Chapter Text
Astarion tired of saving the same bloody tieflings every few months. In his opinion, they should run straight to the mausoleum and find whatever secret Ketheric hid there. He said as much, and Tylona launched into a lecture about “owing” it to the captives in Moonrise Towers. They didn’t owe the tieflings anything. They didn’t owe Barcus Wroot anything. In fact, it was the other way around, but when Astarion pointed that out, Tylona grew too frustrated to keep arguing with him.
She knew the truth. Raphael had answers, and wherever the blasted devil was, Astarion doubted he was ankle deep in the cult’s headquarters. No one intelligent would willingly jump into the lion’s mouth after a few gnawed-on lambs.
It was a good thing Tylona was pretty. And, he guessed she had friends to keep her ridiculous savior complex from killing her.
They were too large a group to stroll into the dungeons without raising suspicion, so they split into two. The recognizable “true souls” entered through the front door, supposedly with orders to interrogate the prisoners on Balthazar’s potential whereabouts. The others sailed across the lake to the caverns under the castle, cloaked by a combination of Gale and Halsin’s magic. The High Harper had gifted them a set of sending stones to communicate between the two groups; Tylona took one while Wyll took the other. They would coordinate their positions using both the stones and their tadpole connection, find a weak point in the prison walls, and hopefully vanish the prisoners right under the cultists’ noses. As far as plans went, it was cute. Astarion expected several things to go wrong.
And they certainly did. For one, several of the tieflings audibly reacted to Tylona’s presence. Their sudden cheer drew the attention of one of the guards down the hall. Lae’zel smashed her shield against the bars with a hiss, “Get back!”
The aggressive move relaxed the guard. He looked away, comforted by Lae’zel’s clear disdain for the now cowering prisoners.
“Don’t look happy,” Tylona said, face a mask of disgust that didn’t match her low, calming tone. “We’re getting you out, but we don’t want to draw more attention than necessary.”
The cells didn’t have locks that Astarion could pick. Instead, each cell had a portcullis controlled by adjacent levers. Apparently, the warden also had a control panel in the central watchtower that she could shut down the entire dungeon with. Lovely. So if they didn’t find a connection point to the caverns, they would have no way of spiriting the captives out without inspiring a bloodbath. Astarion wouldn’t mind this if it wasn’t so likely his own blood would join the fount.
And the less risk to Tylona, the better. He did his best not to think of her condition . They were in no position to worry about such things. As much as part of him itched to send her back to the Inn, they needed her leadership in a mission like this. She wouldn’t ever agree to sit on her hands either. So Astarion forgot all about the awful truths rattling beside his brain worm and pretended to sneer menacingly at the tieflings. He didn’t have to pretend much.
The next thing went wrong as they were talking to the gnomes. Tylona was quietly arguing with Wulbren when the sound of approaching boots caught Astarion’s attention. He coughed thrice, the signal of coming danger, and Tylona looked up sharply.
“Who are you?” the warden snapped, “And what do you want with my prisoners?”
Tylona’s expression was one of pure boredom. “My orders are none of your concern.”
“You’re not the only true soul here,” the warden sneered. Astarion’s parasite slithered in response to the tiefling’s mental probing. What had once been a startling invasion was now merely an annoyance. He sealed his mind to her, deadening his thoughts as effectively as he had while still under Cazador’s thumb. He only hoped his companions had as much mastery over their minds.
Whatever the warden found had to mollify her because she grunted in annoyance. An obviously disingenuous smile spread across Tylona’s face. She waved her fingers in a dismissive gesture. Catty. Good girl.
The warden stalked off. The moment the watch tower’s door shut behind her, Tylona spun to glare at the deep gnomes. “Look. Believe me or not, we’re getting you out, so just listen to me, and everything will be fine.”
“We could just leave them,” Astarion muttered. Tylona stamped on his foot. Not enough to hurt, but it got her point across. He huffed.
Gnomes. Always made things more difficult than they needed to be.
Some things went right for them. The others found a place to dock their boat, for one. Then Halsin managed to find a hole in the prison wall. It wasn’t large enough to reliably ferry the prisoners through, but it meant Karlach could trade places with Shadowheart. If things went violent, it would be much helpful having the muscle-bound tiefling on this side of the prison walls. The gnomes finally made themselves useful by pointing out a series of chips in the stone wall of their cell. Sending the mental image through the parasite, Lae’zel was able to lead the others to the correct wall.
Then came the difficult part. How did they break through solid stone without alerting the dozen guards milling about the prison? Neither Shadowheart nor Gale could cast silence through a wall, and that wasn’t Tylona’s brand of magic. Tylona’s mastery over shadows would do nothing to block sound, but it might give them extra time to escape unseen if they could break through the wall quickly enough. If they bombed the wall, however, they risked harming one of the prisoners.
“Do it,” the tiefling’s spokesperson said. “Better we bleed a little than end up slaves to these fucks.”
That was a sentiment Astarion could appreciate. Tylona didn’t like it; he could tell by the scrunch of her nose. But she nodded jerkily and whispered orders through the sending stone. They would set off two separate blasts. Wyll and Gale would clear any leftover rubble. Tylona would flood the room with shadow, letting the inside crew make for the hole. Lae’zel and Karlach would cover their escape as Shadowheart and Halsin guided the prisoners to the boat. A neat plan, tied with a little hopeful bow.
And it worked. They broke through the walls. Though the guards rose the alarm, they couldn’t break through Tylona’s shadows. Astarion scrambled through the hole and caught Tylona’s arm as Karlach threw her up. They rejoined the rest of their crew as the flock of gnomes scurried by, followed by a stumbling crowd of coughing tieflings. They were going to pull this off.
And then Astarion’s gaze fell on one of the tieflings. An average looking sort of man with black horns that crooked to the left.
Astarion’s vision went blood red.
He slammed the tiefling into the cavern wall, forearm pressed into the bastard’s yellow throat. Cries sounded all about him, but they could’ve been bird calls for all Astarion cared. His knife- he had a knife only seconds ago- where had it gone? Who cared when Astarion had teeth, fangs meant for piercing, for tearing-
His limbs locked in place.
“Astarion!” Gale barked. “Have you lost your bloody mind?”
“He needs to die,” Astarion snarled. It was good that Gale had intervened when he did. Astarion would’ve made the kill too clean, too quick. This little bastard deserved a slow death, the sort where he writhed, blood pooling underneath him, limbs seizing in fits, tongue begging for release that Astarion wouldn’t grant him-
“Cultists inbound!” Karlach warned. “We need to move.”
An arm roped around Astarion’s shoulders even as he felt the magic drop. Astarion thrashed with a hiss, but Halsin’s strong frame wrested him back. The shivering little bitch stared at him with wide, green eyes, ducking behind the protection of Wyll’s rapier. Gale’s twitching fingers. Karlach’s axe. Against Astarion. Against Tylona. Fucking traitors .
Except… except they didn’t know. They didn’t know who that man was, what he had done , what he was .
“Get off of me,” Astarion snarled, shoving Halsin away. Halsin raised his palms in a calming gesture, but there was no peace to be felt. Not when Astarion knew everything. Not when Tylona stood only a few feet away, gold eyes wide with fear and locked unseeing on the nearby wall. She trembled. Her hands rested protectively on her abdomen. Because she recognized him too. Of course she did. That was a face she’d never forget. The soft ones, the gentle ones, they were all gone. But the cruel ones? The ones that hurt him? The names were lost to time, but he remembered every fucking face.
“I’ll kill him,” Astarion promised her. He ignored the surrounding sounds of outrage. “Right now. Just say the word, and I’ll slash his throat open.”
Her eyes slid from the wall to him. Blank and bright. Brimming with magic, called to the edge by her rampaging emotions.
“Tylona?” Gale’s voice. Soft. Coaxing. Because he wasn’t so much of an idiot not to see the fear paralyzing their little ray of sunshine. And it was Gale that broke through to the pragmatic sorceress. Like a thick velvet curtain drawn over a window, Tylona’s fear vanished into a cool neutrality. Her hands fisted at her sides.
“No time for this, people. Get a move on before the Warden roasts us alive.”
There was quite a lot of shouting from the prison. The heavy chains of the gates ground together; someone had thought to open the gates to allow the guards to chase after them. If they didn’t move soon, they would be drowning in cultists.
Tylona’s eyes met his. She gave the tiniest shake of her head. Her lips barely moved, but he caught the mouthed word anyway: please .
Astarion’s hands itched to close around a yellow neck and squeeze. Maybe he could hamstring the bastard and leave him to entertain the guards while the rest of them fled. It would only be what he deserved. But under that pleading gaze, Astarion could do nothing but dig his fingers into his hips.
“Shall we, darlings?”
The words tasted bitter on his tongue.
The boat was barely large enough for them all. As it was, Halsin was forced to turn into a bird; he flew over the boat, low enough to remain in eyesight. The shadows ruined whatever aerial advantage he might’ve had otherwise.
Astarion and Tylona sat on one end of the boat. The bastard sat on the other. Every time he so much as looked up from his shoes, Astarion bared his teeth in a smile. The bastard’s head would duck straight back down. Little shit was lucky there were heroic types about; otherwise, he would be dragged after the boat by a noose around his neck. Astarion’s throat burned with thirst. He wouldn’t taste very good, but he might as well make himself useful at the end of his pathetic life. Astarion would find a particularly painful spot, take his time draining every drop of blood from his sallow flesh. Maybe he could keep him alive for a few days, lock him in a pitch black room and visit him every few hours before finally crushing his throat under his boot.
The malice he felt must’ve shown on his face because none of the other freed captives would look at him either. Good. Let them be afraid of him.
Neither Wyll nor Karlach were happy with him, pair of bleeding hearts, they were. But Gale, who normally was just as nagging, was quiet. Probably because without Halsin’s assistance, he had to concentrate so much more to keep the cloak over their vulnerable sailboat.
Normally Tylona would be able to help. But she was pressed against Astarion’s side and trying to pretend she wasn’t shivering like a wet kitten.
It was the longest trip of his life from Moonrise to the shores of Last Light. He wanted to tear chicken-liver’s throat out. Wasn’t allowed. He wanted Tylona to feel safe. She couldn’t. So he burned holes into chicken-liver’s psyche with his eyes and dug his nails so deep into his palms that he bled.
Jaheira and a slew of her harpers waited for them at the beach. They threw their arms up in a victorious cheer, helped guide the boat beside the rotting dock. Astarion wanted to grab Tylona, press her into the High Harper’s arms, and fling himself across the boat. Dramatic, yes. Practical, no. He forced himself to watch each tiefling, each gnome, climb out of the boat, greeted by warm blankets and waiting healers and warm drinks. He tensed when chicken-liver stood.
Gale raised his voice. “Not that one, Lady Harper. Fetch him some rope instead, would you?”
“What the fuck, Gale?” Karlach asked. Gale shrugged with a tight smile.
“I’m sure all will be explained soon.” His tone was light, almost joking, but he wore the same expression he had while Elminster ordered him to kill himself. The look of a man staring into his future and resigning himself to it.
Tylona shrank, shoulders curling into herself.
Chicken-liver tried to argue. Freed of Moonrise, feet on solid ground, he suddenly found the courage to lie, to claim he hadn’t done anything wrong. He jabbed a shaking finger at Astarion, warbling. “He’s a vampire! I saw it; he attacked me. Tie him up!”
The High Harper matched his hysterics with a shrewd expression. “Even well-trained dogs bite when they’re threatened. As the wizard said, I’m sure all will be explained. Throw this one in the cellar, eh?”
As much as Astarion appreciated her trust, he could’ve done without the comparison to a dog.
While the harpers led chicken-liver away, the rest of the tieflings were hurried into the warm embrace of the inn. There were distant shouts of joy and relief as friends and family reunited. The sense of victory seemed to glow alongside the eerie blue light of Selune’s protection.
Their little party stood beyond it, in that limbo between refuge and danger, and nothing permeated the air but tension.
Tylona accepted Gale’s hand when he offered it. The wizard gently helped his lover out of the boat onto the grainy sand. Astarion shadowed her, feeling very much like the aforementioned trained mutt. Whatever. The rest of their crew fanned out in a semi-circle, matching expressions of frustration splattered across their features. Even Lae’zel, who couldn’t care less about the feelings of others, seemed upset. Only Gale seemed calm… but no, he wasn’t calm at all. This was the stillness before the storm, the soothing touch before the slap.
Tylona watched her feet, limbs hanging, shoulders slumped in defeat. She hadn’t worn makeup for days, not when she cried every fifteen minutes. Her hair tangled in frizzy knots. Red blotches covered her cheeks, and her eyes sank into shadowed skin. She couldn’t hide it any longer. Anyone just looking at her would know that something was wrong. But they had been respecting her privacy, patiently awaiting her admittance.
By attacking her rapist, Astarion had forced their hand. His empty stomach dropped. The skin of his palms tore further under his nails, but there was no more blood in his body to lose.
He was a terrible friend. His first friend, and he hadn’t kept her safe, hadn’t kept her secrets.
“I lost my head,” Astarion blurted out. “I haven’t fed since we entered the shadow curse. I lost control of the hunger.”
His rat brain screamed. What was he doing? How many times had they warned him? If Astarion lost control of his hunger, they would end him; they had said so in clear, blunt terms, each in their own way. This wouldn’t endear him to them. This wouldn’t keep him safe. They’d hurt him. They’d kill him.
But he had to protect his friend.
Tylona’s head whipped up from the sand. “Oh gods, you haven’t fed at all? I wasn’t- I’m so sorry-”
Dammit, she could be so sacrificial. Astarion opened his mouth to cut her off.
Gale spoke before he could. “If you had lost yourself to the bloodlust, you wouldn’t have endured the trip here. I suspect you never would’ve made it onto the boat at all. You are lying, and all of us here know it.”
Astarion closed his mouth.
Gale took both of Tylona’s hands in his. Astarion forced himself to remain still, fingers tapping against the hilt of the blade strapped to his leg. Gale would never hurt Tylona. Gale loved her, sickeningly so. He would never hurt Tylona. And the expression on the man’s face was disgustingly gentle and soft, nearly pained. He kissed the tips of Tylona’s fingers. Murmured, “Love, I don’t wish to hurt you, but the time of reckoning has come, I think. We have all shared our broken pieces with you, shared some seriously concerning secrets. We care about you, and we are frightened for you. Please… please trust us enough to tell us what in Ao’s name is going on?”
To no one’s surprise, Tylona started to cry.
No one interrupted.
They were silent.
Tylona had been drunk. She left Gale’s side to relieve herself. He found her there, all alone. He flirted. She told him she wasn’t single, wasn’t interested. He insisted. He grabbed her wrist.
She should’ve fought. She had magic. Why hadn’t she fought? She froze instead. Hadn’t stopped him. Hadn’t screamed. Hadn’t done anything. She didn’t want anyone to know. She drank more after. Didn’t want to remember. Wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened. It happened.
She was sorry. She was so, so sorry. And if Gale didn’t want her anymore, she understood. She should’ve fought. She should’ve told him.
“My love,” Gale whispered, forehead pressed against Tylona’s, cradling her head in his hands, “All the stars could plummet from their orbit and the seas could drown the mountains, and I would still want you.”
From Astarion’s lips, it would’ve been empty poetry. From the mouth of a man who literally could tear the sky apart, it was a vow.