#he would kill everyone in this inn but MOL is in this inn

[maegalkarven]

I love how they both look at Mol like "You mind? We were planning to fight each other to death."

[captainsimagines]

meet me in the afterglow || Halsin BG3 || Part One

Summary: She aided everyone, himself included, and he hated how useless he felt. But if he were to simply open his eyes, he would see that she too was losing her mind.

Pairing(s): Halsin x Durge Drow Tav

Trope(s): Slow Burn; Fantasy; Established Canon Scenes; Male Love Interest POV

Based on the Song(s): Afterglow by Taylor Swift

Total Word Count: 30,000 +

If you would rather read on AO3, here is the link

This is a single one-shot, split into 2 parts.

Warnings: This story deals with heavy sexual situations, strong language, canon-typical violence, self-harm, fantasy elements, emotional backstories, past memories of necrophilia, the "Dark Urge", "resist dark urge" storylines, past rape/non-con, attempted sexual assault, and minor character death. You are responsible for your own media consumption. This work is strictly 18+ only. This is purely fanfiction.

Author's Note: Look at me, venturing into a new fandom. Well, I've been apart of it since December, but this is my first BG3 fanfic! Don't ask why it's so damn long and why I didn't split it into chapters. Easier this way in terms of posting, lmao. Anyway, it's summer vacation, I've got my teaching credential and Masters degree, and we're writing fanfics again!!!!!!! If you're not typically of this fandom... Hop on this train, you will not regret it. Buy the game. I swear. Love you.

xxMoni

---

The first time Halsin heard Tav scream was during the invasion of the Last Light Inn, when Mol was snatched by a devil and Rolan dodged a blade as he reached to grab her. Tav had climbed the roof in time to see her being flown in the direction of Moonrise, and that was that. It was an angry scream, one that surprised him and Jaheira alike. Since finding Mol’s eyepatch and defeating Ketheric, Tav hadn’t made a sound resembling it. 

Good, he figured. There was no sense in acting reckless when the facts aren’t known, and a level-headed leader would serve the greater good. He had wanted to slip and scream his frustration for years now, but who would that benefit? Halsin found that if he and his companions held it in for just a while longer, then soon they could find peace, harmony, balance—he had to believe that.

For three hundred and fifty years, Halsin explored the minds, souls, and the willing bodies of countless people. He has taken and been taken, suffered and accepted, led and also been led a fool. Besides the shadow curse, there was nothing that truly haunted him to the very marrow of his bones. He was everything an Archdruid was expected to be, and that included being an expert at hiding one’s fear to level the playing field. 

But recently, he’s been haunted by an odd feeling in his stomach. Thaniel and Oliver were healing together, Ketheric Thorm had been defeated, and he and his companions were readying their supplies to take the two-night trip into Baldur’s Gate. There shouldn’t be anything else plaguing his muscles, and especially not his digestion. Not even the bear could truly keep food settled for long. He suspected that as the land healed, he felt it. He felt each vine untangle, each pebble overturn, each sick creature drain and die. He was usually familiar with plant life dying and sprouting anew, but this was something else entirely. It was the undead dying, the sickness shriveling, the living succumbing and promising their return. It was a sickness extinguished, a sickness that apparently needed to pass through him and any other person connected to nature in the surrounding area. 

He excused himself after dinner, and waited for the oddity to start.

Just as he nearly slipped into trance, the flap of his tent smacked him in the face. 

“Now that we’ve healed this land, where are you going to fuck off to?”

He grumbled, opening his eyes to meet those of a seemingly unbothered Tav. 

Halsin had a bit of a crush. A crush on the violent, self-serving narcissist drow who was going to get them all killed before they faced the real threat awaiting them in Baldur’s Gate. Granted, Halsin formed a bit of a crush on most people he encountered, but Tav was different. The feelings had snuck up on him.

Tav often spoke of utilizing the gifts the Dream Visitor had offered them, but he had never seen her actually consume an extra tadpole. Tav loved to fill Astarion’s and Gale’s heads about godhood, about revenge, but Halsin was there when she almost murdered Araj for suggesting Astarion bite her, and even accidentally wandered in on her and Gale watching the stars he had conjured. Hell, she was the first to grant Karlach that long-awaited hug. And when Shadowheart had the chance to prove herself worthy to her dark Lady, something raw flashed in Tav’s eyes. Something that ultimately persuaded Shadowheart differently. 

The only thing Tav had done recently that really pissed Halsin off was recruiting Minthara at Moonrise. What kind of person forgave someone who threatened a whole Grove? A whole civilization? His people.

But that was the thing: Tav was a person willing to forgive. Well, maybe not forgive. Forget, more like.

And he had forgiven her for the murder of Alfira because, Oak Father preserve him, he believed her confusion. Her surprise. Her… urges. Hells, he came close to killing Kahga back at the Emerald Grove. 

“Who says I’m fucking off anywhere else?”

Tav snorted, his curt response certainly something he’d been working on for a while now. He had remained civil with her, polite even. But the way she spoke to him had him questioning his abilities. He had cultivated mountains of patience over his long years, but she was just too good at breaking off pieces. No way she would be able to flatten him, but he worried himself over the prospect. 

“You’re seriously going to follow us to Baldur’s Gate?”

“I am no stranger to the city.”

Tav plopped down beside his bedroll and fiddled with the strap around his arm. He fought hard to keep so much as a twitch from his face. “It’s a shitty place. You’ll probably find one tree. Maybe two.”

“Do you want me to leave your side?”

Her expression held steady. “No. Just wondering what your plans were.”

Despite her attitude, Halsin had no doubts about whether or not Tav wanted him to remain. He never dropped hints about him leaving after the shadow-cursed lands were no more, and he completely expected to make the trip with everyone else. They helped him here, why wouldn’t he help them to the end? 

“Then you’ll have me. I will remain at your side until you have no use for me, or until my body can give no more. You need not worry about sudden disappearances or ill remarks from my end.”

She rolled his words around in her mind, the points of her ears wiggling slightly. “At least now I can see you in city clothes.”

He sat up slightly, his smirk wide. “Have you been fantasizing about what I would look like in such clothing?”

“Armor is a drag. I’ve been fantasizing what everyone would look like in silks and cotton.”

He hummed, settling back down and placing his hands behind his head. She definitely was a weird one. He couldn’t say for certain if she fancied him or not. She had inquired about past lovers, but hadn't pressed further when he mentioned bedding alone. She had joked about feeling lonely at nights and went so far as to wink at him, but she gave those same winks at Wyll. She had even fought to venture into the Shadowfell with him, but that same ferocity rose when she encountered Rolan fighting shadows alone. She was difficult to read, but he had only himself to blame. So occupied by the shadow curse, he had failed to get to know her. Or any of his companions, really. 

“I think I liked dresses before all of this,” she shared, surprising him. 

“What kind?”

She thought about it for a second, honesty in her lilac features. “The revealing kind. Where the lining dipped to my navel and my thighs were out.”

He was no stranger to such clothing. He had indulged in similar attire in his youth. “I imagine you would look beautiful in them.”

“Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“But I think I also really liked elven armor.”

Halsin’s laugh came out as more of a grumble. “Is your drow armor unsuitable?”

“It doesn’t show off my curves.”

He couldn’t contain his smile. “Of course. What was I thinking?”

They fell into a comfortable silence after that. Her tent was pitched near Astarion’s, so he doubted she was looking to bunk with him tonight. This was her routine every night—check in with everyone, speak for a few minutes, maybe share a bottle of wine, and return to her own bedroll. Except this is the first time since rescuing Thaniel from the Shadowfell that she visited him.  

It was something he had thought about during their long travels. Did he say or do something that made her avoid him? Did she consider him a burden, only adding to their troubles without the promise of a cure for the damned tadpole? Volo had tried to do what he advised against, and Tav sported a pale blue eye because of it. 

But it looked good on her. Anything blue looked good on her. 

“You’re allowed to hate me, you know.”

He blinked an eye open, studying her vulnerable expression. Besides making questionable decisions and being rude to strangers they encountered, it was not enough to make him despise her. 

“I do not hate so easily.”

“You hate goblins.”

“They threatened my people. People in need.”

She hummed, “Taking in Minthara was like a slap to the face then.”

“There are other things to consider. Such as, you did not risk the grove when you first met her.”

“I killed a tiefling out of pure blindness. In my own camp.”

“And do you regret it?”

“I—I think I do.” She shook her head, as if arguing with her thoughts. “I also really wanted to kill Isobel.”

“But you didn’t.”

“But I could have.”

He sat up and sighed. Tav rolled her shoulders, uncomfortable with his closeness. He did his best to slide to the edge of his tent, but his frame wouldn’t allow much distance. “Are you here… to fight with me?”

Tav grumbled under a breath, avoiding his eyes. “Not exactly.”

He nodded, though confusion still weighed him down. “Then tell me how to best speak on this matter.”

“I don’t understand you,” she admitted, scooting to leave his tent. 

They had something in common, then. 

“When you’ve been alive for as long as I have, you come to understand those around you just a little bit more. Speak or don’t speak, I will not draw my blade. I know it is what you crave. You have fought everyone in this camp with your teeth, almost killed Gale when he confided in you about the orb, almost staked Astarion before you allowed him to feed from you. And you held a knife to my face when you rescued me from the goblin camp. If you wanted to kill one of us, you would have done it by now. If you wanted to kill me, you would have tried.”

Tav laughed and crossed her arms. Halsin averted his eyes from her muscles. “Tried,” she drawled.

He smiled again. “You would not succeed.”

“I take that as a challenge.”

“Take it however you’d like,” he said, sighing as he rested his head back onto his bedroll. “Now, will I receive some peace and quiet tonight?”

Tav squinted her eyes, a glint of mischief peeking through her long lashes. “Annoying oaf of a druid.”

“Annoying brat of a drow.”

That made her grin, teeth and all. Then, quieter, honestly, “Maybe all that torture I endured made me forget. Maybe it made me the way I am. Better today, but…”

Gods, he almost forgot. The odd necromancer they had encountered beneath Moonrise. What she said she had done to Tav, over and over, he could not imagine. First to be kidnapped, reduced to a wailing mess, cataloged like meaningless scraps, and pinned back together only to be ripped open again? And still, Tav did not remember. Thank the Gods she didn’t, and that the necromancer’s slices were simply numb visions. But to smell your own blood on a mind flayer pod, to have a vague recollection of betrayal, to walk right back into your prison…

He kept his voice soft, and tried to make his eyes speak better words than what he could currently form. “Do you mean violent?”

Any ounce of wisdom he carried seemed to die in front of her. She made his tongue twist, his mind rattle.

“Perverted.”

He said, forcefully, “You’re not perverted.”

“That’s why I speak with you, Halsin.” Tav opened the tent flap and stepped through. Her smile dropped, and he was no longer granted the privilege of a real one. “You say all the wrong things.”

---

“I’ve thanked you once already. Don’t be greedy.”

“You’ll find I’m exceptionally greedy,” Tav responded, clinking her beer with his wine. Rolan looked to the floor, fumbling as he tried desperately to flirt back. Halsin almost wanted to help the poor wizard, but that would probably do more harm than good.

“Darling, you’ve made the tiefling blush! How sweet!” Astarion observed, flicking his polished nails across his lips.

Tav shrugged a shoulder, then downed her beer in one go. “Don’t sweat it, Rolan! I have that effect on everyone!”

“Oh,” he lamented, his lips turning downward. Almost as suddenly, he corrected himself. Shoulders straightened, Rolan cleared his throat. “I thank you instead for clearing the road to Baldur’s Gate. When you can, make a visit to Sorcerous Sundries. I’ll give you a lovely discount on some scrolls.”

“Gale would certainly—”

“Gale would be appreciative indeed!” their resident wizard cheered, reaching to shake Rolan’s hand. “I plan on doing a little perusing of my own, of course. But any promise of a discount on some scrolls is certainly something I wouldn’t pass up! I say, Rolan! You and I need to speak one-on-one soon.”

Rolan stuttered over a breath. “That—Well, I’ll probably be preoccupied with my apprenticeship. But yes, that would be quite informative.”

“Gale, stop flirting with my favorite wizard. I wanted him in my bed, not yours,” Tav joked, winking at the blushing tiefling. Cal and Lia, listening at the other end of the bar, sputtered through their drinks.

Gale gasped, “Your favorite wizard? My word, how ugly of you, Tav! I thought we had something special.”

“Your—Your bed?” Rolan choked out, his smile growing. Halsin looked to Tav to tell her to cut it out, but what he saw was… authentic. Tav wasn’t joking, nor was she toying with the tiefling. She genuinely wanted to spend a night with him. Their banter had stretched from the grove to these cursed lands and Tav was nothing if not direct with her intentions. 

He and Tav shared banter… So it led Halsin back to his looming questions with no answers. Did he say or do something that made her avoid him? Was he a burden?

“Offers on the table, Rolan. I don’t ask twice,” she teased, ignoring Astarion’s gag and Gale’s responding chuckle.

“That sounds—” Rolan started, but his attention was pulled by a few of the tiefling children running up behind him. In their flurry of questions, he met Tav’s eye. “Apologies.”

Tav waved a hand and tried her best to smile at the children, who were now pulling at Rolan’s robes. Cal and Lia came to his aid, even going so far as to grab the children around their waists and run in the opposite direction. 

Rolan cleared his throat. “As much as it irks me to admit… I hope our paths cross again in Baldur’s Gate.”

Tav let her disappointment show for half a second before turning in the direction of the exit. Karlach, Shadowheart, and Lae’zel had claimed Isobel’s old room, while Wyll, Astarion, and Gale claimed the room where Art had been resting. Halsin had already mentioned he wasn’t going to rest tonight so he could help the tieflings pack, but he wondered where Tav was going to sleep. The only other room still standing was currently occupied by Rolan and his siblings, while the tiefling children were bunking with Dammon in the barn.  

Halsin quickly caught up with her, clearing his throat to gain her attention. “You were very forward with the tiefling.”

Tav shrugged, stripping her gloves from her sweaty hands. “We could die tomorrow. Might as well let my true desires show.”

“And that’s what desires you?”

She smirked. “Got something against tieflings? Or is it wizards, Halsin?”

“Not at all what I meant.” 

He followed her quietly until she led them to the lake’s edge, just a few feet away from Dannis and Bex. Tav chucked her shoes off and tore the corset from around her waist. It was a black and red corset she had looted from Minthara’s office back at the goblin camp, but her fellow drow seemed to not recognize it. Since rescuing her, Tav had made it her mission to try and get Minthara to notice. As if to say, I rescued you but I also bested you once before. Though he hardly spoke to the sharp-tongued drow, he understood her avoidance. Minthara had gained alliances in an unlikely place and vowed to fight by their side, an oath as strong as all others, and did not waste her breath on a petty argument. Especially an argument with her narcissistic Underdark kin.

“I meant to say, that I admire that in a person. I have been alive a long time and you so little, and yet you reach for what you want with ropes of experience.”

It was true. Halsin was no stranger to honey on the tongue or the caress of another. Sometimes he forgot that others have not racked up a roster like he had. Though, he wasn’t exactly keeping track. Every lover he had chosen had been sacred, willing, enthusiastic. It was nice to see others indulging, even if he did not feel the call right now. 

The bear hadn’t felt the call for a while now. Even back in the Emerald Grove, his only companion had been his hand. He didn’t know what changed. 

Tav sat down and leaned back on her hands, watching Dannis and Bex as they swayed in each other’s arms. When they had rescued Dannis from Moonrise a few nights ago, Halsin had been witness to their emotional reunion at this very lakeside. With as many people on his mental list of lovers, it would make sense that he had been in love before. But watching them reunite and cry in each other’s arms… Halsin realized he had never felt love in the way one was supposed to. Lust, admiration, respect—those feelings he was familiar with. Feelings that were reciprocated and cherished. This was different, foreign. 

Was he broken? Had the bear truly taken over that aspect of his life so much? Druids became more like their wildshape the more experienced and older they grew, and it wasn’t unheard of that some animal attributes bled into their daily lives. Or their physique. Nature had been his one calling as Archdruid, and though the realization that he had sorely missed out on the connection Dannis and Bex shared plagued his heart, he didn’t regret devoting his life to the Grove.

“I woke up on that nautiloid with absolutely no idea of who I was. I knew my name, and that was it. Along with a burning rage and desire for blood, I strangely felt free. In a way. This is me letting loose. Being the person I feel like I could have been,” Tav explained, her brow furrowing. Dannis and Bex shared a final kiss before retreating into the inn, giving both her and Halsin grateful nods. Tav sighed, “My memories, or the scraps of them at least, are tainted in red. I want new colors, Halsin.”

He sat down beside her, drawing his knees up so he could lay his arms across them. “I always imagined the color of lust as a light purple. When bodies connect in the most intimate of meanings, it is that streak of purple only the sky can mimic. A purple that only occurs in nature.”

“Poetic.”

“I’ll leave the poetry to Wyll.”

She watched the lake sway, now absent of dark creatures at its shore. He wondered if shadow-cursed creatures actually had also thrived underwater, but no one had reported such horrors. He wasn’t ignorant to think that the fish hadn’t shriveled, that the water wasn’t undrinkable, that the echoes of the Underworld hadn’t been waiting for bare feet.  

“I gave you all colors, you know.”

“Oh?”

She nodded. “Karlach is pink. As much as my blood yearns for the blood of others, I do not like the color red. Karlach is pink because she makes the darkest of places lighter. She makes my days lighter.”

He wouldn’t have assigned her that color, but Tav’s reasoning made sense. Karlach had a lot of blood on her hands, but blood would fade the more one scrubbed. 

“Gale is purple, of course. That damn robe he got abducted in is scorched into my brain,” Tav laughed. “Astarion is a dark blue. When I look at him, oddly enough, I have this intense feeling that his eyes were blue before he was turned. Blue like the sky he’s been cherishing these last few months.”

Halsin would be lying if he said Gale in purple didn’t stir something within him. After acquiring new robes or armor, Halsin always volunteered to dye it. Purple was instinct for Gale, but he had always found himself dying Astarion’s clothing red. Perhaps now he would reconsider.

“Lae’zel is orange,” Halsin added, grinning when Tav clapped her hands and cheered.

“Exactly! She doesn’t touch any other fruit besides those!”

He continued, ignoring the odd jump of his stomach. “Shadowheart is the color white. Her new hairstyle has nothing to do with it. You know, I was nervous when I saw her leaving camp with a dagger tucked away. Glad to know my nerves were unfounded.”

“Black washed her out,” Tav agreed. Her smile faltered as she picked around the dirt absentmindedly. “Black, however, is Minthara’s color. She radiates such… torment. Mentally, that is. As much as she tries to mask it, I can see right through her. And I think she sees right through me. We’re both terrified, and too angry to admit it.”

Terrified. In all the time he had been traveling with his companions, Halsin didn’t stop to think about what would happen if they lost. Tav had created this image of pure leadership, where everything that needed to be solved had a simple solution. Even Lae’zel portrayed as much. He did have moments where Tav’s questionable actions led him to believe someone would die, but not that anyone would kill them. 

“You just admitted it to me.”

Tav grumbled, drawing her knees to her chest and hugging them. “The Oak Father will have your balls if you utter it to anyone else.”

“Didn’t know he answered to you.” He couldn’t help the blood flushing his cheeks.

“The gods love to hear me whine.” Tav's sarcasm coated her words and eye roll alike. Then quieter, angrier, she said, “I remember screaming for some.”

His chest caved in slightly, a burst of sympathy melting along his ribs. He had believed the Gods abandoned him when he was tied to that bedpost in the Underdark. He had believed the Gods abandoned him when the shadow curse prevailed and his fellow Druids didn’t run fast enough. He had believed the Gods abandoned him when the last of his family passed and he lowered them into the ground. But ever since, the Gods have answered his prayers. His Drow patrons couldn’t keep their disputes civil and he escaped after three, confusing years. He had sprinted fast enough to avoid the dark tendrils lapping at his paws and was fortunate enough to lead Rethewin’s survivors to safety. He was able to say a final goodbye to his mother. Even now they listened when he was rescued from that horrible goblin camp.

He didn’t quite catch if the Gods had answered any of Tav’s prayers yet since she herself doesn’t remember anything that happened prior, but he had it on good authority that every battle they’ve survived since had been blessed.

“And Wyll?” he asked, his tone softer as he reverted the topic of discussion back to color assignment.

“Green,” she answered quickly. “He reminds me of a park I used to walk around. A distant memory, a broken one. But I see him sitting in that green field, surrounded by wine and grapes and a lanceboard.”

He hadn’t spoken to Wyll all that much yet. Karlach and Gale were the two he found himself conversing with most often. Wyll always spoke of Baldur’s Gate, and though Halsin enjoyed hearing about their companions’ lives beforehand, he found that he did not have kind feelings for Wyll’s father. When he tried to maneuver the conversation away, Wyll always brought it back. 

And it made sense. Just as Halsin was preoccupied with the shadow curse and his role in its creation, so was Wyll and how he would prove to his father that his transformation was for the good of his citizens. Perhaps when his head was clear and his father found acceptance, Halsin would be able to speak to Wyll freely. To speak without thinking about how the city would be better off in Wyll’s hands instead.

Halsin wanted to punch Duke Ravengard in the fucking face. 

“And me?” he asked.

“Guess.”

“I assumed green, to be honest.”

Tav shook her head. She turned to him fully, the lilac of her face bright beneath the moon. For the first time since they had met, she showed him vulnerability. He knew it was killing her to do so. “You’re gold.”

Something foreign fluttered in his chest. “Gold?”

“You shimmer when you wildshape. But also, when you’re standing in the sun, your gray hair shines gold instead. You’re so damn joyful all the time and it reminds me of the sun. You’re sunlight incarnate, Halsin.”

He had been called wise, inspirational, large, and handsome. He had been called ruthless, uncontrollable, wild, and arousing. Never in his three hundred and fifty years had he been compared to sunlight, or directly called it. 

But he was sunlight to her.

She shook her head, a light chuckle beneath her breath. Then she stood and walked back in the direction of Last Light. Slowly, waiting.

“What color am I?”

She shifted her stance. Afraid of her own question, the answer it might bring. The truth of it. Halsin did not see her as a red tone. Far from it. Even her sleek red-orange hair wasn’t enough to classify her. Though red yearned for her, she did not want to claim it. There was a fire behind that fight, a fire that licked higher the more she resisted its call. Even in the midst of battle, drenched in blood, she did not harvest its bounty. Her and Gale were always the quickest to the stream, washing away the brutality. Gale out of pure disgust. Tav out of need. 

“You and I are at odds most of the time. We are two colors that clash, yet find a way to coexist in one setting. You are silver, Tav. The same color as your sword, of the lash of your words, of that fire in your eyes.”

“A silver menace, am I?”

He shrugged, too in his own head to truly argue it. “Silver is also the color of the ripples in water.”

“Ripples are the consequence of a disturbance.”

“They are proof of influence.”

She crossed her arms for warmth. Backing away, she pointed one finger at the sky, her grin nearly obscured by shadow. “And the color of the moon.”

---

The second time Halsin heard Tav scream was in camp a few nights later. A breathless one, but no less bone-rattling. The sound reverberated into his bone marrow, sucking out half and poisoning the rest. His first thought was Mol, that he had to save her this time, that a repeat of the grove was unacceptable and he finally had a chance to make things right. This was a job for the Archdruid. No tiefling would hurt under his watch. 

His second thought was that Tav was dying, and he needed to get up so his silver menace had a fighting chance. 

“Get away from him!”

Halsin woke from his meditation and caught a glimpse of a short, gray creature scurrying into the bushes. The further it retreated, the quicker its laughter came. A sound that scraped against his spine-bones, horribly akin to a goblin’s. 

He looked over his shoulder and watched as Tav held her shaking hands in front of herself. She breathed slowly, shutting her eyes as whatever troubled her began nudging at her once confident composure. 

“Tav?” he said lightly, slowly standing to his full height. In the campfire light, she was beauty incarnate. All her fine features threatened to stop his heart, his senses. And when those senses catapulted themselves into his brain, he saw pure fright on her lovely, scarred face.  

She trembled as she stepped closer to him, gagging on her next words. “Restrain me.”

“What? What’s happened?”

“Halsin,” she croaked. She glanced around camp, fidgeting even more as Shadowheart and Astarion poked their heads out from their tents. “I’m going to kill you. I’m going to give into these urges if you don’t restrain me. I can’t control it—I’m trying—but I’m going to slaughter you in your sleep and all of your thoughts about me will be true—”

“Calm, Tav. I am awake, I am unharmed.” He took a step closer. “These urges… They are the ones you mentioned when you asked if they were possible effects of the tadpole?”

“Halsin,” she whispered, terror laced within those two syllables. “You piss me off, but I don’t want to kill you.”

That made him chuckle. “I will not let you.”

As quickly as he finished that sentence he saw the glimmer of a blade behind her back. She lurched forward, aiming for his heart. He reacted too late, but not late enough to get stabbed. An arrow whipped between them and lodged in Tav’s shoulder, sending her to the cold ground. Halsin yelled, panic gripping his stomach from the sight of her blood. 

“Wyll, give me the rope,” Astarion ordered, his skin somehow paler. He threw his bow to the side and immediately began tying Tav’s feet together. Wyll held her down by the shoulders, cursing when she managed to twist her neck far enough to bite him.

“What’s happening?” Karlach demanded, running up to the group. Nervous, caring hands burned with panic instead of the usual fury.

Tav thrashed, screaming wildly as Wyll bound her hands. He did his best to lean down and whisper in her ear, his horn smacking her cheek. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know this isn’t right, I’m sorry. 

“Dear Gods,” Jaheira breathed. “Not another one.”

Halsin had witnessed Jaheira mid-battle and post-battle. He understood that the older druid put on a face, the same face he perfected when he was at the grove. To be stoic in the face of chaos, of evil, was a necessary talent. But here, Halsin saw the mask fracture as she examined Tav’s mannerisms, her moans, her darkening eyes.

“What does that mean? Speak plainly, Jaheira,” he told her. The jump in his voice surprised him.

She huffed, sliding to Tav’s left side so she could check her pulse. At the same time, Shadowheart casted a calming spell. “I have only met one other who resisted the urges. The call for murder, of blood on the tongue, of death in every orifice of the body.”

Minthara blinked, her brow scrunching. “It cannot be!”

The pure terror lacing Minthara’s exclamation—ice pricked his veins.

“A Bhaalspawn,” Jaheira confirmed. “A tadpole-infected Bhaalspawn, at that.”

“A Bhaalspawn?” Karlach choked, though Halsin swore it was on a laugh. “In our camp? If my parents could see me now! Oh, this would make for the best How was your day? story around the dinner table!”

Gale rubbed at his chest, an awkward sound coming from him before he spoke. “That means Orin knows her from before the tadpole.”

“It means Orin tortured her and planted the tadpole herself, I am sure. When she betrayed me, she spoke of another that I now know was Tav. What she did, how her screams sounded—I was not fully listening as she was making an example out of me as well,” Minthara shared, her tone deadly. It was the most Halsin had ever heard her say in one sitting.

“Why wouldn’t the Emperor say anything?” Wyll cursed, quickly snatching his hand back as Tav tried to bite him again.

“It wasn’t its secret to tell,” Lae’zel said, though there was more hatred in her answer than understanding.

Tav shot forward, headbutting Jaheira and flipping onto her stomach. Just as her teeth nearly plunged into Astarion’s forearm, the vampire smacked an annoyed hand to her forehead. “Ah, ah, ah. We ask before we bite.”

“The spell wanes. Calming her emotions is not possible,” Shadowheart said, gritting her teeth. Jaheira, paying absolutely no mind to the bruise on her forehead, took over for the cleric.

“Hit her over the head with this pan,” Karlach offered, offense painting her face after Gale smacked it from her hands. She went to retrieve it, this time holding it over her head so Gale couldn’t reach it.

“Jaheira and I will stay with her,” Shadowheart spoke, her worry etched deep in the frown lines by her lips. “We will need—”

“My sword is yours,” Lae’zel volunteered, pulling her blade out to lie across her lap. She sat with her back straight, eyes focused. A soldier on guard, disguising her concern for a friend.

Halsin and Wyll carefully flipped Tav onto her back. “Are we absolutely positive this is what afflicts her? Maybe she inhaled some spores from your pack—” he tried to reason with the older druid. 

“Urgh—To taste a druid’s blood would be a carnal delight—to dig his heart out from the depths of his ribs and feast upon the muscle. To mutilate his corpse over and over and over—”

Jaheira’s chuckle was void of humor. “Ignore the wisdom of an old crone, why don’t you?”

“Halsin, are you sure you want to listen to this?” Shadowheart asked.

Yes!—he wanted to scream—he was a healer, it was his duty, he would do it for anyone else.

But something else ate away at him as he watched Tav squirm and suffer, biting at her own cheeks when the absence of his flesh famished her. This felt personal somehow, as if everyone else was merely an obstacle on her way to him. He was her target. 

Yet, he didn’t feel threatened. If he was her target, then so be it. She was the one person his body wouldn’t let him abandon because it knew she wouldn’t abandon him.

Tav choked on her saliva as she yelled, “Your bones would be put to good use inside my—”

“I can handle it,” he announced, the nerves in his shoulders loosening. Karlach and Wyll reluctantly returned to their tents as Halsin settled down beside Jaheira. 

“Come back to us, little one,” he said, his voice a hushed whisper. “I know you are still in there.” 

Tav whimpered, registering his attempt at calming her. Helping her.

“Feel the grass beneath your cheek. The soil wetting your skin. Let the Oak Father tend to your mind. Let nature pull you from this dread. It can take it. You can will it.”

“I—I’m sorry.”

Astarion diverted his gaze, swallowing a gulp of air his body didn’t need. He blinked rapidly before stalking into the trees, Gale trailing close behind.

Tav was his best friend. Devastatingly enough, the one friend here who had not yet claimed their own autonomy. Someone who was being controlled, forced to move and act at the will of another. His spawn blood stole his choice and allowed others to steal bits of his soul. Tav’s tainted blood stole her choice as well, but forced her to steal the souls of others. 

To be at the will of something sinister, to be forced to say and do awful things because something compelled them to… Halsin’s heart clenched at the comparison. But it leaped as it finally understood why Tav and Astarion were attached at the hip. How they could possibly heal each other. 

According to Tav, Halsin said all the wrong things. Maybe Astarion was her one source of truth.

“Do not apologize to me. There is no need.”

“I am sick.”

“You are fighting,” Jaheira clarified.

Tav sobbed, whipping her head from side to side. “I’m sorry, Shadowheart.”

Shadowheart waved a hand, her smile small. “I didn’t feel like sleeping, anyway.”

The hours passed slowly, painfully, until the worst of it cleared. Lae’zel woke Karlach and Wyll to inform them, and Jaheira retreated to the dimly lit fire to regain some strength. Shadowheart sat back and waited, another spell prepared. But Tav sat up with her help, then calmly sent her away. 

It was just the two of them, quiet enough that Halsin could hear the beat of her heart.

She breathed in deeply, her burnt-orange hair falling across her face. She looked so… small. Defeated. Nothing like the fighter she had presented herself to be these past few weeks. Sweat stained her night clothes, yet she dug her toes into the dirt to find a sliver of warmth. 

“They say silver is supposed to keep evil spirits away,” Tav laughed brokenly.

He nodded. “That they do. That it does.”

“And yet, I can still see myself in the mirror.”

Halsin didn’t think she was trying to insult Astarion in the same sentence, but he understood what she was trying to say. A vampire equaled an evil spirit, and thus Astarion couldn’t see himself in mirrors. What plagued Tav was evil no doubt, and yet she was forced to see herself.

“Silver also promotes healing.”

She shook her head. “That’s your job.”

After a long pause, she whispered, “No one can heal from this. He’s in my blood. I am his.”

They didn’t say anything else. 

Tav watched the weakening flames until the sun came up, and Halsin watched her.

---

“Um, excuse me? I can’t find my mum.”

“That sounds like a personal problem.”

Honest to the Gods, Tav could have simply smacked the poor girl and the physical lashing would have been less traumatizing. The young girl visibly recoiled, taking a small step back and almost tripping over her orange cat. Halsin reached out, but she moved further away.

Minthara snickered at Tav’s comment, though she didn’t aid in the verbal beating of the child herself.

“She had these spots all over her face and chest. She went out for some herbs and was supposed to come back already. Said she’d be four days at most. That was a tenday ago, though,” the girl mumbled, Yenna, and played with the loose thread of her sleeve.

“Sounds like your mom’s dead.”

“Tav!” Halsin scolded, something alarmingly bold rising within him. Tav made no indication she was affected by his outburst. Neither did Minthara.

“May I remind you you’re speaking to a child. In the middle of a refugee camp,” Gale said, brushing his hand through the warm air. His tone was lighter than his own, thankfully. The only other time Halsin had seen Rivington so crowded was days after the shadow curse rippled through the land and pushed the first round of refugees in.

“Which makes my observation that much more factual,” Tav stated, boredom polluting her fine face.

Astarion choked out a laugh, resting a delicate hand over his heart. “Oh, darling. I’m sure we can find you another squirrel to kick that doesn’t have opposable thumbs.” 

Tav rolled her eyes. Astarion continued, “You were so quick to shelter poor Arabella. What’s different now?”

“I would die for Arabella. I don’t give a shit about her.”

Yenna, surprisngly, chuckled. Tav snapped her gaze to the girl, raising an eyebrow. 

Halsin cut off their line of sight, stepping in front of Tav. He asked, his tone ghostly like a warning, “Do you give a shit about children?” 

Again, Tav gave nothing away as to whether his threatening aura unnerved her. Instead, she side-stepped him and reengaged the girl. “What uses do you provide?”

“Gods, you’re miraculous,” Astarion swooned.

Yenna straightened, lifting her freckled chin. “I can cook.”

“Gale cooks for us.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“Ah!” Gale bent a knee, the crack obvious. “That would be I! Do you know your way around spices?”

Yenna grinned, sticking her chest out as she placed her small fists on her hips. “Mum taught me! Said I could rival the best chefs in Baldur’s Gate someday!”

“It’s settled then! I have a new apprentice.”

Minthara clicked her tongue. “One more mouth to feed.”

Gale gave Yenna a miniature version of their map and showed her where to find their camp. The girl scurried away, calling after her cat. Minthara and Astarion quickly left as well in search of some fashionable day clothes, leaving Halsin to deal with Tav’s attitude. 

The drow watched as Gale engaged in yet another bright conversation with a local, her scowl deepening. Confusion settling in.

“What color does the girl give off?” he asked her, a futile attempt to quiet both her annoyance and his anger. She stayed watching Gale and did not move when he settled right beside her, their shoulders brushing.

“Don’t know yet,” she said. 

He shook his head. Though it didn’t measure close, Halsin was slowly approaching the level of outrage he had felt when confronting Kagha. “You were too harsh.”

Tav hummed, then turned to strut down the hill to buy some fish. Completely insensitive and horribly remiss. “Best show her what to expect from me early on, no?”

She handed the fisherman some coin and waited as he bundled the fish. His stomach grumbled, but it wasn’t enough of an attempt at distracting from the matter at hand. 

“Lay aside your pride for a moment. Show kindness to children, would you?”

“That’s your job. Not mine. I have bigger matters to attend to.”

Whatever happened to the gut-wrenching apology she spewed a few nights before? What happened to the kind soul he saw save the tieflings twice over without question, the soul who defended Astarion every chance possible, the soul that almost regurgitated her breakfast while building the courage to tell Arabella her parents had died? 

“I didn’t think you so ugly.”

He said it before his mind weighed the consequences.

“Oh? Well, I know that’s not true. I have plenty of suitors. I have fucked plenty of people. No complaints.”

A mask just as fitted as Astarion’s, it seemed.

He followed close behind, sneaking a refugee some coin as she traveled the road back to their camp. He called out, but she did not turn to him. 

“Your beauty is not what I am commenting on. You are turning ugly inside, and I do not blame your blood for it. No sane soul deprives a child of food and shelter, even if it’s for one night.”

She shrugged, her hair blowing in the wind.“I am not sane. Don’t you get it, Halsin?” 

He nearly ran into her when she stopped and turned, crossing her arms in defiance. “I am weak, and I will give in to these urges soon enough.”

He snarled. “I didn’t take you as fragile and pathetic.”

Her eyes flickered with something… pained. As if he stung her. Then as quickly as it appeared, it disintegrated into the poisoned pot she stored most of her emotions in.

“Maybe I should have killed you the other night.”

“Strike me with your words all you want. I can take it.”

But it actually did strike him deep for some reason. So badly it nearly made him wince. She laughed, the sound piercing through the air and slicing him in two. 

He didn’t talk to her the whole walk back.

---

“Do you hate me?”

Halsin perked up at Yenna’s small voice. He nearly fell forward with the weight of his head as he forgot he was lounging in wild shape by the campfire. He located Tav and Yenna by the barn, Scratch and the unnamed owlbear running circles around them. 

“Hate is a strong word,” Tav mumbled, the cleaning of her boots uninterrupted as Yenna sat down next to her on the log. She kept a respectable distance, twiddling her thumbs. 

“I seeked someone kind-looking,” Yenna explained.

“I am quite beautiful.”

“I didn’t say that.” To that, Tav did halt her work. She turned to meet Yenna’s eye, the poor girl trembling as she tried to redeem herself. “Wait! I only meant that you looked kind, too.”

Tav straightened, her brow scrunching. “I’ve never been told that.”

“Don’t your friends tell you?”

“They’re not my friends.”

A blatant lie, Halsin thought.

Yenna frowned. “Oh. That’s sad.”

Clearly exasperated, Tav set down her boots. “What do you want, Yenna?”

The girl’s blue eyes widened, a small smile sneaking onto her face. “You know my name.”

“No, shit. I have functioning ears.”

“Well, if you don’t hate me, then why were you so mean to me?”

Tav shrugged, but didn’t pick up her boots. Instead, she leaned back and pulled her long hair into a bun. Yenna watched her, fascinated by the fair highlights in Tav’s hair. Yenna had mentioned to him that her mother kept her hair short out of necessity, that it was easier to steal the essentials without the threat of leaving a strand of hair behind. Now, Halsin bet she would grow it out.  

Tav, the silver ripple in the water. 

“I’m dangerous, kid.”

“There’s a bear in our camp right now.”

“Besides that.”

“And a Sharran—”

“She’s reformed.”

“And a vampire!”

Tav pointed a finger. “The kindest vampire you’ll ever meet, too.”

“How can he be kind, but you are not?” Yenna argued, squinting her bright eyes. Tav met her stare, unfaltering, and in that small moment Halsin recognized Tav’s unmistakable admiration. With Mol, that admiration spawned the moment she foolishly asked for her to steal the idol. For Arabella, it had been when Tav found her parents in the House of Healing—the knowledge that it would crush her spirit, but not her soul. Yenna’s growing confidence in a singular conversation was what was winning her over. 

Tav sighed, angling her gaze to him by the campfire. Halsin quickly feigned sleep. “I almost hurt that bear for fun.”

“Oh.”

“Everyone had to tie me up and hold me down until my mind quieted.”

Shame laced each syllable. Yenna scooted closer to her on the log. “So, you were mean because you didn’t want to hurt me with your hands?”

“I’m surprised I haven’t killed the dog or the owlbear,” Tav muttered, then jutted her chin up, “Or that cat of yours.”

They sat in silence for a good minute, Yenna watching Tav continue to wash her boots and Tav side-eyeing the girl. 

Halsin actually believed he should have been harsher with Tav when they first encountered the girl, but perhaps he failed to see right through her. Tav had aided him always, aided multiple others and merely joked about coin in return. And when Tav had burrowed into his past, with his permission of course, and saw the weight of responsibility he had put on his own shoulders… They saw in each other what others couldn’t: the inescapable need to form such a mountain of righteousness so that it casted a shadow over their countless wrongs. But it was near impossible climbing the height they had measured themselves.

For what Tav had almost done to him, why subject an innocent child to the possibility?  

“Thank you for telling me,” Yenna said, then softly poked Tav’s upper arm. A childish gesture, one that seemed to shock Tav still for a moment. 

Clearing her throat, Tav said, “Just keep your distance from me while I sleep, okay?”

“Where’s your tent?”

“Right next to Astarion’s.”

“Good. Vampires don’t die easily.”

There was a noticeable quirk in Tav’s upper lip, a movement that had Halsin’s stomach swooping and the bear audibly groaning.

“Set up your bedroll near Karlach’s tent. She’s the only one here who is physically capable of stopping me.”

“What about the Githyanki?”

Halsin thought about it for a bit, too. If Tav were to have another uncontrollable episode and she did not provide them warning like last time, who would be able to restrain and who would succumb? Halsin would like to believe his reflexes were spotless, but he had been nicked in battle one too many times already. It was Astarion who watched his back, muttering about what a disposable, yet practical shield he had proven to be. Astarion could definitely outmaneuver Tav on dexterity and flexibility alone. Gale, Wyll, and Shadowheart would probably react too late. Jaheria would put up a good fight. Lae’zel and Karlach were the only two Halsin knew could survive the bloodshed.

“Well, she camps far away from us,” Tav said, pointing to the tent closest to the barn’s exit. “Not because she doesn’t like us, but because if there’s ever an attack, she’ll swing first.”

“And she’ll go down first.”

Tav winced. “I think that’s how she shows she cares. It’s the only way she’ll ever let it be known that she’d die for us.”

Oak Father preserve him, he never noticed that before. The bear whined, and Halsin turned his heavy head to try and catch a glimpse of the fighter in her tent.

“I’m not so scared of you anymore,” Yenna declared, smiling brightly. She was missing her left canine. 

Tav hummed, “I’ll make sure to treat you extra poorly in the morning.”

---

“Final question,” the blacksmith said, his voice lowering an octave. “Would you be able to turn your weapon on those closest to you?”

Tav lifted her gaze, irises darkening. “What kind of question is that?”

Halsin made to step forward, but the blacksmith clocked the movement before he fully could. A twisted smile painted his sweaty face. Tav did not balk, nor did she raise a weapon. She merely inspected him, tilting her head to the side as if the angle offered more. 

“It allows me to know just how sharp I should make your blade, how heavy I should make the handle. Should your blade drive through the meat of the one you love most, oh so easily? So easily that the spray of their blood angles directly into your waiting mouth? Should I make the handle light so that when your troubled hands tremble, you are still able to strike true?”

Astarion shook his head as if the words he was hearing were coming from the tadpole itself. He muttered a quiet what the fuck beneath his breath.

“Forgive us,” Halsin interrupted, his face drawn tight. “But we are no longer in need of your services.”

The blacksmith took an audacious step right into Tav’s personal space. Halsin acted quickly, throwing his hands out to push at his armored shoulders. The blacksmith stumbled, but his smile did not falter. 

“You have already tried to steal this family’s breath, have you not? You have imagined what their insides look like, what wonderful necklaces you can wove from each string they offer?”

Halsin growled, his eyes burning gold. “I will savor your own if you do not walk away right now.”

Tav looked up at him, her surprise sincere. As if she truly believed he wouldn’t risk his life for hers. He had told her he would back in his tent in the shadow-cursed lands, promising his ears as well for when her mind needed relief. At this very moment, he would draw his staff and return whatever vile energy the creature before them harbored back to the Oak Father, where his vengeance striked true. Anything for her, for it was the least he could do.

But before anyone could pull a blade, the blacksmith cracked his own neck in a gruesome display of brute strength. His shoulders lifted then popped. His back bent forward, and his feet turned inward. And in a single burst of red, a pale woman stood in his place. Even paler eyes accompanied her vicious aura.

“Blood-kin! You would have this mountain of a servant speak for you?” she laughed, her sultry voice penetrating his chest. It made his heart beat wildly, made the bear cower. “Oh, but I do so enjoy the taste of druid.”

Tav snarled, her fists clenching as she stopped herself from striking a fellow Bhaalspawn. “Orin.”

“Took you long enough,” she judged, wringing out the final cracks of her neck. “It seems my poking and prodding did little to disturb your mind-matter. Or, did it?” 

She winked at Halsin, then circled the two as if they were trapped in a glass box. “Do you not remember who you are? Who we were? What you have done?”

“I remember enough.”

Orin giggled, and swiped a bloody hand across Astarion’s chest. The pale elf stood his ground, but Halsin saw the way his throat bobbed.

“Tell your orc to move aside. My eyes crave the fighter you have become. Though, I much prefer you dripping with innards.” Orin smiled until her red teeth practically took up half her face. A pretty face, Halsin secretly admitted to himself. But there was no lust behind that truth. She looked up at him, taking that same hand that touched Astarion and running it down his own chest. The armor protected him from feeling such grimy fingers, but she pushed and swiveled them the longer he stood still. 

“I can easily step through you,” she threatened, standing on her tip-toes so her foul breath met his nose.

“Step through me, then.”

When the feeling of her slick tongue met his chin, Halsin froze. His stomach dropped a million miles into the Oak Father’s soil, and his nerves splintered one by one. He was back in the Underdark, chained to the most spectacular of bedposts, throwing his head back in shame as the drow matron rode him, as her claws tore across his throat—

Tav gripped Orin by the back of the neck and flung her several feet away. Orin caught herself on an unfinished blade and used it to stand again, paying no mind to the slice in her palm. Her smile held, but a few strands of blond hair broke free from her neatly-kept braid. 

“Have you fucked this one, blood-kin? Have you sucked him dry? Have you come on his thin lips? On his wonder of a cock? Have you killed him, fucked his corpse, and revived him yet?”

“You truly are the bitch of the Gate, aren’t you?” Astarion bit, picking at invisible dirt beneath his fingernails. “Let it be known that if you step through the druid, which I would love to see if I’m being honest, you would have to go through me next. And I am very hard to kill, darling.”

“A challenge! To kill the undead over and over and over again! So many possibilities.”

“Yes, how wonderful. If your bitch-self is able to do that, you would then face the githyanki. And there, you absolute swine, is where you would crumble.”

Tav stepped in front of Halsin, even daring to raise a dagger at her sister. “They are not the only ones who would aid me in your defeat, Orin. I’ve recruited Minthara, and she holds the most brilliant of grudges.”

Orin finally frowned. “Father will see us battle soon enough, Tav. That is the name you chose for yourself all those years ago, no? Oh, wait. Excuse me. The name your mother chose for you.” 

Tav's jaw tightened. 

“How she screamed and whined and begged you not to kill her and your adoptive siblings. How she writhed even as Uncle lifted you from her corpse.”

“I look forward to sinking my teeth into your fucking neck, sister.”

“And I will writhe with the pleasure of it, my dear slaughter-kin.”

Orin disappeared, and Halsin regained feeling in his legs. He reached for Tav, and for the first time since they had met, he took her hand into his own. Her fingers intertwined with his, the size difference settling something dark within him. 

“I can teach you my technique,” Astarion said, his light voice clearing the stale air. “It’s all in the turn of your jaw, see. Then place your canines delicately over the carotid—”

“Tav,” Halsin whispered, squeezing her hand.

“She’s a shapeshifter. A fucking doppleganger. Orin can infiltrate our camp and kill us all.”

Astarion moaned, his worry expertly concealed. “She won’t be able to. We know one another.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “If I repeat it multiple times, maybe I’ll believe it, too.”

“You’re scared?” Tav asked, absent of judgment entirely. Her tone was more sad, if anything.

“She’s terrifying,” Astarion confirmed with a laugh. Then, more seriously, “And she will not touch you.”

Tav shook her head, her grip on Halsin’s hand strong. “I don’t think she’s going to stop coming after us until I accept her duel.”

“Dueling for what exactly?” Lae’zel finally sheathed her sword, but her yellow eyes followed each gust of wind, each insect that flew across her vision, each movement her companions made.

Tav grimaced as she said, shame dripping off the two words, “Bhaal’s chosen.”

Lae’zel straightened. “Is that what you want?”

“You have no opinion on the matter.”

“It’s a yes or no question.”

Tav pulled her hand from Halsin’s, and he immediately felt the coldness seep through his skin. The action was almost enough to deafen him from Tav’s next announcement. 

“Let’s see what Gortash has to say.”

He scoffed, though he didn’t mean for the sound to signify displeasure. “His opinion is allowed?”

“He knows about Orin. More than me, considering. I should use all the weapons in my arsenal.”

It took everything in him not to outright fight her. Instead, he nodded and immediately regretted it. “You know best, I suppose.”

Her readied insult died as she didn't expect him to fold so easily. She was left looking up at him, studying his eyes for any change. She was fighting herself, fighting something besides her need to battle his every word. 

She cleared her throat, hiding from his gentle stare as she asked, “Could you make me that tea later? The one that’s a little bit spicy.”

He bowed slightly. “Of course.”

“And you—you can share a cup with me, if you want.”

Halsin swore the gold glimmer he possessed dripped along his ribs. “Until later then.”

He watched Tav walk away with Astarion at her side, their arms locked and her head resting on his shoulder. What he would give for that level of closeness with someone—with her, even—instead of people simply using him and vanishing within the month.

“She is strong. We are strong. We will assassinate Orin and leave a trail of blood for her followers to lick clean,” Lae’zel firmly established, her presence doing nothing to quell the sudden emptiness plaguing him. 

“Is it wrong to doubt our abilities?”

Lae’zel clicked her tongue. “Am I to give the old druid wisdom?”

He chuckled, “Advice, more like.”

Ever since embarking on this mission, Halsin questioned his right to give advice at all. The Grove almost fell because he went chasing after the past, he nearly banished Minthara without hearing her plea, and he allowed Mol’s capture because he was too enthralled by a comatose Flaming Fist. Jaheira could take up the mantle of wise druid. He wasn’t worthy of it anyway.

“There is no room for doubt in this fight. We must press on, and worry about the consequences afterwards. Pray that there is an afterwards, that there are consequences.”

He and Lae’zel decided to buy some desserts for the group, wholeheartedly believing that sugar might make everything weighing their shoulders down just a little bit more light.

---

“Tell me about your time in the Underdark, please?”

Halsin never thought he’d bring the topic up ever, especially to a friend. Sometimes there are things best kept hidden away for the risk of all the original emotions carved into his skin bleeding freely again. He had never told anyone, truly. When hinting at it, he kept the story brief. The more serious aspects were always downplayed, and he purposely skipped information so that he didn’t need to reteach himself how to forget.

But as he sat on his bed at the Elfsong with Tav cross-crossed on the floor, sipping the spicy tea he had made, he felt the need to tell her a little more. He had a feeling that she would be able to handle it, and that he would be able to bear the repercussions.

So he told her. Every last detail, down to the smallest he was sure he had forgotten a hundred years ago. But this time he could not smell the drow matron’s perfume, or taste the patron’s poisonous saliva. He couldn’t feel their lingering touch, no, not when Tav held out her empty teacup and softly asked for more. 

“Perhaps that’s why you hated me in the beginning.”

A genuine laugh jumped from his chest. He savored the growing smile on her lovely face. “I have never hated you. Was I skeptical about a female drow saving me from the goblin camp when Minthara camped right upstairs? Yes.”

She smirked, then took a long sip of her filled tea. The events from earlier that day had seemed to evaporate in each sip, and it made him damn near giddy to know it was his tea doing that. 

Tav caught herself before she could lower her gaze, her eyes meeting his hazel ones. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

Though it was something plenty of people had uttered before, it still gave him a sense of calmness. Of reassurance. “Once you’ve lived for as long as I have, bad memories begin to turn into something distant. Numb, almost. And with enough time, their past associations change.”

“You’ve… you’ve convinced yourself it didn’t happen?”

No. Triggers existed, but they were rare for him. Orin’s tongue had transported him to that bad place, but Tav’s touch brought him back. “More like I have convinced myself that it was not as bad as I once thought it to be.”

He survived. And though it was entirely non-consensual, he had enjoyed some days. There was shame in that, shame he will carry forever. 

“It wasn’t your fault. You deserved better, Halsin.”

His shoulders fell before he could collect himself. Tav noticed, like she always did. 

“You did what you had to in order to survive, and they met a violent end. A fitting end.”

He actually never found out what became of his captors, but it wasn’t likely they survived a week-long ambush. “I—Thank you.”

“Are you alright?”

“The stress of today. Of yesterday. Of what’s to come. It’s really taking its toll.”

She nodded, looking down at her tea. “Don’t tell anybody this, but I’m terrified of what’s to come.”

The pure honesty in her voice… Halsin couldn’t breathe. 

“If you ever suspect I am Orin, ask me what Shadowheart’s favorite flower is. It’s a night orchid.”

The thought of Orin infiltrating their camp at all was enough to frighten even the bear, so much so that when Halsin attempted to bring him forward, that gold glimmer sparked and faded at his fingertips. 

“Shouldn’t the question be about you instead?”

“Shadowheart has only ever told me that. It’s one of the only things she remembers about herself. Orin would never know.”

Smart. He tried to think of something his companions had told him in secret, or something he had told them, but his mind fell blank. It wasn’t that he failed to get to know them properly, but that whenever he would lend an ear, he was simply the first of many. Which, in retrospect, was a proud thing. They were comfortable telling him first, but he did not hold their secrets for long. 

“If you ever suspect I am Orin, ask me about my mother. If my response isn't that she's doing well, you will know.” He was harboring no secrets of his own, besides the stirring of his heart for the drow sitting in front of him. “Everyone knows I am the last of my line. Orin would know it.”

“And if she takes someone else’s skin?”

“You know your companions well enough, no? It was me you were having difficulty with.”

Tav chuckled, and gulped the last of her tea. Standing, she went to grab his empty cup from his hands. “Thank you for the tea, Halsin.”

And before his mind could attach its wits to his mouth, he softly returned, “Anytime, my heart.”

Tav stilled, the cups rattling against each other as she held them close to her chest. Halsin counted the passing seconds, grappling with his common sense as his mouth formed around invisible words. 

Since joining this merry journey, his wisdom had plummeted to the depths of the Nine Hells. Stupidity flourished in his old, druid soul—

Tav scurried back to him, a dark blush coating her entire face. She planted a quick peck to his cheek, right on his tattoo. 

The gentleness of it lingered until he fell into a deep trance.

---

“Get away from me!”

Halsin startled awake, tripping over the damned sheets of his bed. He had never had blankets before. Or a mattress. Sure, when he shared beds with lovers he rested for a few hours, but he did not indulge in city culture while at the Grove. The only person who had a mattress was Nettie, and only because her back needed the support. 

Halsin wiped at his eyes to find Astarion backing away slowly, finding refuge by Tav’s bed. When the back of his knees hit the mattress, Tav stirred. She was up in an instant, a dagger pulled from underneath her pillow. 

“How in the Hells did you get in here?” she hissed. Meeting his eye across the room, he understood the signal to wake the others. One by one, as Tav and Astarion attempted to calm his siblings, Halsin shook his companions awake. Lae’zel and Jaheira took to the dark corners, Wyll and Gale spread out but lay low, Shadowheart drank a potion of invisibility, and he, Karlach, and Minthara picked up the heaviest of weapons to stroll straight into the quarrel with. The other vampires stared at them with bright, glowing eyes. Bristling, nearly twitching with each excited breath they took. 

Why didn’t Astarion’s eyes glow? Had the tadpole taken that feature away as well?

Tav succeeded in persuading Leon and Aurelia in seeing the truth behind Cazador’s lies, much to Astarion’s displeasure. He wanted her to lie, to tell them that they could all ascend by killing Cazador together. Halsin’s chest seized as he witnessed the craving of power in Astarion’s demeanor, and as he caught Tav hesitating in her speech. 

One of his siblings saddled closer to Karlach, mindful of the flames, but took a sniff nonetheless. Karlach recoiled. The spawn swallowed, ignoring Karlach’s reaction and Minthara’s glare, all to catch a whiff of his own blood. The spawn’s eyes glowed brighter, their irises vibrating uncontrollably.

The red glow was hunger. 

Astarion was no longer hungry. 

“By the absent Gods, Astarion… I believe you,” Leon said. But Aurelia clutched her stomach and groaned, whispering to Leon about how they couldn’t refuse orders. That Cazador was forcing them to kidnap Astarion, and a deal between them might as well be a joke. Leon pushed his sister behind him as he braced for a fight. Devastation glowed in his eyes, and he muttered a quick apology before he pulled a dagger from his pocket. 

Astarion raised his chin, empathy shown on his face. In his tone. “You can tell Cazador that when I find him, I will tear him limb from limb. I will smile upon his rotten corpse.”

Tav received the first slash. By stepping directly in front of Astarion. The pale elf’s eyes widened as he smelled her blood, her sacrifice. The very concept of mercy seeped from his mind altogether. He cut through his siblings desperately, dodging their blades and spells. 

Shadowheart stuck a blade in the spine of the smallest of the spawn, and fell backwards as they simply disappeared. Called back to their Master. Her blade lay bloody on the rug before it was suddenly picked up by Leon himself. 

And before he could drive it into her throat, Lae’zel burst from the shadows and tackled him. Her roar cracked through Halsin's eardrums, and an equally grating one sounded as she buried her blade deep in his abdomen. Same as his sibling, Leon disappeared from the Elfsong. 

It was pure luck he and his companions outnumbered them. He had just finished shooting an arrow through the shoulder of one aiming for Jaheira’s heart when he heard it. 

A quiet, garbled gasp. 

Tav gripped the dagger’s handle with both hands, leaving it inserted in her stomach. She merely stared at Aurelia. The spawn stared back, her lips trembling and head shaking in disbelief. 

Halsin was behind her in an instant, gripping her hair and swinging her to the floor. The spawn yelped, the last of her siblings infecting their camp. She scrambled backward, whatever she saw in Halsin’s eyes frightening her enough to abandon her own bow. He lifted her and slammed her against the wall, taking pleasure in her groan of pain. 

“Cazador would never let you die here, and yet you drive a blade through my friend’s skin?” he yelled, slamming her again. 

She cried, “Astarion! Please! He ordered us here, he ordered us to kill anyone who stepped in the way! I could not refuse. I could not refuse, I could not refuse, I could not refuse—“

Again and again she repeated it, tears staining her cheeks and drenching her collar. She thrashed, her throat clenching on itself. Again, again, again, again—

“Let her go, Halsin,” Astarion begrudgingly ordered, his bloody daggers limp at his sides. “She cannot disobey.”

“What and let her kill us? Let her take you?” he screamed over his shoulder. 

Minthara stepped forward, observing Aurelia with a sneer. “No,” she drawled. She sunk the broken tip of an arrow in the spawn’s throat. “We merely send her back.”

In a snap, she abandoned her orders for the sake of forced survival, following the rest of her empty-handed siblings. Halsin immediately dashed for Tav, kneeling in front of her to inspect the wound.

“Let me,” he said, his heart pounding.

“No.”

“Tav—“

“I told him I’d protect him and I almost failed tonight. I deserve this.” Still, she did not let go of the blade. The second she pulled, she would bleed out.

Halsin forced himself to breathe normally, shock enveloping his senses. Was that why she got involved with everyone and everything, put herself first in the face of danger, so she could somehow relieve their pain and take the brunt of it? 

“You deserve… pain?” he asked carefully. He had met others who self-harmed before, but he had never treated them directly. Nettie had always taken the lead role in those cases. And perhaps he wasn’t the best person to ask for help either, because his aged brain could only suggest they stop. 

Now, he understood why Tav did it—why she believed she deserved it. And instead of simply telling her to stop, he wanted to heal her from the inside-out so no thoughts like that ever afflicted her again.

“I deserve to be broken and pulled apart all over again, Halsin. I deserve to remember that torture Orin made me suffer.”

She tried to step around him, but Lae’zel’s glare halted her. He caught her arm before she could find an alternate route. 

Her breathing quickened. He loosened his grip, but still managed to tug her closer. To grip the blade’s handle himself. “It is a blessing you do not remember any of it.”

She smiled ruefully, fatigue dimming her eyes. “What do you think my punishment should be? More stabbings?”

“None whatsoever. Now, please let me tend to your wound.”

“If she really wants to break me, all she has to do is give me my memories back,” she laughed, though it was pained. From self-hatred or from the wound, he did not know. “But in her eyes, it would be a gift.”

Without much struggle, he laid her down and wordlessly instructed Wyll to bring fresh water and clean rags. She stared as he worked around the wound first, silent but present. Though no emotion painted her face, Halsin knew he wasn’t being scrutinized. There was something deeper there. Something akin to admiration, something holy. 

When Wyll returned and gripped Tav’s hand as Halsin quickly pulled the blade out, Halsin let his mind settle. He drowned out her cries and worked tirelessly, stitching her insides with magic and muttering sweet words under his breath. He didn’t think she was listening, but he said them just the same. 

“I couldn’t let them take him,” Tav breathed, her eyelids fluttering. “I think I was just as bad as Cazador, and if he had been taken…��

“You must not compare yourself to true evils, my heart. For you are not the person in absent memories, nor the person Orin wants you to be. I have it on good authority that Astarion would agree, and would kill you himself if you even matched Cazador in cruelty. For that, there is hope in your atonement yet.”

Somehow a smile broke through her exhausted face. “You are too nice to me.”

Halsin pulled the bedsheet over her healing stomach. And because she was barely conscious, he found the confidence to say, “Trust me, I am more than what I ever was when I am with you.”

---

“There’s absolutely no way, you little shit.”

Halsin had to blink so Tav’s words were processed fully. The way she spoke to children… At this point in their journey, there was only a sliver of guilt as he admitted he found it sort of funny.

Mol puffed out her chest, fists on her hips and face absent of an eyepatch. “Surprised to see me here? Well, right back at ya! Glad to see ya made it here in one piece!”

Tav listened intently as Mol described what she’d been up to all this time, all the trinkets she acquired roaming the Lower City, her new position in Guild. 

“Get away from my pockets, child,” Jaheira sneered, but there was a hint of pride hidden in her voice. In her slight grin. Something akin to respect. 

“I don’t need your scraps, ya old weirdo! I’ve got Nine-Fingers up my sleeve, a certain devil protecting my hide, and a handsome ol’ wizard slipping me scrolls whenever he can!”

Jaheira was unruffled by her insult, which made Mol even more assured. But the second she met Halsin's stare, a muscle in her jaw jumped, giving her away.

“Tell me you did not make that deal with Raphael, Mol,” Halsin pleaded.

“None of your business, tree-hugger.”

Wyll sighed, closing his eyes. “Raphael may talk sweet, but he’ll cut you quicker than you can beg. Whatever he’s promised, know that it cannot be met without repercussions or consequences. I should know, Mol.”

Tav set a gold chalice back on the wooden crate, leaning over to check out Mol’s jewelry collection instead. “Is that how you escaped Moonrise? And got your eyesight back?”

Her monotone voice confused the small tiefling—Why would two men care more about her situation? But Halsin recognized the trick. No sense of urgency, unlike all the other times she and Mol had met, would get her talking. Wanting to expand on her deal with Raphael just so she could prove that all she’s accomplished so far measured up to the way Tav saw her. 

“What’s the big deal now? I got out, and now I’ve gotta hold up my end.”

“Which is?” Wyll pressed. 

“He gave me a damn eyeball back! The deal could have been a lot worse.”

“Mol,” Halsin grumbled. 

“Thievery is my domain, druid. I’m his little thief.”

Wyll leaned in. “That’s all that was exchanged?”

Mol's nose curled. “Where’s ya head at, ya thick warlock? Of course that’s it!”

Wyll’s shoulders dropped. Halsin had never spoken to Mizora in the time she lounged around the Elfsong. Never asked Wyll to elaborate on their daily check-ins. Never asked about the other missions she had sent him on. Whatever Wyll shared with him, the group, Halsin was grateful for. 

Now he couldn’t stop wondering what his hands would look like wrapped around Mizora’s throat.

And he couldn’t stop the worry from hitting him square in the chest as Tav said her goodbyes. Would they leave Mol to the Guild? To Raphael’s slimy grasp? She and Yenna would probably get along, and Gods knew Yenna needed another girlfriend besides Karlach. 

“Here,” Mol said, handing Tav a pouch of coins and a sealed letter. “I trust you’ll deliver this for me?”

“Stupid assumption.”

Mol rolled her eyes. “Deliver it, will ya? It’s going to your favorite tiefling wiiiiizaaaarrrrd.”

Tav mimicked her voice, flicking the young tiefling off before turning on her heel. 

They can’t leave her here, they can’t leave her here, they can’t leave her here… He can’t leave her here.

“Astele would sooner die than harm a child of the Gate,” Jaheira whispered to him. “And the child is smart enough to gain her trust in time.”

“This is no place for a child."

“No, it isn’t,” Jaheira agreed, raising an eyebrow. “But what of Geraldus? He made his choice, and it was an honorable one. I tried to stop him and got put in my place by our resident cub. What of Arabella, wandering alone and told to simply trust the Weave? We let her go, and our hope reigns. What of Mattis and Umi and Bex and Dannis? We cannot save everyone, but we can help them along their path.” 

“Is leaving Mol here helping her?”

Jaheira looked over her shoulder, eyeing Mol as she showed a child around her own age the proper hand movements to reach inside a pocket. “It is acceptance. It is trust. It is the knowledge that we are capable of stepping back when we have to. Mol has proven herself a hundred times over, and this deal with Raphael will only be a lesson. Besides, what hypocrite you are for telling the same devil you would consider his offer about the crown instead of disagreeing immediately?”

Perhaps Jaheira was right. For years, Halsin had put the needs of others on his shoulders regardless of their weight. Unoccupied now, his days felt empty.

Tav was doing the same and it seemed like only he could see the true consequence of it. Everyone else in their camp was occupied with their own predicaments, Jaheira now having to find and stop Minsc, so no one had seen Tav’s height lowering. Without the threat of the shadow curse, he was no longer blind. Though their companions cared for Tav’s wellbeing, they could not see past their own mist. He did not blame them—he was strong enough to help her, nourish her, lift her. By helping Tav, he would help himself.

“Does this change our plans with Raphael?” Wyll asked, worrying his bottom lip. 

“No,” Tav promised. She pushed the doors open and ignored the grumbling from the two guards eyeing her every move. “We kill the bastard, steal the hammer, and make damn sure Mol never finds out.”

Easier said than done.

---

The third time he heard Tav scream was when she delivered the final blow that brutalized Lorroakan’s insides. With her sword lifted high and Karlach’s boot in his neck, Tav sliced open his abdomen and pulled out his large intestine. Wet and red, Tav squeezed, seemingly savoring the squelching noise that bounced off the windows of Ramazith’s Tower. 

And when she moved aside to let Dame Aylin through, Halsin savored the sound of his spine splitting upon her blessed knee. 

They had stopped at Sorcerous Sundries right after seeing Mol, the coin purse all too tempting for Astarion. When they arrived and took immediate note of the bruises scattered across Rolan’s handsome face, Halsin knew they wouldn’t just be dropping off the coin. 

Rolan had done a good job at keeping his composure until the questions began. 

“I can take the beatings. When I mess up a spell, his beatings are a practical way to make me get it right the next time. My track record is impressive—”

“Discipline is to be given with purpose,” Lae’zel had bit, snarling. “Your bruises are scattered. Careless. Smack a soldier’s hand for fumbling their blade, not their cheekbones. Break a child’s fingers for stealing, not puncture their stomachs. Lorroakan is toying with you, tiefling. That is no good teacher.”

And when Rolan confirmed it, Tav’s face had fallen flat. Scarily detached. Lae’zel had a similar reaction, but she nodded her head as if agreeing with the unspoken decision amongst the group. 

Lorroakan would be dead before the sun set. 

Now, Rolan panted as he hurried to their side and examined what was left of his old Master. “He’s really dead. The bastard’s dead.”

Tav looted Lorroakan’s corpse and passed Gale the magical trinkets she would have no use of. 

“And I seem to be out of scrolls,” Tav commented, wiping blood from her forehead. Standing up with a groan, she did her best to give Rolan a true smile. But the fight was tough, so much so that she had spent most of her time throwing healing potions to Karlach, who insisted on being in the middle of it all. “Would the new Master of Ramazith’s Tower kindly sell me some? I’d be willing to pay double.”

Rolan’s eyes watered, but that signature arrogance seeped through as he straightened his shoulders and sketched a bow. Silver menace, Halsin thought. He and Tav were so similar.  

Rolan’s eyes lit up as he remembered, “I promised you a discount.”

Tav waved a bored hand through the air. “You promised Gale a discount.”

Rolan closed his eyes for a second before throwing himself into Tav’s arms, holding her as tightly as his sore arms allowed. Tav stiffened, her cheek squished against Rolan’s hard chest and the top of her head directly beneath his chin. She met Halsin’s eye and found only encouragement. 

She wrapped her arms around the tiefling and squeezed, her eyes closing in comfort. 

“Master Rolan… I quite like the sound of that,” Rolan joked, clearing the sentiment from his throat. “I shall move Cal and Lia in at once!”

“I’m going to need as many wizards in this upcoming fight with the Absolute. I would like my favorite wizard at my side.”

Astarion snickered beside Gale, even going as far as poking his elbow into his ribs. Gale simply waved him off. 

“You will have the full force of Ramazith’s Towers at your service.” Then, softer and sweeter, “Thank you, Tav.”

Tav practically sparkled. Halsin forced himself to look away, only to meet Karlach’s knowing gaze. 

“I’m just sorry I can’t kill him again,” Tav said. “Know that you are always welcome at our camp. That you can always ask for our help with bitchy customers or entitled explorers.”

“And you will always have a room here if you need it.”

---

Halsin found her on the roof of the Elfsong, Lakrissa having whispered the hint when he inquired about Tav’s whereabouts. With a wink and a promise of a drink later, Lakrissa confirmed what he had worried about. People were starting to notice his feelings, his desires… People were starting to see right through him. 

Tav finished tying her hair up when she looked over her shoulder and smiled. It hit him so hard he fumbled over his own feet, a blush crawling up his neck. Tav pretended not to notice, and said nothing as he moved to sit on the cushion beside hers.  

As she looked over the balcony’s edge, watching the birds fly in triangles and the leaves float through the wind, Halsin watched her. Her skin was lighter than Minthara’s, and the pale burn stretching diagonally from the top right of her forehead to her bottom left cheek definitely set them apart. He wondered if she picked up that scar from battle, from her early days as a Bhaalspawn, or from the torture she had endured and forgot at Moonrise. She had never commented on it, nor did anyone bring it up. Yet, Halsin prayed it was a simple story like his own scar, nothing fancy, and that the brutal violence that seemed to follow their heels was altogether absent. 

With her hair up, he was able to outline the scar. Unable to control the desire to run his thumb down the extent of it. But he reeled it in, and sat beside her with his hands in his lap. 

“You know… I at least have an excuse for my violence. Lorroakan was just a bastard,” Tav suddenly shared, a worn chuckle breaking through. “But then again, going off of my logic, Orin has a valid excuse, too.”

“Orin is a different breed.”

Her mouth fell into a frown. “If she would have been kidnapped and infected with a tadpole, you would be sharing your tea with her. Rolan would be thanking her. You would be confiding in her.”

Halsin did not believe that true for one second. Orin was frightening, and the added effect of a tadpole was sure to make her everyone’s worst nightmare. Still, he replied with, “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

Tav grumbled, unsatisfied. What else could he say? That she got out but her sister didn’t? That she was given a new chance at life and her sister was still wreaking havoc underground? Was he supposed to feel sorry for Orin? 

“I am one God’s chosen,” Tav whispered, then turned to him with a flicker of hope in her mismatched eyes. “But do you think I can pray to another god?”

“Yes.”

“Is your Oak Father free?”

“Silvanus?” he asked, the fluttering of his heart nearly booming in his ears. He wondered if she could hear it, if her own matched his rhythm. “Look at where you sit. You are surrounded by his creations, even if they are muted in this city. The air you breathe, the ground you walk on, the flowers you smell. Silvanus asks for little in return, other than nurture nature, each other, and yourself. If you are worried about whether or not Silvanus will hear your prayers, do not be. He hears them, and does what can be done.”

“I have killed hundreds of people. I have mutilated their corpses, stolen their coin, desecrated their gravesites.”

“Forgiveness is something all gods offer.”

“But do I deserve it?”

No longer a boom, but a crack echoed through his ears. 

“Does Astarion deserve it after all the souls he brought Cazador?” he asked.

“He’s changed,” Tav declares, defensive, “And the gods never answered him.”

“Perhaps his change and his current situation is answer enough.”

Yet another thing that maddened him. Why did no God answer Astarion’s pleas? Why was he discarded, as were his siblings, and forced to endure two-hundred years of pain? Why did Astarion have to change at all to gain recognition? He was split on whether Silvanus would help an undead creature, one who couldn’t even harvest the sun's bounty. Did the Oak Father consider Astarion an undead with a soul in need of saving, or an undead with nothing but a masked scent?

Would the Oak Father consider Tav a soul worth saving after she had stolen the very souls he sprouted? Was change enough for both her and Astarion that he would practice benevolence?

Tav sucked in a deep breath. Shame suddenly etched across her face, as did an unsatisfying flush in her cheeks. Her mouth opened slightly around an invisible word. He waited, and offered an encouraging smile.

“I don’t remember kissing anyone who wasn’t dead,” she admitted, her voice wholly dejected. As if this one admission was enough to squander any acceptance from Silvanus. “My memories are vague, of course. But I do remember one man. His heart was beating. I don’t think I ever killed him.”

Halsin had to tread carefully or else the reopening of her wounds could prove dangerous. 

“Did you want to kiss your victims?”

She paused. “I think Orin wanted me to.”

“Do you see Orin in those memories?”

“I see her laughing.”

What in the Hells was their dynamic like? Though not related by blood, Orin had played the role of evil elder sister and Tav the role of evil little one. But had Orin been the most depraved of the two? The most abhorrent and wicked? Was Tav a subject of immorality, but able to control her urges more often? To be a Bhaalspawn and to not resist the urge to maim… Tav’s blood was diluted, while Orin had been pumped full.

If Orin had been kidnapped and infected, Halsin wholeheartedly believed he would have died by her dagger that night, that the Grove would have fallen, that the shadow curse would have never been lifted. 

“She may have ordered me to do that stuff, but I still did it. I killed to honor my father, but kissing them? That was to satisfy Orin. To satisfy something darker than the urge. And when we saw Rolan today… I snapped. All I could see was his unwillingness to adhere to Lorroakan's insane orders. I saw his fear. And if any of my victims had felt that way, then avenging Rolan was as much of an apology as I could ever give them.”

To live a life with the knowledge it wasn’t entirely full, that there was a separate personality all along…

Halsin cleared his throat, shuffling the slightest bit closer to her. She stayed where she was, but marked his movement. “Do you remember anything else about that man you mentioned?”

Tav thought about it for a second. Something curious flashed across her face, but he couldn’t name it. “I—I just remember a gold hand.”

Dragonborn, maybe? He didn’t voice the theory obviously. 

But what he said next surprised him enough that his mouth dried instantly. 

“Would you like to kiss me?”

Tav’s eyes widened. “I don’t know how.”

“I can teach you.”

She chuckled, embarrassment evident in how she twiddled her thumbs. Her nails clinked together, the shine of the purple metallic polish sending a shiver down his spine. Oh, how it would feel to receive fresh, consensual scars from her. 

“The Oak Father won’t call it a disgrace?”

“I am positive he won’t,” he assured her. He moved closer, careful to not loom over her. Their knees touched. “I can be your beating heart.”

“And you want this?”

This was the time to be truthful. To bathe in the confidence he had cultivated and perfected by his hundredth year. To admit to her that what he was feeling was something else entirely than what his body had told him to feel for years. “For a long time, if I’m being honest. I go where my heart leads. It would be a lie to say you haven’t surprised me. Encouraged me, astonished me. You are magnificent. A beacon of hope, even if the shimmer is burning you from the inside-out.”

“I don’t want to simply be another notch on your belt.”

“Do not ever reduce yourself as such. My heart does not stir lightly,” he tried to reason, tried to pretend that her words didn’t hurt.

“But that’s what it is, Halsin. I appreciate the gesture, but I respect your place in nature. You are a creature who cannot stay in one place for a long time, and granted I am, too. Though I see myself moving with only one person on my arm, forever. If I ever beat this curse of mine, I want the choice. I want the opportunity. And I want to be someone’s only choice, selfishly.”

“I—”

“I am not asking you to change yourself for me,” she said, her breath quickening. “I know there have been plenty of lovers and there will be plenty more. But I have stolen loves from so many people. I have stolen their opportunities. It does not feel right to indulge, and it doesn’t feel right to indulge with you.”

“Perhaps I mistook our relationship, or rather our… tension, wrongly” he explained, masking his pain.

She let out a frustration moan. “I want you, but only if you’re just mine. And I can’t have you, because that’s not my fate.”

She believed that she did not deserve him. That he was a prize? Halsin couldn’t think of himself as such, nor could he believe that she was punishing herself so. But as he remembered how she stepped right into the path of danger when Astarion’s siblings attacked, how she did not want to be patched up, it finally made sense. 

Atonement. Atonement in the form of punishment. The punishment of loneliness. 

Like Gale, who hid himself away after absorbing the darkest Weave. Having no one to speak to besides Tara, besides letters with his mother. Who tried his hardest to create distance between him and Astarion, but failed when the vampire lured him with nothing but sweet, honeyed words. Like Karlach, who tried her hardest not to sneak away at night to visit Dammon. But with the Elfsong so close to his newest forge, she could not help overstepping her self–inflicted choice. Like Wyll, who made a deal with a devil and accepted exile. Who couldn’t speak the truth and fell into the belief that maybe he wasn’t ever meant to. Who would rather his father hate him from afar than know what he had become.

“What do you believe is your fate?” he asked, perhaps a little too harshly.

“To help all of you. Save Baldur’s Gate. And then die.”

He stood, his muscles straining as he tried to relax. He gripped the balcony’s edge. She did not move from her spot, frozen as she stared and burned through the back of his head.

And like Gale, Tav had chosen to blow up any chance at long-term redemption. Like Karlach, Tav had chosen to burn when it was all over. They had all chosen wrong.

How to prove to them that they were worth everything and more, how to prove that the world was better with them in it? How to prove to Tav that he wasn’t sure he was a wild heart anymore, and that maybe, just maybe, she was the reason. 

Selfish as she was apparently, he wanted to prove that he was ten times worse.

“A single kiss then. I ask nothing more, and expect nothing else in return.”

The sun was setting, casting a soft orange glow upon her scarred face. The heat was touching her, and oh how he envied it so. “Why?”

He turned, lifting his chin so that all she could see was sincerity. “Because you have been deprived of it. Because you are over a hundred years old and do not remember the caress of another. Because Bhaal has made you desensitized.”

“So, pity then?”

“Because it would be your choice.”

She glanced down at her hands, at the brick beneath her cushion. Whatever quarrel she was having with herself looked tiring. And Gods did he want her to relent. 

“Out of everyone here,” she breathed, “I don’t know why I only want to kiss you.”

His own breath came faster as she stood and walked to him. Placing a hand upon his chest, she caressed the fabric. Curiosity bloomed in her irises, and he let her roam for a minute or so. Let her have the chance at feeling another living being. She rested her palm over his heart, and muttered her count.

“Ten,” she said, closing her eyes, “Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…”

“Endless,” he confirmed, reaching up to take that same palm in his hand. Though he recognized the lust in her eyes, he also saw the fear. He was so much taller than her, so much older, and in her opinion, good. But she had forgotten the bloodthirst he had in the goblin camp, the hand he had wrapped around Kagha’s throat, the fact that Isobel had fallen all those years ago because of his blade. If they were comparing their misdeeds, they were equal.

“Whenever you say stop,” he said, leaning down so their lips brushed, “We stop. Okay?”

Tav did her best to nod, but Halsin recognized that dazed movement anywhere. She was floating. 

“Come back to me, little one.”

With that, the glaze in Tav’s eyes disappeared. She leaned forward, pressing further until their lips moved as one. Halsin used a single finger to lift her chin, the kiss slow. He was in no hurry to rush it, no hurry to end what should be their only kiss. This was a transaction of sorts—

Tav wrapped a desperate hand around the back of his neck, pushing her upper body against him. In turn, their kiss deepended. Nearly ravenous, but full of all that bashfulness she had expressed earlier. When was the last time he had participated in such a chaste kiss? In his youth, surely. His past lovers were scattered, none staying around for more than a month. And he was just as guilty when it came to long-term predicaments. The bear roamed, and he answered its call. 

But here, with Tav’s lips molding so beautifully into his own with innocent need, he experienced the combination of love and lust. He wanted to continue kissing her, no matter where it led. He wanted to kiss her tomorrow, no matter the bear’s torment. He wanted to kiss her always, and be all she ever wanted. 

Tav pulled him in deeper, hungry, gaining more confidence as he followed her lead. He didn’t need to teach her anything, it seemed. Whether this was instinct or because she too felt the overwhelming desire to burrow into his skin, Halsin was more than happy to be her practice doll, more than happy to explore all impulses. Good or bad. 

Gods save him, good or bad. 

“Kiss me harder, please,” Tav pleaded, the gravel in her voice causing him to harden. He made sure his hips didn’t meet hers. But she was pushing deeper, stepping forward and neatly entangling their legs together. Halsin backed up, mindful of the balcony’s edge. He sat carefully and let her push herself between his open legs, and at this angle they were practically face to face. Tav kissed him harder, slipping her tongue over his bottom lip. A question. 

He opened his mouth and finally tasted her, groaning lowly. When they arrived at the Gate, their fruit assortment expanded. Here they were able to indulge in more than just apples and oranges. Tav tasted of kiwi and the lemon she squeezed in her morning tea. She tasted of the butter buns he always caught Karlach stealing, of the cinnamon cookies Yenna had tried her hand at baking yesterday. He knew he tasted of that same tea, but Halsin had found himself indulging more in grapes and cinnamon rolls Cher Rover saved specifically for him. Separating from Tav now would be a crime to everything sweet. 

“Halsin,” Tav rasped, her slender hands coming around to cup his scarred cheeks. He kept his own at her waist. “A single kiss.”

“A single kiss,” he repeated, sharing her breath. He dove in for more, their statement ignored and the two unbothered. They could extend this single kiss for hours and technically be right.

She suddenly gasped, stiffening against him. Her face pulled tight.

“Tav?” Halsin tried, worry spiking to the point he tried standing. Tav did not move, her grip on his shoulders too strong. 

Her eyes were watery with sorrow as she opened them. “I had a vision of pushing you off the balcony.”

Halsin held his breath. She made no move to do so. 

A nervous laugh escaped him. “I could just shapeshift into a bird, my heart.”

She waited, her mouth opening and closing awkwardly. The mere absurdity of the situation drew a short laugh from her, her eyes clearing simultaneously. She slid her hands down his neck, then settled them on his chest. Pulling back so their noses brushed, Tav nudged him slightly in question. Halsin nodded, completely basked in the glow of her exploration. Tav traced his curves and grooves, his scars and age marks, starved for touch alone. And when she reached his waistband, he pulled back to ask the same of her. 

She nodded, and he moved his hands up. 

Together they learned the whispers of their fingers and just how long they could hold their breaths. Together they slid their bodies closer, moving against one another to apply the necessary pressure needed to reach that delectable edge. Halsin kept his thick thigh planted between her legs, groaning as Tav rolled her cunt against it, chasing her high at a slow pace. 

Though she was desperate to feel such bliss with a willing partner, she did not rush it. Halsin didn’t want her to either. He would stay up here for hours, learning her likes and dislikes, learning how to properly sketch the length of her body with his tongue. 

“Gently,” he coaxed, bringing a hand up to tangle at the back of her head. He pulled her face from the crook of his sweaty shoulder and held her there, burning their gazes together as she took his order into consideration. She slowed her movements but bent deeper, so much so that her weight alone forced him to swallow down the savageness of the bear. “That’s it. There you go. I want you to learn your body first before you learn mine.”

“Fuck,” Tav rasped, bringing both hands to his head to mimic his grip. Halsin bit his lip to keep from pushing his hips up. She moved faster, no doubt the glow in her stomach at a full frenzy. 

“So beautiful,” he continued, his voice now at the lowest register he’d ever heard. Everything about this felt different—her scent relaxed his very core, her weight fought and won against the weight of his responsibilities, her noises sank deep into his chest and melted along his ribs. In his three-hundred and fifty years, he had never experienced such a connection. He would like to believe that he had been attentive to past lovers, but Tav… He wasn’t even actively providing the pleasure and yet she had destroyed his concept of sex from the inside-out.

“Make yourself come,” Halsin said, tempting her even further by pulling her in for a searing kiss. Tav whined, her hips losing their rhythm—

The hatch opened before Tav reached her climax, paralyzing her against Halsin’s chest. He held her tighter, and shot daggers at their intruder over her trembling shoulder. 

Wyll stood on the ladder wide-eyed, clutching his chest as if the scene before him had prompted heartburn. His face flushed with embarrassment, and he stuttered over his apology. “I can just… go get fresh air in the street.”

As the hatch shut, Tav removed herself from Halsin’s protective grip. He could not stop his body from reaching out for her.

“Tav.”

Backing away on wobbly legs, she did her best at offering a practiced smile. “Goodnight, Halsin.”

Later, when they rescued Minsc and dealt with the aftermath, Tav avoided his eyes and overcompensated with their newest arrival. Loud jokes, prolonged questioning—it made Halsin want to hide away forever, or until his beating heart called another’s name.

---

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Tav whispered, though her moan gave her away. Her slender fingers rose along his hips, tugging at his waistband. He had left his shirt behind, embracing the chill of nature. If he was going to bed Tav in the flowerbed near the Elfsong, he would do so with as little clothing in the way. The quicker his flesh met hers, the quicker the fire in his heart would settle. Though, Tav’s panting gave it the oxygen to thrive. Her tongue licked the flames, burning him brightly, to the point he dropped to his knees with all thoughts scorched except one. 

He devoured her, swiping his tongue along her slit and soaking up all she gave. She yelped, her fingers combing through his loose hair. She had taken his braids out one-by-one hours ago, massaging his scalp and whispering sweet-nothings along the sensitive skin of his pointy ears. Now, she gripped and pulled, relishing in the vibrations his groans made against her most intimate flesh. She pulled him in deeper, slapping one hand back against the stone of the building. Their companions could surely hear them—the windows were knocked open. And the thought invaded just as quickly as she came on his eager tongue: Astarion or Shadowheart—Gale—watching from the windowsill and getting themselves off at the same time. Learning from watching Halsin feast, from watching his cock drive into the beautiful woman wailing his name. 

“Halsin,” Tav breathed, pulling him up to stand. He let her use her strength, let her be in charge, guiding him in all places. “Fuck me. Fuck me until I can’t help crying your name. Fuck me and claim me as yours, forever. Come inside me, mark me as yours.”

The bear nearly broke loose, territorial to the highest extremes.

Halsin drove into her slowly, deeply, the squeeze stealing the air in his lungs and threatening to knock him out. She felt divine, like nothing he had ever felt before. He had many lovers, but none had wrapped around him with both sex-crazed madness and lo—

Halsin sucked in a gust of air, shooting upward in his bed. The beds at the Elfsong creaked when one changed position, and he had no doubt he had awakened someone close by. The nearest bunk to his left was Minthara’s, and Astarion to his right. But neither moved to indicate they heard him or scented his obvious arousal. 

Cursing softly, he laid back down and tried to steady the beating of his heart. Tav was far away enough, bunking near Karlach tonight, that she wouldn’t suspect anything. Hear anything. And he prayed the two nearest him wouldn’t hate him for this. 

Halsin reached below the sheets and gripped his hardness, shutting his eyes as that touch alone threatened to make him audible. Slowly he dragged his hand up and down, stopping at the tip to swipe. The quicker he got this over with, the quicker the shame could come and go. 

Tav had not sought him out after their kiss and… heavy-petting session, but he had seen the heat in her eyes. A promise that she had enjoyed their time together, his touch. The memory of that silver fire had him moving his hand faster. He reached to cup his balls with the other, biting his lip as the pleasure at the base of his spine grew. He remembered how her hips moved over his, how her mouth tasted, how her arousal smelled. How he had to keep the bear caged, and that made his grip on her even tighter. But it seemed Tav liked that, liked his roughness, and wanted to deliver the same amount. 

The pleasure built and built, until it finally erupted. Halsin choked on a shout, grinding the side of his face into the pillow. Pulling until he milked himself dry. He lay there panting, eyes shut as the guilt slowly crept along his extremities. 

“Darling, I at least have the good graces to please myself in the comfort of my own tent or in the bathroom.”

Halsin froze, and his stomach rotated when Minthara’s voice answered the vampire.

“Lies, Astarion. You haven’t pleased yourself in weeks. You have the wizard to thank for that.”

Astarion choked on his retort, but said nothing to contradict it.

---

“You’re here. Orin was telling the truth.”

Tav crossed her arms as she glared at Gortash, clicking her tongue when she noticed his eyes wandering. She was wearing thin armor today, tight around the waist and non-restricting around the neck. Halsin had stared for a long while before they had left their rooms, readjusting his trousers when she purposely bent down to grab her weapon of the day. She had winked, lifted her skirts to expose her thigh, and whispered a promise of lifting it higher when they returned. 

Now, as Gortash made a meal of her, it unsettled something greedy in Halsin. He had no right to shield Tav, but there was grime in the villain’s eyes. And he was done convincing himself he would feel this affected with just any lover.

Tav ignored Gortash’s initial surprise, allowing Wyll to take the lead.

“My father, Gortash. Let him go—”

“Oh, but I wasn’t talking to you, Wyll Ravengard,” Gortash snapped, a smile still playing on his pale lips. He gave Wyll an unimpressed once-over, then turned back to Tav. “My favorite little assassin… Tell me, how has the holiday been?”

"I could've done with less cultists, you absolute lunatic."

Wyll held his breath.

“I know it was Orin who kidnapped me from Baldur’s Gate. I want to know why.”

Gortash wasn’t exactly handsome, especially not when he frowned. The action seemed to drag his stress lines further. But he held himself like a man with power, and with power came confidence. 

“By the gods, they weren’t kidding. You truly don’t remember any of it, do you?” he said, huffing a simple laugh, one that scraped the walls of Halsin’s skull. “Why, it was us who orchestrated this grand design in the first place.”

The entire audience hall seemed to freeze as they processed Gortash’s outlandish claim. 

Tav swallowed, her lilac cheeks losing all color. “What?”

He made his way down the stairs, his robes swinging with each powerful stride. Tav stood her ground, but Karlach pointed her long ax at the new Archduke. Halsin inched closer to Tav as well, but he was more mindful of the rattling Steel Watch targeting Karlach.  

Gortash dismissed the metal monstrosity. He stood close enough now that Halsin smelled the city and a hint of rosemary on him. 

“The tadpoles, the brain, opening a Hells gate, the cult, everything. And Orin went and betrayed you, wanting the stones all to herself. Betrayed us.”

“It was… It was me? All of it?”

“Our raid of Mephistopheles’ lair will be spoken about in the Hells for centuries.”

“The crown…” Tav whispered, the memory of its abduction no doubt swimming in her mind. Then guilt clouded her features—for all of it. The infestation, the deaths they caused, Gale’s obsession with Karsus’s forbidden magic. She was spiraling, blaming herself for all it—

“My pretty little mastermind,” Gortash practically purred, raising a hand to gently swipe it down her cheek. Halsin growled, a low glimmer of gold coming off of him. Gortash grinned savagely. “I have tried to keep everything in order in your absence. All the things you entrusted me with.”

“What the fuck is going on here?” Karlach screamed, alerting some Flaming Fists. Again, Gortash dismissed them with a simple wave.

“How do you know him?” Karlach inquired further.

Tav turned to the tiefling. “I—”

“Don’t tell me you forgot. Orin really did a number on you, didn’t she? Always a lapdog, she was. Begging to be Bhaal’s chosen ever since she learned how to whine. But she is careless, and too distracted.”

Gods, it made so much sense. The tadpoling center under Moonrise, Orin’s vendetta, Gortash’s odd truce. His chest ached with the need to hold her, to remind her that that wasn’t who she was anymore. She had changed, brought about a change in Astarion, Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Gale, Minthara—

Him. 

If he could take her away from all of this, meet her in the afterglow, he would sprint and never look back. She had done so much good these last few months and Gortash’s jealous speech was a threat to her already fragile sanity. 

“You… You worked with strategy. You had a purpose. You were determined. I tolerate Orin, but I liked you.”

He followed Tav’s distressed gaze to the golden glove encasing the purple netherstone. 

The gold hand.

“We worked all through the night, you and I. Perfecting this scheme. When you disappeared, I admit I worried for your safety,” Gortash said, his irises darkening. “I missed you.”

Halsin didn’t have to move—Tav reached for his hand and gripped it tight. Gortash noted their connection, but his smile only grew. A more tame twin of Orin’s, it seemed.

“What was I to you?” Tav insisted. “What were you to me?”

“This cannot be happening,” Karlach cringed, several dramatic gags accompanying her declaration.

Gortash rolled his eyes. “A travesty Orin erased so much. Perhaps I shouldn’t reminisce with your companions present.”

“Tell me what I did.”

Karlach gave an incredulous gasp of protest, but Tav remained adamant. 

“What you did… Enthusiastically, might I add. Seeing you now is overwhelming. The way your lips tasted, how your eyes would roll to the back of your head, your neck bared for me. I heard there is a spawn in your company… Do you give your neck to him? Do you scream for him like you screamed for me?” 

Tav snarled as Karlach exclaimed, “Liar!”

“Do not be a child, Karlach,” Gortash snapped. “Tav and I, two adults, were together even while you were by my side. I’m surprised you never met.”

“A secret,” Tav confirmed, though her statement came out more as a shameful question.

“It saddens me that you don’t remember anything but that. Perhaps we can come to an agreement over this Ravengard business.”

“What did you have in mind?” Wyll chimed in, seemingly unmoved by the revelation. If his relationship was something other with her, Halsin would too disregard Gortash’s claims. Tav’s past sex life was none of his business, neither was it Wyll’s, but the fact Gortash had such a lively role in it… The one living soul Tav remembered touching…

Something dark stirred in the pit of his stomach, its claws begging to rip open its cage and eviscerate his opponent. The bear had disemboweled plenty of enemies, but this one—this one Halsin wanted to tear apart with his bare hands.  

Gortash lowered his voice as he spoke next, enough of a signal that the surrounding Fists turned their heads. 

“I will hand over Duke Ravengard right now with a promise to keep him safe, if…” he trailed off, bowing his head to chuckle. “Listen to me bargaining. How unbecoming of me. I am a dealer, not a trader.”

“Speak plainly, Gortash,” Wyll pushed, the hair-raising tone causing Gortash’s brows to rise.

He turned to Tav. “If you agree to spend the night with me, Ravengard walks freely.”

“No deal.”

They were the first words Halsin had spoken since entering the audience hall. He couldn't give less of a shit for intruding on what was obviously Tav’s decision. 

“Halsin—” she hissed.

Gortash laid an elegant hand over his own chest. “How marvelous! Does he speak for you? Is no your answer, too?”

“It’s a no because I don’t want to touch you.”

“You begged for it before.”

Tav bared her teeth. “I won’t anymore.”

“Wyll? If you’re anything like your father, you’ll have some sense. Your father’s freedom, for her cunt.”

Wyll recoiled, his disgust multiplying as Gortash raised his hand yet again to brush Tav’s cheek. This time, however, Halsin shoved the man away. 

And was promptly held back by two Fists. Thrashing, Halsin fought to keep the bear within.  

“May the gods smite you, Gortash. May this land turn on you in your hour of greatest need,” Wyll threatened, taking the words right out of Halsin’s mouth.

Gortash raised a single brow, unimpressed. “Interesting company you keep nowadays. If you won’t give me what I desperately crave,” he drawled, causing a visible shiver to crawl up Tav’s spine, “then we shall explore other roads.”

“One more word from you and I will kill you.” The Fists were hesitant to grab Karlach, and the look she shot at them severed the idea completely. "And that was a trade, you dumb motherfucker!"

“Oh, but you’ll want to hear this, Karlach. I am on your side. I want nothing more than to save this city and rule side-by-side with Tav here. I am a fair man. And to show you I am a man true to my word, I shall warn you.”

“Threats? Seriously?” Karlach fumed.

“Not from me. By now you’ll have found out that Orin is a shapeshifter. And I warn you that she will strike soon. One of these nights, when you feel safest, she will deceive you.”

“And what do we owe you for this information?” Tav spit, lifting her chin.

Finally, Gortash intertwined his hands behind his back, seemingly aware that Tav was not going to take his absurd deal. Strangely respectful in that sense. 

“Kill Orin, reclaim your birthright, and make an ally of me.”

“Despicable piece of shit.” 

Gortash gestured at the Fists to release him. Halsin remained where he was, and he could have sworn relief flashed across Gortash’s face.  

“Kill Orin, bring me her stone, and I might just prolong the protection of your father, Wyll.” He turned back up the steps, his confidence stitching itself back into his body as it realized the audience was still looking at him. “Think about it, Tav. I am no liar, and my respect for you knows no bounds.”

That night, Tav drank herself to sleep and took residence in one of the booths downstairs. As annoyed as Alan was, he didn’t force her to leave. With the candles blown out, Tav remained curled-up on her side and blissfully unaware of the world around her. Responsibilities that once shackled her were drowned out, reality but a speck on the horizon. 

Halsin covered her with a blanket before retreating to the steps in the far corner. He sat at an angle where he could see her, foregoing sleep, and did not leave until the hangover roused her.

x

Part 2

[wellthebardsdead]

Lucy: *walking along side commander Zhalk as he proudly lines up some of his best men, the cambion visibly confused as his arch duchess stops and asks each of them their names and makes small talk before moving on* Yes. These men will do nicely. Listen up! When you reach the shadow cursed lands, and you will know when you reach them, trust me. Keep your moon lanterns high, guard the tieflings with your life and thus is very important. If you encounter a group called the harpers. Do not kill them! Ask them to guide you to Last light inn. Allow Zevlor or even the children to vouch for your entry if a woman named Jaheira is suspicious. And if you encounter a group of cultists belonging to the absolute. Kill on sight. No mercy. You’ll know them when you see them. But-… if a drider, is amongst them. Capture him unharmed. I need to talk with him. Alright?

The cambions: *nod* Yes your grace!

Lucy: hm, Sczark. Repeat my orders back.

Sczark: *a cambion at the end of the line, smaller than the others but still capable, quickly stands to attention* Moon Lanterns high, protect refugees, spare harpers, get to last light, kill cultists, capture drider.

Lucy: very good. Right, I’m satisfied.

Sczark: *giddly nudges the soldier next to him* she remembered my name!

Lucy: *looks to Zhalk* the cult cam hypnotise targets if they’re not careful. Make sure they’re all prepared.

Zhalk: You needn’t worry my lady. You have my word… *looks to the refugees* this is… a perplexing situation for me, you understand… You are, the polar opposite of Zariel.

Lucy: well I’ll take it as a compliment.

*several days later*

Lucy: *arrives to last light seeing everyone made it alive and safe, her cambions all flying over to greet her and the group, and all immediately drawing their weapons on jaheira as she tangled her in vines* STOP! HALT! YEILD! STAND DOWN! DROP WEAPONS! WHATEVER ELSE JUST DO IT!

Zhalk: *snarls looking equally confused and enraged at jaheira before lowering his sword along with his men*

Lucy: *sighs with relief* you sensed the tadpole right? You have one, in a jar?

Jaheira: indeed I do?… *holds it out watching it squirm*

Lucy: watch… *snaps her fingers blocking the connection*

Jaheira: how did, how did you do that?… it stopped reacting?

Lucy: I can block out the signal for now. Put it to sleep sort of… but I need it if I’m going to get into moonrise. The elderbrain these things are spawning from is there-

???: What in the hells do you think you’re doing?!

???: oh gods let them go right now!

???: they’re the ones who saved us!!

Lucy: *looks up and smiles as tears well in her eyes seeing everybody alive and coming to save them* It’s okay, I’m alright.

Zevlor: she’s the one who saved us and the emerald grove! Her cambions are the ones who brought us here!

Mol: yeah! She saved two of my friends! One from a harpy! And one from a mad druid! Didn’t leave a goblin standing neither! She didn’t make a fuss about thieving either! I pretty much trust her with my life!

Lia: You let her go right now or I’ll take you all on myself!

Rolan: that’s a terrible idea lia but- we are alive because of her… so let her go.

Cal: can everyone please just calm down-

Alfira: Calm down?! This lunatics about to kill our only hope of making it out of here alive!

Lucy: Nobody is killing anybody… not yet at least. There’s a traitor in your numbers and I know who. And I can prove it. With that very tadpole.

Jaheira: … *releases her* Let’s head inside, you’ve earned yourself the benefit of the doubt.

Lucy: *sighs with relief and nods* thank you. Let me check in with everyone and make sure they’re alright and I’ll meet you inside.

Jaheira: very well. *walks off*

Lucy: *watches them go before spotting a very worse for wear cambion amongst the numbers* Sczark? Oh sweetie pie what happened?!

Sczark: *somehow a brighter shade of red than he already is* y-you still remember me your grace?!

Lucy: of course I do what kind of boss would I be if I didn’t remember your names at Lea- oh right- *pulls out the bag of soul coins she’s accumulated, each randomly appearing for every enemy she’s killed and hands a couple to each of the cambions* here your payment- I don’t know the value is that enough?

Zhalk: *staring wide eyed at them in his palm* y-yes your majesty-

[unreadpoppy]

down by the river - Chapter 9

Raphael x Warlock!Tav

Read on AO3

Chapter 8

A/N: Okay we jumping cause we gotta move this story along. Also shout out to @sky-kiss for screen shotting the Mol scene for me, it was of great help! Also, many parts of the dialogues are taken from the game but modified to fit the story better.

After Halsin told the group that they needed to go to Moonrise Towers, Tav gathered everyone to decide on which way they should go: through the Underdark or the Mountain Pass. 

Lae’zel argued in favor of the latter, saying that there was a githyankyi crechè in the area and they would have to offer her cleansing. Shadowheart, however, favored the Underdark, considering that it would be a more discreet route. 

“I believe we could go through both.” Tav finally spoke. All eyes turned towards her. “We have means of exploring both regions, and then we determine which way is better.” 

‘And it would stop the two of them from bickering.’ Tav thought to herself. She turned towards the gith warrior. “We’ll go to the Mountain Pass first, see that the crechè gives us a solution.”

Lae’zel nodded and walked away, probably to polish her sword some more. The others left as well, while Tav kept looking at the map. 

“The shadow cursed lands.” Tav whispered to herself. As she passed her finger on where the name was written on the map, she felt the scar on her collarbone sting, causing her to hiss. 

“Have you ever been there?” Shadowheart asked, appearing next to Tav. 

“Why you ask?”

She pointed with her chin towards the paper.  “Just the way you look at the map. Seems like you’ve got some history there.” 

Tav shook her head. “I’ve never been there, no, but Raphael has a few contracts there.” She turned towards the cleric. “I can’t help but wonder what has happened to them - the debtors.” 

She made a motion to move away, saying “Now, if you’ve got nothing more to ask, I’ll get ready for bed.” 

“Actually, there is something else I’d like to know.” Shadowheart said. “We know Mizora sent Wyll to hunt after devils and demons alike, but what type of jobs did Raphael ever sent you on?”

Tav shrugged. “All sorts of things. Sometimes it was to kill someone who wronged him, or gather information. Other times, accompany him to an event, entertain a guest.” 

Playing music when he was bored, helping him with his compositions were also part of the list, although Tav wouldn’t say that out loud. “If there was something that needed to be done, I’d do it, although, since he acquired another warlock, things got a bit easier on my side.” She looked away, for a moment. “One thing is true, however. Raphael would never ask me to do something he knew I couldn’t do.”

Shadowheart nodded.  “When you put it like that, he doesn’t seem that bad.”

“Well, he’s definitely better than other masters that I have served.” Tav chuckled to herself. “It is getting late. We should go sleep, tomorrow will be a long day.” She said and moved towards her bedroll. 

That night, the dream visitor met her again, giving her warnings for the future, while telling her to embrace her potential. Tav had no inclinations of becoming ilithid, but she still needed his protection, and so, she told him she’d think about it. 

As their journey continued, Tav would keep listening to the dream visitor’s interference, but she tried to ignore it. She already had one devil telling her what to do - she didn’t need another otherworldly being bothering her as well. 

…

“Your move, Mol.” She heard him before she saw him. Of course Raphael would be at Last Light Inn, but playing lanceboard with a child was not the sight Tav expected to see. 

“You trapped me.” Mol said. “I didn’t even want to take this one.” 

“Calishmen rules, dear. The first piece touched is the first piece moved.” He explained. For a moment, Tav was transported to a memory that played much like this one. When he taught  her how to play the game, and how frustrated she had been. 

‘This doesn’t make any sense.’ She groaned. ‘I’m gonna end up losing this knight.’

‘Then make a useful sacrifice.’ He guided her. ‘Guard your Mystra or come for my Cyriq.’

Tav was snapped out of the memory when Mol asked her “Say, do you play Lanceboard by any chance? It’s my first time playing.” 

She raised her brow at the girl, easily detecting the lie. “Put pressure on him. Attack the pieces in front of his king.”  

Mol did as you say, moving the pieces around. 

“My, the Theskan Double Counter - Gambit. Vicious. Exactly what I would have done.” 

The girl soon beat Raphael. “How’s that for Calimshen rules?”

“Brava! Lovely work.” Raphael praised the girl. “I see I was right to make you the offer I did. You will consider it, won’t you?” He asked Mol, who didn’t say anything as she walked away. 

Raphael turned towards the group.“The Thasken move was inspired. I see I have taught you well.” He then looked at Mol speaking with the other tiefling children. “What a lovely specimen she is. A blushing apple, ready to be plucked.”

“I know he’s your boss, but please, let me smack this creep.” Karlach whispered. 

Tav ignored her, crossing her arms and raising a brow. “You’re offering deals to kids now? I thought you loathed chattering children.”

“I can make exceptions, from time to time. But don’t you worry about Mol - it goes without saying she still has the unconditional freedom to choose the only option she has left.” He chuckled. “Besides, I do enjoy being in this neighborhood again. It has such a history of abject tragedy.” He focused his gaze on Tav. “And as you well know, tragedy is my bread and bloody butter.”

Raphael waved his hand, dismissing the subject. “But enough about my lesser pursuits. Why bother with trifles when I’m in the illustrious presence of my very favorite client.” He bowed as he said that, making Tav suck in a breath. “It is good to see you again, O apple of my eye. I’d ask you if you’ve made any progress with your little problem, but the tell-tale twitching of your eye is answer enough.” 

“Raphael.” She greeted him. “Should I consider it a coincidence to find you here?”

He smiled. “My dear, nothing is a coincidence. Mortals trifle themselves with free will, as if their betters have not moulded every potential path ahead.” Tav cleared her throat at that. Raphael chuckled. “No offense meant, of course. I’m sure everyone in Last Light thinks they could have changed things.” 

“They’re not the only ones ripe for temptation. As you well know, Tav, my last contract here fed me for decades.”

“You were here before?” Wyll asked. “Why?”

“Family troubles. Not my family, of course.” He shot Tav a knowing look, and she gave a small nod, imperceptible to the others. “I never surrender knowledge for free, but one good turn deserves another, does it not? To repay you, for all the souls you sent my way, I offer you a glimpse of the truth.” 

The devil then spoke of Ketheric Thorm, how his army had been massacred, and even proposing more knowledge in a future contract. Tav squinted her eyes at that - although Raphael shared most of his plans with her, she knew there was something that he was hiding. 

When he was done talking, she made a move to leave but he continued. “Before you leave, I sense there’s something your friend wants to ask me.” He looked at Astarion. 

“I do. I have a proposal for you.” The elf spoke up. “My old- well, a long time ago, someone carved some runes into my back. I’d rather like to know what they say.” 

As Raphael considered his words, Tav turned towards the rogue. “Scars? What are you talking about?”

“You haven’t told them? And you’ve kept your clothes on this whole time? How unlike you.” Raphael smirked. “Why not let them see? Don’t be shy.” 

“Raphael, don’t-” Tav tried to intervene but it was too late. Her patron waved his hand and soon, Astarion found himself only in his underwear. She looked angrily at Raphael.

“Don’t worry. I’m motivated to help you. Scars often tell such wonderful stories. I think yours might be truly exquisite. I’ll see you soon.” He eyed the two of them and vanished. 

At the same time, Tav removed her clock and threw it around the elf, as he said “Well. Now you know.” 

She sucked in a breath. “Go back to camp and get dressed.” Astarion nodded, doing so as told, alongside the others. 

Meanwhile, Tav turned her attention towards Mol. Although she knew Raphael, she did not enjoy the idea of such a young child making deals with him. 

“Nice strategy back there. If we put our heads together, I bet you and me could make a tidy stack of coin in Baldur’s Gate.” The girl as Tav approached her. “But Raphael’s offered me a partnership already, and it seems like a sweeter deal than throwing my lot in with you.” 

Tav gave her a serious expression, crossing her arms. . “Be careful, Mol. You are too young to be making deals with devils. They can be quite the poison.” 

The girl squinted her eye at the woman. “Poison. Sure.” She scoffed. “You seem to love the taste of it. He seems to know you pretty well.” 

Tav clenched her jaw, and tilted her head. “Touché.” She loosened her arms. “You’ve got quite the keen eye, I see.” She sighed. “But I’m being serious, Mol.” 

“Look, you saved us. Not knockin’ that.” Mol began. “But after you left, Zevlor lost his nerve - gave up the fight. I won’t. Now there’s no grove, no coin, no one taking us to the city. I’m not letting my crew get eaten by shadows.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’ll make a deal, maybe I won’t. But it’ll be my choice - not the devil’s and not yours.” Mol huffed and walked away, leaving Tav to shake her head. 

… 

After that meeting, Astarion wondered when he would meet the devil again, saying that they would need to keep their ears ready for the sound of cheap poetry and the smell of sulphur. 

“I wonder, how do you handle it, that smell all the time.” The elf complained, as the group made their way towards what could be the entrance to the mausoleum they sought. “It’s absolutely dreadful.” 

“Well, it does help that Raphael is always perfuming himself.”

“Oh, really? And what scent does he use?” 

“Cherries and musk.” Tav replied. “It’s the one he always makes me buy.” She raised a brow at Astarion’s curiosity. “Wanting to buy one for yourself?” 

“No, I-” Before he could finish, Tav raised a hand, hearing a voice. In an instant, she recognized who it belonged to. 

It was, of course, Raphael and his little theatrics. 

“How long have you been practicing those?” Tav asked, once he was done rhyming. 

“Until it was perfect.” He smiled. “As your dear patron, Tav, I thought it only fair to warn you of the dangers ahead.” 

She raised a brow. “I can handle myself, Raphael.”

He scoffed. “Intrepid as ever. It would be pointless of me to try and bar you from entering but I can still…set the scene, as it were. Prepare you for your role.”

Tav frowned. “How are you so sure that there are dangers ahead?” 

“My dear, you should know better by now. You’ll find that I play my part in many a plot.” 

The leader of the group sighed, getting agitated. “Cut the chase, Raphael.” 

“‘Patience was always a virtue that you lacked.” He commented. “But very well. There is a creature that lurks in silence and shadow - a creature, who like me, is very much of the infernal persuasion.” 

“Should it make its way out through these very doors you are about to so brazenly open, you’ll have unleashed a pestilence unto this realm.” He took a step forward. “In truth, it is carnage incarnate. Should you find it, consider no other course of action - kill it.”

Tav eyed him, feeling that something was off. “I believe there’s more that you’re not telling me.” 

‘Let me guess.’ Tav thought. ‘It’s probably one of those fiends that hates Raphael’s guts.’ 

Raphael sighed. “This creature and I go back a long way. I admit it would be in my best interest that as well should it remain in the dark - or misplace its head, perhaps. I should not relish its reacquaintance. Let’s leave it at that.” 

“Very well.” Tav said. 

He turned towards the elf. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, Astarion. When the beast is dead, I’ll consider that enough payment to translate those scars of yours.”

“A fairer deal than I expected.”

The devil smirked. “Ask Tav. I always deal fairly.” With a snap of his fingers, he was gone. 

…

Finding the orthon had been less than ideal, considering that in an instant, the devil recognized their leader. 

“You. I recognized you. You’re Raphael’s little dog, following him around, obeying all the orders he barks at you.” Pointing his hand bow at her, he shouted. “Tell me where that perfumed bastard is, before I end you.”

The others tensed up behind her, but Tav remained calm, if not mildly annoyed. Placing a hand on her hip, she looked at her nails as she addressed him. “I’d be more careful with that tongue of yours, Yurgir.” She looked at the orthon. “Considering I hold the key to setting you free.”

“What are you doing?” Tav heard Astarion whisper shout behind her. “Just kill the damned thing.” She ignored him. 

“What do you mean?” Yurgir asked. 

“Oh, Yurgir, you think I don’t know about your little contract with Raphael? About the song?” She put a finger on her chin. “How was it again? Oh - I remember: Spill all blood sworn to the night / Silence all prayers; Smother all rites -”

Before she could continue, the orthon shouted. “Stop it! Stop singing. I’ve had enough of this bloody song.” He lowered his weapon. “Tell me. I did as instructed, but the song still rattles around in my head - the contract still stands, somehow. If I break it, I’ll become Raphael’s slave forever.” 

“It’s quite simple, actually.” She explained. “Pay attention to the last rhyme. Leave none to hear it, then be set free / This song is your oath, swear it, swear it to me.” Tav looked at Yurgir with a condescending glare. “Don’t you see, Yurgir. You always hear the song.” Then, Tav smirked devilishly. “Kill yourself, be reborn in the Hells. Be free of your contract.” 

The orthon huffed. “If you’re wrong about this, I’ll claw my way out of Avernus and eat you alive - contract be damned.” He grabbed his sword, pointing it towards his chest. “Nicely played, Raphael. Bastard.” Were his final words, as he impaled himself, body turning to ash. 

Tav smiled, proud of herself. 

“Does that count as killing him? It better count.” Astarion said and Tav nodded. 

“That was…impressive.” Shadowheart said. 

“Well, when you live with a devil for a long time, you learn a thing or two.” 

“So the song was the contract? And how did you know about the loophole?” Wyll asked. 

Tav turned towards him. “To answer your first question, indeed it was. Parchment can burn, oral agreements aren’t worth the tongues they’re waggled upon. A song lingers.” She remembered that those were Raphael’s words, when she asked him as to why a song. “And about the loophole, well, it’s simple. I was the one who helped my master come up with the rhymes.” She shrugged. “I guess that’s the luck of having an ex-bard as a warlock.” 

Wyll said nothing, only nodding along as Tav moved and began looting the place. He felt as if everyday, there was a new side to Tav that he’d never seen before. 

…

Raphael was quick to show up back at camp, praising Tav for how cleverly she avoided a direct confrontation with the orthon and telling Astarion of Cazador’s plans. As the vampire left the two of them alone, the devil took the moment to speak with his warlock privately, bringing her close to a river nearby the camp. 

“Tell me, how have you been?”

She eyed him up and down, suspiciously. Raphael was not the type to ask this sort of thing - at least, not out of the goodness of his heart. “Never been better.” She lied. 

“Truly?” He raised a brow. “Because I have this picture on my head - of you tossing and turning in the middle of the night, thinking strange things, dreaming strange dreams.” Raphael gestured. “And there’s this little voice inside your head asking: Is this my will or is it the worm’s? But you have no answer and no way of knowing.” 

“Get to the point, Raphael.” 

He took a step forwards, nose almost brushing with hers. “The point, dear Tav, is that you’ll do good to remember that there’s only one voice you should listen to: Mine.” 

Raphael moved back. “I’ll be seeing you very soon.” He snapped his fingers and he was gone. 

[kudzuoath]

Buried and Breathing

Temperance doesn’t take the deaths of Elturel’s refugees very well. Particularly after Last Light is stormed by the Absolute’s forces.

** cw: unintentional self harm (palms), implied/referenced suicide

---

“Something is troubling you,” Gale said. “And I don’t believe it’s merely the haunted shadows that have dogged us since we set foot in this blighted landscape.”

Temperance was rarely surprised by him – he could count on one hand the times anyone had managed to get the jump on her. He’d only managed it once him self, and that had been while she was still lying to them.

Tonight she didn’t so much as flinch when he spoke and presented her with a bowl of the stew he’d made. That stillness on her was worrying.

“How clever you are, wizard,” she said. Her voice wasn’t just flat, but rather chilly too. She didn’t look at him when she spoke. And made no move to eat any of the stew. Though she did hold the bowl with both hands, as if to warm them.

Gale ignored the signs suggesting he should leave her alone and settled down beside her, knees cracking. Too close, he realized. He could feel the heat radiating out of her. While Karlach undoubtedly ran the hottest – Temperance was surely the runner up. Perhaps it was a tiefling thing.

“That’s for eating,” he said, gesturing with his own bowl. “Not glaring, nor for mutilating with various utensils. It’s already quite dead – I checked before I put everything in the pot. So, you ought to give it a try. Last Light might have been desolate in terms of actual foodstuffs, but someone had quite the collection of spices which I can assure you I have taken the full advantage of.”

Temperance still wouldn’t look at him. Though given the expression directed into her bowl perhaps that was a good thing. He wasn’t keen on discovering if a look could kill.

After several minutes of silence where she still didn’t eat or look at him, she finally spoke. “I’m not hungry.”

He turned to look her full in the face, prickles of unease creeping spider like down his spine. It was hard to tell from the angle and the ever shifting quality of light the fire provided – but her eyes seemed a little too bright.

“Temperance –” he paused after her name. Caught up in his own uncertainty. Pushing was not always the wisest course. He knew better than most how badly things could turn out if you ignored the warning signs. And she’d been… distant, since Elminster had delivered his message. He no longer knew quite where he stood with her.

One would think one's impending doom might unburden them of their anxieties.

Not so.

“I would hope you know you can tell me what burdens you,” he said eventually.

Her head bowed. Short raven locks fell around her face, hiding her eyes from him. For a moment he was certain she was going to stand and walk away. But she didn’t. She merely set aside the bowl he’d given her and clasped her hands together, as if in prayer. The scars across her knuckles stood out a bloodless white from the strength of her grip.

“Mol is probably dead by now,” she said tonelessly. There was a staring quality to her eyes he truly did not like.

“We don’t know that –”

She laughed. And it was a terrible bone scraping sound that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “Those things probably ate her. And if they didn’t? Oh, If they didn’t, then our Devil friend will. Though his diet is one of souls, not meat.”

A chilly hand squeezed his heart. He’d never seen her like this. Cold and manic at the same time. There was a terrible restrained violence in her. One that suggested a single push might send her for her sword, send her off into the dark hunting.

“That fucking bastard probably tugged some infernal strings and arranged the bloody fucking snatching! Why else, out of everyone in the inn would those things go for a child? They wanted Isobel. And if they were hungry they wouldn’t go for one of the smallest people there, Gale!”

She was on her feet in a too-quick jerk of motion. Pacing. Her teeth bared in a snarl, her tail whipping behind her.

“Do not ascribe certainty to chance,” he cautioned. With their luck, Raphael could be a single badly worded sentence away.

Temperance stopped short and glared at him. “You don’t know everything.”

“I have never claimed to know everything,” he said sharply. Too sharp. “All I ask is that you exercise caution before you lay the blame at that Devil’s feet. He will use it against you. And moreover, we may well need him before all’s said and done.”

She glared for a moment more, shoulders up, eyes blinking rapidly. Then turned on her heel and continued to pace. A violent energy vibrating through her limbs. Not unlike when she would make her vows in the midst of battle. Rage fueled her as surely as it did any barbarian.

Gale’s heart seized when he noticed her clenched fists were dripping.

“I was too busy protecting the damn cleric,” she hissed under her breath. “When there were all the refugees in the bloody front room. What the fuck was Jaheira doing? All of her Harpers? Why were the fucking doors to the balconies open?”

Between one circuit before the fire and the next, Gale went to stand in her path. While she might have easily avoided him, she came to an abrupt halt instead. Her head downturned, her shoulders shaking. This close he could see a muscle in her jaw jumping and hear the grind of her teeth.

His heart was in his throat. He wasn’t afraid of Temperance. She was always careful of herself and her companions in and out of battle. No matter how angry, she wasn’t the type to lash out physically. And yet fear had made itself comfortable in his lungs. Icy cold and suffocating. A burrowing creature he could not shake. His constant companion.

One mistake, he thought. Just one.

Just one, and he might find himself a walking cataclysm alone in the midst of this curse. Unable to even die properly for his goddess.

He should leave her be. Not push his luck.

But then, what wizard worth his salt was too frightened to take a risk? And what kind of man would he be to turn his back on someone he cared so deeply for when she was tearing herself to pieces in front of him?

So he took one of her fists in both his hands. Blood dripped between them. With infinite care, he coaxed her to open her hand and eyed the wounds her claws had made. Noticed the scars on her palms. As if there’d been years of barely restrained outrage carved into her.

“This is going to need bandaging.”

“I can heal it,” she said tonelessly.

“Then do so,” he commanded. “Our current locale is filthy and the last thing any of us need is an infection. Least of all those of us who must spend their days with a sword in hand. I won’t have you hurting yourself.”

That got her to stare at him. He’d been expecting another skin-melting glare. But instead her eyes were merely cold, and closed off. His heart skipped a beat.

“It was hardly my intent,” she bit out.

He sniffed. “Intent or not. Desist in your mauling of my companion immediately. Mauling is, well – Maul’s job. And I do believe you mentioned he’s promised not to. Despite the fact that we apparently smell delicious.”

Maul was what she’d dubbed their owlbear companion. Insisting with a laugh that as he was Scratch’s little brother, he ought to have a matching name. How far away that little bit of laughter seemed now.

Silently, staring at him with vitriolic intent, Temperance set one hand atop her other and cast. As always, the spell was accompanied with a sound like sighing. And even though he was not the target, Gale felt briefly as if he’d stepped into a sunbeam. It faded quicker than normal here, under the curse. Even a divine memory of the sun could not stand against Shar’s sway.

When her hands parted, Gale impulsively brushed the newly dried blood away, touch feather light. Something that seemed to cause a tremble. When he looked up, her head was bowed again, her eyes closed.

“I can’t promise you we’re going to find Mol,” he said. “But we will try. That has to be enough.”

“It’s… not just Mol,” she said after a long moment of silence. And her voice was cracked, breaking at the edges. Her free hand went to her face. “It’s all of them. All of the dead tieflings from the Grove. I – we – it didn’t even matter. That we helped them. And they don’t – they’re just laying there, still. And Rolan’s siblings… he’s right. They could have avoided all of this if I hadn’t said something…”

Temperance pulled her other hand out of his, and it joined its partner at her eyes. Each breath was harsh and came only after a long pause.

Gale put his arms around her. It was like hugging a set of armor. But then she went from stone to flesh and fell against him. Still not quite crying, but shaking, trying to gasp her way back to some semblance of control.

“Let it go,” he said, tightening his hold on her. “You can let it go. I have you.”

A moment of renewed tension, then… Temperance began to cry quietly into his shoulder.

Gale rubbed soothing circles on her back, careful not to catch himself on the surprisingly sharp points of her shoulder blades after the first time. Soon she loosened further. Dropping her hands from where they’d been curled in front of her chest and throwing them around him in a shuddering embrace.

“I don’t save people,” came her cracked whisper. “I just – give them a stay of execution. I can’t save them.”

It felt like something made of knives had taken up residence in his belly, and started tenderly shredding his internal organs.

“As someone intimately familiar with the feeling of living on borrowed time, Temperance… let me assure you that each extra day is worth it. Each minute. Just because they died –”

“Died badly,” she said.

“Even so – it was a death that they had more life to live in front of. And not all of them have passed beyond the mortal coil. You cannot bury the survivors at the inn while they’re still breathing. They won’t thank you for it.”

He both heard and felt her sigh. Felt her consign the last of her strength to him and slip a little lower in his arms. They stood like that for he didn’t know how long. His heart was pounding nearly the entire time. As if any moment now she might realize who it was she was so close to, and withdraw. He’d rebuffed her overtures often enough. Surely she would prefer someone else be the one to see her like this. To hold her.

You ought to have a medal for self centeredness, he admonished himself. She’s hurting. Stop it.

But his thoughts always did have a habit of eating themself when left unattended. Even before he’d proven himself the sort of fool one wrote songs about. Tragic songs.

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you,” she said.

“Hm?”

As if she found herself too heavy to carry, Temperance drew back from him just far enough to look into his face. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you earlier.”

“I’m certain Lae’zel or Astarion have said worse things to me,” he said dryly. “I’m not quite the delicate flower, explosive as my potential might be.”

He caught a flicker in her expression – though he couldn’t pick out its meaning. And then she was drawing all the way back. Standing with perfect posture a step away from him. All the cold of the night seemed to rush in to fill the empty space she’d left behind.

“Good night, Gale,” she said. Distant. Expressionless – though her eyes were swollen and her face damp with tears. “Thank you for coming to check on me.”

“Temperance –”

But she was already retreating toward her tent. A forced sort of grace in her footsteps. As if nothing at all had happened between them. As if she hadn’t just been pouring her heart out to him. There was a distinct sinking feeling where his own heart ought to have been.

Too late, he understood.

The heart of the Absolute was close. So close, anyone left at Last Light would surely be caught in the crossfire.

There really was no saving any of them.

[forkaround]

BL Awards: Catch Me Sobbing Category

Sad things are just as important as the not-sad things and thus...

Scene that has me sobbing for whatever reason.

(BL Awards: At the end of an amazing year of absolute chaos in the world of BL. I come to you with my favorite moments of the year divided into categories that would not make it into any respectable Award show. But this is Tumblr. You know what you signed up for.)

Parpai reading from Sky's journal (Love in the Air)

I don't want to discuss the ethics of this and mileage varies for every other person. But this had me sobbing to the point my mother yelled at me for crying over fictional characters. It's how both of them are hurting. It's about Sky not wanting to open up. It's about Pai being confused and hanging over Sky's words. Pai doesn't know what happened, to Sky in the past and to Sky now and he can't accept that Sky would say all those things. Fort and Peat were acting. Truly in their Oscars bag. I remember holding my breath as if I was underwater throughout this scene. Uff.

Sky not crying and Pai crying in his stead (Love in the Air)

(I can't find a gif for the specific line.)

Who knew that not crying was worse than crying? This scene knocked me off the face of the earth. They are both reeling and the emotional intelligence Prapai shows here, god, another writer, another actor could have made this so much worse than it was. But in Mame and FortPeat's hands this was beautiful. It's gentle, it's mature, it's taking care of Sky before Pai can go around smacking people/taking revenge. But that was not the goal of this story. Revenge tel lene gaya. (revenge goes to buy oil. kinda like revenge go to hell.) This is about grace, this is about healing. I have never seen a narrative like this dealt with such gentleness and keeping the characters 'not-broken'. idk how to explain this. Gun gets everything that is coming to him but in this moment it's not about him. It's about SKY.

GAP: Mon being confused by Sam and crying

Something less intense. I feel for both our girlies. Sam is constantly going hot and cold and that is so taxing for everyone around her especially Mon, who has loved her since she was a kid. tbf Sam doesn't know this. And Sam is herself so tragic. Never expressing who she is and what she wants leaving for those around her to interpret her intentions. As much as I feel for her though, I can't see her as a decent boss.

Triage: Tin goes into a coma and Tol is reading to him

I did not expect this to hurt me as much as it did. I can't quantify even now why I love this show so much. But after the POV switch something about this show just fit. I was going to be so mad if they ended up unhappy. I was barely starting to get comfortable with BLs and their happy endings. And then this hit. It didn't end unhappy but I sure thought it would. (Also the clock tower kiss is just something else)

The Eclipse: Every AkkAyan scene towards the end

There are so many gifs/scenes where this boy is crying. First must have had quite the month crying over and over each episode. He is so stuck in his circumstances, in his own head about what's right and wrong. Brittle things. And you see that with how he is caught in between Chadok and Ayan.

ChadokDika story

Dika didn't deserve it. That's it. (tbf Chadok didn't deserve it either.)

(There's many different ways to kill the one you love / slowest way is never loving them enough)

180 Degrees Longitude Passes Between Us

Literally everyone is hurting on this show and hurting everyone else. And it all just HURTS. I can't fully put a bad guy/good guy label on any of them. It's so complexly human. So simply human. So beautifully human and so pathetically human. Seeing my own family in this show didn't help. Mol can't move on from her past. Inn can't see the future. Waan can't live in the present. Them always being on a different wavelength keeps hurting and I think some part of them recognizes this. The ending doesn't help. It's realistic. It's hard. And it hurts. This show is just:

The surety that no matter how much it hurts it would end happy help enjoy the angst so much better. I didn't have to worry someone might end up dead or they might not end up together. (there are exceptions to this, as you can see)

[littlemourningstarr]

Sweet Blood

The Shadow Cursed lands are just as vile as Halsin had warned- made only worse by the fact that Sekh'met has been watching the party fall apart, piece by piece. Lae'zel, forsaken by her Queen, Gale, abandoned by his Goddess. One more tragedy may be enough to push the drow over his limit. That tragedy comes in the form of the tieflings, who have found refuse at Last Light- yet so many are gone, taken to Moonrise. Lives that Sekh feels weigh directly on his shoulders. Lives he needs to save, at any cost. Good thing for him, he's not alone.

Read below or on AO3!

Pairing: Astarion x Transmasc tav

Part of the Eternally Yours series!

Tags: Transmasc tav, canon-typical violence, blood drinking, love confessions, fluff, there's actually no smut here, how is coffee not more centric to these characters

Sekh felt a headache, blooming behind his eyes. If watching Lae’zel have hear heart shattered by Vlaakith hadn’t been enough, knowing that Gale’s fucking goddess was asking him to kill himself would have been, to have his ribs caving in, piercing his heart.

His companions didn’t deserve this.

And now, here they were, in the damned Shadow Cursed lands, all feeling the effects of the hungry shadows- finally finding light, only to be greeted with vines constricting so tightly around Sekh’s legs, he swore he was going to lose feeling quickly.

Sekh gritted his teeth, staring at the older elf in front of him- Jaheira. “We saved your Harpers,” he nearly spat, the anger roiling in him.

This wasn’t fair. Nothing ever had been, but when fair had only been in relation to himself, well- Sekh didn’t much care then. But he swore he was losing his mind, seeing everyone around him broken to pieces.

He hadn’t had anyone aside from Syl, since his parents’ death. Over fifty years of loneliness- it had left him weak, in watching anyone he might care about hurt.

“And this is the thanks we get?” He yelled, clutching his fists. Behind him, his party was tense- no one moved, they were far outnumbered, but Sekh didn’t think it mattered. If they wanted to tear everyone here limb from bloody limb and burn the inn to the ground, they could.

Magic coursed through him. He pulled at his bond with Syl, his left hand crackling with her shadows. His right went cold as death, the necrotic magic in his blood pushing to the surface with bruising force. 

“Stand down, True Soul.” Jaheira spoke through her own gritted teeth, still clutching the bottle with the Mind Flayer tadpole trapped within. It was wriggling, calling to the one in Sekh’s head, which squirmed back excitedly.

He wanted to gouge his eyes out and just remove the fucking thing himself.

At the thought he felt Syl pulling at his mind, her voices swarming in his head, but he shut her out- something he hadn’t done in a long, long time. His shoulders pulled back, and he heard Astarion yell his name, as if in warning.

Sekh only stopped, because a very familiar little tiefling was suddenly rushing between him and Jaheira. “Stop!” Mol held her arms out, back to Sekh as if she had nothing to fear from him.

He swallowed thickly, felt sweat trickle down his spine. He hadn’t realized his vision had narrowed, that he had been focused on Jaheira’s chest, aiming to blast Syl’s shadows directly through her heart. Aiming to kill, in an instant.

“He saved us, they all did. Back at the Grove.” Jaheira’s eyes snapped from Sekh to the party behind him. She relaxed, just a tick. “Saved some of my friends too- one from Harpies, and one from a mean snake.”

She glanced back at Sekh, grinning in her sweet yet conniving way.

“I’d basically trust him with my life.”

“How can this be?” Jaheira seemed torn, and Sekh took a breath, trying to steady his heartbeat. Trying not to focus on how quickly he’d been ready to dispatch her to the hells. “He should be under the cult’s control.”

“It’s this.” Sekh glanced behind him, to Shadowheart, who strode forward, producing the artifact. He tried hard not to focus on the uneasy looks the party was giving him.

Instead, he recanted to Jaheira quickly what the artifact had done for them- blocking out the Absolute’s voice, someone within claiming to be protecting them.

Shadowheart walked closer to Jaheira, and the elf held out the bottle with the tadpole. The wretched thing thrashed, seemed to bloat, before it ruptured, a sickening little screech barely contained in the glass. Jaheira recoiled, slightly. As the parasite died, Sekh admitted why they’d come-

To dethrone the Absolute. To destroy these parasites. To gain their freedom.

“Congratulations,” she said, as the vines finally receded from their hold on Sekh’s legs. He stumbled, his legs partially numb- was thankful when Wyll stepped forward and braced his arm. “You’ve earned the benefit of the doubt. Come inside, we should talk.”

She turned her back- a larger sign of trust than Sekh had expected- and headed for the inn. Around him, Sekh could feel the party relaxing, the Harpers who had been poised to lunge should Jaheira give the order, quickly turning to other business.

“You alright?” Shadowheart asked, taking a step closer to Sekh.

He nodded. “Just can’t feel my legs completely.”

She frowned. “No. Not that.” She tucked the artifact away. “You snapped.” She snapped her fingers, in emphasis. 

“I’m tired,” Sekh admitted, the headache full fledged now. “We’ve been through a lot. This just… pushed me.” Her frown deepened, but she said nothing else, and Sekh was glad for it. He wasn’t sure he had felt a gut wrenching anger like that in all his life-

Well, there was the day that Gnoll Matrirach had thrown Astarion off a fucking cliff, and he’d acted in sheer rage, choking her with his magic. But that had been deserved. This situation? It would have been solved with a level head.

The party dispersed slightly. Karlach caught sight of Dammon and was off, running to the small forge he had. Sekh was glad for that- they had found another hunk of Infernal Iron along their journeys, and he was hoping the tiefling might have thought of another way to help stabilize Karlach.

The Inn was decent sized, Sekh realized as they stepped inside. He caught sight of the tiefling children rushing about, and felt a genuine smile reaching his lips. They’d made it this far. He was glad.

He’d been worried about them.

And if they were here, perhaps-

“Come, we have much to discuss.”

Jaheira’s voice broke his thoughts. Sekh saw her over at a table, a map spread out before her. He glanced at his party- noticed he’d lost Halsin and Wyll now, they two disappearing through a door off to the right. Sekh moved to head for her, felt Astarion suddenly moving up beside him, a hand finding the small of his back.

Sekh wanted to sag into him. His skull ached so fiercely, the exhaustion thrumming harder than his pulse.

“You alright?” the vampire asked, so quietly Sekh could barely hear him. He nodded- knew there wasn’t time to explain that he couldn’t stomach the sheer torment he was watching everyone go through. That their personal hells felt like they were burning him alive, and he didn’t know how to help. That the helplessness was possibly the worst feeling he’d had, in countless years.

“Have a drink,” Jaheira said, when they reached her. She gestured towards a glass of wine, holding her own cup. Sekh picked the glass up, as Jaheira toasted, “To your health.” He held it close to his lips- it smelled wrong, a hint of a salty bitterness. But he didn’t think it would harm him.

He drank a mouthful with Jaheira. He felt Astarion nearly press into his shoulder, trying to be close, and knew the vampire didn’t approve of the recklessness. But Sekh knew they needed this woman to trust them- and he had royalally fucked that, only minutes before.

“Tell me, is the parasite changing you?”

Sekh set the cup down. “It’s trying to change us all,” he admitted, “but we’re resisting.”

“And you’re sure you’ll continue to?” She didn’t need to add a threat to the question, it hung in the air. Stop resisting and be put down. Honestly, Sekh had no desire to be a Minderflayer- he knew none of them did- so he welcomed death if it came to that. If his body began to decay and his soul withered.

“Yes.”

“Good.” Jaheira leaned her hands on the table, her demeanor relaxing further. “You’re exactly what we’ve needed. A True Soul outside of the cult’s clutches. Someone who can get close to the man that cursed this place, that has been leading the cult.”

A man, Sekh quickly learned, named Ketharic Thorm. Jaheira recounted how she had killed him once, about the battle that had taken place within these lands before they were cursed. And it seemed, Sekh realized, that Shadowheart’s presumption that the shadow magic came from Shar was right.

He heard Syl growl, within his mind. No love lost for the Goddess of Loss, he knew. No love lost for any of the gods, truly.

“We cannot get close enough to Moonrise,” Jaheira added, “but you? They would never know. We know True Souls recognize their own- but I doubt they could tell you were not under the Absolute’s thrall.”

“These shadows are thick.” Gale, who had been far too quiet- not that Sekh could blame him. The man’s mind had to be a tumultuous mess.

His question didn’t need to be voiced. How would they even get close?

“You’re not our only glimmer of hope. Head upstairs and meet Isobel- she can give you a blessing that will be enough for you to walk amongst the thinner shadows.”

Well, better than nothing. Sekh nodded, and it seemed that was that. Conversation done.

Jaheira was quite good at keeping things to the point.

Sekh moved away from the table, heading for a familiar face. Alfira, the tiefling bard, was sitting, shoulders hunched. He said her name, a few steps away, and she glanced over her shoulder, before standing up so forcefully she nearly toppled the bench she had been sitting on.

“It’s you! You’re here!” She rushed over, grasped Sekh’s biceps, before embracing him. Taken aback, Sekh froze for a moment, before he returned the hug in kind.

“What happened? Where is everyone?”

Alfira tensed, pressed her forehead to Sekh’s shoulder. And quietly, in a voice that was barely keeping from shattering, she told him about the shadows, about Zevlor, about losing so many.

About Rolan, protecting the children, and Cal and Lia being taken.

Sekh glanced across the inn, found the wizard in question hunched over the bar. “He said he stayed because of you,” Alfira managed, straightening up and wiping at her eyes. Sekh realized there were tear stains already on her cheeks- how long had she been crying? “How do you do it? How do you keep going?”

Sekh bit his lip. “I… don’t have a good answer,” he admitted. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just not ready to die yet.” Alfira nodded, just once, and Sekh reached out, squeezed her shoulder. “I’m going to Moonrise. I’ll find them, I’ll find all of them, and I’ll bring them back.”

And suddenly the light seemed back in her eyes- albeit, dimmer than Sekh remembered at the party. “If anyone can, it’s you.” She reached up, squeezed the hand on her shoulder, before turning, settling back down. Sekh decided to leave her to her thoughts, eyes now focused across the inn.

He headed for Rolan, stopped a few steps away. The tiefling lifted his head, and when he saw it was Sekh, his fiery eyes narrowed. “Oh, it’s you.” The words stung, venom laced, personal. Sekh didn’t exactly blame the man. “If you’re here to save the day again, you’re a little late this time.”

“Sounds like you didn’t need me,” Sekh offered, tipping his head down slightly, wanting to catch Rolan’s stare. “I heard what happened. You saved the kids.”

“Oh sod off,” Rolan spat. “I’m only here because you helped me and my family. I was ready to cut and run back at the Grove, but you had other ideas. Cal and Lia were taken in by your crap- you convinced them to play hero, and now they’re gone.”

Rolan’s voice was a rumble, yet so close to shattering it made Sekh’s stomach ache. And he wanted to argue that staying had been the right thing to do, and Cal and Lia had seen it that way- but that wasn’t what the wizard needed to hear.

Sekh wasn’t sure what he did need to hear. Frankly, he was beginning to think he didn’t know what anyone needed, with the way everyone around him was quickly falling apart. That hurt down in the very core of his being.

“I’m going to Moonrise,” he said, daring to take a step closer. “I’ll find them. I’ll save them. I’ll bring them back.”

“They’re my responsibility,” he spat. “You go save the world, or your own ass- or whatever it is that you do. I’ll fix this.” Rolan paused, before he added, “you’re done enough.”

Sekh felt his gut sinking. He hadn’t even realized that they had caused a bit of a scene, until he felt Astarion brushing up to him, hand sliding along his arm.

“Everything alright, darling?” His voice was low, eyes sharp, pointed at Rolan. The tiefling downed the wine in his tankard, before he set it down and leveled his own hellish stare at Astarion.

“Oh, lovely, one of your attack dogs.” Astarion bared his fangs at that. “Fuck off, all of you. Just leave me be.” Astarion looked quite ready to punch him- and Sekh didn’t want to see that. He grasped the vampire’s arm, gently pulling him away. Astarion resisted for only a moment, before he followed.

“Just let me rough him up a little,” he said, “pretty please?” He fluttered those white eyelashes, and for a moment, Sekh felt just a little lighter.

“You’re trying to make me feel better,” he mused, and Astarion scoffed.

“Oh nonsense. I haven’t got the time to worry about feelings.” A bold faced lie- and Sekh realized he recognized that. “But,” Astarion added, clearing his throat, “perhaps I do prefer when you smile.”

Sekh did- it was small, weak, but real. Things were falling apart, but maybe not everything. They just needed to soldier on. He’d fix this. He’d fix everything.

Wasn’t that what one did, when you cared about the people around you? You fixed their problems?

Sekh assumed it was- and before he could further that train of thought, nearly tripped over something. Astarion grabbed his arm to steady him, and Sekh looked down, noticed a hairless cat glowering up at him.

“Oh dear,” Astarion said, “what a… plump little thing.” Sekh crouched down, held his hand out for the cat to sniff his fingers. It did indeed seem like it had been well fed- rolls and wrinkles of pink skin. It gave his fingers a sniff, before it reared back, hissing loudly.

And Astarion laughed.

“Well,” he said, as Sekh straightened up, the cat scuttering away quickly, “at least you purr for me.” Sekh turned, pressed his hand flat to Astarion’s chest, went to shove him playfully- but the vampire covered it, gave it a squeeze. Sekh felt a familiar fluttering, in his chest- and a sudden, desperate ache to kiss Astarion. Even if just the barest of touches, to his cheek.

But was that crossing a line? Sekh still didn’t know, didn’t know where the lines were- and what they meant. And he hadn’t mustered the guts to broach that with Astarion.

So he held off, giving the elf another small smile, before pulling his hand back. Astarion’s fingers held his hand for just a moment, before releasing him.

Stepping back felt wrong, but Sekh did it anyway.

*

“Is there anything else we should know?” Sekh asked, body tingling from the blessing Isobel had just bestowed on the group. It was wild, to have everyone crammed into her small quarters. Shadowheart was frowning deeply, to the point that the lines in her face threatened Astarion’s charming smile lines.

Isobel seemed ready to continue, when her head jerked up. “Do you hear that?”

Sekh didn’t- at first. But then this rush of wind, and the doorway to Isobel’s quarters were quite literally kicked in, a large man filling the space. He grinned, rolled his neck as the decaying wings at his back folded in.

Sekh could smell his fetid scent from where he stood.

“Marcus,” Isobel said, eyes wide. The drow quirked a brow- she knew him? But before he could ask, there was a sudden voice, in his head- slightly garbled.

True Soul. My orders are to take her alive.

Sekh gritted his teeth. He hated having someone else in his head- Syl was one thing, but there simply wasn’t room for more. He could feel her bristling, through their connection- feeling the invasion in his mind.

“Touch her,” Sekh said, fingers flexing, knowing this was not going to end peacefully. “And I’ll flay you alive.”

The man chuckled. “You disobey the orders of our god? A shame, True Soul, that her blessing was wasted on you.” He reared back, and suddenly he roared, like a beast. Sekh jerked back, the sound inhuman- and then the quick beating of large wings.

Ghastly, winged ghouls charged in from every opening before the man had even finished his call. And, yeah, peace was not about to happen.

Sekh drew his shortsword, gripping it tightly, as he felt a back press to his. Wyll, his rapier in hand, free hand already blazing with Mizora’s gifted power. The drow grinned, drew his own shadows forward.

There was no need to instruct, no need for anyone to bark orders. The group dispersed towards the noises- Karlach and Lae’zel jumping from the second floor to take on the ghouls attempting to cut through the Harpers below. A roar to the right- and Sekh saw a flash of fur, and then a huge bear jerking a ghoul down, teeth firmly embedded in its thigh.

Sekh shot his magic towards another, as it tried to dive in towards Halsin. He could feel the heat from Wyll’s hellish magic, firing around them. It was chaos within seconds. But Sekh had to admit, it was thrilling chaos, at least.

Sekh managed to block a ghoul’s snapping jaws with his sword, watching it reel back as it bit into the blade, cut its mouth open. “Dolor!” he yelled, shadows leaving him to lurch themselves around the ghoul, forcing it back a few steps-

Directly into Astarion’s waiting daggers. The rogue twisted them, before pulling them free, light on his feet as he hopped to avoid the falling ghoul and spun, daggers sinking directly into the gut of another that had made its way up behind him. If there was time, Sekh could simply watch in awe as the vampire moved. Astarion was as beautiful as he was lethal.

Sekh glanced around, trying to find Marcus in the mess. While the ghouls were annoying and needed to be dealt with, he was the real threat. They would be near mindless without him. He dodged a clawed hand, blindly firing Syl’s magic at the ghoul.

It took a moment, the noise of the room a chaotic roar, but he found Marcus, grabbing one of Isobel’s arms and grinning with yellowed teeth. Sekh watched her say something, before radiant light struck him in his eyes, forcing him to stumble back.

He was too far to get close enough before the man recovered. “Shadowheart!” he yelled, the cleric the closest. She whipped around at the noise, took not even half a second to understand, then rushed  the stumbling Marcus, delivering a swift kick to his gut. He stumbled again, and she dropped her shield, held her mace with both hands and lifted it high, bringing it down with crushing force, directly into his head.

Sekh swore he could hear his skull crunch.

Marcus crumpled, and Sekh moved, spearing his shortsword into a ghoul that was making directly for Shadowheart. He lowered his shoulder and forced it back with his weight, felt claws digging into his arm as he did so. There was blood everywhere, and he didn’t have the time to stop and wonder if any of it was his own.

Shadowheart brought her mace down a second time, and Marcus completely stilled, his head caved open, leaking blood and brain matter on the floor. Shadowheart kicked him for good measure, before turning her attention to Isobel.

Knowing the Selunite cleric was in good hands, Sekh turned, trying to take in the mess around. It was long minutes before the rest of the ghouls fell- and by then, the air stank of blood and brimstone.

They were left sweating and panting, by the end, bloodied and unsure from what. Sekh could tell from the noise below that Karlach, Lae’zel, and eventually Gale had kept control. Sekh glanced around his party, as he heard footsteps rushing towards the room, Jaheira bursting in a moment later and hurrying to Isobel.

“Alright?” Sekh asked, as Astarion flicked his blades, blood flinging off them. The vampire licked his lips, then grimaced.

“Oh that is awful,” he said, “gods they taste rotten.” He tucked his daggers away, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand- then groaning as he only smeared more blood. Sekh rolled his eyes, reaching out and grasping Astarion’s chin in his hand.

“Hold still,” he said, wiping the blood off Astarion’s mouth with his sleeve. “I’m not surprised they taste awful. Now, my question- are you alright?”

“I suppose so, darling,” Astairon said, rather softly. Sekh let go of him, rolled his own shoulders, grimaced as his arm stung. His sleeve was shredded- which had made cleaning Astarion up easy- but it also showed the gnarly gouges one of the ghouls had left in his arm.

His sword arm, of course. Blasted fucking things.

Astarion reached for Sekh’s arm, lifted it, examined the wound. “I’ll live,” Sekh said, noticing that Astarion’s brow creased with concern. “Shadowheart will fix me up. I’ve had worse.”

The vampire clicked his tongue, but released Sekh’s arm. Seemed he knew there was no point in arguing. Sekh was glad for it. There were other things to focus on-

Namely, how quickly they could get to Moonrise. It seemed the cultists might be feeling dire for Isobel, and Sekh didn’t like them coming for the one beacon of light in these cursed lands.

*

Sekh let himself back into the inn, hours later. The bodies of the ghouls had been dragged away, left to pile as a part of the barricade. A statement.

He and the party had been cleaned up. Shadowheart had mended his arm, and Isobel had wrapped it in bandages and one of Jaheira’s ointments, promising he’d be fine by morning. Sekh was glad for it- even with Syl and his own magic, he didn’t relish the idea of his sword arm being weak.

Also, he found the ointment smelled quite like dirt, and wouldn’t have wanted to slather it on more than once.

Everything seemed to be calming down for the night. The party was settled in a makeshift camp just beyond Dammon’s forge. The tiefling, bless him, was working on another upgrade for Karlach, which had been the one bit of good news they received.

The sudden, fragile calm, gave Sekh a moment to dwell again on the tieflings at Moonrise- and the guilt he felt, for not being here for them. And the personal guilt, sparked from Rolan’s words. He wanted to find him, just to ensure he hadn’t drunk himself into a stupor- to try and get him to believe that Sekh would bring Cal and Lia home. He’d bring all of them home, or die trying.

He felt he owed them that.

He found there was no one by the bar, however. Or really downstairs at all, except for a few Harpers clanging about. He headed up the stairs, the old wood creaking heavily beneath his footsteps. He wasn’t sure where everyone found room to bed down here, but he’d check all the rooms if he needed to.

Luckily, he didn’t. He paused at a door, heard a familiar voice, and cleared his throat. “Alfira?” A moment later and the door was flung open, the bard rushing out, pulling the door shut tightly behind her, blocking the other tieflings crowded in the room.

“Thank the gods,” she said, her voice hushed, “I was going to come look for you. It’s Rolan.” Sekh went to speak, but before he could, Alfira continued. “The kids said they saw him by the barricade, walking towards the shadows with a torch. I… I think he went after Cal and Lia.”

Sekh felt his muscles going tight. The wizard wouldn’t survive a damn minute in those shadows alone. At least Sekh had Isobel’s blessing- just a torch would barely keep the shadows at bay.

And if it went out…

“I’ll bring him back.” 

Before Alfira could say more Sekh was turning, bolting down the stairs. He had his sword holstered at his hip, he could head directly into the shadows without stopping-

“Where are you going?”

Sekh paused, outside the inn now, skidding in the perpetually damp soil. Astarion was sitting on the edge of what was once a fountain, or well, Sekh wasn’t exactly sure- playing with one of his daggers as if he was bored.

“Because it looks like you’re about to run head first into the shadows alone- and that would be very, very stupid.” Astarion hopped up, stowing the blade and moving over to Sekh quickly, eyes narrowing. The boredom faded away to…

Annoyance?

“So please tell me this is not what it looks like.” Astarion gestured to Sekh, and Sekh folded his arms. He could lie, but it felt pointless. Astarion would know.

And Sekh honestly didn’t want to lie to the vampire, about anything.

“It’s what it looks like.”

“Oh what in the bloody hells Sekh-”

“Rolan is out there.” Sekh cut in and Astarion clamped his mouth shut, frowning. For a moment, neither said anything, before Astarion gestured for Sekh to continue.

“And?”

“And…what?”

Astarion scoffed. “And what does it matter? So the wizard has run off to an early death- that seems to be his problem, darling, not yours.”

Sekh frowned, brows furrowing. “Astarion, he’ll die.”

“And, again- what does it matter?” Astarion took a step closer, enough that Sekh could smell the oil he liked to dab on his wrists, behind his ears- bergamot, rosemary. Enlivening. “Seems it was his decision- albeit a very, very stupid one.”

“He’s only here because of me.” Sekh felt his shoulders sagging a little. “Dammit, his brother and sister are at Moonrise because I told them to stay at the Grove. If he dies, if they die, it's on my shoulders.”

Astarion’s frown softened, just a little. Oh, he was still annoyed, Sekh could tell- but the vampire still reached up, tipped Sekh’s chin up. “You’re not going to bear the weight of their lives on your shoulders.”

“I don’t know what else to do,” Sekh admitted. “Isn’t that what you do, when you care about someone? When you’re close to someone? Don’t you do that for…friends?”

It felt like the stupidest question Sekh could ask, because he should know. But for so long, it had just been he and Syl. There hadn’t been anyone else to care about. And he liked the siblings- the three of them made him feel a bit lighter. He would have spent the whole evening of the party with them, if he hadn’t had the courage to approach Astarion…

Astarion, who pointedly did not answer him. Astarion, who seemed just as lost as to the answer as well. After a moment he dropped his hand, heaving an overly dramatic sigh. Without a word he turned, walking towards the barricade. Sekh stared for a moment, before the vampire paused, glancing over his shoulder.

“Well? Are you coming or not? Because I’m not rescuing your wizard on your behalf.”

*

Even with Selune’s blessing, Sekh felt positively cold as death, in these shadows. Last Light had long since faded behind he and Astarion, as they moved along what might have once been a path, overgrown with monstrous roots. It felt deathly silent, except the occasional clicking or hiss, as if the shadows were living.

Syl was swarming inside Sekh’s mind, her emotions reeling, to the point his head was aching again.

“How bloody far could he have gone?” Astarion asked, voice hushed. It felt like they needed to be silent. He paused when Sekh didn’t answer- and honestly, Sekh hadn’t even heard him. He was pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to ask Syl to calm down a little.

When he opened his eyes, Astarion was there, peering close. Sekh jerked back, breath rushing out. “Gods dammit, you didn’t make a sound.”

Astarion smiled. “I’m a vampire, darling, of course I didn’t.” He reached out, cold fingers brushing Sekh’s hand away from his head. The touch was as cold as the shadows, but welcome at least.

“It’s nothing,” Sekh admitted, “Syl is just… lively.” The vampire clicked his tongue, but dropped his hand, following a step behind Sekh when the drow continued on. Sekh had to admit this felt almost hopeless, now- they were so far from the Inn, and maybe Rolan had gone in a completely different direction? Maybe he’d veered off somewhere and they’d missed it?

Maybe the shadows had taken him, bones and all.

It was some time later, when Sekh knew, in his gut, he couldn’t drag Astarion further- they hadn’t rested after the attack on the Inn, the vampire hadn’t fed he was sure, and gods, the shadows were getting so thick he was sure that, blessing or not, they’d be swallowed up-

When they saw a light. Faint, flickering, and the sound of a strained voice, repeating an incantation.

Sekh didn’t think. He sprang into a run, feet pounding against the dirt. Astarion was faster, passing him as Rolan came into view, the tiefling holding a dying torch with one hand, the other directing his spells at the shadows that were swarming him.

There were so, so many.

“Rolan!” Sekh yelled. The wizard jerked his head up, stared at them with shocked, wide eyes- and Astarion was taking a running leap, drawing his daggers and snarling at the shadows, as he plunged them into the nearest abomination.

It shrieked. It was corporeal enough that blades could hurt. That worked to their advantage.

Sekh drew his shortsword, stabbing it into another shadow. His arm ached something fierce from the wound one of the ghouls had inflicted earlier, but he gritted his teeth and ignored it.

He fell into a rhythm, with Astarion, cutting closer and closer to Rolan. He wasn’t sure how effective Syl’s magic would be on these, so he focused on the blade instead. The shadows gave far easier than flesh, but freeing his blade was difficult- almost as if the shadows wanted to devour it, and then him.

“This is going to take hours,” Astarion panted, ducking down to avoid one of the shadows grabbing him.

He wasn’t wrong. They just kept coming- Sekh swore they cut down one, and three replaced it, snarling and shrieking. They sounded ravenous, starving.

Sekh dropped down as he heard Rolan’s voice, and a moment later a bolt of flame burst where he had been, overtaking one of the shadows. Sekh reached out, stabbed into the now blazing abyss, grimacing as it burned his hand. There wasn’t time to stop and check the wound, however.

He stood up, turning, taking the last few steps to Rolan. “Are you alright?” he asked, before he heard Astarion yelling his name. He grabbed Rolan’s arm, jerking them to the side, just as a shadow came flying at them, and kept going out into the dark abyss around them.

“No time for pleasantries!” Astarion shouted, head swiveling between three shadows closing in on him. “I think we need to leave. Now.”

He was most definitely not wrong.

“We can’t get past them,” Rolan pointed out. There was sweat on his brow, along his hairline. His eyes looked exhausted. Sekh wondered how long these things had had him cornered.

“Darling,” Astarion said, backing up towards he and Rolan, his voice strained. Sekh followed his voice, and the three had turned to six shadows, beginning to close in. Gods below. There were more, slowly leaking from the inky dark around them. It seemed they were endless.

Sekh felt a sharp pain in his skull and grimaced, reaching up and grasping at his head. There was screaming in his mind- screaming he knew well.

And as much as he didn’t want to terrify the two men with him, it seemed he wasn’t going to have another choice.

“Astarion, get back!” He yelled, before he tossed his head back and screamed “Sylthek’vin!”

The vampire jerked back a few steps, putting distance between he and the shadows, as Sekh heard the booming echo of the air tearing open. A moment later there was an ear shattering laugh, twin voices, and then she was there, a shadow blacker than the cursed horrors, but radiating heat like fire.

She lunged, and Sekh heard Rolan breath in terror, “What in all the hells is that?”

“Explanations later,” Sekh said, sheathing his sword. “If we get an opening we run.” He flexed his hands, watched as Syl grabbed a shadow in one of her long fingered hands, lifting it into the air with her and grinning with her oh so many needle-fine teeth.

And then the shadows of her belly began to twist.

Sekh watched in awe, as her second mouth appeared, the shadows of her gut seeming to rip apart. Rows and rows of the same needle-like teeth traveled up the seam created in her body, as the maw opened wide, and she swallowed the shadow into herself.

“Oh gods,” Rolan breathed, and Astarion cocked his head, looking fascinated.

“Well. Now that’s a sight.”

Yes, it truly was- but Sekh shook his head. “We have to go,” he said, as Syl grabbed another, laughing eagerly, hauntingly as she crammed it into her belly-maw, the shadow screeching at an unholy note. Without hesitation Astarion leapt into a run, shoulder down, charging into the shadows first. Sekh grabbed Rolan by the arm and jerked him forward, yelling “go!” as the wizard stumbled, but then followed after Astarion.

Sekh ran behind them, dodging a frantically clawing arm. He could feel Syl’s eyes, watching them go, and a glance back caught her stare, her startling smile.

And then those thousand star voids were back on the shadows, and she was back to her fun.

*

By the time they reached Last Light, all three were panting, nearly dizzy from running. Sekh’s legs ached, and he swore with each step he would be on the ground, having to drag himself forward, crawl pathetically towards the light.

But it didn’t matter. They were alive.

The Harpers on guard gave them shocked looks and a wide berth, and Sekh was fine with that. They paused outside, Astarion collapsing back against the would be fountain, sucking in desperate mouthfuls of air.

And he didn’t even need to breathe.

“Never again,” he managed, voice a bit rough. “Next time you want to play hero, darling, you are on your own.”

It was a very poor attempt at a lie.

Still, Sekh didn’t call him on it- he just needed to sit down-

“Gods damn it all, I can do nothing right!” Rolan tossed the now extinguished torch on the ground, kicking it so it rolled a few paces away. “Not a damned thing!”

“What were you even doing out there?” Astarion asked, not looking amused in the slightest by the wizard’s outburst. Sekh sucked in a breath, clenched his fists and forced himself to stay upright. The movement hurt, his burnt hand stinging, his reopened wound a throbbing ache.

“Saving Cal and Lia!” The Wizard reached up, tugged at his hair. It was in disarray, falling from its knot from the sheer amount of running they had just done. “But instead I end up cornered by shadow fiends and in need of rescue. From you,” Rolan pointed his stare directly at Sekh, eyes worse than hellfire, “of all bloody people.”

“Well, should we have left you to die?” Astarion pushed himself up, took the two steps to get into Rolan’s space, pushed up on his toes to be directly in his face. 

“Stop,” Sekh said, leaning back against the rock structure- not of his own action, but because his legs were truly beginning to give out. “Both of you.”

Astarion’s lip twitched, but he took a single step back. Rolan relaxed his shoulders just a tick.

“I failed Cal and Lia- again,” he said, the anger fading from his voice. He simply sounded defeated now. “When they needed me most.”

Sekh went to push off the fountain and stumbled. Astarion turned quickly, reached out and braced his arms. Sekh winced as Astarion gripped at his reopened wound, thw drow’s weight pushing against him. The elf glanced at his arm, took in the fresh blood seeping through his bandages, the dry, cracked skin along his hand, fissured by raw skin-

He frowned. Deeply.

“I don’t give a shit who you failed,” Astarion said, glancing back at Rolan. “Now get inside.” He jerked his head towards the inn, before he bowed his head closer to Sekh. “Darling? Can you walk?”

Sekh nodded, slowly straightening up. “Just… still catching my breath.” Sekh forced a pained smile. “It’s nothing.”

A click of his tongue was all Astarion needed to show he didn’t believe that.

The elf glanced over his shoulder, and Rolan was still there, watching them. “What? We saved your ass, now kindly fuck off.”

Perhaps the vampire was a bit angrier than Sekh originally thought.

Rolan hesitated, before he took a step closer. Astarion tensed, and the wizard paused. “Let’s just get patched up,” he offered, eyes darting to the blood now seeping around Astarion’s fingers. The elf paused, looked as if he might tell Rolan to fuck off for a second time-

But Sekh nodded. “Please,” he said, glancing over at Astarion. The anger in those eyes softened, and Astarion released him, let Sekh straighten up. He walked close enough to touch, as they followed Rolan inside, the inn feeling like a slumbering ghost, with how quiet it was.

They walked back to the bar, and Sekh hoisted himself up onto a stool, wanting to pitch forward, leaning his forehead against the cool, smooth wood. Gods was he tired.

He didn’t have time to be tired.

Astarion pulled his gloves off, tossing them on the bar, before he grabbed at Sekh’s arm, shoved the sleeve of his robe up. He had bled through the bandages earlier wrapped around his arm.

The vampire clicked his tongue again in annoyance- a tell Sekh was noticing that he was sure Astarion was unaware of. “You’re going to get yourself killed,” he said, “or maimed, if you’re lucky enough.”

“Let’s just rewrap it,” Sekh offered, “I’ll talk to Shadowheart in the morning.” Sekh was sure she would have a very disapproving look, but he was sure she could patch him up. At least enough to function. Again.

Sekh went to remove the bandages himself but Astarion batted his hand away, nimble fingers doing it himself. His skin was chilled more than usual, but each touch felt nice, to Sekh. Eased the pain, just a bit.

He closed his eyes, bowed his head a little. His bones ached with exhaustion, and he just wanted a single moment to bask in the comfort he found in Astarion, in all the things that shouldn’t be comforting.

“What are you thinking?” the vampire asked, voice hushed, barely a whisper at all. Sekh slit his eyes open, looked up through thick ginger lashes as Astarion piled the bloodied bandages on the bar.

“That I like how cold you are.” Astarion paused, one brow quirked, looking at Sekh as if the drow had just sprouted an extra head- or three. “What?”

“I would expect that to be off putting,” Astarion admitted, fingers dancing along Sekh’s arm- just missing each tear in his skin, but making the stinging skin calm with his coolness.

“Maybe if it was someone else,” Sekh admitted, as Astarion’s fingers reached his wrist, then moved delicately over burnt skin. “But it’s just a part of you- and I rather like who you are.”

Astarion’s touched paused, his eyes darting up to Sekh’s. Sekh couldn’t exactly explain the sudden burst of honesty- sure, he could blame fatigue and injuries-

But the truth? It was easy to be honest with Astarion.

The vampire parted his lips, as if he was about to speak- but was cut off when fresh bandages were set on the bar, accompanied by Rolan’s voice, “We should get that rewrapped.”

Sekh hadn’t even realized the tiefling had left- hells, he’d forgotten everything and everyone existed, outside of Astarion, for a brief moment. A sweet moment that was gone, Sekh knew, as Astarion pulled back.

Rolan gently grasped Sekh’s arm, turning it to examine the wounds. He frowned, brow creasing- and it was a charming look, Sekh had to admit.

“Playing doctor?” Astarion asked, tone teasing. Sekh glanced at him, but Astarion only smiled- and somehow, it was so sweet that it could have made Sekh pleasantly ill.

“We could wake Isobel,” Rolan offered, eyes glancing down at Sekh’s burnt hand, “more for your hand than your arm.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll be fine until morning.” The tiefling’s frown grew, and he glanced at Astarion. They seemed to share, for a moment, a silent understanding and frustration- and Sekh wanted to laugh. “We can do this Rolan- go get some rest. You don’t need to be around me.”

Rolan gave a grunted hmph, before he released Sekh’s arm, reaching for a jar he had set on the bar as well. Sekh frowned, must have made a little noise, because Rolan glanced at him as he lifted it up.

“... It smells like dirt,” Sekh admitted, and Astarion snorted a very undignified laugh.

“Oh heavens forbid,” he teased, motioning with two fingers for Rolan to bring the jar to him. “Precious little babe will just have to tolerate it.” Astarion swiped his fingers in the cream, before carefully smearing it along one of the large gashes on Sekh’s arm. Sekh winced a little, but the pain was dulled, again, by Astarion’s cool skin. Astarion scooped more on his fingers, pausing before touching the next gash, adding, “But you are right. It smells like gravedirt.”

“Thank you!” Sekh beamed, felt at least like he wasn’t going crazy, and oh, Astarion smiled back. It made Sekh’s belly flutter with those burning moths again, alive and yet dying in a panicked ecstasy.

“Huh.” Rolan folded his arms, as Astarion continued to coat Sekh’s wounds carefully. The drow glanced at him, a silent what in his look. “Just can’t believe I didn’t notice until now.”

“Notice what?” Astarion asked, moving to Sekh’s hand. The drow grimaced, his hand aching far worse than his arm.

Rolan stared at the vampire as if he was insane, then only shook his head. “Nevermind. Here, let me do this.” He lifted the bandages, and Astarion moved to Sekh’s other side, so the tiefling could wrap his wounds. His touch was shockingly delicate, yet precise. The bandage was tight, once he was done, but not uncomfortable. Sekh moved his arm and hand, found it didn’t shift and cause much friction.

“You’re good at this,” he pointed out, as Rolan leaned against the bar, the exhaustion seeping into his face.

“I’ve patched Lia up enough to do it in my sleep.” He paused, then, in a softer voice, “Tell me you meant it when you said you’d bring her and Cal back to me.”

“I swear it,” Sekh said, “Rolan, on my life. If they’re alive, I will bring them back. And the other tieflings too.” Rolan nodded, once, silent acceptance, as Astarion leaned against Sekh’s good arm.

“I hate feeling helpless,” the tiefling admitted, “I should have been able to rescue them myself. If I’m this useless I’m not worth my apprenticeship.”

“No one was getting through those shadows alone,” Sekh pointed out.

“You might have. What… what was that thing that you summoned?”

Sekh gave a nervous smile- but Astarion broke in to answer, “Oh, that was Syl.” Casual, as if everyone should simply know who Sekh’s patron was and not be shocked in any way by her unsettling appearance.

“And that helps me none,” Rolan pointed out.

“My patron,” Sekh offered, “I didn’t summon her- she’s been quite lively since we got into these wretched shadows. I just finally let her through.” He cleared his throat, adding in an almost nervous tone, “I know she’s not… easy to look at, but I swear she is harmless.”

“Oh darling she is not harmless,” Astarion pointed out, “but she is quite friendly. That mouth was new…” Astarion tapped his own chin, as if he was contemplating Syl’s appearance. “Does she have a taste for actual flesh?”

Sekh sighed, hung his head. “Astarion.”

“I’m curious!” Sekh only shook his head, not offering an answer, and the elf gave a pout. Sekh wanted to kiss it away, in that moment- but, well, Rolan was right there. And again, he wasn’t sure where a line could be drawn.

“She has a taste for everything,” was all he offered, and Astarion grinned. Sekh was sure he hadn’t heard the end of this- that Astarion would want to know all about Syl’s tastes- when something dawned on him. “You haven’t fed,” Sekh realized, and Astarion shrugged a shoulder almost limply.

“Not much out here, my sweet. I’ll just have to wait until I can get my teeth into a cultist or two.” Astarion flashed a smile, full fang, and Sekh felt Rolan lean a bit closer, press against his shoulder to get a look at Astarion’s teeth.

“You’re a vampire,” he mused, quietly. “But, how? You were in the sun.”

“I’m full of surprises,” Astarion purred, as Sekh rolled up the sleeve of his uninjured arm, offering his wrist to Astarion.

“Here, at least take something from me.” The thought of that hunger gnawing at Astarion, relentlessly, made Sekh sick. And what was a little more lost blood for him?

But Astarion frowned, pushed his arm away. “No. You’re in no condition…”

“I’m not letting you starve, Starshine.” Astarion shivered, those pretty eyes going just a little wide, but he held fast, refusing to take Sekh’s wrist. Sekh was ready to argue, when Rolan suddenly asked,

“What about me?” Both men glanced at Rolan, who looked almost… nervous. “Look, you both… rescued me.” Sekh could tell, admitting it stung deep. “Perhaps I owe you.”

Astarion inclined his head, studying Rolan for a moment. Then he moved around Sekh, slowly, movements fluid and cat-like as he slid between them, lifted Rolan’s arm and examined his wrist. “Just a taste,” Astarion said, glancing up at the tiefling. “I promise.”

Rolan nodded, and Sekh watched as Astarion lowered his head, bared those glorious fangs, and then sunk them deep into Rolan’s wrist. The wizard hissed, but didn’t pull away. Astarion held his arm firm, a shiver rolling through him as he got a taste.

Without thought Sekh reached out, stroked Astarion’s hair with his injured hand. He could feel the vampire relaxing with each second- and noticed that Rolan was relaxing after that initial bite as well. Sekh knew well what he was feeling- Astarion’s fangs no longer in his skin, his tongue pushing against the wounds, but letting Rolan’s pulse do the work of bleeding into his waiting mouth.

Sekh reached out with his other hand, tucked some of Rolan’s loose hair back behind his ear. “Okay?” he asked, and Rolan glanced at him, eyes almost glossy, this precious little flush rising on his freckled cheeks. Sekh moved his fingers higher, brushed them along one of Rolan’s horns. He felt the tiefling tremble, heard Astarion make a little noise. 

The vampire lifted his head, sucking in an unneeded breath. Sekh pulled his touch from Rolan, turned to Astarion, tipped his chin up and studied those red eyes. Clearer than they had been, moments before.

Sekh moved his hand from Astarion’s hair, swiped his thumb along Astarion’s bloody lips. “Better?” he asked, as Astarion opened his mouth, sucked at Sekh’s thumb, unwilling to let a single drop of blood go to waste. The elf nodded, and Sekh smiled. “Good.” He turned his attention to Rolan, who was watching them, lips slightly parted, still flushed. “Thank you for trusting him,” Sekh whispered.

Rolan licked his lips, nodded- seemed at a loss for words. Sekh reached for his arm, glanced at the two small puncture wounds. Blood had welled up, but they didn’t seem to be bleeding much otherwise.

“Let me wrap this for you,” Sekh offered, “you might be a little sore for a few hours, but it will pass.” Sekh reached for the bandages, as Astarion took over holding Rolan’s wrist, lifting it more and dragging his tongue along the wounds, taking a final taste. Rolan let out a single, shaky breath, and Sekh caught Astarion’s eyes flicking up to him, this heat in the stare.

Sekh bandaged Rolan’s wrist, careful to keep his touch light. Once he was done, Rolan took it, cradled it to his chest. He looked shocked, confused, tired.

They were all tired.

It was wordless, the acknowledgement that they needed rest. Sekh murmured to Rolan that he had better still be here come morning- whatever sort of morning the Shadowlands offered- then he and Astarion left him, both feeling the day and now night weighing heavy on their bones.

They were within their camp, when Sekh finally asked, “What did he taste like?”

Because he was curious. Astarion had drunk from their enemies, but as far as Sekh was aware, he was still the only willing participant in Astarion’s feedings.

They paused, and Astarion smiled. “Jealous, darling?” Sekh shook his head. Truly, he wasn’t- and should he be? He had no claim over Astarion-

Gods, as much as he wanted to.

Yet he had been there, he’d felt as connected to Astarion in that moment as he did when the vampire fed from him. 

Astarion hummed, seemed to be thinking. “He had almost a spice to him, like mulled wine.” Astarion licked his lips, and Sekh couldn’t help himself- he stepped closer, got his hands on the vampire’s waist, and pecked the corner of his mouth. It was soft, quick- but when Sekh went to pull back, Astarion turned, took his mouth in a proper kiss. His hands found Sekh’s back, pulled him closer, tongue flicking at his lips, before pushing past them, giving Sekh a taste of Rolan’s blood.

Sekh made a pleased little noise, and Astarion pulled back, smile all honest charm.

“Don’t worry,” he offered, eyes flicking to Sekh’s lips, before rising to meet his stare, “your’s is still my favorite. Sugared just enough to make me feel like I’m indulging in something sinful.” One hand slid between them, tipped Sekh’s chin, as Astarion whispered, “my little sweet blood,” before kissing him softly, one final time.

*

It was almost laughable, when Sekh realized just how close they had been to Moonrise. Why, Rolan very well might have made it there himself if he’d just kept running.

Staring across the walkway to the large steps, Sekh felt small, almost insignificant. Like the fortress housed some sort of ancient beast that could swallow him whole.

He could feel the anxious energy off his companions, as well. Astarion, Shadowheart, and Lae’zel- and gods, did he wish they were all here- but that would have drawn too much attention. Karlach, Wyll, and Gale had gone off in the opposite direction, once they had found the entrance to Moonrise. They wouldn’t be far, but this land was decaying so quickly that they all agreed, there had to be more that must be done other than take down Ketheric.

Sekh took a breath, flexed his hands- his burn healed, thanks to Isobel, his arm bandaged beneath his robe but barely aching now. And then he squared his shoulders and walked. The others fell in step, passing a few cultists, and then pausing at the steps, as a guard held his hand out.

Sekh’s feet had barely settled when he felt the pull on his tadpole. The thing squirmed happily at being reunited with others of its kin.

“Ah, True Soul,” the guard said, smiling. “What news?”

Oh shit. Sekh folded his arms, cocked his hip, attempted to look aloof. “Not much worth telling. What of inside?”

The guard’s smile grew. “See for yourself. Disciple Z’rell is inside, she will want to see you.” The guard placed a fist to his chest. “In Her name.”

“In Her name.” Sekh moved past them, his companions following inside. The fortress- castle- whatever it once was was huge, the ceiling so high inside that Sekh imagined they could nearly fit a Sussar tree within.

“We best not keep this Z’rell waiting,” Astarion whispered, and Sekh nodded. He took note of the guards stationed about, a few Goblins off to the left, and what looked more like pilgrims, to the right. Lae’zel stepped up to his side, eyes scanning the room as well.

And then, in a hushed whisper, she offered, “We could down all of them in three minutes.”

Sekh wanted to laugh. “That’s a bit optimistic.”

Lae’zel flashed a feral smile, charming, gorgeous even, and added, “I’m in the mood for blood.”

He imagined she was. The pent up rage at Vlaakith had to be near brimming inside her.

They paused at another set of stairs, and the guards motioned them on. They ascended, paused within, a group of Goblins standing before a well built half orc woman, a step above them on a dias.

“We did as we was told, general! We followed every order!” One of the goblins was pleading.

“The facts suggest otherwise.” The woman’s voice was a bellow, seemed to cause the room to hush. Sekh felt goosebumps rising on his flesh. In his mind, Syl purred, intrigued by her presence.

“You were ordered to retrieve the artifact- you failed to do so.”

“Us? No, no- it was Minthara!” Sekh fought the urge to bare his teeth. Minthara was long dead, at the Goblin camp. And these wretches must have been a part of the atrocities meant for the Grove.

“Enough!” Sekh suddenly felt dizzy, a wave of energy wracking his mind, urging his tadpole into subserviency. He bit his tongue, fighting off the control, felt his companions stirring around him as well. 

“You failed to retrieve the artifact. You failed to protect your True Soul. You do not deserve to live.” The Goblins gawked, and Sekh held his tongue.

No, they didn’t deserve to live- but it wasn’t because of their failures. It was for what they had done, had wanted to do, to the Grove. He felt his anger sparking again, the same anger that had been broiling in his gut yesterday, felt nearly uncontrollable over the atrocities they were all living through.

“We are too close to the ending- and the new beginning.” Sekh’s eyes flicked to the voice, and he realized a man was settled back in what appeared to be a throne of sorts, legs spread, seeming unamused yet unbothered. He stood up, slowly, hulking in stature, and Sekh knew, without being told.

Ketheric.

“We can coddle failure no longer.” He paused next to Z’rell, and without glancing at her, said, “Kill them. Quickly.” His eyes scanned the room, then paused when they fell on Sekh. The drow swore those eyes were cracking his skull open, sifting invisible fingers through the folds of his brian, digging. “Or better yet, let our newest arrival decide.”

As he spoke, one of the Goblins screamed, shoving at the guards and grabbing his weapon. She hefted it into Ketheric, the blade digging into his chest and neck. The moment it broke armor Z’rell seemed to panic, saying something about her being a nonbeliever.

Sekh didn’t catch it. He was too busy staring as Ketheric pulled the weapon from his body and dropped it on the ground.

“Try. Again.” His voice boomed with cool, calculated rage. Amusement. And in horror, Sekh watched the Goblin lift the weapon and sink it deeper into his flesh.

Ketheric didn’t even flinch.

He pulled it free, tossed it aside, and fisted his hands, bringing them down into the Goblin’s skull. She crashed to the ground with bone crunching force, and he stilled her writhing with a final stomp of his heavy boot. The crack of her skull echoed in the now silent room.

After a final glance at the room, Ketheric turned, unbothered by his wound as he made his way out, brushing past Z’rell. She bowed her head in feared respect, before turning her attention to Sekh.

“You heard the General. Their fate is yours to decide- here in the seat of the Absolute’s power, your authority over them is complete. Report to me upstairs when you’re done” Z’rell gave the Goblins a disgusted look, before turning away well, leaving with enough force to usher in a storm.

Sekh glanced at the Goblins, cowering, and took a step towards them. He felt the others moving, and held out his arm, signaling them to pause. “You’re free to go,” he said, drawing his blade, “all you have to do is kill me.”

“Sekh,” Shadowheart whispered, but he ignored her warning.

“I won’t even use my magic,” he offered, turning his blade in the flickering torch light of the room. “Two against one.”

The Goblins glanced at each other, then wasted no time, rushing him. Sekh kept his word, didn’t pull at Syl’s shadows or muster up the necrotic magic that flowed through him- he simply stabbed the first one that reached him, his blade slicing clean into her mouth and out the back of her skull.

The other Goblin faltered, and Sekh kicked the first off his sword, left her sprawled and bleeding on the ground. He flicked his sword, blood splattering off it, then stalked towards the other.

“You deserve this to take longer,” he sneered, and gods it felt so good to be angry. “But lucky for you, I don’t have time for that.” He grasped his short sword with both hands, arched back, and brought the blade clean through the Goblin’s neck. A moment later and the Goblin’s severed head thunked on the floor, rolling a few paces away, as his body slumped, bleeding out profusely on the floor.

Sekh turned, could feel his companions watching him, their eyes boring into him with a fascinated sort of heat. He walked over, shoulders squared, and glanced at Lae’zel.

“I promise the next batch is all yours.” She smiled.

“You do amuse me, ra’stil.” She glanced at the two bodies. “And perhaps impress. Slightly.”

Sekh smiled. He’d take the compliment gladly. They were rare enough to come by.

“That was…” Astarion paused, eyes flicking along Sekh’s face- and then he reached out, gripped the drow’s chin and held him still, his tongue lapping up along his cheek, where blood had splattered. Astarion gave a little growl, before breathing in his ear, “arousing.”

And oh, the rage in Sekh was quickly replaced by another heat, a different fire that made his pulse race.

“I can hear your pulse from here,” Astarion whispered, before he pulled back, grinning wickedly. Sekh licked his lips, fought down the urge to reach for the vampire, to tangle his fingers in his hair and bite at his lips.

Not the time nor the place, he knew.

Shadowheart was pinching the bridge of her nose, shaking her head at the three of them. “The company I keep,” she muttered, before sighing. “Best find that Z’rell again.” She paused, and then quieter, added, “Jaheira was right then. Seems Ketheric is something altogether unnatural.”

*

They found Z’rell up the winding stairs, flanked by a very large Ogre.

For a brief moment, Sekh flashed back to interrupting a half ogre in the making, and gods, that felt like lifetimes ago. He wanted to laugh- but it felt wholly unholy to laugh in a place like Moonrise.

“Excellent timing, True Soul.” Sekh paused, realizing this woman had clocked him the moment he’d entered the room. Seemed not a detail got past the disciple.

They would have to be smart with this one.

“The Goblins- tell me how they suffered. No-” she paused, smiling an excited, ugly sort of smile. “Better yet- show me.”

Sekh felt a sudden ache, in his skull- not unlike the pressure to obey earlier, but this time there was no command, just a presence. Fingers once again parting his mind, shifting through the folds, invading. The phantom touches were quick, excited.

And when the memories were found, Sekh swore it was like a hot, putrid tongue, lapping them up greedily.

She nearly purred. “I see you like to handle underlings physically?” She smirked, a flicker in her eyes, darting over Sekh. He could feel her mind pulling his clothes away, undressing him with amusement.

It made his skin crawl.

Still, he fought down the bile in his throat, as she said, “So do I. And to do it all by yourself.” Another flick of those eyes. Sekh’s fingers twitched.

“Sounds like being your underling would be quite… enjoyable.” He inclined his head slightly, folded his arms, tried to mirror her flirtatious tone.

He didn’t need to see behind him to know Astarion was glaring. The man’s eyes were like bloody fire, and he knew the vampire well enough that the moment Z’rell had looked at him hungrily, he’d begun to plan exactly how he’d make her scream.

Honestly? It made Sekh rather giddy.

“So long as you don’t bore me.” She stepped closer, one, two paces- close enough that she could reach out and touch with ease. “Now, let’s see what else is in that delicious mind of yours.”

Sekh felt the vile invasion again, probing further into his mind. Syl bristled, feeling another presence. Sekh couldn’t spare a thought to hush her, reassure her- in a panicked moment he realized that Z’rell couldn’t see most of his thoughts, or she could see the inn, the survivors.

Without thought, Sekh distracted himself, focused on the first thing that came to mind- Astarion. Astarion with his fangs in Sekh’s neck, hands roaming over him desperately, pushing his bare thighs apart because he couldn’t wait once he had his teeth in Sekh.

Astarion pinning him to the ground, making him arch, scream his name until his throat was raw. And oh, the way Astarion tasted with Sekh’s own blood still fresh on his tongue.

“My my,” Z’rell chuckled, eyes opening, glancing at Astarion now. “Your lust for the neck pricker is delicious. I’d like to take a bite out of him myself.” That same leering stare roved over Astarion, and Sekh moved quickly, physically putting himself between Z’rell and Astarion.

“I don’t share,” he said, voice low, pulling from his chest. Z’rell chuckled again.

“Oh what a shame. Perhaps when you tire of him.” She waved her hand. “No matter. You’ll find soon enough you have no thoughts of him, only the Absolute. I’ve already stood in her presence, it was bliss. She gave me everything I wanted.”

There was an opportunity here- the chance to see what Z’rell was made of. What threat she might truly pose. Voice falling a bit husky, Sekh said, “Show me the power she gave you.”

And, oh, it worked by the way Z’rell’s eyes lit like fire. As if she was positively burning to show off the power she held.

“Why not? What’s the point in power if you don’t get to have a little fun?” She lifted her hands, light suddenly sparking between them, like thin, precious little threads. “She gave me the power to cut the thread of life with a thought.” The threads snapped, and Z’rell pressed her hands together, as the Ogre behind her crumpled to the floor, stone dead before the crash of her weight could reverberate within the room. “But I can caress, as well as cut.” Her words were honeyed but putrid, like she could devour Sekh within a single bite. “So stay on my good side, little one.”

Sekh bit his tongue, kept quiet, only gave a curt nod. Oh she was going to be fun to kill. 

“And the best way to do that is to serve General Thorm. I have a mission for you.” Sekh could hear the dream visitor suddenly speaking in his mind, but he tried to tune them out. His connection with Syl went taut, and oh he knew how his patron loathed this strange figure in the prism, and their sudden intrusions into Sekh’s mind.

His mind belonged to the two of them, and intruders were not appreciated.

“There is a relic that General Thorm requires. He sent his most trusted advisor, disciple Balthazar, to retrieve it.” She said his name as if it was flavored with putrid rot. No love lost among the Truest of Souls, it seemed. “The relic is beneath the Thorm family mausoleum- that is where you will find Balthazar. We have lost contact with him… most unfortunate.” It didn’t sound unfortunate. “Go, aid him, and bring the relic home.” Sekh gave a single nod, and Z’rell added, “The shadows are deep and hungry- you will need a moon lantern to keep them at bay. Take one from Blathazar’s quarters.”

She paused, nodding towards a set of doors across the spacious room, the open hall.

“Return once you are done, and seek me out. Perhaps we can… discuss what desires you wish to voice to the Absolute.”

Z’rell waved her hand, a sudden dismissal, and Sekh was all too eager to leave. He turned, ushering his party away, across the hall into what looked to once have been a study. Massive bookcases lined the walls, old spines, some decorated in languages Sekh had never even seen, crammed onto every shelf.

The door shut behind them, and he exhaled, letting himself relax.

“Bloody disgusting thing,” Astarion muttered, as Shadowheart moved past them, examining the books quickly. Lae’zel looked at him, face stoic but eyes quizzical, and the vampire huffed. “She was two seconds from asking Sekh to bed on the damned floor.”

“Her taste in partners made it easy to deceive her,” Lae’zel pointed out, reaching out and placing a firm hand on Sekh’s shoulders. “He did well to play to it.”

Astarion huffed, but didn’t say another word- simply turned and stalked further into the room. Sekh let him go- knew there wasn’t anything he could say in that moment. He hadn’t loved it either, but it had helped.

Lae’zel was the first to the back of the room, opening another door and then pausing, a disgusted click of her tongue cutting through the silence that had fallen over the room. “Atrocious.”

The rest hurried over, peering past her, before Astarion ducked under her arm, walking into Balthazar’s quarters. The room reeked of stale blood, and Sekh could see body parts on nearly every surface. He wanted to gag.

Shadowheart did. “Shar preserve me.” Lae’zel gave her a look that screamed really, she couldn’t handle a bit of gore? But Sekh understood. This wasn’t a massacre, that might have been easier.

This was experimentation, with no regard for the subjects.

Astarion reached up, covered his nose. “It smells rotten,” he admitted, and Sekh couldn’t even fathom how strong it had to be for him. How had someone lived in here? “Let’s be quick, before one of us is sick.”

“That would improve the smell,” Shadowheart said, walking into the room regardless. Sekh filed in as well, glancing about. He headed for one of the tables, pushing aside a severed arm, the blood at its stump congealed and sticky. There were vials all over the table, tubes connected with smaller tubes- he’d seen plenty of things like this, in his childhood. His father leaving a mess of half drafted potions along his work desk.

He lifted one of the vials, daring to sniff it. The liquid inside was viscous, but sickly sweet, with a hint of rot. He tried to sort through what it could stem from, perhaps tongue of madness?

“Don’t you dare drink that,” Shadowheart said, walking up behind him. Sekh glanced back at her.

“I don’t have a death wish,” he teased, turning away from the table, “just curious what is in this.” He gave the vial a little swirl. Shadowheart took it, shrugged a shoulder, and then upended it, pouring the contents onto a small stained rug on the floor. The fabric blackened almost instantly, decaying before their eyes.

“Nothing good,” was all she said, setting the now empty vial down and walking away. And… okay, Sekh couldn’t argue that.

“What is this?” Sekh turned, found Lae’zel holding up a large staff, a lantern hanging from the curved edge. “Is this the… moon lantern Z’rell mentioned.”

“Must be.” Sekh walked over, reaching up to touch the lantern itself. It hummed with magic, and a familiar sort of feeling, in the air.

Fey.

And then, a small voice, “Oh my, oh yes! Please sir please, do release me from this mess!”

“It’s talking?” Lae’zel asked, as Shadowheart and Astarion crowded around them. Sekh unlatched the lantern, opening the small door, and a bolt of vibrant light shot out, nearly bouncing in the air before them.

“Freedom!” A little voice shrieked- and, gods, it was a pixie. Sekh had never seen one, only ever read about them.

Syl was bemused, active and watching through his blackened eye. The scent of another fey had drawn her.

“Were you lighting the lantern?” Sekh asked, and the splotch of pink nodded, her wild air floating round her as if she was suspended in water.

“Oh yes indeed, the lantern lights from the most malicious seed! When I hurt, it burns so bright.” She twirled around, gave a sigh at having the ability to stretch.

“Guess we won’t be using the lantern to get anywhere near the mausoleum,” Shadowheart said, and the pixie cocked her tiny head.

“You need a light in the dark? For freeing me, I can grant you a light so stark!” She flicked her wrists, and Sekh felt something warm brush against his face, like the faintest dust. “Consider it thanks for what you’ve done. Now off with you and off with me, before freedom is undone!”

She zipped away in the air, gone within the blink of an eye, leaving the four to stare at the empty space she had once taken up.

“An honest to gods pixie,” Astarion breathed, as Shadowheart glanced down, examined her hands.

“I think it blessed us,” she mused, “ but I don’t feel different.” Sekh shrugged a shoulder- he didn’t either. And while he knew fey were tricksters, he was inclined to believe the little thing.

*

The group made their way back down to the main floor of Moonrise. Sekh hadn’t yet seen any sort of prison- he presumed it would need to be beneath the fortress, but he hadn’t seen a stairwell yet either.

“This door?” Shadowheart asked, pointing towards one they hadn’t tried yet. The pilgrims and guards in the main hall didn’t seem bothered by their exploration- if anything, they were being quite ignored, which was a blessing.

Sekh shrugged a shoulder, and Shadowheart pushed it open, holding it for him as they all stepped through. The room they entered was spacious, walls stacked with crates, a few tables set off to the side.

And a woman, standing in front of one, muttering to herself. The door shut behind them and she turned, red eyes flickering over the group quickly, taking them all in.

And then a very practiced smile.

“Araj Oblodra,” she offered, voice airy, haunting. “Trader in blood and the sanguineous arts. It is a pleasure to stand before a True Soul.” She paused as the party neared, stopping themselves only a few paces away. “And your pale companion,” she added, eyes roving slowly over Astarion. After a moment, she glanced back at Sekh. “I’d like to offer my services, if you’re willing?”

Her family name sounded familiar, somewhere in the back of Sekh’s mind. He’d never been good with the aristocracy of drow culture, but he’d learned some as a child- as all children did. Frankly, he’d just never cared much.

As his mother had said, countless times- nothing but needy worms begging for a spider’s tit.

Oh gods it always made his father laugh.

He pushed the memories aside, deciding it didn’t matter much what family she was from. “Sanguineous arts?” he asked.

“The art of blood,” she said, sighing whimsically. “I’d like your blood, if you’re willing- that of a True Soul must be exquisite. With just a drop I’d brew you a most potent potion, bringing out the best qualities in your blood.” She paused, then added, “and that would be many, for a fellow child of Lolth.”

Sekh ground his teeth together. He had never had love for the Spider Queen or what she evoked in his people.

“The rest, I’d keep for myself. I promise, it’s just a little prick.”

Sekh considered it- they needed every advantage they could get, and it wasn’t as if he was unused to bleeding. But something about her was off, and he hadn’t forgotten the way she’d greeted- or looked at- Astarion.

“What do you want with my companion?” Sekh asked, choosing to change the subject. Araj turned her gaze to Astarion, eyes sparkling in almost awe at him.

“He’s a vampire, no? Or,” she took a step closer, “One of their spawn, at least.”

Astarion chuckled, “Oh, don’t worry, we’re all friends under the Absolute. I won’t bite.”

Her smile grew. “Oh, I’d prefer if you did. I assume he belongs to you?” She turned her attention back to Sekh.

Belongs? Astarion didn’t belong to anyone- he wasn’t a pet, wasn’t something to be owned and kept to parade around.

“Excuse me? He doesn’t belong to anyone,” Sekh remarked, frowning. “He’s his own person.”

Sekh didn’t see the way Astarion glimpsed at him.

Araj laughed, head tipped back. “Oh I’m sure he believes that.” Sekh’s frown deepened. “Do you have a name, spawn?”

“Astarion- but hold on.” Astarion lifted his hands, as if to wall her off from even touching him.

“Good.” She took another step closer, so close Sekh could smell the potions on her, a dizzying mix of bitters and sweets and organic horrors. “Now, Astarion-”

The way she said his name alone made Sekh’s gut twist, ache. He felt his muscles tensing- wanted to wrap his hand around her throat and choke her so she could never utter it again.

“-I’ve dreamt of being bitten by a vampire since I was a little girl.”

“I’m sorry,” Astarion shook his head, looked at her in disbelief. “You want to be bitten?”

It wasn’t that crazy of a concept, at least to Sekh. After all, he happily accepted every bite from Astarion. No, it wasn’t the actual request, it was how it was being asked. Ordered.

As if Astarion never had a choice. As if someone would choose for him, his thoughts be damned.

“To feel your life’s blood slipping away? To dance on the edge between life and death?” Another sigh, dream like. “Yes, I want it.” She turned her attention from Astarion back to Sekh, as if he were Astarion’s keeper. “I’ll even compensate you. A potion of legendary power- unlike anything you’ve ever seen. It’s not for sale, but-” she glanced back at Astarion now, “it’s yours, if you bite me.”

“I will have to decline,” Astarion said quickly- very quickly.

Araj looked taken aback. “Excuse me? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity- and you’re squandering it.”

“I gave you my answer!” Astarion’s voice was slightly choked, as if the words were foreign on his tongue, hard to form.

Sighing, Araj turned back to Sekh. “Can’t you talk some sense into your obstinate charge?”

“He said no.” Sekh moved between Araj and Astarion, positioning himself very close to her. “There’s nothing more to discuss.” She scowled, and Sekh reached out, gripped his chin, forced her to stare into his eyes. “You’ll respect his decision, or I’ll show just why I’m blessed as a True Soul.”

He released her chin, forcefully, and she gritted her teeth. Sekh felt the shadows along his face moving, and pulled slightly at Syl’s shadows, just to give them more life. Araj watched, before she took a step back. She mumbled pity, before turning away, going back to her work.

Sekh turned back to the group. “We’re done here,” he said, moving swiftly through them, heading for the door. He had the urge to hit something, and as much as Araj would be a lovely target, he wanted to keep that rage channeled to their purpose.

They needed to find the tieflings.

*

It took a bit more hunting, but eventually they found the stairs that led down to the dungeons. Sekh had let Shadowheart ask some of the other cultists the questions, feeling he might be too abrasive if he asked.

He was just pissed, reeling over Araj’s treatment of Astarion. And worse, the vampire had been near silent since. Sekh couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and as desperately as he wanted to know, this wasn’t the time or place to pry, to ask. He’d have to wait- and waiting felt like it was going to kill him.

He’d never claimed to be patient.

They nodded to a few of the guards as they descended, noting the number of cells lining the circular room. The first few were empty, but Sekh could see occupants, a few cells in. Occupants he recognized.

He tried not to run, kept his walk calm and pointed, pausing at the cell where Cal and Lia were right at the bars. Lia was scowling, a hellfire look in her eyes. “What? Come to preach about your precious Absolute-”

She paused, recognition dawning.

“Gods above,” she breathed, and Sekh smiled, couldn’t help it.

“Hi stranger,” he offered, “We’re here to bust you out.” Lia grabbed at the bars, Cal leaning into her shoulder.

“The others?” he asked quietly.

“Safe,” Sekh said, and then added, “your brother too.”

“Gods I knew he was too stubborn to die.” Lia’s voice dropped lower, quieter. “The Gnomes a few cells down were planning something. Maybe they can make it easier.”

Sekh reached up, covered her hand on the bars, as he heard commotion behind him, Shadowheart’s voice speaking with a guard. “Stay ready,” he said, squeezing her hand, before he turned, chin high, to face a guard.

“You are not to speak with the prisoners,” the man said, throaty and annoyed. “Warden’s orders.”

“I speak with whoever I wish.” Sekh folded his arms, lifted his chin higher. “I’m blessed to be a True Soul. They would be so lucky as to have my attention.”

The man growled, before he turned his head, spit on the ground. “Filthy fucking drow,” he muttered, shoving past Sekh, his shoulder pushing Sekh enough that he was forced to take a step back. “Take it up with the warden!”

The man continued his patrol, and Sekh rolled his neck, taking a single, deep breath. He was used to being called filthy- in fact, that was one of the far nicer insults he got as a drow- but even here, where it seemed the drow were respected at first glance?

And, again- he damned Lolth for all she had ever done to his people.

“The warden may be a good place to start,” Shadowheart said, breaking his thoughts. “They would have keys, wouldn’t they?” Sekh nodded, and when Shadowheart began walking towards a pathway to the larger, closed-off center of the room, he followed a step behind- falling in step with Astarion.

Astarion, who glanced at him and just…stared. Stared as if he was seeing Sekh for the first time.

“Are you alright?” Sekh asked, concerned, but he never got an answer. Astarion turned those hellfire eyes away, and they were stepping onto the pathway to the warden. 

They needed to focus. They needed a plan.

Sekh was fairly sure the only plan any of them had was kill first and don’t bother with questions.

The warden was a tiefling woman with firm shoulders and a dour face. She didn’t seem shocked to have anyone walking into what could be her office per say, but she didn’t look pleased either.

She eyed Sekh, as Shadowheart shut the door. “Hmm, you spark of the familiar. Do I know you, True Soul?” She paused, before shaking her head slightly. “No, perhaps not. Your face is rather bland.”

Sekh bit back a laugh. Bland was the last word that he had ever expected to hear regarding his face. Unsettling? Sure. But bland?

She waved him off. “Regardless- I am the Warden, I assume you have something important you need if you’re here to bother me. I’m quite busy.”

She didn’t look busy. There was a bottle of wine open on a desk across the room.

“I would have expected the Warden to have a more exciting face herself,” Sekh offered, and heard Shadowheart snort a laugh behind him, muffling it quickly by covering her mouth.

The Warden frowned. “I answer directly to Disciple Balthazar himself. You would do well to show some respect, drow.”

Sekh sighed. “Oh, to the hells with this.” He glanced at Lae’zel. “I said the next one was yours.”

The githyanki didn’t hesitate. She grinned, drawing her sword and charging at the warden before the tiefling could react. She skewered the sword right through her gut, then planted her boot firmly on the woman’s chest and shoved, forcing her off the sword, falling to her knees. The Warden clutched at her stomach, looked ready to shout- but Lae’zel never gave her the opportunity.

Her sword shoved through the tiefling’s mouth, and the warden was dead before she could properly choke on her own blood.

“Thank you,” Lae’zel said, freeing her sword and turning to Sekh, “perhaps the next we can share.”

“Oh bloody hells, what have you two done?” Shadowheart looked exasperated, glancing from Lae’zel, to the dead warden, to Sekh, who had given her the kill order. “So much for a stealth rescue.”

“We open the cells and clear a path,” Lae’zel offered, “unless you have a better plan?”

Shadowheart was silent. Truth be told, Sekh knew there had never been a plan. Just to find the tieflings, get as much information as possible, and get out. They didn’t need safe passage back into Moonrise, after all. The next time they returned, it would be for Ketheric’s head.

Shadowheart pointed to the wall, where a number of heavy levers were built in. “I imagine those open the cells.” She sighed. “I take it we’ll be flipping them all and then getting our hands dirty.”

Sekh nodded. Lae’zel didn’t argue, and he glanced at Astarion, expecting some sort of sass or excitement- but the elf was still silent. He was just looking at Sekh again.

Sekh told himself again, this wasn’t the time. He’d find Astarion after the chaos, he’d figure this out. It had to wait.

He didn’t want it to.

“Lae’zel, outside to brace for the guards. I’m coming with you- Shadowheart, twenty seconds and then flip them. Astarion,” Sekh paused, just saying the man’s name feeling like he was opening a floodgate. He forced himself on, “Middle ground. Cover Shadowheart in case any guards come for her- but then we need you.” The vampire nodded- and it was enough acknowledgement. Sekh turned and followed Lae’zel out, counting in his head. He paused halfway to the tieflings’ cell, as Lae’zel continued, to put herself between them and any guards that could round the corner.

And, right on time, there was a round of clicks, and then the old metal was creaking, groaning as the gates opened slowly. The tieflings were out before the gate was fully open, followed by a group of deep gnomes, right next to Sekh. They looked at him, unbelieving, and he forced a quick smile.

“Hope you can run fast,” he said, “whatever you hear, don’t stop.” They nodded- the leader sporting a cocky smirk, and then the sound of Lae’zels sword clanging against metal birthed chaos.

Guards rounded the corner, and Sekh drew his sword, sending a blast of shadows towards one. He heard footsteps behind him and whipped around, sword poised- but Astarion was faster, leaping onto the guard that was charging at Sekh. He stabbed a dagger into his belly, then used it as support as he tore into his throat with his teeth.

Fighting with all his assets.

Sekh turned again, running towards Lae’zel. It felt like chaos, the tieflings dodging hits, Sekh and Lae’zel trying to intercept them all, while Astarion and Shadowheart kept their backs safe. Sekh even saw Lia deliver a rather solid punch to a guard’s face, before she grabbed at his short sword, stabbing him in the chest with it.

“Hold onto that!” Sekh yelled over the din, and she only grinned. He turned his attention back to Lae’zel, as she cut down another guard, blood spraying across her armor, speckling her hair.

And then, as the body crumpled to the floor- silence. Sekh relaxed slightly, as Lae’zel took a few steps ahead of the group.

“Clear,” she yelled, and Sekh ushered the tieflings and gnomes forward. They couldn’t leave out the stairs that the companions had entered through- there was no way they were fighting their way out of Moonrise through the front door.

But there was a set of large doors to the left- and if Sekh had calculated correctly, they must open up to the bordering water- and hopefully, docks.

He pointed, and Astarion moved up to the doors, grabbing one. Shadowheart grabbed the other, and after a silent nod between them, they shouldered the heavy wood open. Lae’zel burst out first- and gods, it was good she did, before another guard let loose an arrow that she just managed to duck under.

Anyone else, it would have been embedded in their eye.

Lae’zel ran for the archer, while the tieflings and gnomes flooded out. Sekh glanced around, noting more guards than they expected. They must have just missed something happening on the docks, to their misfortune.

They couldn’t risk the tieflings and gnomes being here, if more guards came- and it seemed like they were trying to raise the alarm. They’d never fight their way out with civilians.

Sekh scanned the area, paused when he noticed an uneven outstretch of rock, close to the fortress’s edge. The gap was small, jumpable.

It led directly into the shadows.

Sekh turned to Shadowheart and Astarion. “I need you both to guide them through the shadows,” he said quickly. “There’s a jut of rock, just over there- it’s jumpable. They can make it.”

“You want us to leave?” Astarion finally spoke, eyes boring into Sekh.

“They won’t make it back to Last Light alone. And we can’t risk the cultists following. Lae’zel and I can handle them.” He paused, then added, “they will die if you don’t guide them. The shadows will devour them.”

And it was true. Shadowheart had Shar’s adoration and the pixie’s blessing- the shadows wouldn’t touch her. But one wasn’t enough, not for a group this size. With Astarion there, there might be enough magic to shield them long enough to get back to Last Light.

Shadowheart nodded, mouth set in a firm line. She understood, without hearing the details. Sekh was ever grateful for it.

“I am not leaving you,” Astarion said, even as Shadowheart grabbed his arm, pulling him away as the tieflings and gnomes made for the makeshift escape route. “Sekh’met.”

“Go!” Sekh turned then, clutched his sword tightly, and ran to meet Lae’zel. He didn’t look back. He trusted Shadowheart would make sure Astarion went with her.

He trusted that Astarion would go, because it was the right thing to do- and even if the vampire liked to act as if he didn’t care for anyone but himself- even if he’d complained about saving the tieflings the first time around- Sekh knew it was at least partially a lie.

Plus, it was what Sekh wanted. He hoped Astarion would honor that.

Sekh braced himself next to Lae’zel, dodging another flying arrow. “Are they safe?” she asked, and he nodded. She grinned something fierce and wicked. “Good. Let’s have some fun, ra’sil.”

Oh, he wouldn’t argue that. At least if they died, they’d die free of the damn rage they both were harboring, like a festering ache in their guts.

*

When they stumbled into Last Light next, it was bloodied but alive. Sekh was pleased that most of the blood wasn’t theirs at least. Mostly thanks to Lae’zel if he was honest- she had moved like a gods damnned storm, cutting down cultists as if her sword was simply cutting through air.

Sekh didn’t need to ask her if each cultist, in her mind, embodied Vlaakith and all the years, devotion, pain Lae’zel had given to her. He hoped it had been cathartic, even if it didn’t solve her dilemma, or make the hurt simply dissipate.

He knew it had been quite nice to cut loose, to pull on Syl’s power without restraint. Each death felt like retribution, for just a moment of agony his companions, his friends, his new family were feeling.

The Harpers at the barricade rushed them, ushering them in, wanting more details about Moonrise, about what they had seen, and oh what damage had they caused?

“The others,” Sekh asked, as Lae’zel broke down how she had cut through a cultist’s spine while cutting the air flow of another’s off with her boot to a few eager cultists.

“Inside,” the Harper confirmed, and Sekh felt his chest nearly bursting. “It’s been chaotic since their return- you should go inside. I believe your… companions may be only minutes from attempting a rescue for you two.”

“Rescue?” Lae’zel asked, as the younger Harpers stared at her in awe, adoration- and a good dose of fear. “Tsk’va, we are not hatchlings in need of aid.” Sekh laughed, before he grasped her hand.

“We’d better hurry before we have to rescue them,” he said, pulling her towards the Inn. Lae’zel positively beamed over the prospect.

The moment they walked in the chaos erupted further. The gnomes and tieflings were all about, Harpers rushing around, to and from Jaheira- and their companions looking ready to bring hellfire down on the fortress.

Shadowheart saw them first. She dropped her mace, running over so fast she nearly tripped over her own boots. She threw both her arms around them, pulling Sekh slightly off balance and Lae’zel so far off balance that the githyanki fell completely into Shadowheart’s hold.

“Hi,” Sekh managed, feeling choked. Lae’zel was squirming, trying to push away from Shadowheart- but her hold was iron.

“I hate you both,” Shadowheaet said- and Sekh smiled. Yeah, he loved her too.

He did, didn’t he? Loved her, Lae’zel- all of them. That’s what the rage was, building in him, at their agony? It was beyond caring- it was bone deep, rooted in his marrow now.

Shadowheart let them go, ushering them further inside. Lae’zel was swallowed up quickly, which gave Sekh time to move further into the inn, towards the back.

He found Astarion there, paler than usual, looking like he was going to vibrate out of his skin. His fingers were twitching, and Sekh was sure there were more knives strapped to his body than he had ever seen.

“You’re alive!” It was Lia who saw him first. She grinned, reaching out and grabbing his arm, pulling him into the circle. Rolan and Astarion turned at her voice, both staring burning holes into Sekh.

“Gods,” Rolan breathed, shoulders relaxing. “The way Shadowheart and Astarion told it, we assumed you dead under an army of cultists.”

“It… wasn’t that many,” Sekh said, even as he looked at Astarion. Astarion, looking at him with large, soft eyes, this look of awe and disbelief about him. As if he couldn’t believe Sekh was standing there, in front of him. Whole. Alive.

“Oh it was,” Lia said, “I do remember trying to count as I was running for my life. Which, by the way- thank you.” She reached up, cupped Sekh’s cheeks and forced him to look at her, tearing his gaze away from Astarion, before she leaned in, smacking a playful kiss right on his mouth.

Sekh nearly laughed into it, as she pulled back. And then Cal was laughing as well, placing one on his cheek. It made the drow feel giddy, inside.

“Enough, both of you,” Rolan said, walking over and trying to pry his siblings away from Sekh. “Let the man breathe.” Lia held tighter, and Cal even hooked an arm around Sekh’s waist, daring Rolan to remove them himself.

Sekh felt like he was spinning, drowning in the affection- but as much as he wanted to wade in it for an eternity, he needed-

Astarion. The man slipped past Rolan, and the moment he did Cal and Lia released Sekh. Without question.

“You’re alive,” Astarion whispered, and Sekh flashed a soft, affectionate smile.

“Of course I am.” Sekh inclined his head slightly, reached out with one hand, brushed it along Astarion’s side, over the buckles of the drow armor he’d been wearing since the Underdark. It was fitting on him- and Sekh should probably tell him, one of these days.

He meant to jest that he couldn’t leave Astarion to have all of the fun bringing down the cult without him. That he couldn’t leave this mess of a party without supervision- even if he himself was sure he needed supervision more than some of them-

But what he said was, “I wouldn’t leave you.”

And he knew it was what he meant.

Astarion moved closer, and Sekh wasn’t sure if the man was going to sob, or scream, or kiss him- but he never found out, as Gale was suddenly breaking them up, slapping Sekh on the back and saying he wanted to hear all of the riveting details from he and Lae’zel.

Sekh loved the wizard, but gods did he have the worst timing.

*

It felt like half the night- or what felt like night, perhaps- was over by the time Sekh was able to strip of his bloodied robes and clean up. Camp was buzzing with energy despite that everyone needed rest, and Sekh presumed they would be running on adrenaline, come morning when they set off to find the Thorm family museum.

As exhausted as he was, though, Sekh wasn’t going to get any rest until he spoke with Astarion. The vampire’s demeanor at Moonrise- and after- just hadn’t been right. For him to be silent, something had to be wrong.

“Sekh’met.” Sekh turned at the sound of his name, Astarion standing outside his own tent, looking wholly- uncomfortable. “Can we talk?”

Sekh walked over, noticed the almost nervous tick to the vampire’s movements, the near sadness to his eyes. “Are you alright?”

Astarion sighed, “Oh, I’m perfectly awful.” Alarmed, Sekh moved to speak, but Astarion continued. “I… wanted to thank you.” Sekh pinched his lips shut, confused now. For what? What had he done? His confusion must have been evident, because Astarion added, “For what you said, while I was in front of that vile drow.” Astarion paused, closed his eyes for a moment, seemed to be composing himself. “I spent two hundred years using my body to lure pretty things back for my master. What I wanted, how I felt about what I was doing- it never mattered.”

Sekh swore there was something cracking, fissuring along Astarion then- in his eyes, in his voice, in his very being. 

“You could have asked me to do the same- to throw myself at her, what I wanted be damned.” Astarion paused, and then, in a voice that was soft, small, awe struck and broken, added, “But you didn’t. And I’m grateful.”

Sekh stepped closer, wanting to envelope Astarion then, take him into his arms and shield him. Damn the world for everything it had ever done to him that he was grateful for being allowed to say no. “I don’t want you to ever do anything you don’t want to,” Sekh said, “you make your own choices now.”

Astarion gave a sad, little smile. “It’s a novel concept, I’ll admit. And… a little intimidating. It would have been so easy to bite her. A moment of disgust, to force myself through,” he was swaying with his words, now, unable to be still, “And then I could have carried on, just as before.”

Sekh frowned. His body ached, radiating from his chest, the spaces between his ribs where he desperately wanted to tuck this man away. “That would have been wrong, Astarion.” Sekh swallowed then, thickly, hating that he had to ask- “Was that what it was, with me?”

Astarion’s eyes went wide, and he lifted his hand, as if he wanted to reach out, touch Sekh- but then it dropped. As if he simply couldn’t. “No. You were…” Astarion sighed. “I needed protection, no one trusts a vampire- and with very good reason. I needed someone on my side- and, well,” Astarion smiled, and it was honest, “seducing you was easy, frankly.”

Sekh bit back a chuckle, but he knew Astarion heard it. True, he hadn’t made it hard on the vampire at all.

“So imagine how stupid I felt when I…started to genuinely feel something for you.” The drow felt his heart rate suddenly rise, the organ beating frantically in its cage, wanting to claw its way up his throat. He felt a tremble, in his fingertips, and had to fist his hands to steady them. “Trust me, I wasn’t thrilled. My nice, little plan… fell apart.” Astarion sighed again, closed his eyes for just a moment. And when they next opened, when they looked at Sekh-

Gods, there was so much there. So much fear, at being stark open, exposed and vulnerable. As if a single breath would be all it took to fully break Astarion, all over again.

“Astarion,” Sekh said, his voice catching. “I care about you.”

I am wholly, selfishly, fatally in love with you.

The vampire swallowed a lump in his throat, his voice a raspy whisper. “Really?” He sounded desperate to believe it- but terrified to, as well.

Sekh stepped closer, reached out for Astarion. He slid his arms around him, grasped at his back, and held tight. For a moment, Astarion was rigid, tense, before he melted against the drow, his arms winding around Sekh, hands clutching at the back of his shirt. Astarion dipped his head, pressed his face into Sekh’s neck, and Sekh rocked gently, squeezing him tighter.

He wanted to pull the man into him, into his sinew and bone, protect him, home him.

Sekh turned his head, kissed Astarion’s curls, felt the elf tremble in his hold. And in all these years, these centuries- Sekh wondered if anyone truly had held him, for just the sake of his comfort.

Did he even remember what that was like?

Sekh leaned back a little, and Astarion gripped his shirt tighter. “Don’t,” he whispered, his voice so raw, shattered, “please.” Sekh kissed his curls again.

“I’ll hold you until the sun burns out, Starshine.” Astarion trembled again, and Sekh squeezed tighter, for a moment. “And even then, I won’t stop.”

Astarion pressed tighter to his neck, drank in the scent of his skin, the heat. And Sekh, he found calmness in the cool touch, the way Astarion could quell a fire in him, as much as he could stoke one.

Slowly, the vampire loosened his hold, and Sekh leaned back, watching Astarion lift his eyes, those soft eyes moving to meet his stare. “You,” Astarion whispered, his voice breaking, “you are full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Sekh smiled softly, felt Astarion’s hand seek out his own. Sekh took it, tangled their fingers together, rubbed his thumb along Astarion’s cool skin.

“I don’t know what we’re doing,” Astarion admitted, “I… I don’t know how to do this.” Sekh squeezed his hand, and Astarion’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles. “I don’t know what comes next. But this?” This time Astarion squeezed his hand, moved closer, head inclined, a breath away from a kiss, “This is nice.”

Sekh leaned in, pressed his lips not to the vampire’s own, but the bridge of his nose. Astarion made a pained sound, in the back of his throat, and Sekh’s free hand found the curve of his waist, held him there. “Whatever comes next,” Sekh offered, “I’ll be there.”

The words he’d spoken to Astarion earlier echoed in his skull, and Sekh closed his eyes, adding,

“I would never leave you, Starshine.”

*

They retreated to Sekh’s tent, in an attempt to get some rest before the figurative dawn broke. Sekh had been more than happy to have the vampire crawl into his bed roll with him, curl up into the crook of his arm, cheek laying on his bare chest. Softly, Sekh danced his fingers along Astaron’s back, could just feel the ridges of his scars through his shirt.

Sekh’s mind was still reeling, heart thudding loudly in his chest. A part of him was sure he was dreaming, that he must have died at Moonrise, and the gods were both gentle and cruel enough to give him this facade of bliss.

“Your heart is pounding,” Astarion mused, not lifting his head. He was lazily tracing his fingers along Sekh’s belly, beneath their blanket. Neither of them seemed to be able to stop touching, as softly as possible.

Sekh smiled, didn’t lift his head. “Just wondering if I died at Moonrise.” Astarion scoffed, pressed his mouth in a lazy kiss against Sekh’s chest. “If you’re even real.”

“I assure you, darling, I am quite real.” Astarion pushed himself up slightly, moved his mouth to Sekh’s neck, dragged his fangs against Sekh’s pulse. Sekh tipped his head back further, eyes falling shut as a soft moan escaped him, the promise of Astarion’s fangs always able to bring his entire body to life.

Astarion paused then, and Sekh opened his eyes when he felt the vampire leave him, sit up. He looked nervous, hands suddenly knitting together in his lap, fingers tapping against each other. Sekh sat up himself, pushed his now free hair away from his face. “Astarion?”

“I think,” he offered, “that I… I don’t know how to say this.” He sighed, reached up, raked a nervous hand through his curls. They were slowly beginning to fall into his face. “I don’t want you to think of me, in terms of sex.” Sekh inclined his head, and Astarion was quick to add, “at least, not right now. I think I need some time…”

Sekh smiled then, reached out for the hand messing with the elf’s hair. He tangled their fingers together, pulled it to his mouth and kissed Astarion’s knuckles. “Astarion,” he said again, softly, affectionately, “You can have eternity if you need it.”

The elf’s eyes were wide, large, soft, before he smiled. “Darling, eternity would kill me.” He shifted closer. “I wanted you, you know. Every time. Even if this started as some simple little plan- you were still, are still…” Astarion licked his lips, swallowed, seemed almost unsure how to speak. “I think you push me to madness.” Sekh kissed the elf’s knuckles again, and Astarion’s eyelids fluttered.

“You tell me what is okay, and what isn’t,” Sekh whispered, turning Astarion’s hand, kissing his wrist. He dragged his fingertips along the veins in his arm, pressed his mouth next to the crook of his elbow, the overly soft skin there. Astarion’s breath caught.

Sekh released his arm, got on his knees and cupped Astarion’s face, stroked his cheeks with his thumbs.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, and Astarion’s eyes seemed to be starbursts, sparking embers.

“How could I say no?” he asked, and Sekh dragged a thumb along his lower lip.

“Easily,” he pointed out, “you just say no. That’s it.” Astarion shook his head gently.

“I don’t want to say no,” he admitted, and Sekh leaned in, placed a very gentle kiss to his lips. It was brief, but it left Astarion smiling softly.

“Again,” he whispered, and Sekh laughed, pressing a smiling kiss to his lips. Astarion reached out, got his arms around Sekh’s neck, pushed his weight against him until they were tumbling back down to the bedroll. Sekh was laughing, breathy, as the vampire kissed him eagerly yet innocently, pecks and quick slides of his mouth over and over and over again.

“Astarion,” Sekh chuckled, as the vampire got the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his jawline. The vampire grinned, kissed his neck, the hollow of his throat. Sekh positively grinned, rolling them over, pinning the elf beneath him. He pressed little butterfly kisses along his jaw, felt Astarion squirming beneath him-

And then laughing. Honest to the gods laughter that seemed to rip up from his belly, as he tipped his head back. Sekh only grinned further, his cheeks aching, as he kissed Astarion’s cheeks, before gently gripping the flesh between his teeth, giving a very sorry attempt at a playful growl.

“You are utterly ridiculous,” Astarion managed, the laughter nearly causing tears to brim at the corners of his eyes.

“Oh, I am well aware.” Sekh sat up, stradling Astarion, as he reached out, toyed with his hair. “Your hair is cute like this.”

Astarion huffed, seemed to pout, as Sekh brushed some of it away from one of his eyes.

“And you’re cute when you pretend to be mad,” he added. Astarion rolled his eyes.

“Darling, a vampire shouldn’t be… cute.” He said the word as if he wanted it to taste disgusting on his tongue, but it was possibly the saddest attempt at a lie Sekh had ever seen from the man. He was enjoying this. “We are beautiful and eternally young. Terror inducing yet heart stopping.”

“Mhm.” Sekh reached out, traced a line along his cheek. “Doesn’t change the fact that you are in fact cute. The creases by your eyes when you smile, the lines along your lips, the way your hair curls around your ears…” Astarion huffed, louder, overly dramatic- but his cheeks were flushed, ever so slightly. He hadn’t fed nearly enough as of late to get a full blush, but Sekh’s heart still soared over the bit of color.

He slid his fingers towards one of Astarion’s ears, thumb rubbing up along it.

“Your ears are precious when you blush,” Sekh added, before Astarion gasped, his hips bucking slightly against Sekh’s weight.

Sekh paused, pulled his hand back- he hadn’t meant to- he didn’t think that was a spot that might arouse the elf-

“Sorry,” Sekh said, “I didn’t mean-”

“Don’t- don’t apologize,” Astarion managed, taking a breath and calming himself. He bit his lip, fangs pushing against the soft skin. “You can…” he paused, cleared his throat, added in a whisper, “tease me.” Sekh quirked a brow, and Astarion hastily added, “Just don’t expect-”

“For it to lead somewhere?” Sekh asked. “Astarion, I don’t expect anything from you. But…” he reached back out, stroked along Astarion’s ear, watched the vampire bite his lip again. “I won’t say no to seeing you squirm a little- so long as that is what you want.”

“Wicked thing,” Astarion breathed, as Sekh stroked along his ear one last time, before climbing off him, wrapping himself around the vampire as he tried to tug the blanket back over them.

Sekh wouldn’t deny the accusation. “Now, if we don’t try and get some rest,” the drow said, “we’ll end up getting ourselves killed come morning.” He pressed a kiss to the back of Astarion’s neck, and the vampires covered his hand, on Astarion’s belly, squeezing. “Can you rest like this?”

Sekh knew he could fall into his trance like this- but he also knew it wasn’t as easy for all elves.

“I think so,” Astarion admitted, and Sekh could feel him relaxing in his arms. “Even if I can’t,” he added, quieter, “don’t you dare move.”

Sekh smiled, and held Astarion tighter.

*

Sekh roused from his trance as he heard commotion outside- the sounds of camp coming to life. He sighed, nestled himself into Astarion’s hair, breathed him in as the vampire shifted in his hold. Neither had moved much- but Sekh was sure they had been lucky to get about three hours of rest, if that.

It was worth it.

“Astarion,” he whispered, and the elf made a displeased little noise, shifting about. Sekh kissed the back of his neck softly. “I know you can hear me.”

“I am choosing to not hear you,” Astarion muttered, “I may not look like I need my beauty rest, but I do.”

Sekh chuckled, sitting up, and Astarion flopped onto his back, looking up at him in tired displeasure that he would dare move. If it had been up to Sekh, he wouldn’t- but there was a shadow curse to lift, an immortal elf to slay-

And, well, still some very unwelcome parasites in their heads.

The drow stood up, pulling his shirt on, as Astarion sat up, rubbed at one of his eyes. Sekh hunted down the elf’s pants, the two sleeping oppositely half undressed- which was almost comical to Sekh. When Astarion didn’t move, Sekh tossed them onto him, so they landed along his shoulder and chest.

Astarion bared his teeth, showing his fangs- but with his eyes still soft and heavy from sleep, and his hair falling over his forehead, into his eyes in loose, lazy curls- well, he was anything but intimidating.

“Terrifying,” Sekh said, tucking the front of his shirt into his pants.

“And don’t you ever forget, darling,” Astarion said, ignoring the thick sarcasm in Sekh’s voice. He stood up, attempting to dress, as Sekh left the tent, giving the vampire a little more space. Camp was alive, most of their companions half in their armor at least.

Sekh sighed, felt like he needed something to wake him up. Gale walked by with a small mug- much smaller than the tankards that had been out around the bar- and Sekh rushed over, following the scent of nuts and bitterness.

“Please tell me there is coffee,” he said, almost bouncing at the prospect. Gale turned, seemed to have a cheery good morning on his lips- but paused, frowning at the dark circles under Sekh’s eyes.

“By Mystra’s mantel, did you rest at all?” he asked. Sekh started to say yes, he had, even if a little- but then Astarion was bursting from his tent, looking around and actively calling his name as if it was a war crime that Sekh had stepped away for a minute.

Gale followed the voice, before he turned to Sekh, quirking a brow. His little smirk said more than words ever could.

And for once, it wasn’t what the wizard was thinking.

Before Sekh could correct him, Astarion stalked over, sliding his arms around Sekh’s waist and resting his chin directly on his shoulder. Gale bit back a laugh. “Astarion, you look just as exhausted as our fearless leader, here.” Gale sipped his coffee, and Sekh realized he would in fact take on a horde of undead for just a touch of caffeine.

That had been one of the worst things about this whole ordeal- aside, of course, of the risk of turning into a Mind Flayer- the lack of coffee. It seemed not everyone felt it was a necessity.

“Jealous?” Astarion asked, voice dropping low, and that had Gale flushing a little. Before the wizard could speak though, Karlach yelled from across camp-

“Does this mean we can stop pretending we don’t know?” Sekh jerked his head up, looked over at her- and Shadowheart was standing next to her, the biggest grin on her face.

Oh.

Astarion hummed, before he let go of Sekh, grabbed him by the waist and spun him around. Sekh stumbled a little- but Astarion held him tight, pulling him in and kissing him with enough force to steal his breath.

Well, then. That was the answer, Sekh supposed.

Karlach cheered, as Gale muttered something about it being too early for this, before he left. Sekh barely noticed though, his eyelids fluttering as he reached up, clutched at Astarion’s shirt, returned the kiss in kind. When the vampire pulled back, Sekh chased him, managed to drag the kiss out for another moment or two.

“Secret’s out, pet,” Astarion teased, and Sekh only smiled.

Good. He had no desire to ever hide that this man had chosen him for even a moment of his attention and affection.

*

Sekh was very pleased that it seemed the Harpers- and the Flaming Fists that remained- were as interested in coffee as a normal person should be. And while it was not nearly sweet enough, he almost didn’t care, letting the bitter liquid scald his throat as he sat back at the bar, attempting to wake up properly. He had precious little time before Jaheira would require his attention- they had to plan. Who was going to look for the relic- who was going to brace to move on Moonrise-

“Well you look awful.” Sekh turned, and Lia was grinning at him. She walked over, resting her arms on his shoulders playfully. Cal was a step back, both looking like they had slept like the dead and were alive again.

Sekh imagined sleeping at Moonrise hadn’t been comfortable.

“Leave him be Lia,” Rolan said, as he descended the stairs across the room and caught sight of them. Lia huffed, but pushed off Sekh.

“Fine, fine- keep him all to yourself Rolan.” The other tiefling flushed, a rather cute rouge creeping up along his freckled cheeks. “Where is your pretty half?” Lia asked. “He needs a proper thank you for all he did in making sure those shadows didn’t eat us alive.”

Sekh paused, mug half way to his mouth. He actually didn’t know where Astarion had gone. They’d come in together, and then Jaheira had blessed Sekh with coffee, and he’d been distracted-

As if being summoned, Astarion appeared, arms full-

With the resident cat?

“I heard pretty half,” he said, sliding up to Sekh and leaning his lower back against the bar. The cat seemed shockingly content, considering how it had acted towards Sekh previously.

Lia smiled and the cat must have known something was amiss, as he squirmed free of Astarion’s hold, choosing to sit on the bar and watch with large, rapt eyes as Lia threw her arms around Astarion, smacking a kiss on his cheek.

“We never got to thank you properly,” she said. Sekh set his mug down, was ready to gently guide the well meaning tiefling off Astarion- but the elf smiled, leaned his head against hers.

“Proper thank you kisses,” he teased, “are on the mouth, darling.”

Lia waved him off, glancing at Sekh. “I see why you like him. He thinks he’s smooth.” Astarion tutted, and Sekh was relieved when Rolan ushered his siblings away, told them to leave the two be.

Sekh picked his mug back up, took another large drink, feeling his pulse slowly coming to life. When he set his mug back down, Astarion leaned in, gripped his chin and pecked his lips sweetly- before making an unamused face.

“That wretched brew is making you bitter,” he complained, absentmindedly reaching out to pet the cat.

“Sugar seems to be a luxury here,” Sekh pointed out, “I promise I’m normally very sweet.” He finished off the mug, before reaching his hand out towards the cat-

Who promptly hissed at him. Sekh sighed, dropped his hand, and Astarion chuckled. “He won’t leave me be,” Astarion added- and Sekh wondered if their camp had room for another animal, when this was all done. The way the cat seemed eager to be attached to Astarion, he wasn’t sure it’d even matter. Sekh only shook his head, finishing the rest of the coffee and setting the mug aside.

“Also,” Astarion said, still petting the cat, as Sekh noticed Rolan making his way back over, now free of his siblings. “You don’t need to remind me how sweet you are, sweet blood. Your taste is engrained in my memory.”

His eyes glanced at Sekh, and Sekh felt a fire roaring in his gut. He must have flushed, because Rolan paused once he was only a step away, before he glanced away, looking embarrassed, as if he had interrupted something. Sekh cleared his throat, as Astarion stopped showering the cat in affection, instead turning his attention to Rolan, the almost cheeriness that had been about him dissipating.

“I want to ask a favor of you,” the vampire said, looking directly as Rolan. Rolan quirked a brow, and Astarion cleared his throat. “It’s a delicate matter,” he  said, voice low, almost wavering. “But you read Infernal, correct?” Rolan nodded, and Astarion let out an unneeded breath. “I have these… scars, on my back. Would you read them?”

Sekh was silent- he knew he was the only one thus far to have seen the scars on Astarion’s back, and that asking Rolan to read them was opening up on a level he had yet to do with most.

Rolan looked like he had a plethora of questions- but Sekh was thankfully he asked none of them, and simply nodded. The drow didn’t think Astarion was in a state to attempt to explain Cazador again.

Astarion unticked his shirt, carefully pulling it off and balling it in his arms. He turned away from Rolan and Sekh, showing the canvas that was his back.

Rolan hummed, reached up to hold his chin, quite obviously contemplating. Sekh took a chance to study the scars again- and it didn’t matter that he had seen them before, that he’d felt them under his fingertips- it was still a sight to behold.

Wretched. Beautiful. Wicked.

Rolan reached out, carefully traced one of the symbols with his nail. Astarion gasped, body going tense, and Sekh rushed around him, reaching out to press his palm to one of Astarion’s cheeks. “I’m sorry,” Rolan offered, sounding almost sheepish.

Astarion cleared his throat. “It’s… quite alright. I was just unprepared.” He took a steadying breath. “You can touch them if you need to. I would… prefer it if you didn’t, though.”

Sekh watched Rolan nod, his hand falling away. And he wanted to kiss Astarion in that moment, for setting a boundary. Instead he just stroked his cheek once with his thumb, before pulling back.

“The text is incomplete,” Rolan finally said.

“Is it a poem?” Astarion asked, and yet Sekh could tell from the look in his eyes, he knew the answer.

“If it is, it’s not like any poem I’ve ever read. It reads like a contract.” Rolan traced one of the symbols, not touching Astarion’s skin but hovering above it. “This reads like a strip of a page within a book. This is ascension,” he traced again, even if Astarion couldn’t feel and Sekh couldn’t see. “I assume whoever carved this would be at the receiving end of that- but I can’t tell who the pact is with.”

Astarion’s shoulders sagged a little and he turned around, glanced up at the taller tiefling. “Thank you,” he offered, “this is… something.”

Rolan’s eyes softened, and Sekh watched him reach out, tip Astarion’s chin up. Sekh’s heartbeat quickened over the touch, as if he was giving it yet also receiving it. “I imagine you will figure it out- you lot seem impeccably good at always finding the answers.” Astarion looked up at him, and Sekh noticed those red eyes dancing-

Rolan pulled back, waving them off.

“You’d best go before Jaheira storms Moonrise, your hunt for this relic be damned.” The wizard slipped past them, moving away into the waking chaos that was all of the tieflings.

Sekh glanced at Astarion. “I didn’t expect you to ask Rolan about your scars.”

The vampire shrugged, before he pulled his shirt back on. “Someone needed to read them. Besides,” he paused, dipped his head down slightly, “you trust him.” Astarion reached for Sekh’s hand, took it, rubbed his thumb along his knuckles. “And I trust you, my sweet.”

Sekh squeezed Astarion’s hand, silently, endlessly thankful for that trust. He hadn’t been close enough to anyone to trust in this way since…

Ever. Not in all his adult life. The only one was Syl, and the pact made their relationship a bit different.

Sekh hoped that Astarion knew he trusted him, too. Endlessly. To the stars. At the core the man, Sekh knew Astarion was far better than the man would ever realize.

[flowersdaggersviolasandblood]

Fame, Riches, and Music

Name: Nalanthar Arabana (He/Him/They/Them)

Race: Drow Half-Elf

Class: Bard (College of Valour)

Background: Entertainer

WARNING, SPOILERS AHEAD!

I'm back! Decided to take a break from the game due to circumstance and me just simply needing sleep. Continuing out BG3 story with Nalanthar, we were able to kill Nere, but at the cost of the Deep Gnomes being taken by the Duergar. I accidentally triggered the scene too because I, at first, wanted to trade with the merchant, but I needed to get some stuff from camp. I would then come back with literally everyone gone. But hey, Nalanthar was able to decapitate the Drow with little hassle. I quickly went back to Sovereign Spaw and got a concert from the fellow Myconids as they showed their gratitude for helping them.

With the Myconids satisfied and Grymforge empty, it was time for the crew to go forgin some adamantine armor. Before performing the forge battle, I decided to detour over to the Harpers cache and fight the mimic then look for the amulet with the joker effect. Nalanthar wasn't able to fully escape the effects of the amulet, but he had a brief conversation with the monk spirit that inhabited the item. The Monk asked that we return them to a dear family member in Baldur's Gate. Closer inspection revealed that the Monk has some ties to the sun god Lathander and their motives are with good intention, though the creature will lash out if needed.

With those side gigs done, we finally got around to making new armor for Nalanthar and Lae'zel since the weapons weren't catching my eye. Of course, activating the forge provoked its' guardian and we fought it with the help of the massive hammer to dwindle it down. After such deeds, since there were no other way into Moonrise Towers aside from the elevator, it looked like we were going to travel through the Cursed Lands regardless. To be honest, I was genuinely hoping there was more Underdark stuff to explore that could get us closer to Moonrise or have us infiltrate it by finding some secret passage way into the tower via the Underdark. Perhaps with Torment, since there is a nearby temple of Shar in the same area, perhaps it could lead us to getting somewhat closer to Moonrise. Regardless, we went up.

When we took a long rest, Nalanthar got his visit from his Guardian who expressed their weariness. Upon reaching the Cursed Lands, we were able to visit the Harpers instead of going the usual route to meet the Absolute cultist. They were at first on edge until the Shadows of the Cursed Lands decided to pick a fight. Nalanthar and the crew were able to handle the Shadows and protect the Harpers, which got them a front row seat to go to Last Light Inn. Of course, we meet Jaheira and learn that she needs our help with infiltrating the Absolute cult.

So far, that's where the main story stops for now. We explored around and met up with Dammon, fixing Karlach's Infernal Engine so that she can finally be physical with others. In response, Nalanthar gave her a kiss! Of course, her Infernal Engine won't last long in the Material Realm and she would have to return to Avernus, but Nalanthar decided to not touch that subject for now. Especially when he could be getting that firey pussy soon ;). Astarion and Nalanthar also went to talk with Raphael and learn the secrets behind the Infernal writings on his back, which Raphael deflected and placed us on read. Nalanthar has a neutral stance on Mol and her deal with Raphael, not really caring that much about her association with the Cambion.

This time around, we met Rolan again. Back in Admaer's campaign, because he convinced him and his siblings to leave, they were not at the inn. Nalanthar, however, convinced them stay at the grove which allows us to see him at the inn much like how Pero met up with Rolan. Unlike Pero, Nalanthar wasn't taking his shit when he decided to place blame on why his siblings got taken by the cult. When we took camp again, Mizora demanded that Wyll go hunting for the devil that was taken by the Absolute cult and held prisoner, and Nalanthar decided to bullshit that he knew a pact-breaking spell. Regardless, she got the point that Nalanthar was asking for Wyll to be released from his pact.

Before ending this post, Nalanthar had a special encounter with Lae'zel. She decided to wake him up in the middle of the night and wanted to solidify their love in mortal combat. Nalanthar, at first, denied, but he couldn't say no to those pleading eyes. So he decided to run hands with her and was able to win the fight. However, Nalanthar quickly caught on that she was genuinely asking for them to be a thing. Which is something Nalanthar doesn't really want. He wants to live his life freely and with no ties with another. And two, she isn't really his type IF he wanted to settle down with someone.

As for him and Astarion, the pale Elf expresses his desire to discover the secrets of controlling the tadpole. Nalanthar isn't interested in this either, but not because of some altruistic "nooo, but that's evil :(" reasons. He just simply has no interest in having that kind of power. But he can still be tempted to consider it.

[zenatness]

Minthara has adjusted well to the team. For an unspecified value of 'well'.

That is to say, she promptly assured my dark urge that she'd put him down like the mad dog he was if he got out of hand. She seemed to be under the impression that this was comforting. It kind of was. Everyone else took Ghaunafein's "I crave murder" confession too well.

Act 2 with Minthara and Halsin was amusing. Every time I got to camp there they were, looking like a little family with their mangled tree-son. Very cute. I hope they are happy together.

Less amusing was the bugged tiefling who kept getting involved in Every Single Fight. She was stuck at Last Light Inn and every round the camera would jump to her and what she was up to, before going back to the actual fight. Didn't matter how far away I was, tiefling lady had to be involved.

And then Halsin had to go have his solo portal adventure while the team held the line. Tiefling lady joined the fight, as usual, but this time she was close enough that she dashed over to join the battle. She arrived just in time to see us kill the last enemy and tried to arrest us. For defending ourselves. After pissing me off the entire act. Isolated and alone on the beach. With no witnesses.

So her corpse was promptly added to the collection. And it's an impressive collection at this point.

Withers gave Ghaunafein shit for having a bosom-companion. It was unclear who he was talking about.

I made the decision that it's a first come, first served situation. Whoever got their act together first and tried to make the relationship official would be the (questionable) winner.

Astarion promptly wanted to thank Ghaunafein for respecting his bodily autonomy, so that was that. Seeing how Astarion was being vulnerable, Ghaunafein made an effort to be nicer for once. I toyed with the idea that maybe we'd turn this around after all. Maybe Astarion could make us a better person.

Not better right now, of course, but in act 3. So, after killing Aylin we saved the few surviving tieflings in Moonrise tower, before doing Sceleritas' bidding and killing Isobel as well. Last Light Inn fell, Jaheira died knowing what we'd done as the remaining harpers and tieflings fell to the shadow curse. Having to kill Dammon was rough though. His Majesty might not have died by our hand, but his body was also added to the corpse pile out of respect.

I'm happy to report that my gnoll palls in Moonrise tower had left by the time I came to clean house. Less happy to report that Kar'niss was still alive in the final showdown, so I tried to banish him because that was a complication I didn't want to deal with at the same time as Ketheric. The game bugged out. Kar'niss proceeded to stand and weep loudly outside of the main room as we fought Ketheric, giving me the player psychic damage every time because I felt like a bully.

I opted to free Zevlor in the mindflayer pods. Astarion didn't approve. The "being nicer" was off to a rough start.

While Ketheric refused to tell me about my past there were some secrets to be found in the mindflayer mucus. Ghaunafein was Outraged that anyone would fail to murder him, chose to torture and tadpole him instead, and that his then would-be healer had instead kept playing with his organs. Finish the job, at least. Rude.

The team made it to Baldur's Gate and Orin instantly started trying to mess with our heads. Sceleritas revealed that Ghaunafein was a Bhaalspawn and told him that he had to murder Orin. Ghaunafein was confused at this point. The previous murders had been of people who hadn't really deserved it and Orin had already earned herself a place on the List. It was a weird demand to make.

At this point the dead tiefling counter is best described as: all but maybe 6. Rolan and his siblings left in act one (resulting in the death of all the children but Mol by act 2), Zevlor is still kicking, and one single survivor of the big group made it to the outskirts of Baldur's Gate.

I hope daddy Bhaal is proud of his murder son.

[the-fiction-witch]

The Village P2

REAL LIFE: 1850′S COUPLE: TBS X READER RATING: CUTE+ VERY VERY DARK  WARNINGS: MURDER + CHILD DEATH + LABOUR

THOMAS’ POV:

I woke to the sounds of church bells they were so loud, so I sighed getting up going to the washroom splashing some cold water on my face to wake me up a bit more before changing into my clothes for today rolling up my sleeves and heading off downstairs opening the curtains letting the grey light brighten up the house and poking the fire a few times as it was now just a few glowing embers in the bottom and going into the office sorting a few things until I heard a loud knock at me door so I went to the door and opened it and there stood a man dressed in a white suit with a waist coat embodied with flowers of gold and silver his silver hair thin and static away from his head his face was wrinkled yet still keeping a look of vibrancy and his eyes a dark green “good morning doctor” He smiled his voice deep and strong “Good morning” I reply a bit confused who this man was “Allow me to introduce myself, Mayor reverend Barnabas Shift” she said offering his hand “Oh yes, Dr Sangster” I reply shaking his hand “Fantastic to meet you at last, I thought I would show you around The Town after church but you never showed?” he explained “Oh I didn’t know anyone was expecting me too” I say a bit confused “Well of course the village is excited to meet you, our new Doctor, but I still have the time aside if you would like to go” he offered “Oh yes that would be great” I smile grabbing my jacket slipping it on and heading out locking the door behind me “Brilliant” he smiled happily “well you of course know your home, do you like it?” he asked “Yes of course it’s wonderful, I wonder perhaps if it is a little too big for just me” I explain “Oh don’t worry about that Better to have too much space then not enough” he laughed “I suppose” I shrug “The graveyard is right beside your house, worry about that the old doctor chose it to be there shorter walk for those who wouldn’t make it through the night” He explained “It’s alright, I’m sure I will get used to it” I sigh as we walked towards the main street and the little place was about with people lots of little children in small dresses playing in the streets and horses busy moving all sorts of things about the Village, many men about the streets shouting things across the Village to each other “we are only a little place, we don’t get many outsiders here, we are a very small close knit community here, I’m sure you will find your way soon, If you struggle come visit in the Peacock Inn myself and the other gentlemen about town often stay there In an evening, and just to give you a hint” He explained “the girls are gorgeous” He smirked “Oh, I don’t have much of an Interest in that” I shrug “Oh?” he asked a bit concerned “It’s just I would rather just get work done” I reply “Oh, alright then, well I will leave you to explore the place” He smiled before wondering off so I stood looking around the town till I saw the little book shop tucked away so I went over and opened the brown wood door having a little bell go off as I walked in the place was covered with so many book sheaves each covered to the brim with books and in the middle was a desk where Y/n sat in a little green dress a small black pair of glasses on her nose as she read a book in her one hand and a cup of tea in the other the saucer on the desk as well as a another empty cup and saucer and the tea pot and the little containers for milk and sugar all the cup’s, saucers and such where white with little painted flowers around the rims and such with handles of a metal buffered from there use on the other side of the table a little plate matching the rest of the set with a few little biscuits “Good morning Miss y/l/n” I smile shutting the door behind me “Good morning Dr Sangster” she smiled not even looking up from her book “Have a seat” She offers “Thank you” I reply taking the other chair at the desk and sitting across from her “Tea?” she asked “Oh yes please” I reply so she pours me some tea without even looking up from her book “If I didn’t know better, I would say you were expecting me?” I ask her “It was Most likely I knew the Reverend would want to take you around the Village this morning and that you wouldn’t have any work to do yet other than the washing up you were meant to do last night, and Most Likely he would let you roam around on your own after and a while and as I noticed your fondness for books in the house yesterday I figured you would likely end up here at some point” she explained and as she finished she looked up at me over her glasses “Am I right?” she asked “Well yes, exactly right, your magic” I laugh sipping my tea “that’s amazing you know all that” I laugh “Actually I saw you talking with the reverend outside the window and I just assumed the rest” she smiled making me laugh “You’re Brilliant” I smile at her sipping some more tea and grabbing a biscuit and dunking it in my tea “This is good tea, what is it?” I ask her “Lavender and lemon, I’ll get you a little off it” She smiled putting down her book and going off into the back and getting a few things together for me and just as she returned with a little bag of the tea and gave it to me “Thanks” I smile putting it in my pocket “Dr There’s…what’s going on?” the reverend mayor asks bursting through the door “Just sitting to tea with…” I begin looking over to Y/n but she was gone “well we have no time, A woman Is in Labour” He yelled so I put my tea down and rush off with him as he ran I looked back into the shop Y/n was nowhere to be seen so I went off to my home and there stood a short, thin Ginger woman with a huge Baby bump screaming in pain “Right well come on in then madam” I tell her opening the door and letting her go through to the office “don’t we have a midwife?” I ask the mayor “We did but she uh…pasted” He explained “Oh, great” I sigh taking off my jacket returning it to the rack and going into the office as the woman sat on the birthing chair screaming in pain as I got my upon and rolled my sleeves up a little more “No need to worry miss?” I ask her “Miss Melling” She replied between her screams “First baby?” I ask her getting all the tools I need “Twelfth” she replies “My, my you’ve been busy” I laugh making her smile a little “right are you ready?” I ask her and she nodded still screaming “Okay then push” I told her this went on for a very long time just trying to get her to push out this baby Until at last a very small baby was In my arms “there we go” I tell her just moments later everything was sorted and she sat on the chair exhausted “Where are you taking me baby?” She asked “Just to check things over for you” I tell her taking the small baby to weigh it and check it over for everything and it had a little mark on its wrist similar to the one I sore on Y/n yesterday the baby giggled happily so I took it back to its mother “Here you go Miss Melling” I told her giving her the baby “Oh thank you, she’s beautiful” she smiled happily getting up and holding her baby close to her until she saw something “Something wrong?” I ask her “Oh, Nothing” she replied “thank you again” she smiled before rushing off somewhere else so I sighed going and washing up a few moments later another man came in with tattered clothes and a long ginger beard “morning doc, don’t suppose you could take a look at my arm” He asked “of course sir sit down I’ll have a look” I tell him so he happily sat down and I went over and checked his arm over and he had a small splinter in his arm “Looks like a little splinter” I inform him “Oh, very well doc just cut it off” he said very sad “Wow, a splinter hasn’t been a death sentence for years, I’ll take it out and as long as you wash it properly till the wound heals it will be fine” I tell him grabbing the tweezers and putting the splinter out “there you go” I tell him and he looked happier “I have something to ask you, doctor” He said “What is it?” I asked him “What where you doing at the bookstore?” He asked “How did you-”I begin “Everyone saw, its talk of the town, did know one tell you?” he asked pulling down his sleeve and standing up “Tell me what?” I ask him “Nothing just, stay away from her, or you will kill us all” He told me before running off into the village again the rest of the day was very slow no one else came in to see me at all so I just sat in the living room having made a cup of the tea Y/n gave me I kept thinking over what the man had said earlier as well as the way the mayor had reacted to finding me in the bookstore once I had drunk the tea I got another slice of the cake she left here yesterday still as amazing at before till I heard a little noise at my window “Meow” I heard as well as a little scratching sound so I went to the window the light outside beginning to grow dim opening the window to see Mol sat there “Oh hello Mol, What are you doing here?” I asked her picking her up and shutting the window but she just moved her head against my face “aww, your sweet, But you should be getting back home don’t want Y/n worrying about you” I tell her but she jumps from my arms and stands my the front door hitting it with her head “You want me to follow you? Alright” I shrug getting my jacket on and opening the door and Mol began walking so I locked up and followed Mol in the twilight fairly Difficult as she’s a black cat she lead me past the opening to the cemetery on the hill and towards the forest the sounds so beautiful and tranquil the birds chirping high in the tree’s the crunching of my feet across the leaves and twigs on the ground as well as the little sound of a babbling brook close by the tree’s all had grown as high as my house the light being blocked out by the tree’s when suddenly Mol ran forward and jumped onto the shoulder of a woman stood away from me A cape over her shoulders and head “Who’s there?” I ask “Just me Thomas” Y/n answered turning to face me with Mol sat happily on her shoulder “Oh, You scared me” I tell her and she giggled so I went over took her hand giving it a little kiss making her smile a lot more so she began to walk so I followed her and we walked down the little paths in the forest beside the little river “I’m sorry about running off earlier, I just didn’t want to get you into trouble” She smiled “Why would you get me in trouble?” I asked her “The Village doesn’t much like more, or anyone affiliated with me” she sighed sadly “But why? What do they have against you?” I asked “They call me a witch” she sighed walking down by the river and Mol jumped from her shoulder to run off “That’s crazy, that’s just old religious madness” I tell her but she looks nervous “Well I am” she said “Oh my gosh, that explains so much” I tell her “You don’t have to worry, I’m a white witch, I’m not evil or anything I work a lot with protection enchantments and things like that” She explained “Oh I see, well It’s not too crazy, so that’s why everyone doesn’t seem to trust you?” I ask her and she gravely nodded “They think I’m evil, so I try my best to keep out of everyone’s way” She sadly explained “What about your family?” I ask her “I’m the last one around of my family” she replied “Oh, I see Y/n” I reply “How did your day go?” she asked sweetly “It was alright, everyone seemed to be warning me about you” I tell her “and Miss Melling had her baby” I tell her “Oh wow, that’s very good” she smiled “The baby did have a mark like yours” I tell her “Oh, This one?” she asked showing me a black mark on her wrist “Yeah exactly” I reply “What is it?” I ask her but suddenly we heard a noise a little further down the path way and Y/n ran off “Y/n, where are you going?” I ask her as she ran off down further towards the river so I ran after her and she stopped hiding behind a tree and there on the edge of the river sat miss Melling she seemed sad her dress covered by a black cape and her baby in a basket on the river the basket only being stopped from flowing away by her hand “what is she-“I begin before Y/n shhhed me “I’m sorry my child, I must cleanse your soul” Miss Melling said putting a few little weights in the basket with her baby and putting the top on the basket and then letting it sink into the water and she ran off into the night Y/n quickly ran to the basket getting it back out of the water so I ran beside her as she got the baby out of the basket and laid it on the ground I checked it over it wasn’t moving or breathing “It’s dead” I tell her sadly and Y/n simply began to cry quickly wrapping her arms around me and crying into my shoulder so I shyly wrapped my arms around her waist as she cried after a few moments she pulled away from my shoulder and took the weights from the basket and putting the baby back in and gently setting it on the water and letting go letting the basket be taken gently away by the little river “how could a woman do that to her own child?” I ask “Because they are scared” She replied as we both stood “people are always scared of what they don’t understand” she replied sadly “What do you mean?” I ask her “that child was born with the mark of the witch, people see witches and see a dark evil but we’re not all evil, Magic is neither good nor evil, It is how you use it that determines where your allegiance lies. But people are slaves to his word, and there fear makes them do these things” she explained wiping another tear from her eye “That child could have grown into a dark evil witch bent on destroying the world…or could have been like me someone who uses magic to help, to heal and protect. But we will never know" she said “Y/n, do you think their minds will ever change?” I ask her “do you think they will ever not be scared of you?” “Not in my life time” she replied “Well, I’m not scared of you” I tell her “Thank you Thomas, your one of the few people I have met with an open mind” she smiled “That’s because I have no belief either way, I’m a doctor. I believe what I see” I tell her making her lightly giggle “What is it?” I ask her “Nothing, I just find it funny that you don’t believe in anything even when you’ve seen the things I can do” she giggled suddenly vanishing and once again it was like she had never even been there “Y/n? Where did you go?” I ask “Y/n!” I yell looking around franticly for her but she was nowhere in sight so I wondered home opening the door to my house and there on the rug by the door was Mol sitting perfectly with a little mouse in her mouth “Oh hey Mol, what are you doing here?” I ask her “Meow” she said dropping the mouse and turning her head “What is it?” I ask her and she simply rubs her head across the door “Alright, I’ll follow you again, you know where Y/n is don’t you” I laugh “Meow” she replied “Okay” I sigh opening the door and letting Mol ran out and I happily follow her again locking the door behind me and following her off towards shops and to a door beside the door to the bookstore and rubbing her head against the door “Up here? Alright” I shrug opening the door and Mol quickly ran up the stairs the hallway was covered with dark wooden stairs and the walls covered with a mid-high wooden wall cover and then stipes of light and dark blue so I shut the door behind me and slowly walked up the stairs, the stairs creaked and slightly moved as I stepped on them as I got higher up the staircase I heard a sweet little song it sounded a lot like the song I heard when I first arrived so I kept walking up until I reached a door with a little cap flap at the bottom that Mol ran in so I stood and Knocked on the door “Its Open” Y/n’s voice replied  so I opened the door and it was a very little house with a very small kitchen with a table just big enough to fit about four people with a little table cloth the cloth was white with little embodied flowers and peacefully laid out was a little dining set the rest of the house was simply two little rooms one a very small wash room with a rack covered in drying clothes and a little bedroom with a little double bed with a purple cover over it where Mol ran and laid “took you long enough” she laughed “How so?” I ask her “I didn’t think it would take you so long to work out where I was” she laughed “Well you surprised me is all” I shrug “Have a seat, Dinner will be another Moment” she told him “Well alright, But you didn’t have to do this you know” I told her “Its okay” she smiled “Well what are we having then?” I ask her “Chicken” she smiled “Oh wow, haven’t had anything like that in ages” I tell her “Good” she smiled finishing up the dinner and bringing it over to the table a small but beautify roasted chicken and we happily sat eating so much of it “Oh my gosh, you can roast a chicken” I tell her “thank you” she smiled sipping some wine “I uh need to be getting home, it’s getting late, and I don’t want The Village to talk” I tell her “Yes, your right, I would be best It is getting late” She said sadly as we both got up and we stood by the door “Thank you for letting me cry earlier” she smiled “Its quiet alright Y/n” I told her “Thank you so much for the dinner” I tell her “It’s alright, Will I see you tomorrow?” she asks “Of course” I smile at her taking her hand and lightly kissing it making her smile more before shutting her door so I sighed happily and wondered back down opening and shutting  the outside door again and wondering off back to my house blowing out all the candles and heading off to be pretty early lying in bed and relaxing after such a stressful day until I heard a little noise that made me jump “What was that?” I ask more to myself and then Mol jumped onto the corner of my bed “Oh It’s just you, What are you doing here?” I ask just as I notice she has a little scroll in her collar so I took it out it was a little bit of paper with written in beautiful lettering “Goodnight Thomas, X Y/n” it made me smile and even blush a little so I got another bit of paper and wrote “Goodnight Y/n, X Thomas” and scrolled it up and put it in Mol’s collar “go on Mol go back home now” I told her and she just crawled up rubbing her head against me and licking my check “aww, thank you, go on, go home to Y/n” I told her so she meowed and went out my window so I laughed and blew out the candle and went to sleep.