Chapter Text
You slowly wake up surrounded by soft thick fabric that’s cool and smooth to the touch. As you open your eyes you see a large canopy with four thick wooden posts. You don’t know whose bed you’re in, but it is a welcomed alternative to sleeping on the ground. Your body sinks into the silk-covered mattress, making it difficult to sit up, but you manage. Stretching your arms, you step out of the bed onto the cold stone floor. The room you are in is dark, lit only by a hearth on the opposite end. The windows are covered in thick heavy drapes. You make your way over to the hearth to warm yourself. In the dim firelight, you realize that you are dressed in a thin nightgown that is nearly see-through. The question of where you are, and how you ended up here runs through your mind.
You hear distant screams coming from the passage outside your door. Looking around the room, you notice your sword laying on a large round table near the hearth. You quickly grab it and secure it in place on your back.
Stepping through the door, you realize you are in a corridor and see a room at the far end flickering with light from what is probably a hearth. Screams of anguish echo down the hall again. The voice sounds familiar, but you can’t place it just yet. Old paintings line the wall to your right, some are portraits of unfamiliar people while others are of dark castles and landscapes. To your left large heavy drapes cover windows that are the full length of the wall. Slivers of moonlight pass through them casting a blue hue through the corridor giving the whole place a cold feeling as you continue toward the orange glow of the lit room. The closer you get the more the puzzle pieces fall into place, and you know where you are. You are in Cazador’s mansion, which means the screams are… There is a sickening twist in the pit of your stomach. You hurry to the room.
It appears to be a lavish bedroom. There is a large table set for a king’s feast in the center of the room. Behind the table is a great hearth with a lively fire. To your left are more long drape-covered windows and to your right a giant bed with heavy wooden posts. The bedding is red silk and appears to be the finest quality, from what you can tell at this distance. Everything about the room is extravagantly luxurious. At the foot of the bed stands a man with shoulder-length black hair dressed in clothing fit for royalty. This must be Cazador, your father. Honestly, you have never seen him before now, but you recognize the features you share. At his feet is a white-haired pale elf kneeling with his back to his master. The elf screams as the vampire lord carves into his back with a dagger. Astarion…The vampire spawn’s screams become sobs. It feels like a dagger has pierced your chest. You have never heard Astarion makes such tormented sounds.
As you step into the room, Cazador greets you as he wipes blood from the dagger on a cloth, “My daughter, you have awakened. It warms my cold dead heart to finally have you home.”
Astarion goes quiet and looks up at you with disappointment. His eyes are filled with terror and betrayal. This is what you have feared since you met the vampire spawn, that he’d find out you share flesh and blood with the creature that enslaved and abused him for two centuries. He looks utterly lost and disconnected from the revelation. You want to run to him, explain to him that you hold no loyalties to your father and that you aim to kill the vampire lord right here. The sting of tears sits in the corners of your eyes as your expression pleads with Astarion. Cazador laughs. You glare at the vampire lord and finally confront him, “You may have sired me, but you will never be my father.”
“Hate me all you want, my child, but you are my daughter, that you can’t deny,” Cazador replies, with a foreboding tone.
“Enough. I will not go back and forth with you. I will end you, for my mother and for the life you stole from me,” you threaten him as you draw your sword.
He chuckles with an evil grin, “Stole? You carry the sword your mother stole from me.”
“Your sword…,” you reply, surprised that your mother never mentioned it, “If this is in fact your sword, then killing you with it will be that much sweeter.”
You charge him, but he turns to mist. He laughs again and it comes from all around you. The vampire lord then offers up a deal, “You want to fight me, child? I will grant you the opportunity on one condition.”
You growl and reply, “And that would be?”
“Kill Astarion,” he demands.
“No!” The word escapes your lips before your brain has time to process it.
He laughs again, “So there is something between the two of you. It will be entertaining to watch it fall apart.”
You barely hear what Cazador is saying as you stare down at the sword in your hands. Why did you answer so quickly, with no thought? This has been your goal, your whole purpose, and you just willingly let it slip through your fingers for this vampire spawn you have only known for a few weeks. The very spawn that would have killed you without consideration, if the mind flayers hadn’t placed tadpoles in your heads. You have become weak because of him. He is stealing the only thing you have lived for. You look down at him. As much as it pains you to lose this opportunity, the thought of killing Astarion is worse. There would be such darkness without him in your life, which is an odd thing to say about a vampire, a creature of darkness. He has somehow pulled you from the pit of despair that you have been sinking in your entire life. Existence would be hollow without him. You didn’t know how lost you were until you met the pale elf. You consider whether or not this is love. The idea of being in love with Astarion feels blissfully terrifying.
“I may have no authority over you, but he is incapable of resisting my will,” Cazador laughs. He materializes and stretches forth his hand and commands, “Astarion, slave, kill her.”
Astarion claws at the stone floor so hard his fingers begin to bleed as he tries to prevent his body from moving. However, his body moves on its own as he stands and lunges for you. The look on his face is that of pure torment. He cries out with so much sorrow, “You must kill me.”
You are able to dodge him, and reply fighting back tears yourself, “I can’t.”
Tears pour from his eyes as he charges and swings at you. He sobs as he begs you, “Please, kill me.”
You dodge him the best you can, but he is fast, extremely fast. One swing barely connects with your cheek producing two claw marks. You feel the blood trickle down your cheek. Astarion wails in agony at the site, “Ahhhh, kill me, please, my love. If I am forced to…”
The pain in his voice pierces you like one of his daggers. Hot tears begin to roll down your cheeks. You see that this is breaking him. The elf slips into emotionally fragile states from time to time, but this is slowly chipping away at his soul, destroying him from the inside out. You can’t watch this. There has to be something you can do to save him.
“You must kill me. Please. Take his offer,” Astarion pleads desperately, “Don’t let him force me to kill you. I’d rather die.”
“I don’t want it, if it means losing you,” you cry. Choking up you add, “I…I love you, Astarion.”
His body hesitates for a moment, almost like Astarion has more control than he realizes. You glance up at Cazador to see if he noticed. He didn’t. The tadpole that has oddly remained dormant suddenly twitches, as if to remind you of its presence. You push a thought through your tadpole to him, Astarion, did you notice that just now? You hesitated.
“What? My…” he starts.
No, use the tadpole. You tell him, You have more control than you realize.
I don’t. I can’t resist him. He replies.
You can. Use the tadpole. Remember, you can walk in the sun, cross rivers, walk into homes without an invitation. You are the most powerful vampire in the realms. You encourage him. Concentrate, my love.
You watch as he realizes what you are telling him. He stops and stands still. Cazador growls, “What are you doing, spawn? I told you to kill her.
Astarion doesn’t move. His head is tilted toward the ground. You see the corners of his lips go up. He’s smiling, and it’s not his normal smirk or mischievous grin. It’s a small simple smile of relief. He finally looks to Cazador and in a tone full of contentment he replies, “You no longer have control over me. I’m free.”
Cazador laughs, “Lie to yourself boy, but not to me. You will bow before your master, spawn.”
“I will never bow to you again,” Astarion snarls defiantly.
You and Astarion rush the vampire lord, but he fades to mist again. He laughs as his mist holds you both by the throat in mid-air. With a loud dark voice, Cazador declares, “Soon, you both will learn your place.”
“Soon,” the word echoes as everything fades to black.
You jump up startled and take in your surroundings. You are in your tent. Another dream. Astarion? You quickly rush out of your tent. A lot happened in the dream. You told him you love him. Also, he may now know your secret, that Cazador is your father.
Gale is gathered with Wyll and Shadowheart again discussing their third lover's dream. Gale tries to talk to you, but you see Astarion rush out of his tent with the same urgency as you. He locks eyes with you and you hurry over to him. The two of you slip behind the tent.
You look into his eyes trying to read him. He looks as though he doesn’t know where to start. Suddenly, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you to his chest desperately. His voice is soft, but there is heartache in it, “I…I thought I was going to lose you at my own hands. I’m sorry. I didn’t think to use the tadpole.”
“Astarion, it was just a dream,” you reply in an attempt to soothe him.
“Was it?” he asks coldly, “It didn’t feel like just a dream.”
You pause for a moment. This was the most vivid of the dreams so far. For him, though, it was much worse. You try to change it up a bit to get his mind off of it, “Look it’s a possibility that we could be placed in this situation in the future. There are some things we should talk about.”
He takes your chin tilting it up as he looks down into your eyes, every mask he ever hid behind has shattered. Red rubies reflect two hundred years of torment he thought he’d never be free of. With a trembling voice, he replies, “I love you too.”
Your eyes widen, and your heart feels tight in your chest. It’s true that you love him, and you admitted it in the dream, but to have him love you in return is something you never expected or felt you deserved. Not when you are the daughter of the one who caused him so much suffering for the past two centuries. With remorse, you ask, “Why? I don’t deserve it.”
He tilts his head to the side with a frown and furrowed brow, “Darling, why would you say that?”
You avoid his gaze, and he asks, “Oh you mean the secret you have kept from me this whole time.”
You try to break his hold on you to retreat somewhere, anywhere. His grip on you tightens, and he tries to calm you, “Darling, darling, it’s fine. You aren’t him.”
You stop trying to free yourself and sob into his chest as your knees give out. He holds you up and guides you to the ground where he sits next to you with one arm on his knee. His hand brushes a strand of hair from your face as he cups your cheek and replies, “Why don’t you just tell me everything.”
“My name is Asesina Szarr, and I am the dhampir daughter of Cazador Szarr,” you admit finally.
“Go on,” he replies with a relaxed smile that’s completely genuine.
“My mother was a high elf blood hunter. Circumstances led her to be kidnapped by Cazador, and well you know what he is capable of,” you start. He nods with a frown.
“Imagine if you were a woman,” you continue.
“It would seem he took her in more ways than one,” he comments coldly, his gaze on the grass in front of him, “And, to clarify, it doesn’t matter if you’re a man or woman. The women just have the potential side effect, if they survive.”
You pause for a moment realizing what he’s implying. He avoids your eyes. You wince as tears sting the corners of your eyes. You want to reach out to him, to comfort him, but he will see it as pity. He doesn’t want pity.
“I’m sorry,” you reply softly, staring at the ground between your knees.
He picks at a blade of grass in his hand, “Don’t be. It had nothing to do with you. Please, continue.”
“She managed to survive and escape. Oddly he never bit her either,” you continue, “Her blood hunter order took her in and she found out she was pregnant. She vowed to raise me with the sole purpose of killing him.”
“How long ago was this?” he questions with an unforeseen curiosity.
“I am 150 years old,” you reply.
He sits up fixing his eyes on yours like he is recalling something, then asks, “And your mother, what happened to her?”
“She always knew he would return for her, and he eventually did. I survived on the streets until her order found me and took me in,” you answer.
He thinks to himself like he is remembering something. You ask impatiently, “What is it?”
“I feel like I remember something about him knowing he had a dhampir daughter, and he had us look for her, or you as it would appear,” he answers unsettled.
“The blood hunter order hid me away from the city for fear he would look for me. What did he want with me?” you ask nervously.
His jaw clenched as his nose wrinkled, “He would never tell us anything, other than what we needed to know.”
The two of you grow quiet. A part of you still feels out of place next to him, like you shouldn’t be there, but the other part desperately wants to be wrapped up in him for eternity. You have, for years, heard about the cruelty of your father, but witnessing it in the dream was horrifying. The way he tried to destroy you both in the worst way. Your stomach still feels nauseated at the thought of all of it. Astarion glances at you and notices.
“Darling, you’re brooding” he tries to get your attention.
You remain silent but meet his eyes. He adds, “I shouldn’t have to say it again, but what he did to me has nothing to do with you. If anything, I don’t deserve your affection or help for that matter.”
You frown at him, “Astarion, you are a spawn. You can’t be blamed for anything you have done.”
He chuckles, “Darling, I have always been greedy, selfish, and corrupt. It’s what led me to become a spawn in the first place.”
“What do you mean?” you ask curiously.
“I don’t remember much of my mortal life, but I do remember I was beaten to death’s door by a group of vagrants that were displeased with a ruling I made as magistrate. It wasn’t uncommon for citizens to take issue with my rulings,” he answers, “The whole system is corrupt, I just profited off of it. Anyway, Cazador found me bleeding to death in the street and offered to save me by giving me eternal life.”
“So your morals were always questionable?” you ask with a smirk.
“Yes, but the past two centuries have felt like punishment enough. Maybe, no punishment is enough. I don’t know,” he replies.
It pains you that he feels that way. He offers his hand for you to come closer. You take it and fold into his lap, a perfect fit with your back to his chest and his legs on either side of you. He caresses your cheek with his before he purrs in your ear, “All I want is to be permanently free of Cazador and spend the rest of eternity in bed with you.”
Your cheeks heat up as a familiar pink spreads across them as you gasp softly at his words. You attempt to cover it up by coughing and stammering, “Well, um, we can…”
He laughs at your loss for words and comments, “You are so deliciously beautiful when you blush like that, you know.”
You clear your throat, “Well, I promise you. I will kill Cazador, give you an opportunity to become a true vampire, if you want, and then we can do that.”
“I think if you manage all of that for me, I will owe you more than an eternity in bed,” he replies with a grin.
“No, that sounds perfect,” you respond eagerly.
“Very well. Who am I to deny you, my love,” he replies in his silky smooth tone.
He kisses you affectionately. An eternity wrapped in silken sheets with Astarion sounds like a dream itself, one you would gladly take over some of the more recent ones.
Something to look forward to.