Chapter Text
Astarion never really hated dark places until after he became a creature of the night.
As a young man, he became adept at using the shadows to his advantage whilst sneaking about, both for his own acts of mischief and as an initiate into the thieves guild… That is before he went in another direction and became a magistrate.
But Astarion hardly remembers any of that life… only the 200 years of darkness, imprisonment, and torment. That’s why this new lease on life or, undeath rather, despite its downfalls has seen him in the sun and open air as much as the vampire spawn can possibly manage it.
And now here he is again, plunging into a dark, rotting hole.
Astarions back hits the cool slimy stones, the air whooshes from his lungs and he finds himself gasping for a breath he doesn’t need out of an
instinct he still hasn’t managed to lose. Pain shoots through him and for a moment he’s at his Master’s feet, curling into a ball as the vampire lord hisses at him. “STUPID, worthless boy…” He waits for the next savage blow to fall…
But when he opens his eyes, he sees the fading light at the mouth of the Well and a green leering face as the rope and bucket are hauled away from him. The face disappears and Astarion is alone in the dark.
He groans and pushes himself to his feet, dusting off his trousers and mentally assessing his body for injuries… nothing except a few bruises, mostly to his pride. “Stupid!” He scolds himself. And then upwards he shouts. “You’re insides are going to be visible by sundown, goblin trash!” He waits a moment but there’s no reply.”Xal?” He shouts. “Karlach?” He doesn’t shout for Lae’zel. Bad enough that he needs rescuing from the bottom of a god's-damned well. He is not asking the Gith for help.
He searches through his pack for something to help, a scroll of misty step or enhanced leap perhaps. Several of the potion bottles he’s collected have exploded upon impact with the ground and none of the intact bottles are any help. He notes the bottle of alchemist's fire nestled in his pack and thanks his lucky stars that that's still intact.
“Fuck,” he mutters. Gods know when the others will ascend from their own underground adventures and notice him missing. Surely they’ll find him then… wouldn’t they? A small part of them wonders if they’ll even bother looking and he grimaces.
He casts his eyes around to his surroundings, the dim light doing nothing to hinder his sight, and spots a tunnel. He cocks his head, considering. He could wait for the others and risk the nasty little goblins throwing something vile down at him… or he could explore.
Too restless at the prospect of waiting there for any length of time, he opts for exploration.
***
Xal, Karlach, and Lae’zel emerge into the sunlight accompanied by the whiff of burning hair.
Xal looks town at his armor, sighing at the scorch marks.
“—should have gone back for Astarion mate,” Karlach is saying, laughter dancing in her flaming eyes.
“Hey, I’m not bad with lockpicks and such myself, you know… these ones were just, more than I was ready for.
“Tsk” spits Lae’zel. You should have waited for the vampire. Irritating though he is, I’ll admit, he does have his uses.”
Xal sighs. “With that sort of glowing praise, you two are destined to be best friends, I'm sure. Anyways we’re alive right?”
They are. Although between the surprise skeleton defense, the rude magic mirror, and a frankly alarming number of booby traps, he’s a bit shocked they all made it out that way. He had done well with the traps, up until the one guarding that gods-damed cursed book. He can feel the things added weight inside his pack and shakes his head. Nearly blown to pieces by a book that won’t even open. Astarion will laugh himself hoarse. That thought, at least, lightens Xal’s mood a tad. He’s noticed lately, that he quite enjoys making the man smile.
They step out of the apocathery and Xal looks around. No sign of Astarion and the sun is lower than he realized.
“We were down there longer than I realized,” he tells his companions. “We need to find Astarion before it gets dark.”
“Perhaps he’s slinked away in search of a suitable meal,” observes Lae’zel.
“I doubt it,” replies Xal, reaching an absent hand to his neck. “He’s likely nearby. Let’s split up and find him, shall we?”
After about a quarter-hour or so, Xal is worried. The town isn’t that big and yet all he’s managed to find are a few trolls, goblins, and a passed-out drunk bugbear…
“Perhaps he’s left after all,” says Karlach, brows pulling together.
Xal considers a moment, then shakes his head. “He may be impulsive but he’s not a complete idiot. He wouldn’t want to be alone so far from camp.”
Laezel makes an annoyed sound in the back of her throat, making her opinion on Astarion’s intelligence clear without a word. Xal ignores her. The unease in his stomach is growing and he has the sudden urge to begin ripping goblins apart piece by piece until someone tells him where to find his friend.
“Oi, true soul!” calls a voice to his right. Xal whips his head around to see the female goblin who had allowed them entrance, flanked by two others and pushing a terrified-looking green-skinned goblin in front of her.
“Caught wind you was looking for your high elf pet, my lord… turns out Splittongue ere’ was having a laugh about pushing him into a well with his friends.” She grins, showing sharp pointed teeth, and points to the trembling goblin, now on his knees. “You want to explain to these true souls, maggot brain, what you did?”
“i— I was just having a laugh. Saw the fancy high elf near the old well and—” he looks up and flinches when he meets Xalor’s furious gaze.”Look!” He squeaks. “I had just come back from scouting. I didn’t know he was a true—” but the goblin’s protests are cut off when Xal picks up the wretched thing by the throat and slams him into a wall. The others step back as their comrade chokes and sputters and Xal notices dimly through the giddy haze of bloodlust that Karlach is saying something.
“XAL!” She yells. “C’mon mate, we gotta focus.”
Xal shakes his head and the rage and the urges to rip out the goblin’s throat diminish just enough that he can put him down. The goblin slumps to the ground in a quivering heap and Xal kneels over him. “You’re coming with us,” he hisses at the pathetic creature. As he says it, a brand lights on the goblin’s face, a triangle and some sort of skull, and as it does, Xal feels an overwhelming sense of authority wash through him…. as though he knows he will be obeyed.
He glances at the other goblins who look on nervously but with a sort of reverence, and then at his companions who stand with their eyes wide and mouths slightly agape. But Xal is in no mood to discuss either his ever-present urge or the goblin who now stands waiting for his commands with a vacant sort of stare. There simply isn’t time.
“Let’s move,” he tells them.
***
In retrospect, Astarion should have waited. This is what he thinks to himself as he dodges yet another green jet of venom hurting his way and he stomps frantically at half a dozen spiderlings under his feet.
It had been going well there for a bit. Astarion had seen the webs and proceeded carefully, stealthfully. He had even found a wonderful pair of boots that didn’t stick to the massive webs as he searched. He had successfully sneaked past the spiders and other ugly little creatures he’d seen. He’d even found a crumbling stone wall he was sure led out. He’d just been looking for something suitable to cave it in with when he’d seen it… a glint of glowing amethyst. Despite the phase spiders milling about, he’d thought it would be a relatively simple matter to climb down to the ledge and sneak his way over to it… and it would have worked if à phase spider hadn’t spotted him just as he was picking up the large jewel. He didn’t even get a good look at it before he was surrounded by arachnids, their matriarch screeching in fury.
He dodges as one of the spiders, roughly the size of a large dog spits at him again, but this time, the venom lands, burning his eyes, his mouth, and his bloody ears as it coats him head to toe. He coughs and staggers backward, releasing the chasm behind him will likely mean a very certain and notably permanent death. He can barely see, barely comprehend anything but the burning all over his skin, so much like the burn of the sun before his tadpole. He feels his insides churn and falls to his knees, vomiting up the last of the blood in his stomach. Any second now they’d be on him, curling him into their webs with their filthy, hairy legs.
But nothing touches him. He hears the sounds of a blade unsheathing the battle cry of a Githynki warrior, and the enraged howl of a barbarian followed by the awful sickening thuds of their weapons into spider flesh. He tries to open his eyes but the view is hazy and he slumps over feeling himself teeter towards to open chasm, unable to stop himself…
He hears a startled oath behind him and feels a hand grip his hair. He yelps in pain as he’s hurled back onto solid ground. He dares to crack his eyes open again and sees a familiar worn pair of boots in front of him and yet another pair of advancing spiders. Xal braces in front of him and there’s a thunderous retort before the spiders are hurled violently backward and hitting a wall with wet thuds. They fall to the ground. Their bodies curling in on themselves… there’s a screech from above then and Astarion assumes Lae’zel and Kalrach have dispatched the big momma spider. Then there is only silence for a moment.
“
Astarion?” Xal’s voice is urgent, almost panicked. Astarion feels a pair of shaking hands on his face.
He doesn’t open his eyes but he tells Xalor weakly, “You know, it’s not polite to advance straight to hair-pulling without asking, darling.”
Xal lets out a relieved chuckle. “Alright, you areshole. If you’re not going to say thank you…” he forces Astarion upright and presses a bottle to his lips. “Drink,” he commands. Astarion grimaces but complies, gulping down what is presumably antivenom… unless the insane drow has finally decided to poison him.
He immediately feels better though and opens his eyes. Karlach is staring down at him anxiously as Lae’zel paces with her back to them, monitoring for any more spiders. And there’s someone else also; Astarion’s eyes focus on the green-faced goblin, lying dead next to one of the massive spider corpses. Astarion’s brows raise. “That’s the miscreant who pushed me down the well!” Suddenly realizing that he’s still leaning almost entirely on Xal, he scoots away and pushes himself to his feet. His skin feels queer, too cold now.
“You don’t say,” Xal replies in a too-casual tone. He gets to his feet and looks down in at the goblin. “Poor fellow felt so guilty about it that he offered to accompany us. Even threw himself at one of the phase spiders as a distraction.” Xal’s eyes glitter and his lips pull into a dangerous smile.
“You know, I’m not a big lover of goblins Xal. But don’t you reckon that was a bit cruel, controlling him that way?” Karlach asks, frowning.
“Controlling?” Astarion demands. “What do you mean?”
Xal sighs. “It seems our tadpoles grant us some level of influence over others. There’s this sort of brand on these so-called followers of the Absolute. This one didn’t seem to have a choice but to obey.”
Astarions eyes raise and he feels a sense of discomfort and excitement. He’s not unfamiliar with that sort of control, only he’s only ever been on the receiving end. What might it be like for him to hold that sort of power?
Lae’zel is suddenly beside them hissing. “Ignore it. It’s nothing but an ilithid trick, to worsen our infection.”
“Oh boo.” Astarion rolls his eyes. “Are you always such a bore?”
Lae’zel levels a cold look at him. “If you wish to use the power and sicken further, then make no mistake, I will end you the moment I believe you to be transforming.”
“Comforting,” cuts in Xalor. “Lae’zel, you’re not wrong. The power here likely comes with a cost.” He frowns. “We’ll proceed carefully, but I won’t just ignore a potential advantage like this, not if it might save our lives.”
“Chk!” is all Lae’zel says in reply.
“Well, as lovely a venue for conversation as this dank, spider-infested cavern is, I’d like to see a soft bedroll in my immediate future.”
The party finds the crumbling wall indicated by Astarion which is no match at all for the well-muscled tiefling. Once they’re all out in the fresh air again, the light is low and the air cool against their sweaty skin.
When the party finally makes their way back to camp, it’s full dark and the others are waiting anxiously for them.
Shadowheart sets to work on a few deep gashes sustained by Karlach and Lae’zel.
Astarion staggers forward a step, intent on finding a suitably secluded spot to lick his wounds and swears. The world spins and he feels a terrible sense of powerless… and hunger, Xal reaches out a hand to steady him but the idea of someone laying hands on him is suddenly abhorrent. Touch is pain, punishment, and misery and Astarion feels a sudden sense of panic. He lurches away from Xal and hisses, “Don’t touch me.”
There’s a flash of hurt in those burgundy eyes. And Astarion curses himself. He’s supposed to be staying on the drow’s good side, wooing him, even. “Sorry,” he mumbles crossly. “It’s been a long day.”
“You should let Shadowheart have a look at you, he says softly.”
“I don’t want to be touched right now,” snaps Astarion. “Least of all by any divine presence.” What good have the gods ever done him anyway?
Understanding dawns on Xal’s face. “Hungry are you?” He asks, casually. “Looked like you lost a good bit of blood back there.”
A hiss escapes Astarion and he nods, the hollowness in his stomach demanding attention.
Xal grins at him and gestures over to the edge of the camp, careful not to touch him this time. “Come on then.”
Astarion’s stomach contracts painfully and saliva floods his mouth. He follows Xal without argument and they sit.
Xal rolls up a sleeve and holds out a wrist in offering. It’s all Astarion can do not to snatch it and pull it straight to his mouth. He keeps his moves unhurried and even pulls on a flirtatious smile. He needs to keep up the image, needs the drow to think he still has something to gain by helping him. He reaches for Xal’s wrist, eyeing the pulse point hungrily but Xal raises a finger. Astarion almost growls with impatience.
“First, promise me that you won’t go wandering off on your own again. You seem to have an unmatched ability to find yourself in trouble that I have to rescue you from.”
Astarion’s eyes snap up and his mouth falls open in outrage. “I'm not some damsel. I do not need rescuing!”
Xal snorts. “Harpies, spiders, monsters in the woods… not that I’m counting.”
Astarion rolls his eyes. “You were the monster in the woods.”
“True,” Xal admits smiling. Then his face goes somber. “Please, just promise me. I really hated it today— worrying about you.” He looks away.
Astarion feels a hazy sense of triumph at the admission; he hasn’t even slept with him yet and Xal is already protecting him. But somewhere beneath the triumph is another feeling, something oily and unpleasant that makes his empty stomach churn. Astarion plasters on his most pleasant smile.
“Agreed, darling. Since you seem to enjoy my presence so much, I will do my best not to, er, rob you of it.”
Xal snorts and holds out his wrist again. Astarion takes it eagerly in both his hands and leans down, hesitating only briefly before he bites into the thin skin there. Xal hisses a breath and just like the first time, Astarion is nearly swept away by the sensation of the hot, pulsing blood surging into his being. He’s ready for the feeling this time, that overwhelming sense of life as it fills him and his undead body, and he takes careful, slow pulls from Xal’s wrist, trying to draw out the feeling as long as he can. He feels Xal hunch forward with a small moan and keeping one hand around his wrist, moves the other hand absently onto Xal’s face where his thumb strokes the drow’s high cheekbone. He feels Xal shudder as his breath and pulse quicken and Astarion pulls his fangs back with a soft groan of his own, instinctively laving at the small wound with his tongue to catch the residual drops of blood there. He removes his hands from Xal straightening and examines the drow, expecting to see arousal and desire on his face. But Xal’s hooded eyes just seem, relieved… as though he needed this much as Astarion had. Curious.
“
Well darling,” he purrs at him softly. Burgandy eyes meet his and he grins. “I’m feeling much better now… thank you.”
Xal nods and opens his mouth to reply when suprised shouts rise from the center of camp. Xal and Astarion whirl towards the sound and see a very attractive sh devil standing in front of the fire, her demonic eyes fixed in wicked amusement upon a very pale-looking Wyll.
***
Xal and Karlach sit cross-legged in front of Wyll who is knelt over in front of his tent with his head in his hands. A pair of curling dark horns curve over his head, a mark of the suffering he has just endured.
“I’m so sorry Wyll,” says Karlach tearfully, “If you had only done what Zariel wanted and…”
“No,” Wyll says firmly looking up at the tiefling. “Mizora tricked me into thinking you some sort of devil. I don’t regret learning otherwise and I would do it again… I knew there would be consequences.”
Xal reaches out and runs a tentative finger over one of the black spiraling horns. “If it’s any consolation, Wyll, I think they look rather fetching on you.”
Wyll looks up, giving him a rueful look. “Oh, do you think?”
“Oh yeah. And I mean, look, you’re one up on Karlach; she’s only got the one horn.”
“Oi!” Karlach says making as if to slap the back of his head then pulling back with a grin. “At least I’ve got the two good eyes. He’s right though, soldier. You’re a right handsome devil, you are.” He grins at her now and she continues. “And thank you… for what you did for me Wyll. It means a lot. Urgh. I wish I could hug ya!”
“We’ll find you some infernal iron Karlach,” replies Wyll, “and I’ll take you up on that. In fact, I call dibs on the first hug.”
“Deal,” she grins.
“So this Mazora,” hedges Xal. Wyll’s face tightens again but he continues.
“She’s your sort of Matron, I suppose? Why didn’t you tell us?”
Wyll sighs. “I literally can’t share the information. She bound me in our pact to remain silent about it. That’s all I can share even now. I’m sorry.”
Xal shrugs. “Oh well, besides Karlach, we’re all a mysterious bunch between the secrets and amnesia. I’d say you fit right in.” Xal stands then and claps Wyll on the back, then leaves him to chat with Karlach alone, the two kneeling with their heads close together in conversation.
Xal sighs and closes his eyes. The headache is building once again, and the dark bile is undulating about inside him, willing him to give in. He’d been doing well today, but the urges began to build when night fell.
Astarion’s feeding had taken the edge off and made his thoughts clearer but it’s… different tonight. More persistent. He wanders, lost in thought to the fire, and stops dead when he sees who is standing there, chatting happily with Gale.
“Alfira?” he asks in disbelief, taking in her light blue skin and long hair.
She grins at him with delight and runs up to him, catching him in an embrace. Gods how he wants to take her pretty face in his hands and snap her neck. No, no, she can’t be here, he realizes. The urge wanted her before and still wants her. He steps back away from her, pulling out of the hug, and asks a little more harshly than intended. “What are you doing here?”
She stammers a bit, clearly nonplussed by the less-than-warm welcome. “I— well, I didn’t mean to intrude— I just. You inspired me!” She grins at him, light dancing in her eyes. I want to make a difference, travel with you, if you’ll have me, I mean.”
The vile urge begs Xal to bid her to stay, to get close enough for him to dig those beautiful eyes out of their sockets— to let him rip her heart out while he bathes in her blood. He glances at Gale who has a rather besotted expression on his face. Shit.
“It’s too dangerous, Alfira. You need to go back to your people.”
“Oh I don’t know Xal, I think Alfira seems quite capable of handling herself.”
Xal glares at the wizard. Alfira cuts in. “I’m a bard, remember? I don’t just want to play on the sidelines and sing about the heroes… I want to be one of them.” A flash of anger across her face, a hard line in the set of her jaw.
The girl does have fire, he realizes. And he has no doubt she would be able to handle herself. But how to explain to her, to Gail, or any of his other companions that part of him wants the girl dead?
“Please,” she says, her voice softer now. “I’ve no one left amongst the tieflings now that my teacher is gone. No family or people I’m close to.”
“Oh let her stay,” Astarion’s voice pipes in behind him, making Xal jump. God’s but that man could move silently. “So long as that lute doesn’t disrupt my beauty rest, or else it’s firewood."
“Somebody’s feeling charitable today suddenly, he mumbles just so the vampire can hear.” Astarion only grins at him fiendishly and Xal suspects that he’s enjoying the spectacle more than he really cares about the bard.
“You won’t regret it,” Alfira says earnestly. “I promise, you won’t. Please, just let me stay a while and I’ll show you.”
Xal closes his eyes. With great effort, he pushes the urges back into the murky blackness from where they came and feels his head clear, even as the pain in his skull worsens. Surely if he’s controlled himself thus far... It’s pathetic really, he thinks, that he’s so fearful of what has amounted to some wildly impulsive and intrusive thoughts. He’ll wildshape tonight, far from camp, grab himself a deer or something and he’ll manage it… just as he has thus far. He feels his face relax and he gives a small nod.
Alfira squeals and hops up and down, clapping her hands in excitement before hugging Xal once more then turning to wrap her arms around a very pleased Wizard’s neck. She then turns to Astarion but very wisely refrains from the next hug when she sees the elf's warning expression and closed-off posture. “You won’t regret this. I promise. Thank you!”
And for much of the night which is indeed merry and full of music and more laughter amongst his campmates than usual, Xal actually allows himself to believe her.