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alpydk · 2 months ago

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Red on You (Part 6) - "Death of Peace and Mind"

Gale x Rugan - ZhentWeave Shenanigans

Longer chapter today (4k words, it escaped me) - Chaos carries on - Some angst and some loving. - Thanks to @judasiskariot for the song recommendation for this chapter.

Ao3 Link

Don’t suppose you’ve got any more of those spells up that sleeve of yours?”

Leonidas stood on top of the Flagon Dragon, Darnys next to him, who looked unimpressed at the half rescue that was taking place. The fly spell had run out just short of the academy and, despite the fireball spell having taken out a chunk of the shambling creatures below, more had filled in from the Dock and lower Castle Wards.

Gale could barely hear the question over the sounds of the droning below them, the undead again hitting the walls and main gate that struggled against the constant forward waves. He looked down over the streets, knowing another fireball wouldn’t be enough and the fly spell could only be cast if they were close enough.

“Head down through the building, use the hatch in the basement. Hatch to sewers will get you to the academy.”

Hearing the sending spell in his head, Leonidas nodded in understanding, grabbing Darnys and motioning her towards the edge of the building.

She initially struggled, confused at what he was doing. “Wait, isn’t he going to help us?”

“He is helping us. There’s apparently a way under the building to the academy.”

“Of course. Couldn’t just be easy. Guess this is the point where you should just follow me, then.” She took charge, looking down the corner of the walls and tossing her legs over the edge. The drain lay beneath her feet and though her eyes tried to focus on the dizzying sight of the horde beneath them, she reminded herself of the orders she had been given. Follow orders and you’ll live to follow more.

“You know where we have to go?”

Nodding, she threw herself over the edge, her arms and legs holding onto the pipe as she shuffled down it towards an upper window of the tavern. This was no different to any other heist, she thought to herself. Yes, it was in broad daylight, but the guards were as mindless as they ever were, albeit rotting, and the goal was still the same: to break in and claim an expensive item for their own.

---

Watching as the pair retreated in through the tavern window, Gale now found himself alone on the roof of the academy. The day had been passing slowly before them all, and he felt as the weight of his body seemed to overtake him. When had he last truly slept a full night? It certainly hadn’t been last night as he’d drank kaeth and then conversed with paladins, and nights before had been interrupted by Rugan and drunken shenanigans.

Thoughts had largely been about the present danger, but with the moment of reprieve now came back the worries of Gale’s relationship. The plan had been to end things the moment he got back to his tower, but that had been before the risk of death had faced him. Was Rugan even safe? Was he shut up in their tower, surrounded by magical wards with an unlimited supply of scrolls and other artefacts at his disposal, or had he decided to be the self-destructive idiot that Gale knew and loved? He kept in mind that his last sending spell had been received without issue and that was enough to calm him momentarily. A note was made to send another message in a few hours to check in and then go from there. For now, making sure the others survived was the priority.

He ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath at what was the come. He’d await Leonidas’ return, gather with the paladins and Lissa and then come up with a strategy to get them all out of there alive. Leaving the roof, he went in search of a quiet corner, one where he could collect his thoughts without the interruption of the moaning in the streets or the odour of decay. In a short while, they would all get out of there alive and find a way to deal with the problem, once and for all.

---

Gale, Seems I’m here with the noose around my neck again. Sort of serves me right really for pissing about like I have been. Wasn’t your fault though, never was. Look, I’ll keep this sweet, you know me. Never been much for conversation.

Rugan put down the quill and sighed. He’d been over every eventuality of the situation he’d found himself caught in, trapped in a wizard’s residence less than a kilometre from the academy. He’d somehow climbed up the guttering and got through a window into an attic, finding that the row of houses had all been connected by various wooden beams suspended over the upper rooms. Using some nimble footwork had got him to the household closest to the school’s tower, but on descending through the stairwell, he’d caught the attention of what was left of the residents and ended up barricaded in a small study. Books lined the walls, parchment and quills had been left abandoned, a bottle of Chultan Fireswill was now completely empty, his nerves having been calmed. He eyed up a crossbow on the wall, wondering if the adorned arrows next to it could even be fired. After hours being there, he could still hear the undead outside the door, no longer banging to get in but shuffling lifelessly upon the rugs, waiting for him patiently, he felt.

He wanted to say words of love, of goodbye, wanted to be poetic in the same manner Gale was with him, but the writing kept failing him. Rugan wasn’t articulate or educated. He’d just picked up what he’d needed as he’d gone ahead in life. He was charming in his own rough way, and that had been enough to woo the odd lass. Everything else he’d just paid for in one way or another. But with Gale, it was all different. Feelings were involved, a heart full to bursting was involved, and most of all, love was heavily involved. He picked up the quill again, dipping it into the inkwell.

There should be an earring with this, white gold with a sapphire stone. It’s to replace your goddess’ tag old one that you don’t use anymore. Don’t worry, didn’t nick it. Bought it. Astarion’ll vouch for me. If he’s made it, that is.

It’s why we were out so much. Were making money, so I could get it for you. Figured I could ask you

He lifted the quill again, frustrated at how difficult this was. Why couldn’t he just say it? He knew he would’ve had to eventually. Marry me, marry me, you idiot. Come on! Just fucking write it.

Scratching at the parchment, he continued, the desperate thoughts kept to himself.

Just know I love you. Don’t go locking yourself away in your tower whilst I’m gone, yeah? Meet some nice lass…or lad, your choice. Just get over yourself and me.

Going to miss your cooking...

---

Blankets and covers were not what Andora expected as she awoke in a small bedroom, her blood-soaked robes removed and replaced with a grey button-down shirt, her blonde hair set into a loose braid over her shoulder. All the curtains had been closed and candles had been lit around her, casting the room in an orange glow. She sat up slowly, the feeling of wool under her fingertips welcome after the cold tiles and grime she’d been sitting in for hours earlier.

“Finally, she graces us with her presence.”

The voice was that of the pale elf from the sewers, perched on the edge of a desk to the right of her, a silver goblet in his hand and his scarlet eyes pinned on her.

She gasped, fear overtaking her, and she backed herself away from him, the sheets gathering in front of her as she tried to scramble from the bed.

“Now, love. Calm down.”

Flashes of the scriptorium shot in front of her vision, her high priest’s pustuled flesh, his hands bloodstained, reaching out for her. Her breathing quickened, and she pushed back, falling from the side of the bed and clamouring to the floor. As she lifted her head, she found the elf stood above her, his footsteps too quick and silent to be that of something natural.

“Get back!” She held her palm up, ready to cast a spell, any spell that came to mind, if it meant her escape. “I’ll do it! I’m not scared of you.”

He sighed and sat on the edge of the bed in front of her, sipping his drink, a deep red tinge left on his lower lip, which he licked away slowly with his pointed tongue. “Obviously.”

Andora realised how exposed she was, huddling on the wooden floorboards at his feet, her legs bare and the shirt barely covering her hips. “Where are my robes?” she asked cautiously, one hand still put forth, prepared for an attack, the other tugging at the hem of the grey cotton trying to cover herself.

“Well, despite the fine material, they’re currently in cinders in the fireplace. You may not have much knowledge about blood, but I do, and whatever was upon them was not something we wanted with us.”

She lowered her arm in tentative acceptance of his answer, bringing her hand to cover her legs to give herself some decency, her dark eyes still focused on his movements.

He averted his gaze away from her. “There are trousers in the wardrobe, I’m sure.” Vaguely gesturing across the room, he stepped away from her, giving her a moment of privacy to collect herself up.

She was alive. She could feel no sense of fever or pain in her body and in this room for a moment, it felt as if the calamities that had befallen her had vanished.

“Name’s Astarion,” he spoke calmly, patiently waiting for her to change into something more comfortable.

“Andora,” she replied, getting up and searching for something to cover her lower half, still trying to piece together everything that had occurred. “You were in the sewers with me, weren’t you?”

He gave a dry chuckle, straightening the ruffles of his shirt at his pale wrists. “I was. You fainted on me, quite rude an introduction I have to say.”

“And where are we now?”

“From what I can tell, it’s a tavern near the marketplace. I carried you for quite some time and eventually came across a hatch into a basement. We’ve been holed up here since.”

She approached him, leather trousers hanging loosely from her frame beneath the shirt. Something about him made her curious, his calm demeanour, the way he spoke as if he were a rich red flowing into the goblet he held. “Why didn’t you just abandon me there or stay underground?”

Astarion shrugged at her question. The honest answer was that he’d felt some deep stirring emotion, not felt since he’d last seen Tav at the campsite party so long ago. He felt as if he needed to protect her. “I needed to wash all the remains of those creatures off me. Leaving your pretty face just seemed like a waste.” “Well, I appreciate it. I thank Ilmater for your intervention.” Andora bowed her head to him. She could see how he was no longer stained with blood, causing him to appear more dashing than he had previously. She felt the blush in her cheeks as his gaze seemed to pierce right through her and so she turned away, walking towards a window and pulling the curtains slightly apart. The sunlight streamed in, casting a beam up through the room behind her, her imposing shadow thrown up the wall.

“By the hells! What are you doing?!”

The impatient shout was met with the dive of Astarion to the floor, trying to escape the light that hit his features. She spun with the noise, releasing the curtain from her grasp, letting darkness fall over the room again with nothing but the candles to help her see.

“Astarion?” She peered around, not noticing where he had vanished to.

Dusting himself off, he returned to his feet, an irritated look on his face at what she had done. “They are closed for a reason. Keep them that way.”

She was confused at what the purpose of it was. They were a few floors up from the ground where they couldn’t be seen unless they stood by the windows, bringing attention to themselves, and yet he wanted them all shut. It was then that she remembered how he had looked underground, the pointed fangs, the comment of how he had been bitten. Her mind raced through the teachings of the clergy, of curses and creatures of the night, of undead and lycanthropes, of blood rituals and vampirism.

“You’re a...” The words would not come to her, as if saying them would sign her death sentence.

“A vampire. Yes, darling. And one that right now is incredibly tired and hungry, so I suggest you do not turn this into anything too dramatic.” The revelation had been quicker than expected, much quicker than it had been travelling with Tav through daylight hours. He glanced over the arch of Andora’s neck, seeing the way her jugular pulsed with the quickened beat of her heart. He couldn’t deny his hunger, not right now after hours of running and hiding in gloomy alleyways and grungy sewers.

“Are you going to hurt me?” It was a fair question, her experience with vampires severely limited. She’d heard of them during her childhood on the streets, of friends and family selling their bodies to feed spawn, but she’d never come across one herself. He had now pulled her from the sewers, saved her from the disease that had coated her clothing, even braided her hair. Were the stories from the temple wrong about these monsters?

He stepped closer to her, noticing how her body language had changed, more confident, as if this were a hallowed ground she knew how to tread. Fear in her eyes had become something else, something he’d seen in Tav on one distant night under the Sword Coast stars. “Not right now. No.”

“When did you last feed?”

Her question took him back. Was she trying to calculate how much time she had before he turned on her out of desperation, or was she trying to work out when he would be at his weakest so she could stake him and escape? “A day ago. I dared not take a chance on the rats beneath the city.” He answered, not being entirely honest. It had in fact been longer with the travel to Waterdeep and everything with Rugan, and the idea of shit-stained rats was becoming very tempting to him.

She nodded, leaving the safety of the window, and approached him, pushing her braid aside so he could see her neck fully. “Then you need to drink soon, right?” Sacrifice was what she was made for, something she knew how to do without thinking, something she could finally control after all the chaos that had happened. There was also something she couldn’t explain: how she was drawn to him. Attraction? She wasn’t sure, but she wanted to care for him. A fear lay behind his eyes that she knew all too well: prey in the eyes of wolves.

“What are you-” Astarion unexpectedly backed away, her directness something he hadn’t considered.

“Ilmater requires of us that we should be willing to help all, give all we can to help those in need, even if that involves a sacrifice of ourselves. If you need sustenance, then drink of me.”

He batted an arm away from her, not accepting her words. He knew the gods all too well, having tried his luck with all of them in his two hundred years of servitude to Cazador. Anyone who devoted themselves to them was clearly deranged. “My gods, you’re insane. Out of all the ones to find...”

“Astarion. I believe he led you to me so that we could help each other. You have helped me. Let me help you.”

The words felt like a dagger blade to his cold, dead heart, words of comfort and kindness before she had even grown to know him. His mind clashed with the ideas of sating his hunger or leaving her entirely in the room they’d found themselves. He wasn’t that desperate, and yet there she stood, eyes innocent, skin pure and unblemished, offering herself to him without hesitation. “This isn’t what you want.”

She smiled, her hand raising delicately to touch his icy cheek, a connection both of them didn’t want to fight. “But it’s what you want, what you need. Ilmater protects me, so do not worry.”

He could feel the warmth of her hand as it touched him, hear the beat of her heart merged with quiet breaths. Hunger drowned out all his logic. Want and need drove him forward as he bit sharply into her neck, her blood thick and sweet upon his tongue. She tasted like sunlight would. Honeysuckle, vanilla, summer days spent lying under drifting clouds. Each drop of her cherry nectar to his senses.

“Astarion...” she whispered, her body pressed flush to his, Ilmater’s teachings repeating in her mind. Until I can bear a fraction of your burden, Sufferer, I shall.

The beating of her heart slowed and Astarion returned to his senses, pulling his lips from the arch of her neck but keeping a firm grasp of her in his arms. Her deep brown eyes reflected in the red of his own, and he saw a warmth he had only known once before. The quiet thud between their chests reminded him she was still alive, more alive than anyone he had met before. She was more than sustenance; she was an evening with loved ones, postcoital bliss on a picnic blanket in spring, life itself filled with all its wine and dancing. He brushed his lips upon hers, her taste having him crave more. She did not flinch, did not breathe out the words of her lord. Instead, she pulled herself to him, giving herself in full.

---

Going to miss your cooking...

Rugan felt as if he were trapped in the Gnoll cave again, death coming to claim him as it had tried to so often. He’d written the letter, but waiting the hours for his death was proving overwhelming. The walls felt as if they were closing in on him; the darkness spreading into his veins. There was no escape, and the apprehension was becoming too much to ignore. If Gale were here... Deep down, Rugan knew he had messed everything up. If he had just been honest with his intentions, then it could have all been done differently. He was no changed a man now than he was a year ago when he claimed himself as an ex- Zhent, and it ate away at him, knowing he wouldn’t be able to show differently.

Can’t take the Zhent out of the man... Maybe Astarion was right. Maybe that is why Rugan was repeating the same mistakes, going in circles like a dog chasing its tail. It was in his blood to screw up, after all. Isn’t that what his father had done, followed the coin at the bottom of the bottle, just as Rugan was choosing? He didn’t want to die that way, didn’t want to die trapped in bottle nor cave. He rubbed at his stomach; the scar of Alchemist’s Fire underneath irritated by the leather he wore. He didn’t want to die trapped in the study of some posh prick either, and it was this thought that removed the fear that had been plaguing him.

Zhentarim completed jobs. They not only got into places, but they got out of them too. And he had been a master at getting out of so many situations. He wouldn’t be the softened-up boyfriend living the life of luxury as he had been for the last year. Now was the moment to pull himself together. He checked over the room, the ornamental crossbow hung on the wall, thankfully not as ornamental as he’d initially thought, and he made his choice. Pocketing the letter and taking a deep breath, he unlocked the study door.

---

Lissa stepped towards the paladin Lucius, her white hair glimmering under the dancing lights above her. The paintings of the academy’s previous professors lined the walls, and she felt the gaze of each one on the back of her pale blue neck as she walked forward.

“Excuse me. Are you alright there?” She was quiet, cautious, the body of his ally lying near him with the now dried blood staining the carpet beneath them both.

Lucius hadn’t been aware of his environment for some time as he’d sat on the floor of the halls watching the lifeless body. In his mind he’d been on the battlefield, his men falling around him, screams and violence in a world he could not escape. There were no soldiers to command, no enemy to bring justice to, no battle to win. There was only defeat. “Leave us...”

Her hand drifted to the silver dagger at her side on hearing his voice. He was cold, resigned, not the mighty commander that had broken through the main door. “Can’t do that. Not in the situation we’re in now.” She reached forward, placing a hand on the armour of his shoulder. “Your men need you.”

“My men are dead!” He spun on her, sword drawn at the ready, illusion and reality merging as his head pounded with fever. He stumbled forward as she stepped away from him, watching as she backed up over the muddy field of corpses, the paintings now faces of the gods, watching how he’d led his troops to death.

“No, your men are at the door. Darius has been organising scrolls, Leonidas is on the roof with Gale. Remember?” Lissa continued to step backwards, observing him, drawing him to the main hall where she hoped to get protection from his subordinate.

Mud and death entwined with scarlet rugs and oak, past and present combined, tearing his mind in two. “They…they died in the halls...”

She shook her head. “No. They’re alive. They’re here.”

He saw the face of Darius emerge over her shoulder, alive and well.

“See, all fine.”

Lucius calmed before her lilac eyes, and she drew her hand away from her dagger, falling back behind the soldier that awaited her. She watched as the two paladins approached each other slowly, a relaxed smile creeping up on her lips, as Darius gently pulled the face of his weakened commander towards him. She exhaled, her shoulders lowering. “Thank the gods. I thought we were going to have a-”

Lucius’ head snapped forward; a deep bite placed in the neck of Darius, tearing at the supple flesh available. Blood spurted from the wound as he ripped himself back with a growl, skin and muscle caught in his teeth, his mouth already filled with the fetid taste of pus and rust.

“Fuck. Inveniam viam.” Lissa cast the spell calmly before she could be grabbed, a quick misty step taking her to a room near the main door of the academy.

Lucius’ head twisted at a disjointed angle in search of her, a broken snarl released from his now dead lips and with it came a joined moan as Darius twitched and spasmed on the floor, corruption flooding his system. Lissa frowned unenthused with the situation and entered the room behind her, the undead more an inconvenience than a threat.

Locking the door with a spell, she relaxed and glanced over the study’s contents, taking in the tomes and comfortable furniture that awaited her. She ran a hand through her long white hair and sat down in the large leather red chair, crossing her legs and making herself comfortable.

She spoke, her voice soft and almost a whimper. “Gale, paladins have turned. Trapped by the main gate. Help me, please. You’re my only hope.” She sent off the sending spell before opening the drawer of the nearby desk, pulling out a bottle of Dancing Maiden and smirking to herself. Guess I just wait then…

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 gale #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 rugan #zhentweave #i love this fic #its my baby #and i dont care what anyone says #neh neh ner neh neh #Spotify

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