Chapter 1: Best Laid Plans
Summary:
New city, who dis?
Notes:
Chapter Song: Adventure of a Lifetime by Coldplay
Listen on Spotify ❇︎ YoutubeClick here for chapter content warnings (May contain some spoilers)
Brief descriptions of sex acts in memories (oral sex, PIV)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
1498
“It’s quite a view,” Astarion observed.
“It is, yes.” Imara looked out at the landscape with an assessing look on her face.
“Oh, I didn’t mean the city, darling,” he murmured, smiling softly when her eyes darted to him and found his gaze locked on her.
Huffing out a quiet laugh, she smiled. They gazed at one another, enjoying the moment, until, naturally, someone interrupted it. Minthara approached, clearing her throat quietly. When they looked at her, she smiled a satisfied, slightly-wicked grin.
“Lunea. Lunea’dra. The city is yours.”
Imara’s smile deepened and her eyes wandered back to the view, a look of immense satisfaction settling onto her beautiful face. It had been a long, arduous, dangerous three years to reach this point, but finally they’d succeeded.
Skullport was theirs.
Minthara stepped closer, her eyes alight. “All of the remaining factions have surrendered. The merchants and servants kept their word; every single one stood down. They barred their doors to the slaver factions, offering no aid.”
“Just as you expected, my love,” Astarion crooned. Imara’s pride bloomed over their bond, her smile widening even more.
“The slavers are being put to the sword and their slaves are being freed. Vorin and Riniya are overseeing and Mal is there to burn the bodies. The council, the siblings, and the department heads are scouring the city with their units to ensure we do not miss any. The mortals on their teams are being sent into any homes barred to the vampires. Syndra and Taelin will arrange for a group to guide the freed to Waterdeep as soon as they are well enough to travel.”
“See that the freed are fed, washed, and clothed in the meantime,” Imara said.
“Of course. It is already being done.”
Imara turned to smile at Minthara. “Thank you. We couldn’t have done this without you.”
Minthara glowed a bit at the praise. “You could have.”
“Perhaps, but it would have been much more difficult and a lot less fun,” Astarion said.
Speaking of fun, Imara sent. We haven’t invited her to join us in quite some time.
Let’s get settled into the city before we dive back into our more hedonistic pursuits, shall we?
Imara’s silent chuckle wafted over their bond. Who’d have thought you would someday be the responsible one?
Miracles do happen.
Of course they do. I found you, after all.
Flatterer.
“Likely.” Minthara paused, looking thoughtful. “I would prefer if you would continue to utilize your tent until I have had time to ensure that the entire castle is secured. Buildings like this almost always have secret passageways and traps.”
“That’s fine, we can figure out which rooms will be ours and set the tent up in them.”
“This entire floor is yours. The floor below will be assigned to Remi and Hugo.”
“Efficient as ever, dear.” Astarion smiled at Minthara and she blushed slightly. She’d only begun to respond to him that way last year, after the first time they’d invited her to join them in bed.
As the women fell into conversation about securing the city, Astarion’s mind wandered to that night, to the nerves that had fluttered in his stomach and the old memories that had tried to overtake him. But he’d refused to let his past take from him an experience he’d chosen, something he wanted for himself, and with Imara’s quiet, gentle support through their bond, he had managed to stay present. Soon, he’d forgotten the past entirely and had lost himself in the moment, relishing in every touch and kiss.
A brief vision of even later that night, when he’d been kneeling in Minthara’s bed, leaning back against the headboard, watching as Minthara laid on her back and wrapped her lips around his balls, then as Imara laid on top of the drow, sinking her fingers between Minthara’s folds as she slowly slid her lips down his cock.
The sight of the two women pleasuring each other as their mouths pleasured him in tandem had overwhelmed him. He’d come far too quickly, his cheeks and ears flushing with embarrassment, but neither had minded. Imara had shared the taste of his seed with Minthara, their passionate kiss and the sight of the drow coming apart under his beloved’s careful ministrations arousing him anew, at which point they’d returned their mouths to him and done it all over again.
And over. And over.
He hadn’t been ready to actually fuck Minthara, but Minthara had not seemed to mind and they’d all been well and truly satisfied by the end of the night. They’d only invited her to join them a few times since then, but each time had been more and more delightful than the last.
Are you sure you want to wait? I can feel how aroused you are at the memory, Imara teased gently.
Letting her feel his amusement, he said, I am. And, if I’m being honest, I would prefer to invite Vorin again first.
Another soft, silent chuckle. He certainly won’t mind. I know he misses us. Mainly you and your… discipline.
They’d invited Vorin to join them a month or two after their experiment with Minthara had gone so well. That had been… an educational evening for Astarion, to say the least. Though they’d discussed in advance what that night could and would entail, it hadn’t mattered. The moment he’d seen Vorin towering above Imara, being led into the bedroom they’d rented for the evening, he had begun to hyperventilate. Memories had tried to swamp him, even more powerfully than on their night with the drow. Imara had done her best to help him find calm, but his mind had taken him in an iron grip in a way it had not done since the days of their tadpole adventure.
He’d stood, memory after disgusting memory flooding him, vaguely wondering how he, who had been subjected to those horrors, could think to find enjoyment in subjecting another person to them. A person he liked; cared for even. Someone who was important to him, to Imara.
Shame had slithered into his gut, souring his stomach. He’d been moments from calling the whole thing off when Vorin had turned to him, and, with excitement in his eyes, began to unbutton his shirt.
Astarion had stood, transfixed, watching Vorin slowly undress without taking his eyes off of Astarion, the scent of the tiefling’s arousal beginning to perfume the air. When Vorin had stepped out of his trousers, he’d been fully erect and had sunk to his knees remarkably gracefully for someone his size. He’d stared at Astarion from across the room, need shining in his eyes as he whispered, “My lord. I am yours.”
In that moment, Astarion’s mind had gone completely, utterly blank. The stress, the fear, the anxiety, it had all drained away as if it had never been. In the sudden silence inside his mind, he’d remembered that he wanted this. That Vorin and Imara wanted it. That he was not doing to Vorin what had been done to him, because it would be done with care, and with consent.
His eyes had landed on Imara, sitting at the edge of the bed, looking concerned for him. “Collar him,” he’d ordered her as the comforting blanket of command had settled over him, stronger and more complete than ever before.
As with Minthara, Astarion hadn’t been ready for everything Vorin wanted. That first night, he’d made Vorin kneel next to the bed the entire evening. He’d commanded the tiefling to watch, then had taken Imara to bed and made sweet, sensual love to her until they were sweat-soaked and sated, occasionally tugging at the leash attached to Vorin’s collar, just to taunt him—exactly as Vorin had requested.
Imara had been so sated she’d been rather over-stimulated, and when Astarion commanded Vorin to pleasure her with his mouth, he’d expected Vorin to fail. But as Astarion leaned against the headboard with Imara lying against him, her burning-hot back against his chest and her legs spread wide for the tiefling, he’d realized he’d underestimated Vorin.
The enormous man had slid into the bed, wrapped his hands around Imara’s hips, and dragged his tongue through her folds—which were covered in Astarion’s spend—writhing his tongue in a way that indicated skill. He’d groaned, then set to pleasuring her like his life depended on it. It had been incredibly erotic to watch, and Astarion’s hands had begun to wander Imara’s body of their own volition, lost in the sight and the sensations she was sharing over their bond.
By the time Imara had been able to come again, the tiefling had come twice, grinding into the sheets, and Astarion joined his beloved, his spend coating her lower back as she writhed and moaned under their touches.
Things had progressed quite a bit since then; they’d invited Vorin to join them several times. It had been awhile, though, with the battle looming before them. Now that it was done, perhaps Imara was right. They didn’t have to wait if they didn’t wish to. He had several ideas to try out on that tiefling…
So let’s invite him, then.
We will soon. I do want to settle in at least a bit first, though. It has been an exhausting month already and the next tenday or so will no doubt be even more so.
Alright, love.
“I will have Vorin send the spies into the field to seek out the locations of the remaining members of Xanathar, Mandible and the Reforged Ring,” Minthara told them, though she’d no doubt realized by now that Astarion had not been listening for several minutes. “We estimate there are up to one hundred who were not in the city today. As far as we can tell, the Riverborn have been eliminated, but even if some escaped, they were too disorganized to truly be a problem after today. The escapees will likely seek out somewhere less dangerous to relocate to rather than return here.”
“Hopefully we’ll have the passages secured before they could even try.”
“Hopefully. We will secure the entrances from both Undermountain and Waterdeep, of course, but the port…”
Imara nodded. “Have Remi set up another meeting with the mages. I’m tired of their flip-flopping. If they won’t agree to terms this time, well…” She sighed.
“If they are foolish enough to throw their lives away over a binding oath, one which only requires them not to betray the colony, then that is their choice. There are other mages out there who will gladly take their place in controlling the portals for the ships to reach the sea.”
Again Imara nodded, though she now looked resigned. As much as she enjoyed killing, she hated when people let their own stupidity cause it to become necessary. “When you send Remi… Make sure she doesn’t go alone.”
“Of course not, Lunea. She will have a full, armed escort.”
“Thank you. For everything.” Imara took Minthara’s hand, squeezing lightly. “Having you with us is such a comfort to me.”
Minthara flushed prettily again, smiling a sweet, gentle smile that not so long ago he’d have thought was in complete opposition to her personality. Now, though, he knew that Minthara was quite soft inside.
He remembered when he’d questioned her about it, shortly after they’d decided to take Skullport. It had been after a lengthy planning session, when Imara was frustrated in the extreme and exhausted along with it.
Minthara tucked a curl behind Imara’s ear, murmuring quietly to her until Imara’s eyes lost their frantic edge and her shoulders relaxed somewhat.
Curious, Astarion waited until Imara wandered off, then sidled up to the drow. “For someone so obsessed with strength and power, you are extremely soft on the inside,” he observed.
“Loving another is not soft, vampire. It is one of the hardest things a person can do.” Minthara eyed him thoughtfully. “Do you not find it so?”
Flabbergasted, Astarion opened and closed his mouth two or three times before managing to reply, “I have found it so.”
“You are surprised, but you should not be. There is strength in loving another. There is power there, too. Over the years, I have come to appreciate them as much as I do the more traditional forms. I find I long less and less for a throne, to see the light go out of my mother’s eyes, to dominate and conquer nations. Now, I long for meaning. For belonging.” Her eyes crinkled slightly, a sly look on her face. “Now, I long only for enough strength and power to protect that which is most precious.”
Like Minthara, he too had come to only long for the power and strength to protect Imara. With Jergal’s gifts, they’d come a long way toward that goal. Once they’d fully secured Skullport, they’d be nearly there.
“I will see to all that is needful. You two should acquaint yourselves with your new home. We will meet on the morrow to discuss next steps.”
“Make sure you rest, too.”
“We can’t have our favorite lieutenant collapsing from exhaustion mere days into the occupation of our new territory,” Astarion teased.
Minthara scoffed. “I will rest when I must. Good night.”
“Good night.”
As Minthara left, Astarion stepped closer to his beloved, enfolding her in his arms. He kissed her forehead, smiling down at her.
“You have your own fiefdom now, my love. I can’t wait to see what you will do with it.”
Imara snorted, tightening her arms around him. “Hopefully I will turn it into a refuge… a safe haven for those who have been enslaved, and a bustling center of commerce, as well.”
“Of course you will, darling, your plans will not fail.”
“Our plans,” she corrected. “You came up with nearly half of them yourself.”
Warmth bloomed in his belly. She was right. He’d had as much a hand in this as she had, had worked with her every step of the way, contributing many ideas that had borne fruit over the years, culminating in their success today.
He rested his chin on her head, gazing out at the city. “Yes. Our plans.”
The view from their balcony was excellent; they could see nearly the entire city. It was a mish-mash of buildings on varying levels of the cavern. The cavern itself was by far the largest they’d been in since venturing into the Underdark. The ceiling was several hundred feet high and covered with glowing fungi which the locals called the gloam.
The port was massive, as was the Sargauth river it was built upon. This portion of the river was manmade, its water replenished from underground, and thus safe for the spawn. There was more than enough room for all of them, as well as the merchants and service-folk who lived there already, and for however many lost souls Imara would inevitably find and bring under her wing through the years to come. There was enough room to expand, should they ever need to, but he doubted it would be necessary for at least a century.
Their castle was a fortress located on an island south of the mainland, connected by one large stone bridge that spanned the river between them. The fortress had, apparently, housed various slaver factions and their prisons. They’d all been surprised that the vampires had been able to simply walk into the castle, at least until they’d discovered that Xanathar, who ran the place, was an ancient beholder.
They’d defeated him and his forces, wandering the grounds to investigate their new property. The moment they’d realized what each of the outbuildings were for, Imara had ordered them emptied then torn down.
Already the School of Obedience, where slaves had been violently ‘re-educated’ in how to serve appropriately, was empty of victims. The Halls of the Iron Ring, who had controlled the island, were likewise empty. Soon, there would be no Tower of the Seven Woes, no holding pens, no Halls, no false School. There would be only their home and office, the homes and offices of the council, the department heads’ offices, and the base of operations for running the city.
The magical, psychotic flying skulls that policed Skullport would need to be dealt with quickly. Imara certainly wouldn’t stand for a magical police force that believed in enslaving citizens for minor infractions. Dealing with them would be tricky—it was believed that the magic of the skulls was tied to the magic that prevented the cavern from collapsing, but no one was sure.
“Are you pleased with our new territory?” Imara asked.
“Of course I am, darling. Even with so little light, even though the buildings are dilapidated and the streets are dirty, I am pleased with it. It is ours now, and in time, we will make of it a jewel.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. Once we have it fully under our control, once we’ve cleared and secured the rest of Undermountain, we will begin to refurbish and expand the city. We will be incredibly powerful. Just as I always dreamed.”
“So these past three years were worth it? All the stress and strife and fights and sleepless nights…”
Astarion squeezed her to him, nuzzling her hair. “Every moment since I met you on that beach has been worth it, Imara, but yes. All the time we spent making this happen was worth it. To be standing now in a castle of our very own, looking out on a city we now rule, atop a mountain of mithral and precious resources… Of course it was worth it.”
“I’m glad. I worried, often, that it wouldn’t feel worth it when we finally reached this point. After everything we went through, I was worried it wouldn’t feel satisfying. But it does.”
“Yes. It does.”
Imara was not wrong. As hard as their first three years together had been, the next three had been even more so—in very different, unexpected ways.
❇︎❇︎❇︎
1495
“A subtle approach will be needed at first,” Nieven mused.
Imara nodded. “I agree. We will need to install spies in Waterdeep and in Skullport itself if we can manage it. If we can convince the merchants and any of the other factions who aren’t, well, evil, to stand down—”
“Stand down? Not join with us?” Riniya interjected.
“We wouldn’t succeed if we tried to convince them to fight. They aren’t fighters; why would they want to risk their lives to help us usurp their city? They hate the Xanathar as much as anyone else, but they’re afraid. It’s their home,” Astarion said.
Imara nodded, pride shining in her eyes. “Exactly. Better to only ask them to stay home, bar their doors, and do nothing to hinder us. If we succeed, it’s wonderful news for them; we aren’t going to charge them for protection from ourselves like the Xanathar do. If we lose, then they’ve lost nothing, done nothing that will endanger them.”
Riniya nodded and the council set to arranging for setting up the spy network.
In their first few tendays of planning, Imara had managed to gather a decent amount of information about Skullport through Gale and his resources in Waterdeep. They’d learned that Skullport was ruled by a thuggish gang of thieves and slavers called the Xanathar, led by a man named Xanathar, and that they were allied with several other vile gangs who made their bases of operation in the city. The Reforged Ring, Mandible, the Riverborn, the Iron Ring… there were probably others they hadn’t even learned about yet. The Xanathar ruled with an iron fist, charging merchants and unaffiliated residents a fee every tenday in order to avoid being beaten and harassed by the gangs.
When Imara had learned about the ‘protection’ money, she’d suddenly changed her mind about imprisoning the faction members for trial. Now the gangs would all be put to death the moment they had control of the city. It was a much better approach, in his opinion.
They’d obtained much more detailed maps, and had begun the process of formulating a plan of attack. Though, sadly, there would be very little attacking until the very end. Imara’s subtle approach was the wiser course and all but guaranteed to succeed, but he’d much rather have gone in immediately, with swords bared.
“We should have the spies reach out to the family members of those who’ve been kidnapped from Waterdeep,” Astarion mused. “They will no doubt offer any aid they can, in the hopes of having their loved ones returned to them.”
Again Imara’s pride reached him, this time through their bond. She smiled widely at him, but before she could respond, Brecaryn did.
“That’s an excellent idea. They will know the city far better than we do. Even if they can’t offer any material aid, they’re likely to have knowledge we will need.”
“I agree,” Vorin said. “We can also check for bounties on any members of the slaver factions. We could send out small groups of the spawn to hunt them. We’d be thinning their numbers and filling our coffers at the same time.”
“It is said that teleportation into or out of Skullport is impossible,” Minthara chimed in, “but there is no such rumor regarding the rest of Undermountain. We could capture beasts here in the Underdark and teleport them into the areas of Undermountain closest to Skullport. It would not be enough to fell the city, but it would be enough of a nuisance to split their attention.”
“It would also prevent them from using several of the passageways as a means of escape,” Taelin added.
“Whatever we send would be challenging for mere mortals,” Riniya muttered thoughtfully, “but not so for a legion of vampires. We would be able to reclaim those areas without trouble.”
“A propaganda campaign wouldn’t go amiss, either,” Syndra said with a sly smile. “We could have the spies begin spreading rumors in Waterdeep, particularly through the pleasure-houses frequented by the rich and the pubs in the poorer districts. The rumors would call more attention to the goings-on in Skullport and the slave trade, as well as the complete lack of action by the Waterdhavian government. With enough public outrage, their government would need to begin making it more difficult for the slavers to operate within Waterdeep so freely. That would ensure that more of them spend more time in Skullport and less lurking about Waterdeep.”
“Which would mean more of them condensed into the enclosed space we will have trapped them in when we come to take it,” Nieven said with obvious appreciation.
“We should find a way to start harrying their ships before they reach the portals and get brought into the cavern,” Imara murmured, staring down at the map in front of them. “If we can make it more difficult and more expensive for them to move their goods via ship, that will slow them down significantly.”
“We can destroy some, but if we wish for them to be unaware that they are about to be overtaken, then we cannot destroy them all.” Astarion stared down at the map as well, unsure how best to thwart shipments without destroying them.
“If we can find out which shipments don’t carry slaves, we could plague the ships.” Brecaryn sounded positively gleeful at the idea, which Astarion found surprising. She was usually so sweet and kind.
Taelin nodded. “That would work. None of the ports would let them dock if the crew are carrying the pox or anything like it.”
“And it would continue to thin their numbers.” Riniya had begun to look rather pleased—this conflict would not be as bloodless as originally expected, which no doubt pleased her as much as it did Astarion.
“If we do it slowly enough, all of these methods together would ensure they are in a significantly weakened state when we strike,” Imara said.
“It will take years,” Minthara told Imara. “At least two, more likely three. Possibly more, if any of the plans encounter significant difficulties.”
Vorin chuckled. “Well, let’s get planning so we can ensure that the inevitable difficulties don’t throw the game off entirely.”
❇︎❇︎❇︎
And plan they had. They’d planned every detail they could account for, every possibility they could think of. Money had been moved from Baldur’s Gate to Waterdeep, slowly enough to avoid raising any eyebrows. Their spies’ training had been increased so that it was all they did each day. Combat training had been increased, as had medical training. All construction that was not direly necessary had been halted in the colony. The council met daily, for several hours a day. It had taken them months just to finish planning to everyone’s satisfaction in order to even begin taking action.
Once they had, the truly difficult part had begun.
The waiting.
Their plans in place, they’d suddenly been at loose ends. The colony still needed attention, of course. Meetings still had to be held, social events needed to be attended. But with no further expansion in the works, with the spawn being trained for most of their waking hours, and with the council finally a united team… there’d been quite little to do, compared to their first years in the Underdark.
It had left more time for Imara and Mal and Astarion to travel, but those travel plans had invariably needed to be primarily for the plan. They took what bounties and contracts they could under the colony’s banner, but often they were rushing around, collecting supplies or negotiating trade deals. Over time, traveling ceased to feel fun, and began to feel like work.
Strangely, though leading the colony became more time consuming and burdensome, they’d struggled less with it. Once their plans were in place, they’d each settled into their roles much more comfortably, and they rarely felt the frenzied urge to run away.
Though challenges had abounded, their relationship had not suffered overmuch as it would have done in years prior, which was a wonderful thing, but that did not mean that times were easy. Sleepless nights were common, as were meetings that took an entire day to resolve. As things became more and more stressful with their leadership, bickering became more common between them, but it was never cruel or bitter.
In fact, Astarion rather liked the bickering. It, like walking back to their tent at the end of the day or seeing their things cluttered about their space, felt strangely domestic to him. It eventually became more of a game between them, a way to lighten the mood, until these days it was simply another way they showed their love for one another.
It also helped that the bickering usually led to vigorous, passionate sex.
Still, he hoped that once things settled down somewhat with their new city, the bickering would become a rare occurrence once more. As fun as it was, he enjoyed their more silly banter much more, and it had become much less frequent these past years. They’d simply been too stressed, too focused, and yet too bored at the same time.
They’d filled their time together and they always had fun, but neither of them were people who enjoyed remaining idle overlong, particularly with so much up in the air with regards to their future. They each yearned to be in action, to be doing, to be furthering their plans. Playing card games in their tent was simply not enough for them when they each longed to be out there, killing or manipulating to ensure their success.
“What are you thinking about?” Imara asked quietly.
“About these years of planning and executing your vision. How strangely difficult it was to be simply bored so much of the time, and how much I am looking forward to finding some semblance of normalcy with you in this new life.”
Imara huffed a laugh. “It does seem like we start a new life together every few years at this point.”
“Hopefully this will be the last time for a long time.”
“Tired of starting over with me?”
“No, darling, never. I am tired of needing to redecorate,” he said primly, which earned him a hearty laugh, as he’d hoped.
“The castle does lack in aesthetic appeal.”
“I admit I found it odd how shabby and sparse everything was until we reached the room where we found Xanathar. Beholders are not known for their decorative skill to begin with, and he was a particularly insane, nasty specimen.”
“I feel like we need to bring the magic-users in to cleanse the entire castle floor to ceiling. This place is… gross, but it has potential.”
“Indeed it does. Once things are somewhat settled here, we will venture into Waterdeep and go shopping. We will furnish our castle as befits our station.”
“Fancy and expensive everything, then?” Imara giggled.
“Of course. I would like our companions to visit eventually and they certainly cannot see it as it is presently.”
“Gale will make his way down here long before we’re finished renovating. We won’t be able to stop him; he’s so excited to have us close again.”
Astarion groaned, releasing Imara to lean against the battlement, affecting abject misery. “We must stop him popping in on a whim or else he’ll be interrupting my attempts to seduce you as often as your accursed fey does.” He flung his head back, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. “I shall never have my cock sucked again!”
Imara laughed again, her eyes sparkling at him. “You can have it sucked right now if you like, before Gale figures out how to teleport in. A last hurrah.”
Snorting, he glared at her, though he could feel his eyes twinkling as much as hers were. “Here? Where anyone could see us?”
“I’d think that would be a bonus for you at this point, not a detractor.”
“Well,” he huffed prissily, “perhaps in other circumstances, but not here, where our subjects could see. We must maintain an air of mystique, if we are to rule effectively, after all.”
Rolling her eyes, Imara grinned, stepping closer to him. She grabbed his hips, tugging gently until he was pressed against her. “I like that it no longer bothers you to think about these kinds of things. That you know you can do them and that your mind won’t torture you for it.”
“Well, probably not, anyway.”
It had been nearly a year since he’d had an episode of any significance. Even longer since he’d had any loathsome thoughts of any weight. He still had minor thoughts, minor episodes, but they were so mild now that they were hardly noticeable. A mere inconvenience, easily ignored, easily tucked away again.
Their relative boredom had given him plenty of time to work through the lingering vestiges of his past, and though he knew he would likely never be fully free from it, he’d been doing much better at managing it. At living around it, as he’d always hoped he could.
It helped that their frequent boredom had meant safety, as well. Imara had not died since Jergal bestowed his gifts, which Astarion was immensely glad of. He knew it would come, eventually, but hoped to delay it as long as possible. Even knowing she would be returned to him did not lessen his terror at the idea of once again seeing her look as she’d looked that day.
They stared adoringly at one another for a minute or two, basking in the warmth of their love and the day’s successes. Eventually, Astarion tugged at one of her curls, smiling affectionately. “Congratulations, my love. Three years of diligent planning, slogging through the tedium and the worry and the pressure, and in the end you have succeeded brilliantly. Skullport is ours, exactly as you wished. I am so proud of all you have achieved.”
Her happiness hit him along the bond, hot and sweet like her blood, but in the next moment her eyes became serious once more. “I just wish we hadn’t lost so many. We left the palace with just over four thousand spawn in our care, and now we have barely more than three and a half.”
“Darling, we left the palace six years ago, and in that time we have traversed hundreds of miles of the Underdark, settled there, then invaded a city filled with mercenaries and taken it for ourselves. We have lost remarkably few, considering all we have gone through since we freed them.”
“You’re right, I know you’re right. I just don’t like to think about it.”
“Well then do not think about it, my love. There is more than enough that requires your clever brain’s attention that you could be focusing on instead.”
Snorting softly, she nodded. “True. We will need to work on securing the rest of Undermountain as quickly as possible. I don’t want to leave time for anyone else to try to seize it now that Skullport isn’t filled with thugs.”
“Then as soon as we are settled in we will begin working on that. There must be someone who’s explored at least some of it in recent years. I’ll ask Minthara to try to find us a guide.”
“Thank you, love, that’s helpful.”
“I will also have Eilthana task the intelligence unit with renewing their focus on finding us slavers and vampires in this region, the moment they are set up… wherever they end up being set up.”
With a low, barely-audible moan, Imara nipped at his neck, dragging her tongue over the scars that now only ever made him think of her. “I already said I’d suck your cock tonight, honey, you don’t have to keep trying to arouse me.”
Astarion laughed, taking her ass in a bruising grip to tug her even tighter against him, letting her feel his growing arousal.
“Set up the tent, darling. Let’s celebrate.”
Notes:
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Chapter 2: Contracts and Candidates
Summary:
Astarion is moved by a stranger's sob story. No, really!
Notes:
Chapter Song: Feeling Good - Muse
Click here for chapter content warnings (May contain some spoilers)
Masturbation, if you squint
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“He’s been missing for nearly three months now,” the man said, his eyes imploring Imara. “The City Watch did nothing. They said Thirir probably got mixed up in something illegal or ran away, and now they refuse to see me at all. None of the adventurers nor the mercenary groups have accepted my contract. I don’t know what else to do. My son is a good lad. He wouldn’t have run off, he wouldn’t have gotten mixed up in anything untoward.”
“You said you have some notes about his disappearance?” Imara asked in a quiet, kind voice.
“Yes,” he said, handing Imara a small stack of papers. “It’s not much, but it’s everything I’ve got.”
Imara began to look through the papers, her brow furrowed in concentration. Astarion eyed the man—whose name was Atheil Harkem—suspiciously. “You said no one else wanted this contract?”
Atheil nodded. “One adventuring party accepted it at first, but within a tenday they said they couldn’t help me and returned my deposit.”
Mal chimed in from Imara’s shoulder, causing Atheil’s eyes to widen. “They gave no reason why they wouldn’t continue?”
“No. They wouldn’t say why. They seemed a bit anxious and in a hurry to leave.”
Kidnapped by someone powerful? Astarion sent.
Or brought to the slave pens in Skullport. Not many adventuring parties would’ve stood a chance of infiltrating it to retrieve a single slave, but I would’ve thought they would at least tell the man if that were the case.
Likely they wouldn’t have wanted to call attention to the fact that they’d discovered anything at all.
Good point.
“Was it a large adventuring party?” Astarion asked.
“No, sir. Only about ten in all.”
Your theory seems a strong one, darling.
Maybe his son is already under our care.
It would be a nice, quick contract if so.
“We’ll help you,” Imara said with a small smile.
“You will?”
“Of course. I can’t promise anything, but we will do our best to locate your son and bring him home.”
“Th—thank you, milady.”
“Please, call me Imara.”
“Imara, then.”
“May I keep these?” Imara held up the papers.
“Of course, these are copies.”
“That’s helpful, thank you. We will begin looking into this immediately.”
Imara began to take notes and the man nodded, then cleared his throat awkwardly, flushing slightly. “I apologize, but I’ve just realized, I don’t know the name of your group.”
“We are known as the Unbound,” Astarion replied, amused as the man pulled a pencil and paper out of his pocket and wrote it down.
“And your banner?”
Astarion leaned toward the man, smiling what he knew must be a somewhat sinister looking grin. “Broken chains under the moon and stars, on a field of blood red.” On a banner shaped like a fang, he added silently and with satisfaction.
Astarion had thought up the design and presented it to the council shortly after they’d decided to take Skullport. He had personally made their first banner, an enormous piece which now always hung in the council room. The embroidery was some of his finest work and it made him proud to see it displayed so boldly. He’d felt an even stronger sense of pride to see a hundred or more of those banners flying over Skullport in the days after they’d secured it. It was a pride that was renewed every time he saw one hanging in the city.
“Thank you,” Atheil mumbled as he wrote. “I haven’t heard of you before…”
Mal snorted quietly, drawing the man’s eye again. He, like most people, seemed both surprised by Mal’s intelligence and enchanted by his beauty.
“We’re new to Waterdeep, but we’ve been taking contracts along the Sword Coast for about four years now.”
“Ah. A small company, then?”
Astarion chuckled. “No. Not small.”
Atheil looked up, surprised. “More than fifty?”
“Much more than fifty,” Astarion agreed, grinning.
The man’s eyes widened. “More than a hundred?”
Astarion grinned wider. “Much more than a hundred.”
“Gods,” Atheil breathed. “That’s larger than any adventuring company we’ve had in Waterdeep in a very long time.”
“Indeed. We’re still settling in but I’m sure you shall be hearing of us before long.”
“No doubt…” Atheil cleared his throat, looking suddenly anxious. “For a company so large, your fees must be—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Imara said distractedly, not even looking up from her note-taking. “The fee you agreed to with the prior company will be fine.”
“You don’t even know how much it is!”
Imara shrugged, glancing up at the man, giving him a kind smile. “As Astarion said, we’re new to town. We’re interested in taking some contracts to begin getting our name out there. It isn’t really about the fee for us right now. The bigger contracts will come in time.”
And you wouldn’t have charged this man anything at all if I’d let you get away with it, Astarion sighed into her mind in a put-upon tone.
Completely true, she agreed with great amusement.
“Well… thank you again. My son… he’s all my wife and I have. Our other children were killed several years back when the criminal factions went to war with one another. The factions fought in the streets, and, well…”
Imara reached out, taking Atheil’s hand. “We will do all in our power to help your son.”
“We’ll do everything we can,” Mal promised.
“And when they say that, understand that there is quite a lot in our power. If your son can be found, we will find him.”
He didn’t know why he’d said it. It was not like him, generally, to be comforting to strangers, but something about the man’s earnest face and his sincere concern for his son touched something in him.
You’re softening as you age, Imara teased.
How dare you? You take that back or I shall bend you over my knee right here and show you how very ungentle I am.
Don’t threaten me with a good time, handsome.
“I’ll send updates whenever we have anything useful,” Imara promised.
“Thank you. Thank you so much.” Atheil’s eyes misted, his voice becoming tight with emotion.
“You’re very welcome.” With a final, gentle squeeze, Imara released the man’s hand and he stood, making a hasty exit before his tears could begin to fall.
They watched him go, Imara pondering their first steps toward finding Thirir, while Astarion pondered the rest of their evening.
“Darling, I’m not ready to head back just yet. Would you like to go shopping?”
Imara glanced over, quirking her brow in question.
“We have rather a large castle that was previously inhabited by an enormous flying eye and is thus quite sparse on furniture,” he said with a smile. “We should work on filling it, don’t you think? Making it more homey?”
Pretty violet eyes softened as she looked at him, smiling. “Yes, we should.”
❇︎❇︎❇︎
“This looks nice,” Imara said, running her hand over the glossy wood of an absolutely enormous dining table. “It would go nicely in that empty room.”
“It was clearly intended to be a banquet hall, so yes this would do nicely.” Astarion watched as Imara noted down the inventory number for the table, adding to their already-long list of selections.
“I’m glad the kitchen was already well-appointed, but I’m going to ask Imri for another magical pantry for our private floor anyway.”
“That’s a good idea. You should also ask for the rest, while you’re at it.”
“The rest?”
Astarion nodded. “The lights, the self-cleaning, self-heating tub, the running water, all that.”
“I’ll ask, but since the castle is so large I’m not sure he can do all of those right away.”
“Well, even if he must start with only our floor, at least we will be comfortable while the rest gets done over time.”
Imara nodded, eyeing a lovely seating arrangement nearby.
“You should ask him to start on the teleportation circle as well. He did promise to add one once we were settled, since we didn’t let him add one to the colony after all.”
“I’ll mention it.” She noted down the number for the seating arrangement, her eyes immediately landing on a number of desks and chairs. “Ooh, perfect!”
“We already have perfectly nice desks for ourselves, as do all of the council and department heads.”
“Yes, but these will be for Aurelia. She found a nice set of interconnected buildings and wants to use them to establish a school.”
“Aurelia wants to be in charge of the education department now? I’d assumed she’d want to continue working under Glorithel.”
“Glorithel will continue to run the entire department, but Aurelia wants to be in charge of the school itself.”
“Well, I’m sure she’ll be capable. You will likely need far more desks than these, however.”
“Yes, we’ll need a lot of them. These would be for the staff, not the students, though.”
“I imagine most of the department heads will be scheduling meetings soon, wishing to expand now that there is room for it.”
“You’re not wrong. Remi has already been receiving requests.”
“You sound positively excited by the idea, darling. I had no idea you enjoyed your meetings so much.” He snickered softly; she hated those meetings.
Imara rolled her eyes. “I’m excited about having the space to expand. About having buildings already built, streets already paved, docks already anchored. It’s all rather shabby and run-down, but it’s on solid ground and refurbishment will cost much less in both money and time than what we were trying to do in Dolblunde.”
“And as the cavern is magically maintained, no fear of cave-ins.”
“Exactly. Though, we do need to work on that. The mages who maintain the magic field are… not exactly doing so ethically. I’m going to ask Imri to look into rebuilding the barrier so that it doesn’t need such constant attention.”
“You will be putting that fey to work for the next several months at this rate. His complaining will be endless.”
“Probably,” she laughed. “He already had a very dramatic fit about having moved the greenhouse onto the castle grounds and then a second, even more dramatic one about moving the pub.”
“Not that I’m sad to have missed these tantrums, but where was I? Usually he waits until I am there to be tortured by them; he doesn’t enjoy them as much if I’m not suffering.”
Mal snickered, shooting Astarion a squinty-eyed grin.
Laughing again, her eyes twinkling, she grinned. “You and Mal were on your walkabouts. I think he was giving you a break.”
“Unusually kind of him. Now I wonder what he’s got up his sleeve; he’s rarely that thoughtful without plotting something.”
Snorting, Imara kissed his cheek. “I guess we’ll see.” With a wicked smile, she pointed down the row. “Shall we select our new bed?”
They did select their new bed—an enormous, sturdy four-poster very similar in style to the bed in their tent—then spent another hour wandering the rows, adding to their list. In the end, they spent an astounding amount of money, but it furnished most of their private rooms and several of the public spaces of the castle. After that, Mal had returned to the colony and they’d wandered, hand in hand, through the streets of the city, talking and enjoying the fresh air.
Imara was tense, as she’d been since before they’d taken Skullport. She’d been stressed, distracted, sleeping less restfully for several tendays as they’d worked nearly every waking hour to settle the colony into their new, and hopefully permanent, location. Tonight was the first chance they’d had to be alone without responsibilities, and he was hoping to use the time to help her relax a bit more. With that in mind, he subtly guided Imara further into the Castle Ward.
Before long, they found themselves at a familiar gazebo overlooking the sea, and just as before, Astarion felt the urge to make Imara an offer he’d been wanting to make to her more and more often these days. The mithral rings were never very far from his mind anymore, and though the time was not right, he intended to see about making them a reality once they were settled into Skullport. He’d keep them until the day finally arrived when he was ready to give them to her.
“Now that we are so close to a major city, I imagine even more of the potential clerics and paladins will be wishing to make their pilgrimages to plead to their deities.” Astarion rested his hands on the guard rail, staring out over the water, enchanted by the way the moonlight glinted on the waves. It wasn’t the same as their view from the penthouse balcony, but it was just as comforting to him.
“I’ve got a meeting in two days with their representative for exactly that,” Imara chuckled.
“I imagine that soon, we will no longer need to have so many meetings,” he said, mostly to himself.
“Why’s that?”
Astarion turned to look at her, finding her intrigued. She always loved when he’d thought of something she hadn’t, for some perverse reason. “Before, the spawn couldn’t go anywhere of note without an entire party, supplies, tents, and so on. It was a coordinated effort for them to visit anything resembling civilization. Now, they are mere hours of relatively-safe walking away. Soon, they will realize it, and they will begin to simply… go wherever they please, when they please. You won’t need to have meetings granting them permission and authorizing the use of pack mules and supplies for their trips. They will simply go.”
As they always did when he surprised her with things she’d not already managed to think up, her eyes went both soft with affection and heavy with the first hints of arousal. “Gods I love your brain.”
“Well, it’s quite inaccessible and I prefer it to stay where it is, so you’ll have to make do with showing your affection for it by worshiping my body instead,” he huffed haughtily, delighted when she burst into laughter and wrapped her arms around him. He wrapped his around her, nuzzling her hair.
“I suppose some spawn will go their own way now. Now that it’s safe to do so.”
“Probably, but I doubt it will be many. Life aboveground is lovely, but it is incredibly dangerous for a lone vampire spawn. They will realize that before long.”
Imara rested her cheek against his shoulder, watching the waves along with him. “I’m not sure the number of meetings we have to attend will go down, regardless. Now that we’ve come to terms with the merchants and everyone else who lived in Skullport before we arrived, they’ll start sending their representatives to meet with us.”
“I am glad that negotiations went so well and so quickly, but I wish you hadn’t finalized the agreements without including terms that would benefit us. They should be paying taxes.”
“I included the specification that the terms needed to be renegotiated every year for the first five years, for that reason. It will give us time to figure out how to handle that. It wouldn’t be right to charge them taxes, but not the spawn, but we can’t charge the spawn taxes either because many of them have no income.”
“I suppose that will work. In a year’s time, many of them will have at least some income, now that there are opportunities.”
“Mhm, and I think it might be better to have residents belong to a clan or guild, and then have the clans and guilds pay taxes. That way the burden is not on any particular individual.”
“Clever.” He kissed her head, squeezing her closer to him. “And much less likely to incite any riots.”
“That’s my hope.” She snuggled even closer, her entire body pressed against his. “I really want everyone to be happy here. Safe and secure I can give them, but happiness… I can only do so much, and I want to do as much as I can.”
“You will. You already are. They adore you, Imara. We have not had a single attempt to harm or betray you or anyone else in a leadership position since Imriel’s edict. It has been years. Most of them are oathed to you at this point. We can’t walk a hundred yards out of our tent—castle—without hearing reverent voices whispering ‘Lunea’ as you go by.” Trailing his fingers along her jaw, he tilted her head back until she looked at him. “We will all find the happiness and the contentment we seek here. I can feel it.”
Her eyes went soft and she leaned up to kiss him with a slow tenderness that always warmed his heart. “I draw so much comfort from the confidence you have in our colony now, in the faith you have in us.”
“It was hard earned.”
“Yes, it was.”
She gifted him another sweet kiss, then returned her head to his shoulder. They stared out at the water for a long time, enjoying these quiet moments of closeness and comfort in each other’s arms. Eventually, though, that clever brain of hers would be quietened no longer, and she sighed.
“I’ll need to start working on a letter of introduction to the Lords of Waterdeep. I’ll have to send it to the Open Lord, of course, but I will address it to the Open and the masked Lords. Gale says that’s probably best.”
Waterdeep’s government was unique amongst the cities of the Sword Coast in that they were ruled by a council of Lords whose identities were completely unknown to all but each other. Only the Open Lord’s identity was public knowledge, and the Open Lord was responsible for managing the council and selecting candidates to fill any available seats.
All of the other Lords were masked and magically protected whenever they must needs present themselves to the public. It helped guard them against blackmail attempts, but in Astarion’s opinion it also helped protect them from any consequences of corruption. The benefits did not seem to outweigh the drawbacks, in his mind.
“What will you say?”
“I’ll let them know who we are and that we’ve taken control of Skullport and eliminated all of the criminal organizations and activity in it. I’ll tell them that we have no intention of interfering with their control of the first two levels of Undermountain, since that is where they bury the dead nobility. I’ll invite them to form an alliance, so we can work together to prevent more slavers from moving in, and ensure there are no more gang wars in their streets.”
“It’s a good idea, my love, but I think you should wait until we’ve completed some contracts. It will lend legitimacy to our company. The Lords will be more likely to be agreeable if we are a known entity, and if we are already established and well-liked amongst the populace, then we will be approaching them with much to offer—particularly given that the citizenry’s opinion of their rulers is remarkably low at present. They are not well-liked, and if we are, well… We will be a much more desirable ally then.”
“You’re brilliant,” she breathed out, pulling him closer to her.
Astarion’s heart swelled with pride. “I’m glad you think so, darling.”
“Do you believe me?”
“More than I used to.”
“Well, that’s something I suppose. I’ll make you believe it eventually.”
“That will take millennia, my love,” he murmured playfully, “but thankfully we have them to spare.”
❇︎❇︎❇︎
“Another potential guide for Undermountain?” Astarion asked, opening the door of their office for Imara. Hugo was already there, stationed in his usual spot along the back wall.
“Yes. Minthara assures me this one seems more… serious than the others.”
They’d interviewed two potential guides already, but both had been nothing more than charlatans. Neither had ever even been to Undermountain before, let alone the levels below Skullport. They’d spouted their nonsense, completely ignorant of the fact that their potential employers were well versed with the goings-on of the upper levels of the mountain. Astarion had been sorely tempted to kill each of them as they sat there, lying to his beloved, but he’d refrained. Barely.
“Hopefully this candidate will be marginally less infuriating than the others.”
“Hopefully. After those two, Minthara began requiring candidates find their own way to Skullport for the meetings, in hopes that would weed out those types.”
“Well, let’s see if this one even shows up then, shall we?”
“I have a good feeling about this one,” Mal said cheerfully, landing on his perch near Hugo.
They settled into their chairs and Imara picked up her stack of paperwork. Astarion picked up his much smaller stack, sifting through the most recent reports with little interest. A minute or two later, Remi walked in with Minthara on her heels.
“The candidate has arrived,” Remi informed them.
“How does this one seem?” Astarion asked.
Minthara shrugged. “Much more competent, and unlike most of the people I spoke with, she actually believes Undermountain can be explored. She is better informed; she was aware that there had been a drow enclave on one of the levels until the spellplague.”
“Well, that’s a good start,” Imara huffed. She glanced at Remi, giving her a nod. “Send her in.”
As Remi left the room, Minthara settled herself into the chair in front of Astarion’s desk, looking supremely annoyed. She’d been even more annoyed by the scam artists than he had been. If this one turned out to be the same, she’d probably beat Astarion to the kill.
Remi walked back in with a petite half-drow woman in tow. “This is Mendri Amalrec to see you.”
Imara nodded. “Thank you, Remi.”
Remi left the room and Imara gestured the woman to sit. “It’s nice to meet you, Mendri. I am Imara, this is Astarion, that’s Mal, Hugo, and you’ve already met Minthara.”
“Afternoon,” Mendri said with a nod to each of them, her icy-blue eyes interested, but cautious.
“Minthara tells me you had some knowledge of Undermountain that is quite uncommon?”
Again Mendri nodded. “My grandmother was an elven woman who was handmaiden to the Simbul for most of her life. The Simbul was one of the Seven Sisters, a Chosen of Mystra—a very powerful Chosen. She was once tasked by her goddess with rescuing a mage called Halaster Blackcloak from Avernus. Halaster was an insane wizard who, at the time, had control of the entirety of Undermountain below Skullport.
“Along their journey, Halaster told the Simbul about his domain. She successfully rescued him, and he returned to his mountain until his death during an earthquake, sometime around the onset of the spellplague, which the Simbul saw in a vision as it happened. Eventually, the Simbul told those tales to my grandmother, who then passed them down to me when I was a child.”
“Wow,” Mal whispered.
“What can you tell us about Undermountain?”
“Quite a lot, but it’s too much for one meeting. Offhand, I can tell you that there are twenty levels below Skullport, many of which contained Halaster’s experiments—creatures he created or modified with magic, aggressive spells that became sentient, things like that. To my knowledge, no one knows if any of them survived the earthquake or the spellplague.”
Imara was taking notes, but she paused to look at the woman. “You know we are looking for a guide into Undermountain, and I assume you’re interested since you showed up to this meeting. Why?”
“Milady?”
“Call me Imara, please. Why are you interested in guiding strangers through what is, in all likelihood, a maze of nightmarish creatures and danger?”
Mendri shrugged, smiling. “I’m a ranger. I’ve always loved to explore. If I don’t go wandering often enough, I begin to yearn for it, and ever since I was a child and heard my grandmother’s tales, I’ve been fascinated by Undermountain.” She paused, flushing slightly. “I’ve snuck down two levels below Skullport before, but I couldn’t get any further by myself.”
“You snuck into Undermountain past an entire city of slavers?” Astarion asked, impressed and appalled at once.
Nodding, Mendri flushed more deeply. “I got hurt, but it was worth it. I don’t think anyone’s been deeper than that since Halaster died.”
“How were you injured?” Minthara asked.
“One of the tunnels partially collapsed and I was hit by the debris.”
Imara pursed her lips, her brow furrowing. She’d had enough of cave-ins to last the century before they’d taken Skullport. No doubt she would want to—
“I’ll want to send a scouting party with a couple builders and an architect to ensure the structural integrity of the passageways you’re already familiar with before we attempt to venture further,” Imara said, exactly as he’d expected.
Again Mendri nodded. “Certainly. I can guide them.”
“Well, if you’re satisfied with the compensation offer Minthara gave you, we’d love to have you.”
“I’m satisfied with it, yes.”
“I assume you’ll be accepting our offer of accommodation here in Skullport for the duration?”
“I will. I can move in day after tomorrow and be ready to leave the day after that.”
“Wonderful.”
Mendri cleared her throat, looking somewhat anxious. “If I may ask… Why do you want to delve further into Undermountain? Many adventuring parties perished in the attempt to reach Halaster while he lived and since the second Sundering, the magic is likely to be wildly unstable down there. The risk is immense.”
“We want to secure Undermountain as part of our territory now that we have control of Skullport. If we secure it, we can’t be attacked from that direction.”
“Still, more powerful parties have tried and failed…”
Imara grinned. “We aren’t taking an adventuring party into Undermountain, Mendri. We’re taking an army.”
“What?” the drow gasped.
“Everyone you passed on the streets as you made your way to the castle, everyone you’ve seen since you arrived in our city is a warrior. We won’t be taking everyone with us, but we will have plenty of volunteers. I’m not overly concerned about whatever horrific beasts or magical traps remain in the mad mage’s lair. I’m concerned about things like secret entrances from the Underdark and hidden portals to Waterdeep. If you can help us ensure that we can’t be approached from below, then you’ll be a hero to every soul in this city.”
Mendri’s mouth was agape by the time Imara stopped speaking, but she recovered her composure quickly. She eagerly accepted the job, signed her contract, and followed Minthara out—to be shown her new home—with a wide smile on her face, practically bouncing with excitement.
“I knew she was going to be the one,” Mal said, immensely smug.
“Perhaps you are becoming prescient,” Astarion snickered.
“Maybe I am,” Mal huffed haughtily. “I already know you want to be kissing Mari right now.”
Imara snorted as Astarion rolled his eyes. “That is all the time, dragon. Hardly a skilled observation.”
Now it was Mal’s turn to roll his eyes, but he was grinning.
Astarion turned to his beloved, smiling wickedly. “Well, darling? What say you? Fancy a little necking?”
“I’d love to, but our next meeting is in half an hour and we have to prepare.”
Groaning, he pushed his papers aside, resting his elbow on the desk. “What’s next, then?”
“We’re meeting with the mages who control the ship portals. They’re going to give us their oaths.”
“Finally,” he muttered. They’d been negotiating with the mages for tendays now and he was quite sick of them and their recalcitrance. “Well, let’s get it over with, then.”
❇︎❇︎❇︎
Three hours later, Astarion stood on their balcony, looking across the river. Here and there, tiny lights flickered in buildings, but otherwise the darkness swallowed the city. The false stars of the gloam above added a faint glow, but it was not enough to illuminate the streets. He made a mental note to look into streetlights of some kind; Imara would not like their streets to be so dark.
Turning his thoughts to her, he imagined her leaning against the parapet, fully nude and smiling enticingly. In his mind, she slid her palm down her body, sliding her fingertips between her folds.
As his breath quickened, he slid his own palm down his nude body, trailing his fingertips over the ridges of his stomach, across the ring in his navel, all the way to his cock. He brushed his fingers around his base, teasing himself as he imagined her across from him, touching herself while he watched.
For several minutes, he touched himself everywhere but his cock, stroking his thigh, his hip, his stomach, tormenting himself with the pleasurable ache of denial. Finally, he allowed himself one slow, teasing caress up the length, and it felt so good his head fell back. His other hand rose of its own volition, trailing a feather-light touch down his neck as he groaned softly.
You are utter perfection, Imara purred into his mind, her voice heavy with arousal and her deep, abiding love for him.
Astarion glanced over his shoulder, smiling slyly. “Back so soon? I’d thought you’d be another hour at least.”
Imara smiled back, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re full of shit, honey. You knew I was on my way, which is why you posed so prettily for me and teased yourself into what appears to be quite a state.”
Grinning, he trailed his fingers up his length again, arching his back at the thrill of it. “Guilty,” he moaned out.
When she spoke again, it was in a low, sensual croon, and her words were joined by the sound of her shirt hitting the floor. “What would you like?”
“I was imagining you leaning against the wall there, pleasuring yourself for me.”
Imara stepped out of her pants, kicked off her underwear, and positioned herself against the parapet, her eyes wandering his body as she began to caress her own.
“What would you like?” he whispered, stroking his balls with his fingertips as he watched Imara pinch her nipple.
“I’d like to watch you pleasure yourself while you watch me, and then I’d like you to come all over my stomach.”
“As you wish,” he purred, stepping close enough to fulfil her every desire.
❇︎❇︎❇︎
“You don’t always have to wait for me, you know,” Imara murmured some time later. They’d fulfilled his idle fantasy, then, after a hasty cleanup, had stretched out on the sofa. Imara was tucked under his arm with her leg slung over his hips, her fingertip tracing shapes on his skin while he played with her hair. They did this often, and had for years now, but it never ceased to ease him, to fill him with warmth and affection.
“I know, darling. Occasionally I pleasure myself if you will be gone for several more hours, but more often I would simply rather wait for you.”
“Very elven of you,” she chuckled.
“I assume the mages finally left?”
“Yes. Thank the gods.”
The moment the mages had walked into their meeting earlier, they’d sat down and pulled out their contracts and the documents with the verbiage of the oath they were there to take. They’d been provided the documents days ago, but they’d insisted on reading them again right then. Astarion had idly brushed his fingers over the hilt of his dagger, imagining plunging it into the throat of the first mage that even tried to delay the oaths any further.
Thankfully, none had. They’d finished reading, asked a question or two that had already been answered several times before, then had finally gotten down to the business of making their oaths.
By the time they’d been done accepting those oaths, Astarion had been able to tolerate their presence no longer and had quietly excused himself.
“Hopefully that’s the last we’ll see of them for quite some time. Nearly every single one of them is insufferable,” he groused.
“I offered them monthly meetings but they declined. They said they would reach out should they feel the need to meet, so I think you’ll get your wish.”
“How novel.”
Imara snorted, planting a light kiss on his chest. After a moment, she propped her chin there, gazing at him with a relaxed, happy look on her face.
“I was surprised by how surprised Mendri seemed that we wanted to take Undermountain with an army,” she said after a minute or so.
“I imagine it was a bit shocking an idea. To my knowledge, nobody has ever tried to take Undermountain, or even Skullport, with an army before. Why would they? As we learned the hard way, it’s quite miserable to live underground. No one but criminals looking for a secure hideout would value the land.”
“Unless you’re a vampire.”
“Indeed. Though it is not exactly ideal for us, either.”
“Better now than before, though, I hope. Or at least will be soon.”
“It is already much better than before. Having infrastructure brings a certain sense of comfort and security that I hadn’t expected. The easy access to the city above helps even more. I’m sure the spawn feel the same way.”
“There’s still so much to do,” she sighed.
“Indeed. Every time we check something off the list, two more seem to crop up. Just before you arrived earlier, I noted that I will need to look into streetlights. I know you will not wish the streets to be so dark.”
“You’re right about that. Thank you for thinking of it, and for taking that on.”
“Of course, my love.”
“While Mendri and the architects are securing the passageways in the first few levels, I figured we can start investigating Thurir’s disappearance. I’ll also have Minthara look for more contracts that will be suitable for our people.”
“It would be most ideal if she can find sob stories similar to Atheil’s,” he said. “Especially from those who are underprivileged.”
“Astarion!”
“Oh, hush, darling. It’s only logical. We need to make a name for ourselves in Waterdeep and to that end, we want to take contracts. However, we want to ingratiate ourselves to the Lords of the city, and if we are well-loved by the citizens, the Lords will be more likely to feel kindly towards us. By all accounts, the rulers of Waterdeep are intelligent enough to understand that they rule by the tolerance of the people.”
Imara nodded. “Alright, I’ll ask Minthara to focus specifically on… sympathetic contracts. If she can find any.”
“Darling, the city has been trampled by the slavers and criminal gangs for decades. She will find plenty. You have managed to aid, and even adopt, dozens of mortals these past years without the benefit of such a large population at hand. Here, you will be knee-deep in sob stories before you know it.”
“I’ll never understand why these governments allow the slavers to work in their cities. It was the same in Baldur’s Gate. They all knew it was happening, but nobody did much of anything about it. Waterdeep is even larger, with a much larger City Watch, a significant standing army, Force Grey, and more resources than they know what to do with. Yet the slavers ran rampant and had an entire city underneath theirs.”
“I’d argue that there would be little benefit in sending the City Watch or their army against the slavers. The City Watch aren’t exactly warriors, and their army are not trained to fight in such close quarters, nor for invading with such disadvantage. Their own personal band of elite adventurers, however… I cannot fathom why they never tasked Force Grey with it. That is extremely illogical and it makes me uneasy.”
“Corruption ran rampant in Baldur’s Gate. I’m sure it’s the same here.”
“Likely. It will make navigating the waters of alliance with their government tricky.”
“I’ll talk to Vorin tomorrow, have him get his spies back to working on finding out whatever we can about the Lords and all the various officials in the city. If we can find the corruption, we can weed it out for them.”
“They may not appreciate that, melnā.”
“I don’t expect them to. I merely expect them to replace the culled politicians with better ones.”
“And if they choose just as poorly the next time?”
With a twinkle in her eyes, she snorted softly, kissing his cheek. “Then we’ll keep weeding until we get flowers.”
“I do so love when you are bloodthirsty and merciless,” he crooned, stroking his palm down her back to cup her rump.
“Do you, now?” she murmured as she slid on top of him, brushing her lips against his neck a moment before her fangs sank into his skin and his blood slickened her tongue.
“Indeed I do,” he moaned, clutching her to him as he surrendered himself to her thirst.
Notes:
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Chapter 3: The Towering Tiefling
Summary:
Pretty sure Britney Spears wrote a song about this…
Notes:
Chapter Song: Desire - Meg Myers
Click here for chapter content warnings (May contain some spoilers)
Threesome, D/S dynamic, Oral sex, anal sex - all safe, sane & consensual
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Honestly, darling, given how unsatisfying the contract for that Atheil turned out, I’m glad we stumbled upon this in the course of our investigation. It makes it worth it.” Astarion wiped his daggers clean, ecstatic.
“Finding his son safe and newly freed from slavery and returning him to his family, to everyone’s great joy, was unsatisfying for you?” she asked incredulously.
“Well, it was so… easy. At least this was a challenge.”
Imara rolled her eyes, laughing. “And you do love killing vampire lords.”
“Indeed I do. I shall never be sick of it.”
“Well, this one will be quite a feather in your cap. He’s rumored to be over four centuries old.” Imara glanced down at the vampire lord, eyeing him disdainfully.
“Perhaps the gods are smiling upon us at last. The man we were contracted to find having been hired to restore a crypt under some noble family’s home, then captured on his walk home and sold into slavery in Skullport…” Astarion grinned. “It’s wonderful. He tried to pay us in gold, yet his passing mention that he’d been told to brick up the windows in the hallway leading to the crypt was the best payment we could’ve hoped to receive.”
It had taken a tenday to investigate Astarion’s suspicion, then another several to plan their attack, but it had been worth it to see this ancient vampire on his knees, humiliated and furious.
They’d brought several of the council members, Minthara, Hugo, and two dozen of the combat-trained spawn, and with their help, the fight had been a pleasant outing. They’d overwhelmed the vampire lord to the point that by the end, they’d been able to try something Dalyria had been eager for them to do since they’d killed their first one after Cazador.
This time, instead of going for the kill, Astarion had instructed their group to subdue the creature. They’d wrestled him down, but he’d turned to mist and darted away, only to be struck by a moonbeam so bright it whited out Astarion’s vision for a moment. When he could see again, the vampire had reverted to his physical form and Nieven stood nearby, looking smug. The vampire had then been held down inside Nieven’s moonbeam long enough for Riniya to draw and collect his blood.
“Dalyria asked for at least three vials,” Taelin reminded Riniya as she capped the second vial.
“I remember.”
Dal wanted to experiment with the blood. She was hoping to find a cure, or a way to free spawn without needing to find and kill their master, or perhaps a way to increase a spawn’s strength. With any luck, she’d manage at least one of those goals eventually, but Astarion wasn’t particularly hopeful.
Now the lord knelt, enraged but cowed, cursing them every so often.
“Shall I carry the blood samples?” Riniya asked, unsheathing her dagger.
“If you don’t mind,” Astarion replied distractedly. He was too busy looking at Imara and how beautiful she looked splattered with blood. He stepped closer to her, taking her hand to bring it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her warm, bloody skin.
I simply cannot wait to get you alone, he purred into her mind.
A soft whisper of a laugh was sent back, her eyes twinkling up at him. Fighting vampire lords seems to have a powerful effect on your—
Her words were cut off as, in the span of a moment, Nieven’s moonbeam disappeared, the vampire lord misted out of the many hands holding him down, then reformed next to Imara, punching her in the chest so hard she was flung out of Astarion’s grasp and back several feet.
Before anyone could react, there was a deafening roar and an enormous green-and-gold foot shot forward. One long, sharp claw pierced the vampire’s chest, then tossed him into the dragon’s waiting mouth. With a satisfying crunch, Mal snapped his jaws closed, crushing the vampire lord between his fangs. A moment later he gagged and spat the corpse out with a disgusted look on his face.
“He tastes like rot. Gross!”
“Mal, would you mind returning to your smaller form?” Vorin asked amiably. “This room was already cramped with all of us in it, and I suspect several of us are now squashed against your hindquarters.”
“Oh! I’m sorry, everyone!” Mal exclaimed, instantly shifting back to his more manageably-sized form. He hovered in the air, looking embarrassed, but the spawn he’d inadvertently crowded were more amused than anything.
Astarion rushed to Imara, finding her bruised, but fine. The vampire had aimed for her heart, which was protected by the large dragon scale sewn into her armor. She’d been knocked back, but had hardly felt the blow. He helped her up, and when he was sure she was unharmed, he kissed her, barely managing to fight down the urge to turn the kiss passionate and heated.
When they parted, Vorin laughed, stepping forward to unceremoniously remove the vampire lord’s head.
“Bonfire, anyone?” he said in that easy, charming way he had.
Astarion laughed, absolutely elated with the way their night had gone, feeling light and happy and victorious.
Darling… how would you feel about a night with our favorite tiefling?
That sounds lovely. Do you want to invite him tonight?
No. Tonight I want you all to myself. I intend to ravish you quite thoroughly.
She huffed a quiet laugh, smiling. Tomorrow night, then, if he’s amenable?
Perfect.
❇︎❇︎❇︎
“I am endlessly pleased that Jergal’s gift to you came with improved healing,” Astarion remarked as they stepped into the room they’d rented for the evening.
They’d chosen Sapphire House, the finest inn in Waterdeep, and the moment they walked in Astarion knew it had been an excellent choice. The room was spacious, lavishly decorated, and the bed was enormous and sumptuous. The candles were already lit and were carefully arranged to bathe the room in low, romantic light.
Imara made a noise of delight at the sight of the room, then smiled at him over her shoulder. “The healing was definitely a nice surprise. I hadn’t expected it, but it’s been extremely useful.”
“Indeed it has. We might not have been able to play tonight if not for your speedy recovery.”
Astarion set their bag down then sat at the small dining table, watching as Imara poured wine.
“I hadn’t really thought about it in awhile, but now that I have, I wonder if I should inform the Lords of Waterdeep about my immortality. You were right that we should try to present ourselves as a desirable alliance to have. Perhaps a bit of a display would impress them.”
“I would prefer if you did not. Keeping it a secret has, thus far, proven to be an excellent decision. We don’t know yet what kind of people we are dealing with. It would be safer for you if we continued to keep it hidden and we can find other ways to impress the Lords.”
Imara joined him at the table, nodding. “Alright, we will then.”
They sipped the wine—which was wonderful—watching one another with a quiet easiness.
“Well, killing the ancient vampire lord that has been stalking Waterdeep’s streets and snacking on its citizens for over a century will be quite the introduction to the Lords. I’m glad that we chose to forgo a lengthy investigation and instead opted to simply go in and kill him. It’s exactly the kind of thing I’d hoped for us to accomplish before introducing ourselves. Notable, difficult, and beneficial to all.”
“Gale says that Laeral Silverhand—the Open Lord—is a Chosen of Mystra, so I imagine she will appreciate that we’ve removed him from her city.”
Astarion snorted. “Gale would certainly know what Mystra’s Chosen tend to be like.”
“Exactly. Oh, he wants us to come to dinner next tenday, by the way.”
“Alright. If we must,” he sighed dramatically.
Rolling her eyes, she tugged one of his curls. “You had fun the last time, don’t even pretend you didn’t.”
“I suppose you’re right. Loraela is very pleasant to be around. It’s almost enough to make up for Gale’s grating personality,” he snickered. “Now, why don’t we change? It’s almost time.”
She tugged his curl quite a bit harder, which made his heart race in anticipation, but then she let go and went to pull her nightgown out of the bag. He went to the sofa, grabbing a large pillow to drop next to the enormous ottoman in front of the bed. Next he unpacked the things they would need, placing them where he would need them, his eyes rarely leaving Imara.
“I don’t know why you insist I wear this,” she huffed as she stuffed her clothes into the bag and pulled the nightgown over her head. “It’s just going to be on the floor in half an hour, anyway.”
“But what a half hour it will be, with you looking as tasty as you do,” he purred, salivating at the sight of her in the all-lace gown. It was so short he could see the curve of her rump below the hem, and snug enough that her nipples were distinctly visible through the pattern of the lace.
“You’re one to talk.” She eyed him as she slipped into her robe, closing and tying it while she watched him button the extremely low-cut, extremely tight leather pants he’d brought for himself.
Her eyes followed his hands as he settled the leather harness around his chest and adjusted it into place, his nipple rings glinting in the candle light. He shot her a wicked smile while he fastened the harness, incredibly aroused by her interest. It was a new addition to his closet, one he hadn’t worn yet, but clearly a worthwhile purchase.
Imara eyed the black leather, her eyes following the lines from the straps at his shoulders, down to his sternum where they met in a vee, to the strap that dipped between his pectorals to branch out underneath them. His chest was framed by the leather, and he knew it looked incredible on him by the look in her eyes and the way her heart sped up. He donned and tied his own robe, then smiled silkily at her.
“Come here,” he crooned.
Imara crossed the room, her eyes roaming his body the entire way. There was hunger there, and, as always, her love as well. It was still a very potent combination for him, even after nearly seven years, and his own heart sped up as she looked up at him.
She smiled softly. “I wonder whether it will be a ‘my lord’ kind of evening or a ‘sir’ kind of evening.”
Whenever they played with Vorin, he would indicate to them what type of treatment he wanted in how he addressed them. If he called them ‘my lord’ and ‘my lady’, then he was looking for control and denial, teasing and relative gentleness. But when he addressed them as ‘sir’ and ‘mistress’, well… he was looking for much harsher treatment.
Wrapping an arm around her, Astarion pulled her in until her hips were against his, leaning in to tease his lips from her neck to her ear. He’d just flicked his tongue over her earlobe when there was a light, hesitant knock at the door.
Astarion released her, seating himself at the table once more as she went to invite Vorin in.
“Evening,” Vorin said, taking a seat at the table next to Astarion.
“Evening. How was your day?” Astarion asked.
“Not as bad as I expected.” Vorin sipped his wine, leaning back in his chair. “One of the spies was being followed. I’ve assigned her a partner to work with, at least until we find out why she was being followed.”
“Good move.” Vorin’s eyes softened and he smiled a wide, happy grin. Astarion had quickly learned that in the bedroom, Vorin loved to earn their praise—but most especially Astarion’s.
“Cyne trained them well. We should give him a raise.” Imara looked thoughtful for a moment. “We should also see if there’s anyone he would recommend to bring on to work alongside him. We have so many spies now, it must be challenging for him to manage their continued training alone.”
“I agree,” Vorin nodded. “I’ll talk to him about it when we meet to go over the plans for expanding our network in the pleasure-houses, inns and pubs throughout the city.”
“Great. Have you picked out the new establishments you’ll be including in the network?”
“Not all of them. I’ll have it done within a tenday.”
“Thank you.” Imara lightly trailed her fingertips over the back of Vorin’s wrist, smiling easily.
“Of course. Have you selected an estate to serve as our above-ground operations base?”
“We have, yes. It should be ours within a few months.”
“Excellent. Did you finish your letter to Laeral Silverhand?”
They fell into conversation about Imara’s intended introduction to the Lords, and Astarion’s mind began to wander as he contemplated the night ahead and all the similar nights they’d had before.
It still astounded him that here, in the bedroom, it didn’t bother him to see Imara touch others. It had been one of his biggest worries when they’d first decided to try this sort of play, but each time, the moment the door closed behind their third and the evening began, he felt no true jealousy.
Part of that was, no doubt, because he had been the one to suggest they finally make the offer. Another part was that he’d set several rules, which were always respected.
He never had to worry about seeing her use her cock on someone else—though he did not mind watching her have her cock sucked, occasionally, he couldn’t stand the idea that she would fuck someone else with it, baffling as that was even to him. Neither of them ever laced their fingers with anyone else’s, no one but him was permitted to fuck her ass, and she knelt for no one but Astarion. He’d not yet let Vorin fuck her, either, but that would come with time.
At first, he’d barely let them touch him, and had barely touched them. He had simply enjoyed Imara with either Minthara or Vorin in the vicinity, which had been quite lovely, but eventually he had come to feel more comfortable. Eventually, he’d begun to touch, to allow himself to be touched more freely. He’d been surprised how much he’d come to enjoy it. Especially with Vorin.
Still, he never let anyone but Imara ride him, or fuck him, or touch his back or his bite scars, and had no intention of ever doing so. Her cock was the only one he would suck. He never kissed their lips, though he enjoyed watching Imara do so. He never drank from them—nor did Imara, and he never allowed them to drink from Imara or himself. Vorin respected that neither of them would drink from his vein, but he very much wanted to share blood. Astarion was agreeable enough to the idea but had not made it happen as yet.
In fact, he hadn’t managed to give Vorin the kind of violence and cruelty he was interested in at all. Instead, Astarion had found other ways to satisfy the tiefling’s hunger. It seemed like enough for Vorin; he hoped it was… but there was, occasionally, that voice in the back of his head that told him he was not doing enough, not good enough.
That voice had become much quieter in recent years. He often went a very long time without hearing it at all. These days, it was quite mild, and almost never about his relationship with Imara. It made him happy to know he had truly grown—particularly in that way.
Over the years, he’d been surprised—and extremely pleased—to find that a lot of things made him happy.
Including partaking of the towering tiefling with his beloved, on occasion.
“I assume you don’t plan to include the fact that we are nearly all vampires in your letter?” Vorin asked Imara, drawing Astarion’s attention back to them.
“No, of course not. I’d like to keep that quiet for as long as possible. The idea that some vampires are decent is too strange a concept for most people. We need them to decide to like us before we tell them.”
“I agree,” Astarion chimed in at last, “and I think it would be beneficial to ensure that we send the mortals out for contracts during the day as frequently as possible.”
“That’s an excellent idea!” Vorin grinned at Astarion, leaning toward him. “It will help prevent suspicion.”
Astarion eyed the tiefling. “You seem surprised.”
“I’m not. You have excellent ideas quite often.”
“I think I might have another one right now, as it happens,” Astarion crooned.
Vorin’s eyes went heavy-lidded and his grin became sly. “Do you now?”
Astarion’s hand shot out, grabbing Vorin by the neck. He held him quite firmly, watching as Vorin’s lips parted on a moan. “I do indeed. Stand over there and, when I tell you, you will undress. Make a show of it, and if you please us with your display, I will let her collar you.”
“Yes, my lord,” Vorin whimpered.
Vorin loved to be collared, so Astarion had begun making it something he had to work for, which the tiefling seemed to love even more. It made no sense to him, but he’d quickly come to realize that it didn’t need to make sense to him. They did not all have to have the same desires or needs. They only had to find ways to enjoy their time together.
Imara smiled serenely as Vorin walked over to stand where he’d been instructed.
“Come, darling.” Astarion stood, offering Imara his hand, leading her to the ottoman. He slowly removed her robe, kissing her neck and shoulders as the silk slid down her arms. Vorin watched them intently, his breathing beginning to quicken as Astarion removed his own robe and sat on the ottoman, tugging Imara down next to him.
“Undress,” Astarion commanded.
Vorin was extremely talented with his body language. In a mere second, his posture became seductive and sensual. His long fingers began slowly undoing the buttons of his shirt as he stared at them. Eyes filled with desire, his gaze slid from Astarion to Imara and back every so often. When his shirt was unbuttoned, he moved immediately to his trousers, unbuttoning them just as slowly. He kicked off his shoes, then stood, managing to look both eager and smug, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair and over his horn, arching his back slightly, tilting his head back to expose his long neck.
He looked delectable, and he knew it.
Vorin’s other hand slipped down to his trousers, dipping into the unbuttoned fly, spreading it open an inch or two to expose the skin there while his other continued to tease through his hair, over his ear, and up and down his neck. The hand at his trousers slipped up, under one side of his shirt, spreading it open as he ran his palm up the planes of his stomach to his chest, lightly brushing his nipple with a barely-audible moan.
Imara’s heart sped up and she pressed her thighs together, trying not to squirm. She loved a good striptease, and Vorin was good. As Astarion ran his hand up Imara’s thigh, Vorin’s eyes followed, his fangs making an appearance when he bit his lip.
Vorin trailed his fingers to his shirt, pulling it off of his shoulders and letting it fall to the ground, exposing his muscled upper body. With a sultry look, his tongue darted out to lick his lips and he stretched just enough to tighten the muscles of his stomach. Imara made a small, needy noise, and when Astarion glanced at her face, she was biting her lip, her eyes on Vorin’s stomach as his thumbs hooked into the waistband of his trousers.
When Vorin noticed Imara’s interest, he smiled quite shyly, watching her watch him while he very very slowly slid his pants down, rolling his hips a tiny bit here and there. When his cock sprang free, hard and thick, both Astarion and Imara made small noises of delight. Vorin in the nude was truly a beautiful sight to behold, and for several moments they simply looked at him, taking in every inch of his lovely body.
Smiling shyly, Vorin looked at Astarion. “Did I please you, my lord, my lady?”
Imara’s hand lifted, her palm brushing Astarion’s leathers over his very hard cock. Astarion groaned, rocking his hips into her hand and a smile broke out on her face as she looked at Vorin. “You did indeed.”
Astarion kissed her, sliding his fingertip down her ear. He looked at Vorin, pointed to the pillow next to the ottoman, purring out, “Kneel.”
With an eager smile, Vorin complied, sinking to his knees quite gracefully. He gazed up at them, his cock visibly throbbing.
Handing Imara the collar, Astarion watched as she slid to the edge of the ottoman and wrapped it around Vorin’s neck.
“You are not to move or touch without permission,” Astarion warned, “nor may you come without permission.”
Vorin’s eyes darted to him, heavy-lidded and needy. “Yes, my lord.”
Imara leaned over Vorin as she reached behind his neck to secure the clasp, brushing her lace-covered breasts against his face. Vorin trembled, leaning into her. Imara chuckled, pulling away to look into his scarlet eyes.
She stroked his cheek with her fingertips, then dragged her tongue up the edge of his ear, nipping the tip hard enough to make him whine and writhe. With one hand she caressed his shoulder and chest then pinched his nipple, the other attaching the velvet leash to his collar. As she handed the leash to Astarion, she dragged her tongue down Vorin’s jaw then across his bottom lip, the sight of which made Astarion’s cock throb.
Imara cupped Vorin’s chin in her hand, tilting his head back. “You look lovely tonight, pet.”
“Thank you, my lady.”
With her other hand, Imara began to play with Vorin’s ear, stroking and pinching as she gazed down at him and watched him work not to move or touch her. She teased and touched, working his ear as masterfully as only an elf could. Soon, Vorin’s breathing became hard and quick and his thighs clenched as he fought not to rock his hips. He stared up at her, so obviously fighting the urge to lunge for her that Astarion was a bit impressed.
And then Imara’s hand wandered up to the base of Vorin’s horn. She wrapped her fingertips around and slid them up the length very slowly. Vorin let out a strangled noise so filled with excitement that Astarion smirked.
“Please, my lady,” Vorin begged.
Grinning wickedly, Imara slid her fingertips back down Vorin’s horn, twisting at the base. Vorin groaned and began to pant, sweat blooming on his dusky skin. “Please what?”
“I want to pleasure you.”
“Pleasuring her will have to wait,” Astarion murmured, tugging the leash just enough to draw their attention. “But he's been very good. Kiss him.”
Imara leaned back, kissing Astarion instead, her tongue diving into his mouth. Astarion threaded his fingers into her hair, tugging just hard enough to elicit a gorgeous, needy sound from her, which then caused Vorin to whimper as well.
Astarion pulled away, tugging her hair again. “I appreciate the attention, darling, but I told you to kiss him.”
Imara grinned, turning to look at Vorin as she stroked his horn again. “I wanted to let him taste us both.”
Vorin shuddered from head to toe, his lips parting on a soft pant. He watched, hungrily, as Imara leaned in to press her lips to his. The moment she made contact, Vorin’s eyes fell closed and he whined, leaning into her touch.
Astarion ran his fingers down Imara’s neck and back, watching with great satisfaction as she teased Vorin with her tongue and lips. Vorin kissed her back like a man starved, and in a way it was probably true—it was only recently that Astarion had begun to feel comfortable letting Imara kiss Vorin like this.
They looked stunning, his poppy and their lover. Vorin maintained near-perfect stillness, only his mouth moving with hers, while Imara’s hands wandered his body, gifting him delicate touches, gentle pinches, and long strokes of his horns.
With a low noise of satisfaction, Imara pulled away, running her fingers through Vorin’s hair. She gave him another, brief peck to his lips, then turned to face Astarion, smiling. “I could kiss you both all night.”
“Tempting as that is, my sweet, I have other plans.”
Astarion slipped his hands under the hem of Imara's nightgown, slowly sliding it up and off of her, his palms caressing her skin every inch of the way. He tossed the garment aside, then took her mouth in a deep kiss, pleased with the way she whimpered and wrapped her arms around him.
Scooping Imara into his arms, he stood, pulling away from her mouth long enough to glance at Vorin, tugging his leash. “Come along.”
When Vorin stood, Astarion carried Imara to the sofa and sat, spreading his legs wide enough to seat her between them. At Astarion’s silent gesture, Vorin sank to his knees in front of them, his eyes dancing with interest.
Astarion leaned Imara against him until her back was flush to his chest. Watching Vorin, he ran his hands down Imara's body, spreading her legs until Vorin had a perfect view of her glistening folds.
Nuzzling her neck, Astarion purred, “You're so beautiful, my love.”
Imara rested a hand on his thigh, squeezing. “I'm glad you think so.”
“It's certainly not only me who thinks it.” Astarion looked at Vorin, tickling Imara's thighs. “Look at our sweet pet, he can’t take his eyes off of you.”
Vorin’s eyes trailed up Imara's body from her toes to her eyes, his fingers digging into his thighs. “You are superb, my lady.”
Astarion cupped Imara’s breast with one hand, sliding the other between her legs. Vorin watched, biting his lip when Imara moaned. Lightly, Astarion brushed his fingers between her folds, finding her slick and hot. He swirled his fingers, dipping them into her a bare inch, just to tease her. She whined, squirming against him as one of her hands dove into his hair to tug his curls and the other grabbed his thigh, her fingernails digging in.
Bringing his fingers to her clit, he began to torment her, slow and soft, watching the way her hips moved with him and the way Vorin began to breathe heavily again. Imara’s fingers scratched at his scalp as she writhed and panted. Astarion began to grind his hips against her, nibbling her ear and neck and pinching her nipple, tormenting her everywhere he could.
It still fascinated him, the fact that the more Astarion teased Imara, the more Vorin struggled to stay still. The tiefling loved to watch them together, but it drove him mad to watch Imara be teased without release and to not be permitted to relieve her himself.
After the fourth time Astarion brought Imara to the brink of bliss only to stop, Vorin could take it no longer. “My lord, please,” he begged, “do not deny her.”
“I have no intention of denying her.” He brought his fingers to Vorin’s lips, tracing them with Imara’s slick, then tugged the leash hard enough to pull him forward several inches. “I was merely preparing her for you.”
Vorin’s eyes widened and he inhaled sharply. Astarion nodded, retracting his hand to place it on Imara’s hip. He guided her to lie back more, nodding to Vorin. “Pleasure her.”
The words were barely out of his mouth before Vorin’s tongue was dragging over Imara’s clit and she was gasping, pulling Astarion’s hair.
“Gods!” she cried as Vorin’s tongue plunged inside her, his strong hands sliding up her thighs to spread them even further. Astarion pinched both of her nipples, rolling them between his fingers, eliciting another long groan from her.
Just as Vorin kissed like a man starved, so too did he give pleasure with his mouth. Vorin ate at Imara as if he would never taste anything so wonderful again in his life. Eager, needy noises escaped him every time Imara moved against him and his fingernails dug into the skin of her thighs with every long lick. When Vorin wrapped his lips around her clit and suckled, Imara’s back arched and Astarion sank his fangs into her neck.
The effect his bite had on all three of them was electric. Imara shuddered and mewled, Vorin whimpered, and Astarion’s cock throbbed so hard it was a pleasurable pain. Delicious, hot blood hit his tongue and he noticed that Vorin had paused and was simply watching them. Astarion yanked the leash, scowling, growling quietly. Vorin shook himself, kissed Imara’s mound with an apologetic look on his face, then dragged his tongue through her slick once more.
He’s good with his tongue, isn’t he?
Yes, she breathed, sharing her sensations with him. Astarion felt Vorin’s warm, wet tongue flicking her clit, teasing between her folds, and he moaned, rocking his hips against her. You should try him out. He’s wanted to suck your cock for ages.
I think I finally might. That feels divine.
Imara pictured watching Vorin suck Astarion’s cock and her fingers tightened in his hair, her hips jerking against Vorin’s mouth. Vorin dug his fingers into her thighs, holding her in place as he began to focus his tongue on her clit. Imara’s hand lifted from Astarion’s thigh to thread into Vorin’s hair, playing with the base of his horn. They all made wanton noises at that, and when Astarion thrust against her back and kneaded her breast, she came apart.
They held her tight through her orgasm, dragging it out with mouth and hands, until finally she went boneless against Astarion, her chest heaving.
“The two of you together is almost too much. You’re both so sexy, so talented,” she breathed out, stroking Vorin’s horn and Astarion’s ear at the same time, pulling beautiful noises from them both.
Astarion loosened his lips just enough to let a thin bead of blood slip down Imara’s neck, then licked her wounds closed. Vorin’s eyes were locked to the blood, widening when Astarion swiped it up with his fingertips and offered them to Vorin.
Vorin lunged forward, dragging his tongue up Astarion’s fingers, moaning low and long at the taste of Imara’s potent blood. His eyes fell closed, goosebumps breaking out all over his skin. Within moments, he’d cleaned Astarion of blood, opening his eyes to gaze at them both with an adoring look. “Thank you, my lord, my lady.”
Astarion lifted Imara, settling her at his side. Idly, she began playing with the curls at the back of his neck. Vorin’s eyes went immediately to Astarion’s pants, then darted back up to his face. His expression became shy and he lowered his head, gazing at Astarion from under his lashes. “May I pleasure you as well, my lord?”
Tugging the leash hard, Astarion pulled Vorin down until his face was almost brushing the front of Astarion’s leathers. Vorin hummed in delight, tilting his head to rub his cheek against Astarion’s cock. “If I allow it, I might not be gentle, and I will come down your throat. Is that what you want, pet?”
“Yes,” Vorin breathed, staring up at Astarion with a look of such lust that Astarion’s hips moved of their own accord.
“Alright then.” He leaned further back against the sofa, wrapping an arm around Imara’s shoulders. “Undress me.”
Vorin was so eager that he had Astarion’s harness off within seconds, tossing it over his shoulder as his hands then dove for the buttons on Astarion’s trousers. Long, elegant fingers slipped under the waistband, tugging the leather down as Astarion lifted his hips to allow Vorin to remove them entirely. The leathers were likewise tossed over Vorin’s shoulder and excited scarlet eyes locked to Astarion’s cock.
“Go on, then,” Astarion commanded.
Vorin kissed and licked his way up Astarion’s thigh, watching as Imara leaned against Astarion’s side, nibbling his ear. Moments later, when Vorin wrapped his lips around Astarion’s balls and sucked hard, Imara ran her fingertips across Astarion’s nipple ring. The combined sensations were so wonderful he cried out, leaning his head back against the sofa, watching Vorin from under his eyelashes. Vorin sucked and licked for a minute or two, until Astarion tugged his leash, glaring down at him.
In truth, he could have enjoyed it all night, but he had several more activities planned.
Obediently, Vorin’s lips traveled to the base of Astarion’s cock, planting soft, gentle kisses all the way to the tip. His tongue darted out, flicking across the head, moments before he wrapped his lips around and slipped them all the way down. Astarion groaned—it was a very different sensation than Imara’s mouth, which was both surprising and not surprising at all. Vorin’s mouth was not hot, it was the same temperature as Astarion’s own skin, and the way he moved his lips was quite different—to account for the much longer fangs.
Vorin began to move and suck and although it was so different than what Astarion was accustomed to, gods, it felt incredible.
“See? He’s fantastic with his tongue,” Imara purred, tickling Vorin’s ear as he sucked Astarion down again.
Flushing at her praise, Vorin’s hand twitched on the arm of the sofa with the urge to touch. Astarion took pity on him. “You may touch me, pet.”
Immediately, those large, clever hands took hold of Astarion, one around his balls and the other wandering his stomach and chest. Imara licked and nibbled Astarion’s neck and ear, her fingers teasing along his scalp and chest. Having them both touching him, pleasuring him at the same time was glorious, and for several minutes, he simply let them, basking in the sensations.
Eventually, though, lying back and accepting what they gave was not enough. With Imara alone, it would have been, but it seemed he needed more when it involved someone else. He tightened his arm around Imara, pulling her even closer, bringing the other to the back of Vorin’s head. VorinVorin sucked even harder, and Astarion held tight, thrusting up hard. Vorin stilled, shivering head to toe, swallowing around Astarion’s cock and drawing a low gasp from him.
Much better, he thought as tingles raced up his spine.
Holding Vorin in place, Astarion fucked his mouth, delighted by the noises the other man made with each hard thrust and the way his scarlet eyes stared into his own, lustful and needy. Watching Imara tease Vorin’s horn and ear while she teased Astarion’s ear and nipples made every sensation all the better, and that was before she started talking.
“You look so lovely, taking your pleasure from our sweet tiefling,” Imara crooned into Astarion’s ear, dragging the tip of one finger down Vorin’s horn. Both men shuddered and moaned, both of their hands tightening on one another.
“And you, pet,” she pinched the tip of Vorin’s ear, sliding her pinched fingers down to the lobe, “look magnificent like this. So needy and eager.”
Astarion’s hips moved faster, his breathing heavy as Vorin began to slide down on his up thrusts, working with his rhythm to heighten his enjoyment. He was rapidly approaching his climax when Imara lifted his arm from her shoulder, brought it forward, and sank her fangs into his wrist, teasing his earlobe with her other hand.
“Gods!” he cried out, pulling Vorin all the way down until he was buried in the tiefling’s throat and the first waves of his climax overtook him. Vorin’s eyes fell closed on a long sigh of satisfaction as he sucked, swallowing down everything Astarion gave him.
When Astarion went boneless, Imara sealed his wounds, kissing his wrist lightly. Vorin released his cock, resting his cheek on Astarion’s thigh, staring up at them with a soft, sweet look on his handsome face.
Darling, I’d planned to offer him a choice between sucking your cock while I fuck him, or having you suck his cock while I fuck him, but I wasn’t sure if you—
Yes, she interjected, excitement coloring her thoughts.
Astarion chuckled along their bond, then stroked Vorin’s horn, smiling down at him. “You’ve been so obedient tonight, pet. I think I’ll let you choose what we do next. Unless you’re ready to stop?”
“I want more,” he said without an ounce of hesitation.
Smiling wider, Astarion explained the options. Vorin sat back on his heels, thinking it over. “Sir, mistress has never given me the honor of her seed, nor of her mouth. I would ask her to choose for me,” Vorin said in a demure tone, his eyes downcast.
Sir and mistress, now, Astarion noted. It seems the night will be taking a turn from here.
It seems so, Imara crooned back, utterly pleased.
Astarion already knew what she would choose; Imara was incredibly giving by nature and especially so in bed. She always preferred to satisfy them more than to receive it for herself.
Leaning toward Vorin, Imara ran her palm up his arm, across his shoulder, to cradle the back of his neck. When he looked at her, she kissed him. “I will pleasure you tonight, sweetling.”
“Thank you, mistress,” Vorin replied in a reverent tone.
“Go kneel in the center of the bed facing the headboard,” Astarion instructed Vorin, removing the leash from his collar, “and spread your legs quite wide.”
Astarion sent Imara an image of his intentions, amused by the thrill that shot through her. They joined Vorin on the bed, Astarion kneeling behind the taller man, Imara kneeling in front of him. She hooked a finger through the loop in his collar, guiding him down so she could kiss him.
As they kissed, Astarion ran his hands all over the tiefling’s body, as fascinated as ever by the velvety texture of his skin and the harsh roughness of the ridges along his back and ribs. When Imara had kissed Vorin breathless, she released his mouth, murmuring into his ear, “You can come anytime you like, as often as you like.”
“Yes, mistress.”
They'd discovered that, when aroused for so long before being allowed a release, Vorin could come several times in relatively quick succession without losing his cockstand. With the right stimulation.
Imara kissed Vorin again, running her hands down his body to tease along his inner thighs, and as she did, Astarion took Vorin’s hips in his hands, humming the incantation to lubricate them both. Astarion had intended to start with fingers, but Vorin’s quiet request for rougher handling had changed the plan somewhat.
Carefully, he pressed his cock into Vorin, his breath catching as the tiefling thrust himself down onto Astarion’s cock in one rough motion. Astarion ground his hips up, amazed as ever by how different yet good Vorin’s body felt. He held Vorin in place, his cock throbbing as Vorin tightened around him, crying out into Imara's mouth.
“Stay still, pet. You can touch her but do not move your hips. Enjoy what we give you.”
Pulling away from Imara, Vorin whined out, “Yes, sir.”
When, a moment later, Imara's hand wrapped around Vorin’s cock, he whimpered, tightening so hard that Astarion slammed his hips up, crying out as well. Imara began to kiss her way down the tiefling’s lithe body, until, at last, she was on hands and knees before him, wrapping her plush lips around his thick cock. She slid her lips down, and when she had all of him, Astarion rocked his hips, grinding his cock into Vorin’s ass.
Using their bond, they set a slow, hard rhythm, in which Astarion withdrew when she took Vorin’s cock down her throat, then slammed into him when she withdrew. Though Vorin whined and shivered, he obeyed. He did not move, though his hands wandered Imara’s hair and neck.
Imara stared up at them, her eyes darting between their faces as she sucked Vorin with skill and enthusiasm. Astarion ran his hands over Vorin’s skin, occasionally caressing Imara's cheek or throat when she had all of him, glorying in the sensations and the sight.
After a particularly deep thrust, Astarion pulled at Vorin’s collar, tugging his head back. “Are you enjoying us, pet?”
“Yes,” Vorin gasped as Imara sucked her way up his length, adding much more pressure than Astarion enjoyed for himself.
“Good,” Astarion thrust again, hard. “I think your mistress would like to taste just how much you're enjoying her generous attention.”
Imara made a noise of agreement, swallowing around Vorin’s cock. Astarion reached out, taking the hand she'd placed on Vorin’s thigh. He laced their fingers there, against their lover’s skin, earning him moans from them both. Vorin cupped the back of Imara's head with the utmost gentleness, watching her as her lips slipped up and down his cock, her tongue writhing and undulating in that glorious, maddening way of hers.
In the end, Vorin was as powerless to resist Imara's focused skill and genuine enjoyment as Astarion was, and, cradling her head in both hands, their lover came undone. Astarion rocked his hips, giving Vorin long, deep thrusts as he came, watching with utter fascination as Imara withdrew, licking the underside of his cock before she pulled away, extending her tongue until, when she reached the head of his still-hard cock, they could see Vorin’s seed, glistening white on her tongue. Imara stared up at them both, then swallowed slowly, smiling a quite smug smile.
“You honor me, mistress.”
“I'll enjoy honoring you again in the future. You taste good,” she said with a wicked smile.
Vorin groaned, Astarion thrust, and Imara grinned wider. She kissed her way up Vorin’s body, then moved to his side, pulling Astarion in for a deep, sensual kiss, caressing the tiefling the entire time. When finally she released him, she moved away, leaning against the headboard in front of Vorin.
“You two have your fun. I'm going to enjoy the view,” she said, slipping her fingers between her legs to play with her clit.
“Gods,” Vorin breathed out.
“Lean over, grab the headboard,” Astarion commanded.
Vorin complied, now kneeling with his body essentially over Imara’s, though they didn't touch. Astarion ran his fingertips over the scar on Vorin’s lower back, where his tail had been, rocking his hips. The scar was, apparently, an erogenous zone for the tiefling, but it was only recently Astarion had begun to touch him there. The ecstasy Vorin felt was obvious in the long, firm clench, the full-body shudder and the low, sweet moan.
Perfect.
Astarion leaned closer, taking Vorin’s throat in his hand. Imara made a quiet noise of excitement, her fingers dipping further between her legs. “You feel very good, pet. I think I'd like to take you until you can't hold yourself up anymore. Would you like that?”
“Yes,” Vorin pleaded, “please, fuck me.”
“Then fuck you I shall.” Astarion slammed his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in a thrust more violent than he'd tried so far this evening.
Vorin shivered, mewling out a needy, “Gods. Yes. Harder, sir.”
And so Astarion obliged. He set a fast, punishing pace that he worried would quickly become too much, but all Vorin did was thrust down into him, begging for more, harder. Imara watched, touching herself as Astarion fucked Vorin, pounding into him over and over again. When Astarion snaked a hand around to cup Vorin’s chest and pinch his nipple, Imara crested, her gorgeous violet eyes locked to Astarion’s as she came.
That was nearly enough to undo Astarion entirely, but he held back, determined to wear their sweet boy out. He could tell Vorin was close to his next climax, so he fisted his free hand in Vorin’s hair, yanking his head back so hard he knew it would hurt. But Vorin loved his roughness, and he trembled, whining out a quiet “Yes…”
“Come for us, sweetling,” Imara purred, her mind alight with fascination at the idea of Vorin coming all over her naked body while Astarion fucked him.
“You heard your mistress,” Astarion growled, taking Vorin’s cock in his hand, stroking him in rhythm with his thrusts.
Seconds later, Vorin came apart, coating Imara’s stomach and breasts as he made loud, desperate noises and shivered and tightened around Astarion's cock. Imara came again, their bond absolutely singing with the euphoria she felt as Vorin’s seed hit her skin.
Astarion paused as Vorin’s climax faded, waiting to see if he was done playing or not. In answer to his unasked question, Vorin ground his hips against Astarion, pleading, “More, sir. Please. I want more.”
“I'm glad to hear it,” Astarion crooned, “because I’m going to fuck you as hard as I can, and then I'm going to fill you with my come. Would you like that, pet?”
“Gods, yes. Please.”
Needing no further encouragement, Astarion grabbed Vorin’s hips and let go of all the restrictions he kept on his strength. He rolled his hips in a smooth gliding motion that stimulated Vorin where he liked it best, but he did so with all of his strength and speed.
It felt incredible to let go in this way, to feel Vorin tightening and shivering and to hear his whimpers, to hear him begging for more. It felt even more incredible when his eyes landed on his beloved, finding her already watching him with love in her eyes, her fingers circling her clit in a way that told him she intended to come when he did.
Realizing he had complete control over them both, that they were both entirely focused on him and the pleasure they felt together… It was beautiful, and powerful, and more than enough.
Astarion buried himself with one final, hard thrust, staring into Imara's eyes as he came, shuddering and groaning, his nails digging into Vorin’s hips. Vorin and Imara both reached their peak seconds later, Imara's hand shot out to rest over Astarion’s and Vorin reached down to cradle her neck. For several long, beautiful moments, they lost themselves to the ecstasy as one.
When finally the waves of bliss waned, Vorin slumped, very nearly crushing Imara under his weight. Astarion withdrew, singing a few notes to cleanse all three of them, then collapsed onto the bed next to Vorin. Imara guided the tiefling to the side, until he laid with his head on her shoulder and an arm and a leg draped over her body. Astarion rolled to Vorin’s side, draping his own arm and leg over him. Imara reached over Vorin’s broad shoulders, gently scratching Astarion’s scalp. They laid like that for several minutes, silent but for their breathing.
“How are you feeling?” Imara eventually whispered to Vorin.
“Mmm.”
“That good?” she chuckled.
“Mmhm…”
Astarion brushed Vorin’s hair back from his face. “Did I hurt you?”
Vorin lifted his head just enough to look back at Astarion. “Yes. It was wonderful,” he sighed out in a tone of complete contentment.
“But you are… well?” Astarion knew he sounded anxious, but it couldn’t be helped. He still struggled with the idea that Vorin wanted to be hurt… and with the fact the he found pleasure in providing it.
Vorin reached back, stroking Astarion’s cheek with a sweet, gentle tenderness completely at odds with what they’d just been doing. “I feel amazing.”
Astarion pressed a light, affectionate kiss between Vorin’s shoulderblades, saying nothing. Another few minutes went by in quiet, then Vorin carefully rolled over Imara to lie against her other side, facing Astarion. Astarion closed the gap, cuddling against Imara, surprised by the sudden change. Vorin generally preferred much more affection than that, after an evening of play.
“Thank you,” Vorin breathed, trailing his fingertips over Imara’s collarbones then to Astarion’s arm.
“For what?” Imara asked.
“For… being my people.” Suddenly shy, Vorin focused on Astarion’s upper arm, his fingers tracing the lines of muscle in slow, soft motions. “Even before the palace, I’d never really had anyone who trusted me, or cared about me, cared about my pleasure or happiness. No one to be truly intimate with, no one who wanted to give generously of themselves to bring me happiness or bliss.”
Imara made a small, sad noise, and she reached up to touch Vorin’s cheek. Somewhat awkwardly, Astarion placed his hand on Vorin’s hip, rubbing back and forth in what he hoped was interpreted as a comforting gesture. It was clear Vorin was not done, so neither of them said anything.
“I grew up on a small farm in the middle of nowhere. It was just my parents and my younger sister and me. When I was ten years old, they were murdered while I was in the fields. I had no friends, no other family. There was nowhere to go, nobody to ask for help.”
Imara and Astarion each caressed Vorin, offering what silent support they could. He smiled sweetly, leaning into their touch. “I took what I could carry, headed to the nearest town. Lived on the streets there, stealing what food and gold I could, until I managed to sneak onto a caravan heading for Baldur’s Gate. Living on the streets in the city was very different than the town. I had to learn to be a lot quicker, to hide much better.
“Eventually, when I was fifteen or so, I fell ill. Nothing more than a flu, but it made me slow. Too slow to avoid the men who attacked me when they caught me hiding next to their shop in the Upper City. They beat me nearly to death and cut my tail off. They threw it in the dirt next to me, laughing as I cried and bled.”
“What shop?” Astarion growled.
“They will be dead within a tenday,” Imara vowed in a cold, vicious tone.
Vorin grinned, kissing Imara’s cheek then stroking Astarion’s jaw with his fingertips. “I adore you both for that, but it’s unnecessary. I went back a few years later and killed them myself.”
Imara made a low noise of delight. “Good.”
Vorin kissed her cheek again, smiling affectionately. “The night they took my tail, I was too sick, too injured to return to my hiding place. A wealthy man happened by and took pity on me. He called for a carriage, brought me to his home, saw to it I was healed and fed. It took two tendays for me to recover fully, and in that time, the man came to visit me each day. Each day, he would sit and talk with me, ask me what I thought about this or that inane topic.”
“Please tell me he was a kind, decent man and this story isn’t about to get much, much worse,” Imara whispered sadly.
“He was kind and decent enough. He didn’t take advantage of me or abuse me in any way. Instead, when I was recovered, he offered me a job. He needed a spy he could trust. He would see that I was trained, he would pay me a fair wage, and provide an apartment for me to live in.” Vorin chuckled. “I didn’t even hesitate.”
“That explains why you’re so good at running your clan,” Astarion said under his breath.
“Yes. He didn’t train me only in things necessary for spycraft. He saw that I was trained in useful everyday things, too. Manners, mathematics, accounting, dancing, and so on. He never said, but I think he saw me as the son he’d never had.”
“I’m glad you had him,” Imara said, stroking Vorin’s shoulder lightly. “Is he still in the city?”
“No. He died while I was in the palace.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright. I just… I’ve never told my story to anyone, because I never really had anyone. Tonight, you each gave me something new, something more intimate, something that brings us closer. I wanted to give you something in return, and this is all I have.”
“It is not all you have, Vorin, but your trust is a gift that we cherish,” Astarion told him.
“Thank you, again, both of you, for being… mine.” Vorin’s eyes misted with unshed tears, his smile softening into sweetness. “Before you, I’d lost all hope of having the kind of relationship I wanted, the kind I could be comfortable with. Now I have you, and you give me everything I have ever wanted, and so much more.”
Astarion recalled saying almost those exact words, with almost that exact same overwhelm of gratitude and wonder, years ago when he’d finally begun to believe Imara wanted to be with him in truth. It struck him, then, how similar he and Vorin were. They’d gone very different places in their lives, and their needs in bed and out differed greatly, but underneath it, they’d each been broken by life and circumstance. They’d each clawed their way through the pain and horror, until they’d found something worth reaching for. Something worth believing in. And so had Imara.
“I’m glad we have you, too,” Imara whispered, leaning up to kiss Vorin affectionately.
“As am I,” Astarion murmured, leaning over to press a tender kiss to Vorin’s forehead.
It felt strange to Astarion to find that it was true.
Notes:
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Chapter 4: Banners
Summary:
Astarion-coded: Bickering like an old married couple when you're still afraid of marriage
Notes:
Chapter Song: Castle - Halsey
No content warnings
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Astarion poured a glass of wine for himself—his beloved having declined to partake—turning to Imara as he sipped. “Is it as you remember?”
Imara looked around the spacious room, nodding slowly. “For the most part. They’ve updated the decor, but it’s still tasteful, still posh.”
After they’d killed the vampire lord a month ago, they’d taken all of his paperwork to sift through. Eventually, they’d discovered that the vampire—Artor Morlin had been his name, apparently—had been quietly investigating a competitor in Secomber, a town east of Waterdeep. It seemed that the town had been suffering from goblin attacks for quite some time, though they didn’t always actually see any goblins. Artor had suspected another vampire had moved into the region and was preying on the population, using the goblins to hide his meals.
Artor had eventually gotten in contact with a wealthy merchant in Waterdeep who frequently did business in Secomber, and so now Astarion and Imara would be meeting with that same merchant, in hopes of finding out what he’d discovered about the vampire to the east. Fortunately, the merchant—a man named Helyas Dobbin—had agreed to meet with them.
Unfortunately, he’d required that they meet him at his favorite festhall, on the busiest night of the tenday, and on an evening they already had important plans. Astarion had been irritated by the request until he’d discovered that the pleasure-house Helyas had chosen was also the one that Imara had been trained in decades ago. It fascinated him to look around the luxurious establishment and know that all of the sensual skills he benefited from daily had been learned here.
It had changed hands sometime after Imara left, but according to her, it appeared to be largely the same. It was also, conveniently, now owned by a renowned courtesan who Vorin had quietly convinced to ally with them. Astarion was suspicious, not having met the woman, but Vorin was confident Serethia would make a valuable ally.
“We should come back sometime, spend a day or two. They have an incredible day spa with every luxurious, relaxing, pampering body treatment you can think of and then some. The food is—or was, at least—some of the best in the city. The entertainment is always top-notch, and the suites are sumptuous and soothing.”
Astarion sank into the sofa, stretching his legs out to prop his feet on the low table in front of it. Beyond the table was a wide balcony overlooking the city. He sipped his wine, gazing out at the twinkling lights of Waterdeep. “That sounds delightful, darling. We’ll come again as soon as we can.”
Imara joined him, leaning her head on his shoulder with a deep sigh. She was exhausted. It had been nearly two months since they’d taken Skullport, and still the rush of necessary tasks had not lessened. Each day it was a new tidal wave of inane, tedious, frustrating demands on their time and it was beginning to wear on them both—but most especially her. She cared so much about every single thing that their collective weight was much heavier for her than for him.
Slipping a hand into her hair, he rubbed her scalp gently. She made a soft noise of pleasure, sinking even more heavily against his side. In comfortable silence, they stared out at the city, enjoying the view and the comfort of each other’s nearness for several minutes, until Imara abruptly stood, groaning.
“I can’t relax. I think I’ll have some wine after all.”
“Alright, darling. You should try one of the whites; they may not make you feel as fuzzy.”
Imara had just selected a bottle when there was a loud knock on the door. Astarion leapt up, gesturing to her. “I’ll get it. Pour your wine, you need it.”
He headed for the door, amused by her quiet curse as she ripped the foil off of the top of the bottle. For as graceful as she was, as skilled as she was with her hands, she always managed to shred the foil. It was why Astarion almost always opened the wine.
When he opened the door, he found a middle-aged man of average height and weight, with mid-toned skin and hair and moderately good looks. Everything about the man seemed to be… middling. Everything except his eyes, which were shrewd and cold. Still, Astarion smiled pleasantly. “Helyas Dobbin, I presume?”
The man nodded and Astarion gestured him inside, introducing himself and Imara—who was still battling the wine bottle and merely called out a distracted, “Nice to meet you!”
Helyas made all of the expected pleasant small talk, appreciating the room and then the view, but the coldness in his eyes was likewise reflected in his voice. Astarion began to suspect that the man had been in league with one or both of the vampires with full knowledge of what they were. There was just something so… calculating about him.
At last, there came the sound of a cork being popped and of wine splashing into a glass. Imara turned, already smiling, to greet their guest. Lovely violet eyes landed on Helyas and Imara hissed as if she’d been burned, dropping her wine. The glass shattered on the tile, and by the time Astarion registered the sound, Imara had lunged forward and snapped Helyas’ neck. The body hit the floor with a loud thud. Two seconds later, Imara’s sword—previously hidden behind the cushions of the sofa—glinted in the candlelight, arcing down to remove the man’s head.
“Darling, and I say this with all the love in my heart—what the fuck?”
Imara stood, staring down at the body, breathing heavily. There was a wide-eyed, almost frantic look on her face. She turned that look to him, staring into his eyes as if she barely recognized him. He’d just begun to worry that something had gone quite wrong with her when her shoulders relaxed and she tossed her sword onto the coffee table.
“I turned and saw him, and my tattoo… throbbed, somehow. It felt like a long heartbeat, if the heart were on fire. He was a Bhaalspawn. I could feel it, just like Jergal said I would.”
Astarion gaped at her for several seconds. “Well that’s all well and good, but what are we supposed to do now? We needed the information he had!”
“He was a Bhaalspawn, Astarion.”
“Yes, yes, but you couldn’t have tied him up instead? We needed to interrogate him!”
“I wasn’t thinking…”
“Well, clearly not!” Astarion huffed, beyond irritated. “You cannot be this impulsive when we are dealing with matters of the colony. This was incredibly unwise, and now if we wish to discover the truth about the attacks in Secomber, we will have to send someone all the way out there. It’s much too far for us to support them if they need it. We may well lose people because of this.”
Imara smiled wryly. “How far we’ve come in only a small handful of years, love, that now you lecture me about impulsivity.”
“Don’t try to flatter your way out of this. I have been telling you for tendays that you need to relax, to take more time for yourself, so that things would not become… like before. When we first moved to the Underdark. But you have not listened, and now look. We are back to exhaustion and impulsive, impolitic murders.”
Scowling, she opened and closed her mouth twice, then opted to say nothing, shaking her head instead.
“I know that our settling-in has been taking much longer than you’d hoped, but I know perfectly well you expected it to take at least a year, so why are you letting it bother you so much? It will take as long as it takes, Imara. Running yourself into the ground will not make it go fast enough to justify harming yourself for it.”
“It’s really quite rich to hear these lectures from you, Astarion,” she snipped, her own irritation finally beginning to surface. “You were the one wanting to rush headlong into killing another vampire lord, and now here we are.”
“This is my fault?” Scoffing, he rolled his eyes.
Imara crossed her arms, her voice clipped as she said, “If we’d taken the time to investigate him beforehand, we’d probably have discovered his interest in Secomber before now, and we might have been able to ask him about it before we killed him.”
“Perhaps, but we’d still have ended up trying to meet with this idiot,” he gestured to the corpse, “and you’d still have done exactly as you did.”
They scowled at one another for a minute or two, irritation thrumming along their bond like a discordant note in an otherwise perfect harmony. Finally, they spoke at the same time, each with a heavy sigh.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Darling, I’m merely worried about you.”
Imara stepped over the body, approaching slowly as if unsure of her welcome. Rolling his eyes again, Astarion grabbed her, tugging her into his arms. He rested his cheek on her head, sighing again.
“I suppose I have been a bit reactionary lately,” she mumbled against his chest.
“Indeed you have, my love. I am not particularly fond of the lukewarm, downright indifferent reception we’ve received from the Lords of the city thus far, either, but we cannot let it make us sloppy.”
“I know. There’s just so much going on all at once. I thought it was too much when it was just the spawn, just the colony, but this…”
“...This is the largest, most complicated undertaking we have ever attempted. It is likely to be the largest we attempt for centuries, possibly forever. I understand, poppy. The weight of it is significant, but is it truly heavier than attempting to save the world from the illithids?”
“I suppose not. I’d just hoped to be making more progress with their government by now.”
Astarion grumbled in exasperation. “Darling, what did you expect? Their government is far more complex than that of Baldur’s Gate, and they run it like some shadowy cabal, hiding the identities of all but one of their rulers as they do.”
Shrugging, Imara held him tighter, running her hands along his spine. “I’d half hoped they would be welcoming. We have a lot to offer. We’re already very close to having completely eliminated the slave trade from Waterdeep and its surrounding towns, we’ve got exclusive trade agreements for a number of desirable goods…”
“Naive of you,” he teased gently, kissing her hair.
“I know.”
“Alright, then,” he picked her up, carrying her to the sofa to sit, tucking her into his lap. “I know there are likely at least four dozen different things bothering you at any given moment, but why don’t you tell me the ones bothering you the most?”
She rested her head against his shoulder, nuzzling her face into his neck with a deep, contented sigh. “Imri said he’d work on repairing the magic barrier that prevents the cavern from collapsing onto the city, but I’m worried he won’t be able to. If he can’t, we have absolutely no leads on how to repair it ourselves. I’ll still be worrying about cave-ins every single day, for gods know how long, possibly forever, and if it did cave in, it would likely kill everyone. Last night I had a nightmare that the entire city was crushed, including us. You were dead, and I was lying curled around your body, dying under stone too heavy to lift. I knew I would die and come back to life, just to die again, wrapped around your slowly decaying body, over and over forever.”
Shuddering, he pulled her tighter to him. “Gods, Imara…”
“Exactly. So, that’s one of the worst ones.”
“Indeed.”
“It feels ridiculous to tell you things you already know,” she mumbled.
“Do it anyway. Humor me.”
“Alright…” she paused long enough to press a tender kiss to his neck, “Since the skulls are tied to the barrier and we can’t risk damaging it, we can’t destroy them. The fact that they keep enslaving our people for minor infractions and dropping them into the castle courtyard where the slave pens used to be drives me insane. Almost every time I walk out there, there’s someone new who’s fallen afoul of them and been tossed there for no good reason.”
“But they are not enslaved, nor even imprisoned. They can simply walk right back out again, and they do.”
“I know, but how would you feel if it happened to you?”
He scowled. “I take your point. Alright, what else?”
“A lot of the spawn are becoming restless, becoming discontent at being asked to stay in Skullport and not roam Waterdeep yet. It feels cruel to expect them to stay underground when we’re now an hour’s walk from the finest city on the continent.”
“They will grumble and groan, but they all understand why it’s being asked of them, and what is at stake. It is not cruel, Imara, you are trying to protect them and they know that.”
She kissed his neck again, longer this time, sighing in a much more pleasing way than all the previous sighs of the evening.
“Mendri and the architects aren’t back yet. They were supposed to be back two days ago.”
“A two-day delay on such an endeavor is so little as to be unremarkable, as you well know. You shouldn’t begin to worry until they’re a tenday late, and I doubt they will be. Everyone we sent with her is very skilled.”
“True.”
“Any more?”
“Those are the biggest ones.”
“Well, I can’t make them go away, but I can help you carry these burdens, if only you would allow me.”
“I’m trying. I’m sorry I mucked it up tonight.”
“As you should be,” he huffed in mock indignation. “You’ve gotten blood all over your dress, and we still have to attend the opera!”
Imara snorted, nipping his ear as she muttered the incantation to remove the blood. “There. All better.”
“Hmph.”
Astarion contemplated the body, debating how best to dispose of it before they had to leave, but he was saved the burden of deciding by another knock at the door.
“It’s me,” a sultry, feminine voice said.
“Come in,” Imara called out.
The door opened and in walked the most voluptuous elven woman Astarion had ever laid eyes on. She was roughly Imara’s height, but where Imara was toned and shapely, with gentle curves along her body, this woman had a true hourglass figure. Her skin was a sun-kissed ivory, her eyes a vivid green, and her hair was thick, plentiful, jet black, and wildly curly. She had side-swept bangs that complemented her facial structure, elegant cheekbones and plump, shapely lips.
Everything about her oozed sensual appeal; Astarion had no trouble believing she’d risen to become the most renowned courtesan in the region. Serethia Velthana was stunning.
Imara made to stand, but Serethia gestured her to stillness. “Please, don’t get up on my account. You look comfortable and he’s far too gorgeous to sit alone. I only wanted to meet your lover and to see how it went.”
They made their introductions—Imara had met her before, but Astarion had not—then invited her to join them. With a sweet smile, the woman walked further into the room, her eyes landing on the body.
“Well, I suppose I don’t need to ask how it went after all,” she said in a breezy, unbothered tone as she sat in the armchair across from them. “I’ll take care of it when we’re done here.”
“Are you sure? It’s not really your problem, I can—”
“As I understand it, you have another, more important event to get to after this, so yes I’m sure. Really, don’t worry about it. It honestly happens a lot more than you’d think. We’ve got a system in place.”
“...Alright…”
Astarion narrowed his eyes. “How do we know you’ll dispose of the body rather than report it as a murder?”
Serethia rolled her eyes. “Vorinael mentioned you’d be the suspicious one. We are allies, now. I understand that our alliance is new and untested, but it cannot ever become strong and comfortable if you don’t allow me to do my job.”
Astarion merely nodded, unsure what to say.
“Vorinael mentioned that you trained here some years back?” Serethia asked Imara.
“I did, yes. It was a long time ago, back when it was still called ‘Mother Tathlorn's House of Pleasure and Healing’.
“Gods, it was such a mouthful.”
“‘Serethia’s House of Delights’ has a much nicer ring to it,” Astarion murmured as a small peace offering after his earlier suspicion.
“I think so, too,” Serethia chuckled. “Well, I wanted to tell you both that I’m very happy to be a part of your organization, now. This city is magnificent, but she is damaged. Ever since the assassinations several years back, the Lords have been largely ineffectual. They are too entrenched in their own affairs, and frankly I think that, in the aftermath of losing so many of them at once, Laeral Silverhand did not necessarily make the wisest choices in replenishing their ranks. We need a bit of a shake-up to get things heading in a better direction, and I believe you and your group are exactly what we need.”
“Thank you. I hope you’re right.” Imara smiled at the other woman, who smiled back.
Astarion found that, although he was still somewhat suspicious of her, he quite liked her anyway. Particularly when she glanced at the clock, clapped her hands once, then stood and shooed them out and on their way to their next appointment, ensuring they would have just enough time to reach the opera house before the curtain rose.
❇︎❇︎❇︎
Several hours later, Astarion waited at the bar for their drinks, watching Imara mingle. Their night at the opera was their first social event with the nobility of Waterdeep, and while the show had been pleasant, he’d found himself unable to truly enjoy it. Instead he had watched the others in attendance, his eyes moving from one private box to another across the expansive auditorium, attempting to memorize faces or determine personalities, his instincts on high alert the entire time.
He had no idea why he’d suddenly felt so paranoid that something awful would happen at the opera, but nothing had thus far manifested—beyond the atrocious wine selection.
So far, everyone seemed quite fascinated with them. In Baldur’s Gate, the nobility were a fairly insular group—everyone knew everyone else, so any newcomers stood out and were seen as novelties. Waterdeep seemed to be no different. They’d drawn every pair of eyes the moment they’d walked in and there’d been whispers of interest circulating the room ever since.
Mediocre wine in hand, Astarion returned to Imara’s side. “It seems some of them know who you are, darling. The Hero of Baldur’s Gate, here in Waterdeep, with her mysterious lover on her arm. We’ll be the talk of the nobility for a tenday just for having shown up.”
Imara snorted. “A few of them were arguing over whose dinner invitation we would accept first.”
Grumbling, she glanced at him with a rueful smile, switching to telepathy. Apparently, even that will be a political quagmire. We’ll have to choose carefully.
We’ve barely even begun to dip our toes into Waterdeep’s political landscape and already you are this tired of it all. You may have chosen poorly for yourself, my love. It’s not going to get any easier or less irritating from here.
I knew it would be tedious and infuriating for me but it was the right choice for the collective. It needed to be done. I don’t have to like it or enjoy it to do what’s necessary for our people to thrive.
I worry about the effect it will have on you. From everything Mal has said about your life before the nautiloid, you were skilled at these types of games, but they weighed on you. This is likely to be significantly more involved than any of your efforts in Baldur’s Gate were.
Most likely. Good thing I have you here to keep me sane and make sure I get enough rest.
Well, I’ll certainly try, anyway.
A woman approached them, tall and silver-haired, with rosy skin and pale eyes, her slim body hugged by her extravagant robes. The whispers around the room redoubled, a thrum of excited intrigue passing through the crowd as they noticed the woman.
Imara caught sight of her, sighing over their bond. Laeral Silverhand, if I’m not mistaken. I didn’t know she would be here.
I imagine she knew you would be here and that is why she is.
Probably. Here we go.
The woman reached them, smiling politely. “Imara Naladrisque, I presume?”
“You are correct, my lady.”
Icy blue eyes turned to Astarion. “That would make you Astarion Ancunín, then.”
“Indeed I am. You are well informed, my lady. I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.”
Do you think she knows about us from spies or from Mystra? he wondered.
You think the goddess of magic gossips with her Chosen?
Well, we know she occasionally fucks them, so I don’t see why gossiping would be out of the question.
…Good point. Gods, can you imagine?
‘Oh, there goes that Bhaalspawn who convinced my boytoy to leave me without even sleeping with him. Watch out for her, or she’ll walk off with all your wizards and any vampires that happen to be hanging about.’
Imara barely managed to contain her amusement to their bond, her eyes darting to his. You’re hilarious.
I know, darling.
Laeral smiled widely, and, were Astarion a less suspicious person, he would have said sincerely. “I am Laeral Silverhand, the Open Lord of Waterdeep.”
“Lady Silverhand,” Imara purred in a flattering tone, “the Witch-Queen of the North, Lady Mage of Waterdeep, one of the Seven Sisters, legendary Chosen of Mystra. It is an honor to make your acquaintance face to face.”
“The honor is mine. If not for you, we’d all likely be mindflayers by now.”
Imara flushed prettily, looking down as if embarrassed by the praise. He hadn’t had much opportunity to watch her manipulate the rich and powerful since they’d left Baldur’s Gate and he realized just then that he’d missed this side of her.
“You are too kind, my lady.”
“I admit, I was informed you would likely be attending the opera tonight. I came because I wanted to speak to you in an informal setting before we schedule anything official.”
I can feel your smugness, Astarion. Yes, you were right. My clever boy. Imara’s amusement was warm and soft in his mind and he smiled.
“Considering the sensitive nature of what we need to discuss, I’m surprised you would wish to do so in so… public a place.” Astarion pointedly glanced around the room, raising an eyebrow at all of the very curious eyes on them.
“Whenever there are newcomers amongst the nobility, I make it a point to greet them. They are only surprised because my speaking to you means that you’re intending to stay in the city and they had not known that before. I’m afraid you’ll be swarmed the moment I leave. Now that they know you’re staying, they’ll be in a hurry to befriend such a famous hero and her paramour.”
Imara snarled over their bond, but she caught it before it could show on her face. “Astarion is my partner, not my mistress, and he is as responsible for the defeat of the illithids as I am,” she said in a tone that she managed to temper into sounding only very slightly irritated.
“My apologies. It appears I was under-informed.”
Imara nodded, smiling pleasantly, but Astarion could see the anger behind her eyes. It always infuriated her when people treated him like her concubine. It had been years since it had happened, but her fury was no less than any other time.
Before he could soothe her, the voice of his self-loathing made itself known for the first time in quite some time.
Just marry her already. It’s been six years. What are you waiting for?
The time isn’t right…
It never is, and at this rate it never will be. You do her a disservice, waiting for the stars to align just so, for a perfect moment that can never exist.
I know.
Sighing softly, he shook off that train of thought, vaguely irritated that the hated voice had returned yet again. It was weak, now, the words barely biting at all, but still every time the negativity invaded his mind he was irate. He was no longer accustomed to hearing them, so each time came as a surprise, caught him unawares, and annoyed him all the more for it.
“As you’ve no doubt deduced, I received your letter. I apologize for the lack of reply thus far, but things have been complicated amongst the Lords ever since one of the masked Lords went rogue and assassinated most of his brethren. It was seven years ago—only two years into my tenure as Open Lord—and we are still feeling the effects to this day.”
“It’s a wonder you were not killed, my lady. I would have assumed such a traitorous plot would involve eliminating the Open Lord,” Astarion observed dryly.
“Oh, I was,” she laughed. “Quite gruesomely, at that. Thankfully, it didn’t last.”
“Thankfully indeed.”
“I must say I was quite impressed to hear that you managed to take Skullport with no army, no great battle.”
Imara smiled conspiratorially. “It’s incredible what can be accomplished with a hundred loyal warriors and several years of careful planning.”
“I know the truth of that all too well,” Laeral agreed, seeming quite amiable, but Astarion’s suspicion only grew, until the urge to sweep Imara into his arms and carry her away from this place was nearly overwhelming. It was baffling—there was nothing to indicate any immediate threat, and yet his mind screamed at him to protect her, keep her safe. “Why Skullport? I’ve been wondering since I read your letter.”
“Our company needed a base of operations that was secure and well-positioned for accepting contracts. Skullport fit the bill and I have no tolerance for slavers. It seemed the obvious choice.”
“I share your loathing for slavers. Skullport has been a thorn in my side for years. I admit, I’m quite relieved to hear it’s been purged.”
“I’m surprised nothing was done before now, considering their recent activities in Waterdeep itself.” Astarion’s voice was very carefully neutral, but the accusation was there and Laeral heard it clear as day.
Icy blue eyes sharpened on Astarion’s face, her lips thinning into a small scowl. “It requires a majority vote to send our army outside of the city and though it has come up several times in recent years, a majority has never been achieved.”
“Pity.”
“Yes, it is.” Laeral schooled her face back into a pleasant, politely bland expression. “But now that you and your company have arrived, I see an opportunity. On behalf of the Lords, I have a request for you.”
“I’m intrigued.” Imara smiled, positively exuding honesty and polite interest.
Gods, she is magnificent. How did I forget this side of her… and how arousing it is?
“In order to demonstrate your good intentions, and to form a bond with the Lords of Waterdeep, we would like to offer you a contract. It will be informal, there is no physical contract, no registration with the guild. Merely an exchanging of information and favors, between soon-to-be friends.”
“The Unbound would be honored to form a bond with the Lords.”
Laeral nodded, pleased. “In not quite two months, your company has all but eliminated the slave trade in Waterdeep, which as I mentioned, is a great boon to us all. In light of this, the Lords would task you with the elimination of the final slaver operation in our territory. It is a relatively large enclave—roughly seventy-five members—but that should be manageable for a company of your size and skill. As a gesture of good faith, the Lords offer you the location, a rough map of their base, and the known routes of this operation. When you’ve accomplished this task, the Lords will welcome you into the Lord’s Palace for a private audience, to discuss terms of alliance.”
We would’ve done it anyway, I suppose, Astarion told Imara. May as well benefit from it.
I agree.
“On behalf of the Unbound, we gladly accept.”
“Wonderful. I will have the information delivered to you at…?”
“We’re staying at Sapphire House for now, but we’re in the process of purchasing a villa estate on Sul Street, where it meets Trader’s Way.”
“I know it. It’s a good choice. I’ll have the information sent to Sapphire House for now.” Laeral smiled at them both. “I wish you luck with your mission and I look forward to negotiating our alliance. Have a pleasant evening.”
“Thank you, my lady.”
“Pleasure,” Astarion added, oozing charm.
Laeral nodded to them, then left the building without stopping to speak to anyone else. That would send the rumor mill into overdrive, let alone the fact that the Open Lord had clearly come to speak solely to them and had, for all appearances, had quite a lovely chat with them.
We’re going to be swarmed any moment, he groused.
And indeed they were. It was hours before they could extricate themselves from the fawning, pompous nobles and by then they were both utterly exhausted. Astarion’s paranoia did not abate the entire evening, and by the time they were seated in their carriage, he felt weary down to his bones. Another hour later, they shambled into their room, pulling their clothes off on their way to the bed, where they collapsed on top of the blankets with barely a nod to Mal, curled up on a pillow above their heads.
❇︎❇︎❇︎
Your rump looks particularly biteable in that armor, Astarion told Imara as they crept toward the Zhentarim base.
We’re about to go into battle and you’re thinking about sex?
I merely said I wanted to bite it, darling, not fuck it. Though, to be fair, I’d like to do that too. Those leathers really are quite flattering…
Imara snorted into his mind, shooting him an amused glance over her shoulder. Let’s hope this battle goes quick and easy, then. Perhaps you’ll get your wish.
I sincerely hope so, he purred back.
A few minutes later, they reached the edge of the woods and Imara froze in front of him.
What is it? he asked.
At least two hundred Zhentarim and mercenaries. In battle formation. Waiting.
They knew we were coming.
Imara nodded, her eyes fading to black as she glanced at him. Astarion wasn't all that surprised, but he was annoyed. Laeral had seemed sincere, possibly even trustworthy. Yet she had betrayed them, given them a false contract to rid Waterdeep of them for good.
Unfortunately for Laeral and the Lords, two hundred living soldiers were not enough to take out the one hundred combat-trained vampires they'd brought with them. There might be some losses, but they would prevail.
“Mal,” Imara whispered, “I think it’s time to try the maneuver.”
“Finally!” the little dragon whispered back.
Astarion’s heart began to pound. Darling, I don’t think we should try that particular maneuver quite yet. You two haven’t perfected it, and—
If I don’t, some of the spawn will die.
If you do, you could die.
Maybe, but I’ll come right back.
That doesn’t make it any better for me, Imara!
It’ll be alright, Astarion. We have to try it at some point, and this is a good opportunity. We’ll win this battle either way… And I very much need to kill right now. She looked at him with coal-black eyes, trembling with fury, imploring him to understand.
With a lump in his throat and knots in his stomach, Astarion gave Imara a curt nod. She turned to Mal and in the span of three seconds, Mal had assumed his larger form, picked Imara up, and shot into the sky.
Astarion watched them go, sick inside, every instinct screaming at him to follow, to protect. He’d give in, gladly, but first…
“Unbound!” Astarion pitched his voice to be heard by the vampires—but not their enemies, “We attack on the signal. Kill them all! Drink your fill, but leave not a single one alive. Let none escape to tell tales of the vampires living under their precious city. The Lords appear to want blood,” he smiled, sinister and cruel, “and we will be happy to oblige.”
As the spawn let out quiet shouts and cheers, Astarion turned to Minthara, Taelin, and Vorin, standing nearby, ready to command their units. “Mal will keep an eye on the perimeter, but don’t let anyone get sloppy. We cannot let even one escape.”
They nodded, and with that, Astarion turned his eyes to the Zhentarim. Mere seconds had passed since Mal and Imara disappeared into the sky, and as he watched, an ominous, dark figure came to hover so high above the enemy forces that Astarion could barely make him out at all. A heartbeat later, that tiny figure began to grow as Mal barreled toward the ground like a meteor. Another heartbeat and Mal’s deep, booming growl could be heard and the Zhentarim and their hired swords looked to the sky in horror.
Mal plummeted as if in freefall, and even though Astarion knew it was a perfectly controlled dive that Mal had practiced hundreds of times, his heart clenched anyway. The dragon came closer and closer to the ground, until, at the very last second, his wings shot out, his body curving up, his legs extending to delicately drop a tiny, silver-haired figure to the ground directly in the middle of the enemy forces.
A singular heartbeat later, Astarion was standing next to Imara, swords in hand, already cutting throats and removing limbs as she rose into the air and began to glow with glorious golden light.
The sounds of battle soon became deafening, but it was nothing compared to the sound of Imara’s voice. He’d heard her, breathing out her soft incantation as if she spoke directly to his soul. Her quiet words reached his ears and he smiled, his smile widening at the blast of light and the sound of bodies crunching into one another as her shockwave hit, immediately followed by the screams of a hundred dying men falling to the ground.
Mal’s fire began to light up the night as he laid down a burning perimeter to help prevent escape. The moonlight glinted off of Mal’s sinuous form, gliding through the night, beautiful and deadly. Astarion knew better than to glance for more than a second, but it was a truly remarkable sight. One that cost him—a mercenary landed a blow to his back that staggered him to the ground.
Groaning, Astarion leapt back up, limping only slightly. With a quick upward thrust, he killed the man who’d knocked him down, his eyes immediately searching for Imara. It didn’t take long to find her—she was standing a foot away, black eyes glaring at the corpse at Astarion’s feet. She trembled, and as the next idiot came at her, she cut his head off with barely a glance in his direction.
Instead of diving back into the battle as he expected, she closed her eyes, her head falling forward. Astarion’s heart stopped in his chest and he lunged for her, terrified. The moment his hands wrapped around her arms, her head shot up, her eyes met his, and she growled, “Laedere.”
Screams of agony rent the air in every direction. Dozens of the enemy soldiers fell to the ground, curling in on themselves, shrieking ceaselessly. Dumbfounded, Astarion watched as Taelin and Vorin took advantage of their incapacity, lopping off heads one after the other, grinning at each other now and then. In the distance, Minthara and her unit were likewise dispatching the downed men; though most of the spawn were taking the time to drink first.
At that point, it was all but over. There were hardly any combatants still standing and they were easily handled by the spawn. Astarion ignored it all, staring at Imara. She stared back, her eyes slowly fading back to violet.
“Well, that’s new,” he murmured.
“I don’t know where it came from…”
“Imri did say you had several skills gifted by Bhaal. It looks like they were not lost with his blood.”
“Looks like.” She shuddered, shaking off the shock and, he suspected, the fear. “I’m just so furious.”
“Quite understandable, my love.”
Footsteps approached from behind and Astarion whirled, his swords raised, growling so viciously he hardly recognized the sound was coming from him.
Vorin’s eyes became heavy-lidded, a sly smirk pulling at his lips. “I’m not much for knife play, but that growling is very nice. Do it again,” he purred out.
Blinking slowly in confusion, Astarion lowered his weapons. “Apologies. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Heat of battle.” Vorin waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. I wanted to let you know that they’re all dead.”
Mal glided toward them, returning to his smaller form as he approached. “None escaped, I made sure.”
“Thank you both,” Imara said, though her voice was strained. Mal nodded, drifting into Vorin’s waiting arms. The little dragon was asleep in seconds.
“Vorin, will you see to collecting valuables from the bodies and sending the spawn to loot the buildings?”
“Of course.” Vorin handed Mal to Astarion, ambling off toward the Zhentarim base.
Minthara stepped to Imara’s side. “Orders?”
Imara turned to Taelin. “Taelin—take your unit and gather all the banners. Every single one. When we get back to the castle, have Yousen and his team box them up with any banners we’ve taken from the other battles, any banners still left from the factions in Skullport. I want no more than four boxes. Large, but not too large to be carried by a human of average strength. Have them stored somewhere easily accessible.”
“I’m on it,” Taelin said, agreeable as ever, her eyes dancing with curiosity. She leveled a long look at Minthara, grinned, then turned and began shouting instructions to the spawn.
Still breathing heavily with the force of her anger, Imara sheathed her sword, glaring around the battlefield. After a moment, she turned her gaze back to Astarion, smiling softly before meeting Minthara’s eyes. “When we get back, find out when the next open forum is scheduled in Waterdeep. Not the one the people hold in the trade district. The one the Lords attend.”
“It will be done,” Minthara replied. She caressed Imara’s cheek, squeezed Astarion’s shoulder, then marched off, calling her unit to help Taelin and Vorin with the pillaging and banner collection.
Thrilled with their success, yet oddly uneasy, Astarion hugged Imara tight, careful not to crush Mal between them. He nuzzled his face into her neck, breathing in her scent. Every time he heard footfalls near them, he bristled, growling quietly, though he knew it was their own people.
He hadn’t felt so protective, so out of his mind with possessive fury since the very early days of their life together. He had no godsdamned clue why it had resurfaced, but for nearly a tenday now he’d been on edge, and each day it became worse and worse until now he was snarling at their own lover for simply walking nearby.
Sick of being confused by his own mind—yet again—Astarion kissed Imara’s neck, releasing her enough that they could look at each other. “Banners?”
Imara nodded, her cruel, cold smile blossoming on her face. Astarion shivered; he loved that smile. “We’re going to attend the next open forum. They hold them in the late afternoon and early evening, to allow the workers to attend. The sun will be low enough that it will be safe for our people. Anyone who lives within five miles of Waterdeep is allowed three uninterrupted minutes to speak to the Lords and the citizens who’ve assembled there.”
Grinning, he squeezed her gently. “And we’re finalizing our purchase of the estate on Sul street next tenday.”
“Yes. We’ll be entitled to speak. They’re very strict in upholding the rule that no one may be interrupted during their three minutes, so long as no threats are made.”
“Which of course we will not do.”
Tingles began to race down Astarion’s spine. Imara’s calculating, manipulative mind never failed to arouse him, but lately, watching her deal with the politics in Waterdeep, it had begun to arouse him much more strongly. He’d been ravenous for her almost since they’d arrived, but particularly these past several days since the incident with the Bhaalspawn, meeting with Laeral, planning their attack, and now this.
“No, we won’t threaten anyone.” Imara’s smile widened, her eyes dancing with a vengeful light. “I’m simply going to talk.”
“My beautiful, brilliant conqueror.”
Snorting, she rested her head on his chest. “I’m not going to conquer anything. I don’t want Waterdeep.”
“You just want them to do better so that our people are safer and happier, and theirs as well. I know, darling. I was merely teasing.”
“I know. It’s just… a sensitive spot, even still. Every time I use these skills, every time I must fight or manipulate or dominate… I feel like I’m that small step closer to what Bhaal wanted me to be.”
Rubbing her back, he kissed her hair, bloody as it was. “You may use what he gave you, the skills you learned under his thumb, but you use them for reasons entirely in opposition to his desires. Those steps are not toward him, melnā, they are away from him.”
Imara relaxed against his body, sighing heavily as all the stress drained out of her body so quickly and so forcefully he felt it over their bond. “Is this intimacy?” she whispered.
“Yes,” he whispered back.
❇︎❇︎❇︎
“My name is Imara Naladrisque, and I am the commander of the adventuring company known as the Unbound,” Imara began, her eyes sliding between the masked Lords seated at the long table in front of the petitioner’s podium.
Though she’d originally planned to turn their colony into a mercenary unit, and though they’d trained quite extensively to be one, they’d quickly realized the disadvantage of that label once they’d encountered the types of mercenaries that were common in and around Waterdeep. Now, they were merely a large adventuring company—kindly folk who would gladly help with contracts when needed. In the end, the only difference was the name… and their peers.
“Some of you may know me instead as the Hero of Baldur’s Gate, as I was the leader of the group who defeated the Netherbrain and its army of illithids six years ago.”
Astarion smiled as murmurs of interest and excitement began to move through the massive crowd of citizens arrayed on every side of her. This forum was packed, as apparently they often were. Every seat and all the standing room was filled. There were close to a thousand people listening to her.
He loved seeing her in command like this, seeing her strength and skill on display… but he was anxious in the extreme. His eyes darted through the crowd, looking for any hint of threat. His paranoia was suffocating in a room this large, with so many people so close to his beloved. He wanted nothing more than to whisk her off the stage and take her back to their castle where she would be safe. The urge was so strong, his muscles tensed every few seconds as if to spring forward to do exactly that.
But he would not. Could not. This was too important.
“I am pleased to formally introduce myself to the Lords face to face at last, considering that all of my efforts to meet with you have thus far been ignored.”
Now there were gasps in the crowd. Several of the Lords shifted in their chairs, but nobody interrupted. Imara’s cold eyes looked from one Lord to the next, lingering on Laeral, unmasked and frozen in the center of them all. Her point made, Imara affected a much softer expression, turning her back to the Lords to face the crowd instead.
“But I didn’t come here to address the Lords. I came here to address all of you, the citizens of Waterdeep, who have suffered so long under the indifference of your government.”
Honestly, if all that gasping keeps up, there will be swooning soon, he sighed to himself.
“For years, your Lords have sat by, lifting not a finger to address the horrors being inflicted upon you, their people. Your friends, your lovers, your family members have been stolen from you, snatched from the streets on their way to work or the pub and sold into slavery. You’ve come here, to this forum, time and again, to beg for aid, for an end to this grotesque violation of Waterdeep’s honored laws. Yet nothing was done. The City Watch was not expanded or given appropriate training, the army was not mobilized to retrieve your loved ones from their enslavement. A blind eye was turned, year after year.”
Imara met the eyes of every face in the crowd she could, her voice clear and strong, her honest, sincere caring obvious in every word.
“I came here to tell you that when my company arrived in Waterdeep two months ago, we took it upon ourselves to put a stop to this. The responsibility that your Lords could not—or would not—accept in so many years, we accepted gladly.”
Smiling warmly, Imara opened her arms wide, encompassing the company’s banners on either side of the speaking stage, held by Remi and Hugo. “I came here to share with you the glad news that we have succeeded. The Unbound have eliminated the slave trade in the city, in Skullport below you, and for fifty miles in every direction. You no longer have to fear this unspeakable injustice in the City of Splendors.”
There it is, Astarion thought smugly as someone swooned in the crowd and was carried out. Also as expected, there was a thrum of disbelief making its way through the crowd. Though his paranoia was in overdrive—his heart pounding and his body tensed to dive for her at a moment’s notice should anything happen—he grinned. This next part would be fantastic.
“I know that some of you find this difficult to believe. After all, your powerful, wealthy Lords did not manage this after so long, yet we claim it in only a pair of months. But you don’t need to take what I say on faith, good people.”
Now she gestured to Astarion, her eyes bright with satisfaction. Astarion, Elasha, Minthara and Cyne stepped forward in a carefully-practiced arrangement, so that within seconds they were arrayed evenly around the speaking stage. Each pulled the lid from the large box they carried and, with a casual shake, scattered the contents onto the gleaming marble.
All around the stage, hundreds of filthy, blood-stained banners fell to the floor.
“Here is every banner we have taken from the slavers we have killed in the past two months,” Imara crooned, her voice calm and soothing. “But if this is not enough evidence for you, then ask your neighbors, your friends, your shopkeeps. Ask anyone you know who lost a loved one to the slavers in the past six months and then had their beloved suddenly returned. Ask them, or ask those who have returned.”
Imara paused, letting the tension build for several seconds, before she said in a loud, clear voice, “Ask them who freed them.”
With a curt nod, she left the stage, her head held high—with three seconds to spare.
As she stepped away from the stage, Remi, Hugo, Elasha, Cyne and Minthara began to distribute fliers printed with their company’s banner. The fliers listed their public address on Sul Street and outlined the office they would be opening in the next tenday, which would accept petitions for assistance—regardless of whether the petitioner could pay. Fees would be assessed on a sliding scale, based on what the petitioner could offer or afford, and aid would be given to all who needed it.
Astarion stared at his beloved, his heart fluttering pleasantly as he remembered the evening, five days ago, when they’d received the keys to their new property.
They made their way to the villa, wandering slowly through the massive estate, until, at the very last building, Imara looked through the windows to the busy street outside, a thoughtful look on her face.
“This building will be the public-facing office,” she murmured distractedly, her eyes turning to the large, empty room, envisioning it as she intended it to be. Astarion saw it in her mind and was impressed by the elegance and the efficiency in what she’d planned.
Eventually, she turned her gorgeous, determined eyes to his, and with equal determination in her voice, she said, “If the Lords won’t take care of the people of Waterdeep, then the Unbound will.”
Notes:
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Chapter 5: I'm Here
Summary:
A vampire and a Bhaalspawn walk into a dinner party...
Notes:
Chapter Song: Banks by NEEDTOBREATHE
No content warnings
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Life amongst the nobility always seemed so glamorous, Astarion grumbled as he looked around the room at all of the nobles, deep into their gossiping. Even though I knew how vile some of them could be behind closed doors, the others… the ones who didn’t partake of such things… I always thought they lived such fulfilling lives. Wealth, status, luxury…
…And now you realize that while they do have that, it also comes with conniving, scheming, passive aggressive slights, backstabbing, and never-ending insincerity, Imara replied, amused.
Indeed. I also now realize that trust and meaningful relationships are what makes a fulfilling life. Though it’s a lot more fulfilling when it also comes with the wealth, status, and luxury…
Imara’s eyes softened as she looked at him, affectionate and adoring. My spoiled little lion.
I won’t deny it. I’ll take all the spoiling I can get.
Then let’s get this over with so we can head back and I’ll spoil you until you can’t stand it anymore. Her sweet smile turned wicked and Astarion grinned at her, bringing her hand to his lips for a long kiss that pleased them both and had the added bonus of drawing many of the nobles’ eyes to them.
Let’s just hope it doesn’t end in bloodshed or else we’ll be here all night.
Imara glanced across the room, her eyes hardening at the sight of Laeral Silverhand, smiling and bantering with the small crowd of people around her.
“Hopefully,” she said quietly, the doubt clear in her voice.
If we have to be here all night, your little dragon will lecture us for an hour.
I hate leaving him behind. Her guilt flooded their bond, quickly squashed but strong nonetheless.
I know you do, darling, as does he. You’re right that it’s the wiser choice to keep him hidden from the politicians, and to not risk Laeral being able to see through his invisibility, until our standing in the city is secured. Mal has been a novelty everywhere we have traveled; he would draw the wrong kind of attention here. We are lucky Atheil and his family are not gossips. Nor nobility.
All Mal had to do was agree to shapeshift into a plain-colored cat or raven, something more usual for a familiar…
Astarion chuckled to himself. That suggestion had not gone over well at all—Mal had huffed and puffed for nearly an hour, so offended he wouldn’t even look at her.
He opted for staying home as much as you did. Don’t feel guilty for protecting him, or our endeavors here.
I’m trying. I just miss having him with us.
…As do I, Astarion grumbled, begrudging every word. But I forbid you to tell him so.
A warm, sensual laugh thrummed into his mind as she ran her hand down his arm, smiling up at him.
“Now, to business?” he asked.
“To business,” she sighed.
They’d gotten word from Serethia that Laeral planned to attend the theatre this evening, so they’d attended as well, with the intention of cornering the Open Lord during the cocktail hour after the play. The moment Laeral had laid eyes on them she’d blanched, her lips pursing into a thin line. For the past twenty minutes, she’d been burdened with a small group of foppish nobles who stood around her, flattering her with obvious insincerity.
“Fuck this,” Imara muttered under her breath. She plastered a bland smile on her face and glided toward Laeral, ignoring the increased whispers as their passage was noticed.
When she came to a halt in a gap between the bodies hovering around Laeral, she smiled pleasantly. “Lovely show, was it not?”
“Indeed it was,” Laeral agreed.
“I would have thought you too busy eliminating the slavers to attend such frivolous events,” one of the noblemen sneered.
Astarion barely held back his snarl—and the nigh-overwhelming urge to rip the man’s throat out—watching as Imara turned her gaze to the man with that same bland smile on her face. “That’s the beauty in having succeeded. Once the task is done, one has much more time for other pursuits.”
“And what other pursuits might those be?” A woman asked with suspicion in every word.
“My company and I will, of course, continue to ensure that the slavers don’t regain a hold in this region, but otherwise…” Imara shrugged, her bland smile turning charming and affable, her eyes twinkling with false mischief. “It’s not called the City of Splendors for nothing. I’d like to enjoy all it has to offer.”
Several pairs of shoulders relaxed slightly, and from there the conversation flowed easily—if rather boringly. After about ten minutes or so, most of the fops had wandered off, and another five later, they were finally alone with Laeral.
Imara’s gaze became hard, though her expression remained pleasantly neutral. She took a sip of her wine, glancing around the room as if discussing the weather. “You tried to have us killed, Laeral. I would have thought that a celebrated Chosen of Mystra would have more integrity than that, but I suppose weakness of character can surface at any age.”
Laeral swallowed heavily. “I didn’t know. The information I gave you was accurate when I gave it to you. I made my offer in good faith, you have my word.”
Astarion laughed with all the false charm he’d learned in the palace. “What good is your word after you sent us into a trap?”
“I will swear it before my goddess. I will take any oath you wish. I did not know!” Laeral’s eyes implored them, but her face was otherwise pleasant. None of them wanted the other nobles to know what kind of conversation this really was—or how badly it could go for Laeral.
“If we believe that, then it means that you have a traitor in your ranks.” Imara murmured, hiding her scowl behind her wineglass as she sipped contemplatively. “Someone close enough to you to have known the information you were giving us. I assume that means all of the masked Lords, but there were probably others who knew. Your assistant, your lover…”
Laeral paled again, having visible difficulty controlling her expression.
For the record, I do not believe her, Astarion told Imara.
I think I might. It seems sincere to me.
Precious thing, always trying to see the good in people, even if there isn’t any to be had.
Gale is confident she is inherently good, and I can feel the goodness in her.
Astarion snorted along their bond, sipping his wine to avoid rolling his eyes.
“As you know, things have been… difficult… amongst the Lords for some time. There are some amongst them who would do this, but I hadn’t thought they would frame me for it.”
“Naive of you,” Astarion observed dryly.
“It would seem so. My hold on the Lords is not as strong as I would like. You may also be right about my assistant; she is a relatively new hire and though I’ve enjoyed her, there is… an inherent weakness in her.” Icy blue eyes darted from Astarion to Imara as she sighed heavily. “I will begin my own investigation into how this happened.”
Imara raised an eyebrow. “Will you be sharing the results of that investigation with us?”
“I will.”
“Then I wish you the best of luck with it.” Imara paused, eyeing the Open Lord with what appeared to be patience. “You may wish to let the other Lords know that should any further unfortunate incidents occur, we will become far less inclined to be so pleasant with Waterdeep’s government.”
“Are you threatening the Lords?”
“No. Of course not. But neither was my speech at the forum a threat. While the leadership in this city is fractured and working against one another, indifferent to the needs of your people, the leadership as a collective is weak. You know it, we know it, your people know it.” Imara stared into Laeral’s wide eyes, letting her see the confidence, the fearlessness, and the determination that drove Imara to do nearly everything she did. “We are not fractured, or indifferent, or weak. Tell your Lords to think about what happens when the people realize that.”
“It would be a shame for the Lords of Waterdeep and the Unbound to be at odds, in such a case,” Astarion crooned maliciously. “Friendship is so much more pleasant, don’t you think?”
“I’m not the one who needs convincing, but I will pass along all you have said. Keep in mind, however, that the Waterdhavian military is legendary for its strength. Our griffon cavalry alone would be devastating.”
“Young griffons, untried in battle, as you only re-established their unit a few years back, is that not so?” Astarion observed.
Laeral cringed. “Yes.”
“Rather difficult to fly griffons or march an army into Undermountain, too,” Imara murmured.
Another sigh. “Yes. I only pointed it out because they will demand to know why I did not threaten a show of force. Mobilizing any of our defenses would be… less than ideal for us, as you’re clearly well aware.” She looked between them with significantly more respect than before. “I am your ally. I cannot speak for the other Lords, clearly, but I agree with all you have said. I desire an alliance. I will do all in my power to ensure we achieve it.”
“I sincerely hope that is true,” Imara replied.
❇︎❇︎❇︎
Five nights later, Astarion was yet again bored stiff by the nobility and their incessant prattling. They’d received an invitation for dinner at some wealthy merchant’s home, offering to introduce them to several of the most prominent merchants in the city. Imara felt it might be easier to make inroads with people who actually worked and managed businesses, and so they’d accepted the invitation.
It was a decision Astarion was sorely regretting, at present. Tomlin—the merchant—and his associates had droned on, bragging and trying to outdo one another all through the meal that he’d had to pretend to eat, until Astarion thought he would go mad from the tedium alone. They were finally starting on the dessert course and he sincerely hoped they’d be able to make a quick exit shortly thereafter.
We will, I promise, Imara purred.
Thank the gods.
They were served a rich, sweet-smelling port and plates of small confections, the sight of which had Imara salivating with interest. She immediately popped a chocolate truffle into her mouth, groaning in delight over their bond. Astarion watched with amusement as Imara savored her truffle, turning his attention to the dessert wine when the shared flavor of the chocolate faded.
He took a lazy sip, a bit aroused by the way Imara placed the next confection on her tongue, only to gag and spit the wine, knocking the tiny cake from Imara’s hand in the same moment.
“Poison,” he growled, lunging for the host seated at the head of the table to Imara’s right. Imara had the man’s arm in her grasp by the time Astarion’s hand reached Tomlin’s hair. The nobles around the table stumbled back, spitting and gagging, staring in horror.
“Which poison?” Astarion ground out, trembling with the need to kill.
“Purple worm,” Tomlin said smugly. “You’ll be dead within hours, and you,” his eyes wandered to his fellow nobles, grinning maniacally, “if any of you survive, you will be implicated as perpetrators. If anything happens to me, you’ll be implicated as my co-conspirators and for my murder. Either way, you will all have to forfeit your businesses.”
Snarling, so enraged his vision had gone black at the edges, Astarion yanked the man’s head back and cut his throat.
Blood spewed from the cut, splattering both Astarion and Imara as Tomlin sputtered and died.
Growling without pause, Astarion yanked Imara from her chair, checking her for any signs of illness. She seemed perfectly fine, and in finding her so, his rage instantly became bloodlust. Astarion’s hand dove into her hair, pulling her head back as he dragged his tongue up her neck, lapping up the blood of the man who’d tried to harm his beloved. He savored every drop, certain he could taste the terror of Tomlin’s final moments in the hot, sticky droplets.
For her part, Imara seemed both furious and nonplussed. It was rare to see her at a loss for words or actions, but his beloved merely held him tight, making small noises of pleasure as he laved the blood from her skin. He’d have liked to take his time with it, but there were other matters that needed to be attended to, and so he forced himself to pull away, rounding on the appalled, horrified nobles.
“His blood tastes quite a bit more appetizing than that atrocious red he served with the main course,” Astarion said primly, adjusting his suit coat as if nothing had happened. One of the nobles gagged, which pulled Astarion’s eyes to him. “I certainly hope that none of you intend to attempt such treachery where my beloved and I are concerned, in future, or you will end up even worse off than he did.”
“We don’t!” someone hurried to answer.
Someone else—a large, round man with dusky skin and a jovial face—stepped forward. “Tomlin was our competitor, and whereas the rest of us enjoy a bit of competition and even enjoy friendly arguments about it, Tomlin felt he needed to eradicate all competition so that he could be the sole profiteer. Recently, he’d turned to unsavory methods to try to chase us out of the city. You’ve done us all a great favor.”
“You are well?” someone asked Astarion.
“I am fine. I could taste it, but will have no ill effects.”
“Thank the gods.”
“None of you feel sick or anything?” Imara asked.
Several heads shook; everyone was fine.
The large man smiled at Astarion. “You drank the wine first. You saved us from trying it at all. Thank you. You and your company will always be welcome in any of our establishments.”
Imara nodded. “I look forward to establishing a rapport with each of you.”
“We’ll deal with this mess,” a thin, frail-looking man said. “It’s the least we can do. Please. Enjoy your evening.”
“We will, thank you,” Astarion ground out as pleasantly as he could, already guiding Imara from the room.
❇︎❇︎❇︎
“That’s usually my line,” Imara murmured, amused. They were walking back toward their portal to Skullport, their fingers laced, enjoying the moonlight and the quiet of the late night.
“What is?”
“All the intimidation and threats of dire retribution and whatnot.”
Astarion chuckled, squeezing her hand. “I don’t know what it is, but ever since we went to the opera, I have felt… feral. Unstable. Possessive. Paranoid. Protective to the point of madness. Half the time I can hardly stand to let anyone stand near you, even our own lovers.” He shrugged. “I suppose it’s to be expected. We’ve arrived in a new city, delved into their politics and all the danger and intrigue that entails. It was bound to set my vampiric nature on edge.”
“True. I hadn’t even considered that before we arrived.”
“Nor had I. It’s been so long since it’s been an issue, I’d all but forgotten how… powerful it could be, and I could swear that it’s far more powerful now than before.”
“Perhaps it gets stronger the longer the vampire has been bonded to their lover,” she mused as if to herself.
“The bride’s journals would support that theory somewhat. It’s hard to say if her misery grew so significantly as the years went on because she felt caged, or because he became more and more possessive.”
“I would suspect it was both.”
“As do I.”
“Well, they’re going to figure out you’re a vampire now,” she muttered.
“They already knew, darling. It was no secret that the Hero of Baldur’s Gate traveled with a vampire at her side. Some may have forgotten in the ensuing years, but not all. They will have no reason to think more of it than that. Our secret is still safe.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
Imara squeezed his hand and they walked in thoughtful, comfortable silence for quite awhile. Astarion churned over the evening’s events and his recent vampiric insanity, but there were no answers to be had on either topic. Instead he let his mind go pleasantly blank, merely enjoying the feeling of Imara’s hand in his and the smell of the sea air.
They were nearly to the portal when the bells began to toll deepnight, and Imara suddenly collapsed.
❇︎❇︎❇︎
“I don’t care that she’ll come back!” Astarion roared, shoving Dalyria away from the bed where Imara lay, unconscious and barely breathing, her tiny dragon curled up by her side, trembling with fear. “If you let her die, I will remove your head from your body!”
“I was only trying to say that you have nothing to fear either way. Of course I’ll treat her, brother!”
“Then what are you waiting for?! Cure her!”
“I need to determine which poison was used or the cure could harm her!”
“I told you already, that cretin said he’d used purple worm poison!”
“And I told you that isn’t what we’re looking at here!”
Astarion and Dalyria were leaning toward one another, shouting into each other’s faces from inches apart when Minthara’s angry voice broke through their fury.
“Midnight tears.”
“What?” Astarion and Dalyria shouted at the same time, glaring at Minthara, who merely glared back, implacable as the sea.
“The poison is midnight tears; that is why she suffered no ill effects until the bells began. The poison lays dormant in the body until the stroke of deepnight.”
“She didn’t drink any—the chocolates,” he cursed as sudden realization set in.
Minthara pulled Dalyria aside and the two began to discuss how to concoct the cure. Astarion merely sat at Imara’s side, carefully brushing her sweat-soaked hair from her brow. He glanced up, finding Remi standing near the doorway, wringing her hands.
“Bring me cool water and clean cloths,” Astarion told her. Remi, glad to be given a task, smiled and nodded, hurrying out of the room.
He looked down at his beloved, resting his palm over her heart to comfort himself that it still beat. Terror and panic ate away at him like ravenous beasts, their fervor unaffected by the fact that she was allegedly immortal.
Immortality or not, Imara, you are not permitted to die. I won’t have it.
Dalyria approached to tell him that she and Minthara were going back to Dalyria’s lab. They would brew the cure and return as quickly as possible. She went on for some time, instructing him on how to care for her as if he were a child. He all but ignored her, staring down at Imara’s face, stroking her blazing-hot skin with slow, tender motions. Motions she’d used on him a thousand times, when he was lost and broken.
Eventually Dalyria was gone, and at some point, a bowl of water and a stack of clean washcloths materialized on the nightstand. Mal was now curled up on a pillow by Imara’s head, silent and watchful. He had no idea how long it had been since Dal left, when Remi had returned with the water, or when Mal had moved. It didn’t matter.
All that mattered was her.
He dipped a cloth into the water, carefully wiping her brow, her cheeks, her neck. She hadn’t woken up yet, and she was still sweating profusely. So much that her clothes were damp. With the utmost care, he undressed her to her underwear, brushing her skin with cool, damp cloths every time she began to sweat again.
I am here, my love. You are not alone.
Time passed, as Astarion watched over his beloved, tending to her as best he could. It could have been hours, it could have been days. He had no clue and didn’t care. Nothing existed for him but the heartbeat inside her chest and her shallow breathing and the shivering of her body.
When her fever spiked anew, Astarion hurriedly stripped to his underwear, lying beside her to wrap his much cooler body around hers. He held her close, brushing his fingers through her hair, caressing her arms, kissing her cheek. All the while, he sang their lullaby to her, over and over again, until his voice was hoarse and he could sing no longer.
Don’t you dare leave me, Imara. Not for a single second.
You’re going to be alright.
I’m with you.
Come back to me.
I need you.
You are everything.
My life, my love, my thiramin.
I love you.
❇︎❇︎❇︎
“Drink, Nochi.”
Astarion opened his eyes, startled to find Mal peering over Imara’s body from the other side of the bed, rather than on the pillow. He vaguely remembered Dal returning some time ago, to give Imara a stabilizing draught that would hold her over while the cure was prepared. He remembered he had nearly bit Dal’s hand off when she’d tried to touch Imara and that it had taken several minutes for him to calm himself enough to let her administer the potion. That felt like years ago.
Since then, he’d been alternating singing and talking to her over their bond for… Gods, he had no idea how long. Long enough that the smell of the blood in the bottle Mal was holding made his stomach clench painfully. He felt suddenly ravenous, but he didn’t want to let her go even to sate his hunger.
“Nochi. You must drink. Dal and Minthara are still trying to make the cure. They didn’t have all the ingredients they needed, but they have them now. It shouldn’t be much longer. But Mari will still be sick, maybe for a long time. You need to take care of yourself so you can take care of her.”
Begrudgingly, Astarion lifted his hand from Imara’s hip to take the bottle. “Thank you, Mal.” His voice was thin and hoarse even to his own ears. “How long has…?”
“A day and a half. Dal will have the cure ready in a few more hours.”
“But it won’t work?”
“It should work, but the poison is very strong and it was a large dose. If she didn’t heal so quickly, she would have died immediately. Her body is trying to heal it away, but the poison is potent and is damaging her all the while. The cure will eliminate the poison, but the damage will take time to heal. For anyone else, it would take months. With Mari’s quick healing, Dal says it will most likely take several days for her to be able to stay awake for very long, and another tenday or so after that before she’ll feel back to normal.”
Astarion drained the last of the blood from the bottle, sighing heavily. “I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything, Nochi.”
“Go task someone trustworthy with finding a poison-immunity item for Imara. Jewelry, a tattoo needle, a girdle for all I care. I don’t care what it costs. I want something in hand within the tenday.”
“I’ll talk to Yousen to see if we have anything in the inventory after we looted the slaver’s outpost, and if not then I’ll ask Vorin to look into it. His spies would have the best leads.” Mal leaned over Imara’s shoulder and pressed a sweet kiss to Astarion’s cheek. “I’ll check on the cure while I’m out, and I’ll bring more blood when I come back.”
“Thank you, my friend.” Astarion swallowed heavily, weary to his bones. “I will stay with her.”
“I know. Thank you for taking care of her.”
Nodding awkwardly, he pulled Imara tighter against him, reaching for a damp cloth to wipe her brow. As the door clicked closed behind Mal, Astarion nuzzled his face into Imara’s sweaty hair and wept out all of the stress and the fear, singing into her mind the entire time.
❇︎❇︎❇︎
Come back to me, my pretty little warlock. I miss you. I need you.
A warm, soft fingertip traced down Astarion’s cheek and his eyes shot open. Imara smiled at him, cupping his jaw tenderly. She was pale, and clammy, and trembling, but she was awake. Finally, truly awake.
I’m here, she whispered into his mind, sending his heart soaring with relief and joy.
It had been three days since the night she’d collapsed and they’d been three of the longest days of his life. Every moment had been spent in abject terror, his panic threatening to overtake him. He’d had to fight his own mind every second just to be able to function enough to care for her.
No matter how many times he’d reassured himself that she would be fine, no matter how many times he’d rubbed her wrist where Jergal’s mark lay hidden, reminding himself that she could not be taken from him… it hadn’t mattered. Not one bit.
Astarion leaned over her, peppering her face in gentle kisses. “My love, I’ve missed you so. I’ve been so worried.”
“I’m sorry I scared you, honey.”
“It’s over now. You’ll be better in a few days.” He kissed her lips, basking in the strength of her heartbeat and the now-normal temperature of her skin. “Can I get you anything?”
“Ah…” Imara blushed slightly, looking away. “Could you get Dal?”
Panic rushed back into his heart. “Are you in pain? Sick? Dizzy?”
“No… no… nothing like that. It’s just…” The flush on her cheeks deepened. “I have to use the bathroom and I don’t think I can stand.”
“I’ll take you.”
“It’s… it’s gross, Astarion. Dal’s a doctor, not my lover. It won’t be so… weird.”
Growling softly, Astarion scooped her up, marching to the bathroom. “Ridiculous woman. It is not weird, or gross. It is my privilege to care for you. How dare you imply that I would allow anyone to do for you what I, as your thiramin, should do?”
Imara sighed in both resignation and happiness, nestling her face against his neck. “I love you.”
“I love you too. Now, let’s get this taken care of, then you need to eat something.”
Several minutes later, Astarion carried Imara back to the bedroom. They’d discovered that she was too weak to sit unassisted, so he’d aided her in that as well, and though she’d grumbled and her cheeks had gone scarlet, they’d gotten through it without incident. Carefully, he placed her back in the bed, propping her up on a massive pile of pillows.
Darting to the pantry, he frantically snatched the container of broth Dal had prescribed for Imara and several bottles of blood for himself. He was gone not even a full minute, but when he dashed back into the bedroom, Imara’s eyes were closed and she was slumped against the pillows. Panic choked him yet again.
“Darling? Are you alright?”
Tired violet eyes opened and a weak smile blossomed on her face. “I’m alright. Just tired.”
“Dal said you must have some of this when you woke. Here,” he offered her a spoonful of broth, pleased when she sipped and groaned in pleasure. “Once you’ve finished this, you can go back to sleep.”
“Will you sing to me when I do?” she asked in a small, shy voice. “I could hear you, before. It made me feel safe. Made it easier to ignore the pain.”
Stroking his fingertips down her cheek as happiness and pride and love filled his chest, he smiled. “I will sing to you forever, my love.”
“You are… the perfect partner to go through forever with.”
Now it was his turn to flush. His ears and cheeks felt hot with her praise, so he distracted them both with more spoonfuls of broth.
Her trembling hand rose to touch his face, spending energy she didn’t have simply to comfort him. Astarion leaned closer, supporting her arm so that she could touch him without exertion. It was a selfish gesture; he was desperate for her touch after so long worrying she would never be able to touch him again.
Imara smiled again, her eyes going soft and misty. “It’s true, Astarion. Most women have husbands who would run out of the room and maybe send in a servant, rather than help them use the bathroom. I wouldn’t even have been offended if you had, but you take pride in caring for me even when it’s unpleasant. You love me in ways that most people will never get to experience. I’m grateful every day for you.”
Husband… he thought as a warm, gooey feeling bloomed in his chest.
Gently, he removed her hand from his face, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “As I am grateful for you, poppy.”
Imara smiled, then frowned. “Mal?”
“His services were required but he should be back shortly.”
Her eyes took on the faraway look they got when she was speaking to Mal or Imri telepathically, then she frowned again. “Why is he burning bodies? What happened?”
“It can wait, my love. Eat your soup.”
“I’ll eat, you talk.”
Sighing, he conceded. “Apparently there have been a number of unsavory types who managed to make it into our city in the past few days. Many have already been killed. A few are in custody but haven’t yet given us any information.”
“I suppose we’ll need to get someone to install the zone of truth in the council room right away. I’d really hoped that could wait a bit longer.”
Astarion nodded, pouring more soup into the bowl—Dal had insisted she eat the entire container as soon as she woke. “I knew you would want it done as soon as possible, but I couldn’t leave your side and I don’t want it done without one of us there to witness it. I want to be sure it was done correctly.”
“You can cast it yourself if you want. We’ll just need one of the wizards there to make it permanent.”
“That would be ideal, yes. That way there is no uncertainty that it was done well.”
Imara nodded, then smiled mischievously. “Mal says you were very snarly while I was unconscious,” she said, her eyes dancing with amusement. “Vampiric protectiveness?”
“Gods, I hate that moniker, but I’ve no idea what else we would call it,” he groused as she laughed. “But… Yes, I… I could not seem to convince myself that you would be okay. Reminding myself of your immortality every few seconds did nothing whatsoever to lessen my terror or to make me feel any less insane. Particularly when anyone tried to come close to you.”
Again she lifted her hand to touch him, this time running her fingers through his hair. He could feel that it was painful for her, but it felt too good to make her stop. Leaning into her touch, he let out a long breath, contentment finally beginning to settle in.
“I love that you protect me so fiercely.”
Astarion huffed a quiet laugh. “‘Protecting’ you from your own doctor was not my wisest moment, but Dal was much more careful about how she reached for you after nearly losing her hand the first time.”
That earned him a low, sweet laugh, the sound of which eased much of the ache in his heart. She would be okay. She was awake and eating, touching him and laughing. She’d be okay.
“You’ve had many visitors, but after the first few almost lost limbs, Remi began to keep them out. My siblings, the council, the department heads, many of the spawn you’ve helped directly… There’s probably an entire room filled with well-wish gifts.”
“That’s kind of them. I’ll need to thank everyone.”
“When you’re well enough,” he warned, “and not a moment before.”
“Yes, dear,” she laughed.
That laugh became a cough, which winded her in a way that alarmed him. Determined she would not overdo it, he laid her back the moment she finished her broth, curling around her as gently as he could.
“I must say, once again, that your decision to send spies into Waterdeep at the same time we began to spy on Skullport was truly inspired. It’s beginning to bear interesting fruit.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. It, unfortunately, appears that the vampire we killed was, in fact, a masked Lord.”
Imara sputtered, gaping dumbly at him for a long moment.
“Equally unfortunately, it seems that the cretin who poisoned you may also have been a masked Lord…”
Now she made a sort of strangled snorting sound, her eyes wide with bafflement. Astarion grinned and kissed her forehead.
“…And possibly the Bhaalspawn as well.” He grinned wider at her squeak of horror, squeezing her ever so carefully. “So, I suspect that’s likely why we’ve been having such difficulty ingratiating ourselves to the Lords. We killed one of them almost as soon as we arrived and now we’ve either killed two more, or at the very least, killed people who were in the employ of one.”
“Nine hells,” she groaned. “How, after three years of careful planning, can we be doing this badly?!”
“Well, we didn’t really start receiving useful information on the Lords until recently, darling. It took a lot longer to establish our spies in Waterdeep than it did in Skullport, and Waterdeep was never our primary focus.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she said. “It’s good we’re finally getting information we can use. It’s been irritating to try to navigate the bog of Waterdeep politics thus far.”
“Quite an understatement, my love.” He nipped her nose, just to make her giggle. “Would you like some good news instead?”
“Absolutely.”
“Mendri and the scouting party returned yesterday. The first two levels below us are secured and have been reinforced to be structurally sound. She found a few handfuls of unrefined mithral there, so it would seem someone did try to delve further at some point. She’s going to rest up a few days, then set back out with a larger group of builders and fighters and they’re going to clear another two levels. She says the fourth level should be much larger and can serve as a staging ground for us to push deeper into the mountain without having to return all the way to Skullport for supplies and the like.”
“That’s wonderful!”
“I suppose we’ll be delving into the mountain in a month or two,” he sighed dramatically. “I’m sure you will insist we lead the charge to the mithral mines.”
“Of course.”
He sighed again, pouting. “But we have such nice accommodations here, and in Waterdeep.”
“We have nice accommodations in our tent, too. Or did you forget that you told me you came to love living there?”
“Well I wish I hadn’t, now,” he huffed, giving her a petulant look he knew would make her laugh.
“Besides, you’re going to love doing what no party has managed to do before us. You’re going to be having the time of your life, drinking weird new creatures and killing horrors nobody’s ever heard of before, dodging and disarming magical traps all the while…”
Laughing, he kissed her brow, pulling her closer. “You do know me, sweet poppy.”
❇︎❇︎❇︎
“What’s this I hear about my sweetling being poisoned?!” A loud voice boomed from outside their room.
Imri, Astarion groaned softly. He’d been wondering when the fey would show up. It had been several days since Imara regained consciousness and he’d been surprised Imriel hadn’t made an appearance before now.
“Sir, you can’t go in—” Remi’s pleading was abruptly cut off as Imriel materialized in their bedroom, standing next to their bed, his groin less than two feet away from Astarion’s face. Astarion was tucked against Imara’s back, holding her tight, but the sight of Imriel’s overly-tight pants at near eye level had Astarion growling and pulling her further toward the center of the bed.
“Imri, you can’t just barge in. You probably gave Remi and Hugo matching apoplexies.”
“And we could have been engaged in sensual pursuits,” Astarion grumbled.
Imriel’s eyes darkened. “She is not well enough for that, vampire!”
“How would you know?” Astarion snarled. “You haven’t been here!”
“Watch it,” Imriel pointed at Astarion, “or I may forget that I usually quite like you.”
“You watch it!” Astarion was incensed, furious that Imriel had not come to help Imara when she’d needed him. “She needed healing and you were not here to provide it! She almost died, and where were you? Not at her bedside, that’s for certain!”
Imriel let out a furious growl that made the hairs on Astarion’s neck stand up, but before he could retort again, Imara sat up abruptly, gesturing them both to silence. “Stop, both of you.”
Astarion sat up, glaring at the fey as he leaned against the headboard and pulled Imara back into his arms.
Deflating somewhat, Imriel sat at the edge of the bed, taking one of her hands in his. Everyone ignored Astarion’s low growl. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here, sweetling. I could sense that you would be alright, and either way,” he shrugged, “you’re immortal now.”
“It doesn’t comfort Astarion to know I’m immortal, Imri. Watching me suffer and possibly die isn’t something he can take in stride the way you can. He suffered even more than me, these past days.”
Imriel’s eyes faded to their usual color as they landed on Astarion, thoughtful. “I… I’m so often away, I always figured if she were to die and return, it would happen before I even arrived. I had never given any thought to what it would be like, were I here, having to witness it.”
For what felt like a long time, Astarion and Imriel looked at each other in silence, then Imriel cleared his throat. “I never thought what it would be like for you to see her die. Even knowing she would come back… I understand. I apologize, muindor. I should have come sooner, to be here for you both.”
“Don’t forget he’s already had to watch me die—twice—with no real hope of my return each time. It’s going to hit him like that every time, regardless. He’s as much a part of your family as I am, now. He deserves your support, too.”
Imriel nodded again, a faint flush creeping over his golden cheeks. “I am sorry, Astarion. I’m sorry dearest. Forgive me. Sometimes it’s hard for me to anticipate how those who were not born to immortality will feel about such things.” He tousled his hair, looking positively embarrassed as he gazed into Imara’s eyes. “Even with all my millennia of existence… I’m not sure I could take watching you die in stride, either, now that I think about it. You mean so much to me.”
Imara lunged forward, wrapping the fey in her arms. Astarion barely managed to bite back another growl. “I love you, Imri.”
“I love you too, Imara.”
Imriel’s hands began to glow and his eyes met Astarion’s over Imara’s head, solemn and understanding. Astarion nodded briefly, accepting the silent acknowledgement. For all that he was infuriating and often cryptic and unhelpful, Imriel was… family.
“I've healed you, sweetling. You'll recover much faster now, but it'll still take a few days to feel back to normal. Now, you two need to get dressed. I brought you something and you have to come downstairs for it.”
“Of course you did,” Astarion growled.
❇︎❇︎❇︎
Less than an hour later, the three of them walked through the castle—slowly, to accommodate Imara’s still-weakened state.
“Where’s Mal?” Imri asked.
“At the villa in Waterdeep, overseeing the furniture deliveries with Minthara.”
Astarion snorted softly. “And quite put out that he had to go invisible or as a regular, unremarkable creature, too.”
Imriel huffed a laugh. “Dragons. Always so prideful.”
Imara and Astarion both made amused noises of assent. Astarion could feel Imara’s contentment growing the longer Imriel was around, which pleased him, certainly, but there was a small, unattractive part of him that was irritated that Imriel provided her contentment that he himself did not.
“It’s a good thing the three of you declined birthday gifts these past years while you planned,” Imri said in a breezy tone, “because now I get to do lots of things for your new city right away!”
“Oh? Like what?” Imara’s voice was thinner than usual. She was slightly winded from walking this far, which made Astarion anxious. He wanted to carry her, but he knew she would object.
“Well,” Imri chuckled as he opened the doors to their public meeting room, gesturing them inside, “first, I repaired the magic barrier that keeps your cavern from collapsing.”
Imara gasped. “You did?”
“I did. It will last aeons. You’ll never have to worry about cave-ins here. Now that it’s repaired, the magic will truly block teleportation in and out of the city. It was only working sporadically before.” Imri tossed his hair, grinning. “Now it will never falter; no one will be able to magically pop in. Well, unless they’re as powerful as me, of course. And you’ll be able to teleport to and from your teleportation circle once I’ve finished installing it.”
“That’s wonderful! Thank you, Imri.”
“You’re welcome. But that’s just the beginning!”
They were standing barely three feet inside the meeting room and Imara was struggling to seem like she was fine. Astarion could take it no longer; he swept her into his arms and carried her to her chair.
Astarion, I’m f—
Don’t even try it, darling. I can feel how hard you’re working not to let him see how weak you’re feeling.
I love you.
I love you too, foolish girl.
Imri was no fool; he leveled a suspicious look at Imara, then loped over and took a chair across from her. He kindly pretended he hadn’t noticed her attempted subterfuge and instead barreled on with his theatrics.
“After I reinforced the barrier, I went ahead and handled those,” he gestured to a pile of enormous glowing skulls near a window. “No more renegade police force to worry about.”
“Thank the gods.” Imara’s relief was palpable.
“Which brings me to my next gift—and this doesn’t count toward your tally; this one cost no magic at all.” Imriel turned and gestured, and a tall elven man stepped forward. It astounded Astarion that he hadn’t noticed the other man until now, but he’d been fairly distracted of late.
Imriel hopped out of his chair, gestured the man into it, then plopped down next to Imara, grinning like an idiot.
“This is Thalanil Arel. He is an extremely skilled architect from Evermeet.”
“Hello,” Imara said kindly. “I’m Imara. This is Astarion.”
Thalanil nodded to them both, clearly nervous. “Hello.”
“Thalanil is going to relocate to Skullport and begin work on rebuilding it. He’s particularly skilled in design, so he’ll turn all these shabby shacks into glorious buildings worthy of any elven city.”
Imara’s eyes widened, at a loss for words.
“We intended to work on refurbishing the city over time, of course,” Astarion chimed in, “but we certainly don’t have the budget for it at this time.”
Imri waved his hand dismissively. “There will be no cost. He’ll use the building materials you’ve been stockpiling since you arrived in Dolblunde. His magic only needs raw materials and his own creativity. It will take a few years, but once he’s done, you’ll have sightseers lining up for miles wanting to come take a peek.”
“We are grateful, of course, but Thalanil… why would you do this free of charge?”
Thalanil opened his mouth to reply, wringing his hands over the table, but Imriel interrupted. “Once he’s done, I’ll help him find his thiramin.”
Imara made a strangled choking noise that could easily have been mistaken for a duck’s quack and Astarion snickered—he knew that noise well. Imriel was about to be told off and he had no clue. Grinning, Astarion leaned back in his chair, ready for the show.
“What do you mean once he’s done?!” Imara shrieked.
“As I said. After the city is finished.”
“You’re going to make this poor man wait years more to find his mate?!” Her voice was becoming more shrill each time she spoke. If Imriel did not change course quite soon, there would be quite an outburst in his very near future.
Imriel shrugged. “He’s a hundred and ten. Barely an adult. Many elves don’t find their thiramin for centuries.”
“That is not an excuse, Imriel!” The shrillness hit new heights, Imara’s face turning red with fury.
“He asked for my help, dearest. There is always a price for requesting help from a fey, particularly one such as me.”
Utterly incensed, Imara slapped Imriel’s arm hard enough that he cringed. “That doesn’t mean you have to be an asshole about it!”
Thalanil’s eyes bugged out and now he made a strange, strangled sound. It must’ve been hard on the man—he’d prayed for assistance from what amounted to a god, only to be dragged to some run-down cave filled with vampires and told he’d be spending the next few years beautifying it, then been introduced to this pretty, sweet-looking elf who promptly began to lecture the god Thalanil had prayed to, swatting his deity like an ill-trained puppy who’d peed on the carpet.
Astarion was having a hard time not bursting into laughter. This was the most entertainment he’d had in at least a tenday.
“What would you have me do?” Imriel grumbled, rubbing his arm.
“Help him while he helps us. If you find his mate before he’s done, he’ll still honor his word to finish the project,” Imara turned to Thalanil. “Won’t you?”
“Of course, my lady. I would never break faith with the Prince of Hearts.”
“You see? You can start helping right away.”
Sighing, Imriel nodded. “Fine, fine. I’ll start looking immediately.”
“That’s better,” Imara said primly.
Imriel gaped at her for a moment, then burst into laughter, yanking Imara almost all the way out of her chair to hug her close, kissing her forehead and cheeks.
Astarion had no idea what happened, but between one moment and the next, he was looming over Imara’s shoulder, his fangs bared, growling viciously—directly into Imriel’s face—as he pulled Imara out of the fey’s arms.
“Nine hells, muindor!”
“Mine!” Astarion snarled.
“Astarion,” Imara crooned softly, her warm fingertips pressing against his cheek. “I’m okay. It’s okay. Imri was just hugging me.”
As if her touch called him back from the rageful abyss he’d lost himself to, he was suddenly present once more. Astarion gasped, stumbling back into his chair. “I’m sorry, I… I have no idea what came over me.” He looked at Imriel, his stomach churning with the sudden fear that he’d damaged his friendship with the fey. “I apologize, muindor. I would never… I know that you don’t… I’m sorry.”
Imriel reached past Imara to squeeze Astarion’s shoulder. “Don’t fret over it, my friend. She is your mate. You have something very precious to protect, and she has frequently been in danger lately. She hasn’t yet recovered from being poisoned, for Titania’s sake. Of course you are on edge and feeling particularly protective.”
Astarion nodded, reaching up to pat Imriel’s hand. “Thank you. I just wish… It’s been years. I wish I didn’t feel so deranged with protectiveness. It strikes seemingly at random and I seem to have no control over it. I feel mad, positively insane, and yet I cannot stop.”
Imriel smiled kindly. “That’s love, muindor.”
Notes:
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Chapter 6: A Fabulous Tenday
Summary:
Don't bite people just for talking to your girlfriend, challenge level: impossible
Notes:
Chapter Song: Let Go - Frou Frou
Click here for chapter content warnings (May contain some spoilers)
Anal sex, M receiving
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
This better be the last one, Astarion grumbled.
He’s the last one.
But will you then offer to see anyone else?
Not today, I promise.
I shall hold you to it, my love.
They were in the public audience room today, seeing petitioners from amongst the spawn and Skullport natives. It was barely five days since Imara had awoken after being poisoned and she was still not feeling fully restored. He’d argued to cancel today’s session entirely, but she would hear nothing of it, so they’d sat here for the past several hours, hearing complaints and requests of every kind.
He was bored out of his mind.
On the back of Imara’s chair, Mal sat, almost as bored as Astarion. As the final petitioner approached the council and began to speak, Mal shifted on his feet, sighing at the man’s tedious monotone. Astarion glanced at Mal, sharing a moment of silent understanding with the tiny dragon.
He was beginning to daydream about a long, hot bath when he noticed the man’s hand twitch toward his hip. Before he could even think, Astarion was in motion, furious to see that the man had drawn a dagger and thrown it in that split second.
No time to look. Astarion lunged forward, teleporting to tackle the man to the ground as he slammed his own dagger into the man’s chest and up, into his heart. The man gurgled and died with Astarion crouched over him, snarling and growling. He gave brief consideration to dismembering the creature on principle alone, but a bubble of rational thought floated to the forefront of his mind.
Imara.
Whirling, Astarion’s eyes locked on Imara’s. She’d stood and was looking at him, concerned and angry at once. In front of her, Mal hovered, shivering and furious. Behind her, in the chair where she’d been sitting, the man’s dagger was embedded in the wood, mere inches from where her neck had been.
Next to him stood Hugo, sword in hand—he must have reacted nearly as quickly as Astarion himself had.
“How in the nine hells did an assassin get into the room with a blade?!” Riniya bellowed.
“I searched him,” Hugo muttered angrily. “He must have had it hidden with magic.”
“Minthara,” Astarion bit out. “I want your plans for the security department finalized and presented within three days. You will need to add a subdivision, which will see to the security of Imara and all the council members and their families. Work with Hugo. The rest of you—contribute what you can. Some of your people are likely going to be needed.”
He didn’t know when, or even how, things had changed between him and the council. Not so long ago, when Astarion would give them commands, all eyes would turn to Imara for approval. Now, they merely nodded their agreement and returned to business. Where before they had not seen Astarion as Imara’s equal in leadership, now they accepted his authority as completely as they did hers. His eyes darted back to Imara, finding her watching him with pride shining in her eyes and a small smile on her face.
“Yes, of course,” Minthara replied.
Marching back to Imara, he took her in his arms and kissed her, rubbing his face against her neck to draw in her scent when the kiss wasn’t enough to calm his fury.
“I will look into creating either a magic-free zone for visitors to stand in or a magical barrier between the council and the petitioners,” Syndra added. “So we are not surprised this way again.”
“He’s not one of the spawn,” Mal muttered as he inspected the body.
Nieven grumbled. “Imara can protect herself, can she not? If you hadn’t killed the man, we could have questioned him.”
“You can question him still,” Astarion retorted. “Summon one of Syndra’s warlocks.”
Taelin walked over, eyeing the body. “Not one of the carry-over citizens, either, I don’t think.”
“Most likely a run-of-the-mill assassin, paid by the Lords.” Brecaryn sounded irritated, which was rare for her.
“He didn’t have a prior appointment,” Remi said, so quietly it was barely audible. She was looking at the ground, clearly blaming herself. “He just requested an audience and since we had an opening…”
“It’s not your fault, Remi,” Imara told her. “It’s our policy to accept walk-ins if there’s an opening. You did everything right.”
From there it was an hour of discussion and planning before Astarion could take Imara back to their floor.
“Are you sure you will not allow me to carry you, my love? There are so many stairs.”
“I’ll walk; I need the exercise.”
“Alright. Mal, she doesn’t need your added weight.”
“Good point, Nochi.” Mal lifted from Imara’s shoulder, flying in front of them.
Astarion laced his fingers with hers, keeping a watchful eye on her.
“You reacted so quickly. It was impressive.” Her eyes slid to his, smiling softly. “And beautiful to watch. I love when you’re vicious.”
“At least my recent insanity has finally proven useful.”
“It really has been one thing after another, hasn’t it?” Imara sighed.
“Indeed. At this point I’m expecting to feel feral and overprotective for the next decade.”
Now she laughed, low and sensual. He hadn’t heard that laugh since before she’d been poisoned; he’d missed it. “I doubt it will take that long for things to settle down again.”
“‘Again’, darling? When have things ever settled down since we met? It’s been nigh on a decade already and things have only gotten less settled as time has gone on,” he huffed.
“Well, at least this is the only city we’re going to take over, so eventually it’ll get easier.”
“You say that now, darling, but a handful of years ago, you were adamant about not taking over any cities, ever. Yet here we are.”
Imara groaned. For a split second, Astarion thought she was about to launch into a playful lecture, but then she clutched her belly, groaning again—louder this time.
“Mari, are you okay?”
Astarion picked her up, alarmed in the extreme. “My love, what is it?”
“Hurts,” she whimpered.
Lingering effects of the poison? Mal asked.
Mal and Astarion glanced at one another, then back to her. Astarion turned, already dashing full-speed toward Dal’s medical wing.
❇︎❇︎❇︎
Barely three minutes later, Imara was lying on a bed in the hospital wing, breathing heavily through the pain. Mal sat on the headboard, leaning over her, his wings trembling in distress. Likewise distressed, Astarion stood next to the bed, fighting back the fear and anxiety that wanted to drown him.
Dal leaned in to press her hands to Imara’s belly and Imara made a quiet noise of pain, the sound of which turned Astarion’s vision red. He was suddenly snapping his teeth in Dal’s face without realizing he’d even moved.
“I have to examine her, Astarion.”
Taking several deep breaths, he backed away, crossing his arms to pin his hands against his sides. “Apologies.”
Dal resumed her examination, pressing her hands to Imara’s abdomen, her forehead, her wrists, even her neck. There were quiet questions and answers that he barely heard, all of his focus on fighting not to lunge for Dal’s throat every time she touched Imara. Finally, Dal stepped back and Astarion was able to relax a fraction.
“You do not appear to be experiencing any lasting effects from the poison,” Dal began, glancing at Astarion when he growled. “The pain you’re experiencing is natural. You’re entering your fertile period.”
Astarion’s heart stopped. Fuck.
“What does that… entail?” Imara asked hesitantly, shooting Astarion a nervous glance.
“You must have been through it several times by now—” Dal began, only to be cut off by Astarion’s furious curse.
“You know godsdamned well she has no memory of her life before. Stop being insufferable and help her.”
Dal’s eyes met Imara’s, solemn. “You will most likely rest poorly. You may have no appetite or you may feel ravenous at random intervals. You will have difficulty concentrating and you may feel snappish or overly sentimental. You may have difficulty regulating your emotions.” Dal sighed. “You will experience significant pain—worse than what you feel now, yes. There will be cramping and shooting pains as well as body aches, possibly severe headache, joint pain. Many elven women request sedation for the duration. Sedation can vary from mild enough to merely take the edge off of the pain, to significant enough they remain barely conscious.”
“How long will it last?”
“A tenday, give or take a day or two.”
Astarion opened his mouth to encourage Imara to accept the heavier sedation, only to catch her thoughts as a flashback overtook her. She was remembering the days before the nautiloid, before Imri and Mal, when she’d had to sedate herself just to find a moment’s peace from her father’s torment. Imara never wanted to feel like that again; the mere idea of sedation made her feel sick inside.
“No sedation,” she croaked.
“Are you sure? The more natural remedies do help, but they are often not enough…”
“I’m sure.”
“In that case, do you wish to be shown the ritual to allow pregnancy?”
Astarion’s mouth opened and without thought, he said, “Absolutely not.”
Thankfully, Imara had also spoken—a soft, “No, thank you.”
They glanced at each other, each feeling relief that the other had felt the same. Imara smiled and reached for him; he smiled back and took her hand.
“I wish you’d come to see me sooner. There are potions for minimizing the symptoms but they must be taken each day for the tenday prior.”
“I had no idea it was coming…”
Dal looked at Astarion, sighing. “You should have known, even if she did not.”
“How would I have known?”
“Her scent would have changed several tendays ago. It has no doubt been very subtle—if not for your vampirism you would likely not be able to scent it at all. But a vampire you are, and her mate as well. You should have noticed.” There was some reproach in Dal’s voice. Astarion bristled, glaring at her.
“Perhaps if you had bothered to inform me about this beforehand, I would have!”
Dal sighed again, chagrined. “I forget, sometimes, that Imara is not a vampire. It didn’t occur to me. It should have. I apologize to you both.”
Astarion leaned over, brushing his face over Imara’s hair to draw a deep breath. Now that he was looking for it, he could detect it—the faintest note of jasmine, sweet, as if the petals had been coated in sugar. It was extremely subtle, but he had noticed it once or twice and had assumed it was a lingering note from her skin care products.
“I can smell it now,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to Imara’s brow.
“It’s part of the normal hormonal fluctuations that come with fertility. In hindsight, it’s likely that your recent… outbursts… have been due to this. Elven mates are always more attentive and more protective of their partners as the fertility approaches. For a vampire, with our possessive, territorial instincts, and an elven vampire, at that…” Dal gave him a wry smile. “It is very likely you have been picking up on the change without realizing it and that it has been antagonizing your vampiric need to protect your mate when she is vulnerable.”
“That would explain… quite a lot,” he muttered.
Dal nodded. “The scent will get much stronger soon.” She turned her attention back to Imara, a sympathetic smile on her face. “For the past several tendays, your body has been slowly ramping up, preparing for this. Now that the cramping has started, you will reach the full-blown effects within the next few hours. Your hormones will flood your system and remain at an extremely heightened level for roughly a tenday.”
“Will she be in any danger?” Mal asked. “She wouldn’t let us be with her the last times,” he added, addressing Astarion.
“No, there is no danger to her health or well-being. It will merely be… extremely unpleasant until it subsides.” Dal cleared her throat delicately, glancing between Imara and Astarion before returning her eyes to Imara’s. “There will be great pain, and great need, but you will be in no danger.”
“You’re certain?” Astarion asked suspiciously.
Dal glared at him then took Imara’s hand, squeezing gently. “Are you sure you don’t want at least a mild sedative to take? The pain you feel now is nothing compared to what it will become. I would wish to ease your suffering.”
Astarion expected a quick refusal, but Imara’s face became thoughtful. He felt the edge of her thoughts—she was worried about being a burden to him while in so much pain. He grumbled at her, a low, frustrated sound that pulled her eyes to him.
Do not accept for my sake. You are not and never could be a burden to me. I know why you don’t wish to be sedated and I don’t want that for you, either.
Imara smiled weakly, then turned back to Dal. “No, thank you.”
Dal merely nodded, turning to her medicine cabinet. She pulled out two large vials, then handed them to Astarion. “These are for you, then. The blue bottle is a bracing tonic; a tiny sip will provide energy to a vampire the way a large cup of coffee might for her. The brown bottle is an appetite suppressant for vampires, also taken in a tiny sip.”
“Why would I—”
Dal leveled him a patient look. “Do you need me to explain, brother, why you might need these?”
Astarion closed his mouth, rethinking Dal’s earlier words. It was clear to him she’d meant that elven couples traditionally made love during the fertility period, but Dal was insane if she thought he would take advantage of his beloved when she was in such pain. They had no intention of creating a child; there was no reason to make love to her until she was well again.
Shaking his head, he tucked the vials into his pocket. They would at least ensure he could tend to her without needing to leave her side. He returned to Imara, pulling her into his arms once more. “Are we done here? I want her to rest before it sets in fully.”
Dal nodded. “Send for me if you change your mind about the sedation or if either of you need anything further.”
Mal opened the door for them and Astarion marched out without another word.
Landing on Astarion’s shoulder, Mal peered down at Imara. “I’m sorry I didn’t remember, Mari. We’ve been so busy, I lost track and didn’t notice.”
“It’s alright, Mal.” Imara reached up to pet him. “Now all three of us will remember for next time.”
“That will make it much easier,” he agreed.
Astarion had been walking so fast they were nearly to the stairs to their floor, and at the base of the stairs stood Remi. She opened her mouth to speak, but Astarion bared his fangs at her. Remi bared her own fangs, growling softly. That was new.
“Remi, clear my schedule for the next fifteen days. I’m apparently in my fertile time and I’ll be indisposed for about that long. Tell Minthara to keep things running as smoothly as possible. Mal will be with one of you as often as possible and will relay any urgent information to us.”
Remi’s eyes widened, then she nodded. “I will. Good… luck?”
Imara laughed. “Thanks, it sounds like I’ll need it.”
Astarion stepped past Remi, hurrying up the stairs to their floor, where he promptly closed and locked the door. He’d just gotten Imara out of her clothes, into a comfortable nightgown, and into bed when the scent of jasmine became noticeably stronger. He took a deep breath, surprised by how quickly it had changed.
She wouldn’t let us be with her, but… I’m pretty sure it was really bad, Nochi, Mal suddenly said, his worry clear. I could sometimes feel some of the pain, even though she tried very hard not to let it reach me. She always looked so frail and weak afterwards, like she hadn’t slept or eaten the whole tenday.
I’ll do everything I can to see that she is as comfortable as possible. She has her sleep amulet so I’ll see that she uses that.
I know you will take care of her. I’m so glad you’re here.
As am I. I need you to… keep everyone away. I do not think I will react well if anyone tries to burden her at a time like this.
Mal chuckled, shooting Astarion a squinty-eyed smile. I’ll make sure nobody comes upstairs. If there’s an emergency, I’ll let you know.
Thank you, my friend.
Astarion excused himself to quickly wash and change into his comfortable pants, giving Mal a few minutes alone with her. By the time he returned, Mal was kissing Imara’s cheek and rising into the air to quietly leave the room.
“Come, darling. You need to eat.” He made to pick her up again, but she stood instead, smiling shyly at him.
“Great idea. I’m suddenly starving.”
❇︎❇︎❇︎
Nearly an hour later, Imara was still eating. She’d eaten everything he’d brought on the first tray, so he’d filled it again, watching in amazement as she ate almost everything on that one, too. He’d never seen her eat so much in one sitting before—and he’d seen her eat an immense amount of food when she was recovering from battle or injury… or death.
Now that he could identify the scent, he realized that Dal was right. Every time he caught a whiff of the citrus-berry-jasmine aroma of her skin, he felt out of control and extremely anxious. He could feel the edges of her pain along the bond and her brow was furrowed with it.
“Darling, are you sure you don’t wish to try at least some strong alcohol? I hate the idea of you suffering so much, particularly so soon after you nearly died.”
“I’m sure. At least for now.”
“If you change your mind, you have only to say.”
Imara nodded, reaching over to run her palm down his arm. The touch felt incredible, as if she were stroking a much more intimate place than merely his arm. His entire body broke out in goosebumps, his hips rocked in his chair and he very nearly whined.
What in the hells?
Though he could feel her pain increasing, her hand slipped back up his arm, trailed over his neck, then into his hair to scratch his scalp. His nails dug into his thighs, shivers ran down his spine, and his cock began to throb.
She’s in pain. Stop it.
“You don’t have to stay every moment, you know.”
“Nonsense. Where else would I be?”
“You could spend time with Vorin, or Minthara. I wouldn’t mind.”
Astarion growled, glaring at her. “We enjoy them together, Imara. It is the only way I am interested in enjoying either of them at all, as you well know. And I would never leave you while you were in pain and suffering.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you. I just wanted you to know it’s okay if you need a break.” Her fingers slid through his curls, brushing down the back of his neck then back up. It felt so good, so sensual, that he had to forcibly stop himself from yanking her into his lap and shoving his cock into her. “Between the poisoning and now this, it’ll be the longest I’ve ever been unwell since we met. It would be a lot for anyone.”
Shooting her a haughty look from the corner of his eyes, he scoffed. “Someone being ‘a lot’ doesn’t lessen the joy of caring for them,” he grumbled. “You taught me that.”
“I suppose I did,” she murmured thoughtfully. The furrow between her brows deepened as her pain crested once more.
As she thought, she touched. Her fingers slid down his scalp to idly trail down the back of his ear and this time he did whine. “Gods, Imara. You must stop. I feel… suddenly very out of control. Every touch has had me desperately fighting myself not to do things that should not be done until you are well again.”
The fingers behind his ear stilled. The scent of jasmine became a roar, and then Imara tilted her head, offering her neck.
Astarion was on her instantly. He had her on her back on the table in front of him and his fangs in her neck before her heart had had time to beat twice. Two more heartbeats later, Imara’s hands were tugging his pants down. Another two and she’d wrapped her legs around his hips as he slammed his cock into her, burying himself to the hilt. They both moaned, glorying in the feeling of being one after so long a fast.
Mine, he thought as her blood hit his tongue.
Then Imara’s arms and legs tightened around him and she rolled her hips. Astarion lost all sense of time and space and self. His hips crashed forward over and over, a low, mad growling emitting from his throat as he gulped her blood mouthful by mouthful and fucked her in a frenzy he had no words for. Minutes later, Imara’s body shivered as she came, tightening around him in that beloved, glorious rhythm. With a long groan, Astarion spent himself inside her, grinding his hips against hers as the waves of ecstasy washed over them then eventually receded.
When the pleasure faded enough for his mind to return to him, he gasped, pulling away in horror. “Gods, Imara. I’m so sorry, I would never presume… I didn’t mean to… Are you alright?”
Imara pulled him back to her, kissing him so sweetly. “I’m fine. It was wonderful.”
“I can’t believe I did such a thing. You’re in pain! Gods, what have I—”
“Astarion, stop. I’m the one who pulled your pants off. I wanted you. I wanted you so much I couldn’t think about anything else. I had to have you.” Imara smiled, running her fingers through his hair. “And now that I have, I’m very glad I did. My cramps are mostly gone. I feel… incredible.”
“You do?”
She nodded. “It would seem that orgasm helps.”
“When Dal said ‘need’, I thought nothing of it, really, but I think this is what she meant. I had to have you, too. It felt almost compulsory. I could not think of a single other thing but getting inside you.”
“That’s how it felt for me.”
“But you are alright? You feel better now?”
“I am and I do.”
“Well, then it seems we have a simple solution to aid you, one that does not involve sedation.” Astarion stood, intending to take her to bed and have her again right then.
Imara’s brow furrowed more deeply, a thread of unease snaking along their bond. She sat up, eyeing him warily. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to… I don’t know… service me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, my sweet. Making love to you is never anything but a delight.”
“It might be in a few days. We haven’t even hit the worst of it yet, and we don’t know how long the pain will be held at bay. It’s probably not going to be more than a few hours. You’re going to get sore eventually. I can deal with the pain when you need a break.”
“Should I need one, I shall let you know, but I would much rather be sore than for you to be in agonizing pain.” Imara opened her mouth to object, but he silenced her with a kiss. “You are mine, Imara. Mine to treasure, to protect, to care for. I will gladly do anything I can to lessen your pain, and swimming in an ocean of pleasure with you for a tenday won’t exactly be a hardship, even if I do get sore or tired.”
“Alright…”
Nodding, he stepped back. “Wait here.”
He walked out, returning hardly more than a minute later to find her exactly where he’d left her. Her eyes landed on him, widening at the lingerie he was now wearing.
“I picked this out the other day, intending to wear it for you when… you were well enough, again. It seemed a shame to let it go to waste.”
“It’s… perfect,” she breathed. As her eyes wandered, taking in the thigh-high stockings, the pin-striped mesh fabric that stretched from just under his pectorals down to his stockings in delicate, elongated triangles, and the straps that curved down above his pectorals to form a delicate vee between them, her heart began to race. Astarion offered her his hand, pleased beyond measure by her reaction.
“I’d be a fool to say no to you in that outfit,” she teased. “And while it’s your choice to stay here and have lots of undignified sex to stave off my pain…”
Imara took his hand and stood, smiling up at him. When he smiled back, hers became wicked. She stepped closer to whisper in his ear, “...that doesn’t mean it always has to be you doing all the work.”
Warm, strong hands reached down to wrap around the back of his thighs, pulling him up and into her embrace. Imara pulled his hips against hers, summoning her already-hard cock as she nibbled at his neck.
“Gods,” he moaned, wrapping himself around her.
Imara carried him to the bedroom, pinning him with his back against the wall as the door clicked closed behind them. “If you’re up for it… We’ve still never gotten to try it like this,” she crooned against his neck, nibbling her way to his scars.
“I’m very amenable, darling,” he gasped out as her fangs sank into his skin and her hips rocked, rubbing her cock against his own. With a quiet hum, he cast the spell to prepare himself for her, ensuring that their cocks were likewise slickened. The added sensation was divine and they both whimpered quietly.
Imara sipped slowly, teasing him with her tongue and the gentle rocking of her hips. Her body felt deliciously hot against his; she was much warmer than usual. His hands began to wander, eager to feel more of that heat, more of her silky skin. It had been far too long. She’d been sick, then recovering… Now she was well, she was eager, and her jasmine-tinged scent flooded his nose. He was positively ravenous for her.
The moment her mouth lifted from his neck, he crushed his lips to hers, plunging his tongue between them. He wasn’t sure if it was their tenday-long fast, or if it was the affect her fertile time was having on him, but everything felt so incredible, so intense. They rubbed their cocks together, each making greedy, needy noises as he plundered her mouth, desperate, always, for more.
They’d been kissing and grinding and petting for some time when he noticed that her scent had intensified further. A moment later, he felt a quiver of pain along the bond. It was returning already, and though it was very light right now, he knew it would not remain so for long. She would need a release. Soon.
Astarion relinquished her mouth, thrilled with the low whine of protest she made. He kissed his way to her ear to croon, “Have your wicked way with me, darling. I want you and I’m very ready for you.”
“As you wish, little lion,” she purred, lifting him a bit higher. Astarion tilted his hips to give her a better angle, wrapping his legs more tightly around the small of her back.
Slowly, Imara slipped her cock into him. Her eyes briefly fell closed and she bit her lip, moaning as her balls ground against his ass and he tightened around her. As she began to move, he watched her face, enchanted by the pleasure and need there, by the way she breathed heavily each time she buried herself and the way she stared at him with such love and devotion.
When he began to roll his hips in rhythm with hers, Imara groaned in delight. “I won’t last if you keep doing that. It feels amazing.”
“Then don’t last, my love. I’m eager to feel you come inside me.” Astarion rolled his hips again, dragging his tongue up her neck. “Enjoy me, as I enjoy you,” he breathed, piercing her flesh with his fangs.
It was a shallow bite, more for the intimacy than the blood itself, but Imara cried out and thrust hard and deep, sending them both shivering. Her blood hit his tongue, rich and hot and perfect. Astarion’s cock throbbed against her stomach, sliding against her skin with the movement of their hips. The taste of her, the feeling of fullness, of being pleasantly stretched to accommodate her thick, hard cock was overwhelming in the most wonderful way. All of this, combined with the scent of her, swamped him until he was swimming in a sea of bliss.
His desperate noises became more and more insistent as she moved inside him so deeply, so gently. Sealing her wounds, he dragged his tongue from her neck to her jaw, nibbling his way to her ear to tease the lobe and edge with lips and tongue until Imara began to struggle to remain in control. Her thrusts became less rhythmic and more frantic the more he teased her with mouth and hips, exactly as he wanted.
She felt incredible inside him. Every slow thrust was purposeful, intended to give him as much pleasure as possible. Though she'd been created to dominate, to ravage, to take, Imara was always careful and attentive with him, deriving her own enjoyment as much from giving it to him as from the sensations she felt. The way she loved him was a glory he knew he would never tire of.
Awash in the euphoria and the love and the sensual scent of jasmine, Astarion trailed his lips across her face to her mouth. With a tender kiss, he thrust his hips against her, driving her so deep they both whined. He threaded his fingers into her hair, tugging hard. Imara's eyes stared into his, her hot breath washing over his face with every pant.
He widened their bond enough to let her feel as he felt, to let her bask in his love for her and the possessive satisfaction he felt to be taken by her. It was an enormous feeling, so big it felt like his body couldn't contain it all.
“Mine,” he growled savagely, yanking her hair hard enough to bring a loud moan to her lips.
Imara shuddered head to toe, her love lighting up their bond like a bonfire. “Yours,” she agreed as she finally lost control.
Her hips crashed forward, thrusting hard and fast in a staccato rhythm as she trembled and then came undone. She buried herself, grinding her hips as she came, her cock throbbing inside him such a magnificent feeling it brought him with her.
Astarion clung to his sweet warlock as they lost themselves to their shared ecstasy, satisfied to his very core.
When, eventually, the pleasure waned, he kissed her, brushing the tip of his nose against hers.
“This is going to be a fabulous tenday,” Imara giggled and Astarion laughed, hugging her tighter.
“Good thing we’re well-stocked on moisturizer,” he quipped, heart soaring at the sound of her delighted laughter.
❇︎❇︎❇︎
One tenday later…
Astarion collapsed to the side as the last pulsing throbs around his cock waned, gasping for air.
He'd often thought himself exhausted after sex, often referred to going boneless afterwards as ‘collapsing', but it had never been more true than it was now. He genuinely could not hold himself up for a single second longer. His arms and legs were shaking with strain, his back ached, his abdomen felt tight and painful.
Now that he thought about it, he noticed that everything hurt. Even his ears.
“I think it's over,” Imara rasped, her voice all but gone.
“I think you're right,” he croaked out, his own voice as hoarse as hers. “Your scent is closer to normal now. The jasmine is fading quickly.”
“Thank the gods.” Her voice was faint, her eyes already closing. Sleepily, she reached for him, stroking the back of his hand as if to reassure herself he was there.
“Is this intimacy?” he whispered, just to make her smile.
Imara’s eyes remained closed, but smile she did as she whispered back, “Yes.”
Within moments, she was asleep.
Astarion brushed the sweat-soaked hair from her face, hissing in pain as he leaned over her to press a light kiss to her forehead. He gazed down at her, affection warming his chest. She was beautiful, even now, but she looked wan, almost sickly. She’d lost weight since the poisoning, even more this past tenday. It would take tendays more to bring her back to full strength, and it was time they didn’t have to spare, given the tensions with Waterdeep.
He sighed. She needed to eat, to begin rebuilding her strength. As much as she needed the rest, she needed food even more.
Carefully rolling out of bed so as not to disturb her, he suppressed a groan. Every movement was painful, his muscles so weak they barely obeyed his commands at all. He shambled into the kitchen, pulling a bottle of blood out of the pantry. Slumping against the wall, he drained the bottle in seconds, already pulling another out before he’d even finished the first.
It had been… a very long tenday.
Shortly after Imara had made love to him that first night, they'd discovered that climax wasn't quite enough. The pain had been reduced for a little while after she came, but it returned quickly and even stronger the second time.
Several hours of experimentation later, they'd discovered that the pain was best abated when he came inside her. It granted her the most relief and for the longest span, but it drastically limited their options.
He hadn’t been able to stand the idea of letting her suffer simply so he could recuperate, and so the past tenday had been spent in a frenzy of lovemaking, joining their bodies so frequently that they’d become fatigued and sore and reaching peak had become increasingly difficult. Though she’d done her best to prevent her pain from bleeding over their bond, much of it had still reached him.
Imara had repeatedly offered to cope with the pain so he could rest—a kind offer that he’d declined each time. They’d rested roughly three hours each day, but Imara’s rest had always been troubled by the pain.
By the end, it had been less like making love and more like battle. They’d had to plan, and discuss, and change tactics to ensure the desired outcome, focusing entirely on the goal until the sensations became merely a part of the necessary steps.
The pleasure had been there, as had the intimacy and their love… but it had been deeply draining and physically exhausting. He'd used every drop of the tonics Dal had given him, burning through them over the past several days when his body had finally begun to refuse to cooperate out of sheer exhaustion.
He’d barely drank from her after the first day, only grabbing a bottle or two for himself whenever he stumbled out to the kitchen for food for her, which had rarely been more than once a day.
He hadn't been this hungry in years. Not since the first days after the nautiloid.
Then, he'd had to get by with squirrels and an occasional boar. Now, he pulled bottle after bottle from the pantry, draining them one after the other until he finally felt strong enough to stand without falling over.
Astarion grabbed a tray and began loading it with food, smiling to himself. Though it had been almost the most tiring, strenuous tenday of his existence, and though he could barely walk and wished for sleep with a fervor akin to prayer… He was so deeply happy he hardly had words for it.
For once, his vampiric drive to protect and possess was dormant, completely and utterly sated by having spent an entire tenday providing for his beloved as only he could.
Closing his eyes, he opened his heart just as Mal had taught him, so that he could sense their soul-bond. In his mind he saw it, thick and whole. It always gave him such pride to see how smooth and strong it now was, how beautiful the glow. But where before that glow had always been a soft, gentle light, today it glowed like the morning sun.
Astarion couldn't recall how he’d learned it, but as he admired the rope of their bond, lovingly running his fingers along it, knowledge returned to him. He remembered that amongst the elves, attending to one’s partner in her fertility was referred to as ‘i arkhlavae’—the lovemaking. It was something elven men did with great pride. They spoke little of what those days entailed, but what they did say was always spoken with reverence, as if the experience were holy in some way. He vaguely remembered being confused by that, centuries ago, but now…
Now he understood it completely.
Pride swelled in his breast. He'd cared for her, fed her, kept her safe, had held her pain at bay with his body and his love when she was at her most vulnerable. He'd been the one to attend to her in her illness, and again in her need. He'd given her everything she required, had sacrificed his own comfort and rest to ease her burden, and had found joy in the giving, as any elven husband would.
Astarion froze, his eyes snapping open to stare blankly at the heavily-laden tray on the counter. His heart swelled and began to pound, his breath hitching in his throat.
Husband.
For the very first time, that word felt… right. It felt like it belonged to him. Like a title he had earned and was worthy of carrying. For the first time, he believed he was worthy of it.
Butterflies fluttered in his stomach and his hands began to tremble as a sweet, gleeful hope took root in his heart and bloomed there.
Are we… Am I… finally ready?
Is it finally time?
It feels like it might be…
Everything else is such a mess right now, though. We're not even close to settled into Skullport. We haven't secured the mountain yet. The masked Lords tried to kill us both. They won't stop there. It's going to keep escalating. And I’m not even sure she wants to marry.
Astarion's shoulders slumped. He shook his head, returning to his task.
It's probably not the right time.
But hells, it feels wonderful to finally feel like it could be. To feel like maybe I might be good at it.
Smiling to himself, he put three more bottles of blood and an enormous pitcher of water onto the tray, tucked a bottle of wine under his arm, and carried the lot of it back to their bedroom.
“Darling?” he murmured.
“Mmm?” With obvious effort, Imara’s eyes opened.
“You must eat and you need water.” He placed the tray on the bed, guiding Imara to sit before handing her a plate laden with meat and cheese.
Already smiling, she looked up at him, bleary-eyed, only for those eyes to widen as they darted down his body and up again. “You lost weight!” she gasped in horror. “You look starved, like you did when we first met!”
Glancing down at himself, he shrugged. “I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about. Eat.”
Imara began to eat, eyeing him contemplatively. “I can’t believe I never noticed how much healthier your body came to look over time.” Her eyes fell to her plate, sadness coloring her tone as she whispered, “I hate that I did this to you. I should’ve taken the sedation.”
With a deep sigh, he sat down next to her to trail his fingertips along her jaw, guiding her to look at him.
“I don’t regret a second of it, Imara. I love that I was able to ease your suffering, to care for you in a way no one else could.” She opened her mouth to interrupt, but he pressed a kiss to her lips to silence her. “I know that I have already cared for you many times over the years. I’m not diminishing that. But this was… different. More.”
“By the end, it certainly wasn’t something we did for the thrill. It didn’t feel like… like before? Like performing?” she asked quietly.
“No, not at all. I’m exhausted and every inch of my body hurts, but inside… I feel incredible. It healed something in me, I think, to attend to you through this.”
Eyes downcast, Imara murmured, “I feel terrible that it cost you so much…”
“It cost me nothing I would not willingly give you, darling. I understand your concern, truly I do, but it is unnecessary. My love, can you not feel how it has changed our soul-bond?”
Worried violet eyes darted to his then closed. A moment later, Imara’s body relaxed, a sweet, sensual sigh escaping her lips. “Oh… how lovely.”
“I believe that this is some sort of rite for the soul-bonded, and we have clearly done well. Our soul-bond is stronger, it glows brighter, and I feel as if my own healing has progressed as a result. I feel incredible, Imara.”
She pressed a kiss to his cheek, her relief evident. “If it’s a rite, there are probably traditions we should be observing.”
He quickly shared his recently-recovered knowledge with her, his heart soaring at the way she went all soft and affectionate to see how much the experience had pleased him. “I’m sure you’re right, there’s likely something we’re supposed to do after our first time experiencing i arkhlavae together, but we can do it next time.”
Nodding, Imara stared up at him, adoring and sweet. He basked in that look for a long minute, then lifted her plate. “Eat, my love. After you’re done, we’re going to have a bath, and then we’re going to sleep for three days straight.”
After a quick kiss to his cheek, Imara turned her attention back to her food. There was a small, secret smile on her face as she purred, “That sounds lovely, arasha.”
Astarion stared at her, his heart pounding in his chest.
‘My happiness’, she called me.
Arasha.
A term elves use only with their spouse.
Notes:
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Chapter 7: Let Her Go
Summary:
Some people are just terminally stupid & Astarion is happy to hasten their demise
Notes:
Chapter Song: Between Us - Little Mix
Click here for chapter content warnings (May contain some spoilers)
Brief PIV & F/F fingering. Brief reference to intended SA.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Plunging his sword into the human’s stomach, Astarion disemboweled him before moving onto the next. The alarm system had gone off and they’d arrived on the scene to find hundreds of filthy, reeking invaders attacking those who lived at the edge of the city nearest the pathway to the upper levels of Undermountain.
It appeared that somehow, the criminals that Waterdeep kept imprisoned on the first level belowground had managed to escape and find their way down to Skullport. Waterdeep reportedly kept only the worst, most violent criminals in their belowground prison, which had the strongest security the great city could manage. Yet somehow they’d all ended up here. Armed.
Which meant that the Lords had released these criminals into Skullport intentionally. Why, he had no idea. They were weak, many of them half-starved. Insane and violent, yes, but not exactly a significant threat to a mercenary company like theirs. The masked Lords didn’t yet know they were dealing with an army of vampires; they weren’t aware that all they’d done was offer the Skullport residents a free meal. But these vagabonds would not have been a serious threat to them even had they been mere mortals.
Likely just aiming to stir up chaos. Reminding us they can fuck with us at any time, Imara breathed into his mind.
True, he replied, shoving the next stinking combatant into the arms of a waiting spawn, who eagerly bit into his neck. Mal’s fire blazed in the distance, cutting off those trying to retreat. They were nearly done; not many of the criminals remained standing. Another few minutes, then an hour or two to arrange for shoring up security and dealing with the bodies and he’d be able to pull Imara back into bed and into his arms where she belonged.
A booming, mad cackle filled the air and both Imara and Astarion froze in place, their eyes meeting across the rush of bodies.
Is that…? Imara murmured incredulously, turning toward the sound.
Astarion darted to her side, reaching her at almost the same moment as Mal, his gaze following hers to find… it was.
Twenty yards away, towering over the other, smaller bodies, stood Minsc, swinging his massive sword with a gleeful expression on his face. On his shoulder perched Boo, wearing what appeared to be a set of tiny plate armor.
Mal made a soft choking noise as he tried to contain his laughter, grinning at Astarion when he turned a chilly glare to the little dragon.
Minsc caught sight of them, waving like an idiot. “Astarion! Imara! Mal! It is kind of you to plan a battle for my arrival!” He swung his sword again, knocking back three idiots who’d tried to swarm him. “But how did you know I would be arriving? Even I did not know! Boo, did you tell them but not me? We have talked about this, have we not?”
Boo chittered indignantly, turning his back to the ranger.
I’m getting a headache, Astarion complained, to the sound of Imara’s silent laughter.
“I am sorry, Boo!” Minsc waded through the few people still fighting, coming to a halt a few feet from them. “Boo says he did not tell you we were coming to visit!”
“Nobody did,” Mal chirped happily.
“It’s good to see you, Minsc. How long will you be staying?” Imara asked, giving the enormous man a brief hug.
“Only tonight, I’m afraid. Boo must teleport us back tomorrow afternoon. Though how he will know when afternoon is down here, I do not know!” Astarion noticed that Imara’s eyes had lit up, but before he could inquire, Minsc pulled him into a bone-crushing hug, swaying back and forth like a child cuddling a cat. “Astarion! I have missed you and your beautiful hair very much! You do not visit the city often enough. Jaheira said to tell you so!”
“To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?” Astarion choked out, desperately tempted to teleport himself away.
Thankfully, the question was enough for Minsc to release him and Astarion stepped back, warily on guard against another hug. Minsc pulled a sealed letter from his vest, handing it to Imara with a wide grin.
“Jaheira had some information to pass along. She was going to send you a message over the little crystals, but I told her no! I have not seen my friend in more than a year. That is too much! Boo and I will deliver a letter in person! Much better for everyone!”
Intensely proud of himself, Minsc’s chest puffed out and he looked from Astarion to Imara and back again.
“That’s so kind of you,” Imara crooned sweetly. “I’ll take this to my office. Why don’t you and Boo spend some time with Astarion and Mal? I’ll meet up with you later this evening.”
Astarion narrowed his eyes. And where will you be going, exactly?
Imara glanced at him, then away, a thread of unease slithering along their bond before she clamped down on it. I’ll go to the office. Ever since the poisoning and everything after it… I have so much paperwork to do.
…Alright…
I’m sorry to leave you with Minsc.
No you aren’t, he huffed, which made her snicker quietly.
No, not really. You like him, deep down. You just don’t like to admit it.
I do not.
You know I know that’s a lie, right?
Astarion rolled his eyes, then turned them to Minsc, who was already raving with delight about spending time with the vampires.
Good luck with your… paperwork.
Thanks. Good luck dodging more hugs.
“Welcome to Skullport, Minsc!” Mal said.
Astarion sighed inwardly. “How about I show you our magical pub?”
“A pub? With magic? Yes, my friend! I think that will be very good! Lead the way!”
Imara waved to them, then wandered off toward the castle. Faintly suspicious, Astarion turned his attention to their bond, only to find that she’d locked it down completely. He could feel nothing from her, sense nothing, nothing at all. Whatever she was going to be up to today, she didn’t want him to know.
His heart clenched painfully, the blood in his stomach souring.
Something’s amiss.
There was no time to dwell on it, or even to investigate further, because Minsc promptly sheathed his sword and slapped Astarion on the back so hard he stumbled forward a step or two.
“Come, my friends! Let us drink and be merry!”
“This way,” Astarion said with a sigh.
❇︎❇︎❇︎
A tenday later, Astarion had forgotten all about Imara’s odd behavior the night Minsc had visited. In fact, just then, he’d forgotten about everything except the glorious feeling of being inside Imara. He had her on all fours and she was rolling her hips with him, taking him deep and driving him wild.
In the past year or so, he’d come to appreciate this position in a way he’d never been able to before. It would always be inferior to being face to face with her, but it did offer… other benefits.
His eyes wandered from where he’d been watching his cock slam into her, up her spine to the delicate lavender hand clutching at her back, then over to where Minthara’s lips were trailing soft kisses along Imara’s neck. Minthara was underneath Imara, her slim legs draped over both Imara’s legs and Astarion’s hips. Imara had one hand between Minthara’s legs, working her fingers in and out of her in time with Astarion’s thrusts.
Minthara was rapidly approaching her peak, which was their goal by this point in the evening—Minthara rarely wanted more than one climax per evening, and she was much more challenging to bring to peak than Imara. Most of their encounters involved the three of them playing for a few hours, during which both Imara and Astarion would come several times with Minthara’s aid, until finally they would focus on bringing her along with them, relaxing into a sweaty pile of limbs to talk and touch for awhile longer before the evening ended.
Imara kissed Minthara, the sight of which Astarion never seemed to tire of. They were both beautiful, talented at kissing, and their affection for one another made their kisses sensual and lovely to watch. His cock throbbed, his hips beginning to stutter as Imara tightened around him, thrusting herself back onto him. Imara was trembling; she was desperately trying to hold her climax back for Minthara’s—as was he.
Astarion leaned over Imara’s back, trailing his fingertips up Minthara’s arm to her neck, up and across her jaw, then down, to her breast. He cupped her, kneading her the way she liked, gently rolling her nipple between his fingers in the same rhythm as their bodies moved. Minthara groaned, her legs tightening around them both as she began to shiver.
Bite her ear, he told Imara.
Imara broke their kiss, licking her way down Minthara’s jaw to seal her lips around her earlobe. Minthara whined—a rare occurrence, and one she would deny unto death outside of this room—and her trembling became much more pronounced.
“You’re so beautiful when you come,” Imara whispered before sinking her teeth into the edge of Minthara’s ear hard enough to elicit a low groan. “Come for us, Minthara,” she purred, dragging her tongue over the ear she’d just bitten.
At the same moment, Astarion slammed his hips forward, grinding against Imara’s ass, pinching Minthara’s nipple delicately. Minthara cried out her release, and within moments, Astarion and Imara joined her, shuddering and moaning as one. Imara continued to rock and curl her fingers until, finally, Minthara went boneless with a deep, contented sigh.
Astarion gently tugged Imara onto her side, cuddling himself against her back as she draped an arm over Minthara. The drow was generally incoherent for several minutes after a particularly good climax, as this one had been, so they would hold her until she was verbal once more.
Her inner musculature is almost as strong as yours, he noted hazily. She squeezes your fingers nearly as tightly as you squeeze my cock.
It’s quite pleasant. I imagine it would feel incredible around a cock. You should have her, sometime. She’d like you to.
Perhaps someday, he said, though he knew his reluctance was clear.
It’s okay if you don’t want to.
It’s not that I don’t, really. It’s… he sighed, nuzzling his face between her shoulderblades. The drow don’t receive the same gifts regarding fertility that the high elves do. The risk is too great.
You’re worried about impregnating her? Imara sounded shocked.
Yes. I cannot stand the idea of such a thing happening with someone who is not you. The very idea that it could happen makes my skin crawl. Even though I would not wish to come inside her at all, it is still too much risk. As much as I would enjoy partaking of her body in that way, I cannot bring myself to do so.
There are—
Cassil root, I know. But who can be absolutely, completely certain it works on vampires? I doubt there have been any studies on such a thing and I certainly don’t want to be the one to find out it doesn’t. Even Dal does not know if it would work or not.
You asked Dal?
Of course I did. I knew when we began playing with Minthara that my reluctance to fuck her properly would come up eventually. Dal was not very encouraging about the chances of it working perfectly for a vampire.
We could ask her to take nararoot instead…
Ask her to take a contraceptive brew, that I prepared myself, with herbs I purchased myself, in front of me so I could see her drink it, so I could be as certain as possible that having sex with her would not result in a child of mine being begotten by her? Do you honestly think our tyrannically-inclined drow paramour would take that well? Particularly from a male?
…You make a very good point.
The idea that any male would not be utterly ecstatic to be permitted to impregnate her would be possibly the most insulting thing she’d have heard in her entire life. She has grown much over the years, she is far less inclined toward evil now, but that… She might well try to kill me.
True.
Besides… As much as she has grown, and as much as we all mean to one another… He pressed his forehead to her back, faintly shamed by the uncharitable thought he was about to share. I remember the Witch’s vision. When I was at my weakest, she wanted me to become my worst self because I would be more powerful. Even now… I think a dhampir child would be very desirable for her. I trust her in many ways… but not with this. I can’t bring myself to. Mostly because of my own fears, but some of it is because of who she is, as well.
Alright. We’ll just leave it as something you aren’t ready for. It’s not a lie, after all.
Indeed.
Thank you for telling me, and for thinking of that possibility. I hadn’t really given it any thought.
Well, one of us had to.
Very true, she chuckled.
A few minutes later, Minthara leaned up a bit and lifted her arm, draping it over both Imara and Astarion. “I am glad the Lords have been quiet these past few days,” she said a bit sleepily, smiling at them, “or we might not have had the opportunity to enjoy one another this evening. I have missed you both.”
“We missed you, too,” Imara whispered.
“If the masked Lords’ poor behavior continues to interfere with the scheduling of our nights together, I will have to kill them,” Minthara muttered, her eyes softening when both Imara and Astarion laughed.
❇︎❇︎❇︎
“Did Imara send her letters to Neverwinter?” Vorin asked.
Jaheira’s letter had contained a possible lead on a way for Astarion to walk in the sun. Roughly two hundred years ago, a vampire called Hexxat had come into possession of a magical artifact called the Cloak of Dragomir, which made a vampire impervious to the sun, though it weakened them while they wore it. The vampire had been notoriously unhappy with undead life, so there was a high chance she’d walked into the sun by now and the cloak was hidden somewhere, lost to time.
Jaheira hadn’t been able to determine if Hexxat still existed, but she’d discovered that as of about a hundred years ago, there’d been rumors of a vampire matching her description haunting the streets of Neverwinter.
They’d only told Mal, Vorin, Taelin and Minthara about the lead, though Astarion suspected one of them had probably told Remi and Hugo as well.
“She did. They went out the day before the banner incident.”
Two days ago, they’d learned that the masked Lords had hired criminals to commit crimes within Waterdeep while waving the banner of the Unbound around.
Imara’s eyes went black and she stared into space for a long minute with a fierce look on her face. Then she turned those inky eyes to Remi and asked her to reserve one of the speaking slots at the next open forum in Waterdeep. This time, she wanted the one that was run by the merchants, rather than the formal one run by the Lords.
Remi nodded and scurried off and Imara sat down as if nothing had happened, her eyes returning to violet in record time.
She turned to Nieven, smiling warmly. “Your idea was brilliant. I think you are owed an apology.” Imara turned to Syndra, raising an expectant eyebrow.
When they’d first settled on their banner design, Nieven had insisted that every banner should be enchanted with an invisible mark of authenticity that could only be made visible by an incantation known only to the council. At the time there’d been much resistance, as most of the council hadn’t felt it was likely to be useful. But Imara had decided in favor of it, and so Syndra’s clan had spent several tendays marking over a thousand banners while she herself saw to the incantations.
Syndra scowled, flushing slightly as she muttered a half-hearted apology. She'd called Nieven’s idea paranoid and unnecessary and then called Imara’s agreement with the idea pandering and wasteful. And now that idea had turned out to be ingenious.
The whole thing had amused Astarion greatly and he was looking forward to Imara's next speech.
The incident had necessitated the postponement of their own open forum, however, and thus it was being held today. Astarion, Vorin and Taelin were standing in the newly-renovated audience hall, chatting as council members, department heads, and spawn mingled throughout the room. It was a huge, rectangular room, much longer than it was wide, that had probably served as a feasthall at some point. At one end, there was a low dais—which Imara had outright refused to let them use—above which hung the banner Astarion had made. In front of the steps was the long table where the council would sit when holding court, as Astarion thought of it.
At the opposite end of the room was a huge pair of double-doors, which led to the room that now contained an enormous round table and chairs and served as the council’s meeting space. There were low benches along each wall of the audience room, and a small desk near the entry door, where Remi sat, taking the names of all who wished to speak that day. All around the room, guards stood, unobtrusive and silent, watching everything. Their new security department had filled out quickly; many of the combat-trained spawn were more interested in this type of work than in fulfilling contracts for the company.
“I still can’t believe Nieven turned out to be right,” Taelin grumbled. She was in her female form today, and even after all this time, Nieven still had a hard time keeping their eyes off of Taelin’s breasts. They glanced over every minute or two, though they tried to hide it.
“I suppose it had to happen at some point,” Vorin snickered.
“That’s uncharitable,” Astarion chided. “It was Nieven’s suggestion to train the spies in field medicine before we sent them out. They’ve really been much better the past few years.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Taelin glanced at Nieven, sighing. “I just wish they’d get over their infatuation. They don’t even like me as a person, yet they refuse to stop staring at my tits.”
“That’s because you have the nicest pair on the council outside of Imara’s, and Nieven knows Astarion would cut their eyes out if they looked at her like that.”
Astarion snorted. “True.”
“Speaking of obnoxious infatuations, you two are a prime example. It’s a miracle Imara manages to stay clean, with you two slobbering all over her at every opportunity.”
Astarion and Vorin both rolled their eyes.
“If you want to discuss infatuation, Taelin, perhaps we should discuss the fact that you—”
Astarion cut off as a young, beautiful tiefling spawn came up to them, his eyes on Astarion. He’d never seen the man before; he hadn’t been one of Astarion’s victims and he didn’t think they’d met face to face until now.
“...Can we help you?” Taelin asked as Vorin’s hands casually slid toward his daggers.
The man glanced at Taelin and Vorin, then returned his gaze to Astarion, swallowing heavily.
“I want to ask you,” the man began nervously, “to stop standing in her way!”
“To stop standing in whose way?” Astarion asked, utterly confused.
“Imara’s! You’ve held her back long enough, don’t you think? We are in love and it’s time for you to step aside, to let her be happy!”
Astarion froze, staring at the man, his mouth agape.
Vorin leaned toward the man, his voice icy as he asked, “What did you just say?”
“I said that we are in love! We have been for some time now. She saved my life months ago, before we took Skullport. Ever since we’ve settled in the city, we’ve been together in secret. We steal what moments we can, but it isn’t enough.” The man’s eyes remained glued to Astarion’s, indignation written all over his beautiful face. “She won’t leave you, because she’s worried you’ll kill yourself and she feels responsible for you! I beg you, if you care for her at all, free her to find the happiness she deserves.”
Astarion’s heart began to pound, his breathing becoming heavy the longer the man spoke.
“Ridiculous,” Taelin scoffed. “Your brain is addled.”
“It’s true, and I can prove it! She has a small white moonflower tattooed on her hip, and…” The man reached into his pocket, pulling out a pair of silk and lace underwear that Astarion instantly recognized as hers—he’d bought them for her in Neverwinter, years back. “She gave me these as a lover’s token!” The man waved the panties wildly and Astarion caught Imara’s scent wafting from them, his heart contracting painfully.
“I beg you. Give her her freedom. She deserves that after all she’s done for you. After all she has done for us all. We love each other, so deeply, but she cannot truly be happy while she is still beholden to you.”
Frozen still, Astarion stared at the man, his mind rushing through thought after thought in the span of a heartbeat. Not many people knew about her moonflower tattoo. It was so small and faint, and in a location she did not bare in mixed company often. Imara had saved a spawn’s life months back, though he hadn’t been there to see it. She had been taking more and more meetings without him recently.
The day Minsc teleported in, Imara had hurried away, opting to spend her day alone in her office rather than with the ranger Astarion knew she missed. She’d kept their bond locked down tight that entire day; he hadn’t picked up a single wisp of emotion or thought from her until she’d returned to their floor of the castle late that evening, avoiding his eyes and giving vague answers about her day. She’d gone straight to the bath that night, without even kissing him first.
Those panties… They carried her scent, so they hadn’t been stolen from her clean laundry, and if they’d been stolen from the dirty laundry… they would have carried Astarion’s scent, too. But they did not.
For a single instant, Astarion’s stomach began to roll with nausea, but then he shoved it aside.
This is insanity. Imara would never betray our bond, nor would I. We are madly in love. Perfectly matched. Soul-bonded. No one and nothing could ever change that. Nothing.
“You must do what’s best for her. If you care for her at all, let her go!”
It was then that Astarion noticed that the man’s voice was pitched to take full advantage of the excellent acoustics in the audience hall. He was speaking at the exact right volume to be heard throughout the massive room, enunciating every word as clear as any theatre performer.
He has an ulterior motive. There is some reason he wants to separate Imara from me. Is he trying to diminish my standing in the colony? Or hers? Why in the nine hells would he try this as a tactic? Even if I believed him, everyone in this colony knows my first response would be to kill anyone who said such a thing to me…
Gods. I’m being harassed by an absolute moron.
Astarion began to laugh. Deep, wracking, belly-aching laughs that quickly became uncontrollable. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes and he clutched his stomach, wheezing with the force of his mirth.
“This is serious!” the man shrieked, stepping toward Astarion.
Vorin’s daggers made their appearance as the giant tiefling stepped forward, fury radiating from his entire being. “You have no idea the kind of mess you’ve gotten yourself into, you foul—”
Taelin pulled Vorin back, and as they struggled and Astarion laughed and the man stared at him, gasps rang out around the room. A warm shiver of affection washed over him and he realized that Imara had just walked into the room.
The man must’ve realized it, too. He turned, spotted Imara, and immediately said at full-volume, “I’ve confessed our affair, my love. There is no need to hide any longer. We can be together at last.”
Imara glanced toward the voice, her brow furrowing as she realized the man was looking directly at her. “I beg your pardon?”
“You may finally acknowledge me as your lover. I know you wished to wait, I know you worry about Astarion’s fragility, but I couldn’t bear to let him stand in our way a day more. I’ve told him everything.”
Imara’s eyes went black and every spawn between her and them suddenly felt the urge to step out of the way. Mal, who’d flown in behind her, wobbled in the air, his growl thundering through the room.
I would never, she began along their bond, her eyes darting to Astarion’s face in panic.
I know, poppy, he reassured her, still wheezing as his laughter finally faded.
Imara started their way. The man smiled and took a step toward her, already raising his arms. That was too much; Astarion snarled, yanking the man back. He dragged the idiot toward the dais at the front of the room, marching him to the carefully-painted lines that indicated the borders of the zone of truth Astarion himself had installed not three tendays ago. They’d placed it in front of the dais and to the left—out of the way, so no one would stand in it unintentionally. He hadn’t thought they’d need to put it to use so soon.
Disgusted, he flung the man into the circle, amused that he fell and scrambled to regain his feet. The man tried to dart out of the circle, but glowing purple runes came to life at his feet and he stood, horror beginning to dawn on his face.
Astarion crossed his arms, pitching his voice to be heard by the entire room as he said, “Alright, whoever you are. Tell your tale again. Go ahead. Lie to me.”
“Imara and I are lov—” the man’s voice cut off on a strangled gasp, his eyes bugging out as his hands clutched at his throat.
“Not so easy to spout your falsities now, is it?”
“After she saved my life, we formed a conn—” Again, the words cut off as the man gasped and struggled.
“I think by now you realize you cannot lie while you are in that circle,” Imara’s dry, angry voice rang out as she came to a stop next to Astarion. “You might as well start telling the truth.”
“My beauty, how can you deny our bond? After all the time we’ve sp—”
Behind them, Vorin laughed. “Do you think someone could eventually die from trying to lie too much inside the circle?”
“I don’t know,” Riniya replied in a thoughtful tone, “but it seems like we might find out. This one is truly stupid.”
“What is your name?” Mal demanded angrily.
The man said nothing.
“He is one of mine,” Kaeldrin, their training coordinator, said as he stepped forward. “His name is Darcassan.” Kaeldrin turned to Darcassan, his eyes glowing ominously, his voice icy. “I recommend you start answering their questions or I will ensure that you do. I think you know what that will mean for you, if it becomes necessary. You’re fired, by the way.”
Kaeldrin had been in charge of the department that oversaw the training instructors for over five years now. He preferred paperwork to battle—but he was still their most powerful psion. When he wanted someone to tell him something, they would—and it would be excruciating for them. Darcassan paled, swallowing heavily.
“It would seem you do have some romantic feelings toward my beloved, as you were not choked off when you called her beauty, but the rest of your tale is absolute nonsense. Why don’t you tell us why you bothered to try to lie?”
“We want—” Darcassan choked again, then took a deep breath before starting over. “I want to be with her. She is beautiful and strong and kind and you don’t deserve her.”
“You’ll get no arguments from me,” Astarion shrugged. “But what in the nine hells made you think this would result in you being with her?”
“I thought—” Again he choked, which Astarion found interesting. “I hoped—”
He’d neither thought nor hoped his plan would work. Astarion’s eyes narrowed, suspicion taking root. “Did someone put you up to this idiotic stunt?”
“N—” Darcassan turned red in the face trying to get the lie out, but finally he glanced at Kaeldrin, paled, and said, “Yes.”
Imara growled out a low, “Who hired you?”
“I don’t—” A sigh. “Someone representing a masked Lord.”
Ah-ha.
“How did they convince you to do something so monumentally stupid?” Yousen asked.
“Money. A… lot of it. I thought I could use it to impress—”
Kaeldrin stepped forward, his powdery-white skin and hair beginning to glow as he raised his hands and muttered an incantation. Darcassan fell to the ground, whimpering in pain. He clutched his head as he curled in on himself, rocking back and forth until Kaeldrin dropped his hands.
“I think he'll be a lot less resistant, now.”
“Thank you, Kaeldrin,” Astarion said, though truthfully, the psion’s skills unnerved him.
Darcassan stood, his arms wrapped around himself.
“You were saying?”
Trembling, Darcassan hung his head and muttered, “...I thought I could use it to buy a compulsion charm.”
“You were going to compel her?” Leon snarled from somewhere to Astarion's left. Mal snarled even more loudly—his deep growling started up again and within moments the space around the zone was suddenly filled with furious spawn—including all of Astarion’s siblings, who knew just as well as he how unforgivably vile that sort of compulsion was.
“Yes.”
An angry murmur went through the crowd at that.
“How did you get her underwear?” Taelin asked.
He has my underwear?! Imara shrieked into Astarion’s mind.
Yes. Worse, a pair with your scent, but not mine.
Gross!
“The man who hired me gave them to me. He said they’d been acquired at an inn.”
When we were staying in Sapphire House. That night you were off picking up our books order. I got in the bath before you got back.
He recalled it. He’d returned to find her soaking in the bath, looking damp and relaxed, her clothes strewn about the room as if she’d stripped on her way to the tub. He’d been telling her about the books he’d picked up when a maid had arrived with Imara’s evening meal.
The woman had seemed pleasant enough, but she’d been clumsy. As she’d wheeled the cart into the room, she’d knocked one of the napkins to the ground, making profuse apologies as she picked it up and retrieved a fresh one from the bottom shelf of the cart. Astarion had thought nothing of it at the time, but now…
The clumsy maid.
Had to be. We’re going to have to let them know.
Astarion scowled. The management may well be in on it.
We’ll have Vorin send someone in to find out.
He’s probably already planning to infiltrate whichever inn it was anyway.
“You put Imara’s stolen panties in your pocket and marched up to her mate and told him he needed to leave her so you could have her for yourself in front of a hundred witnesses,” Nieven mused. “What in the nine hells did you plan to do when Imara arrived to deny your claims?”
“I thought I would make it seem like she was lying. That they would fight about it. While they fought I would leave and go to the city, get the other half of my payment, then stay there until I had acquired the charm.”
“You thought he would just let you leave? That any of us would, after such an obviously false accusation?” Nieven sounded genuinely baffled.
“They never had any intention of paying you the second half, you idiot,” Syndra chimed in. “They sent you here to die.”
“Imara never kills people for non-violent offenses.”
“You plotted to kidnap her. Rape her.”
“I didn’t! She would have—” Again, Darcassan choked on his words, and again a thrum of anger rippled through the crowd.
Astarion glanced at Imara, finding her looking at him. Though she was enraged, she was interested to see what he'd do next, completely content to let him handle this mess himself.
I'll assist if you want, she said with a smile in her mind’s voice, but it’s you he targeted, you he tried to humiliate. It's up to you how you want to handle it.
He was targeting you as much as me. He would have kidnapped you. Violated you.
He didn’t even know where to get such a thing, and I doubt he’d have succeeded in finding one even if he’d lived long enough to look for it. In all likelihood, the masked Lord would simply have killed him when he returned for his second payment. Besides, I'm not sure compulsion would even work on me. Her voice was thoughtful now; she'd found an intriguing question and was more interested in the answer than the drama. Focusing on that helped her ignore her rage. I should find out.
Indeed we should, but first things first.
“Who was your contact?” Astarion demanded.
“I only knew him as Vym. He frequents the Unicorn’s Horn pub. He's average height, dark eyes, dark skin, dark hair.”
“How did he find you?”
“I sneak out sometimes. Go to the city. I was looking for a love spell,” Mal growled again, loud enough that Darcassan shivered, “and one of the merchants said it mattered who the target was. I told him. The next time I went to that merchant, someone approached me, told me they knew someone who could help. Told me where and when to meet them.”
“Did you reveal your vampirism to anyone outside of this colony?”
“No. Never.”
Astarion nodded. “Were you compelled in any way?”
“...No.”
“You entered into this scheme willingly?”
“...Yes. I want to be with her.”
Nodding again, Astarion shrugged. “You betrayed your people. You worked with our enemy to weaken the colony. You intended to kidnap and violate your leader. I sentence you to death.”
Darcassan began to yell and plead, but nobody came to his defense. Astarion held out his left hand and a bare second later, Vorin placed a dagger against his palm. Astarion weighed the dagger then threw it, satisfied by the sound it made as the blade slammed into Darcassan’s throat.
As the fool began to fall, Minthara parted his head from his shoulders. Astarion hadn't noticed her until that moment, so focused on the idiot had he been. “Thank you, dear.”
Minthara nodded, wiping her blade with a cloth.
“Well,” Imara said loudly enough to be heard by all, “that's certainly the most dramatic way we've opened an assembly.”
Once the laughter died down, she took her seat behind the council table, gesturing everyone to take their places. While Remi called for the first speaker, some of Brecaryn’s people arrived to quietly remove the body. Everyone moved to the benches and the forum began. Hardly anyone even spared a glance for the dead man.
Throughout their entire forum, not a single person spoke against Astarion’s decision and Imara’s pride in him filled their bond.
❇︎❇︎❇︎
“Your speech discouraging the spawn from sneaking up to Waterdeep was inspired,” Astarion told Imara later that evening, as she ate her meal and he drank his wine.
Imara shrugged. “We’ll still increase security to prevent it, but I hope it won’t be an issue.”
“I know you hate keeping them down here whether they want to be or not, but it’s necessary. We can’t risk the masked Lords discovering there’s an army of vampires underneath their city, not until we’re ready to show them. You were right to tell the spawn that, to remind them how dangerous it would be for them up there, and how much the masked Lords have been escalating the tensions between us. The vast majority will understand and respect it.”
“You handled that idiot and his bullshit very well, by the way.”
Astarion waved his hand dismissively. “He was hardly worth the effort, but it was important to let the spawn see him handled fairly.”
“Yes. But also… the fact that you didn’t believe him. Didn’t doubt.” She smiled warmly, her eyes sparkling with her love. “Not so long ago that sort of thing would’ve set you back, but no longer.”
“No. No longer,” he said, the tips of his ears turning pink with her praise.
“I’m going to try to meet with Laeral again. Maybe she’s discovered who on her council is stirring things up.”
He nodded. “She’ll need to be made aware of today’s mess, too. If she isn’t already.”
“I really don’t think she’s our enemy,” Imara sighed. “I really do think there are masked Lords who’ve been working against her for years and that she’s been struggling to keep control of them.”
“A leader who can’t control their council is no true leader.”
“I think that’s part of the problem. Waterdeep’s council isn’t structured the same way as ours. They are meant to be more equal. The Open Lord is simply the face of the leadership. Her power over the others is minimal, at best.”
“Then I suppose we will have to begin weeding out the unsavory Lords, as you anticipated.”
“It’s looking that way.” She picked at her food, staring down at it as if it held all the answers. “We don’t even know if it’s one Lord or ten, or, if there are multiple Lords acting against us, if they’re acting together or separately.”
“I believe there are multiple and that they are acting largely separately.”
She looked up, a familiar expression on her face. It was the one she gave him whenever he said something smart, or insightful, or came up with a good idea that solved a problem that had stumped her. He’d been seeing it a lot more often in recent years, but it still warmed his heart every time. “Why do you think so?”
“The tactics have been so varied. Poisoning, framing us, baiting us with a false contract, releasing violent prisoners, this nonsense today… It feels like the ideas of several different people with very different goals. If they have differing goals, then it’s likely they aren’t working together very well, and also likely that some of them decided to take matters into their own hands. It would explain why some of their methods have been clever and well-planned but others, like today, have been unintelligent and poorly-executed.”
“So they’re trying to work together, but there’s infighting, and some of them are acting on their own anyway…” Imara mused, nodding. “That does feel like what’s happening.”
“It will make it much easier to weed them out, once we find out who they are.”
“Have Vorin’s people made any progress with that?”
“Some, but nothing significant yet. He said they’ve uncovered at least one employee of each Lord, but he wants quite a bit more than that before he pushes for the identities of the Lords themselves.”
“Smart. As always.”
“Indeed he is.”
Imara returned to her food, quiet for a few bites, until eventually she glanced at him under her eyelashes and murmured, “Imri says I can’t be compelled.”
Relief rushed through him. “That’s wonderful! Is that one of the skills imparted unto you by Bhaal?”
“No. Apparently, the Witch’s vision affected him as much as it did us. Seeing me under compulsion really upset him, and he didn’t even know what he’d done in the vision to ensure I couldn’t be. Eventually he deduced that in the vision, someone had taught him how to do it after he left the palace and before he returned. Since not many people would know why he would need such a skill, he then deduced that the Witch probably taught vision-Imri the spell. So, our-Imri went to the Witch and charmed—”
“—harangued,” Astarion corrected, to her amusement.
“...harangued her until she taught him. She chided him for his extreme attachment, for loving like a mortal. Like an outlander. He was a little embarrassed, but he couldn’t get past the idea that someday I would need the protection, so he came and cast it while we were asleep one night, but he didn’t want to admit he’d been so worried by a vision that couldn’t even come to pass.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
“He cast it on you, too. And Mal was already immune, apparently.”
Astarion’s mouth fell open. “That’s… kind.”
“Don’t worry, I thanked him for you so you don’t have to,” she teased.
“Thank the gods.”
Imara laughed and a few more bites went by in easy quiet.
“Interesting that the masked Lords want to separate us,” Astarion mused.
“Hmmm.” Imara returned to picking at her food, her eyes on her plate.
“I imagine they think it would weaken the leadership if you were going through a breakup, but still. It seems… small.”
“Hmmm.”
“Darling, if you know something, do share.”
Imara took a deep breath, still avoiding his eyes. “I think they want me free for a political marriage.”
Astarion’s heart stopped in his chest, his breath freezing as she continued, “They tried to eliminate our company, that didn’t work. Tried to kill me, that didn’t work. The company is incredibly popular in Waterdeep now that our public office has opened. It’ll be even more so after I prove none of our people have been committing crimes. So I think they’ve decided it would be better to try and bring me into the fold without actually allying with the colony itself.”
“That… seems likely,” he choked out around the lump in his throat.
Imara looked up, scowling, her body tense. “I would never even consider it, Astarion. Surely you know that?”
Relieved again, he shook himself, smiling at her. “Of course, darling. It’s just rather a bit of a shock to hear, is all. Are you done with your meal?”
Nodding, she pushed her plate away. Astarion scooped her up, heading toward their bedroom—and the large, luxurious bathtub in their bathroom.
“Astarion…”
“Darling, truly. I know you would not be interested in such a thing. Now. Let’s get in the bath, discuss how we’re going to deal with this newest wave of shit the Lords have piled upon us, and be done with it. We need to get them off of our plate soon, because it’s almost time to return to our preparations for securing Undermountain. Mendri and her team will be back in a tenday or two. You’re fully recovered from the poison, your fertile time is over, and that damned eladrin architect is settled and already at work refurbishing buildings. Undermountain is the next project on our list and I know you’ll want to be ready to go as soon as possible.”
“You know me so well.”
“Indeed I do. Have done for years, now,” he murmured affectionately, planting a soft kiss to her hair as he set her down on the edge of the tub and began to undress her. Imara laughed, leaning over to turn on the tap to fill the tub. Once they were reclined in the warm, lightly-scented water, Astarion cuddled her closer, nibbling her ear.
“Why don’t you tell me about your plan to turn the first two levels below us into a mushroom farm and a winery? Surely by now you have it all figured out in that clever mind of yours.”
Imara laughed again, relaxing into his arms as he’d hoped. “Well, I think once it’s set up, we should be able to increase our wine production close to a hundredfold…” she began.
An hour later, when they’d washed, soaked, dried and settled into bed, Imara finally finished outlining her plan. It was a smart plan that he was certain would succeed, as her plans tended to. Even better, telling him all about her newest project had relaxed them both from the stress of the day, and had washed away the shaky, uneasy feelings that had been shivering along their bond since that cretin’s theatrics. He could feel that uneasiness being replaced bit by bit with hopefulness and anticipation, and it made him feel quite good to know that he’d handled himself well today, made good leadership decisions, and had eased them both.
A wisp of a memory drifted to the forefront of his mind, of the night the word husband had finally felt right, finally felt like him. His heart soared in his chest, remembering those feelings and feeling them again, stronger and with even more certainty. He tightened his arms around his beloved, smiling to himself.
I’ll be godsdamned if anyone else gets that title but me.
Notes:
Thanks for reading!
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