explained.

"Let me get this straight, you're suggesting I head to Crestwood and track him down?" Astarion asked. 

"That's not all. This was the last letter I received from him. I'm sure you can understand why we're seeking the Inquisition's assistance," Hawke said, retrieving a folded letter from his pocket and handing it to Astarion.

Astarion accepted the letter but noticed Varric gesturing for it. He shook his head, determined to give it a try. "Hold on, I'd like to attempt this first. I need the practice," he explained, clutching the letter tightly.

Hawke began to realize his mistake and blushed with embarrassment. "Oh, my apologies, Inquisitor. I didn't realize you couldn't..." he started, his voice trailing off when he caught Fenris's disapproving look. "Damn, I'm going to hear about this later, aren't I?" he muttered.

Fenris crossed his arms and affirmed, "You most certainly will."

“Shit,” Hawke muttered to himself. 

Astarion concentrated on the page, attempting to decode its meaning quietly. As his eyes processed each word, he halted midway through the letter and shook his head. "I'm struggling with this part," he said, showing the letter to Hawke and pointing at a sentence.

Hawke translated for Astarion, "It means: hunger demon that drinks blood."

Astarion's eyes widened, and he swiftly took the letter back. Everyone waited patiently as Astarion continued to decipher the letter. After a few minutes, he looked up at Hawke. "So, if I understand correctly, this letter suggests that your friend, during his investigation, encountered a 'hunger demon' that possessed an elf mage, and he witnessed the possessed elf feasting on someone's blood?" he asked.

Hawke nodded. "Yes, that's the gist of it. The last message I received indicated that he had encountered an abomination—a hunger demon, which seems to be quite powerful. Given the number of rifts in the area, and our failure to secure assistance from the Templars, we thought you might be willing to help us in Crestwood."

Varric shared a glance with Astarion and offered a wry grin. "Well, aren't we making progress with our reading?" he quipped, though he could sense Astarion's unease about the letter.

"We're heading to Crestwood," Astarion announced.

Varric responded, "Yeah, I figured."

Fenris, however, gave Astarion an inquisitive look. "Do you know something about that demon?" he probed, sensing that Astarion possessed more information than he was letting on.

Astarion admitted cautiously, "I might. But we'll discuss it once we reach Crestwood."

Relieved that Astarion had agreed to help, Hawke expressed his gratitude. "So you really will go? That's a relief. Thank you, Inquisitor," he said. "Of course, we'll join you. Just find us when you're ready to leave."

Astarion replied, "Certainly. I will."

As Hawke and Fenris turned to leave, Fenris had to pass by Astarion. Astarion caught another tantalizing whiff of Fenris's unique blood scent and, without thinking, he moved closer, positioning himself right behind Fenris. He brought his mouth dangerously close to the back of Fenris's neck, inhaling deeply, and positioning his fangs just centimeters away from the exposed skin.

Varric, who had been watching this unfold, couldn't bear to see Astarion almost attack his former companion. He intervened by shoving Astarion from the side, causing Astarion to stumble.

Both Hawke and Fenris turned around, baffled by the unexpected disturbance. They had no idea what had transpired, as they hadn't witnessed Astarion's near attempt to bite Fenris. Hawke asked, "What just happened?"

Astarion quickly fabricated an excuse. "I tripped. That's all," he lied, but his voice was full of nervousness.

Hawke, none the wiser, asked, "Are you all right?"

"Obviously," Astarion replied, brushing it off.

Hawke and Fenris continued on their way, unaware of the close call they had narrowly avoided, with Fenris almost becoming Astarion's unwilling meal.

Once they were out of earshot, Varric turned to Astarion with a reproachful tone. " What the hell was that ?" he demanded.

Astarion, still shaken, confessed, "I... I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. His blood, it just..." He trailed off, his expression darkening. "I should stay away from him," he added, haunted by his own impulses.

" Shit. Next time you find yourself overwhelmed by someone, just say something, anything! Don't let it escalate to the point where you're on the verge of biting them," Varric advised.

"You're right. I thought I could handle his scent, but when he got closer... there's something about those tattoos. They seem to taint his blood," Astarion confessed.

Varric sighed. "Just be more careful, all right? For a moment there, I was worried you might not be yourself anymore."

Astarion nodded. "I will. I– I really don’t know what came over me," he said.

Varric suggested, "Then let's come up with a safe word. If you think you're about to bite someone you shouldn't, say a specific phrase, and I'll get you out of there."

"I suppose it's a good precaution, even if I think Fenris is the only one I might accidentally bite. What should I say?" Astarion asked.

Varric replied, "Maker's tits."

" What ?" Astarion questioned.

"Maker's tits. It's a curse you'd never use, considering you don't talk about the Maker at all. Yet it's common enough that no one would think twice if you casually cursed in a sentence. So if you feel like you're about to bite someone, work 'Maker's tits' into a sentence," Varric explained.

Astarion chuckled. "Alright, fine. 'Maker's tits' it is," he agreed.

"Alright. There's something else I want to say– I know you’re not doing the best. And before you start throwing a fit, let me explain. You're one heck of an Inquisitor, but I can see you're dealing with some fears. I can't pretend to know the full extent of what it's like to have someone like Cazador pulling your strings, but we've got your back. I might not be the tallest guy in the room, but I'll move mountains to make sure Cazador never takes hold of you again. We're the stronger force now," Varric assured.

"Thanks, Varric. Trust me, I intend to kill him the next time we see him. It'll go something like this: Bull fights me to keep me from following Cazador's orders, while you, Karlach, and Alexius take him down. Karlach engages him head-on, since she's immune to being bitten. Alexius weakens him with sunlight magic, and you finish the job with a wooden crossbow arrow through his heart. Or a stake, basically the same thing," Astarion outlined.

"Let me take a wild guess, Dorian will be our overenthusiastic cheerleader from the sidelines, right?" Varric supplied. 

"Exactly! You've got it," Astarion confirmed. "And for the grand finale, I'll drink Cazador's blood and become a full vampire," he added.

"Wait, what? Why do you want to become a full vampire? No offense, but I'm not sure I want to see you turn into another Cazador..." Varric expressed his concern.

Astarion countered, "Well, I wouldn't be like Cazador. I'd pretty much stay the same, just with a bit more power."

Varric remained skeptical. "I've seen folks who crave more power, and it rarely ends the way they think it will."

Astarion tried to justify himself, "If you promise not to tell anyone, it's for Felix. That's how I persuaded Alexius to cooperate in helping me kill Cazador – I promised him I'd save Felix. If I become a full vampire, I could turn him into one too, so he wouldn't have to die," he explained, although he secretly longed for the added power.

Varric's face revealed a blend of feelings – a touch of sorrow and a hint of worry. "Have you... had a talk with Felix about this?" he asked.

Astarion admitted, "Well, no, not yet. But I need Alexius's assistance to kill Cazador, unless you happen to possess a secret stash of sunlight spells."

"How about this – give me your word that before you go all-in on becoming a full-fledged vampire, potentially walking down the same path as Cazador, you'll sit down with Felix and talk it through. Making that call for him wouldn't be right. And when you do, no mind tricks or persuasion. Just lay it all out, let him know what it means to be in your shoes, and let him decide if he wants to join you or take a different path," Varric suggested.

Astarion reluctantly agreed, "Fine, I'll talk to him," though his voice held a tinge of frustration.

"Good. That's all I ask," Varric said.

"Anyways, I should get back to Josephine. She'll never let me live it down if she thinks I'm intentionally avoiding my lessons," Astarion mentioned.

Varric chuckled, "She can be quite persistent when she wants to be. See you around. Oh, and just so you know, in case you're looking for me – I'll be laying low. Cassandra will undoubtedly want to murder me as soon as she spots Hawke and Fenris wandering around."

Astarion laughed, "Understood. Good luck hiding from the Seeker, Varric."

With that, Astarion departed and returned to his daily Inquisitorial duties. His interactions with Karlach were limited that day, which was somewhat disappointing as he had been eager to inquire more about Baldur's Gate. Astarion had also planned to visit Dagna but found himself pressed for time as the afternoon transitioned into evening. He had intended to seek out Solas to clarify the nature of the potion before drinking it, but the day's busyness prevented him from doing so. Nevertheless, such a packed schedule was par for the course for the Inquisitor.

As was his custom, Astarion did not join the Inquisition for dinner, instead heading to his room to enjoy the sunset from his balcony. The sunset, a seemingly ordinary event to most, held a special place in his heart. Sipping a cup of blood while feeling the warmth of the setting sun slowly give way to night was one of life's simple pleasures. He cherished these moments, just as he did with the sunrise each morning, grateful that he could now appreciate the sun's beauty without the excruciating burns it would otherwise bring.

However, upon reaching his room, he noticed that the door was slightly ajar, suggesting an unexpected visitor. Astarion hesitated, half-hoping that he wouldn't find another uninvited guest to deal with. He didn't mind indulging in his vampiric nature, but he certainly didn't want a repeat of the "Sera" incident.

Entering cautiously, he discovered Dorian examining the multitude of blood jars in front of his wall of blood. Dorian seemed unaware of Astarion's arrival.

"Looking for something?" Astarion asked, closing the door quietly and approaching Dorian and the impressive blood collection.

Dorian's eyebrows arched, a picture of surprise painted across his features. "Maker's breath! Forgive me, but I didn’t hear you come in. I confess, I was simply basking in the marvel of your eclectic array," he said with a wave of his hand, indicating the multitude of jars. "Pray tell, when did you manage to gather such a collection?"

Astarion shrugged nonchalantly. "I hunt every night, and there are plenty of animals around. I've encountered a few assassins on occasion, too."

"Assassins? So you've stored human blood here as well?" Dorian's eyes widened as he quickly looked back at the blood shelf.

Astarion couldn't help but smirk. "Well, not anymore," he replied with a hint of amusement.

"Still... this is more than I expected," Dorian remarked, flipping through the pages of a book perched precariously on the stand beside the blood wall. "What's this, then?" he inquired, acknowledging that it was related to the wall but unable to decipher the written words.

"It's a catalog. I take notes on blood types and flavors," Astarion responded candidly.

Dorian's eyes fell upon an illustration within the book, and he turned to give Astarion a penetrating look. "Is this a picture of Varric?" he inquired, his gaze intense.

Astarion's eyes flickered to the page Dorian had open, and a sly smirk crept onto his face as he discerned it showcasing the flavor of Varric's blood, embellished with a little sketch of a dwarf. "Ah, yes, this page is all about his blood," he affirmed.

Dorian's expression became a blend of mixed emotions. "It's a bit disconcerting, honestly," he confessed, his feelings about Astarion documenting the taste of their blood somewhat conflicted. Dorian tore his eyes away from the book to meet Astarion's intense stare, which seemed to make his heart race in his chest. The realization that Astarion might be aware of his elevated heart rate only intensified the sensation. "Am I in there?" he queried curiously.

Astarion flipped through the book to a nearly blank page, with only a single word at the top.

"What does that say?" Dorian asked, pointing to the word.

"Your name," Astarion replied.

"But you did bite me, so why is my page empty?" Dorian asked.

"Because I never had a proper taste. I barely remember it, to be honest. Unless you're willing to help me fill in the rest of the page," Astarion said, stepping closer to Dorian. He reached up and gently rested one hand on Dorian's neck, his thumb rubbing softly over the spot where he could bite, where the jugular vein pulsed just beneath the skin.

Dorian turned his head to give Astarion a serious look, his emotions flitting across his face. He was fully aware that he was in a room with a vampire who was sending unmistakable signals that he found him tantalizing. His heart raced rapidly, flooded with adrenaline, almost threatening to burst from his chest.

But then, Astarion withdrew his hand and shrugged. "I don't think that's why you came to my room, though, I'd assume," he remarked. "So, how can I assist you?" he asked, a smirk playing across his features.

Dorian moved away from the blood wall, appearing lost in thought. He tried to disregard the pounding of his heart and the rush of adrenaline. After a moment, he shrugged and began to speak. "Well, I'm not sure if you've heard, but there have been rumors about us. Rumors that we might be... romantically involved," he admitted.

"And you yearn for those whispers to hold some truth. You crave to immerse yourself in me," Astarion replied, his voice changing to a seductive tone. 

Dorian sighed. "The issue is that most people believe you're a former slave. Being the son of a Magister, they assume... well, they think I might be using you. That I might be leveraging my influence to make you believe you should be mine. Or, worse yet, they believe I'm trying to control you for power and wealth," Dorian explained.

"Well, you're not doing a very good job of it," Astarion quipped with a laugh. "And yet, most people would stake my heart the moment they found out I'm a vampire. They undoubtedly would if they ever discovered just how many innocent lives their Inquisitor led to their deaths. So what's your point?" Astarion asked.

"If rumors are going to spread about us... we should make them true," Dorian declared, approaching Astarion with determination. He placed his hands on the shorter man's hips, exuding confidence. "You've been playing a dangerous game, Inquisitor, flirting with me so much," he continued, leaning in to whisper in Astarion's ear, "so how bad do you actually want to be?"

Astarion's eyes sparkled as he met Dorian’s gaze, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "Oh, it's not a game if you don't play it dangerously," he purred softly. "As for your question, let's just say I'm more than willing to explore that territory. Care to find out just how bad I want it?" 

Dorian's own eyes twinkled with a mix of curiosity and desire as he leaned in, their faces mere inches apart. His voice dropped to a sultry whisper, ”Well, I’ve always had a thing for dangerous men.”

Astarion's grin widened, and he moved in even closer, their lips nearly touching. "Lucky for you, I specialize in being dangerous," he murmured, his breath sending shivers down Dorian's spine.

Dorian closed the remaining gap between their lips and gave Astarion a long, passionate kiss filled with desire. Then, he pulled away momentarily to look at Astarion's face and met his gaze, before leaning in for another kiss.

In the midst of their kiss, Astarion gently led Dorian towards the bed. Once they reached the bedside, Astarion fell backward onto the bed, taking Dorian with him, so that Dorian was now on top of Astarion on the bed. Dorian paused their kiss for a moment, gazing at Astarion's exquisite features.

Astarion maintained an intense gaze, causing Dorian's heart to flutter at the thought. Up close, he noticed how pale Astarion's skin was, almost translucent. As Dorian removed Astarion's shirt, he understood why Astarion might have been sent to seduce innocent people. Astarion was undeniably attractive – no, more than attractive – and it was easy to see why that body alone had ruined so many lives.

Astarion shifted his legs slightly, providing Dorian with an opening to press his body between Astarion's legs. Dorian's arousal was unmistakable, and it pressed against Astarion, with only a few layers of clothing separating them. Dorian, leaning in once more, didn't aim for a kiss this time but rather targeted Astarion's ear. Astarion quivered as he felt the warm breath dance upon his ear, a response not lost on Dorian, who proceeded to lavish more attention on that sensitive spot. Dorian seemed to grasp the elf's sensitivity and took great pleasure in eliciting Astarion's reactions. As Dorian's lips trailed back down to Astarion's neck, Astarion's hands found their place on Dorian's waist.

Astarion paused the moment, looking at Dorian, and asked, "Just to clarify – are you granting me the privilege of indulging in a bite today? Should you consent... rest assured, I'll ensure it's a pleasurable experience."

The question sent Dorian's heart into a frenzied sprint, and he was acutely aware that Astarion was equally attuned to his racing pulse. Images of past encounters, moments when both Cazador and Astarion had attacked him, flooded his mind, haunting him with a sense of helplessness. However, those memories were momentarily dispelled when Astarion's lips met his once more, the subtle movement causing their groins to press together anew. Dorian couldn't deny the transformation he observed in Astarion. This was no longer the Astarion who had emerged from the cold, terrified and malnourished. Instead, he witnessed a more potent Astarion, one who stoked desire between them with every gesture.

"You can. Just try not to take too much," Dorian found himself agreeing, even though he wasn't sure he ever had the ability to resist Astarion's allure in the first place. The pale elf's body seemed almost as if it were perfectly designed to capture his affections, a fact that both intrigued and slightly unnerved him.

Astarion's intense gaze remained focused on Dorian's neck, sending shivers down his spine. "Then let's get comfortable, shall we?" Astarion suggested, gently moving Dorian to the bed beside him. He positioned himself over Dorian, their bodies drawing close, and his lips met Dorian's neck. A teasing lick was followed by a series of kisses tracing the side, evoking a soft, appreciative sound from Dorian. After playfully toying with Dorian’s exposed neck for a moment, Astarion gently allowed his fangs to pierce the skin.

A sharp breath escaped Dorian as he experienced the sensation, his heart racing with anticipation. This particular bite distinguished itself from previous encounters – a tender touch that induced only a fleeting hint of pain, swiftly replaced by a coursing warmth throughout his body. Astarion's bite ignited a fiery heat within him, and Dorian detected a subtle shift in the way Astarion drew his blood, marked by a greater sense of pleasure and reduced demand. The bite remained brief, for Astarion was mindful not to overindulge, cognizant that Dorian would require his strength for the night ahead.

The two of them made love that night. The night was an exquisite exploration of intimacy, and Dorian was astounded by Astarion's expertise as a lover. In Tevinter, love between men had often been more primal, concealed, and marked by its roughness. However, the night with Astarion defied those expectations. Every part of Dorian's being reveled in pure pleasure, revealing an entirely new dimension of physical connection with another man. His desire for Astarion had been undeniable from the outset, and the sensations they shared that night were beyond his wildest expectations. Their passionate encounter even unintentionally set the curtains ablaze at one point, underscoring the intensity of their shared desires. Astarion’s lavish attentions on him were simply far more pleasurable, more intense, than he’d ever experienced with other lovers. 

As they finally concluded their night of passion, Dorian was exhausted and covered in love bites he scarcely recalled receiving. Astarion bore a distant expression, as if lost in thought, but Dorian had little time to ponder its meaning. Overcome by exhaustion and the slight loss of blood, he drifted into a deep sleep, leaving little room for contemplation of the events that had transpired.

Notes:

For reference:
Astarion: 5'9 (175cm)
Dorian: 6'0 (183cm)
Fenris: 5'10 (177cm)

Also, my life is getting busier: So unfortunately, this work will now only be updated once a week (on Fridays). Because of this, I have decided to increase chapter length.

Chapter 23: Astarion Makes an Offer

Astarion was perched on the bed, his back resting against the headboard, while Dorian slumbered peacefully beside him, appearing wholly at ease. Astarion couldn't decipher the content of Dorian's dreams, but he surmised they must be pleasant, given Dorian's serene sleeping expression.

As he kept vigil beside the bed, watching over Dorian, an ominous sensation gripped Astarion. His head jerked up, catching a glimpse of Cazador on the balcony from the corner of his eye, causing his heart to sink. "N-No—this can't be happening!" Astarion exclaimed, leaping off the bed and stumbling backward.

He berated himself for his naiveté; of course, Cazador could be here. Cazador possessed the uncanny ability to transform into a mist at will, merely waiting for the opportune moment to reassert his claim on Astarion. Astarion had been foolish to think that a place like Skyhold, surrounded by treacherous mountain chasms, could thwart Cazador's pursuit.

[A/N: in honor of patch 4, where Cazador can now *not* be defeated by being shoved into the chasm]

Cazador slowly entered the room from the balcony, projecting an expression of profound disappointment. "So, this is where you've ended up, Astarion? Playing dress-up as a lord in some castle, imagining you possess power over anything ?" he taunted, drawing nearer to the bed. "Do not forget who you are—a feeble, insignificant child who never amounted to anything. Return to your rightful place, my offspring, and heed my commands, as a dutiful child should."

Astarion's panicked gaze darted to Dorian, still peacefully asleep on the bed. "Shit! Dorian! Wake up!" he urged, rushing back to his side and gently shaking him. Astarion knew that Dorian awakening might be the only chance for survival—yet even that was uncertain.

Cazador chuckled maliciously as he approached the other side of the bed, positioning himself directly across from Astarion. "You've certainly been occupied. Didn't take you much time to enchant someone once more, did it? How typical of you. But it makes no difference—soon enough, he'll belong to me, " Cazador stated, caressing Dorian's cheek, then leaning towards his neck, displaying his bared fangs.

"Don't touch him!" Astarion roared, practically growling. He vaulted over the bed to tackle Cazador, but was swiftly overpowered and flung against the wall. Astarion collided hard with the blood wall, causing the numerous glass jars to tumble and shatter around him, dousing both himself and the floor in a mixture of blood and glass shards. The pungent aroma of blood assailed his senses, and he felt an unexpected hunger, despite having fed on Dorian the previous night.

"Cursed insolent child!" Cazador hissed at Astarion. "Remember your place—I am your father! You will obey me!" He sneered at Astarion's reaction to the scent of blood. "Look at you—almost begging at the mere scent of blood," Cazador uttered in revulsion before turning his attention back to Dorian. "Now, Astarion, tell me where his amulet is," he demanded, gesturing towards Dorian's slumbering form.

"Never," Astarion spat, advancing towards Cazador once more, fueled by a sudden rage amplified by his insatiable bloodlust.

"How dare you! Once we return home, I'll make you pay for your insolence. How about another five years of solitude, hm? Or maybe I'll leave you pinned to a stake for ten! So, let's try this once more—tell me where the amulet is," Cazador repeated, then wrapped a single hand around Dorian's throat. "Or he dies."

"You piece of shit!" Astarion shouted but remained rooted in place, well aware that Cazador would carry out his threat to kill Dorian. "I don't know where the amulet is, alright? But you better not harm Dorian; he's the only one who knows its location. I'll do everything in my power—everything the Inquisition can muster—to ensure you never get it!"

"Don't toy with me!" Cazador snapped, glancing down at Dorian. "Although if he's the one I require, then he's the one I shall take. Look at him, sleeping so peacefully—quite easy to abduct, wouldn't you say?” Cazador taunted. "He'd make a fine addition to our lineage as well. You could have another brother," Cazador added, a malevolent smile on his face, before leaning in to sink his fangs into Dorian's neck.

"NO!" Astarion roared, charging at Cazador in a desperate attempt to intervene. He grabbed hold of Dorian, intending to pull him away from Cazador, but the moment his hands touched Dorian, everything changed.

He stood in a dimly lit campsite, surrounded by shadows and thick vines. The blood that had covered him from the shattered wall was now completely gone—he was dressed in his usual night clothes, devoid of any bloodstains. Tents were pitched around the camp, and he stood before a human man, shoulder-length hair, a budding beard, adorned in an intricate robe. "I finally reached you. It worked!" the human exclaimed, overly excited, staring at Astarion with wide eyes.

“ Fuck you , I was in the middle of something!” Astarion exclaimed in frustration.

The perplexing vision dissolved swiftly, leaving Astarion bewildered as he awakened in his bed. Sitting up, he gasped, swiftly surveying his surroundings. He remained in his room, with no trace of Cazador—no sign that the disturbing encounter had ever occurred. Dorian was awake, casting a concerned look his way.

"Are you alright? It seemed like you were having a bad dream, but I couldn't wake you," Dorian said, visibly worried.

"It was a dream?" Astarion replied, as if he could hardly believe his own words.

"A truly terrible one, it seems," Dorian said, pulling Astarion into a tight, reassuring embrace.

Following a brief embrace, Dorian inquired, "I thought you were incapable of sleeping."

Astarion shook his head and withdrew from the embrace. "I don't sleep. I meditate," he clarified.

Dorian looked at him, a concerned expression etched on his face. "I've seen you meditating before, and that didn't seem like it. You genuinely seemed to be asleep," he remarked.

"I can still experience dreams during my meditation. It must have been that. Where I'm from, elves don't sleep," Astarion explained.

"Right, it must have been that..." Dorian replied, though he didn't sound entirely convinced.

"In any case, I daresay you could use some rest. It's not even dawn yet, and I imagine your body must be utterly fatigued after our nocturnal endeavors . How about you go back to sleep?" Astarion proposed.

"While I admit I'm quite tired, and your bed is rather comfortable, are you sure you'll be alright if I do?" Dorian asked, expressing concern.

"Of course, I'll be fine. I'll just reflect on how amazing you were last night, and everything will be better," Astarion assured him.

"I was rather magnificent, wouldn't you say? Well, if you're absolutely sure..." Dorian responded, resting his head back on the pillow.

After ensuring that Dorian was sound asleep, Astarion approached the balcony door, confirming it was closed and locked, exactly as he had left it the previous night. Cazador had never invaded this space—it had been nothing more than a distressing dream. With one unwavering resolution in his mind, Astarion knew he was destined for Crestwood, determined to hunt down Cazador and end him once and for all.

The following morning, Dorian awoke in the bed, realizing that the sun was streaming well into the room, indicating he had slept in quite late. Astarion was absent, which wasn't entirely unexpected given that the man supposedly didn't require sleep and had Inquisitorial duties to attend to. Nevertheless, it left Dorian feeling somewhat disappointed. He wasn't entirely certain where he stood in his relationship with Astarion, but he understood the impracticality of hoping for anything more than a single night of pleasure. Astarion was the Inquisitor, a vampire, and far from his home—realistic prospects were scarce. However, he couldn't deny the desire to share another intimate encounter with Astarion if the opportunity ever presented itself.

Dorian rose from the bed and dressed. It came as no surprise that Astarion's room lacked a mirror, given that Astarion had no use for one. This left Dorian unaware of his appearance, a fact he found unsettling as he was sure there was more than just dried sweat on him, and he’d rather die than appear unkempt before the Inquisition. 

Further evidence supporting this theory manifested as a persistent soreness in the upper inner part of his right leg, near his groin. There was a lingering tenderness in the region, accompanied by traces of dried blood—a clear reminder of Astarion's bite, though the exact moment of the event remained hazy. Although this particular discomfort could be concealed beneath his regular attire, Dorian was fairly certain that his neck bore ample evidence of their nighttime adventures, something he couldn't assess without the aid of a mirror.

Sighing, he rummaged through Astarion's room until he found a small rag, which he promptly used to scrub his face and neck, hoping to eliminate any potential bloodstains.

As Dorian descended to Skyhold's main level and made his way to the kitchens, he was beckoned by Varric, who stood with two unfamiliar individuals—a human and an elf.

"Dorian! Fangs nabbed you some food this morning. Told me he stashed it away in the kitchens," Varric declared with a smirk. "Enjoy your night, did you?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Dorian retorted, wearing a smug expression.

"Sure, sure. You were just strolling out of the Inquisitor's room late in the morning for completely innocent reasons," Varric teased.

"So, the kitchens, you said? I suppose I should make my way there," Dorian deflected, diverting the conversation as he headed towards the kitchens. He could hear Varric's laughter as he departed.

Arriving at the kitchens, Dorian located the assortment of food that Astarion had procured for him—a generous spread including grapes, fruits, eggs, bread, and more. He found the gesture endearing and knew it was excessive for a simple breakfast, but he understood Astarion's likely unfamiliarity with human cuisine. The realization that Astarion had thought ahead to secure food, despite his own lack of need for sustenance, brought a faint blush to Dorian's cheeks.

The contents on the plates were meticulously bundled and arranged in a basket. While most of it wouldn't be suitable for immediate consumption, the majority could be preserved for later. Dorian seized the basket, departed the kitchen, and found himself face-to-face with the elf he'd seen with Varric just moments before—a figure adorned with distinct and peculiar markings.

" You ," Fenris said, his voice dripping with utter contempt and hatred.

"Me?" Dorian replied cautiously, puzzled about the cause of the elf's animosity toward him.

"I know you. You're Dorian—an Altus—of House Pavus," Fenris stated coldly.

"I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, but I'm not entirely certain it is," Dorian replied.

"You're right—it isn't. I should kill you where you stand," Fenris threatened.

"Or—how about this—we start with introductions? You seem familiar with me, but who are you?" Dorian asked.

"My name is Fenris," the elf replied.

"Ah, Fenris. The hero of Varric's tale, right?" Dorian remarked, putting the puzzle pieces together about the elf's identity. "So, what's the cause of your gripe with me? Is it just because I hail from good old Tevinter, land of evil Magisters and such?" Dorian asked further. "If it's all about my noble heritage—just so you know, my dear papa and I aren't exactly on speaking terms, and I doubt I’ll ever return to Tevinter."

"It's entirely about your heritage, Dorian. You slept with the Inquisitor," Fenris accused, his tone seething with rage. "I should gut you like a fish."

"It was consensual, if that's your concern. Now if you'll excuse me—" Dorian attempted to move past Fenris.

Fenris blocked Dorian's path. "You are a repulsive man," Fenris spat, glaring up at Dorian with anger. "That man was a former slave, oppressed by your people. He most likely suffered violations no one should ever endure. And here you are, seizing the first chance to advance on him as if he had the choice to refuse!"

"Wait, hold on. I just said it was consensual," Dorian asserted. "I might be a mage, but I'm not some kind of monster."

“Can't you see? It's not consensual! He's barely tasted freedom after enduring who knows how much abuse—of course, he couldn't refuse your advances. He hasn't learned yet that he can. It takes a long while before that is truly learned,” Fenris said. 

"Well, Astarion started flirting with me fir—," Dorian began, but Fenris interrupted.

"He probably thinks he has to! Any decent man would have noticed that, but you're not decent. Your own desires and advances matter more to you than the well-being of the elf you bedded—how very typical of an Altus," Fenris said, his words oozing malice. "This whole damned Inquisition has been dragging him along for the sake of his hand—no wonder he doesn't know how to say 'no.' None of you have allowed him to."

"That's just not true. You haven't been here—you haven't seen what we've had to face. We all want what's best for him," Dorian protested.

"Really? You can't think of any instances where he was coerced and couldn't say no? Nothing like—well, sacrificing himself to save Haven?" Fenris challenged.

"I didn't want him to do that," Dorian explained with a heavy heart. "And I was the only one who wanted to look for him," he added.

"But you're more than willing to bed a man who hasn't learned to say 'no,'" Fenris retorted, his words laden with spite.

"Listen— you don’t know the full story. Frankly, my relationship with the Inquisitor is none of your concern," Dorian asserted.

"Well, it is my business since apparently no one else here will advocate for him and help him learn to be free," Fenris insisted. "Regardless, here's my warning, mage . Control yourself around the Inquisitor, or I won't hesitate to neuter you like the mutt you are,” he threatened, then turned and walked away, leaving Dorian bewildered and uncertain about how to address Fenris's threat.

Fenris was mistaken, of course. Astarion had never set foot in Tevinter, but Fenris couldn't have known that. Dorian empathized with Fenris's anger, as he had recently read Varric's book and was aware of Fenris's own experiences as a slave. Dorian understood how his relationship with Astarion, if one could even call it that, might appear to outsiders, influenced by the Inquisition's fabricated tales. But that wasn't the complete story; Astarion had a more complex role, one where he appeared to hold more control.

However, Dorian couldn't help but entertain the idea that perhaps Fenris had a point: that Astarion hadn't fully learned how to assert himself. While Dorian believed their intimate night was entirely consensual, there were other instances where Astarion might have wanted to say 'no' but didn't think he could. Dorian endeavored to make sure that wouldn’t happen again. 

Regardless, the past was behind them. Astarion was now the Inquisitor, and all decisions would be his alone to make. Pressuring Astarion into anything would be significantly more challenging for anyone, including his closest companions. It appeared that Astarion genuinely embraced his new role, and Dorian knew Astarion would lead them in the direction he truly desired from now on.

Dorian shrugged off Fenris's threats, deciding to share the details with Astarion later. As he headed back to his room, he was intercepted by yet another person, which was slightly frustrating since he simply wanted to enjoy his meal and take a bath. This time it was Josephine.

Josephine walked beside Dorian and delivered the news, "I'm glad I found you! You should start packing your bags—Astarion is taking you with him tomorrow. You're heading to Crestwood."

Dorian, curious, asked, "Really? What's in Crestwood? Why are we going there?"

Josephine responded, "There's a lot to investigate in the area, but most importantly, a Warden—Hawke's friend—went missing after reporting a 'hunger demon who drinks blood' in the area. You know what that means…"

Dorian sighed, realizing the gravity of the situation. "Unfortunately, I do. So, Hawke is going too? Fenris as well, I assume?"

Josephine confirmed, "Have you two met already? Good. Yes, they're going. Astarion is bringing you, Bull, Karlach, Varric, Alexius, Hawke, and Fenris with him."

Dorian experienced disappointment at the idea of encountering Fenris again, but he realized there was little he could do about it. On the other hand, he anticipated an intriguing experience with Karlach. Since her arrival, he hadn’t had many chances to converse with the enigmatic, fiery woman and was genuinely looking forward to it. He was under the impression that they would get along quite well.

Then a realization struck him. "Wait, no Solas?" he asked. He wouldn’t miss Solas's company at all, but it was surprising to hear that Solas would be left behind, considering he had accompanied the Inquisitor on all previous adventures.

"No Solas— I inquired about that as well, and he mentioned that it was already too crowded and some people needed to stay behind. Cassandra will remain here too. The Inquisitor also had another request for you, Dorian," Josephine added.

“What is it?” Dorian asked. 

"He wanted you to tie your amulet onto several rocks and throw it into the running river," Josephine said.

Dorian, puzzled by the request, responded, "You mean the river here ? The one that leads nowhere but the chasm? If I throw it in there, we're never getting it back."

"I think that's the point," Josephine mentioned, though she was unsure why Astarion had made such a request.

"I've been collaborating on that amulet with Alexius practically every day. Isn't that our only chance to transport him back to Baldur's Gate? Especially since Cazador wanted the amulet for that very purpose?" Dorian asked, utterly perplexed by the demand.

Josephine confessed, "I don't know why he asked that, Dorian. But he insisted on it. He specifically requested that the water is flowing fast, as well, but I couldn't get him to say why. He's worried about something—so it's best to just do it."

Dorian expressed his discontent but reluctantly agreed, "Fine, why don't I just toss away all that work we did for nothing? We were so close to figuring it out, but who cares…" he said sardonically. "I just hope he understands that it will have to wait until after I've eaten some food and have had a bath."

"Just make sure you do it before you leave tomorrow, alright?" Josephine stated, then continued on her busy way.

Later that day, when Astarion finally got a brief break from his Inquisitorial duties, he went back down to the undercroft to consult Dagna about the results from the blood sample she had taken the day before.

Upon Astarion's entrance, Dagna looked up, her face lighting up in a smile. "Oh, Inquisitor! You're back! Can I have another blood sample ?" she asked swiftly.

“Why? Was one drop not enough?” Astarion asked.

Dagna explained, "Well, it's just that it was giving me weird results, that's all. It may have been contaminated, so I'd like to try again, with your permission, of course."

Curious, Astarion inquired, "What kind of weird results did you get?"

Dagna replied, "To be honest, it was trying to say that you have multiple blood types from various species, including animals. Which clearly isn't true. You're an elf, plain as day."

Astarion, playing along, feigned offense, saying, "I’m hardly plain."

Dagna clarified, "Well, not that kind of plain. Anyways, as I said, it was probably just a contaminated sample. Otherwise, I'm pretty sure you'd be dead. It would be highly silly to ever think someone could have multiple blood types within them. Not even your magic hand could do something like that... I think."

Astarion agreed, saying, "Fine then, take another drop. But this will be the last."

Dagna expressed her gratitude, "Really? Great! Thank you, Inquisitor," and quickly set up another glass slide to collect a fresh blood sample from Astarion's finger, just as she had done before.

Astarion then changed the subject, mentioning, "I did have something else to ask while I'm here. I have a new companion—her name is Karlach."

Dagna responded with enthusiasm, "Ooo! I've heard of her! She's the red one with the horns and glowing skin, right?"

Astarion nodded and elaborated, "She has an engine where her heart is – and it's broken, so to speak. She shouldn't be that fiery. Is there any way you could take a look and see if there's anything you might be able to do to fix it?"

Dagna's curiosity was piqued, and she said, "Of course! I'd love to! An engine, you say? I have SO many questions..."

Astarion reminded her of the limited time, saying, "Questions she would be happy to answer later, I think. I'll have her sent down today – although she's leaving tomorrow to come with me for a while, so make sure you look at everything you need to, today."

Dagna expressed her excitement, exclaiming, "I'm so excited!"

Astarion replied, "Good to hear," and left the undercroft. He had one more person he wanted to speak to during this brief break he'd managed to steal – Felix.

Varric's insistence the previous day had been weighing on his mind slightly, and as they were likely on their way to face Cazador, Astarion wanted to confront Felix about his father's wishes first. Astarion didn't actually need Felix as his spawn, and he knew well enough how it requires the sacrifice of free will to become one. So, in the end, he felt a little guilty about not having asked Felix about it yet. 

Astarion made his way to Felix's room, where he expected to find him, as Felix's health was deteriorating rapidly. The man was on borrowed time, and with no real clerics available, Astarion doubted anything short of vampirism could save him.

He knocked on the door and heard Felix's weak voice saying, "Come in."

Upon entering the room, Astarion saw Felix lying on the bed, appearing sickly and pale. Astarion stated bluntly, "You're dying."

Felix slowly sat upright, looking exhausted, and replied, "I've been dying for a while now, but the days are getting worse. Dorian feels like he can scarcely touch me anymore, and I can tell my father is scheming something again. Probably some other poor attempt to keep me alive..."

"Dorian won't touch you? You don't mean—?" Astarion inquired.

"No, no. Nothing like that, I can assure you. He's like a brother to me," Felix reassured Astarion. "Although, rumors spread fast here, you know. I've heard you and him really are becoming ‘like that. ’ It's good, you know. Although if you hurt him—I'll make sure to come haunt you," Felix warned. "After what his father did—well, I guess he'd better tell you about that. But I'm serious—don't hurt him," Felix emphasized.

"Well, speaking of fathers , I might know what your father is 'scheming'," Astarion mentioned.

"He's brought you into this mess now, hasn't he? Well, it's like you said—I'm dying. I accepted that a long time ago, and I'm ready to die," Felix said.

"What if you didn't have to, though? I mean, you'd still die—but what if something came after?" Astarion proposed.

"What do you mean?" Felix asked, sounding both perplexed and concerned simultaneously.

"Your father asked me to do something that would save you—not only would you still be here, you'd be immortal as well..." Astarion started.

"A vampire. You want to make me into a vampire, like you," Felix deduced, recognizing where Astarion was going with this.

"Yes, exactly. Once I face Cazador, I'll be able to turn you into a vampire," Astarion confirmed. “So what do you think?”

Chapter 24: The Calm Before the Storm

Notes:

Slightly late chapter release, had a bit of an emergency last night that I had to take care of.

“I don’t want that, Astarion. I don’t mean to offend you, but I've embraced the idea of death, and I'm prepared for it," Felix expressed, shaking his head and gazing at the floor.

"But why succumb to death merely because you've been expecting it? You could emerge stronger, you would feel better . Stay with us longer—aid us in seeing this through. Join the fight against Corypheus and Ketheric," Astarion urged, attempting to persuade him. "You needn't fret about the blood-drinking aspect. Blood is rather exquisite—a delight you'll come to appreciate as a vampire. Besides, if you ever grow to hate yourself, there's always the option of choosing death. A casual stroll into the sun would suffice," he suggested.

"You make it sound so simple, make it sound easy. But we both know it's more complicated than that," Felix replied.

"I'll admit there are some downsides, but nothing you couldn't handle. No sunlight, no reflections, no entering homes unannounced, and no running water. But those are a small price to pay for immortality," Astarion explained.

"Running water? What do you mean?" Felix asked. 

"Vampires can’t cross running water. So, no scenic cruise trips along the river or the storm coast for you," Astarion elucidated.

"If I did become a vampire, wouldn't I become your spawn? Your slave?" Felix asked.

"Well, technically , but I wouldn't force you to do things, like Cazador did to me. Think of it as a temporary situation until you're more accustomed to being a vampire. A way to keep you in check and prevent you from killing people for blood. Eventually, I'll give you a drop of my own blood, and you'll become a full vampire too," Astarion said.

"Eventually," Felix repeated, doubt strewn across his face. 

"Yes, naturally . There's no rush since you'll be immortal. It wouldn't be wise for you to make a bunch of spawn when you're not used to being a vampire yourself," Astarion explained, and chuckled lightly. Although he wasn't entirely convinced he wouldn't keep Felix as a spawn forever, given that vampires were natural enemies.

"But during that time, you'd have complete control over me," Felix reiterated.

"Yes, I would," Astarion admitted.

"I'm not so sure about that, Astarion. I think I'd rather die as myself than risk becoming someone I wouldn't want to be," Felix stated and then added, "Who else have you made this offer to?"

"No one else. What, do you think I'd just hand out vampirism like candy? Becoming a vampire is a significant decision. I'm not so irresponsible as to offer it to just anyone ," Astarion retorted, feigning offense.

"Not even Dorian?" Felix asked. 

"Not yet, anyway. But I will extend the offer to him once I've successfully defeated Cazador. Your situation is unique, so I thought it best to have this conversation with you in advance," Astarion explained, although the reality was that he was only having this conversation because Varric had insisted on it.

"I still think I'm going to have to decline. I don't think becoming a vampire is right for me," Felix stated.

"Well, your loss. If you want to die, then so be it," Astarion replied, turning to leave the room. "I'll give you more time to consider it. I'll make the offer again once I've defeated Cazador. Try not to die until then," he added before exiting the room.

As he headed back to the war room to resume some last-minute Inquisitorial duties before leaving for Crestwood the next day, he spotted Solas standing outside the room, apparently waiting for him.

Solas stood upright upon seeing Astarion. "You haven't taken the potion I gave you yet," he accused.

"How could you know if I did or not?" Astarion asked.

"Your parasite only grows stronger by the day. That mark on your hand will not keep the parasite permanently at bay. My potion was meant to help you—drink it," Solas urged, avoiding Astarion's question.

"I already drank one thing you wanted me to—so perhaps I'll just save the potion for later," Astarion retorted. "My tadpole has been quiet lately anyway."

"I'm not sure what you mean, but I can assure you, I'm on your side," Solas insisted. 

"Good to hear, but my answer stays the same. I'll keep it with me and drink it if I feel the need arises. The tadpole is allowing me to freely enjoy the sunlight, and I'd rather not weaken it if I can avoid it," Astarion asserted.

"Eventually, you'll have to," Solas remarked.

"I'm immortal—eventually can mean quite a lot. I'll relish my tadpole for now and the opportunities it presents," Astarion responded. In reality, the mark on his hand appeared to be effectively keeping the tadpole at bay, and he could always ask Solas to brew him another potion. He contemplated giving it to Karlach; she might need it more anyway.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some more business to attend to," Astarion said, walking past Solas and into the war room, where he spent the remainder of his day, discussing the preparations for Crestwood with his council.

As the day transitioned into night, Astarion was finally able to return to his room, only to find that it was once again not empty. Dorian was sitting on the edge of his bed, apparently waiting for Astarion's return.

“Dorian. What a pleasant surprise. Come back for another bite?” Astarion asked, walking over to him.

Dorian rose from his seat, giving a subtle nod. "Inquisitor. I simply, well, fancied a moment for a chat, seeing as I didn't manage to catch a glimpse of you today."

“Go on,” Astarion prompted. "You've gone through the trouble of finding your way to my room just for a chat—don't let me stop you now."

“I suppose I was just wondering—what does this mean for the two of us? We’ve had fun. It's perfectly reasonable to leave it here and get on with the business of killing archdemons and such,” Dorian started, shifting nervously.

“What is it that you want?” Astarion asked. 

“All on me?” Dorian asked, then sighed. “I know how this looks to others. I already got an earful from Fenris about ‘taking advantage of you.’ You don’t think I am, right? You didn’t sleep with me just because I wanted to sleep with you?” Dorian asked, his words filled with doubt.

Astarion recognized the truth in Dorian’s words and understood Dorian's doubt about his intentions. Dorian wasn’t taking advantage of him; it was the other way around. Astarion didn’t genuinely desire physical intimacy; he had used it to manipulate Dorian into staying by his side and to convince him to let Astarion drink from him. If he continued, Dorian would soon willingly become his spawn as well.

“Have you seen yourself? Well, don’t answer that, because I know you have. You’re rather… attractive . I slept with you because I wanted to,” Astarion replied. “Although, you still didn’t answer my question. Not that you need to, though, because I already know what you want. Your heart still flutters with anticipation every time I come close—you want more than just idle nighttime fun. You want to be mine, ” he said. “Not that I can blame you—I am also rather attractive.”

“I—yes. I like you, Astarion. More than I should—more than might be wise. You’re a dangerous man, and the Inquisitor no less, but I can’t help but fall for you. I want more than just sex. But if that isn’t what you want, then we end it here, and I’ll walk away. I won’t be pleased, but I’d rather know now than later. Later might be dangerous,” Dorian confessed.

"Lucky for you, I desire more than mere physical intimacy. I want you, " Astarion whispered with a seductive tone, leaning in to plant a brief kiss on Dorian’s lips. “Speechless, I see.”

Dorian shook off the surprise from his face and gazed into Astarion’s eyes. “I was… expecting something different. Where I come from, anything between two men… it’s about pleasure. It’s accepted, but taken no further. You learn not to hope for more. You’d be foolish to.”

“Well, it’s fortunate I’m not from Tevinter, then, right?” Astarion said, smirking. “Was there anything else you came up here for?”

“That was the primary reason, although, I suppose I do have another question, if you don’t mind me asking. Those scars on your back…” Dorian began.

“Yes, what about them? They were a gift from Cazador. A poem,” Astarion said.

“Are you certain about that?” Dorian inquired.

“No. Why?” Astarion responded, his expression dropping into concern. 

“It looks magical, that’s all. Some kind of rune, perhaps? I can’t recognize any of the symbols, but I doubt it’s a poem,” Dorian observed.

“Were you studying my back during sex last night?” Astarion asked. 

“Believe me—I was far too distracted to truly ‘study’ your back. No, I just happened to see enough of the scars to know that it’s probably magical and undoubtedly not good,” Dorian confessed.

"Well, whatever foul purpose Cazador had in mind when he carved into my back will soon come to an end. I fully plan on dispatching him soon enough," Astarion remarked.

“You don’t sound confident. You’re scared,” Dorian noted.

“He’s very powerful. I’d be a fool not to be scared. You should be scared too. You got rid of the amulet, right?” Astarion asked.

“I tied it to a rock and threw it into the river, if that’s what you mean. What was the point of that, anyway? We were getting so close to getting it to work again,” Dorian questioned.

"I wasn't keen on Cazador getting his hands on it. I don't particularly need it, but he does," Astarion elucidated. "If he ever managed to infiltrate Skyhold—or control me again—he'd have a convenient way to access it. Not anymore."

“So why into the river specifically, instead of just destroying it?” Dorian asked.

"Vampires can't cross running water. So as long as the river is flowing, he can't get to it. Technically, he could still control me and tell me to get it, but the river is rather large and, well, runs into a chasm. I think even he would understand that trying to find it without knowing where you threw it would be a pointless endeavor," Astarion explained.

"You won't need to worry about that—right? We'll kill him soon. He won't get to control you ever again," Dorian said.

"Exactly. I look forward to killing him," Astarion said.

Dorian slowly walked over to Astarion’s blood wall and the book in front of it. "I can't help but notice you've added to my page. I'm quite intrigued by what it might say," he remarked, smoothly steering the conversation away from Cazador.

"I bet you do," Astarion said with a grin.

"Not going to share your secrets? Not even a hint?" Dorian asked, studying the page intently.

"I suppose I could offer a small tease," Astarion remarked, strolling up behind Dorian. He placed one hand around Dorian’s waist, while the other reached beside him to point at the page. "This, right here says—" he gestured at a paragraph near the top of the page, "a hint of arcane fire danced upon my tongue as I tasted Dorian's blood—intoxicating, like the forbidden knowledge he carries. Each drop, a potent elixir, whispered tales of power and defiance. The warmth of his essence mingled with a touch of enchantment, leaving an indelible mark on my senses. It was a vintage of rare sophistication, a symphony of magic and desire that lingered on my palate long after the feast was over."

"That’s… huh. I’m not sure what I’d been expecting. Rather eloquent of you—not that I doubted you. It’s just—you got all of that from biting me mid-sex?" Dorian asked. "I can’t imagine what the rest of the page says," he added.

"I'll throw in another clue—this section right here delves into how your body yearns for my touch. How you writhed in pleasure as I drank your blood, your lovely heart pounding as fast as it could, trembling in excitement," Astarion responded, indicating another passage on the page. "That's accurate, isn't it?" he asked, shifting his hand to delicately trace his fingers along Dorian’s neck.

Dorian let out a gasp and instinctively tilted his head away from Astarion’s fingers, inadvertently exposing even more neck as he did so. His heart raced as he realized how exposed he was to Astarion; how easy it would be for Astarion to bite him. And yet, to his own surprise, a part of him liked the thrill of how dangerous Astarion was, and he almost wanted Astarion to bite him.

"See? Even now, your heartbeat gives your thoughts away, Dorian. You want me to bite you,” Astarion said, leaning over to plant a kiss on Dorian’s neck. “But I’m no monster—I won’t bite you without permission first,” he whispered into Dorian’s ear, then stepped back.

Dorian exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, then turned to meet Astarion's gaze once more. "I... suppose you could nibble at me again. Just be sure not to overindulge," Dorian suggested.

Astarion grinned knowingly, fully aware that he had Dorian right where he desired. "Thanks for putting your trust in me, Dorian. But I won't sink my teeth into you just yet—go ahead and get some rest. I'll indulge myself when you're all snug and cozy," he declared, gesturing toward his bed.

"You're suggesting I spend the night here? In your room? I won't object—your bed is undeniably more comfortable than mine. Although, I can already envision our companions having quite a lot to say if I make it a habit of staying in your quarters," Dorian remarked.

“The whole Inquisition will. Yet we both know you thrive on attention—you like rumors being spread about us. So let’s not pretend that you don’t anymore, alright?” Astarion said.

“I suppose I should mention—Fenris did threaten to ‘neuter’ me if I didn’t stay away from you,” Dorian added.

Astarion chuckled with amusement. "He did, huh? Well, do your best to avoid that—sex is much more straightforward when you're intact ," he quipped. 

Then, he opened one of the cabinets in his room, retrieving a glass chalice. Moving to his wall of blood, he selected a jar, poured some into the glass, and swirled it gently in his hand. Stepping out onto the balcony, Dorian followed him curiously. Astarion silently gazed into the distance, observing as the sun gradually dipped below the mountain, casting a cascade of colors across the sky.

“Enjoying the sunset?” Dorian asked.

“I don’t think I’ll ever really be used to seeing it again. I missed the sun,” Astarion said. “I forgot how colorful the world could be.”

“It is quite beautiful tonight, isn’t it?” Dorian remarked, although his gaze wasn't fixed on the sun. Instead, he focused on Astarion, noting how the hues of the sunset gracefully played across his delicate pale skin. Dorian marveled at how Astarion's features softened while he gazed at the sunset. While Dorian enjoyed the excitement of being in the company of the dangerous Astarion, this particular version of him was utterly captivating. When Astarion was absorbed in the simple enjoyment of something he liked, he transformed into a truly beautiful man.

Once the sun had fully set, and Astarion’s glass of blood diminished, Astarion turned to look back at Dorian. “It’s getting late now. You should probably get some sleep—we’ll be leaving tomorrow, so you’ll need your energy,” Astarion said.

"I suppose you have a point. One final day relishing a luxurious, comfortable bed before I'm back to sleeping on the hard ground in a camp. I shall endeavor to savor it," Dorian mused. "Care to join me?" he asked. 

Astarion shook his head. “I’ll join you later– I’m going for a walk first,” he said.

“Suit yourself,” Dorian replied.

After Astarion left the room, Dorian settled in for the night. Astarion contemplated hunting for more blood during this time, but he deemed it unnecessary, considering the jars he already had. He opted for a nighttime stroll around the Inquisition instead. However, as he returned to his room, a nagging feeling hinted at something forgotten. It seemed like he might have been engaged in a conversation during his walk, but the details eluded him. Dismissing the odd sensation, he returned to find Dorian peacefully asleep, vulnerable to another bite.

The next morning, Astarion concluded preparations for their journey to Crestwood. Once ready, he assembled his allies, and the group set out mid-morning. The four-day journey required constant vigilance, as Astarion anticipated Cazador's presence in Crestwood. He remained apprehensive about the possibility of losing control again, but this time they were prepared.

Bull and Alexius stuck close to Astarion for security. Bull’s strength could restrain Astarion if needed, and Alexius possessed the ability to conjure sunlight—a potential deterrent for Cazador. The fear of being manipulated by Cazador lingered, but at least this time, precautions were in place.

The group included Dorian, Bull, Alexius, Karlach, Varric, Hawke, and Fenris. Astarion knew he should inform the latter two about his condition and the associated risks, but he procrastinated, convincing himself it could wait until they approached Crestwood. After all, revealing himself as a blood-drinking entity might not be the most prudent introduction, especially considering their friend’s possible encounter with a bloodthirsty ‘demon.’ Astarion decided to forge connections first before broaching the truth.

Since their departure, Astarion finally found an opportunity to converse with the tiefling he had welcomed into his group—Karlach. Despite her presence in the Inquisition, he hadn't had many chances to interact with her before. Now, free from Inquisitorial duties on the open road, he could engage in conversation, though he had to be mindful since Hawke and Fenris were unaware of his origin from Baldur’s Gate.

“So, how have you been liking the Inquisition so far?” Astarion asked her. 

"It's been a relief to have a proper bed, but truth be told, it's been dull. I'm pleased to hit the road again. Can't wait to plunge back into the thick of battle," Karlach replied.

“How’s your engine doing?” Astarion asked.

"Same old, same old. Which is to say, not great, but I did pay a visit to Dagna in the Undercroft yesterday. She mentioned a potential solution, and if it pans out, that would be fantastic. She mentioned needing some parts, though. If all goes well, when we return from Crestwood, I might finally be able to touch people! Imagine that—a real hug. Then I just have to find someone to snuggle up to at night, and I'll be sorted," she responded.

Astarion grinned in response. "I'm pleased that Dagna is working on a solution for you. And as for finding someone to 'snuggle up to' at night, well, I'm quite certain I spotted Commander Cullen observing your combat practice the other day. With the kind of focus he hasn't directed at any other recruits," he remarked with a smirk.

“Oh yea– I was training with him the other day. He’s a nice man. I like him,” Karlach said. 

“Well, that’s good because I’d recognize a longing stare anywhere. I think he ‘likes’ you too,” Astarion teased with a smirk. “And so how’s your, um, other friend? The head friend?” he asked, being discreet about his references to the tadpole, given that Hawke and Fenris could also hear their conversation.

“The head friend? HA! Good one. My ‘friend’ is doing fine, thanks for asking. I was worried I would have lost my protection since leaving, but apparently not. I’ll let you know if anything changes right away in that regard, though,” Karlach shared.

“That’s good to hear. Let’s hope it stays that way,” Astarion remarked.

“Believe me—I really hope it stays that way too,” Karlach concurred. “Anyways, what are we going to Crestwood for, exactly? I never asked.”

“Oh, no one told you? Hawke’s friend disappeared after seeing a hunger demon that drinks blood,” Astarion revealed.

“Hunger demon that drinks blood? You don’t mean—” Karlach began, but was interrupted when Astarion nodded his head.

“Yep. That’s what it sounds like,” Astarion affirmed.

“Well, shit,” Karlach muttered.

Hawke interjected, "A fitting reaction. I'm relieved the Inquisition was so willing to assist. You guys are practically experts at demon-slaying these days, aren't you?"

"Oh, believe me, you've come to the right person. I happen to be very knowledgeable about this particular subject matter," Astarion asserted.

Out of the corner of his eye, Astarion noticed Varric casting a disapproving glance at him. "What is that look for?" Astarion asked.

Varric let out a chuckle. "I was just wondering why it took us so darn long to unravel your mystery the first time around. You're not exactly subtle," he remarked.

Hawke, bewildered, looked back and forth between the two. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"Just an inside joke, Hawke. You'll be filled in soon enough," Varric replied, although he couldn't quite fathom why they hadn't revealed the truth to Hawke or Fenris yet. Nevertheless, it wasn't his decision to disclose, despite his eagerness to share the details of their crazy adventure with his friends.

“So, Varric, you never finished your tale of the Hero,” Astarion mentioned, deciding that now was the perfect moment to finally get to the conclusion of the story.

“You want me to finish reading my book to you– with Hawke and Fenris right there?” Varric asked. 

“Yes,” Astarion said. 

"And you don’t want to ask them any questions about it?" Varric inquired.

"Nope. I want to hear your fictionalized, glamorized version—that's interesting. Not whatever the true story is," Astarion insisted.

“Hey! I’ll have you know the truth is very glamorous,” Hawke interrupted, a smile on his face.

Fenris chimed in, "That's only because you think you're glamorous, Hawke," he said. 

“Am I not?” Hawke asked, a grin plastered across his face. 

Nevertheless, Varric commenced reading the story's final chapters to Astarion, who happily followed along. Although Astarion was reaching the point where he could likely read the story on his own, there remained a distinct charm in having Varric narrate it. Varric's storytelling prowess was undeniable.

The remainder of the day unfolded without incident. They traversed the hours without stumbling upon any rifts or challenges, and there was no sign of Cazador. Not that Cazador was expected to make an appearance in the daytime, but his absence was notable nonetheless.

While setting up tents for the night, Astarion retreated to his tent to consume some of his jarred blood. He had brought an ample supply, just in case, but a desire for something fresher persisted. Following the consumption of Dorian’s blood the previous night, he felt revitalized and robust- but restless . It had been a while since the last fight, and Astarion was eager to channel his newfound strength into something meaningful; hence, he yearned to embark on a hunting expedition that night.

Choosing the middle of the night, when Bull was presumably on watch, Astarion silently emerged from his tent for the hunt. However, as he stepped out, he realized Bull wasn't the sole wakeful figure—Fenris sat alone by the extinguished campfire, which had long lost its flicker.

Astarion approached Fenris, settling down beside him. "Can't sleep?"

"It appears neither can you," Fenris observed.

"I don't sleep much," Astarion confessed.

"Slavery does that to a person," Fenris remarked, then added, "I wanted to apologize."

"Apologize for what, exactly?" Astarion questioned.

"For questioning your decisions when we met," Fenris admitted.

"So, do you no longer believe I'm making dreadful choices?" Astarion probed.

"No, I still feel the same. But ultimately, it's your choice, and I had no right to question it," Fenris asserted.

"Oh, how gracious of you to apologize. I suppose I'll accept it. So, does this newfound kindness mean you're considering giving up on those charming little threats to Dorian?" Astarion asked. 

"Oh, certainly not. My apology is for you, for doubting your choices—but not for him. You've only recently escaped slavery; you might not grasp saying no or resisting pressure. Dorian should have been more aware," Fenris declared.

"Still contemplating a little neutering, are we?" Astarion quipped. "Because if you do—I might just have to intervene. It's somewhat challenging to indulge in someone who's been, you know, castrated."

Fenris sighed. "No, I won't. After seeing you two interact throughout the day today—I'm not as worried about him anymore."

"How so?" Astarion probed.

"He was practically begging for attention like a lovesick puppy all day today, and you barely spoke to him," Fenris stated matter-of-factly. "Which means you still hold the power in the relationship. If it were the opposite, I would be much more concerned."

“How… observant of you. I suppose I should have spoken to him more than I did today,” Astarion conceded.

"You're unfamiliar with navigating a relationship, and no one can fault you for that. Despite his utter stupidity, I believe even Dorian comprehends that. You broke free from slavery only to be thrust into this Inquisition chaos. You haven't had a chance to acclimate to anything yet. That's why I think it would be wise for me to stay by your side more often," Fenris stated.

“To be clear– you’re going to stick by my side because why?” Astarion asked. 

"You require assistance, whether you acknowledge it or not. I've been where you are; I understand the struggles of a liberated slave. I know the challenges it brings. I want to help guide you in understanding what it truly means to be free, especially since your companions have done a lousy job of that so far," Fenris said.

"Well, I'm technically free, but there are still limitations," Astarion admitted. "I do have some freedom now, but we concocted the story about my master's death. The truth is, he's still out there, determined to reclaim me. If he appears, I can't simply turn him away," Astarion revealed with a touch of sincerity.

"Why can't you? You don't belong to him anymore, regardless of what he says," Fenris asserted. 

"I mean, I'm not just being dramatic. I physically can't say ‘no’ to him. He changed me- through what I can only describe as blood magic- and if he shows up, I quite literally cannot refuse him. He has complete and full control over me," Astarion explained, deliberately disclosing only a partial truth. Yet, it was a half-truth he was sure Fenris would relate to.

Fenris's expression contorted, a look of intense fury as if he were prepared to unleash violence. The very idea that someone could exert such complete control was repulsive, not to mention the likely exploitation Astarion endured. Whoever Astarion's master was, they deserved the reckoning that awaited them.

"That's... disgusting. Vile ," Fenris exclaimed, grasping the gravity of the situation and understanding why the Inquisition would lie about Astarion's former master. He recoiled at the notion of some malevolent magister potentially having dominion over the Inquisition through control over the Inquisitor. "But you're mistaken—you are free, whether he's present or not. If he ever has the audacity to show his face around you again, I'll crush his heart with my hands and rip his brain out of his skull," Fenris declared, his voice seething with determination.

"Oh, good. I was hoping you'd say that," Astarion said, offering a small smile to Fenris. "Because I fully intend on killing him the next time I see him too."

"What's his name, and what does he look like, so I'm prepared?" Fenris asked.

"Cazador," Astarion responded, practically spitting the name out with disgust. "And as for his looks...well, he has dark hair and he's—obviously—a mage. But, he… stands out. You'll know him when you see him."

“Cazador,” Fenris repeated. “I can’t say I’ve heard of him specifically, but the name sounds just like any other evil magister. And I am excellent at killing evil magisters.” 

Astarion smiled. "I'm glad to have you on my side," he said. He found himself unconsciously leaning closer to Fenris, a desire for a taste of the elf momentarily taking hold. Quickly realizing what he was doing, he withdrew. Fenris's tainted blood was calling to him again, tempting him to take a sweet sample. Staying outside with Fenris had his vampiric urges trembling, yearning for a bite out of the elf. Astarion had never encountered someone who made him feel that way before, and it was unsettling. 

While he knew Fenris would be an asset in dealing with Cazador due to his special abilities, there was also the danger of succumbing to the temptation to bite him. If Fenris's tainted blood was causing Astarion to crave it intensely, he could imagine the same would be true for Cazador—a potential serious problem. Astarion resolved to be careful around Fenris in the future, and knew that he should also endeavor to keep Fenris safe from Cazador as well. 

Standing up from the campfire, he began walking out of the camp. Despite having jars of blood, he still yearned to hunt.

Fenris looked up at him, noticing that he wasn't heading back into his tent. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"Just for a walk to clear my head. I'll be back shortly," Astarion replied.

Notes:

ya'll best get ready for the complete and utter shit-show that Crestwood is gonna be >:)

Chapter 25: Astarion Reveals the Truth, Again

The following day of travel unfolded without any notable incidents, for the most part. Astarion, opting to hunt during the night, took great care to ensure that the remains of the animals he fed on were discreetly disposed of, mindful of the fact that he had yet to disclose his vampiric condition to Fenris and Hawke. He wished to avoid a recurrence of the previous awkward situation where the group stumbled upon the lifeless wolf and felt compelled to investigate.

Despite knowing the urgency of revealing his condition, Astarion continued to delay the inevitable. The closer they approached Crestwood, the more critical the matter became, yet he hesitated. Vampires were typically treated with hostility by most heroes, and though Thedas lacked specific knowledge about vampires, Astarion doubted that Hawke and Fenris would be as trusting as some other members of the group, especially considering their warden friend Stroud's unfortunate encounter with a vampire. Or, well, ‘hunger demon.’ 

Astarion would probably find himself once again branded as a 'hunger demon.' Given the choice, he'd prefer to be referred to as a desire demon rather than one driven by hunger. However, he acknowledged that, strictly speaking, 'hunger demon' might be a more fitting term. Despite the label being entirely inaccurate, he, in fact, was a vampire, not a demon. Yet, in Thedas, distinguishing between the two proved challenging, and he speculated that if vampires were more prevalent in Thedas, they would likely be mistaken for demons.

Nevertheless, revealing the truth to Hawke and Fenris had become an increasingly urgent matter—a topic that some of his companions had been urging him to address as time elapsed. One notable instance was a brief conversation with Bull on the second night, midway through their journey.

Bull approached Astarion as the latter stood before his tent, readying for the night. Astarion greeted him with a smile, asking, "What can I do for you?"

"You need to tell them," Bull asserted.

Astarion scoffed, responding, "I will. Just not now, when we get closer."

"They're getting suspicious, especially Fenris. I overheard them talking; both of them have noticed that you don't eat," Bull revealed.

Admitting that it was easier to conceal in Skyhold, Astarion reluctantly agreed, "Fine, if they're so suspicious, I'll tell them. Just when the time is right, that's all."

Bull insisted, "Now's the time, boss. They're not gonna be too thrilled if they stumble upon this on their own. You know it's not right to make Varric have to keep hiding secrets from his old friends. He's dying to talk to them, but he has to wait for you. Why are you so hesitant, anyways? Once they see we're all cool with it, they'll follow suit. They'll get it, trust me."

"I get it, alright! I'll tell them," Astarion conceded.

"Tomorrow morning, or else I'll tell them myself," Bull insisted.

Astarion crossed his arms. "Aren't I supposed to be your boss, not the other way around?" he quipped.

"You're right—my bad. Tell them tomorrow morning, BOSS, or I'll tell them myself," Bull replied.

"Still wrong—it's 'Saer Inquisitor Astarion, Herald of Andraste,'" Astarion responded with a smirk.

"I'm not calling you that," Bull retorted.

"Then I guess I'm not telling them tomorrow," Astarion said, raising his hand and examining his nails.

"Stop being intentionally difficult. If you want to be called fancy titles, go get Dorian. I'm being serious—tell them the truth, tomorrow," Bull warned.

"Ugh. Fine , I'll tell them tomorrow. Just make sure Fenris doesn't try to kill me when he hears the news," Astarion replied.

"You'll be fine. Now please, no more sneaking out of camp at night to hunt. I can't keep watch on you while you're out hunting, and we don't need you to be stolen, considering we're not sure who we're actually facing in Crestwood," Bull said.

"Fine, I won’t,” Astarion reluctantly agreed. “Now was there anything else you wanted to talk about?” 

"Not unless you want to explain why you have a mirror in front of your tent," Bull stated.

Astarion glanced behind him at the mirror, which only held Bull's reflection. Then he turned back and gave a wry grin to Bull. "It's to attract Dorian, of course," he joked.

Bull didn’t respond immediately; instead, he gave Astarion a concerned stare. 

“What? Is there something on my face, or are you just speechless from my beauty?” Astarion asked, a smug look on his face. 

“I’m worried about you, that’s all,” Bull said. 

“Well, save your concern for someone else. I’m fine,” Astarion insisted. 

“I don’t believe you. Go to bed, get some rest, and don’t leave camp tonight,” Bull said. 

Astarion rolled his eyes and walked into his tent, but decided to heed Bull's warning and avoid any excursion for the night. Bull was right, of course—fresh blood wasn't worth the risk of potentially facing Cazador at night. He should stick by his companions from now on, as they were getting too close to Crestwood.

As Astarion laid down in his bed, he looked over to his bag sitting in the corner and then reached for it. He pulled out Solas's potion, his curiosity getting the better of him. Of course, Solas wouldn't have any reason to lie to him about the contents—and despite Solas's dubious background, he seemed to really want to get Astarion on his side… whatever side that may be. Which meant he would have nothing to fear from the potion, right?

Astarion gazed at the potion in his hands, gently swirling it around, contemplating what to do with it. Karlach didn't appear to need it, and he hesitated to offer it to her, concerned it might be harmful. There was also the uncertainty of whether Solas had added blood or something else to it.

As he stared at the potion, he noted Solas's absence. If anything went wrong, Solas wouldn't be there to witness it. Surrounded by his closest companions and still two days away from Crestwood, he thought, "What better time to drink it?" Yet, he doubted that Solas would want to poison him. It was likely safe to consume. Or was it? There was the concern that it might weaken the tadpole, the very thing providing his invulnerability to the sun. Solas dismissed this possibility, but Astarion wasn't entirely convinced.

In the end, caution prevailed over curiosity, and he decided to put the potion away. While he still wanted to try it, it seemed prudent to wait until after Crestwood, just in case it left him more vulnerable to Cazador or the sun. The tadpole was his shield against both, and the risk wasn't worth taking at the moment.

Returning the potion to his backpack, he settled onto his bed, opting for meditation. Yet, as he delved into meditation, another unsettling dream unfolded– another nightmarish encounter with Cazador. He wasn’t sure why Cazador was suddenly infecting all of his dreams, and he wondered if Cazador had found some way to infiltrate his thoughts during meditation. In the dream, Cazador commanded him to kill his friends, starting with Dorian, then Varric, then Bull, and lastly, Fenris. As awful as it was, he was able to recognize it as just a dream. 

That is, until he suddenly woke up standing at the entrance of Dorian's tent.

Perplexed, he wondered how he got there, lacking any memory of waking up and walking to Dorian's tent. Panic briefly gripped him as he questioned whether Cazador had successfully manipulated him during meditation. If it even was meditation– as maybe there had been some truth to Dorian’s words remarking that it looked like Astarion had been sleeping. Of course he couldn't sleep– but if Cazador had managed to manipulate his mind in some way, then it was always possible. 

Yet, Astarion couldn’t help but feel like he’d awoken before walking over to Dorian’s tent. Hadn’t he? Yes, he woke up and had a conversation with... wait, no, he didn’t. There had been no conversation with anyone. He had simply been in meditation, and then walked to Dorian’s tent once he’d awoken. He still couldn’t remember why he’d come to Dorian’s tent, though. 

Astarion surveyed his surroundings, contemplating whether to walk away from the tent when he heard Dorian opening the door.

“Astarion, is that you? Are you alright?” Dorian asked, poking his head out of the tent.

“I don’t know. I can’t remember how I got here,” Astarion confessed, his expression marked with concern.

“Well, that can’t be good,” Dorian remarked. “Do you want to come in? Not that there’s a lot of space, but…” he offered, gesturing inside his tent.

"Yeah, I think I will. Just...don’t let me bite you. I’m not going to bite you. If I try…then know I’m not, well, me ," Astarion cautioned.

“You really are worried, aren’t you? Come on, lay down,” Dorian insisted, practically pulling Astarion into the tent. “Do you think Cazador might be nearby? I can ask Cole if he saw anything; he was supposed to be on watch,” Dorian suggested.

“Who?” Astarion inquired.

“Cole,” Dorian repeated slowly, raising an eyebrow.

“Who’s Cole?” Astarion pressed. “Is that Hawke’s middle name or something?”

“Uh… most certainly not. Cole is the spirit boy that has been following us. You hired him back in Haven…?” Dorian explained, appearing perplexed at Astarion’s lack of recollection.

“A spirit has been following us? What?” Astarion asked, looking utterly confused.

“Oh, that poor fool made you forget, didn’t he? I should have known he would try something like that with how frustrated he was getting with not being able to ‘fix your hurt.’ I’ll have to have a word with him about that,” Dorian remarked.

“Oh please do. If someone is messing with my memories, they’re in for a rude awakening. My mind has enough invaders as it is– I don’t need another. Make him squirm,” Astarion requested.

“I will, but don’t worry about that for now. You’ll understand tomorrow, hopefully. If Cole listens, that is. He has nothing to do with Cazador or anything like that– so don’t you worry,” Dorian reassured, lying down on his bedroll and patting the space beside him.

Astarion settled beside Dorian. “If you're sure,” he said, wrapping an arm around Dorian’s side.

"I most certainly am. Now, kindly return to your slumber—or meditate, whichever term suits your fancy. I, for one, am still in need of rest," Dorian insisted, a note of weariness evident in his voice. He pressed himself against Astarion and closed his eyes. 

“You know, if you wanted to snuggle with me, you could have just asked,” Astarion teased, noting how relaxed Dorian appeared with him nearby.

"I am an Altus—a distinguished necromancer hailing from Tevinter. I don’t snuggle, " Dorian declared, reopening his eyes with an offended expression.

“Right, you’ve simply ensconced yourself in my arms,” Astarion remarked, planting a kiss on Dorian’s forehead.

“But I certainly wouldn’t mind if you wanted to snuggle,” Dorian replied, settling further into Astarion’s embrace.

“Oh, certainly. Clearly, I’m the one who wanted to snuggle,” Astarion replied sarcastically, shaking his head. 

“See? You even admit it. I knew you were a softie at heart, Astarion,” Dorian teased.

“Go to sleep, Dorian, before I change my mind and bite you,” Astarion playfully warned.

"That's scarcely a threat, considering I might just fancy a bite," Dorian retorted.

Astarion sat up slightly, observing Dorian on the bed below him. “Oh, you want far more than a bite, though, don't you? Come now, don’t be coy. Your body has already given you away. You want us to indulge in each other,” Astarion said.

Dorian flashed a charming smirk, meeting Astarion's gaze with playful intent. "My dear, you have an uncanny ability to read between the lines. Perhaps I do crave more than a mere bite. The question is, are you up for indulging in such desires? It might be risky, with us being in camp. The others would hear.”

"That's a fair point—your delightful little noises might stir the others. And, you know, I prefer our little secret to stay just between us," Astarion remarked, a wry grin playing on his lips. "Unless..."

“Unless what?” Dorian asked slowly. 

"I know of a rather effective method to hush you up," Astarion remarked, rising deliberately from the ground as Dorian looked on in bewilderment. Astarion procured a tidy cloth and a belt from Dorian's belongings.

“You want to gag me,” Dorian observed, catching onto Astarion's scheme. "Wouldn't you be depriving yourself of the dulcet tones of my luxurious voice?"

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll make up for the loss with plenty of things to say tomorrow,” Astarion said. "Though, I suppose we could always postpone this little endeavor until we're back in Skyhold, if you're so keen on preserving the charm of that precious voice of yours," he added. 

"Do go ahead and silence me," Dorian quipped, eliciting a smile from Astarion.

Astarion neared Dorian, skillfully bundling up the cloth and delicately placing it in his mouth to avoid any risk of choking. After securing the makeshift gag with the belt, Astarion bestowed a tender kiss upon Dorian's forehead.

"And, Dorian, do attempt to refrain from setting anything ablaze this time. While the prospect of torching your tent in the dead of night is exhilarating, let's reserve such activities for a space with a bit more, shall we say, stone ," Astarion teased.

Dorian tried to say something back to Astarion, but the gag muffled whatever he was trying to say greatly. 

"What's that? You fancy a nibble?" Astarion inquired, a smirk playing on his lips.

He ascended over Dorian, securing Dorian's hands above his head. Astarion then dipped his head toward Dorian's neck. Dorian's heartbeat quickened, and he attempted to utter something, but Astarion paid no heed. A gentle kiss graced Dorian's neck, Astarion's fangs teasing the skin without sinking in. Despite Dorian's struggles and attempts to speak, Astarion withdrew from his neck.

"Fret not, my dear. I did promise no biting tonight. I promise I have nothing but depraved, carnal lust on my mind tonight," Astarion assured.

Dorian chose not to offer a response this time.

The next morning, Astarion left the tent after Dorian had awakened. After a brief kiss, Dorian headed for food while Astarion began dismantling the tents for another day on the road. Despite Bull enjoying his breakfast, Astarion sensed his scrutinizing gaze, realizing that he truly needed to disclose the truth to Hawke and Fenris that morning. He just wasn't quite sure how to approach it, so he decided to wait until they were back on the road again.

About an hour later, with everyone finished with breakfast, packed up, and on the move, Astarion contemplated how to reveal his vampirism to Hawke and Fenris. After being on the road for about a half an hour, he approached them, deciding to just spill it. 

“Hawke, Fenris, uh, good morning,” Astarion greeted, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

“Good morning to you too,” Hawke replied.

“You know, I’ve been thinking, and I think there’s something I should tell you. Nothing big or terrible, just a small little detail about myself that hasn’t come up naturally,” Astarion said, smiling and downplaying the significance of what he was about to reveal.

Astarion continued, "It's just that, well, I happen to be—" He was abruptly interrupted by a green magical light shooting past his head. As he looked ahead, he realized they were approaching a fade rift—just his luck.

"Whatever it is, it'll have to wait. We have company," Hawke declared, charging towards the fade rift with Fenris at his side.

Astarion sighed and joined the battle as well—which ended rather quickly, thanks to the prowess of his companions. The rift had been sizable, spawning several demons, but the group handled it with ease.

After the swift battle concluded, Astarion raised his hand towards the rift, effortlessly closing it, as he had done with many others.

Hawke looked at him with amazement. "You really can close those rifts. Not that I doubted you," he remarked.

Astarion was about to offer a sarcastic response when his gaze focused on Fenris. Fenris had a minor cut on his hand, presumably from the battle. It was inconsequential enough that no one paid much attention to it, not even Fenris, as it could be easily remedied with a healing potion—an item they had in abundance. However, it was still bleeding, and Astarion couldn't tear his eyes away as a drop of blood rolled down Fenris's hand. Astarion quickly covered his nose and mouth with his hand, attempting to block out the potent smell of the blood.

Varric cast a curious glance at Astarion, not entirely comfortable with his sudden reaction. "You okay there, Fangs?" he inquired, then looked at Fenris, sensing the issue.

Astarion forced himself to speak, but his eyes remained fixed on the spot, the desire to bite Fenris overpowering him. " Maker’s tits , Varric. That was some rift," Astarion managed to say, trying to maintain composure even as every fiber of his being yearned to drink Fenris's blood.

"Shit," Varric muttered to himself, recognizing the code word they'd established. "Hey, Fenris, I have a good healing potion in my bag. Let me get it for you. Dorian, Bull, why don’t you go scout ahead with Astarion? Make sure there’s no more demons," Varric suggested.

Fenris looked puzzled, then glanced down at his hand. "Oh, I’m fine. It’s just a small cut. I’ll join them, looking for demons," he stated.

"No, stay here," Varric insisted, handing Fenris a healing potion. "Please, just drink it," he urged.

"I don’t see the point, but if you insist," Fenris conceded. He drank the potion, and they all watched as the cut gradually disappeared, the skin stitching itself back together.

While Dorian appeared a bit puzzled, having not been clued into Varric's code word, Bull immediately caught on to the issue. “Astarion, let’s go,” Bull directed, placing his hand on Astarion’s shoulder and gently guiding him away from Fenris.

Astarion still cast a longing glance at Fenris, but Bull took his arm and pulled him along, compelling him to walk away and break free from the distraction. Once they were a bit away, in the cover of the treeline and just out of sight, Bull stopped and examined Astarion. “Are you good?” he asked. 

“I’m fine now, thank you,” Astarion assured.

“What just happened?” Dorian asked, appearing a bit bewildered.

“Fenris was bleeding, and it was distracting. I’m fine now– we should be able to continue on the road,” Astarion explained.

“Do you need blood? Is that it?” Dorian questioned.

“No, I’ll be fine. Unless you’re offering, that is. I wouldn’t ever refuse you,” Astarion said. 

Bull interjected. “You really need to tell them the truth now, Astarion. Especially if Fenris bleeding a little is going to be an issue.”

“I will! I was in the middle of trying to tell them when we found that rift. It’s hardly my fault that I was interrupted,” Astarion defended.

“Well, good, because you’re going to tell them—right now,” Bull insisted. “Before we get any farther on this journey.”

“Fine, I am! Geez, there’s no need to be so insistent,” Astarion remarked.

Bull motioned back towards the rest of the group, and Astarion sighed, walking back towards the group. This was going to be a challenging conversation for him, considering that just a few minutes earlier, he had wanted to feed on Fenris.

Seeing Astarion heading back, Hawke inquired, “All clear?”

“Yes, there’s no more demons lurking about,” Astarion confirmed. “Now about the thing I was trying to say before—about the little thing I may have forgotten to mention—”

Fenris interjected, “You’re possessed by a demon, aren’t you?”

Hawke added, “A hunger demon, by the looks of it. That’s why you were so interested in going to Crestwood.”

Astarion looked taken aback. “Well, not exactly, but– you knew?” 

“We had our suspicions since the start, but we didn’t have them confirmed until a few minutes ago,” Hawke affirmed.

“No one would care for a small cut like that, but as soon as I saw you staring at it, and Varric panicking, I realized my mistake. You’re possessed by the same type of demon that Stroud saw,” Fenris declared. “Is that how you escaped your master and survived the conclave? By joining forces with a demon?”

“Well, like I said, you’re not exactly right. I’m not a demon, and I’m not possessed by one. It’s definitely nothing quite that bad! I’m just, well, a vampire,” Astarion explained, while trying to downplay the truth. 

“And what does that mean, exactly?” Hawke asked. 

“I just, well, I drink blood,” Astarion replied. 

“I guess that would explain why we’ve never seen you eat before, if you’re feasting on blood instead. But how does that make you different from a demon?” Hawke asked.

“Demons are from the Fade, and I’m definitely not . I used to be a, well, ‘normal’ elf until Cazador found me, killed me, and changed me,” Astarion clarified.

“He killed you?” Hawke repeated, taken aback. He then glanced at Varric, who was now standing nearby. “You knew, didn’t you? And you didn’t tell me?”

Varric shrugged. “Not my secret to spill.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes at Astarion. “Were you lying about being a slave? About what you told me last night?” he accused.

“No! I wouldn’t lie to you about that. There are just a few perks and a few downsides to being changed into a vampire like me. I’m immortal now, and I’m stronger, faster, and heal much quicker—provided I have a healthy diet of blood, anyway. But I’m also not a full vampire—I’m a vampire spawn ,” Astarion explained, his voice carrying traces of disgust at the word ‘spawn’. He continued, “which means I’m Cazador’s slave. Cazador has complete and full control of me. I spent the last two centuries serving him—doing whatever he ordered, with no ability to refuse. It wasn’t until I acquired this hand that I was finally free,” Astarion revealed.

“But only free- ish . He still controls you if you’re too close to him,” Fenris recollected, reflecting on what Astarion had confided in him the previous night. "We must put an end to this—I can envision the peril of being under his control."

“Wait a damned minute– did you just say two centuries? Andraste’s flat ass– how old are you? ” Hawke exclaimed.

“I don’t actually know. Somewhere in my mid to late 200s? I’m not sure exactly how long I served Cazador, but I was in my thirties when I died and became a vampire and a slave,” Astarion explained, but chose not to mention that he would have lived far beyond his 200s anyways. 

Hawke crossed his arms, shifting his weight as he stared at Astarion. “So, Stroud. You think he saw a vampire, don’t you? Someone else like you. Not a hunger demon.”

Astarion nodded. “This… is where things get complicated. My master, Cazador, is still around, and he desperately wants me back. I know he will stop at nothing to get me back. Dorian and I, well, we time-traveled to the future, and Cazador attacked Dorian. I pushed them both through the portal to the present– but Cazador, uh, escaped . Which means there’s possibly two Cazadors around now—one from the future and one from the present. I think that at least one version of Cazador might be hiding in Crestwood, and your friend might have found him.”

“That’s… a lot to take in,” Hawke remarked. “So what would happen if it really is Cazador, and not a random hunger demon?” he asked.

“We’re going to kill him,” Astarion declared. “I’ll have to kill both of them if I ever really want to be free, but… I never want to fall into his control again. I’m going to kill him.”

“To be clear– is Cazador a mage using blood magic? Or is he a ‘full vampire’?” Fenris asked, looking thoughtful.

“He’s a mage, but he’s also a vampire. Except, one that is exceptionally harder to kill than me. So not only do you have to worry about the normal ‘evil mage’ things, he also can turn into a cloud of mist, heal as you’re attacking him, and call hordes of bats and wolves,” Astarion explained. 

Varric shot Astarion a sidelong glance. "You might've conveniently left out a few details about Cazador after our initial run-in. Hordes of bats and wolves, anyone?"

“Oh, did I forget to mention that? How silly of me to forget,” Astarion said. 

“What are his weaknesses? Clearly he must have some– everyone does. You got away from him the first time,” Fenris said.

“Sunlight, mostly, and stakes. He’ll turn to a crisp in the sunlight– which is why we’re only really expecting to see him at night. It’s also why I recruited Alexius, despite his intent to kill me when we first met– he knows a spell that can produce sunlight and force Cazador to retreat or die,” Astarion detailed.

Varric interjected into their conversation. “We should explain everything in more detail on the road. But we need to get moving, or else we’ll never get to Crestwood,” he urged.

Fenris nodded. “Fine, but I want a full explanation of everything I missed.”

Astarion nodded. “You’ll get one, so long as you promise not to tell anyone. You both are taking this rather well, actually,” he replied.

“Did you expect us to turn on you and kill you or something?” Hawke asked.

“Well , kind of. Yelling or threats at the very least,” Astarion said truthfully.

Fenris cut in, “I do have a threat for you, actually. Try to drink my blood, and I’ll make sure you never see the light of day again.”

“Reasonable, I suppose. Let’s continue– we can explain the rest on the way,” Astarion said.

Notes:

Don't leave! Read on -->
This is a double chapter release!

Chapter 26: The Folly of Crestwood PART I

Throughout the remainder of that day, Astarion meticulously detailed everything to Hawke and Fenris, making a concerted effort to bring them up to speed with the rest of the group. Fenris, upon discovering that Astarion wasn't from Tevinter, expressed disappointment but not surprise. He also vowed to enlighten Astarion about the perils of collaborating with a Tevinter Magister– since clearly he was lacking the correct knowledge about Tevinter, or else he would have understood exactly why he should have killed Alexius on the spot. 

During the third night of their journey, Fenris approached the sensitive topic of Astarion's vampiric enslavement with a tactful touch, carefully selecting his words. Despite Astarion's initial reluctance to broach the subject, Fenris confirmed that his initial suspicions were accurate. Astarion had endured physical, mental, and sexual abuse.

Astarion, reluctant to divulge the full extent, withheld certain details from Fenris. Nevertheless, Fenris gleaned enough to comprehend that Astarion had once served as both a prostitute and a manipulator, leading an undisclosed number of individuals to their demise. The weight of these past actions appeared to burden Astarion, especially now that Cazador no longer wielded control over him. Fenris also knew that whatever Astarion had told him was likely only scratching the surface of the extent of abuse that Astarion had endured; Cazador was an evil monster who needed to die.

Despite Astarion's origins being distinctly different from Tevinter and his age significantly surpassing Fenris's, Fenris recognized that Astarion faced similar challenges to others who had escaped slavery after enduring prolonged abuse. Astarion's predicament was particularly dire, as he had essentially confirmed his inability to recall much of his life before serving Cazador. Consequently, despite the altered circumstances, Fenris understood that Astarion still required assistance in navigating the world as a newly freed individual.

Astarion had also cautioned Fenris about the peculiar nature of his blood, revealing the difficulty he experienced spending extended periods around Fenris without feeling the urge to bite him. Astarion clarified that Fenris's blood was tainted in an exceptionally enticing manner, occasionally tempting him to succumb to the desire to steal a taste. Fenris reassured Astarion that, should such an attempt occur, he would take 'whatever is necessary' measures to prevent it, adamantly refusing to share his blood. Astarion further forewarned Fenris of the increased danger he might face from Cazador in the future. Fenris reiterated his earlier stance, asserting that he would undertake 'whatever is necessary' to thwart Cazador as well. Fenris had no desire in the slightest to share his blood. 

Another significant development during their journey was the escalating intensity of Astarion's dreams, which grew increasingly distressing each day. The rest of the camp became aware of these nightmares one night when Astarion awoke with a scream—a behavior he had never exhibited before. Every night, his dreams were haunted by Cazador, who subjected his friends to horrific acts or compelled Astarion to commit atrocities against them.

Fenris reassured him that these nightmares were likely a response to his traumatic past, a common occurrence for individuals who had endured severe experiences as slaves. However, they couldn't dismiss the possibility that Cazador might be influencing Astarion's dreams. Astarion considered the connection to the tadpole, speculating that Cazador, in collaboration with Ketheric, might possess the knowledge to manipulate it. The thought heightened the allure of Solas's potion with each passing day.

By the time they reached Crestwood, Hawke and Fenris had both been completely filled in, and were having conversations with Varric about the events that had surpassed since they’d last seen each other. Both of them had accepted Astarion’s vampirism, without much worry, although Astarion worried it was because they had yet to actually encounter how dangerous a vampire could be.

When Astarion finally reached Crestwood, he saw a different sort of problem almost immediately– there was a lake, and in the middle of the lake, there was a giant gaping rift spewing demons. Yet, he had no way of closing a rift in the middle of a lake. Most of Crestwood's townsfolk, those still alive at least, had barricaded themselves in their houses, fearing the undead that had emerged as a result of the rift. Crestwood faced not only the threat of a potential vampire but also the chaos caused by the rift and the undead.

They were directed to the mayor's house, and Astarion noticed that the man's heartbeat was slightly faster than he found comfortable. The mayor, appearing nervous and secretive, explained how they could use the dam to drain the lake and reach the rift. The man had also insisted that the group not linger, but wouldn’t specify why. It left Astarion incredibly suspicious about the man, but when he’d tried to ask him about potential hunger demons in the area, the man had appeared clueless. Whatever he had been hiding was seemingly not related to Cazador. 

Considering it was daytime with no sign of Cazador, Astarion decided to split the group. He had heard rumors of tunnels under the lake where the rift was supposedly located, making it an ideal hiding spot for a vampire. While he doubted Cazador would be hiding in such dreary tunnels, he believed it was unlikely for Cazador to pose a threat during the daytime.

So once the camp was set up, the group divided: Astarion, Hawke, Fenris, and Dorian set out to search for clues about Stroud's last whereabouts and any signs of a vampire. Karlach, Bull, Varric, and Cole (whom Astarion was still unaware of) went to use the dam's controls to drain the lake.

Although Astarion had initially wanted to keep Karlach with him, she declined, expressing her desire to fight some bandits instead. Which seemed fair enough, as far as Astarion was concerned, because the mayor had also warned them of bandits inhabiting the dam. Still, it left Astarion feeling slightly exposed, but he was still confident enough that Cazador wouldn't be able to get him in the daylight. 

Astarion made sure that Hawke and Fenris stayed with him, because, well, they probably knew Stroud the best. So on the off-chance that Stroud was actually still alive , he made sure to bring them along. It wasn't entirely impossible for Stroud to be alive– although it was highly unlikely. Astarion was expecting to find a drained corpse more than anything else. 

Astarion left Alexius behind to watch the camp, primarily because Astarion needed someone to stay behind, and Alexius wasn't required just yet. Alexius would become more crucial during the night. Astarion acknowledged the slight vulnerability of this group split but believed Cazador wouldn't likely find him as long as the sun was high in the sky.

Once the groups separated, Astarion’s group headed towards the location where Hawke last knew of Stroud's whereabouts—a small smuggler's cave.

The cave lay approximately an hour from their camp, a distance that would have been manageable if not for the relentless onslaught of random undead adversaries. The disturbance caused by the rift in the lake was undeniably wreaking havoc. During their journey, Astarion also crossed paths with a templar—albeit one grotesquely transformed by red crystal to the point of losing all semblance of humanity. Dispatching the corrupted templar swiftly, Astarion mentally marked the need for further investigation into the red crystals.

As Astarion neared the cave's entrance, where Stroud had last been known to be, he twisted his nose in disgust.  “Gods, it smells awful in there. Do we really have to go in? I should have gone to the dam with the others,” Astarion expressed, his face contorted in absolute disgust as he dramatically pinched his nose.

“What do you mean? I can't smell anything,” Hawke remarked, looking at Fenris.

Fenris shrugged, “smells fine to me.”

Dorian also shrugged. “Perhaps you caught a whiff of Hawke and Fenris. They do smell like they haven't seen a bar of soap in ages,” he noted.

Fenris raised an eyebrow at Dorian's comment, his expression unamused. "I assure you, mage, I have a keen sense of cleanliness. Unlike some , I don't rely on fragrance to mask neglect," Fenris retorted, shooting a pointed look at Dorian.

Astarion gave them all a shocked look. “What, seriously? You really can't smell that? It reeks .”

“I'm sure you'll manage, Inquisitor,” Hawke said plainly, then entered the cave's entrance.

Reluctantly, Astarion followed the group, who were still acting as though they smelled nothing wrong. However, as he crossed the entrance, the stench intensified to the point that Astarion wanted to turn away, disregarding everything else.

"Um, I reckon I'll be enjoying the fresh air outside. Just, you know, holler if you find yourselves fighting a horde of demons or something," Astarion declared to the group, pivoting as he spoke.

“Wait, seriously? Do you really smell something that bad?” Dorian asked, looking at Astarion with concern.

“Yes, and I've got this feeling like I'm about to spill every drop of blood from my gut if I linger any longer. Keep me posted on what you uncover, yeah?" Astarion remarked before swiftly making his exit from the cave.

The others exchanged glances at Astarion’s reluctance and then peered further into the cave. A simple wooden door hid the contents—the cave, all things considered, was tiny—yet clearly, Astarion hadn't liked something within.

Fenris looked between Hawke and Dorian. “We need to be careful. He's clearly smelling something we're not, and that could be bad.”

Hawke nodded. “Agreed,” he said, then looked at the wooden door. “So, who wants to go first?” He asked. Then, both Hawke and Fenris stared at Dorian.

“What? Why me? It's your friend we're looking for!” Dorian protested. 

"Oh, is the all-mighty 'vint Altus too timid to step through the door first?" Fenris jeered. "Not that it's unexpected—I always knew you were more bluster than bite."

"No, darling, it's evident you're the one quaking in your boots. Just look at you, relying on the Tevinter mage to do the honors of opening the ominous door for you," Dorian retorted with a teasing grin.

Hawke interrupted them, “I'll do it. We shouldn't go at each other's throats just because Astarion left.”

"Very well, I suppose—provided Fenris concurs. Astarion does more than enough 'going at throats' for the entire group," Dorian remarked with a wry smile.

“You would know about that, wouldn’t you?” Fenris responded. 

Hawke slowly opened the wooden door, choosing to peer through it first. Yet when he saw no immediate enemies, he pushed the door open further and entered. As he stepped into the room, Fenris and Dorian behind him, they saw Stroud's body collapsed on the floor, a pool of blood below him.

“Stroud!” Hawke exclaimed, rushing over to Stroud’s body to check if he was truly dead. Immediately, Hawke noticed two significant issues: 1) there were fang puncture wounds in Stroud’s neck and 2) the pool of blood on the floor had seeped from an open wound on his stomach. The man had lost a significant amount of blood, but it was curious that a vampire would have left him in this state. 

“Maker’s balls, he's not dead,” Hawke said in awe, realizing that Stroud was still breathing, and his heart had a slow but constant beat.

“That's going to take a little more than a healing potion to fix,” Dorian observed, passing Hawke a healing potion from his bag nonetheless. “I wonder what happened to Astarion. Usually, he likes to be surrounded by blood,” he remarked.

Hawke fed Stroud the healing potion; which did not work to cure he deepest wounds, but at least seemed to do something , as Stroud awoke. 

But, Stroud awoke delirious, and unable to speak anything but pure nonsense. 

Hawke grabbed a nearby cloth shirt and pressed it to Straud’s wound, trying to prevent any further blood loss. “This is fresh– probably happened last night,” he said. 

Fenris nodded. “We need to get him back to camp– there’s not enough supplies here, and it’s too cold,” he said. 

“I'll go get Astarion,” Dorian declared, exiting the cave to find Astarion. Yet as he left the cave, he didn't immediately spot Astarion anywhere. Another immediate concern struck him—something that had him panicking slightly inside—the weather had changed. What was once a fairly clear sky with some clouds had turned into a dark blanket of clouds, a sign that a storm was coming.

Yet, the blanket of clouds meant something else as well—it was likely that a vampire could survive without being turned to a crisp by the sun. And Astarion was missing. “Astarion!” Dorian yelled as panic gripped him, frantically searching the area.

Meanwhile, Astarion had not been abducted by Cazador or anything else nefarious. He had simply spotted a trail of blood not far from the cave and had followed it for a short distance until he noticed the darkening sky. It was a welcome break from the cave, as the smell had been awful, even just standing by the entrance. He didn’t intend to go far, anyways. 

Astarion heard Dorian yelling for him, so he turned around and headed back to the cave. Yet, as Astarion made his way back to the cave's entrance, he noticed no one else around. He figured Dorian must have gone back into the cave, so Astarion grimaced and walked inside the putrid tunnel. 

The smell was still just as strong, making him want to retch. Yet he endured it until he walked through the little wooden door and saw the source of the smell—Stroud. Every part of that man's spilled blood smelled absolutely volatile , and Astarion wanted no part of it.

Fenris looked up at Astarion, nodding his head. “Astarion, we'll have to find a way to get him to camp. He's not dead, but he will be soon if we don’t intervene,” he said.

Astarion gave a nod. "I can smell that from here. By the gods, why does he reek so much? We need to seal those wounds, or I might just lose my lunch. His blood is absolutely wretched ," he remarked.

“Wait, so he's the odd smell? Interesting,” Hawke said, as carefully tied the cloth shirt against Stroud’s wound for travel. 

"Regardless, we've got more pressing issues. We need to make our way back to camp, and we need to do it now. A storm's rolling in, and there's not a sliver of sunlight left," Astarion stated.

“Shit. Really? How do we get Stroud to our camp quickly? We're at least an hour away,” Hawke said.

"I'm... uncertain. Where's Dorian? I wager he could summon some undead to carry him for us," Astarion proposed.

Fenris and Hawke exchanged a look and then glanced at Astarion. “Did you not see him? He went outside to get you,” Fenris said.

“I heard him yelling for me, but he wasn't outside,” Astarion said. Then, after a brief pause, Astarion bolted out of the cave, with Hawke and Fenris chasing after him. “Shit. Dorian !” Astarion yelled, rushing out to find him.

As they left the cave, they briefly searched the area, yelling for Dorian as they did. However, none of them found Dorian, and Astarion was becoming frantic. 

After several minutes passed with no luck, Fenris put his hand on Astarion’s shoulder, stopping him from searching further. “You told us vampires can't enter people's homes, right?”

“No, why?” Astarion asked. “Did you see a house Dorian might have escaped to nearby?” he asked, hope in his voice. 

"No. I believe we should return to that cave. Stroud had obviously been dwelling there—close enough to a house, isn't it?" Fenris remarked.

“What? I can't just sit around in a cave while Dorian is gone!” Astarion protested.

“If Cazador found Dorian, then there's nothing we can do right now. We need to keep you safe,” Fenris insisted.

"No way! Besides, if Cazador's lurking, he'll figure out a way into that cave. Waiting there won't do us any favors—just look at what happened to Stroud," Astarion asserted. "If he's really snatched Dorian, it's a punishment for me. He wants me to know he's around. If Dorian's in his clutches, he's likely tormenting him as we speak. If we don't get to him in time, Dorian's done for. It’s my fault he was kidnapped, so I have to find him," Astarion insisted.

“Then I'm sorry if he dies, Astarion, but going after him won't help—not if Cazador can still control you. We need to wait for the others. If we face your former master like this, we won't win,” Fenris insisted.

“He could have been taken by bandits, too,” Hawke suggested. “But either way, we're exposed. Fenris is right– we'll need to go back in that cave until either the storm passes, or the other group comes to find us. But if you are captured, Astarion, all of Thedas will get fucked for it, and I can't let that happen,” Hawke insisted. 

A third, unfamiliar voice came from behind them. “Or, I have a better option,” the voice said, causing Astarion, Fenris, and Hawke to whip around and face the voice. It was an elf–glowing red eyes, and fangs.

“He made another spawn,” Astarion warned, and braced for battle. He should have known that Cazador would make more spawn now that he was separated from the rest. 

“No need for fighting. I've simply come with a message,” the spawn said, raising his arms up in surrender. “Come with me peacefully, Astarion, back to father, where you belong, and he'll be merciful on that delectable human we stole. The one that has been blanketed by your scent–he meant a lot to you, didn't he ?”

Astarion lunged forward, tackling the spawn to the ground. Whoever this spawn had been was clearly not a fighter, or at least not a good one, as he made no attempt to stop Astarion. “WHERE IS HE?” Astarion shouted, pressing a dagger against the spawn's throat as a threat.

“You'll never know if you kill me, Astarion!” The spawn replied. “But if you don't come peacefully, your human will be tortured in ways even you can't imagine, and father will come to collect you in person. I really suggest coming with me because he's retrieving you either way,” the spawn insisted, gently placing a hand on Astarion’s shoulder.

Astarion never had a chance to react though, because in one swift motion, Hawke grabbed Astarion from behind and pulled him away from the vampire spawn, while Fenris leapt forward, a stick in his hand. The stick phased through the spawn until it reached its heart, where it solidified, effectively staking the vampire in an unconventional way.

“Let me go!” Astarion shouted, shaking himself out of Hawke's grasp. “What the hells was that for! He could have told us where Dorian is!” He shouted, angry, bearing his fangs as if ready to fight Hawke and Fenris.

“It was clearly a trap, Astarion! We need to go!” Hawke insisted, but seemed slightly nervous at the look Astarion was giving him. He didn’t want to fight Astarion, but he didn’t want Astarion to kill him, either. 

Fenris grabbed Astarion’s hand, ignoring how Astarion looked as though he wanted to kill them both. “They know we’re here– we need to get to the cave. It's our only choice!” 

“ Fine . But if Dorian dies, I'm killing you both . Slowly,” Astarion threatened but ran toward the cave with them anyway.

Once in the cave, they ran forward, and Hawke slammed the little wooden door behind them. “This had better be considered a ‘home’ or else we're in trouble,” Hawke mentioned, trying to stare through a small crack in the wood.

“It doesn’t matter. Cazador is going to come here and kill everyone. A little door won’t stop him,” Astarion said, beginning to pace around the room. 

“I’d rather take my chances in here than out there,” Hawke replied. 

Meanwhile, Astarion looked downright angry and overwhelmed. The noxious smell from Stroud certainly wasn't helping either. “Damn it all!” Astarion cursed, pacing around the room frantically. “He took Dorian on purpose. He did it just to get to me. I'll kill him ,” he said, malice in his voice, as he paced.

“Just keep your fangs pointed away from us while you're here. You look downright scary when you're angry,” Hawke said.

"Well, pardon me for not looking my best while I'm stuck in this delightful chamber that absolutely stinks, all the while Dorian is likely getting his blood sucked dry!" Astarion retorted, verbally lashing out at Hawke.

“I don’t actually care how you look– just stay away from Fenris and I!” Hawke warned. 

Astarion chuckled incredulously. "Ah, there it is! That's what I've been anticipating. You 'hero' types, all cut from the same cloth. The moment you got the opportunity, you turned against me. I always knew you couldn't handle working with a vampire," he seethed, brandishing a drawn dagger as he faced Hawke.

"Enough! Both of you, cease this bickering! There's nothing to be done except wait, and squabbling won't help. We won't save Dorian if we're busy tearing each other apart," Fenris declared, stepping between them with a stern glare. He then knelt down beside Stroud, who had once again succumbed to unconsciousness—or perhaps mere slumber. "We must properly seal this wound, or Stroud will die as well."

"Ugh, alright, I'll pitch in, if only to put an end to that wretched stench," Astarion grumbled reluctantly. He delved into his pouch and extracted a compact first aid kit, complete with suture tools, a suture needle, and a lengthy piece of thread.

Astarion approached Stroud, but gagged as he got closer. He had to turn away for a moment, before once again approaching Stroud. He took off the cloth shirt that Hawke had tied to the wound earlier, then began to suture the wound together, starting with the exposed, torn muscle, then ending with the skin.

“I didn't know you knew how to suture,” Fenris said, watching him work. 

“You learn fast after so many years of abuse,” Astarion replied. “He'll need more healing potion to keep the infection away, but at least the wound is closed.”

Just as Astarion cut away the final thread, and Hawke fed Stroud another potion, Stroud woke up again. This time, instead of mumbling and rambling in delirium, Stroud awoke aware.

Stroud immediately tried to sit up, but Hawke gently stopped him and laid him back down. “Stroud, it's me, Hawke,” he said.

Stroud looked around the room. “No, Hawke, you have to get out of here. The demons… they're different here. They'll kill you, you need to leave. ”

Astarion took several steps back, and retreated to the furthest wall away from Stroud. The smell wasn't as strong, now that the wound was closed, but the old blood on the floor still reeked. “Believe me– we’re all perfectly aware of those demons. And as much as I would love to leave– we can’t.” 

Stroud’s gaze focused on Astarion, as if becoming aware of him for the first time. “Shit. Hawke, watch out! He's one of them. He’s a demon, ” he warned, trying to sit up once again and reaching for a weapon. 

"Now wait a moment, that's hardly a kind thing to say after I've just stitched you up," Astarion retorted, sounding offended.

“Hawke, he's a demon. Don't just stand there!” Stroud insisted. 

“We know, Stroud. He's with us. Stroud, meet Inquisitor Astarion. Astarion, meet Warden Stroud,” Hawke introduced them, motioning between each other.

Stroud’s mouth dropped agape and he looked at Astarion with shock and horror. “You mean– the Inquisitor– is actually a demon?” he asked. “And you’re fine with that?” 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too,” Astarion replied, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"It's... complicated, but trust me, he's on our side. Well, Thedas's side, more like. I'm not entirely convinced he's still on ours. And what about you? I received your last letter, but there was silence after that," Hawke said.

“The hunger demons, that’s what. I should be dead right now, but my blood is like poison to them. Still didn’t stop them from trying to kill me, though,” Stroud said.

“Believe me– if they actually wanted you dead, you’d be dead,” Astarion replied.

“Then why leave me here? Why attack me until I’m on the brink of death, instead of killing me?” Stroud asked.

“You were bait, although I’m not sure how he predicted us coming here to find you,” Astarion replied.

“Bait?” Stroud asked, and then sighed. “Of course I was just bait,” he muttered.

Hawke gently patted Stroud’s shoulder. “Well, you’re alive , and that’s what matters. Why don’t you just rest now, Stroud? A storm has come in– we can’t leave until it’s light out again, which means we’re all stuck here,” Hawke replied.

“I suppose you’re right. I am quite tired…” Stroud said, then laid his head back down and closed his eyes.

“We’re so fucked,” Astarion muttered before walking into the corner, sitting down, and leaning against the wall.

Several hours passed, and Astarion grew increasingly antsy and irritated. The storm raged outside, the sky pouring down rain with loud booms of thunder echoing every few seconds. Astarion had become accustomed to the unpleasant smell of Stroud’s spilled blood, but now Fenris's scent was starting to get to him. 

Fenris and Stroud were like two polar opposites – Fenris smelled absolutely delicious, while Stroud smelled awful. The combination of these scents, heightened emotions from Dorian being taken, and his claustrophobia were getting to him, making him feel as though he wanted to lash out at anything . More than anything, Astarion wanted to leave the cave. His rational mind was fading with each passing hour he spent in the cave. 

The group seemed to sense Astarion’s discomfort, but out of everyone, Fenris was the only one to address it directly. 

“I told you we’d kill your master, Astarion, and I still mean it. We’ll get Dorian back as soon as we catch up with the others and make a plan,” Fenris said, in an attempt to get Astarion to calm down, if even just a little bit. 

“It’ll be too late by then, and you know that. Don’t give me pitying, meaningless words,” Astarion responded irritably.

Hawke chimed in, “Then we’ll make his death mean something. We will kill Cazador, and I mean it. Those words aren’t meaningless,” he asserted.

“Easy to say when you’ve never met Cazador,” Astarion retorted. “I need to get out of here,” he added, standing up and walking towards the door.

“Woah, wait a minute! Where do you think you’re going?” Hawke asked, rushing over to the door and standing between it and Astarion.

“I have to get out of here. I can’t stay here any longer,” Astarion insisted.

Fenris put a hand on Astarion’s shoulder from behind. “You have to, unless you intend to become a slave again. Stay with us, Astarion,” he implored.

“No, you don’t get it. I-I have to leave. I need to go,” Astarion replied, looking insistently at the door. The walls of the cave were closing in on him and the smells of everything were overwhelming his senses. He couldn’t think clearly, he couldn’t act normally, he just knew he needed to leave the cave. 

“Sit back down, Astarion. We’re not letting you leave,” Fenris insisted, attempting to pull Astarion away from the door.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Astarion exclaimed, turning and pushing Fenris away from him. The walls were closing in, and he felt trapped, unable to leave. He was without blood, he couldn't escape, and the walls were still closing in. He needed to escape.

“ Kaffas, sit down already, Astarion! You’re panicking,” Fenris urged.

“Great, just great. We’re trapped for probably at least a day down here with a dying man and a panicking vampire with a death wish, while more vampires are probably just waiting outside for us to leave, and Dorian is captured,” Hawke lamented. “Astarion, please just sit down . I’m not letting you go past this door,” he added. 

Cole intervened, positioning himself in front of Astarion. "You're not trapped. There's a door, but you know that. You're here, in a cave, not buried. I don't understand why you're confused," he reassured Astarion.

The reassurance was sufficient to snap Astarion out of his anxious reverie. Not because Cole’s words actually helped, but instead, due to the shock alone of seeing someone else in the room that wasn’t previously there. 

"Who in the sweet nine hells are you, and how did you get in here?!" Astarion demanded, taking a few steps backward in his astonishment.

Notes:

As you've noticed- this has been a double chapter release. Next chapter will be late, due to Thanksgiving, so the extra chapter is to make up for the difference.

(Also, poor Dorian can't seem to catch a break).

Chapter 27: The Folly of Crestwood PART II

"Who in the sweet nine hells are you, and how did you get in here?!" Astarion demanded, as he took a few steps backward in his astonishment.

“I’m Cole. We’ve met before, but you don’t remember that. I came in through the door,” Cole said, as if it was obvious. He motioned towards the door. 

“ When?” Astarion asked, while waving his hands inquisitively. 

Cole was silent for a moment, as if thinking. “Before?” 

"Allow me to put it differently: How did you manage to sneak in here, unnoticed by anyone, and what do you want?" Astarion questioned. Cole didn't exactly appear threatening, but his sudden arrival struck Astarion as peculiar, to say the least.

“But I didn’t sneak. I walked in through the door. I want to help,” Cole said, as if he was confused why Astarion wasn’t understanding. 

" Help ? Pray, tell me, what is it precisely that you're here to help with?" Astarion asked, his confusion lingering from the ongoing conversation.

“I… think I messed this up. I’m going to try this again. You’ll forget me in a moment,” Cole explained, earning an intense glare from Astarion. 

“Don’t you dare , you miscreant ! I've had more than enough invaders into my head as it is. I won’t tolerate you altering my mind in any way,” Astarion said, with a veiled threat. 

Fenris interjected with a growl, "Don't go down that path, Cole. The only meddling with minds you ought to be doing is against those who stand against us," he affirmed. His hand tightened around the hilt of his weapon, a silent warning to Cole against any reckless notions.

Cole looked visibly stressed with the uncertainty of what to do. “I've made it worse again. I… don't know how to help.”

"What?" Astarion exclaimed in disbelief, pivoting to cast a questioning gaze at Fenris and Hawke. "You're acquainted with him, and you were conveniently keeping quiet about the fact that he's, well, here , and has been messing with my memories?" he demanded.

Fenris stayed impassive. "I wasn't aware of his meddling. I assumed the lack of conversation between you two meant you simply weren't close."

Hawke chimed in, aligning with Fenris. "And, to be clear, we weren't aware of his entrance either. We only discovered he was here at the same time you did."

Astarion turned his attention back to Cole. “Fine then, Cole, why are you here?” 

“To help,” Cole repeated

“To help with what , exactly?” Astarion asked yet again. 

"Soft warmth against you, heart thumping loud as he gives himself to you, his sweet voice soothing to your ears. He hungers for you, and you hunger back, but differently . He longs to do everything for you, to wrap you up tight as the sun dips below the horizon, to marvel at your grace for all the days he can. He loves you, but you don’t think it's real. You think he only craves your body, but it's real . He'd do anything to bring you joy, but... you don't feel it the same. You don't want him like he wants you, and it hurts him, and it hurts you too," Cole shared.

"Mind your own business, Cole. Seriously, I don't need you broadcasting my personal affairs to the whole world. And in case your observational skills are lacking – Dorian isn't exactly present and accounted for, is he?" Astarion retorted, a hint of irritation coloring his voice, as he gestured around the room.

“Well, no, because he’s with the others,” Cole explained. 

“The others? You mean he made it back to camp?” Astarion asked, hope flooding his voice. 

“Not those others. The other people who drink blood, like you. They didn’t used to crave blood, but they do now. The man who hurt you hurt them, too,” Cole explained. 

Hawke glanced at Astarion, offering a nonchalant shrug. "If it makes you feel any better, it seems Dorian might still be kicking around?"

"Oh, he might still be alive? How utterly fantastic. I feel positively elated now," Astarion remarked with heavy sarcasm.

Hawke muttered, “better than the opposite…” 

Fenris inclined his head, shifting his weight to one leg while crossing his arms. "You've encountered the other vampires. You're aware of their hiding places, aren't you? You know where both Cazador and Dorian can be found," he accused.

“Yes,” Cole replied. 

“So, where are they?” Fenris probed. 

"The Keep. The spot with the controls for the dam. The mayor thought there were bandits, but he was mistaken. We couldn’t drain the lake while they were there. We killed two of them, because they wanted to hurt people. We wanted to warn you, but you weren’t at camp, and it was dark. Bull wanted me to find you,” Cole explained.

Astarion was briefly taken aback by the revelation, but he swiftly dismissed the surprise. “You killed two vampire spawn earlier?” 

“ I didn’t kill them. I stabbed them, but they didn’t die. Karlach dragged them into the sun and shoved sticks into their chests, and then they died. I wanted to help more, but she’s very… hot,” Cole said, then added, “Varric also told them to choke on their mother’s own shit, but I didn’t understand that. Their mother’s aren’t around, and they’re dead.” 

Hawke snorted at that. “Sounds about right,” he said. 

"Do you have any idea how many vampire spawn are out there? Just how busy has Cazador been?" Astarion inquired with curiosity, the initial ire toward Cole's mind-reading now diminishing.

“There were seven earlier, but now there’s four. Not including you, but he wants more,” Cole specified. 

"Four? I suppose it could be worse. If we bring our groups together, we should manage to handle them all—and rescue Dorian—without much trouble," Astarion mused. "Which only strengthens the case for leaving this cave. We can circle back for Stroud once we've dealt with our other issues," he suggested, his eagerness to depart the cave still evident.

[[Imagine leaving milk out for several days, the rotten stench now filling the air. Now also imagine being trapped in a cave with that rotting milk for multiple hours, with very little air flow. Now also picture a giant dumpster filled with rotted, necrotic, dead chickens, filled with maggots and bugs, of which are drenched in the rotted milk.]]

[[That is what Stroud’s spilled blood smelled like to Astarion– even being old and dried– so needless to say, he wanted to get the fuck out of the cave. Truly, Astarion pitied whichever vampire had sunk their fangs into Stroud’s neck to begin with. Even the thought of having to drink a liquified version of [the above scenario] wanted to make him puke.]]

Cole nodded earnestly. "He wants you so badly, but you know that. He doesn't like you being here. He needs you, but you need to be alive because everything falls apart if you die too soon. Yet, he yearns to hurt you so deeply. He wishes to inflict pain on many, but his longing to harm you eclipses everyone else. I… don't want him to hurt you," Cole expressed with concern.

Hawke grimaced. “That’s not foreboding at all,” he said sarcastically. 

Cole continued, “Will killing him stop your hurt?” he asked Astarion. 

Astarion gave a wry grin to Cole. “Yes, Cole. Killing him would do so much more than just ‘fixing my hurt,’” he said. 

“Oh, good. I want to kill him too,” Cole said. 

“Then why are we lingering in this cramped cave? Let’s find the others, and get going,” Astarion said. 

Hawke glanced at Astarion, cautioning, "Even with Cole, it's incredibly risky to head back to camp, especially in this weather."

"It's a risk I'm willing to take," Astarion replied determinedly.

"Then I wish you the best of luck. If you're determined to leave, I won't stand in your way. But, for everyone's sake, stay alive. Otherwise, all of Thedas will bear the consequences," Hawke cautioned.

“You’re staying here,” Astarion accused. 

"I am. I have to attend to Stroud," Hawke explained.

“Fine, whatever. I didn’t need your help anyways. Fenris?” Astarion asked, his tone tinged with offense.

"I'm joining you. I find pleasure in ending slavers, and your master will be no exception," Fenris affirmed.

“Good. At least someone has their priorities straight,” Astarion retorted.

Cole looked more satisfied now, but still reached into his pocket and pulled out a small potion, holding it out for Astarion to take. “You need to drink this, first. Solas really thinks it will help with the hurt. I believe him, so you should drink this.”

Astarion’s mouth dropped agape. “You went into my stuff!” he accused. “Well, did Solas tell you what it was?” he asked. 

“No, but he said it would help,” Cole insisted, holding the potion out further for Astarion.

Astarion took the potion out of Cole’s hand, and looked at it intently. He still wasn’t sure he wanted to trust Solas, but everyone else was staring at him, wondering if he was going to drink it. He supposed he didn’t actually hav

Astarion opened the lid and paused for a moment, just desperately hoping that Solas had been telling the truth. He absolutely did not want to lose his resistance to the sun, and if the potion weakened the tadpole, then he’d be at risk. But if it also meant he would never become a mind flayer… 

Astarion put the potion up to his lips. In one swift motion, he tilted his head back and drank it in one gulp. The potion felt as if it were burning him from the inside out, and Astarion choked and grabbed his throat, feeling intense pain from inside as the liquid seared its way into his stomach. He wanted to puke violently, but couldn’t, and felt an increasing pain in his head as the tadpole squirmed almost violently, as if it were thrashing about in his mind. 

He felt his body changing, his insides burning, and he wasn’t even sure if he screamed or not from the pain. He wondered if it finally was happening– if he was becoming a mind flayer. Yet, he felt a searing pain emanating from the mark on his hand, traveling up his arm, and into his head. The mark was unstable, and burning, and Astarion thrashed his hand out in response. 

In his dazed, painful state, Astarion could only vaguely see that the mark on his hand sent out a bolt of energy. He only barely even recognized that there was now a small rift in the cave before he was sucked through it. And unfortunately, this rift closed right behind him, trapping him in the new area.

Astarion wasn't certain about the passage of time and only had a hazy recollection of events, but the pain had subsided, and he found himself distinctly devoid of tentacles. However, he could sense that whatever Solas concocted had significantly bolstered the tadpole's strength, to the point where he could almost feel the beginnings of a painful transformation into a mind flayer. In other words: Solas’s potion had strengthened the tadpole greatly. 

So now Astarion was left pissed off and alone with a newly strengthened tadpole. He was in an unfamiliar place– one that seemed slightly green, and abandoned of all life. To make matters worse, he was standing in some kind of small pond, water deep enough to be just below the knees. If it even was water, as the liquid looked strangely black. 

He glanced at his hand, knowing what had probably just happened– because the mark had been reacting so violently to Solas’s potion, it had reacted poorly, and he’d accidentally opened a rift in the cave. Which is something he had not realized he even could do before. But… at least he was out of the cave. Small mercies.

So now, he just had to figure out how to get back to his friends from wherever the heck he’d just ended up. He supposed he could always try to make another rift again, but he wasn’t sure how reliable that would be– and endlessly making rifts until he might eventually find a way back didn’t sound enjoyable. 

Although really, perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to try. He was sure it would be a hell of a lot easier to kill Cazador if he could just pop out of a rift behind him and stake him. Or perhaps he could save Dorian too– just pop out of a rift, snatch Dorian, and pull them both through the same rift. In theory, it sounded good, anyways. It probably wouldn’t work in practice, though. Nothing was ever that easy. 

As thoughts of Dorian occupied Astarion's mind, he noticed a house in the distance. Intrigued, he decided to make his way toward it. Stepping out of the water, he traversed a grassy field toward the house. However, as he moved through the field, the world seemed to transform around him. What was once a lifeless area became vibrant with vitality. The grass turned greener, the sky bluer, and a gentle breeze brushed against his skin. When he looked back at the water he had been in just moments ago, he realized it was completely gone, as if it had never existed in the first place.

As he looked back at the house, it was no longer a house, but instead a cabin very reminiscent of the one he had in Haven. As he drew closer, he realized that there were more cabins and tents– and he realized that this was Haven. Except it couldn’t be, since Haven was buried under snow and everything had been destroyed.

Wherever he’d landed was strange and made no sense. Yet, he felt compelled to investigate, so he drew closer to the cabin that had once been his in Haven. As he opened the door, he saw Dorian laying on the bed, seemingly asleep. Astarion blinked slowly, took a few steps forward, but also prepared himself for a fight– because what the fuck. 

Dorian stirred as Astarion approached, and upon waking, he cast a forlorn, resigned gaze at Astarion. "Must you assume his appearance? It's rather impolite to feign being my lover," he remarked with a touch of melancholy.

Astarion appeared utterly perplexed. "What? I don't need to play pretend to look this good," he declared, then scoffed. "Honestly, do you believe anyone could ever replicate hair this exquisite?"

"Truly? You even sound like him. But it's not going to work—I recognize this as the Fade, and you're a demon. Though I'll admit I find myself in a bit of a precarious situation, I won't be allowing any demons to infiltrate me. You may as well depart," Dorian replied.

“ This is the fade?” Astarion asked, glancing about. "Well, that certainly clarifies a few things," he mumbled, eyeing his hand. He's been sealing rifts to the Fade routinely, so it's only logical that he could pry open a few of his own. Finding Dorian, however, was a complete surprise, and he wasn’t sure how he ended up here. He knew that mages dreamed in the fade, but he didn’t understand how all of that worked normally. Did he find Dorian because he’d been thinking about him? Was this even Dorian, or was it a facade, like the rest of Haven? 

"Oh, honestly, do drop this charade. Morph into Bull or whatever tickles your fancy. But stop taunting me with his image, or I'll make you regret it," retorted Dorian.

“I’m not taunting you with anything. I’m Astarion . Just what has Cazador done with you?” he asked. 

Dorian appeared taken aback for a brief moment before sighing reluctantly. "I suppose if you're adept at assuming the right form, you might attempt delving into my mind for other matters. I won't allow you to possess me, even if you propose a method to free me from Cazador," he responded.

"I'm not some demon, and it's getting rather wearisome having to repeat that constantly. I accidentally tore open a rift, alright? And here I am," Astarion clarified.

Dorian sighed as he rose from the bed, stepping towards Astarion. "Listen, I understand you likely arrived because you caught wind of my fervent wish for Astarion's company, but you're not him," he stated. "That's not the way the Fade operates. I would know," he added.

“This conversation is getting nowhere. Could you, I don't know, put on a little act for a moment? Humor me. I get it, you don't believe I'm Astarion, but let's pretend, shall we? Now spill. Can you tell me anything about where Cazador has you, so that I may have an easier time of killing him?” he asked. 

“No, I've no desire to entertain thoughts of Cazador at this moment. Although, I suppose if you do want to play pretend as Astarion, then let’s play. Fully. I won’t be letting you inside to possess me, but if you insist on being Astarion, then you shouldn’t have any qualms with me “entering” you instead,” Dorian said, letting a hand rest on Astarion’s waist and giving him a seductive smile.

"How absolutely charming," Astarion drawled sarcastically. "Well, I suppose if that's your heart's desire at the moment, who am I to refuse?"

“Can I kiss you?” Dorian asked, staring up at Astarion’s lips. 

Astarion couldn't suppress a disbelieving chuckle. "You think I'm some sort of desire demon aiming to claim you, and yet you're still seeking permission for a kiss? You're truly... something else," he remarked, a hint of fondness gleaming in his eyes as he appreciated Dorian's audacity. Drawing nearer to Dorian, he encircled his hand around Dorian's waist and pressed a kiss onto his lips.

A few moments later, he stepped back, and gave Dorian a fond smile. “ Delicious ,” he said. 

"You possess a rather impressive talent for playing the part of him, I must admit," Dorian replied, leading Astarion towards the bedside and gently urging him to sit. "I'm curious just how much of him is really in you," he mused, placing his hand on Astarion's chin and tilting his head upward, ensuring Astarion's gaze met his own.

"I'm him in every conceivable way," Astarion declared, reclining once more and gesturing for Dorian to join him. "Just to be crystal clear, you're not a demon, are you? If you are– I’ll have you know, my head's already filled to the brim; there's no vacancy for any sort of possession," he remarked.

“You’re accusing me of being a demon now?” Dorian questioned, laughing in disbelief. "This has to be the most peculiar journey to the Fade I've experienced thus far," he remarked.

Dorian positioned himself atop Astarion, straddling him. He then leaned in, planting a kiss on the tip of one of Astarion's ears, observing as Astarion blushed subtly and tilted his head in response. "You even enjoy having your ears touched, much like he does. But, there's one detail you've got wrong," he pointed out.

“ Really ? And what would that be?” Astarion asked curiously. 

“You’ve shown no interest in biting me,” Dorian pointed out. 

Astarion rolled his eyes and grabbed one of Dorian’s hands, planting a kiss on it. “Dorian, darling, I can't catch your scent here. I can’t hear your heartbeat, or feel your pulse racing, because you’re not really here. You're probably snoozing away in Cazador's Keep, and only your mind has hitched a ride here. Or, however that mage Fade stuff works. Look, the bottom line is, I'm not convinced I can sink my fangs into you here. At least, I'm not entirely sure what would unfold if I did," he explained.

"It's probably for the best that you refrained. I need to conserve as much strength as possible," Dorian remarked, leaning in once more to kiss Astarion's lips. Then, he gracefully disengaged from Astarion's lap, reclining on the bed beside him. Wrapping his arm around Astarion, he drew him into a snug embrace.

“Is everything alright, my dear? I thought you wanted to have sex,” Astarion said. 

"I've had a change of heart. I don't believe I fancy it anymore, and I suspect you might feel the same. How about we simply indulge in a night of cuddling?" Dorian suggested.

“So the great Dorian Pavus does want to cuddle,” Astarion teased. 

"I'm well aware that Astarion is undoubtedly on his way for me, along with the others, but the truth is, I'm uncertain if I'll have the opportunity to see him again. I fear I'm approaching the end. If this is my final night, I'd prefer to spend it in his embrace rather than having sex. Or, well, as close as I can get to his embrace, anyway. It's undoubtedly what drew you to me," Dorian expressed.

"I'm coming for you, Dorian. I just need to regroup with the others, and then we'll pay Cazador a visit. We know his location. So, please, hold on a bit more," Astarion reassured, tightly embracing Dorian.

“I really do hope that’s true,” Dorian said, pressing his face into Astarion’s shoulder. 

Dorian and Astarion shared several hours in a close embrace. Few words passed between them, yet despite Astarion's sense of urgency to depart the Fade, he chose to spend the night with Dorian. He knew how awful Cazador could be, and if Dorian was able to “escape” in his dream, Astarion would be happy to stay with him. Cazador was a truly terrifying being, and he knew Dorian would need his support.

As Astarion turned back to gaze at Dorian after those quiet hours, he discovered Dorian's absence, as if he had evaporated into thin air. The world around him began to shift once more, Haven gradually disintegrating into an ominous green landscape. Now that Dorian had departed, presumably waking up, Astarion sat up and examined his hand. The best course of action now was to attempt creating another rift to escape, as he knew of no other way out of the Fade, aside from leaping through a rift. He considered the possibility of searching for an already-open rift nearby as well.

Astarion tried to picture the Inquisition, and his friends, as he thrust his hand out. He tried to do the opposite of the normal– to open a rift instead of closing one, but his efforts proved futile. He intensified his concentration, straining his mind in the hope of coaxing his hand to create another rift. 

His mind drifted to Cazador, and Dorian, and just how badly he wanted to kill Cazador. He used those thoughts to intensify his desire to leave the fade, aiming to try whatever he could to create a new rift. He thought about how, if he could, he would watch Cazador’s face twist as he realized Astarion had become a full vampire. He imagined just how much of a relief it was going to be to see Cazador dead, with no control over him any longer, after all of these years of abuse. 

Astarion felt a tugging from his hand, and gasped when he saw that he’d been successful– he’d managed to open a rift, while being in the fade. He wasn’t sure exactly where that rift would lead to, since he didn’t really understand the rifts in the first place, but that was the least of his concerns. So, without a second thought, Astarion stepped through the rift, while hoping that it led right back to his camp. 

The answer ended up being distinctly not at camp. In fact it was, rather, the very last place he wanted to be, at least in that moment. Not that he expected much else, really, as his whole adventure in Thedas had been nothing but a shitshow that he’d been doing surprisingly well in. As he was tossed out of the rift, he found himself in some kind of a stone building, on the floor. Yet, as he looked up, all hope drained from his body as he recognized Cazador. In hindsight, thinking about Cazador before making a rift was a bad idea.

Cazador was staring at him with absolute shock; because of all the things he’d expected Astarion to do, popping out of a rift right next to him, alone, was not one of them. Truly, it was the very last thing he’d expected Astarion to do, short of confessing his undying love. It was an unexpected surprise for Cazador, but Cazador certainly wasn’t going to let this magnificent opportunity go to waste. 

After all, he needed Astarion in order to ascend, but Astarion had been causing quite a bit of issues for him. Particularly– time traveling; as by now, Cazador knew that there would be another version of him that would end up in Thedas soon, yet there was only one Astarion. Only one Cazador could ascend, so this Cazador had spent his time preparing, in Crestwood, for his other copy’s arrival, that way he could ambush and kill him as soon as he appeared.

Of course, it meant that capturing Astarion had also been on Cazador’s priority list, because the sooner he caught Astarion and locked him away somewhere completely hidden, the less likely the other Cazador would be able to ascend. Once the other Cazador was taken care of, he would be free to use Dorian, and Astarion, to make a rift back to Baldur’s Gate. Cazador was certain that Astarion and Dorian would be able to do this with the same amulet as before; if they could time travel, making a simple rift to Baldur’s gate should be an easy task.

Cazador’s newly created spawn were quite pathetic– dying left and right for no reason– but they had, at the very least, managed to capture Dorian. So Cazador had been more than just a little irritated when he’d gotten Dorian to confess that the amulet was deep in the flowing river outside of Skyhold, unattainable by all. Dorian would still prove useful, though, because he was the mage that knew the most about the amulet besides Alexius– a man he also sought to capture. 

Cazador had sent his spawn out to capture the monster hunter in the area as well– he’d even given his spawn permission to bite the man– yet even that had proved too difficult for his pathetic spawn. So, needless to say, Astarion randomly showing up through a rift was the most exciting thing that could have happened to him.

As Astarion pulled himself off of the ground, Astarion realized that not only was he with Cazador, but there were four others in the room too– all vampire spawn. The rift had taken him directly to Cazador, and he had no friends with him, and no way of protecting himself. Oh dear. 

Cazador, on the other hand, reveled in the reappearance of Astarion. "Have you finally returned to your senses? Recognized that none of your pitiful friends can shield you? How utterly pathetic. Understand this, you're never escaping me again. NEVER. Now, kneel ," he commanded, and Astarion prepared for the inevitable, ready to have his free will drained once more.

However, as he braced for Cazador's influence to take hold, he sensed a stirring in his mind– the tadpole. Not only had the tadpole fought back, but it won. It was then that Astarion finally understood the point of Solas’s potion– why Solas had insisted he take it so badly. Sure, it had nearly turned him into a mind flayer– likely the reason why Solas had lied about it– but it freed him. He was now, unequivocally, completely free from Cazador's commands, from his will. With the tadpole still within him, Cazador wouldn't be able to reclaim control.

He found himself torn between wanting to kiss or punch Solas for his deception, yet he could at least acknowledge that Solas had genuinely been watching out for him. Despite the dubious background, Solas had proven to be reliable.

The newfound, legitimate freedom infused him with a revitalized sense of hope. However, he recognized the need to capitalize on this advantage. Cazador remained blissfully oblivious to his liberation, and Astarion was determined to exploit that. Yet, he understood that patience was required; he couldn't win a confrontation against Cazador and four vampire spawn alone. Therefore, Astarion knelt, feigning submission as if still under control.

"I'll make you suffer in ways you can't even fathom, my impudent child. Your little escapade with time travel has truly muddled things up. There might be another version of me yet to arrive, but there's only one of you. And rest assured, I’m going to make sure you never leave my side again,” Cazador threatened. 

"Aww, frightened that the other Cazador might come fetching me instead of you?" Astarion teased. "I didn't think you'd be trembling at the thought of another vampire, but I suppose I stand corrected," he remarked.

“You insolent brat!” Cazador shouted while approaching Astarion. In one swift move, Cazador kicked Astarion in the face, causing Astarion to fall backwards against the floor. “I’ve clearly been far too lenient in the past with you, Astarion. I will never make that mistake again.”

Astarion had anticipated something of the sort, but he was certain that Cazador’s punishments would be undeniably nothing short of tortuous, so getting a mere kick to the face was, in Astarion's mind, a worthwhile exchange. No matter what happened, however much pain Cazador wanted to inflict upon him, Astarion was not going to let him win. He was going to wait until the right moment– or perhaps his friends to arrive– and then he was going to kill him. Cazador might believe he's triumphed, but Astarion knew he merely had to endure until the perfect moment to strike.

Notes:

im back (and as a side note- there will also be no chapter releases the week of Christmas)

Chapter 28: The Folly of Crestwood PART III

As Dorian regained consciousness, he found himself in a dark, confined space. The air was musty, and his strength seemed to have deserted him. Tentatively, he reached upward, encountering a hard surface beneath his hands. A perplexing realization struck him—it felt like wood. Uncertain of his surroundings, he lay still in the pitch-black enclosure.

Dorian’s mind faltered as he struggled to piece together his memories. He vaguely remembered being with Astarion and the others at the cave. Yet, when he’d left to find Astarion, he’d come across someone else entirely– someone who managed to render him unconscious. Someone who, undoubtedly, had been a vampire. 

He supposed it was his own fault, really– he knew they were close to Cazador, yet he still hadn't been paying close enough attention to the sky. If only he'd noticed the storm clouds sooner– perhaps they could have all made an escape. 

When he had awoken, he had found himself in the presence of Cazador and a few other vampire spawn. It would be a lie to say that he hadn't been scared, as he had been absolutely terrified. Cazador had almost killed him once, and it was an experience he had never intended to repeat. 

But it had been repeated, hadn't it? Yes– that was his last memory from the day prior. The thought made him shutter– Cazador plunging his fangs into Dorian’s neck and drinking from him like he was nothing more than a cheap Ferelden beer designed to be consumed. The bite had hurt, far worse than Astarion’s bite, and the sounds of Cazador slurping his life away were permanently ingrained in his memory.

Dorian recalled the chilling sensation of numbness enveloping his body as the vampire fed on him. Panic had surged through him, a stark fear of impending death, with none of his friends present to intervene. Unlike the previous instance when Astarion had come to his rescue, this time he had been on his own. 

Yet, as the numbness had crept up his limbs, Dorian could vividly remember Cazador withdrawing his fangs from Dorian’s neck, and presenting Dorian with a simple choice: be saved, or die. 

He'd chosen to be saved. 

Which led him to his current predicament– he was stuck somewhere dark and stale. Obviously, he wasn't dead, but that still didn't shed any light on his current predicament. 

He knew he'd dreamed of the fade the previous night; and he'd experienced a shockingly accurate dream. He'd met Astarion there– well, no doubt the demon masquerading as Astarion. Truly, he'd been tempted to just let the demon possess him, to really give Cazador a show before he inevitably died. 

In the end, he couldn't though– because the demon had felt far too much like the real Astarion. Yet that Astarion had not asked to bite him– a telling sign that Astarion was a demon. Still, he wasn’t sure that even the real Astarion would have been able to bite him– as he had no blood left, from what he could recall. Cazador had taken every last drop.

The truth settled within him: Cazador had drained him dry– exsanguinated him– and killed him. 

Dorian felt a deep, instinctual craving for blood gnawing at him. He traced his tongue along his teeth, two of which were significantly sharper than they’d been the day prior. He knew the truth: Cazador had turned him into a vampire spawn.

He’d become Cazador’s slave. 

He could understand why Cazador would want to control him, as he was, well, quite a catch. Turning into a vampire was not quite the future Dorian had ever imagined for himself, but at least he wasn’t dead. Yet, a different concerning thought came into his mind– what would Astarion think? What would everyone else think, once they found out? He could already picture the pitying glances they would give him when they saw his new vampiric self. 

He just really hoped that his friends– that Astarion– would be successful in their attempt to kill Cazador. Otherwise, Dorian would be a slave for as long as Cazador lived. 

At least he knew what to expect, having been around Astarion for some time now. He knew he needed to avoid the sun at all costs… and he would miss it dearly. He was already mourning the loss of the sun, and he had seen it only a day ago. He also knew he couldn't be seen in mirrors, and, obviously, he'd need to sustain himself on a diet of blood– but what else? He wished he'd asked even more questions about Astarion's vampirism. He just hadn't been expecting to ever actually become one.

Dorian could only imagine what his father would think if he ever saw him again. He imagined it wouldn't go over well– but who really knows– because his father apparently didn't care about his wellbeing. It would almost be funny to watch his father squirm when he sees that not only was Dorian still, in fact, gay, but also was in an intimate relationship with a male elf whose presence in his life had inadvertently changed him into an undead blood-drinker. 

And in a rather roundabout way, it was all his father's fault, anyways. If his father hadn't tried to use blood magic on him to make him ‘normal’, to cure him of his vile taste in men, then he might not have ever left Tevinter in the first place. He might have ended up actually getting married to a girl he had no interest in, all for the purpose of making a powerful child. Now, in stark contrast to his father’s wishes, Dorian was far from “normal" and held an entirely different kind of taste for men. 

His thoughts were purely theoretical, as Dorian would never be allowed to confront his father unless he got out of, well, wherever he was trapped. He pushed forward, against whatever he was being held in, but he couldn’t get out no matter how hard he tried. He was stuck, and he was hungry. Oh, so hungry. He could already feel the incessant need to plunge his fangs into something, despite never having a drop of blood before in his life. It was as if his body knew, instinctually , that he needed to bite down and drink blood. Yet, he couldn’t drink blood while he was still trapped.

Dorian didn't have to wait much longer; he heard noises from above him. The lid to his confinement was opened, and Dorian held his hand up in front of his eyes from the sudden onslaught of light. It wasn't daylight– but rather, light from torches, but it was still a stark contrast to the darkness he'd been plunged in before. 

As Dorian sat up, he realized just where he was– he'd been buried in a simple wooden casket. Standing above him were two other people: Cazador and Astarion. Astarion was holding a shovel and had the remnants of dirt on his fingers; he’d clearly been the one to dig him up. Yet the presence of Astarion also gave Dorian a shocking truth– Astarion had been captured by Cazador once again. Astarion was under Cazador’s control again. That certainly lowered their odds of rescue significantly. 

“ Dorian… ” Astarion said, looking solemnly at Dorian below him. Dorian didn’t like seeing Astarion wear that expression, yet he knew exactly why it was there. Astarion had just found out what had happened to him.

“Get up, mage,” Cazador ordered. 

Dorian didn't even have time to think before his body was standing up, climbing out of the casket and onto the ground. Astarion was still looking at him with saddened eyes and looked as though he wanted to say something, to do something, but didn’t. 

“ Kneel ,” Cazador ordered, and Dorian fell to his knees, lowering his head to Cazador. He didn't have a choice whether he wanted to or not– his body seemed to obey Cazador's commands of its own volition. It was almost as if he was only along for the ride in his own body. He hated it. He could still talk, though. 

"Oh, what an irresistible offer! Kneel, you say? How could I resist such a compelling and original request? I'm positively trembling with excitement at the prospect of bending the knee to your undoubtedly magnificent authority. Please, allow me a moment to contain my overwhelming enthusiasm," Dorian retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Astarion spoke, a wounded expression in his eyes. “ Don’t, Dorian. Don’t talk back– It’ll only make things worse for you. Please, just… do whatever he says,” he pleaded. 

Dorian was shocked– he’d never seen Astarion act quite like this before. It was as if the old Astarion was gone, replaced entirely by someone who was weak and depressed. 

“Don’t talk to him, boy. He should learn his own lessons, shouldn’t he?” " Cazador remarked, a wicked grin directed at Dorian. "I'm feeling generous—I'll let that comment slide this time, but mark my words, it won't be tolerated again. Now, let's delve into a few rules," he began with a sinister undertone.

“First, thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures.

Second, thou shalt obey me in all things.

Third, thou shalt not leave my side unless directed.

Four, thou shalt know that thou art mine.” 

As Cazador's words fell over Dorian, he felt nothing but dread. Cazador could literally order him to do anything and Dorian wouldn't be able to refuse. He literally belonged to Cazador now– Cazador was his master, his creator, his owner, his father – and Dorian would do whatever the man willed him to. He could only hope that the rest of their crew was still out there, planning a rescue attempt to save them both. Otherwise… he was fucked.

He didn't even want to imagine what Astarion had been put through. Two hundred years was a long time to be under Cazador’s control, and Dorian already hated it after only the first few minutes. 

Dorian then smelled something sharp– something fresh– and it made his hunger deepen immensely. His eyes darted upwards as he searched for the smell that his body so desperately craved– and saw that Cazador had taken out a small glass jar filled with a deep crimson liquid. He didn’t even have to spare a second glance at it to know it was blood; his whole body so deeply craved the substance that he knew what it was on instinct alone. 

Cazador wore a smirk on his face as he opened the lid of the jar, which released an intense odor from it. Dorian wanted so, so badly to grasp the jar and gulp down the blood, but Cazador's compulsion was keeping him still. “ Please,” Dorian pleaded urgently, as if his very life depended on drinking the blood. He wanted the blood so incredibly much that it was pushing all other thoughts away. 

“Please, what? Address me properly, mage,” Cazador replied to Dorian. 

“Please, master !” Dorian pleaded, gazing up at Cazador with desperation in his eyes. Cazador smirked.

“Better. You and your wellbeing will depend entirely on how much blood you drink. You may not drink any blood that I have not given you permission to drink. I am your everything– do not forget that. You will not drink any blood without me,” Cazador said, while swirling the blood around. 

Dorian found it challenging to concentrate on his words—his mind consumed by an intense fixation on the blood before him. His gaze remained transfixed, and an insatiable craving seemed to permeate his entire being. Fleetingly, he considered if this was akin to what Astarion had experienced—whether Astarion had silently battled against such overwhelming urges to drink blood during their travels together. He hoped not, as the sensation was dreadful. Nonetheless, it provided some understanding of why Astarion had succumbed to biting Varric, Bull, and even himself.

Cazador pressed on, a sardonic smirk playing on his lips. "Don't let your imagination soar, mage . This blood belongs to a sentient being—now, who might that be? Ah, yes— Hawke, your dear friend. Consider it off-limits to you. Your sips will be strictly limited to what I grant you," he declared, downing the blood himself in a deliberate display before Dorian and Astarion. Dorian cast a glance at Astarion, questioning the authenticity of Cazador's words, but Astarion avoided eye contact, fixating instead on the ground.

Dorian’s heart dropped. If the blood belonged to Hawke, it could only mean that Hawke, too, had fallen into Cazador's clutches, and the grim possibility of Hawke's demise loomed. Just how many of his companions had Cazador captured? Suddenly, Dorian's prospects for escaping this predicament took a drastic nosedive.

As Dorian watched Cazador swallow mouthfuls of blood, a surge of tension coursed through his entire being. His instincts seemed to heighten, and an almost feral hunger gripped him. The sight of the other vampire indulging triggered an intense desire within him, urging him to the brink of losing control. The craving for blood became an insatiable, overwhelming force. He wanted blood so. incredibly. badly.

After Cazador concluded the blood feast, he licked his lips and bore his gaze into Dorian—a look that promised to haunt Dorian for the rest of his days.

Cazador gestured subtly, prompting Astarion to delve into a bag at his side. Astarion then released a lifeless rat at Dorian's feet, accompanied by a profoundly sorrowful expression. The rat smelled much worse than the jarred blood– but Dorian didn't care. The intense craving for blood stirred within him so fiercely that the prospect of sinking his fangs into the rat, despite its putrid state, sent shivers of anticipation down his spine.

“Go on– drink its blood. You never know when I'll grant you another taste," Cazador uttered with a malevolent smirk.

Dorian seized the dead rat, fully aware of the shame and repulsiveness in consuming such a creature. However, his newfound instincts overruled any sense of decency. His singular focus was on the blood. He sank his fangs into the rat, piercing its furry skin and eagerly savoring the forbidden elixir it contained.

The rat's minuscule amount of blood proved inconsequential in quantity, yet its impact on Dorian's senses was incendiary. The metallic tinge lingered, but now it seemed as if his very essence craved that flavor. What once tasted merely like blood now held the allure of the finest delicacy, an irresistible longing. If a dead rat could evoke such pleasure, Dorian could only imagine the taste of larger, living creatures.

It struck him as a profound mystery why Astarion hadn't succumbed to biting people daily. Why had Astarion chosen to patiently wait until Dorian was prepared for another bite, rather than indulging in the crimson nectar as he pleased? Astarion's restraint surpassed expectations, revealing him as a man of greater virtue than anyone had credited him for. He understood the purpose of the blood wall in Skyhold now– he only hoped that when they returned, Astarion would be willing to share. If they returned.

After draining the rat dry, Dorian let it fall to the ground and ran his tongue over his lips, savoring the lingering taste. The insatiable hunger that had gripped him had somewhat abated, leaving him feeling more satiated. Suddenly, it was as if his senses had expanded and sharpened, attuning him to the world around him. He experienced a newfound strength, and his senses seemed to stretch farther – an enhanced ability to smell and hear.

It was no wonder why Astarion had wanted to drink well before trouble. If this was the result of a modest feast on rodent blood, the potential effects of drinking Qunari blood seemed unfathomable. Unfortunately, the tantalizing thought of tasting Qunari blood would remain nothing more than a distant reverie, as long as Cazador held sway over him.

He stood up off of the ground and took a moment to really look at himself– his skin was just as naturally tan as it had always been, making him wonder how much of Astarion's paleness had to do with him being a vampire, and how much had to do with him naturally being pale to begin with. Centuries in the darkness were certain to make someone pale, but he had a feeling Astarion had always been somewhat pale, even when he’d been living.

As Dorian looked himself over, he noticed basically no change– his body looked the same as it always had. The important changes must have been only on his face, like his fangs, and likely his eyes, too, but he knew he would never see his face again. He would never know what he looked with certainty, since he would never be able to look in a mirror again. 

That would be quite a shame, since Dorian rather liked petty vanity. He quite liked admiring himself in the mirror, and he wasn't ashamed to admit it. 

Cazador interrupted Dorian's musings with a stern tone, "Get up, mage. You're the one who stirred up trouble in the first place, and now you'll be the one to set things right. You have no clue the chaos your feeble attempt at time travel has unleashed upon me.. You're going to rectify everything, precisely as I demand, or you'll suffer the consequences," Cazador declared, gesturing for Dorian to trail behind him.

“You're going to die, you know. My other friends will come for you, and I have powerful friends. Victory won't be in your favor," Dorian declared with a poisonous tone.

“ Fool,” Cazador said, facing Dorian. “Get on your knees and beg for my forgiveness,” Cazador ordered. 

Dorian dropped to his knees and looked up at Cazador with a pleading expression. “Forgive me, please, I don't know what I was saying,” Dorian pleaded. Fuck– another compulsion. 

“Remind me who I am to you,” Cazador ordered. 

“You're my everything. I belong to you. I love you,” Dorian confessed involuntarily, his own words repulsing him. He avoided even glancing at Astarion, overwhelmed with shame.

Cazador had a sadistic smirk as he stared down at Dorian. “Yes, mage , my child, you do love me. Perhaps there's still a flicker of redemption for you,” he declared, motioning for Dorian to follow him once more.

Dorian rose and obediently trailed after Cazador. The prospect of escape was nonexistent; he was bound to Cazador's side unless explicitly permitted otherwise. There was no fleeing the inevitable – he had to confront whatever Cazador had in store for him until the chance of rescue materialized, if it ever did. He hoped someone would come to his rescue.

Cazador led Dorian, with Astarion following close behind, into a spacious central chamber where a solitary coffin, adorned with intricate details, lay. “Your friends won't be coming for you, Dorian. They’re dead. You're mine now, and will always be mine,” Cazador said, as he pushed the lid open.

“N-no. They can't be dead…” Dorian uttered, reluctant to believe Cazador’s words. He had no idea how long he’d been buried in that wooden casket for– but he certainly hoped that his friends hadn’t attempted a rescue, and died, without him knowing. 

Astarion's silence added to Dorian's unease, and there was no reassuring gesture from him to dispute Cazador's deceit. Instead, Astarion fixated on the open coffin, avoiding eye contact with Dorian.

“Your friends are dead. While you lay in peaceful repose within your grave, they attempted to kill me but proved quite inept. Some of them, however, did provide delectable sustenance. That white-haired elf, Fenris, in particular. His blood tasted sweeter than most. It was almost a shame for him to die," Cazador taunted. He continued, “Go on– take one last glance at Astarion, for this will be your final sight of him,” Cazador said, motioning to Astarion. 

Astarion’s eyes darted up in shock. “What? What do you mean?” he asked.

Fear gripped Dorians heart as all hope drained from it– it was true, wasn't it? Cazador had been drinking Hawkes blood earlier– and Astarion was here… his friends had really failed, hadn't they? His friends weren’t coming to save him. He was never getting out of here. 

“ Get in the coffin, Astarion,” Cazador ordered.

Astarion hesitated, but only for a very brief moment. During that brief interval, Astarion appeared conflicted– as if he was mentally wrestling with himself on whether or not to follow the order and enter the coffin. It was a fleeting moment, observed by Dorian, planting a seed of doubt in his mind. How had Astarion resisted the order, if even for a moment? How did Astarion have any sliver of control? Was Cazador really controlling him, or did Astarion find a way to resist the commands? 

However, when Astarion's gaze locked with Dorian's, a decision seemed to crystalize, and he reluctantly climbed into the coffin. The emotion drained from Astarion’s face, leaving him expressionless, as if his thoughts resided in a distant realm. Dorian had never seen Astarion so traumatized before, and he hated it. 

“You see now, mage? This is the penalty for disobedience. Your beloved Astarion will never leave this coffin ever again. But fret not– I’ll keep him alive. I’ll throw him a rat every few years to ensure he never dies,” Cazador asserted, as he grinned wickedly at Astarion in the coffin.

Astarion's countenance remained utterly devoid of expression, resembling an empty vessel. He may as well have been an empty husk of a body. Meanwhile, Dorian was engulfed in sheer terror.

"No, no, no! " Dorian wailed, gripped by overwhelming mental anguish. This isn’t what was supposed to happen; how had things gone so wrong ? This couldn’t be happening to him– this couldn’t be happening to Astarion. Yet, under Cazador's absolute control, he found himself powerless. He felt adrift, consumed by despair and robbed of hope. In a single moment, Cazador had torn away everything from him.

As Dorian lifted his gaze to Cazador, he saw the sadistic pleasure etched across Cazador's face. Cazaor was enjoying watching Dorian lose hope, enjoying watching his mental anguish. He was enjoying the authority he held over Astarion. The man was a sick, sadistic bastard, and Dorian wanted him dead more so than ever. 

Dorian observed Cazador lean over the open coffin, delivering a taunting smirk to Astarion. "You see, my repugnant child? You shall never escape my clutches again. And while you rot in this coffin, who better to assume your duties than Dorian? He is rather charming. I’m sure he’ll excel at luring unfortunate souls into my clutches," Cazador declared. Astarion didn’t respond. 

Cazador slowly closed the lid of the coffin, hiding Astarion within in. “You may never leave this coffin, for any reason, unless I decree otherwise," he conveyed to Astarion, undoubtedly attempting to exert compulsion as he sealed the lid, confining Astarion.

Unbeknownst to both Cazador and Dorian; Astarion had no obligation to stay in the coffin. The compulsions simply did not work on him anymore, thanks to Solas. 

Dorian wanted to cry, to scream, to do something– but his own body was frozen in place from the immense fear. Yet, a young voice from behind him pulled him out of his thoughts.

“He’s lying. He wants to see you hurt, and wants to hurt Astarion, too,” the voice asserted, and Dorian promptly recognized it as Cole. That magnificent spirit-man had slipped in unnoticed, and Cazador seemed oblivious to his presence. Truly, Dorian felt like kissing Cole if Cazador weren't standing right in front of them.

Cole continued, “The others are almost here. They wanted me to find you and Astarion first. They are very angry,” he said. 

Dorian almost couldn’t believe the words that slipped from Cole’s mouth– the others were alive? Yet he trusted Cole’s word far over Cazador’s. He felt so foolish for believing Cazador’s words– of course Cazador had been lying. He’d probably forbidden Astarion from telling him the truth, as well. Or possibly, Astarion didn’t know the truth. Dorian could only cling to the hope that his friends would emerge victorious and rescue them. 

It dawned on Dorian- Cazador had only mentioned Fenris and Hawke, the two others that had been in the group to go to the cave. Cazador had probably been watching them, which also meant he probably only knew about Hawke and Fenris, since they were the only ones with Astarion at the time. Cazador might not even know about the others, and that could prove very fatal in the future. Cazador wouldn't even know what hit him.

"He watched the sun cascade over your skin, absorbing its radiance as if you were sculpted by the gods themselves. You looked appealing to him, bathed in sunlight, the rays accentuating your naked form as you faced away from him. He… liked looking at you, at your mustache, and the way the sun cascaded over your bare butt,” Cole said, then paused, as if confused. “I.. don’t understand why he wanted to see your butt,” he added. Dorian had to use all of his willpower not to react.

Cole went on, “But he wanted you in darkness, more . He often imagined you with fangs– he wanted you to have them. He wanted you to be his. He’s upset that you’re not.”

Dorian did his best not to react; he couldn't afford to draw Cazador's attention. Yet, Cole never failed to surprise him with the things he would say.

“The others don’t know about what happened to you. I should go warn them, before they hurt you. They want to use sunlight, but you would die. That would be bad,” Cole stated, then seemingly vanished.

Cazador once again turned to face Dorian. “Find me a way to make a portal back to Baldur’s Gate– and do not stop until you've accomplished it. However, do not leave this keep. I will feed you again after you've completed the task, but not a moment sooner. So hurry, unless you wish to starve," Cazador commanded.

"Yes, master ," Dorian responded, masking the profound hatred in his voice. He stole one final glance at Astarion's coffin before hastening down the hallway to another room, doing everything in his power to put distance between himself and Cazador.

Notes:

maybe its best that Dorian is a vamp now, cuz we all know that man must be so damn tired of being bit

Chapter 29: Astarion Finally Kills Cazador

Notes:

I'm finally back from the dead after having gone on a holiday vacation and getting sick
Enjoy the long-awaited chapter, since I know we left off on a bit of a cliffhanger XD

Astarion wasn’t quite sure what to do about his situation at the moment. Things had obviously not quite gone to plan… not that he’d ever had a plan to begin with. Still, Dorian being turned by Cazador was quite troublesome, to say the least. Astarion didn’t mind that Dorian was a vampire– as Astarion had been planning on killing Cazador and turning Dorian himself– but he was exceptionally displeased that Cazador had been the one to do so. That Cazador had been the one to take the opportunity away from him. It seemed as though, in a single moment, the once great sorcerer with a charming smile had been reduced to a state worse than that of a mere slave. Dorian’s free will was completely gone, replaced by whatever Cazador wanted him to do from now on. Astarion knew exactly how that felt, and he was angry. 

Astarion wasn’t certain that Cazador had even wanted Dorian to become his spawn, or if he’d only done so as a vile attempt to cause even more pain and frustration for Astarion. Cazador did always like torturing Astarion the most. However, Cazador’s reasoning for turning Dorian didn’t really matter because only one thing was for certain: Astarion was going to tear Cazador apart. Quite literally, if he could. If not, he could settle for mere stabbing– so long as it got the job done. 

He wished he’d been able to kill Cazador sooner, but Cazador was just so damned resilient that not even being buried under feet of snow or being bathed in magical sunlight had put a dent in the man. Now the battle would be even tougher, as Cazador had several new spawn running amok that he would have to watch out for. 

He still had one major advantage over Cazador though; Solas’s potion had freed him entirely of Cazador’s will. The potion had also caused him intense pain and nearly shifted him into a mind flayer… but beggars can't be choosers, and all that. 

So, while he had not wanted to enter the coffin, he still had some relief that he could leave at any time he wanted to. Cazador may have ordered him to stay in the coffin, but Cazador wasn’t his master any longer. So, all he had to do was wait in the coffin until he was certain Cazador was gone, so then he could slip out of the coffin and make his way out of whatever place Cazador had them holed up in. He knew he couldn’t be far from where the rest of his companions were, since Cazador had gotten his grubby hands on Dorian rather quickly. 

Astarion had done his best to make so many allies for a reason, after all. Karlach– a fiery tiefling, with a parasite, who couldn’t be bitten by vampires without searing them from the inside. Fenris– a battle-hardened former slave who, although may attract vampires with his enticing blood, could reach through people and crush their hearts with his fists. Alexius– just some average human, but one that knows the strongest daylight spell that Astarion had ever encountered. These three were powerful motherfuckers who, provided things go right for once, could fuck up some vampires easily. 

Not to mention Cole, who was undoubtedly the most powerful being around. Truly, Astarion had absolutely no idea who the hell Cole was or what he was, but one thing is for certain– anyone who could sneak into Cazador’s (temporary) lair, be seen by only those he wants to see him, and erase people’s memories, was a friend worth having. Cole was in an entire league of his own. 

Of course Varric, Bull, and the others were good fighters too, but they aren’t really built to survive vampire attacks like the others. Varric especially so; Astarion mainly kept him around for entertainment purposes, not actual fighting prowess. Yet he found himself caring about Varric the most; if Varric really did come to fight Cazador, Astarion would do everything he could to make sure Varric survived the battle as well. It would be a shame if Varric died at Cazador’s hands.

All of that was just theory though, since Astarion was, well, laying in a coffin with nothing better to do. It had been some time since Cazador had left him there– he wondered if it had been enough time to attempt to sneak away yet. Astarion gently pushed upwards on the lid, opening it just a crack so that he may see out of it. 

Astarion frowned when he saw there were spawn in the room; it seems like his escape attempt would have to wait just a little longer until they left. He might be able to kill one of them on his own, but more than one would pose too high of a risk of being caught. It would be best to wait for a better opportunity. 

So, Astarion closed the lid and laid his head back down, choosing to rest for the moment. He felt like he hadn’t gotten any rest in ages, and this may be his only opportunity to get some before fighting Cazador. Although he wished he had blood with him, he wouldn’t waste the opportunity to rejuvenate himself with a little rest before the upcoming fight, no matter how much his claustrophobia was threatening to make him panic at the moment. He closed his eyes, attempting to rest up a bit.

Soon after closing his eyes, Astarion felt himself standing upright once more; which was odd, to say the very least. When he opened them again, he frowned when he saw the same human wizard that he’d dreamed about back in Skyhold. He was in a new location though–  a similar campsite, but this time in a completely different location. 

“Tsk. You again,” Astarion said to the human. The last time he’d seen the man was when he’d been rudely interrupted during his dream about Cazador taking Dorian (one that had unfortunately become all too-true), and Astarion had expected to not see the strange dream man ever again. 

"Getting hold of you is like navigating a maze blindfolded! The lengths I've gone to reach you are beyond imagination. Anyway, I’m Gale of Waterdeep, and you've got a companion of mine that I'd truly prefer returned," Gale retorted to Astarion, eyeing him with a healthy dose of suspicion and wariness. It was evident that Gale wasn't putting much trust in Astarion.

" Karlach, is it, Gale of Waterdeep?" Astarion inquired, smirking at the evident recognition in Gale's expression. "Unfortunately for you, she's not up for grabs. I happen to need her," he declared. The truth was– he had no idea how to even get himself back, much less Karlach, but it didn’t change the fact that Astarion still wanted Karlach for his battle with Cazador. 

" Why ? What's the grand design behind all this? Why snatch up so many folks? First, Karlach, then Volo, and now even Ketheric himself! That was a real eye-opener, by the way—showing up at Moonrise Towers just in time to catch one of your portals spiriting Ketheric away from his throne room. So, spill it. Who in the Nine Hells are you?" Gale demanded. It was evident that Gale harbored anger toward Astarion, almost as if holding him responsible for the rifts tearing through Faerun.

If Astarion were a better man, he would have told Gale the truth; that he wasn’t involved in the rifts springing up, and was actively trying to close rifts, not open them. But, he was not a better man, and telling Gale the truth would be a wasted opportunity. No, he had something much better in mind. 

"The name's Astarion, and sure, I'd be happy to send Karlach back your way, but there's a little favor I'd need from you first. She's got her uses, you know, but I might consider parting ways for the right incentive," Astarion claimed, weaving his words with a touch of deception.

“And what would that be?” Gale asked, crossing his arms and giving Astarion a questioning look. 

"I've got a little task for you in Baldur's Gate, friend . I need someone dealt with– killed to be specific– a fellow by the name of Cazador Szarr," Astarion revealed. With two Cazadors in the mix, and one likely still lurking in Baldur's Gate, having someone else take care of the local Cazador seemed like a convenient shortcut for him.

“The patriarch to the Szarr family? Nasty fellow from what the histories say, but… why?” Gale asked suspiciously. 

“I won’t bore you with the messy details, but let’s just say he hurt a friend of mine. Deeply. I need him dead, but I can’t get to him easily,” Astarion explained, then added, “and if you’re one of those ‘do-gooders’, you’ll be pleased to know that the man is a vampire who’s killed thousands. Really, you’d be doing the whole world a favor by killing him,” Astarion said. 

"A vampire? " Gale echoed, genuinely taken aback by the revelation. "Wait just a tick—if you're so keen on seeing him dead, why haven't you simply whisked him through the portal like you've done with everyone else?" Gale inquired, scrutinizing Astarion intently.

“It’s… complicated. Now do you want your friend back or not?” Astarion asked, pouting. 

"Are you his spawn, then? A vampire like him?" Gale questioned, his eyes widening with realization and a touch of excitement. “Just a warning– I taste awful, so don’t even think about biting me. We’re dreaming anyways, so it wouldn’t work,” 

"Astute observation, Gale. Yes, I happen to be in the same undead club as our dear Cazador. Killing him is a bit complicated for me, you see. And don't you worry, the idea of feasting on you doesn't appeal to me either. Now, about that favor..." Astarion replied, his tone laced with a sly and confident demeanor.

“I’ll have to discuss it with the rest of my companions,” Gale said, clearly still not fully trusting Astarion. 

"Don't dawdle, Gale. I vividly recall Karlach mentioning a dream where you all were told to track me down if you wanted to thwart the Absolute, or some such nonsense. Let me simplify it for you: the cult won't be stopped without me, and I won't lend a hand unless you kill Cazador Szarr. Time's ticking; the destiny of Baldur's Gate and Faerun hangs in the balance," Astarion stated, subtly weaving his scheme. He was counting on Gale getting a tad irked once he realized Astarion had nothing to do with the rifts, or the Absolute for that matter, but Astarion aimed to make sure that revelation came only after Gale killed Cazador. 

“Fine. So be it,” Gale said, and ended the dream with a wave of his hand. 

Astarion woke up back in the coffin, feeling slightly startled. He hadn’t been expecting to be pulled into a dream by Karlach’s wizard friend, but it hadn’t been wholly awful. Gale and his companions might kill Cazador now; before that Cazador ever has a chance to hop through a rift to Thedas. That way, both Cazadors would be dead and gone. He would only have Ketheric and Corypheus left to deal with– both of which should be a piece of a deliciously bloody cake next to defeating Cazador. 

And, well, figuring out what the hells was going on with the strange rifts connecting Thedas and Faerun, but that was the least of his worries at the moment. 

Astarion wasn’t actually sure how much time had passed during his dream, but as it turned out, it didn’t matter anyways, because through the walls of the coffin, he heard the sounds of swords clanging, followed by the creaking of a large door opening. Astarion pressed up on the lid of the coffin, opening it just a sliver of a crack so that he could faintly see what was going on without arousing suspicion. He couldn’t see much from his angle, but he’d recognize Karlach’s tail anywhere, and she had several pairs of legs with her– his friends. They had all finally shown up.

Of course, Astarion was terrified of actually facing Cazador, but he wasn’t planning on letting this fear eat him alive. Cazador was going to die. He was going to pay for everything he’d done to Astarion over the years– Astarion would finally have his revenge. 

Cazador was in the room– no surprise, since he’d obviously known that the Inquisition had entered the keep. So were all of the newly-created spawn, including Dorian, who was standing by Cazador’s side. Dorian was holding his staff while standing protectively next to Cazador– he’d been forced to do so, no doubt. Dorian was undoubtedly going to be forced to fight his friends, something that Astarion certainly didn’t envy. 

Bull and Karlach were standing at the front, having been the ones to open the door and walk into the large chamber. Standing behind them were Alexius, Varric, Cole, Hawke, and Fenris. Which Astarion thought was actually impressive, because it meant none of his friends had chickened out. Not even Hawke, who he’d expected to still be tending to Stroud. 

However, the mere presence of all his friends didn't guarantee victory. They remained unaware of the full extent of Cazador's capabilities. Alexius couldn't recreate the blinding sunlight that had aided them before without risking Dorian's life. Moreover, Cazador's bats and werewolves were yet to be revealed to his unsuspecting friends.

Nevertheless, the objective wasn't necessarily for his friends to emerge victorious; they just needed to provide him with time—an opportunity. As long as Cazador believed Astarion was still under his control, all Astarion had to do was bide his time. Waiting for the opportune moment, he could catch Cazador off guard and strike. If the chance presented itself, perhaps he could even indulge in a sip of Cazador's blood to advance his journey towards becoming a full-fledged vampire.

Astarion watched as Cazador advanced towards his companions. "Ah, what's this? The Inquisition, rushing to save their make-believe 'Inquisitor'? How pitifully foolish you all are," Cazador sneered.

"No, our purpose is far more straightforward—to end you. Liberating Astarion is merely a gratifying bonus," Fenris declared, advancing with a substantial sword in hand.

Cazador chuckled, the sound dripping with malice. "You're even more pitiful than I anticipated, but there's a certain allure to your blood. Consider yourself fortunate—I won't end your life. No, you, my friend, you’ll be my personal blood reservoir for quite a while," he remarked.

"You'll need to go through the rest of us before you lay a finger on him," Hawke asserted, positioning himself in front of Fenris. "You don’t stand a chance," he added, exuding a confidence that seemed almost unwarranted considering the adversary they faced.

" Mage , did you catch that? He's under the delusion that we're at a disadvantage. Show them how wrong they are. If necessary, drink their blood, but ensure they don't leave breathing," Cazador commanded Dorian.

With no alternative but to obey, Dorian poised his staff and invoked the spirits of the deceased, conjuring a horde of undead adversaries to assail the group. Regrettably, Dorian wasn't the sole practitioner of such dark arts. Cazador's sinister grin widened as he raised his arms. Bats swooped into the room from various corners of the keep, swiftly joined by werewolves and additional undead, flooding the space. Astarion noted the unease in the faces of the Inquisition members at the sudden onslaught of numerous adversaries. Nonetheless, they stood resolute, awaiting their opportunity to turn the tide of the battle.

Varric’s voice rang out from the back of the room. "Well, this is turning into a real party, isn't it? Bats, werewolves, undead—what's next, a cake with a surprise demon filling?”

Cazador lifted the lid off Astarion's coffin, seizing him by the arm and tossing him onto the ground. "Stay put, Astarion, and enjoy the show. Witness each of your dear friends meet their end," he warned. Astarion sensed the compulsion attempt to take hold, but it proved futile. His tadpole, now fiercely territorial, effortlessly chewed through the command.

Still, Astarion pretended the compulsion worked, so he sat on his knees, pretending to be a good little spawn as he watched the battle begin before him. 

“Astarion! Try to fight him, don’t let him boss you around! You’re not his! ” Karlach yelled at Astarion. Astarion ignored her, choosing to still pretend to be under a compulsion.

As Astarion looked upon his friends, his eyes met with Bull’s, and Bull tilted his head slightly, giving him an odd look. Astarion held his gaze, and Bull smirked slightly, before turning to look at Dorian. 

Karlach took the initiative, charging straight at Cazador. She skillfully cut through a swarm of bats in her path, flames flickering across her body as she unleashed her fury, swinging her greataxe at Cazador. Although the swing missed, she pressed on with relentless attacks.

Meanwhile, Fenris and Hawke engaged vampire spawn, narrowly evading bites on multiple occasions. The vampire spawn seemed fixated on Fenris, likely drawn by the alluring scent of his lyrium-tainted blood. Yet, this focus proved to be a fatal error for those who targeted Fenris. His unique ability to phase through opponents gave him a distinct advantage, catching the vampire spawn off guard. Really, not even a vampire spawn could survive a fist being wrapped around their heart.

Alexius positioned himself towards the rear of the room by the door, unleashing a barrage of spells at every foe in sight. He effectively dispelled many bats and inflicted wounds upon some of the undead and werewolves. Standing by him, Varric fired swift crossbow bolts at enemies near Dorian, attempting to create an opening for Bull to reach him.

Bull took up the task of reaching Dorian, but encountered considerable difficulty in doing so. Swarmed by bats attempting to peck at his one good eye, and beset by undead claws, Bull found himself frequently compelled to stop and fight off enemies. 

Dorian, in response to his friend’s attacks, erected a protective barrier around Cazador and some other spawn. Simultaneously, Alexius mirrored the action, casting a barrier around Bull and the rest of the party. Dorian appeared almost insulted that his former mentor had copied his move, despite wanting Cazador to fail. Alexius smirked knowingly, as if daring Dorian to try more spells. 

In the midst of the pandemonium, Bull skillfully cleaved through another bat mid-air, his eyes meeting Dorian's. "Didja miss the memo, Dorian? Your master said you could have a sip of my blood—so what's keepin' ya? Come on, take a bite!" Bull bellowed, taunting Dorian and encouraging him to switch from spells to a more primal form of attack.

Dorian took the bait, and instead of casting any more spells towards the group, ran towards Bull. Bull pushed one of the undead and began running towards the center of the room, towards Dorian. Bull grabbed onto the staff Dorian held, and ripped it from his grip, which Dorian willingly let go of. Dorian was now focused on one thing, and one thing alone– drinking Bull’s blood. Dorian grabbed ahold of one of Bull’s arms, plunging his fangs into the thick skin; causing a groan from Bull, as Bull dropped the staff and pushed Dorian’s head away from his arm. 

Astarion contemplated rising to aid his comrades, but the timing didn't seem quite right. However, with each passing moment of observation, he couldn't ignore the stark reality of his companions being vastly outnumbered. The onslaught of enemies was relentless. Cazador had shifted to the opposite side of the room, leaving Karlach unable to pursue as she fended off another spawn. A werewolf targeted Alexius and Varric, diverting their attention from assisting the rest of the group.

Then, catching a glimpse out of the corner of his eye, Astarion spotted a slender figure with a notably large hat—Cole. Effortlessly dancing through the chaos, Cole dispatched enemies with his daggers in a manner that left Astarion in awe. It seemed as if Cole anticipated his foes' every move before even making contact.

"Bull! These spawn are becoming a real challenge. Hurry up and get Dorian out of here!" Hawke's urgent cry enlightened Astarion to the essence of their strategy. Karlach was keeping Cazador at bay, while the others, excluding Bull, engaged the remaining enemies. The plan was clear: secure Dorian and evacuate him from the room, likely with the intention of having Alexius employ sunlight again at the earliest opportunity.

"On it, just hold on!" Bull roared in response, swinging his axe at Dorian's leg, leaving a deep gash. Dorian lost his footing, collapsing to the ground, incapacitated by the fresh injury. If Dorian had still been human, that wound might have been lethal without swift treatment. However, Bull was well aware that Dorian was no longer human, and it would take much more than a cut to the leg to really hurt him. 

As Bull attempted to climb on top of Dorian to secure him, Dorian unexpectedly retaliated with a ferocity that caught both Bull and Astarion off guard. Dorian twisted, seizing Bull by the shoulders and plunging his fangs into Bull’s neck. Dorian was gulping down blood with an intensity that only Astarion understood; Dorian had been starving. 

Bull grappled against Dorian's relentless hold, but it was evident that Bull's strength was waning, and his senses were dimming with each passing moment. Dorian showed no signs of relenting, and Astarion couldn't be certain if he even could, considering Bull marked his first taste of real blood. Dorian seemed determined to drain Bull completely.

Scanning the rest of the room, Astarion noticed Karlach bleeding and on the brink of collapse, evidently attacked by an adversary he hadn't observed. Varric faced a bat that clawed at his eyes, forcing him to cease firing his crossbow and desperately clutch at his vision. Alexius retaliated with a fiery bolt, setting the bat ablaze, yet it was apparent that he too was succumbing to the overwhelming pressure.

The situation was dire for nearly all his companions. Hawke narrowly avoided being bitten by a spawn, thanks to Fenris intervening at the last moment. Despite having just dispatched the last werewolf, Cole bore small gashes across his body. Cazador unleashed magical assaults, causing Cole to stagger dangerously close to collapse. The odds were stacking against Astarion's friends in the room, and there was no one available to save Bull from Dorian. 

Astarion recognized that the tide of the battle would turn against them if he didn't take action. In that critical moment, he resorted to the only course of action he knew and extended his marked hand into the air. He sought the familiar pull of the rifts, reaching for the sensation akin to when he had traversed into the Fade after imbibing the potion.

Moments later, with a determined pull from Astarion's hand, the fabric of reality tore open in a vibrant flash of green, unveiling a substantial rift. However, this rift proved highly unstable, unleashing a burst of erratic energy that propelled everyone in the room backward. Dorian was forcefully dislodged from Bull, landing close to where Karlach had been flung.

“Ok, what the fuck!?” Karlach exclaimed. 

"You impudent brat! I commanded you to stay put! How dare you disobey me,” Cazador bellowed, making another attempt to wield his compulsion over Astarion.

Astarion effortlessly thwarted the compulsion once again, but this time, he delved deeper into his tadpole's abilities. He extended his influence to reach Karlach's tadpole, sending a succinct message into her mind: "Shove Dorian into the rift."

Karlach, placing faith in Astarion's plan, required no additional persuasion. Despite her diminished condition, she swiftly seized the unsuspecting Dorian and propelled him forward, sending him hurtling into the rift.

“Alexius, now! ” Astarion shouted, as he pulled back with his hand once more, sealing the rift. 

Responding swiftly, Alexius invoked the same sunlight spell he had previously used against Cazador. The entire room became bathed in a searing, intense brightness, accompanied by the agonized screams of several spawn incinerating. Astarion felt his own skin starting to crisp from the concentrated sunlight; he hadn't managed to shield himself before the spell's casting. The pain was excruciating, but Astarion relied on the tadpole's influence, hoping it would be sufficient to shield him from the sunlight onslaught. But, by the gods, the sunlight still fucking hurt. 

After a few moments, the sunlight dissipated, and thanks to his tadpole, Astarion survived. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for the other spawn, all of whom perished. Astarion surveyed the room and noticed Cazador had vanished, probably using a misty escape for some rejuvenating rest. 

However, his optimism was short-lived as Cazador promptly reappeared, completely unscathed, and scoffed, "You think that would work against me twice, boy? How pathetic."

"Well, maybe not, but how about this, asshole," Karlach retorted. Standing right behind where Cazador reappeared, she seized the opportunity to swing her greataxe at Cazador's neck. The axe sliced through his skin, cleanly severing his head. Cazador's head tumbled to the ground, leaving Astarion in awe.

Cazador's form dissipated into mist, and Karlach nonchalantly shrugged, turning her attention to the remaining undead enemies in the room. The rest of Astarion's companions followed suit, effortlessly dispatching the remaining foes now that the vampires had been vanquished.

After everyone else in the room was dead, his companions looked towards Astarion. Most of them were hurt in some way, or just plain exhausted, needing some healing and some rest. 

“Is that it? Is he dead?” Fenris asked, looking to the spot where Cazador’s body had disappeared. 

"No, he's not," Astarion declared, his expression contorting into an enraged frown. Approaching the coffin, a gut feeling led him to believe it was Cazador's resting place. Pushing the lid open, his suspicions were confirmed—there lay Cazador, peacefully at rest, head once again attached to his body. Astarion practically snarled, seething with anger and hatred for the vampire lying in the coffin before him.

"No, no, no . No healing sleep for you!" Astarion declared, seizing the front of Cazador's shirt and forcefully throwing him out of the coffin. Dagger in hand, Astarion advanced towards Cazador. Hawke, attempting to assist, was halted by Fenris, who placed his arm in front of Hawke's chest, preventing him from getting closer. Fenris shook his head, knowing that Astarion had to be the one to kill Cazador. 

Cazador awoke, finding himself kneeling on the ground, yet maintained a resentful glare at Astarion. "Put it away, boy. You do not know what you are doing," Cazador spat.

"I'm waiting to hear you beg for your life," Astarion growled, advancing towards Cazador with the dagger.

"Ha! I would rather embrace oblivion before I give you that satisfaction," Cazador retorted.. 

"Oh, believe me—I'd be more than willing to grant you oblivion," Astarion replied, his words carrying a profound sincerity. 

"You would never! I've given you so much. I snatched you from the jaws of death, gave you eternity, for hell's sake! I saved you!" Cazador argued, his tone shifting towards a pleading desperation.

“You put me through two hundred years of shit! Pure shit! ” Astarion shouted, closing the distance to Cazador with the dagger. "Do it. BEG."

"I... please. My child, please... have mercy," Cazador begged.

"No. It's a pity, isn't it, master , that you never extended mercy to me. Isn't it?" Astarion remarked, then leapt at Cazador, thrusting the dagger into his chest. He continued the assault, stabbing Cazador repeatedly with an intensity that left every onlooker in the room startled. Astarion didn't cease, his rage overcoming him as blood splattered across his body.

Finally, Astarion allowed Cazador's limp form to crumple to the cold floor, a lifeless vessel that once held malice. As he sank to his knees, a tumult of anger and profound emotion surged within him, breaking through the stoic facade he had worn for so long. Astarion began to sob, tears rolling down his face. The years of enduring Cazador's relentless abuse had culminated in this moment—the moment he finally brought an end to the torment. Cazador, the source of his suffering, now lay lifeless at his feet. A bittersweet sense of liberation enveloped him.

As Astarion gazed upon the motionless figure, tears streamed from his eyes, mirroring the depth of his sorrow. The weight of the past, the scars etched into his soul, all seemed to converge in this instance. With each sob that wracked his body, the floodgates of pent-up emotions burst open. He understood that his companions might not understand his emotions right now, but that didn't matter. In this moment, with Cazador's life extinguished, Astarion wept. He was finally... free.

After a few moments of crying, his companions having allowed him to have the moment to himself, he wiped the tears from his face and cast the dagger aside. He stood up, off of his knees, and turned to face the rest of his companions, stepping away from the fallen vampire.

“Shit, Astarion, you okay?” Bull asked, concerned, while observing Astarion's approach. 

"I'm better than ever, now that he's dead," Astarion replied. 

“That’s it, then? He’s dead now, for real this time?” Karlach asked. 

“He’s dead,” Astarion confirmed. “Well, one of him.” 

Varric chose to ask the question that everyone had been wondering, “So about Dorian… where did he go?”

“The fade,” Astarion responded. 

Hawke looked at Astarion with a shocked expression. “I’m sorry– did I just hear that you sent Dorian to the fade ?” 

“Oh, please, spare me the judgmental gaze! Sending him there was obviously the safest option, for all of us. Cazador is dead now, so he should be free,” Astarion said, raising his hand. In one quick motion, a rift reopened; this time smaller, and more stable. He was getting better at this, it seemed. 

“I have a lot of questions, because nothing about what you just did makes sense. But, I’ll save them until after we’ve rested and healed up. I could really use a nice, long nap,” Hawke commented. 

“Me too, Hawke. Me too,” Varric concurred.

A moment after Astarion opened the rift, Dorian stepped through, appearing worse for wear as he dashed out, limping on his injured leg as he did so. A demon popped out of the rift after him, and Astarion promptly closed it before any more could escape. Bull stepped forward and killed the demon in one swift move. 

"Vishante Kaffas, you sweet pale buffoon! Don't ever send me there again; it was not pleasant," Dorian exclaimed, brushing himself off. He then stood and surveyed the room at his companions, appearing quite anxious. His gaze settled on Bull—specifically, Bull's neck, where two small puncture wounds had begun to heal. "Uh, sorry," Dorian uttered, but his eyes remained fixed on Bull's neck, giving the impression that he really wanted to take another bite.

Astarion could sense that Dorian was genuinely nervous, his usual confident demeanor replaced by an air of apprehension. Dorian seemed almost afraid to meet his companions' eyes, as if burdened by shame for his newfound vampirism. It was as though he felt remorse for being caught and turned, reduced to nothing more than a blood-drinking creature.

Dorian hastily averted his gaze from Bull and turned back toward Astarion, his expression now marked by nervousness and a hint of sadness. "Uh, Astarion... I—" Dorian started, but was interrupted by Astarion.

“Let’s get going. We will travel only at night from now on,” Astarion said. 

“Really? You don’t want to talk about–” Dorian began. 

“All I want to do right now is go sit down in a nice, comfy chair somewhere, with a large jar of blood in my hand. Possibly with you naked in my lap. We can talk about, well, the finer points tomorrow," Astarion remarked, striding toward the room's exit.

"Oh, well, alright. Getting some rest and some more, well, blood , does seem like an excellent idea..." Dorian commented, letting his gaze wander over Fenris and instinctively licking his lips at the thought.

"Try it, Vint , and I'll tear your guts out one piece at a time. It will be painful– I promise," Fenris threatened. Dorian swiftly averted his eyes from Fenris and followed behind Astarion.

"Well, if nothing else, this is shaping up to be an incredibly captivating tale. Perhaps the most unconventional one I've ever crafted, but that's precisely what captures people's attention these days," Varric commented. He then nodded towards Dorian and said, “glad to see you back with us, Sparkler.” 

Chapter 30: Astarion has a Sleepless Night

In the end, they chose to relocate their camp into the keep where they had just killed Cazador. The choice was driven by the improved shielding from the sun, for Dorian’s sake, and the necessity of returning to access the dam's controls. It was a little more than inconvenient to have to walk out of the keep, pack up camp, then walk right back– Astarion was exhausted and really wanted to just get some rest. To make matters worse, the storm was still raging outside, thoroughly drenching them all with a cold downpour. 

To Astarion's surprise, Stroud was still alive, a fact he had doubted since their time in the cave. It turned out that after Astarion vanished from the cave, Stroud had urged Hawke and Fenris to prioritize finding Astarion, even if it meant risking his own life. Hawke, refusing to abandon him, brought Stroud back to the camp amid the storm to reunite with the others. Fortunately, there were no more vampire attacks following the disappearances of both Dorian and Astarion, allowing Hawke, Stroud, and Fenris to safely return to the campsite.

So, after packing up the camp and moving to the keep, Astarion was finally able to get some rest and satiate his thirst. He had an entire backpack filled with jars of blood, which he had been eagerly awaiting to guzzle down. 

As the others set up the campsite in the keep, Astarion found a simple bench and settled down with his precious backpack of blood. Dorian, sensing the contents of the bag, joined him, displaying an unusual demeanor of nervousness and shyness—a stark departure from his usual self. Astarion took note of the change but chose not to comment, understanding that Dorian was likely still adjusting to his new reality. In any case, Dorian was fortunate; escaping from one's master was not usually so easy or swift for a vampire spawn. Dorian had inherited all the powers and drawbacks of a vampire spawn without the accompanying trauma– Lucky him. Astarion envied him for it.

As Astarion sat on the bench, with Dorian besides him, Astarion observed as Dorian cast a longing gaze at the bag.

“This is… odd,” Dorian remarked, his eyes fixated on the bag as Astarion slowly opened it. “I can hear everyone’s heartbeats. I can hear better, see better, smell better. I know what’s in that bag without even seeing into it.” 

“You will get used to it. You have plenty of time now, too, anyways,” Astarion reassured, pulling out a jar of blood and handing it to Dorian. Taking one for himself, Astarion opened the lid and began drinking the blood with an intense need. Having gone through so much since his last drink, he was famished and required the blood as a pick-me-up to aid his body in recovering from the events of the last few days.

Dorian, meanwhile, held the jar up in front of his face. He wasn’t as hungry as Astarion– he’d drunk enough from Bull to resist the growing urge for blood. He stared at it curiously, as though trying to decipher the substance in front of him. It wouldn’t be his first taste of blood, but it would be his first taste under his own, full control. He wasn’t starving, he wasn’t compelled… he was just curious.

Unlatching the jar's lid, Dorian's eyes focused on the red liquid as if it were a curiosity. Despite his body signaling the need to drink, he hesitated, uncertain about consuming it. Gently placing the jar to his lips, his mouth instinctively opened wider, revealing his new fangs. A sudden urge to bite surged through him, a foolish notion considering it was a jar. The unexpected instinct caught Dorian off-guard, as his usual instincts had leaned more towards ‘setting threatening individuals on fire’ rather than experiencing a subtle need to bite upon the sight of blood. 

Dorian let his tongue delicately dip into the liquid first, much like a cat, sampling the fluid before him. Astarion hadn’t noticed; Astarion was captivated by his own drink and paying little attention to Dorian's actions. As Dorian's tongue touched the blood, his senses sharpened, becoming remarkably attuned to its essence. In a sudden burst of need, Dorian tightly gripped the jar and gulped down the blood, almost spilling it, feeling the warmth slide down the back of his throat and into his belly. The blood strengthened him, infusing him with newfound energy, even if it didn't quite match the taste of Bull's blood.

Speaking of Bull– Bull was standing a short distance away, watching Dorian drink the blood. When Dorian’s jar was emptied and Dorian’s eyes met with Bull’s, there was an awkward tension between the two. Dorian felt nervous, not sure as to why Bull was staring at him like that. He couldn’t decipher what Bull’s staring meant. 

Having consumed several jars, Astarion opted to save the rest for later, though a part of him longed to finish the entire bag immediately. Placing the bag on the ground, he leaned against Dorian's shoulder, startling Dorian out of his thoughts.

"Astarion?" Dorian asked, his gaze fixed on Astarion leaning against him.

"Yes?" Astarion responded.

"Are you alright?" Dorian asked with concern.

"Yes. I just have a lot to think about," Astarion replied. As if testing the waters, Dorian slowly wrapped an arm around Astarion's shoulder, and Astarion didn’t move.

The two of them hadn't been in a formal courtship, leaving Dorian slightly uncertain about the boundaries of their interaction. More significantly, Dorian had always been cautious about touching Astarion without explicit permission, aware of the scars from Astarion's past life as a slave. He never wanted to impose any form of intimacy on Astarion, even as simple as wrapping an arm around his shoulder, without Astarion’s approval. Astarion had never struck Dorian as the affectionate, hand-holding type, anyways, and Dorian respected that. 

“As long as you’re sure,” Dorian said. Even though Dorian was happy for his own freedom now, he was even happier for Astarion’s; Astaron had been through a very long , and very tough two hundred years serving under Cazador. His tormenter was now dead– he knew Astarion would have a lot to think about. Astarion would need time to recover.

Astarion remained silent, leaning against Dorian, observing as the others completed the camp setup. As the group kindled a small fire and prepared a meal from foraged supplies, Astarion finally broke the silence.

“I want to show you something later. Meet me in the main room tonight– the one with the coffin and Cazador’s body– after everyone else is fast asleep,” Astarion said, as he slowly stood up off of the bench. 

“Later, then,” Dorian agreed, watching as Astarion stalked off to join the rest of the camp. Dorain certainly hoped it was nothing bad, although it was hard to tell from Astarion’s expression. 

As Astarion sat down in front of the fire, gazing at the flickering flames before him, Varric joined him at his side. 

"So, looks like your ex-master kicked the bucket, Astarion. I just regret we couldn't spice it up a bit, you know? Imagine if Alexius could transform him into a sheep or make him dance involuntarily– that would've been a sight. Though, decapitation followed by stabbing did have its own charm,” Varric remarked. 

"You know those spells exist, right? It really is a shame we don't have an actual wizard around that knows them. I would have loved to see Cazador turned into a sheep. It might have made the baa-tle much easier," Astarion remarked.

Varric let out a hearty chuckle. “Yes, it would have been nice to really make him feel em-baa -ressed, you know? To really pull the wool over his eyes. Really get him bent out of sheep,” he continued.

“Those were awful. Truly, I’ve herd enough,” Astarion said, then continued, “Anyways, I doubt you came over here just to quote terrible puns at me.”

“A point wool-made. You caught me– I have ulterior motives. I just… have a question about something that happened earlier,” Varric said.

“Just the one? Crazy, as I thought you would have plenty. But, do go on,” Astarion replied. 

“You told me you wanted to drink Cazador’s blood. Isn't that how you got Alexius to agree to help you in the first place– by offering to turn Felix in return for his help?” Varric asked. 

“Yes, I did. I suppose Alexius will have quite a few words to say to me later, once he's rested a bit. I imagine he won't be very happy,” Astarion commented. 

“So… why didn't you?” Varric asked gently.

“Why didn't I what, exactly?” Astarion replied, though he understood precisely what Varric was getting at.

“Why didn't you drink Cazador’s blood and become a full vampire? He was right there. You had every opportunity to bite him and drink his blood– so why didn't you? I thought for sure you would have,” Varric said.

“I thought I would, too. It was all a part of my plan– I have been thinking about stealing his blood for weeks . Cazador was begging for mercy at my feet– with just a tad more ‘convincing,’ I could have had him tilting his neck, offering me– no, begging– me to drink his blood . It would have been easy,” Astarion began. 

“So, what happened?” Varric asked.  

“I just… didn’t. It didn’t feel right to me,” Astarion replied.

“You're telling me you sacrificed all of that power because it didn't ‘feel right’? That doesn't sound like you. You’ve always craved more power. No offense,” Varric noted. 

“I… know,” Astarion said, sounding slightly dejected. “I… suppose I only really wanted power to be safe. To never have to worry about anyone like him ever again.”

“And?” Varric asked, sensing there was more to the story.

“And Thedas doesn’t need more Cazadors. I thought about what you said back in Skyhold. The power of a full vampire would have granted me so much, especially with a tadpole conveniently shielding me from the sun. I mean, you saw how hard it was to kill Cazador. His regeneration was too swift– Karlach had to sever his head for him to finally subside enough to require rest for his regeneration. Even after she beheaded him, he still lingered. I could have had that power. I could have been that dangerous, that deadly, that man . Corephyus– Ketheric– wouldn’t have stood a chance if I’d become a full vampire,” Astarion began. 

“That much power corrupts,” Varric stated. “I’ve seen too many good men turn evil at the sight of power.”

“Well, we wouldn’t have to worry about that, per se. I’m hardly a good man. Really, have you met me? I kill so many people. I even bit you in your sleep and let you believe a blood mage had gotten to you!” Astarion exclaimed.

“You don’t have to be perfect to be good. And, from what I’ve seen, you are good. Whether you believe it or not,” Varric responded, a warmth in his tone. “Anyways, you still haven’t told me why you didn’t take Cazador’s power.”

“Eternity is… a long time. A really long time. I will live that long unless I get killed first– perks of having an undead body. If I became a full vampire, I might start out as being my usual, charming self– but after a thousand years or so…” 

“You think you would end up just like Cazador,” Varric said. 

“I know I would have, and Thedas would be the one to pay for it. I’ve never heard of any vampire being good, and there’s a reason for that. I don’t want to lose myself– not so soon after finally finding myself. When I had Cazador begging at my feet… I realized it was time I finally ended the cycle of abuse. Thedas doesn’t need another Cazador ,” Astarion admitted. 

“Well, for one, I’m glad you didn’t. I’m proud of you– really. Not everyone would have been able to resist such power. Although…” Varric said.

“Yes?” Astarion asked curiously.

“You sound like you intend to stay in Thedas for a while. Not interested in finding your way back to Baldur’s Gate?” Varric asked, a knowing smirk on his face as he gazed away from Astarion and into the distance.

Astarion turned to see where Varric was looking and found Dorian engaged in conversation with Cole at the far side of the room, looking somewhat disgruntled. “Well, there’s no need to rush back to Baldur’s Gate. There’s nothing left for me there, and I won’t be dying anytime soon. I would like to eventually return– and perhaps show Dorian around the city– but there’s far more for me here. You're stuck with me for the foreseeable future, Varric, so you might as well start getting accustomed to it," he asserted with a smirk.

Varric smiled. “And stuck with Dorian too, it seems. Although, you’re sounding mighty confident that you won’t die early to Corypheus or Ketheric, or the army you saw in the future,” he teased.

“Them? Oh, please. Have you seen us lately? The Inquisition? We have two vampires and a sexy crossbow called Bianca. They don’t stand a chance,” Astarion declared.

Varric let out a laugh. "Damn right. Anyway, it seems Hawke wrapped up dinner. I'm heading to grab a bite. Get some rest— I’ll catch up with you tomorrow,” he said, rising and strolling toward Hawke. As he stood, Varric muttered, "I really hope Hawke didn't turn it into a charcoal masterpiece like the old days..."

Astarion offered a soft smile before rising from his spot. He made his way to the tent where the group had stashed his belongings. As he entered, he settled onto the bedroll, finally allowing himself some rest. He sank into a meditative trance, a much-needed respite after the day's events.

A few hours later, Astarion awoke and exited his tent, seeking out Dorian. He discovered Dorian sprawled across the bench, his body strewn across it as though he had accidentally fallen asleep there. Which had probably been the case– despite how energizing a good drink of blood could be to a vampire, Dorian was still human (albeit undead), and would need sleep. 

However, tonight wasn't the night for Dorian to catch any peaceful slumber. Astarion approached and gently patted him, rousing the sleeping man.

"Hmm?" Dorian mumbled, awakening with a hint of disorientation.

"I'm heading to the main room. Join me when you're ready," Astarion whispered, then sauntered away.

Once Astarion reached the room where the intense battle had unfolded, he approached Cazador's lifeless form still sprawled on the floor, frozen in the same position. Astarion clicked his tongue disapprovingly, a mix of displeasure and anger welling up within him. Even in death, Cazador's legacy of centuries-long torment lingered, and Astarion found it difficult to shake off the resentment. Death seemed almost too merciful for a man who had subjected him to countless years of suffering.

Turning away from the corpse, Astarion scowled at the unpleasant sight. He settled on the ground beside the coffin's base, patiently awaiting Dorian. After a few minutes, Dorian entered the room.

"This is a rather solemn setting for a conversation. It resembles quite the... well, graveyard," Dorian remarked, surveying the burnt remnants of vampire dust, scattered undead bodies, and Cazador's lifeless form. "I assume you want to discuss... well, us , right?" he sighed, settling down next to Astarion on the floor.

“In another world, I would have seduced you and brought you back to Cazador. You would have died,” Astarion began. 

"Well, isn't this a positively enlightening beginning to our conversation? Now, I hate to be the bearer of news, but you did manage to seduce me, acquainted me with Cazador, and, well, I did die," Dorian remarked, playfully infusing a touch of banter into his voice.

“You know what I mean. You would have been rather easy to lure, too,” Astarion replied. 

"Did you just imply that I'm easy? A simple conquest? Do you genuinely believe I'm that easily won?" Dorian asked, crossing his arms and fixing a penetrating gaze upon Astarion.

"Oh, spare me the feigned shock – It's the undeniable truth, and deep down, you're well aware of it. Just a sprinkle of enchanting phrases, and you were practically pleading to find yourself nestled in my embrace," Astarion teased with a playful smirk.

"Well, that would be rather offensive if you weren't just a ploy from the start. I only had my eyes set on your plush bed and the breathtaking views of Skyhold," Dorian retorted. "Although, I must admit, your flirtatious demeanor and well-defined musculature did contribute to expediting the entire affair."

"You know, I couldn't help but observe that The Iron Bull boasts a rather impressive 'fit musculature' as well. I caught him glancing your way earlier. Well, perhaps he was merely analyzing the disparities, but he was definitely eyeing you nonetheless," Astarion remarked with a sly grin.

"Darling, do I detect a hint of jealousy because Bull happened to cast his gaze my way?" Dorian inquired, his tone tinged with a touch of bewilderment at the unexpected shift in conversation.

"Jealous? Ha! Far from it. No, I was simply intrigued, wondering if you had a desire to ride the Bull, that's all," Astarion nonchalantly remarked, dismissing the situation with a casual wave. "Considering he did appear quite interested in you."

“Well, perhaps I wouldn’t mind finding a nice quiet spot and sucking him, if that’s what you mean. Perhaps with you joining in, as well. You suck one side, I’ll suck the other? He does taste rather marvelous,” Dorian said suggestively. 

Astarion feigned a gasp of surprise. " Dorian! I'm utterly shocked. Scandalized!" he exclaimed, placing a hand dramatically over his chest in mock astonishment.

Dorian chuckled softly. "Just sucking blood , naturally. Rest assured, Amatus, you're the sole one I wish to ride. Although, I wouldn't mind the roles reversed– I'm remarkably flexible in such matters. Now, I doubt this is the reason you summoned me for a conversation. Are we delving into the topic of my newfound nature, perhaps?"

“No,” Astarion said. “We can have that particular conversation– about why you agreed to it and what it really means for you– tomorrow.”

“What makes you think I agreed to it?” Dorian asked curiously. 

“Cazador would have offered it to you before he turned you. You wouldn’t be here right now if you’d declined,” Astarion said. “Anyways, like I said– we can talk about all of this tomorrow. I brought you here for something else entirely.” 

“Alright. Go on,” Dorian said. 

Astarion's expression shifted, the once happy smile fading from his face. "Well, you've stuck by my side since our paths first crossed, placing trust in me even when it was undeniably foolish. You witnessed the horrors of Cazador back in Redcliffe, yet still chose to accompany me to Crestwood to confront him. And now, thanks to me, you've forfeited the remainder of your life. No more moments to preen in front of the mirror, no more basking in the warmth of the sun. You've willingly embraced an eternity of darkness, condemned to exist as a blood-drinking creature for the rest of your days, all because of me ," Astarion confessed solemnly.

"You have a point there. Let's strike a deal – you preen over me, and I'll preen over you, like a pair of splendid, feathery birds. That way, we'll both appear rather dashing, even without the need for mirrors. Besides, drinking blood isn't much different from hunting for sustenance as a living being – the result is the same, the animal ends up lifeless," Dorian remarked.

“Still, you’d be–” Astarion began, but was quickly interrupted by Dorian. 

“I wouldn’t be better off without having met you, if that’s where you were going with that. My father would have tracked me down and dragged me back to Tevinter. He attempted to change me, you know. He tried to use magic to mold my desires towards women – a futile endeavor. I would have either become an empty shell of a man, or I'd still harbor my affections for men, forced into a loveless marriage, producing children I didn't desire, condemned to a lifetime of misery. No, Astarion, you saved me – and even though I've lost the warmth of the sun, I'd choose an eternity as a vampire over the life that awaited me," Dorian expressed sincerely.

“I was just going to say you’d still be able to enjoy the sunlight, but, do go on about how I saved you,” Astarion purred, grinning at him.

Dorian gave an exasperated eye roll, then shifted the topic of conversation. "So, regarding, well, the two of us–," Dorian started, redirecting his gaze from Astarion to the floor. He figured now was as opportune a moment as any to elucidate the true nature of their relationship. 

Astarion delicately placed his hand on Dorian's chin, gently turning it to ensure Dorian faced him once more. "You know, Cazador held sway over my life for so long that I forgot what it meant to genuinely desire someone. Sex was always just a duty, a means to an end – even with you. I was so desperate to maintain closeness with someone, and you, easily manipulated, became a part of my old habits. I seduced you to keep you near, and, well, to have access to your blood," Astarion confessed.

Dorian's expression soured upon hearing the revelation. "So, you're telling me – there was never anything between you and I?" he inquired, his disappointment evident. He sighed, "I must admit, I feel rather foolish now. Perhaps I am too easily swayed," he mused, anticipating Astarion to sever whatever connection they had. Whatever it was they shared. He hoped those nights they spent together weren't merely a facade. "So, where does that leave us now?"

“Cazador is dead– he can’t dictate my life any longer. As for the other Cazador… well, let’s just say he won’t be a problem. I spent too many nights using my body to lure pretty things like yourself back to Cazador. I spent too many nights in some stranger’s arms as they did whatever they wanted to my body–never wondering what I want– and I’m done with that,” Astarion declared.

“So, do you want to stop having sex with me– is that it? Are we… over ?” Dorian asked, gazing at Astarion with a mix of sadness and a touch of embarrassment.

“Quite the opposite– I want to start a real relationship with you. Picture this – courting, making love, and all that romantic hullabaloo. It's been centuries since I've had the chance to be truly close to someone. Now that Cazador is a distant memory, I reckon it's time to give it another shot," Astarion declared, then added with a smirk, "And I wouldn't mind indulging in pleasure for pleasure's sake again. No more alliances or leading the unsuspecting to their demise – just sex for pure, unadulterated, pleasure. "

"Oh," Dorian uttered, a blush tinting his cheeks. "I... didn't expect that," he admitted.

"So, what do you say? Shall we spend the night fully exploring the mysteries of that newfound form of yours? I'm quite curious to discover the full extent of what that body can do. Let's find out just how skilled you are," Astarion suggested with a mischievous grin, adding, "at sucking, of course."

"Well, that was quite terrible and rather vulgar, honestly. I do believe you're capable of much better," Dorian remarked, a faint blush gracing his cheeks.

“ True , but let’s not pretend you didn’t like it, because we both know you did,” Astarion remarked, moving closer to Dorian. He placed his hands on Dorian's chest, gently pushing him backward until he lay flat on the ground. Crawling on top of him, one hand supporting himself next to Dorian's head, Astarion kissed him passionately. He positioned himself between Dorian's legs, their groins meeting in a sensual dance as their lips locked in a fervent embrace.

A moment into the kiss, Dorian gently pulled away, gazing up at Astarion. "You don't mean to do this here , do you?" he asked, a small smile playing on his lips.

Astarion’s face turned into a twisted smile. “Yes, why? Not comfortable around the dead, Saer Necromancer?” he teased. 

"It's just – well, we're only about a meter away from Cazador's body – where you stabbed him to death," Dorian pointed out, gesturing with one arm to Cazador's lifeless form lying just a few meters away from them.

"Well, don't mind him. He's dead. He can't judge," Astarion grinned, shrugging nonchalantly. "Although, if you'd prefer somewhere with a little more privacy, we could always try the coffin."

"The coffin?" Dorian repeated, stunned. "How would that even work? Is there even enough room?" he asked.

"Oh, come on, you dirty little devil. I'm sure you can conjure up a few scenarios of what you'd like me to do to you in there," Astarion teased.

Dorian blushed at the thought. "You're ridiculous. Truly. I'm... speechless."

"That didn't quite sound like a 'no,'" Astarion remarked, leaning back down and indulging in another kiss with Dorian.

Chapter 31: Alexius vs. Astarion

Astarion and Dorian returned to the campsite early the next morning, but not so early that some of the others weren’t already awake. Observant eyes took note of their disheveled appearance—tousled hair, blood stains on the face, and Dorian's tired expression—but no one voiced their observations. The Iron Bull shot them an amused look, yet their nocturnal escapade earned no further commentary.

Dorian went for his tent right away; the man was exhausted, and Astarion knew as much. Dorian had far less sleep than was typical for a human and was in desperate need of some longer sleep than the fleeting moments he had stolen the previous night.

In contrast, Astarion was unfazed by fatigue. No stranger to nocturnal activities, and due to his nature as an elf, he required far less rest than Dorian. As Dorian sought refuge in his tent for a well-deserved nap, Astarion remained alert, taking the opportunity to tidy himself up. With a demanding day ahead, his focus shifted to closing the rift and ensuring their return to Skyhold.

Approximately an hour after their return to camp, Astarion, having completed his post-night cleanup, noticed the rest of the group beginning to stir. Hawke was diligently preparing breakfast, engaged in conversation with Stroud—an impressive improvement in Stroud's condition compared to the previous day. While Stroud was far from fully recovered, the absence of imminent death was a welcome change.

Not only was Stroud no longer on the brink of death, but he was also free from bleeding—an aspect that particularly pleased Astarion. The stench emanating from Stroud during his bleeding and dying state had been repugnant. Although Stroud still carried a tainted odor, at least the absence of blood made Astarion's proximity to him more tolerable.

On the opposite side of the camp, Karlach and Bull engaged in what appeared to be a pleasant conversation. Although Astarion couldn't discern the specifics due to the distance, Bull gestured toward Karlach's chest, where the infernal heart resided, and Karlach was laughing– a good sign, yet it did make him wonder what Bull had said to her. The two of them almost seemed to be friends– a development that Astarion hadn’t quite seen coming, but wasn’t all that odd anyways. 

However, when Alexius emerged from his tent, he approached Astarion with a palpable air of hostility. Astarion sighed, fully aware of the impending confrontation. He’d been anticipating this conversation after all; he knew very well that Alexius would be pissed off that Astarion had chosen not to become a full vampire and “save” Felix. 

"Alexius, you seem a bit off this morning, perhaps a tad fatigued. Consider getting some more rest. We wouldn't want you to say something you might regret," Astarion remarked as Alexius approached.

"We had a deal," Alexius stated firmly, disregarding Astarion's attempt at deflection.

"Yes, I suppose we did," Astarion replied with a nonchalant shrug.

"The only reason I agreed to work with you was to save Felix. You gave me your word, yet apparently, your word means nothing to you. Now my son, Felix, will be the one to pay for it. You are a cruel, vile, monster," Alexius declared.

The entire camp hushed, all attention focused on the escalating conversation between Astarion and Alexius. The brewing tension had everyone on edge, as if they were expecting a full-on fight to start. 

Astarion's eyes narrowed as he listened to Alexius' accusations. His fangs were visible as he gritted his teeth, a mix of frustration and resentment bubbling within him. Stepping forward, he fixed a sharp gaze on Alexius.

 "Well, Magister Alexius, let's not play the innocent here. I offered Felix a chance at something more– asked if he fancied being a vampire. You know what he said? 'No.' He was ready to die, and as much as I can't relate to that particular taste, I do respect people making their own choices these days. Turning him was never your decision to make, and if you think I'm the villain in this little drama, you might want to reassess.” 

"You mean you never intended to turn him?! You've just been lying to me, so that I might help you kill your Master while Felix gets screwed over? Felix doesn't know what he's saying – he's too sick to think! He's going to die now, and it's all your fault," Alexius seethed, his anger escalating, and he seemed dangerously close to striking Astarion.

Karlach approached, positioning herself beside Astarion. "Whoa, hey now, man. Let's not go there. No need for a fight this morning. How about we just have a peaceful day to relax? We could all use it," she suggested, attempting to diffuse the tension.

Alexius brushed off her intervention. "No. I won't. He lied to me, used me, and now my son will suffer!" His frustration and anger remained palpable, disregarding any attempts at reconciliation.

"You can't make this decision for your son. I offered him the choice, but he refused, so that's the end of it. He wants to die," Astarion retorted.

"Please?" Karlach interjected, her uncertainty evident as she sought a way to defuse the tension. Scanning the camp for support, she found none. Even Bull shrugged when Karlach glanced his way, showing more interest in the unfolding confrontation than intervening. Alexuis and Astarion ignored her efforts. 

“I should've been at his side, not stuck here in the middle of Crestwood fighting! You knew you weren’t going to turn him, and yet you still had to be sooo selfish. I should be spending his final moments with him, but now, because of your lies, I’m stranded here!” Alexius shouted at Astarion, while turning away and throwing his hands upward in frustration. 

Astarion's tone remained indifferent, treating the emotional turmoil as if it were a mere inconvenience. "I won't apologize for pursuing my own interests, and I won't entertain your melodramatic accusations. It’s not exactly my fault that Felix is so sick to begin with.” 

Alexius sneered. "You're despicable."

"Rather hypocritical, wouldn't you say? Shall I remind you of where I found you? Your intentions to enslave the rebel mages, and how you were working for Corypheus? You, of all people, have no right to be angry with me. I could have easily ended you back at Redcliffe, but I refrained. You should be grateful I allowed you any time with Felix, as you could easily be nothing more than a pile of bones right now," Astarion asserted. 

"Everything I did was for my son, and you know that. You took advantage of that!" Alexius seethed.

“I did what I had to do. But at least what I had to do didn’t involve slavery,” Astarion said. 

Karlach interjected, stepping between them once more. “Look, we’ve all had a stressful few days, but arguing isn’t going to change anything. Let’s just focus on getting that last rift closed, yea? Then we can all head back to Skyhold and have a nice, long nap. The sooner we get back to Skyhold, the better– for all of us.” 

Alexius turned away. "I agree. The sooner I get back to Skyhold, the better. So I'll be leaving now. You can all close the rift, but I won't spend another moment away from my son. I won't spend another moment with you ," he declared, directing his anger at Astarion.

Astarion's incredulous tone sliced through the air, "You're actually planning to venture back to Skyhold alone ?"

“Yes,” Alexius confirmed. 

"Fine. I couldn't care less about your choices. If you meet your demise on the way back, that's on you," Astarion remarked, a cold detachment in his voice.

"I'm going to pack, and then I'm going to leave. Goodbye, O Great Inquisitor, " Alexius declared, then walked away to his tent and began packing.

"Is it really alright to let him go back to Skyhold on his own? We're days away," Karlach pointed out. 

"No, likely not. Even though I'm not particularly invested in whether he lives or dies, it would be rather inconvenient if I let him wander off alone at this point, especially considering the animosity he's harboring towards me. I think I'll split us up—some of us go back to Skyhold now with him, and the rest stay and close the rift," Astarion replied.

"Really? I mean, I guess I don't see why not," Karlach responded, then asked, "so who are you going to send with him?"

"Well… let me think," Astarion pondered for a moment. "I think I want you, Hawke, and Fenris with me. And, well, Dorian too, obviously—but it's not like he could leave now even if he wanted to. Everyone else will return to Skyhold—Bull can lead them there. I trust him enough to."

“Sounds great to me, man. As long as I’m not the one leaving early. I missed throwing people around and slicing heads off,” Karlach responded. 

“Well, I’m sure there will be plenty more once we get to the rift,” Astarion said. 

Shortly after everyone finished their breakfast, the others departed, leaving only Karlach, Hawke, Fenris, and Dorian. While Dorian rested, Astarion and his now much-smaller group made their way to the dam's controls. It was located not quite literally within the keep where they were staying, but rather a short walk over the dam itself, leading to an old, decrepit pub.

Upon entering, they discovered two corpses on the floor, drained of blood—evidence that Cazador had passed through at some point. Astarion acknowledged their luck; Cazador could have inflicted much worse than simply draining them to death. Slipping into peaceful oblivion had been the kindest fate for those unfortunate victims.

They proceeded to the room in the tavern housing the dam's controls, pleasantly surprised to find them still intact despite the mayor's earlier suggestion when they first entered Crestwood. Astarion found this suspicious, primarily because he knew the mayor had been lying about something, and the fully functional dam controls only confirmed this fact. The mayor had been an odd man.

Astarion manipulated the controls and opened the dam, prompting water to rush through. The lake slowly drained, much to Astarion's satisfaction. Now, they could access the rift; they just needed to figure out how to enter the tunnels below the former-lake and close it to return home.

Astarion decided, now that he had a smaller party with him, he’d rather wait until nightfall so Dorian could join them before trying to traverse through any tunnels. So, Astarion, Karlach, Hawke, and Fenris decided to wander around the area instead– looting treasures from various parts of the keep, exploring the nearby region and claiming parts for the Inquisition, and even closing another rift they’d spotted in the area. There was certainly no shortage of things to do in Crestwood.

Further exploration led them to an old, broken city infested with the undead, but also filled with occasional loot. Astarion believed the entrances to the caves must be somewhere around that area, so they dealt with the undead, then returned to the keep.

By the time they got back, it was mid-afternoon. The camp was much smaller than before, with only a few tents and some supplies remaining. Dorian, now awake and reading a book while lying on a bench, sat up when he saw Astarion approaching. The others wordlessly headed into the tents to get some sleep, anticipating a night of wakefulness ahead.

"Oh, look at you. And here I'd been half expecting that you'd left me," Dorian remarked, adding, "although I know that couldn't be true. You'd miss my charming face far too much to leave me here," he teased.

"Some of the others have taken off. Alexius was eager to leave, so I dispatched a small crew with him. We had a rather heated exchange this morning – I'm surprised you didn't catch wind of it. Although, I suppose you were quite fatigued when we got back this morning. I'll have to deal with Alexius once we're back home. By the way, while you were catching up on your beauty sleep, we managed to drain the lake," Astarion elucidated, offering a casual summary of recent events.

“And? Find anything interesting?” Dorian asked. 

"Dead people and a rift," Astarion replied.

"That's it? Well, that's quite dull for one of your adventures. And here I was half expecting you to say you fought a dragon," Dorian commented.

"I actually did see a dragon, but it was in the distance, and it flew off. I certainly didn't fight it," Astarion noted.

"There's still time, I suppose. With the way our adventures turn out, we'll end up having to fight a dragon eventually," Dorian said, pausing for a moment before adding, "So, I do have a few questions about, well, everything."

"Go on?" Astarion prompted.

"The Fade, Amatus. How did you manage to make a rift to the Fade !?" Dorian asked, unable to contain his wonder and excitement.

"Oh. That. I must confess—I'm not really too sure about the details," Astarion acknowledged, raising his hand and inspecting the glow.

“What? Sorry, I think I might have misheard you. It sounded like, for a moment there, you said you ‘weren’t too sure,’” Dorian remarked, tilting his head and staring at Astarion. 

Astarion shrugged. "Well, you've seen me close them plenty of times. Opening them is not so different."

"That's frightening. And it's all because of that mark on your hand?" Dorian asked.

"Yes," Astarion confirmed.

"I do wonder how you really came about it," Dorian inquired.

"I couldn't tell you, truth be told. One minute, I'm plummeting from the sky in Faerun, and the next, I find myself at the Conclave with this mysterious mark on my hand. The hows and whys of it all still elude me," Astarion recounted, his tone reflecting the perplexity of his situation.

"I've heard that before, but—that's crazy. Actually, really, truly, insane," Dorian remarked. "You have a mark on your hand that you've learned to utilize to make actual rifts to the Fade , and you just wave your hand around like it's nothing," he marveled.

Astarion raised his hand, examining it with a contemplative gaze. "Here I am, an undead, eternal creature that feasts on blood and hosts a worm in my skull. I've endured two centuries of unrelenting misery, a wretched existence worse than any slave, before being abducted by mind flayers who aspired to transform me into one of their own. Strangely enough, this mark is the least interesting thing to happen to me," he remarked, his words conveying a lifetime of hardship and bizarre experiences.

"Only because you don't understand it yet. You don't understand the Fade as it is—which is still a mystery to me, because even Faerun should have the Fade– but if you did understand it, you'd understand the impossible power you wield. What you did—with absolute ease—shouldn't have even been possible," Dorian said.

"I suppose that's true, maybe. But, since you do understand the Fade, perhaps you should help me understand this mark further. It could be useful, I suppose, for future battles. I wouldn’t want to waste an opportunity for more power, anyways," Astarion suggested.

Dorian nodded his head but wore an expression of disbelief. "Of course! Astarion, you physically visited me in the Fade. I was asleep —not even physically there! Or dead—I'm not sure the exact moment I died—but either way, you did something crazy and impossible. You went to the Fade, found me, and were able to talk to me and touch me. I literally thought you were a demon, disguised as you—but I'd be foolish now to think that hadn't been you. You are impossible ," Dorian marveled.

"You are awfully excited about this. Not that I was expecting any different—you've always loved impossible sketchy magic. We wouldn't have ended up in the future for a little while otherwise. Speaking of which—Ketheric is here, and I'm not sure what that means for us," Astarion remarked.

"You know, I've thought the same thing. He basically let us go when we first met him—he had no interest in actually fighting us. But clearly, he is immortal, yes? And not your kind of immortal, but rather, in the 'I cannot physically be harmed' kind of way. But what did he do ? What was his purpose for being around Cazador and Corypheus? I imagine he had something to do with the mind flayers, but what else?" Dorian mused aloud.

"Karlach would know more about that—I suppose I'll ask her what she knows now that we know Ketheric is here. All I know for certain is that he is a leader of the Cult of the Absolute—which is using the tadpoles to brainwash people into the Cult until they eventually become mind flayers. I don't understand why. But, I'm not quite sure he wanted me dead, per se, either. He didn't really try to kill me while we were in the future," Astarion explained.

“Ah, darling, it's quite possible that in his narrow perspective, you weren't exactly on his list of adversaries—at least, not at that moment. His misdeeds seemed more like a 'Baldur's Gate' dilemma rather than a 'Thedas' predicament. I'd wager he's as befuddled as you were when you first arrived as well. But, let's not delude ourselves into thinking he'll roll out the welcome wagon. Any chap leading a cult that manipulates minds isn't my ideal candidate for a drinking companion.”

Astarion shrugged. "I would," Astarion stated, earning him an odd look from Dorian.

"You would, what?" Dorian asked.

"Have him as a 'drinking companion,' of course," Astarion clarified. "Oh come on—think about it. He clearly has blood—but he wouldn't be able to die from blood loss. His skin also clearly can be punctured—Bull's axe had embedded itself into Ketheric's neck—he just ripped it out and tossed it aside like it was nothing. So, assuming I could puncture his neck and access his blood… he'd never die. A permanent drinking companion, so-to-speak," Astarion explained with a smile.

"I'm not sure that would actually work," Dorian said. "But it does bring up good questions about his immortality—what it actually is, and whether or not he can be injured at all. If one of us attempted to bite him; what would happen? Would we actually be able to drink his blood, or would the wound simply close up too quickly? Or perhaps it might simply be too hard for us to puncture his neck to begin with," Dorian pondered.

“I say we give it a try, the next time we see him,” Astarion suggested, grinning. 

“Actually, now that I’m thinking about it– how does anyone survive a bite? I mean, it's not like I haven't experienced your biting tendencies quite frequently – far more than I care for, mind you. But the puzzle remains: you puncture the jugular vein, or maybe the artery, every single time, right? That's the targeted spot, yes? Yet, logically speaking, a puncture of such grandiosity should spell doom for everyone involved. In any ordinary circumstance, puncturing that vein would involve rapidly bleeding to death, yet oddly enough, not when vampires come into play. Realistically, all of us who were bitten should be pushing up daisies by now. How come a vampire bite doesn’t result in a swift death?” Dorian wondered aloud. 

“Well, now you’re just overthinking this,” Astarion commented. “You’ve bitten Bull– you saw what happened.” 

“But I don’t understand it. How does the body heal so fast after a vampire bite?” Dorian wondered. “You don’t know, do you? You don’t know why people don’t die, either,” Dorian accused.

"Well, it's a tad tricky to gather information when you're thrust into slavery the moment you open your eyes. I was never given the liberty to indulge in biting anyone – not until I arrived in Thedas, at least. Anyone I enticed to Cazador met their demise, and over those two hundred years, I ushered back more souls to him than I can reckon. I was left blissfully unaware if bites were fatal until I came here. So, no, I can't explain it," Astarion admitted.

“Astarion. Does that mean you bit Varric without knowing if it would kill him?” Dorian accused, staring at Astarion. 

“Well, I mean, I didn’t think it would kill him. I’ve read stories of people getting bit and not dying, and it was only a sip,” Astarion defended.

“A sip directly to the jugular vein?” Dorian pressed. 

“Well, I was starving. I was hardly in the right mind at that time. Everything worked out, and now we’re all perfectly good friends,” Astarion said with a sly smile.

Dorian let out a laugh of disbelief, while shaking his head. “So, is it close to night yet? It’s rather hard to tell while being inside,” he asked, changing the subject. 

“It’s only the late afternoon—there’s still a few hours before evening,” Astarion said, then glanced away from Dorian. “I am sorry. You won’t be able to see the sun again. Not unless you also get infected with a tadpole—but I promise, it’s not worth the risk of turning into a mind flayer.”

Dorian sighed. “It’s alright—it really is. I’ll get used to it. Maybe someday I can work out some magic to allow me to walk freely during the daylight. If I can manage to work out time travel, I’m sure I can work this out, too,” he said, then glanced over at Astarion with a soft smile. He reached out and grabbed Astarion’s hand, reassuring him that it was alright.

Astarion looked up at him, and his face slowly turned into a smile. “So, we still have a few hours until we need to leave…” he said.

“That, we do. How shall we spend it, I wonder?” Dorian asked, smiling at Astarion. “Can I kiss you?” he asked.

“Can’t get enough? I’m not surprised,” Astarion said, then took a step towards Dorian, and placed a quick kiss on Dorian’s lips. “You know, I think I rather do like your new look. Fangs suit you, somehow. Although I will miss those grey eyes of yours,” Astarion said.

“I wish I could see what I look like,” Dorian admitted. “Although, I suppose there’s no denying it to anyone now. The others did seem to take it very well. I imagine I might get more backlash once we reach Skyhold, though. The others will certainly have questions. You know, I do have one more question myself,” Dorian said.

“Go on,” Astarion replied.

“How did you resist Cazador’s compulsions? When I saw you, I thought for certain that you were under compulsions, too. But then, in the battle, you shrugged it off with ease. I mean… I knew you’d been physically unable to deny Cazador, but experiencing it for myself…well… it's indescribable . It’s far more than just ‘unable to resist commands.’ So how were you able to ignore them?” Dorian asked.

“Solas,” Astarion began.

“Solas?” Dorian repeated.

“Solas. And Cole, sort of. Solas had a potion that strengthened the tadpole in my head. The tadpole is, well, quite territorial, as it turns out. It didn’t like Cazador trying to influence me. Solas… he well, orchestrated something that left me wondering if I should trust him or not—I won’t get into it. Then he gave me a potion—though he lied about what it was for. I wasn’t sure whether or not to even take it, until Cole insisted that I should. It nearly turned me into a mind flayer right then and there,” Astarion explained.

“But the potion freed you, in the process. Do you think you can trust him?” Dorian asked.

“I do. Admittedly, he didn’t like the thought of me being with you very much– though, I suppose I could hardly blame him. He especially didn’t like me being around Alexius. Most people didn’t– I am a former slave ‘from Tevinter’, and your countrymen aren’t exactly friendly to elves. Though, I am curious what Solas will think of you– now that you’re a vampire, too. Perhaps his opinion might change,” Astarion said. 

“I want to return to Tevinter,” Dorian stated, as if the thought very suddenly just crossed his mind. “Not now, obviously, but if I’m going to be around for quite a while… I’d like to return to Tevinter and change things. I think I really could—and someone has to do something about it, so why not me? All of the slavery and blood magic and sacrifices… I could change things, for the better,” he said.

“I am, admittedly, somewhat intrigued by your homeland—particularly with the numerous rumors I’ve heard about Tevinter, and I’d like to see it for myself. Perhaps when all of this is resolved—when Corypheus and Ketheric are no more, and the world has returned to normalcy—we should visit,” Astarion suggested.

“Would you truly be interested? I mean, respectfully, there are elves in Tevinter who aren’t enslaved, but throughout all the years I spent there, I’d never encountered an elf who wasn’t a slave,” Dorian remarked. “People wouldn’t treat you as kindly as they do here.”

“Well, you plan to change that, don’t you? Wouldn’t it be a bit more manageable if, for instance, let's say that some of those unkind individuals were to disappear? I do have a rather sizable appetite, and it appears there might be quite a few sumptuous feasts awaiting us there,” Astarion said.

“You really wouldn’t mind going?” Dorian asked. “It won’t be easy.” 

“I want to see it for myself. But think about it– people must know me there, right? I mean, they've had to hear tales about the Inquisition and the 'ex-Tevene-slave Inquisitor.' If not, they certainly will once we put a stop to Corypheus and play the heroes. Picture the scandal it'd stir if I rolled into town with you – not as a slave, but as an equal. And I know you've got a soft spot for a good scandal," Astarion quipped, his words tinged with a mischievous edge.

Dorian smiled, but with a hint of disbelief. “Yes, we’d certainly cause a scandal, in more ways than one. Liking men is rather kept hush there, too–so me, arriving back in Tevinter while openly courting you–the-male-elf-Inquisitor-who-used-to-be-a-slave–would absolutely cause more than just a scandal–a tidal wave, so to speak. Yet, it wouldn’t be illegal. Mae would certainly find it amusing, at the very least,” Dorian agreed.

“Who’s Mae?” Astarion asked. 

“Oh, have I not mentioned her yet? My apologies– she’s Maevaris Tilani– a magister, and my friend. She’s also pushing for reforms in the Imperium– you’d like her, I think,” Dorian explained. 

"Well, then, let's make a pact to stay alive until that day. I'd fancy meeting her myself. So, let’s ensure that we don't meet an untimely demise, agreed?" Astarion said, a sly grin playing on his lips.

“You really are different, you know that? You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met,” Dorian remarked.

“And you never will again. No one is quite like me,” Astarion said with a smile. 

“So, I suppose we should rest up for a little bit? Or, perhaps get something to drink while we wait for nightfall?” Dorian suggested.

“Yes, let’s,” Astarion agreed, and they both entered Astarion’s tent. Dorian quickly reached for Astarion’s bag of blood, making it evident that he was still trying to manage his hunger and was clearly very hungry again. Astarion regretted not bringing more blood with him.

Dorian retrieved two jars of blood, handing one to Astarion before opening his own and consuming the liquid. Astarion was somewhat surprised to see that Dorian had waited for him to return before indulging in the blood. Clearly, Dorian had been thirsty, yet he had chosen to wait for Astarion, a positive sign that he had control over his hunger. It meant, at the very least, that Dorian could manage his cravings.

Astarion hadn’t been sure, at first, if Dorian would have control over his hunger; Dorian didn’t have a master to forbid him from drinking from thinking creatures, after all. But it seemed his initial worries were put aside– Dorian could control himself and his hunger. 

After their shared meal, Astarion reclined on the bedroll, opting to get a bit more rest before nightfall. Dorian joined him, lying beside him, even though he wasn't actually tired anymore. Astarion didn't mind– they still had a long journey ahead of them, after all. 

Notes:

this chapter was mostly dialogue. my apologies. but the characters wanted to talk, so i let them

Chapter 32: With Old Problems Solved, New Ones Arise

The formerly-submerged caves exuded a dull atmosphere. The caves contained an eerie dampness, reminiscent of the sort of caverns where daring youths might unwittingly explore, become lost, and meet a tragic end. The darkness within was profound, with the only audible sounds being the gentle drops of water splashing down from the stalactites in the ceiling.

“Gods, it's stuffy in here. This place feels like a crypt. Is this air even breathable? We're not gonna like, suffocate, are we?” Karlach asked, while taking in a deep breath of stagnant air. 

“Well I'm certainly not– but should you find yourself growing lightheaded, don't hesitate to tell me. It would really be a shame for you to come all of this way just to suffocate in a cave," remarked Astarion.

Dorian added, “I won't either, will I? Breathing has become a rather unnecessary endeavor for me now – correct?" he asked, feeling uneasy as he approached the subject. He continued to breathe out of habit; a behavior Astarion also maintained.

“You don't need to breathe. Still, I must concede, ceasing to draw breath does present a rather inconvenient hurdle for engaging in conversation. Bear that in mind should you decide to stop," remarked Astarion.

Fenris interrupted, his voice laced with sarcasm, "Oh, heavens forbid the mage opts for a moment of silence by holding his breath. What a catastrophic loss that would be for us. I can hardly fathom how we'll endure the absence of that never-ending chatter."

"Indeed– how dreadful it would be. I wouldn’t want to put you through that. I shall ensure to persist in breathing then – ensuring that my charming voice graces your ears as we venture into that dim, damp cavern," replied Dorian, a smirk forming on his face.

"No, but seriously , these caves might have been underwater for quite a while, and I rather like being able to breathe," Karlach remarked.

Hawke nodded. "There’s enough of a draft in there– it should provide us with some fresh air, at least for the time being. Nevertheless, we should exercise caution," he advised.

Fenris grimaced, his eyes narrowing as he dismissed the idea with a shake of his head. "Anyone thought to bring a torch? Roaming these tunnels in utter darkness is asking for trouble. I can't discern a damn thing beyond a couple of paces," he remarked, a frown etching across his features.

"Your eyesight is still superior to mine. The only thing I can discern is the faint glow from Karlach and you," Hawke observed.

"Wait, Fenris – you can't see?" Astarion asked, sounding perplexed.

Fenris wore a bemused expression. "Well, obviously not. These tunnels are pitch black," he remarked, his tone tinged with a hint of frustration.

"Wait, is it? Truly ? I can see fine. There’s light– albeit faint," Dorian remarked, his tone carrying a hint of bewilderment.

Karlach swiftly posed the question that had been on Astarion's mind. "Fenris, don’t you have darkvision?"

"Darkvision? If by that you mean, can I navigate through the pitch-black depths of an underground cave? No chance. Why would I?" Fenris inquired, his tone a mix of incredulity and disdain.

“Well, you're an elf! Can’t all elves see in the dark?” Karlach asked. 

"Um... negative. We might have an advantage in dim light, but this impenetrable darkness? Not happening," Fenris clarified, his voice betraying a touch of frustration.

“Huh. Really?” Karlach asked, as if she still didn't quite believe him. 

“Yes, really,” Fenris said, becoming increasingly agitated.

"The elves are different here, Karlach. But, I'll admit—even I'm surprised by that one," Astarion remarked.

Hawke looked at them, wearing an expression of disbelief. "Wait—you mean it's normal for people to see in total darkness where you're from?" he asked.

"Yes, do catch up, darling," Astarion replied, rolling his eyes. "Although not you , of course. Humans are blind as a bat anywhere."

"Except me, it seems. I can see perfectly well," Dorian retorted.

"Dorian, my sweet, did you really just notice that you can see in the dark? Even after that night we spent together?" Astarion teased.

"No, I suppose I didn't notice. I always assumed the light was merely dim," Dorian mused. "This is... intriguing. And utterly nonsensical. I comprehend that, as an undead being, I might not require breathing, but how did it enhance my eyesight? That shouldn't be possible. Nothing about vampirism seems rational."

“Think of it as magic, Dorian,” Astarion replied. 

“Believe me, I am quite well-versed in magic, and thus, should be acquainted with the boundaries of possibility. This unquestionably falls into the realm of 'not possible,'" Dorian asserted.

"I sincerely wish you had decided to stop talking, mage. I grow tired of hearing your voice," Fenris remarked, his words carrying a mix of irritation and exasperation.

Hawke smiled. “I actually agree—stop asking existential questions, and let's get moving," he said.

"Dorian, can you light those torches on the wall for our blind friends?" Astarion requested, pointing over at the wall.

Dorian sighed. "I suppose, if I must. Although I do find the idea of letting them walk blindly into a wall rather amusing," he remarked with a mischievous tone. As he approached the wall, he conjured some magic and illuminated the torches with it.

"Do everyone a favor and spare us your incessant chatter for once," Fenris retorted, his words edged with impatience.

“Shhh. No need to tear out each other's throats while we're down here– as much as I'd love to go for yours,” Astarion said, and began walking. 

“Try it, vampire, I dare you,” Fenris challenged. 

“Am I the only mature one here? This is like Kirkwall all over again, I swear,” Hawke mused, as he walked over to the wall where Dorian lit the torches for them. Hawke and Fenris both grabbed a lit torch off the wall, and followed after Astarion further into the cave.  As they continued through the tunnel into the cave, they continued to light the other torches along the walls, slowly illuminating the cave system bit by bit. 

Hawke observed, "It seems like people must have been in here frequently before it flooded. There are a lot of torches around," he said, noting the torches lining the walls.

“And… a lot of undead,” Astarion said, as they approached an area with lots of undead waiting to attack.

“Shit, really? Damn , I wish I could see better,” Hawke said, drawing his weapon and preparing to fight. 

The undead were very quickly dispatched of– none of them stood a chance against Astarion or his companions. It was relatively simple, even with two of them having limited eyesight. Once the battle was over, Astarion continued further into the cave.

"But why are there so many bodies down here for spirits to possess? Were people living down here when Crestwood flooded?" Hawke questioned as they looked around.

"Oh gods, I don't even want to think about that. That's awful. What a horrible way to die," Karlach remarked.

As Astarion and the group delved deeper into the cave, their hypothesis was further confirmed: numerous people had been living in the caves when Crestwood flooded. All of them had perished, with no chance of escaping the cave system. It was an unfortunate fate, but the past couldn't be altered—all those people had long since passed away.

After exploring the cave for a considerable amount of time and only getting completely lost once, they finally reached the rift deep within the cave system. It was a massive rift, spawning numerous demons. Closing it hadn't been easy, but that wasn't surprising given the rift's enormous size.

Nevertheless, they succeeded, and Astarion sealed the rift. The group only had minor injuries– nothing that couldn’t be fixed with a few health potions. It was rather uneventful, in comparison to having to fight off Cazador. 

"We should go back and inform the mayor that the rift is closed. There shouldn't be any more spirits possessing bodies around; the townsfolk should be safe now," Hawke suggested.

"Hurrah. We can retreat to Skyhold at last," Dorian said. "I'm positively eager to extricate myself from this dreary, damp, and odiferous locale."

“What?” Karlach asked. 

“I was merely saying how nice it will be to leave Crestwood and go home,” Dorian replied.

“Sure. Me too, man,” Karlach replied. 

So, the following morning, Astarion sought out the mayor, who had vanished entirely. This wasn't surprising since, as it turned out, the mayor had been responsible for all the deaths in the caves. Apparently the dead had been afflicted with something called the 'blight,' so the mayor intentionally killed everyone to save Crestwood and stop the blight from spreading. The others were more angered by this revelation than Astarion, who found the mayor's actions in the scenario quite reasonable. But, perhaps it was simply because he knew next to nothing about the ‘blight.’

Regardless, by the next night, the group departed and embarked on the arduous journey back to Skyhold. The return journey was not without its troubles—they encountered Venatori along the way. It was slightly concerning that the leader of the small group of attackers had a tadpole in his head, a detail noticed by both Karlach and Astarion almost immediately. The man otherwise behaved normally, not spewing any nonsense about the 'Absolute.' It was as if he was entirely unaware of the unwelcome insertion into his brain, and had just continued on like normal. It made Astarion wonder if Ketheric had been involved. 

The Venatori leader did, however, express absurd views such as "Elves should remain slaves" and "Make Tevinter Great Again" or something along those lines. This rhetoric led to the man meeting a swift and painful death at Fenris's hands. Subsequently, the rest of the Venatori attacked, though the mages proved not very challenging for the group, especially with Fenris harboring a particularly personal vendetta against them.

Astarion wasn't about to pass up the opportunity to procure some fresh blood from this skirmish. He had been subsisting on jarred blood and occasional animals for far too long, craving something better. If the Venatori were essentially offering themselves up to him...

As the fight neared its end, with only a few Venatori remaining, Astarion seized his chance. He pounced on one of them—a middle-aged man, distracted while fending off Fenris—and sank his fangs into the man's neck. The man screamed and attempted to pull away. In the process, the man successfully cast some lightning at Astarion, resulting in a shock to them both- as Astarion had still been holding the man. Still, the shock forced Astarion to let go, temporarily dazed. 

The Venatori man stumbled backwards, looking horrified at Astarion. "You really are a demon... I thought those were just old rumors," he said, his terror evident as Astarion wiped the blood from around his chin with a finger, smiling.

The Venatori attempted to flee but didn't get far, as Dorian swiftly closed in on him. Dorian sank his fangs into the man's neck, imbibing his blood and causing the frightened individual to gradually weaken. The Venatori trembled under the predatory assault– his expression one of complete terror. His feeble struggles were met with the relentless embrace of Dorian, who imbibed the crimson elixir with a savage hunger.

As the first vampire reveled in the stolen life force, Astarion, a sinister smile playing on his lips, approached the scene with a predatory elegance to his movements. With a deliberate tilt of his head, he sank his fangs into the opposite side of the man's neck. The unfortunate man swiftly succumbed to the icy grip of death, his body not being able to fight against vampiric predation as his blood was drained away by the dual fangs of Dorian and Astarion. However, the unfortunate victim's rapid demise, though not unexpected, left Astarion momentarily unsated and wishing for more. 

As the lifeless body crumpled to the floor, Dorian's eyes held a perplexed gaze. "I feel rather... content. Pleased," he admitted, sensing the newfound strength coursing through him. "That was positively delightful. We should consider a repeat performance the next time we encounter adversaries."

Karlach's voice interjected between them. "You two are terrifying. Really. Remind me never to cross you two," she remarked.

Astarion rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't you worry. I like spicy food, but not food quite so... hot. You're safe," he assured.

Hawke chimed in, "She's right, though. That man had been terrified and completely powerless. It was kind of scary watching you both feed from him. Remind me to never get anywhere near your mouth."

Fenris nonchalantly shrugged. "I'm pleased the man endured suffering; he had it coming. However, let me be clear – my warning remains valid. Try pulling such a stunt on me, and I won't hesitate to end you," he declared.

"I've got no itch to sink my teeth into any of you, not when there's a surplus of morsels like this wandering around," Astarion remarked, giving the body a light kick. "But, you know, if you ever feel like volunteering, I wouldn't mind savoring a bit of each of you. Well, except you, Karlach – no interest in scorching my throat anytime soon."

“Not going to happen,” Fenris firmly stated. 

“Let’s keep moving,” Hawke said, moving past the bodies and continuing along the path. 

They returned to Skyhold the following night, just as the sun began to rise in the distant sky—an opportune time for Dorian to make his way back to the castle and shield himself from the sunlight. Unfortunately, he couldn't return to Astarion's bedroom, as its multiple windows let in enough light that Dorian was, regrettably, no longer immune to.

However, almost immediately upon their arrival in Skyhold, Leliana was at Astarion's side, ushering him away to the war room for a private meeting. Astarion complained, desiring some rest after the journey, but Leliana insisted it was important. In the war room, Cullen, Cassandra, and Josephine awaited his arrival.

Upon entering the room, Astarion took a seat in an unoccupied chair and directed his attention to his advisors. "Alright, what is so important?" he asked.

Leliana spoke first. "Firstly, let me congratulate you on your freedom—I heard you successfully killed Cazador."

"Indeed, I'm happy for you," Cassandra added, her sentiment echoed by Cullen and Josephine.

"I’m sure it's a relief for everyone that he's finally gone – no more puppet strings for yours truly. Although, I highly doubt that's the real reason you dragged me in here all of a sudden," Astarion said.

Leliana continued, "There are a few urgent matters we need to discuss with you. Some things occurred while you were away, and we really need to address them."

"Just say it, please," Astarion urged.

The others exchanged glances and shrugged. Cullen was the next to speak. "We had to detain Magister Alexius. He's awaiting trial—by you," he informed.

"Oh, and here I thought you were going to say something bad . Alright, go on—what did he do?" Astarion asked, an interested grin forming on his face. 

Leliana spoke slowly, "Felix, well, he died while you were away. I'm sorry. And… Alexius was quite angry when he found out. I intercepted some letters he wrote, revealing all of your secrets to some other Magisters in Tevinter—and not any of the ones we want the Inquisition to be associated with," she explained.

"A letter? How mundane. I anticipated more flair from him. Freezing the Undercroft, or burning down the tavern, perhaps? Now, that would have been something," Astarion remarked with a hint of disappointment.

"I'll provide you with the complete letter to read before you judge him—he could have greatly sabotaged the Inquisition with these letters. Especially since he referred to you as a 'demon who drinks blood' multiple times. There were multiple copies—I can only hope that I intercepted them all. If not, we might be able to spin it to make Alexius sound like nothing more than a grief-stricken madman, but we'll have to be careful. A magister corroborating the story that you're a demon could ruin your reputation," she explained.

"Fine, he attempted to ruin us in a fit of rage—I'll peruse the letter and 'judge' him when the opportunity arises. Being a judge again might just be a delightful twist of fate, don't you think?" Astarion remarked, his tone laced with a certain anticipation. "Anything else on the agenda?"

"Again? You were a judge before?" Cullen asked.

"Did I not tell you? I used to be a magistrate back in Baldur's Gate, before Cazador found me. It's all rather tedious," Astarion commented.

“Oh. I didn’t know that. Good for you,” Cullen replied. 

Josephine continued, "Well, while we're on the topic of insane Magisters—a Tevinter Magister by the name of Livius Erimond released to the public that you were his slave, and he owns you," she disclosed.

Astarion's jaw hung open in sheer disbelief. " What? Now someone else is attempting to slap the 'property' label on me? Didn't we agree that my so-called 'former master' met his end at the conclave or some such nonsense?" Astarion questioned, a mixture of incredulity and frustration in his voice.

Josephine nodded. "We did , but he's claiming we lied to protect you. He forged documents… and released those to the public. Nobility, primarily, but nobles like to talk, so the rumors have spread everywhere. Of course, we're doing everything we can to fight this claim, but it seems like somehow the news—and copies of the forgeries—traveled faster than we could anticipate," she explained.

Leliana nodded in agreement. "Unfortunately, it seems that most people tend to believe him. There have been mixed reactions—with most of the people here in Ferelden seeming to be on your side, acknowledging what you've done to close the breach and wishing for your freedom. However, some places farther out don't share the same sentiment, as he forged rather convincing documents that show you legally belong to him."

Astarion let out a groan of exasperation. "Look, I'm no stranger to a well-forged document, but this is downright absurd. If he's so fixated on claiming me, then perhaps a friendly chat is in order. I’d like to meet him. I wouldn't mind sharing a drink with him— I'm sure Dorian would be up for it too," he remarked, the frustration evident in his voice. He couldn't help but feel annoyed with the cover story they concocted for him. Weren't they the ones who insisted Tevinter wouldn't be a thorn in his side? That Teviner wouldn’t be involved with the Inquisition? Now, it seemed like Tevinter was at the root of most of his problems, and they had chosen the exact wrong cover story for him.

"That's partly the issue—we haven't actually been able to make contact with him since he made these claims. He publicly asked the Inquisition to either return 'his slave' or change the leadership of the Inquisition over to him, as he is your owner—then disappeared quite quickly. I believe he only did it to tarnish your reputation," Josephine explained.

"So, it's safe to assume he's a Venatori, then. Fine—keep hunting for him, and please, do your best to dispel the notion that he's my master, if you can. Forge your own documents if you must," Astarion declared, a clear edge of annoyance in his tone.

Leliana’s voice interrupted, “There’s another thing– we received a letter from Dorian’s father. He sent a retainer to meet with Dorian in Redcliffe. I would have told Dorian directly, but, in light of the new circumstances…” she trailed off. 

"Hand over the letter—I'll pass it along to Dorian and let him have a good chuckle over it," Astarion said, although secretly hoping that Dorian would indeed make the journey to Redcliffe. It was a bit disappointing that there was a mere 'retainer' in Redcliffe rather than Dorian's father himself—Astarion had a few “questions” he was itching to ask the man.

Leliana handed him the letter, which he tucked into his pocket. "Alright, so Felix is dead, Alexius is in jail, a Venatori claimed me as their slave, and Dorian's family is looking for him. Anything else, or can I finally get some rest?" Astarion inquired.

Josephine smiled. "Well, there is one thing..." she began.

"You saved the worst for last, didn't you?" Astarion accused.

"No! Well, perhaps. It depends on what you think of balls?" Josephine asked. “I know some people like them, and some people don’t.” 

"I think we're all quite aware by now that I do rather enjoy balls. Specifically, Dorian's," Astarion replied.

Cullen snorted and turned his head, while Cassandra raised her hand over her mouth to cover her amused expression.

Josephine blushed. "What? Inquisitor– No! Not those balls. I meant balls, as in the parties . You know—dancing, socializing, and a banquet. That kind of ball," she clarified.

"Oh, I suppose that makes much more sense. I've graced many of Cazador's gatherings—quite the seasoned guest, you could say. I've got a knack for charming my way through such events," Astarion remarked with a confident air.

"Well, that's excellent news—because we've received an invitation to attend one at the Winter Palace in Halamshiral. We've already started preparing, but there is much more to be done. It will certainly help that you're already accustomed to parties with nobles, but this one event alone can make or break your reputation. I'll be meeting with you every day, as well as some of the others, to properly guide you on what to expect. An Orlesian ball can be quite intimidating to those unprepared," Josephine conveyed.

"Oh, I don't know, I think it might be quite enjoyable! It'll be a refreshing change to attend a party as a regular, unremarkable guest. As long as I'm not expected to gift my body for the sake of influence—I'm quite done with my form being treated as a bargaining chip for greater power," Astarion declared, a hint of defiance in his voice.

The room lapsed into a brief silence—no one had expected Astarion to spontaneously disclose one of his traumatic experiences. Leliana perceived it as a positive sign. It indicated that not only did Astarion feel comfortable enough around them to openly share his profound trauma, but also that Cazador’s death hadn’t destroyed his mental health. Many people would find themselves a lot worse-off after surviving what Astarion had been put through, so it was a pleasing sign to see that Astarion was still doing well. 

Following a moment of contemplative silence, Cassandra inquired with a measured tone, "Were you, by any chance, compelled to prostitute yourself at Cazador’s parties?"

"Naturally– My body was the one thing I had going for me—he used it as currency for anything and everything: power, blood, influence. But I've picked up a few tricks to make nobles fall for me now—whether it involves the bedroom or not. A few sweet, pretty words, and they'll be bending over backward, practically begging for me," Astarion explained, his tone blending bitterness with a certain self-assured confidence.

Cullen sighed. "That—that's not—," he began.

Josephine shook her head gently. "We're definitely not exploiting you for influence. Please just make sure to meet with me each night. Dorian will be attending my lessons too, since it's likely you two will be seen together and need to know how to behave and what to expect," she explained.

"Doesn't Dorian already have the whole party scene down? I mean, being the son of some wealthy noble in Tevinter and all," Astarion inquired, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

"It's the 'in Tevinter' part that worries me. So yes, he will be attending as well. Especially if you two intend to be seen together– the Orlesians aren’t known for holding back their opinions, so you’ll both need to know what to expect. The party is in a month from now—we'll meet again sometime this week to get you fitted for your outfit," she stated.

"Fantastic. Is that the end of it, for real this time?" Astarion asked, a note of weariness in his tone. He deeply wanted to visit his room and take his pick from his luxurious blood wall once more. He'd missed it. 

Lelaina nodded. "Yes. There's more, but we can talk with you later about the rest," she assured.

"I do have one thing to ask, before I leave—” Astarion began.

“What is it?” Josephine replied.

"I need some seriously thick curtains in my room—ones that can blot out any semblance of light," Astarion said. 

“For Dorian, you mean. Does this mean you intend to stay in the same room?” Leliana asked.

"Yes, that's it. I couldn't care less about any rumors, if that's what's bothering you," Astarion said dismissively.

“It’s not. Those particular rumors have already spread,” Leliana said. "I was just... curious." 

Josephine smiled politely. “I’ll see about getting those curtains ordered,” she said.

Notes:

I will be in New Orleans for Mardi Gras this year- there will be no update this upcoming weekend, as I intend to spend my days during this upcoming week drinking and getting hit in the face with beads (and toilet paper) rather than writing.

Chapter 33: Astarion and Dorian Mourn Felix's Death

Astarion found Dorian in his room, sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, reading a letter absorbed in a letter with a sizable wine bottle at his side. As Astarion ventured closer, Dorian indulged in a hefty swig from the bottle, only to cringe immediately afterward. Astarion didn't require an explanation – he could taste the unpleasantness of the wine himself. That particular wine tasted like rodent piss. 

“You don’t look so well. Is everything alright?" Astarion asked, as he sat down beside Dorian on the floor.

He wrestled the wine bottle from Dorian's grasp, taking a swig himself. The urge to lighten the mood with a jest lingered, but Astarion restrained himself – it seemed inappropriate given the circumstances. He understood Dorian's somber mood; Felix was dead, and Astarion knew that Dorian had been quite fond of the man. Yet, there was also the grim reality of Dorian's newfound existence as an undead creature with an insatiable thirst for blood. Astarion fervently hoped it was Felix's absence troubling Dorian, rather than the existential implications of their condition.

Dorian sighed wearily, lowering the letter to the floor. "Just peachy. Why do you ask?"

"Your aversion to this vintage as a human is etched in my memory. Yet, here you stand," Astarion remarked, gesturing towards the bottle. "This is about Felix, isn't it?"

Dorian exhaled a weighty breath, his gaze weary as it fell upon Astarion. "Yes, Felix. It was only a matter of time, wasn't it? I've been bracing myself for this moment, almost expecting it. Had he stayed in Tevinter, perhaps his departure wouldn't have struck me so profoundly. I might have felt a fleeting sorrow, then continued on my way. But seeing his decline here, beside me, and returning to find him gone... it's a different sort of ache," Dorian admitted, his tone heavy with solemnity.

Astarion retrieved the letter that Dorian had set down moments ago. As he read it, he understood why Felix's death weighed so heavily on Dorian. It was a missive from Felix himself – no wonder Dorian was so profoundly affected.

Dorian continued, his voice tinged with a mix of resignation and sorrow. "He knew he wouldn't make it until my return. That letter was waiting for me on my bed. Feel free to read it – there's nothing in there that you don't already know. Yet, it's still heartbreaking, witnessing his passing. And I know it's just the beginning of many more to come."

"I'm sorry," Astarion murmured, his hand resting gently on Dorian's thigh, offering a silent reassurance.

Dorian's head shook with a hint of resignation. "What for? You couldn't have altered a thing. You can't save everyone, and death comes for us all eventually," he responded, reclaiming his wine bottle and indulging in another lengthy gulp.

Astarion took the letter in hand, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar alphabet. It took him a few moments longer to decipher the words, not just because he was still in the process of learning the script, but also because the handwriting was shaky and erratic. It was evident that Felix had penned the letter in a state of profound weakness, teetering on the brink of death.

 

Dorian,

By the time you read this, I will have passed away. Yet, as death approaches, I find myself devoid of regrets. It will be a relief to finally depart, a moment I have awaited eagerly for some time now.

Astarion approached me with an offer before your departure, one which I declined. What he proposed simply wasn't meant for me – I knew it, and I suspect he asked because of my father's desires and our friendship. Despite the potential of his offer to prolong my life, it wasn't my path to take. I have come to accept that it has always been my destiny to die. Furthermore, I doubt Astarion would have been able to fulfill the offer even if I had accepted; I likely have passed away long before your return.

And for that reason, if he offered it to me, I'm certain he offered it to you as well. Knowing you as I do, I'm sure you accepted. So, I wish you luck – you'll need it. I hope Astarion treats you well. I only regret not being there to witness your father's reaction when he discovers you've run off with a male elf who may or may not have become your master – and one who has turned you into a blood-drinking demon. I would give anything to be at your side when your father discovers the truth; you always were good at stirring up trouble, but even this sets a new record for you. 

But enough about that– I know that you will always still be you, regardless of what form you’re in. So take the chance to do whatever you want to do. Whether that is returning to Tevinter, moving to Orlais and becoming an exotic dancer, going back to Astarion’s homeland and stirring up chaos, or pissing on your father’s grave after he passes (if you still can, that is. In hindsight, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Astarion excuse himself to urinate– perhaps you, too, have become lucky enough to avoid that particular aspect of living). 

Or, perhaps, do all of it– time is certainly on your side. Though, for the sake of the Orlesians, I hope you do not become an exotic dancer. 

Just do one small favor for me, before you run off and enjoy the life I was never destined to have– make sure the world stays alive. Stop Corypheus. Stop Ketheric. Stop any other evil bastard that might want to ruin things. Save the world for me since I am no longer able to. 

But regardless of whether or not you took Astarion’s offer, just know that I’m happy for you, and I’m proud of what you’ve done. I wish you only the best. 

Farwell, and find peace,

Felix. 

"He was correct, you know, about my desire to turn you into a vampire," Astarion confessed, a tinge of guilt evident in his tone. “I wouldn’t have turned you without your explicit consent, of course, but it’s what I wanted to do after I killed Cazador. That had always been the plan.”

"I'm aware – but in any case, it's inconsequential – you were never given the opportunity," Dorian replied.

“And maybe it's a blessing in disguise. You would have been under my thrall– your autonomy would've been at my whim. But since Cazador had the honor, you're spared that fate. We stand as equals now, free from such entanglements,” Astarion replied.

"And yet, I almost wish it had been you who turned me," Dorian started, then shuddered in revulsion. "Cazador was simply..." He paused, overcome with distaste. "It was painful, and he seemed to take pleasure in stealing me away and turning me. I'm relieved he's no longer alive."

"Although, it's slightly amusing, isn't it? How things worked out, that is. His misguided attempt to hurt me by stealing you and turning you ended up benefiting me instead," Astarion remarked. "He couldn't have anticipated how spectacularly his plan would backfire."

"So... what about, well, the other Cazador? We haven't delved into that much, and if he decides to make an appearance–" Dorian started.

"He won't— not if I have any say in it. I've no desire to encounter that Cazador again. I've dispatched a troupe of adventurers to track him down; they'll handle him. Curiously, they happen to be Karlach's companions," Astarion elaborated. "Though, there's a chance they may not make it. Cazador is rather formidable."

Dorian's head snapped towards Astarion, his mouth falling open in astonishment. "What? How?! When did you converse with Karlach's associates? You have the means to reach out to people from your home, and yet you neglected to tell me?"

"Oh, it's not like that at all. I swear, I had no hand in it this time," Astarion hastily clarified. "Karlach has a mage acquaintance who managed to communicate with me through a dream. That's all— I assure you. Our conversation was brief, but he actually suspected me of kidnapping Karlach. Can you believe that? Just because I possess a glowing hand, doesn't mean I'm to blame for all of this chaos," Astarion explained defensively.

“So they don’t know what’s going on, either,” Dorian noted out loud. “How did you get him to agree to kill Cazadaor? Killing a man is hardly something discussed briefly by strangers in a dream. Even if Cazador is an evil monster.” 

"Ha! I made it clear I'd only consider returning Karlach if they did away with Cazador on my behalf," Astarion confessed with a smirk.

"I– you–" Dorian started, then surrendered with a sigh. "Of course you did. Well, for the sake of us all, I hope they fulfill their promise and dispose of him. I'd rather not have Karlach's acquaintances find their way here and mistake us for the villains," he remarked.

"Oh, come now, like they stand a chance against us. Though, I do believe they'll manage to dispatch him. I did enlighten them about Cazador's wickedness, and there's no shortage of proof to back my claims," Astarion remarked, shrugging indifferently. "But let's be realistic, they'll never make it here—unless they stumble into some random rift. Besides, it's rather exhilarating to indulge in the role of the villain every now and then, wouldn't you agree?"

"I must say, I’m not sure you should have admitted that aloud, considering your esteemed position as the Inquisitor. Nevertheless, if you find yourself unconcerned about Cazador, then I shall follow suit," Dorian remarked.

Astarion grinned. "Good," he said, planting a gentle kiss on Dorian's cheek. He was relieved to see that their conversation had momentarily lifted Dorian's spirits from the sadness surrounding Felix's passing. "We do have more pressing matters to attend to, anyway—like this," Astarion continued, retrieving a letter from his pocket and presenting it to Dorian.

"What's this?" Dorian inquired, accepting the letter. "A scandalous note? A proposal of marriage from some distant kingdom? Or perhaps a missive from Ketheric, offering to swear fealty to you?" he teased, eyeing the letter with playful skepticism but refraining from opening it just yet.

"I wish. It's from your father," Astarion revealed, noting the immediate change in Dorian's demeanor.

"My father?" Dorian repeated, his smile fading into a frown. "And what, may I ask, does Magister Pavus want?"

"I haven't read the letter, but it mentions a meeting. I can hazard a guess as to why," Astarion remarked, a hint of bitterness creeping into his tone. "He endeavored to 'fix' you, to erase your interest in men. And what do you do in response? You seek solace in the clutches of a desire demon . Or, according to some, you become entangled with an ex-slave. Both options, I gather, are equally undesirable in your father's eyes, judging by what I've heard about him. He probably aims to rescue you, like any 'concerned' parent would," Astarion concluded, his words tinged with sarcasm.

"Yes, that would certainly explain it. I'm not privy to the exact rumors circulating about us all the way to Tevinter, but whatever he's heard likely has him quaking in his boots," Dorian agreed, then proceeded to open the letter and peruse its contents. Astarion could sense the rising anger in Dorian with each word he read.

“Oh, this is so typical! He claims he knows me, but he knows nothing about me. He says he’s concerned about what I may have gotten myself into– but I know better. He’s not concerned, he’s just unhappy that I went against his wishes,” Dorian said angrily, then continued, “This ‘retainer’ was hired just to knock me on the head and drag me back to Tevinter, no doubt.” 

"Would he truly stoop to such lows?" Astarion asked.

"Probably not, but then again, I never thought he'd attempt to fundamentally alter who I am either. Anything seems possible these days. Only one thing is for certain– we're definitely attending that meeting," Dorian declared.

"Perfect. I was counting on your cooperation. I'm confident we can orchestrate a message that will leave a lasting mark on your father. And rest assured, I'll make quite the impression," Astarion replied with a sly grin.

“Let me guess– you’re going to ‘play the villain’ and flash your fangs around at the poor retainer,” Dorian retorted, amusement in his voice. 

"As if you'd expect anything less? I'll ensure he gets the message loud and clear – unless, of course, you have other plans for him," Astarion remarked, then swiftly shifted the topic. "So, what do you say about departing for Redcliffe tonight?"

"Tonight? Already? I assumed you'd want some rest after our journey from Crestwood. I'm well aware of your disdain for horseback rides and the wonders of the wilderness," Dorian replied, his tone tinged with a hint of sarcasm.

"I'm starting to adapt. They say the journey to Redcliffe is quicker and safer now than before. With Redcliffe and the Hinterlands being such vital resources, the whole route is practically teeming with Inquisition agents. The path should be clear, with much less wilderness to contend with," Astarion explained.

"Well, that does make sense," Dorian conceded, then took a deep breath and sighed. "I suppose it wouldn't be wise to keep my retainer waiting."

"He will have to wait just a little longer though; there's still some time before sunset. You should take the opportunity to get some rest," Astarion suggested.

Dorian groaned, "Ugh, I suppose you're right. I'll have to save my wine for another day, it seems. Can't afford to be too exhausted when I craft a charming message brimming with colorful language for Magister Pavus," he said, slowly rising from the ground and bracing himself against the wall. "But I feel utterly disgusting—I'm taking a bath before we depart for Redcliffe."

"Worried about your image, my dear?" Astarion teased.

"Of course— I reek. Turning up with crimson eyes and fangs is one thing, but arriving smelling foul won't do any good. I may be a vampire now, but I can at least make an effort to appear presentable. Just because we spend most of our time traipsing through the forest doesn't mean I want to smell like it," Dorian retorted.

Astarion paused, contemplating Dorian's words for a moment, his muscles tensing as he realized there was another aspect of his undead state he might have neglected to mention to Dorian. "You don't actually smell— not in the traditional sense, I assure you," Astarion began, but his tone shifted to something less jovial. "However... there won't be many chances for you to indulge in bathing until we reach Redcliffe. A bath is indeed beneficial, but you must avoid rivers or streams along the way. You can't even touch them, actually. And… uh, well…” He hesitated, feeling uneasy.

"I had assumed as much about avoiding running water—but what else? " Dorian asked, his expression growing suspicious as he crossed his arms.

"Do you remember how I always smell pleasant?" Astarion asked.

"Yes? Your cologne, you mean? You know I like it," Dorian replied.

"I'm glad you do—because you should wear it too. It's to mask the stench of the undead," Astarion confessed.

Dorian's expression fell. "What?" he exclaimed, appalled by Astarion's revelation. He could cope with the limitations of only venturing out at night and forgoing boat rides in the future, but… a stench? 

"Oh, don't give me that worried look—you've never had the pleasure of smelling me, have you? Lucky us—vampires don't register much in the olfactory department. It's barely there—a mere whisper—nothing a dash of bergamot, rosemary, and brandy can't mask. You'll be as sneaky as a shadow!" Astarion remarked. He wasn't downplaying the issue; the scent of the undead on vampire spawn was indeed minimal, relatively speaking. Nevertheless, it wouldn't bode well for Astarion to let his new paramour wander around emitting that aroma, even if it had yet to fully settle in on Dorian. 

“You mean to tell me, that for the rest of our time in this world– I’m going to smell?” Dorian repeated, a mixture of disbelief and dismay evident in his tone.

Astarion sighed. "Just a faint whisper—I assure you. Easily masked by more enchanting fragrances. And who'd raise an eyebrow if you decided to dab on a bit of perfume? I caught sight of that pretty, perfumed flower soap you smuggled along on our journey. No one would give it a second thought if they caught a whiff of you in perfume," Astarion teased.

Dorian crossed his arms. "I kept it hidden because I knew if you found it, you'd use most of it. It's from Val Royeaux, and I have a very limited supply—plus, I've been around you long enough to know you've got your own stash of fancy soaps. I could even argue you're more partial to the fancy floral ones than I am," he retorted.

"Maybe so, but my point still stands: no one would give it a second thought if you suddenly opted for a stronger scent. After all, you've always been rather taken with my fragrance, and who wouldn't want to smell like me?" Astarion said with a smirk.

Dorian sighed. "Well, it seems I don't have much of a choice in the matter, do I? I'd sooner face the sun's wrath than be caught smelling like a decaying corpse."

"Then you'd better go take your bath," Astarion teased as he rose from the ground. "I'll see you tonight; I've got a few things to attend to before we set off," he said, making his way towards the door.

He stepped out of the room, leaving Dorian behind, his mind already buzzing with the myriad tasks awaiting him in Skyhold. There was an overwhelming amount to attend to, but he resolved to postpone some until after his return from Redcliffe with Dorian. The demands of Skyhold seemed endless. He had never felt so inundated with responsibilities, not even during his tenure as a magistrate in Baldur’s Gate.

Naturally, Karlach weighed on his mind—he had tasked Dagna with seeking a remedy for her condition, and he wished to ask about any progress. Additionally, he had allowed her to "examine" more of his blood before his departure—and for the sheer amusement it promised, he was curious to hear her thoughts after testing his blood twice.

He also couldn't overlook the need to touch base with the rest of his Inquisition members. While he had briefly convened with his advisors, there remained a plethora of matters to discuss and tasks to address. Undoubtedly, Josephine was eager to commence his instruction in Orlesian social etiquette and the intricacies of courtly balls.

Moreover, Astarion had observed that Cullen appeared more fatigued than usual—a concern he intended to delve into fully when the opportunity arose. Admittedly, that wouldn't be until after their return from Redcliffe. He valued Cullen's well-being deeply, both as one of his closest advisors and as the leader of the Inquisition's forces, but it didn't quite rise to the level of an immediate priority.

There was also the pressing matter of passing judgment on Alexius—a prospect that Astarion eagerly anticipated. However, he decided to postpone any decisions regarding Alexius's fate until Dorian was available. Surely, there were protocols and guidelines governing the "how" and "when" of such judgments, details he intended to discuss further with his advisors. He was well aware that declaring, "As your judge, Alexius, I decree that you allow me to drain you of blood," would hardly be met with approval from the rest of the Inquisition—although that was precisely what he desired to do with Alexius. Perhaps Dorian might relish sinking his teeth into Alexius as well, though such an act remained purely hypothetical.

In addition to these weighty matters, Astarion undoubtedly faced a slew of decisions at the war table, along with reports to browse and paperwork to sign. Yet, for the time being, he trusted his advisors to handle these tasks. After all, they had managed in his absence during the Crestwood mission; they could certainly manage a few more days of shouldering his usual workload. Dorian's dilemma was far more important in Astarion's mind. He could only hope that Dorian's retainer would effectively relay the sentiment "go fuck yourself" to Dorian's father.

With a million tasks clamoring for his attention and the decision made to depart for Redcliffe with Dorian that very night, Astarion found himself drawn to the one matter that, while not necessarily urgent, intrigued him the most: a conversation with Solas. He yearned to hear Solas's full explanation regarding the mysterious potion and the reasons behind his deception. Moreover, he sought clarity on where they stood with each other in terms of trust.

Solas had always stood out among his allies, his enigmatic nature shrouded in layers of mystery. Astarion couldn't shake the memory of the one occasion he had tasted Solas's blood—a small amount, yet imbued with an unmistakable aura of power. Despite this, understanding Solas remained elusive; he was a puzzle Astarion couldn't quite solve. Solas seldom divulged details about his past, instead offering cryptic hints and fleeting glimpses into his experiences with the Fade.

In the aftermath of the "Sera" debacle and Solas's mysterious potion, Astarion found himself wrestling with doubts about the elf. He desperately wished that Solas wasn't weaving some intricate web of manipulation, as he abhorred the feeling of being deceived. Still, on some level, Astarion believed he could trust Solas. 

Astarion navigated his way to the room Solas had chosen, noting its relative elegance compared to others in Skyhold. It had been some time since he last visited. Knocking on the door, he waited until Solas granted him entry.

Stepping inside, Astarion's gaze swept across the room, taking note of the newly adorned walls. Solas had transformed the space with intricate drawings and murals—a departure from its previous plainness. "You've certainly decorated," Astarion remarked, his tone a mixture of admiration and curiosity.

Solas met his observation with a polite nod before inquiring, "What can I do for you, Inquisitor?" His feigned innocence didn't go unnoticed by Astarion.

"What do you think? You lied to me," Astarion accused bluntly, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

"Ah, I see," Solas responded calmly, taking a step closer to Astarion.

"I see? That's all you have to say? You lied to me about the potion—it nearly turned me into a mind flayer," Astarion accused sharply.

"Ah, fascinating indeed. One of those creatures adorned with tentacles, as you've previously depicted? Yet curiously absent are the telltale appendages," Solas remarked, his tone laced with subtle intrigue."It was never my intention to metamorphose you into a mind flayer. Merely, I sought to extend aid, and it did help you, did it not?"

"I'll grant you that," Astarion conceded, his gaze lingering with mistrust as he regarded Solas. "But offering me that came with considerable risk—you only fueled the tadpole's power, and I could have undergone a drastic, painful change. Why would you intentionally give me something that could seriously hurt me, without even telling me?"

"You would have abstained from drinking the potion had you been privy to the reality. Nonetheless, you now stand in my presence, and Cazador is dead, is he not? My hypothesis appears vindicated—the tadpole, not the mark upon your hand, instigated your moments of freedom. May I surmise that the elixir achieved its purpose—releasing you entirely from Cazador's grasp?" Solas inquired, his visage devoid of emotion, seemingly impervious to Astarion's accusations.

"It did," Astarion admitted, his arms crossed in a mild display of offense. "But it was still a risk, and you weren't forthcoming with me from the start."

"And yet it worked exactly as intended, didn't it? You drank the potion, freeing yourself from the control of any master. I've told you this before—even if you don't understand my motives, I'm on your side. Everything I've done has ultimately helped you, has it not?" Solas asserted.

"Like when you orchestrated Sera's demise?" Astarion countered sharply.

"I'm not the one who killed her," Solas retorted, his tone devoid of hesitation or remorse. "Although, I did hear some other news from your journey—Dorian is now a vampire spawn like you, correct?" Solas inquired casually.

"Yes, and as much as you don't care for him, he's here to stay," Astarion said with a subtle conviction in his voice. 

"Who turned him? Was it you?" Solas inquired, his normally blank expression shifting into one of genuine interest for the first time in their conversation.

"No, it was Cazador. I never partook of Cazador's blood; I never fully embraced vampirism," Astarion explained, though he couldn't shake off a sense of unease about Solas's motives for asking.

"A wise choice," Solas replied, though a hint of disappointment tinged his voice, perceptible to Astarion's keen senses. It was evident that Solas had harbored the hope that Astarion would fully embrace vampirism and transform Dorian into his progeny in the process. "Nevertheless, it is glaringly evident that you and Dorian are now bound together, more tightly than ever. So forgive my lack of full disclosure regarding the potion—but it was necessary. You should trust me—after all, I am on your side," Solas reassured, repeating his earlier statement.

"I do trust you. I just prefer honesty before actions like that," Astarion replied firmly. "It'd be much simpler to trust you if you give me a heads-up before pulling something like this. I don't appreciate feeling manipulated."

"You anticipate me doing something like this again?" Solas inquired.

"Won't you?" Astarion asked before turning away from Solas, heading for the door. "Be cautious, Solas—I am immensely grateful, more than words can express, for freeing me from Cazador. You've earned my trust in doing so. But don't deceive me again. I don't take kindly to being played with," Astarion warned.

"Of course, Inquisitor. I never intended to deceive you or cause you harm. I only seek what's best for you," Solas assured him.

"I'll extend my trust, but tread carefully not to squander it again—next time, my patience won't be as forgiving," Astarion murmured, his gaze flitting from Solas before he gracefully exited the room once more.

Notes:

im back from the dead woop woop
would have been released sooner, but I changed the whole premise of the chapter like 5 times. It was originally supposed to be Dorian meeting his father, but... the pacing was off. So see ya next time, folks.

Chapter 34: Dorian Meets his Father (Astarion Meets an Enemy)

Notes:

This is gonna go great :)

That evening, as planned, Astarion and Dorian departed. The other members of the Inquisition were surprised by Astarion's sudden desire to leave, but they didn't raise objections. Redcliffe wasn't too far, and the route was deemed safe, so they decided to let the duo travel without an escort. And if trouble arose along the way, Astarion had a strong hunch it wouldn't be a lasting issue.

Dorian was clad in more concealing attire than usual. He couldn't risk exposure to daylight, fearing its deadly consequences. They carried a tent for daytime shelter, but the thought of something happening to it and Dorian being exposed troubled them both. Traveling had become riskier for Dorian, but not enough to dissuade him.

Traveling presented abundant opportunities for hunting, which thrilled Dorian to his core. Now, he finally understood why Astarion behaved as he did around blood. Blood was everything. 

Previously, Dorian had silently judged Astarion for the messy aftermath of his feeding—how he allowed blood to drip down his chin and onto the floor with each sip from a jar or goblet. But now, as a vampire himself, Dorian understood. Blood was life's essence, fueling him with energy, vitality, and strength. With just a sip, he could feel his power surge, even his magic seemed amplified by it. It’s hard to sip politely from a cup when it’s filled with the greatest substance he’d ever had the pleasure of trying.  

Dorian eagerly anticipated hunting in new territories alongside Astarion during their travels as well. Dorian felt as though his very nature had been reset. Once averse to hunting and feeding on forest creatures, he now reveled in it. However, the most startling change was his sudden craving for humans. He found himself glancing at passing necks far too often, yearning for a taste. Dorian couldn’t help but wonder how a person could transition from being a perfectly ordinary human to a predator with just one bite. 

Dorian felt that he was, without a doubt, a predator. He instinctively viewed strangers as prey – as sources of blood– rather than people. Of course, he could ignore those instincts, but they were still very present in his mind. It was unsettling, yet, a problem for another day. He and Astarion had a meeting to attend. 

Dorian and Astarion arrived in Redcliffe under the cloak of night, reaching their destination midway through the darkness. Leliana, via Raven, had arranged a meeting with Dorian's "retainer," scheduled for the dead of night. The meeting place was an abandoned tavern, chosen for its seclusion and lack of prying eyes.

Astarion appreciated the quiet setting, knowing he could dispatch the retainer if necessary, without drawing undue attention— a precaution Josephine had stressed before their departure. She emphasized the importance of maintaining a favorable public image, especially with the Orlesian ball looming on the horizon. Essentially, Josephine was warning him not to murder, or do anything else weirdly vampiric, and get caught. 

Dorian and Astarion entered the empty tavern without issue. Empty meaning… empty. Dorian was very nervous, that much Astarion could tell. For good reason, too, as Dorian’s family matters seemed very… complicated , and Dorian was no longer alive. 

“Uh-oh. No one is here. This doesn’t bode well,” Dorian remarked anxiously, scanning the desolate tavern.

“It’s disappointing, really. I really was hoping to meet this retainer of yours and tell him where he can shove it. What a waste,” Astarion remarked, nonchalantly inspecting his nails as he leaned against the wall.

“Perhaps he simply hasn't received Leliana's letter," Dorian suggested. “It is a rather odd time to meet.”

"Perhaps. Or perhaps this is all some elaborate scheme to kidnap you," Astarion countered, his tone tinged with suspicion.

"Shouldn't you be offering reassurance? Telling me everything will be fine?" Dorian teased, though his eyes betrayed his nervousness, darting around the tavern.

"Darling, we both know that would be a lie. When has our luck ever been that good?" Astarion replied, a hint of sarcasm laced with amusement in his voice. "Especially considering we're not alone in here," he added, straightening up as he detected the approach of another heartbeat from across the room.

Dorian's gaze hardened as he faced the approaching figure, his father. "Father," he greeted tersely. “So, the whole story about the ‘retainer’ was just, what, a smokescreen?” he questioned.  

Halward Pavus, Dorian's father, approached with a stern countenance. "I didn't expect you to agree to meet if you knew it was me," he admitted.

"And what is it that you want, Father?" Dorian demanded, his tone laced with anger. “An ambush? To kidnap me? Change me? A warm family reunion?” 

Halward glanced between Dorian and Astarion, as if searching for some hidden truth between them. He seemed puzzled, as if he had missed something crucial. "I simply wished to talk," he explained, then added, “although I thought you’d arrive alone. I didn’t expect to see you here, Inquisitor. I didn’t think you’d be involved in this,” he said.

"No need for apologies," Astarion interjected, a smirk playing on his lips. "I'll likely be entwined in most of your sordid family affairs from now on, anyway."

Halward's expression shifted, finally seeming to grasp the truth before him. "So the rumors are true," he murmured, his voice trailing off as realization dawned. "You and my son are..." He left the statement hanging, unfinished.

“Doing the deed, if you must know. Venturing into the depths. Fondling the staff. Probing the—" Astarion began. 

"Enough," Halward interjected, his disappointment evident.

Dorian's anger flared at his father's reaction. "Oh, what a tragedy it must be for you, Magister Pavus , to discover that your beloved son is fornicating with another man. How devastating this must be for your esteemed reputation," he retorted sarcastically, his arms folded defiantly.

"Dorian, please, allow me to explain," Halward pleaded. "I only want what's best for you. But this ...?"

Dorian's expression darkened. “What’s best for me? You taught me to hate blood magic– the resort of a weak mind, you’d say. And then what did you do the second your previous heir showed an interest in men? You tried to change me. With blood magic! Experimental, risky, blood magic,” he argued vehemently.

"Dorian, please, just let me—" Halward began, but was abruptly cut off by Astarion.

"Oh, I'm sure you're an expert on what's best for Dorian, aren't you? Because when it comes to parenting, why stop at merely emotionally scarring your child? Why not add a touch of potential brain damage, all because he dares to fancy men? Risking your child’s life is fine, so long as he’s not looking at shirtless men anymore, am I right?" Astarion remarked dryly.

"I'd prefer to speak with Dorian alone," Halward insisted, shooting a sidelong glance at Astarion.

Dorian shook his head resolutely. “No. Earlier, Astarion was right– he’s going to be very involved in family matters from now on. I have no intention of leaving him anytime soon, either. We… we love each other,” he stated carefully, standing protectively beside Astarion, though he avoided meeting Astarion’s gaze as he uttered the words aloud.

"We... do?" Astarion echoed, his expression softening as he observed Dorian. He hadn't realized the depth of Dorian's feelings for him— he had assumed Dorian was only drawn to him for his appearance or because he was the only other vampire he knew. Love felt like such a foreign concept to Astarion. 

Halward scrutinized the pair once more, noting Dorian's protective stance and Astarion's soft gaze. They were sincere— they hadn't been deceiving him. The two were really intertwined with each other. "Do you mean... you intend to marry this man, Dorian?" he inquired, his voice laced with disbelief.

Dorian appeared taken aback by the question, but quickly regained his composure. "Look at you, Father, practically quaking in your boots. You're terrified, aren't you? Unable to fathom the notion of me marrying a man—let alone an elf ," he retorted sharply.

Astarion's grin widened at the sight of Halward's crestfallen expression. "Oh, the horror. The scandal. How will you ever endure it?" he taunted playfully.

Halward sighed, realizing he was outnumbered and that Dorian was resolute in his decision. "Very well. This wasn't my intention for today—do as you please with him, Dorian. Really, I came here to apologize... I made a mistake. I thought I was guiding you, Dorian, but all I did was push you away. I'm sorry. I miss you, and I promise such a mistake won't be repeated," he confessed.

“You tried to change me. Do you truly believe a mere apology will suffice? That I'll simply return home with you and everything will be resolved?" Dorian countered, his tone filled with indignation.

"No, but I couldn't live with myself if I didn't try to make amends. I'll never understand your preference for men, but... I accept that it's a part of who you are, unchangeable. And... if you ever wish to come home, I'll welcome you back with open arms," Halward admitted earnestly.

“But would you accept Astarion? You haven’t even spoken his name once since arriving here,” Dorian accused. 

"Is 'Inquisitor' not his rightful title? Should I not show him proper respect by addressing him as such, given the honor he's earned?" Halward countered. "However, if you insist on continuing... whatever this is with Astarion, I can adjust. I can learn to accept him, too. Maker knows you both share a similar temperament, for better or worse. Perhaps I could even... purchase him for you."

Astarion couldn't help but feel more entertained than offended by the conversation, finding the exchange rather amusing, especially since Halward couldn't possibly enslave him again. "How considerate of you, Halward! Because nothing says 'respect' like offering to purchase someone as if they were a trinket at a marketplace," he retorted, a trace of anger seeping into his voice.

Dorian's eyes widened in disbelief at his father's words, and he swiftly defended Astarion. "He's not a slave to be bought and sold," he stated firmly, his anger palpable.

"I meant no offense," Halward replied defensively. "I simply meant that legally, he still belongs to Livius. I've seen the documents— Livius could reclaim him at any moment. But I'm confident I could negotiate a deal to purchase Astarion from him. Once he's legally yours, no one would question what you do with him. It's not uncommon for people to use slaves for pleasure. I've never personally condoned it, but your situation with Astarion is... unique. If you want him to return to Tevinter with you, you should consider allowing me to buy him," Halward explained.

"He's the Inquisitor– the Herald of Andraste– and you expect him to be my slave ?" Dorian asked, incredulous.

"Yes," Halward confirmed, then continued, "I had hoped that once you finished your affairs here in Ferelden, you'd return home and resume your life. Get married—although I understand you have no interest in women, I thought you might at least consider it, especially if you had Astarion to fulfill your... desires while you were married. It's not uncommon. But if you truly insist on never marrying a woman... Astarion would legally be yours. You could choose to do whatever you want with him— even free him if you wish. I'd suggest marriage, but we both know that wouldn't be advisable. I wouldn’t want to lose you over this."

“That's almost heartwarming, but there’s one teeny weenie problem with your plan,” Astarion interjected.

“Which is?” Halward asked. 

“ I’m not a slave,” Astarion practically growled. "I've never belonged to Livius. I've never even met the man! And I'll kill anyone who tries to enslave me again. I'm done with that life."

"Then how does he possess documents claiming you belong to him?" Halward inquired. "You have no reason to deceive me. I have no intention of truly enslaving you. But if you insist on being with Dorian, granting him legal rights over you would be more sensible, wouldn't it?"

“I’m not lying. But, fear not Lord Magister Pavus , I'm positively ecstatic at the thought of being legally owned by Dorian. Because what better way to express love and commitment than through forced, legal slavery, hm?" Astarion retorted, his words dripping with sarcasm. He then turned to Dorian with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Can I kill him, please? Pretty please?" he asked, fluttering his eyelashes playfully.

Dorian bared his fangs, positioning himself protectively in front of Astarion and fixing a scathing glare on his father. "Astarion isn't some plaything I'm toying with! He doesn't belong to Livius, and he's not. a . slave ," he stated firmly.

Halward began to respond— to offer an apology, as he hadn't intended to offend them— but halted when he noticed Dorian's mouth. His eyes widened as he observed Dorian's fangs, studying him for a moment as if trying to comprehend this unfamiliar aspect of his son he'd never seen before. His heart rate surged as he realized there was something very wrong— a sharp increase that didn't escape the notice of the two vampires in the room. "Dorian... what has happened to you?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

“What ever could you mean, father?” Dorian asked with a biting tone. 

“Your eyes... they're different. I noticed it when I first laid eyes on you, but your teeth too..." Halward observed, his concern deepening as he studied Dorian. As his gaze shifted between Dorian and Astarion once more, he noted the similarities—and saw the scar on Dorian's neck, matching the ones on Astarion's.

"He does look rather fetching, doesn't he? I do rather like his eyes," Astarion remarked, unhelpfully.

Halward's eyes narrowed as his expression hardened. “ You,” he spat. “You’re no slave.”

“I know. It’s almost like I just said that,” Astarion replied, with a subtle smile. Yet he was narrowing his eyes, poised like a predator waiting to strike. 

" What have you done to my son? !" Halward accused angrily, striding past Dorian to seize Astarion by the shirt with a threatening grip, just moments away from causing harm. "Answer me, demon !"

"Father—" Dorian began, but was swiftly interrupted by Astarion.

"Oh, Halward, darling, it warms my heart to see such concern for your offspring. Especially when it seems to have been absent until now," Astarion remarked, seemingly unfazed by Halward's aggression. "Now, release me, and let's discuss this like civilized beings over a glass of wine."

"What. Did. You. Do!?" Halward repeated, his face twisted in anger as he reached for the staff secured on his back.

In an instant, Dorian was upon his father. He seized Halward by the shoulders and forcefully pulled him back, distancing him from Astarion. With his father now off balance, Dorian grabbed Halward's head and tilted it forcefully to the side, his vampiric instincts momentarily taking control as he positioned his fangs over Halward's neck.

Astarion watched, observing the tense standoff between Dorian and Halward. Dorian's actions seemed driven by instinct, and Astarion considered intervening, but his disdain for Halward gave him pause. He even had half a mind to join Dorian on the other side of Halward’s neck. The man had it coming, after all. 

Then, without any further hesitation, Dorian sank his fangs into his father's neck, piercing the skin and drawing blood. Halward gasped in pain and terror as crimson liquid spilled from the wound, and Dorian drank greedily, consuming the blood with an almost insatiable hunger.

Halward winced, his body frozen in shock as Dorian continued to drink his blood. He looked bewildered, as if struggling to comprehend the reality of the situation. Despite his initial surprise, Halward soon began to feel the effects of his weakening state. He attempted to push Dorian away, but Dorian retaliated, gripping him tighter and refusing to relent.

"Dorian—!" Halward exclaimed, his voice a mix of shock and fear. After gathering his composure, he tried again. "Dorian, release me. We can talk this through."

But Dorian remained unyielding, his hold on Halward only growing tighter as he continued to drink.

"Dorian, please stop! I don't want to harm you, but I will if necessary," Halward pleaded, blinking away the stars now dancing in his vision.

Despite his rapidly declining strength, Halward hesitated to use magic against Dorian, showing a reluctance to harm his own son. Astarion, observing the scene, felt a pang of desire for the blood but resisted, understanding that this moment belonged to Dorian and his father.

"Astarion... please . Put an end to this," Halward implored, turning his gaze to the vampire. After a few more labored breaths, he continued weakly, "Please. If you care for Dorian... stop him. This isn't who he is… this isn’t my boy… he'll never forgive himself."

Astarion sighed, and recognized that he probably should stop Dorian. As thrilling as it was to see Dorian draining his father of blood, he knew that Halward was right—Dorian would regret his actions later. Stepping around to Dorian's side, Astarion wrapped his arms around him and pulled him backward, forcing Dorian to release his grip and relinquish his hold on Halward.

Halward fell to the ground, clutching the wound on his neck, his mind temporarily clouded by daze before he slowly began to regain his senses. He scooted backward, putting some distance between himself and Dorian, while applying firm pressure to the bite wound on his neck. As he glanced back at Dorian, abject horror filled his eyes.

Meanwhile, Dorian panted heavily, his mind reeling as he processed the surge of newfound strength within him. He licked his lips, tasting the lingering traces of blood. "I— I didn't mean to—" he started, realizing the gravity of his actions, but was abruptly interrupted by Astarion licking up the side of his chin and engaging him in an intense kiss. However, Dorian quickly realized that Astarion wasn't kissing him— he was licking up every last drop of Halward’s blood from his mouth. Though Dorian would have found the gesture arousing under different circumstances, the gravity of the situation sobered him. They were still in front of his father, who might be dying because of him.

Astarion pulled away, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "Sorry. I couldn't resist," he admitted, panting with pleasure from the taste of the blood that had tantalized his senses. Turning back to face Halward, who watched them with a weak, confused expression, Astarion's demeanor shifted to a more serious tone.

Halward took a deep breath, his gaze pleading as he addressed Dorian. “Dorian, please, what happened to you? What did Astarion do to you?” 

Dorian's eyes snapped back to his father at the question, a mixture of sadness and determination in his expression. "Don't blame Astarion. It's not his fault. He's a victim too," he responded with a sigh. He glanced at his father's weakened state, and felt very concerned. Dorian hadn't intended to harm his father— he had simply acted out of anger in the heat of the moment.

"Then please, explain," Halward pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation as he looked to his son for answers.

Dorian approached his father slowly, his movements careful as he pulled out an empty chair from one of the tavern tables. Halward tensed at first, as if anticipating another attack from Dorian, but relaxed when he realized Dorian was only offering assistance. With Dorian's help, Halward was able to sit down in the chair.

Once both of them were seated at the table, Dorian began to recount the events. "It was Astarion's master— but not Livius ," he started, preparing to delve into the complicated tale.

"What... how...?" Halward struggled to find his words, his gaze shifting between Dorian and Astarion in bewilderment.

Dorian hesitated for a moment before responding with a partial truth. "Blood magic," he stated, noting the shock in his father's eyes at the mention of the practice. "Astarion was transformed by his former master. Changed from a normal elf into what he is now. But the transformation... it enslaved him completely to his master's will. He had no choice but to obey every command. When his master came close, he could exert total control over Astarion—something we couldn't allow. So, we devised a plan to kill his master, but it didn't go as expected. I was taken and... changed , in the same way Astarion had been," Dorian explained, omitting certain details for simplicity's sake.

“You were taken? Someone else used blood magic on you to turn you into… this? Someone else made you into a slave?” Halward asked, his expression etched in worry. 

Astarion interjected, addressing Halward directly. "Didn't you almost do the same to Dorian? I'm not sure you're in a position to judge. Regardless, I slew my master—so now we're both free," he stated firmly.

Halward disregarded Astarion's remark, focusing on understanding the situation. "This... transformation," he began, seeking clarification. "What exactly did it do to you?"

"Well, first and foremost... as you've already seen, I drink blood," Dorian began, his voice tinged with nervousness as he shifted in his chair.

“Any blood?” Halward asked. 

"Any blood. Astarion and I typically hunt animals," Dorian explained. 

"Though, we're not opposed to indulging in the occasional enemy. Waste not, want not," Astarion interjected casually.

"What else did this transformation do to you? And why are your eyes red?" Halward pressed, his concern evident.

Dorian glanced at Astarion, seeking answers, but received only a shrug in response. "I'm not entirely sure why our eyes turn red," Astarion admitted.

Dorian turned his attention back to his father. "I've discovered a newfound ability to see in the dark, so perhaps that's related. And on the whole, I feel stronger and more powerful than ever—although, it comes with the condition that I must drink blood. Unfortunately, it also means bidding farewell to sunlight," he explained with a hint of resignation.

“What? The sun? Why not?” Halward asked, becoming increasingly concerned for Dorian’s wellbeing. 

"I'd burn to a crisp," Dorian explained matter-of-factly.

"Now, now, Dorian, don't reveal all of our secrets. A little mystery is good for the soul," Astarion chimed in, becoming increasingly concerned by how much Dorian was revealing. 

Dorian's father turned to face Astarion, a hint of pity crossing his concerned expression. "How long have you been this way?" he asked gently.

"A very long time. Let's leave it at that," Astarion replied cryptically.

Halward's gaze shifted back to Dorian, his frown deepening. "What other effects did this blood magic transformation have on you?" he asked, his voice laden with worry.

"Well, those were the major ones, but it also took away my reflection— a loss I'll forever mourn. I also no longer require basic human necessities such as breathing, eating, or... defecating, if you must know," Dorian explained with a touch of resignation.

Halward fell silent for a moment, his expression pained as he took in the extent of the changes in his son. "I know you're still angry with me... but please, let me help you. I have access to resources... I can research ways to undo what has been done to you. I know I have no right after attempting to change you myself, but please, allow me to do this for you. For both of you," he pleaded earnestly.

Astarion frowned, shaking his head slightly. "This transformation isn't exactly reversible . We're much closer to being walking corpses than to being our former selves," he explained solemnly.

"I'll find a way to reverse it. I will," Halward insisted with determination. "And I understand if you want nothing to do with me, Inquisitor, but... please. Let me stay with you at the Inquisition until I've found an answer. I know I have no right to ask this, but... I can't just go home knowing what has been done to my son. Knowing that he needs me," he pleaded earnestly.

"You're right— I really don't want anything to do with you. But it's not up to me— this is Dorian's choice," Astarion replied, turning to look at Dorian.

Dorian met Astarion's gaze with a shaken expression. "Do you mind... if I actually have a moment alone with him?" he requested quietly.

“By all means. Just come find me when you're done," Astarion agreed, heading towards the door. Before stepping outside, he turned back to Halward. "And do me a favor— try not to say anything offensive this time. I won't be saving you again."

"Duly noted," Halward responded as Astarion exited the building.

 

Chapter 35: Astarion Gets Fitted for the Ball

“My father is going to stay in Tevinter,” Dorian explained to Astarion, recounting the private discussion with his father.

"Well, I can't say I have any objections. As... delightful as he may be, I don't believe he's quite suited for the Inquisition. Primarily because, if I'm honest, I'd rather not be in his company. No offense," Astarion remarked to Dorian.

Dorian, curious, tilted his head and asked, "And if I had chosen the opposite– If I’d wanted him to come?"

"Well, he's still your family, so I would have allowed him to come, but... no sense in dwelling on the 'what ifs', right? You've made a wise decision, and now we needn't concern ourselves with it," Astarion said with a dismissive shrug, moving past the topic. “He’s still going to look for a cure though, I assume?” he asked. 

Dorian nodded. "Yes, he's confident in his connections back home. He's convinced he'll find a way to either cure us or at least grant me some resistance to the sun. Personally, I'm skeptical. Death is rather permanent , after all, and I vividly remember dying. Though I do hope he can alleviate some of the… symptoms . I'd prefer not to accidentally toast myself with a stray beam of sunlight slipping through the curtains in the morning."

"I hope he finds something too, though it's a meager attempt to make amends for what he did to you initially. It shouldn't have taken you becoming a nocturnal blood-drinker for him to finally show concern for you," Astarion retorted.

“That’s a valid point. He has a lot of ground to cover. Let's just hope he follows through instead of using this as leverage against us,” Dorian remarked.

“Ha! I'd almost find it entertaining to see him attempt that. It might spice up our family gatherings,” Astarion replied.

“Oh, absolutely, because that’s what everyone needs– spicy family gatherings," Dorian added sarcastically.

"See? You understand perfectly. Anyway, it won't come to that. He won't betray us. He may not succeed in his quest for a cure, but I don’t think he’s the type to betray us. He appeared quite... alarmed after your little... altercation," Astarion said.

“You mean he was practically trembling in his boots,” Dorian quipped.

Astarion shrugged casually. "Well, darling, you did give him quite the fright. He was practically pleading with me to rescue him from your clutches."

“To be honest, I'm surprised you did. I didn't think you'd be keen on rescuing him,” Dorian replied.

Astarion chuckled softly, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Oh, don't misunderstand me, Dorian. I didn't save him out of the goodness of my heart. I simply saw an opportunity to have him owe me a favor. Besides, watching the shock on your face was utterly priceless."

Dorian returned Astarion's smile gently. “You know, I'm starting to see through your facade. You’re lying. Despite your protests, you do care.”

Astarion smirked, tilting his head as he observed Dorian. "Watch yourself, Dorian. But perhaps you're onto something. There are a few things, and people, that I find worth caring about. Besides, you would have been miserable if you had killed him. I couldn't bear to see that."

“And for that, I'm grateful, Astarion,” Dorian responded, offering a soft smile. “Shall we continue our journey back now? As much as I've enjoyed our little... adventure , I'm eager to return to Skyhold.”

"Me too. It's a challenge to maintain my charming allure amidst our constant traveling. I could definitely use a luxurious, long, rose-scented bath," Astarion remarked with a hint of longing.

Their journey proceeded without incident, and Astarion felt a wave of relief wash over him as Skyhold came into view once more. After enduring so much travel, he looked forward to finally having a moment to rest his weary feet, perhaps even on a comfortable throne. After all, there were still decisions to be made regarding Alexius.

Arriving under the cloak of night, long before the sun's rays would illuminate the sky, Skyhold was enveloped in a serene stillness. A few guards patrolled the grounds while the rest of the inhabitants slumbered. Astarion welcomed the tranquility, knowing that once the fortress stirred awake, he would be swept into the whirlwind of duties awaiting him. And he anticipated there would be many, considering his prolonged absence from Skyhold due to various travels.

Upon entering his bedroom, Astarion noticed the addition of heavy black curtains adorned with an intricate silver pattern, now adorning the balcony doors and windows. While he wasn't particularly fond of the design, reminiscent as it was of Cazador's opulent palace, he couldn't deny their quality. More importantly, they would provide ample protection for Dorian against the harmful rays of sunlight.

However, the installation of the curtains during their absence piqued Astarion's curiosity. He couldn't help but wonder who had taken the initiative to hang them, especially considering his "blood wall" remained uncovered for all to see. He amused himself with the thought of the surprise on the face of some unsuspecting individual who had expected to install curtains but instead stumbled upon shelves filled with blood. Realistically, it was likely someone from his inner circle who had taken the time to handle the task, but imagining the alternative was entertaining nonetheless.

The following morning, mere hours after his return to Skyhold, there came a knock at his door – Josephine.

“Inquisitor – I heard your meeting with Dorian’s father went well. It’s nice to see you back. Now, about the upcoming ball–” Josephine began.

“What? Did Dorian tell you something?” Astarion asked, puzzled as to how she could have already caught wind of his encounter with Halward Pavus.

“Oh, my apologies, Inquisitor. I simply assumed it went smoothly, considering I received a letter from Magister Halward Pavus, pledging a substantial sum to the Inquisition. Whatever you did must have been quite persuasive... and it was just persuasion, correct?” Josephine asked, her tone tinged with suspicion.

“I'm not sure what you're insinuating,” Astarion replied innocently.

“You didn’t resort to threats or any other unsavory tactics to secure his donation?” Josephine pressed, casting a skeptical glance his way.

Feigning offense, Astarion placed a hand over his heart. "Josephine! Who do you take me for? I'll have you know I conducted myself impeccably during my encounter with Dorian's father. I even lent him a hand," he retorted.

Josephine’s piercing stare conveyed her disbelief in every word that left Astarion’s mouth. “Really? You mean to say you didn’t resort to blackmail or threats in any form?” she pressed.

"I swear, I behaved impeccably," Astarion replied, a smug smirk playing on his lips. "No, the threats were all courtesy of Dorian—"

“What did you do? What exactly happened?” Josephine interjected. 

“Nothing too drastic, I assure you. We didn't intentionally do anything, anyway, and we didn’t ask  him to send money. Although... I must mention, Dorian's father is aware of the truth," Astarion admitted.

Josephine let out a weary sigh. “Of course he is. You bit him, didn’t you? Well, actually– don’t tell me, I’m not sure I want to know. Regardless, it's good to have you back– we have a tailor here, and you’ll need to be measured for attire for the upcoming ball at the Winter Palace,” she informed him.

“Oh, the ball. When is it, and why am I being dragged into it?” Astarion asked.

Josephine shook her head. “It’s a month from now, and you were invited by Grand Duke Gaspard. I’ll provide further details later, but for now, we must get you fitted promptly. The sooner, the better, so the garments can be prepared in time,” she urged.

“Very well. Lead the way,” Astarion conceded.

“Thank you, Inquisitor. Please, follow me,” Josephine replied.

Astarion followed Josephine into a small, cluttered room, where pieces of fabric were scattered across surfaces and sketches of garments adorned a nearby table. In the midst of the chaos, a small circular platform stood, slightly elevated from the floor, accompanied by a cart filled with sewing supplies and a full-length mirror. As they entered, a man rose from his desk to greet them.

“Inquisitor,” the man greeted respectfully, bowing his head in acknowledgment of Astarion's presence.

“Astarion, meet Antoine– one of our tailors. He's here for a few days to assist with your fitting,” Josephine explained.

“A pleasure,” Astarion replied.

“Please, step onto the platform, and I'll begin,” Antoine invited, gesturing toward the center of the room. Astarion complied, raising his arms as Antoine proceeded to take his measurements.

"So, what's the attire for this affair, anyway? You've already conjured up a design in that clever mind of yours, I assume?" Astarion asked.

Josephine nodded. “Yes, we've made some decisions. Naturally, everyone must coordinate. Initially, we considered a bold, traditional red– Antoine, would you mind if I show him the sketches?” she requested.

“Of course not. They're all there for your perusal,” Antoine replied, focused on his measurements and notes.

Josephine made her way to the table, rifling through the papers until she found the relevant sketches. “Here,” she said, presenting Astarion with a drawing of a modest yet formal red ensemble accented with a blue sash.

Astarion's expression soured as he inspected the design. "You must be joking . Red and blue? I'd sooner drape myself in the new curtains you just purchased than parade around in that abomination at a party," he remarked disdainfully.

Josephine retrieved the drawing and shook her head. “It would be a perfect outfit for the Inquisition to wear to a Orlesian ball–” she began. 

"Oh, no. You're serious, aren't you?" Astarion asked, disbelief and worry creeping into his expression. "You really want me to wear that ?"

“ --but we've decided to opt for something else,” Josephine continued, ignoring Astarion's apprehension. “While it would have been suitable under normal circumstances, we've opted for a more... daring choice,” she explained.

“Daring is putting it mildly,” Antoine interjected. “But fear not, Inquisitor– only the finest will suffice for you,” he assured, setting aside his measuring tools.

Josephine pressed on, “With rumors swirling, we've chosen to embrace them, adding an air of mystery to you. This event is more than just a social gathering; the fate of Thedas may hinge on it. Thus, we believe it's imperative for you to make a striking impression,” she concluded.

Antoine gathered a few sketches from the table and approached Astarion. “But it's more than just about standing out. It's about embodying who you are. You will be the epitome of elegance– the best-dressed individual in attendance. All eyes will be drawn to you, filled with wonder. Who is this man leading the Inquisition? Could he truly be a mere escaped slave, or perhaps a desire demon in disguise? I can assure you– everyone who beholds you will be captivated . They will yearn to converse with you, to emulate you. You will command their attention,” he declared passionately as he handed the drawings to Astarion.

"Alright, I'm intrigued. Let me have a look," Astarion said, leaning in to examine the drawings. Antoine handed them over, and the first thing Astarion's eyes fixated on was the color. "It's black," he remarked, studying the image before him.

The garment depicted was a long coat, predominantly black with intricate designs woven in a matching thread throughout. Moreover, elaborate silver embroidery adorned the front, crafting two diminutive bats on either side of the chest. The coat was complemented by finely detailed black trousers, but most notably, a flowing crimson cloak with a broad collar caught Astarion's attention. "Why the bats?" he inquired, observing the creatures embroidered onto the coat's front.

“We can explore other options if it's too unconventional. I thought the bats were rather... fitting . And I'm certain onlookers will wonder the same question– which is exactly what we want. After all, it ensures all eyes will be on you. However, we can make adjustments if you prefer something else,” Josephine offered.

"No, it's fine, really. It's just... a tad on the nose, isn't it? It's almost too perfect, like it's exactly how you'd imagine... well, someone like me to dress," Astarion remarked, pointing out his observation.

“It adds an air of mystery,” Josephine asserted. “Besides, the truth behind the attire isn’t something one could discern at a glance.”

"You mentioned that you wanted us all to coordinate—does that mean everyone will be wearing this ensemble?" Astarion asked.

“No, not exactly. The rest of us will be wearing a variant of the original design I presented to you– however, our attire will feature a darker red similar to your cloak, paired with a black sash and silver belt. While we'll all match, you'll certainly stand out the most. Yet, collectively, our attire will make a statement solely through its color palette. We're bound to leave an impression, for better or worse. So, what do you think?” Josephine asked, seeking Astarion's opinion.

"You know what? I rather like it. I'll go with it," Astarion decided, showing a hint of approval.

“That's wonderful news. Antoine will begin work on it as soon as he returns to Orlais. I believe Dorian is the last to be fitted– I'll speak with him next. However, Astarion, please ensure to meet with me later tonight– I need to brief you on what to anticipate. The event is approaching faster than we realize, and there's much to cover and prepare you for beforehand,” Josephine advised.

Antoine, seemingly lost in thought, focused his gaze somewhere beyond Astarion. “Ah, Ser Inquisitor…”

“Yes?” Astarion asked, following Antoine's gaze.

“I don't mean to offend, but... are you aware that you do not have a reflection?” Antoine queried, finally drawing Astarion's attention to the mirror, which reflected Josephine and Antoine but not Astarion himself.

" Truly ? No reflection? How utterly absurd ," Astarion remarked, clearly feigning astonishment. "Josephine, we simply must investigate this at once."

"That's a bit beyond the scope of my duties as ambassador," Josephine replied matter-of-factly.

“Ah, well… it’s not my business anyways,” Antoine responded nervously, seeming unsure of how to proceed.

“Well, is there anything else, or have we concluded our business here?” Astarion asked Antoine. 

“I believe I've gathered all the necessary measurements, Inquisitor. I'll return a week before your departure for final fittings,” Antoine informed him.

“Excellent. I'll be expecting you,” Astarion acknowledged.

Josephine interjected, “Before you become too occupied, Karlach and Dagna have requested your presence. Meanwhile, I’ll go fetch Dorian for his fitting,” she informed him.

Astarion arched an eyebrow, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. "Ah, always in demand, it seems. Very well, I'll see to Karlach and Dagna. Do try to make sure Dorian doesn't cause too much trouble during his fitting, will you? I’m sure he will have plenty to say about the design." He gave Josephine a playful wink before heading off to find the others.

As Astarion strolled out of the room and along the corridor, a tiny rodent darted past, prompting him to stop and take a second look. It wasn't quite the mouse or rat he anticipated. "Was that... a hamster?" he mused aloud.

Notes:

Sorry, a bit of a short chapter. Trying to get back into the groove. Also trying to remember where I was even going with this story because it's been so long.

Chapter 36: Astarion Thinks There's Really too Many Monsters in Skyhold

"So, good news?" Astarion asked as he strolled deeper into the undercroft.

Karlach's eyes lit up with excitement. "Hell yeah, you're back! Guess what– Dagna says she can fix my heart," she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm.

Dagna shook her head slightly. "Not… exactly . Her heart is unlike anything I've ever seen. It's otherworldly, and I can only imagine the hours that went into creating it. I can't hope to fix it completely; I can't even fully understand it. But, I can try. Or, at least, help. I've designed a mechanism to help cool it down—and it's nearly finished," she explained.

Karlach beamed. "I'm going to be able to touch people again soon. Can you believe it? Actually touch people!"

Astarion smiled. "Good for you, darling. I'm sure there are one or two people around who would love to touch you back when the time comes."

Dagna nodded. “Right. But before that, Inquisitor, I need more materials. There's a rare metal required—I’ve already given the request to the others. You can send some people to go get it for me, right?” 

"I see no reason why not, provided I'm not the one doing it. These nails are far too refined for something as crude as mining," Astarion remarked, raising his hands to inspect his nails with a critical eye.

"That's amazing! Thanks a ton. I'm so excited!" Karlach said, her voice full of enthusiasm.

"We won't know if it will work until it's finished, but I have high hopes," Dagna said, then turned to Astarion with a more serious expression. "I also analyzed the second blood sample you gave me. I even developed a new method for reading it—and I have important news!" she said, with a grin. 

"Truly? What is it?" Astarion asked.

"You're dead!" Dagna exclaimed, then laughed and shook her head. "Not literally , of course—but your blood is very different from others. If I hadn't seen you standing here, clearly alive, I would have thought you were dead. I even tested a few other people to make sure I wasn't making a mistake, but their results were normal. I believe the mark on your hand is actually changing you, for better or for worse. It must be infusing you with magic," Dagna theorized, her excitement evident. "That, or you're actually secretly a demon. Yet, you seem really healthy! I… think . I'm not entirely sure. The mark might also just be slowly killing you," she added.

Astarion raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a sardonic smile. "Well, that's certainly a comforting thought, Dagna. Slowly being infused with magic while potentially dying in the process. How utterly delightful," he said, though he couldn't help but wonder whether what she saw had to do with his vampirism, or if the mark on his hand truly was changing him in some unforeseen way.

Karlach shrugged with a grin. "Aw, mate, I know a guy who'd probably jump at the chance to check out your hand. He loves that kind of stuff," she said.

"Let me guess—Gale? Assuming he’s still alive, of course. I did send him on a little quest to kill the other Cazador for me, and I haven't heard a peep since," Astarion mused, thinking of the wizard who persistently tried to contact him through dreams. He wondered if Gale and his team had made any progress with eliminating Cazador #1. He certainly hoped so. As much as he pretended not to be concerned, he knew that as long as Cazador lived, there was always a risk he'd be hunted down, even here, stranded across the world—or perhaps in some other realm—accessible only by an unstable Fade rift.

"Nah, don't worry, mate, he's fine. You haven't met him. Or the rest of my crew, really. Some of the most badass folks in all of Faerun. Hey, I was thinking– AGH!" Karlach shouted, her words suddenly cut off by a cry of pain as she grabbed her head in her hands.

Astarion immediately felt a tingling, unpleasant sensation as the tadpole squirmed around in his head, though his reaction seemed mild compared to whatever torment Karlach was enduring. He felt the mark's power creeping rapidly up his arm, like icy tendrils winding their way through his veins.  A sudden flash of green light exploded behind his eyes, the mark’s power having crept into his skull.

The mark's power collided with the tadpole, generating a wave of intense nausea. Astarion collapsed backward onto the floor, the world spinning wildly around him. As he lay there, waiting for the sensation to subside and hearing Karlach's agonized cries, a new voice surfaced, bridging the connection between his tadpole and Karlach’s. 

"You—Listen… No time… mind… fragile as an egg. You… help me," a strong, feminine voice echoed in Astarion’s head. The voice clearly emanated from the connection between his tadpole and Karlach’s—whoever this was, they were directly possessing Karlach. His mind reeled, struggling to make sense of the chaos enveloping them. The presence was forceful, invasive, using Karlach as a conduit—a process that was visibly harming her, possibly killing her.

"Stop this. Get out of my head!" Astarion shouted, his voice strained with desperation. The powerful words reverberated through his brain, transmitted by the tadpole writhing viciously inside his skull. The pain was excruciating, like a vice tightening around his thoughts.

"Don’t waste time… Brain… becomes liquid. Listen now. Changeling… dead. Tyrant… and necromancer… remain. Necromancer… close to you. KILL THEM. Free… bindings…" the voice commanded with an urgency that sent chills down Astarion's spine. He could only watch in horror as Karlach crumpled to the ground, her expression contorted in agony, her strength ebbing away. The sight was heart-wrenching, the reality of her suffering all too clear. Whatever was happening was undoubtedly killing her, and he felt powerless to stop it.

"FINE! Just—Stop! Let Karlach go!" Astarion shouted helplessly, his voice cracking with desperation. He had no real idea what was happening or how to make it stop.

"You have a place… in my GRAND DESIGN," the voice proclaimed in his mind, then abruptly vanished. The squirming in his head ceased, and he felt the mark on his hand calm down once more. He turned to Karlach, who lay on the floor, clutching her head and crying out in pain—but she was alive.

Dagna stood nearby, her face a mask of shock. " What just happened? Karlach, are you okay ?" she asked, rushing to Karlach's side.

"Dagna, stay here with Karlach. I’m going to get Solas," Astarion said, springing to his feet as if the nausea had never existed. Without waiting for a response, he bolted from the room, racing up to the main hall of Skyhold and heading straight for Solas’s chamber near the library.

Astarion didn’t get far, interrupted by significant commotion within the main hall across from the throne. Shouts of “ABOMINATION!” and “DEMON!” filled the air as people fled in panic. It didn’t take long for Astarion to understand why: a mind flayer stood near the throne, surrounded by a pile of bodies. The grotesque creature held a body close, its tentacles wrapped around the head as it fed on the unfortunate soul’s brain.

"Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me," Astarion muttered, abandoning his plan to find Solas in favor of dealing with the immediate threat. With a sigh of exasperation, he pushed through the fleeing crowd, his eyes fixed on the mind flayer as he moved forward.

Some of the Inquisition’s soldiers fired arrows from a distance but did not dare approach. Astarion quickly understood why—the bodies at the mind flayer’s feet were those of brave Inquisition soldiers who had likely tried to fight it the moment it appeared.

Just as the mind flayer finished its gruesome meal and tossed the lifeless body aside, Astarion leaped from behind, plunging a dagger into its back. The creature twisted around to face him, its tentacles flaring in rage. A powerful force then blasted Astarion backward, sending him sprawling several feet away, where he landed hard on his back.

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra’s voice rang out as she charged forward, sword in hand, having just entered the main hall with Cullen. She attacked the mind flayer head-on with fierce determination, while Cullen flanked it, ready to strike. Astarion sprang to his feet, shaking off the pain, and launched himself back into the fray. With a swift, precise strike, he drove his dagger deep into the mind flayer’s abdomen, causing its innards to spill out in a grotesque display.

The mind flayer quickly collapsed, unable to withstand the relentless assault from the entire Inquisition. As it lay lifeless on the floor, Astarion turned to Cullen and Cassandra, his face a mask of confusion. “What in the hells just happened? Where did that thing come from?” he demanded.

"You were here first. I was hoping you could shed some light on the situation. We only just arrived and heard screaming... something about a demon," Cullen replied to Astarion, his expression mirroring the elf's bewilderment.

A new voice—none other than Varric—chimed in before Astarion could respond. "That came from a fresh recruit. Saw the whole spectacle myself. One minute, he’s just a regular guy, and the next, he’s howling in agony and morphing into that monstrosity. And yeah, chomping down on brains," Varric said as he strolled up to the small group. "Gotta admit, this one's a first– even for me," he added.

“It’s a mind flayer,” Astarion said, staring down at the lifeless creature. A tingling sensation crept up the back of his skull as he leaned in for a closer inspection, trying to discern any clues about its origin.

Astarion felt an unexpected wave of pity for the mind flayer—so new to the world and snuffed out so easily. He understood its hunger, the desperate need to feed, and the hatred it faced for simply existing. He gazed into its pearly bright eyes, imagining the sadness and confusion it must have felt. It only needed to eat, to feed, and it could have become so much stronger—just like him. Although… Astarion could help it, couldn't he? All he had to do was lean in a little more and offer it sustenance. Yes , he needed to feed it, to offer his body, his brain—he needed to be consumed . The poor creature needed it far more than he did.

As Astarion’s face inched closer to the mind flayer’s, a sudden, forceful swing of a sword buried itself into the creature’s skull, inches from his face. He jerked back, eyes wide with fear, and looked up at his companions. The mind flayer had been manipulating his thoughts, making him feel compassion and love for it. The realization was vile and left him feeling violated.

It was Cassandra who had driven her sword into the mind flayer, and now she, along with the others, looked at him with concern.

"Hey, Fangs—are you alright?" Varric asked.

“I’m… fine. Perfectly fine. Death was too good for that monster ,” Astarion spat, anger lacing his voice as he rose from the ground and steadied himself, his eyes still burning with fury.

"If you're sure..." Varric said, eyeing Astarion with a hint of concern.

Cassandra gazed down at the lifeless bodies scattered across the floor, her expression heavy with sorrow. "How... how did this happen? How could we let this happen?" she murmured, her voice thick with grief.

Cullen shook his head, his face etched with a similar somberness. "We lost good men today. If not for their bravery in delaying this creature, more lives would have been lost," he said quietly, his eyes lingering on the fallen soldiers.

Astarion turned his attention to Varric. "You said it was a new recruit, right?" he asked for clarification, his tone laced with urgency.

"Yeah. Why? Know something?" Varric responded, crossing his arms, his curiosity piqued and evident in his voice.

"Do we know anything about where he came from? What his history was?" Astarion asked, his gaze shifting to Cullen for answers.

Cullen shrugged, a look of frustration crossing his features. "Nothing comes to mind," he admitted, the weight of the situation pressing heavily upon him.

Astarion turned back to the mind flayer, a hint of somberness in his eyes. “Find out as much as you can. I have a sneaking suspicion that this new recruit might have ties to Baldur’s Gate,” he remarked, before a sudden realization struck him. “Damn it. Karlach—she needs help. She’s in the undercroft. We were ambushed by… something. I’ll explain later, but she needs healing immediately,” Astarion insisted, a sudden hurry in his voice.

Astarion watched as Cullen immediately started moving towards the stairs leading into the Undercroft but paused when he saw a large frame coming up the other side. Karlach emerged, looking dazed and slightly out of breath but alive and much more coherent than the last time Astarion had seen her. A small rodent darted out of the Undercroft behind her, scurrying along the far wall. Astarion narrowed his eyes—it was that hamster again. Someone must have brought it into Skyhold and let it loose. No one else seemed to notice the small creature; their attention was focused entirely on Karlach.

Karlach flashed Astarion a grin. “Aww, did I miss out on all the fun?” she asked, her eyes landing on the dead mind flayer.

Cullen studied Karlach, a look of confusion crossing his face. “Are you alright? Astarion said you had been attacked—” he began.

Karlach shrugged. "Yeah, I'm fine! It's gonna take a lot more than that to bring me down," she said with a smirk. "But… seeing that mind flayer does freak me out a bit. I don't think I've got the same protection as before. I really don't want to end up like… well, that," she admitted, her voice tinged with worry.

Cassandra looked over and nodded her head. “We need to all have a meeting. Let’s gather in the war room in an hour, after we’ve had time to clean all of this up. Then you two—,” she began, addressing Karlach and Astarion, “—can explain exactly what just happened.”

“Fair enough,” Astarion sighed deeply. “I’ll fetch Dorian as well—he ought to be informed. Although—” he continued, a sly smile forming on his lips as he glanced down at the bodies. “Might I borrow these for a moment? You’re only going to bury them, aren’t you? They’ve no further need for their blood…”

“These people just died trying to protect the others,” Cassandra said, giving Astarion a fierce glare.

“Well, yes, but that’s the point! They’re dead , so I don’t see why we should let the bodies just go to waste,” Astarion replied dismissively.

Varric raised an eyebrow, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Fangs, you always have a way of putting things so... pragmatically. But you know, most people tend to get a little squeamish about turning their dearly departed into a late-night snack. It's bad for business. And reputation. And, well, just about everything else." He leaned back, twirling a quill between his fingers. "But hey, who am I to judge? I've written about weirder things."

Astarion chuckled softly, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Ah, Varric, let’s be honest, shall we? In our line of work, reputation is as fluid as the blood in our veins. Besides," he added with a smirk, "it’s not as if the dead are going to lodge a complaint, now are they?"

Astarion watched as Cassandra’s expression turned to anger, and just as she opened her mouth to speak, he cut her off. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll leave the bodies alone,” he said with a dismissive wave. “Well, if everyone else is accounted for and Karlach is still among the living, I’ll go find Dorian. We might have something far more troubling on our hands than the upcoming ball,” he added, his tone turning serious.

With that, Astarion left the small group behind and made his way to Dorian’s chamber. He moved swiftly through the corridors of Skyhold, his footsteps echoing softly against the stone walls. Upon reaching Dorian's door, he entered without knocking.

Dorian lounged gracefully in a plush chair tucked in the corner, a book cradled in his hands. The firelight played upon his features, casting a warm glow as he glanced up, his eyes locking with Astarion's in a welcoming smile. "Ah, Astarion," he greeted. "What brings you here, amatus? I heard shouting – should I be concerned about any fatalities?"

“Actually, yes,” Astarion replied, causing Dorian to nearly drop his book in surprise.

"Wait, seriously? What happened? Who ?" Dorian asked, a touch more concern creeping into his voice as he leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing. 

“A mind flayer, and a few people. There was just an incident where a new recruit transformed into one of those creatures. I guess we can look forward to more of that happening in the future,” Astarion said, trying to downplay the severity of the situation.

Dorian's eyes widened slightly, his concern evident despite his attempt at humor. “I certainly hope not. You and Karlach are the only ones I know with a worm in your brain. I’d hate to see you change into one of those. Tentacles aren’t exactly my thing ,” he quipped, though his voice betrayed a hint of worry.

Astarion arched an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Oh, Dorian, don’t lie. We both know you have a thing for long appendages," he replied with a purr. "But rest assured, I'm doing everything in my power to avoid sprouting any unsightly ones. Tentacles, as you so charmingly put it, aren’t exactly my idea of a good look either."

Dorian chuckled, closing his book with a graceful flourish. "Well, we wouldn't want you ruining that perfectly chiseled visage of yours, now would we?" he replied, his tone light but his eyes holding a hint of genuine concern. "Besides, I do prefer you as you are – beautiful, sarcastic, and all. Tentacles would simply be an unnecessary complication." He leaned back in his chair, a playful glint in his eye. "So, let's both agree to steer clear of any unsightly transformations, shall we? I daresay we've reached our annual quota of those."

“Well, I can agree to that, because I certainly want nothing to do with them,” Astarion said as he sat down gracefully on the edge of Dorian’s bed. “Anyways, we’re having a meeting in an hour. There’s a lot we need to discuss. We might be in a tad bit of danger again,” Astarion added, his tone tinged with uncertainty.

"Were we ever not in danger? My dear, I haven't had a single calm, safe day since the moment we met. It would be dreadfully unfair to expect otherwise now," Dorian remarked, his voice tinged with a blend of amusement and resignation.

“Fair enough, I suppose. Danger does seem to follow us around like a particularly tenacious hamster. Speaking of danger, the curtains in my bedroom are finally up. You can now safely sleep there without the worry of burning alive,” Astarion said with a smirk.

Dorian's eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and warmth. "You want me to sleep in your room, don’t you?" he teased, his tone light but sincere. "I suppose I will. With those curtains in place, I can both avoid those pesky sunbeams. Quite the considerate gesture, my dear." He leaned back in his chair, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "It's good to know I'll have a safe place to retreat to. You know, for all your flair and dramatics, you do have a knack for making life a bit easier for those around you. Thank you, Astarion."

Astarion seemed taken aback by Dorian’s response, his expression softening as he regarded him for a moment. Then, he cleared his throat and looked away. “Well, I suppose we should get ready for this meeting, then. And no doubt Josephine will want to drag us into a lesson on Orlesian etiquette afterward,” he remarked with a touch of exasperation.

Dorian offered Astarion a gentle smile. "Of course she will. The date is fast approaching, and imagine the scandal if you were to choose the wrong fork at dinner. You might single-handedly ruin the Inquisition’s reputation," he quipped, his tone light but teasingly serious.

Astarion returned Dorian's smile with a knowing smirk, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Dorian, you wound me with your lack of faith in my dining etiquette," he replied with mock offense. "But fear not, darling. I assure you, I am quite adept at navigating the intricacies of polite society. Though, admittedly, my diet over the last few hundred years hasn’t quite included any forks."

Dorian smiled. "Well, perhaps we should avoid dinner altogether while we're there. I'd hate to steal the show prematurely by dazzling the entire court with our… unconventional dining habits ," he said, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm. 

“Well, now you're just taking all the fun out of it. What's the point of a fancy ball if it doesn't involve a bit of blood, scandal, and murder?” Astarion remarked, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Dorian chuckled. "Well, knowing you , it probably will regardless," he said, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

Notes:

Finally got around to updating chapter titles. They were a mess before IFYKYK
Also getting myself back on track with this story. Re-reading the whole thing so I know where I'm at.
And get excited ya'll-- the Fancy Orlesian Ball will be soon ;) I'm sure that will go perfectly normal, no issues at all

Chapter 37: The Winter Palace Part I

Notes:

tw implied/referenced past rape in chapter (which shouldn't be too shocking anyways, that's a big part of Astarion's backstory in general)

They never did find out who, or what, spoke through the tadpole. Karlach suggested it might have been the 'voice of the Absolute,' the entity that led tadpoled cultists to believe they were hearing the voice of a god. Karlach had always been protected from this voice by some kind of magical prism. Until that moment in the undercroft, she believed that wherever Skyhold was, it was certainly far enough away from the Absolute to not need the prism.

It was concerning that the voice of the Absolute could reach her here—more concerning still that the Absolute also wished Ketheric Thorm dead. Up until that moment, they had operated under the assumption that Ketheric Thorm and the Absolute were on the same side. After all, he was the leader of Moonrise Towers, the place responsible for creating 'true souls.'

Not that Astarion really had much to do with that; sure, he was tadpoled himself, but up until now, the whole ‘cultists’ and ‘Absolute’ thing had largely not been his problem. He knew mind flayers would be an issue in the future, but he had hoped that specific part of the future might never come to pass.

He really should have known better than to hope for anything. It had never gotten him anywhere in the past, and surely he knew better than to be hopeful for anything now.

Perhaps what also contributed to his poor mood was the Orlesian Ball he was on his way to attend. Two months had passed far quicker than he would have liked, and the thought of ‘The Game,’ dancing around nobles, and charming the court were bringing up past memories that Astarion would have preferred stayed in the past.

He had hoped that, with Cazador dead, his mind might have been relieved enough to try new things again, but his mind would not let him rest. Cazador had held too many of these parties over the years, and each time, unfailingly, Astarion would end up in the bedroom, entangled with some rich person's legs to provide food or influence for Cazador. He knew this was not the point of the Inquisition's presence at the ball, but the past weighed on him heavily.

No, the point of the Inquisition showing up was actually to investigate a plot to assassinate Empress Celene and possibly prevent it. And to help stop a civil war… or something like that. Astarion, quite frankly, didn’t care about either of those. But apparently, the rest of the Inquisition did, so off to stop an assassination it was. The potential for Astarion to gain influence for the Inquisition was just a consequential benefit of attending such a vital party in Orlais.

“You’ve gone quiet, amatus. Something the matter?” Dorian’s voice cut through as he rode next to Astarion on one of the Inquisition’s horses.

"Nothing of consequence, really. Just the disheartening notion that these horses might ruin our lovely, expensive outfits," Astarion lied, guiding his horse closer to Dorian's.

"Ah, my dear, it would take far more than a mere horse to tarnish your exquisite beauty," Dorian flirted, his eyes lingering appreciatively on Astarion.

"We do make a rather fetching couple, don't we?" Astarion remarked, his gaze lingering on Dorian's attire. The tailor they’d employed had certainly demonstrated exceptional skill; the outfits were impeccably crafted, fitting flawlessly in all the right places. Astarion's ensemble was fashioned from deep black fabric, complemented by an intense crimson cloak, and adorned with silver bat emblems embroidered on either side of his chest. Truly, Astarion couldn't conceive of an outfit that screamed 'I'm a vampire' more than the one he donned now.

While Astarion's outfit was undoubtedly the most intricate and eye-catching, Dorian had been bestowed a similarly styled coat, adorned with bat emblems as well. However, Dorian's outfit was crimson with gold bats, lacking the dramatic cape that Astarion sported, and Astarion alone was clad in black. The rest of the Inquisition donned atrociously standard red outfits with black sashes. Technically, they all matched, but Dorian and Astarion's attire stood out significantly. It was clear that Josephine intended to make a scene. The matching coats and distinctive styles suggested she aimed to stir up as much scandal as possible, for better or for worse.

"We do indeed, don't we? The court is going to be absolutely scandalized when they lay eyes on us. The ensemble they've dressed you in practically screams, 'I'm secretly a demon,' and my coat only fans the flames of the 'Evil Tevinter Magister' rumors. And here I was, fretting over which fork to use at dinner! No, our reputation will be in tatters the moment we step through those doors. You, an elf—rumored to be an ex-slave, by the Inquisition's standards—beside me, dressed as you are... We'll be fortunate if the Orlesians don't all faint from sheer horror at the sight of us," Dorian remarked, secretly relishing the chaos their entrance would surely cause.

"Well, it would certainly simplify finding and stopping an assassin," Astarion quipped, then continued with a mischievous smile, "though I'm confident I look captivating enough to weave the Inquisition's charm into the hearts of more than a few nobles."

"Just remember, don't get carried away. Don’t slip back into old habits," Dorian advised, his expression earnest and sincere.

"Old habits? And what exactly do you mean by that?" Astarion asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"You know what I mean. Don't let anything happen to you that you're not comfortable with, just for the sake of gaining influence. If the Orlesians are anything like the people of my homeland... there will be plenty who would desire untoward things from you. Especially as, well, an elf dressed like that," Dorian cautioned.

“Dressed like this? I’m fully covered,” Astarion replied. 

"That's not the point," Dorian countered with a wry smile. "You're an elf, and you’re dressed more splendidly than Empress Celene herself. But your attire has an air of the fantastical, like something out of the tales of the Fade. Though those stories are pure nonsense, the rumors of you being a demon have already made the rounds. Every eye in the room will be on you, and I suspect more than a few will be vying for the chance to get close to you."

"So, you're saying the Orlesians would bed a demon," Astarion replied with a smirk.

"The Orlesians would absolutely leap at the chance to bed a demon, especially a desire demon, if rumors are to be believed. Despite the Inquisition's best efforts to squash such tales, I'm certain the Orlesians have heard them. On the other hand, if they buy into the story of you being a former slave... well, there are certainly men in there who would seek to exploit that as well," Dorian explained with a hint of concern.

"Well, you needn't worry. I promise, I can handle myself just fine—I won't let anyone do anything untoward," Astarion assured, then flashed Dorian a smile that revealed his fangs. "At least, not unless they fancy being bitten."

A light, feminine voice interrupted from the horse behind them—Cassandra. "It will take divine intervention from the Maker just to make it through the night without you two being discovered as hunger demons, won't it?" she remarked to no one in particular.

Dorian glanced over his shoulder at Cassandra. "Hunger demons?" he asked.

"For lack of a better term, yes. A vampire is best described as a hunger demon, though one that possesses its own body,” Cassandra stated with conviction.

Dorian’s eye twitched. “That’s not quite how that—” he began, but then stopped. “You know, now that I think of it, we are quite similar to hunger demons. Hawke might have been onto something with that one. Shame he and Fenris couldn’t join us—could you imagine the spectacle?”

Leliana’s voice interrupted as she rode her horse next to Astarion’s. “I hate to interrupt this riveting conversation, but we’re approaching the Winter Palace,” she said, drawing their attention back to the road.

Dorian sighed before turning back to Astarion to resume their earlier conversation. “Listen—just... I can see you’re troubled, much like you are whenever your past comes up. I won’t be able to stay by your side for most of this party, and I don’t want you feeling pressured into doing anything for the Inquisition that you’re uncomfortable with. Promise me you won’t let those memories drive you to actions you’d later regret.”

Astarion sighed, his playful demeanor softening. "Dorian, I appreciate your concern, truly. The past has a way of lingering, doesn't it? But I assure you, I'm more than capable of navigating these treacherous waters without losing myself. I've faced far worse than a room full of nobles, and I won't let old ghosts dictate my actions. I promise, I'll keep my wits about me and won't let the Inquisition push me into anything I'll regret. Happy?” 

"I suppose I'll have to be," Dorian replied with a wry twist of his lip. "Though I'll be decidedly happier once the murders and blood sacrifices begin."

"Blood sacrifices? My, my, perhaps I will enjoy this party after all," Astarion said with a wicked grin.

 

---

 

All eyes were on the Inquisition the second they walked through the Winter Palace gates. Whispers were abuzz—people pointing in Astarion’s direction and muttering amongst themselves. Astarion could catch a few words—“elf,” “Inquisitor,” “slave,” “demon”—no doubt sharing all the lovely little rumors they’d heard about him. Astarion wasn’t certain whether all the intrigue was a good thing or a bad thing; some faces looked at him with awe, while others were full of contempt or hate.

Astarion had been warned in advance that this might happen—the court would start with more suspicion and dislike of him than others. Not because of all the rumors swirling about him, but simply for being an elf. He had been warned that people would be put off by seeing an elf have the audacity to stand amongst the nobles, as many were of the mindset that elves were little more than servants—despite Ambassador Briala, one of the key members of the supposed ‘peace talks’ happening today, also being an elf.

Still, Astarion knew that the upset wouldn’t hold for long and would quickly be replaced with intrigue and desire once he introduced himself. If his time working for Cazador had taught him anything, it was that very few could truly resist a vampire’s charms—and the Inquisition had two.

They had been invited by a man called Grand Duke Gaspard—Empress Celene's cousin, who wanted the throne and wanted the Inquisition to cause enough upset to put him on it. Astarion didn’t really care. The man had complimented their outfits—and Astarion could tell that the man meant it. The guy was practically beaming seeing the Inquisition arrive in the fashion they did—no doubt because it was causing the amount of jaw-dropping chaos the man had likely wished for.

The man had also complimented him on escaping slavery—something that didn’t feel like much of a compliment at all. Astarion had a feeling he would be getting a lot of that tonight. Yet, Astarion hadn’t felt wrong for long, because shortly after that comment, Dorian held his hand and placed a kiss on his cheek. It was all for show, but the way Gaspard’s eyes almost bulged out of his head at seeing Dorian openly showing affection for Astarion had absolutely been worth it. Regardless, after the man had recollected himself from seeing the scandal-causing guests he’d invited kiss, he led them inside to get officially introduced to the court.

Astarion stole the show the second he walked inside. More of the same whispers, glances, and pointing spread across the room. There was a large, empty ballroom floor in the center, and a woman who was no doubt Empress Celene stood above it on a large balcony across the room, observing the guests being introduced to her.

A man was announcing names, starting with Duke Gaspard, followed by the Inquisition.

“And now introducing: Lord Inquisitor Astarion,” the announcer said.

Astarion bowed to Empress Celene and, with a small flourish of his cape, walked gracefully across the ballroom floor, holding a tempting smile on his face as he fell back into his old seductive habits from his time as one of Cazador’s spawn at formal balls. As he walked, he could feel all eyes on him. Yet he walked with a confidence only trained by his past—perhaps a little too confident, as rumors circulated while he moved.

“Lord Dorian Pavus, Member of the Circle of Virantium, son of Lord Magister Halward Pavus of Asariel,” the announcer continued. Astarion didn’t need to look back to know that Dorian was walking across the floor next. They had chosen that intentionally after all; his advisors had wanted Dorian’s importance to Astarion to be known. It did make Astarion wonder, however, if they would have been as supportive if Dorian hadn’t been changed into a vampire.

The remaining members of the Inquisition were introduced afterward, some with much fancier titles than Astarion had even known about, and some with less—specifically, Solas, who was introduced as Astarion’s manservant. Of course, the Inquisition had been the ones to provide the list of their names to the announcer, but Astarion hadn’t expected Solas to settle for ‘manservant.’ Astarion was not going to let Solas live that one down.

Empress Celene greeted Astarion with a very polite and subtle wave of her hand. “We welcome you, Lord Inquisitor. Allow us to present our cousin, the Grand Duchess of Lydes, without whom this gathering never would have been possible,” she said, gesturing politely to the woman standing next to her.

Astarion wished they didn’t wear masks; it hid their expressions all too well. Which was undoubtedly the point of the masks, but it would make it hard for Astarion to determine what they were thinking.

“What an unexpected pleasure. I was not aware the Inquisition would be part of our festivities. We will certainly speak later, Inquisitor,” the Duchess of Lydes said, though Astarion could tell from her tone of voice alone that she didn’t want him there. That, and the way her heartbeat pounded louder and faster when she saw him. He supposed it didn’t help that she wore a dress with an unusual collar that seemed to highlight her neckline.

“A pleasure,” Astarion said, nodding his head to Empress Celene. “I am grateful to be in the presence of a woman as stunning as you. Truly, your eyes shine through your mask like stars in the midnight sky,” he said to her.

He heard the sound of someone gasping in surprise next to him—one of the girls, perhaps. Maybe he had broken some unspoken rule, but the empress didn’t seem to mind.

Empress Celene smiled, letting her perfect appearance slip for a moment, as she hadn’t expected Astarion to downright flirt with her. “We have heard much about you and your exploits, Inquisitor. They have made grand tales for long evenings. Though, it must be said—you are not my type, Inquisitor. As I suspect that I am not yours, from what I’ve gathered,” she said, her voice filled with amusement as her eyes flickered over to Dorian. “Regardless, we are happy to have you here. Feel free to enjoy the pleasures of the ballroom, Inquisitor. We look forward to watching you dance.”

As Astarion walked away, his companions following behind, Cassandra gave him a stern look. “Really, Astarion, flirting ? You could have gotten us removed before it even started!” she said, clearly disturbed.

Astarion shrugged. “Why? I think she likes me,” he said, amusement in his voice.

“It was certainly a way to leave an impression, that’s for certain,” Dorian agreed, also amused.

Cassandra sighed, clearly giving up on the topic. “We’ll split up. Listen for conversations, and look for anything suspicious. And Astarion—feel free to sneak off to see what you can find, but don’t stay away for too long, or else the court will get suspicious,” she said.

"Oh, don't you worry. Sneaking around is my specialty," Astarion said, flashing a smile. "And Dorian—try not to miss me too much. I'll see you in a bit," he added with a wink before disappearing into the crowd.

Astarion spent the next hour wandering the halls, greeting nobles, and eavesdropping on conversations. It all felt natural, almost rehearsed—it was as if his body was moving and speaking of its own accord. It had been far too easy to fall back into old habits of mingling with the elite during a party.

That was, until one of those nobles stopped him, standing firmly in his path.

"Well, hello there. And what might I do for such a handsome fellow as yourself?" Astarion purred, taking the noble's hand and kissing it lightly, his charm as unwavering as ever.

“You’re the Inquisitor, correct? I’ve heard much about you. I have something important to tell you about your mission—will you come meet me in private?” the man asked in a thick accent, holding Astarion’s gaze. It was hard for Astarion to gauge the man’s intentions with the large mask obscuring his face, but he was curious, especially if the man knew of his mission.

“Alright. I’ll bite. What do you know?” Astarion asked curiously.

“Follow me. I’ll tell you in private,” the man said, grasping Astarion’s hand and leading him through the crowd, past barriers into a private courtyard with no one else around.

"You know, this all seems rather suspicious. Getting me alone like this. You haven’t come to murder me, have you?" Astarion teased, flashing the man one of his signature smiles.

The man gave Astarion a polite shake of his head. “You are here for other business than to simply party, correct?” he asked, pacing around Astarion and eyeing him up and down.

"I'm not sure what you're implying. Care to clarify?" Astarion asked, noticing the predatory gaze the man was giving him. Perhaps Dorian had a right to be worried—only an hour or two into the party and he was already getting into trouble. Astarion sighed. "Alright then—which is it? Are you here to murder me or ravish me?"

The man smiled and tore off his mask. “You’re very perceptive, Inquisitor,” he said, as five other men made their way out of various hiding places in the courtyard, approaching and surrounding him.

“You’re from Tevinter, aren’t you? You’re all Venatori,” Astarion accused, seeing much more clearly now that the masks were removed. He finally understood why the man’s accent had sounded so strong—it was because he was from Tevinter, not Orlais.

“Yes, and you’ve been a little too politically active for a slave, haven’t you? You might have escaped to Ferelden, but legally, you will always be a slave,” the man spat. “You need to learn your place.”

Astarion sighed. "What do you want? Do you actually intend to kill me, or do you simply wish to rough me up to 'teach me my place'? Not that it matters; I’ll kill you either way.” 

The Venatori laughed. “I was ordered to kill you, but I don’t think I will. You’d look much nicer as my slave, knife-ear . All that charming and swooning the court does for you… there’s a reason you’re so comfortable flirting, isn’t there? You’re a former pleasure slave, and I plan on putting your skills fully to use. So will my men,'' the Venatori said, opening his arms and motioning to the rest of his group. “You’ll belong to me, Inquisitor ,” he added, saying Astarion’s title in a mocking tone.

Astarion felt eyes trailing over him, and the leader of this particular group of Venatori was looking at him like he was nothing more than a pleasure toy, a being to be raped, hidden away, and used to his heart’s desire. Astarion's expression darkened at the threat—this was no longer fun anymore, not after the Venatori had just threatened to have him and his men all rape him.

"Whoever sent you here—Corypheus or whichever bumbling fool leads the Venatori—they left out a very crucial detail about me," Astarion said, brandishing his daggers with a wicked smile. "It's a shame, really. Perhaps they wanted you dead too. Saw your life as worthless, meaningless, and sent you to meet your end at my hands."

The Venatori laughed. “Seriously? We’re five mages—do you really think some daggers will stop us? How about this—you get on your knees now and beg for forgiveness, and I might go lenient on punishing you late—” the man began, but his speech was interrupted by a dagger slicing his throat, the assailant standing behind the man before quickly disappearing, as if never there. The man gasped and looked down, raising his hand to his throat as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened, before collapsing to the ground. 

The remaining mages quickly recovered from their shock and leapt into battle, some trying to approach Astarion to shock him directly, while others fell back slightly, choosing to distance themselves while throwing spells at him. None of them lived long—the ones who had chosen to distance themselves quickly found themselves dead by the flash of a dagger from a man who could very easily dip in and out of sight—Cole, who had also been the one to kill their leader. Astarion wasn’t surprised to see him; he knew the spirit boy had a habit of following him around while they were out. 

The ones who tried to approach Astarion directly didn’t receive any mercy either—he was on them in a flash, his daggers plunging into their soft, vulnerable bodies with ruthless precision. These mages hadn’t been well-prepared; they had likely assumed that most people would be too afraid of a group of mages to fight back. Or perhaps they had underestimated him simply for being an elf, in which case they were not only arrogant but also fatally mistaken.

Astarion could at least appreciate that the arrogant and mistaken tasted good. He plunged his teeth into the neck of the last mage alive, the man's scream piercing the night air as the forceful bite sent a shock of electricity through Astarion's body. The mage had fought back- had shocked him with a brief flash of electricity. He pulled back, feeling the current course through him, momentarily paralyzing his muscles. But the thrill of the hunt and the taste of blood drove him forward. He grabbed the man again, his grip ironclad, and went in for seconds. This time, the mage didn’t fight back, his resistance snuffed out as Astarion drained the life from him.

As the final body collapsed to the ground, drained of life, Astarion smiled widely and let out a small laugh at the situation. The sudden surge of happiness and strength from the taste of fresh blood still lingering in his mouth was intoxicating.

Cole stepped over the body, moving towards Astarion. “He wanted to hurt you, like he hurt others. Collared, chained, strapped to the bed, forced to obey… he hurt so many, and he wanted to hurt you,” Cole murmured, his troubled expression softening as a faint smile touched his face. “But I helped.”

Astarion chuckled. "I must admit, Cole, your idea of helping has its merits. He certainly won't be causing any more trouble," he remarked, kneeling to rummage through the pockets of a dead body. "Since you're in such a helpful mood, care to see if the others have anything worthwhile?"

A slow clap from behind startled Astarion, though he could see that Cole was not surprised; whoever it was, Cole must have already known they were there. Astarion stood up straight and turned around, eyeing the person—a young woman with dark hair, dressed in an elegant black and red gown. She could fit in with the Inquisition's outfits if no one knew any better. Astarion didn’t know who she was, but at least she had taste in what she wore, which couldn’t be said for the majority of attendees. 

“Inquisitor, I must applaud you for the swift manner in which you disposed of these men. I had half a mind to help, but you certainly took care of them on your own,” the woman said, taking a few steps towards them. “I must admit, I’ve heard all kinds of rumors about you—and was curious about them myself. I never expected the Inquisitor to actually be a demon, surrounded by templars and the hands of the Divine, no less. A hunger demon, by the looks of it—though I can understand why someone might mistake you for desire. You certainly gleaned a fascinating body for yourself. And you—a spirit. Compassion, perhaps? What could bring such magnificent creatures to the imperial ball, I wonder,” she said, briefly glancing in Cole’s direction.

Cole interrupted, his voice soft but firm. “No… you’re wrong. Astarion is not a demon. He’s a person trapped inside his own corpse. He drinks blood. It helps.”

"I think I'd rather stick with 'hunger demon,' Cole..." Astarion sighed, his eyes fixed on the woman. "Alright, then. Who are you, and why exactly shouldn't we just kill you along with these Venatori? It takes a special kind of bravery—or stupidity—to approach a demon right after a massacre."

The woman smiled and bowed to him politely. “I am not brave, Inquisitor, just smart—like you. You would not kill someone on your own side. I am Morrigan. Some call me an advisor to Empress Celene on matters of the arcane.”

 

Chapter 38: Astarion's Momentary Distractions

Astarion regarded her warily, his crimson eyes narrowing with suspicion before his expression shifted into something far more charming—a slow, deliberate smile curling at the edges of his lips. “Well,” he drawled, his voice smooth as silk, “it has been an absolute pleasure making your acquaintance, Lady Morrigan. But as much as I relish the company of a woman as breathtaking as yourself, I really must return to the others.” He took a small, theatrical step back, inclining his head in a half-bow. “I’m sure you understand—vanishing from the gathering at the exact same time as Empress Celene’s esteemed Arcane Advisor is bound to rouse some suspicion. And we wouldn’t want that, now would we?” His smile sharpened, fangs flashing ever so slightly.

Morrigan tilted her head, amusement dancing in her eyes as she folded her arms. “Leaving already? How very curious. A massacre of this scale, and yet, you remain utterly unfazed. Then again…” She let her gaze drift meaningfully over the carnage that surrounded them, a smirk playing at her lips. “I have heard tales of the Inquisition’s endeavors. Death, it seems, is a most familiar companion of yours.”

Astarion followed her gaze, his sharp eyes scanning the lifeless Venatori scattered across the earth. Blood pooled in the dirt, dark and glistening under the pale light of the moon. He let out a dismissive scoff, rolling his eyes theatrically.

"Venatori scum hardly qualify as 'people,' darling. Was I meant to simply allow them to capture me? To let them continue their little rampage on this miserable world? No, I think we both know they were better off this way. And judging by your lack of objection, you certainly didn’t mind me taking a bit of... liberty ." He exhaled, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk as he licked the blood from his lower lip with an almost languid pleasure. "Really, where’s the harm? The villain meets their end, I enjoy a delightful meal, and we both go on our merry ways. A win-win, if I do say so myself."

Morrigan regarded Astarion with a knowing smile, her golden eyes glinting with intrigue. “You are quite the fascinating one, Inquisitor . I am pleased to have made your acquaintance. Something tells me you will leave your mark on this palace, for better or worse. No matter what unfolds, you are certain to make waves.” She tilted her head slightly, an amused smirk playing at her lips. “And I must say, I look forward to meeting Dorian Pavus as well.”

At the mention of Dorian’s name, Astarion’s expression darkened, his easy confidence giving way to something far more guarded. His brows knit together, and a flicker of unease passed over his face. “Dorian?” he echoed, his voice edged with suspicion. “Why? What business do you have with him?”

Morrigan’s smirk widened. “As I said—simply to meet him. It isn’t every day that I encounter two charming, hunger demons in a single evening.”

Astarion stiffened, his crimson eyes narrowing. “How do you—” he began, but Morrigan cut him off with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“I am Empress Celene’s Arcane Advisor, dear boy. It is my duty to know such things.” She took a deliberate step back, folding her arms as she regarded them both. “But, you were right, Inquisitor—you have been absent from the festivities for far too long. Best you return before anyone becomes too suspicious. Or worse—before your absence is mistaken for disinterest, and you find yourself losing favor among the court. It would be such a shame for the Inquisition to lose power and opportunity over a mere conversation.”

Astarion exhaled, a sharp sigh of resignation slipping past his lips. “Fine,” he relented, rolling his eyes. “But I trust you’ll keep certain… details to yourself. We’ll speak again soon .”

Morrigan inclined her head, her expression unreadable. “I look forward to it, Inquisitor.” With that, she turned gracefully on her heel and strode away, vanishing into the gilded corridors of the palace.

Astarion let out a quiet sigh before glancing over his shoulder, half-expecting to find Cole lingering nearby—only to confirm what he already suspected. The boy had vanished, slipping away into the shadows as effortlessly as a breath on the wind. Not that it surprised Astarion. Cole had a habit of appearing and disappearing at will, leaving only an unsettling whisper of his presence behind.

Shaking his head, Astarion turned on his heel and made his way back toward the grand ballroom.

The moment he stepped past the gilded doors, the atmosphere swallowed him whole—laughter, music, and the constant murmur of nobility weaving a web of politics and pleasantries. He moved through the crowd with practiced ease, his lips curling into the familiar, effortless smile he had perfected over centuries. Every exchange was a careful dance—subtle flattery here, a charming laugh there—drawing the nobles in like moths to a flame. To his mild amusement, he found himself far more popular than expected. They flocked to him, intrigued by the Inquisition, charmed by his presence. No doubt his advisors would be pleased; this was precisely the kind of attention that would bolster their cause.

After some time spent socializing—loosely speaking—and subtly checking in on a few of his companions, Astarion eventually spotted Cullen, who, to his great amusement, had been thoroughly ensnared by a gaggle of flirtatious nobles. The Commander looked as though he would rather face a high dragon than endure another second of their affections. Astarion decided not to intervene.

Instead, his gaze drifted across the ballroom until it landed on a familiar figure standing alone near the far wall, a wine glass in hand and an unmistakable look of exasperation on his face.

With a small, knowing smile, Astarion strode toward Dorian.

“You don’t seem particularly thrilled to be here,” Astarion observed, his voice laced with amusement as he came to a stop beside him.

Dorian let out a dramatic sigh, tilting his head toward Astarion without bothering to mask his fatigue. “I can’t believe I somehow managed to forget just how insufferably exhausting these parties are. My time in Ferelden must be making me soft.” He took a deliberate sip of his wine before adding dryly, “Do you know how many people have approached me tonight to ask the most ridiculous things? Just a few minutes ago, someone had the audacity to inquire if you were a reformed blood mage attempting to atone for your dark past. And before that, another person asked if we had secretly gotten married and were simply keeping it quiet to avoid a political scandal involving an outraged magister and a particularly vengeful ex-lover. Truly, I fear for the state of Orlesian gossip.” He waved a hand dismissively, but then his sharp eyes narrowed slightly. “Never mind that, though. You faintly smell of blood.”

Astarion chuckled, unbothered. “Ah, well. The courtyard is a bit of a mess at the moment,” he admitted with a casual shrug. “Venatori.”

Dorian raised an incredulous brow. “We’ve been here for, what? A few hours at most? And you’ve already started leaving a trail of bodies?” He sighed, though there was more amusement than disapproval in his tone. “I knew there would be bloodshed before the night was over, but even for you, that seems remarkably fast.”

“Hush now—we wouldn’t want anyone to overhear, would we?” Astarion teased, his voice dripping with mock secrecy. A mischievous smirk tugged at his lips, his tone light and laced with sarcasm. “Besides, parties aren’t solely about navigating politics and avoiding murder. So… let’s dance .”

Dorian arched a skeptical brow, his lips quirking in a faint smile. “You want to dance? Now ? Aren’t you supposed to be—oh, I don’t know—hunting down an assassin or something equally pressing?”

Astarion waved a dismissive hand, his crimson eyes gleaming with playful confidence. “Oh, I’m sure any self-respecting assassin would wait until the end of the night to strike.” He took a graceful step closer, bowing his head slightly. “So, what do you say? May I have this dance?”

Without waiting for a reply, Astarion swept his cloak behind him with a dramatic flourish, sinking to one knee in a move so theatrical it could only be intentional. He reached for Dorian’s hand, lifting it with reverence before pressing a feather-light kiss to the back of it. The gesture, elegant and bold, caught the attention of those nearby. Conversations faltered, curious eyes turning their way, whispers rippling through the room like wind over water.

Dorian’s cheeks flushed a warm shade of crimson, his usual composure momentarily shaken by Astarion’s brazen display. “Yes, fine , I’ll dance,” he relented, though he let out an exaggerated sigh, fully aware of the scene his companion had just created.

“Perfect.” Astarion rose with a flourish, a pleased grin stretching across his face. He took Dorian’s hand in his own, his grip firm yet gentle. “Let’s give them all something to talk about, shall we?”

With effortless grace, he guided Dorian down the grand staircase and onto the ballroom floor, the crowd parting instinctively to make way for them. The gilded chandeliers above cast a soft glow over the room, their light catching on the polished floor as the two men stepped into place, the music swelling around them like an unspoken invitation.

And so, they danced. Astarion led with effortless grace, his movements fluid and precise, while Dorian followed with a natural elegance that belied his earlier reluctance. The onlookers couldn’t help but pause, captivated by the sight of the two men weaving across the floor like shadows in perfect harmony.

Whispers rippled through the crowd, some hushed with awe, others sharp with speculation. Eyes followed them with fascination—admiration from some, thinly veiled disapproval from others—but none could look away.

As the final note lingered in the air, Astarion and Dorian came to a graceful stop, their hands still entwined. Astarion bowed slightly, his crimson gaze locking onto Dorian’s, a faint smirk playing on his lips. Without a word, they stepped off the floor together, still holding hands as they moved through the crowd, their heads held high despite the stares.

Dorian glanced at their intertwined fingers but made no move to let go. A small smile tugged at his lips, his expression softening as he looked at Astarion. “You’re an excellent dancer. Not that I’m surprised,” he said, his voice warm, almost tender. His gaze lingered on Astarion’s face, as though memorizing every detail—the curve of his lips, the color of his eyes. “But still… you’re remarkable .” After a moment’s pause, he added, “Though, I imagine we’ve gained a few enemies from that performance. I can’t imagine everyone was pleased to see us together.”

Astarion’s smirk widened into something more playful. “Oh, anyone insulted by the sight of the two of us dancing isn’t worth having as an ally, darling. Let them scowl and sulk—it only makes our night more amusing.” He paused, tilting his head slightly as if to listen to the murmurs still buzzing around them. “Besides, I’ve already made plenty of new friends tonight. Several nobles have already promised their generous support to the Inquisition. I’d say this evening has been a success.”

Astarion sighed, his tone shifting to something regretful but teasing. “Unfortunately, I must leave you to the wolves—the ones with their obscene questions and unbearable curiosity. I have more sneaking about to do, after all.”

Dorian let out a dramatic sigh but smiled nonetheless. “Of course you do. Just try not to start another fight in the courtyard while you’re at it.”

Astarion laughed softly, brushing his thumb over Dorian’s hand before finally releasing it. “No promises, my dear.”

Astarion caught a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye—a tiny, familiar shape scurrying just out of sight. His entire body tensed as his sharp gaze snapped toward it, his mind suddenly on high alert. There, nestled in the shadows near the edge of the ballroom, was the hamster.

Again.

His brow furrowed, a mixture of confusion and unease washing over him. His voice was low but urgent as he turned to Dorian. “You saw that, right?”

Dorian followed his line of sight, his expression unimpressed. “The rodent?” He gave a small, dismissive shrug. “Yes, I saw it. I suppose it’s a blessing that only the two of us noticed it—otherwise, I imagine half the room would be shrieking in horror. Can you imagine the chaos? The Orlesians would declare a national emergency.”

Astarion didn’t laugh. His frown deepened as he murmured, “Yes, well… I’m fairly certain it’s been following me.”

Dorian arched a skeptical brow. “You think a rodent has been tailing you through the ball? Through the palace?” He sighed. “I’ll admit, stranger things have happened, but that does seem rather unlikely. Unless, of course, it’s enchanted in some way. Someone charmed it, perhaps?” He cast another glance at the small creature. “Which would mean there’s someone controlling it. You might want to find out who.”

"It's been following me since Skyhold," Astarion added. 

That made Dorian pause. His usual air of amusement faded, replaced with something more serious. “Since Skyhold ?” His skepticism wavered, though not entirely. “Are you sure?”

Astarion crossed his arms, his voice firm. “I haven’t seen another hamster in all the places we’ve traveled, yet this one? It keeps appearing. I swear, it’s been weeks. Always lurking. Always nearby.” His gaze flicked back to the small creature, watching as it sat unnervingly still, tiny beady eyes locked onto him.

Dorian exhaled, rubbing his temple. “Right, well, as much as I want to believe you’re simply being paranoid, this does sound… unsettling. If you’re right, and if this thing has been spying on Skyhold, we could have a much larger problem on our hands.” He sighed, then gestured vaguely toward the rodent. “Go investigate, then. Preferably before I have to suffer the mental image of you being outmaneuvered by a hamster.”

Astarion rolled his eyes, but there was no mistaking the sharp glint of suspicion in his gaze. Without another word, he stepped away, slipping into the shadows as he set off to uncover the truth behind his unexpected—and persistent—observer.

Astarion moved with practiced silence, his steps light as he stalked toward the shadowed corridor. His sharp eyes locked onto the small creature just ahead—there, the hamster.

The moment their eyes met, the rodent froze for the briefest second before darting away once more, its tiny paws skittering across the polished floor. Astarion cursed under his breath and took off in pursuit, weaving through the grand palace corridors, his movements swift and effortless.

The chase led him into a dimly lit hallway, one clearly meant to be off-limits—he could tell by the velvet ropes that lined its entrance, a pathetic attempt at discouraging trespassers. Astarion hesitated only long enough to ensure no one had seen him before slipping past the barrier, pressing forward with cat-like agility.

The deeper he went, the quieter the palace became, the distant murmur of music and laughter fading into eerie silence. At last, the hamster darted beneath a heavy wooden door, squeezing through a narrow crack at its base. Astarion smirked.

“Nowhere left to run, little one,” he murmured as he reached for the door.

With a push, he swung it open, ready to snatch up his elusive prey—

—only to freeze in his tracks.

A fade rift shimmered before him, its green light casting ghostly reflections across the cold stone walls. The air hummed with magic, thick and electric, the very fabric of reality twisting around it. But something was… wrong.

Astarion’s instincts screamed at him. Where were the demons? The grotesque, clawing creatures that always spilled forth from these wounds in the Veil? Every rift he’d encountered had been an open wound, hemorrhaging horrors into the mortal world. But this one? This one was unsettlingly still.

Then, his eyes widened in sheer disbelief as he watched the hamster—without hesitation—leap into the rift.

Astarion’s jaw went slack, his usual composure shattered. He stumbled back a step, momentarily dumbfounded. “What in the Nine Hells...?” he breathed, his voice laced with a mixture of disbelief and amused confusion.

For a moment, he assumed the rodent was dead. Surely, it had been obliterated, swallowed whole by whatever lay beyond. “Dumb little thing,” he muttered, shaking his head as he stepped forward, stretching out his arm.

The moment his palm hovered over the rift, he felt the familiar pull of its energy, the tendrils of green light reaching toward his outstretched fingers. Magic surged through him as he focused, preparing to seal it shut—

—until the hamster jumped right back out.

Astarion recoiled, cursing as he stumbled backward, his concentration shattered. “What the—?!”

The rodent landed effortlessly on the stone floor, unharmed, twitching its tiny nose as if nothing had happened. Astarion, however, was thoroughly unsettled.

His eyes narrowed. No ordinary creature could survive a rift—let alone travel through one and return unscathed.

“Alright, you little menace,” he growled, his instincts kicking in. With inhuman speed, he lunged, hitting the floor in a swift, predatory motion, his hands reaching out to snatch the impossible hamster before it could escape again.

What Astarion did not expect was for the hamster to fight back with such unrelenting ferocity.

The moment his fingers closed around the tiny creature, it exploded into motion, twisting violently in his grasp before launching itself straight at his face.

Sharp little teeth sank into the tip of his nose.

Astarion let out an undignified yelp, instinctively rolling onto his back as he pried the creature off, gripping it firmly on either side. But the rodent was relentless—no sooner had he freed his nose than the damnable thing latched onto his finger, biting down with surprising strength.

“You wretched little rat !” he snarled, his face contorting in both pain and disbelief.

He scrambled to his feet, shaking his hand in an attempt to dislodge the determined menace, but the hamster clung on with vicious determination. Astarion’s crimson eyes flashed dangerously as a slow, wicked grin spread across his face.

“Well, unfortunately for you, little beast …” he hissed, lifting the squirming rodent toward his mouth. “I bite back. ”

He bared his fangs, fully prepared to sink them into the insufferable creature—

—only for the hamster to move with unnatural speed.

In a blur, it released his finger and twisted midair, wriggling free of his grasp with an agility that was downright unnatural. Before Astarion could react, the creature sprang toward him, landing squarely on his face.

Then, with the audacity of a seasoned warrior, it kicked off , using Astarion’s face as a makeshift springboard before landing gracefully on the stone floor.

Astarion staggered back, more stunned than injured. “What in the hells?!”

He and the rodent locked eyes, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a blade.

A moment of silence. A challenge unspoken.

Then, the hamster moved first .

It spun on its tiny paws and bolted—straight back into the rift.

“Oh, yes—run off, you disgusting little rat!” Astarion sneered, his voice dripping with disdain after the pitiful encounter with the hamster. Astarion stood there, dumbfounded, rubbing at his abused nose and glowering at the swirling green portal. 

He paused, eyes narrowing as the rift remained unchanged, the creature’s absence lingering. With a huff of annoyance, he stepped closer, his fingers twitching with barely-contained curiosity as he leaned in to study the strange, pulsing tear in reality.

There was something off about the rift—something that crawled under Astarion’s skin, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. His instincts screamed at him to close it, to lock the hamster away in the Fade where it could do no more damage. But there was a nagging voice in the back of his mind, something darker and more uncertain that held him back.

He raised his arm, fingers hovering over the rift, preparing to seal it. But then, for reasons he couldn’t explain, he hesitated. His gaze flickered between the shimmering rift and the empty room around him, the silence pressing in on him. What was it about this one?

The hamster had been far too eager to leap into the rift, almost as if it knew what would happen. And the rift itself was… strange. It didn’t feel like the violent, unstable rifts he’d faced before. This one didn’t pull at him with the same chaotic energy. Instead, it was as if it were waiting—waiting for something, or someone.

His hand dropped to his side, frustration creeping into his features. He took a step back, his eyes narrowing. “Dorian. I’ll get Dorian to look at it first,” he muttered to no one in particular, though the words were more of an excuse than a solution. The whole situation was just too odd .

With a final glance at the rift, Astarion turned on his heel and strode out of the room, his mind a whirl of unanswered questions. He needed someone else’s perspective, someone he trusted to make sense of the strangeness. Dorian.

A few moments later, Astarion found his way back to the ballroom, where Dorian was engaged in conversation with a man Astarion didn’t recognize. As he drew closer, Astarion couldn’t help but notice the look of immense relief on Dorian’s face as he glanced at the man—a relief that was quickly masked with politeness as he excused himself.

“Well, as riveting as this conversation about your daughter’s lover’s brother’s crazed ex-lover has been,” Dorian said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “duty calls. I’m afraid I’ll have to cut this short.”

With a casual nod in Astarion’s direction, Dorian gave a polite farewell to the stranger before swiftly excusing himself from the conversation.

The man, slightly bewildered, watched Dorian retreat. “I understand. I’ll see you later,” he said, clearly flustered, as Dorian made his way to Astarion.

Astarion raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening at Dorian’s departure from the conversation. “Sounds like quite the interesting conversation you were having,” he teased, his voice playful yet edged with curiosity.

“If by interesting you mean a drawn-out discussion about how to recover finances after an ex-lover systematically ruined everything—then sure,” Dorian said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “But I’m more than happy to leave that conversation behind.” He paused, arching an eyebrow. “So, how did the rodent situation turn out? Did you catch up to it?”

Astarion’s expression darkened, his lips curling into a mock frown. “It attacked me,” he said, as if the very idea was a personal affront. “But more importantly, I need you to come with me. It ran into a rift,” he added, his voice dropping lower with a touch of urgency.

"A rift? Here? At the Winter Palace?" Dorian’s voice dripped with disbelief, his brows arching high. His eyes swept the ballroom, a flicker of wariness in them as he searched for any signs of danger. "Where? It must be cleverly tucked away, if no one’s noticed the usual demons that tend to follow such disturbances."

“There are no demons. Just… a rift,” Astarion clarified, his tone still tinged with confusion.

Dorian tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as if contemplating some hidden truth. "Oh. Well... that's certainly convenient . Unexpected, but convenient." He gave a fleeting glance to Astarion, a bemused smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "So, tell me, why exactly do you need me, then? If it's just a rift, I mean. Not that I'm complaining, of course."

Astarion hesitated, his gaze flickering briefly toward the floor before meeting Dorian’s eyes again. “It’s just… odd. Especially since the hamster knew where it was, and the rift itself is… well, oddly calm .” His voice trailed off as if the thought of it unsettled him. “I’d feel better if you took a look at it. It might be nothing, but I have this nagging feeling…”

Dorian studied Astarion for a moment, the concern in his eyes hard to miss. He sighed, his expression softening. “Alright. Let’s go. Lead the way.”

Astarion nodded, offering a small but grateful smile. “Thanks,” he said simply, turning to lead Dorian down the hallway. 

But their path was anything but quick—both of them were too well-known to slip through unnoticed. Every few paces, someone would greet them, eager for a word or a moment of their attention, making it difficult to keep the pace they needed.

Just as the pair finally thought they’d slip away unnoticed, a familiar voice sliced through the hum of the ballroom, halting them in their tracks just as they neared the quiet hallway that would lead them to the rift.

"Well, well, what’s this? The dynamic duo sneaking off somewhere? Not getting into trouble, I hope," Varric's voice teased, and his knowing smirk made it clear he was enjoying every second of this.

Astarion spun on his heel, his face flicking with momentary surprise before his expression settled into one of casual indifference. “Oh, you know,” he said with a small, half-amused shrug, “I just needed Dorian’s help with… something .”

Varric raised an eyebrow, his grin widening as he folded his arms. “Something? Not something bad , I hope?”

Dorian spoke up. “There’s a rift we’re going to investigate,” he said, his voice steady, but with an undercurrent of concern.

Varric's eyes sparkled with interest, and he took a step closer, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "A rift? Here ? At the Palace? Now that's a twist I didn’t see coming. Count me in." He waved a hand, motioning for the pair to keep going. “Just don’t expect me to be much help in a fight,” he added with a chuckle, eyeing his elaborate party attire with a wry smile. “This uniform wasn’t exactly made for combat.”

Astarion and Dorian exchanged a brief glance, an unspoken understanding passing between them before they both shrugged in unison. “I don’t see why not,” Astarion finally responded, his tone light and dismissive. After all, they had no real reason to hide the strange rift from Varric. And should the hamster decide to make another appearance, having one more person present wouldn’t be the worst outcome. Maybe it would decide to attack Varric this time instead.

With Varric now in tow, the trio made their way down the dimly lit hallway. Their footsteps echoed faintly on the stone floors as Astarion led the way, his eyes scanning the surroundings. He half expected something to happen the moment they reached the room—maybe another surprise attack from the hamster—but as they approached the door, there was only silence.

Pushing it open, Astarion stepped into the room, and immediately, the stillness of the place hit him. The rift stood before them, a swirling tear in the fabric of reality, but its edges shimmered with an eerie calmness. No demons, no chaos, and—most importantly—no sign of the hamster.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Varric said, his voice carrying a mix of amusement and disbelief. “There really is a rift here.”

Dorian, eyes narrowed in thought, took a cautious step forward. “I see what you mean now, Astarion,” he remarked, his voice steady but laced with curiosity. “It’s… unusually calm. Almost too calm.”

Astarion crossed his arms, his gaze fixed on the rift. “Should I close it?” he asked, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice. The stillness of the rift was almost unsettling, and every instinct in him screamed to shut it down before it could do anything more.

“Wait just a moment,” Dorian said, his tone thoughtful as he began to approach the rift, one hand extended cautiously toward it.

“Sparkler, maybe that’s not—” Varric began, his voice laced with concern, but his words were cut off by a sudden, violent shift in the air.

The rift, which had been eerily still, suddenly erupted into chaotic motion. A pulse of raw magic exploded outward, sending a wave of force rippling through the room. Astarion barely had time to react before he was yanked forward, his body crashing into Dorian and Varric as they were similarly pulled toward the rift. The room spun as the force intensified, swirling around them like a whirlwind, and before they could brace themselves, the three of them were thrust into the unknown.

The rift spat them out with brutal force, tossing them onto jagged, uneven rock. Astarion landed with a painful thud, his breath knocked out of him for a moment as he groaned in discomfort. For a split second, everything was spinning, but his instincts kicked in, and he pushed himself up quickly, his gaze snapping toward where the rift had been.

It was gone.

The swirling tear in reality had closed behind them, leaving nothing but a bleak and barren landscape stretching out in all directions. The air was thick with a strange, oppressive stillness, and the world around them felt... wrong. A chill that had nothing to do with temperature hung in the air, settling deep into his bones.

As the others slowly rose to their feet, brushing themselves off, Varric’s voice broke the silence. “Well, that can’t be good.”

Astarion couldn’t help himself. “Regret coming along yet, Varric?” he teased, his lips curving into a grin despite the situation.

Varric shot him a sideways glance, his face as skeptical as ever. “I guess that depends on how quickly we can get out of here,” he shot back.

Dorian, however, seemed far more concerned. His eyes flicked to Astarion, his brow furrowed in thought. “Astarion- you can get us out, right? You’ve been to the Fade before.” His voice carried a hint of desperation, though his tone remained calm.

Astarion straightened, pushing aside the discomfort in his body. His hand instinctively went to the mark on his palm as he nodded. “Yes, I have. Not to worry,” he said, trying to sound reassuring as he raised his hand. He closed his eyes for a moment, imagining the room they’d left behind, the familiar surroundings of the Winter Palace—just a doorway away.

But before he could begin to concentrate, a sudden movement in the shadows caught his attention. Before anyone could react, an arrow shot through the air from the darkness behind them, its tip gleaming in the dim light. It pierced through the air with terrifying speed and lodged itself deep into Astarion’s hand with a sickening thud.

Astarion’s breath caught in his throat as pain lanced through his body, the sharp sting of the arrow embedding itself deep in his hand. His focus shattered instantly, his eyes widening in shock as the blood began to flow freely from the wound. “Get down! Hide behind the rocks!” he snapped, his voice low and urgent, the adrenaline of the situation forcing him into action. Without another word, the group scrambled for cover, ducking behind a group of jagged boulders, the sharp edges of the rocks scraping against their clothes as they tried to shield themselves from their unknown attacker.

Dorian was the first to notice Astarion’s injury, his eyes immediately locking onto the arrow that still protruded from his companion’s hand. “Your hand–” Dorian began, his voice thick with concern. His gaze flicked from Astarion’s face to the blood slowly seeping from the wound, his brows drawn tight with worry. Magic sparked dangerously from Astarion’s mark, flickering in a way that only seemed to intensify the tension in the air.

"Alright, alright—starting to regret this just a tad," Varric muttered, his usual humor replaced by genuine concern. His eyes darted between Astarion's hand and the uneasy surroundings. "The mark... your hand... it’s—" He trailed off, his smirk fading as he realized the gravity of the situation.

Astarion’s face tightened with resolve as he gritted his teeth against the pain. He took a deep breath before twisting his hand, snapping the arrow clean in two with a loud crack. With a grunt, he ripped the rest of the shaft out of his hand, tossing the pieces aside without ceremony. “I’m fine,” he said through clenched teeth, the words coming out sharper than intended. “It’ll heal. Fast enough. I had plenty of blood to drink earlier.” He flexed his fingers, his eyes scanning their surroundings, his thoughts already moving to the next course of action. “I just… don’t think I can use the mark again until it heals more.” The mark pulsed dangerously, unstable and erratic beneath his skin. He could feel it—how fragile and volatile it was. Testing it now would be a risk, one he wasn’t willing to take. His hand throbbed with a relentless ache, blood dripping from the open wound and pooling around his fingers.

Dorian's expression softened with a touch of sympathy as he reached into the pouch at his side. "I’ve got a potion," he murmured, his voice warm yet measured. He handed the vial to Astarion, their fingers grazing for the briefest moment. "Drink this for now. We’ll wrap that hand up properly as soon as we’re somewhere less... hostile ."

Astarion nodded gratefully, uncorking the vial and swallowing the contents with a quick gulp. The healing potion tasted bitter, but it dulled the pain somewhat, giving him a moment of respite.

Varric let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head as he surveyed the endless gloom of the Fade. "Yep—there it is. I officially regret every decision that led us here," he grumbled, casting a wary glance over his shoulder. "Somehow, I didn’t picture this little shindig ending with us stranded in the Fade." He gave a pointed look at Astarion’s wound. “And I’d really like to get that wound fixed before you lose so much blood that you start thinking of me as dinner.”