Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ruidus being nowhere to be seen is the first hint Molly gets that he‘s not on Exandria anymore. Unless it exploded while he was trying desperately to claw his way out of what is best described as an oubliette made out of twitching, oozy flesh and glass, inside of what would later be revealed to him as a vessel made out of the same. A flying one. There are those pretty meteors trailing that pretty moon…

But while Molly isn‘t an astronomer by any means, none of the constellations he can see through the tree-tops are even remotely familiar, and besides, this moon doesn‘t…

… feel….

… like Catha.

Fucking fantastic.

He‘s lying where he fell after crawling out of the half-organic disgustingness of the pod he was locked in, dry dirt and prickly grasses under his back, a starry night sky with only a single, silvery moon above him, with no clue where he is and only the vaguest idea of how he ended up there. Nautiloid abductions are supposed to be a fucking hoax, an urban myth, a- a… conspiracy theory bandied about by people in possession of slightly less than the optimal number of marbles. Not actual reality, and certainly not something that happens to circus barkers on the road to the idyllic little town of Trostenwald.

Judging from the state he‘s currently in, it‘s very much reality. He‘s usually not in this much pain when tripping. So that means the rest is probably also true. ‚The rest‘ being the part where a tentacle-faced monster plopped a wriggling, toothy worm into his eye.

Molly shudders, suppresses the urge to be sick with the ease of long practice born from many almost-blackout drunks, and rolls over onto their side, climbing back to their legs. No use in panicking, they tell the queasy feeling rising from their gut. No use in screaming either, other than to attract trouble, although they would very much like to scream right now. Some of the others might have gotten snatched up as well, and if they‘re anywhere around here, they need to find them. Gustav, Desmond, Yasha, hells, even Orna‘s cranky face would be a welcome sight right now. That‘ll have to be step the first. Step the second, find some sort of civilization and get the doom worm (shudder) out of their noggin. Easy.

Molly looks up to the silver moon floating serenely above. For as long as they can remember, the sight has been a comfort, and so it is now, even if it‘s a strange moon in a strange place.

„Wish me luck,“ they mutter, and set off down the hill.

The site where the nautiloid ended its nose dive isn‘t hard to find, quite unlike any trace of any other members of the Fletching and Moondrop Traveling Carnival of Curiosities. Molly would know, he‘s checked every single corpse on a riverside beach positively strewn with them. No sign of a lanky half-elf with dark hair, or a stocky human with too many scars, or twin halfling girls, or a dwarven child, or a tall pale woman with black hair fading to white. Just a single set of footprints that shows up in the mud near the shore, vanishes, turns up again in a puddle of blood next to a dead mind flayer, and vanishes once more. Cautiously hopeful, Molly decides to follow the direction the prints appear to have taken- back uphill. Whoever left them may at least be able to tell him where he‘s landed his ass.

Some traipsing through sand and over rocks later, they finally hear it- voices, up ahead. There, half-hidden by the sparse trees, are two figures, engaged in what looks like a mugging in progress. At least that‘s the kind of thing Molly has experience with. Not only is being mugged part and parcel with life as a traveling performer, it‘s also something they really, really hate when it happens to someone else where they can see, so they‘ve gotten kind of good at interrupting these kinds of goings on.

With flair, of course.

Showtime.

„Now, now. That‘s not very nice.“

The voice startles Astarion, just enough to give the black-haired half-elf the opportunity to twist away from his dagger, whirl, and backhand him with a gauntleted hand before falling back a few steps, just as he‘s stumbling backwards as well, hand flying to the spot where she struck him. Fuck, that hurt. He‘s surprised he can‘t detect any broken bones under his fingers, because his cheekbone feels like it should be caved in, at the least.

Hand pressed to what would become a bruise on someone with blood in their veins, he straightens and glares at the interloper who just ruined a perfectly good ambush.

… how in the world did he miss that sneaking up on him? He must be losing his edge. There before him stands the single most gaudy tiefling he has ever seen, dressed in a coat of so many mismatching colors it hurts his eyes worse than the sun, arms outstretched to really emphasise that fact. Even more color is creeping up their neck in the form of a sprawling tattoo, all of that combined with lavender skin, purple hair, and solid red eyes-

- pain. A lance through his brain, sudden like lightning. He clutches at his head as images, sensations, flood it- earth in his face, in his mouth, his nostrils, can‘t breathe, clawing, panic, air!, coughing desperately- damp ground and moonlight and emptyemptyempty-

„What the fuck?!“- „What‘s going on?!“ The half-elf‘s voice, at the same time as his own. She‘s between him and the weird tiefling now, arms half-raised as if to keep them apart, looking between them in alarm. As for the tiefling, they seem to have had a similar experience to Astarion, judging from the way they‘re half curled in on themself with a panicked look on their face. He‘s still reeling a little, himself. What in the hells.

„Aaw, fuck. Who just hit me with an axe?“ The tiefling groans, straightening with a grimace while rubbing at their head. They‘ve got a weird accent, one Astarion can‘t place at all.

„Can anyone tell me what just happened…?“ The half-elf sounds more exasperated than frightened, and honestly, Astarion has to commend her. A lesser person would have freaked out and probably killed them both during their moment of vulnerability.

He‘s not sure if that makes her brave, or stupid.

„Ah, you know. Flash migraine, weird visions, the usual.“ The tiefling waves a flippant hand, fully restored to their senses apparently. „I‘m surprised you have to as- ah!“ Astarion gets to watch as it happens again- eyes meet and the two people in front of him nearly crumple in pain.

He should get out of here, take this opportunity and make a run for it, but instead he stays and watches, fascinated and not a little disquieted as a theory begins to form in his mind.

„So, you were both on the ship, were you not? I know I saw you flitting about-“ to the half elf „and I assume you also did not escape being gifted with a little… something?“

„Oh, you mean…-“ and the tiefling mimes something being thrust into their eye, along with making the most disgusting squelching noise Astarion has heard since the actual tadpole crawled into his brain. „Yeah. `fraid so.“ The half-elf nods, her face going through an entire journey from realisation to horror to resignation in the span of a few heartbeats.

„Do you think it could be the tadpoles?“

„That would be the most likely theory, my dear. So, in the spirit of us all being the victims of a common affliction, how about we suspend any hostilities between us, hm?“

„Says the one who started the hostilities,“ the tiefling deadpans from the back row. Astarion shoots them a glare. „Well, how was I supposed to know our friend here wasn‘t an illithid thrall? But now that I do know, I suggest maybe we watch each other‘s backs as we work our way back to civilization? Because, while I don‘t know about you, this riverside scene is too bereft of any of the comforts of society for my taste, not to mention anyone who could help us with our little, aha, problem.“

„Your best idea yet. Let‘s get going then. Oh, and I‘m Shadowheart.“ The half-elf- Shadowheart, really?- seems more than ready to be on her way.

„Mollymauk Tealeaf- Molly to my friends,“ the tiefling replies with a bow and a flourish, „Happy to tag along and help in any way I can, because I, too, wold like the worm of doom to be gone from my noggin as soon as possible.“

Shadowheart‘s lips twitch into a smile. Astarion rolls his eyes. „Astarion. Let me guess… „Molly“… you‘d be some sort of circus performer?“ He infuses the words with the same inflection he would „vagrants, thieves, and troublemakers“ and watches „Molly“s eyes narrow the tiniest fraction as they pick up on it. To his disappointment, they do not rise to the bait, however. „As well as fortune teller, so if you ever fancy a glimpse into your future, you know who to talk to,“ they say, with another little bow and a smile.

„I can give us a glimpse into our futures if we don‘t get going soon. It involves tentacles. Can we get a move on?“ Shadowheart calls back over her shoulder impatiently. Mollymauk straightens from the bow and obediently jogs after her. Astarion sighs and follows.

Chapter Text

What started out as hands down the weirdest day of Molly‘s life (which is saying something, for despite having only been around for two years and some change, they‘ve seen a lot of weird) just continues to get weirder.

Well. Not at first. At first, it gets less weird as the newly-formed trio of one (1) purple tiefling circus man, one (1) half-elven goth princess and one (1) pale-ass elven pretty boy leave both the river and the rotting corpses and burned chunks of nautiloid behind. Shadowheart, as the only one who seems to have any idea of where they are and any inclination to take the lead, is in front, with Molly following a step behind and Astarion at a slight distance as if he wants to avoid being associated with them in case they meet other people. Molly wouldn‘t be surprised if that was his actual motivation; he‘s giving ‚down on his luck noble‘, with that snooty behaviour and his once-fine, now much-mended clothes. Down on his luck he may be, but he definitely still thinks himself above mere mortals, like Shadowheart, and a circus freak like Molly is so far beneath his lofty notice they might as well be in the Underdark. Molly knows the type.

They‘re the most fun to rile up.

But: something is off about him. Past the perfect silvery curls and sharp, pointy beauty, something about him is tugging at Molly‘s awareness like Toya would pull on their sleeve to get their attention. Beyond even the red eyes that are not a normal elven trait as far as Molly knows.

He could be just an albino, but that tugging-at-their-sleeve feeling tells them there‘s more to this.

And then there‘s the vision. Well, visions. The ones from when they first made eye contact with each of their new friends. With Astarion, it felt like they‘d been pulled back, back into that shallow grave, frantically struggling to dig themself out before suffocating and dying for good and all, and at first they thought that this was just a flashback to their very first memory.

But then: Shadowheart. When they locked eyes with her, there had been flashes of running through the fleshy corridors of the nautiloid with two other persons, of falling, of a knife being held to their (her) throat, of Astarion and Molly‘s own faces. Those could only have come from her, which leads them to believe that- since even tadpole-induced visions have to have some kind of rules as to how they work- the first vision was Astarion‘s past, not their own, and since crawling out of one‘s own grave is not a thing that happens to many people (Molly notwithstanding) there really is only one conclusion.

If only there weren‘t the issue of „walking in broad sunlight with not a care in the world“.

Maybe they‘ll just keep an eye on him.

Now Shadowheart, for all her gothy abrasiveness, is at least easy to get along with, as long as one steers clear of personal question, Molly finds, which- fair. He‘s not about to start unburdening his heart to his new acquaintance just now, either. Even asking where they are seems problematic, as it might lead to questions. No telling how people around here would react to a person claiming to be from another world entirely.

Best to keep that to himself for the time being.

They‘ve been walking for an hour, maybe two by Molly‘s guesstimate (mostly uphill, too, and it‘s hot, dammit), when „weird“ happens again. Suddenly, there‘s a crackly, staticky feeling in the air that seems to come from nowhere, until they round a cliff edge and find a… whirling, purple-ish, energy… whatever emitting from the rock face. Both him and Shadowheart stop dead in their tracks.

„Did we just trigger some magic trap?“

„I don‘t think so… but let‘s not get too close,“ Shadowheart says, drawing Molly along by the elbow as she takes two steps back. He lets her, for all he would like to inspect the strange phenomenon further. Yeah so he‘s a curious bitch, so what?

„What have you fou- oh. That does not look too healthy, now does it? Maybe we should go another way.“ Astarion has approached them at this point and immediately makes to turn around and head off in another direction, as does Shadowheart. Only Molly dawdles. What if he just threw a rock at it? What‘s the worst that could happen, at this distance?

So, he throws a rock at it.

Predictably, the thing erupts. It‘s what erupts from it that Molly couldn‘t have predicted, because that „it“ is a hand. Attached to an arm, which they‘re not sure if it makes it better, or worse. And then there‘s a voice, speaking thusly:

„A hand? Anyone?“

Really, how are they supposed to resist?

There‘s a pause in which the recipient of Molly‘s hearty handshake presumably sighs deeply and the voice continues: „I meant to say that if there is anyone around who could possibly lend me a helping hand in getting out of my current predicament, that would be immeasurably kind of you!“

„Well, why didn‘t you say so!“ Molly grins to themself and grabs the arm. There‘s a lot more strength required to pull its owner to the daylight than they expected, so much so that when they finally succeed, the both of them go tumbling to the ground together.

Honestly, there are worse things in life than suddenly finding oneself pinned underneath a handsome specimen of the human race, complete with wavy and lightly greying brown hair, a beard that‘s just scruffy enough to be attractive, and soulful hazel eyes, even if said specimen is a bit on the well-padded side.

The human doesn‘t seem to share that sentiment. He scrambles to his feet pretty quickly, dusts off his purple robe, then noticing Molly isn‘t getting up frowns down at them slightly worriedly. „Are you alright there, friend? Did I hurt you?“

„Hurt? Nah. Don‘t worry. Just wanted to keep admiring the handsome guy I just pulled from a stone from a different angle.“

The handsome guy promptly blushes. Molly almost bites their tongue in half to keep from laughing. What is he, a virgin?

A hand is being extended down to them which Molly uses to lever themself into a standing position in one smooth motion. And also to get a feel of their new acquaintance, hands being such good calling cards. Handsome guy‘s are soft, with only a bit of writing callous on the fingers, which clocks with his appearance. And then the situation Molly found him in- definitely wizard.

They let go of his hand and fold into a sweeping bow.

„Mollymauk Tealeaf, at your service. Might I ask who I‘ve had the pleasure to rescue? And from what?“

His new acquaintance returns the bow, a bit stiffly. „I‘m Gale, Gale of Waterdeep, and the predicament you found me in was of my own making, I‘m afraid. A little teleportation spell gone somewhat awry. Very grateful indeed for the help, ah… Mollymauk?“

„Call me Molly.“ They give Gale their best smile and get to watch him fluster again. This is too easy. „A teleportation spell, then. So my first guess that you‘d be a wizard was correct then?“ They know it is, but it doesn‘t hurt to get confirmation.

Gale nods, „Though not currently at the height of my abilities, I‘m afraid. That little blunder you witnessed would never have happened to me otherwise.“ And then he goes on to destroy the little glimmer of hope within Molly: „Say, you did not also happen to escape from a certain nautiloid vessel, since I find you here in no-man‘s-land quite close to the crash site? And maybe happen to have carried a little, ah, passenger, with you? And… maybe… even happen to know how to expel said little passenger…?“

„Yes to the first, yes to the second, absolutely no idea to the third. Sorry.“ Molly shrugs ruefully.

Gale sags a bit. „Well. It would have been too good to be true, to just stumble upon a solution right out of the gate.

„Then my next question would be, where are you going from here and would it be possible for me to join you, at least for the time being? Because I am quite lost.“

„Should be doable.“ A thought occurs to Molly and he acts on it immediately by inching closer to Gale and tilting his head to peer into the human‘s eyes, who backs away, suddenly uncomfortable. „What… are you….?“

Molly holds up a hand, „Bear with me a second, you‘ll see… ah, here we go...“ Here it is again, the sharp pain followed by flashing visions. Knowing it is coming, Molly manages not to wince at the stabbing sensation behind his eye as his mind is flooded with pictures of a room filled with what must be a metric fuckton of books, and then a singular book on a desk which opens to… blackness, what the hells… but this time, Molly is aware of the connection and able to find and snap the thread of it easily, releasing their hold on Gale‘s mind. „Sorry, just wanted to check something.“ He claps the reeling wizard on the shoulder and turns around to face their two older new friends.

- Who are not looking happy. Shadowheart has her arms crossed, tapping her foot on the ground. Astarion regards them with a long-suffering look. They suddenly remember being told not to touch the magic vortex before going and touching the magic vortex.

They grin broadly, jerk their thumb toward Gale over their shoulder, and call: „Look, guys, I got us a wizard!“

~

And now there‘s four of them, thanks to Mollymauk‘s meddling in things that should be better left alone. At least, this time the meddling proved to be beneficial. A wizard can be made to be useful, quite unlike a circus freak, who at most is good for distracting enemies so Astarion can run away.

There‘s not much talk among their little party. That is to say, the wizard, Gale, had tried to converse with anyone who would listen in the beginning, but soon abandoned the effort when the terrain got steeper again. Now he‘s in the back, huffing and puffing, clearly not used to this sort of physical exertion.

Neither is Astarion, if it comes to that, which presents him with an interesting problem: as an undead, he can‘t sweat and also technically does not need to breathe, but for the sake of his persona as a low-level magistrate from Baldur‘s Gate, which he introduced himself as to Gale, he needs to pretend to be doing both. Playacting at being out of breath isn‘t hard, sweating is a bit more tricky. He thinks he caught some sidelong glances from Mollymauk already. And they are sidelong glances, not admiring ones. He would know the difference.

What he doesn‘t have to pretend to be, is hungry. He always is, but after a day of marching through hilly terrain, climbing over rocks and rubble, he‘s starting to feel as weak as a kitten, his limbs rubbery and leaden at the same time.

But at least he‘s walking in the sun, it‘s warm rays like kisses on his skin, the greatest wonder he has experienced in nigh two hundred years, except one: no one has touched him against his will in a day.

And it‘s all due to the tadpole. What else could it be? If he had tried to take a sunlit stroll yesterday, he would have been burnt crispy within the span of a few minutes, and all that‘s changed since then is his new stowaway, so by process of elimination, his newfound ability to endure sunlight must come from the same stowaway.

If only his little guest weren‘t about to turn him into an even worse soulless monster than he already is, he would gladly host it in his skull for eternity just for this service.

It hasn‘t happened yet, though. And so long as it doesn‘t, he will take every minute of freedom and every iota of sunshine on his skin that he can get.

The day progresses with a few short breaks so that the mortals in their little group can relieve themselves and Astarion can pretend to do the same. Then around midday, they stop at small creek that bubbles along merrily downhill to join the larger river in the distance, where everyone drinks their fill and Shadowheart and Mollymauk demonstrate their survival skills by catching a few small fish that are subsequently roasted over a small fire, all while Gale rests his feet in the cool water, looking to all the world like he never wants to walk another step. Astarion busies himself with the fire and keeps an eye on the fish that are starting to smell appetising enough that he wishes he could still gain nourishment from food. He can eat, of course, but it‘s more a recreational activity with no actual value to him. Right now, he really misses it.

His reverie, or more acurately stewing in his own thoughts, is interrupted by a sudden squawk and splash from the direction of the creek, followed by a peal of laughter. He snaps up to see Shadowheart sitting on her ass in the water and Mollymauk busy laughing at her, almost doubled over. The both of them are in trousers and shirtsleeves, barefoot for better footing on the slippery stones, which apparently did not save the half-elf.

She huffs a low „Fucker,“ but the tiny twitch of her lips betrays her.

„Sorry,“ says Mollymauk, in a tone of voice that doesn‘t sound sorry at all, „but you should‘ve seen yourself- all...“ and they proceed to pretend to stumble in the water, windmilling their arms in a ridiculously exagerrated manner.

Shadowheart whips out a leg and hooks her foot behind Mollymauk‘s calf and pulls. The pretend tumble becomes a real one, the tiefling even going under completely for a second before coming back up spluttering. And now Shadowheart is the one who‘s laughing.

The rest is inevitable, really

„How do you two have the energy for this?“ Gale groans, heaving himself up onto an elbow from his prone position to watch the water fight. He probably should not have done that, because it draws attention to him. Astarion sees a conspiratorial grin pass between Shadowheart and Mollymauk, and one double water fountain later, Gale is just as dripping wet as the childish ones, despite all his protests of „Nonononono!“ and attempts to shield himself with his arms.

But now the wizard is out for revenge. „Oh, this is how you want to play it? Well, on your heads be it!“ With that, he sits up, performs a few quick gestures, utters a quick word, slams his palm on the ground, and a blast of force rattles the trees, ground, and the menaces in the creek, who proceed to splash back into the water. Astarion nods his approval of those methods. He‘s just glad he was sitting next to the fire, or the fight might have spread to encompass him.

„Are you children quite done? Because the fish are,“ he sniffs delicately as the tiefling and half-elf help each other out of the creek, dripping and still giggling like mad people. By the gods, they‘re annoying.

And pretty.

Yes, he can admit, even the purple freak is pretty.

If he brought one or both of them to Cazador, he might actually get rewarded for once.

Which he can‘t, nor would he, of course. He plans on never getting anywhere within a mile of Cazador ever again, if he can help it.

But if he did.

Look at them, soaking wet clothes plastered to their bodies, necks exposed and ripe for him to sink his teeth into-

The errant thought is followed by a flash of fear, hot on its heels like a greyhound after a hare. If Cazador ever so much as caught a whiff of a hint of his foolish spawn thinking about drinking the blood of a thinking creature, the punishment would be severe. He experienced it, several times.

And despite Cazador being who-knows-how-far away, now his vision is whiting out at the edges, part of him, the part that is not currently spiraling, recognizing that he is spiraling in front of other people. No, that won‘t do. He can‘t let them suspect that anything is wrong.

There is one upside to having spent nearly two centuries hunting people who can‘t suspect that anything more than meets the eye is going on, and that is that, at some point, if he started to freak out at an inopportune moment, he learned how to simply… stop.

And so he simply stops. Retreats to a safe distance within himself and watches as he distributes the fish between his new acquaintances, nibbles daintily on his portion, gets made fun of for doing so, smiles and joins in the banter. Nothing is wrong, why, what could possibly be wrong?

Finally, finally the group moves on. Gale grumbles about his feet and his boots and this not being how he pictured his day going, the other two laugh at him and promise him worse to come. Astarion tarries behind, kicking more dirt over the ashes of their fire than strictly necessary. He is about to cross running water for the first time in 200 years, and he is not at all certain if he can do it. Sure, he is able to stand in sunlight now, but that does not necessarily mean that a small runnel of moving water is not an insurmountable obstacle to him any more. So he allows himself to fall behind once more before getting up and approaching the creek. The water is clear, undisturbed once more now that there are no idiots splashing around in it. It looks so harmless, knee deep and maybe two steps across at the point he has chosen for his crossing.

Astarion draws a deep breath, lifts his foot and takes a step forward.

His shoes get wet.

He is wading through the water and all that happens is that he is wet and the current tugs at him and tries to pull his feet out from under him. And then he is through, and needs to take another deep breath to banish the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. This is what makes him cry? He‘s finally free after two hundred years of eating shit from his master‘s hands, he‘s walking in the sun after two centuries of barely even seeing it, and wading through a bit of water is what makes him cry? Ridiculous.

He looks up to find that Mollymauk has stopped walking and is looking right at him.

Damn it. Astarion‘s mind starts to race. How much did they see? Did he give himself away after all?

But the tiefling only lifts an arm to beckon him forward. Maybe all they saw was an aristocratic elf reluctant of getting his nice shoes wet. Why else whould there be no hue and cry yet?

Just to be sure, he puts on a show of gazing at his sodden footware in dismay and launches into a string of muttered curses against the outdoors in general and waterways without bridges in particular and keeps it up long after he has walked past Mollymauk and is keeping pace with the group.

Gale chuckles ruefully at his tirade. „You and me both, friend.“

Chapter Text

Okay, so if Molly had been expecting their potential vampire to be busted by running water, that would‘ve been a bust. Maybe they‘re just imagining things anway- how would they possibly be able to feel a vampire? They‘re a circus barker. Not some sort of monster hunter. And he is walking in the sun...

With an inward shrug, they shelve the matter. The few little fish they‘d had to eat just made the day a lot more tolerable and their compatriots‘ complaining is as good a source of entertainment on the road as Toya‘s singing or the stories the circus folk would tell each other to pass the time. Being rather damp still makes the heat bearable, and there‘s no sign of imminent turning- illithid shenaniganery as of yet. They‘re very determinedly not thinking about how far away from home they are- because otherwise they might just start screaming yet- something the complaining from Gale and Astarion is helping with. Life could be worse.

They don‘t even notice they‘ve started humming until Gale turns his head to look at them and asks, „What song is that?“

„Huh, what?… oh, just one that‘s permanently stuck in my head,“ because Toya sings it all the time, as if she could possibly get even better. And though nobody has asked, they start singing low,

„The moon shone bright on this haunted night
As the dead sang out their song
Now‘s your time to drink and dance
For we soon shall all be gone...“

„That‘s... slightly morbid. Beautiful, but morbid.“ Gale looks mildly perturbed. The other two have been listening as well but don‘t comment.

„True though, isn‘t it? We‘re all living on borrowed time, the four of us just a little more than most.“ Molly shrugs, waving a hand breezily.

„Stop.“

They lean in closer to Gale, pretending to study his chin, „Hey, is that a tentacle right there?“

„Mollymauk!“

„Can we talk about something else, please? Or maybe nothing, that would be even better.“ Shadowheart glares at them over her shoulder. Molly grins right back, „Aaw. And here I thought you knew how to have fun.“

„Water fights are fun. Illithid jokes are not. Please. Stop.“

They hold up their hands placatingly. „Okay, okay. You prefer it when I get you wet, I can accept that.“

Shadowheart stops walking, murder in her eyes. Before she can grab her mace, however, Gale steps between them in a desperate attempt to defuse the situation: „SO. Ah. Where‘s everybody from? As I told you before, I hail from Waterdeep but what about… um...“

„Baldur‘s Gate,“ Shadowheart and Astarion both say, in unison. Wherever the fuck that is. Gale had clearly been hoping for a bit more than that, but it‘s all they seem to be willing to give away.

And now it‘s Molly‘s turn, and „Dwendalian Empire, Wildemount“ still seems like the sort of answer that might lead to too many uncomfortable questions. „You‘re asking a travelling performer that? I‘m from everywhere, my dear.“

„But surely you where born somewhere? Have a special attachment to a certain place?“

„Found on the side of the road, that‘s all I know.“ There, that ought to put a stop to these sorts of questions. People usually get more sensitive around tragic backstories, not wanting to touch a sore spot or trigger a traumatic memory. And it‘s not even a lie, technically speaking, not that Molly is above lying. Gale already looks suitably saddened.

Astarion looks sarcastic. „Your family probably tossed you out because you were already annoying, if I had to guess.“

„If you don‘t annoy a few people now and then, have you even lived?“ Molly flashes him a sharp-toothed grin and receives a haughty sniff in answer. „Just so you are aware: I will be checking my purse every morning and every night as long as we‘re traveling together.“

„After we‘ve parted ways will be enough.“

The elf‘s eyes narrow. „You admit to being a thief, then?“ Out of the corner of his eye, Molly sees Gale wince and almost laughs out loud. Oh, this is too good. He lets his grin grow even wider, folds his arms behind his head and leans back casually while still ambling along. „Occasionally. Some people are just begging for their pockets to be made lighter, you see. Too much money weighs on the soul. Also some are just assholes who deserve it.“

„With you being the one who decides who deserves it, I take it?“ Astarion‘s demeanor is getting colder and stiffer by the sentence, which means he‘s fucking pissed, obviously.

„But of course!“ Molly blinks innocently, as if that question was the stupidest he‘s ever heard.

„And there we have it! That‘s why all travelling folk should be locked up. There are laws for-“

Gotcha!

Molly interrupts him, dropping his voice to a purr, „And isn‘t it funny how laws usually just so happen to benefit the ones who make them?“

Speechless and irate, the elf stares at him and Molly can‘t help but imagine a tally board in his head upon which he‘s just scored the first win. This journey, however long it‘s going to be, promises to be a lot more fun than it looked like at first. Tadpole or no.

„Shut up, the two of you, there‘s something up ahead,“ Shadowheart‘s voice cuts through the tension like a knife through twine that‘s been stretched to the point of breaking. Three heads turn to look in the direction she‘s indicating, where there is indeed something up ahead.

„So, do we take a look at what it is?“ Molly asks after about ten seconds of silence.

„You don‘t. I‘ll go.“

„With that armor?“

„Oh, for… wait here.“ Astarion pushes past them and vanishes between the rocks. Bewildered looks pass between the rest of them. A sneaky magistrate, who would have thought? Makes one wonder what he does in his free time.

Before too long, he‘s back. „Well, this is interesting. I think you should see this.“

„This“ turns out to be a gith. A freaking gith. Yet another creature Molly has only ever heard about and wasn‘t sure if they actually existed, or if someone just got really smashed one day and let their imagination run away with them. Probably while sitting in a frog pond. She- judging by the boobs- is thin to the point of looking emaciated, has yellow-greenish skin, tattered-looking ears and is wearing silvery armor and the most put-out glare Molly has ever seen. (He‘s seen a lot. Mostly on rich patrons not wanting to pay the few coppers entrance for the circus.) Being that she‘s currently standing in a cage several meters off the ground, that explains the glare.

For some reason, Shadowheart is suddenly looking like the cat that got into the cream. „Hello there,“ she chirps, smiling sweetly up at the woman in the cage. The gith‘s eyes narrow even further, furious yellow slits among the black of her warpaint.

„Do I sense some history between you two?“ Molly has to ask, because the curiosity is almost eating him alive.

„We ran into each other on the nautiloid,“ Shadowheart explains, but the gith swiftly corrects her: „I helped you escape the nautiloid!“ Her voice is low and husky and dangerous and quite sexy, actually. If Molly was intrigued at first, now he‘s fascinated. He wants to get to know this creature.

„Debatable. How did you end up in this situation?“ Shadowheart seems to be thoroughly enjoying this, her voice dripping with poisonous honey.

„A blunder. One that shall not be repeated. Let me down and-“

„I don‘t think so.“

The gith looks about ready to burst out of her cage with anger. Unfortunately for her, the bars are made of solid wood and there isn‘t enough room inside to swing her huge-ass sword around. Sawing her way out is about the only option she has, and she seems to know it.

„You have a ghaik parasite in your skull, and soon you will begin to turn. I am the only one who can save you from that fate. Free me and I will show you my gratitude by helping you be free of this infection.“

Now that raises a few eyebrows. But Shadowheart only laughs, derisively. „Of course you would say that. That has to be the oldest trick in the book; I‘m not falling for it.“

„Hold on a second,“ Gale speaks up, „Knowing that the githyanki and illithid people have been very, er, intertwined historically, I think it would not be unreasonable to assume that a gith would be more knowledgeable than the average person when it comes to tadpole infections, so it might behoove us to at least hear her out.“

„Even though he‘s just used ‚behoove‘ in a normal sentence, Gale has a point,“ Molly says, „and even if she can‘t help us, what‘s the worst that could happen if we freed her? It‘s four against one here.“

Shadowheart huffs, „With me being the only one who can fight.“ (That draws a protesting, „Hey...“ from Gale. Molly grins to himself.) -“Not that I‘m scared to take her one-on-one, but she might run and bring others down on us.“

„I will not. Run,“ the githyanki hisses. Everyone ignores her.

„That‘s what we have a wizard for,“ Molly points out. Shadowheart deflates slightly, seemingly out of arguments. „Shall we vote? I say we free her.“

„Me too,“ Gale says. The both of them look at Astarion, who holds up his hands, „I‘m staying out of this.“

„This is a bad idea, and I reserve the right to say ‚I told you so‘ when she turns on us. Now, how do we free her? In case you hadn‘t noticed, this cage is hanging in the air…?“

„That‘s also what we have a wizard for,“ Gale says, already casting. A small ball of flame shoots through the air, zips past the rope by which the cage is hanging and severs it in an instant.

„And they tell me I‘m reckless,“ Molly muses after the crash has stopped reverberating around the canyon. Wonder of wonders, Gale didn‘t kill the cage‘s occupant- she actually landed on her feet in a show of acrobatics that wouldn‘t have been out of place at the Fletching and Moondrop Traveling Carnival of Curiosities. Shadowheart is on her in the blink of an eye.

„Tell us what you know! Now!“

It‘s hard to retain one‘s dignity with an angry half-elf in one‘s face, but the gith manages nevertheless. „For us to be free of our parasites we need to find a githyanki créche. It is the only place where we can be purified.“

Clearly, that‘s not the answer Shadowheart was hoping to hear. She turns away, pushing the gith back for good measure. „This was a waste of time. If you think I‘m going to put myself in the hands of your people you are dead wrong.“

„And you‘ll be dead. This is the only way. But you don‘t have to come with me if you do not wish it. I will find a créche on my own. I see you have companions; if they too are infected, they can join me and I will negotiate for them to have their parasites removed when we find my people. Or they can leave with you and my people will be back to hunt you down once you have turned.“

To Molly that sounds relatively reasonable. It‘s not like they have an overabundance of options. Gale speaks for them both when he says, „I‘m willing to give it a try. We might not have any symptoms of ceremorphosis yet, but that doesn‘t mean we have unlimited time. This might be our only option.“ Molly nods along, then looks back towards Astarion, who‘s been curiously quiet this whole time. What might be going on in his head…?

„You must all be mad,“ Shadowheart protests, but it sounds half-hearted (heh). „You know that when we find this créche, we‘ll all just be killed? Why would any githyanki help us?“

„I will make sure you will receive help. Lae‘zel of Créche K‘liir keeps her promises.“

„Lae‘zel, is it? Pleasure. I‘m Mollymauk, Molly for short. This is Gale, Astarion, and the unpleasant one calls herself Shadowheart.“ If nobody else is going to take care of the introductions, Molly‘ll just do them themself. They would really like to move this along.

The unpleasant one scoffs. Molly offers a friendly smile while Lae‘zel‘s eyes travel up and down their body, assessing and arriving at the obvious conclusion: that they‘re not a threat. They know the look. They invite it. And delight in proving the other person wrong, if and when the opportunity arises.

„Did I get that right, you can take us to one such créche, whatever that is, and your folks will help us?“ Put this bluntly, the words have the interesting effect that they make Lae‘zel look suddenly and subtly uncomfortable. Huh.

„I have no way to get back to my own créche, and I do not know of one on this plane,“ - Shadowheart throws up her arms in a ‚told you‘ sort of gesture- „but I do know how we might find one.“

„I‘m listening.“

„Before you arrived and freed me, others of your kind found me. They talked about one of theirs having seen githyanki and of a druidic grove nearby where this other could be found. They ran when they heard you approaching.“

Molly cocks their head, „My kind?“

„Teeth… lings.“

There‘s a pause.

„We do have teeth, yes,“ Molly concedes mildly, heroically resisting the temptation to snort with laughter. Their prickly new friend might not appreciate that.

„It‘s, ah, it‘s tieflings, actually,“ Gale seems to feel the unconquerable nerdy need to correct her, and Molly throws him an annoyed look for ruining their fun.

Lae‘zel takes the correction in stride, that is to say, she ignores it. „If we can find this grove, we can find this… ‚Zorru‘. And they will tell us where they saw my people.“

„That‘s a lot of ‚if‘s...“ Shadowheart cautions.

„But a druid grove means healers, right? So maybe we won‘t even have to find the githyanki. Maybe we‘ll get lucky and find someone who can fish the worms out of our brains at this grove. And if not- we‘re out in the wilds without supplies and I for one would just be happy to find a place where I can get any kind of food and maybe a bed. Sound good?“ Molly looks around and, not receiving any actual protest, turns to Lae‘zel: „Alright, so, these other ‚teethlings‘… where did they go?“

Lae‘zel rolls her eyes. „Follow me.“

The group hikes on for a couple more hours before stopping for the night. No grove in sight yet, and somehow Astarion doubts it even exists. Lae‘zel might have just been lying in their faces to get them to free her, and is probably going to quietly disappear into the night at the first opportunity.

For now, she‘s still here, and helping set up a very basic camp. There‘s a fire, and a piglet that had the misfortune to cross their way and is currently in the process of being skinned by the githyanki. Which means the others will eat and Astarion will ‚eat‘. Why, if the tadpole can make so many other side effects of being a vampire spawn just suddenly disappear, couldn‘t this have been one of them?

But no. He‘s stuck craving blood and feeling hollow and weak because there is no way for him to get any.

There‘s a bit of chatter, mainly Gale interrogating Lae‘zel about githyanki customs. He doesn‘t seem to realise that she takes this as an opportunity to tout her peoples‘ superiority in everything from how they eat to how they reproduce. (Spawning like frogs, apparently. Astarion remains with some very, very strange pictures in his head.)

When it‘s time for them to bunk down, Astarion offers to take first watch on the basis of being a full elf and needing a lot less rest than the others, which they seem only too happy to take him up on. He thinks he catches yet another look from Mollymauk, but that might just be general mistrust. They only met this morning, after all, and to be honest, Astarion himself doesn‘t trust his travelling companions as far as he can throw them yet.

Shadowheart and Lae‘zel settle down as far from each other as they can get while still being under the shallow rock overhang the group chose for shelter while Gale eyes the hard ground with dismay.
„Earth for a matress, a rock for a pillow, and the night air for a blanket. What a fun night this is going to be,“ he sighs, somewhat over-dramatically for Astarion‘s taste. Lae‘zel ‚chk‘s and mutters something about soft-skinned istiks, and Mollymauk sidles up to the human, pulling their hopelessly gaudy coat off their shoulders with a flourish and presenting it to him. „I do have this if you want to share...“ they purr low with eyes half-lidded. Gale goes even redder at this than he did over the topic of githyanki reproduction and almost falls over himself trying to reassure the grinning tiefling that he‘ll be fine.

The scene would be amusing if Mollymauk‘s mannerisms in that moment weren‘t almost an exact mirror of Astarion‘s own when out ‚hunting‘. A cold weight settles in his chest and he takes to poking at the fire with a stick so as to avoid looking at the others.

Only when the noises of four people going to sleep quiet down does he get up and wander to the outskirts of their little camp, to where the firelight doesn‘t interfere with his night vision, sits down with his back against a tree and looks up at the stars. There seem to be more than he remembers and he wonders at that until it comes to him that he hasn‘t been outside of Baldur‘s Gate for nearly two hundred years, has never seen the night sky unobstructed by the lights of a big city. And the rare few occasions he did leave the city proper, it had always been under strict orders from Cazador to find or kill someone and come straight back, the compulsion so powerful that he barely looked left and right, let alone up.

Hot anger rushes through him- yet another thing stolen from him, taken away by Cazador for no other reason than he could- then is replaced by a bone-weariness he‘s come to be only too familiar with in his life as a vampire spawn. Anger doesn‘t get him anywhere, doesn‘t gain him anything except punishment, so why be angry? Why be anything?

Except that he can‘t just be not anything. A tiny, tiny sliver of him will always be angry. Will resent. Hate.

Hope.

And that sliver is stirring right now. So much of what Cazador has taken away, the tadpole has given him back. If only there were a way to keep the tadpole but stave off ceremorphosis… then he would be free to go wherever he pleases, somewhere Cazador would never think to look for him. A tropical island sounds like just the place. He could be safe.

But that won‘t happen if the druids can indeed remove the tadpole. He‘ll be back to walking in the night and can only pray that the standing orders Cazador placed in his mind won‘t return, to drive him back into his master‘s grasp.

In the meantime, he has no choice but to tag along with this group. As tentative allies go, he could have hit on worse than a healer, a wizard, and a githyanki soldier. Mollymauk is of course utterly useless, but three out of four isn‘t bad. He needs to gain their trust, to make them invested in his person. Perhaps he should start flirting with the wizard- he seems to be the easiest target to crack. He could kick himself for letting Mollymauk get a head start in that regard.

Well, he‘ll just have to turn that around. He has experience, after all.

With that problem settled to his satisfaction, for now, his attention turns back to the hunger gnawing at him, and the temptation that is the four warm bodies sleeping maybe twenty paces behind him. He chances a look back. Shadowheart and Lae‘zel have settled into almost identical positions, half- reclined against the rock behind them, though to be fair, Lae‘zel looks much more comfortable like this than her counterpart, who is going to have a crick in her neck tomorrow from the way her head is lolling onto her shoulder. Gale is tossing and turning on his piece of hard earth, and Mollymauk has all but disappeared under that abomination of a coat. There‘s the occasional twitch of a tail tip poking out from under the fabric, but other than that, the tiefling is motionless. Astarion‘s mouth waters at the thought of sinking his teeth into any of these beautiful necks, and like before, he flinches back from the thought. Which is ridiculous. Cazador is not here, why should he obey his commands? Why should he not defy the fear gripping his neck and freezing him from the inside out...?

No, no, it‘s too risky. His new companions may be sleeping, but they are all lying within a few steps of each other, and if the githyanki‘s hearing is as sharp as her ears are huge, any tiny sound from the person he chose to bite would wake her. Better not to chance it.

But the siren call of warm blood does not stop tormenting him. Hours are spent in an agony hitherto unknown to him- that of being so close to living, breathing people, being potentially able to drink their blood, and still having to restrain himself. Salvation comes to him in the form of rustling in the trees above him. He stills immediately, straining his ears to listen and his eyes to see. There- two squirrels, young ones maybe, young and curious and alive and filled with blood.
Astarion stops breathing, stops moving, goes as still as a statue. And his hope does indeed seem to come true- slowly, inch by careful inch, scampering away and coming back, the squirrels start approaching him. For the first time in a long time, he prays. Just a little closer…

At long last, one of the little rodents gets brave enough to sniff his hand where it is lying limply on the ground. In a flash of movement so fast he didn‘t even know he was capable of, he snatches it, snaps the fragile neck to stop it from screaming, and digs his teeth into the furred little flank. The first drops of blood hitting his tongue are heaven; he never realised how much like, well, sewer, a sewer rat tastes. This squirrel, though, is a woodland animal, well fed and bursting with health, and its blood is like the sweetest nectar. He has to suppress the almost sensual moan that wants to escape his throat, and when every last drop of moisture has been drained from the small body he licks his fingers and wipes them across his chin almost like a cat to catch any stray droplets that might have escaped him.

And when he is sure of having accomplished that, he leans against the tree at his back and just- breathes. Tries to pretend there‘s no hitch to it. Tries to pretend there are no tears on his cheeks. Tries to pretend until the emotion becomes too strong and he curls into himself and just weeps.

And when there are no more tears left, he buries the desiccated body of the squirrel and goes to wake Lae‘zel, who insisted on taking second watch, who will in turn wake Shadowheart, who was not to be outdone. He finds a small alcove to fold himself into and slips into a trance. It‘s as dreamless and restful as can be expected.

Chapter Text

Come the next morning, Astarion makes it a point to walk beside Gale as the group follows Lae‘zel toward this druidic grove she was talking about, and engage him in conversation. The terrain has grown more amenable to such pastimes, less steep and rocky, more gentle and wooded, and the wizard proves only too happy to chat. Literally too happy. Come mid-morning, Astarion already knows all there is to know about Gale‘s hometown of Waterdeep and his cat-slash-best-friend, the tressym Tara, and is being treated to an impromptu lecture on the magical capabilities of tressym in general. He‘s bored out of his mind but still managing to smile and nod along, courtesy of long decades of doing the same thing with prey he intended to lure into Cazador‘s clutches. Some people just get off on the sound of their own voices, and at least he doesn‘t have to get on his back this way.

Yet.

Mollymauk, he notes with no small amount of satisfaction, seems to have abandoned the battlefield named Gale of Waterdeep entirely and is now walking up ahead with the two women, alternating between bantering with one or both of them, encouraging their bickering, and acting as a buffer against actual violence in a weird dance that seems to have neither rhyme nor reason. But at least they‘ve backed off the wizard.

Still, watching this tiefling and their erratic behaviour is giving Astarion even more of a headache than Gale‘s lecturing. There‘s the one time they spot something off the path and dash off into the woods, heedless, to return with two handfuls of tiny wild strawberries, grinning ear-to-ear like a giddy child as they distribute them among the group.

The strawberries do taste good, a burst of sweet and sour on his tongue, much better than anything Astarion has tasted in years except last night‘s squirrel, and having that bright grin turned on him when he carefully picks them out of Mollymauk‘s palm- careful not to touch them, that is- is. Well. It feels like he‘s been put under a spotlight. He murmurs some sort of thanks to keep up appearances and chooses a moment when he‘s sure nobody‘s watching him to lick the strawberry juice off of his fingers.

Now if Mollymauk‘s behaviour were only strange, that Astarion could live with. But it‘s also reckless, as he learns later in the day:

Voices suddenly pierce the stillness of the forest. The voices belong to a small group of people who appear to be in quite a lot of trouble: trouble involving half an army of goblins pursuing them. There‘s a curly-headed human yelling up at someone with red skin on top of the cliff him and his group are backed against to „Open the Gate!“ which mildly confuses Astarion as there is no gate to be seen. Not that it matters because the person on top of the cliff shouts down their refusal to do so anyway.

The smart approach here would be to take a wide berth and avoid a confrontation, so of course it‘s not what the gaudy idiot does.

Without even hesitating, Mollymauk draws the two scimitars on their hip that Astarion previously assumed were prop swords, and strides into the open in full sight of the goblins, who promptly attack.

A busy few minutes pass.

When the dust settles, miraculously, every member of their little group is still standing, albeit a little scorched in some cases. Mollymauk is nearly unharmed- undeservedly so, the little shit- except for two nearly identical cuts to either side of their neck, blood trailing down their chest unobstructed by much fabric.

The sight sparks a clash of warring desires within Astarion. First the desire to wring that damned tiefling‘s neck for getting them in danger again, but coming in a hot second is the sudden urge to lick the twin trails off of their chest, and only partly because it‘s blood. It‘s not his fault- really, what self-respecting person wears a v-neck shirt with a V almost down to the navel?

He compromises by grabbing the purple jackass by the lapel and dragging them closer until they‘re almost nose-to-nose and oh damn, that was a mistake because now he‘s got the smell of that blood in his nostrils and it smells so much more delicious than that of unwashed goblin.

„What in the hells was that?! You didn‘t think to, oh, I don‘t know, consult with the rest of us before you marched straight up to two dozen armed goblins? You could have gotten us all killed!“

Apart from the momentary surprise of being yanked half off their feet, Mollymauk looks unruffled, solid ruby eyes meeting Astarion‘s calmly, lips twitching into that half-smirk he‘s coming to hate.

„Sorry. Was I supposed to wait until they‘d finished off those humans and came after us anyway? And, uh, you might want to look behind me...“

Fuming, wordless, Astarion does so- after a short delay in which he‘s trying to convey the idea through looks alone that next time they‘re faced with an army of hostiles, Mollymauk should do them all a favor and get themself stabbed. Through the chest.

When he does look up, what he sees is a heap of goblin, bugbear and worg corpses, and behind that heap, a tunnel in the rock wall that wasn‘t there before. Or rather, that was hidden by a well-camouflaged drop gate which has now been lifted to allow entry.

Oh. That gate.

Astarion looks back at Mollymauk and is met with a raised eyebrow and tilted head. „Shall we?“

„Smug little… ugh!“ And he lets go of the tiefling, adding a push for good measure. They stumble backwards but don‘t fall flat on their ass, more‘s the pity.

Their group crosses the battlefield and slips in underneath the ominously creaking gate which crashes down behind them as soon as the last of their butts has passed beneath it. As it happens, Mollymauk is the last one to enter, and Astarion gets a fair bit of satisfaction out of the yelp they give when the heavy wooden thing almost takes the tip of their tail off. „Careful,“ he cautions sweetly. Mollymauk flips him off, and now he feels a lot better about the world and his place in it.

Behind the gate is a tunnel, and beyond the tunnel is what can only be Lae‘zel‘s grove. Everything about it screams ‚druidic‘, except… for the dozen or so tieflings milling about and looking out of place. One of them is currently engaged in an altercation with the curly-haired human who had demanded entry loudly and desperately in front of the gate earlier. Now he has the red-skinned tiefling gripped by the front of his armor and looks like he‘s about to clock him.

„Why is that so familiar…?“ Shadowheart remarks drily, looking at Mollymauk and Astarion in turn. They both ignore her, Astarion in favor of trying to walk past and leave the two men to it, and Mollymauk...

„Now, now. No need for that,“ they say calmly, stepping in between and putting a hand on either man‘s shoulder.

Despite himself, Astarion stops to watch. You never know, maybe the human is going to put Mollymauk‘s ass in the dirt, and he wouldn‘t miss it for the world should that happen.

„There‘s very much a need for that! This fucker was goin‘ to leave us outside to die!“ the man is yelling, spittle spraying. Meanwhile, the other tiefling takes advantage of the fact that Curly is being blocked by Mollymauk and pulls away, „You led a small army of goblins to our door! There are children here! Did you ever stop to think what would have happened if those brutes broke through?!“

In lieu of an answer, Curly snaps, but the fist winding up for a punch gets intercepted by Mollymauk, who now shifts their stance to fully face the human, shaking their head with a mild smile. „Son- just don‘t.“

And that‘s the end of that, as Curly huffs out an angry breath and stomps off. The red-skinned tiefling sighs deeply and turns to Mollymauk, „Thank you. I think Aradin really would have punched me if not for your intervention, and I prefer not having to deal with black eyes if it can be avoided.“ He chuckles softly and with a distinct note of self-deprecation, as he should. If a black eye was the worst thing that had ever happened to Astarion…

Mollymauk waves the thanks off, because of course they do. „No problem. He seems like the kind who would get himself into that kind of a scrape and then come running crying to Mum.“

The older tiefling laughs at that, heartily. „He is indeed, well observed. But look at me forgetting my manners. I‘m Zevlor, leader of a sort of our little group of refugees. Welcome to the Emerald Grove.“

Mollymauk gives that signature sweeping bow that has Astarion rolling his eyes, „Mollymauk. You‘re not a druid then? We were sort of hoping to find one versed in the healing arts.“

„If it‘s a druid you‘re looking for, you‘ll find them in the Inner Grove. Although you‘ll have to do without the local archdruid who Aradin seems to have… misplaced in his misadventure.“ Zevlor‘s mouth twists into something bitter as he says that.

„Ah. And how bad is that?“

„For you? Well, depending on the severity of your affliction, not too bad. You see, Halsin‘s apprentice is also a healer and might be able to help you in his stead. For us? Rather bad, but I‘m not going to bore you with the woes of a few refugee tieflings...“ Although his voice does sound just a tad hopeful in saying that and oh, no. If he‘s angling for help, that better be nipped in the bud right away, or Mollymauk might just-

„What woes would those be?“

- do exactly that.

Astarion interrupts. „Well, while I am exceedingly sorry to hear that your folks are in trouble, so are we, and I‘m afraid we do not have the time to help you out, much as we would love to.“ He enunciates the middle part very clearly to get the message through any thick heads who might be thinking that helping these tieflings would be a good thing. As far as Astarion is concerned, tieflings are more trouble than they are worth, especially present company.

Lae‘zel hastens to agree with him: „We need to find the one that saw my people. It is of the utmost importance!“

Gale and Shadowheart, on the other hand, seem torn. That won‘t do. They really cannot afford distractions. So Astarion takes matters into his own hands: „If you‘ll excuse me, I‘m going to find this healer, this…?“

„Oh, uh. Nettie. Her name is Nettie,“ Zevlor supplies.

„Thank you. I‘m going to find her, whoever wants to join me, can. I‘ll see you later.“ With that, he walks off. After a moment‘s hesitation, Shadowheart follows.

„And I‘m going to find this ‚Zorru‘,“ Lae‘zel states and leaves after them, Gale in tow. Good. If Mollymauk wants to indulge their bleeding heart, they can do it on their own.

And just like that, Molly is alone with Zevlor.

„Interesting group you have there,“ the older tiefling opines, following Lae‘zel in particular with his eyes.

„Nothing special in my trade,“ Molly says, opening their arms wide to show off their coat to full effect. And to get ahead of any more questions, they barge on: „So what‘s this trouble you seem to have found yourselves in?“

„Hm? Ah, yes...“ Zevlor snaps out of his thoughts. There follows a story that has all the elements of a stage show. A city buggering off to the hells and getting rescued by daring adventurers, none of which rings even the tiniest of bells with Molly, who of course acts like it does, nodding along in sympathy as Zevlor closes with: „As you can imagine, us devil-spawn are no longer particularly well-liked there, and so we set off for greener pastures. Alas, the way there led us through woods infested with wolves- or gnolls, rather. And so we find ourselves at the mercy of the druids here. Their leader, Halsin, was only too happy to take us in, but he left with Aradin‘s band and didn‘t make it back, as you know, and his replacement is not as sympathetic to our plight. She wants to force us out and close the grove off for good with a ritual that will seal it from the world outside.“

„Sounds like a recipe for cabin fever if you ask me, but people have always been weird about what goes inside and what stays outside,“ Molly muses, causing Zevlor to choke a bit. Grinning ever so slightly, they continue: „Any idea on how to get her to stop this thing, other than-?“ they draw a finger across their throat. Zevlor chuckles wrily.

„Other than that, the only thing I can think of is finding Halsin. But we don‘t even know where he is, if he‘s still alive.“

Molly clicks his tongue, „That‘s a problem. Suppose I go ask this Aradin fellow what he knows?“

„That would be a start. He might even talk to you, unlike me.“

„We‘ll see. Until later then.“ Molly exits stage left with a flourish, heading down the way he saw Aradin and Co. disappear earlier. It turns out there‘s quite a roomy cave down the earthen ramp, and it is packed. Mostly with tieflings. Finding a human here shouldn‘t be hard, but after asking around for what feels like an hour, Molly has to admit that he lost his quarry.

One last ask can‘t hurt, he decides, and the perfect person to ask has just turned up: a tiefling boy, maybe ten, wild blue hair and threadbare clothes, leaning against a small vendor‘s stall with… well, admittedly, mostly trash on it, with an air of proprietary boredom. A much less conspicuous kid seems to be loitering nearby by sheer coincidence. Molly recognizes the setup and grins to himself.

He walks up to the young businessman who notices someone approaching and hurriedly tries to appear even more coolly unruffled than before. In his haste to achieve the desired effect, he knocks a beaten-up statuette of something or other off of the display table, curses and bends down to pick it up, but Molly gets there faster. They sweep up the scantily clad lady (definitely a godess of some sort), flip the little figure in the air so it is right side up, and hand it to the boy. „Here you go.“

„Um. I. Uh. Hi. Uh. Do you wanna see a trick?“ Oops. Looks like they derailed something here.

„Did I just knock off your spiel? Sorry. A good spiel‘s important. Let‘s start over, shall we?“ Molly tries smiling encouragingly and the boy opens his mouth, only to close it again with a dismissive wave of his hand. „Ah, naw. Moment‘s gone. Did you wanna buy something?“ He gestures at his display, which is even more pitiable up close. The only thing on it Molly might have use for is a set of lock picks.

„Information. I‘m looking for someone.“

„Whoever it is, I‘m pretty sure I‘ve seen them. Mattis has got you! That‘ll be three coppers.“ He holds out his hand. Molly decides they like the boy. They fish four coppers out of a pocket, present them briefly and disappear them with a flourish. Mattis‘ eyes go wide.

„Whoa! You know what, forget about the money, can you teach me this trick?“

„Sure thing, kid- but first, have you seen a human around, curly hair, bit of a douche...?“

„Oh, Aradin? Yeah, he‘s been through here, went that way,“ pointing the way Molly came down originally, back toward the gate.

„Ah. You wouldn‘t happen to know how long ago this was?“

Mattis cocks his head to the side, „Mhhhh…. Maybe half an hour ago? Said something about ‚getting the fuck outta this hellhole‘.“

Shit. That means he‘s most likely out of reach by now.

„You‘re not gonna go running after him, are you? You promised me a trick!“

„Ah, never you worry!“ Molly ruffles the hair on top of the boy‘s head, who swats his hand away with an indignant sound, „Look, it works like this...“ They crouch down as they make the coins appear and disappear a few times and then show the movements required one by one, slowly so Mattis can copy them. The boy proves to be a fast learner and is soon practicing with a grin on his face while Molly looks on. „Very good! You‘ve got the makings of a stage magician! And you‘ll have to be a lot more subtle if you‘re going to try and pick my pockets,“ they add, addressing the inconspicuous little girl who yelps and jumps back, withdrawing her hand from their coat. Mattis looks up from his coin with the dismayed expression of a criminal kingpin thwarted.

„Aw, man! Silfy!“

Tears immediately flood her eyes. „I‘m sorry, Mattis! I‘m just no good at this!“

„True,“ Molly says while getting back up and brushing off their coat, „But that doesn‘t mean you have to stay that way. Let me show you.“ Silfy‘s eyes widen, still brimming with tears. She looks to Mattis for permission and Molls ‚tsk‘s. „Eyes on me. This is your lesson, your friend already got his,“ they chide softly. Though they don‘t prevent Mattis from watching. Everyone can profit from knowing how to pick a pocket, or slipping things into one.

Throughout this second lesson, with a much more timid pupil, Molly becomes aware of eyes on them. Whoever it is doesn‘t interrupt, and neither does Molly. They simply carry on until a grinning Silfy succesfully pickpockets Molly‘s copper coins from Mattis‘ pockets without him the wiser, then takes their leave (letting the children keep the coppers) and approaches the person watching them.

The spectator turns out to be another human, a handsome dark-skinned man with dashing scars across his face, a stone eye that doesn‘t detract from his good looks at all and a somewhat judgmental expression. Molly saunters up to him, hands in well-picked pockets.

„Hey there. Fancy a lesson as well?“

„In thievery?“ The man scoffs.

„It‘s a useful skill.“

„Why not teach them something actually useful, like fighting? I‘ve seen you outside the gate, you‘re not half bad.“ Molly barks a laugh and preens a bit at the compliment, then remembers where exactly they‘ve seen the man before. They snap their fingers. „Oh! Right! You‘re the guy with the corny one-liner!“

„...it‘s a persona. Don‘t read too much into it. I‘m Wyll.“ He holds out his hand, and Molly takes it and squeezes just a tad harder than Wyll was probably expecting. „Mollymauk. Oh, and you were on the nautiloid, I see?“ Because they‘re getting the tell-tale tingling from the tadpole that signals it‘s communicating with another. At this point, though, they have enough experience with the worm of doom that they can shut this communication down and not let it bloom into a full-blown vision. A sharp, but fast fading pang of pain shoots through their skull, probably the tadpole‘s way of showing its displeasure at being thwarted.

Wyll presses a hand against his temple, eyes wide. „What- what‘s going on? What is this?!“

„That? Oh, just our little friends from upstairs having a chat. You get used to it, kind of.“ Well. Kind of.

„You sound remarkably alright with having an illithid tadpole in your skull...“ Wyll is looking at Molly incredulously, who can‘t help but laugh, yet again, just not as joyfully. „Hah! Far from it, but panicking isn‘t going to get me anywhere, now is it? My friends and I are actually looking for a way to remove our little passengers, but so far our best leads are a vanished archdruid and a créche full of frog people. And I just lost my lead on where to find the archdruid.“

Wyll chuckles wrily. „Yes, I‘ve run into the same problem. I was waiting for Halsin to return, since his apprentice told me she couldn‘t help me herself but he might be able to. Seems I‘ll have to leave plus one tadpole.“

„Leave? Do you have somewhere better to transform into a mind flayer?“ Molly lifts an eyebrow.

„If I‘m going to transform, I‘d prefer to do it somewhere where I won‘t endanger innocents. But no, that‘s not it. I was on a mission before being infected. A devil is on the loose around here, a very dangerous one. I have to find and kill her before she can do harm to civilians.“ Oh, wow. A true hero, right there. Molly has to bite his lip to keep from smiling.

„Far be it from me to keep you from your mission. But should you want to join me and my illustrious circle of tadpoled companions in our hunt for a cure, you‘re very welcome. Oh, and speaking of-“ because Lae‘zel and Gale are just returning from their own little sidequest, arguing hotly.

„- no way to treat a person! You would have had him grovelling on the ground!“ Gale is just exclaiming, to which Lae‘zel only tilts her chin up and ‚chk‘s haughtily. „As he should have been! An istik as weak as him should feel honored that I would even address him!“

Gale buries his face in his hands, groaning, then looks up again to find Molly and Wyll beside him when the former calls out, „What‘d she do?“

„Oh, just terrorize a poor tiefling. Man was shaking in his boots.“ The wizard throws Lae‘zel a sour look, which she answers with yet another haughty turn of her head. „He was not deserving of my respect.“

Molly smiles. „And did your charming ways get you what you were looking for?“

„I have my answer. We can leave.“

„Shouldn‘t we go down and see how Shadowheart and Astarion are doing? If this healer is able to help them, there‘s no reason for us to go looking for a créche, other than to have you rejoin your people. And I don‘t know about you, but I am exhausted and would appreciate a solid meal and a night‘s rest in a safe environment.“ Gale does not look happy at the prospect of hiking through the wilderness for gods know how long, on top of an already long hike.

„Hells yeah to the second, but there might be a problem with the first,“ Molly says and looks at Wyll. The man takes the hint: „I‘ve been to see Nettie already. She couldn‘t help me, I‘m afraid.“

Gale‘s face falls quite dramatically. Lae‘zel merely looks vindicated. „I told you. Only by finding a créche can we-“

„Yes, yes, we know,“ Gale interrupts impatiently. „So you‘re in the same boat as us, then, friend? I would say the more the merrier, but I don‘t think the person who coined this saying did so with a situation like ours in mind.“ He still moves forward to shake Wyll‘s hand, „I‘m Gale, by the by.“

„Wyll. A pleasure, despite the circumstances.“

It might just be the light, but- is Gale looking a little flustered right now? Not that Molly could fault him for that, because Wyll‘s handsome face in combination with that friendly, open smile is not bad at all. Ah, and here Astarion had been making it a point to be extra friendly to their wizard all morning (and had probably thought he was being subtle). Looks like he might be out of luck.

Gale clears his throat and proceeds with introductions. „The friendly lady is Lae‘zel. You‘ve met Molly.“

„You called me Molly? Aww. Does that mean you consider me a friend?“ Molly slings an arm around the wizard‘s shoulders and leans against him, batting his lashes up at him.

„Not if you keep doing that, I don‘t.“ Gale twists out of the side hug with reddening ears. Molly snickers. And with absolutely perfect timing, suddenly Astarion and Shadowheart are right behind him, the former looking resigned, the latter pissed.

„This little bitch of a healer tried to kill us!“ Shadowheart bursts out without preamble and before anyone can so much as greet them, „Almost had us drinking poison thinking it was medicine! And when I called her on it, only THEN did she admit she didn‘t have a cure for us!“

„Indeed, thank the gods you know your poisons, or that could have gone very poorly for us,“ Astarion remarks with a certain edge to his voice, but his eyes are narrowed at Molly. Must‘ve caught the tail-end of him ribbing Gale, then. Molly smiles cheerfully and waves at the two of them.

„Actually, we already knew that the healer thing was gonna be a bust.“

„What? So why in all the nine hells didn‘t you tell us before we went down there?!“ Shadowheart looks about ready to rip his head off, which only makes Molly‘s smile morph into a grin, which in turn makes Shadowheart tense as if she were about to leap at him and strangle him. And then Wyll has to spoil the fun:

„Because I told them while you were gone, seeing as the same thing nearly happened to me. Well, minus the ‚trying to trick me into drinking poison‘ part. Nettie must not have liked the looks of you.“

„Oh.“ Shadowheart deflates minutely, though she‘s still bristling. „And who are you then?“

„What do you mean, did not like the look of us, we look perfectly trustworthy!“ Astarion protests at the same time.

Everyone, including Wyll, graces that comment with the same face. It says, „Eh.“

Astarion pouts. Fucking pouts.

Even as Molly dissolves into laughter, he has to admit it to himself, that expression is unusually cute on the elf‘s severe face.

The introductions take care of themselves while Molly‘s trying to get his breath back, and then somehow the whole group manages to agree that they had better stock up while they have the chance, rest a night at the Grove, and travel on in the morning. Where to, remains to be determined.

They split up again, some in search of a nook or a cranny to tuck themselves into in the crowded space of the outer grove, others in search of supplies. Molly ends up in the latter group and soon has his arms full with rather moth-eaten bedrolls, one for each person. Food is in short supply, but with some judicious playing of the ‚We‘re the heroes who saved your asses,‘ card they manage enough for a few days, and wonder of wonders, a free healing draught from an older human woman who is beside herself with worry when she hears of Molly‘s syphilis infection that he makes up on the spot and milks for all it‘s worth while Wyll and Astarion watch. He might be mistaken, but he thinks he detects a hint of admiration on his elven companion‘s face.

The human one is facepalming.

„Please tell me you were pulling one over on that poor woman,“ Wyll sighs as soon as they‘re out of earshot of Ethel.

Molly shrugs mysteriously and smirks at him.

„You‘re a menace.“

„Why, thank you for noticing, my dear.“ Molly bats his lashes at Wyll. His only answer is another sigh, deeper this time.

On their way back to rejoin the rest of their motley crew, they pass by Mattis‘ stall again, where he and Silfy are now excitedly talking and showing off their new tricks to another tiefling child, a girl with her hair tied at the top of her head and a neckerchief that must have been yellow at some point in the distant past. Mattis spots them and waves and Molly winks at him, having his hands full and all.

The others have talked the druids into letting them pass through the inner part of the grove, apparently usually off-limits to non-druids, and set up a makeshift camp among the cliffs bordering it on this side. The view is spectacular, and so are the blood spatters all over the rock from a previous battle with a flock of harpies that Lae‘zel tells them about in detail while Shadowheart is rolling her eyes in the background.

„And to think we missed that,“ tsks Astarion, utterly insincere in his regret.

„Never fret, there‘ll be a lot more harpies for you to kill. Or goblins. Same difference, really,“ Molly observes while arranging their new bedrolls around the fire. Some of them smell a bit like cat pee.

„Same difference? I have been told that harpies sing beautifully. Have you heard goblins singing?“

Molly laughs. „Good point, well made. At least let us be properly serenaded to our deaths.“

„If you die to a harpy‘s claws, you deserved it.“ Lae‘zel, as usual, takes the fun out of it.

„Doesn‘t that ever get exhausting?“ asks Astarion with a raised eyebrow.

„I know not what you mean.“

„This whole… ‚fierce warrior‘ routine you‘ve got going on. Doesn‘t it get exhausting after a while?“

Lae‘zel frowns, confused. „You are correct. I am a warrior, and fierce. Why would I grow tired of that?“

Astarion sighs. Molly snickers. And surreptitiously arranges the bedrolls in a way that raises the probability of Lae‘zel picking the one that smells the most like cat.

Chapter Text

Their merry little band of tadpoled fools finally having enough food to cook a proper meal presents Astarion with yet another interesting problem: he absolutely can‘t remember how much a normal person would eat. So he nibbles on toasted bread and very deliberately spoons stew with assorted vegetables and chunks of meat into his mouth until half of the others have stopped eating and he deems it safe to do the same. The food sits in his stomach like a bunch of rocks. It might as well be rocks for all the good it does him. And of course, because being annoying seems to be their life‘s mission, Mollymauk, the bastard, pretends to be worried over the amount he ate and tries to push seconds on him.

„Come on now, that wouldn‘t keep a child on their feet. Sure you don‘t want some more? You don‘t have to hold back on our account,“ they say, waving the ladle in his face. Astarion, feeling vaguely sick already, glares at them. He remembers too well the sight of the tiefling slathered all over Gale when he came back from meeting Nettie. It seems the battle is still going, and yet they have the audacity to feign concern for him?

„Oh, no, that‘s fine, thank you,“ he answers, swallowing his rage and plastering on his best sweetly poisonous smile, „You need it more than I do.“

„Actually, both of you could use an extra meal or two,“ says Gale, the only one of them who sports a paunch, even though it seems to have shrunk already after the last two days.

„Not everyone looks best with a dad bod.“ Mollymauk leans back onto their elbows as if to illustrate the point, letting the coat fall back from a lean upper body, showing off those endless legs in those damned thigh-high boots and those eye-gougingly gaudy leggings to best advantage, and winks at Gale.

Predictably, Gale flusters. „I-“ he says, shuts his mouth, opens it again, „-do not know whether to be offended or flattered by this, so I‘m going to choose flattered.“

„Wise choice. When in doubt, go for flattered.“ And then the damned circus freak smiles, wide and sincere. Astarion wants to throttle them.

„Well. That just explains a whole lot about you, doesn‘t it?“ he says instead. If he was expecting some kind of indignation, however, he is disappointed; instead Mollymauk practically crows with laughter. Literally crows. Astarion is thoroughly tired of that laugh by now. He wonders how mean he‘d have to get to finally stick it to the sonofabitch, because so far, everything seems to slide off of them like the proverbial water off the proverbial duck‘s back.

„Oh, totally. Worrying about what people think of you is no fun.“

„That explains even more.“ Astarion eyes their wardrobe pointedly. Mollymauk just grins, true to their earlier words, and pushes from their half-reclining position on both elbows back into a more upright one leaning their weight on one arm. Which causes the coat, shirt and all, to slide the other way and exposes a good bit of neck and a small bit of shoulder.

Is… is that directed at him? Because it is effective, if so. As the tiefling goes to claim what‘s left of the stew, Astarion finds his eyes glued to that smooth lavender neck once more, mouth watering with the impulse, nay, the desire, to sink his teeth into it, and maybe tear out their jugular and let them bleed to death while he‘s there. Infuriating ass of a bastard deserves nothing less. Infuriating and confusing, because Astarion is no closer to figuring out their game. Do they just flirt with everyone? Are they just a slut, or is there more going on? It‘s giving him a headache. Right this moment, in fact, so he stops thinking about it and discovers the conversation (if what‘s been transpiring in the last few minutes could be called that) has moved on without him.

„So, Molly? Can I call you Molly?“ Wyll is asking, awkwardly.

„Molly is for friends. If you consider us friends, then sure.“ They smile, the one that looks genuine but can‘t possibly be. Wyll seems to buy it, though.

„I… guess? I mean, it‘s a bit early to say that but I can see myself liking you, so yes? Though I do wish you‘d stop giving children pickpocketing lessons.“

„I knew you were a thief,“ Astarion hisses in Mollymauk‘s direction. The tiefling ignores him utterly in favor of making eyes at Wyll now, leaning forward to place their chin on the back of their folded hands, a change in position that causes them to look up at the man from below their lashes. Like a fawning bitch.

Astarion gags privately.

„What is it?“

„I was wondering- not wanting to be rude, but also not wanting to assume anything… how do you want us to refer to you? Based on… well-“ He moves his hand up and down in a gesture that indicates all of the nuisance of a tiefling, „I‘ve been using ‚they‘ in my head but like I said...“

„Oh, that. Well, anything goes, really, but I‘m most at home with ‚he‘ or ‚they‘. So you‘re fine.“ Another smile, gods, Astarion‘s cheeks hurt just watching. „What about you?“

There appears to be a general consensus among the rest of the group about the pronouns that match their sex being their preferred ones. If one can talk about sex in githyanki, that is.

„So glad we settled that,“ Astarion can‘t help but snark afterward. He feels weird- weird about being asked, for no reason he can identify. He‘s also kind of angry, again for no reason he could point at. But lashing out, even just a tiny bit, feels good. „What pronouns we use is very important, in the grand scheme of things, after all.“

„Identity is important,“ Wyll corrects him, softly.

Astarion almost flies at him. It surprises him, the sudden surge of white-hot rage from somewhere within him. Identity is nothing, he wants to shout. It is nothing, just a front you put up for others because everything else, everything that is true to you, can and will be stripped away.

But he can‘t say that. He can‘t fly off the handle now without the others asking questions why, so he doesn‘t. The initial surprise over his gut reaction actually helps him put it away now, tuck it safely where no one can see. Not even himself, preferably. Because what the hells…?

Explosion averted, he rolls his eyes and dramatically sighs, „Well, anyway, are we done navel-gazing?“

„It‘s not, but I guess so.“

„Good.“

Awkward silence descends until Gale breaks it by asking Wyll to tell them more about the devil he‘s hunting. As the man goes into a detailed description of all the atrocities she‘s supposed to have committed, Astarion becomes aware that Mollymauk hasn‘t moved, and is watching him. Still in the same position as earlier, chin propped onto the backs of their (or his, he guesses) folded hands.

„What?!“ he hisses.

Mollymauk just gives him a mild look and turns back to their stew. Leaving him steaming.

They don‘t set a watch this night. Nobody, not even Lae‘zel, deems it necessary. So Astarion just winds up aimlessly wandering and climbing among the cliffs for half the night, looking at the moon and the stars in the sky and their reflections in the water. It‘s beautiful. Peaceful. He wishes he cold hole up on this beach forever and be forgotten about. If only that were how it worked.

The morning, however, brings chaos. As the party descends back into the Grove, they find the druids and tieflings facing off against each other at the entry to the inner sanctum, the latter being held back, barely, from attacking the former by a thin line of wildshaped druids. The air is thick with tension and the screaming of one tiefling woman especially who is being restrained by two men, who have notable trouble doing so. She‘s fighting and spitting like a furious cat. On the other side of the line of bears and badgers, the interim leader of the Grove, the red-haired elven woman Astarion and Shadowheart passed by yesterday in their search for Nettie, has a tiefling child with a light-colored neckerchief gripped by the arm and is hissing something at her while another dark-skinned male druid is making soothing motions at the woman- to no apparent avail.

Astarion can hear Shadowheart murmur a low „What the fuck,“ next to him.

„Well. I think we should stay out of this, this does not look like our business- oof.“ The ‚oof‘ is caused by Mollymauk shouldering past him roughly to stride into the middle of the commotion, because of course they would. Wyll is hot on their heels. The rest of their group follows. Rolling his eyes, so does Astarion. Just because he‘s curious what happened, mind.

He arrives in time to hear the druid leader (Kagha, that was her name) exclaim, „-stole our most holy idol! She eats our food, drinks our water, and this is how she repays our kindness! We should have driven you out days ago! Halsin was wrong to let you stay, but his mistake is going to be rectified now, starting with you!“ she then turns to the tiefling girl again, who is half-hanging in her grip, crying, shaking and terrified. What Astarion hasn‘t been able to see before but can now that he‘s closer, is that there‘s a snake, the size of his arm but much longer, slithering close to the child‘s feet. Its open mouth shows fangs like small daggers, its head sporting a horn-like crest.

Oh dear.

This could get interesting.

Mollymauk saunters up to her as if they‘d just met at market and the snake slithering around Kagha and the brat‘s feet were no more than a doggie, the druids standing around either too surprised to stop them or not caring to. „Sure you wanna do this? Looking at her folks, I‘d say they‘re gonna tear into you if you so much as hurt a hair on her head.“

„Let them,“ Kagha spits, „Then we kill them here and now and purge the rot infesting our sacred ground!“

They could do that, easily, Astarion estimates. Malnourished civilians against well-fed druids- it‘d be a massacre, and no more than those iditots deserve. One child really isn‘t worth getting so worked up over.

„You would commit mass murder?“ Wyll says, aghast, at the same time as the other druid exclaims, „Kagha, please, listen to reason-“

„I have listened to your ‚reasons‘ for too long, Rath, and this is where it got us. No. They leave, or they die. Except this one. She will stay, and rot in jail for what she has done!“

Astarion can see the gears turning in his heroic companions‘ heads- heroic idiots, he should say. Then Mollymauk speaks up again, „They‘re not going to leave without the girl, though. Let her go, and we‘ll work something out with Zevlor. Escort them, something like that. You‘ll have won, at a very low cost to you, and you can go ahead with your ritual without making enemies inside your own Grove, because my dear I don't think everyone of your druids is on board with killing innocents, and it might just make people wonder if someone else wouldn't be able to lead them better.“ They sound eminently reasonable, to Astarion‘s disappointment. He sort of wanted to see what would happen if Kagha went through with her threats.

Although he still might, because she does not look convinced. „The thief needs to be punished!“

„I think she‘s been punished already...“ Mollymauk nods at the girl‘s legs, where twin damp streaks are now visible against the dark brown fabric of her trousers. Kagha follows their look, her lips twitching into a satisfied smirk upon seeing the evidence of the brat‘s terror. She releases her hold on the girl‘s arm and crosses hers, facing Mollymauk and Wyll fully. „Very well, if you can convince Zevlor to-“

And that is the moment several things happen, in very quick succession.

The girl shrieks out, „Mama!“ and tries to make a dash for it.

The snake lunges for her, incited by the sudden movement.

Mollymauk‘s eyes go wide, and they snarl something Astarion can‘t make out clearly.

The snake‘s attack misses the girl‘s leg by a hair‘s breadth and it thumps into the ground, hissing furiously and shaking its head, looking disoriented.

The girl threads between the druids and leaps into her mother‘s arms, who immediately runs up the stone stairs with her and vanishes out of sight.

The tension held by both opposing groups ratchets up several notches before dropping again as everyone seems to realize what just happened, and both sides start to retreat ever so slightly.

And Kagha, who had just been spouting big words about slaughtering thirty-odd people, looks genuinely shell-shocked. Her compatriot, seeing the chance to turn things around while she‘s busy gathering her wits about her, loses no time to grab it: „Druids of the Grove, stand down! Leave the tieflings alone!“ A little more of the tension bleeds out of the gathered people. The first of them start to drift away, now that the situation seems more or less resolved.

Kagha whirls on Rath, furious, but he stops her before she can even open her mouth: „No, Kagha! Not a word! You almost killed a child! By rights, we should be putting that fucking snake of yours down!“ They stare at each other, and Astarion can almost see sparks flying in the air between them- but Kagha caves first and covers it by turning to the druids who are now gathering around them, loudly announcing; „The Rite resumes! Get to your positions!“ And adds, as a lower aside, „And you, go find Zevlor! You said you‘d escort the tieflings, so do it! If they‘re still here when the Rite ends, they will be killed!“

And she leaves them all standing.

„Well, that almost went south,“ Mollymauk comments wrily. Wyll has a hand pressed to his heart and is breathing deep breaths. The rest of their companions looks varying degrees of shaken, from most (Gale) to least (Lae‘zel).

Rath looks to them. „Thank you for intervening. I don‘t know what she would have done….“ He shudders visibly.

„Didn‘t do much,“ Mollymauk deflects, smiling again.

„Still.“ Rath bows a little, „I should better go after her. Damage control, you know. Silvanus guide you always.“ He hurries off.

That leaves their group, loosely surrounded by druids who are getting back to their daily activities/the ritual.

Which is when Wyll turns to face Mollymauk, arms crossed over his chest. „So. Still think it‘s a good idea to teach children to steal?“

The tiefling‘s tail lashes exactly once. „I taught a couple street urchins how to do something they were gonna have to do to stay alive in a way that makes them less likely to get caught. I didn‘t tell anyone to steal any specific thing, least of all this fucking idol.“ Do Astarion‘s ears deceive him, or do they sound defensive? Does that mean they have feelings after all? The unflappable Mollymauk? The scandal!

„And yet it got stolen, and a girl almost got killed. After talking to your two street urchins, which is likely where she got the idea.“ Wyll is not backing down.

„Maybe she did, maybe she didn‘t. I‘m not responsible for every possible consequence of every word I say to someone.“ Mollymauk waves his hand airily, but the whole display seems strained. If Astarion didn‘t know better- and he‘s not sure he does- he‘d say someone is feeling guilty. His impression is further underscored by the glint of fresh blood on Mollymauk‘s sharp tiefling nails and palm, as if they‘d been digging them into their skin. And thus, the facade crumbles…

„I have a sneaking suspicion you could do with being more careful what you say to whom in general.“

„Well, anyway, I think we have a Zevlor to talk to.“ Mollymauk turns abruptly around and runs straight into Lae‘zel who‘s been watching the proceedings with a deepening frown.

„You cannot be serious about escorting the teeth- tieflings. We need to find a créche, and I for one will not turn aside from my mission to save people who are too weak to save themselves.“

Before Mollymauk can answer, Shadowheart cuts in: „You‘re not going to be much use to them if you turn into a mindflayer halfway. I know they‘re your people, but… use your brain, Molly, whatever part the tadpole hasn‘t eaten yet. You‘d just be putting them at more risk.“

Mollymauk levels a smile at her that badly disguises the frustration underneath. „My people come in all shapes and sizes, my dear.“

„I‘m with the ladies on that one,“ Astarion offers, since people are giving their opinions. „Although I won‘t stop you if you want to leave on your own to play the big, brave hero.“

„It does seem imprudent, not to mention impractical, to divert our efforts toward helping people who cannot help us. Selfish as it may feel, in this case, I am afraid we must put our own survival first.“

„Ugh, you‘re such bores!“ Mollymauk rolls their eyes (and head) dramatically. „What if I told you that the escort thing was just to get Lady High and Mighty off their backs? We‘re gonna need some time to find this Halsin guy, that‘s all.“

„Halsin again? We need to find a-“ - „Créche, we know. Shut up with that for just a minute, would you?“

Lae‘zel glares at Shadowheart, who glares right back. Into the silence created by the women‘s stare-off, Gale says, a bit too loudly, „So, find Halsin, get him to cure us, hopefully, bring him back and have him replace Kagha as leader again, that‘s a plan that I could live with. It is, of course, completely uncertain if he remains alive, but if that is the case, he is ours and the tieflings‘ best hope. Two birds with one stone, you could say.“

„Perfect summary, couldn‘t have put it better myself.“ Mollymauk claps the wizard on the shoulder, and Astarion just can‘t help but drawl, „Yes, top marks for stating the obvious, and in such a nice, loud voice, too, it‘s not like we‘re surrounded by people who might not want Halsin back at all.“

Gale winces a bit and looks around them, but luckily none of the druids seem to have picked up on his little speech, busy with their ritual as they are. One of them hurries by close to where their party is huddled together, seemingly on an errand, but screeches to a stop when Mollymauk steps into their path. The tiefling does his customary bow and without giving the gnome a moment to gather their wits, starts, „Excuse me, dear friend, I was just wondering how long this ritual of yours is going to take? I‘m sure magic as complex as this isn‘t accomplished in an hour, even cast by people of such deep knowledge and experience?“

The druid blinks at the whirlwind of color that just apparated in front of them, wants to get irritated as evidenced by the frown they are leveling at the tiefling, but is soon mollified (heh) by those flowery words.

If Astarion rolls his eyes any more, they might fall out of his head.

„Well, seeing as we need to start over, it‘ll take us four days, starting now.“

„Four days!“ Mollymauk gapes in fake surprise. „You druids must have quite the stamina!“

„We rotate them, obviously- look, I have places to be, could you-?“ They gesture at Mollymauk, shooing him out of the way, and he dances back with a hint of a mischievious grin, turning towards them all with arms outspread. „Aaaand we have a timeline. Let‘s go.“

„You,“ Wyll sighs, „are something else.“

They find Zevlor and tell him of the plan which, disgustingly, almost brings the old man to tears. A short time later sees them setting off after parting from Wyll, who is after his devil at last. The one who seems most disappointed by that, gods damn it all, is Gale.

Astarion does his best to hide his irritation at the fact. From the hint of a smile on Mollymauk‘s lips, he is not sure if he succeeds.

Chapter Text

The first thing they do, of course, is get lost.

„‘How hard can it be to find the trail of a horde of goblins?‘“ Astarion quotes a certain overconfident tiefling after their third hour of stumbling around the woods without finding so much as a footprint.

„I thought at least one of us would be good with wood. Like our esteemed githyanki over there.“

„I am a warrior, not a tracker.“

„Also, I think you meant to say ‚woods‘,“ Gale adds even though he really should know better by now.

„I said what I said.“

„Ugh. Mystra, grant me patience.“

„We are not going to find Halsin in four days going on like this.“

„You can get off my arse now. Unless you‘re planning to do something unmentionable in polite society with it, then don‘t get off my arse- ow!“

„Good throw, Shadowheart.“

„Thanks, Astarion. Has anyone else noticed that we‘re walking downhill and the ground is getting boggy?“

„I did just now. Did I mention that I do not appreciate the feeling of water squishing around in my boots? Especially as it is warming from my body heat? There is just something uniquely unpleasant to this sensation.“

„Then wear sandals, istik.“

„Thank you for your input, I shall keep it in mind for the next time we meet a vendor who sells sandals. In the middle of the woods. But, I do say, at least it is a pleasant prospect. So full of life.“

„And leeches, probably. Better check your boots, Gale.“

„Why did you feel the need to say that just now…?“

While Gale is hopping on one leg to get his boot off, Shadowheart snickering at him, Mollymauk suddenly stops walking. So suddenly, in fact, that Astarion behind them almost collides with their back. „Watch it!“

No reaction. Okay, that is weird. Experimentally, Astarion pokes them in the shoulder.

„What?“ The tiefling startles, as if coming out of a trance. Even weirder.

„What‘s going on with you? If you wanted me across your back there are other ways to achieve that, you know?“ A sad lack of reaction greets that one, as well. Astarion cranes his neck to look Mollymauk in the face from where he‘s standing half behind them. Their brows are furrowed, eyes darting around the vicinity without really settling on anything for long.

„Something‘s off,“ they murmur.

-Nothing that Astarion can see, at least. The wetlands lie before them, lush and green, pools of water glittering in the sunlight dappling the ground between romantically moss-covered trees. „Are you finally cracking? There‘s nothing.“

Mollymauk frowns. And then-

(Now here‘s the thing. Astarion has, of course, noticed the somewhat incongruent-to-the-general-colour-scheme red eyes that are nestled among the rest of the tiefling‘s tattoos. He just hasn‘t paid them much mind- a person who will wear that much red with lavender skin just would add red eyes to green and teal tattoos.

This estimation of his is going to change dramatically within the next few seconds.)

If Astarion wasn‘t looking at them in that moment, he would have missed it completely, but he is looking and so he sees, clear as day, the red eye in the midst of Mollymauk‘s neck tattoo suddenly glow, and then go dim again, and in that moment the swamp changes. From sunlit and filled with birdsong to grey, rotting, and dead, the stench of decay hanging heavy in the still air.

What the…?

The others‘ startled exclamations inform him that he‘s not the only one seeing this. An illusion, then, and one born of powerful magic. And Mollymauk just dispelled it? Astarion quickly looks back at them and is surprised to see them look almost shocked. A slow smile spreads across his face.

„Well, I do have to say, that was impressive!“ He claps Mollymauk on the shoulder and watches them startle. „Huh?“

So deliciously wrong-footed, he‘s almost ashamed to take advantage of this. „Why, your dispelling of this illusion, of course. Very handy, well done!“ He pats them a few times for good measure and is gratified to watch the facial journey from utter what-the-fuck-just-happened-ness back to a carefully constructed smile, knowing that this time, he‘s in possession of all the cards.

„Oh. Well. While I would love to take the credit for lifting this neat little illusion, I‘m afraid that wasn‘t me.“

„You‘re saying it just buggered off on its own? No, I don‘t believe that for a second. Stop being so modest, it doesn‘t suit you, darling!“

The others are starting to pay attention now, as well, which is just what Astarion was hoping would happen.

„Have you ever known me to be modest?“ Mollymauk smiles lopsidedly, „Believe me, if I had anything to do with that, you‘d never hear the end of it.“

„Ah. Well, if you say so. That means that pretty little eye on your pretty little neck getting a bit glowy right the second the illusion disappeared must have been coincidence, then?“

There‘s no mistaking the emotion that flits over Mollymauk‘s face this time: pure, unadulterated horror. His fingers twitch, likely wanting to touch the conspicuous marking and barely refraining from doing so. Astarion smiles. The game is up and Mollymauk knows it. The others are watching them, intently so, Gale frozen in the act of tipping water out of his second boot.

„Here I thought the eyes were just a weird design choice, and now I find out they were magical conduits all this time? How do they work?“ The wizard comes hobbling over in one boot and one socked foot (the sock in question is blue with stars on it, or it used to be- now it is mostly dirty) to peer at Mollymauk‘s neck. They‘re slumping at this point, rubbing their face with one hand.

Astarion sees the moment they commit.

„Oh boy. Okay, I guess the cat‘s out of the bag, might as well tell you. I didn‘t want to, because… well… usually people don‘t react too well to finding out that I‘m cursed.“ The tone, resigned and a little contrite; the posture, hanging shoulders and eyes not quite meeting anyone else‘s- it is masterfully done and completely fabricated. Astarion is sure of that. He‘s a liar, and a good one, and like recognizes like, isn‘t that what they say?

„Wha- how do you mean, cursed?“ Gale, at least, appears to be swallowing the story, hook, line and sinker.

„I mean that a long, long time ago one of my ancestors made a deal with a witch, but absconded before the time came to pay the price, so the witch cursed them and all their descendants with these eyes, through which she is always watching, and the more one uses the magical powers that come with them, the more of a hold over the person does she gain, until one day-“ They pause for dramatic effect, so long that Gale, ever the nosy wizard, feels the need to prompt, „One day what?“

Mollymauk shrugs emphatically, throwing his hands out wide. He‘s definitely in his element now, spinning outrageous yarns and getting gullible people to buy into them. It‘s just that Astarion isn‘t one of those. „No one knows. All these people, my relatives, they just- disappear one day. One moment they‘re there, cooking or working or, in one memorable case, fucking- the next they‘re just- poof- gone. My gramma always told me that the witch had called them to her, to be her servants forevermore, or maybe even something worse...“ Like any storyteller worth their salt, Mollymauk knows when to lower their voice ominously, and does just that in this moment, even leaning forward a little towards Gale who has been listening intently all this time. He‘s still holding his boot.

Astarion meets Shadowheart‘s eye across the pair of them; she‘s smirking. „Nice story, did you come up with that on the fly? You must be really good at improvisation.“

„Story?“ Mollymauk presses a hand to his heart, „My dear, I would never lie to you. That was the honest to gods truth!“

„So you have syphilis and a curse? You poor fucker, I almost feel bad for you,“ Astarion just can not help but deadpan. This is too good an opportunity to pass up, and Mollymauk‘s reaction is vindication for a lot of things. Their face is the very picture of ‚fuck‘, of ‚I did not think this through‘, of ‚I regret everything‘; he almost cackles aloud.

Also, is he the only one to notice the discrepancy in the two stories Mollymauk has so far told them concerning their origins?

„I…. okay, that was a lie. Figured it couldn‘t hurt to play the pity card for some free supplies. And by the way, it worked,“ they add with a look at Astarion that promises retribution and that he simply answers with a smile.

„So…. Curse yes, syphilis no?“ Gale asks cautiously.

„Yes! Syphilis no!“ Mollymauk exclaims, exasperated, which only ends up confusing Gale more: „Wait, which is it?“

Mollymauk lets his head fall back and groans.

„I can hear voices,“ Lae‘zel speaks up from the background.

„Really? Wow, are we having disclosure day? Who else has got weird abilites or curses or, I don‘t know, spirits haunting them? Raise your hand now!“ Astarion looks around the little group.

Gale raises his hand.

Under the stares of the rest of the group, he opens his mouth, hesitates, clears his throat. „A-hem. It‘s not exactly an ability, but there is something I should probably tell you, seeing as it is going to affect me, and by extension all of us...“

„Oh dear,“ Astarion mumbles into his hands. Mollymauk manages to catch his eye, grinning at him. „Well, you did ask...“

„...sooner rather than later, I do believe. Ahem. The fact of the matter is this: Every so often, I need to get my hands on a magical artefact and, well… consume the weave inside. It is very important for my continued existence on this plane- and yours, as well, should you be caught in the blast radius. By my calculations, this should become viable within the next few days, and I would therefore appreciate it if everyone kept their eyes open for items of a magical nature.“

When the little speech finally concludes, everyone starts talking at once.

„Wait… what?“

„I do not believe a word of this.“

„Blast radius?!“

„Wow, you beat me. That story is even better than mine.“

„Would you kindly shut up for a second?!“ Astarion snaps, which, to his surprise, actually has the desired effect. „Gale, please explain to us just what the fuck you mean by ‚blast radius‘? Are you saying that you are some kind of bomb that needs to feed on magic or else go boom?“

Gale gestures vaguely in that way very smart people have when they need to dumb down a complex problem for the general populace, making Astarion bristle on top of being upset over the magical bomb thing. He is not stupid, thank you very much.

„That is a rather crude summary but it will suffice in a pinch, I assume. Although it is wrong to say that I am a bomb, when the fact of the matter is that I have a kind of bomb inside my body that it is impossible for me to get rid of, or at least something that, under the right circumstances, could become what is in effect a bo-“

„I have it, thank you,“ Astarion snarls. Gale‘s long-winded explanation peters out. He‘s left standing, looking unsure of what to say or do next while Astarion scrubs his hands across his face. „I‘m not sure if you‘re telling the truth or if you‘re hustling us for magical loot, should we ever get any. I know what I would like to believe.“ He raises his head and glares at Gale.

„I am utterly incapable of hustling anyone, seeing as I am an abysmal liar.“

„Oh, great! So you might blow us all sky-high if we don‘t keep feeding you magical artefacts, of which, might I remind you, we haven‘t found any so far! What makes you worth keeping around again?“

The wizard is very quickly starting to look like a very bad option to have for an ally, or a protector...

There‘s a quiet, „Hey...“ of protest from Mollymauk at this point, which Astarion elects to ignore in favor of spearing Gale with his gaze.

„Well… my magic, of course. You need not be worried about it getting out of control yet, you have my word on that.“ Gale looks dead serious, even putting a hand over his heart as if making an actual oath. Astarion waves his hand, irritated. „Yes, yes, spare me the theatrics. How about this: If I feel like you‘re in danger of blowing up, I‘ll just kill you myself.“

„Uh, that… that would make it worse, actually. You see, this ‚orb‘, for lack of a better term, exists independently of my own self and in the case of my untimely demise would just continue to require magic which it would then have no means of getting, which...“ Again, Astarion interrupts: „I get it! Alright, in that case I will just punt you down the nearest entrance to the Underdark, how about that?“

Weirdly, Gale seems to have no trouble accepting this deal. „I can live with that. In fact, I would hate to put you all in danger. While I wouldn‘t call us friends yet, I have come to care about all of you even in the short time we spent together, and putting you in harm‘s way is the last thing I want to do.“

„And I would welcome you not putting us in danger, so let‘s just keep our eyes peeled, shall we?“ Mollymauk walks up to Gale and throws an arm around his shoulders, again. Astarion decides they can have him. Fucking wizard is not worth the trouble.

Which only leaves him with the option of swaying either Lae‘zel or Shadowheart to his side. Lae‘zel, he rules out at once. Much too straight-laced. Shadowheart, though…

„I‘m with Astarion on that one. But yes, I‘ll look for stuff that might help, if you can pull your weight,“ she‘s saying right now, and Astarion rewards her for it with a smile. He saunters over to her so he can bend down and murmur into her ear. „Looks like we‘re the only sensible ones in this group, darling...“

„I have a feeling we might just be,“ she says, matching his low voice. „However, we‘re still stuck in a bog.“

„That is a different, but not unsolvable, problem,“ Astarion admits.

„I can hear the voices again,“ says Lae‘zel.

„Yes, darling, thank you for informing us of your condition...“

The gith frowns. „Condition? I do not know what you mean. The voices are coming from over there, and they appear to be shouting.“ She points. Astarion looks in the direction she‘s indicating.

„Oh.“

„Uhm, guys? There are people over there.“ Shadowheart‘s voice draws both Molly‘s and Gale‘s attention. Molly withdraws his arm from around the wizard‘s shoulder in favor of peering in the direction she‘s pointing where, indeed, he can hear raised voices originating now that he‘s paying attention. Curious, Molly creeps closer. This sounds like another mugging and looks just like one, too, once he gets close enough to see the people involved: Two youngish men with the look of brothers and, oddly enough, the herb woman from the Grove. (How did she get here this fast?)

The men seem to be threatening her, a sight calculated to make Molly‘s blood boil- normally.

Normally, he wouldn‘t think twice about stepping out there and starting to throw fists, but something gives him pause. The same awareness that has been tugging at his senses since they entered the bog, that told him that something here wasn‘t quite the way it seemed to be, and incidentally, the same feeling that keeps nudging him in the brain about Astarion. Right now it‘s telling him that this woman isn‘t who she appears to be.

Fey.

And, since this awareness was right about the bog- and even though he really doesn‘t want to know how he knew, let alone think too hard about what Astarion just told him about the fucking eye- Molly reassesses his instictual reaction to wallop the armed men threatening a defenseless woman in the middle of the wilds. What he does do is adjust his coat as he pushes out of the brush onto the narrow cart track that has been there all this time and their group somehow managed to completely miss. There‘s a disgusted ‚ugh!‘ behind him. He knows without looking who it came from.

„Well, hello there! It seems you are having a bit of a disagreement there, my good folks. Do you mind if I help you all mediate? I am particularly good at that!“

The herb woman, Ethel if he remembers correctly, loses not a beat. „Oh my dear, am I glad to see you! These ruffians have been threatening me, accusing me of the most awful things, saying I abducted their sister even! I don‘t even know their sister! Please, help me!“

„You were the last person to see Mayrina! Tell us where she is!“ One of the brothers yells at her, making her flinch back and look at Molly with a pleading expression. When he doesn‘t immediately rush to her side but remains standing where he is, crossing his arms, her expression lowers to a glower.

„Oh dear, oh dear, what do we do here,“ Molly sighs, „Whom to believe...“

„Surely you would not take the word of two brutes such as these over that of the person who did you a kindness?“ Ethel quavers, looking convincingly distressed. Molly still doesn‘t budge, fixating her with his look. Behind him, he hears someone shifting, then Gale‘s soft voice comes to his ear: „Um, Molly? What are you doing, shouldn‘t we defend her?“

„My friend seems to think we should help you,“ Molly says out loud, „But seeing as we‘ve already discovered that this swamp isn‘t what it appears to be, I have my doubts about you, dearest. So I‘m going to need some proof that I can trust you.“

The transformation that happens on Ethel‘s face at hearing these words is as jarring as it is sudden, from kindly grandmother in distress to snarling beast.

„Bollocks! Fine then, since you asked- but know you did this, not me!“

Molly realises what she is about to do a second too late. A snap of her fingers, and suddenly the brothers are both doubling over, hacking and retching as a fine greenish mist swirls around their necks and surges into their mouths and noses. Ethel leers at Molly as she herself disappears, gone as if she had never been there.

Molly whirls to catch one of the brothers before he goes down and ends up getting dragged to the ground with him, the sturdy farmer‘s frame already going limp.

„Shit! Shadowheart!“

She‘s there in an instant, healing spell lighting up her hands, but it‘s useless. Molly had known it would be useless the moment he touched the man but hadn‘t wanted to admit it to himself. Too slow. Two people are dead because he‘d been a second too slow.

Shadowheart lets the magic dissipate, shaking her head, and Molly punches the ground. „Dammit! That fucking hag!“

„Well, you had to go and interfere, didn‘t you?“ Astarion sneers down at him and Molly wants to murder him. They push it back down because one dead elf is not going to bring two dead humans back.

„And you were a lot of help.“ They stand, try to pull the unmoving body of one of the men they couldn‘t save off to the side of the road, and find that he‘s far too heavy. „At least help me now!“

„Having the least idea of what you were trying to do would have done a lot towards our being able to help, you know. How did you even know there was something going on with that woman, and what in the hells are you trying to accomplish now? Please tell me we are not going to dig graves for two people we don‘t even know!“

„Digging graves would take too long,“ Molly grinds out, still struggling with the corpse. Lae‘zel and Shadowheart finally decide to lend their strength, and with theirs and the help of a levitation spell from Gale, they manage to get the bodies situated in a patch of grass off the side of the road and position them in at least somewhat dignified poses. When that is done, Astarion, who‘d been watching the proceedings without so much as lifting a finger, turns to go back the way they came. „Alright, you‘ve done your duty by two dead strangers, now let‘s go.“

„I‘m going to find their sister.“

Astarion stops walking. Tilts his head as if he‘s not quite sure that he heard correctly, then turns with the precision of an automaton, staring Molly straight in the eyes.

„Excuse me?!“

An explosion is imminent and Molly ignores it, starting off down the road. They know that while he‘s going to gripe and whine, the elf will follow eventually. „She at least deserves to know that her brothers are dead.“

„What- really?! You‘re going off on a side mission to rescue a damsel in distress while we are tadpoled and could become mindflayers any minute?! And what about your precious tieflings, I thought their time was running out as well? You can‘t help everyone we happen to come across!“

His voice gets quieter behind them as Molly walks away, Gale falling into step beside them, Shadowheart slightly behind and Lae‘zel bringing up the rear while grumbling about distractions.

„He‘s not wrong, you know. We don‘t have time to run after every person who could possibly be in trouble,“ Shadowheart says quietly.

„I know,“ Molly admits, „I just- well, I‘ve always had a hard time with walking on by. World‘s shitty, but I can at least try to leave it a little better.“ Even if they fuck up while doing so. Even if they leave behind the corpses of two men who might still be alive without their interference…

They press their lips together and keep walking.

Chapter Text

Long story short: they end up saving the girl, because of course they do. That process proves somewhat more arduous than it might sound in the retelling, and involves:

- A pregnant girl mourning her dead husband, so much so that she is willing to sacrifice her unborn to a hag to get him back; up until Mollymauk informs her of how this same hag killed her brothers at least. That does cause her to reconsider her decision, fairly late in the game but better late than never?

- A secret cellar network full of traps and the hag‘s other victims, some of whom they have to fight- Mollymauk insisting they don‘t kill them, of course, and that is how Astarion finds out how much harder it is to defeat someone while trying to keep them alive, as opposed to sending them shuffling off this mortal coil.

- And last, but most certainly not least, the hag herself, in the heart of her lair which everyone knows is a fucking bad idea, but does anyone ever listen to Astarion? He misses most of that battle due to getting knocked down into the enormous hole in the middle of said lair right at the beginning, when the hag conjures multiple duplicates of herself to fight them off and one of them just fucking straight up socks him in the face so hard he keels over backwards. After that, he spends several anxious moments clinging to the mildly slippery surface of a giant mushroom, unable to climb back up, until one of his companions finally has a hand free to help him.

Oh, and of course the foolish girl gets rescued from her cage first.

Astarion having no patience for her whining is glad to leave consoling the brat to Gale and goes to look for loot. He finds some things that look interesting and pockets them, along with some gold, so at least this whole venture was not a complete waste of time.

Meanwhile, Mollymauk is hunting up and down the cavern like a hound on a scent and chopping up mushrooms. After watching him for a while, Astarion just gets too curious not to ask.

„My friend, don‘t take this the wrong way, but what in the actual fuck are you doing?“

Mollymauk delivers one last, fatal cut to what seems to be a champignon and turns to him with one scimitar resting on his shoulder. „Just making sure she won‘t come back.“

„By mutilating mushrooms. Of course.“

„Yep.“

Just once, it would be nice if this idiot could react the way Astarion wants him to. Just once.

„Find anything interesting?“ the tiefling asks next. Astarion quirks an eyebrow at him, then remembers that he‘s still leaning against what appears to be the hag‘s work bench, with all manner of satchels and bottles strewn about, the contents of which he didn‘t feel like investigating too closely.

„What you see is what there is,“ he lies smoothly, glad the the trinkets he pocketed are small enough they won‘t show up in his, well, pockets. Mollymauk still gives him a knowing smile and moves to his side, starts picking things up and sniffing their contents like someone who is really eager to get themselves cursed with something. Again.

Astarion finds out what he was looking for a moment later, when, after smell-checking the contents of one of the dozens of small satchels, another mischievous smile lights up their face and they lick the tip of their pinky, dip it into the powdery mixture inside, and stick the digit in their mouth.

„What? Want some?“ they ask, noticing Astarion‘s stare, and offer the satchel to him, only to pull it back hastily when he waves it away rather too emphatically and almost knocks it out of their hands.

„Absolutely not! You‘re either very brave, very stupid, or just straight up crazy!“

„Ahh, bit of each, I think. Sure you don‘t want… okay, I‘ll just keep this.“ And the satchel disappears into the depths of the coat-monstrosity. Next moment, Mollymauk is circling around Astarion with a small „ooh“ of intrigue and he wonders if the drugs are already affecting them until he turns around to see what‘s caught their attention and spies a staff that he had inspected earlier but not taken for rather obvious reasons; i.e. it being too big to pocket. It is as creepy a piece of wood as he has ever seen, adorned with a skull that still appears to have strips of flesh clinging to it, the wood itself infested with worms, looking as if it will crumble to pieces at a touch.

Mollymauk, true to form, picks it up, grinning gleefully. „You know, I think Gale could use a new staff, don‘t you?“

For the first time since meeting Mollymauk, Astarion feels like maybe he could learn to like him after all.

„I think that… is a very good idea.“

Would you look at that- that is a smile, right there. Tiny, yes, but a genuine smile, probably the first Molly has seen from the elf. Molly‘s a performer, he knows a performance when he sees one, and Astarion has been doing nothing but perform in all the time they knew him.

It‘s also mischievious and conspiratorial and admittedly, really attractive. Not because it does anything like turn Astarion‘s sharp-cut features soft or anything sappy like that. More the opposite. And a part of Molly really, really likes that.

They let their grin flash brighter, making it a point to make eye contact before turning around, twirling the staff, „Let‘s go give it to him, then,“ and return to where their friends are more or less gathered around Mayrina. Hopefully, Lae‘zel isn‘t trying to help comfort her…

But when they get there, it‘s only Gale and Shadowheart with the girl who is sitting on a large root and doing her best to seem composed. It‘s heartbreaking, really. Their githyanki, meanwhile, is wandering around the cavern without it being readily apparent what she‘s doing, other than maybe judging Auntie Ethel‘s interior design choices. Molly plops down on the root next to Gale without saying anything and proceeds to look at him expectantly until he turns his head and raises a questioning eyebrow. „Can I help you?“

„I think I just helped you. Found something you might be interested in.“ They proffer the staff and watch Gale‘s face light up at first, then curdle into confused disgust which he hastily tries to hide with a forced smile, and oh, boy, is he a bad actor.

„Oh. Well. Thank you, that is very… thoughtful of you. I‘ll just put this away for now and have a good look at it later, would you mind just...“ He produces a small bag and holds it open for Molly to slide the staff in, who of course pretends not to understand what he wants them to do. After a few moments of Gale giving them pleading looks, he is finally forced to take the staff himself and stow it in the bag of holding, not without a shudder he suppresses as badly as the disgust on his face.

Molly almost bites their tongue off and thinks they can hear Astarion muffle a noise of amusement in the background.

„Are we done here? Or do you have any more time to waste?“ Ah, Lae‘zel is back.

Molly hops up and makes a show of dusting himself off, „Down here, yes. Pretty sure there‘s still useful stuff upstairs, though.“

„Then collect it and let‘s leave this place!“ There follows an angry tirade in gith, or whatever her people‘s language is called, and seeing as Lae‘zel looks about ready to start actually kicking them all in their collective butts, they get up and follow her.

On the way, they collect the hag‘s other victims- a sizeable group- who fold Mayrina into their middle in an instant. Good. She‘s going to need the support.

There is indeed a lot of useful shit to be found all up and down the hag‘s cottage. Molly swipes a few bottles of what looks like healing potions before wandering out on the terrace built onto the house, where he is just inspecting a teapot that looks a bit too much like a live toad with a spigot coming out of its mouth when he notices the newcomer. The man is not one of the victims they freed, he‘s sure of that. A human, long-haired, wearing sensible, practical clothing and approaching the cottage without any signs of fear, and any signs of having noticed Molly so far. Not sure how he‘s managing that.

And then there‘s a gust of wind and Molly catches a whiff of his smell. And, well- he‘s used to some shit, literal and figurative, but holy hells, that is rank. He sneezes, which draws the man‘s attention. With an „Oh! Apologies,“ he moves downwind and the stench lessens, mercifully.

„Wow, my condolences on whatever condition you‘ve got there.“ Molly wipes their watering eyes with the back of a hand.

The stranger smiles indulgently. „No condition, thankfully- an old hunter‘s trick. Powdered iron-vine, to make the monsters think twice about taking a bite out of me.“

„Seems inordinately cruel, if you ask me.“

„Sometimes, one has to be a little bit cruel to protect oneself.“ The smile is still there, but a bit strained round the edges now, maybe? „Say, do you happen to know if the hag of this swamp is in residence right now?“

Looks like they‘re not the only ones after hag‘s blood. Molly straightens proudly. „If it‘s her you‘re hunting, that‘s been taken care of already. By yours truly and… ah… they‘re back there somewhere,“ they add after looking over their shoulder and not seeing anyone of their friends anywhere near right now. They can hear the unholy crash from inside the house and Astarion swearing at whoever caused it, however.

The stranger does not look as happy at this news as Molly had thought he would.

„That is bad. I came here to ask her help for my hunt.“

O-kay… „What in the hells are you hunting, that you need help from a hag?“ What in the hells is worth paying the kind of price a hag would ask, should be the question. This guy must be truly desperate.

„A vampire spawn, fled from Baldur‘s Gate. He‘s dangerous, and very hard to track down.“ O-ho. Now that is interesting. But Molly knows better than to show their sudden spike in intrigue. Instead they shake their head, laughing quietly. „Only a spawn? Pft. Surely an experienced hunter like you doesn‘t need help for that?“

The hunter looks somber. „I am personally invested in this hunt. This spawn attacked my caravan and abducted all of our children, my daughters among them.“

Oops. Way to put your foot in it, Tealeaf. „Well, shit. I‘m sorry. And hey, if you want help, I could keep an eye out for this spawn? Do you have a description?“ Now for the really interesting part. Molly feels a little bit bad about using a father‘s pain to sate their own curiosity, but…

But the hunter shakes his head. „Thank you, but no. I need to do this on my own.“

Well, damn. But maybe they deserve that. „I can respect that. Good luck on your hunt. And, hey-“ They reach into a pocket and toss the man one of the potions they snagged earlier, which he catches out of the air. He bows ever so slightly, then turns and walks away, back into the swamp. Molly watches him go, deep in thought.

After a while, they turn as well to go back into the house and almost suffer a heart attack because Astarion is right. Fucking. Behind them.

„Holy shit, man! Warn a person, would you?“ Molly clutches at their heart, theatrically.

This causes no reaction but a slight frown.

„Why were you talking to a dirty Gur? What did he want?“

A what now? See, this is where being from a whole `nother fucking world puts them at a distinct disadvantage, because Molly has no idea what their elf companion is talking about. „Why would I not be?“

„Because they are filthy, thieving vagrants.“ Oh. Those must be the traveling people Astarion had referred to once. Got it.

„Didn‘t seem all that filthy to me, and, uh… do you really want to revisit this discussion, because I distinctly remember beating you last time.“ They smile brightly, right into Astarion‘s face, who pulls himself up in a show of affront. „You did most certainly not ‚beat me‘, you were playing dirty!“

„Still worked to shut you up...“

Astarion gives him a look that makes Molly glad looks can‘t actually kill people, because if they could he‘d be keeling over like a felled tree right about now. „You didn‘t answer my question. What did he want?“

Oh, how badly Molly wants to wind him up some more- but he also wants to see his reaction when he hears about what the ‚Gur‘ is hunting, so he decides to be upfront for once. „Help from dearest Auntie, to hunt down a rogue vampire spawn. Imagine making a deal with a hag for that!“ And while he laughs and shakes his head at the man‘s stupidity, he also watches Astarion‘s face like a hawk.

There is a reaction, but it‘s there and gone so fast he can‘t make it out before Astarion scoffs. „A vampire spawn. Out here? Ridiculous!“

Dammit, dammit, dammit. Just when Molly needs his ability to read people most, it fails him. „Run away from Baldur‘s Gate, he said. Seems to have abducted a bunch of children from his camp.“ Absolutely zero reaction this time, and Molly can‘t put his finger on whether that is because Astarion saw that coming, or he just doesn‘t care for travellers, and by extension, their children. His laconic, „Oh, no. Those poor dears,“ seems to confirm the latter theory.

„I know, it‘s so sad, isn‘t it? Do you need a hug?“ Molly opens his arms wide as if to embrace Astarion and watches him shy away with glee.

„Don‘t fucking touch me!“ Just as he adjusts his doublet as if Molly‘s very presence had disheveled his outfit, Shadowheart pokes her head through the terrace door. „Oh, great. Fighting again?“

Molly pivots to face her. „Of course, why should you and Lae‘zel have all the fun?“

„It‘s hardly fun, believe me,“ she scoffs.

„What, with how lustily you go at it?“

„-Anyway, I think we‘ve looted this place of everything there is to loot, are you coming? We‘re all just waiting for you two.“

„How could I possibly resist this siren call? Lead the way, fair lady!“

„Ugh… Idiot.“ Shadowheart stalks away and Molly straightens from his bow to follow her, Astarion sighing behind him. They rejoin their group and the hag survivors, who‘ve gathered outside and seem understandably anxious to be gone. Someone suggests burning the cottage down, but as it turns out damp wood in a swamp doesn‘t burn well, not even with Gale helping it along, so they leave a ruin with a few burnt patches. It should rot into the ground soon enough, anyway… provided the hag really does stay gone.

Another thing Molly doesn‘t want to think too hard on: how in all the hells he knew about the mushrooms, and how destroying them would keep Ethel from returning. Just ‚before‘ stuff. Not worth worrying about.

With help from the survivors, not a few of whom actually know the area, the party is set back on track to find their goblin hideout. On an actual road this time. And they leave into the sunset, having made the world a little better. For some people.

It‘s something, okay?

It‘s full night when the party finally makes camp for the day, which is partially due to wanting to make up for lost time, partially due to everyone preferring to be well away from the bog before sleeping. Astarion does his usual routine of pretend-eating over dinner while listening to Mollymauk tell their other companions the story of the Gur hunter in great detail, including of course what he‘s hunting. The little shit is onto him, he must be, and yet he hasn‘t done anything other than be a general nuisance. What is he playing at…?

After dinner is done and the watches have been distributed, Astarion lays down on his musty bedroll feeling uncomfortably stuffed and exhausted from hunger at the same time. He really needs to find a solution for this problem, he can‘t go on like this. The discomfort, he can take, but if he doesn‘t get a steady source of nourishment, sooner or later someone will start asking questions when he just gets thinner and weaker even though he‘s eating ‚normally‘. Of course, he can always pretend to be sick, but that would diminish his value for the group… not a thing he wants to risk happening.

But they‘re in a forest now, at least, which means there ought to be game afoot. Astarion should be able to catch another squirrel, maybe a rabbit, maybe- if he allows himself to dream- something bigger yet. Something with enough blood to last him for days. His mouth starts watering at the very thought. To drink his fill, for the first time in 200 years. For the first time since he‘s been turned, even. What would that be like?

Suddenly, he can‘t stand it any more. Blood is within his reach, and that alone is enough to make him ravenous.

He cracks his eyes open, regarding the other figures arranged around a central camp fire. Everyone appears to be sleeping. Even breaths all around. If he‘s quiet…

Nobody wakes as he slips out of his bedroll and off into the shadows. Now to only avoid their lone sentinel… which turns out not to be a problem, because Mollymauk, who had volunteered to keep first watch, is curled into a ball next to a large tree a little ways away from the camp, sleeping as soundly as the rest of them. Astarion‘s lip curls looking on the tiefling, laid out in blissful unconsciousness, like a feast ready for the devouring.

The need pulls at Astarion. His conditioning pulls the other way. Cazador would be furious. But Cazador‘s not here. But he doesn‘t know if he actually can. But if he can‘t, well, he‘ll be no worse off than before, right? He will just have to go hunting like he intended to in the first place. And if he can….

And why shouldn‘t he? Mollymauk is a nuisance, a wannabe hero, a waste of their time and drag on their resources. They‘d all be better off without him. There is a vampire spawn on the loose, after all. Looks like they got poor ole‘ Mollymauk, what a shame. He‘ll be missed.

He slides closer. No sign of waking from the tiefling. Astarion briefly wonders, not for the first time, at how tightly curled up he sleeps. Judging from his personality, one would think he‘d be a sprawler. This is… almost cute.

He‘s almost on top of Mollymauk now, bending down carefully, pulling the collar of that godsawful coat away to expose his neck. This close, he can see the fine lines of many, many scars littering the skin, all looking exactly like they were made by the kind of cuts the tiefling had exhibited after their fight against the goblins. Weird. But Astarion is too close to think about them now, close enough to smell Mollymauk‘s skin, close enough to smell the blood rushing beneath it, promising life and strength.

Close enough to bite.

He bites. And it‘s so easy- no compulsion stopping him, even Cazador‘s voice that‘s always in the back of his head silenced beneath the heady rush of blood into his mouth. That first mouthful is everything, is bliss, heavy with the taste of iron and electrified by a kind of buzz reminiscent of magic, and it lasts all of a second before the pain of the inside of his mouth, every inch of it that got into contact with Mollymauk‘s blood, suddenly snap-freezing like a twig full of sap in a sudden spring cold snap, hits him like a kick in the head. It shocks the breath out of him, which is good, considering, because otherwise he might have yelled as his teeth send freezing bolts of lightning into his jaw, into his brain. He writhes back in shocked agony- and looks straight into a pair of solid red eyes, open and not sleepy at all, laughing at him, and only now does he realize that this was a fucking trap.

„Fucking knew it,“ drawls Mollymauk, sitting up and propping an arm onto one knee, smiling like the cat that got the canary while blood is still trickling down his neck, leaving a twin trail of spreading ice that doesn‘t seem to hurt him at all. Astarion doesn‘t answer, can‘t answer because he is still in too much pain to say anything, and also the ice in his mouth is preventing him from closing it.

„You little shit!“ he finally spits, along with the last chunks of ice, when his mouth has thawed enough to allow for words, Mollymauk watching him all the while with satisfaction at a job well done.

„I am that,“ they admit readily. Still smiling. Gods, how he hates that smile.

„What did you do to me?!“

„Introduce you to my little party trick. Did you like it? It‘s neat, huh?“

„Neat? You‘re a freak!“ Astarion wipes his mouth with the back of a hand. His lips are still numb, but otherwise sensation is returning to the affected areas. This does little for his feelings toward his companion. What even is this, he‘s never heard about magic like this before. Using one‘s own blood to cast spells, outside of complicated rituals, is a new one on him.

He could have done very well without ever finding out that this kind of magic is possible.

„Thank you! And you‘re the vampire spawn.“

What use in denying it? „Yes. I am.“

„You know you could have saved yourself this-“ Mollymauk points at him, indicating his mouth region, „-if you‘d just told us, right?“

Right. Because telling strangers one is a vampire never leads to pitchforks and torches, at all. He says as much to Mollymauk, who shrugs. „Not telling us led to teethsicles, I guess. You know, I wasn‘t sure, what with the whole walking-in-the-sun-bit and everything else, so I thought I‘d put my theory to the test. Didn‘t really think you‘d be stupid enough to take the bait, honestly..“

Astarion growls. „I was hungry enough to take the bait. If I had known about your freak powers, I would have hunted the woods for some animal. And walking in the sun only happened after the tadpole, before that I was just an ordinary spawn.“

„You know I‘ve used my freak powers in combat a few times now, right? Hardly my fault you weren‘t paying attention.“ The tiefling does that airy-shrug-and-smile thing of his that is oh-so irritating. Astarion nearly bites his tongue off. It‘s hardly his fault that he spent the last fight down a hole, and the one before that- well, yes, he wasn‘t paying attention, but that was because he was busy trying not to die.

He feels like an utter idiot for not realizing that the scars were significant when he noted them on Mollymauk‘s neck, but… well, he was too far gone with hunger then, who can blame him.

And then something occurs to him. „Wait. The snake, at the Grove- was that you?“

Mollymauk tips their head to the side. „What?“

„That girl who stole the idol, when the snake attacked her it missed, and it seemed… off right after. And you had blood on your nails...“

„Oh, that. Yeah, that was me. I can confuse an enemy‘s senses for a moment, make it so they‘ll be more likely to miss. Quite handy sometimes.“ They smile brightly. Astarion nods slowly, wondering what more there is. How does a circus barker come to have this kind of magic? What other powers does he have? Why, in all his unlife, has he never come across even the mention of persons with these kinds of powers, powers that seem, from his short acquaintance with them, anathema to vampires? What in the hells is Mollymauk?

While he‘s still wondering, the tiefling changes the topic. „So the tadpole lets you do all these things that vampires shouldn‘t be able to do? Interesting. I don‘t think it works like that, normally.“ They‘re tapping their lower lip with one sharp nail, looking intrigued.

„Oh, definitely not. But I also don‘t mind it very much at the moment.“ Astarion regards the tiefling warily. „So, since that‘s settled, is it all the same to you if I go hunt some boar or something? I am really quite hungry still, after all.“

„Hunt away.“ They spread their hands, shrugging easily. „But tell me about those kids first.“

Ah, shit. He should have known it would come back around to that.

Although… there might be a chance here, if he spins this right. If he puts emphasis on how he, himself, is a victim to Cazador who had no choice in the matter, that ought to incline Mollymauk‘s bleeding heart toward him if everything he‘s seen in the past few days is any indication. It‘s worth a try.

He lowers his eyes to the ground as if unable to meet Mollymauk‘s gaze any longer. „That was me, I‘m afraid. Me and my ‚siblings‘, my master‘s other spawn. I… don‘t know why he sent us after children, it was very unusual for him, but… I don‘t know how much you know about what being a vampire spawn entails, but if my master gives a direct command, I am physically unable to resist it. No matter how much I want to...“ He lets his voice drop to a whisper on those last words, hunching in on himself a little. Pitiful. That‘s what he must look like, to maybe secure the tiefling‘s protection, who is so much more than meets the eye after all. Maybe even powerful enough to… no, they would never be able to go up against Cazador. But to protect him from the more mundane dangers they‘re going to encounter on their quest for a cure, at least.

„I‘m aware of compulsions. Unusual how?“

Oh dear. That is the part Astarion wanted to keep to himself. But again, it may just work in his favor. He hesitates, lets his eyes dart around the darkened forest, settling briefly on Mollymauk before slipping down again while breathing, „He… normally, he would send us out singly. To seduce people with our bodies. Lure them back for him to feed on….“

„Lure them back for him...“

It‘s the last thing Molly hears Astarion say. A ringing sound in his ears starts to drown everything else out, his vision narrowing, the world tilting suddenly as if drunk. Nausea rises up from his gut.

What?

He tries to take a deep breath and can‘t, chest unable to expand to properly take in air. Panic is rising, sharpened by the fact the he doesn‘t even know where this is coming from-

Hands. Hands on him, gripping, restraining, trying to pull him into someone‘s chest, pinning him against the wall of a hut-

„Let go of me!“ Ice shards go flying and the hands disappear. Molly falls back to their knees, curling into a defensive ball… no, not Molly, who…?

A name flashes into their head, a name written on a scrap of paper, but it‘s not theirs. It‘s… „bring them to me“- a hut in a forest, a woman‘s hand holding out scraps of paper with names on them, searching muddy streets and dingy taverns, figuring out how to approach; with a promise of treasure, or a promise of himself? Hands, hands on them, so much stronger, they‘re so small compared to-

„Mollymauk! Breathe, come on, you need to-“

A price, it‘s their price to pay, for- puppets, lifelike, a puppet with staring eyes that he once called brother-

The nausea climbs up their throat, and though they try to cover their mouth with a hand, it‘s no use.

„Ah shit,“ says a voice somewhere to their right as they retch onto the forest floor. „Hey… Mollymauk, I‘m just going to touch your shoulder, alright? Please don‘t ice-knife me again. And I‘m really going to need you to breathe soon, or you‘ll pass out.“ Astarion, the voice is Astarion‘s. Relief shudders through Molly when they realize they recognize it. They try breathing again and it‘s not working, and the panic is coming back up and…

...hand on their shoulder, light, rubbing circles, something to hold onto and he grasps at the contact, desperate for something to anchor him.

„Shh, shh… wherever you went, it‘s not real. You‘re not in there, you‘re in a forest hunting goblins with a magical bomb man and a cranky githyanki and...“

Molly laughs suddenly, a hiccuppy little thing, as the ridiculousness of that pun cuts through all the layers of panic and confusion. Breathing suddenly is easier. Not easy by any means, but easier. He sucks in as much air as he can while above him, Astarion scoffs. „Really? That‘s what does it? Well, whatever helps I guess...“ But the hand stays and Molly is grateful for it. Without it he would be spiraling again in no time, he can feel it,and he‘s not keen on a repeat.

Slowly, with the help of Astarion‘s gentle coaxing, Molly regains control over their breathing. At some point, the hand on their shoulder starts being too much, and they pull away, dig the heels of their hands into their eyes, groaning. „Fuck, that was awful.“ And, quieter, „Thank you...“

„I know what that‘s like.“ It‘s said quietly, like he‘s not actually talking to them at all. And what he‘s saying somehow doesn‘t surprise Molly at all. There‘s far more going on here than meets the eye, and now having confirmation that he‘s a vampire spawn, with a sire who isn‘t above using him as bait, Molly can start putting two and two together…

Still. He didn‘t have to help them. Everything Molly knows about the elf so far has led them to believe that he would do the exact opposite.

They finally pull their hands away from their face and in doing so notice for the first time the bloody punctures in their lower arm. Done by their own nails, looks like. They inspect them, feeling oddly detached. „Oh. Whoops.“

„Yes, you used that to attack me, too. Although I guess I should have known better than to touch you. Any idea what caused this, so we can prevent any more little meltdowns in the future?“

Molly looks up, into Astarion‘s face. There are indeed several small wounds there, the kind one would incur by being hit with flying shards of ice, one quite close by his eye. Whoops indeed.

As to what caused this- they wish they had any idea. „Not the foggiest-“ they start, cut off when that awful feeling of the world narrowing and tipping around them crashes back in. Their attempt at taking a breath gets stuck in their throat.

Come the fuck on, really?

Astarion seems to notice it, too, for he puts a hand on their cheek and turns their head to face him: „No, no. None of that now, stay with me.“

Molly closes their eyes, draws in a deep breath and is relieved to find that they can do so. A few more allow them to pull back from that edge. They open their eyes again to find Astarion gazing at them, intently and quite close. His hand is still on their cheek and they just can‘t help it:

„If this were a romance novel we‘d be kissing right about now.“

Astarion makes a face and removes himself out of Molly‘s space with alacrity.

„No thank you. I mean, you‘re very pretty, of course, but I have standards.“

„You do?“

They manage to keep the grin to a minimum when Astarion purses his lips, put out. „Oh, you are definitely feeling better. I‘m going hunting. Good night.“ He stands abruptly and makes to walk away, but Molly stops him. „You know we‘re going to have to tell the others, right?“

His shoulders tense. „Do we?“

„They‘re going to find out sooner or later. It‘d be better if you just told them. And then you can hunt without worrying about us.“

There‘s a short silence as Astarion mulls that over. „Let me think about it.“ And with that, he leaves.

Once Molly is alone, the night suddenly feels colder. He relocates to a spot closer by the camp, where he‘s able to at least imagine he can feel the fire‘s warmth, even if it‘s pretty much died down by now. Where the others aren‘t as far away. For a while, he sits with his back against a tree; then he gives up, curls in on himself, wraps his arms around his legs. He‘s feeling better now, yes, but not good by any means, still unmoored. Still brittle.

What the fuck even happened there? It must have been something from before, brought up by what Astarion said. Does that mean the other had to… when they were a child…?

Molly shudders. He feels dirty all of a sudden, and the anxiety of holding a few of the threads in his hands but being unable to glimpse the whole tapestry is making his breath come short again, is making him nauseous all over again.

He wants Yasha. Wants her to wrap him into a hug and never let go. Wants Gustav and Desmond, the circus, Toya‘s songs. Wants Lestera.

Alone in the darkness, a world away from any family he‘s ever known, Molly starts to sob into his knees.

Chapter Text

Alone in the darkness, Astarion stalks the woods. To call what he does hunting would be generous; he‘s more or less just carrying his thoughts around the countryside, and those thoughts are pretty confused at this moment in time. He‘s been lured into a trap, his secret is out, Mollymauk‘s blood is fucking magical and something he said about being a slave to Cazador triggered the tiefling so bad he went into a full-blown panic attack.

Astarion suddenly has questions about this ‚circus‘. Astarion suddenly has a lot of questions. Including why the fuck he didn‘t just leave but actively helped Mollymauk snap out of it. Was it pity? From him? He used to think he‘d given that habit up as a liability centuries ago.

Or. Well. It was the perfect way in, wasn‘t it? Helping people in a moment of weakness usually makes them feel obligated to you. It was an opportunity and he took it.

As to his cover being blown wide open, that is a problem. It‘s hard to predict how the rest of the party is going to react to those news. Mollymauk is sort of right, though, he‘s not going to be able to keep the truth about what he is to himself forever, especially since it seems increasingly unlikely that this quest of theirs is going to be finished any time soon, and being able to feed without fear of being caught would make all of this a lot easier.

Dammit.

With how distracted he is, he might have had to go without blood this night, as well, if a stroke of luck hadn‘t set his way to cross with that of a half-grown fawn with an injured leg. It‘s a mercy killing, really.

After, when the deer‘s legs have stopped kicking and the blood is all but gone from its body, Astarion sits back on his heels, gasping for breath that he doesn‘t need, not just full but sated for the first time in all his existence as a vampire. He can feel the heat of the blood warming him from within, and it is exquisite. And he knows that, now he‘s had this, he‘s never going to be able to live without it any more.

It scares him. One more thing for Cazador to take from him.

He can‘t let Cazador get his hands on him again.

He stays in this position, kneeling in front of a dead fawn, way longer than he should before he finally remembers that he needs to head back to camp. After a few steps, a thought occurs and he turns back around, grabs the fawn, spends a little while figuring out how best to carry it, and takes it back with him.

When he arrives at camp, it‘s Lae‘zel on watch. The fact that she doesn‘t attack him right away tells him that Mollymauk must have warned her he‘d be out and about, but she still eyes him with wariness. Then she nods to the fawn slung over his shoulders: „What is that?“

„Breakfast for my dearest companions.“ Astarion smiles at her, but he might as well try his charms on a brick wall.

„Where did you get it?“

„I hunted it.“

She scoffs.

„Well, alright, it was injured. But I killed it, nonetheless, and brought it back for you. I think a little gratitude is in order for that!“

„And why did you go hunting on your own in the middle of the night?“ Trust Lae‘zel to come straight for the crux of the matter. Astarion hesitates and her eyes narrow to yellow slits, but then he decides, fuck it. „There is something I need to tell you all. Tomorrow.“

„That you are a vampire?“

Ah, damn it all. Mollymauk must‘ve blabbed on him. „...well. Yes. How do you know, did Mollymauk…?“

„Mollymauk did not tell me anything other than that you went into the forest. I simply happened to see the bite marks on their neck and came to the logical conclusion.“ She‘s remarkably calm about all of this. But then Lae‘zel hardly shows emotion at the best of times. Any minute now, she might calmly inform him that she is going to kill him.

„And you… don‘t mind?“ he prods, because he has to know.

Lae‘zel crosses her arms over her chest in a gesture that has become familiar over the last few days. „If you can keep your bloodlust contained to our foes, I do not. But should your teeth ever so much as stray near my skin, I will gut you like a fish and hang you out to dry by your own intestines.“

That is about what he had expected to hear. „Fair. Your skin is safe from my teeth, you have my word on that.“

She nods, once, and just like that he is dismissed.

Well. That was a lot easier than he‘d feared. Two down, two to go, and where being a potential danger to one‘s allies is concerned, Gale does not have a leg to stand on to complain, so it is mostly just Shadowheart who might yet prove troublesome.

He crosses the short distance to the actual camping spot and drops the carcass of the deer next to the ashes of their fire, rolling his shoulders with a groan of relief on finally being rid of the weight. For such a small animal, it has become surprisingly heavy the longer he had to carry it.

Before tucking himself into his bedroll, he lets his gaze sweep over his companions, all sound asleep. Shadowheart, lying on her side, an arm tucked under her head. Gale on his back, arm resting across his midriff. And Mollymauk, as usual a compact little mound under a profusion of colorful fabric. He‘s lying on his left side, which thwarts Astarion‘s attempt at checking if the bite marks are indeed still visible.

But he sees something else that Lae‘zel must have either missed due to her bad night vision or chosen not to mention- the faint marks of tear tracks on his face.

He lies down and sharply turns his back to the camp.

What the fuck is he supposed to do with that now?

Astarion trances uneasily, dreams of Cazador finding him and punishing him for drinking blood without permission snapping him out of any rest he might manage to glean, so he‘s awake (and cranky) long before the others begin to stir- except Gale, who had last watch. The wizard already has slices of venison sizzling on hot stones near the fire and is actually humming to himself while watching their progress. How is this man even real?

„Well, this is nice,“ comments Shadowheart as she crouches down opposite from Gale, „I don‘t often wake up to find breakfast almost ready, when did you go out and hunt this?“

„Oh, I didn‘t,“ admits the wizard cheerfully- entirely too cheerful for Astarion on a night of almost no rest.

Shadowheart‘s brows disappear beneath her fringe. „Do you mean to say you just found a dead deer lying in our camp and decided to cook it?“

„I assumed one of you had...“ Gale gestures vaguely, looking suddenly unsure, and for all that Astarion loves watching him squirm, that‘s his opening. „I did.“

Both of them look at him so incredulously it‘s positively insulting. He crosses his arms. „What? You don‘t think I could?“

When the answers take just that tiny moment too long to arrive, Astarion tosses his head and sniffs delicately. „Well, I can and I did. You could at least thank me, you know?“

„Thank you,“ Gale says, reliable as always- at least when it comes to manners. „But may I ask what prompted this? You would have had to go into the forest alone, at night, with who knows what manner of creatures about...“

Ah yes, here it comes. Now to spin this in the way that makes it least likely for Shadowheart to stake him and for Gale to shoot fire at him. Maybe some self-conscious scratching at the back of his neck while looking awkwardly at the ground, and add some stammering in there for good measure.

„Ah… you see… the thing is, I am actually… the escaped vampire spawn…? That would be me, I… got snatched off the streets of Baldur‘s Gate while out on an errand from my master. I was, ah, quite hungry last night- actually, all the time we have been traveling together, because while your food, my dear Gale, is absolutely delicious, it does not give me the nourishment I need so I had to take things into my own hand. I happened to come across this fawn and, well, it would have been a shame to let all this good meat go to waste while you were sitting here with empty stomachs, so I brought it back with me...“ he plows on mercilessly to prevent the other two from saying a word. Not that that‘s strictly necessary- they‘re both staring at him with open mouths, still processing. Astarion squirms, wishing he were elsewhere, hating not knowing what‘s going on in their minds right now and when the stakes are going to come out.

„You are the vampire? Well, that explains a lot. And leaves me with a lot more questions, like how are you standing in the sun? And, and… all those other things… you shouldn‘t have been able to do any of that!“ Gale‘s mind, it seems, is blown.

„As to those questions, my dear Gale, the answer is quite simple: the tadpole. I have never been able to do any of what you mentioned before I acquired it.“ He watches as the wizard takes this in, can practically see the gears turning in his head. Only Gale of Waterdeep would make an academic problem out of finding out one of his travelling companions of several days was a vampire all along.

Meanwhile, Shadowheart is watching him with her eyes narrowed. „That is all very interesting, but why tell us? And why now?“

Half-truths it is. „Well, keeping my condition a secret was becoming quite the hassle so I thought I might as well, seeing as I trust you all implicitly. As to why now, why n-“

„-That‘s `cause he busted himself trying to take a bite out of me last night,“ Mollymauk interrupts suddenly. Astarion hadn‘t even heard them approach, gods damn it all. Gods damn him.

Shadowheart is looking very amused all of a sudden. „Did he now? How did that go?“

„Froze his mouth.“ Mollymauk hunkers down beside her. Shadowheart fucking guffaws. „Oh no. Poor Astarion.“

Astarion glares at her.

„You knew.“

„We all did, except you, somehow.“ Oh, he‘s going to wring her neck-

„Yes, we‘ve all seen Mollymauk call on their powers in battle a few times now. Quite fascinating, if I may say so-“

Mollymauk interrupts Gale before he can go on another academic tangent: „And for the last time, no, you‘re not allowed to study me.“

„Aw.“

„So, you‘re the vampire. What exactly does that mean for us?“ Shadowheart is looking up at him quite intently, as if trying to stake him with her look.

At least it‘s only with her look.

Astarion holds up his hands. „I can promise, no harm will come to your necks. I can feed on animals… and maybe the occasional foe we face in battle. Whether we empty them of their blood by slicing their throats or by me drinking it does not really make much of a difference, does it?“

„That sounds fair...“ Astarion is about to breathe a sigh of relief when Shadowheart follows it up with: „But if we‘re so safe with you, why did you try to bite Molly then?“

Astarion‘s mind races to come up with a good answer for that one. He can‘t very well admit that he half-wanted them dead… he goes for an awkward, tittering laugh, to show how uncomfortable he is saying this: „Ahah… well, dearest Molly was asleep on watch and I‘m afraid I sort of… wanted to punish them a little...“

„What he means to say is, he fell for me pretending to be asleep during my watch,“ Mollymauk chirps and gives Astarion the most shit-eating sharp-toothed grin he‘s seen outside of Cazador‘s manor when he glares down at them.

„I should have sucked you dry,“ he hisses. As usual, the tiefling is less than intimidated. „Good luck with that,“ they say, winking. Right. Magic blood. How he hates them.

With that avenue closed, Astarion hunts for an alternative narrative under Shadowheart‘s watchful gaze. The only thing he can think of is the one he tried last night. Alright, pity party it is. He sighs and scrubs a hand down his face, before starting, in a low voice, „The truth is… I was starving. I‘m not used to hiking around all day and fighting for my life on a regular basis… and even before I was abducted, I barely ever got enough because my kind master only let me eat rats and then only when I ‚earned‘ them.“ He notices he‘s sneering and his hands are balled into fists though he didn‘t tell them to do that. He unclenches them, slowly; they seem to have a life of their own suddenly, in defiance of his commands.

No matter, his confession still seems to have had the desired effect. Shadowheart‘s eyes are a little less hard as she looks at him, one could almost say sympathetic. He sneaks a brief glance at their tiefling, curious if the mention of Cazador has set something off again… but Mollymauk doesn‘t even seem to be listening, busy trying to steal one of the slices of meat off the rock where it is sizzling merrily, only to have his hand slapped away by Gale‘s Mage Hand which then goes back to turning the meat over.

Shadowheart recalls his attention when she asks: „And you‘re not starving any more, I take it?“

„Oh, no. This-“ he motions to what‘s left of the fawn, „was more blood than I‘ve had in my lifetime- at one time, I mean- so I‘m good for now. Probably for the next few days. And seeing as we‘re heading into dangerous territory I should be able to slake my thirst on the enemies we will doubtlessly meet. Although I do have to say, goblin is not particularly appetizing.“ He makes a face. Only a slight one, though. I wouldn‘t do to make them think his tastes are too refined for goblin and he might still want a nibble of them after all.

„Well.“ Shadowheart scoots over and pats the dirt next to her, „Works for me.“ She laughs softly, shaking her head. „What an interesting little party we have assembled here.“

Astarion accepts the invitation and sits down next to her. He can‘t believe it was this easy after all. Why did he torment himself, waiting so long? „You can say that again, my dear.“

The situation looks promising- maybe he still has chances with her. But it still wouldn‘t hurt to continue where he left off last night with Mollymauk. He has an in there now, it would be a shame to let it go to waste. Especially now that he knows there is a hunter after him, some extra protection can‘t hurt.

There is absolutely no doubt in his mind that the man was set on him by Cazador. It would be too much of a coincidence for a Gur, of all people, to be out here looking for him. And where there is one, there will be others. He will have to be prepared.

So he watches and waits as the others eat and pack up, trying to find a moment when he can get Mollymauk alone. At first glance, the tiefling seems to be their usual irritating self, but the more Astarion pays attention, the more he notices that the smiles and the jabs often come a beat too late, as if it‘s taking more effort than normally to conjure them up. Someone is definitely still feeling that episode from last night.

His opportunity comes after they‘ve set out and had a moment to space themselves out a little. Shadowheart is in front again, leading the way, Lae‘zel hot on her heels. Gale ambles along after them, and Mollymauk has fallen a bit behind, like someone who wants to be alone. Too bad Astarion doesn‘t care.

He falls into step next to the tiefling, looking over at him. Should he reach out? Touch his shoulder? Or is that too much? Mollymauk is a toucher, he knows that, always casually leaning into people or hugging them, but touching others and being touched are two different things.

He ultimately decides against it, not wanting to come across as overbearing. So he simply tries to catch Mollymauk‘s eye and, when he has accomplished that, asks in a low voice, „Are you alright?“

„Hmmm?“ And here‘s that innocent look again, as if they didn‘t know exactly what he‘s talking about.

„After last night, I mean. It looked quite… rough.“

Even with as closely as he‘s watching Mollymauk‘s expression, he can‘t detect even a hint of distress there. Either he‘s on his guard or telling the truth when he says, „Oh, that. Slept it off, thanks for asking.“

And yet.

Astarion makes a bit of a show out of looking skeptical, with a side of worried. „You don‘t need to do that, you know.“

„Do what?“ Mollymauks tips his head to the side, which is such a disgustingly adorable gesture, regarding Astarion with wide red eyes, which is even more disgusting… ly adorable. It makes him lose his thread, just for a moment. He fumbles a bit before getting back on track.

„Uh… You know. Put on a brave face. I know we don‘t usually get along that well, but… I hated seeing you like that last night. If you ever feel like you need some support, someone to talk to, a shoulder to cry on, as it were, know you can always come to me.“ There, that was pretty good, wasn‘t it?

Mollymauk‘s steps slow, before stopping entirely. They‘re still regarding Astarion with head lightly tilted to one side and a slightly puzzled expression before a smile slowly blooms across their face. Astarion inwardly congratulates himself. He did it again.

The tiefling reaches out, puts a hand on his cheek, cupping it ever so slightly. „That‘s very kind of you.“

And pats his cheek a few times, lips quirking into a knowing smile before they turn and saunter off.

Astarion is left standing there, feeling stupid. Then angry. Then stupid again. Why did he ever think this would work? Ungrateful little bitch… that was the last time he‘s lifting a finger to help them.

Chapter Text

Civilization has them again around midday. Or something loosely resembling civilization, anyway.

„Is this the place?“ Shadowheart whispers, peering ahead from behind a large boulder.

„It does have an awful lot of goblins,“ answers Gale, from behind a tree.

„What else could it be? Probably not that many goblin dens around, I‘m guessing,“ Molly decides from where he‘s lying on the ground, chin on hands, legs idly kicking back and forth in the air. The place they‘re staking out is a village or maybe a small town, ringed by a stone wall, the entrances of which are currently being guarded by small contingents of two or three goblins each. What they can see of the town proper beyond the walls has seen better times, which points to the goblins having been there a while.

„So… any ideas on how we get in…?“ Astarion drawls from the background, sounding utterly bored.

„Our first step should be to capture one of these goblins and interrogate them, to find out exactly where they‘re keeping Halsin,“ says Shadowheart. A small silence follows.

„My dear Shadowheart, are you telling me you know how to torture people? I am shocked.“ Astarion sounds anything but shocked.

Molly half twists around to look up at him. „Are you telling me you like seeing people get tortured? I wish I could say I‘m disappointed.“

The elf sneers. „They‘re not people, they‘re just goblins. Please tell me your bleeding heart doesn‘t extend to those vermin, we‘ll never get anything done if you stop to mourn every rodent we happen to kill.“

„Oh, I‘ve got no problem with killing.“

„Should it worry me that your mind went straight to torture? Because there are other ways to get information out of someone, like cunning questioning, for example.“ Shadowheart eyes Astarion from the side like she‘s seeing him for the first time.

Lae‘zel choses this moment to speak up. „Pain is the fastest way to make people disclose their secrets.“

„See? She agrees with me!“

„Shhh- could we keep this a little quieter, please, I think they‘ve heard us!“ urges Gale, the only one who seems to still be watching the goblin guards. The party shuts up immediately. After a few tense moments in which the goblins peer into the surrounding forest and talk among themselves they settle back down again, obviously deciding that it‘s not worth the hassle of investigating the noises they‘ve heard. One of the guards even sits down, leaning his back against the wall, pulls a battered hat down over his face and proceeds to take a nap. Of the other two, one starts filling a pipe with tobacco and the last one fidgets a little before walking away, his goal seemingly a few paces to the left of where they‘re hiding and between the trees. What he aims to do there becomes soon apparent when he pulls down his pants and squares up to a tree.

Shadowheart nudges Gale and whispers something in his ear that is unintelligible to Molly from their current position. Their wizard nods and holds up a hand in a ‚wait a moment‘ gesture.

A few steps away, the goblin takes care of business. Slowly. Shadowheart nudges Gale again, more insistently, and he shakes his head.

A few steps away the goblin is finally done taking a leak.

Magic crystallizes around him and he freezes.

„What? I wasn‘t going to use a Holding spell on him while he was relieving himself, the poor man,“ Gale says in answer to Shadowheart‘s accusing stare. She doesn‘t answer, except with an eyeroll, just walks up to the goblin, grabs his arm and tries to haul him off, which fails.

„A little help, please?“ she hisses, only to look none too happy when it is Lae‘zel who responds to her call. Together, they drag their captive further into the trees, his dick still hanging out.

The other three exchange glances and follow.

They catch up to the women in a small glade that Shadowheart has apparently deemed to be out of earshot from the village. There, they dump the goblin on the ground, Lae‘zel takes up position behind him with her sword drawn without having been told to, and Shadowheart nods towards Gale. „You can drop the spell now.“

He must have done so, judging by the goblin‘s sudden thrashing and swearing which is silenced by Lae‘zel pressing her blade to his throat. „If you wish to keep your tongue, I would advise you to hold it unless told otherwise,“she rasps to immediate effect.

„Holy shit. That almost scared me,“ Molly comments in an aside to Gale, who simply nods, eyes just a little wider than usual.

In the meantime, Shadowheart plants herself in front of the goblin, her hands on her hips. „Now, let‘s see...“ She doesn‘t get any farther before she falls silent, wincing slightly. It looks almost like tadpole communication is happening. Does that mean the goblin has one? Could he have been on the nautiloid too?

It takes only a heartbeat, but the goblin‘s entire demeanor changes in that time. Suddenly, he‘s managing to cower while lying flat on his back on the ground, spouting apologies. „Oh- True Soul! I‘m so sorry, I didn‘t realize- did I do something wrong? I‘m sorry, please don‘t cut my throat!“

Gale throws Molly a ‚what the hell just happened?‘- look which they can only answer with a shrug. Shadowheart herself is reeling a bit but recovers admirably quickly, stepping into the persona the goblin is apparently expecting like a true performer. „You‘re asking me if you did something wrong? What about being off your guard and allowing yourself to be captured? I expect better from a guard, so consider this your last warning: let me catch you like this one more time and it will be your head on the ground. Several meters away from your body!“ At this, Lae‘zel appears to press her blade against their captive‘s throat a bit more forcefully because he yelps and starts blabbering. „Of course, of course! Won‘t happen again, True Soul, I swear! By the Absolute herselfs! Please let me go!“

Shadowheart nods at Lae‘zel to withdraw the sword, then crosses her arms and glowers down at the goblin as he goes from cowering while lying down to cowering while standing up. „Can I go?“ he squeaks. A brief nod sends him scampering before Shadoweart catches Gale‘s frantic gestures, which include, among others, facepalming, and calls out, „No, wait! Stop!“

The goblin skids to a halt. „Yes, True Soul?“ he asks with trepidation born of being called back by a superior after having been dismissed.

„We are looking for a druid, name of Halsin. You wouldn‘t happen to know what happened to him? It‘s of the utmost importance, he, ah, has crucial information for our… endeavour!“

„I wouldn‘t know, True Soul, truly, I‘m sorry. Never heard of no-one called Haslin! Sorry, True Soul!“

Shadowheart growls frustratedly, making the goblin flinch, then waves a hand at him. „Damn it. Alright, get lost, go on!“

He flees, for real this time, dick still hanging out.

„Well. That got us nowhere, but it was still interesting. Do you have any idea what a ‚true soul‘ is and why he would refer to you as such?“ Gale asks after a moment of collective processing.

„Someone pretty powerful in their society, judging by how subservient our boy suddenly became,“ Astarion muses quietly. Molly throws him a look but decides to ignore him and instead says, „Did it just look like you two were having a tadpole chat, or what was going on there?“

„I‘m… not sure. He didn‘t have a tadpole, I could feel that, but I could still… influence him with it somehow. Like the tadpole was giving me some sort of… authority… over him.“

„Hmmm. Very, very interesting. This could be useful.“ Astarion is tapping his chin with a finger, deep in thought. „Do you think there are more like him?“

„Nothing connected with the tadpoles is useful enough to be worth the price. We need to purge ourselves of them, not use them!“ Lae‘zel adds her five copper. Gale nods along. „Could not agree more. We just don‘t know enough about our little passengers to make use of them with impunity.“

Astarion is rolling his eyes but keeps his opinion to himself.

„So what‘s next? Should we just try and stroll on in there?“ Molly jerks his head in the direction of the town and watches speculation pass across his friends‘ faces.

„It‘s worth a try. Looks like we‘ve got a VIP badge in our heads, no?“

„Is that another istik term I am not familiar with?“

„It means they better not mess with us, dear. Alright, let‘s go. Worst that can happen, we‘ll fight an entire town full of goblins.“ Grinning, Molly sets off to test that new theory.

Turns out, it‘s watertight. Their new friend has already done half the work for them, warning his fellow guards at the gate that a bunch of ‚true souls‘ is coming through, and the worst they have to face is the aforementioned guards‘ ideas of what a bow looks like.

The place looks exactly as bad from inside the walls as the view from outside promised, and smells worse. Houses half-falling down, heaps of refuse, various, everywhere, that sort of thing. As they walk through the main street, there‘s a sudden squeak from ground level and when Molly turns to look he sees Astarion twisting the heel of his shoe viciously into the body of a rat that shudders and dies. Satisfaction evident on his face, the vampire walks on. Can‘t really blame him, Molly thinks, they‘d probably react the same way if they‘d been forced to eat only rats for an extended period of time.

Gale suggests they stay together while scouring the town for any sign of Halsin, which naturally means they lose sight of each other at the first opportunity.

Eh. No matter. The village isn‘t that large, they‘ll find each other again.

Molly pokes around in houses and down cellars and finds lots of rotten food and a few pieces that still look edible, which he takes; also mildewing rags, broken furniture and some gold in hidden nooks and crannies, but no trace of a druid. No trace of any captives, in fact, and he‘s starting to think they might be in the wrong place after all. The goblins and a few bugbears don‘t bother him at all beyond staring at him in his colorful attire, stares which he answers with winks and smiles. Not a few of those on the receiving end of his winks color up to their eartips and then find something else to do, a welcome source of entertainment for Molly in these rather depressing surroundings.

A little further in, they get to rescue a rather dizzy deep gnome who‘s been doubling as entertainment himself, having been tied to the sail of a windmill and been sent to fly round and round by a gaggle of goblins. When Molly saunters up to them, they try to chase them off at first, but a promise of a free fortune telling makes them reconsider. Molly sends them all haring off after imagined treasure, unties their victim and sees him on his (wobbly) way.

Behind the hill the windmill is built on, there is only a large barn next to a small, earthen knoll on which a fire is burning, and after that, the village ends abruptly in a steep drop down to a rushing river. Intrigued by the fire burning merrily without anyone in sight minding it, Molly approaches the knoll and climbs it, and finds a sort of camp scene, with a large lump of meat roasting above the fire (and starting to burn on the bottom) but still noticeably absent of any people, goblin or otherwise. There is a small dagger stuck in the meat and they busy themself pulling it out, which proves harder than it looks. Having done that, they turn the meat on the spit so it won‘t burn too badly as recompense for the weapon.

Just as they‘re securing the roast in its new position, they get startled by a sudden THUMP that seems to originate from the very bowels of the earth itself and very nearly fall on their ass. Next comes- wait. Was that a moan? A very deep and guttural one, sure, but- another thump, just as ground-shaking as the last one and, yes, that‘s definitely a moan. And it‘s coming from the barn.

Oh. Molly chuckles. Now the abandoned campsite makes sense.

They climb down from their vantage, resolved to leave the lovebirds to their tryst, when they spot none other than Astarion walking their way. They wave cheerily but the elf barely acknowledges them, walking toward the large door at the front of the barn.

Another thump-moan and he freezes in his tracks, and then Molly gets to witness a slow smile spread across his face, one that spells ill for the people having fun inside. He resumes walking, or rather beelining, toward the door, bent on mischief.

„You know, I don‘t think they want an audien…. never mind.“

The door swings open. Molly moseys on over, because- it‘s already open, what‘s one more set of eyes, right?

Astarion is grinning ear to ear now as the expressions of both the ogre and bugbear inside go from shocked to murderous in seconds. The bugbear withdraws from his partner with a wet ‚plop‘ that is audible all the way over where Molly‘s standing and covers himself with a hand while the ogeress lumbers to her feet. „What the fuck- get out!“

„Uh, actually, my friend here wanted to ask if he could join- no? Okay, we‘ll just be go- shit!“ Molly barely dodges the club the ogeress hurls at the two of them while roaring furiously, grabs Astarion by the sleeve and tries to run, and almost ends up pulling him off his feet to a shout of „What are you doing?!“

By way of answer, Molly just pulls harder, and then they‘re both beating feet while ogre and bugbear run after them, shouting and brandishing weapons while butt-ass naked, Molly laughing so hard he can barely breathe to keep going. Rounding a corner, they almost plow over Lae‘zel who is running the other way, alarmed by the shouting.

„Run!“

That she actually does so is a testament to how perplexed she must be.

The pursuit is intense but short-lived, neither of the two lovers apparently too keen on streaking through the whole village. Or more keen to get back to what they were doing, maybe, although if Molly had to guess the mood is thoroughly ruined now.

The three of them duck through a door into a tumbledown house where Molly collapses against a wall that he then slowly slides down until he‘s sitting on his ass, still giggling breathlessly. Astarion flops down cross-legged, wiping at his face, and Lae‘zel stands over them, looking bemused and a little disappointed.

„What did you do?“ she finally asks, sounding almost as disappointed as Gustav had the one time Molly got high and tried to fit a horse through the door to his waggon, thinking it might sleep better on the bed inside.

„Why, nothing, I merely heard weird noises from inside a barn and went to investigate. Imagine my surprise when I found these fine individuals having a romp inside!“ Astarion is still grinning widely, not caring at all if he‘s believed or not. Lae‘zel sighs a beleaguered sigh, and Molly is struck by a sudden memory: „Did you notice the guy‘s dick flopping around when he was running…?“ -making flapping gestures with one hand in the air before the giggles overtake him once more. Astarion presses a hand to his mouth, shoulders shaking. Lae‘zel groans.

It takes them a while to recover, but eventually Astarion sighs, wipes the last of his tears of laughter off his cheeks, and says, „Well. That was fun, but I don‘t see why you wanted to run away instead of just killing them. It was rather… undignified, fleeing like that.“

Molly snorts in a distinctly undignified way. „Who cares about dignity?“ he says to the two people in their little party who care the most about dignity. „Besides, this way they‘ll be thinking of this moment every time they have sex, and that‘s even more fun, don‘t you think?“

Astarion wags his head, considering this. „Alright, I‘ll give you that. We have left a lasting impression on two brainless brutes.“ Is that sarcasm that Molly detects? He just smiles. „Exactly! Oh- and… that reminds me… “ They pull out the dagger they liberated earlier, flip it once in the air and offer it to Astarion, handle first. „Found this. Thought you might like to have it.“

The elf looks at the dagger as if it might bite. „...why?“

„Because it‘s better than your butter knife, obviously.“ Molly starts wagging the dagger in Astarion‘s face, like trying to bait a cat into playing with a bit of string. He snatches it so fast it almost cuts their fingers. „Alright, give that here. And I‘ll have you know it‘s not a butter knife, it is a very well maintained dagger.“

Molly shrugs easily. „You‘re welcome.“

„And have you perhaps found anything pertaining to our mission, or was disturbing the locals during sex the only thing you accomplished?“ Lae‘zel asks sharply, interrupting their banter. Not that ‚sharp‘ isn‘t her standard tone of voice.

„Weellll….“- „Uhh….“ Molly and Astarion look at each other sheepishly, then Astarion goes on the offensive: „Have you?“

„No. I am starting to think there is nothing to find here. This Halsin must have been killed and we are wasting our time. We should leave and try to find the créche-“ she breaks off and glares at Molly when he finishes the sentence with her. He grins at her unrepentantly.

„We don‘t know what Gale and Shadowheart might have found. Let‘s go find them first, we can decide what to do afterward.“ Astarion stands and brushes dirt and leaves off the bottom of his trousers. Molly follows suit. And, of course, when you‘re looking for something- or someone, in this case- it‘s nearly impossible to find them. The other two are probably looking for them and they keep missing each other. But in the end, Molly spots them coming out of a cellar, looking slightly the worse for wear.

„Did you get into a fight without us?“ he calls as they‘re approaching.

„What makes you think we did?“ Shadowheart snarks, brushing her bloodstained fringe out of her face. She is sporting a healed-over cut near her temple and is moving somewhat gingerly, as if something is wrong with her ribs.

Gale‘s face is pale underneath a healthy layer of soot and he‘s limping, using his staff as a walking stick. „We just happened to wake several undead skeletons in an alchemist‘s sub-basement and had tea and scones with them before going on to have a nice and peaceful discussion about Faerûnian politics with a handful of shades.“

„The latter part of which could absolutely have been avoided!“ Shadowheart skewers Gale with a look that makes Molly raise his eyebrows and the wizard wince.

„Well- ahem- yes, I should have been able to predict that destroying a tome about necromancy might come with a slight chance of unleashing some sort of protection on said tome but- I honestly wasn‘t thinking in the moment.“

Shadowheart growls, „Obviously.“

„A tome of necromancy? Down there?“ Astarion asks incredulously and with a certain edge to his voice that has Molly‘s ears perking up.

„Yes, I do believe it to have been the Necromancy of Thay, which, obviously, is much too dangerous to leave lying abou-“

„The Necromancy of Thay?! And you destroyed it?!“ For a second, Astarion looks like he‘s about to either have an aneurysm (is that even possible for a vampire? Probably not), or strangle Gale, whichever comes first. Then he covers his face with his hands and groans in despair.

„I don‘t see why that should upset you so, it was a dangerous book and the world is better off with it taken out of comission.“

Astarion runs his hands through his hair and starts gesticulating tensely, as if he‘s just so restraining himself from wrapping his hands around Gale‘s throat, „It upsets me because, as you may know, I am a vampire spawn. With a master who is a vampire, as in, undead, and also an utter dickbag. And this book that you so carelessly destroyed might have held secrets which could have helped me free myself from his clutches before I get un-tadpoled and end up fully under his sway again! That‘s why I‘m upset!“

„Oh. Well. I- but surely there must be other ways to-“

„Which ways?!“ Astarion hisses, making Gale flinch, „I can only think of one and that is killing Cazador and, don‘t take this the wrong way, but this group is going to end up as a greasy smear on his polished marble floor if we attempt that. You don‘t know how powerful he is!“ By the end, there‘s more than anger in his voice- desperation and fear are creeping in, and he seems to shrink in on himself, terrified by something reaching out from his past. And Gale, bless him, tries to comfort him by closing the distance between them and putting a hand on his shoulder: „We‘ll find a-“

„Don‘t touch me!“ Astarion spits like a threatened cat and flinches away violently, wild-eyed.

Molly whistles under his breath. Quite the picture that‘s painting itself here, especially combined with what Astarion has revealed about his sire so far. Because this is all genuine if he‘s any judge. No acting on Astarion‘s part at all.

Oh boy.

„Well, anyway,“ they start, to cut through the tension and get the attention off of the vampire, „I have it on good authority that creepy books from abandoned basements are bad for one‘s health, and it‘s too late besides. What about Halsin, anything on him?“

Gale and Shadowheart shake their heads in unison. „No, but we talked to some ogres and they made it seem like this is just an outpost and there‘s some sort of abandoned temple that‘s the actual den of these goblins. And of these ‚true souls‘, whatever that means.“

„Huh. Then if he‘s alive, this is where he‘ll be. I guess. Next stop, abandoned temple?“ Molly looks around their group. No one is nodding, but no one‘s protesting, either, if one doesn‘t count Lae‘zel rolling her eyes and grumbling, and frankly, nobody listens to that anymore.

„Welp. Let‘s get going then.“

Astarion is furious. At Gale and Shadowheart, for destroying something so potentially valuable to him. At Mollymauk, for dismissing the issue so easily. And at himself, because he always is.

A small voice in his head that is probably reason tells him he has no right to be angry at the former two; they couldn‘t possibly have known what having this tome in his hand might be able to do for him. He dismisses it; right now, he wants to be angry.

His anger at Mollymauk feels at least justified. He‘d practically bared his heart to the entire group, the least the bitch could have done would be to not change topic immediately?!

The anger at himself is an old thing, two hundred years or more. For being so desperate not to die that he would take a vampire‘s offer of turning him. It‘s always in the back of his mind somewhere to the point that he hardly notices it anymore, except during moments like these. Then it comes roaring to the front like an inferno, filling every nook and cranny in his soul.

And damn, does it feel good.

He‘s barely paying attention to the world outside his own head, except to notice when more goblins turn up. These ones have worgs with them and look much more alert than the last batch, but, as Gale put it, they have VIP badges in their heads and so getting in is very little hassle. One of the guards does eye Mollymauk up and down and spits in the dirt, „‘nother one? Well, so long as your yowling is better‘n that of the one we got I ain‘t got a problem.“

What she means by that is revealed when they finally enter the actual goblin camp- but first, shit happens. That is to say, the ‚Absolute‘ introduces herself to them via exceedingly painful vision, Shadowheart snaps them out of it with a weird artefact and then Lae‘zel descends on her like a celestial of wrath because that same artefact is apparently of githyanki make. They almost come to blows then and there and only through Gale and Mollymauk‘s combined diplomacy is a murder averted, much to Astarion‘s dismay. Watching the women kill each other would have been just the thing to get him back in a good mood.

And then there‘s the camp. Complete with a human bard who really isn‘t very good, which at least explains the guard‘s throwaway comment. They pass through what looks like a raucous celebration and get admitted into the temple proper with a little more trouble than they had at the gate. Here, it seems, it‘s all business- people getting branded, a dead illithid being interrogated, your usual.

Shadowheart wrinkles her nose once they get to the inner sanctum, a part of the temple where the statues and other art adorning the walls haven‘t yet been destroyed or plundered completely. „Oh no. A temple to Selûne. Let‘s not linger here any longer than we have to.“

Mollymauk throws her an odd look. „Not a fan, I take it?“

„You can say that again. Fucking moon-witch. But, I have to say, seeing one of her temples being desecrated by goblins does lift my spirits a little,“ she closes with a tiny half-smile.

Is it the light, or is Mollymauk actually bristling at that? Should they have a Selûnite in their midst? Not that it matters to Astarion one way or the other, but if this ends up driving a wedge between the tiefling and half-elf he should endeavour to take advantage of it if he can. As they say, divide and conquer.

Scouring the temple takes a few hours, especially because they can‘t be too conspicuous, something which is made much more difficult by having Lae‘zel and Mollymauk in their party. A gith would be bad enough, a gith combined with a walking circus draws eyes everywhere. And there is no trace of Halsin here either.

What there is, is a giant cave bear in a cage.

Shortly after that discovery, they all pile into an out-of-the-way nook that is way too small for the five of them, and is made to seem smaller by Shadowheart and Lae‘zel‘s categoric refusal to be anywhere within two steps from each other.

„So, what are our thoughts on that bear being our druid?“ Mollymauk asks as soon as they‘ve all arranged themselves in ways that make it at the least unlikely that someone is going to have their eye poked out or toes crushed by another‘s foot. The tiefling themself has crammed their bony ass into a window slit that is barely wide enough to accomodate it, and is dangling their legs in the air.

„That we‘re all going to be feeling really stupid if it turns out he‘s not,“ says Shadowheart from behind Gale‘s solid form.

„What an exceedingly helpful statement. And stop poking me, please.“

„Your hair… is tickling my…“ she sneezes. Gale sighs and wipes his neck with a disgusted grimace. „I think our chances are good. What better way to hide your identity in a hostile camp? I surmise that Halsin must not be able to Wildshape into smaller animals, such as ra- … weasels, or he would have simply made good his escape and been back at the Grove in time for us to meet him there. Of course, it is also completely likely that this bear is just a bear, in wich case we are fucked.“

„Look at you, using swearwords. I am mildly impressed,“ Astarion can‘t help but tease. Gale looks abashed. „Well. Even I enjoy a good swear now and then.“

„You are so cute, I just want to hug you and squeeze you.“ Shadowheart, being in the perfect position to do so, immediately demonstrates what she means by looping her arms around the wizard‘s soft middle. And squeezing.

„Un- unhand me, please! Shadowheart!“

Giggling, she pulls back.

„We‘ll teach you to swear yet, don‘t worry,“ Mollymauk promises, grinning ear to ear. Then Lae‘zel returns them all to business: „Assuming this is Halsin, how do we break him out?“

„Yeah, that one‘s a bit of a puzzler.“ Mollymauk rubs at his neck. „Think we could blow through the back wall of his cell?“

„How would we do that, do you suggest? I don‘t currently have access to powerful enough spells to damage stone walls, just so you‘re all aware.“

„We find some black powder. I think I‘ve seen barrels of the stuff in a room behind where those merchants have set up.“

„Black… what?“

„Powdery, black stuff, smells bad, goes boom when you ignite it?“

„Oh. Smoke powder.“ The idea gets given some consideration, then Shadowheart says, slowly, „But that still leaves us with the problem of how we are going to steal any without getting caught,“

„By sneaky vampire, maybe?“ Mollymauk bats his lashes at Astarion, who grimaces and shakes his head. „A whole barrel, by myself? You severely overestimate my strength. And my stealthiness. No, we just need to kill everyone in here. The old-fashioned way.“ He feels himself smile at the prospect.

„There are five of us, and an entire temple full of them, at least fifty goblins and ten to twenty others, not counting animal companions. While I would normally endorse such an approach, we simply do not have the numbers,“ Lae‘zel says bluntly. Of course she would have been counting the goblins.

But that is Astarion‘s moment. „Then it is good that we have poison,“ he croons while pulling a small vial from his doublet that‘s been sitting there ever since the Grove.

„Where did you get that?“ Gale looks at the vial as if the mere sight of it could poison him.

„The healer at the Grove, though she could not help us, was kind enough to provide Shadowheart and I with ‚a way out‘.“ At this, Shadowheart pulls her own vial out of her armor. „Wyvern poison. Quite deadly.“

„But if we poison their food supplies it will take days to catch them all, and they‘re likely to notice when people keep falling over dead.“

„Not the food, my dear wizard. The drink. A few drops of this into each of the barrels they‘re making merry with at their little party. Nobody will question drunk goblins falling over. And the ones we don‘t get with this, the five of us should be enough to take care of.“

„That‘s a sound plan, but for one little hitch. If you want to poison all the barrels at the party without getting caught, you‘ll need a distraction,“ Shadowheart points out.

„Oh, darling, but we have one.“ Astarion motions at Mollymauk, currently sitting with chin in hands and grinning like a pyromaniac upon getting handed a vial of Alchemist‘s Fire.

„You got it, Starry.“

Chapter Text

„You think Mollymauk will be able to capture their attention long enough for you to poison all these barrels?“ Lae‘zel whispers from where they‘re all watching the riot of colors that is their tiefling stride into the thick of the fray, that is to say, the feast.

„Lae‘zel, darling, Mollymauk is nothing if not attention-capturing. Don‘t worry.“

„Besides, he grew up in a circus, I think he knows a few tricks.“ Gale sounds very confident, and also he‘s talking too loudly again. Astarion claps a hand over his mouth, smiling at him in a way that leaves his canines bared. „Don‘t jinx it, my love,“ he says pointedly. Gale murmurs a muffled ‚sorry‘ into his hand and he lets him go and goes back to watching. Mollymauk has now reached the ramshackle podium where the human bard is doing something that one might call, if one were inclined to be very generous, singing, hops onto it, claps a hand on the blue-clad man‘s shoulder and seems to announce something to the crowd of rowdy goblins that Astarion is too far away to hear. There are shouts and cheers, boos and whistles as most heads turn toward the stage. Perfect. Mollymauk really only needs to keep them entertained for a few minutes, at most- and should the goblins decide to make Mollymauk the entertainment after that, Astarion also won‘t be sorry.

He nods to his companions. „Alright, I‘m going to start. You hide where we talked about.“

They all slip away in different directions.

Molly‘s never had to work a crowd of goblins before. They‘re definitely on the rowdier end of the spectrum, even though the honour of being the rowdiest crowd Molly ever experienced in his short life goes to the good farmers of Blumenthal. He still hasn‘t figured out how they got the cow on top of the chapel- or back down again.

These guys actually let him pass betwen them without too much trouble. Might just be curiosity and they could end up turning on him in a minute, so he‘ll just have to make the best of what time he has.

The first rule for dealing with an audience that is well and drunk and also liable to eat you is, of course: step with confidence. So that‘s what Molly does. He strides up to the little stage like the rotted boards belong to him and climbs it under the eager eyes of the assembled goblins and the wary gaze of the human man in blue who had up until this point been delivering his idea of slam poetry from it.

Molly pats him on the shoulder. „Stand down, colleague, I got this. What‘s your name?“

Watery eyes boggle at him as if he were the personification of the Moonweaver instead of a purple tiefling in a multicoloured coat. The man draws himself up in something approaching affronted pride, as if he‘s actively unhappy about Molly offering to take the heat off of him. „Volothamp Geddarm my name, but- if I may ask- what are you doing…?!“

Molly ignores him in favor of turning and calling out to the audience, „Volothamp Geddarm, ladies, gents and genders! Let‘s hear a round of applause for the sweetest voice I e‘er heard- since that donkey last week.“

The ones among the audience who are faster on the uptake or less drunk or both give a few scattered giggles and half-hearted applause. They‘re waiting for Molly to prove himself before giving him their full attention, which is fair.

There‘s also some booing, especially from one goblin lady close by the stage. This would be the heckler, then. Molly turns to her, smiling beatifically, but before he can say anything, she‘s shouting, „Boo! Get off the stage! We want the songbird!“

That claim is cast into doubt by the faces of the goblins immediately around her, who emphatically do not seem to want the songbird. Still smiling, Molly bows to her. „Oh, my good woman, I am one,“ to which she scoffs.

„Ya think ya can do better, horny?“

While she‘s cackling at her own pun and slapping her ample thighs, Molly‘s smile morphs into a slow grin and he drifts the two steps closer to Volothamp that the man has since put between them, throwing an arm around his shoulders.

„Oh, sweetheart- yes, I think I can.“

And with those words, he pulls the surreptitiously-loosened belt from around Volothamp‘s waist and dances out of reach with it held high. Uproarious laughter sweeps over them while the guy stares at Molly, his pants puddling round his ankles, and then the crowd, hastily reaching down to pull his legwear back up and hobbling after Molly. „Oh, you- scoundrel! Return that at once!“

„Ah, so sorry….“ Molly holds the belt out to him. His questing fingers brush the leather- and Molly snatches it away. „… but I don‘t think I will.“ Laughter again. Volothamp desperately lunges for his belt now, only for Molly to nimbly skip just out of reach again. The man follows, in a highspeed shuffle that once again causes peals of laughter to erupt all around.

Out of the corner of their eye, Molly can see a silver head of hair just beginning to weave through the crowd and casually make for the ale barrels. They smile to themself and break out in song as they evade the next attempt Volothamp makes at reconquering his belt: „Ohhh look at him with his ass out like a chicken plucked/ don‘t you want to give that a little tap for luck?“ and let the belt snap between their hands for emphasis. More howls of laughter. All eyes are on the stage and the ludicrous chase going on there. Even the lady who‘d loudly clamored for the songbird earlier is holding her belly as it jiggles from how hard she‘s laughing. So much for loyalty.

Now Molly only has to keep it up.

Well, the circus freak is in his element. And the goblins are loving it. Astarion barely needs to use his considerable talent for stealth while Mollymauk is drawing eyes from all around the camp skipping round the stage with the other bard‘s belt now in his hand, now worn as a headband, always just a step ahead of the blue-clad human who is getting increasingly desperate to reclaim his property, and bursting into lines of bawdy song every so often. His voice isn‘t even half-bad, go figure.

The hardest part of the following minutes is trying not to gag on the smell of spilled, warming ale and vinegary wine mixing in the air, with undertones of roasting dwarf meat from one of the pits and faint notes of vomit from all around the camp. Once the last of the barrels has been doctored with, he wanders around in search of more receptacles for the last drops of his wyvern poison, slipping a bit into this mug or that bottle. By this time, the bard has recovered his belt and is sitting somewhat dejectedly at the edge of the platform where Mollymauk has fully taken over, juggling his scimitars while belting out a rowdy ballad that has the goblins falling over one another laughing. Or maybe that part is the alcohol. But they‘re laughing, anyway.

And the first ones are already heading over to the barrels to fill up their mugs, which means it‘s time for Astarion to slip out. He does so without trouble and finds the others hidden behind the stretch of broken wall that encircles the old temple. Why the builders went to the trouble of putting a wall here when there‘s a perfectly good river protecting the temple from any approach on this side will forever remain a mystery. Because Astarion isn‘t going to bother looking into it. Why would he, when he can just judge them?

„Did everything go well?“ Lae‘zel accosts him as soon as he steps out of the shadows. He tosses the two empty vials at her by way of answer. Unsurprisingly, she catches them both. „Swimmingly, darling. Though I‘m not sure when we‘ll see Mollymauk again, they seem to be having an awful lot of fun.“

„Well, as long as they get out before the goblins realize those who are falling over aren‘t doing so because of the alcohol...“ Gale is fretting over the bloody tiefling, if you‘ll believe it. Astarion rolls his eyes. „They‘ll be fine, grandma, calm your nerves.“ Or not, in which case Astarion will have one headache less.

Mollymauk is, in fact, fine when they come stumbling back to them over an hour later, covered head to toe in eggs and feathers and grinning like a maniac.

„Did you know that chicken chasing is actually really fucking fun?“ they announce apropos of nothing as they flop down amongst the rest of the group.

„We did not and is that why you‘re covered in egg?“ Astarion wrinkles his nose and scoots away so as to avoid getting any of it on his clothes. Their state is deplorable anyway after days spent hiking through woods and swamps, he doesn‘t need to make it worse.

Mollymauk looks himself over. „That‘s from the eggs the goblins were throwing at me while I was chasing the chicken.“

„Ah. And might I ask when and how you acquired an owlbear cub?“

„I think I won it? Sort of? Not quite clear on that one, that goblin was slurring a bit- oh, there it goes.“ The lump of feathers in Mollymauk‘s lap wiggles free and bounds off. He looks after it a bit disappointed but recovers instantly, „And this is Volo, by the way. He followed me home,“ indicating the blue-clad human from the stage, who bows deeply. „Very pleased to meet all of you, and even more pleased to find myself back in… civilised...“ looking askance at Mollymauk, „company. I‘ve had quite the harrowing stay among these goblins, you may be sure of that.“

Oh, gods. Another overly loquacious human, as if one wasn‘t bad enough. Well, maybe he and Gale can keep each other company. The wizard did perk up at this small speech, like a dog spotting a potential playmate. And now he‘s trying to catch his eye and scooting to the side to make room for him in their little circle, only to be disappointed when the other human sits down by Shadowheart instead. She is not looking all that happy about this state of affairs.

„So, guys?“ Mollymauk is saying, „Does anyone of you have prestidigitation? Just because I‘ve got this stuff literally everywhere and it‘s going to start smelling really bad really soon.“ He sounds supremely unbothered by this prospect.

There‘s a shaking of heads all around, then Shadowheart points at the river running close by. „You‘ll have to do this the hard way, I‘m afraid.“

Mollymauk shrugs. „Alright then.“ And just like that, he gets up and wanders upstream to a spot where the bank is a little less steep, hops down and starts to undress without so much as hesitating. Gale immediately averts his eyes; he‘s the only one. Volo is fucking gawping, Astarion wants to hit him.

Pervert.

He himself… well, he‘s curious, obviously. About the tattoos, and the actual extent of them. He‘s seen the snake-and-peacock tattoo on Mollymauk‘s arm and neck whenever he took off that awful coat of his, and the sun tattoo on his chest peeking out from under the shirt, and he just wants to know if there are more of them. There are, in fact, more of the creepy red eyes, on his back and the other shoulder. It‘s almost as if the other tattoos have been added later to cover these ones.

Interesting.

The body underneath those tattoos is also not bad, not that he‘s looking, but what strikes Astarion most is how comfortable Mollymauk seems to be in it. They move no different naked than clothed, not bothering to hide anything, as if nothing could ever possibly hurt them, or has, which Astarion knows isn‘t true. It makes him weirdly angry for some reason, seeing that smooth mask in action, now that he knows what‘s hiding underneath it.

„I will join Mollymauk in their ablutions. It has been too long since I have washed thoroughly,“ Lae‘zel announces abruptly and gets up just as abruptly, followed by Shadowheart, whose departure looks more like a flight. „Actually, that‘s a very good idea. I can smell myself. Ugh.“

Gale turns even redder and sidles around the fire so his back is to the stream. Volo does no such thing. Astarion had briefly entertained the idea of joining them as well- he is after all no cleaner than the rest of them and it is starting to grate on him- but this is making him reconsider. He has no wish to put on a show for the old man, who seems to be watching Mollymauk just as much as the two women, or to show off his scars.

Maybe if he just went further upstream…

Down in the water, Lae‘zel is womanhandling Mollymauk to sit in the water while she washes egg out of their hair with ruthless efficiency and a bar of soap she seems to have conjured from the depths of her armor, then moves on to scrubbing their back in a way that looks painful. Then the roles reverse, the tiefling‘s ministrations a lot gentler, to Lae‘zel‘s audible displeasure. Any moment now, one of them is going to cop a feel- but though Astarion waits for it, it never happens.

At one point, Shadowheart steals the soap and that is the cue for a full-on brawl between the women. As they‘re wrestling, tripping each other, grabbing onto hair and skin, shoving and pulling and trying to push each other under the water in increasingly graceless ways, Mollymauk looking on with a gleeful grin and happily swaying tail, Astarion finds he can‘t watch any more.

He gets up and trudges upstream until he loses sight of them and the nearby waterfall is drowning out the sounds of their splashing. Then he leans against the cliff wall and just breathes. Great. Apparently he can‘t even enjoy watching people wrestling naked any longer. Is there even anything left that Cazador didn‘t ruin for him?

Just like that, he‘s angry again. He rips off his clothes, leaving them to lie where they fall where normally he would fold them carefully and put them somewhere no harm can come to them- they‘re precious after all, Cazador didn‘t believe in spending money on his spawns‘ attire- then he clambers into the water with a piece of soap he‘d liberated at the ruined village and scrubs himself until it is nearly gone. He regrets this later when he goes to wash his clothes but just does the best he can with the sliver that is left.

After that is done, he decides to just spend the night here instead of putting his wet clothes on again. The air is nice and balmy, plus the three of them are probably fucking over there (plus or minus one Volo) and he‘s not exactly dying to see that.

So he stretches out on a patch of moss that is more comfortable than his bed in Cazador‘s mansion and attempts to trance.

Molly sleeps uneasily, and not because he‘s in the buff because his clothes are still drying. The dreams are back. Red eyes, a city made of flesh, whispering voices, all that shit, it makes him tired while sleeping.

At least that‘s how it starts. Then the dreams turn to more current troubles, and that is worse. Now he‘s feverish, everything hurts. His bones, his skin. His jaw aches as if it‘s about to split in the middle. A feeling like nausea but not quite is climbing up his throat, and when he doubles over, retching, it‘s tentacles on the ground in front of him, tentacles originating from where his mouth used to be and he wants to scream but can‘t-

- no, wait, he can, and does, as he jerks awake on a cold stone floor.

„Shhh, Laddie. You‘re safe. It was just a dream.“

Molly hasn‘t heard this voice in over a year. Yet still they recognise it instantly.

No. Fucking. Way.

They open their eyes and look up, into the smiling face of a dark-skinned human woman, framed by deep red hair (dyed, to keep the grey from showing), wearing the revealing clothes she favors on her ageing body with a confidence Molly has tried to emulate ever since.

This has gotta be a joke.

„Hi. You‘re fucking dead,“ they croak, with a voice hoarse from screaming.

Lestera leans her face into her hand in a gesture so familiar it hurts, and smiles down at him. „I am. So?“

Molly finally finds it in them to sit up. „So how are you here?“

„Oh, can‘t I keep watch over my successor from beyond the grave? You‘ve been taking good care of the cards, I note. And the coat.“

„I‘ve been making my own,“ Molly offers. Lestera‘s hand comes up to stroke their cheek, brushes away tears. „As you should.“

Then she opens her arms and lets Molly curl into them, running her long, thin fingers through their hair as they cry.

„Can… can you tell me anything about the others?“ Molly asks, desperately, as soon as they can talk again without hiccuping. If Lestera is here, then maybe- but that hope is dashed immediately as she shakes her head.

„Sadly, no, my lad. I am tethered to you through that artefact your half-elf friend is carrying. It‘s how I‘ve been protecting you from that-“ She jabs her finger against Molly‘s forehead, really quite hard. He rubs at the spot. „Ouch. Hey!- wait what?“

„Since when are you hard of hearing, my dear?“

„I heard you, I just- how?“

Lestera shrugs. „I would tell you, but that would require me knowing how. All I can tell you is that there is a power in that artefact, and that I can use it to shield you. You won‘t have to worry about turning into a mind flayer.“

Well. That is a lot. Molly stares at her dumbly, still rubbing their forehead, trying and failing to make sense of the situation.

It‘s no use. Everything is just too weird, and honestly, he doesn‘t want to think right now. Lestera is here.

„I miss you,“ he whispers. She smiles sadly. „I know.“ Her thin arms come to rest around his shoulders once more. Molly rests his forehead against her neck and simply breathes. Everything else can wait. Lestera is here.

„Go to sleep, my dear. You‘ll be alright.“

Molly wakes in the morning, feeling strangely comforted and not knowing why, until the memory of the- dream? vision? Comes back to them. The feeling of Lestera‘s arms around them still lingers and they bury themself deeper in their bedroll, trying to hold on to it for just a moment longer…

But, of course, inevitably, the moment passes. Someone kicks them roughly in the backside and Molly yelps and sits up, grumbling, rubbing their behind. „Get up, we need to check on the goblin camp!“ Lae‘zel barks at them and aims another kick. Molly tumbles out of their bedroll, away from her feet. „Alright, alright! Gods, you didn‘t have to kick me!“ They start gathering their clothes- mostly dry and, most importantly, egg-free- and putting them on, then move to the fire for some breakfast.

„So, did anyone else have weird dreams last night?“ asks Shadowheart while they‘re eating.

„Depends… what kind of weird are we talking about?“ Gale finishes ladling stew into a bowl and looks at her inquiringly.

„The kind where… someone comes to you and tells you they‘re keeping you safe from the tadpoles‘ influence?“

As one, every single person around the fire except for Volo stops eating.

„I‘ll take that as a yes, then.“

„I thought I was the only one. Did we all have these dreams? Astarion, did you have a visitor in your dream last night, perchance?“ Gale raises his voice slightly at the last sentence, looking straight ahead; when Molly follows his gaze, the elf is back and just walking up to their camping spot.

„Yes, in fact. I did. How did you know?“ Astarion settles down next to the fire, across from Gale.

„Because we all had these dreams last night, it seems. Someone came to us and promised to protect us from the tadpoles. I‘m guessing that it‘s this person‘s influence that‘s been keeping us from turning so far. And that all of it is somehow connected to Shadowheart‘s artefact.“

A collective wince follows this statement as it sinks in what he just said. All eyes turn to Lae‘zel, peacefully and efficiently munching stew. She grows aware of them all staring at her after a second or two and looks up, spoon halfway to her mouth. Her eyes flit between them, confused, before she puts the spoon down with military precision and straightens up. „Istiks,“ she hisses, „Is there something you need from me? Or did I spatter myself with food?“

„N...no, no no no, you‘re fine darling… uh… are you feeling alright?“

She raises an eyebrow. Even that, Molly notes, is done with precision. „Why would I not be?“

Molly exchanges a glance with Astarion that tells them clearly that this ball is in their court now. Thank you so much, asshole.

Probably best if they don‘t approach this head-on, she might just have theirs.

„Stew‘s good, right?“

She narrows her eyes at them, clearly growing suspicious. „It is adequate nourishment. Is there a point to this?“

„I mean, you could stand to lose a compliment every now and again, it won‘t kill you. You just seemed really invested in the food.“

„I do no dispense useless compliments. I will however admit that Gale‘s food is pleasing to the palate. Does this satisfy your istik sensibilities?“

It does seem to satisfy Gale‘s, whose face just lightened up a shade or two.

„It‘s nice to hear. I‘m saying that because you didn‘t seem to be really listening to us just then...“ Molly knows they‘re treading on dangerous ground right now. One wrong move and she might murder all of them…

„I was.“

Now they‘re all gaping as Lae‘zel, calm as anything, goes back to eating.

„And, uh… what was it we said?“ Astarion prompts like someone who is about to stick his hand into a dragon‘s mouth, knowing it‘ll likely be the last time he has a hand, but is just too curious to find out what its tongue feels like.

„You called the artefact Shadowheart‘s.“ Lae‘zel sticks a spoon full of stew into her mouth.

It‘s like the dragon, instead of incinerating them all where they sit, decided to simply lick the hand petting its tongue.

„Does that mean you don‘t… mind…?“ Astarion is leaning forward and so, Molly realizes, are they themself, holding their breath.

„As far as I am concerned, the matter of ownership over the artefact was decided yesterday when Shadowheart bested me in an honorable fight. The right to view it as her property is hers. For now.“

This declaration should by rights be accompanied by a thunderclap, it is so momentous. That it‘s not is actually really fucking disappointing- the peaceful babbling of the stream behind them is a bit of a poor replacement.

Molly is wrecking their brain as to when this event Lae‘zel is referring to might have happened, but the only thing they can come up with is: „When you were wrestling naked?“

„Indeed. Shadowheart beat me. This means I have to train to become stronger and then one day I will challenge her and win back what is rightfully the githyanki people‘s. Until then, she can call the artefact her own.“

It takes Molly a moment to process that, a moment during which they notice that Shadowheart is quietly laughing, and has been doing so for most of this exchange. They turn to her just as she‘s wiping tears of merriment from the corner of her eyes, lean in and say in a stage-whisper, „I know where you sleep.“

She gives them a smug wink in answer.

„Well.“ Astarion claps his hands together. „That is wonderful news, so glad you kissed and made up. Or, well. Wrestled. But I am still very curious about or nightly visitor and what they can do for us.“

„She said she was… tethered to the artefact somehow...“ Molly says, only to now find themself the target of several stares. „‘She‘?“

Molly stares back, an uncomfortable suspicion raising its head.

„Well, yes. Who did you see?“

„I don‘t have to tell you- but he was definitely male.“ Astarion sniffs. Lae‘zel nods. „Mine as well.“

„Well, mine was Tara, my tressym. Which I thought made sense, since she‘s devoted to protecting me… a bit too much, sometimes.“ Gale murmurs the last bit in an aside to no one in particular. Then he looks at Shadowheart and Molly, questioningly.

„We don‘t have to tell you, either. But this is… strange, to say the least. A different person for every single one of us? How did they all become entangled in this?“

Molly is very glad for Shadowheart to direct attention away from him, at the moment. He does not like the most obvious conclusion to this mystery at all. He wants it to have been Lestera who found him, doesn‘t matter how. It had felt so good, to have her embrace him; now he feels like that is being ripped away. The sense of being comforted that he‘d felt last night, even this morning, is evaporating, leaving a cold emptiness behind.

Molly hates feeling empty.

He comes back to the present moment to notice that he‘s been staring at his bowl unseeing for… however long it‘s been, lips pressed together, and that the matter on hand has apparently been resolved in the meantime. He‘ll have to find out how later, without making it too obvious that he wasn‘t listening at all.

Thankfully, most of his friends are distracted by watching Lae‘zel rip Volo a new one for trying to take seconds when he‘s a non-combatant who, in her words, „has no need for overmuch sustenance“, a feeling he definitely doesn‘t share.

Except for Astarion. Who is looking at him oddly.

He rallies immediately, finding a smile somewhere and pinning it to his face as he returns the look with a quiet, „Hm?“

„Oh, nothing, darling. Nothing at all.“

Right.

He needs to start being more careful what his face is doing around their vampire. For some reason, he seems to have an interest in Molly; Molly isn‘t so sure he himself knows what it is. He just knows that he can trust him about as much as he could a street dog. How often had he seen Yasha try to befriend a mangy cur in some shitty village, have it come up to her wagging its tail and fawning, only to bite her when she took that to mean it was friendly, instead of terrified and starving. He suspects Astarion‘s friendliness comes from the same place, and that he‘ll get bitten should he ever take it at face value.

Molly‘s broken down in front of him once already, and even though he‘s yet to use that leverage, they really can‘t afford to give him more.

„I‘m just wondering if our little gamble last night paid off. You were doing a wonderful job distracting them.“

„Oh, absolute-ly.“ Molly grins at Astarion‘s eye roll.

Volo chooses this moment to have an epiphany: „Wait, are you all infected with illithid parasites?!“

Chapter Text

From assuring their new asset that they‘re not all spontaneously going to turn illithid to him offering to remove the tadpoles for them with the help of a long and rather rusty needle to them one and all declining the offered assistance, they end up being a little late to the afterparty in what is left of the goblin camp. Sometime during the morning, some aide to the three leaders of the Absolute‘s army must have stumbled out into the courtyard to find it full of dead and dying goblins, bugbears, and ogres, and run screaming to alert his superiors. Molly can‘t help but imagine the well-put together, armed and armored dark elf who is currently glaring at them being woken up from drooling onto her pillow with her hair in a rats‘ nest of tangled white strands by the news that the best part of her army mysteriously died while she was having a kip, and has to bite their lip to suppress a smile. She doesn‘t seem to have realized that she‘s not talking to an ally yet.

„What happened here?! Talk!“ She‘s right in front of them, having marched over from her inspection of one of the dead bugbears as soon as she saw their group appearing on the scene.

Molly briefly considers lying, but for what? Most of her allies are dead. The few goblins that are with her and the other two leaders look slightly worse for wear, themselves, with few exceptions. And their group is well-rested and fit, drawing up behind Molly ready to throw down. There‘s no reason to prolong this.

So they smile at the elf and spread their arms. „We happened.“

The way her jaw drops from utter shock is beautiful to behold, but she picks it up near instantly and rips out her mace, which alerts the gaggle of her allies to what is going on.

„Traitors! You will die for this!“

„Actually, the correct term would be ‚infiltrators‘, but I‘ll forgive you for getting confused,“ Molly informs her pleasantly as they‘re unsheathing their scimitars, twirling them once and drawing them against the skin of their neck. Their blood crackles into ice on the blades while singing in anticipation in their veins. This should be a good fight.

It‘s the first time Astarion really sees Mollymauk fight, and it‘s immediately apparent to him that the tiefling‘s continued survival is not just a fluke. Someone at some point must have trained the bastard on how to wield those ridiculuos scimitars of theirs. So either circuses get attacked a lot more frequently than he thought or something else is going on here. He can‘t possibly think of what that could be.

But he knows that the sight of them facing down a furious drow in all their ludicrous attire, drawing their own blood without flinching, ice racing up their blades and framing their collarbones like glittering jewellery where the blood trickled down their neck, is going to stay etched into his brain for a while yet. It‘s distracting enough that the first goblin to take a swing at him almost connects, and it‘s probably only the still-inebriated-to-mildly-poisoned state of the goblin that causes her to miss. It does remind Astarion that he would be better served with paying attention to his immediate surroundings instead of flamboyant tieflings, and he sinks his new dagger into his opponent‘s neck.

All in all, the fight could have been harder. Whether that‘s because he‘s getting used to fighting in general or because, with the exception of the hobgoblin and the drow, their enemies are really rather pathetic indeed, he couldn‘t say. Whatever the case, their group dispatches the opponents handily and proceeds to enter the temple, sans Astarion who still has business of a sanguine nature with a certain deceased drow.

Teeth buried deep in her pretty neck, gorging on what blood is still left in her veins, a floating city could have crashed down to earth next to him and he wouldn‘t have noticed, so engrossed is he in the sensation of mouthful after plentiful mouthful coating the inside of his throat as he swallows it down. When he‘s finally so full he can‘t possibly drink any more, he almost falls over trying to sit up, he‘s so woozy. The fawn‘s blood is nothing compared to this, the life essence of another elf.

He feels something wet on his cheeks and wipes it off, thinking it‘s blood that may have splashed onto his face while feeding, but when he looks at his hand, there‘s no fresh blood there. Just a colorless liquid.

Oh.

The others are already gone, vanished past the huge double doors leading into the temple. Nobody is watching him. So he feels it‘s a safe moment to break down just a little, which he subsequently does.

Afterward, he wipes his face clean to the best of his abilitiy and makes to follow his party, but stops and considers. The armor the drow is wearing is of good make, sleek yet sturdy, and best of all, it looks like it could fit him. His fingers itch to take it off the cooling body and try it on himself, and there is really nothing that speaks against him armoring himself a bit better, so…

It takes a bit of trial and error to first unclasp all the buckles and then do them up again in the correct order, but he manages eventually and finds that not only does the armor fit, he can also move quite easily in it, so flitting from shadow to shadow is not going to be a problem in the future. Now if only he had a mirror that worked for him… because in addition to all the rest, he‘s sure he cuts quite the dashing figure in dark leather.

Confidence boosted by a good meal of warm drow blood and his new attire, he finally enters the temple in an easy saunter, following the trail of his party. He thinks he knows where they‘ll be: obviously, the kennels, because that‘s where the bear they suspect might be Halsin was being kept. So he makes his way there- in his own time, because there are still trinkets to be swiped and other useful paraphernalia to be found all over. Even magical items, which Gale will be so thankful to him for when he pulls them forth in an hour of need.

When he does make his way to the kennels, the party are deep in conversation with- and here he has to do a double take, because this is not what he expected- the tallest, buffest elf he‘s ever seen, a veritable hunk of a man with a scarred, tattooed face and shoulder-length brown hair partly tied back. This is Halsin? Astarion had been picturing some wizened old fella, maybe with a white beard braided with vines or something. This man is… hot, actually.

And he‘s not the only one who thinks so. He almost snorts when he gets close enough to see everyone and finds Mollymauk leaning against the wall opposite from him, eyes glued onto the druid‘s face, a single fang embedded in his bottom lip. Looks like someone‘s dying to ride a bear.

Then the tiefling spots him and does a double take of his own. Astarion has known him long enough and watched him enough that he can tell by now where those solid blood-red eyes are looking, and right now they‘re looking at him, or rather sweeping down his newly-armored form and back up again, in exactly the same way they had just been watching Halsin. So dear Mollymauk is not immune to his charms after all.

The revelation causes the familiar blend of gratification and dread to bubble up from his stomach, everything that was beaten into him under Cazador coming swooping back and before he even knows he‘s doing it, he‘s giving his hips that extra sway as he walks towards the group, eyes firmly locked with Mollymauk‘s. There‘s fun to be had here if you want it, and, why don‘t you and me just slip around the corner for a little….? his body is saying, and for a moment he thinks he sees the tiefling‘s fang dig even harder into his lip.

The very next moment, it‘s gone and one corner of his lips instead twitches up into the tiniest smile before Mollymauk‘s attention returns to the bear of an elf standing surrounded by the rest of their group and in very earnest conversation with them.

Dammit! What is he doing wrong? How can he be so off his game that not a single one of his new companions take his hints as to what he‘d like to do with them, when normally people of all races and genders fall over themselves to get into his pants? And how does the biggest flirt among his new companions, especially, barely spare him a glance, even when they‘re clearly interested?

„Ah, Astarion, there you are! Perfect. We were just about to go look for you,“ Gale‘s voice snaps him out of his pissed-off thoughts, „This is Ha-“- „Halsin, yes, yes, I gathered. And, darling? Can you help us with our little parasite problem, or was this all a bust?“ Astarion puts his newest humiliation from his mind, crosses his arms and fixes Halsin with a look. He‘s not sure what exactly he‘s hoping for; that the druid they went to so much trouble to save will be able to cure them, or that he won‘t. While the tadpole is stuck in his skull, Astarion is safe from Cazador, or as safe as he can be while his master still walks the earth. But without it…

It is with a sense of relief that he watches Halsin shake his head. „I am afraid not….“

A day‘s journey later sees them safely back at the Emerald Grove (Molly is studiously avoiding Shadowheart‘s eyes, who had been making scathing commentary on detours all this time), where they agreed to meet back up with Wyll. Only it seems, when they reach their destination, that the human isn‘t even there yet. Either he got delayed, or something happened to him.

As they‘re waiting for him to turn up, they at least get to watch Halsin chew out Kagha, which is highly enjoyable, even though Molly isn‘t so sure his decision to only demote her to novice is a good one. The way she stabs the archdruid with a look before slinking away makes him think Halsin is likely to find her snake in his bed one evening.

Well. Not technically his business.

Molly wanders around the Grove, catches up with Mattis and Silfy and gets to tell the story of how they defeated the goblin army over and over again to admiring tieflings and impressed druids. That is very enjoyable as well.

He‘s in the middle of another retelling when he hears the tell-tale creaking of the gate being lifted in the distance and sees, a little later, two horned figures making their way down the earthen ramp towards him. Two more tieflings then, come back from a hunt, maybe.

And then he looks closer. One of the figures is indeed a tiefling, albeit one he hasn‘t met before, tall, red-skinned and muscular, with a broken horn. And next to her walks Wyll, with…

„Did you always have horns and I just didn‘t notice or what the hells did you do out there?“ Molly addresses him once he gets into earshot. The man jumps.

„Mollymauk! I… sorry, didn‘t see you there...“

„Yes, I‘m an easy person to overlook. Is that your devil?“ He meant it as a joke, but the other tiefling looks at Wyll and frowns. „She told you I was a devil? Hells, no wonder you were so eager- Hi, soldier, I‘m Karlach. Not a devil. And you are…?“

Molly likes her already. There‘s something puppyish about the way he tail sways back and forth with joy over meeting someone new, and it‘s instantly enamouring. That, and she reminds him of Yasha in with her tall, strong build and numerous scars. He doesn‘t even know this woman yet but he‘s already dead sure she would get along with his best friend like the proverbial house on fire.

The thought makes his throat want to close up and he has to swallow to prevent it from doing that.

„Mollymauk. Call me Molly.“ He holds out a hand and is surprised, to say the least, when she immediately backs away, raising hers like she‘s trying to ward him off. „Oh, woah! Don‘t do that! Unless you fancy third-degree burns, that is. You see, I got an infernal engine for a heart, and it‘s running a bit hot right now, so, touching? Really not recommended!“

„Er… right...“ Molly has no idea what the hells an infernal engine is supposed to be, but he lets his hand fall back down. Karlach relaxes. „Cool name, though. Molly. I like it.“ Just like that, she‘s grinning again, as if she hadn‘t just told them that she‘s unable to touch people without setting them on fire.

„Where are the others?“ Wyll is saying. „I only want to tell this-“ and he points to his new appendages- „story once, if I can help it.“

„Right where we camped last time. I was just heading back.“ There are some noises of protest among the children who‘d been listening to him, but they run on their way when Molly promises to tell the story of the Big Goblin Fight to them later when they come to their camp.

While they‘re walking, Molly allows themself to fall behind the other two a bit, unable to look away from Karlach but not wanting her or Wyll to see their face. Her resemblance to their best friend is doing things to their composure and they need the time it takes to walk back to camp to regain it. They don‘t want to burst into tears in front of everyone if they can help it.

Once there, the introductions and story-swapping takes their mind off of it, thank fuck. Wyll tells them about how he was duped into going after an innocent and punished for not killing her. Karlach shares her story about being betrayed by someone she trusted and ending up in the hells, fighting for the archdevil Zariel herself, until she was finally able to escape- only to end up on a nautiloid and infected with a tadpole, like all of them.

„And then up walks the fucking Blade of Frontiers, and just when I think I‘m toast, he spares my life and lets himself get turned into a devil over it.“ She chuckles, shaking her head. „Still can‘t really believe it.“

„Wait- the Blade of Frontiers?“-“You‘re the Blade of Frontiers?“ Everyone, bar Molly who has no idea what‘s going on, is gaping now. Karlach looks embarrassed. „Oops. Was I not supposed to tell them?“

Wyll shakes his head tiredly. „It‘s fine. Yes, I‘m the Blade of Frontiers. Can we move on?“ But the others are not willing to let it go just yet. Questions come raining down on the poor man, and from context clues Molly gathers that he‘s some sort of folk hero. Huh. Now at least they get the reactions, it must be like finding out that the half-elf you‘ve been travelling with was the Voice of the Tempest all along.

It takes a while, but finally they swing back around to updating one another. Wyll and Karlach listen to the rundown of everything they‘ve found out about the tadpoles, the former tensely, the latter with an open mouth. (She‘s fucking adorable.) From the cult of the Absolute and Halsin‘s suspicions about how it interacts with the tadpoles, the gith artefact and the dreams they‘ve had, and finally the faint hope that they will find answers at Moonrise Towers, and Halsin wanting to join them when they travel there.

When they‘re done, Karlach‘s mouth clicks shut. „Well, you‘ve certainly been busy.“

„Those are very concerning news. A cult that is utilising illithid tadpoles? To what end?“ Wyll rubs his face, looking overwhelmed.

„Your guess is as good as any of ours‘,“ sighs Gale. „And since we are sharing, there is more you should know about us if you‘re going to be traveling with us...“ Wyll lifts his head, weary and wary. „Okay...“

All considered, he takes the story of Gale‘s magical bomb rather well; actually, he seems more worried about Gale than the rest of them. Karlach just gives the wizard a thumbs-up. „You and me both, mate.“

When it‘s Astarion‘s turn, though- well. While Karlach simply laughs at the idea of what would happen if he bit her, Wyll‘s eyes narrow dangerously. „A vampire? And you‘re all alright with this?“ he asks, incredulous. Seems a bit hypocritical to Molly, to get his knickers in a bunch over the person who can suck one of them dry at a time, at the most, but not the one who might end up blowing a giant crater into the landscape and all of them to smithereens along with it; but okay.

„We worked something out,“ he drawls, grinning at Astarion, who lifts his chin with a put-out air, which makes him grin even more broadly. Before anyone can say anything else, a tiny voice interrupts the tension of the moment: „Um. Mis...ter Mollymauk? ‚scuse me?“

Molly turns. There, peeking out from behind a rock, is one of the tiefling children he was telling the goblin fight story to earlier, looking at all of them gathered there shily. „Molly is fine. You here for the story?“ He smiles reassuringly; the kid nods with a smile breaking across her face. „You told us to come here...“

„That I did. C‘mon, get comfy.“ He pats the ground; the girl giggles and races up to plop down on the ground in front of him, followed by at least a dozen others, like a litter of puppies. Some of them stop and hesitate when they catch sight of Wyll in his new horns, almost ready to run away again.

The man sighs and gets up to leave without a word, slinking away dejectedly.

Karlach looks after him; then she climbs to her feet and follows him down the cliffs.

Astarion and Shadowheart excuse themselves, which leaves Gale and Molly to do the storytelling. Halfway through, more tieflings arrive. And then more. And then some of the druids who were more sympathetic to the tieflings. They bring supplies: food, drink, even tents for their little group. And before anyone can so much as blink, suddenly, there‘s a party going on. People are pressing drinks into their hands, clapping them on the shoulder, hugging them more or less tearfully. Karlach comes back without Wyll and throws herself into the festivities with a zeal that speaks of ten long years of being denied, Gale engages in it all awkwardly, looking like he would rather be anywhere else while Shadowheart lounges in front of her new tent with a goblet of wine, mostly watching the fun. Lae‘zel more or less does the same, only on the other side of the camp; the tieflings tend to give her a berth. Astarion remains gone, only returning late in the evening, when everyone is already nice and buzzed.

As chance would have it, Molly catches him just as he emerges from his isolation and makes a point of joyfully welcoming him to the party and pressing a bottle of wine into his hands, just to see his face. They aren‘t disappointed; the grimace of utter distaste he makes looking around at the carousing tieflings is only surpassed by the one he pulls after taking a sip of the wine. „Ugh! By the gods, what is that swill?“ He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and thrusts the bottle back at Molly, who scrambles to catch it one-handed, since their other hand is occupied with two other bottles that they have no wish to drop.

„‘Chultan Reserve‘,“ Molly says, squinting at the label, „Well, that‘s what it says on the bottle. I can‘t guarantee someone hasn‘t been adulterating it.“ Shrugging, they take a swallow and end up sputtering and then laughing at the assault on their tastebuds that this ‚wine‘ turns out to be. Someone‘s definitely been tampering with the bottles.

„Urgh. Gotta make sure I give that one to Lae‘zel.“

„Poisoning people again? I‘m not sure even Lae‘zel deserves that.“ The hint of a smile is playing around the elf‘s lips.

„You‘re right, this still needs a little horse piss or something. You don‘t happen to have any?“

„Alas, I am recently out of horse piss.“ Astarion spreads his arms in a rueful gesture. „But we do have druids who might be able to supply you. And should you happen to acquire any, do make sure to only give that bottle to her when I‘m around to see what she does to you afterwards.“ The gleam in Astarion‘s eyes is not of the amused variety.

Molly gives him their best teeth-flashing grin.

„And I thought you hated fun,“ they say.

„Me? Hate fun? Darling, you have me entirely mistaken. I love fun, it just depends entirely on what kind.“ His voice drops into a purring whisper at the last few words and he takes a step forward, entering Molly‘s space just so while his eyes travel down the entirety of their form and then slowly wander up again, catching on the exposed skin of their chest, the curve of their neck, and finally meeting and holding theirs. „Speaking of which, we could always slip away and… make our own...“

Molly smiles, slow and with a hint of teeth. They knew this was coming, sooner or later. And now they have to decide just how foolish they feel like being tonight.

Astarion is easy on the eyes, they‘ve got zero problem admitting that. And in his current attire, the black pants and white shirt he likes to wear whenever they‘re not fighting for their lives, he‘s as pretty as a moonlit night. Black, silver, and Ruidus-red. If he were a patron of the circus back in Wildemount, Molly wouldn‘t have hesitated to engage in some shameless flirting, whether it led to a night of fun or not. And it would be a lot of fun, they have zero doubts about that.

Provided, of course, that it is also what Astarion wants, and Molly has equally zero doubts about that not being the case. Also he‘s kind of an asshole, of a variety that Molly finds mostly fun but not all the way.

„And here I thought you had standards...“ they tease, their voice low to match Astarion‘s tone.

He takes yet another tiny step forward, putting him close enough to reach out and let a hand hover over Molly‘s hip, almost-but-not-yet touching. „I do, darling, and the more I see of you the more I think you meet them...“

He‘s close enough now that all Molly would have to do to kiss him would be to lean forward, and a tempting prospect it is. Those lips do look nice and soft, and he‘s probably got a lot of practice. It‘s the knowledge of how he got that practice that makes Molly think twice. That, and the prospect of getting bitten should they try to pet this particular feral stray.

They smile broadly as they pull back, looking straight into Astarion‘s eyes because they want to see the realisation dawn: „No, thanks.“

His look is everything they wanted. Molly almost bursts out laughing at the quick succession of surprise-disbelief-disappointment-anger but manages to keep it to a grin as they twirl around and walk off the stage. Two can play at that game.

Astarion is left standing, feeling foolish, once again, as Mollymauk saunters away triumphant. How does he keep letting this happen? He should just give up on the tiefling- he thought he‘d given up on him, but the moment had seemed to present him with such a perfect opportunity.

Well. Look at what came from that. Mollymauk is mocking him, he has to be. And as if to add insult to injury, Halsin chooses this exact moment to enter the arena, the very elf the purple freak had been ogling all through their journey back from the goblin camp. Astarion is mildly surprised he‘s waited this long to make a move, but it seems he‘s done waiting. Deftly, Mollymauk weaves his way through the throng to Halsin‘s side, offering one of his bottles (not the one he‘d given Astarion) with a smile. The offer is declined, but that doesn‘t put a damper on things at all. While Astarion is too far away to understand what they‘re saying, he can see them smile and laugh as they talk animatedly for a good few minutes. Mollymauk‘s body language is relaxed and open the way it normally is, not even that flirtatious; they just act like they‘re assuming Halsin knows what they want, and it‘s him. And Halsin does seem to know if the way he looks down at the tiefling is any indication.

It‘s infuriating to watch, but he also can‘t look away.

If Astarion was expecting them to slip out together though (he was), he‘s surprised in short order. Mollymauk waves cheerily with the hand holding the swill bottle and walks off, Halsin looking after them with a smile that can only be described as fond before being joined by Zevlor, who he strikes up a conversation with. After that, Astarion sees the tiefling flit around from one end of the party to the other, always stopping to talk to people, share a drink here and get offered a smoke there, before settling down next to the bard. She‘s stopped playing for a minute, and soon they‘re deep in conversation. Karlach flops down next to them and then, conspicuously inconspicuously, Shadowheart. Astarion hisses through his teeth, seeing that; looks like he blew his chances with the half-elf, too.

When the bard (whose name Astarion didn‘t catch, nor does he care to) starts playing again, Mollymauk sings along and so does Karlach, in a rather less refined voice. Shadowheart is sitting giggling next to her and they all look just so sickeningly happy-

Wyll had the right idea, Astarion thinks. Getting out before this shitty party even started. Maybe it‘s not too late for him.

He retreats around his tent and sneaks off into the darkness, making his way down the cliffs. There, on the very edge of the water, stands a familiar, newly-horned figure, goblet of wine in hand, moping majestically. Astarion makes his steps deliberately loud as he approaches Wyll. Getting one of his spells to the chest because he startled the man would quite ruin his night.

Long before he even gets close, Wyll turns and watches him with an inscrutable expression. Astarion meets it with his friendliest smile. „Well. Looks like I‘m not the only one with a bit of sense. Good on you for getting away from that boring party.“

Wyll‘s expression does not change; if anything, it gets slightly hostile. „So. You‘re a vampire.“

„And you‘re a devil. Do you have a point, darling?“

Wyll ignores this and moves closer, uncomfortably, threateningly so. Astarion‘s skin tingles, the urge to cower, to appease this man bearing down on him, pulling at him. He can only hope his face doesn‘t show the terror he‘s feeling. „If you so much as look at one of our necks wrong...“

„I‘m going to stop you right there.“ Amazing, his voice doesn‘t reflect how scared he is at all. „I‘ve been over this with our other tadpoled friends. No innocents, only animals and foes we need to kill anyway. Unless one of you offers, that is...“ he laces just a hint of seduction into that latter part. It does him as much good as chocolate armor in hell. Wyll is still staring at him with his eyes narrowed to slits.

„What if we don‘t find enough animals or have enough foes?“

„Then I will fall back onto the good old starving method that‘s served me so well for my entire existence as a vampire. Really, darling, I‘ve subsisted on rats for longer than you‘ve been alive, and those were few and far between. I can go a few days without blood.“

Wyll scoffs. „You better.“ And turns his back on him as if he hadn‘t just been insinuating that Astarion would drink him dry if he ever happened to do just that.

Well. That was uplifting. Astarion decides he might as well leave the man alone and climbs the cliffs back up the way he came. He‘s feeling a sudden hankering for terrible wine…

At least the party seems to be winding down now. Here and there are scattered groups of people talking and laughing amongst themselves but the music has stopped, and around the central campfire, an audience has formed, because it is now apparently storytime. With Mollymauk as the storyteller, again. You‘d think he‘d be tired of the sound of his own voice by now. Astarion stops just a moment to listen and realizes that it‘s not the goblin story this time around:

„And the guards went: ‚Halt! We have you cornered! There is no way out!‘- But oh, they did not know who they were dealing with, for he...“ a pause for dramatic effect, the tiefling leaning forward and making eye contact with a few scattered individuals among the listening crowd, „He was the Terrible Tinkerer of Tal‘dorei, and he was not afraid. He raised his weapon-“ and Mollymauk makes an odd gesture, holding up his outstretched arm with all fingers except thumb and index finger folded against the palm of his hand, pointing forward and looking along the length of his arm as if taking aim, „‘Now your soul is forfeit!‘“ Scattered gasps as Mollymauk‘s voice abruptly drops in register, turning raspy and dangerous. Karlach, Astarion sees, is sitting in the front, hands pressed against her mouth as she listens with rapt attention, like a child.

„‘BANG!‘“ A few listeners jump. „The first guard falls,“ Mollymauk mimics falling to the ground, groaning in agony with hands pressed to his chest, „Armor pierced clean through. ‚BANG!‘ the second guard falls, and the rest drop their weapons and run….“ Karlach is bouncing up and down where she‘s sitting on the ground, unaware that Shadowheart is watching her with an infatuated smile, and Astarion has heard enough. Hero stories. How ridiculous. There are no heroes, only people who wish they were.

He vanishes back into his tent, but not without stealing an as-yet-unopened bottle of wine. Hopefully it tastes better than this evening went.

This party has to rank among the best that Molly ever attended. Not only did it have plenty of beverages of questionable quality and origin, enough food to feed the entire Fletching and Moondrop Traveling Carnival of Curiosities for a month (funny where all this came from, all of a sudden), a great bard, an even better audience, and lots of beautiful people to flirt with, even though the main target of their flirting gently let them down, it was also held for the heroes of the day. Really, they could get used to this.

They take another long swig from the bottle they‘re currently working on and watch the crowd who‘d been listening to the Terrible Tinkerer story slowly disperse. What possessed them to start telling this one, rather than any other story from their respectable repertoire, they can‘t say. A sort of morbid recklessness, a longing to be found out maybe… but it seems to have done the opposite. One tiefling child keeps shouting, „Now your soul is forfeit! Bang, bang!“, another is wondering out loud what the Tinkerer‘s weapon looked like. And the best part? They all think it‘s just a made-up story from a made-up land. Bullshitting by telling the truth, that‘s a new one even for him.

„I‘ve never heard this story before, or heard of a ‚Tal‘dorei‘. Did you come up with this on your own?“ asks the bard who‘s still sitting next to him, poking his shoulder a little. Molly answers with an enigmatic smile, until he gets slapped on the knee by Karlach. „Come on, circus man, tell!“ Then he grimaces; Karlach doesn‘t seem to know how fucking strong she is.

„Ow! Okay, I‘ll tell you, but you‘re not gonna believe this.“

Karlach leans forward expectantly, then groans when he takes another long pull from his bottle, stalling for time. Does he dare do this?

Before Karlach can slap him again, he holds a hand up to his mouth and drops his voice to a conspiratorial whisper: „There‘s a secret I haven‘t told you yet… I‘m actually from… another world...“

Karlach bursts out laughing, Shadowheart and Alfira joining in, „Yeah man, good one! Almost had me going for a minute there! Another world, right-o!“

Molly limits his answer to a mischievious grin. Bullshitting by telling the truth indeed. What was he ever worried about?

„Well, this was fun, but I think I‘m going to hit the hay. Long day tomorrow and all that.“ Alfira gets up and stretches, then lovingly packs up her lute. „And… Molly? When you get your problem sorted out, and you want to, you could come find me in Baldur‘s Gate. We could do a joint number, work together… just. You know. Think about it.“

„I definitely will. Singing with you was fun.“ Well. He‘ll think about it. He‘s still planning on getting back home. Somehow. Eventually. When this tadpole problem is solved.

Alfira smiles and turns to walk away, „Good Night!“

„Night night!“ Karlach calls after her, then after she‘s gone, she says, a little sadly, „What a sweet, sweet girl. I hope she‘ll be alright. I hope they‘ll all be alright.“

„I‘ll toast to that!“ Molly takes another drink. „And speaking of sweet girls...“ Because he‘s just spotted Lae‘zel marching up to their little group as if she‘s going to war.

„I am neither a girl, nor sweet.“ The gith fixes Shadowheart and Karlach with a stern look. „I want to speak to Mollymauk. Privately.“

Karlach starts hooting. „Oh-ho-hooo…. c‘mon Shads, I think we‘re two too many here!“ She jumps up and waits impatiently for Shadowheart to pick herself up from the ground, which she does not seem to be in any hurry to do. „If we find Molly‘s corpse come tomorrow, we‘ll know who killed them,“ she warns Lae‘zel, only half jokingly.

„Chk. His survival depends entirely on his resilience. If I do kill him, he was too weak in the first place.“

„Oh joy.“ Molly laughs, intrigued. If Lae‘zel wants a night together, he‘s certainly game. The way he‘s got her pegged, she either fucks the way she fights, or she‘s a total softie in bed, no in between. Either way, this should be an experience.

Karlach and Shadowheart bugger off and Molly pats the spot next to them on the log they‘re sitting on. Lae‘zel, as a matter of course, ignores the offer. She‘s standing there with her arms crossed, looking strangely… uncomfortable? ...now that the other two are gone. Weird.

„Are you alright, my dear?“ Molly asks, mildly concerned.

„Yes. I… simply do not like apologising to people. Or admitting that I was wrong about them.“

Molly‘s eyebrows fly toward their hairline. Not what they were expecting. „You‘re gonna have to explain that one to me, dear.“

Lae‘zel visibly screws herself up to the task, her hands balling into fists. „When I first saw you, I thought you would be useless, purely based on your appearance. I have sinced learned better; I have learned to respect you. And I want to apologise for underestimating you.“

Ah. So this is what this is about. Molly plops his chin into his palm and smiles up at the gith. „You don‘t have to apologise for that, I don‘t mind when people underestimate me. I actually quite like it.“

„A tactic,“ she concludes. „When your enemies do not see you as a threat, it makes it easier to cut them down.“

„In a way. But this… is also just me.“ Molly indicates the whole of himself with a sweeping gesture. Lae‘zel follows it with her eyes, taking him in. „It is very… colorful.“

„Well observed.“

There isn‘t an immediate answer; instead, Lae‘zel continues looking at him, her expression growing more thoughtful. „Karlach was not wrong in her assumption,“ she says finally.

„Oh?“

„I do want to lie with you. Now that I have seen you fight. The way you faced the goblins‘ leader- the way you spill your own blood in battle to enhance your fighting prowess- it makes me want to spill some of it myself.“

Well. Molly would be lying if he said this wasn‘t doing something to him. Lae‘zel‘s voice is husky at the best of times, but when she talks like that it becomes something else entirely. And her coice of words- who on whatever world they‘re on still says ‚lie with you‘?- is tickling some part of Molly he wasn‘t even aware of to date.

„Then it‘s a good thing I like a little pain with my pleasure.“ They stand up from the log, slowly crossing the short distance between them. Lae‘zel watches them do so, lips slightly parted, her yellow eyes blazing. The slitted pupils are fully dilated, whether from the dark or from lust, Molly can‘t tell.

She grabs their hand.

„Come.“

Chapter Text

The sound of someone outside wolf-whistling is what wakes Astarion come the morning. Curious as to what‘s going on, he pokes his head out the flap of his tent and is greeted by the sight of Mollymauk and Lae‘zel, of all people, walking into camp together while Karlach is doing the fanfare in the form of hooting and shouting, „Walk of shame, huh?“

„What shame?“ Mollymauk claps back, grinning broadly. Lae‘zel doesn‘t even deign to answer. Astarion snorts to himself. He‘d be surprised if Mollymauk knows the meaning of the word. But- Mollymauk and Lae‘zel? How on Toril did that happen?

He crawls out of his tent and ambles closer to where Karlach is now grilling Lae‘zel and getting very unsatisfactory answers. „Aaaand, how was he? Any good? I‘m gonna need details, girl! Give them up!“

„Don‘t, please! I don‘t need to know!“ Shadowheart is practically wailing in the background. Gale, stooping over the campfire, actually stops his ears, like a child. He‘s beet-red in the face, again.

The gith ducks out from under the arm that threatens to descend onto her shoulders, Karlach seemingly having forgotten about her condition for the moment. „I will not. Just know that I am not averse to repeating the experience.“

„Woohooo, that good huh? Damn, if I weren‘t on fire I‘d give this a whirl myself after that recommendation!“ Karlach winks at Mollymauk, who winks back.

„So you spent the night with the circus freak? I am frankly disappointed in you, Lae‘zel, darling. I thought you had taste...“ Astarion inserts himself into the conversation, having adopted his haughtiest tone. Something lights up in Mollymauk‘s red eyes, the tiefling half-turning to look at him and showing off the bite marks on his neck in the same motion, bite marks that do not stem from Astarion‘s fangs, „Funny to hear that from the person who insisted I met his standards just yesterday. I think you‘re disappointed about something else, my dear.“

Of course they would bring that up. But Astarion‘s got a low blow of his own ready and waiting for them… „By the way, Lae‘zel; did you agree to sleep with them before or after they gave you their ‚special‘ drink?“

Lae‘zel raises an eyebrow. „There were no drinks involved, at least not directly. Why do you ask?“

And now for the killing blow. Mollymauk already has the middle finger out, Astarion can‘t help but notice, grinning. „Because I distinctly remember them planning on enhancing your drink with a little horse piss yesterday evening.“

„I‘m going to make you drink my blood now,“ Mollymauk murmurs in his direction, their look promising vengeance, as Lae‘zel turns to them with a murderous expression.

„Explain!“

Mollymauk‘s face morphs into the very picture of oh boy. They hold up their hands, palms outward. „Okay, I‘ll admit I was thinking about pranking you. Just thinking, mind, I like my skin too much to actually try….“

They peter out under Lae‘zel‘s scathing glare. She regales them with it for a few seconds before turning on her heel and striding away. „We will not be repeating this experience.“

„Aaaah, don‘t fret, buddy. There‘s still enough people here who want to get into your pants!“ Karlach, ever chipper, pats Mollymauk on the shoulder. She does it like someone drawing a finger through a candle flame- fast, so the flames don‘t catch. And with near perfect timing, Wyll shows up and asks, „Who wants to get into Molly‘s pants?“

„Everyone!“ Karlach crows, to protesting shouts of „Not me!“ and „Hells no!“ from Gale and Shadowheart.

„Well, definitely not Lae‘zel anymore,“ Astarion adds, pleased with himself.

„I don‘t want to know,“ Wyll decides, shaking his head, and joins Gale by the fire. Halsin appears next, and gets regaled with the whole story, of course. He laughs at it all, low and rumbling, shakes his head and looks at Mollymauk with an amused glitter in his eyes. „Is that why you wanted to give me a drink yesterday?“

Mollymauk blinks at him innocently and makes a maybe?- gesture.

Gods, that bitch just won‘t stay down, will he?

Halsin laughs again. „Well. It‘s good to know what a scamp you are before I go travelling with you all. Speaking of which, what are your plans? Like I told you, there are two ways to get to Moonrise, have you decided on one?“

„The mountain pass,“ Lae‘zel says at once. „We can look for my people there.“

Halsin nods. „Good. I‘m afraid I can‘t join you right away, there is still too much to be done at the Grove for me to leave now. But I will be joining you before you move into the cursed area, if that is agreeable with all of you?“

There are a few scattered murmurs of assent. Mollymauk seems a bit disappointed; couldn‘t wait to try and ride the bear after all, it seems.

„What about you, Volo? Are you joining us, or would you rather stay safe at the Grove?“ Shadowheart asks the bard, who has finally appeared, hungover and with his shirt hanging out of his trousers, long after the sun has come up. Her tone is playful, but the answer is absolutely serious: „Oh, but of yourse I will be joining you! Who else is going to chronicle your adventures?“

Astarion sighs to himself. This is going to be a long journey.

It would be so nice if anything ever went smoothly for them. No hitches, no complications, no people turning up out of nowhere to transport them to the hells…

But let‘s start from the beginning.

The party had made their way relatively safely, but for a run-in with some gnolls, onto the road leading to the mountain pass and were making good time for once. The weather was fair, the road dry, and Astarion was finding out that the Blade of Frontiers had a petty side to him that he wouldn‘t have expected.

„Was that a rat? Should I catch it for you, Astarion?“

He grit his teeth and willed himself not to be goaded into replying. That was the third such remark in the span of an hour, always hissed at him whenever Wyll could be reasonably sure the others wouldn‘t overhear him. Astarion knew the tactic; he had employed it himself against his ‚siblings‘, but mostly, his siblings had employed it against him. He knew that when he snapped, Wyll would make himself out to be the victim, twist it into Astarion blowing up for no reason, and damage the others‘ trust in him, maybe permanently. Astarion had gone through too much with them, needed them too much to want to risk that, so he bit his tongue nearly in half trying to prevent himself from giving the newly-minted devil the answer he deserved and pretended not to hear anything he threw at him. Instead, he focused on the landscape, the warmth of the sun on his skin, the birds chirping nearby, and occasionally, the gaudy patterns on the back of Mollymauk‘s coat, who was walking right in front of him. It was a mystery to him; both the patterns themselves and how anyone would willingly put on such a tasteless monstrosity.

A few times, he thought he saw the tiefling‘s head turn ever so slightly when Wyll threw a barb his way, but that could easily have been just coincidence.

Silence reigned for a while, until they passed what remained of a boar at the side of the road- it had to have been dead for a few days and was well on its way to disintegration, what various predators had left of it, that is- and Wyll jostled his elbow. „Look. Dinner.“

Next moment, Mollymauk slipped between them, threw an arm around Wyll‘s shoulders and exclaimed, „Wyll dear! Your horns are looking fabulous this morning! Did you try out Karlach‘s horn-care tips?“

Completely taken by surprise, Wyll simply stared at them for a few seconds before he found his voice. „I… thank you…?“

„Great!“ Mollymauk blathered on blithely, „You know, next time your patron visits you you should totally ask her for a tail! To complete the set, you see?“ As they said that, their own tail wrapped around Wyll‘s calf, nearly tripping him. He flailed, righted himself and then glared at Mollymauk, who simply smiled in his face, with an edge to that smile that it put Astarion aback to see.

Then they thumped Wyll on the back, said, „Good talk!“ and bounded ahead to their original position. Astarion and Wyll were left behind, bewildered.

That… that was weird.

But at least there were no more snide comments after that.

It wasn‘t too long after, just as they were settling down for a short break, that the other traveler appeared. Or who they thought was a traveler. The man strolled up to them, handsome and well-dressed and far too put-together for a lonely wanderer on an otherwise abandoned road. Astarion instinctively tensed up.

„My, my, what manner of place is this? A path to redemption, or a road to damnation?“

- which is how they find themselves here. In a round chamber bursting with decorations, so tasteless Astarion feels like he should apologise to Mollymauk‘s coat for ever calling it that. Karlach‘s axe is out the instant the room materialises around them, muttering, „Hells… we‘re IN the hells...“

…. and someone‘s clapping. Astarion doesn‘t even have to look, because there‘s only one person.

Who would applaud.

The guy they just got abducted to hell by.

Their new acquaintance, who introduced himself as Raphael, is staring at Mollymauk, nostrils flaring ever so slightly. The tiefling has the nerve to pretend to be surprised by the wrathful gaze; he holds up his hands, smiling apologetically. „Sorry. Thought you wanted scene applause.“

The man‘s nostrils flare once more, more sharply this time; he opens his mouth to speak-

„Really, I have to commend you. That was great. Timing, delivery, posture: perfect. Just one little quibble- a lullaby? Really?- But in all that was a nine out of ten. How long did you rehearse? Be honest now.“

Astarion is having to press his fist into his mouth by now, to stifle the hysterical giggles wanting to break out of him. On the one hand, he‘s terrified. On the other, Mollymauk‘s insufferability is so very enjoyable when directed at someone else.

Their host is decidedly not impressed.

„Such a clever little mouse...“ He tut-tuts, wagging a finger, looking for all the world like a benevolent teacher delivering a necessary lesson, but Astarion can feel the anger boiling underneath the kindly exterior. It makes him want to duck behind one of the chairs arrayed around the splendidly decked out table that stands in the middle of the room, and hide. „It thinks it holds all the cards. It thinks it can make its fortune up to suit its whims. But, my dear, the deck is stacked against you.“

„Cards I‘ve got, and if it‘s a fortune you want, you‘ve come to the right person.“ Astarion never sees how it gets there, but suddenly there‘s a deck of cards in Mollymauk‘s hand, from which he draws the topmost one with a flourish. The motif on it is that of a red and silver dragon fighting or possibly pursuing one another, the red one facing their host, whose lips twitch into a tight smile. „Yes, yes, your parlour tricks are very nice, well done. But can you trick your way out of your little… predicament? One skull, two tenants, and only the flimsiest of hopes to cling to. I could fix it all-“ he snaps his fingers- “like that.“

„What would you want in return?“ Gale, of all people asks. He sounds wary, but not half as wary as this situation warrants. What in the hells- literally- is wrong with him?

„What do devils usually want in return?“ Mollymauk sounds bored. The cards have disappeared, now he‘s idling against the back of a chair, tail swishing back and forth lazily. „Our souls, of course.“

„Oh, no, no, no. Nothing so crude. And even should that be the case, your little sliver of a soul would barely be worth the hassle.“

...what? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Is it because they‘re well on their way to becoming illithid, who famously have no souls? But Raphael is looking straight at Mollymauk, who blinks in puzzlement. „No idea what you mean.“

Suddenly, their host is right in front of the tiefling, seemingly without having crossed the intervening space. As everyone but Mollymauk bolts backwards, spooked, he grips them by the chin and tilts their head up, forcing them to meet his eyes. „No, you wouldn‘t,“ he murmurs quietly. „Your protection is holding. But oh, how much longer, I wonder? Considering where you‘re going?“ A low chuckle; Mollymauk barely reacts, except to lift their chin a little higher, move it the exact amount it needs to leave the devil‘s grip, and let it sink down again, never breaking eye contact. „I could help you, you know. Find the rest, make you whole again… Nonagon.“

This time, Mollymauk does react, even if it‘s just through blinking. Astarion sees it, the shock running through his entire form, before it is quickly quashed.

„Still no idea what the fuck you‘re even talking about.“ It‘s just a tad bit too insouciant, just ever-so-slightly forced, and Astarion isn‘t sure he‘d even be able to detect the tension in the tiefling if he didn‘t know him a lot better than he ever planned to, after the past tenday.

„You will,“ Raphael announces, ominously enough. „And when you do, remember my offer.“ He turns from Mollymauk and for half a second Astarion thinks that will be it, he‘s going to let them go, but as it turns out he‘s just getting warmed up. Arms held out in a way that reminds Astarion of a certain tiefling of his acquaintance, he turns in a little circle and addresses them all. „As I was about to say before being so rudely interrupted: I welcome you, weary travellers, to the House of Hope. Where the tired come to rest and the famished come to feed- lavishly.“

Mollymauk was right about that, Astarion reflects: he does sound like he rehearsed his every word. But while that makes him sound like a pompous prat, it doesn‘t make him harmless. In fact, in his experience, pompous prats can be the most dangerous persons to be around.

After all, Cazador is one.

The devil yammers on about removing their tadpoles, which Karlach shuts him up about real fast.

„Nah, man. No deal. I‘m sure you know who I am and who I used to work for, if you know so much about us, so you must be really fucking dumb to think I would even consider making a deal with you,“ she spits, fingers clenched so tightly around the handle of her axe the skin of her knuckles looks ready to split. From the looks on the others‘ faces, it is clear they‘re with her, except for maybe Gale who looks indecisive, the idiot.

Astarion himself, well, he just wants out of here. He doesn‘t need the reminder of Wyll‘s snazzy new horns to know that deals with devils always have a catch. Their contracts are more twisted and, well, devious, than anything his magistrate self could have cooked up.

No matter how tempting the possibility of maybe getting to keep the tadpole in its dormant form, and the benefits he derives from it, in perpetuity.

So of course, as if sensing his thoughts, Raphael turns to him next.

„And what do we have here? You seem to have some interesting literature on your person… literally. Let‘s take a look, shall we?“

Oh, no. Oh no, no, no, no. If his heart still beat, it would be rabbiting now, his field of vision narrowing in on the perfectly-dressed, perfectly-coiffed and perfectly in control man approaching him with a little smile that‘s just this side of smug.

He snaps his fingers. Astarion‘s clothes just… disappear. He‘s naked in front of a devil, leering down at him, coming closer…

It‘s in this moment that he realises, he was almost starting to think he would never have to do this again. Get naked for someone. Get on his knees, or on his back, depending. Oddly, his companions refusing to go along with his advances, as frustrating as it was, has given his body a sense of safety that he never had for hundreds of years.

With one snap of his fingers, Raphael has taken that away.

He‘s on display, entirely. His body, his scars.

Whatever comes next, Astarion does not want to be here for it.

Going away is so easy it‘s second nature. He lets the world turn soft around him, tucks himself tightly into himself, and waits out the inevitable…

„What the fuck?!“ he can hear someone yell. Karlach. Steps pound across the floor, stopping in front of him.

Something is slipped across his shoulders. Soft. Fabric… colorful… his hands grip it and pull it around himself as he huddles into whatever piece of clothing he was just given, inhales the smells of woodsmoke and incense and the ever so faint tang of blood, and something he can only describe as ‚warm‘, which shouldn‘t make sense but somehow does. The tiny part of his mind that hasn‘t fled into a safe place recognises, with sick amusement, that he‘s wearing Mollymauk‘s coat. He‘s naked under Mollymauk‘s coat. Gods.

„Not funny,“ the aforementioned tiefling growls from right next to him. He can see their boots appear in his narrowed-down field of vision and hear the sound of weapons being unsheathed, the scent of blood suffusing the air, stronger than the hint that lingers on their clothes. „Take us back right fucking now!“ Their voice has dropped into the raspy growl from the Terrible Tinkerer impersonation, which is hysterically funny for… some reason. Astarion would laugh if he could.

There‘s a put-out sigh from the devil. „I was only trying to help. Should you ever desire to find out what your scars mean, little vampling, you know who to turn to.“ And then, another sharp snap.

The birdsong is what alerts him to the fact that they‘re back on the road. Next to it, in fact. He‘s sitting on the ground, and that‘s a bit weird because he can‘t recall sitting down. There‘s also a fire he can‘t recall being built. He raises his head from his knees, which he‘s hugging, and feels a soft weight against his neck.

„Back among the living? Sort of.“ The voice startles him and he almost falls over trying to leap away from it, getting tangled in the coat he‘s… oh.

Mollymauk regards him with laughing eyes. „Hi.“

Well. Astarion is not sure how he‘s supposed to react to this. So he doesn‘t. He just takes in the situation, disoriented though he still is. Him and Mollymauk are sitting in the shadow of a large boulder, in a clearing uphill from the road. There‘s indeed a fire a small ways off, the others gathered around it. Giving them privacy, from the looks of it.

Oh, and he‘s still wrapped in the coat.

„You went away for a little bit there. How‘re you feeling?“ Astarion isn‘t sure what to say to that, either. Confused, maybe? He only remembers snatches of what happened, among them Mollymauk‘s voice demanding, angrily, that the devil release them. They‘d been… quite close. Standing between him and a devil.

„Why did you do that?“

„Hm?“

Protect me, he wants to say, but despite the fact that this is the very thing he was trying to achieve with all that flirting, he finds he can‘t get the words past his lips. So he settles for:

„Give me your coat?“

He hadn‘t thought Mollymauk would care about him being humiliated. They‘d humiliated him themself quite a few times.

They‘re laughing softly. „Like I need to see your dick, c‘mon.“

Oh. Well, that makes sense. Or not. Normally, people want to see his dick way too much. But the change is... nice.

„Did you… see…?“

They must have seen the scars. To throw a coat over someone‘s shoulders, you‘d have to be in a position where you could at least see their back, which means…

„See what, your dick? Wasn‘t looking.“

Oh, this… dick. Astarion throws them an annoyed look. It at least makes him feel more like himself, and less like an untethered boat on a rushing river. „My back...“

„Saw it, yeah. Didn‘t take the time to do extensive studies.“

Shit.

„They‘re. From my master.“

„Charming person, is he?“

Astarion huffs. ‚Charming‘ is certainly one way to describe Cazador.

„Can I have that back, by the way?“ Mollymauk points at the coat. Astarion recoils a bit, clutching it to him, almost panicking at the thought of having to give up the one thing that prevents him from being naked and vulnerable where anyone can see...

That is when he realises he‘s fully dressed again. The devil must have restored his clothes.

Sudden relief makes him dizzy. He would have hated to lose that armor.

Slowly, with fingers that still feel numb and clumsy, he slides the coat off his shoulders and hands it back. „I feel like I should tell you that this thing is awfully tacky,“ he sniffs. He‘s not expecting anything more than a smile, and a smile is what he gets. „Thanks. That‘s the point.“

Is… is this the part where people thank each other? Astarion can‘t remember, he hasn‘t had to thank anyone in so long. Also, the thought of having to thank Mollymauk rankles something fierce.

„I… appreciated it, anyway.“ He can‘t look at the tiefling any longer. So he only hears a soft chuckle. „You‘re welcome.“

Fuck this little… „I‘m not thanking you.“ He feels the need to clarify. Because he isn‘t.

„Still welcome.“

He sniffs, looking up into the boughs of the trees above them.

He should go.

He doesn‘t want to.

He also can‘t just… sit here.

„Why did that devil call you a nine-sided polygon?“ he asks the trees. That part of the whole encounter he remembers. He also remembers Mollymauk‘s reaction, which is how he knows the tiefling is lying when he says, „Your guess is as good as mine. Like I told our friends already. I guess he was just making shit up...“ There it is again, that wannabe-nonchalance. Astarion knows that Mollymauk knows more than he‘s saying, and he‘s fed up with his evasiveness. They‘re in this together, gods damnit, and Astarion already had to tell the whole party about his vampirism, and got stripped nude in front of all of them to put his scars on display, so it‘s only fair, right?

„Devils don‘t ‚make shit up‘. Especially not where souls are concerned, so I assume he was telling the truth when he said you only had a sliver of one.“ Astarion is now staring at the tiefling, challengingly, but Mollymauk still seems unphased. „So? Maybe I only have a bit of a soul, but hey- I‘ve got more than enough personality in that bit. Imagine me with a complete soul, the world wouldn‘t be able to take me.“ They grin brightly; apparently the idea amuses them. But Astarion catches somethin else in their voice; a warning. Stop asking, it tells him.

He‘s not about to.

„Oh, you‘re terrified, aren‘t you? There‘s something in your past that you think you can escape by just never facing it, like it‘s not going to bite you in the ass sooner or later. Fucking coward.“

Well, now they‘re not amused any more. Those solid red eyes are bloody slits, spearing into him. „Stop.“

Astarion doesn‘t stop. He reaches for the tadpole. He‘s never tried this before, he doesn‘t even know how it works or if it‘s going to work, but he wants to know.

There‘s the almost familiar squirming sensation, combined with the pain, as he reaches out for Mollymauk‘s tadpole, pushing, digging- he doesn‘t know what he‘s doing or even what he‘s looking for, and perhaps that‘s why he gets all of it.

He gets masses of people sitting along the walls of a giant purple tent, watching him conjure ice from his blood, and the thrill of performing, of having all eyes on him.

He gets the smell and feel of damp dirt, and a silvery moon riding the night sky with a smaller, red one following in its wake.

He gets a childish voice singing, now‘s your time to drink and dance, for we soon shall all be gone-

He gets being spat at, being called devilspawn, vagabond, thief.

He gets slim brown hands sliding around his waist from behind, settling on his bare stomach, kisses being pressed into his neck as he sighs-

He gets the devil whispering Nonagon to him, overlaid by other voices, whispering the same fucking name, the gossamer thread of memory snapping when he tries to grab for it.

He gets a pale woman with different colored eyes smiling shily.

He gets empty.

He gets jerking awake at night with the afterimage of a city made all out of flesh burned into the inside of his eyes.

He gets suddenly catching sight of the red eyes on his skin in a mirror and a sick sense of knowing what they are but not knowing-

He gets the pain of tattooing needles piercing into his skin, over and over, and the relief of seing them fade into the riot of color, not gone but less obvious-

He gets all of that, in the time it would take him to draw breath once.

He gets agony as Mollymauk lashes out, wildly, through their connection, drives into his mind like a cornered animal attacking the one cornering it, and the connection snaps. Leaving them both reeling, panting, clutching at their heads.

Mollymauk recovers a fraction of a second earlier and is on him, hand fisting in the front of his doublet, the other winding up for a punch- that doesn‘t come. Astarion has never seen the tiefling furious before, he didn‘t even know Mollymauk could get angry like this, and he flinches; he pushed too hard and now he‘s in for it.

Yet the expected punishment never comes. A beat passes, two- then Mollymauk shoves him away, gets up, wipes their hands on their coat.

„Try that again and I‘ll kill you.“ Their voice is a tightly controlled calm as they look at him over their shoulder, and Astarion has absolutely no doubt that they mean it.

As they stalk away, he sees the eye on the side of their neck glow, as well as the one on the back of the hand that had just been gripping him by the collar. He has no doubt the rest of them are glowing, too.

What the fuck.

And also, fuck.

Chapter Text

They find the créche- cause there actually is one, go fucking figure- without more trouble. Not including getting threathened by a githyanki knight and his fuck-off giant red dragon, and then that rather weird moment where a researcher offers them gold to steal a gith egg while Lae‘zel is standing right there. Molly prevents her from killing the woman. He does, however, steal the complete sheaf of her research papers later and distributes them evenly among the rocks and trees of this craggy area, some with extra illustrations. At least she‘ll have something to occupy her this way.

He doesn‘t like to think back on the encounter with the devil, and not just because the others have been bugging him about the shit the guy said. It‘s the entire snafu with Astarion afterward.

He‘d helped him because that‘s just what you do when you‘re a troupe: you stand up for each other.

Next he knows he‘s gotten his mind invaded and tossed like a fucking house.

Tried to pet the dog and got bitten. What the fuck had he even been expecting? But like Yasha with a skinny street dog, he simply couldn‘t not jump to Astarion‘s help after he‘d gotten fucking stripped naked, something he definitely wasn‘t on board with and Molly, only a day ago, thought would have been met with vocal complaints and demands to have his armor back right this second, darling.

The resignation he instead found on the elf‘s face, like this was something inevitable he knew was going to happen to him sooner or later, was heartbreaking. Molly keeps reliving that moment in his mind, the brief shock, the expression of, oh, of course before his eyes unfocused and his awareness retreated to deep within himself. And in that moment, letting Raphael get anywhere close to him was simply unthinkable. He wouldn‘t have been able to live with himself if he hadn‘t stepped in.

Seeing the scars shouldn‘t have come as such a shock with how obvious it was how he‘d been treated by his sire, and probably others as well, but…

For a vampire, even a spawn, to scar like this…

The part of Molly that knows things like this even if he never wants to find out how whispers that either these symbols had to have been cut into his back over and over again and given no time to heal in between, or that there must have been radiant magic at work.

Both would have been excruciating.

The sympathy he‘d been feeling towards Astarion after this incident had then promptly taken a huge hit, just when he thought maybe they could be cool after all.

He‘s not hurt. Fuck this, no. He‘s pissed, although the question remains who he‘s more pissed at: Astarion for pulling that kinda stunt, or himself for leaving himself open to it.

And he does not like being pissed, even less so over a prolonged period of time, which means Molly‘s starting to get on his own nerves.

At least he got to let some of that out when Wyll, like a playground bully who detects a weakness, had started heckling Astarion again. Doesn‘t matter that he‘s pissed at the vampire, bullying pisses Molly off even more, and so in the end Wyll had received the punch he‘d refrained from giving Astarion.

With all that, the atmosphere within their little group had been tense lately.

And then they found out that Shadowheart‘s artefact was being searched for by the githyanki. Lae‘zel had seemed about ready to turn on them and give it up, if not for the incident with the purification device, the doctor who had built it turning on them, and then the whole bit with the githyanki leader-slash-goddess ordering them to kill the artefact‘s occupant. Lae‘zel had offered to go inside like a loyal little soldier, but it had made no difference to the eventual outcome, because the moment she came back, the other gith attacked them without even asking if she‘d succeeded in her task.

And now, they‘re stuck in a room with half a dozen dead githyanki and no way out except back the way they came.

„Let‘s go to a créche, she said, they‘ll help us, she said,“ Shadowheart singsongs, voice dripping acid. Lae‘zel ignores her, ostensibly looking for any kind of back door, but Molly can see the faraway look on her face. Here‘s someone who‘s had her world shaken and is trying not to show it.

„On the plus side, at least we won‘t have to worry about Gale blowing us up anytime soon,“ Molly remarks while pulling an obviously enchanted necklace from a display case.

„Guys… I know it‘s a bit of a stretch, but, if you see any infernal iron lying around, let me know,“ Karlach says, poking at a statue of a guy in a rayed halo holding up a baby.

„What do you need infernal iron for?“ That‘s from Wyll, currently upside-down in a large chest whose bottom he‘s tapping. His voice sounds muffled. Molly is oh-so tempted to walk on over there, lever him into the chest by his legs, and close the lid and sit on it.

„Well, you see, I met this guy at the party back at the Grove- blacksmith, knows a bit about infernal engineering- and he said he might know a way to get my engine to calm down, but he needs infernal iron for that. I‘ll meet him in Baldur‘s Gate when we get there.“

„Not that we‘re likely to get there, at this rate. Because we just had to go to a fucking créche.“ Oh, this is going to get really old really soon, just like Lae‘zel harping on about coming here, isn‘t it?

„It‘s just in case, okay? I got out of the hells, I won‘t go out in a measly githyanki créche- no offense, Lae‘zel.“

„Offense very much taken.“

Karlach sighs, but then goes back to her statue. „Hey, does this look weird to you, too?“

„What does?“ Molly walks over, display cases cleared out.

„This. Looks almost as if it‘s supposed to turn...“ She pushes against the staue, experimentally.

It turns. But although Karlach gives it twirl after twirl, nothing happens. „Huh. And here I thought I‘d found a secret entrance. Damn.“

„How about you try it with that other statue?“ Molly asks, because there is another one that is the exact copy of the first. Karlach gives it a shove. Nothing. „Dammit. This feels like it should turn, but it‘s… stuck…!“ She heaves again with all her considerable might, grunting with effort. The statue moves ever so slightly, with an awful grinding noise. Molly covers his ears.

„A-ha!“ Karlach crows triumphantly. „Anyone got some grease?“

A few minutes, a grease spell from Gale and some fruitless turning later, another grinding noise announces that a secret entrance is opening for them, and they all pile into the tunnel thus revealed. Which turns out to be trapped to the Nine Hells and back, but that‘s what they‘ve got Astarion for. It‘s slow going, but at least better than fighting their way back out through the entirety of the créche.

At last, they come to a mother-giant-fucking chamber with a dais on which, prominently displayed, sits a mace that gives off a faint glow of radiant light. Molly circles around it, intrigued. „You know, I think we could use this.“

„While that might be true, I don‘t think you should be touching it. Remember all those traps on the way here? Whoever put that here wants it to stay here.“ Gale is staying back, warily regarding the mace from a distance.

„Where‘s your sense of adventure?“

„Has been satisfied thoroughly for one day, thank you!“

„Maybe we should just leave it. Get out, and away from here as fast as possible.“ Shadowheart starts to walk past the dais.

„C‘mon, don‘t tell me this doesn‘t feel like fate to you. I mean- Shadowcursed Lands. Radiant mace. Someone wants us to have this thing, I‘m telling you.“

„Well, take it then, but I‘m staying back here,“ Astarion snarks from the back. Molly grins. „Great!“

They grab the mace. Giant fucking machinery comes to life.

„Oops...“

A few eventful minutes follow.

After, they‘re all standing or sitting in the grass outside the old monastery, staring at the rubble that is all that‘s left of it. Molly‘s still clutching the mace.

„Bloody hells,“ Karlach finally says, and that opens the floodgates.

„Yeah, what in the hells, Molly?! Were you trying to kill us all?!“ Shadowheart stomps her way over to them, looking ready to commit murder.

„How the fuck was I supposed to know that the reaction would be this… big?!“ Molly honestly still feels a little stunned. This was not what they‘d been expecting.

„By using your stupid- fucking- head for a change!“ She slaps them on the forehead once for every one of these words, then rips the mace from their hands and stomps off. Only for Astarion to get right in their face next.

„You-“ he pokes them in the sternum with a stiff finger, „are banned from touching anything that looks even remotely trapped, indefinitely and effective immediately.“

„Seconded,“ Gale announces, and Wyll nods next to him. „Thirded. You could have killed us all, Molly. You certainly killed the githyanki.“

„Who, might I remind you, were trying to kill us…?“ Shit. Molly can feel themself getting defensive. It‘s true though…

„Tell that to Lae‘zel, mate,“ Karlach says quietly.

Oh. Oh, shit.

Molly glances over at the gith, who, they notice in this moment, hasn‘t said a word yet. Because she‘s standing, stunned, overlooking the ruin of the monastery, looking for all the world like someone in a bad dream.

Shit.

There‘s quiet for a moment, as if the other five want it to really sink in. And boy does it ever. Molly sags, arms coming up to hug themself as if that could stave off the cold feeling settling in their chest and stomach. They just killed all of Lae‘zel‘s people down there, when that could so easily have been avoided by them not being a fucking idiot.

„C‘mon, let‘s go see if we can dig anyone out,“ Karlach suggests, still in that quiet tone that hurts worse than if she‘d been shouting, and the three of them move off. Molly is left behind to sort through their guilt alone.

If there‘s one thing they hate more than being pissed-off, it‘s feeling guilty. But there‘s no help for that now, he‘s well and truly earned the feeling. Maybe helping to look for survivors will make it better.

A couple hours later, it becomes clear that there are no survivors. The créche, deep in the bowels of the monastery, was buried entirely. There aren‘t even any gith bodies to be seen.

It‘s a quiet night around the fire. Lae‘zel is clearly distraught, even though she‘s working hard not to show it. Molly doesn‘t feel like talking to anyone and just sits on the ground, arms around their legs, staring into the fire. And in turn nobody feels like talking to them, apparently.

That is, of course, exactly when Halsin appears, accompanied by a red-clad old man whose very appearance screams ‚wizard‘. Molly thought pointy hats had gone out of fashion.

Gale disappears with the stranger, and Halsin settles in next to the fire. Everyone but Molly takes turns catching him up to what happened on their way here, including the events of the day. Molly curls further into himself when the druid looks at him in that kind but disappointed way he has, and finally flees for his tent, where he buries his face in a musty pillow and prepares for a miserable night.

The next morning is not much better. Gale‘s visitor is gone, and Gale himself has dire news for them.

„She wants you to what?“ Karlach stares at their wizard, flabbergasted.

„Please don‘t make me repeat myself.“ Gale closes his eyes, as if the very thought pains him.

„Sorry. But- you know that‘s insane, right?“

„I am aware, thank you. Unfortunately, it‘s also the only option I can see. I can‘t just ignore a direct order from my goddess.“

Karlach gives an inelegant snort. „Your goddess can suck my burning tiddies, we‘re not letting you blow yourself up.“

Gale gives her a thankful but tired smile. He clearly doesn‘t harbor the same hope she does. „That is very nice of you… the thing is… all those magical items you so generously collected for me, they… they‘ve stopped working. Comsuming one barely has any effect now, and Mystra‘s protection is the only thing keeping me from ‚blowing up‘ as you put it. If I don‘t follow her order and she revokes her protection… well, the consequences will be catastrophic. So… what do you propose we do?“

Karlach sputters. „I- no idea, but there‘s gotta be something! You‘re not the only wizard around, we could ask someone else...“

„We‘re not letting you do that.“ Wyll puts a hand on Gale‘s shoulder. He looks, and sounds, firm. Determined. Gale smiles again, still tired but a little softer this time. „Thank you. I appreciate it.“

Chapter Text

Whoever called the Shadow Cursed Lands that was not kidding.

Molly can feel it as they‘re approaching through the narrow pass, the road winding and weaving between bare rock walls to either side. A sort of prickling of their skin which could just be goosebumps and isn‘t. A feeling of oppressiveness settling deep in their bones. As they stand on top of the mountain pass, the road beneath their feet evening out before starting its descent back down the other side, inevitable like water flowing downhill, they catch a glimpse of the sickle of the moon, pale in daylight, and a sense of loss overcomes them, so profound that it squeezes their throat shut and makes them stumble, along with a fear that sets their heart pounding. For a moment, they‘re this close to turning tail and pelting down the way they came, heedless with a blind need to get away.

If there were any other way to reach Moonrise, they would have.

(Your protection is holding, Raphael had said. But how much longer, considering where you‘re going…? Did he mean this? And what protection? From what? Molly does not want to find out. At all.)

Even so, they might still have run to maybe turn back later once sanity set back in, if a pair of judgmental, Ruidus-red eyes hadn‘t arrested them in that moment. Astarion, walking in front of them with the rest of the group since Molly had let themself fall behind, casually turns his head and meets their eyes with an eyebrow cocked just so, and next thing Molly knows, they‘ve walked right over the border to the cursed lands propelled by indignation.

They might be an idiot, but no one‘s ever accused them of being a coward.

„We will be reaching the Curse soon,“ Halsin, at the front of the group, warns. „Ready the torches now. When we are in it, it will be too late.“

The group stops for a moment to distribute and light the torches they‘ve collected on the way as well as the various other light sources they have access to. The top of Gale‘s staff ignites with a purplish-white light. The mace Shadowheart is holding, the sight of which still sets Molly‘s insides to churning with guilt, starts to emit a gentle golden glow that gets stronger with every second, until she seems to be holding a sun in miniature.

Her expression turns briefly disgusted as she is looking down at her weapon, then morphs to a sort of resentful resignation. Is it the reminder of how Molly almost stupidly killed them all, or of how many githyanki fell prey to their idiocy? If the latter, she must have a softer heart than she let on so far, so… unlikely.

In contrast to her, Halsin looks ahead with wistfulness writ large across his face. Reliving the events that took place in this land a hundred years ago no doubt. Lae‘zel has been closed off and curt ever since the créche, barely speaking to Molly, and then only if it can‘t be avoided. Gale tries his best to seem his cheerful, nerdy self, but the cracks are there to see for anyone who has eyes.

After all, it‘s not everyday you get handed an order to make yourself a martyr.

Wyll and Karlach have been doing their best to keep everyone going for the past days, which is admirable and not very effective, and Astarion‘s just being a bitch. Molly almost suspects he feels bad for Gale and is showing it in a very roundabout way, but anyway he‘s been more than usually snappish and aloof.

All in all, they‘re not a particularly cheerful party, and that is before entering land cursed by a goddess of darkness. Halsin has warned them that the curse affects the mind as well as the body, basically causing you to get depressed as fuck, and if that isn‘t just a fun prospect…

As the only one of them who has been through here before, Halsin naturally takes the lead again when they continue on. The rest of them trail behind like ducklings behind mother duck, or perhaps bear cubs would be more accurate.

There is absolutely no mistaking the moment when they enter the cursed area. For one, it‘s suddenly dark, like someone had just snuffed the sun out. The cold feeling creeping down Molly‘s spine and up his legs is also a bit of a giveaway. He strongly suspects that this is the kind of cold that has nothing to do with temperature. Then it all gets very quiet, cottonwool-in-ears kind of quiet. Until it‘s not; the first time the cackling shriek of some unseen creature cuts through the dead, still air, the entire party, to a person, nearly jumps out of their skins. Even Shadowheart, who seems to find the entire area more fascinating than frightening, yelps aloud and then quickly presses a hand over her mouth in mortification. Astarion sniggers at her, as if he hadn‘t just tried to dive to safety behind the cover of Halsin‘s bulk. He stops quick enough when she raises the glowing mace threateningly but Molly can see him make grimaces at her back once she‘s turned away.

Normally that would be amusing to him, if he could find the feeling right now. It‘s like it‘s gone and hidden somewhere safe, not that Molly can blame it. This place is fucking creepy.

They continue on, ever more carefully. And if Molly thought darkness, creepyness and cold would be the only problems they‘d encounter, he‘d have been dead wrong. The curse seems to also have twisted the trees and any kind of plant into tortured-looking, writhing caricatures of themselves, with oozing, faintly glowing and pulsing growths emerging from their trunks, and the ground they‘re traversing is torn up as if by an earthquake which makes it treacherous in the dark. His knowledge of the area doesn‘t seem to be doing Halsin much good under these circumstances. But he continues on doggedly, his jaw set and expression determined.

Seeing the druid uncowed is a comfort to Molly. The cold, the dark that he can no more see through than a human could see in the night, the slow going over ground that could tip you into a crevasse at any moment if you‘re not really careful, and the constant, oppressive knowledge that something dangerous is lurking out there just waiting for a momentary lapse in vigilance is doing a number on him, and before they‘re an hour inside the Curse (though time is hard to tell here) he‘s gone from nearly hyperventilating with terror to a cloying numbness that would worry him if he weren‘t feeling so numb.

His feet catch on a root he somehow missed despite the circle of light around their group and he pitches forward, the only thing that prevents him from falling flat on his face a hand that catches his arm and wrenches him backward.

„Watch your feet,“ Astarion hisses in his ear. „That‘s the third time now, aren‘t circus freaks supposed to be nimble?“

Molly frowns at him. The third time, what the fuck is he talking about? He thinks he‘d remember it if he‘d almost faceplanted before.

„Watch your own feet,“ he grumbles, and pushes the elf off. Not the wittiest comeback, but these are special circumstances.

„Stop bickering and keep up,“ Shadowheart growls at them from behind. She‘s bringing up the rear with her mace held high, and Molly‘s stumble has held all three of them up. There is now a gap between them and the rest of the group, a sliver of earth not illuminated by light, be it fire, magical, or divine. Turns out, that‘s all it takes for the shadows to take an interest.

Astarion yelps suddenly under his breath and whirls, torch held high and dagger out. In the same moment, Molly feels something grab and tug at his heels, nearly pulling his feet out from under him again, and cold shoots up his entire form from this point of contact, a cold that takes his breath and with it, any ability to make a sound. Another tug sends him to his knees, and then he feels the- entity, the shadow, whatever it is, start to pull him into the darkness. Panic rises, chasing away the numb feeling and enabling him to struggle against the pull, and then there‘s a shout and a flash of light and the thing pulling at him is gone and Shadowheart is hauling him to his feet. Someone else is also shouting, something about shades and fight. Molly recognises Halsin‘s voice.

Something dark flashes toward him and explodes in a burst of more light, then Shadowheart is in his face. He feels the sting of a slap on his cheek, together with a spray of spittle as she yells at him to snap out of it, Molly I swear-

The sudden pain does its job. Molly blinks, then rips the scimitars from their scabbards and draws them along his wrists in a practiced motion to draw blood and infuse them with his ice. If only he had something else, ice isn‘t going to be very effective here, but it is what it is.

A shade is on him, and gone, within the next second. Huh. That was easy. Are they even that scary? If one slash can just take them out? -Molly doesn‘t get time to think about it, because the one brought friends, but it remains bafflingly easy to dispatch them. He notices that Astarion is struggling with only his mundane daggers, being driven backwards and away from the light, and after having freed himself up with a few wild slashes, lunges to cut down one of the shades battering at him. The other expires with a wail after a blast of divine fire hits it from the side, and Molly loses no time in grabbing Astarion‘s arms and dragging him back toward the ring of light.

„Anyone hurt?“ Shadowheart is asking. There are a few ‚yes‘es, notably not from Astarion despite the lengthy slashes marring his otherwise perfect cheek that are sluggishly dripping blood onto his breastplate. When Molly follows his gaze, trying to find out what has him so fascinated he‘s not calling for immediate medical attention, he finds that it is riveted to his scimitars.

His glowing scimitars.

His brightly, radiantly, glowing scimitars.

…. huh.

„Well, that is useful, since when have you been able to do that?“

Thank fuck Molly‘s a practiced liar. The „Oh, always, we just never fought the kind of enemies it would be useful against,“ rolls off his tongue without any conscious input from his brain at all, because that is still busy freaking out. He really needs to stop finding out about his predecessor‘s abilities like this.

Astarion‘s only answer is a slow nod. It remains unclear if he‘s convinced or not, and it also doesn‘t really matter right now. Halsin is calling for them to move on immediately, lest any more shades find them, so the near future is spent scrambling between roots and up and down crevasses and weaving through trees with those mildly disgusting, pulsing blue mushrooms dotting their trunks. If not for them, the darkness outside of their little bubble of light would be near-absolute, their environs featureless. But they‘re also treacherous, as Molly keeps thinking of them as much further away than they really are, and so almost stumbles into the trees bearing them on occasion. Like islands in the gloom, they keep a sort of fascination, a sense of familiarity. Something taunting him from behind a veil, so close he can almost touch it, almost…

„Molly! Gods preserve me, can you watch where you put your feet?“ There‘s a yank on his collar and then he‘s almost sprawling on his ass- much preferable to tumbling down a hole, as he just almost had, if not for Shadowheart‘s timely intervention.

„Whoops. Thanks, kinda missed that one...“ Molly dusts off his coat and tries to move on- except Shadowheart isn‘t letting him, and neither are the others. They‘ve stopped now and are all looking at him, expressions ranging between worried any annoyed.

„What do you mean, that one? We‘ve had to keep you from walking off a cliff twice in the past half hour! Do you even remember?“

A cold prickling spreads from the base of Molly‘s neck down to his tail. Because no, he doesn‘t remember. And he doesn‘t like what this implies at all.

„Of course I remember...“ he nonetheless tries to brush it off, only to be cut off by Wyll.

„Do you? And do you remember how the last time we stopped, you simply went on walking and would have wandered straight out of the light?“

The cold prickle intensifies. To his surprise, and dismay, Molly finds that he can‘t find his voice to refute the Blade‘s claim, like his vocal chords have shriveled up in his throat. He looks away so he doesn‘t have to meet all of his friends‘ stares, even knowing that he‘s incriminating himself further.

Halsin comes to his rescue, sort of. „The Shadow Curse can influence people in different ways, and I think it may be influencing you more strongly than the rest of us, though for what reason, I cannot say. There is no shame in this, my friend. We will simply have to be more vigilant, to keep you from straying. But now, let‘s keep going. We have a lot of ground to cover, and the destruction of the Curse is likely to be even worse the further we go.“

„Gee thanks, bear man,“ Molly grinds out between clenched teeth, „Patronise me more, why don‘t you.“ He doesn‘t care if he sounds bitter. He didn‘t ask for this shit, and it‘s scaring the crap out of him, and he doesn‘t want to deal with any of it. He just wants it all to go the fuck away, starting with the tadpole. He wants to be home, reading fortunes and sweet-talking people into coming to see a show, preferably with Yasha at his side.

Instead, he‘s stuck here, and now even his mind is going on the fritz.

He hates everything.

Something is going on with Mollymauk. The stumbles, the blunders, the increasingly long vacant spells, the uncharacteristic defensiveness when their lapses are brought up- the tiefling is struggling, and Astarion has a strong suspicion it has something to do with what their devil friend said. A sort of protection that wouldn‘t hold where they were going, what else could he have been talking about but this?

If only he knew what it meant. Is this something that they should be worried about, like Gale‘s orb? Is Mollymauk going to get up in the night to slaughter them all? The others don‘t seem too worried, unless it is for Mollymauk, but then the others have often demonstrated a sad lack of self-preservation instincts. He‘ll just have to be extra on his guard from now on.

It doesn‘t become necessary during the first night. Being the only full elves in the group, him and Halsin share the watch, and during Astarion‘s half of it, nothing worse happens than Karlach‘s snoring and Mollymauk tossing and turning in his tent.

Come the morning, it proves somewhat difficult to rouse the tiefling enough to first get out of his bedroll, and then to eat, and then to get him to walk. They don‘t make especially good time that day, but Halsin as the one with the most personal stakes in this place is also the most patient, keeping his hand on Mollymauk‘s shoulder while they‘re walking and steering him along. They‘re only attacked a few times; once by more shades, another time by trees that are way more wick than anyone would have guessed, and finally by a gaggle of weird little monsters whose shtick seems to be garotting their enemies. For every one of those opportunities, Mollymauk comes alive again… more or less. Their eyes are still unsettlingly blank, but weirdly they fight even better now than they did when fully aware, cutting down their attackers with ruthless efficiency.

The second night rolls around, meaning the time when it is truly pitch-black instead of just nearly impenetrably dark.

Astarion takes first watch that night, just like the first time. He‘s wandering the lighted area between their tents, all arrayed in a circle around the central fire, and the ring of torches outside of that, when he notices movement near one of the tents. He stalks closer, expecting a cursed rodent or some such- there are ravens here, it stands to reason other animals would live- or, well, exist- in this region as well. But no, the movements turn out to be Mollymauk crawling out of his tent, in pants and shirt and nothing else, eyes open but otherwise moving like a sleepwalker. Astarion moves to intercept him before he can walk toward the ring of torches, because of course that‘s the way he‘d go, what else?

„And where are you going this time of night?“ No answer. He would have been very surprised if there had been one. Mollymauk just stares straight through him, and tries to move right through him, too, but Astarion grabs his arm. „No, no, nonono. Wrong way, darling. Come on, why don‘t you just turn around and go back to sleep, hm?“ He tries steering the tiefling backwards and into his tent with both hands on his shoulders, but he‘s no Halsin and therefore not quite strong enough to prevent them ducking past him and darting off right into the Shadow. He‘s fast enough, at least, to whirl and grab Mollymauk round the middle with one arm before he clears the torches, and then he has to dig his heels in to keep from being pulled along. „No! Bad tiefling! Stop it! That‘s not where you want to go, believe me. Not that I would mind horribly much if you were to tragically get lost in the cursed lands, but other people here seem to like you, for whatever reason. So it‘s my sad duty to prevent you from killing yoursel- no, dammit!“ Mollymauk is struggling against his grip, trying to pull free. His back is flush against Astarion‘s chest and he can feel the muscles under the one hand he‘s got around his stomach flex and tighten as the tiefling fights.

Under other circumstances, this would be quite enjoyable. It‘s not very much fun right now. Astarion considers calling for help, waking the others, but loud noises might draw other kinds of attention as well so he thinks better of it.

After what feels like an hour, Mollymauk finally stops struggling, with a distressed noise that cuts right through Astarion for some unfathomable reason. He sags, Astarion‘s arm all that is holding him up now, and Astarion not being particularly strong, what happens is actually more of a controlled collapse into a kneeling position. Great, how‘s he going to get him up and back into his tent from here?

Mollymauk murmurs something.

„What was that darling, didn‘t quite catch it?“

Nothing, of course. Astarion has just decided he‘s going to try and haul Mollymauk back to their feet when it comes again.

„Gate… need to. Open. Open gate...“

What the hells. „You sound like Aradin, love. Now come on. Back to your tent, and if you try to run off again I will sit on you.“ He‘s not sure if it‘s the threat, but Mollymauk allows him to manhandle them to their feet, and only tries to bolt two more times while he‘s steering them back the way they came. Back in their tent, Astarion is faced with the problem of how to get them to lie down. Pushing on their shoulders definitely does not work. He briefly considers kicking them in the back of the knees or knocking them out, but he doesn‘t know how much of this Mollymauk will be remembering later, so…

Maybe showing him what he wants him to do will work?

He sighs deeply. The things he‘s willing to do… slowly, he sits down on Mollymauk‘s bedroll, patting the spot next to him. „Why don‘t you join me down here, hm? Sit down, come on.“

Funnily enough, that works. He‘d kept a hold of one of the tiefling‘s hands, just in case he was going to try and run off again, and now he uses that to guide him down, first into a seated position, and then into lying down.

Unfortunately for Astarion, the only way in which he‘s ready to stay lying down is with his head on one of his thighs.

„Well. That is just not going to work, darling. I‘m supposed to be keeping watch, not playing pillow for you.“

No answer. Astarion decides to stay just a bit longer, give Mollymauk time to fall asleep, and then sneak out. He does so succesfully, congratulating himself on that escape, but the victory is short-lived. Like a fucking toddler after a nightmare, Mollymauk comes crawling right back out of the tent yet again, and the whole game starts over.

In the end, there‘s nothing for it but for Astarion to settle down next to the fire- more embers than fire now, which is good because it won‘t ruin his night vision- and accept Mollymauk putting their head in his lap. Which is not a comfortable position for him at all, because the curve of the tiefling‘s horn is digging into his thigh quite painfully this way.

Is this some sort of punishment for trying to dig into their head? If so, will saying sorry relieve him from this horribly unbecoming position? There‘ll probably be some catch, like ‚you have to mean it‘ or some such, which could be a problem. He‘s… well, he‘s sort of sorry about the consequences of his action, most of all the way it has made Mollymauk look at him lately, like he‘s some sort of disgusting insect, but- he‘s not all that sure if he‘s sorry about doing it in the first place. Those glimpses were so very interesting… so no, saying sorry would most likely not work, damn it all.

Time passes slowly as he sits there, one hand in his lap and one on Mollymauk‘s shoulder for lack of any better spot to put it. He plays with their earrings and horn jewellery a bit, considers stealing a piece, but the stuff is so cheap it‘s not even worth the hassle. Their neck is very much on display like this, and he idly wonders what would happen if he bit them now.

That‘s not a line of thinking he should entertain… and besides, he fed on some of the githyanki the party killed at the créche, he doesn‘t need to again so soon.

It still amazes him. The fact that he‘s not hungry, he‘s fed, he had enough blood to keep him sustained for days. It is such a surreal state of being, so much so that if he thinks about it for too long, he will start to feel like all of this is a dream he fled into to escape from the pain of Godey‘s knives, starts to fear that any moment now, he will wake up to find the damn skeleton looming over him.

He shakes himself out of it and notices as he does so that his useless breaths are coming in sharp bursts and his whole body feels numb, except for the part of it that is in contact with Mollymauk‘s sleeping body, which is warm. He can feel their chest expand with their slow, even breaths, untroubled by what he‘s going through, and while that‘s certainly annoying- how dare the little bitch be sleeping soundly while he‘s having a crisis here?- it‘s also oddly soothing. Before he knows he‘s doing it, he is matching his breaths to the tiefling‘s, and with every one of them, the surreal feeling retreats a little further, until he can feel his own damn body again. Godey‘s grinning visage retreats back to where it belongs, namely the past, and Astarion resolves then and there never to tell anyone that it was Mollymauk‘s presence that caused this. Not even under torture.

The night, oppressive as it is, stays quiet, and eventually Halsin emerges from his tent to relieve him. The druid smiles to see them like this; Astarion assumes a defensive glare straight away. „He was trying to run off. Only way he could be persuaded to stay put was, well… this.“

Halsin‘s face falls, becoming serious once more. „I see. Well, you can transfer your charge to me now and get some rest.“ He settles down next to them and tries to relocate Mollymauk into his own lap gently, but of course the tiefling rouses despite all that and blinks blearily. „Yasha….?“ Astarion hears them breathe, quiet… hopeful?

„Just me, I‘m afraid,“ Halsin murmurs. Gentle as the words are, they seem to break Mollymauk. His face crumples before he buries it against Astarion‘s leg and- shit, is he going to start crying in his lap?

Halsin correctly interprets Astarion‘s face and starts gathering the shaking tiefling into his arms, mutters soothing nonsense while stroking their hair. Astarion, weirdly, suddenly feels colder. He stands slowly and walks away, the name Mollymauk whispered reverberating in his head. Yasha. Someone they seem to miss very much. A lover? Not unlikely, although the tiefling is not particularly faithful to them if so.

Well. Not his problem. His biggest problem right now is getting rest.

That is going to prove difficult.

Day three is even worse. Mollymauk appears completely catatonic, except for randomly murmuring things that Astarion is almost never close enough to overhear. Halsin‘s hand never leaves his shoulder while they walk and climb in this rutted, ruined region where the remnants of old roads that the curse tore apart more often lead them straight to some impassable cleft in the ground than not and force them to make long detours. The slow pace has everyone‘s nerves fraying, not least Astarion‘s, who is almost itching for the shadows to attack them again just so he will have something to do other than cower and flinch at every little movement that isn‘t caused by the party.

And then they find the skeleton. Just another unlucky fucker who happened to end up under a boulder, Astarion thinks, walking by. Nothing special in a place like this.

That is, until he hears the scream. He whips around, ready to fight whatever has found them- finally!- and stills in confusion when he sees that the source of the scream was Mollymauk, now on his knees next to the crushed heap of bones and sobbing convulsively. Halsin is crouching right next to him with a hand on either shoulder, trying to calm him down, but Astarion can see it‘s not going to work. Nothing‘s getting through to the tiefling, who screams again, arms around his middle, bending forward, the sound so full of anguish and rage it sends a shiver right through Astarion. Tears are dripping down their chin as they start to babble incoherently, „Sorry, I‘m so sorry, it‘s- it‘s my fault, I should have left the fucking book, I‘m so sorry...“

„Halsin!“ Lae‘zel hisses, eyes tensely scanning the shadows. The others are alternating between watching the breakdown happening in front of them and darting nervous glances around.

„I know!“ Even Halsin sounds tense, but he‘s unchangingly gentle as he cradles Mollymauk in his arms and lifts them in a bridal carry. They curl up and let out a wail against his shoulder that Astarion knows he‘s never going to forget again. He briefly makes eye contact with Karlach; she‘s got her axe in one hand and the other pressed against her mouth, tears brimming in her eyes.

He has to look away.

Halsin starts marching again, briskly, everyone else spreading out around him in as close an approximation to a protective ring as the terrain allows. Astarion keeps throwing glances over his shoulder, expecting to see shades pursuing them, but if there are any, they‘re thrown off their scent by how quickly the party moves. Mollymauk has quieted down somewhat, the only sounds coming from them now wrenching sobs, which is good because the broken ground is getting ever more difficult, forcing Halsin to slow down. Mollymauk is light and the druid is strong, but even he can‘t keep going forever, and after half an hour or so of rushing headlong into the darkness in the hopes of shaking anything that might be pursuing them, he stops and hunkers down, breathing hard.

„I need a break… I‘m sorry….“

„`s fine mate, we‘ll keep an eye out,“ Karlach assures him, before hissing in frustration, „Dammit, I wish I could help you! This fucking engine!“ She punches a tree and leaves a singed outline of her fist behind, as if to illustrate her point. Halsin smiles at her, exhausted but reassuring. „I‘ve got it. I might have to switch to carrying them piggyback, though, this is exhausting.“

„Yeah, I get that. If there‘s anything I can help you with, just tell me.“

„Will do.“ He turns back to Mollymauk, who has mostly calmed down by now but is still clinging to him with both hands, face hidden against his chest.

Astarion turns and walks some few steps away, sits down on a rock and peers into the darkness. A moment later, Karlach joins him there. At first, there is silence, then she sighs, a long, shuddering breath out. „Man. That was… rough. I wonder what they saw.“

Astarion wonders that too, but more than that he wonders why such a thing would affect the burly warrior so much.

„You must have seen rougher in the hells, though,“ he remarks with a glance up at her.

„I mean… yeah, but… it hits different when it‘s a friend. Didn‘t really have friends down there.“

„You‘ve known them- us- for less than a tenday, isn‘t that a bit early to start talking about friends?“ He‘s had no friends in two centuries, but he‘s not about to divulge that. In the early days of his spawnhood, he thought he might be able to make friends of his fellow spawn, only to find out that he was sorely mistaken. Cazador was just too good at keeping them pitted against each other, playing favorites and making them vie for his attention instead of developing any kind of loyalty towards each other. That way, they would never pose a risk to himself.

These people, now… Astarion has become… somewhat fond of them over an alarmingly short period of time. He doesn‘t know if that makes them friends; he just knows he doesn‘t mind sticking with them, even if there weren‘t any tadpoles involved.

Well. Except Wyll.

„Is it? I like you, I consider you my friends. If you don‘t wanna be that‘s fine, but I still like you.“

Astarion huffs a little amused huff at that, before his mind catches up to what she just said. „Wait- do you mean ‚you‘ as in, ‚all of us‘ or do you mean ‚you‘ as in, ‚me‘?“

„Both? I guess. Yeah. I like all of you, and I like you.“ She blinks when he stares at her. „What? There something on my face?“

Astarion shakes his head mutely and looks down. ‚I like you‘, she said, just like that. As if it really were that easy. As if he weren‘t a terrible person, a murderous coward, a collaborator to the worst kind of monster.

„You wouldn‘t be saying that if you knew me,“ he whispers bitterly, tears pricking at his eyes.

„Know what, that you‘re a vampire?“ She sounds so unbothered it makes rage surge up inside him.

„That I lured people to their deaths for two hundred years straight! That I‘m so scared of the consequences of failing to provide fresh victims for my master that I- that I degraded and demeaned myself in ways you can‘t even imagine! I would do whatever it took just to avoid more pain-!“ He‘s on his feet by then, facing Karlach head-on, but instead of angry, she just looks thoughtful.

„And did you wanna do any of that?“

The question catches him on the back foot. Did he? Didn‘t he enjoy some kind of sick satisfaction whenever he handed someone new over to Cazador? Or was it just relief at having secured one more night without agony, one more rat to feed on? He can‘t even be sure himself.

„I don‘t know,“ he says, surprising himself with his honesty. But Karlach… demands honesty, somehow. „It‘s been two hundred years. I can‘t even remember what I was like before then. It‘s entirely possible I was a shit person even before being turned, and being Cazador‘s spawn only made me worse.“

Karlach hums quietly. She thinks for a while and Astarion watches her, almost afraid of what her answer is going to be. „Well. Even if you‘re a shit person now, there‘s no reason why you couldn‘t become a better one.“ And she smiles at him, like she believes this drivel. And he does believe that she believes it.

Ten years in the hells, and it hasn‘t broken her. Gods, this woman is incredible.

„Maybe,“ he concedes, defeated. If Karlach wants to believe he is someone better than he is- or could become someone better- who is he to shatter her illusions?

„Just think about it,“ she says, smiling gently. Astarion‘s tearing up again, fuck. He turns sharply to hide it. „Yes, yes, I will. Can we cut out the sappiness now, I think I‘m getting a rash. Must be allergic.“

„Ah, shit, sorry. I‘ll just be going. See you around.“ And he thinks he hears some quiet giggles along with the sound of her retreating steps. He sits back down on his rock, finding, to his surprise, that he‘s smiling ever so slightly.

A short while later Halsin calls them together. Mollymauk looks calm again; or maybe calm is the wrong word. Spaced out would be more accurate. But at least the screaming and crying has stopped and they‘re able to walk on their own again, which means the party can cover a lot more ground before having to camp than they otherwise would have.

When they finally do stop to rest, Halsin proposes just keeping Mollymauk with him, the easier to keep an eye on him. And for some reason, that ruffles Astarion‘s feathers.

„Are you throwing doubt on my babysitting capabilities, darling?“

Halsin looks confused. „No, I… was merely of the impression that you wanted no part of this responsibility… and it is really not much trouble. Healers are used to short nights.“

Now Astarion really ices over. „Do me no favors, please,“ he spits. „I can watch one fucking tiefling. You rest, we don‘t need a useless druid on top of a useless- whatever they are.“

Everyone is looking at him weird now, great. Is it really that odd, that he wishes to pull his weight in this group? They‘re all in this together, right? And he needs to prove that he‘s worth keeping around.

„If… that is indeed what you wish...“ Halsin says slowly, doubtfully.

„It is, now kindly shut up.“

Halsin kindly shuts up. The weird looks stick around, much to Astarion‘s chagrin; he‘s really starting to ask himself why the fuck he volunteered for this, and those looks aren‘t helping. He‘s glad when everyone finally disappears into their tents and leaves him alone- well, alone with Mollymauk, now curled up with his back pressed against Astarion‘s thigh, on top of their shared bedrolls. Putting their tent up would have been pointless, so they didn‘t.

Halsin nods at Astarion one last time before ducking into his tent, but Wyll stays a moment longer, watching them both with mistrust writ large across his handsome face. Astarion knows exactly where the human‘s thoughts are at.

„You can stop glaring at me now, I‘m not going to do anything untoward to our dearest Mollymauk,“ he assures him.

Wyll‘s frown only deepens. „It seems like a bad idea to me, to leave someone so vulnerable in your care.“

Astarion scoffs, „Oh please, Wyll dearest. He‘s one of two persons in this camp that I literally cannot bite. Your worry is entirely misplaced.“

That does nothing to wipe the distrust off of Wyll‘s face, but it does make him finally leave.

Silence settles around him, broken, of course, by strange noises beyond the ring of torches, and only somewhat strange ones from his companions as they ready themselves for bed. Astarion‘s thoughts drift back over the day and the complete and utter breakdown of the tiefling now sleeping quietly beside him.

I should have left the fucking book, those words won‘t leave him alone. What book? The only book Astarion can think of is the one that Gale and Shadowheart destroyed, but that can‘t be it. What did Mollymauk say then, something along the lines of knowing how unhealty creepy books from old ruins can be? Well, now he knows how they came by that knowledge. But that is strange, too, because an event like that should have come up in their memories when he took his little tadpole- stroll in their brain, and there was nothing. Only the memory of that pale woman, smiling shily. Could that be the person Mollymauk lost, when whatever happened with that book happened? What kind of book was it? And what happened to it? How frustrating, to have so many questions and no way of getting them answered.

Unless…

Oh, the temptation is strong, especially with Mollymauk so very… vulnerable, next to him. He might not even notice, or retain any memory of it if Astarion just… took a peek. No harm done, really.

If only there weren‘t Wyll‘s judgementally narrowed eyes glaring at him from memory. This is exactly the kind of thing the man is expecting from him, no doubt. And Astarion feels a distinct need to disappoint him, him and his smug monster hunter superiority. He‘s no monster- well, he is, but he doesn‘t have to be that kind of monster. He can be trustworthy if he wants to be. He can be better.

Even if nobody would ever know.

Or perhaps because nobody would ever know?

Mollymauk stirs next to him and Astarion‘s entire focus shifts to the tiefling, immediately alert in case he tries to run off again. But there‘s no sign of him waking; he just uncurls a little from the tight ball he‘d been in previously, mutters a „Yeah I fed the bloody horse, Gustav, get off my back,“ that sounds annoyed even in sleep, and goes back to breathing evenly, lips parting slightly for every exhale. Astarion‘s lips twitch ever so slightly. Not a bad dream then.

When Halsin comes to relieve him, Astarion finds himself surprisingly reluctant to leave.

On day four, they find other people. Living, breathing people- a group of Harpers, to be exact, who they have to save almost the moment they catch sight of them. That, at least, secures them an invitation to the Harpers‘ refuge, something none of them would even dream of refusing.

The dome of silvery light that comes into view after another strenuous walk is a welcome promise of sanctuary. The moment they pass that softly shimmering border, Astarion feels like a weight has lifted off of him; he hadn‘t even noticed how much the darkness has weighed him down. Judging by their relieved sighs, the others feel the same.

Next to Halsin, Mollymauk gasps like a drowning person emerging from the water, and when they all whirl to look, his eyes are open and alert for the first time in days.

„...the fuck…?“

Chapter Text

Molly doesn‘t know what‘s real anymore. It‘s dark- everything‘s dark, like he‘s lived his whole life in darkness, like there was never even any light at all. Sometimes the darkness is the darkness of an abandoned tomb, a resting place of thousands of people. Sometimes it‘s the darkness of living shadow, hungry and devouring. They bleed into each other, change from one to the other and he can‘t tell where one ends and the other begins.

There‘s something he needs to do. The urgency of it spurs him forward; he needs to do this thing, this one thing, and everything will be alright, if only he could remember what it is.

Remember… the eyes. Remember the city. Remember the gate. The gate. The gate needs to be opened, to let them come home. Then everything will be alright.

There are others. Voices, calling out or whispering, triumphant, jubilant; they have found something, but what? Hands touching them, a bear of a man with a kind smile, or is it a half-giant with a tattooed head? An elf with their teeth filed into points, an elf with silvery curls.

Sometimes there‘s no darkness, just the canvas of the circus‘ tent above them. Yasha smiles at them, holding a four-leaf clover in her hand, and then she‘s gone, and Molly collapses to their knees, sobbing. And then the canvas isn‘t canvas anymore, it‘s worked stone and it‘s crumbling, caving in, and they‘re running and Brev turns back for the fucking book. She turns back because he couldn‘t leave without it and now she‘s stuck here, dead in the cold and the dark and he can‘t bear the thought, the pain, it‘s too much-

Someone‘s holding them, carrying them, a deep voice muttering reassurances. Bo? Desmond? Are they back at the circus? Molly sighs in relief. What a crazy dream. But now there are costumes to mend, chores to tend to, the evening‘s show to be prepared for. Molly lets themself slip into the comforting familiarity of it all, ignores the shadows dancing always just barely at the edges of his vision. He‘s home.

And then he‘s not, he‘s standing amongst strangers- no, wait, those are his friends of the tadpole, but there are strangers, people in cobbled-together armor, and they‘re staring at them with suspicion. In front of them, more people, milling around a dilapidated building. Behind them, darkness- Molly shivers- and above their heads, a dome of silver light is arching, like moonlight made into water.

Molly has no idea how they got here, why he feels like he just woke up from a deep sleep, what in the hells is going on, but they push the feeling of disorientation and the faint creeping of panic to the side. Time for that later.

„The fuck…?“ Oh, wow. That was creative…

„...Molly?“ Shadowheart is stepping up to him, cautiously, like he‘s a wild animal that might spook at her approach. When he does nothing of the sort but instead just stands there, blinking, confused, she puts her hands on his shoulders. „Can you…. hear me…?“

Okay, what the fuck. „Uh… yes…? Why, what the… somebody tell me what‘s going on, please?“ Molly pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers, so as not to show that he‘s getting a little freaked out here. Especially because Shadowheart now appears to have tears brimming in her eyes.

„Ah, you know, you were a little out of it for a bit there, darling, might have something to do with the Shadow Curse, at least that‘s what we think. Good to have you back, you were really annoying, constantly trying to run off and get yourself killed...“ Astarion waves his hand flippantly as he talks and won‘t quite meet his eyes for some reason. Molly cocks his head at the elf. „Must have been damn annoying then, if you prefer me this way.“ He winks and has the pleasure of seeing Astarion scoff and look away as he crosses his arms. „Yes, you outdid yourself. Don‘t let it go to your head.“

Halsin chuckles indulgently and pats them on the shoulder. „Welcome back. It‘s good to see you awake and talking once more.“

„Yeah, mate. I like it more when you look at me, not through me,“ Karlach agrees.

They probably don‘t know how unsettling that is to hear.

At least that is it, for in that moment, movement comes into the ranks of the armed and armored folks around them as they part for a leathery-looking, older half-elf woman with her hair in braids, her wiry body clad in green armor, and an expression of ‚give me half a reason to run you through with a spear and I can promise you you‘ll be looking for your intestines on the floor in a heartbeat‘.

She waves her hand at them, worldessly.

Next Molly knows, there are vines winding up his body and trapping his legs in place.

Oh, great.

„True Souls. Why have you come here?“

„Uh. Wait, wait, wait. There‘s been a mistake, we are not True Souls, I can assure you of that,“ Astarion sputters, trying fruitlessly to tear free from the vines, which is doing the exact opposite of what he‘s hoping to accomplish.

„There‘s no need for that-“ Halsin speaks up, but the woman interrupts him. „This says you are.“ And she pulls out a small glass jar from a bag on her hip, with something inside that Molly can‘t identify until she holds it up higher and he sees, with a small shock, a tadpole just like the one he‘s carrying behind his eye floating in some sort of liquid. Gods, he‘s forgotten how hideous the things look, and he‘s not appreciating the reminder. The tadpole is swimming circles behind the glass that contains it, wiggling excitedly and trying to find a way out, attempts which are thwarted by the glass it bumps up against, over and over. The familiar pain of tadpoles communicating shoots through Molly‘s skull, and all of his friends‘, except Halsin. He can see them wince to a greater or lesser degree and knows they‘re fucked unless someone says something smart soon.

So of course it‘s Astarion, again, who opens his mouth. „Well, yes, we do have some of these adorable little things upstairs, which is exactly the reason why we‘re here. Because Moonrise is the only place we might be able to find out what‘s going on and get the fuck rid of them!“

The woman regards them curiously. „True Souls who are aware of their parasite? That‘s one I haven‘t seen before.“

„That would be because we are not True Souls,“ interjects Gale from the back. Halsin, too, tries speaking up again. „I do not have a parasite, but have been travelling with them and can vouch for all of them. They are, as they say, not True Souls but instead on a mission to investigate what is happening at Moonrise Towers and, if possible, stop it. As you yourselves are, if I‘m guessing correctly?“

She smiles a hard little smile. „You guess correctly. But why travel with these people, if you are not infected?“

„To help them as they helped me and mine. And to finally lift the Shadow Curse, if I can. I was here, a hundred years ago… and so were you, weren‘t you? Jaheira.“ Halsin regards her steadily as her eyebrow ticks up and her smile becomes a fraction wider.

Next to Molly, Karlach gives a little gasp, presses both her hands to her mouth and squees into them like a teeny tiny teakettle. He gives her an amused look, which she catches. „Mate, that‘s Jaheira, THE Jaheira!“ she whispers excitedly, practically bouncing, „I grew up hearing the stories about her, she‘s so cool!“

Ah. Another name that means absolutely nothing to Molly, great. Not wanting to make it awkward, he just settles for a smile and patting her arm affectionately, and then has to quickly withdraw his hand and shake the burning pain out of it when he lingers a second too long on her skin. Is it just him or is she getting hotter?

Karlach looks a bit distraught, even though it‘s not her fault. „Ah, dammit. Sorry.“

„Don‘t be, I touched you,“ Molly whispers while considering cutting himself to get some ice for the fresh burn. That does seem a bit drastic, so he settles for blowing on it for now.

Meanwhile, Jaheira and Halsin continue to converse, and it seems he‘s got her to lower her guard enough to at least let them out of the vines, which shrink back into the ground. „Very well,“ she declares loudly enough that the guards around them can hear, „You‘re free to go, for now. But be aware that you‘re being watched, and if my Harpers see anything they don‘t like, you‘d better have a good explanation ready.

- Settle in, get some food. I may join you later to hear more about this journey of yours.“ With that, she walks off and leaves them standing there, her ‚Harpers‘- whatever that means- dispersing except for the few on guard duty.

„Well, that was easier and far less bloody than I thought it would be. Shall we?“ Astarion sweeps a bow at them as if it was him who just talked them out of their predicament.

The inn seems like the obvious choice to hit first, so that‘s where they head. On the short walk there, they spot several faces that seem familiar, the faces of tieflings they met at the Grove. What in all the hells would they be doing here?

Karlach has picked up on it too. „Hey, are these our tieflings?“ she whispers to Molly, who can only nod. „Yup. These people have a knack for running into trouble, looks like...“

True enough, once they walk through the door of the inn, Alfira‘s right there, tuning her lute. She looks up and her eyes go wide before she shoots up from her chair. „Guys! What are you- oh, it‘s so good to see you!“ She flies forward to hug the first person in her path, who just happens to be Astarion. He goes instantly rigid, his face a mixture of surprise, disgust and a plea for help that has Molly very nearly snorting with laughter. But he doesn‘t have to endure the hug for long; Alfira lets him go and switches to Shadowheart, who‘s much more enthusiastic about hugging her back.

„What happened? Why are you here, I thought you said you were going to Baldur‘s Gate?“

Alfira steps back with a bitter little laugh. „Well, we were going there. And then we got sidetracked, let‘s juts say. Our guide was a bit… useless,“ she murmurs off to the side. „And now we‘re stuck here. I‘m sick of being stuck, believe you me. But what about you? What brings you to this godsforsaken shithole?“

„That is a long story, but it looks like Moonrise is our mission now,“ Gale answers her. „This cult of the Absolute appears to be making its headquarters there, so that is where we need to go.“

Alfira balls her fists. „Oh these Absolute fuckers! We ran into them, actually, that‘s why so many of us are missing. They‘ve been taken captive by them, and we have no idea if they‘re even still alive! If… if you‘re going to Moonrise, could you maybe look for them?“ Her eyes are filled with so much hope it‘s heartbreaking.

„Of course we will, my dear,“ Molly says before Astarion can open his mouth and deny her request; he could see him drawing breath wearing the scowl he always gets when asked to go out of his way for someone else. The elf‘s eyes spear into him and Molly answers with a sweet smile that makes him scoff and turn away.

„Thank you. You don‘t know how much this means to me- to us! Thank you!“ Alfira is tearing up now. Molly squeezes her shoulder. „Of course.“

„We will absolutely look for them once we get to Moonrise, but for now I am starving and I think I heard Jaheira say something about getting food?“ Gale looks around at the tables, where indeed a few Harpers are sitting, having a meal and a pint. Karlach seconds this with a longing „Fuck yes!“ and Molly realises he‘s actually famished. Alfira helps them acquire a table and goes to find food for them, which Gale and Molly help carry back, and all of them who eat food dig in.

Now that they‘re not negotiating for their lives, Molly notices frequent looks being cast his way, as if his friends are not yet sure he‘s not going to revert to whatever state he was in before they got here. He hates it. The fact that they‘re worried about him and the reminder both, because he would prefer to just forget about it all and move on, like he‘s done all his life, and it‘s worked for him, thank you very much.

So just to prove to them that there‘s nothing to fucking well worry about, he digs in like a person starving and pointedly ignores them all.

The plates and bowls are almost polished by the time Jaheira joins them like she said she would, bringing with her two bottles of wine that she places on the table.

„On the house!“ she declares before finding a chair for herself and dragging it over. Molly thinks Karlach might suffer a heart attack from having her idol so close, sitting with them; she looks at her like a starry-eyed child and it‘s all he can do not to laugh.

„Thank you!“ Shadowheart reaches for the bottle and pours herself and Jaheira a generous amount of wine each, then lifts the goblet to her mouth and inhales the wine‘s aroma. „Mmh. You got out the good stuff for us.“ She makes eye contact with the older half-elf, and as she does so, Molly hears her voice ring out in their head, clear as day: It‘s been doctored with a truth serum. Don‘t drink it.

My, my. How devious, comes Astarion‘s soft drawl in answer. There is voiceless approval, or at least acknowledgement, from the others.

So the tadpoles can do this as well? That‘s good to know.

Jaheira is still holding Shadowheart‘s gaze, the younger woman knowingly, the older challengingly, with a tiny smile, until Shadowheart asks, her voice jovial, „Why?“

„Simple. I need to know if I can really trust you.“ Jaheira leans back, swirling her wine around in her goblet. „I have all these people to protect, after all.“

„Oh you bet you can trust us!“ Karlach exclaims before grabbing one of the bottles of wine and chugging straight from it, to varied reactions. With Gale, Wyll and Lae‘zel surprise gives way to grudging approval. Shadowheart just looks shocked. Astarion sneers, and Molly- well, honestly, they‘re glad someone else did it. Jaheira wasn‘t just going to take their word for it that they weren‘t going to slaughter the whole inn, that much was certain. The thought of having to down a truth serum to convince her, and what all they possibly might have said under its influence, makes them feel itchy, however.

„There! Ask away.“ Karlach puts the bottle back down and faces Jaheira, who now looks mildly impressed. She lifts her goblet to her mouth and takes a drink herself. „To even the playing field. Now. Are you, or are you not, loyal to the Absolute?“

Karlach snorts. „Hells naw. Couldn‘t pay me enough to work for this piece of shit.“

Jaheira‘s lips twitch. „So you mean to do what you said you were going to do- infiltrate Moonrise and find the source of the tadpoles?“

„Not sure we put it this way, but if you put it this way… yeah.“

„And eradicate it?“

Astarion shifts in his seat but mercifully refrains from saying anything.

„I guess. If we can, I mean, we first gotta find out what it is, but… yeah.“

Jaheira leans forward, elbows on the table. „In that case, I think we can help each other.“

Astarion shifts again, clearly unhappy with the direction this is going, before bursting out: „Hold on. You‘re saying you want us to infiltrate Moonrise and take care of the Absolute for you, meaning we would be doing all the work here, while you sit pretty in your cosy little inn and do- what, exactly? How are you going to help us?“

Jaheira‘s cool gaze settles on him. „Well, for one, we can give you partial immunity against the Shadow Curse, making it easier for you to move around. We are also close to figuring out how the cultists can withstand the effects of the curse, even where it is heaviest. We know who you‘ll be dealing with, and of course, we have supplies and manpower for when the time comes to take down the Towers.“

„Who will we be dealing with?“ Shadowheart asks cautiously.

Jaheira looks straight at Halsin as she answers, „Ketheric Thorm.“

They all look at the druid and see the color drain from his face. Under their questioning looks, he fumbles to regain control of his faculties before he starts to explain.

„He‘s the man who cursed this land to begin with, a hundred years ago. But I thought he was killed, how- how is he back?“

„We don‘t know how, but we do know that he is walking among us once more, and immortal to boot. I have seen him myself, have fought him and watched his injuries mend themselves before my very eyes. He calls himself a Chosen of the Absolute, from what intelligence we have gathered. This is who you must face, if you want to cure yourselves.“

„Oh, we must face him? And how do you propose we do that, since we‘ve established that the guy is immortal?!“ Astarion exclaims exasperatedly, falling back in his chair and looking ready to get up and leave.

„That is for you to find out.“

Now he really does throw up his hands, get up out of his chair and stomp off. Jaheira‘s eyes follow him.

„Easily discouraged, is he?“

„I think we are all a bit intimidated by this task. It does shape up to be rather... monumental, shall we say?“ Gale says diplomatically, as if he feels the need to smooth any feathers Astarion‘s little tantrum could potentially have ruffled. Not that there seem to be any on Jaheira.

„Well, needs must, as the saying goes. And you are the only ones who can get into Moonrise without raising suspicion, so it is up to you to do what needs be done. But not today. I will see to it that you have a room made available, although you might have to make do with one. And you should go up and see Isobel for that blessing we talked about. She‘ll know what I mean. I‘ll be seeing you later.“ She pushes her chair back and gets up to leave, while they all remain behind, a bit stunned from all they‘ve just learned.

„That… was a lot,“ Molly feels the need to summarise after a second or two of silence. The uncomfortable twinge of a beginning headache has settled in their temples, and all they want right now is a moment alone, to just- be. Not to think, no. They don‘t ever want to think about any of this, starting with whatever the Shadow Curse did to them, and ending with Jaheira‘s disclosure that they are going to have to find a way to kill an immortal. An immortal who already came back once.

„You can say that again,“ Gale groans, rubbing his hands across his face. It‘s not hard to guess where his thoughts are at. Wyll reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder, his thumb stroking up and down comfortingly.

„Well. I‘m going to air my head out. See you around.“ Molly gets up. That headache is really picking up steam now and the room is starting to feel suffocating. They need air.

„Stay inside the dome, whatever you do,“ Wyll warns them, as if they weren‘t able to think of that themself.

„Thanks, mum, I‘ll keep it in mind.“ They wave lazily while walking away, slip out the back of the building and lean against the wall. What a day. And they only consciously experienced an hour or so of it…

Chapter Text

Fuck these people. Fuck them. The tieflings, the Harpers, Jaheira- where does she get off, practically ordering them to kill a fucking immortal for her? And oh, of course his idiot companions are going to go along with that, and of course Astarion is going to get dragged into this mess. It‘s enough to make him want to tear his hair out.

Not that he is going to, not his perfect hair, but-

Moodily, he kicks at an upturned bucket in his way and sends it clattering down the path he‘s walking. There‘s only one place he doesn‘t need to look at people, the back of the stables, and he‘s been going round and round seething in silence there ever since the ‚discussion‘ with Jaheira. The barrier is quite close here and he can see the swirling shadows through the shimmering gauze woven of light.

Even if he wanted to run, he wouldn‘t survive the cursed lands.

Gods fucking dammit.

Well. There‘s nothing he can do out here to prevent decisions being made that will affect him negatively, so maybe he should head back inside. With any luck, his idiots won‘t have sold their souls to the Harper woman yet.

But when he gets back, they‘re gone, every single one of them. Great.

He sits down at the table previously occupied by his party and eyes the two bottles of wine still standing there unattended. Even knowing that they‘ve been spiked, the sight is tempting. But no, the risk is not worth it. Someone might ask him something he doesn‘t want them to know the answer to purely by accident.

Maybe someone else will drink it. The thought of the chaos that could entail makes him smile and he‘s entertaining the thought of offering the bottles to a random person in this room and seeing what happens when there‘s a tug at his sleeve and he looks down to see a tiefling child gazing at him nervously.

„Sir, are you… one of the adventurers?“ the little boy lisps.

„Y...es, why?“ Oh gods, what now. Do they want him to save a kitten from a tree or something? The kid quails at his less- than- friendly answer, and he can‘t help but feel a bit gratified by it.

„Only Jaheira said to tell you that we got a room for you.“

A room? Well, that is something else entirely. Gods, how long has it been since he slept between walls? „Show me.“

The kid trips ahead and he follows him to a door at the far end of the building.

Not without snagging the wine bottles on the way. After all, you never know...

If he was expecting a space to himself, he is disappointed; it‘s a small room with four beds crammed into it, a washstand, and nothing else. Four beds means half of them is going to have to sleep on the floor.

Well. Not him, he decides immediately and pulls off his gloves to throw on the bed farthest from the door, claiming it as his. Then he remembers that he should probably thank the kid, because his do-gooder friends would look at him with such disappointment to find out that he didn‘t, but when he turns around there‘s empty space where the boy had stood.

Oh. Just as well.

What draws his attention next is the wash stand, or to be more exact, the round mirror in a revolving frame that is mounted atop it. What he‘s hoping will happen when he moves in front of it, he can‘t say; he knows he has no reflection, not for two hundred years now. But something compels him to try.

There‘s nothing, of course. He idly reaches out to turn the mirror in its frame and jumps when the reflection of a certain purple tiefling appears in it. Sneaking up on him again.

„Yes, you‘re very pretty,“ Mollymauk drawls, leaning against the door frame with arms crossed and that infuriating smile of his on his lips.

„I-“ Astarion sighs. „Shut up.“

Mollymauk eyes him, then the mirror, then him again. Astarion braces in preparation for a jibe-

„I could draw you if you want. I‘m no portrait artist, but I think I could do well enough.“

For a moment, Astarion doesn‘t know what to say, the offer is so unexpected. Then he scoffs. „Thank you, darling, but I don‘t think a drawing of a stick figure is going to help me very much.“

The dig has zero effect beyound making the tiefling shrug; why does he keep trying? „I think I can do a little better than stick figures, but suit yourself,“ Mollymauk says as he crosses over to the bed opposite from the one Astarion had claimed and sits down on it.

Astarion belatedly realises that he is, in fact, curious if Mollymauk would actually be able draw him, but now he can‘t very well ask.

„Fuck you,“ he grumbles weakly.

„That is also on the table if you want.“ Mollymauk grins at him brightly. Astarion throws him a wary look and decides he‘s not going to ask if that‘s a serious offer either.

„No, thank you,“ he says slowly, using the exact same inflection Mollymauk had when they rejected him at the celebration at the Grove. Their grin widens. „Like I said. Suit yourself.“ With that, they fall back onto the bed with their arms crossed beneath their head and start humming a little tune.

And now Astarion doesn‘t know what to do. He‘d been hoping to have the room to himself for a little while at least and just enjoy the quiet and the fact that nobody else is around. That‘s just been ruined.

Then he remembers that there actually is something he‘s dying to know, and the person who can answer those questions just walked in the door.

„So- feeling like yourself again, then, are you?“ he asks conversationally whilst sitting down on his bed to pull off his boots. One of the perks of being undead: he doesn‘t sweat, so no stinky feet.

Without anything so demonstrative as moving or even just looking at him, Mollymauk makes it very clear that they‘re not a fan of where this is going. It‘s in the way the long lines of their body are suddenly and subtly tense as opposed to the indolent relaxation from just a moment ago.

„I‘m never anything less than myself, dear.“ The fact that they seem to think they can get away with such a blatant lie…

„Ah. So the last few days, that was you being yourself, then?“

Silence. But if he strains his ears he thinks he can hear the faint sound of teeth grinding together from the other side of the room.

„Do you remember anything that happened?“ It‘s probably safe to take off his breastplate, right? There doesn‘t seem to be any immediate danger, not counting the possibility of Mollymauk stabbing him to make him stop asking questions. But Mollymauk is sulking on their bed, going so far as to turn their back to him, and now that‘s just childish and it also suddenly reminds him of how they‘d sleep curled up next to him, their back pressed against his leg, so warm and so trusting.

The strangest feeling settles in his chest then, a sort of ache like someone had hooked a finger behind his sternum and was pulling on him, pulling him in the direction of the tiefling in their colorful coat and their cheap jewellery and their ostentatious tattoos and their obnoxious attitude and their unexpected vulnerabilities.

He suddenly misses when he could run his fingers through their hair and feel them quiet from whatever nightmare they‘d been having.

„Are you alright?“ his mouth asks, without his input or say-so, and he is left surprised and weirded out by himself. Why in the hells would he ask that?

On the other bed, Mollymauk‘s twitching tail-tip goes still. And Astarion, stupidly, presses on, like they haven‘t been in exactly this situation before, like he doesn‘t know what‘s going to happen if he pushes the tiefling too far. „You scared a lot of people, do you know? Karlach was really worried about you.“

There‘s a scoff, but it‘s lacking heart. „She can stop worrying, I‘m fine,“ Mollymauk grumbles. Their tail has resumed its movements, swishing across the blanket on the bed in long swipes.

„You might be fine now, but what happens when you leave here? When you‘re back under the curse? We can‘t go to Moonrise with a catatonic tiefling who needs to be watched all the time and starts screaming when they see a skeleton. It would be insanity!“

That- that was a shudder, one that went through their entire body. Astarion‘s eyes narrow.

„You do remember...“

Mollymauk gives an explosive sigh then rubs both hands across their face, like someone who knows the game is up. „Just… flashes,“ they admit grudgingly. „Like getting real fucking drunk, three-day bender kinda thing. Except normally finding out the weird stuff you did while plastered is a lot more fun...“

„So you don‘t normally break down and start crying how you shouldn‘t have taken some book or other, then, I take it?“

Another helpful shudder courses through the mostly-still form of the tiefling, informing Astarion that they‘re most likely lying when they say, „… not that I know...“

„No memories of any books then?“ he wheedles, feeling like he‘s so close to solving the mystery that is one Mollymauk Tealeaf he can practically taste it.

„Not the bookish type.“ Mollymauk waves a hand in the air, unaware that they have just given Astarion the one piece of information he was, unkowingly, trying to get at all this time.

„No? Not a reader? Then how do you know about how dangerous, I quote,‚creepy books from abandoned basements‘ are…?“

There‘s silence. Got you, Astarion thinks triumphantly. Let them try to wiggle their way out of that.

They try anyway. „Did I say that?“

„Loud and clear and in front of witnesses. So naturally this makes me wonder if maybe the book that afforded you this particular experience might have been the same one you were screaming about back in the shadow?“

„I wasn‘t screaming….!“

„Of course you weren‘t, darling. Don‘t even try, I have witnesses for that too. And stop trying to distract me, it won‘t work. So. Book?“

Mollymauk now sits up in a flurry of colorful clothes and crosses their legs under them, facing him. „Maybe I was bullshitting? You don‘t know,“ they declare with an insouciant grin that is so at odds with their former behaviour Astarion wants to roll his eyes and give them lessons in how best to hide one‘s emotions.

„Is that something you do?“ he asks deadpan, because he‘s rather sure he knows the answer to that question. And then, before Mollymauk can open their mouth to lie to him once again, „Like you bullshitted about your life‘s story? You are a unique individual, you know that? Somehow you can remember your relatives and family curse, but you have also been found abandoned on the side of the road as a baby. Please explain to me how the two go together, I am very curious.“ He puts his hands in his lap, primly, and waits for Mollymauk to answer.

Whose face is the very image of ‚oh, fuck‘ in this moment, until they rally and fix him with a hard gaze anyway.

„And if I don‘t, are you going to dig through my head again?“

Ah. So they haven‘t forgiven him for that yet. He clears his throat, suddenly awkward. „I… no. No, I won‘t. Your head is safe from me.“

Mollymauk leans back a little and looks at him expectantly. Astarion returns the look, confused. They sigh through the nose and make a ‚come on‘ gesture with one hand. If anything, that confuses Astarion even further, and after a minute or so of him staring at them and Mollymauk staring back, they sigh and let their head tip back in a show of exasperation. „Nothing to say? Like for example ‚sorry I invaded your brain and tried to ransack it out of nothing more than curiosity‘?“

Astarion bristles at that a bit, but… well, they have a point. He still feels somewhat justified about doing it, especially since it‘s become even more clear since then that Mollymauk is keeping quite a lot back, but if an apology is the way to go to possibly make them open up…

Actually saying the words out loud is still hard, much harder than it should be after a lifetime of being humiliated in ways much worse than this. They feel like he has to drag them out of his throat kicking and screaming.

„I apologise.“ At Mollymauk‘s prompting, he adds, „For digging through your head. It won‘t happen again.“

That seems to satisfy them. For a little while, they sit facing each other, Mollymauk chewing on his lower lip before saying abruptly, „I don‘t remember. My past, that is. Everything that was before the circus, it‘s… gone. It doesn‘t even feel like my past. So...“

Ah yes. There it is. „So you make up stories.“

Mollymauk shrugs eloquently. „Pretty much.“

„I. Well. That‘s certainly one way to go about it. But, and hear me out here, wouldn‘t it make more sense to try and find out the truth?“

„Why would I want to do that?“

The question is so nonsensical it takes Astarion a good half minute before he can muster up an answer, precisely because it feels so obvious and makes him wonder if he‘s missing something. „Why? Well… because it‘s the truth. Don‘t people usually want to find that out?“ But even as he says it, he has the sneaking feeling that that is not the case. Quite the contrary actually. Most people prefer the comforting lie over the cold, hard truth. Like, for instance, they really want to believe that the handsome elf flirting with them over a glass of wine is simply looking for a good time, instead of looking to lure them into the arms of a monster who will suck them dry of every last drop of their blood.

Mollymauk seems to read some of his thoughts on his face. He smiles and spreads his hands in a gesture that says, see? „I just prefer not to be bound to anything that happened to another person, or that they did. Because that person from before, that‘s not me. And like this, I can be whatever I want, and what I want to be is, well… Molly.“

Here Astarion snorts and looks him over head to toe. „I can confidently say I do not understand why.“

Mollymauk grins and flips him off, and he finds himself grinning back with his fangs on full display, a moment of shared… something, before he sobers up again. And for the unlife of him he will never be able to say what prompts him to share, „If you put it this way, I think I… I do understand. I don‘t… have memories from before I was turned. I don‘t remember if I had a family, or what happened to them, and sometimes I think I prefer to assume that there wasn‘t anyone over that there was someone who went looking for me when I went missing, and may have been killed by Cazador… or that there was someone who maybe didn‘t even care enough to come looking.“

The words have a weird effect in that, as soon as they have left his mouth he feels strangely light in the chest area, and at the same time, strangely heavy. His voice hitches on the last one, forcing him to fall silent. Oh goody. Now Mollymauk is sure to follow up with some jibe, something to twist the knife…

Nothing comes. After a moment, he risks a look, because for some reason his eyes have been glued to the floor, and finds the tiefling sitting with chin in hand, looking at him with, with… it‘s not pity, pity would have him scratching those bloody red eyes out. It‘s something far less condescending, even if he‘d be hard put to name it.

„I get that.“

„Which doesn‘t mean I approve of what you‘re doing,“ Astarion feels it‘s necessary to clarify. „After all, your past is interesting enough to draw the attention of a devil. Nonagon.“

There‘s a distinct wince from Mollymauk when he calls him by that… name? Title? He recovers swiftly, though. „So is yours. So is all our condition. I‘m starting to think it‘s probably not even that hard to attract a devil‘s attention. And anyway, what do you want me to do, ask Raphael for help? What could possibly go wrong, right?“

Astarion doesn‘t answer right away, for various reasons. The most important one being, that he is actually starting to consider asking Raphael for help figuring out what his scars mean, and he can‘t imagine Mollymauk would be thrilled at hearing that. The other one is, that he‘s pondering over all he‘s learned about the tiefling thus far. He can‘t help feeling that there is a connection between his memory loss and the alleged splintering of his soul, and of course the strange magical tattoos dotted all over his body and the magic contained in his blood. Something is lurking in Mollymauk‘s past, and it may well be dangerous.

After a moment‘s thought, he says, „I want you to be honest about things that might make you a liability to this group. Like it or not, we all need each other. We can ill afford surprises like the one we just had.“

„That one was just as much a surprise to me, how the fuck was I supposed to know that I was going to react to the Curse like that?“ Mollymauk throws up his hands in exasperation.

„Raphael did say something to the effect of a protection that is on you that wasn‘t going to hold,“ Astarion points out, to which Mollymauk huffs loudly. „He said that in front of all of you, it wasn‘t exactly a secret! And before you ask if I know what kind of protection he was talking about, I have to inform you that I don‘t kn- what was that?“ He falls silent, looking at the ceiling from which a loud thump just originated. It is closely followed by another, and another.

And then a scream.

Astarion and Mollymauk exchange glances. „Why do I have the feeling that this time it‘s not an ogre getting fucked?“ the tiefling asks wrily before rolling off the bed and darting out the door. Astarion follows on his heels, drawing his daggers. Why oh why did he take off his armor...

They rush into the taproom to find chaos. The source of it is readily apparent: winged, zombie-like creatures that tear through furniture and patrons alike. Astarion doesn‘t have the time to ask himself where they even came from, because one of them spots them instantly and attacks with a screech that rattles his very brain and alerts yet more of the things to their presence.

Just great.

In front of him, Mollymauk draws the edges of his swords against his neck in a gesture that has become familiar, radiant light emitting from the thin coat of blood, and then the things are on them.

And what a bastard of a fight this one is. Not only are the creatures agile on top of being godsdamned aggressive, their shrieks pierce the ears and numb the brain every time they emit one, which is often. Considering that, and the fact that he‘s barefoot, Astarion thinks he‘s doing pretty well, until one of them drives him backward and he falls over an upturned chair, losing his grip on his daggers, which go sliding off in different directions on the wooden floor. He‘s left helplessly staring up as the creature winds up for a hit that might snuff him out for good, and the only thing he can think of is that this must be a bloody joke. He got this far, only for it to end like that?

Turns out, it doesn‘t. Like a vengeful deva, Mollymauk is suddenly right behind the creature, snarling, both scimitars coming down on its back in a dual-handed slash that would have carved it open had it not moved, sensing the movement behind it. As it is, only one of the scimitars hits the intended target, the other one lodging in a wingbone, and then the creature whirls around and whips Mollymauk across the face with the same wing so hard they stumble and crash into a table, which overturns and spills them onto the floor, and now it‘s Mollymauk on their back with the zombie-thing advancing on them and Astarion only has a split second to act. His daggers are gone, lost in the chaos. But there is the one scimitar right in front of him, still stuck in the creature‘s wing, still glowing faintly along the edge, and just right to pull out and ram into its back with all the force he can find in his arms. The thing screeches again, even more piercingly, and Astarion lets go of the sword and covers his ears with a shout of pain as it flails and falls, twitching, on top of Mollymauk.

If there had been any more of the creatures left, that moment of vulnerability might have killed them both, but it seems the Harpers have done their damn job and gotten rid of the rest of them while Astarion wasn‘t looking. The only thing left to do now is to extricate Mollymauk from underneath the thing pinning them to the floor, and well- they can do that themself, Astarion‘s not touching that. He helps by pulling the scimitar free and then stands weighing it in his hand while the tiefling wiggles out from underneath the body with a grimace.

„Not the kind of guy I want in my lap,“ he remarks as he stands and looks himself over for injuries other than the self-inflicted ones. There are a few, Astarion notes, long angry gashes and bite marks. He‘s sure he looks the same; his side feels like it‘s on fire where one of the things got its teeth in him. Healing is definitely called for.

„Really, darling? I though it‘d be right up your alley, what with you tumbling a gith and all.“

„Comparing Lae‘zel to these guys? Thanks for the blackmail material,“ Mollymauk remarks and holds out one hand for the scimitar. Astarion weighs it once more in his hand before holding it out to him. He‘d never realised, but the things are as cheap as the tiefling‘s jewellery, the better kind of pot metal rather than steel. And what the fuck is up with these half-moon pommels with their tips turned towards the wielder‘s hand? They must really love injuring themself.

„How you can go on about my butter knife and yet fight with this junk is beyond me,“ he remarks. „By rights you should be dead.“

„Just goes to show how good I am,“ Mollymauk claps back with yet another sunny grin. Astarion rolls his eyes. „Gods I hate you.“

„And yet I distinctly remember you saying something along the lines of having missed me, oh, what was it, an hour or so ago?“

„I would thank you not to put words in my mouth, darling, I said I prefer this version of you over the one I have to babysit, which does not mean that I like, or would miss, either version of you.“ Astarion clarifies, haughtily raising his chin. The gall of him!

Mollymauk laughs, bright and easy. Gods, why is this bitch the way he is? And why, by all that is unholy, does he have to look so pretty while being the way he is?

Footsteps clatter down the stairs, several pairs of them, distracting Astarion from his thoughts. Halsin comes into view first, easily visible due to his size, then follow Lae‘zel, Karlach, Gale and Wyll and yet another half-elf woman, this one with shoulder length platinum blonde hair and slightly smudged make-up.

„There you are, are you okay?“ Karlach exclaims, rushing over and barely restraining herself from grabbing their shoulders.

„Well, I did just almost end up getting killed, so- no? Thank you for asking, darling,“ Astarion declares with a put-out huff and sees Mollymauk smile at his dramatics out of the corner of his eye.

His stomach does a completely unexpected flip at the sight.

Shit.

„Had worse. Uh- where‘s Shadowheart?“ Mollymauk asks while Astarion is busy internally freaking out over this completely uncalled-for reaction. What the hells is wrong with him?! Yes they‘re pretty, but that doesn‘t warrant… that!

„Shads took off earlier because she was supposed to get a blessing from a Selûnite, which I guess is some kind of problem for her? Speaking of which, Isobel, can you spare a little healing for our friends here?“

„More friends? Of course, just a moment.“ The half-elf- Isobel, apparently- moves in front of them and casts a little something of a spell that, while it doesn‘t remove the injuries they‘ve sustained, does alleviate the sting considerably.

„Sorry, I have to be a bit sparing with my spells, seeing as I still need to keep the barrier up,“ she apologises. Upon closer inspection, she looks a bit haggard, drawn even. Which is no wonder if she‘s been maintaining the barrier all by herself. Astarion can‘t claim to know much about magic, but that must be quite the feat.

„And now, I assume you want my blessing? Alright.“ She casts yet another spell, one that winds its way around them both and settles around Astarion like cool silk. It feels… calming? Like if moonlight had a feel to it, which, yes, would probably be calming. A deep sigh next to thim tells him Mollymauk feels it too. When he looks, the tiefling has their eyes closed and Isobel is looking at them quizzically, head tilted ever so slightly.

„This will protect you from the curse in all but the most heavily affected areas. Now if you‘ll excuse me, I think my healing spells are needed elsewhere.“ She seems to shrug off whatever was bothering her, bows briefly and heads off towards a small knot of Harpers who are examining the zombie creatures‘ corpses.

Astarion follows her with his eyes, wondering.

Mollymauk doesn‘t: „So, do we know what those are?“

„Not really, just that they were sent by Ketheric to abduct Isobel. A traitor from the Flaming Fist was leading them, fucking bastard,“ Karlach curses. That‘s bad. That‘s very bad.

„So the cult knows about this little nook then? I think our timetable just sped up.“ Astarion worries his lower lip with his teeth in sudden anxiety. They need to get to Moonrise, and soon. And not fight Ketheric, if he has any say in it.

„You are absolutely correct. We have hashed out a battle plan, as it were, with Isobel. The first step is to capture some Absolutists and figure out how they withstand the Shadow Curse, so that we can safely enter Moonrise. Step two will be to infiltrate the Towers and find out everything that we can about their operation, and then we‘ll take it from there. Harper patrols leave the inn tomorrow to lay an ambush on the routes we know the cultists travel most often, and some of us will be accompanying them. Hopefully, that will get us what we need.“ Wyll lays all of this out clearly, concisely, like a commander before battle. Blade of Frontiers indeed.

„More Shadow Curse. Yay,“ Mollymauk sighs, but Wyll holds up his hand. „Oh no. You will be staying here. We‘re not going to risk a repeat of what happened on the way here.“

Astarion has the rare pleasure of seeing the tiefling speechless for a moment, his mouth falling open. „Wha- why? I got the same blessing you did, I‘ll be fine!“ he protests, but Astarion has the distinct feeling that his heart isn‘t in it, that he‘s secretly relieved not to have to go out into the shadow. And their companions are having none of it, in any case.

„It‘s not a slight on you, Molly, we just- want you to be safe, alright?“ Gale reaches out a comforting hand, but that seems to have been the wrong thing to say. Mollymauk moves just out of reach, his face doing something complicated that Astarion can‘t interpret. He‘s pretty sure there‘s hurt in there, though. He hadn‘t known Mollymauk was capable of getting hurt. Learning something new every other moment, it seems.

„And the inn needs protection while so many of the Harpers are gone. If another attack comes, if we lose Isobel- well, that‘d be it for the people here. You‘re not useless, quite the opposite.“ Karlach‘s voice sounds calming, and it seems she‘s hit the nail head-on. Mollymauk sighs. „Alright, fine. I‘ll stay here, drink my way through the wine supply and fuck half the inn while you shiver in the shadow.“

„And I‘ll be staying, too. I want to study the curse, and Isobel has just given me a possible lead,“ Halsin adds, and now Mollymauk‘s eyes light up with interest. Astarion idly wonders if ‚half the inn‘ means ‚Halsin‘. He‘s big enough to almost qualify.

He doesn‘t know how he feels about this. Obviously, Mollymauk can fuck who they fucking well want to. Obviously.

„Alright guys, I‘m going to find Shads and talk some sense into her. Be good, will you?“ With that Karlach excuses herself and leaves the inn in quest of their missing cleric.

The rest of them disperse to help take care of the dead monsters and get a start on repairing the damage to the inn. When that‘s taken care of, they return to their room, not to sleep, not quite yet. Astarion has managed to find some books and is leafing through them, trying to decide if he wants to start with the torrid romance novel or the dry history tome, while across from him Mollymauk is leaning against the headboard of their bed and sketching on some paper that they begged off of Gale.

Of course Astarion is absolutely not curious what the drawings look like. He also absolutely does not try to catch a glimpse whenever Mollymauk puts one of the pages down and starts on another one. That would be ridiculous.

Eventually, Karlach comes back with a resigned Shadowheart in tow. She bursts in the door with an excited, „Guys! You‘ll never guess who I just met!“

Astarion turns a page without looking up. „I don‘t know, darling, but I have a feeling you‘re going to tell us any moment.“

„Dammon! He‘s here! He survived, I‘m so happy!“ And she flops down on the bed with him so hard he almost goes flying off the other end. Only through him quickly holding on to the headboard is this prevented. „That, uh… that‘s great?“

„That means you can get your engine repaired?“ Mollymauk perks up, but Karlach sags. „Well, no… we haven‘t found any infernal iron, have we? No can do without it. But it was still great to see him!“

„Who needs infernal iron?“ Gale comes up from his focus on a book of his own like a diver emerging from the water and looks around questioningly.

„Here!“ Karlach waves a hand. „Didn‘t I tell you? I could get my engine fixed with a bit of that stuff, but we never came across any...“

„I am afraid I was not present for this conversation. But wait just a moment, maybe..“ Gale dives for his bag of holding and starts to rummage, coming up with a lump of bent metal a moment later, which he presents to Karlach like a bouquet of flowers. She looks at him as if he had just proposed; hands over her mouth, eyes tearing up. „Oh my gods, Gale. I could kiss you. I‘m going to kiss you, as soon as I can without burning your face off. Can I…?“

„Of course. One of us should get to live life to the fullest, despite the bombs in our chests.“

That puts a severe damper on the mood. Sobered, Karlach takes the lump of metal and cradles it to her chest like an infant. „I said we were going to fix you and that‘s what we‘re gonna do. You don‘t get to blow up on us!“

He smiles sadly. „Well, neither do you, so go find Dammon and give him that.“

She hops up, almost hugs Gale, thinks better of it and whispers a tearful, „Thank you!“ before dashing right back out.

The rest of them go to bed soon after; there‘s no talking anymore.

The next few days pass as quickly as treacle in the cold. Molly hates being cooped up; hates it with a passion. They‘re a circus freak, used to moving on every few days, used to being able to move around freely, and this enforced stillness is driving them stir-crazy.

Not that they don‘t keep themself busy to the best of their ability. There are a lot of people at the inn who are thankful for any kind of distraction, and Molly is happy to provide. Be that their juggling and sleight-of-hand tricks, stories of any description, singing with Alfira, or fortune telling. And when it‘s none of these, he regales Volo with outrageous versions of the Legend of Vox Machina, which the bard subsequently makes even more outrageous when writing them down. Molly has him totally buying the ‚from another world‘ thing, which pretty much ensures that no one else is going to believe it.

When they‘re not doing any of that, they‘re hanging out with Mattis and Silfy, who are becoming proficient thieves under their tutelage, and the other tiefling orphans. He really, really likes the leader of their little pack of half-feral strays, and not just because her name sounds so similar to his; he can tell she doesn‘t take him seriously. The others seem to have developed some sort of hero worship for him, which is nice- not so Mol. It‘s like she sees right through him, and it tickles him no end.

All of that is, of course, after Astarion pretty much strongarmed them into telling the rest of the group the slightly more accurate version of their past, minus the bit where they crawled their way out of their own grave. A man‘s gotta be allowed to keep some secrets, right? Anyway, the reactions were as expected and they fled at the first opportunity to escape the sympathy from Karlach, Halsin‘s wise words, and Gale‘s pontifications about the manner in which a soul might be ripped apart with only part of it remaining in the body.

Oh, he‘d tried helping Halsin with his quest against the Shadow Curse. It hadn‘t gone too well. The lead the druid had been talking about was one former Flaming Fist (some sort of military force or other is what Molly had been able to suss out without giving himself away) ensconced in a small room at the inn where he lay on the single bed staring at the ceiling and mumbling to himself. Molly had followed Halsin into the room, curious, only to feel a shudder race up his spine at the sight of the supine human. Feet rooted to the ground, he‘d watched Halsin approach the bed and address the man, to no response, check his pulse and look into his eyes before he‘d noticed that Molly hadn‘t moved a step beyond the door.

„Are you alright, my friend?“ he‘d asked, softly, a concerned frown on his face.

Molly had to wrest control of his tongue and vocal chords back before he could say anything. It was harder than it should have been. „Was I… like that…?“ he‘d whispered, the best he could do.

Halsin looked down at the unresponsive figure on the bed. „Similar,“ he admitted. Molly felt another shiver course through him. His feet itched to bolt, to run.

„You know… I don‘t think I wanna be in here,“ he‘d said as lightly as he could manage, turned tail, and fled.

And that had been that.

From then on, he hadn‘t seen too much of Halsin, which is a pity but he gets it. Nature man‘s busy. It just means he‘s feeling useless, on top of bored off his ass, and that‘s a bad combination. It‘s too close to feeling empty.

It doesn‘t help that, day after day, the others come back from their patrols cold and tired and without results. Either the Absolutists have wised up about them, which is entirely possible since they obviously know about the inn, or they‘re just out of luck and keep missing them, but whatever the reason, it‘s putting everyone on edge.

This evening- the fifth since they got here? Molly‘s stopped counting- they‘re idling on their bed, staring in annoyance at a sketch for a new oracle card that just won‘t come out right, no matter how many corrections they make. They ball it up with a huff and toss it across the room at random, without even looking. Since Astarion chooses that very moment to enter, it hits him straight in the forehead, bounces off and lands in his hands that he‘d quickly outstretched to catch the missile.

„Getting out the heavy artillery, I see. What will you be throwing at me next, cottonballs?“ he drawls; Molly just huffs and flops back on the bed to stare at the ceiling. The beams are so very fascinating, after all.

„I am sensing a tiny bit of frustration,“ the elf states, crossing the room to his bed and depositing his weapons next to it. He‘s acquired a bow from the Harpers‘ stocks and Molly hears he‘s quite good with it; even Jaheira was impressed and gave him a few lessons. That supposedly doesn‘t happen often.

„What could I possibly be frustrated about?“ Molly waves a hand in the air above him and lets it flop back down, too, for emphasis.

„The fact that our beloved archdruid still hasn‘t given you the dicking you want?“

„I mean, that‘s one thing.“

„Truly a tragedy.“

„You said it.“

„And it‘s such a titillating mental image, too.“ Astarion shakes his head with a sigh. Now Molly raises an eyebrow. Rolls over onto their side and props their head onto an elbow, regarding the elf with an intrigued little smile. „Really? Do tell.“

Astarion looks down his nose at them for a moment. „No.“

„That‘s fine. You still fantasize about me.“ Molly‘s face assumes an absolutely shit-eating grin while their tail starts twitching in delight.

„I fantasize about Halsin. You merely happen to be in the fantasy- oh.“ Astarion has uncrumpled the paper and is now looking at the drawing, and Molly gets to watch all the affectation drain away to leave a genuinely impressed expression, which is quickly replaced by chagrin. Looks like he regrets refusing a certain offer right now…

Fittingly for what they just talked about, the motif is based on Halsin, in both his elven and ursine forms. Molly had wanted to depict the duality of nature, the way it both nourishes and devours, but, well… it ended up looking more like a pin-up. Not that that‘s in any way a bad thing, it just wasn‘t the vibe they wanted to go with for their cards.

„Why did you throw this away again?“ Astarion asks, trying hard and failing utterly to sound unaffected.

„Wasn‘t doing what I wanted it to do.“ Molly turns onto their stomach and regards the backs of their nails while watching the vampire from the corner of their eyes. He blinks, raises an eyebrow and looks at them, then back at the picture, which he regards for a moment longer before starting to very deliberately fold it up. „I‘ll just be keeping this. Can‘t leave it lying around where children could stumble upon it, now can we?“

„You are totally right, of course. How silly of me not to think of the children.“ Mol would howl if he showed her this, he‘s sure. With laughter.

„Very silly indeed. Well!“ The picture has disappeared into the depths of Astarion‘s armor and he claps his hands, suddenly enterprising. „In the spirit of not dying of boredom, what do you say but we make some… entertainment for ourselves?“

„I‘m all ears...“ This should be good.

The elf kneels down to pull something from his pack that reveals itself to be a bottle half-full of wine. Molly raises an eyebrow. „Drinking games? I didn‘t peg you for the kind of person to play Truth or Dare without having to be tortured first.“ Neither is Molly, when it comes to that.

„Oh, no. Look closer, darling, you‘ll find that this particular bottle is special.“ A tiny, mischevious smile is playing around Astarion‘s lips.

Blinking, Molly takes it from his hand when he holds it closer and looks at the label. And then it clicks. „Is that the Jaheira special...?“

„The very same.“ The mischevious smile is getting wider, showing off pointed canines now. It‘s a good look on him.

„So what are you thinking?“ Still wary, Molly nevertheless finds himself infected with that same feeling of mischief.

„I‘m thinking we put this back on the shelf and just see what happens. People are thirsty tonight...“

That is the kind of prank Molly can get behind. He grins broadly. „Let‘s do it.“

Chapter Text

There are several steps to a prank like the one they‘re about to pull.

Step one: Find another bottle and empty it of its contents. Between Molly‘s tolerance for alcohol and Astarion not being able to actually get drunk, that is hardly a problem.

Step two: Pour the spiked wine into the newly-empty bottle.

Step three: Place the decoy bottle among the other ones at the bar. Easily accomplished by Molly starting another distraction by offering to teach Alfira some new songs, like ‚Voice of the Tempest‘ and ‚When the Bald Man Cries‘, that they then sing together to great success, so Astarion can pull the reverse of the heist he did at the goblin camp. When the elf slips into one of the chairs at a table in the corner, their agreed-upon signal that he was succesful, Molly excuses himself, leaves Alfira to play and sets up at the same table with his cards.

It doesn‘t take long for the inmates of the inn to come up to him and request readings, and Molly is only too happy to oblige. He‘s got full view of the bar shelves and can watch their bottle out of the corner of his eye even while spinning futures for tieflings and Harpers to believe in. As can Astarion, who‘s lounging with his feet on the table and letting off blistering commentary on every reading- after the person who received it has left with a light in their eyes, which is more kindness than he‘d come to expect from the vampire- that has Molly very nearly dissolving into laughter several times.

Then the inn‘s main door opens and Karlach tromps in. Molly can tell at once that something has happened, something that has her beaming even while close to tears. She spots them and beelines over, exclaiming loudly enough for the whole inn to hear, „Dammon did it! I can touch people, I can fucking touch people!“

„Very good for you, darling, but do try not to touch me, you hear?“ Astarion drawls while Molly gets up, not caring that he‘s toppling his chair, and lunges for her, throwing his arms around her neck. She fumbles and almost drops him, taken by surprise, but then they‘re hugging and she‘s lifting his feet off the ground and spinning him in a circle, laughing and sobbing at the same time. Molly‘s just laughing. When Karlach stops spinning, he pushes himself up in her arms to kiss her on the forehead, then leans theirs against hers. „I‘m so happy for you.“

„Yeah. Me too.“ Her grip is almost crushing, nearly desperate. Something‘s still wrong…

They‘re not going to push. Karlach isn‘t one to keep secrets, she‘ll tell them when she‘s ready.

„Um, dear? Mind letting me down again? You‘re kinda crushing me...“

She nearly drops them again in her haste to let go. Molly‘s feet hit the ground and they have to rub at their ribs to make sure they‘re not broken. Holy shit, that hurt.

„Sorry, mate, got a bit carried away there. You okay?“ Karlach is biting her lip anxiously, looking them up and down.

„Ah, you know- always wanted a wasp waist.“ Molly pats her on the arm to indicate that it‘s fine, and because they can, now. She still looks embarrassed, but then: „Ohh, are you doing readings? Can I get one?“ It seems she‘s spotted the cards.

„You? Always.“ Molly turns back to the table to find that the cards have been appropriated by Astarion, who‘s studying them intently. They hold out a hand. The elf glances at it and for a moment it looks like he‘s just going to ignore the gesture and maybe pocket the cards, but something seems to tell him that trying such a thing would go ill for him and he hands them over with a totally exaggerated put-upon sigh.

„Thank you,“ Molly says, with emphasis, then rights their chair and sits down again, shuffling the cards lovingly and expertly. They already know which ones they want to give Karlach.

Done shuffling, they fan the cards out and hold them out to her. „Go on. Pull three, put them on the table facing down.“ She does, with intense concentration, the tip of her tongue poking between her lips.

To Molly‘s right, Astarion, who‘d been watching the proceedings in a bored kind of way, knocks his goblet against the wood of the table to get their attention and flicks his eyes in the direction of the bar when they glance over. It seems someone has picked up their bottle, and that someone is none other than Wyll. Pretending to watch Karlach, Molly instead covertly watches the human-turned-devil, as he wanders over to a table in the far corner where Gale is already sitting.

They share a brief glance and smile with Astarion. Well. Shit‘s about to get interesting.

„Okay, what happens now?“ Karlach recalls their attention by asking. Molly puts the rest of the cards down and leans forward. „Now I turn them over them one by one and tell you what they mean. This first card is your past...“ Molly flips it over and uncovers Bond and Betrayer, Betrayer facing Karlach. „I‘d say that one is self-explanatory,“ they say as Karlach snorts. „Hells yeah it is. If I ever get my hands on that bastard… ooh, he‘s going to be sorry. What‘s the next one say?“

Molly uncovers that one as well. The Sword and The Anvil, The Anvil facing Karlach. „This is your present. The Anvil means you might be forging something- literally or figuratively- or strengthening something...“ Molly deliberately leaves the conclusion for Karlach to draw. She gnaws on her lip for a bit. „I‘m kinda forging a lot of things right now. Friendships, for one.“ She winks at them and Molly answers with a smile.

„Ready for your future?“ they ask, hand hovering over the last card. Karlach pretends to swallow apprehensively. „Let‘s do it.“

Molly uncovers Love and Temple, Temple facing her. „Oh, this is a good one. Temple represents healing, consecration, reverence...“

„Healing...“ She almost breathes the word. There‘s such naked hope on her face Molly has to look away. It‘s too painful. „Man, I hope so.“

„My cards never lie, dear.“ Molly forces himself to smile at her. He‘s suddenly got a pretty good idea why she seemed so desperate earlier.

She breathes in deep. „Yeah. Hey, what‘s the top one say? Love? Why didn‘t I get that one, I‘d like me some love!“ She picks the card up and turns it over to look at more closely.

„Well, you got this card. Just because you got one meaning doesn‘t mean the other doesn‘t apply to you at all...“ Speaking of, Molly risks a quick glance toward the table where Gale and Wyll are sitting, talking calmly. They‘ve both got goblets of the wine in front of them; Wyll‘s taking a sip as Molly‘s looking.

„Aces. Hey, this girl‘s real fucking pretty.“ It takes Molly a moment to realise what she‘s getting at: the motif on the card. Based off of Yasha.

„Yeah,“ is the only thing he manages to whisper, throat suddenly tight. Karlach looks up from the card and her brows draw together in sympathy when she sees his face. „Wait. What‘s going on here? Is… is she your girl? Did something happen to her?“

Molly shakes his head. „My best friend. Yasha. Haven‘t seen her since I got abducted.“ Please don‘t start crying in the full taproom, please don‘t…

„Oh. Sorry. I… how far away from home are you?“ Karlach asks like something has just ocurred to her. Astarion is watching them, Molly notices, suddenly more alert than he‘s been all evening.

„Very,“ he breathes, hand coming up to clutch at his arm, staring fixedly at the table‘s surface so he doesn‘t have to see the looks on his friends‘ faces.

„Oh, Molly!“ Karlach‘s arms encircle him, pull him close. The pain in her voice very nearly breaks him, and he has to hide his face in her shoulder and just breathe for a moment. It feels so good to be held, actually held, not just in a dream or a vision or whatever, that Molly stops caring that the whole room could be watching them, and that Astarion is definitely watching them. Karlach‘s hand is stroking up and down his back, and that too feels just so good. For a moment, Molly considers just staying like that, but while he might not mind making a fool out of himself on front of a camp full of goblins, this open vulnerability is a step too far. And so he disentangles himself carefully after a moment or two, although he still avoids looking up.

Karlach‘s hand lingers on his back for a moment more before being withdrawn and he misses it in the same instant.

„You ever need a hug, you know you can come to me, right?“

„I know. Thanks, K.“

„What‘s going on, everything all right?“

Molly winces a little to hear Shadowheart‘s voice behind him. Hopefully Karlach will let him answer, he doesn‘t want to go over this with someone else-

„Just cheering Molly up a little.“ Ah, damn.

„You okay?“ Oh, no.

„Missing people. I‘m fine, really.“

„Oh. I‘m sorry.“ And now it‘s Shadowheart who‘s hugging him, from behind this time. Molly suppresses a sigh and pats her hand.

Astarion kicks him in the shin beneath the table.

„Ow! What‘d I do-“ When he looks over, the elf shushes him and nods towards the table in the opposite corner. When Molly looks, he sees the two men sitting there have changed positions slightly; they‘re now half-facing each other like people who are holding hands under the table, their heads inclined toward each other, and they appear to be talking very earnestly. Gale might even be blushing.

„Well, that‘s going well,“ Molly comments with a satisfied grin.

„What is- what did you do?“ Shadowheart asks, instantly suspicious, looking between Molly and Astarion with narrowed eyes. It‘s Astarion who answers: „My darling, what do you think that wine is that they‘re drinking?“

Understanding dawns on her face, is replaced by a hint of mischief and followed by mild dread. „So you two are working together now, is that what I‘m getting here?- We‘re doomed,“ she concludes, resigned, when they both look at each other with exaggerated innocence.

Karlach has other priorities: „Do you think they‘re going to kiss?“ she asks in an excited whisper, leaning across the table.

„Not in here, this is Gale we are talking about. But watch it, they‘re going to slip out in a minute or two,“ Astarion predicts. And right enough, a short while after that first Wyll, then Gale get up and disappear out the back door leading to the docks within a few moments of each other.

„You know, I kinda wanna see this...“ Karlach admits, to which the rest of them just nods. „Me too, let‘s go.“ Molly, happy for the distraction, jumps up from their chair and gathers their cards, then leaves via the front door to circle around the building and enter the boathouse from the side entrance. Karlach, Shadowheart and Astarion follow them like goslings in a row.

The boathouse is empty as always, the residents of the inn not having much reason to use the boats bobbing on the water there. A singular torch sputters wetly, only serving to make the shadows dance and jump in a way that is distinctly confusing for the senses. And there‘s no sign of their lovebirds, at least at first; Astarion, sneaking ahead, has soon found them behind a stack of crates and waves the others forward. They approach cautiously and find the reward for their stealthiness in the form of: Gale, back against the wall, being held there by the slightly taller form of Wyll, their lips locked in a kiss that looks achingly tender; because of course it would, it‘s them. Wyll has his hands on Gale‘s hips, whose in turn are hooked around the back of his neck and his waist, respectively.

Molly throws Karlach an amused look and holds a finger to their lips when she gasps in delight a bit too audibly; but the two lovers are far too engrossed in each other to hear anyway. That is, until Molly themself leans a bit too heavily against one of the chests they‘re watching from behind of and it shifts. They all duck quickly but it‘s too late; Wyll, whirling around with the reflexes of the Blade of Frontiers, has spotted them and is quickly rushing around the crates to confront them where they cower, crossing his arms and tapping his foot on the flagstones.

„Really?“

„Hi.“ Molly smiles disarmingly and throws him a little salute as they get up from their crouch. No use in pretending this was an accident, so they‘re not even going to try.

Gale now rounds the crates as well and stares at them all, exasperated and mortified in equal measure. „I can‘t believe it… all of you?“

„Well, not all of us, we‘re missing two after all. Also, you will note Volo is not here to record this sweet little scene for posterity. Congratulations, by the way,“ Molly retorts without bothering to hide their delight.

Gale‘s face could light up a room, far better than the dying torch, he‘s glowing so. With embarrassment.

„And here I thought we were being stealthy,“ he sighs, burying his face in his hands.

„Honestly, we were watching you all evening, there‘s no way you could have been stealthy enough,“ Molly admits with a grin, and then gets to watch the gears in Gale‘s head start to turn as he blinks, looks up and stares straight at them in disbelief.

„I thought it was strange how easy being honest suddenly was,“ he says quietly. „You fuckers.“

Molly sweeps him a bow.

„I have to admit, you weren‘t the intended targets of the Jaheira Special, but it seems Fate had plans and used us to make them happen. And also I‘m happy we got spared the pining, you were getting obvious.“

„Yes, well.“ Gale looks a bit disgruntled over the ‚obvious‘ part of it, but other than that he seems relieved. „In that case I guess we should thank you, I‘m not sure when- or if- I would have had the courage to say anything without your… help.“ He looks back at Wyll, who takes his hand and tangles their fingers together. Karlach ‚aww‘s audibly.

„And obviously we are planning on teasing you mercilessly about it. Well, I am,“ Astarion throws in. He sounds utterly delighted at the prospect. Wyll snorts. „Just be careful you don‘t find the- Jaheira Special?- in your goblets one day.“

„Me? Wyll darling, if you want to know my secrets you need only ask. I will gladly whisper them in your ear...“ The elf‘s voice assumes that low purr that has doubtlessly ruined dozens of lives. It could certainly ruin Molly if they had spent their life anywhere else than in a circus. And if there was anything to ruin about them.

„Oh, not you. You two.“

It‘s funny; despite the horns, Wyll has never looked or acted the part of a devil at all. Until now, because that grin? That is a devilish one if Molly‘s ever seen one. They raise an eyebrow and look at Astarion, who‘s doing the same before his face twists itself into a grimace of disgust.

„Me, with that? Really, darling, I‘m shocked you would credit me with so little taste.“ He looks and sounds so offended Molly almost bursts out laughing.

„Please, Astarion. We all saw you practically throw yourself at Molly at the party,“ Shadowheart says, smiling sweetly in the face of the vampire‘s suddenly withering gaze. He sniffs, if possible even more offended now. „A momentary lapse in judgement which will not be repeated.“

„Right.“ Shadowheart smiles knowingly. In fact, they all do. Karlach nudges Molly with her elbow. „Nothing to say?“

„Hmmm?“ They blink innocent eyes up at her, pretending not to know what she means. She snorts inelegantly. „Come on mate, don‘t try and tell me you wouldn‘t absolutely climb that.“

Molly pretends to think that over. Despite the heart to heart they had recently and their current ceasefire, Astarion is still as much of a bad idea as he always was, and not the fun kind of bad idea either. „I would absolutely climb that… problem being, while I‘m fond of people who‘re a bit assholey, I‘m not terribly fond of… assholes.“

„Oof. Ouch. You okay, Fangs, that had to have hurt.“ Karlach is cackling now and Molly thinks they must have plumbed the depths of how terminally offended the vampire can look. But instead of the withering repartee they were expecting, Astarion just turns and walks off with a „You know what? Fuck you,“ and leaves them all staring in his wake.

„Whoops.“ Karlach says softly after the door to the boathouse has slammed closed. Molly‘s too busy wincing to answer, but he finds himself agreeing.

When they get back to the tap room, Astarin is nowhere to be seen. They find him in their shared room, reading and ignoring all of them while they get ready for bed.

For the second time in their brief existence, Molly goes to sleep feeling guilty about hurting someone.

Asshole.

The word won‘t leave him alone. It bounces around in his head when he gets up, when he gets dressed, when he gets ready to head out with the patrol he‘s been assigned to. It reverberates in his skull as he stalks the Shadowlands and dispatches a flock of cursed ravens intent on pecking all of their eyes out.

Compared to all the things he‘s been called in his two-hundred-something years of life and unlife, asshole is tame. It‘s almost not an insult at all by his standards. And yet it cut deeper than all of Cazador‘s most inventive cruelties.

Maybe… maybe it‘s the way Karlach laughed at him afterward. Someone he thought he could trust. Someone he was this close to considering a friend, following their talk about friends a tenday ago. And that, yes, that‘s a big part of it. But- and it takes him the entire day before he can admit it to himself- there‘s more. And he hates that it is the fact that Mollymauk called him asshole. Mollymauk, who‘s just as much of an asshole but somehow also manages to be a decent person. Who makes people smile and gives them hope and makes a room seem brighter just by entering it, and that‘s not because of the godsawful coat. Mollymauk, who gives like- like it‘s the easiest thing in the world. Who curled up against him, trusting like a child, while the Shadow Curse was doing whatever it was doing to them. Who stood in front of a devil for him without asking anything in return.

Astarion would have given it, if he‘d asked. It wouldn‘t have been a chore. He‘s long since admitted to himself that he finds the tiefling attractive, and he‘s reasonably sure Mollymauk would be a considerate lover, someone who wouldn‘t hurt him. Maybe they‘d even manage what most of his lovers from the past two centuries haven‘t, and give him pleasure.

But short of a minor miracle taking place, this isn‘t going to happen, and now he knows why.

Because he‘s an asshole.

But- dammit, he has good reason to be, doesn‘t he? Let Mollymauk endure two hundred years of torture and see what‘s left of that bleeding heart after. It‘s easy to give if you‘ve never experienced having everything, including your personhood, taken from you.

A tiny voice inside him that sounds uncomfortably like the voice of reason tells him that Mollymauk has only the vaguest idea of what he went through. So how can they be expected to understand?

But for them to know he would have to, well, tell them. And he‘s not sure he can.

But maybe he could show them...

Ugh, no. That‘s worse. Picking through his memories to show them to someone else is the last thing he wants to do. If he never has to revisit the last two centuries again it‘ll be too bloody soon.

It would just be nice to have someone who understands.

It‘s also not important right now because in this moment one of the Harpers gives the signal that means they‘ve spotted their target. Astarion cranes his neck to look and sees, at first, only a faint glimmer of silvery light between the blighted trees, a glimmer that grows and becomes brighter and resolves into a group of humanoid figures led by a drider, of all things.

He wrinkles his nose. That is an even more cursed existence than his own, and at least he has the benefit of not being ugly.

The drider appears to be carrying a lantern from which the silvery light is originating, and Astarion knows without having to be told that they‘ve found what they were looking for.

The following fight is harder than he was hoping, especially because they have to be careful not to smash the lantern, but by the time they‘re done, they‘re only down two Harpers and the Absolutists are dead to a person. Astarion plucks the lantern from the dead drider‘s grip as the Harpers are picking themselves back up. Upon inspection he finds, to his not-inconsiderable surprise, a pixie behind the panes of glass. It is curled up with its hands over its head but peeks cautiously out between its arms, uncurling carefully when it sees his face. „Are you- are you here to rescue me?“ it quavers, „Oh please, please, please! Let me out, I want to go home!“

The whole hand-wringing, desperately-pleading act is almost heartbreaking.

This thing must be confusing him for someone with a heart. Like a certain tiefling.

The thought gives him pause. And maybe he hates that he knows exactly what a certain tiefling would do in this situation, and more, is tempted to try it himself, just to confirm that it won‘t fucking work.

Well, whatever.

„While I would love to do that, darling, I‘m afraid we have need of your light, to, you know, not be swallowed whole by the shadow. Maybe once we‘re done with what we‘re here for I could let you go.“ There, that has to be an acceptable compromise, right?

The pixie presses its palms against the glass and looks up at him beseechingly as it flutes, „I can help with that! One blessing, quick-fast, and the shadow can‘t touch you anymore! And then you can let me go and I can go home!“

He must look like someone extremely stupid to this thing that it would even try that.

„You mean so you can fly off and leave us here empty-handed, after all the trouble we went through to get this lantern? I don‘t think so.“

The pixie sinks to its knees inside the lantern, hands still pressed against the glass. „Oh, please! It hurts, it hurts, it hurts to be in here! Oh, if only you knew, if only you could feel it!“ Big crocodile tears are now running down its face. Astarion grimaces. For one, because that is disgusting. And two, because he knows only too well and doesn‘t appreciate the reminder. Or that it‘s sort of working.

„I‘ll think about it,“ he says and hastily shoves the lantern into his bag, ignoring the cut-off „You motherf-“ from the pixie. Wow, that act dropped quickly.

„Well, that is certainly what we were looking for, let‘s go?“ He turns to address the Harpers, a few of whom are giving him the side-eye, for what reason he can‘t imagine. But they follow his lead, and that‘s what‘s important.

He could get used to people listening to him.

Carrying two corpses slows the whole group down considerably, so much so that Astarion is tempted to tell them to just leave the fucking things behind, or maybe offer to drain them so they‘re at least a little less heavy, both of which he doesn‘t for self-preservation reasons, but they do make it back in a reasonable timeframe, gods be praised. As soon as they‘ve passed beneath the glimmering curtain of the dome, Astarion excuses himself and goes in search of whoever of his companions might be around. The other patrols aren‘t back yet, he learns, which leaves him with nothing to do except look for the two who don‘t leave the inn for patrols.

Finding Mollymauk isn‘t hard. Finding Mollymauk walking away from the nook at the foot of the stairs in the inn proper while flipping off someone behind him, is unexpected. And it‘s not the playful kind of flipping off either.

„Did the furniture insult you, darling?“ Astarion asks and is gratified to see the tiefling jump a little. He scans the room and huffs when his eyes settle on him. „Friend of ours‘ dropped by.“

A friend? Who could possibly have followed them here?

The question is answered before he can ask it out loud, when a very well put-together man with dark hair steps out of the alcove and smiles at them. Astarion‘s skin starts prickling.

„Ah, I thought I recognised the dulcet tones of my very dearest vampire spawn. Hello again, Astarion.“ Raphael bows at him. „I have been hoping to speak to you again, after our last talk was so rudely interrupted. There is much we have to discuss, should you wish it.“

Astarion‘s mouth is dry. The truth is, he had been thinking of the last time they met, of the devil‘s interest in the ‚literature‘ on his back. Cazador told him it was poetry, but: there is no possible way that a devil would be interested in a mere poem. Follows logically that it must be something else. Something more.

And he wants to know what.

So he bows in return.

„A pleasure to meet you once more, Raphael. Now tell me, what interest do you have in my scars? A poem, my former master said they were. Are you telling me differently?“

Raphael smiles a dangerous little smile. „Well, as to that, I would have to take a closer look. Get more familiar with them. More… intimate, you could say.“ The tone of his voice, the choice of words, the way he leans in closer ever so slightly- it‘s all designed to unsettle Astarion, he‘s only too aware of that. The problem is, it‘s working. He has to fall back on every instinct honed to perfection during his spawndom not to show it.

Briefly, he makes eye contact with Mollymauk, who has surreptitiously sidled behind Raphael to be in the devil‘s blind spot. They lift a dubious eyebrow at him, as if asking if he‘s really sure about this.

„Now, now. Don‘t look at the tiefling. This decision is yours, and yours alone, to make.“

Choices. It‘s is all he‘s ever wanted while under Cazador‘s iron-clad thumb. The ability to make just one choice for himself. Now he has it, and he‘s terrified he‘ll make the wrong one.

„Very well. You will tell me what they say. But not here.“ And he starts off toward the little room he shares with his companions. After a second, he hears steps following behind him. A measured, unhurried tread, because the bastard knows exactly what he‘s doing.

He enters their room and leaves it to Raphael to close the door behind them. There is a muffled thump- not the click of the lock he was expecting. He peeks over his shoulder and sees Raphael struggling with the door, which has a leather-clad foot sticking in it, keeping it open. „Uh-uh-uh. Like fuck am I leaving you alone with him,“ comes Mollymauk‘s voice from the other side, and Astarion can just imagine the shit-eating grin that goes along with it. Raphael has gone slightly red in the face and looks like he wants nothing more than to smash the offending foot, but the effort required to do that would not mesh too well with the cool and collected persona he is presenting, and he is aware of that. So after a moment of fuming, he lets it go, straightens up and twitches his collar as if he had been planning on allowing the tiefling inside all along. „My, you are protective. Very well, if you must. You can stay, but close the door, please.“

With that, the devil returns his attention to Astarion, seemingly putting Mollymauk out of his mind completely, who slips inside with that cat-in-cream smile, pushes the door shut and leans against it. Raphael clears his throat. „Astarion, if you would do the honors, please.“

So he takes a deep breath which does nothing to settle his nerves and starts to undress. At least he gets to keep his trousers on this time. He hopes.

In short order, his back is exposed, his shirt dropping onto the nearest bed. Raphael moves closer, close enough to where he can feel the heat radiating off of him and smell the faint but pervasive stench of sulphur mixed with something sweet to form a nauseating concoction that makes him glad that he doesn‘t technically need to breathe.

Silence, stretched unecessarily long, follows, during which Astarion can feel the world retreating from him. He chose to be here, he reminds himself. Whatever Raphael ends up doing to him, it‘s him who invited it.

A touch to his back, fingertips as hot as glowing coals tracing the scars. He tries not to whimper.

„Do you have eyes?“

Mollymauk‘s voice is loud in the crackling silence. The fingertips retreat.

„I do, and they are very sharp, thank you,“ Raphael snaps in a voice that promises fire and brimstone. That was a mistake, Astarion knows from several tendays‘ worth of acquaintance, and Mollymauk doesn‘t disappoint.

„Ah. Then that means you‘re just bad at reading, having to use your fingers to help you? That‘s fine, I get it, I do that too. No shame.“

Astarion can‘t see them, having his back turned, but he can picture them; Mollymauk, leaning against the door with arms crossed, probably looking at his nails with that damned little smile and not caring that Raphael is glaring daggers at him. One of these days, that tiefling is going to get himself into hot water… but at least the devil isn‘t touching Astarion any more and the biggest problem he has right now is not trying to stay present, but trying to suppress a giggle.

Raphael does not deign to answer. Presumably, he‘s studying the scars some more, even if he does take unnecessarily long to do that.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally claps his hands together, „Well. That was an interesting read, indeed. Thank you for your cooperation.“

Of course he‘s not just going to tell him what they say. Making him ask is much more fun, after all.

„What do they say?“ he grinds out between clenched teeth.

„Ah, but of course you would want to know,“ Raphael says as if he‘d only just remembered. „You, my pale friend, have a part of an infernal contract on your back. You wouldn‘t happen to know if your master‘s other spawn have similar... adornments?“

Astarion feels faint all of a sudden. An infernal contract? Carved into his flesh? What good would that do Cazador? And why ask about his ‚siblings‘?

„They do,“ he breathes. He remembers seeing the other spawn come stumbling into their shared dormitory with shredded backs, one after the other. He was the last to get his ‚poem‘ etched into him; Cazador wanted to make him feel the pain of suspense before the pain of the actual torture.

„Hmm. How very, very interesting,“ Raphael murmurs to himself. Astarion turns to face him, his back prickling with being exposed to a devil for an extended period of time.

„So what kind of a contract is it?“ What the fuck has Cazador done to him?

Raphael clicks his tongue and holds up one finger. „Ah. Now, as to that, that is information I cannot disclose without recompense. I have been very generous so far, telling you what I did for free. If you want to know more, you will have to repay me… with a favor.“

Astarion grimaces; then again, what did he expect? „What do you want?“

Raphael is far too refined to show how pleased he is by this, but he can hear it in his voice. „Hmm. Let me think… ah, yes. That will do.

- There is a monster hiding in this very land that I need you to dispose of. I have no doubt that you will find him; you cannot but go where he is hiding. And when you have, vanquish the brute and send him back to hell. That is all.“

Astarion has to work hard not to grind his teeth at that answer. „And could you perhaps find it within yourself to tell me some of the distinguishing characteristics of this monster, so I can be sure to kill the right one?“ he asks, trying not to sound like he‘s barely hanging on to his last nerve, like he is.

For a moment he fears Raphael will call that another favor he will have to repay, but the devil is simply enjyoing toying with his nerves as at long last he says, „The brute‘s name is Yurgir. You will recognise him without trouble.

- Now. As for the matter of your little stowaways, have you perchance thought about that as well?“

Once more, Astarion makes eye contact with Mollymauk. They‘ve been watching the whole interaction with a supremely unimpressed expression, and it has just gotten a little more unimpressed.

„We have thought about it, yes. But I‘m afraid the answer is still negative. No deal.“

„A pity.“ Raphael sighs from the depths of his heart. „Well, it is no matter. You will come to see reason in time. Until then, do take care of yourselves, will you? The Shadow Curse is so very dangerous to... some.“

He couldn‘t have been less subtle if he‘d tried. Smiling tiredly, Mollymauk holds up a middle finger and mouths ‚Fuck off‘.

It is, perhaps, a bit surprising when their devil friend does just that without trying to get a last word in. Or maybe he considered that to be his last word. Who knows. With a poof of sulphur, he disappears, and they‘re finally alone.

There‘s a moment in which neither of them says a word, before Astarion finds his voice again.

„Thank you.“

Mollymauk cocks his head to the side.

„For… making him keep his hands off of me.“

„Oh, that.“ They wave their hand in a dismissive gesture, „Already forgot about it.“

That‘s what you get for thanking them. Astarion exhales through the nose, slowly. „Can you be a bit less… you sometimes?“ he asks tersely, and only receives an unrepentant grin in response.

„Don‘t really know how to do that, sorry.“

„By being less annoying.“

„But where‘s the fun in that?“

Astarion sighs and rolls his head back, instead of just rolling his eyes. „Gods grant me patience. I am never thanking you again. Although… I do kind of want to know… why do you keep doing that?“

„You‘ll have to elaborate, I‘m afraid. Are you asking me why I‘m annoying, because I already answered that one...“

„No, not….“ Oh gods, he‘s really doing a piss-poor job of this. All he wants to know is why Mollymauk would put himself in danger over and over again just for… what, Astarion‘s purity? That ship has sailed a long time ago. „Why do you keep protecting me? Especially because I‘m such an asshole.“ If that last word comes out a bit bitter it can‘t be helped.

„What, and letting Raphael run his grubby paws all over you would make you less of one? I know you don‘t want it. That‘s enough for me.“ Mollymauk shrugs as if it really were that easy. He hasn‘t moved from the door, is still watching Astarion, but not in the way he‘s used to; not ogling what‘s on display, just… looking. Comfortable with his partial nakedness just as he was with his own; yes, that‘s probably the best way to describe it. At least that‘s the way it feels to Astarion. It‘s novel and kind of nice and also irritating, because….

...oh, alright, it‘s because it insults his vanity to find them reacting so little to the sight of his body that has ruined so many others. They could at least have the decency to look a little bit lecherous.

It suddenly occurs to Astarion that they‘re alone in this room. That the others won‘t be back for hours yet.

This could be his opportunity to… pin them down, as it were. See if he doesn‘t have a chance after all.

As soon as that thought enters his mind, he feels his nerves start to flutter, and what the hells is up with that? He hasn‘t been nervous about propositioning someone for at least a hundred and fifty years. And yet.

„I wouldn‘t mind if it was you,“ he offers. This part is easy, is second nature; shifting his weight to one leg and canting his hips just so, tilting his head to the side and regarding Mollymauk from under his lashes, voice quiet but with a playful lilt; and he succeeds at all but the last part because for some reason the words decide to come out almost shily. He winces internally. But maybe that will work too?

-it won‘t, as one look at Mollymauk‘s face confirms. There‘s a brief flicker of something almost pained which is wiped away and replaced by that lopsided smile that Astarion hates so much. „You know, I‘m kinda getting mixed messages here. Do I or do I not meet your standards?“

As quickly as he assumed it, Astarion‘s act slips through his fingers and he straightens again, glaring at the tiefling. „You talk about mixed messages? What happened to ‚it‘s on the table if I want‘? You said that, I‘ll remind you!“

„Oh, I just said that because I knew you weren‘t going to take me up on it in that moment.“ There‘s that bright grin again, and Astarion rubs his hands down his face. „You‘re so full of shit...“

„Thanks, I try.“

„I know, trust me. But what about now, I am offering, in case you hadn‘t noticed?“ He doesn‘t even bother with seduction this time around.

„So you are.“ Mollymauk says in a low voice. He finally pushes away from the door to cross the room- over to the bed where Astarion has dropped his clothes, picks up the shirt and throws it at him. Too slow to catch it, it wraps around Astarion‘s head instead and he undergoes a brief struggle to unwrap it again. „I‘m not going to take advantage of you.“

What?

That makes no sense. How could Mollymauk be taking advantage of him when he‘s offering?

No, this must be something else.

„Are you scared?“

Mollymauk blinks in surprise before barking out a laugh. „Scared? Why, because you‘re a vampire? We‘ve already established that you can‘t bite me if I don‘t want you to, so why would I be scared?“

„Oh, stop!“ Astarion flares, frustrated by the constant deflections and his own inability to get one straight word out of the damn clown. „I was there when you lost it after I told you what Cazador made me do, are you expecting me to believe you weren‘t the same? This circus you keep talking about- did you do extra ‚shows‘? Or was it even a circus?“

Mollymauk‘s face does a whole circuit of emotions in the span of a second: surprise, shock, anger, understanding, resignation, the last one of which irritates Astarion for some reason, but then a slow, sly grin creeps across their face. „Ah. No, everything along those lines was done of my own free will and at no prompting of others.“

There goes Astarion‘s sympathy. „So you are a slut.“

„Guilty as charged.“ A shrug.

„And yet you won‘t sleep with me for some reason...“

„No. I won‘t.“

Astarion feels a growl rise in his throat. „Then stop flirting with me!“

„I flirt with everyone, it‘s kinda my normal mode of communication-“

„Well, find another one! Stop dangling this in front of me if I can‘t have it, it‘s not fair!“

The outburst is followed by another period of silence during which he can watch Mollymauk come to some sort of realisation that has them hold up their hands, palms out, and say with the most sober expression he‘s seen on them to date, „Okay! Okay, I‘ll stop. I‘m sorry.“

Astarion huffs a, „Good,“ even as disappointment settles heavy in his bones. Why is this the moment he finds out that he sort of… wanted them to keep doing that, keep flirting with him? Why is this the moment he finds out that he actually wants to run his fingers over that lavender skin, press his lips to that scarred neck, find out what Mollymauk looks like when he makes them fall to pieces, above or below him.

Somewhere along the line, ‚secure Mollymauk‘s protection‘ had become the bonus to ‚get your hands on Mollymauk‘, instead of the latter being the precondition to the former, and he has no idea when or how or why that happened. It seems having a tadpole in his brain has done something to his taste.

And he‘s not even upset about it, which is the thing that‘s most upsetting about all of this.

The quiet that has settled between them in the wake of all this, and which is about to become very awkward in a second, is broken by the piping of a sweet voice from the depths of Astarion‘s bag.

„You done out there? Seriously, that was the cringiest shit I‘ve ever had to listen to, why don‘t you two do the world a favor and fuck it out?“

Chapter Text

This afternoon, after everyone is back and assembled in their room, Astarion releases the pixie. This is following a span of vicious bartering to ensure that she, a.) gives them all the blessing they require and doesn‘t just scarper the second she‘s out, and b.) keeps her mouth shut about everything she overheard earlier. The elf is particularly insistent on that. Molly just watches the proceedings and doodles caricatures; there‘s one of Astarion with his hands in his hair, nearly ripping it out at the roots, that he‘s particularly proud of.

But they have come to an agreement at last in which Astarion‘s promise to wreak unholy havoc on the cultists who enslaved the pixie plays a major role.

And Molly didn‘t even have to suggest releasing her. That‘s the part that surprises him the most: Astarion, doing the right thing without prompting, albeit with a lot of cursing. Maybe there‘s hope for him yet.

And then, with the blessing given and the pixie gone on her merry way, comes the moment of truth for Molly; will it keep their mind protected from the curse? They had insisted on trying, even though their friends were skeptical, because they couldn‘t stand another day cooped up in the inn while the rest of their party ran into the dragon‘s dungeon.

Which is how they are now standing in front of the shimmering barrier, trying to tamp down their nerves, getting ready to step through it. Halsin is right next to them and ready to pull them back through should it go wrong, the others waiting in a loose half-circle behind them with varying degrees of worry written over their faces. Except Astarion, who looks bored, which Molly now knows is entirely a facade. Their talk earlier and what it revealed about the vampire‘s state of mind is doing the merry-go-round in Molly‘s head still, and will be for a while. More fool them for thinking that his flirting meant as little as their own did and things would never get as serious as they apparently did without their noticing. Another regret for their growing list.

It‘s like they told Karlach- under ordinary circumstances, if Astarion were just a handsome circus patron, Molly would have already slipped off with him for a night of enjoyment. But he‘s not; he‘s a slave to a cruel master who‘s probably been abused in every single way there is, and this makes all of this a lot more fraught than Molly is confident he knows how to deal with. At least without leaving yet another monastery-sized mess behind. So, no matter how fond they‘ve become of the snarky, witty bastard, or how enticing that pale skin and those red-hot eyes are, they‘re not going to go there. It wouldn‘t be fair- to Astarion.

That, and one good deed doesn‘t a reformed asshole make. The possibility that they might get bitten again is still very much there, and Molly‘s not keen on a repeat.

But all of that can wait. Their mission, and knowing whether or not Molly can participate in it at all, can‘t. So he takes a deep breath and steps through the barrier.

It‘s a feeling like being caressed by cool silk and then immediately thrust into ice-cold water. He gasps, shuddering, and takes another step into the shadow, and another, waiting for that dreamlike, far-away feeling to come back and pull him under.

But it doesn‘t. He stops some ten paces away from the barrier, Halsin right behind him, and the world remains as sharp-edged as ever. It‘s not exactly comfortable out here, sure, the cold and a kind of heaviness settling in his bones like chilled lead, but it‘s bearable.

Halsin‘s hand lands on his shoulder. Perhaps the druid was worried by Molly‘s long silence, because his voice has an edge to it as he asks, „Are you alright, my friend?“

Molly reaches back to pat the hand reassuringly. „Still here, so that‘s a start. But boy this is depressing.“ He indicates everything that is before them in a sweep of his other hand, can feel as much as hear Halsin‘s low hum of agreement, a distinctly bear-like sound.

„Even more so when you knew the land as it was before. It was beautiful then, rich and fertile. Even if we can lift the curse, it never will be as it used to be.“

„How do our chances look of doing that?“ Molly asks, curious. Halsin‘s spent a lot of time closeted with the unconscious Fist and emerged from his room with a grim expression every single time.

The druid sighs. „Not good, but I‘m not giving up yet. In fact, I will be staying here to look after Art while you go on to Moonrise, as I‘m afraid I won‘t be able to contain myself around so many Absolutists. The bear hungers for their deaths. But you will be fine; you‘re a capable group.“

„And with this blessing, we‘ll have one more capable member,“ Molly grins. Their confidence in being able to withstand the curse rises with every minute they spend under its influence without feeling notably different. This is going to work, and they‘re not going to be useless anymore.

„Still, be careful. If you feel anything change, return at once. I do believe Gale has talked about drawing up a teleportation circle here so you can come back at any time. Do not risk yourself.“ He sounds so dire Molly has to laugh. „I‘ll be fine, mum. And I don‘t think the others‘re gonna leave me much of a choice when it comes to that.“

Halsin huffs. Like a bear. „Good.“

Steps behind them announce the arrival of someone new, and then Astarion‘s voice calls out from a slight distance, „Is it a good or a bad sign that you‘re taking this long?“

„Give it a guess.“ Molly turns, Halsin‘s hand slipping off his shoulder as he holds out his arms and then sweeps an extravagant bow.

Astarion scoffs. „Ah. A bad one, I see. Well,“ With a long-suffering sigh, „I guess it can‘t be helped.“

„Did you… want something, Astarion?“ Halsin asks with a faint note of amusement in his voice.

„Only to know if we‘re done here. This is boring and I want to get back to my book. The romance is just getting steamy.“

„Well, let us not keep you from the steam, then.“ There is benign dismissal in Halsin‘s voice, but Astarion doesn‘t move. A moment passes that must feel pretty awkward to the vampire but is highly amusing to Molly, before he opens his mouth again to declare, as if he‘d always been planning on it, „Oh, and we should do something about that.“ - indicating, well, Molly. They raise an eyebrow.

„About what?“

„Your very conspicuous and easily recognisable outfit. There might be someone at Moonrise who‘s seen us back at the temple and might draw the wrong, or rather right, conclusions, and I guess we should try to avoid that, shouldn‘t we?“

„I don‘t see how we‘re going to do that short of putting me under an illusion spell. Just in case you hadn‘t noticed, I‘m quite the easily recognisable person.“ Molly does not like where this is going.

„I am actually with Astarion on this one,“ Halsin interjects, the traitor. „It wouldn‘t hurt for you to dress a little more, uhm… low-key. At least for this.“

„Wow. Thanks for stabbing me in the back, big man,“ Molly says wrily while patting Halsin on the shoulder. „So what did you have in mind?“

„I will use my infinite charms on Jaheira and convince her to open the Harper armory for us. Easy.“ Astarion smiles confidently and Molly can‘t help but smile back.

„Okay. Let‘s do it. Just because I wanna see you try to charm Jaheira.“

Long story short: Jaheira is not impressed by Astarion‘s charm, but she does let them have their pick of the armory. Soon, Molly is decked out with assorted bits of Harper armor and patently unhappy about it.

„How do people even move in this?! Isn‘t there something lighter here?“ they complain, trying and largely failing to roll their shoulders in one of the metal-reinforced leather breastplates that are as abundant as they are uncomfortable.

„Unless you fancy a robe, I‘m afraid not,“ Astarion deadpans, but there‘s a light in his eye that tells Molly he‘s enjoying this. Way too much, in their opinion. He looks them over critically. „Pants, too.“

„Oh, for- really?“ Molly knows they‘re whining and couldn‘t care less. A set of rough cloth pants with leather applications hits them in the face. „Yes, really. Off.“

„You just want to see me naked,“ they joke and then wince. What was that about not flirting? Seems like it‘s more of a reflex than they realised themself.

„I already have, I will remind you. Hm, what do you say we replace these butter knives of yours as well?“

„I shouldn‘t have used that word, should I?“

„Oh, no. Entirely your mistake. Here.“ He holds out a couple of short swords, straight and boring-looking. Molly makes a face. „I‘ll stick with the butter knives, thank you.“

„Style over steel, I see. Not that these things have style,“ Astarion sniffs.

„They have tons, you just can‘t appreciate- oooh.“ Molly grins suddenly as they spot something glinting in a corner of one of the boxes they‘ve been digging through. Before Astarion can get there, they dive in and come up with a pair of matched daggers: beautiful, black leather sheaths and wrapping of the same material around the hilt, but the guard and pommel are both pale gold and, best of all, there are rubies inset in the pommels which catch the light in a way that is just magnificent. When Molly draws one, sleek steel glints like smooth ice. That is not a Harper standard-issue weapon. These had to have been looted somewhere. „Now these are nice.“

„That‘s more up my alley, I would say. You can‘t even fight with these.“ Astarion, who previously had been looking over Molly‘s shoulder, makes to grab for one of the daggers but Molly dances out of reach.

„Can too! You have no idea what I can do!“ Neither does Molly, actually, but the daggers feel right in his grip in the way the scimitars did, the way that throwing a punch did for the first time, and he just knows that the person from before has had training with these weapons.

„Also, these are way too fine for you. They are the weapons of a refined gentleman like myself,“ Astarion declares, but his air of refinement goes right out the window the next moment when he lunges forward and tries to steal one of the daggers out of Molly‘s grip, and Molly, out of reflex, deflects the hand coming for it and jabs him in the stomach with the still-sheathed dagger. Winded, the elf stumbles back a step and allows Molly to put some distance between them again.

„If you want them, you‘ll have to take them off of me, I‘m afraid.“ He twirls the unsheathed dagger around a finger with a broad, challenging grin directed at Astarion, sheaths it and grips both of them backhand, waiting. The vampire‘s eyes narrow at him before he unclips both of his own daggers from his belt, also in their sheaths, and drops into a low guard.

„Oh well. I‘ve been wanting to kick your ass from the moment we met, anyway...“

„I see you‘re assuming you can kick my ass.“ Molly is almost giddy with excitement. This is going to be fun.

„Oh darling, I do believe so.“ And with that, he goes on the attack.

Now, the thing is: Molly has seen Astarion fight with daggers and knows his style, which is definitely not that of a refined gentleman. It‘s that of an alleyway cutthroat, fast and dirty, taking advantage of every little weakness on his opponent‘s part. He prefers to go in without warning and take his enemies out fast, and will retreat to a safer position and try again at a later point when that doesn‘t work.

But Astarion has never seen Molly fight with daggers. And though Molly has literally no experience of his own to draw from, the muscle memory is there, just waiting for him to use it. On that first rush, he simply deflects, getting a feel for the new-not new weapons, and because he can tell that Astarion is merely testing him before falling back. Molly lets him; that time. The next time, he gets a few stabs of his own in, all of which Astarion evades or deflects easily, but when he tries to get out and regroup after almost getting disarmed of one of his daggers, Molly follows up and presses his momentary advantage.

The look of ‚oh shit‘ on Astarion‘s face when he realises he‘s been underestimating his opponent is worth good money, and Molly grins in exhilaration as he gains the upper hand. Now it‘s Astarion on the defense and he starts retreating around the room and throwing all of his dirty tricks at Molly, including trying to trip him and kicking random objects into his path- or face. Unfortunately, nearly getting his nose broken by a flying helmet is somewhat distracting and so Molly is just that tiny bit too slow to prevent himself losing one of his daggers. On Astarion‘s follow-up, they just simply drop to the ground, wrap their tail around one of his legs and let him do the work of tripping over it. He goes flying right over Molly and tucks into a roll last second, ending up on his back and twisting around to face them again, but by that time Molly has already grabbed the helmet that cost them their dagger and returned it to sender, and in that brief moment of disorientation they scramble to get onto the elf‘s back and pin down his legs with their own and place the remaining dagger firmly against his neck.

„Aaand they‘re mine,“ they simply say, still grinning like a loon and breathing hard. Astarion doesn‘t answer; he simply pushes the weapon at his throat away, which Molly graciously permits, and then bucks them off unceremoniously.

Better that way, probably. Before their body can get any ideas and make another awkward mess out of a situation that should have been just lighthearted fun.

They go sprawling, laughing all the while, watching as Astarion picks himself up and dusts himself off a bit more thoroughly than strictly necessary. But when he turns around, he‘s smirking.

„See, you can move in that armor.“

„Oh, fuck.“ Molly lets themself fall backward, thumping their head on the flagstones. Astarion giggles, moves next to them and kicks them gently in the side. „Now get up and into those pants.“

By way of answer, Molly simply extends a hand and holds it out toward the elf, who sighs a beleaguered sigh, grabs it and hauls them upright. The temptation to ‚accidentally‘ stumble into him is great, but- no. None of that any more.

But they do grin brightly at Astarion and allow themself to briefly pat his shoulder. „That was fun, we should repeat that.“

„Do I get the daggers when I win?“ He lifts an eyebrow with a challenging little smile.

Molly snorts. „If you win, you mean? - alright, fine. Beat me, they‘re yours.“ And with that they go to hunt for the one they lost earlier, and when they turn toward the entrance door, they find it open and Jaheira leaning against the frame, arms crossed and expression amused.

„Oh. Hi.“ Molly salutes with two fingers to his temple. „Come to help?“

„Come to see what‘s taking so long. I admit, this was a much more tame scene to walk in on than what I initially expected.“

Molly presses a hand to his heart. „So sorry to disappoint… everyone, apparently… we‘re not fucking. I know it‘s weird.“

„Oh, I do not mind at all, you cannot imagine the number of times I‘ve seen people get frisky in here. It gets old. That tussle was much more interesting.“ And then she launches into a critique of their bout like an old drill sergeant, closing with: „Astarion, you‘re quick and resourceful but you lack stamina, and stop fighting like a cat on the defense. Mollymauk, good style but try not to get cocky, it‘ll kill you. Now clean up the mess and get out.“ She turns on her heel and strides away and leaves the both of them blinking at her back.

„I like her.“ Molly chuckles softly.

„Me, too. For calling you cocky.“

„Are you saying you hadn‘t noticed?“

„...I don‘t think you were supposed to take that as a compliment.“

„How else was I supposed to take it?“

Astarion rolls his eyes. Molly grins at him and they banter all the way through restoring order to the armory, and all the way back to the inn.

Chapter Text

The next morning, the party, sans Halsin, finally sets out for Moonrise. Astarion is ever so slightly nervous about this. He would be very nervous if Gale hadn‘t set up the teleportation circle he‘d been talking about, so they can get back to the inn in very short order should it become necessary. But nervous he is, nonetheless.

Which makes sense, because they‘re about to walk straight into a Mind Flayer cult‘s headquarters.

And if he catches himself having stared at Mollymauk in front of him for far too long, again, that‘s just because he wants to make sure the tiefling is in fighting condition and not succumbing to whatever weird influence the curse has on them. Who knows what being exposed to it for a longer period of time might be doing to them, despite the pixie‘s blessing.

But for now, there are no signs of them spacing out; on the contrary, Mollymauk appears more alert and focused even than normally. And a lot less annoying. There are no wry comments about keeping one‘s pants on when Shadowheart gets stuck on a tree branch by the bottom of her trousers while climbing down into a ravine. No peals of laughter when they encounter some cursed treant-like entities and Gale causes them all to slip on a patch of conjured grease which he subsequently sets on fire. Which is good because it definitely would have given them away but-

- ah, alright, he misses it, okay? It‘s boring, not to mention depressing as fuck in this environment, not to have anyone even make an attempt at lightening the mood. But, well, here they are.

The journey takes them two days due to unforeseen circumstances like a sort of living statue made of pure gold which Wyll, of all people, persuades into exploding into a shower of coins. At least their financial problems are solved now.

And then, Moonrise. Perched on a peninsula of the Chionthar, accessible by a bridge, lit by pixie lanterns, and chock full of Absolutists. They have no trouble getting in, all thanks to the tadpoles in their brains, even though such a large group of ostensible True Souls does draw some notice. They should have split up beforehand, Astarion thinks, but it‘s too late now.

They are ushered inside where apparently the head honchos are having some sort of audience, and come face to face with Ketheric Thorm himself in the time it would take Astarion to drain a squirrel. A half-elf way past his prime, he‘d be unremarkable if not for the unnecessarily spiky armor he‘s wearing, sporting a purple crystal inset in the breastplate- that‘s odd- and the fact that he‘s sitting on a throne. And looking supremely bored by the punishment in progress in front of him. The punishees being a few old friends of theirs, familiar goblin faces from the temple and shit, shit, shit, this isn‘t good. If they get recognised, they‘re fucked. Thankfully, one of the goblins themselves creates a diversion by attacking Ketheric, landing what should have been a killing blow on him. Which he more or less just shrugs off. Jaheira wasn‘t kidding about him being immortal.

It‘d be a good idea to try and sneak out now, but they‘re caught under the predator‘s gaze and can‘t move lest they attract its attention. The problem is, not moving has the exact same outcome. Whether it‘s the size of their group or the diversity of their makeup, Ketheric‘s cold eyes snap over to them and take them in, obviously recognising them as newcomers. And what better way to have the newcomers prove themselves than to execute some of their colleagues, right?

That is a surprisingly handy solution to their current problem, but of course the do-gooders in their party aren‘t moving to eliminate the obvious threat. Seems like it‘s up to Astarion then…

He steps forward, drawing his daggers, expecting the gaze of Ketheric‘s half-orc second-in-command to fall on him, but her single unclouded eye is fixated on someone on the other side of the group, who turns out to be none other than Mollymauk when they step into view, what the hell….

„Allow me,“ they drawl, sounding bored, stepping up to the two remaining goblins, whose eyes grow wide but who don‘t have time to make so much as a single sound before the tiefling‘s hands are around their throats. If Astarion thought they were going to try and choke the goblins to death, however- an idiotic way to kill them, those short necks are far too sturdy- he is surprised in short order.

There‘s a moment where nothing happens except that the red eye tattooed onto the back of Mollymauk‘s hand starts to glow. As does the one on the side of their neck. And then-

Blood starts gushing out of both goblins‘ every orifice- nose, mouth, eyes, ears. They choke and twitch and finally fall limply to the ground in puddles of their own blood, and the entire time, Mollymauk‘s eyes do not break contact with the half-orc‘s singular one, mirrored smirks playing around both their lips.

What feels like a tense eternity later, the half orc gives a single, low huff of laughter. „Very good, True Soul. You look like someone we can use. Stick around, I may have orders for you later.“ She leaves, and Mollymauk remains standing, bowing slightly, with a hand over his heart, until her and Ketheric both are gone.

Shocked silence reigns for a few more seconds. Then Karlach whispers into it, „What. The fuck. Molly?“ A sentiment the others definitely share. Astarion knows he does. He‘s not averse to a bit of cruelty now and then and especially when it serves him, but he thought Mollymauk was, and now-

He‘s having a hard time believing what he just saw, is all.

„Most efficient way to get rid of them.“ Mollymauk sounds unmoved, clinical. Astarion‘s stomach twists. Even their voice is subtly different. They sound like a different person.

„Efficient?!“ Karlach hisses, indicating the large and still spreading pool of blood in front of them, but Mollymauk shushes her with a gesture.

Oh. Right. Guards, watching them. Maybe this isn‘t the time and place. But this is not over, not if the looks on their companions‘ faces are any indication.

Mollymauk ignores them all and turns to walk off. „Let‘s go, I want to get my bearings.“ And strides away like someone used to having people just follow his word.

The rest of them exchange looks before breaking off in different directions. Karlach, having apparently been appointed as spokesperson by general unspoken agreement, follows Mollymauk, and Astarion scurries after her.

Did you just see what I saw? Karlach tadpoles in his direction. Astarion sends affirmation back her way, still reeling too much for words.

Didn‘t even know he could do that. Wasn‘t like him at all. I don‘t like it. D‘you think it‘s the curse?

It is possible…

From all he‘s seen, it seems like the Curse can bring back some of the memories that Mollymauk lost. And more, apparently.

He does not like it. He does not like it at all.

They exit the throne room the same way they came in, only to realise they‘ve already lost Mollymauk. Which shouldn‘t be possible with his colorings, but somehow, he‘s given them the slip, whether intentionally or not.

„Well, that‘s just great,“ Karlach groans. „The fuck‘d they go?“

„You go right I go left?“ Astarion proposes.

„Yeah, ok. Good hunting.“

They part ways, heads on a swivel for a shock of lavender hair. Astarion sort of regrets talking Mollymauk out of the coat right now; that would have made this search much easier. He asks a few people about a purple tiefling with red eyes and most shake their heads and go back to what they were doing, but one or two have actually been paying attention and can point him in what turns out to be the right direction.

He‘s just spotted Mollymauk wandering around a room that, if Astarion‘s sense of direction isn‘t entirely wrong, leads back to the throne room and is about to call out to him when a voice calling him instead arrests his step.

„You there! The pale elf! Wait a moment!“

Dammit, what is it now? He doesn‘t have time for this, Mollymauk is slipping away!- He turns to the owner of the voice, a rather pretty drow he might have tried to flirt with at any other time, and is just about to tell her that she‘s chosen a rather inopportune moment to hail him when she stops him in his tracks: „You‘re a vampire, are you not?“

Oh. Oh shit. He didn‘t think it‘d be this obvious. And he can‘t think of anything else to say in this moment than, „Uhh- what?“

„Don‘t worry, I‘m not going to stake you. I simply have a fascination with vampires, ever since I was a little girl.“ Her voice is a sultry drawl, or what she probably imagines to be one, as it is in all honesty more grating than anything else.

„If you‘re about to ask me to turn you, I‘m afraid I will have to disappoint you, darling. I‘m a spawn, not a full vampire,“ Astarion feels the need to clarify. He‘s seen enough people come to Cazador‘s mansion begging to be turned, and subsequently be disappointed, that it wouldn‘t surprise him to meet yet another one here. He‘d never understood the desire to become a vampire when one was in perfect health, but had always sort of wished his old master would grant those applicants the ‚boon‘ they wished for and let them find out for themselves what life as a vampire spawn is actually like.

Naturally, these madmen and -women seemed to have been the only people Cazador wasn‘t interested in feeding off of, at all.

„Only a spawn? Oh well, that is little matter to me. I am more interested in the actual biting, in any case. Say, how do you feel about a little trade? You drink my blood, and I will give you one of my potions for free-“ she sweeps her hand to indicate the alchemist‘s workshop tucked into a corner behind her that hadn‘t really registered with Astarion until now. „And, of course, you get a meal out of it.“

That is the weirdest trade Astarion has ever heard of, and he blinks at the drow dumbly for a few moments while considering it. On the face of it, it sounds like a good deal- he‘s pretty hungry after a tenday in the Shadowlands during which he hadn‘t dared try to bite anyone and hadn‘t been able to fall back on animals. If only there weren‘t a pretty big ‚but‘ in the way Astarion can smell, even from the distance of two steps, that there is something wrong with her blood. Pretty sure the only thing it‘s going to do for him is make him sick, and he‘s not keen on that.

But then, a free potion could be useful. To all of them.

„What kind of potion?“ he asks, trying to give himself more time to think.

„I have one prepared that would permanently enhance the strength of the one who drinks it. It is very hard to make- very rare and, of course, very expensive. But I would be willing to give it to you in exchange for this little favor. What do you say?“

Well, now he really has a conundrum. A potion like that could be very helpful to their party, and the only thing preventing them from having it would be Astarion‘s reluctance to be a little bit sick for a little while. What‘s his own temporary discomfort against permanently heightened strength for Karlach, or whoever wants it?

A quick look around confirms that Mollymauk is well and truly gone. He‘ll have to start his search over. What‘s a few more minutes?

He sighs briefly. „Alright.“

„Wonderful!“ The drow smiles brightly and joyfully, like a child after being handed a gift they had been wishing for a long time. Without further ado, she tilts her head to expose her neck for him and looks at him expectantly. Astarion blinks, a bit taken aback by that- „Don‘t you want to go anywhere more, hm, private, for this?“

„Here is just fine. Do not keep me waiting, spawn.“ Her voice acquires an edge Astarion knows only too well- patience, running out. He shrugs to himself. It‘s not like it‘s his business where this weird woman wants to get emptied of her blood.

So he moves in, strictly businesslike, he wants this over with as soon as possible, and sinks his teeth into the waiting neck.

As soon as her blood hits his tongue, he regrets his decision; it is rank, foul, even worse than her smell, and it is all he can do not to pull back and start gagging right then and there. But if he stops now, he might not get the potion, so he forces himself to keep swallowing, past the roiling in his gut. He drinks, and keeps drinking, until a none-too-gentle hand comes up to clutch at his hair and pulls him away forcibly. He backs off hastily, ignoring the stinging of his scalp when her hand almost rips part of it out and wipes his mouth with the back of one hand. Gods, he‘s going to be sick. But not now.

The drow is swaying on her feet, an absolutely blissed-out expression on her face. It takes far too long for her eyes to open and refocus on him, time in which Astarion is doing his utmost not to succumb to the nausea wringing his guts. She smiles at him. „Oh, that was wonderful! Everything I‘d hoped it would be! You are a good little spawn indeed! - And now, your reward...“ With this, she stumbles back to her workstation, unsteady on her feet from the blood loss, and starts pushing around bottles of potions and squinting at ther labels- which again takes far too long for Astarion‘s taste- until she finds the one she‘s looking for and comes to press it into his hand. And then dives in to press a kiss to his cheek for good measure, which is almost the last straw that causes him to retch.

„Thank you,“ she whispers in his ear, and then mercifully lets him go. He flees.

Through a minor miracle, he manages to keep the blood down until he finds a door cracked open that leads to an empty and crumbling balcony containing a few moldering crates and, upon closer inspection, a despondent purple tiefling cowering behind said crates and looking like someone who wanted to have a breakdown in private. All Astarion wanted was a place where he could puke in private, so this is awkward. It‘s also too late to find another spot, his stomach informs him with no little uncertainty, the amount of time it is willing to tolerate the toxic slop inside of it is up. He barely manages to turn his back to his companion before bringing all of the blood back up right there, without even the kindness of getting to get it over with fast. Every time he thinks he‘s done, he starts retching again, until his stomach muscles are cramping from the strain.

„Astarion?“ There‘s a gentle hand on his shoulder, he notices when the nausea finally, finally abates and he has the capacity to notice. Mollymauk, of course, and he sounds worried, and is that the first time he‘s called him by his full name?

He holds up a single finger by way of communicating that he needs a moment and the hand grips him just a bit more forcefully and guides him to sit down with his back against the wall, the blessedly cool wall. The tiefling themself crouches down in front of him and holds their waterskin out to him. He takes it gratefully and rinses his mouth until the foul taste is almost gone.

„Thank you,“ he finally manages to say as he hands the skin back. Gods, that was awful.

„Mind telling me what the fuck that was?“ Mollymauk asks, head tilted to one side and studying him part quizzically, part worriedly. Astarion studies them right back. This looks far more like the Mollymauk he‘s used to, not the cold, cruel version who emptied two goblins of their blood with a mere touch. The amount of relief he feels over this is frankly exaggerated.

„Did someone a favor and drank their blood. It… wasn‘t good.“

„I could tell.“ Mollymauk glances at the congealing puddle next to them. „I‘m not going to ask why they wanted you to bite them because people are freaks, but why did you agree to it? You‘ve got people you can ask if you‘re hungry.“

Huh? That had never even occurred to him. And he wipes the thought away quickly, because there‘s no way Mollymauk means that. Instead, he pulls the newly-acquired potion vial out of his bag with a tiny bit of a flourish. „For this.“

Mollymauk blinks at the bottle. „And what is ‚this‘?“

„A potion that‘ll make one of us stronger, permanently. Worth a bit of discomfort, I would say?“ Now that the worst is over, he feels quite proud of himself. He‘s being selfless, he‘s helping the group- a feeling which is immediately dashed when Mollymauk buries their face in their hands.

„You made yourself sick for- oh boy,“ they sigh into their palms.

„It‘s called ‚taking one for the team‘, isn‘t it? You could at least appreciate my sacrifice a little bit!“ Astarion snaps, feeling hurt. But then, this is what you get, isn‘t it?

„I do. Believe me. But…“ Another sigh. Mollymauk looks up, looks him in the face with an expression that is hard to decipher, except that there is once again sadness in there and he can‘t figure out why. „We need to work on your self-preservation instincts.“

That is so unexpected Astarion is actually speechless for a moment. He‘d always thought his self-preservation instincts were just fine after he‘d been doing whatever he had to to survive for far longer than all of his companions put together have even been alive- not counting Halsin. „Those are the only ones that work perfectly for me, thank you,“ he can‘t help but bite back. In the face of Mollymauk‘s doubtful look, he then plunges on, eager to get the attention off of himself, „And that‘s not what I‘m here for anyway. It‘s what the fuck happened back there with those goblins? You were- I barely- what was that?“

Mollymauk gives him the look of a person who wanted to have a breakdown in private only to be interrupted and then interrogated about the very cause of said breakdown. „And now you know why I never wanted to know anything about my past,“ they murmur while hunching in on themself in a way that flashes the impulse to reach out and hug them close through Astarion‘s limbs, an impulse he barely resists.

What does he say now? What does he do? He‘s demonstrably useless at comforting people, not like Karlach or- yes, that‘s a good idea. He should go get Karlach. She‘ll know how to handle this.

„Wait here. I‘ll be right back. I- just wait here, alright?“ Mollymauk looks at him with confusion when he scrambles up from his position seated against the wall, and right before he darts off he thinks he can see a flicker of something cross their face that arrests his step.

Something very close to panic.

Maybe it‘s not such a great idea to leave them alone right now.

„Actually- come with me.“ Astarion makes a grab for Mollymauk‘s arm and in their confusion they fail to resist him tugging them to their feet and along after him.

The halls of Moonrise welcome them again with the noise and smell of hundreds of people of very different walks of life and notions of hygiene. Here, Mollymauk‘s steps start lagging which Astarion ignores, just pulling him along with more force as he threads his way between the Absolutists crowding every square foot, head on a swivel for a tall red tiefling with a broken horn.

But before he can find Karlach, someone else finds them. Rounding a corner, he sees Ketheric‘s half-orcish second-in-command heading straight towards them, spot them, and pick up her pace, now beelining for them with intent.

Ah, shit.