The Land Is Inhospitable and So Are We

by itsalwaysunnyinoblivion

Summary:

The Urge snarled at her for even considering giving this vampire what he asked for. Practicality overcame it, however, and she let out a defeated sigh. If this was what it took to ensure their success, then so be it. She sat on a fallen tree trunk behind her, holding her arm out. “Fine,” She said. “Wrist only.”

Astarion’s eyebrows shot up so fast it was a wonder he didn’t fly away. Clearly he hadn’t expected her to agree so readily. She wondered if, had she declined, he would have argued, or if he would have sulked away with his tail between his legs. Either way, she had not said no, and he descended upon her hesitantly, as if she might change her mind if he looked too eager. Kneeling in front of her, he took her arm gingerly into his hands, running his fingers along the thin skin of her wrist. He seemed cautious, treating the moment like something he must savor, like he’d never get this chance again. Then, closing his eyes, he brought her wrist to his mouth and sunk his fangs into her flesh.

-

Redeemed Dark Urge and Astarion romance plotline. Or otherwise known as, two people who believe themselves to be inherently unlovable and their mutual obsession with one another.

Chapter 1

Notes:

clearly i have a thing for fucked up murder couples.

this isnt a super serious work, i really just need to get their romance plotline out of my system. there will be some non-romance stuff here in there

no beta reader, minimal editing

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

When the nautiloid crashed and Thalia miraculously survived, she hadn’t planned on sticking around. The moment she’d leaned over the bloody corpse on the beach, its flesh only beginning to decay, she knew something was very, very wrong. Something deep inside her wriggled free in that moment, spreading itself out beneath her skin and settling in, as if it were simply returning to the space where it belonged. Desperately, she tried to convince herself this was simply a symptom of the parasite she’d been infected with. All she needed to do was find a healer who could remove the tadpole and restore her sanity, and, hopefully, her memories.

Shadowheart joined her. Then Astarion. Then Gale, who’s hand she’d very nearly chopped off. At the end of the second day, she found herself grouped with six others; others who had also found themselves victim to mindflayers. Strength in numbers, she’d told herself.

It was only that night, when all seven had sat down and engaged in awkward, guarded conversation did she realize the others were not experiencing the same symptoms as her. In fact, they were all perfectly fine, aside from a few bumps and bruises. That, along with the budding realization that the tadpoles weren’t going to be as easy to cure as they’d hoped. This was when she’d realized her mistake. The mistake of not slitting her own throat the moment she’d stood over that corpse. Because now she was no longer still in the shock that followed after the pleasure she’d felt at the sight; now all she wanted was to survive. To not turn into a mindflayer. Selfish of her to stay in that group, to stay living after the recognition that she was a bloodthirsty maniac. But she had the feeling this was not her first selfish act, and it would certainly not be her last. Thalia did not want to die; because her life, her life free of whatever horrors had encompassed it before, had just begun.

So she stayed with the ragtag group. Bit her tongue nearly in two trying to keep her urges under control, made her arms and palms bleed more than once from digging her nails into her flesh. Each night she fantasized about what it would be like to kill each member of her group, in great detail. Each day she trailed behind them, focusing on the ground beneath her feet and only engaging in conversation when prompted. Things were going okay. She was doing good things, like saving that child from the druid’s snake, despite how badly she wished to see Arabella succumb to the viper’s venom. Maybe if she continued to do the type of things that made Wyll grin and Astarion groan, the urge would die down. She still hadn’t even killed anyone outside of battle! This was good, this meant she could control it.

Well, until now. Now was when she woke from her sleep, only to find herself standing instead of laying on her bedroll. Now was when she felt the warm, slick blood on her hands, saw the mangled body beneath her, and now was when she came to the conclusion that she had severely underestimated how bad this problem of hers was.

She stood in a mix of shock and ecstasy for a moment over the corpse, breathing heavily. She felt incredible. Like her mind was finally clear after being clouded this entire time. Flashes of what she could only assume were memories came to her mind's eye. Blood and gore, lots of it. A handsome, black-haired man guiding her down a hall. Kneeling in front of an unknown shrine. The sudden onslaught reeled her, nearly knocking her off her feet. Then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. She was left only with her horror, her fear, echoed by the silent snores of her companions across the camp.

Hands shaking, she leaned down to close the eyelids of her victim, until she realized her eyes had been gouged out. Thalia’s gaze trailed down the rest of the body, struggling to keep her last meal from coming up her throat. The bard had been stabbed, disemboweled, eviscerated. Her guts exposed and laying still halfway outside her body. It was then that the overwhelming stench of blood became too much for Thalia, and she only just made it to a nearby bush before vomiting. She vomited until the only thing coming up was bile, and even then she could not immediately cease. Her stomach churned, both from her sick and the fear that anyone in camp could wake up at any moment.

How could she not know she was capable of this? Alfira came to their camp with such spark in her eyes, such willingness to help. Thalia had warned her of the danger the path they were on put them in, but the tiefling had insisted. Now that spirit was no more; crushed beneath Thalia‘s blade.

Another wave of nausea arose at the tingle of excitement the thought had roused in her, but she swallowed both feelings. Her first priority had to be hiding this body, her second washing the blood from her hands. Anything else had to wait until later.

Breathing from her mouth so as to not smell her handiwork, she took the calves of the corpse and began to drag it, slowly and quietly, towards the nearby woods. The only person who she would come close enough to worry about waking was Gale, but the wizard slept like a boulder. To her sweet relief, his snores didn’t falter once as she passed his tent.

Eventually she made it to the edge of the woods, where she lugged the body up and over rocks and sticks. Her hands were going numb from the dead-of-night cold, her lungs were tight in her chest, her muscles burned. But she continued, as she had no other choice. She didn’t even know where she would take the body, perhaps she would continue dragging it through the forest until her body succumbed and she collapsed.

They would come looking for her, though. Despite being the second most withdrawn member after Astarion, the party looked at her as some kind of leader. She looked down at the dead tiefling and scoffed. Some leader she was, murdering innocents in the middle of camp. Any one of the lost puppies who trailed their way behind her every day could be next. Gale was particularly tempting, as if the urge inside of her had marked him the moment she kept herself from hacking his hand off. He was also the most convenient target. Shadowheart barely slept, Lae’zel was an obvious no, Karlach couldn’t be touched, her death couldn’t be truly savored. No, out of all of them, Gale would be her first. Perhaps Wyll after that. The unknown, wicked part of her spread her lips into a smile, enjoying these thoughts.

A twig snapped to her left, wrenching her out of her scheming. Her head snapped up with a reflex she didn’t know she possessed, spinning to the source of the sound. For a moment all she saw was the dark of the forest, before the outline of a man came into view. Forgetting the corpse, she reached for her daggers, and the dead arms landed on the ground with a thump.

“Who’s there?” She said with a slightly raised voice to hide the wavering. The figure hesitated, before coming closer. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to his face in the darkness, and her entire body tensed once they did.

Astarion looked at her with a furrowed brow, the very same sour expression that never seemed to change. “How in the hells did you hear me?!”

He wasn’t looking behind her or at her feet. Good. Maybe her body was obscured. Thalia instinctively moved to the side, attempting to keep the corpse out of view.

“I am a rogue too, you know,” She replied coolly, sheathing her blades. “What are you doing here? In the middle of the night?”

The elf raised a brow in amusement. “I could ask you the same,” He peeked around her and Thalia felt her stomach drop to the ground. “I could also ask why you're dragging the body of a bard behind you, while I’m at it.”

Thalia paled. “I didn’t- it’s not what it looked like,” She gestured with her hands, pleading with him. “I didn’t mean to- it was in my sleep. I don’t even remember what happened.”

Gods, this was the end, wasn’t it? Either he killed her right now, or he took her back to camp where he’d expose her crimes and then kill her. She could try to fight back, but she was exhausted. Her body felt like she’d been run over by a carriage. There was no way she would win.

Astarion laughed. That obnoxious, condescending laugh he loved so much. “Dear, I don’t care who you kill or why, as long as it’s not me. You could try being a bit more subtle about it, though.”

Not the response she had expected. She looked from him to the body, her jaw slightly dropped.

“You won’t tell them?” She asked, eyeing him warily. This felt like a trick, or a sick joke. Maybe everyone already knew about her affliction, maybe this had been a setup. She’d return to camp to be greeted with torches and pitchforks.

“What did I say the day we first met? A kindred spirit?” He flashed an unkind smile. “What you do is hardly any of my business. I simply followed you because I was, well, intrigued. It’s not every day the quiet half-elf of the bunch drags a slaughtered tiefling through the woods.”

She tensed. How long had he been following her? And how did she not notice until now? She crossed her arms. “Fine. But what are you doing out here?”

“Didn’t I just say what you do is none of my business?” He rolled his eyes at her. “Additionally, what I do is none of yours. You hardly have the right to play suspicious right now.”

It was true. She was lugging her murder victim, looking for a place to hide the body. Whatever he was doing, it couldn’t be much worse. At least she hoped. But she needed help, and here was an option.

“Help me hide this body and I’ll leave you to your late night stroll, or whatever it is you’re doing.”

He laughed again and the sound made her jaw clench. It was foolish of him to patronize her right now, while she was covered in blood of her making. Either he was an idiot, or there was more to him than met the eye.

Originally, she’d thought him just a little pathetic. When he held a knife to her at their first meeting, she almost laughed at him. He held it like he’d never held a weapon before in his life; a fragile, helpless little magistrate trying to seem bigger than he was. A chill crept up her spine at the realization that it may have all been an act, an act she couldn’t see through.

“You‘ll have to offer me something better than that if you want me to get my hands dirty, love.” He held Thalia’s stare, head tilted slightly to the side. The air about him had shifted at some point, perhaps it had been different this entire time. No longer did he seem inconsequential, and a little bit helpless. He stood a little taller, his eyes shone bright red in the presence of Selüne’s light, and a devilish smirk played at his lips. A predator ready to pounce. That’s what he looked like.

She swallowed, suddenly immensely uncomfortable, and clutched the sides of her arms. “And what would that be?”

“Oh, I’ll think of something,” Casually, he came to her side, scrunching his nose a bit as he took a cold wrist into his hand. “But for now, you owe me. Come, there’s a cliffside looking over the river not far from here. We can toss the poor girl over the edge.”

Stunned, Thalia nodded, taking the other wrist. Together, they dragged Alfira the rest of the way, neither saying a word. The cliffside was mere yards away, obscured by the thick brush. If she hadn’t been interrupted, she might have found herself toppling over the side of it in her panic. They arrived at the edge, and with a final push, the lifeless corpse flew unceremoniously towards the river. Thalia shut her eyes tight as it fell, flinching when she heard the splash beneath her. It was done. All she’d have to do is wash the excess blood away from the scene at camp, and it would be over, her deed covered.

But she would do it again, wouldn’t she? If not one of her traveling companions, then another poor soul who wandered into their camp. Her urges had been sated for now, but she knew it was only temporary. She could feel them building again, the person she must have once been coaxing them back to life inside her. Pave your path with blood, they whispered to her. Kill. Destroy. Find your way home. Wherever that home was. She opened her eyes again and peered down at the running river below her.

Gods, was she terrified. Terrified of dying, terrified of her urges taking over for good, terrified of losing whatever semblance of self she still had, or rather, had recently found. It was strange, wishing more than anything to have her memories back while at the same time being scared to find out what they entailed. Was it better to have lost that part of herself? Was there any way for her to overcome this urge that crawled in her veins, or was she doomed to this fate? Would she ever find the answers she sought?

If only the damned tadpole were the only problem she had to worry about.

“Are you quite alright?”

Thalia stirred, turning slowly to look back at Astarion. She unclenched her fists and stepped back from the ledge. The elf looked at her with wide eyes, seeming as if he were getting ready to flee if need be.

“Peachy,” She responded coldly. She had no use for him anymore, and his presence now annoyed her more than anything. “Thank you for the help. You can leave now.”

He looked offended for a moment, before turning his nose up at her once again, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Fine. Don’t forget about our deal, darling.” With a final up and down glance at her, Astarion turned on his heel and disappeared back into the dark.

She blew out a breath once he was out of sight, pressing the palms of her hands to her eyes. Out of all the camp members who could have caught her red-handed, she was glad it was the one who seemed to have the most twisted morals, perhaps after Lae’zel. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t worried. Astarion had something on her now, something he could hold over her head. There were precious few things she knew about herself, but if there was one thing she remembered, she knew she loathed being stuck in the clutches of another. She was paranoid, vigilant, as if she’d been betrayed or controlled once before.

A deep orange had begun to creep into the sky over the mountains to the east. The day was being forced upon her. Another day of traveling, avoiding conversation, and slaying goblins while attempting to hide from her companions just how much she relished in the spilled blood.

Thalia frowned to herself, and began to make her way back to camp.

Chapter 2

“You’ve been tired lately.”

Thalia looked up, squinting her eyes at the sunlight coming from behind Shadowheart’s head. The cleric hadn’t said it with concern, nor vexation, but with a factual indifference. She stood looking down at Thalia with a tilted head, as she sharpened the blade of her dagger with a whetstone.

She was not wrong. Thalia hadn’t only been tired, she’d been exhausted. After Alfira, she’d been too scared to even close her eyes, and in the few and far between times she did, her sleep was restless and filled with nightmares. It could have been from the tadpole, could have been from her vile affliction. Either way, she woke multiple times every night covered in sweat, taking in short, harsh breaths. During the day she tried not to think of them, of the nightmares that very well could have been memories. She tried not to think of the torture she saw in those dreams, through the eyes of the torturer. It was hard not to think of them, however, when they woke in her a desire stronger than anything sexual.

It was getting worse, and worse, and worse. No matter how many goblins she cut through it never seemed to sate her urge, not like it had in the beginning. It wanted more, it wanted her to gorge herself on the blood and guts of unsuspecting victims, of innocents. The thoughts were sickening, and thrilling. The two parts of her warred with one another with every waking moment. She was in constant agony.

“I’m fine,” Thalia lied, bringing her attention back to her blade. Something about Shadowheart’s gaze was disconcerting, as if it saw through every inch of her carefully positioned walls. “The lingering prospect of transforming into a mindflayer doesn’t exactly put an unconscious mind at ease. That’s all.”

“You didn’t seem to have much trouble sleeping before,” Shadowheart retorted, taking a seat next to Thalia. “You can tell me what’s troubling you. Or don’t. I don’t care much either way.”

Thalia snorted. Her and Shadowheart definitely got along the best amongst all of them, besides maybe Wyll and Karlach. Not only did they find kinship in their lack of memories, Thalia found Shadowheart’s bluntness to be refreshing. There was no tiptoeing with her nor hidden meanings in any of her words. She said only what she meant.

“There’s nothing to talk about in that regard, really,” Thalia put her dagger and whetstone to the side and turned to face Shadowheart. “I’m glad you came over here, though. I need your opinion on something.”

Shadowheart raised an eyebrow. “Mm?”

“Astarion. Do you trust him?”

She pulled back a bit, surprised by the question, taking a moment to think. “About as much as I trust everyone else here. Why? Did something happen?”

Thalia shook her head. “No, it’s just-“ She sighed. “He goes off by himself to the woods nearly every night. It’s strange, and suspicious.”

She was just doing what she imagined Astarion was doing to her as well. Placing the seed of doubt in their companions minds about one another, gaining leverage wherever they could. She was unsure exactly why this unspoken rivalry between the two of them had come to be, but she knew it had started after that night in the woods. Two people caught doing something, though hers was a bit more damning. Nevertheless, they both clearly needed to sway the rest of camp to their respective side in case the other decided to turn on them. This was just how the world worked, at least in their minds.

As Shadowheart opened her mouth to respond, Thalia quickly interjected. “Maybe I’m just being paranoid. I’m so on edge, it’s like everything is being perceived as a threat.”

She left out the part that her first instinct was to rip those “threats” to shreds.

“Having no memories will do that to you,” Shadowheart said, nodding. “Along with everything else. As for Astarion, I wouldn’t be too worried. I think he needs us, and he knows it. If he were any sort of danger to us we would know by now.”

Smart girl. She was right, of course. All seven of them needed each other in this hellscape they’ve found themselves in, and though Astarion may not act like it, he was certainly no exception. But that didn’t change the fact that he knew what she’d done, nor did it change that she needed the others to trust her over him, if it came down to it. She felt like she was juggling while walking on eggshells at the same time, every waking moment required her focus. Don’t lose control, don’t make a wrong move, don’t rouse suspicion but don’t get too close, either. And of course there was her other self, just waiting to pull the thread of chaos against her wishes.

“You’re right,” Thalia slapped her thighs and stood, lest she get too wrapped in her own thoughts. “About both things. I can’t even seem to trust myself, let alone fully trust you lot. Even my own name feels foreign coming from my mouth,” She repeated it like a mantra some nights, trying to make it sound right. Thalia. Thalia. Thalia. It never worked. “But we’re stronger together.”

“That’s what I like to hear!”

Thalia turned, and Shadowheart peeked around her from her spot on the bench. Karlach came bounding towards them from the center of camp, Lae’zel trailing behind her with an annoyed pout. The tiefling had a wooden spoon in her hand, twirling it as she came to a stop in front of the two half-elves. Thalia crossed her arms and looked at the pair in amusement.

Karlach would be the first to turn on her if her urges were to be revealed. The berserker had a heart of gold, after every child or lost puppy they saved she would come up to Thalia and gush about how’d they’d done the right thing. Thalia did the right thing often, at least what she thought would be the right thing in the eyes of most people. It was never out of the selflessness Karlach believed she possessed. Mostly it was to earn the approval of the majority of her companions, even if it earned her a sneer from Lae’zel. Sometimes she did it just to try and prove to herself she wasn’t the monster she knew she was, deep down.

“Since we’re of the same mind, Gale and I are at the fire cooking a meal. Care to join us when it’s ready?” Karlach grinned theatrically, trying to coax the answer she wanted from them. “Get to know each other a bit; that goblin camp’s at least a three days walk from here. I don’t know about you, but I’m not sure I can put up with the silence much longer.”

“I normally find these idle pleasantries to be inutile,” Lae’zel muttered, before rolling her shoulders back and holding her chin up. Her eyes flickered to Karlach. “But since I am so very outnumbered against leaving those refugees to their own devices, I might as well listen for any exploitative weakness amongst you. If you are going to fight with me, I must teach you to crush those weaknesses.”

Both Thalia and Shadowheart stiffened, giving each other a knowing glance. This wasn’t what they had meant, having their campmates probe them with questions of their past, or what they could remember, at least. Trust to the two of them meant not immediately turning on another person, not playing twenty-questions. Shadowheart opened her mouth to decline, but Karlach shook her head immediately, cutting her off.

“Sorry did I frame that as a question? No, I meant get your sorry arse’s over to the campfire or you don’t get dinner tonight. You too, Astarion!” Karlach called to the elf, who had recently returned to his nearby tent, pretending to read a book and not listen to them. “No more brooding tonight. You’ll have all the time in the world tomorrow.”

Astarion closed his book with gentle hands, muttering to himself. He called back, “Oh, no, do go on. I’m not much hungry anyway.” Then his eyes locked with Thalia’s, which prompted a small smirk from him, and she felt her stomach drop. “Actually, on second thought, I’ll be there in just a moment.”

She could skip dinner tonight, actually. There was some leftover jerky in her pack, which would be satisfying enough for one night, despite her stomach that had already started to growl at the mention of a meal. But before she could say anything, Shadowheart had grabbed her wrist and began pulling her towards a retreating Karlach and Lae’zel.

“I’m starving,” She said, forgetting her previous reservations. Thalia glanced back nervously at a still-smirking Astarion, but didn’t try to wriggle out of Shadowheart’s grasp.

At the center of camp, the smell of roasting pork and garlic filled her nostrils, prompting another growl from her stomach. Gale stood in front of the fire, rotating the meat with a pair of tongs, while Wyll sat on a bench across from him and stirred a pot of vegetables. It was a peaceful sight, which made Thalia’s chest tighten with guilt at the things she kept from these people, the unwitting danger they were in around her.

Pathetic, her other self said to her. It whispered to her to push Wyll’s face into the boiling pot, listen to hot water swallow his screams as it scalded his face. She pushed her nails into her palm.

Gale looked up as Karlach sat beside him, wafting the smell of the roasting meat into her nose. He gave Thalia and Shadowheart a warm smile, a smile only one such as him could manage. “Good of you to join us,” He said, then nodded to Astarion as he came from behind Thalia. She shivered. “This’ll be ready in just a moment! Please, take a seat.”

Thalia hadn’t truly noticed how close the rest of her camp had gotten. She only exchanged pleasantries with most, even her and Shadowheart’s conversations weren’t exactly the most in-depth. But Wyll, Karlach, and Gale spoke to each other with familiarity, joking and teasing as they filled bowls and handed them out amongst each other. Even Shadowheart and, gods above, Lae’zel chipped in occasionally. Only her and Astarion lingered awkwardly, unsure of how to insert themselves.

“Thalia,” Wyll held out a bowl to her with a smile, which she accepted with a sheepish one of her own. She wondered how the deep scar that went across her face twisted when she smiled. Did she look wicked? Deformed as she felt her mind was?

Ignoring the pitiful thought, she took a bite of the meal Gale had prepared, and her eyes shot open in surprise. It was much better than anything she’d ever expected to have while on the road.

“I vote for Gale to cook every night from now on,” Shadowheart said, apparently of the same mind. The wizard across from her blushed, supposedly not used to such high praise.

“It’s nothing really,” He said, waving his hand. “Just some tricks picked up from my days as a bored apprentice. Do you cook, Shadowheart?”

Shadowheart shook her head. “By the Dark Lady, no. I think I’d unwittingly poison you all.”

“I make a mean lambchop.” Karlach piped in, then sighed. “Hells, I haven’t had lambchop in too long.”

Maybe Lae’zel was right. This topic of conversation seemed futile in the face of what they’d been through recently, like trying to cover yourself up with a translucent sheet. Outside of convincing Lae’zel the crèche would have to wait, they’d hardly even talked about everything that was to come. Their current mission was to find and free Halsin, but they hadn’t a clue how they were going to do it. They still didn’t know where in the camp he was. Suddenly the lack of planning was troubling her, and she pretended like it wasn’t because their idle conversation made her uncomfortable.

“How are we going to get past the goblins once we find Halsin?” She interrupted the chatter, and four faces looked to her with disappointed frowns. Lae’zel seemed pleased, at least. “I doubt we’ll be able to waltz out of there with him, even if they do think we’re true souls.”

Astarion spoke from his seat behind her for the first time, tauntingly. “Eager to spill some blood?”

Thalia shot him a glance, but Lae’zel spoke, saving her from responding. “We will not have a choice. If you are so sure this Halsin will aid us, we will have to fight our way out of the camp.”

Karlach sighed heavily.

“Us against an entire camp of goblins and drow?” Shadowheart rolled her eyes. “Somehow I think we’d have better luck at the crèche.”

“It is not even a question,” Lae’zel stonewalled. “Shall I change our course?”

“No,” Wyll begrudgingly joined the change of topic. “We’ll go to the crèche after we save the grove, or you go without me.”

“Then perhaps I will go without any of you, and I will be purified of this tadpole while you run around playing hero.”

Shadowheart’s eyes lit up at that. “Oh, please do!”

Before Lae’zel could spit out the insult brewing on her tongue, Thalia intercepted. “No one is leaving!” Now she remembered why they hardly spoke of their plans. Because all anyone did is argue. “After everything, I think we can handle a few goblins. If we’re smart about it, we need not go through the entire camp.”

Oh, but she wanted to. How badly she wanted to slink into the shadows of the forgotten Selûne temple and slaughter each inhabitant, one by one. She wasn’t one to discriminate. Innocents were more fun, but she could do with anyone who would beg her for their lives. And after some time, they would be.

Despite her attempts to save it, once the bickering started, it did not stop. Astarion gave his opinion on the subject– I don’t care –and left, prompting Karlach to heave another long, defeated sigh. Thalia shot her an apologetic look then left as well, her tent calling her name.

It was a clear night, the wilderness sky dappled with thousands upon thousands of stars. The area around her tent was so silent, isolated from the rest of camp, the only sounds that could be heard were those of the crickets and the running water of the nearby stream. In silence like this she should feel peace, she knew. It was only natural. But it was in these moments that her fragmented memory would come to her, like some kind of cruel joke. Every moment she had to herself was plagued with broken scenes of a life once lived, so close she felt she could grasp them, before each one dissolved around her as quickly as they came. Frustrating did not even begin to describe it. This was where her memory loss differed from Shadowheart’s; she knew hers were not taken willingly. She knew she fought, clawed and punched and bit against whatever force had robbed her of them. And they hadn’t even finished the job, because these pieces haunted her with every step. Most of these memories were disturbing images of bloody kills, but not all. There was a lover, a dark haired man whose face she could never fully recall. Their affair was tense, secret, but he was gentle. And that was all she knew of him.

Something wet dripped from her chin and she looked up, wondering how it had suddenly begun to rain, then realized it had been a teardrop. She brought her fingers up to touch the damp skin beneath her eyes, surprised. Yes, thinking of her past upset her, but she had never cried over it. In fact, she didn’t think she’d cried even once since waking on the nautiloid, despite everything. It felt good, she found, even if they were only the silent, gentle type of tears.

And then, her stomach knotted with thorns.

Tears?

She stood abruptly, pacing in front of her tent. How utterly pitiful. How completely deplorable. She might have no idea who she was, but she knew she wasn’t this. Not some soft, inane creature, crying over what couldn’t be changed. No, this wasn’t her, couldn’t be her. Not if she wanted to survive this nightmare, not if she wanted to resist this urge inside her. Which she did, want to resist. Despite every fiber of her sinews screaming that she did not.

In an attempt to snap herself out of her sorrows, she went to the stream, kneeling to splash water over her face. It was cold, cold enough to shock her skin. She did it again, and twice more, before rising and stepping back with clenched fists.

How long could she keep this up? She was bound to slip up somewhere; take a little too much joy in cutting down a goblin, kill in her sleep again, or, gods forbid, attack someone in camp. Whatever it was, they would grow suspicious of her eventually. Or maybe before any of that, she’d succumb to the urge, and fully lose her godsdamned mind. Part of her found the thought appealing. No more fighting, no more restless nights. Only sweet relief as she gave in. What real reason did she have not to, anyway?

Or she could end her miserable existence. Rid the world of her rot, and herself of her affliction at the same time.

“Is this what you do for fun? Pace back and forth, pull your own hair out?”

Thalia turned, the grip on the hair near her scalp she hadn’t even realized she had loosening. Astarion had quietly appeared behind her, leaning against a tree by her tent. The air about him was blasé, but there was a hint of anxiety in his slightly furrowed brow. She crossed her arms, swallowing her turmoil. “What do you want?”

Astarion shrugged. “Nothing, dear. Just wanted to see if you were faring better than the past few nights, that’s all.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” He pushed himself off the tree, moving to stand in front of her. “You pace for hours at a time every night, I hardly see you sleep. Guilty conscience?”

How on toril would he know that? Was he-

“Have you been spying on me?” She asked incredulously, pulling herself back a bit.

“Have I been keeping an eye on the woman who gutted an innocent bard in this very camp?” Astarion drummed his fingers on his lips dramatically. “No. Whatever would I do that for?”

Thalia hissed, shooting panicked glances around them. No one was in sight but she still took a nervous step towards him, lowering her voice. He stiffened a bit at her proximity. “If you tell anyone-“

“Relax, darling.” His composure cooled again and he drew a line across his lips with his fingers, indicating a lock and key. “My lips are sealed. In return, I’m hoping you’ll help me with this little predicament I’m in.”

Exasperated, Thalia rubbed at her eyes. This was all becoming a bit too much for her. One tadpole she could handle. Her dark urges on top of that were a lot, but manageable. But now her companions were beginning to come to her with their own special missions, asking her for not-so-small favors, and saying she was overwhelmed would be an understatement.

“What do you want?” She asked again, hoping he’d actually answer this time. In response he looked almost sheepish, unsure of how to frame his request.

“Ah. You see, I have this…” He considered his words. “Affliction. Not unlike our friend Gale’s, except instead of consuming magical boots, I need, well,” He scratched the back of his neck uneasily. “Blood.”

Thalia squinted at him, and Astarion smiled a wide smile for what must have been the first time, a hint of a fang peeking out from behind his lips. She wasn’t too surprised at this revelation; the moment she saw his bright red eyes on that beach she had her suspicions. It was only later, when she finally got to look in the mirror for the first time, that she realized her eyes were red, and she shouldn’t be so quick to judge. She had her bloodlust, but she was certainly no vampire.

Perhaps she should have stuck to her intuition.

“Are you trying to tell me you’re a vampire?” She asked, readying herself to backup, or grab a weapon, or both.

Astarion noticed her stance and held his hands out in front of himself defensively. “Now, before you go all dagger-happy on me, you should know I am in utter control of myself. In fact, I’ve only been feeding on woodland animals this whole time. But it’s not enough,” He sighed, attempting to look distraught. Thalia couldn’t tell if he genuinely was or not. “I need human blood. Just a taste, something to get my strength up if we’re going to be fighting our way through a goblin camp.”

And? What did this have to do with her? She didn’t care what he did, what poor soul he decided to feast on. She began to tell him that, but paused at the way he was looking at her. Pleadingly. Realization bloomed. “You’re asking me?!”

He scoffed. “Well, I thought that part would be obvious. There aren’t many options out here, and I can’t very well go asking the monster hunter, or the fearsome gith warrior, or the tiefling whose skin would burn my flesh,” Thalia absentmindedly wondered if Karlach’s blood would burn going down his throat. An interesting torture method, swallowing boiling liquid. “As for the others, they would run off and tattle, I’m sure. But you won’t.”

“And what makes you think that?”

A mischievous grin at that, his hand reached out the brush against the skin of her neck. Goosebumps rose on her flesh at his touch. She wanted to move away, but her feet were glued to the ground.

“Call it a feeling. Or call it a pretty little tiefling bard at the bottom of the river. Either way, you wouldn’t dare.”

A threat, that’s what that was. He was threatening her just as she’d been prepared for him to, using what he knew against her. It was brave of him, she had to give him that, but also foolish, as he knew what she was capable of. It made her wonder if, in the dark of the woods, he hadn’t fully seen the mess she’d made of Alfira’s corpse. But it also earned him a modicum of respect from her.

If he was being honest, and gods knew he very well may not be, he was right. They would need every advantage they could get as the goblin camp drew nearer, and perhaps even after that. He wasn’t a poor fighter per se, but he was slow. She could see him getting caught by a blade, and losing him wouldn’t do, lest they never open another locked door again. Thalia could sneak up on an enemy with ease, but lockpicking was not her forte.

The Urge snarled at her for even considering giving this vampire what he asked for. Practicality overcame it, however, and she let out a defeated sigh. If this was what it took to ensure their success, then so be it. She sat on a fallen tree trunk behind her, holding her arm out. “Fine,” She said. “Wrist only.”

Astarion’s eyebrows shot up so fast it was a wonder he didn’t fly away. Clearly he hadn’t expected her to agree so readily. She wondered if, had she declined, he would have argued, or if he would have sulked away with his tail between his legs. Either way, she had not said no, and he descended upon her hesitantly, as if she might change her mind if he looked too eager. Kneeling in front of her, he took her arm gingerly into his hands, running his fingers along the thin skin of her wrist. He seemed cautious, treating the moment like something he must savor, like he’d never get this chance again. Then, closing his eyes, he brought her wrist to his mouth and sunk his fangs into her flesh.

Thalia’s face scrunched up in discomfort. It was a sharp, cold pain, like a frozen blade slipping beneath her skin. Though it lasted only a moment, before the pain dulled, her wrist and forearm going partially numb. Her heart rate increased as she watched him drink from her, pure bliss painted on his features. How poetic it would be to kill him now, after giving him that which he desired. Blood for blood. She imagined the leg of a wooden chair in his chest, her own blood dripping from both his mouth and his wound. An absolutely gorgeous corpse he would be. She would rip his fangs from his mouth and press them into his eyes, she would hold his cold, unbeating heart in her hands as he died, she would color his silver hair red.

Then his eyes fluttered open, looking up at her through his lashes; hungry, coveted. Her breath hitched in her throat, and her blood began to run hot in her veins for an entirely new reason. But the line between lust and bloodlust was paper thin, and she had to end this before she acted on either one. As she tried to pull her arm away, Astarion’s grip tightened on her wrist, and he latched his teeth on even tighter. Panic started to brew within her, fear for both herself and Astarion, but reality settled over the vampire and he unlatched himself, delicately placing her arm in her lap.

Silence fell over them as she held her other hand around her wound to stop the bleeding, and he sat back on his knees, bloodied lips parted every so slightly. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, only serving to spread her blood across it even more, but he clearly did not mind. He licked his lips slowly.

“That was…” Astarion breathed heavily, lost for words. “Magnificent.”

Thalia couldn’t help the heat that rose to her face at his words, at the way he was looking at her. His eyes were glassed over, still coming down from the ecstasy her blood had brought him. She looked away, embarrassed, not realizing letting him drink from her would be so… erotic. Even unintentionally. She cleared her throat.

“Well?” She asked. “Better?”

“I-” Astarion snapped from his stupor, shaking his head. Just like that, his veneer recovered and the semi-vulnerable state he’d been in was lost to the moment. “Yes. Much,” He rose, pulling a kerchief from his pocket and dabbing at his mouth. “How do you feel?”

He didn’t give a damn how she felt, she could tell by the lazy way he spoke the words. They were just formalities.

“Woozy,” She responded. It was true, the environment spun around her slightly. “But fine. I look forward to seeing you fight.”

He shot her a devious smile. “You should. It will not disappoint,” Holding his hands out in front of himself, he checked for any stray drops of blood, frowning slightly when he found a stain on his sleeve. Then he turned and nodded at her. “This is a gift, you know. I won’t forget this.”

Without so much as a ‘goodnight’, Astarion left Thalia sitting, holding her bleeding wrist, and stalked back to his tent, a newfound confidence in his stride.

Notes:

personally i don't think astarion would be stupid enough to try and drink the dark urge's blood in their sleep lol. i also hate writing scenes exactly the way they are in games. thats why there will be very, very little dialogue taken from the game. i like to write my own!

Chapter 3

Mad. The woman was mad. Absolutely, utterly, stark raving mad. She’d tried to tell them, too. All of them, the first day they’d all met. Told them she had no memory of before the nautiloid, said she had dark thoughts she couldn’t control. Each and every one of them had brushed her off, told her everyone felt violent from time to time, blamed it on all they’d been through. Even Astarion, ever so vigilant, had dismissed her.

How was he supposed to know she was insane?

It wasn’t until that one night, when he followed her as she dragged the bard she’d butchered through the woods, did he realize how disastrously he’d underestimated her. In his shock he’d stepped on a twig, the smallest of twigs, it hardly made a noise, and yet her head turned to him with a ferocious speed. She’d looked like a feral animal; wild eyes, hair matted, soaked in blood. It was enough to raise the hair on the back of his neck. And Astarion did not scare easily. Luckily for him, it seemed she had no interest in killing anyone else that night.

He’d been ready to hightail it out of there the next morning, he even began to pack, but godsdamnit, where would he go? There was no way in hell he’d return to the city, but that was the only place he knew. He had no connections anywhere else, and he certainly was not meant for the vagabond life. Not to mention the small matter of his master inevitably sending after him. It always seemed that Cazador had reaches to the ends of toril. There was nowhere far enough for Astarion to escape him. So, he stayed, because as much as he loathed it, he needed this group he’d found himself in. If he played his cards right he could have some powerful allies at his side. Including their unbalanced half-elf leader.

It wouldn’t be easy, that was for sure. Not only was Thalia demented, she was locked down even tighter than Shadowheart. Rare was it for her to engage in conversation that didn’t involve planning or tactics. Instead, she opted to keep to herself, pacing frantically during the hours her mortal body should have been sleeping. It was almost enough to make him feel sorry for her as he observed her tormented, sleepless nights. As time went on, she got worse, though he seemed to be the only one who truly noticed. And when the dark circles beneath her eyes reached their peak, that’s when he would begin to strike.

First things first, he needed blood. Actual blood, not the boars and deer from the forest. No, he needed her blood. Because what better way to lead her to do his bidding than to have her believe he was relying on her? Hopefully whatever her problem was wasn’t contagious.

After that, he needed to find out what made her tick. Seduction, intimidation, a little bit of both; whatever it was, surely he could handle it without being killed. Surely. And when he saw the look on her face the night he’d oh so sensually drank from her, he knew what path he would take.

It would be fine. She was a pretty thing, even as disheveled as she was most days. Nevermind the bile rising in his throat at the thought of using his body again. This time was different. This time it was to get something for him, not Cazador.

Though, at the end of it, that wasn’t true, was it? He was doing it to keep himself safe from Cazador. It all went back to that vile man.

Once more, he told himself. One more time, and she’d help him be rid of Cazador. Then, he’d be truly free. Freedom; something he once never thought would be a possibility. Now it was in his grasp, waiting for him to close his fingers around it. And she would be the one to get him there.

It was a lot of wishful thinking on his part, and praying that his plan would come to fruition. If this Halsin truly could cure them of their parasites, he’d be doomed. It would be too soon for him to have wrapped Thalia around his finger already, and he knew she’d run off the second they no longer needed one another, the second she no longer needed the artefact to keep her from transforming. Then he’d be stuck, no longer able to walk in the sun, no longer shielded from Cazador’s influence. Fear began to bloom within him at the very thought of that possibility. Halsin would not cure them. Astarion would kill the druid himself if need be.

After that first night he’d fed on her, that first marvelous night, she’d come to offer him her blood again. And again the night after. Now, nearly every other night she came to him. Of course he’d accepted her generous gifts; who was he to turn down a free meal? Each time, however, he did feel a twinge of uncharacteristic guilt. She often came when it seemed she’d exhausted all other efforts to rid herself of whatever nightly anguish consumed her. Though he didn’t know what went on in that pretty head of hers, seeking a distraction was a concept he knew all too well.

But it wasn’t his problem. All he had to worry about was getting her to do what he needed her to do, and not be murdered in the process.

Astarion folded his hands and held them to his face. The voices around him faded back into his ears as he slowly removed himself from his thoughts. His companions’ conversation had turned from arbitrary chatter to their next steps, and it was important he pay attention. Settled on killing the goblin leaders before they even attempted to look for Halsin, they debated what the best plan of action was. A few wanted to do a full frontal assault, others thought telling Minthara the location of the grove and drawing her out first was their best bet. Astarion agreed with the latter, if they absolutely must settle this grove matter. As usual, Thalia was mostly silent on her opinion.

“I get what you all are saying,” Karlach, who wanted to attack the goblins from the inside, spoke. “I’m not saying it wouldn’t be easier to draw Minthara out then go back and kill the rest. Because it would. But it makes me nervous. There are children at that grove, we can’t risk even a single goblin getting past our defenses.”

“There are children at the goblin camp, too,” Thalia said quietly, pointing out the hypocrisy. Astarion had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing at the looks on the others’ faces at that.

Gale awkwardly cleared his throat. “Yes. Well. I still am of the mind that fighting at the grove will be our best bet. Walls, high ground, you know. We can go back for the rest and look for Halsin after.”

“I still think we should find Halsin first,” Wyll interjected. “He’s somewhere in that camp. He can help us against them.

Gods help them.

“It seems we are yet again at the same impasse,” Astarion drawled. If the divisiveness between them all wasn’t so infuriating it might have been funny. Decisions were not made easily, and that could be detrimental considering there was a doomsday cult on rise. Not to mention their little stowaway friends.

Everyone stayed silent for a moment, sharing glances with each other. Slowly, each quiet party member turned to move their glance to Thalia, who had been paying only half attention and was looking at her hands, picking at her nails. It was amusing how they all looked to her for guidance, despite her clear disinterest in being that guidance. Thalia’s eyes flickered up at the silence, then down, then back up as she furrowed her brow. “What?”

“Well?” Gale asked after a hesitation. “What’ll it be?”

Thalia looked among the expectant faces, then threw her hands in the air, exasperated. “Why are you asking me?” She let out a snort, but her face was entirely unamused. “Why do you always ask me?! You know, I didn’t ask to be the one making these decisions. Solve a damn problem without me for once.” With that she rose abruptly, and indignantly stormed off to the other side of camp. Astarion smirked after her. What a problem child she was.

Wyll, Karlach, Gale, and Shadowheart all shared a glance while Lae’zel rubbed at her temples, no doubt thinking the same thing he was. This group is a disaster. Astarion waited just a moment before he too rose, leaving behind the awkward silence and slinking after his target.

He found her sitting on a flat boulder at the edge of camp, knees pulled to her chest with her arms wrapped around her legs, staring into realmspace. Her body was taught and tense, like a fuse about to blow. As he approached her, she did not say anything, though she did look his way.

“I think you hurt their feelings,” He whispered, jokingly. The edges of her mouth flicked upwards, but the smile didn’t stick. Instead, she rested her head on the top of her knees, looking away. For some odd reason, he felt slightly disappointed he didn’t get to see her smile, a rare thing.

“I don’t know why they insist on trying to make me a leader,” She said. Her voice was distant. “If only they knew what I was, what I’ve done.”

He waited for a beat. “You mean the bard? Dear, they’re so desperate for someone to follow I doubt just one, itsy bitsy murder will be enough to turn them away.”

Thalia lifted her head to look at him with sad eyes, but said nothing. He laughed nervously. “It… was just the one murder. Right?”

Suddenly, Thalia rose from her spot, moving so she was close in front of him. Too close. He took a step back, but she took the fabric of his shirt in both her fists and stared into him, as if looking for something. Anxiety began to creep up on him, but he pushed it aside. He couldn’t get her to trust him if he was outwardly scared of her.

“You wouldn’t understand,” She said, frenzied. “You couldn’t. I thought you might, once you told me what you were. But you can’t. You can’t hear them,” Her breathing heavied. “Every. Waking. Moment. It doesn’t stop.”

Astarion stumbled backward at her intensity, eyes wide. This was not what he’d been expecting. He stuttered. “I-”

She released her grip on his shirt and moved to the streamshore, pacing and laughing without a touch of humor. Her words came out in a rush, sentences fusing into one another. “I tried to warn you. I tried. You should have killed me. Something is wrong with me. There’s nothing I can do. Gods, there’s nothing I can do, is there?”

Had Astarion called her mad, earlier? No, she wasn’t mad. She was entirely deranged.

“Thalia,” He approached cautiously, swallowing the instinct to cut and run in the opposite direction. “Darling, when’s the last time you slept?”

She shook her head violently. “Can’t sleep. They’re too loud. And if I sleep, I might…” She trailed off, but Astarion knew what she meant. She might kill someone like she killed Alfira. He felt almost sorry for her as he watched her sink to her knees, taking in deep, exhausted breaths. It was because, he realized, he saw himself in her, at least himself from some two-hundred odd years ago. Before he’d learned to control the hunger, before he’d learned how exactly to appease Cazador so he never went hungry again. One of the few spells he knew came alight in his fingertips, and he inched towards her slowly.

“Understood,” He said, reaching out his hands. She flinched as he approached but did not move. “But you really should at least lie down, dear. Even for just a moment. You need your rest now more than ever.”

She seemed to consider for a moment, then nodded. “Rest. Yes. You’re right.”

Thalia allowed Astarion to guide her to her bedroll. He did not touch her, but kept his hands lingering right behind her back. As she laid down on the fabric she looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes and clutched at his arm. Something knotted in his stomach at those eyes, vulnerable and dazed. Before he could dwell on the feeling, he wrapped his fingers around her wrist and cast the spell. Almost immediately, Thalia’s grip on him went slack, and she fell into a deep sleep.

---

The first thing Thalia noticed is that her head no longer felt like she had a spear sticking out of it. Her body felt replenished, and she felt wholly like herself for the first time in a long time. Confused, she opened her eyes. The second thing she noticed is that she had been asleep, and a wave of panic washed over her.

No. No no no nononono.

She stared up at the top of her tent, too afraid to get up, too afraid to look at anything else. Would there be blood on her hands when she finally did? Her arms didn’t feel wet, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. The sun was beginning to set, but it was still light out. She wouldn’t have been able to kill anyone without the others noticing. Gods, what if they were all dead? What if she was alone? How did she even fall asleep?

Panting, she sat up quickly, examining her surroundings. Despite her fears, everything was normal. There was no blood, no corpses, nothing of the sort. Just the quiet wilderness, and Astarion sitting some feet away, reading a book. The memory of before she slept came to her in a hazy vision. An embarrassed heat rushed to her cheeks, which she covered with anger.

“A sleep enchantment?” She snapped. Astarion peeked up from over the pages of his book. “I should split you in two.”

Astarion grinned and ignored her threat, which only made her rage burn hotter. “Well hello, sleeping beauty. How was the nap?”

It was lovely, actually. But she’d never tell him that. “That was stupid. Reckless. You’ve no idea what I’m capable of. You put yourself and the others at risk.”

A foolish part of her was grateful, though. She’d needed that. Her mind wasn’t completely clear, it never was, but it was certainly clearer than it was when she’d been running on four days without sleep, and only short naps before that. The farther she got from her last kill, the worse the voices and the Urge became. Maybe she’d sleep soundly if she killed someone. Maybe…

The vampire waved his hand dismissively. “You overestimate yourself, and underestimate me. And now that you’re somewhat in your right mind again, I think it’s time you tell me what in the nine hells is wrong with you.”

He shut his book, waiting to hear what she had to say. “You first,” She bit back with a glare.

“Funny. Now talk.”

It was the first time she’d ever heard him speak with a modicum of seriousness, which gave her pause. He had confided in her when he told her what he was. Yes, maybe it was only because he needed something in return, but still, he had told her. And he hadn’t spilled the secret of Alfira, not yet at least. Could she trust him with this? It's not like there was much to tell.

She sighed, hesitated, then spoke. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I have no memory of life before the nautiloid, you know this. Only- only snippets,” She looked away from him. “All I know is I have killed a lot of people. And there's a sick, vile part of me that wants to kill more. And more. And it’s getting harder to control it with each passing day.”

As soon as the words left her mouth she regretted it. Who was this man, to know such a deep part of her? Why did she feel like she had to tell him? This was her burden to bear and hers alone.

“Hmm,” Astarion clasped his hands together and pressed his pointer fingers to his lips. “Fascinating. Well, there are plenty of goblins for you to kill. You can string them up, hang them with their own intestines for all I care, as long as you keep those blades away from me.”

“Stop!” Her palms itched as his suggestion, her blood crawling with anticipation. She covered her ears and slowed her breathing, trying to quiet the voices that had begun to speak again. “Stop. I’m trying to control this, to stay away from senseless killings. Speaking like that doesn’t help at all.”

“Why? Why try to deny yourself of your nature? It will only get exhausting, trust me.”

He still didn’t get it. He saw the way she’d acted and still didn’t understand. He was in danger. They all were. Whatever was within her was deep and primal, a part of her very being. He thought it was like him, like being a vampire, but it was something much more. Vampires had a before. Before their hunger, before they’d become what they were. They were not born a vampire. Thalia couldn’t remember, but something told her she had always been like this, from the moment she took her first breath as a babe. There was no controlling something that was encoded into the smallest parts of her body, not truly.

The Urges didn’t discriminate. They would kill friend or foe, lover or enemy. Astarion could choose anyone he wanted to be a victim of his hunger, if he wanted to be a decent man he could choose criminals and cutthroats, or animals, as he had before. Thalia’s Urges wanted everyone and everything she set eyes on dead.

But she was too tired to try to get him to see this. It was futile, anyway. No one would understand, not even those who thought they might.

Thalia looked to the center of camp. Her companions were beginning to wind down for the night. Wyll was feeding the campfire, while the others cleaned up scraps from a meal. The thought that she’d missed out on that time while she was asleep stung, yet she didn’t know why.

“Are they angry with me?” She asked Astarion. “For storming off?”

He shook his head. “No. Just stunned, I think.”

Being the leader wasn’t something she wanted. It wasn’t something she deserved and she didn’t understand why it was being thrust upon her. But could she even refuse? When she didn’t put in her input, the rest of them stood around, waiting and debating like children. She was an utter mess, but for some reason they needed her. Maybe it was the best way to earn their trust. Maybe, when the truth of her finally came out, they would then see her as someone with an unwanted affliction rather than a ruthless murderer. Maybe it would garner her the empathy she needed to stay alive.

With a clap of her hands to encourage herself, Thalia stood and made her way to the fire. Curious, Astarion followed. The others watched her with wary eyes as she returned, and some set aside what they were doing to give her their full attention.

“We will draw her out to the grove,” She said, matter-of-fact. It may not have seemed like she’d been listening earlier, but she was. She was just too preoccupied with her sleep-deprived mind to show it. “But we won’t tell her where it is just yet. We’ll pretend to go out and scout for its location, which will give the tieflings time to prepare and us time to scour for any more weapons or supplies we can find. After that, we’ll return to the camp, cut through the rest of them, find Halsin, and get these damned tadpoles out of our heads,” Thalia raised her chin confidently, but still did not look any of her companions in the eye. “Get your rest. It will be a long week.”

With that, Thalia turned on her heel and left just as quickly as she arrived, but not before catching the ghost of a smile from Wyll.

Notes:

kudos/comments/critiques always welcome :)

Chapter 4

The first time the demon-butler visited, Thalia had stomped his wretched little head in.

She didn’t feel bad about it. Whatever the creature was, he was feeding her lies, or a truth she didn’t wish to know. Either way, she didn’t care. She cared that he seemed to only serve to encourage her Urges. So she’d killed him. That didn’t count as giving in, did it? It was as if she’d killed the very personification of the Urge.

Imagine her surprise when she opened her eyes to find him peering over her once again. Startled, she scrambled to her feet, pointing an accusing finger at the creature.

“You’re dead,” She said, head spinning. He was dead. She’d seen his brain matter splayed across the floor of the nearby ruin. She’d cleaned it herself. There was no possible way…

“Oh, mistress,” Scleritas Fel tapped his pointed little fingers together. “Being killed by you is always a delight. Alas, you still have need of me, and so I remain. I would ask you to try and wait to demolish me until I have said my piece this time, my lady.”

Thalia tried to blink away the hallucination, but each time she opened her eyes again, he was still there. It was midnight, and luckily it had been warm enough for her to sleep in her tent rather than by the fire. Still, she looked around nervously, worried someone would see them. Gale was on watch, but he typically stationed himself on the other end of camp.

“I want nothing to do with you,” She hissed, eyes continuing to glance around as she did so. How would she even try to explain this… thing standing in front of her?

“I won’t keep you long, my wonderful, wretched, mistress,” Scleritas jumped back as she attempted to snatch him and pull him into her tent, out of the open. “There is still much I cannot say, and much you must do.”

The implication that her past life had involved a butler and an inheritance came to her as a bit of a shock. All her very few memories could tell her was that she was a killer. What sort of noble family or wealthy citizens had a butler who acted like the devil on their shoulder, edging on their sick murder fantasies? And the mantle he’d given her; an invisibility enchantment. As pieces of her past life came to her, it made less and less sense.

“The Urge must be sated again, my lady, and soon. While I would love to see you refine your skills on these souls in your camp, you may still have need of them for now,” He sighed dreamily, as if the thought of Thalia slaughtering her companions was blissful. Nausea brewed inside her. “Might I suggest you find a hunting ground? The refugee camp… perhaps?”

Innocents, citizens, untrained and weak. It wouldn’t even be a fight. She could cut through them all in mere minutes.

“No,” She said, managing to take the butler by his arm and drag him to the stream. “No. We’re not doing this,” Throwing him to the ground, she held one hand behind his neck and kneeled on top of his back, his face hovering over the water. “You want me to kill someone? Fine. I’ll kill you, again. As many times as it takes to get you to stay away from me.”

Maybe she could spend the rest of her life butchering the little demon. Maybe that was how she kept herself under control, maybe it was her ticket to a normal life. But as soon as she thought about it, the idea fizzled away like a blown out match. It was naive of her to think it could ever be that simple. Nothing ever was.

“Of all the wondrous, creative ways you’ve killed me so far, drowning is not one of them!” Fel snapped his fingers, and suddenly he was gone from her grasp. She fell forward with a thud as Fel appeared before her again. “Alas, it will have to wait for another time. Killing me does not count, mistress! You must find more suitable prey. And hurry!”

And then he was gone again, his visit only serving to disrupt her sleep and remind her of everything she wished to forget. Thalia groaned and picked up a stone, throwing it into the nearby brush. She was being terrorized by the creature; sometimes when she turned around while on the road, she swore she could see a figure shaped like him flit back behind a tree or wall. As if the voices in her head weren’t enough, she also had an external force egging her on, telling her to kill. But why? Who, or what, was invested in her? The butler refused to answer any of her questions, claiming he was not allowed to ‘interfere’. Interfere with what?

Thinking too hard about it made her head hurt. These were questions for another time, a time without tadpoles or goblins or druids. Though, she still hadn’t decided if she truly wanted her questions answered. Part of her wanted to run as far away from her bloody past as she could when this was all done, no matter how morbidly curious she may be. It would follow her, however, surely. Could she handle a life on the run without even knowing who her pursuer was?

Thalia crawled her way back to her bedroll, curling up on top. She had conceded to Astarion that yes, she did need some sleep, at least enough to keep her from sleep deprivation. She couldn’t very well be wasting away if they were to take out these goblins. But her sleep was rarely, if ever, a respite. Each time she closed her eyes she was plagued by visions of brutally killing her camp in their sleep. Sometimes, in that moment between sleeping and waking, she couldn’t tell if it had only been dreams or if she’d finally, actually done it.

She laid, tossing and turning, trying to ignore the savage thoughts that came to her as she attempted to sleep. But it was futile. After some time, she sat up, wiping sweat from her brow. Scleritas had ruined whatever sleep she would have had, anyway. The nightmares had been even worse the first night he’d shown, and she doubted this night would be any different. He brought her past, who she used to be, to the forefront. Unique torture methods and all.

Rather than sit staring at the top of her tent, Thalia opted instead to pull out a map and begin charting their course for the day. They were to scout out a wetland to the south, as there were supposedly druidic ruins nearby; hopefully harboring weapons or supplies. It was certainly more promising than the abandoned villages or burning buildings the rest of the local landscape had held so far. If they were lucky, they’d find a goblin scouting band or two. They could take out some of their upcoming opposition, as well as ensure Thalia’s urges would have some blood, so she didn’t lose her mind. For the time being.

---

There was something wrong with the wetland. It was beautiful, seemingly innocuous, with sunlight shining through the branches of large willows, flowers and mushrooms lining the paths they walked on. But there was something rotten at its core. Every so often when turning a corner, there was a whiff of an acrid scent in the air, the whisper of danger.

Thalia was not versed in magic; the most she could cast without scrolls was a feeble firebolt. But even she could feel it as her, Astarion, and Gale passed through, avoiding puddles and carefully walking across near-rotting bridges. Gale had attempted to dispel whatever illusion was covering the lands but, in his words, illusion-magic was not his forte. They briefly considered going back to camp to have someone else come with them, just in case, but decided to continue on. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be as bad as a mindflayer ship, and they’d gotten out of that just fine. Mostly fine, anyhow.

The three of them were an awkward pairing. Thalia and Astarion had developed some sort of rapport in knowing one anothers secrets it seemed, and she wondered if Gale had caught on. They walked mostly in silence, but Thalia and Astarion stood side-by-side while Gale strayed behind them. The wizard would attempt to lighten the mood with a quip here and there, but it only ever rose a strained chuckle from Thalia. It wasn’t that the jokes were bad, per say– maybe a little corny –she just didn’t have much to smile about, especially not after another sleepless night.

“Did you know the blood of a mindflayer is an exceptionally powerful alchemical ingredient?” Gale said, his grin not cracking one bit when Astarion and Thalia exchanged miffed looks at the upcoming pun. He seemed to be completely aware that his jokes were unwelcome, and furthermore, seemed to be encouraged by it.

“Is it?” Thalia asked monotonously, just wanting it to be over.

“Indeed. Of course, it is highly illegal. And no respected alchemist wants to be arrested for the possession of an illithid substance.”

Okay, that one was a little funny. She allowed herself to indulge in the smallest of smiles, and Astarion scoffed at her. “Really? That’s the one that gets you?”

She shrugged and rolled her eyes when she heard Gale celebrating his success behind her. “Hits close to home.”

“That’s exactly why it should be less funny than the others.”

“Come now, Astarion,” Gale came from behind them and synced his stride with theirs next to her. “Let yourself be merry amidst this beautiful landscape,” He made a show of moving his hands around him. “At least until we find a way to remove whatever illusion it is.”

Astarion grunted but said nothing, allowing the three to fall back into silence, albeit a less tense silence.

She liked Gale. He was kind, and a good friend, if that was even what they could call themselves yet. With as much darkness as there was within her, she needed to be surrounded by people like him; at least as much as she could stand it. Astarion was just as brooding as she was, and while it was a comfortable familiarity, she was finally beginning to recognize that sometimes all she needed was a mug of ale and a friendly chat. Something Shadowheart had said resonated with her. ‘Your memories were taken from you. So you must make new ones.’

And new memories she was making. Or trying to make. It seemed playing nice with others wasn’t her strong suit; another aspect of herself that made her wonder who in the nine hells she’d been before the tadpole.

The druid’s ruins were not as easy to find as Nettie had made it seem. They wandered aimlessly through the swamp, looking for even the slightest hint of that all too familiar stone architecture. Nothing stood out to them, but they continued on, praying that the day of searching wouldn’t be wasted. Any sort of weapons or old scrolls they might find would be vital to the upcoming battle, especially for the untrained tieflings.

Because what fun is a slaughter when the prey can’t even put up a fight?

No, she scolded herself. The tieflings were not her prey. Goblins. Goblins were her prey, and that drow. She could choose to focus her Urges on the aggressors, she must. Gods, what if she started cutting down the tieflings in the middle of it all? What if she wouldn’t be able to control herself?

A flock of birds took off nearby, somewhere to the east. The three companions stood to attention, and Astarion nodded at her silently to continue when she looked at him, encouraging her to lead them to check it out. Hands on the hilt of her daggers, she began to creep towards the spot the birds had come from. There was seemingly nothing, and she almost relaxed, before the shape of a man came out from behind a tree. His eyes went wide when he noticed them, poised to fight, and he put his hands up in a plea for peace.

“Ho there, travelers!” He shouted, smiling nervously. A handsome man of around forty, brown-haired and bearded. “I mean you no harm, this I swear. I should hope you will return the favor.”

“Your name,” Thalia demanded, not lowering her guard. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Gale had already relaxed, his magic fizzling from his hands, and she mentally cursed him. Soft bastard. It could get them killed one day.

The stranger took a cautious step forward. “My name is Gandrel. We could see ourselves as allies, if you’re so inclined. This land is-“

“A gur?” Astarion interrupted. “Here? What for?”

Thalia couldn’t help but notice the note of disgust in his voice, that she could tell was only there to mask a hint of fear. What did Astarion have to fear from some gur traveler?

“Ah, my friend, that is the question!” Gandrel pointed to Astarion, as if more than delighted to share his mission. “I am a monster hunter, you see. I’m hoping the hag of these lands will aid me in my search for a target. It seems I’ve come to a dead-end.”

“A hag?” Gale made a noise of disgust. “So that’s the illusion we’ve been noticing. Now I’m grateful I wasn’t able to dispel it.”

Astarion was stiff, but trying to come off as nonchalant. He examined his fingernails as Gandrel and Gale went off on a short tangent about hag magic. Thalia locked eyes with him when he looked up, but he only held her gaze for a moment before looking past her to Gandrel. When the two humans came to a pause in their babbling, he inserted himself into the conversation.

“And what might you be hunting? Something terrifying, no doubt. Dragon? Cyclops? …Kobold?”

The words were humorous, but Astarion’s tone was not. Gale looked to him, confused as to why the normally detached elf would care so much about some hunters' mission. Thalia tried to stay out of it, figuring he needed answers. Maybe this would be a peek into who Astarion truly was, because he surely was not a magistrate, at least not anymore.

Gandrel cleared his throat. “Nothing so dramatic. I am hunting a vampire spawn who goes by the name Astarion. I would ask for your aid, but hunting spawn is no small feat, and I have not the gold to reward your help.”

Silence. Gale let out a little squeak, and Thalia had to discreetly elbow him in the ribs to get him to act as natural as he was capable of.

“What will you do with him, once you’ve found him?” Thalia asked. Astarion seemed relieved that she didn’t give him up at the first chance she got, and she could see his fingers inch toward his weapon, readying himself to strike.

“I’ve orders to take him to Baldur’s Gate, and alive. Makes the mission that much more dangerous,” The gur puffed out his chest, proud of the perilous task that had been assigned to him.

Thalia looked to Astarion, ready to tell him ‘Go ahead. Kill him,’ but something snapped loose inside of her before she could form the words. The sight of Astarion’s hand on the hilt of his dagger, ready to pull it out, the clear tension in the air, the wheels turning in Gandrel’s head as he began to realize what was happening. A sinister instinct unfurled itself through her blood, rushing, influencing her muscles. And all at once, even the most practical parts of her were overcome, whispering; a target, a man about to die anyway, an excuse.

There was nothing she could do about it, every move of her joints was instructed by someone other than herself. Thalia rushed towards Gandrel ahead of Astarion, brandishing her blade. He was barely able to get out a noise before she slipped the dagger in between his ribs, reveling in his yell and the way the flesh split apart to make way for her. It had invited her to do this after all. With a shout of her own, she drew back, then plunged the blade into him again. And again. And again. And again and again and againagainagainagainagain.

The knife was an extension of her own body as she worked, she could feel as the tip ruptured his organs, cut through sinew, grazed against bone. And it was marvelous. His blood was like ichor, rejuvenating her with every drop that came in contact with her skin. Thalia was no more in this moment, she was hiding in the back closet of her own mind, watching the scene before her. Only the Urge controlled her body, and it was having a hell of a time doing so. A stab here, a slice there, continuing long after the man had taken his last breath.

“By Mystra, he’s dead! You can stop, he’s dead!”

The words were barely registered by her, but not-quite-Thalia’s hand stilled anyway. She looked down, the blade still locked within Gandrel’s torso, her grip still on the handle, but the rest was a mess of dark red. Her vision was blurry, her head was pounding, trying to make sense of what had just conspired. Vaguely, she heard Astarion pull Gale to the side and begin a hushed, tense exchange. But her mind would not focus, not on anything but the corpse in front of her, the blood on her hands as she raised them. Liquid rubies dripped from her finger, so delicate, so inviting. She lifted her hand and placed her middle finger in her mouth, wrapping her lips around it and closing her eyes as she indulged. The blood was like a sweet red wine, and her nerve endings jolted awake at its taste.

“Tasty?”

Thalia looked up at Astarion, her finger still in her mouth and an amused smirk on his. They stared at each other like that for a moment, before the realization of what had just happened fell upon her like a brick. Heat flushed her cheeks as she moved her hand away from her mouth, but any embarrassment she felt at that fizzled into horror as soon as she saw the body in front of her. Scrambling backwards, she could only say fragments of words as she tried to wipe away the blood on her hands and arms, to no avail.

“He would have taken you,” She finally choked out, still on the ground. Gale was now nowhere to be seen. What was he going to say to the camp? Finally, after two weeks of panicking, she’d screwed up. Gale knew. Soon they would all know. This was it.

Astarion tentatively offered her a hand, visibly unhappy when she placed her bloody hand into his and allowed him to pull her up. As he pulled out her kerchief to clean it off, she wondered if all this blood in the air didn’t make him hungry. How long did you need to be a vampire to be able to control yourself so well?

“While I’m flattered you care,” He crooned, holding a hand over his heart. “I could have handled it. And much more efficiently, might I add.”

What a waste that would have been, the voices whispered. A kill unsavored.

“It’s done. And I’m sure Gale is on his way to tell the whole camp I’m a monster,” She signed, rubbing her temples. “If I’m lucky they’ll only exile me.” She would have to ruminate on the least painful way to end her life, if the others didn’t do it for her. Anything would be less painful than transforming into a mindflayer, she supposed.

Astarion raised an eyebrow. “You say that as if you’re the only one who just had their secrets laid open to Gale, of all people.”

Thalia balked. He was right. The whole reason this had all happened was because someone was hunting him. A vampire… spawn. She’d heard the term before, but she wasn’t exactly sure what it meant. Judging by Astarion’s eagerness to kill Gandrel, he was not at all keen on returning to Baldur’s Gate, nor to see whoever was looking for him. In that, they were of the same mind.

“What did he mean,” Thalia began, summoning the courage to ask the question while simultaneously being unsure why she even cared. “When he said you were a spawn?”

A visible flinch from the vampire. Sore subject, evidently.

“It means those bites you let me take won’t turn you into a vampire,” He said, motioning toward her scarred wrist. Instinctively, she covered it with her other hand. “It means I am a slave, sworn and compelled to serve my master, a true vampire,” He spat the words like they were a bitter herb stuck on his tongue. “It means I’ve spent the past two centuries hiding from the sun and feeding on rats in basements. Until now.”

Thalia went quiet, unsure of what to say as he walked away from her, pinching the bridge of his nose. Even to an elf, two-hundred years was not an insignificant amount of time. Her chest tightened with pity, something he’d likely snarl at her for if she expressed it. Still, she couldn’t help but feel bad for him. No one deserved that kind of life.

“Is that who is looking for you?” She asked. “Your former master?”

He whipped back around, examining her face. For a moment she thought he might snap at her for asking, but then his tense shoulders relaxed slightly. “Yes. It’s the only explanation. There is no way he would just let me go. Vampire lords don’t handle being scorned too well.”

Astarion eyed her, and when she said nothing, he continued, albeit with a sigh. “His name is Cazador Szarr. He holes up in his mansion in the upper city, where I and six other spawn do his bidding. Which includes luring in victims from around the city for him to drain dry. I could never have so much as a drop. You were my first, you know.”

His voice softened as he spoke the last sentence, reaching out a hand to drag light fingers across her shoulder and down her arm. She blushed, remembering that night. No wonder he’d seemed to be in such awe when he drank from her. A vampire's first taste of human blood. Perhaps that’s what it’d felt like when she’d killed for the first time, whenever that was.

His touch left a pleasant vibrating sensation on her skin. She liked that he wasn’t afraid to touch her, even passively.

Something shifted between them with this admission, their secrets laid fully bare for one another to see. It was all unintentional, but somehow they’d fallen into exactly the right hands. Thalia doubted anyone else would be as understanding of her condition as Astarion had been. He gazed down at her, face unreadable, as each of them tried to come up with something to say. Finding herself closer to him than he usually allowed, she took a moment to study him. His hair was neatly styled behind his ears, though some rogue strands fell messily in front of his forehead from running his hands through it. There were faint creases beside his lips and on his forehead, translucent circles underneath his eyes, but no other blemishes to be seen. She wasn't sure how exactly full-blooded elves aged, but he couldn't have been too old when he was turned. The notion made her frown, which made Astarion look away and back up a few steps.

“You’re safe with me,” She said. Then, quickly added, “From whomever Cazador sends to retrieve you, I mean. If we survive going back to camp.”

Astarion huffed slightly. “I don’t think you quite understand what going against a vampire lord means. ‘Safe’ isn’t really in the cards,” He paused. “But.. Thank you, I suppose.”

Judging by the way his face screwed into an uncomfortable expression as he spoke, she imagined that had been very difficult for him to say. She lightly slapped his cheek in an endearing sort of way. Seeing him struggle to express gratitude was… cute. In the same way an aggressive kitten was cute.

“Shall we return?” He asked her, holding his fingers to the spot on his cheek she’d touched, then clearing his throat and quickly moving his hand back to his side. The act had perplexed him. “It might be best to get it over with. Find out if we’ll be mindflayers in a few days time or not.”

Getting it over with was all they could do. The past few days, the camp’s reliance on her had grown twofold. Part of them must know that they needed her and the balance she brought to their steps, even if she was a little mad. And if they could be swayed to trust her, they could be swayed to trust Astarion as well. They must.

Because after all this, she would not even dream of leaving the vampire behind.

Notes:

i always feel so guilty uploading dialogue-heavy chapter, as if theyre lacking substance even though i know thats not necessarily true. hope you enjoyed anyway!

Chapter 5

Notes:

short chapter that starts with astarion ruminating and then gets silly. idk idk i wrote this while drunk. astarion is hard to write

This had gotten infinitely messier than Astarion had intended.

Of course he knew he wouldn’t be able to hide his nature from the entire camp forever, he wasn’t that naive. What he hadn't expected, however, was for it to be revealed by a gur of all people, and at the same time Thalia exposed her little predilection to murder. Though, he supposed her killing the gur had taken a bit of the hit off of him.

It was a wonder the others didn’t immediately stake him, Wyll most of all. The monster hunter had been ready, he could see it in his eyes, and Astarion had been gearing himself up for a fight. But somehow, somehow, Thalia still held authority over him, over all of them. Even with Gale’s widened eyes and big mouth. She had strode up to camp with a faux confidence, hiding her shaking hands as she ordered them to stand down. Told them she trusted him, that he wouldn’t hurt them. And with only a moment's hesitation, they did. What followed was a long, disgustingly heartfelt conversation about the truth of her dark urges, the ones she’d attempted to tell them about weeks earlier. Astarion had again sworn that this moment would be when they turned on her, decided her to be too dangerous than they were willing to risk. But to his shock they seemed… sympathetic? Sympathetic to the woman who had just admitted she fantasized about killing them all?

Who were these people? What kind of idyllic universe had he been transported to?

Of course, Astarion had his own, uncomfortable empathy for their leader. But he had a history the others didn’t, one that granted him understanding of her predicament. Karlach, Gale, Shadowheart, all of them— they had no reason to feel for her. They should have just disregarded every word she said and killed her, because that’s what normal people did to people like the two of them. Never did he expect these regular folk to extend her this much grace.

The feeling this revelation aroused in him was unpleasant, to say the least. The idea that there were truly good, selfless people out there made his centuries long enslavement to Cazador that much more tragic. And he was sick of wallowing in his own self pity. It was unproductive, and only served to distract him from the only thing he should be focusing on: killing Cazador. He didn’t know how he was going to do it, or whether he’d survive, but as long as he could convince Thalia— and quite possibly, the others —to help him, he would try. After the glimpse of freedom he’d gotten, he had to try. If he wanted to ever know peace, Cazador had to be destroyed.

Though, the nightmares he’d been having did weaken his resolve in that matter. During a trance, he didn’t truly dream, they were more similar to visions. And those visions of Cazador could very well be coming from the vampire lord himself, somehow. He would find a way to get to him, even through his dreams. Astarion ground his jaw to keep from shivering at the thought.

It was so very humiliating to admit to himself just how afraid he was. And he was terrified. The possibility of his plan not working out, of being forced to return to Cazador and bear his wrath… he did not even want to think about it. But it was all he could think about. Astarion would love to believe that— should something happen, should this chance to defeat Cazador be taken from him —he would flee. He wished he could say he would travel far and wide to keep himself adequately separated from his master’s compulsion.

He wouldn’t. Cazador was all he knew, Baldur’s Gate was all he knew. His life before was distant, blurred by centuries of torment. Without this buffer between him and Cazador, these people who, despite their insufferable naivety, gave him the tiniest spark of hope, he would be lost. It would only be a matter of time before he’d return to the doors of the Szarr mansion.

Suddenly, he had the urge to kill something. Many somethings. Possibly even something that could fight back. A bear? There was an abundance of them in these woods, and if he was lucky he might even come across a wolf. Maybe he would bring Shadowheart its head as a peace offering.

As he was about to rise from his spot in his tent to go hunt, he could feel someone approaching. He paused, thinking they would likely go past, but instead two feet shuffled uncertainly beside the opening. Preparing to put on his dagger-glare, the one that got people to leave him the Hells alone, he got up. Karlach’s nervous expression forcefully lightened when he stood in front of her, as if she’d still been deciding whether she even wanted to speak to him and hadn’t expected him to hear her. Which was odd because, trust, even if he wasn’t a vampire, he would have heard her.

“Yes?”

“Oh, heya! Uh,” She hesitated, trying to find her words. “Are you.. Are you feeling alright? I mean, you know you don’t have to do the whole moping around bit anymore. Not now that we know what you are.”

Moping around bit. Did the tiefling never think before she spoke?

“It comes with the whole ‘being a vampire’ thing, I’m afraid,” He replied, making sure he sounded as utterly uninterested in this conversation as he was. “Anything else?”

Karlach groaned and shot a glance over at Thalia, who was eavesdropping nearby. Ah, so that’s what this was. The reformed leader was trying to get him to make friends, just as she had been. How adorable.

At least it meant his plan was working. She cared whether or not he got along with the others.

“You’re a real dick, did you know that?” Karlach stomped her foot petulantly. Astarion raised an eyebrow. Yes, he did know that, in fact.

“Here I am, trying to be nice– which isn’t difficult for someone like me, you know? I’m a good person!” She made a show of waving her hands around, and hot air blew across his face as she did so. “You make it difficult for me to be a good person. But I’m nothing if not a stubborn bull. Now shut up and let me be nice to you!” A pause, then she added, “Please.”

Amusement beginning to replace annoyance, Astarion turned his head to Thalia, who quickly glanced away as he did so, pretending to be enamored with the leaves on a tree.

Fine, then, little pup. If this is what it takes to lure you to bed. Gaining a rapport with the others might be a smart thing to do, anyway.

“Very well,” Astarion sighed, crossing his arms and looking back to Karlach. “Be nice, if you must.”

Karlach nearly fell back in shock, and looked to Thalia again, who was trying to hold back a smile. If they were trying to be subtle, they were failing miserably.

“Right,” Karlach pulled herself together and attempted to put on a face that made her look serious. “Astarion. I know we already said this as a group, but I wanted to make sure you know I don’t think any less of you for being a,” She lowered her voice. “Vampire.”

“Why are you whispering the word vampire?”

“I don’t know,” She shrugged. “Wouldn’t want to attract a pack of ‘ya or something. Or are those werewolves that travel in packs?” Shaking the thought away, Karlach smiled at him. “Anyway, yeah. I trust you and I think you’re an important part of this camp, or whatever. Sorry, this is starting to sound like a group exercise. Mind if I go?”

“I-” Astarion was taken aback by how much her words seemed to affect him. What was that warmth in his chest? Would it go away? “Yes, go,” This was when he should thank her, probably. But the words, even as a lie, got caught in his throat. “That was… nice of you.”

Accepting that would be the best thanks she’d get from him, Karlach left, clapping a strong hand on his shoulder, for just a second so as not to burn him. In her wake, Astarion was left only with perplexity. Had that truly just transpired, or was this another one of his trance nightmares?

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Thalia stand and begin to make her way to the center of camp to join Karlach. As she passed him, she inconspicuously leaned his way, whispering, “I think you won her over.”

Chapter 6

Notes:

cw for sexual content

Was I sweet once?

Thalia laid in a patch of grass a little ways from her companions, staring up at the stars. It was the night before their battle at the grove; scouts had seen Minthara and the goblins camping not far, and estimated they’d arrive at midday. As she listened to the sounds of a sleeping grove, she knew her mind should be occupied by thoughts of strategies, of next steps and future plans. But the only thing her addled mind would let her think of was the children’s game they’d found in the abandoned village.

When they came across it, an uncomfortable sadness had settled in her gut. She searched the depths of her mind desperately for even just a snippet of her childhood, but all she was met with was a sea of black. Did she have parents out there somewhere? Was she raised in the countryside, or in the city? How many family pets had she forgotten, how many celebrations, how many childhood friends? There were so many questions that she feared would never be answered, as well as just as many questions she was afraid to have answered. How many people had she killed? What other atrocities has she committed?

It was possible she didn’t want to know the answers to the first questions, either. With the vileness within her, it wouldn’t be surprising if she had never had a family, had never known love or peace or joy. Perhaps she was simply evil personified, created only for heroes like Wyll to hunt and put down.

Having her memories taken from her could have been the best thing to ever happen to her. It gave her the chance to start over, to begin her life anew. But a life plagued by her Urges was no life at all. The way she saw it, she had two paths. She could follow the source of her Urges to Baldur’s Gate, and risk being unable to resist whatever force was driving them. Or, once the tadpole was gone, she could run. She could run far, far away, as far from the Gate as she possibly could, all while trying to perfect her resistance to the Urge. If she chose the former, was there some possibility she could defeat the source of this affliction, and free herself?

The thought, and the hope that came with it, brewed hatred in her blood. Hatred for herself, for who she’d become, for her utter blasphemy. Blasphemy towards what or who, she did not know. All she knew was each time she attempted to resist, she felt like she was lashing her own self with a whip, like she was going against her very being. It was unfair, to be punished for trying to be better than she was. She truly couldn’t do anything right. With any choice she made, some part of her was angry, or disgusted, or disappointed. Not to mention her companions breathing down her shoulder constantly, trying to force her into six different directions. She was only one person, and could only do so much to please all of them, while also trying to keep both sides of herself at bay.

Thalia held her hands out in front of her, the stars fading in the background. She turned them over, examined them. Even when not in the depths of her madness, she saw the blood on them. The blood of countless. The image of them dripping with scarlet was seared into her brain, even now, when they were seemingly clean. But they would never truly be clean. She could scrub until her skin was raw, scrub until it bled, but she would always be tainted. A blight on this land.

Why hadn’t they killed her? For the life of her she could not figure it out. If the roles were reversed, if she were a folk hero like Wyll, or as good-natured as Karlach, she would have. Without hesitation. If she were a better person she would end her own life, as she’d thought about before. The others may not know about Alfira, but they knew she'd brutalized Gandrel, and it was obvious she didn’t simply do it to protect Astarion. There was no good reason for them to have kept her alive; they would have decided on another leader with time. She truly wasn’t that important to the group.

Gods, she was starting to sound like an ungrateful hag. Of course she was grateful they had trusted her, she just didn’t understand why. It was eating away at her just as much as the Urge was. Did they think she wouldn’t kill again? If so, they were utter fools. Not even she tried to convince herself she would not. There was only so long she could resist. And since the occasional kill made it easier for her to not turn into a murder machine… well, kill she would. Sacrifice the individual for the collective good, and whatnot. She would deal with the guilt, the gnawing aversion to herself, afterwards. Thankfully, because of Gandrel, that time was not here yet. The Urges let themselves grow slowly, like with each murder they were a phoenix returning to ashes, just to be reborn.

That didn’t mean she had no use for distractions. When she wasn’t actively craving murder, she was still thinking of murder. Like the battle that was to come that, in the heat of the moment, could easily turn to a tiefling slaughter at her hands. It would be very quaint, to have saved Arabella from the viper, to have the entire grove believe she was their savior, just to cut them all down. Just to see the betrayal in their eyes as her blades worked.

“And by quaint,” She said out loud, because if she was mad she might as well embrace talking to herself. “You mean revolting.”

Her other-self sneered, but did not retaliate. Yes, a distraction would do nicely. And the best distraction she’d found was letting herself be bled to the brink of death by Astarion. The only time her mind was well and truly clear, was when her tainted blood had all but left her body. So, she got up.

Even though it was normally the place to find him, Astarion wasn’t at his tent. Nor anywhere else in camp, it seemed. In the middle of her searching, it dawned on her how silly she must look, looking high and low for the handsome man with honeyed words. If anyone realized what she was doing, they must think she was smitten. But she was after much more than a pretty face. Though, she would be lying if she said his touch didn’t send shivers down her spine. The good kind of shivers.

After some sniffing around, she found him in a clearing in the woods not too far from camp, but far enough to assume he didn’t want to be bothered. He sat in the grass, staring up at the stars just as she had. For a moment she watched him, appreciated the way he was when he thought no one was watching. Then she turned to leave, respecting that he wished to be alone. But as she was just about to push aside some brush and step back into the woods, he spoke.

“‘I’m a rogue too, you know’,” He teased. She turned back around to face him, and a smug grin graced his lips as he looked at her. “That’s what you said the last time we met in the woods. But your steps are as loud as a gnoll’s.”

Thalia wondered if he’d known she was there the whole time. It was likely, he probably heard her coming in the first place. The thought of interrupting his ruminating felt wrong, just as she’d hate to be interrupted in the midst of hers. She was found out now, though, and he didn’t seem displeased by her company.

She smirked back, crossing her arms. “I’m only quiet when I want to kill something. Be relieved you can hear my footsteps.”

Astarion laughed and patted the ground beside him, motioning for her to come join him. She did so, ignoring the girlish fluttering in her stomach. She was here to feed him, and nothing more.

“You could certainly try to kill me,” He said as she sat beside him, that damned smile still toying at his lips. “I doubt you’d get very far.”

“Excuse me?” She feigned offense, holding a hand to her chest. “Killing is kind of my thing. Just because I don’t remember killing a vampire, doesn’t mean I never have.”

In truth, she didn’t think she ever had. This was due to the voices in her head telling her how fun killing one would be and how they’ve always wanted to try it, of course.

Astarion only hummed in response, moving his gaze back to the sky. “What brings you out here? If not to murder me, that is.”

“Just thought you might want a bite before the big fight tomorrow,” She shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant about the fact that she was just offering her blood to him, unprompted.

“Darling, I always want a bite,” He crooned, then motioned to her arms. “But perhaps we should let those wrists of yours heal a bit before we resume our delicious fun. They’re beginning to look rather gnarly.”

That certainly gave her pause. He was right, they were covered in still-new scabs, but why would he care? He was getting what he wanted either way. And she needed what she wanted, which was just a clear head before she went to bed.

“I-“ Thalia hesitated and watched Astarion as he waited for her response. Her wrists were rather sore, come to think of it. “No, just drink at my neck. We need you strong tomorrow,” And I need a godsdamned break.

“Oh?” Astarion was clearly more than delighted by these words, though pleasantly surprised. He shifted so he was sitting up straighter, his smile widening to show his fangs. “And is this a… permanent change?”

Thalia moved her eyes downward into a glare. “I can just go, if you’d rather prattle on than get it over with.”

“No, no,” Astarion said quickly, not willing to lose his meal for the night. He moved closer to her, brushing her hair away from the side of her neck. “Let’s get more comfortable, shall we?”

Thalia didn’t protest when he guided her so she lay on the ground and put his hands on either side of her head. The flush that came to her cheeks from the suggestive position couldn’t be helped, and she hoped it was dark enough so he couldn’t see. Though, judging by his satisfied smirk, he very well could. Still, he said nothing of it, and he was gentle as he moved her hair for access once again. With her nod of approval to his waiting gaze, he moved his head downwards, fangs bared. She shut her eyes tight in anticipation.

To her surprise, it hurt less than when he bit her on the wrist. It was still uncomfortable, but his soft lips around the new punctures soothed the wounds. Astarion’s right hand moved from the side of her head to grasp her waist, pulling her against him, and she had to bite down to keep herself from gasping at the sudden move. His hand on her hips, as well as his lips on her throat, sent her nerves alight. She tried to distract herself as he drank, with the stars or the sounds of the crickets, but was unsuccessful. While the Urges were dulled, the entire reason she’d come to him, her mind was not clear. A flicker of a memory came before her; the same dark-haired lover she’d seen before atop of her in a similar fashion as Astarion. And just as hungry. Unwittingly, she pressed herself tighter against the body holding her.

“Darling, your heart is racing,” Astarion’s hot breath on her ear raised goosebumps over her body. She had not even realized he’d unlatched himself from her neck. He drew back, eyes lidded and drunk on her blood. She was at a loss for words.

“You like this, don’t you?” He drawled, removing his hand from her waist to wipe his mouth with the heel of his palm. Her eyes followed his hand as he did so. “At first I thought you were just being polite, offering yourself to me, but now I see you’re enjoying yourself just as much as I am.”

Insufferable, cocky bastard. She wanted to strangle the lascivious smirk off his face.

Of course she enjoyed having him so close to her. Whatever had taken her memories hadn’t taken her sexual attraction as well, and there was much to be attracted to with Astarion. But that absolutely did not mean he had to point it out! This was supposed to be a business arrangement.

Though, a small part of her whispered bleakly, right now the Urges weren’t simply quieted. They were silent. And all at once she felt entirely foolish, having gone on about distractions earlier, because what better distraction was there than sex?

Thalia reached a hand to Astarion’s face, thumb brushing his bottom lip to collect the blood his hand had missed. She brought the thumb to her mouth to lick it off, relishing in the way his eyes followed her movements.

“What gave it away?” She asked, cocking her head to the side. Oh, could she be a flirt as well. Astarion’s eyes flickered from her lips back to her own. The shift in her was sudden, but he only let the surprise show on his face for a moment before settling back into his salacious mask. The tension between them was taught and thick, capable of being split by one of her daggers.

At this point, her own interest was clear, and Astarion began to trail his fingers along the side of her body. Down from her neck to her sides, then back up again, stopping to hold her chin between his thumb and forefingers. She lifted her head indignantly, though not far enough so she slipped from his grasp.

“Those little shakes of excitement of yours, for starters,” He muttered, brushing his thumb on her bottom lip, though his gaze refused to leave her own. “You deserve a reward, I think. I am so very pleased with what you’ve given me.”

With that, he slipped his hand behind her to grip the back of her neck, and lifted her head closer to his. When she didn’t pull away or refuse, he let his lips catch her own, slowly, expertly. It was almost infuriating how good he was, that his seductive act was not merely an act. Thalia brought her hands to lock around his neck, melting into the kiss as it deepened. It was a blissful agony, to allow herself this indulgent respite. No Urge clawed at the edges of her mind, no voices demanded death. For some reason, their absence worried her more in this moment than their presence. The disturbance was brief, however, as when Astarion’s hips ground down into her own, nothing else mattered but getting their clothes off. She gasped into their kiss and he pulled away, moving his lips to her jaw and leaving fluttering kisses down to her neck, paying special attention to the puncture wounds at her throat. His other hand came to tug at the fabric of her chemise, and she allowed them to part for only a moment as he pulled it over he head. His mouth continued to draw lower, and when it reached one of her breasts, she abruptly lifted her hips, biting down on her lip to keep from moaning.

Astarion’s movements were carefully calculated, practiced. The way he held her, the careful kisses, the slow descent to between her legs; he must have done this a thousand times before. She was another notch in the bedpost, but it didn’t bother her. Judging by the way her body responded, she wasn’t exactly new to this either. Her hands ran wherever they could reach; through his hair, over his back. She locked her knees behind his head once he’d removed her trousers, and his hands splayed across her inner thighs, pushing them apart gently, and then his tongue was between her folds and her mind was blanked by pure pleasure. The moan she’d held in earlier escaped as her hands gripped his hair, pulling harder than she probably meant to.

No thoughts filled her mind, it was too preoccupied with how his tongue felt on her, how his fingers felt inside her. It didn’t matter to her that she’d likely fallen for his trap exactly how he’d expected, the time for regrets could be tomorrow. After the fight, after the adrenaline and anticipation wore away. For now, she needed this fervid passion, something to focus on outside of death and guts. And passionate they were. Astarion sat back up and, with a shrieking laugh from her, pulled her legs forward so she was in his lap. Thalia lifted his shirt over his head, ran her fingers down his chest and kissed the invisible lines she made.

“Would you have me like this?” She whispered, her voice low as she grinded on his arousal in his trousers. It was like she was acting on pure instinct, like when the Urge came out to play, but entirely different. “Would you take me while I’m in your lap?”

Thalia could barely remember having sex, let alone how to dirty talk. This all came from a place in her head she didn’t know existed. Astarion seemed pleased, however, and he raised his eyebrows. “You’re a filthy little thing when you get the chance, aren’t you?”

As if to prove his point, she took his hand, and put the fingers that had previously been inside her into her mouth, tasting herself. At that, he seemed to decide enough was enough, and in what felt like seconds his trousers were off and Thalia was lowering herself onto him, savoring his sharp intake of breath as she did so, delighting in the way he filled her. After a moment of fumbling, they found a rhythm, and she leaned forward to kiss him again, smiling when he groaned against her lips. She was… admittedly a little surprised at just how much she was enjoying this. It wasn’t the semi awkward, first-time sex she’d expected it to be. She felt like herself in his arms. But that thought was stored away for later, as she didn’t need to panic over what it implied at the moment.

Astarion moved his hand between them and pressed his thumb to her most sensitive spot, and it wasn’t long after that she found her pleasure coming to a head. She bit down on his shoulder to keep herself quiet, not willing to give him the satisfaction of being loud. Little whimpers came through anyway, something she would have cursed herself for if she wasn’t so focused on the enormous waves of pleasure washing over her. Astarion placed her onto her back to chase his own climax, and she took a sharp breath when his fangs pierced her neck once again. Eventually, he stuttered and collapsed beside her.

Their heavy, post-coital breaths mingled in the air above them as they took a moment to process what had just transpired. It was all very sudden, and Thalia didn’t know what to think, nor could she tell what he was thinking. She was a selfish, cruel person, and briefly considered using the tadpole to peer into Astarion’s thoughts, but stopped herself.

“Hells,” Astarion said finally, and Thalia could only nod, rolling onto her stomach to face him. The cold grass against her skin caused her to shiver. He stared at the sky for a moment, seemingly a million miles away, before he turned to her and plastered on the very same smirk from earlier. “Enjoy yourself, you wretched thing?”

She laughed, but more at herself than anything. Wretched she was. Stupid. Foolish. To her utter dismay, she felt more sane than she ever had since waking up on that ravaged beach. A small part of her had hoped sleeping with Astarion wouldn’t work, because if it worked, that meant she’d want to do it again.

“Hm,” She hummed, deflecting the question. “If I ask about those scars on your back, will you snap at me and sulk off?”

No furrowed brows, no tense shoulders, no surprise. He’d wanted her to ask about them.

“That would be my immediate response,” He agreed, turning his head to look back up at the stars. “But since you’ve read me for filth…” He sighed and pursed his lips. “They’re a gift. From Cazador. Some sort of poem, I don’t know. He could’ve carved nonsense just to mark me forever. Or maybe he just liked to hear me scream.”

A beat of hesitation. Then, Thalia asked, “Could I take a look?”

That got her the reaction she’d expected in the first place. He sat up and looked at her incredulously.

“What?” He said quickly, suspiciously. “Why?”

She shrugged. “I could tell you what it says, maybe.”

“But why do you care?”

Thalia blinked at him. “We just slept together,” She said slowly, sounding it out for him and pointing between the two of them. If he couldn’t understand why two people who had just laid together might care about one another's plights… well.

The utterly bewildered man in front of her looked like he wanted to retort, before he huffed and turned around, displaying the scars to her. She sat up, reaching out a hand to trace them, then thought better of it and examined with her eyes only. It was bizarre; connecting characters drawn in three circles, one within the other. With a flash of recognition she realized it was written in infernal. How she could tell it was infernal, she had not the slightest idea.

“Why did he write it in infernal?” She sat back down, beginning to look around for her clothing. If she was to get any sleep tonight, they’d have to go back soon. The moon was already halfway through the sky.

Astarion turned back around. “I- what? Infernal?” He considered for a moment, his eyebrows drawn together. Then, he let out a defeated sigh. “Who knows. The bastard was insane.”

Their odd version of pillowtalk fizzled out with that, and they each collected their clothing with sidelong glances at one another. Neither of them could think of what to say, what felt right to say. They both had gone into this looking for something specific, and both seemed to come out with much more than they bargained for. The silence continued throughout their walk back to camp, and when they arrived, they offered each other only short parting words. Thalia tried not to acknowledge the twinge of disappointment she felt at his absence as he retreated to his tent.

Thalia was in the midst of mindflayers, cultists, innate evil urges, and the neediest companions she likely could have ended up with. Yet tonight, she felt she had single-handedly made her situation about ten thousand times more complicated than it already had been.

Notes:

writing smut makes me want to cringe and hide so im sorry if it seems rushed!!! i am just not good at it lol

also, i hope it doesnt feel like thalia is using astarion for sex. shes not. remember that we may know about astarions past sexual trauma, but she has not even the slightest idea. to her, astarion is just the prettyboy with honeyed words trying to get her to sleep with him. which she does lol

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Child of None