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Traversing the Shadow-Cursed lands had proven treacherous. Forests and fields ravaged by the blight, darkness pushing up through crumbled earth. Creatures shift just beyond the bounds of torchlight, clicking and croaking as their bony hands claw for the light.
And yet the shadows pushing into V's mind have nothing to do with the curse at all.
The night is sweltering, sweat pouring down his forehead and making his hair cling to his face. He thrashes on his bedroll, muttering nonsense in his sleep. Bloody visions flash behind his eyelids, seizing him with such intensity he can't look away.
Alfira gazes up at him with glassy eyes, blood bubbling up her throat, gurgling out a silent cry. V can't stand the way she's looking at him, so he plunges his fingers into those eyes, digging and gouging until there's nothing left.
He pulls his fingers out and cradles her head, admiring his work, a smile pulling at the edges of his lips. When he realizes he's not holding dark hair, but white curls stained with blood, the smile drops. His fingers tremble as he traces the contours of soft, pale flesh, pressing a thumb against a fang. The wine-drunk bloody ecstasy evaporates, a shock of cold fear gripping his heart.
He jolts awake with a gasp, sitting upright. The fire crackles nearby, casting long shadows over camp. Immediately, he glances down at his hands, expecting to see them covered with blood, but they're bare. Clean.
That doesn't mean much though. The monster dwelling within him may have just thought to cover its tracks more thoroughly this time.
Bile rising in his throat, V pushes himself out of bed, his legs barely supporting him, worry sinking like acid into his gut. He has to know. He has to make sure-
He stumbles to Astarion's tent, lingering outside for a moment, terror gripping him down to the bone. With shaking hands, he pulls the flap back and braces for what he might find.
Astarion is sleeping soundly, still as a corpse- though that isn't unusual for him. He's pristine, not a speck of blood on his clothing or skin, his expression relaxed as he faintly snores in his trance. Mundanely alive.
But V can't breathe a sigh of relief just yet. He's not alone in the tent.
A hunched silhouette looms over Astarion, one that V recognizes from past nights of such haunting madness.
Sceleritas Fel tilts his head, considering the sleeping vampire with a thoughtful, almost pitying expression. "You could do so much better, milord."
Bile rises in V's throat. The imp is close- far too close. V reaches for the knife in his belt, drawing it, his knuckles white around the handle. "Get away from him."
Sceleritas glances at him curiously, not minding the presence of the knife pointed in his direction at all. V doesn't even know if he can harm this thing, if it even exists outside of his own mind.
"I wouldn't lay so much as a talon on him. I wouldn't rob you of that delight." Sceleritas carefully steps over Astarion's sleeping form, wringing his horrid little hands imploringly. "He is afraid, so afraid of everyone but you- perhaps the person he needs to fear the most. Wouldn't you like to ease his suffering?"
"No." V says in sharp denial of what he knows to be true. He is dangerous to Astarion, as much as the other man always brushes it off. "Not him."
That ghoulish face splits in a sharp-toothed grin as Sceleritas nods to the knife. "You've seen it, haven't you? Your clever mind is penning tragedy as we speak. Your repressed Urge longs to kill. And kill you will, tonight."
V's gaze falls to his hands, realizing in horror he's brought himself within striking distance of his unaware lover, the very weapon of his destruction. He wants to drop the dagger and run away, as far away as he can get, but he's paralyzed.
"Why?" Is all he can croak out. Isn't this thing supposed to serve him? Why does it feel like it's commanding him?
"We all kill what we love most, in time. Whisper it like sweet nothings as you sink the knife into his flesh if you must. Let your confession be the final words between you two." Sceleritas's voice is like a honey drip right into his skull, churning the bile of his depraved mind. "You like him for more than his looks, but he'll never believe that. Why not make him the pretty corpse you've been fantasizing about from the start?"
That image that had been drifting in the dark recesses of V's subconscious swirls through his thoughts. He can see it clearly. He doesn't want to.
"I won't." He shakes his head helplessly. "I-"
"I'm only here to ensure you make the right decisions, Master." Sceleritas Fel excuses himself with a bow. "Sleep well, for when you wake, your favourite person shall be no more."
"Insubordinate little-" V growls, but the imp has already vanished into red mist. He's suddenly alone with the weight of his own thoughts, the gravity of what his body wants to do. He falls to his knees at the edge of his lover's bedroll, gasping out a feeble, "Astarion-"
Thankfully, Astarion finally stirs, blissfully unaware as his sights settle on V. He pushes himself up on his elbows, throwing a smirk at him. "Well, hello. Looking for a cuddle?"
The knife trembles in V's hands. "You're in danger. I don't have much time-"
The smirk fades as Astarion seems to fully take in his appearance, sitting up a little straighter. His brows shoot up when he spots the knife. "You don't look quite yourself. What is it?"
"I'm going to kill you. I can't- anymore-"
The splitting pressure in V's skull is too great. His body finally moves, and he uses what little threads of control he has left to dash out of the tent and as far away from camp as possible.
…
V's fast as hell when he wants to be. Astarion's left staring dumbly at the tent flap, loosely drifting in the wake of his sudden departure. He hears the rapid footsteps retreating past the bounds of camp and into the treacherous surrounding forest.
"Shit." Astarion jumps to his feet, shaking off grogginess as he hurries after V. He thinks he knows what's happening, and if it's true then they're both in danger here.
He races through the forest after V, bounding over twisted roots and debris. The chase doesn't last very long as he bursts into a clearing, spotting V up ahead. V is clutching and pulling at his hair, still holding that knife, his erratic movements sparking concern. He's muttering something unintelligible, haunted by something unseen. Astarion approaches with caution.
"Darling…?"
He's within an arm's length when his presence seems to startle him. He flails, frenzied and panicked. "Get away!"
Astarion's reflexes save him from a nasty slash. He's forced back a safe distance, arms raised diplomatically.
"V, calm down." His voice falls softer, that shard of worry in his heart blooming into what feels like a stake rammed through his ribs. "Tell me what's going on, please?"
V looks at him like he doesn't even recognize who he is. Astarion has seen fits of madness before, but never this intense. Every word from his mouth is strained, like he's fighting for every syllable.
"You're going to die if you stay around me - just like Alfira. My possessed mind will kill you."
"I'd rather be the only dark power in your body, if it's all the same to you." Astarion gives a flat laugh, edging closer once more. He just needs to distract him, to take his mind out of distress long enough to get a foothold in and disarm him. "You're welcome to try and kill me of course, but I don't die easily these days. We can figure this out. Now… the dagger, my dear? You can put that down…"
"You don't understand." A note of hopeless defeat enters V's voice as he shakes his head. "You don't…"
V raises the blade in both hands, the tip of it quivering as he aims it at his own neck. Astarion doesn't think. He only reacts, lunging forwards and seizing the dagger with one hand while forcing space between it and V's lovely demon-contract-adorned throat. He's not expecting the complete lack of resistance. The strength seems to leave V's body all at once and his body slumps against him limply.
"Well, you're nothing if not dramatic, are you? Easy now, darling." Astarion slides the dagger from his fingers and tosses it aside, sighing as he braces V against him. He wonders if anyone else has heard this little commotion, but no one's come running out yet…
He's about to try shifting V to a more suitable position for carrying when he feels a hand slide to his belt, fingers wrapping around the handle of the dagger he keeps on his own person.
Astarion shoves himself back, and not a moment too soon as V takes a swipe at his midsection. He's forced on the defensive as the other man rushes him, stabbing wildly at anything he can reach.
Astarion dances away, more concerned than afraid, honestly. V looks as though he can barely keep upright, like something is puppeteering his movements. He sways to one side or the other, a frenzied blankness in his eyes like he isn't really seeing anything.
It's almost comical. V is a powerful warlock; Astarion has seen him tear apart opponents with a flick of the wrist and unleash the full might of his demonic contracts like an unrelenting tidal wave. The fact that he's coming at him with full intent to kill with a mere pocket dagger would be hysterical if the situation wasn't so dire.
He's running out of clearing to evade to, so Astarion catches V's bony arm on a wayward strike, and smashes his elbow into his face.
The cloying, intoxicating scent of V's blood hits the air as his nose crunches sickeningly. A choked grunt sounds from him as he crumples back to the dried grass in a heap.
"Sorry, darling," Astarion mutters, mourning the blood streaming down V's face and the offset of his broken nose. A temporary blemish on his pretty face that could hopefully be fixed with a bit of healing later, but it had hopefully knocked some sense into him.
V gives a weak, dazed moan, eyelids fluttering. He otherwise doesn't move, and Astarion relaxes somewhat. But now he must figure out what to do with him until morning. Still, no one had come running. This entire camp slept like hibernating bears, apparently.
He briefly considers waking someone up, but dashes the thought. This must remain between them. V has expressed his doubts about the others trusting him, and if they knew about the attempted murder tonight, it might cause them to deem him too far gone. A feral animal that needed to be put down.
Astarion sighs, eyeing the path back to camp and the glow of firelight just beyond the trees. It's little more than a stone's throw away, yet he hates the idea of leaving V alone out here for even a moment. There's no telling if his wild little beast has even fully snapped out of it yet.
Astarion silently dashes back to camp, returning with rope in hand. This really isn't how he expected bondage to ever come up in their relationship but, well…
V is still unconscious, thankfully, so Astarion makes quick work of turning him over and tying his wrists behind his back. As he's dragging V over to the nearest tree and leaning him against the trunk, V begins to stir. He nods back to awareness, glaring up at Astarion- dazed, but still very feral. Still very not himself. He tries to push himself up but Astarion plants a foot on his shoulder, easily keeping him sat against that tree.
"None of that," he tsks.
"I'll rip your eyes from your skull and feed them to the dogs!" V's voice comes out as an animalistic growl. That sweet raspy tone of his is gone, a seething beast speaking with his lips instead.
"Not your best effort, I'm afraid." Astarion takes the rest of the length of rope and winds it around V's upper body, fastening him in place.
"Your blood will clot like rubies on the grass!" V struggles fruitlessly. Astarion almost feels bad. Almost.
"You're cute, you know." He can't help but smirk at him despite the circumstances, finishing up with the knots and giving them a little tug to make sure they're secure. That done, he walks back around the tree. "If you truly wanted me dead you would have incinerated me several times over by now. You want to kill me? Come at me with something a little more threatening than a dagger next time."
V strains against his bonds, snapping at him- actually snapping at him with his cute, blunt little non-vampiric teeth! He nearly takes a chunk out of Astarion's hand as he brushes by, like he's determined to prove the feral animal comparisons right.
"Ah-ah! We ask before biting." Astarion pulls his arm safely out of reach and moves to take a seat cross-legged on the ground in front of him. "Now be a dear and go to sleep. You'll need your strength, where we're going."
V seethes and thrashes and spits more acid coated remarks from his lips that Astarion tunes out after a while. The words don't mean anything when spoken by the beast occupying V's mind and not V himself.
It is a terrible, wretched thing not to be in control of one's body. Astarion knows that better than anyone. Of course it has to happen to someone he cares about- the first person he truly cares about, even. He can only watch with a grim determination as V fights it - and he is fighting it. It isn't long before his head droops, chin touching his chest as he falls into a twitching, sweating state of semi-consciousness. An unintelligible mutter escapes him every so often, brow pinching, and Astarion can only imagine the haunting nightmares behind his eyelids.
"You've got this, darling. I know you do." He murmurs soft encouragement to him. This isn't V. V can be bloody and sadistic, but he isn't an incoherent, bottomless pit of murder. He's seen that thread of humanity in him, felt warmth no one has ever shown him before, witnessed a kindness that was as insufferable as much as it made Astarion want to cling to him and never let go. V, who in his quest for power would not sell Astarion out for a promising concoction. V who, for all his insistence he's nothing more than a mindless killer, would sooner try and plunge a knife into his own neck than hurt someone he cares about.
Once not too long ago, Astarion would have tried to convince himself he's only so worried because he could lose a valuable asset in protecting himself against Cazador. He can't pretend that's what this is about - not even for a moment - as he watches V's face twitching in an uncomfortable sleep, longing to reach out and stroke sweaty strands of hair from his forehead. Longing to comfort someone else in ways no one had ever done for him.
Astarion would keep a dutiful watch until dawn. If anyone saw them, well… they probably wouldn't ask questions at this point. It wasn't like they made a secret of their coupling. If the others wanted to assume it was some roleplay thing, so be it.
It was going to be a long night.
…
V comes back to consciousness in waves, yellow bile slowly draining from his mind, his vision slowly clearing. It doesn't feel like time passes; awareness seizes him in jolts between stretches of absolute nothingness. It's sweating madness one moment, a sickly feverish delirium where he doesn't know what he says or does. The next, daylight - or whatever constitutes daylights in these lands - floods through the trees and chases some of the darkness away.
He opens his eyes to see Astarion staring at him, expression heavy with concern. V figures he must look worse than Hell right now, but whatever Astarion finds by searching his face seems to lift some of that weight.
"There's the V I know," Astarion says with tangible relief. V isn't sure he can believe him. "Now, we need to have a… talk."
He gets to his feet, dagger in hand- the very same one V had tried to drive through his heart. Astarion reaches forwards and cuts the ropes binding V to the tree- V had forgotten they were there, not even sure when he'd ended up tied up at all. Last night was a nauseating blur.
"You shouldn't…" His voice is hoarse as Astarion cuts the ties around his wrists next. He's not sure he trusts his own freedom right now. He doesn't feel quite the same murderous intent from last night, it's mostly just exhaustion now, but a slight tremble still runs through his limbs. "It could come back. It could seize my mind at any moment."
Astarion stands in front of him, mouth pressed in a grim line as he regards him. Why he still allows himself to linger so close is beyond V. "This isn't you. Whatever this thing is, it won't have you."
A sharp, biting laugh bursts from V's lips before he can stop it. Astarion still doesn't get it.
"It is me, Astarion." V grimaces. "Who I am now, the person that survived the crash… that's what isn't real. This is all a dream I'll eventually wake up from." He rests his head back against the tree trunk. "And when I do, I'll destroy you - all of you - if you don't end me first."
Astarion's expression doesn't waver. He merely clicks his tongue, unimpressed. "There's something that's not adding up there, darling."
He kneels down before where V is sitting, and tension coils in V's body again. He can't- this isn't safe. He's not safe. This is pure delusion on Astarion's part. Whatever kind and caring image V had convinced him of clearly wasn't real, just a means to make his destruction hurt all the more. Love sweetens tragedy, like the butler had said.
"If this true nature of yours were so immutable, so set in the very threads of your being, then my question is… why resist now? What would a bit of amnesia change? If anything, that would give you even more of a reason to let loose without the constraints of your past. But you haven't done that. We've even been-" Astarion's expression pinches, looking like he's about to gag for a moment. "-helping some people along the way while we try to sort this entire tadpole mess out. That doesn't exactly scream agent of chaos to me."
Astarion flips the dagger in his hand, pressing the handle into V's palm and firmly curling his fingers around it. V doesn't have time to process what he's doing before Astarion jerks his arm up, forcing him to press the blade against the vampire's throat.
"So, if you really want to kill me, then do it as yourself."
V stares at him in horror. His grip tightens on the handle instinctively. He feels the blade sitting against soft flesh- one clean slice would spill him open. "Astarion-"
"Do it." Astarion growls, forceful and low. After a moment, he releases V's hand, offering himself to him completely. "Drop that mask. Show me this monster you can't fight back against. Show me what you truly are."
A sob works its way up V's throat. A ready, willing kill? Surely there was no way his urges could resist such a thing, but his hand doesn't move- it merely continues to shake until he can no longer hold the knife up at all. Slowly, his fingers unravel and the blade falls to the dry, dead grass with a quiet thud.
He lunges for Astarion, wanting him more than anything, more than blood and viscera and every other depraved pleasure the voice inside him seeks right now. He wants him alive (as alive as he can be) and as vibrant and expressive as he usually is. The cold embrace of death would not suit him. His body may give off no heat, but he carries a warmth with him that V wants to get lost in forever- to protect.
Astarion catches him, arms encircling him tightly. It's so different from that first tentative hug he'd returned after that run in with the drow. He'd been so defenseless then, so unsure of what V was offering him. Now he offers it back in full. He wants V as much as V wants him, but he shouldn't.
V shudders with grief, unable to express how sorry he is. "I don't-"
"-deserve it?" Astarion's long fingers comb through his hair, nails dragging along his scalp in soothing circles. "Don't start that game with me, darling."
V buries his face in Astarion's shoulder, clutching at him desperately. After a while, the fear ebbs, and he realizes he hasn't done something regrettable. Slowly, he relaxes into his hold, the urges mercifully quiet- for now. They might come back - they might come back stronger, and he isn't sure if he can fend off another night like this - but for now…
For now he trusts.
A hapless, disbelieving laugh bursts from him as he shakes his head, wiping tears off on Astarion's shirt. "That was so foolish- what in the Hells were you thinking letting me do that after last night?"
He feels Astarion smirk against his temple. "It was only about half as stupid as you putting your trust in me." When he pulls away to look in V's eyes again, the mirth has vanished from his expression, replaced with grim certainty. "I must have brought Cazador at least a thousand souls. My body count is far higher than yours, I'd wager."
V isn't so sure. The things he remembers sometimes, fleeting glimpses of the past… he must be the bigger monster between them.
Astarion's hands squeeze his shoulders. "I don't know what dark force is possessing you, but I do know this: you can't roll over and give up- you must fight it." He indicates the dagger on the ground. "You can fight it."
V may not be so sure of himself, but he can be sure of one thing: he could live a hundred lives and he would never deserve this man.
"Only half as stupid?" He chuckles weakly, sighing and allowing himself to rest against Astarion's chest again, aching with grief. Aching with affection. "You should really be more worried for yourself."
"Oh, I am, but I somehow find myself more worried about you." They would have to clean up and get back to camp soon. His face hurts. Everything hurts. But for now, Astarion holds him just a moment longer. "You gave me something to care for, and that's worth the peril."