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Chapter Text

The Shadow-Cursed Lands were so much worse than Halsin had described. It was one thing to listen to a clinical description of a land cursed by potent shadow magic, but another thing entirely to feel it. When Miss Fortune and their companions rode the elevator from the abandoned fortress in the Underdark back up to the surface, the rations curdled in their stomach just from the way the air began to change around them.

The Underdark may have stood in stark contrast to the surface world Miss Fortune grew up in, but at least it still had the air of a natural, thriving environment. The Shadow-Cursed Lands were malice given shape, the malevolent magic blanketing everything and making the air so thick it felt like they were slowly suffocating. 

When the elevator at last jolted to a stop and the companions stepped out, the foul air smelled so sour that Miss Fortune let out an involuntary retch; even Lae’zel looked uncomfortable, her brow furrowed with disgust. 

There was an ancient looking robed man standing casually by the exit of the abandoned building the elevator opened into. An unwelcome sight; this didn’t seem like the kind of place that an ordinary old man could withstand for any amount of time, so Miss Fortune concluded his presence could only portend misfortune. 

“Wait,” Gale hissed, throwing his arms out in front of Miss Fortune and Astarion as they slinked into a crouch and moved to draw their daggers in unison. “Don’t attack him, he’s no foe. And besides, you’d be just more ash fluttering through the stale air if you tried.”

“You…know him?” Miss Fortune shifted their gaze between Gale and the other robed man in the distance, their muscles still tensed and ready to spring. 

“Don’t tell me this is one of those ‘all wizards know each other’ moments,” Astarion groused, likewise keeping his grip on the hilt of his dagger.

The world weary sigh Gale emitted spread like a guttural hiss as it carried through the thick air. “No, no. Don’t you recognize him? That’s Elminster Aumar! 1300-some-odd-year-old renowned wizard, Chosen of Mystra, has saved the Forgotten Realms more times than anyone can recount? No, doesn’t ring a bell?”

Miss Fortune shook their head no before turning their attention to Astarion, flashing him a vicious grin. “Oh my gods, Astarion, you’re not the oldest person in the room for once! How does that make you feel?!”

The offended gasp, the mouth hanging wide open, the way his hand flew to his chest in shock—a perfect juxtaposition of graceful fingers and vicious claws—filled Miss Fortune with delight. 

“Tch. How dare you?!” The vampire grumbled, muttering curses under his breath. 

“I’m 350, so Astarion hasn’t been the oldest one for some time,” Halsin admitted, sounding eager to join in on the banter.

Miss Fortune turned to look up at the towering druid, all pleasantry and smiles when they responded with “We all know age is just a number, my good druid friend. Nothing for you to be ashamed of.”

“Now why did you have to say it like that?” Astarion snipped. Miss Fortune thought they detected a flash of anger not at them but at…Halsin? Sweet, unassuming Halsin? They must have misread the vampire’s expression.

“I must ask you to set aside your jests,” Gale interjected before Miss Fortune could come up with a retort. “Elminster is not one to be kept waiting, and the timing of our arrival vis-à-vis his presence here cannot be coincidence.”

Gale looked…nervous. Not an expression Miss Fortune often saw him wear. His robe felt damp with sweat when the half-elf placed a hand on his back in a bid for the pair to take point together. Perhaps ignorance was a blessing in this case, they mused to themselves; hard to be nervous meeting someone if you weren’t aware of how many ways it could go sideways. 

Despite his considerable years, Elminster stood ramrod straight in clear defiance of gravity’s unwavering push and pull on the body. His head was more beard than face, the long, scraggly hairs hanging down to his chest and swaying with every turn of his head. Beneath bushy eyebrows that appeared ready to crawl off his face at a moment’s notice were blue eyes so piercing they looked like they didn’t miss a single thing, whether visible or invisible. 

“Ho, travelers!” Elminster greeted them, his reedy voice and antiquated vocabulary betraying his advanced years. “Wouldst thou spare a moment for a weary old man?”

When he began speaking to the approaching adventurers, he gestured animatedly with hands gnarled and scarred from countless spells cast and battles hard-won. But most striking of all about the great, old wizard was the commanding energy that suffused his very being. Irreverent as Miss Fortune tended to be, even they were cowed into a respectful countenance. 

“Elminster?” Gale asked cautiously from Miss Fortune’s flank, as if he were suddenly unsure he had the right man. 

“The very same, Gale,” Elminster replied. 

Behind them, Miss Fortune heard Karlach snicker. “Aww, Gale, is that your granddad? Introduce us, will ya?”

“Now Karlach, what have we discussed about thinking before we speak?” Astarion chided.

“Sorry. Never was my strong suit.”

Miss Fortune’s eyes began to glaze over and their mind went fuzzy when Elminster and Gale began conversing in earnest; the wizards’ grandiloquent language flew straight over their head, making them wonder if this was their version of thieves’ cant.

‘I prefer our secret language,’ Miss Fortune signed to Astarion after nudging him discreetly to get his attention.

‘I don’t think they’re trying to confuse us; that’s just how wizards talk,’ Astarion signed back.

‘I’m too dumb for this shit,’ Miss Fortune shot back with a roll of their eyes, earning a quiet snort. 

“I see we’ve lost your handsome friend, Gale,” Elminster said after a short while. “Let me dispense with the frippery and speak more plainly, young fellow. I’ve been traveling relentlessly for quite some time in search of your friend from Waterdeep and I am hungry, tired, and in need of a good glass of wine before I share news of utmost importance with him. Might I rest my weary bones in your camp awhile and avail myself of your provisions?”

A quick glance over at Gale resulted in a curt nod, so Miss Fortune repressed the urge to be snarky and ask how important it could be if Elminster had time to stuff his face first. The half-elf instead composed their face into a pleasant, agreeable mask, their eyes and smile sparkling in unison.

“The short answer is yes, we’d be honored to host such an esteemed wizard and hero in our humble camp,” the half-elf began. “The longer answer is that I’m afraid you’ve caught us between camps, as we’ve just emerged from The Underdark to enter these cursed lands. You’ll need to put a few more miles on those well-crafted boots of yours until we find somewhere safe to call ‘home’ for a while. Why don’t you walk behind with the camp crew while Gale, myself, and the other scouts get a head start to scope out any danger?”

“Eh? Gale, a scholar turned scout?” Elminster wheezed in disbelief. 

“Gale is an indispensable part of my team. His battle prowess has saved us many times, and he is one of my closest friends and advisors. So I hope you’ll forgive me if I covet him a while longer.”

Miss Fortune looked over just in time to notice a rosy color mottling Gale’s cheeks; they supposed that meant he appreciated their declaration, then. The half-elf left the timing of their last words vague on purpose, for they were beginning to fear that Elminster was tracking Gale down to take him back to Mystra. Would they be willing to defy a goddess to keep their friend by their side, if it came to it? Yes. Yes they would.

Mystra cast him aside like a crumbled up piece of scrap paper the moment he did something she didn’t approve of. She can take my Gale when she peels my cold, unmoving body off of him.

“By all means,” Elminster relented. “Glad to see you’ve made some friends, Gale, after your terribly lonely year locked up in your—“

“Oookay, thank you, Elminster!” Gale interrupted with a wince. “I’ll see you back at camp; then you can dispense your missive and be on your way.”

Before heading out, Miss Fortune escorted Elminster back to where Wyll, Shadowheart, and Lae’zel hung back with the bulk of their camp supplies, shooting them an apologetic look on their way back to the scouting party. The aged mage quickly began trying to rifle through packs in search of cheese, earning a bark of reproach from Lae’zel. Out of the corner of their eye, Miss Fortune caught the bard Volo, who had elected to travel with the group ever since they upended the goblin camp, sidling up to Elminster with an air of familiarity; the two would probably chatter everyone else’s ears off the whole way, but thankfully that wasn’t their problem right now.

The darkness outside the building that housed the elevator to the Underdark was unlike any Miss Fortune had experienced. It felt alive, moving and swirling with flecks of ash and debris billowing around without a clear origin or destination. Just enough so that their eyes always registered something moving at the edges of their peripheral vision, never allowing them to let their guard down.

Astarion named it first. “It feels like we’re being watched; hunted even,” he muttered, voice low and body language tense. He kept looking over his shoulder while he spoke. “But there’s nothing out there, only more darkness.”

The way their worried mind was wired, Miss Fortune saw danger lurking in every shadow on a good day. This place amplified those instincts to an unsustainable level, and already the half-elf felt like they were one wrong move away from a full-blown panic attack. They would have reached for Astarion’s hand if they didn’t feel like they’d need it free to draw weapons at a moment’s notice. 

“I much prefer it when I’m the one prowling in the shadows about to strike,” Astarion admitted. 

“I’ll bet you do, Fangs,” Karlach said with a shudder. “Why is the air so cold here? You all better stay close to Mama K, I’ll keep ya warm.”

Now that Karlach mentioned it Miss Fortune realized it was cold out here. Not the crisp chill of autumn approaching like it should be, but rather the bone-numbing bite of a crypt. And looking around at the decaying battlefield from a war fought a hundred years ago, the half-elf realized this may as well be a mass unmarked grave for dark justiciars, Selûnites, druids, Harpers, and any civilians who didn’t make it out before arrows flew and magic tore the earth asunder. 

“Torches up, everyone,” Halsin commanded, shouldering in between Miss Fortune and Astarion to take a place of authority, the move meriting a low growl from the vampire that the druid ignored. “Stray too far from the light and you’ll be just another shade prowling these lands fueled by pure hatred for the living.”

Everywhere they explored was more of the same: fallen soldiers, howling wraiths, monsters and shambling mounds of plant-life given sentience and warped beyond recognition. Food left to rot and clothing, baskets, and other household trinkets left to slowly decay, rust, and decompose; all signs of hasty retreats and heartrending decisions on what to carry along. 

It was nearly impossible to think that these had once been habitable lands teeming with fresh game and farmland. The only animals they encountered before they found a fortified spot to set up camp had already fallen to the curse and were completely inedible. Dangerous, even. That would explain Halsin’s insistence that the group stock up on as many rations as possible before they left the Underdark. If they weren’t all careful, they could very well run out before they found Moonrise. As scary a thought as that was, they felt a sinking in their gut when they thought about what this place meant for Astarion. The only life here was…them.

Setting up camp was a solemn affair. For all the flurry of activity, words were used sparingly to communicate needs and little beyond that. Halsin and Shadowheart built the largest fire possible in the center of camp and everyone staked their tents in a close ring around it, leaving only one way in or out. Lae’zel and Karlach worked together to drive torches into the ground at regular intervals, leaving no corner unlit. It would be much harder for ghouls or ghasts to take them by surprise; also harder to have any privacy.

Wyll busied himself setting up the provisions table and finding a comfortable seat for Elminster to rest on, and the latter lost little time helping himself to their rations. Gale was still doing his best to avoid his colleague; Miss Fortune noticed him working the weave into several mundane objects he’d fished out of his pack.

As soon as their tent was set up, Miss Fortune fished through their meager supply of fabric, doing mental math on the rug out front. They had just enough, if their calculations were correct. 

“Is this the best use of your time right now, darling?” Astarion drawled. He caught them on their hands and knees, scissors in hand, cutting small shapes and strips from a bolt of black cotton fabric they’d salvaged from an abandoned home somewhere in the Underdark. 

“Actually, yes,” Miss Fortune replied with a grunt. “I need to keep my hands busy and we all need to be able to sleep despite the lights. I’m going to make eye masks for everyone. I wish we had silk, but cotton will have to do.”

“I could give you something else to keep your hands busy with,” Astarion purred, but the words sounded forced as if spoken purely from muscle memory. Which was just as well; sex was the furthest thing from Miss Fortune’s mind right now given their surroundings. 

Feeling like they could neither encourage or deny him, Miss Fortune instead declined to answer. The thick, putrid air brushed against their face when it moved around Astarion’s body as he glided down to sit beside them. He was already reaching for a needle and black thread to begin sewing the first shapes Miss Fortune had cut out. It was comforting to fall into this familiar routine with their lover, especially given the unspoken tension that had recently been pulled taut just beneath the surface like a trap waiting to spring at the first misstep.

They never had gotten back around to whatever Astarion said he needed to tell them after their emotional coupling in the Underdark hot spring. Which Miss Fortune kept trying to convince themselves was just fine with them. Despite his reassurances to the contrary, the half-elf’s worried mind whispered that Astarion was still working his way up to breaking things off, and they wanted to pretend everything was fine as long as possible.

And then there was their argument over the Ironhand slaves being kept by the duergar at Grymforge, the old Sharran temple with the legendary adamantine forge tucked deep in its bowels. Miss Fortune didn’t understand how they could have come from similar backgrounds yet arrived at such wildly different conclusions on helping people. Whereas the half-elf sought to wrest power from the unworthy and those who wielded it with cruelty, the vampire seemed dead set against liberating others who shared his plight. 

They’d spent half a night arguing quietly on the topic over two bottles of wine before agreeing to disagree, after which point Astarion had practically torn their clothes off. The pair had clashed together for impassioned, noisy makeup sex that disrupted the whole camp, leaving everyone cross with them the next morning. Miss Fortune had stumbled out shirtless and ragged with dozens of visible bite marks to find Astarion beaming proudly while everyone else glowered at them both. 

The argument had been on their mind ever since; they kept trying to understand Astarion’s point of view in the hopes they could avoid future spats, but they weren’t quite there yet. Feeling Astarion’s casual closeness again was like exhaling a breath Miss Fortune hadn’t realized they’d been holding in, and they wanted more of him. Sitting side by side didn’t feel close enough in a place this unsettling. They wanted to meld into him until they were one entity facing the horrors together. But they settled for a light brush of their fingers along his leg instead.

“Yes, love?” Astarion asked with thinly veiled apprehension, pausing in his stitches to look at them.

“We need to set up an overnight watch schedule; can’t take any chances in a place this dangerous,” they broached quietly. “Will you take first watch with me?”

“I wouldn’t trust anyone else’s senses to be as sharp as mine, so who better than yours truly to ensure our beloved leader is well-accompanied?” 

“There’s no better accompaniment in any situation than you, sweetie. As for the rest of the shifts…”

Astarion’s face lit up with a sudden idea, which he explained by switching over to thieves’ cant. 

‘Put Lae’zel and Shadowheart together. Trust me.’

When Miss Fortune raised an eyebrow he explained cryptically: “You missed a very juicy bit of camp gossip while your mental health was deteriorating, darling. I’ll fill you in later, cross my heart and hope to—oops, already died. You get the point.”

‘That leaves Wyll and Karlach, then Halsin and Gale,’ Miss Fortune went back to signing. 

‘Playing matchmaker, are we?’ Astarion’s smirk was infectious, and the half-elf felt their mouth stretching into a grin of their own.

‘Maybe if everyone else is hooking up they’ll leave us alone. Oh, one more thing.’ Their hands paused, held up between them, until the vampire quirked an eyebrow up. ‘I’m gonna let Elminster stay in my tent tonight. Can I sleep with you?’ They used ‘Old Wizard’ to refer to Elminster, eliciting a snort of amusement.

‘You don’t want to cuddle with a wrinkled, prehistoric man?’

‘I’d rather cuddle my ancient vampire.’

“Augh, how dare you?! I am not ancient, I’m refined. Like a well-aged wine, thank you very much. If I weren’t worried I’d have to kill your zombified corpse in the morning I’d make you sleep outside for that one.”

Right as Miss Fortune began leaning forward to taunt Astarion into nipping at them they heard a clearing of a throat behind them. With a jolt they looked back to see Gale standing behind them holding a trinket dangling from a cord.

“I’ve made us silencing charms since we’ll be bunkering down in such close quarters,” Gale explained once Miss Fortune took it and began inspecting it. They all looked different, but Miss Fortune’s trinket was a lanceboard piece, the queen by the looks of it. 

“When you’re ready for your evening respite simply hang it by the door and give it two taps. Nobody will be able to hear what goes on inside.” The wizard handed Astarion his charm, and Miss Fortune noticed it was the king lanceboard piece. “Just in case you need a night to yourself,” Gale added with a wink.

“Thanks, Gale,” Miss Fortune beamed up at him, hoping if they forced themselves to smile enough it might just dispel some of the gloom hovering around them all. “I’ll make sure you get the first eye mask we sew.”

By the time Wyll called the group to gather for a cold supper, Miss Fortune and Astarion were finishing up on the last two eye masks. They were crude given the rudimentary supplies they had to work with, but they’d be better than nothing. Astarion busied himself pouring a goblet of wine while the leader walked around the fire handing out the masks to somber murmurs of appreciation. 

Once their hands were empty Wyll pushed a plate of rations towards them with a half-smile and a pat on the back; they were trying to be friendlier toward one another, although Miss Fortune suspected they would eventually have to sit down for a frank conversation to settle their differences before they could move beyond cordial allies.

“So, Elminster. 1300 years traversing the planes and saving the world, you must have a treasure trove of stories to tell,” Miss Fortune broached once they’d seated themselves next to Astarion. 

“Aha, my good fellow, of course he does!” The bard Volo jumped in before Elminster could answer. “Have you paid no attention to the heroic ballads I’ve sung these past several evenings? The renowned wizard has featured prominently in quite a few I’m sure.”

“Don’t feel bad, Volo,” Shadowheart confided with a conspiratorial grin. “I doubt our leader has paid attention to much of anything besides our toothsome friend lately.”

“And how would you know what I’m paying attention to when you spend all your spare time communing with your Goddess and uttering Lae’zel’s name like a prayer?” Miss Fortune shot back with a wink. A gasp of surprise followed by low murmuring spread like wildfire around the camp. Well, that confirmed their suspicion. They hadn't known for certain the cleric and warrior were hooking up but Astarion's hint coupled with the nudge Miss Fortune gave Shadowheart gave them a pretty good hunch.

Lae’zel jumped up with murderous intent, causing Karlach, who was between the leader and the Githyanki, to stand and assume a threatening stance. Although Shadowheart’s face remained neutral, Miss Fortune noticed the shock register in her eyes. But after studying their face and finding no judgment she cracked a wicked grin. 

“Well, you know what they say about how close you should keep friends vs. enemies,” the cleric retorted, effectively defusing the tension.

“Ahaha, I’m sure you’ll excuse us Elminster, we’re a passionate lot,” Miss Fortune redirected, chancing a quick peek at Astarion before returning their attention to the wizard. His eyes flashed with cruel amusement; they could tell he was proud of their quick retort and they felt their cheeks coloring in response. 

“I’ve been part of many a hot-headed adventuring crew myself,” Elminster chuckled while he began stuffing a pipe with what Miss Fortune assumed was tobacco. “How about a tale even the bards have forgotten? Why, I bet you’d be surprised to learn that you and I share more in common than meets the eye, Miss Fortune.”

“That sounds positively thrilling, the opportunity of a lifetime!” Volo jumped in before Miss Fortune could respond. “Wait, don’t dive in just yet! I must away to fetch my quill and notebook.”

Everyone—including Gale—sat in rapt attention while Elminster regaled them with tales from when he was merely in the double digits of age. Miss Fortune was amused to learn that Elminster started his life with a hatred for the very magic he now cast on a daily basis and had instead been a bandit and thief. Having formed a gang called the Velvet Hands, Elminster and his friends lived lavish lifestyles while planning ever more elaborate heists.

“I may have to pick your brain sometime for old techniques,” Miss Fortune quipped, earning a reproachful look from Wyll and Karlach. “Having been that long ago I’d be willing to bet you have schemes the Gate’s guards have never heard of.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t doubt it!” Elminster replied with a wink.

The story time crowd dwindled in size when the two middle watch groups—Shadowheart and Lae’zel followed by Karlach and Wyll—retired for some shut-eye. Elminster continued on with his stories until late in the evening, even revealing one that managed to shock Gale about the time Mystra turned him into a woman to evade pursuit by members of a magelords’ temple in Hastarl. He lived as Elmara for years before returning to his original form. 

Just when Miss Fortune began to wonder why the old wizard shared that story in particular, he explained himself. “I know what it’s like to live on both sides of the coin, young friend. However, it seems you enjoy walking along the coin’s edge, never quite picking a side, occasionally dipping toes onto heads or tails before regaining your balance.”

Miss Fortune’s eyes met Elminster’s, the half-elf probing for ill-intent but coming up short. They found only a self-sure smugness tempered by a gentle kindness. Those piercing blue eyes had seen straight through them, it seemed. Which was all well and good, except Astarion was the only person they’d shared their feelings with to that extent. The half-elf looked between Volo, Gale, and Halsin to find them regarding them quizzically, as if waiting to see how they’d react.

“You’ve lived a fascinating life, Elminster. In every way possible it would seem.” They decided to redirect it back to him rather than give anything away about themselves in front of the others.

Thankfully one could always count on a wizard to bloviate; without missing a beat Elminster was back to telling stories, allowing Miss Fortune to shrink out of the spotlight. They let out a subtle sigh of relief.

Astarion nudged their shoulder with his. ‘Would you want what Elminster had?’ He signed. 

‘A criminal empire? Why not?’ Miss Fortune signed back with a grin. They were pretty sure they knew what he meant but the cheeky reply earned them a quick nip at their neck so it was worth it. 

‘No. To change. To live as a woman.’ The vampire clarified. 

‘No,’ they signed emphatically. And they meant it. ‘I have no problems with my anatomy.’

Astarion studied their face in the firelight for a few moments, perhaps trying to detect a lie. Seemingly satisfied, he nodded thoughtfully before dropping his hands. They shone like a beacon in the night. A beacon Miss Fortune desperately wanted to grab hold of. But they remained where they were and let the familiar self-defeating thoughts roll over them. They couldn’t snuggle up in front of all these people!

You’re not together, they reminded themselves. You may have given yourself to him, but he isn’t yours. And besides, he told you a conversation is overdue. He’s looking for a way out, he must be.

Miss Fortune wrapped their arms around their own knees to resist the urge to reach for Astarion and half-listened to the rest of Elminster’s stories before the others went to bed and it was time for the first watch.

Chapter Text

The visual difference between night and day was subtle in these lands, but the noises stood in stark contrast. After a night of listening to Elminster regale the group with fascinating stories from his adventures, Miss Fortune and Astarion sat side by side on a rotting log that faced the only entrance to the camp, the warm fire blazing at their back. 

They had started off at a professional distance from one another but every time an aberrant howl or unsettling warble cut through the night, the rogues inched closer together until they were shoulder to shoulder, their hands clasped and resting on Miss Fortune’s thigh. The half-elf nervously rubbed Astarion’s knuckles while they battled the anxiety threatening to overwhelm them.

Although they expected a witty quip from Astarion at any moment about how brazenly they’d taken his hand into theirs, they were surprised when none came. A sidelong glance at their lover revealed that his expression mirrored their own; he was barely holding on as well.

“Astarion,” they murmured with a squeeze of his hand.

“Hmm?”

“I don’t think I need to tell you this, but I noticed there’s…nothing out there you can eat. And it’s too dangerous here for you to go off hunting for anything besides.”

“Oh reeeally?” Astarion lilted, his eyebrows raised, the picture of ersatz surprise. “What an astounding revelation, I hadn’t noticed!”

A groan escaped Miss Fortune’s lips. They leveled a glare in his direction. “I’m not in the mood to play games right now. I promised that I would ensure you didn’t go hungry when I first learned you were a vampire and I mean to keep that promise. Can we work together on this?”

“Oh, fine.”

“I respect that the freedom of choice is important to you.” Miss Fortune continued their nervous, rhythmic rubbing across his knuckles. This felt like touchy territory to enter and they didn’t want to misstep. “I am sorry that the nature of this cursed land robs you of that freedom, but it’s only temporary.”

“Mmhmm.”

“The amulet means you can feed from me daily without any lasting impact or harm.”

“Go on…” Astarion began to sound impatient. 

“I just wonder how we can give you some choice in this situation seeing as your diet will be temporarily limited to me.”

“Oh no, perish the thought. I’m stuck with the richest, most fulfilling and delicious meal imaginable. Whatever shall I do?” The words were playful but the undertone of annoyance remained. A bit like a caged tiger putting on a show for a crowd of jeering children.

There was no point in pressing forward until Astarion’s hackles lowered again, the half-elf realized. So instead they fell silent, staring him down with a tight smile. Several long moments passed between them, silent save for the pops of dry kindling alighting in the bonfire, before Astarion finally sighed in resignation, his shoulders slumping.

“I—I don’t know, darling, what do you suggest?” he murmured.

“I don’t know either. The only bit of autonomy I can think of is for you to choose how to feed each day: from my neck, from my wrist, or I could cut myse—“

“Absolutely not!” Astarion seethed. His hand recoiled from Miss Fortune’s grip and they let it go. “I’m sure you’d like the last option, wouldn’t you? A chance to harm yourself and call it a good deed?”

Miss Fortune sucked in a breath of rancid air through their teeth. They were learning to see through Astarion’s angry mask to the emotion it often covered up: concern. Arguing back would only send them spiraling into a circular argument they would both lose. 

“No, you’re right, Star. It’s too soon after my last…episode. You’re being a good friend right now and I appreciate you looking out for me.”

That clearly wasn’t the answer Astarion was expecting because he looked as if they’d just knocked the fight out of him. It took a moment for him to place the cocky, self-sure mask onto his face when he purred “yes, my love, that is exactly what I’m doing. How very perceptive of you. Besides, directly from the source is best. Your neck or wrist are both perfectly fine choices depending on our mood. I’m so very pleased with the gift you’re offering me, darling. How can I repay you?” 

As if he’d forgotten their dreary surroundings Astarion had slipped into seduction mode, his velvety bedroom voice caressing the recesses of Miss Fortune’s mind in a bid to turn them into goo. Crimson eyes bored into the half-elf beneath a cocked eyebrow, and that maddening smile was on full display.

“Actually, there is something I’d like,” Miss Fortune admitted shyly. It was something they’d been thinking about for a while now but hadn’t worked up the courage to ask for. It was frivolous and self-indulgent, and they were afraid Astarion would laugh at them.

The light faded in Astarion’s eyes, his smile dimming as well. They’d messed up again; he was expecting them to turn him down. Miss Fortune felt the muscles in their shoulders tense further. Their selfishness just gave him another reason to break things off. 

“Of course, of course. There’s always a catch, isn’t there?” His hand slid up their thigh, fingers splayed out to wrap around the quad. “How often do you want me to pleasure you, darling? Once a night? Twice?”

“What? No, that’s not—Star, no. Gods!” They sputtered. “I don’t ever want transactional sex again. What I want is really embarrassing…”

Uneasiness speared Miss Fortune in that moment. Astarion hasn’t been paying me for blood with sex all this time, has he? The thought made their stomach turn. 

“Out with it then, come on.”

“…Will you read to me? O-only when you feel like it,” Miss Fortune stammered. 

“You want me to…read to you.” Astarion sounded incredulous. His hand slithered down their thigh back to where Miss Fortune’s remained as if playing dead after he’d wrenched away from it. Maybe he wasn’t so upset after all, if he wanted to hold their hand again? Why was genuine intimacy so gods damned confusing?

“I really love your voice,” Miss Fortune admitted, mumbling awkwardly. “It’s my favorite sound. It puts me at ease. I could listen to you all day. And I figured if you’re already reading, why not do it out loud?”

“You…you’re silly, do you know that?” The relief in his tone was unmistakable, and Miss Fortune wasn’t sure how they felt about that. On one hand, they were glad that they hadn’t asked for something that made Astarion feel uncomfortable. But on the other, it only intensified their freshly hatched worry that perhaps they’d misread things and the vampire hadn’t been as enthusiastic about their trysts as they thought. But then, if that were the case he had been very good at hiding it lately. 

Stupid, this is stupid. I’m so stupid. Miss Fortune’s throat began to feel tight as they hurled silent insults at themselves. 

Their thoughts were interrupted when Astarion leaned in to kiss the half-elf on the cheek. The icy peck of his lips on their skin sent currents of warmth swirling in their belly. There, he didn’t have to do that, now did he? Surely that was genuine. Surely…it meant something?

“I’ve heard that rumor,” Miss Fortune shot back with a sheepish smile, hoping Astarion hadn’t picked up on their consternation. “So would that be okay?”

“I accept, darling.”

“Thank you, Star. I mean it though; only when you feel like it. But it’ll be so nice to drift off to your voice. I spent so many years at the brothel in near silence as a kid. Sometimes the only words spoken directly to me for days on end were the Madam demanding ‘Again!’ during dance practice, or her flinging insults. So your companionship, our conversations, they…well, they’re real nice.”

Astarion’s facial expression had gone hard and unreadable, his eyes darkened with pain. 

“Lover? Did I say something wrong?”

“No, no. It’s just…Cazador often ridiculed me for the very same thing you say you love. I was always told to shut up, scolded or even beaten for my ‘empty boasting’ and ‘endless prattle.’”

“Just one more thi—“ Miss Fortune started before getting interrupted by the angry swatting of a tent flap.

“Shut up, istiks, you shouldn’t talk on guard duty!” Lae’zel hissed as she emerged from her tent and stalked angrily over to them. “Go on, you’re relieved of the duty you weren’t taking seriously anyway. You can keep gabbing away in your own tent, and I’ll be sure to thank Gale in the morning that I’ll be spared from hearing your senseless drivel.”

“Love you too, wifey. Hope you don’t mind we skip the goodnight kiss.” Miss Fortune grinned while they stood and stretched, the mask they reserved for people-who-were-not-Astarion snapping easily into place. They knew she hated when they called her that, but she’d earned it by interrupting them.

Shadowheart emerged from her tent shortly after; did she look…nervously excited? The gears began to turn in Miss Fortune’s mind. Astarion did say he had gossip to share about the two of them, and their jab at Shadowheart earlier gave them a pretty good idea of what it was.

“Thanks for taking over, Shad, General. Now you two be good, don’t do anything Astarion and I wouldn’t do,” they said wickedly.

“You realize that takes very little off the table, don’t you?” Shadowheart shot back.

“Oh I do, trust me.”

“Ha! It might even add a thing or two to the table,” Astarion added over Miss Fortune’s shoulder before sauntering off. 

Freshly fed and enclosed in Astarion’s magic-warded tent, the vampire at last shared the camp gossip Miss Fortune had missed in the Underdark when their mental health had been spiraling. Astarion paused frequently to relish in the mind-melting sensations of the scalp massage the half-elf was giving him while his head rested in their lap, but over time he filled them in.

Shadowheart and Lae’zel had been caught sneaking out of each other’s tents on several mornings since the party with the tieflings; they seemed to think nobody had noticed, but rumors abounded that they were having a fling, although nobody could tell whether it was friendly, romantic, or loathing. When Miss Fortune told Astarion about how they had nudged Shadowheart toward initiating a hate fuck with the Githyanki, he rewarded them with their second favorite sound: his laughter. 

Astarion also confirmed that Karlach was indeed yearning for Wyll seeing as she displayed literally every tell a person could have. Wyll, on the other hand, seemed completely oblivious. The last bit of gossip Astarion imparted was that Gale missed Tara, his tressym familiar, so much that the vampire caught him cradling a sack of potatoes in his arms while talking to it as if it were his familiar. 

When Miss Fortune’s hands paused in their attentions, Astarion let out a curious hum, his eyes regarding them unguardedly. His beauty struck them like a punch to the gut, hard enough that they almost abandoned their question in favor of seeking comfort in his kiss. But they had to know.

“What about the gossip about…me?” 

“Hmm?”

“Surely our companions have been talking. Do they…do they hate me? For being a shitty leader? For being weak?” Miss Fortune bit their lip and rubbed at the freshly-scabbed bite marks on their neck without even realizing they’d picked up the nervous mannerism from their lover. 

“Is that where your mind jumps to, darling? Straight off the cliff?” Astarion drawled, missing their nervous cues. 

“Yes.”

Astarion sat up to face them. “They were concerned for you. Which I rather think betrays fondness, not detestation. Why, even Lae’zel showed an astounding amount of concern by refraining from threatening to take over as leader. And Wyll at one point cornered me with a charming ‘you’d better do right by our friend, Astarion.’”

Miss Fortune recognized the attempt at humor but didn’t share in it. In fact, it made them feel worse. “I’m sorry…I overheard most of the conversation by the sword stuck in the stone, too. I’m sorry our companions tried to make me your problem. I’m sorry if I am your problem.” 

In voicing that, the half-elf edged dangerously close to revealing another fear they’d been harboring the past couple of days: that Astarion was only holding back on whatever calamitous revelation he’d planned to drop on them at the hot spring because he feared their mental health was too fragile to withstand the heartbreak. That he was biding his time until he could safely drop them like a cube of congealed blood.

Recognition dawned on Astarion’s face in the moments of silence and his features softened. When he beckoned them closer by patting the space between his legs, Miss Fortune shuffled over, their hands reaching out to grip gently at the fabric around his waist because they didn’t know whether he wanted to be touched. For his part, Astarion also looked uncertain. He hesitated before wrapping two shaky arms around the half-elf and drawing them closer until their nose rested in his shoulder.

Enveloped in his unpracticed embrace, Miss Fortune felt their own heart thumping against his still chest, felt their focus go fuzzy when his scent rolled over them like fog. And while his touch was as cold as ever, they felt warm enough for the both of them.

“You’re not a problem,” Astarion whispered in their ear, his words slow and measured as if he was putting a great deal of thought into selecting the right ones. “You’re not a…torn shirt that needs to be mended.” An icy hand snaked under their shirt to cradle the small of their back, prompting them to arch it until their stomachs brushed against each other. 

“You’re sweet. Thoughtful. A delightful menace when you’re in your element. You seem to know what everyone needs, and you give it to them when you can. Too freely, oftentimes. You…you’re allowed to get something back. I never thought I’d say this but I rather like being here for you. It feels good to have your tru—why are you crying? Godsdamnit, am I fucking it up?”

Miss Fortune shook their head ‘no’ into his shoulder, tears soaking into the fabric as they moved. “Keep going.” The words were muffled, barely intelligible with their mouth lodged against Astarion’s collarbone. Their arms moved to return the hug and they continued weeping quietly, whimpers escaping occasionally that only served to further upset them for how pathetic they were being. 

“I…don’t know what else to say,” Astarion admitted. “Cazador never had me practice lines for a situation like this. I tended to leave the sad drunks alone. Guess you always would have been safe from me, little bird.”

Miss Fortune cry-laughed into his shirt. “This is hard for you, I can tell. But you’re doing it anyway,” they managed to choke out. “All my life I’ve just wanted to be held like this, to be treated with care when I feel fragile. If you can do it even when it’s hard, then why…why couldn’t anyone else? My mother, the other adults, even Carlo.”

“You hug Gale and Shadowheart all the time, darling,” Astarion protested.

“Not like this. This is different. It’s different because it’s…you. My person. I guess this is a weird way of saying thank you for the reassurance. I hope someday I’ll believe you, too. When you say I’m not a problem.”

“Shhh. You were doing so good for a moment before you went and ruined it. Now, I believe I owe you a bedtime story.”

“Ooo, yes please, daddy.” Miss Fortune regretted the words as soon as they left their mouth. “Eww…that felt gross.”

The half-elf felt a sharp crack on their ass that would have made them yearn for more under any other circumstances. “Let’s forget you said that, hmm? Go on, lie down so you can nod off whenever sleep takes you.”

This must be what home feels like, Miss Fortune thought when their head hit the pillow of Astarion’s bedroll. The safety to be your best, your worst, and everything in between without repercussion. The companionship of someone who understands you. A bedtime story even if you’re too old for it.

Astarion scooted in behind Miss Fortune to take up the big spoon position, his head propped up in one hand while the other held his novel aloft. He hooked a leg over the half-elf’s hip and began to read. 

The rich tones of Astarion’s voice gently blanketing Miss Fortune were as reassuring as being tucked into bed. His reading was like getting kissed on the forehead, sung a lullaby, and rocked to sleep all in one—or at least they imagined that’s what it was like. After all, they wouldn’t know from experience. 

Bedtimes at the brothel had been covered ears and locked doors, trembling in bed alone while all the adults engaged in whatever depraved acts were asked of them. They could feel their inner child practically weeping with joy right now, and it didn’t take long for Astarion’s voice to lull Miss Fortune to sleep.

Miss Fortune, Gale, and Astarion had found a cave that seemed to have something glowing inside. Unable to resist the call of potential treasure and magic, the trio entered with lit torches held high. As soon as the cave’s depths swallowed the light outside a feeling of uneasiness skittered over Miss Fortune. 

There were desperate warnings to turn back scrawled on the walls in blood, ash, and other unidentifiable sources, but despite Miss Fortune’s protests their friend and lover pressed on. Down, down, down they went while the purple glow grew gradually brighter until eventually the labyrinth of narrow, winding passages opened up into a giant cavern. Much like the Underdark had been, it was too large to see the ceiling or walls through the dark. 

The source of the glow sat in the middle of nothing; a giant amethyst cluster that appeared to be lit from within. And around it was scattered an array of skulls and skeletons that would be a clear warning for caution to anyone with sense. Which apparently Gale did not have, for he was already out of reach before Miss Fortune could utter a warning. 

They watched in horror as the amethyst cluster began to tremble and grow. No, not grow—it was lifting. And underneath the mound of glowing stone unfurled long, spindly spider legs. The “amethyst” was actually a spider’s abdomen! And when it turned they saw that it had the torso and face of a woman. A woman who looked remarkably close to the visage of Mystra that Gale had sometimes conjured in his palm early in their adventures together. 

“Gale, no!” Miss Fortune shouted when they noticed the spider begin to move toward him. Strong, cold hands grabbed hold of their arms when they tried to charge forward in defense of their friend. A glance backwards showed Astarion, face etched in abject terror. He was holding them back, protecting them. And no matter how hard they struggled to break free his grasp was firm as adamantine. 

Which meant Miss Fortune was forced to watch while the Mystra-spider darted out to bite Gale right over where his orb sat. Forced to watch him drop to the ground, limp and unconscious. Forced to look on while Gale was wrapped in rope after rope of glowing purple spider silk until only his unseeing eyes remained uncovered. 

“NO!!!” Miss Fortune shouted, bolting upright. Anxious, nightmare-fueled sweat had soaked their shirt, face, and hair and their breathing was ragged. When they tore the eye mask down they felt a momentary delirium when they didn’t immediately recognize their own tent before they remembered they’d gone to sleep in Astarion’s.

Astarion! Shit, I hope I didn’t wake him, they thought. Their heart lurched when they turned to where he lay. Their lover was wide awake with tears in his eyes. He had a hand over his own mouth to stifle any noises and they noticed his whole body was trembling softly. Astarion’s eyes went wide when he realized they’d caught him in a vulnerable moment and they saw his muscles tense as if he were preparing to flee if he had to.

“You too, nightmare?” Miss Fortune whispered. 

He nodded once. The half-elf shuddered from the feeling of cold, wet fabric clinging to their skin and peeled the shirt off. 

“Come here, sweetie?” They asked with open arms after they’d lain back down; it was an invitation rather than a command. Miss Fortune exhaled a quiet sigh of relief when Astarion accepted after initial hesitation. Cold sweat slicked their lip from the kiss they planted on his clammy forehead but they kissed him again anyway to prove to themselves that he was here, he was safe, and he was real. 

It took a long time for either of them to fall back asleep, but the half-elf was content to have someone to hold through the night, to both give and receive comfort even if neither of them wanted to share the horrors roaring within their minds.

Chapter Text

Two words featured prominently in Miss Fortune’s mind after Elminster disappeared in a purple glimmer of weave: FUCK. MYSTRA. What little exposure to the gods they’d had in the past was neutral at best, but their observations of Shadowheart, Gale, and Lae’zel had them wanting to chuck every pantheon straight in the bin. 

After eating an inordinate share of the camp’s rations and leaving Miss Fortune’s tent a disgusting mess of used rags, shed hairs, and dirty dishware, Elminster had shared the message he was sent here to deliver to Gale: an offer of clemency from Mystra, if only Gale would be a good little pup and blow himself up. 

“What good is forgiveness if he’s dead?!” Miss Fortune hadn’t been able to hold themselves back from shouting. 

“Remember that saying we have in Evereska, darling?” Astarion had murmured cryptically, his hand curling around their shoulder in warning.

The half-elf whipped around to glare at their lover, eyes frosted with cold indignation. How dare he use their safe word to…to prevent them from saying anything worse to an ancient, all-powerful wizard? No sooner than the thought began forming in their head did they realize their foothold was shaky at best. Blazing crimson eyes had stared back at them, Astarion’s jaw clenched tight with firm resolve. 

He flicked his gaze down to their hip and back again, and that’s when the half-elf realized their hand had subconsciously crept onto the hilt of their dagger. To draw weapons on Elminster would have been beyond stupid. The fight was exorcised from Miss Fortune’s body with a heavy sigh and they gently squeezed the hand Astarion had placed on them before turning back to the calamitous conversation unfolding before them. The vampire kept his hand there, and it continued to be a steadying presence even while they seethed internally.

“…power to stop the clock, as it were, on the orb’s rush to overpower you. Instead, you will be able to unleash its lethal combustion at will,” Elminster explained. 

A deeper rage bubbled up like bile in Miss Fortune’s throat just beneath the diplomatic mask they’d snapped back into place following Astarion’s warning. Mystra had the power to end Gale’s suffering at any time in the past year and simply chose not to! She just let the orb slowly consume him while the rot of its tainted magic wracked his body with pain while she watched from up on high, all because his ambitions got the best of him. 

“…you, I commit into care Gale himself. I count on you to shepherd him well on this strangest of journeys.” Elminster was looking at them expectantly when their attention returned to the present moment.

He was asking them to coax their best friend to his death. Unbelievable, absolutely unbelievable. The image of Miss Fortune and Astarion cozying up on some plush couch in Gale’s tower while the three of them whiled away the evening in casual conversation some time after they were free of their tadpoles grew dark and distant as the door began to shut on the possibility. They shoved a figurative boot toe into the crack; they weren’t letting this door close all the way. 

“I will do my very best to guide Gale towards a resolution that is best for everyone, him included,” Miss Fortune replied vaguely. The message between the words should have been clear: we will find another way to defeat the cult of the Absolute without using Gale as a human bomb.

And with little more than a wistful look and apology for being the bearer of such bad news and scarfer of copious amounts of cheese, Elminster had disappeared. Which left Miss Fortune to pick up the pieces of their dear friend. The leader was the first to approach, placing a hand on Gale’s shoulder in silent support. Big, sad eyes turned their attention to the half-elf. Just from a single glance Miss Fortune could tell Gale was considering it. Considering Mystra’s offer. 

That look from the wizard filled the half-elf with a helpless desperation. A small voice in the back of their head reminded them that this was probably how their friends had felt seeing them on the brink of self-destruction. They wondered whether intervening made them a hypocrite or whether it made them the best choice for talking him off the proverbial ledge. Either way, it didn’t feel good to be on this side of the situation.

“Gale, no,” Miss Fortune pleaded. “You deserve to live. And besides, we need you too much. I need you. We’re going to find another way.”

“Let’s not be too hasty, friend,” Gale said numbly, rubbing his arms absentmindedly. “We don’t know what we’re up against yet.”

“You don’t need to sacrifice yourself on the altar for some god, Gale,” Astarion cut in. While he didn’t touch the wizard he did saunter close, inspecting his nails as if he were already bored with the conversation.

“I may not have a choice, Astarion,” Gale muttered, his eyes downcast. “Mystra has commanded it.” His shoulder hunched beneath Miss Fortune’s hand as if he were trying to shrink himself to disappear from the conversation. 

Halsin stepped forward next, to Miss Fortune’s surprise. Although he’d slowly been integrating with the group they hadn’t noticed him spending much time with Gale. But then again, they supposed it wasn’t impossible that they had bonded at least a little during their shared night watch last night. The druid’s huge hand rested gently on Gale’s other shoulder.

“What a terrible price for a goddess to ask a mortal to pay,” he said, his voice calm and soothing. “I am sorry for your burden, friend. Just know that you need not bear it alone. I am here if you wish to talk.”

When Shadowheart and Wyll began to approach, Gale threw Miss Fortune and Halsin’s hands off him and took several steps back, an obvious look of overwhelm shading his face. 

“Please, I know you all mean well but I need some time to think. Alone,” Gale pleaded, pushing past them all to make a beeline for his tent. 

“Woof! What a way to start the day, am I right?” Karlach said in her usual cheerful tone that made Miss Fortune wonder how much of the situation she had grasped.

“Come on, Karlach, show a little respect for Gale,” Shadowheart jumped in. “It’s no small thing to get a death decree from your deity.”

“Hey, I’m all too familiar with how it feels to stare down a fiery explosive death,” the barbarian shot back. “I’ll stay behind today; I’ve got the brawn to defend camp and the empathy to cheer Gale up.”

Astarion snorted. “More like blind, foolish optimism but whatever you want to call it, darling.”

“Take good care of him, all right? As for everyone else, be ready to head out in 15 minutes. Bring along a spare torch or two, we can’t afford to take chances,” Miss Fortune instructed, feeling guilty that they weren’t staying behind themselves. Unfortunately, experience told them if they attempted to do so it would simply turn into a rest day for everyone. And they couldn’t afford that yet; the group desperately needed to find a more sustainable way to fend off the curse.

It wasn’t easy getting ready for a day of adventuring without getting distracted by the mess in their tent. More than a moon of rustic travel had done precious little to ease their cleanliness obsession, and everywhere Miss Fortune looked something else jumped out at them, pushing them ever closer to a fit of rage-cleaning. A clump of long grey hair had floated atop their backpack, eliciting a gag from the rogue when they had to pick it up to remove it; they’d tried blowing it away first but the strands were too long and heavy to budge. It was only after they’d done so that they realized a Mage Hand could have accomplished the same task.

Later later later, they scolded themselves. I can take care of this when we get back.

Wandering through the barren wastelands half the day had proven insightful. For one, they all got a demonstration of precisely what happens when someone strays too far from a light source. The companions encountered a group of Harpers on patrol and watched in horror as one of them dallied too far while Lassandra, the patrol lead, stopped to question Miss Fortune. 

The man hit the ground with a yell as if pushed, but there were no visible assailants. At least not until two shadowy hands materialized out of the hostile darkness and dragged him out of sight, only for him to return to fight them as a zombified version of his former self along with several tall, billowing ghasts that emanated auras of pure spite.

The scene quickly devolved into a skirmish for their lives; it was challenging to fight while holding a torch but between them and the remaining Harpers they had the advantage of numbers. By the fight’s end two Harpers lay dead and Lae’zel struggled to keep her sword aloft after getting hit by a strength-draining curse, but it wasn’t a total wipeout. And from that encounter they gained intel on a safe haven. Lassandra marked a place called the Last Light Inn on the old, yellowed map of the area Halsin had provisioned. 

Miss Fortune had encountered the Harpers from their time running with the Thieves’ Guild and they thought about as highly of the former faction as they did the latter. Which was to say not very highly at all. The factions seemed to Miss Fortune like two sides of a bent coin: the Harpers were idealistic, disorganized do-gooders who hoarded information for its own sake, whereas the thieves’ guild sought information purely for profit and power with no consideration for who they helped or harmed, so long as there was coin in it for them. Still, if someone were to hold a knife to the half-elf’s throat and ask them to pick a side, they’d go with the thieves in a heartbeat. It would be wise to avoid revealing their affiliation at the inn.

“Ugh, a safe haven from Lady Shar’s magic? Must be moon maiden magic,” Shadowheart said once the Harpers moved on, nose crinkled in disgust.

“I don’t care whose magic it is so long as it keeps us safe,” Miss Fortune rebutted.

“Indeed. Now hurry up and remove this curse!” Lae’zel grunted from where she knelt, no longer able to stand upright in her armor from the curse’s effects.

Miss Fortune and Astarion exchanged shocked grins when they observed Shadowheart turn on her heel and bend down to take Lae’zel’s chin in her hand, yanking her face upwards with a cruel but playful smile. “Say please,” she commanded. 

Several conflicting emotions flashed across the warrior’s face in short order, ranging from indignation to lust and finally settling on resignation. Lae’zel swallowed hard. “ Tsk’va. Please,” she managed to choke out.

“Good girl,” Shadowheart replied with smug satisfaction before she removed the curse in a flash of radiant light. “Nice to see you can have manners when it suits you.”

It was almost imperceptible, but Miss Fortune caught the way Lae’zel shifted in Shadowheart’s direction when she was again able to stand. And much like the day she propositioned them with awkward praise for their odor, her mouth was parted slightly as if trying to suss out the cleric’s scent amidst the dead stench of the curse.

‘What did I tell you?!’ Astarion signed excitedly in thieves’ cant, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

‘Well slap my ass and call me Yenta, I’m a fucking matchmaker,’ Miss Fortune signed back, unable to stop the wide grin spreading across their face.

‘Don’t get ahead of yourself. They’re just fucking, not getting married.’

“What are you two gossiping about?!” Shadowheart demanded, facing them with arms crossed and brow furrowed. “You may be signing but I can tell you’re gossiping by the idiotic faces you’re making. I’m just trying to teach the Gith some manners. That’s. All.”

Wyll gave an innocent whistle from where he stood a couple meters away and the reaction was so perfect in its simplicity that the rogues couldn’t help but cackle.  

“Hmmm, what was it you said to me the other day? I believe that you believe that, my dear Shadowheart,” Miss Fortune teased, taking pleasure in her annoyance. “Anyway, I say we call it early today. If there truly is a protection source at Last Light Inn I want everyone along for the trip.”

Not long after returning to camp, the companions sat around the fire exchanging stories about the day’s adventures, but Miss Fortune’s attention was split between two friends in particular: Gale, who had been up and about when they returned but still looked haunted behind his wide smile; and Astarion, who kept rubbing his bite scars absentmindedly from where he sat beside them. They already knew they needed to follow up with Gale, but Astarion’s energy was beginning to concern them. 

Something felt off. He’d seemed subdued this morning when they were getting ready together in his tent, but once he waltzed out into view of the others he was his usual smug self. And yet now, when everyone’s eyes were concentrated elsewhere, the vampire gave Miss Fortune that same nagging feeling.

“You should have seen her when she cast Spirit Guardians,” Wyll orated in his usual engaging style, jumping up from where he sat to play out the scene, sprinting around the outside of the circle. “Our dear cleric lit up with dozens of little Shar images dancing around her, a blazing beacon in the hazy darkness. And everywhere she tread the shades shrieked and wailed in pain, some all but disintegrating at her approach.”

“You make it sound far more glamorous than it was, Wyll,” Shadowheart said before taking a sip of wine. “But there’s no denying I’m in my element here.”

“Yes, that much is obvious,” Lae’zel sniffed. “Careful who you admit that to. It reveals more about you than you think to say you’re thriving in this cursed place.”

“You’re telling Shaddy to be careful?! Aww Lae, are you goin’ soft on us?” Karlach teased.

Miss Fortune watched Lae’zel sputter and struggle to come up with a proper response. Could it be the indomitable warrior was beginning to lose a battle with feelings of all things? Without a trace of self-awareness given how much they’d been struggling with the same thing the half-elf reveled in Lae’zel’s stubborn confusion when the others chimed in to rib her as well. Everyone except Gale and Astarion, that was. Another strike for the latter companion, who almost never missed an opportunity to heckle anyone. 

After sizing up the two companions the leader realized that although their heart wanted to rush to comforting Astarion immediately, they didn’t even know for certain something was wrong. Whereas Gale had received some of the worst news imaginable mere hours before. With a sigh Miss Fortune realized they would be a poor friend indeed to prioritize their lover based on a hunch, and so they shot Astarion one last wistful look that he didn’t catch before the half-elf stood.

“Gale, is now a good time?” they asked quietly, holding out a hand to help him up.

“As good as any, I’m sure,” he replied dejectedly before he took the hand offered and heaved himself up with a groan.

“My tent is…not visitor-ready, I’m afraid,” Miss Fortune said with a shudder. “Can we go to yours?”

“I insist upon yours; it may surprise you,” Gale retorted with a wink. A quiet growl emanated from Astarion’s throat at the perceived flirtation. Miss Fortune ignored him; he’d have to deal. By his own unspoken rules Astarion seemed to not want them to touch him with tenderness in front of others. Only lusty flirting, apparently. With a shudder meant to shake off their urge to reach out, the half-elf left the fireside. 

Miss Fortune froze when they walked into their tent to find it spotless. Gale’s hand clapped onto their shoulder a few times, and the half-elf turned to regard him with watery eyes. 

“No no, there’s no need to get emotional,” Gale laughed sadly. “I know Elminster all too well, so I had a sneaking suspicion he’d leave your tent a mess. Were it not for me he wouldn’t be here to begin with so it was the least I could do. And besides, I should be thanking you. I needed something to take my mind off… boom.” He mimed an explosion.

“You have my thanks anyway, Gale. Now…have a seat.” Miss Fortune double-tapped their charm for privacy before taking a seat on one of their cushions and waited for Gale to sit across from him.

While they were walking back from the encounter with the Harpers, the half-elf had thought extensively about what to say to their friend once they returned to camp. The approach they’d landed on was no doubt a touch underhanded, but they were willing to be a bit of a bastard so long as it proved effective. 

“You must really miss Tara,” Miss Fortune threw out casually once Gale had gotten comfortable. 

“Desperately so,” Gale admitted plainly, although his wide eyes betrayed his surprise. Evidently this wasn’t the conversation opener he expected. 

“What would you do to see her again?”

Understanding bloomed on Gale’s face, followed by a remorseful frown. He was not a stupid man, after all, he caught on quickly.  “Anything. I’d give the world to see my familiar again.”

“And your mother? You mention her often. You must miss her terribly as well.”

Miss Fortune was banking on his family attachments. They’d never had any so they couldn’t say from personal experience, but the longing ache they felt from having grown up unwanted and unloved gave them confidence that a man who knew what it felt like to be loved would find a moon and a half away from family to be agonizing. 

Judging by the way his face continued to grow darker with gloom, they’d guessed correctly. Miss Fortune rubbed their neck absentmindedly while they tried to ignore the jealous twinge in their own chest. If only Elminster had been able to transfer the orb from Gale into them. They knew the world would be no worse for the wear if they sacrificed themselves. Sure, their friends might share a solemn moment of silence for them or raise a glass in their honor, but nobody would mourn them. Not in the way Gale’s tressym and mother would.

Nobody’s life would be worse without Miss Fortune in it. And that was to say nothing of the contributions Gale had made and would continue to make to the magic-wielding world. Limitless potential was his to claim. He was far more valuable than someone like them, whose only skills were sucking cocks, sewing clothes, and picking pockets.

“Of course I miss her,” Gale said miserably after a time. “She must be terribly lonely without me, which does naught but fill me with guilt. Especially since—oh, I suppose I can be open with you—especially since I’ve been regretfully distancing myself from her since I acquired the orb.”

“What do you think Tara or your mother would say to you now, were either of them here with us to hear Elminster’s message?”

Gale thought about that for a good while, at one point closing his eyes as if to conjure Tara in his mind. When he again regarded Miss Fortune his eyes were tinged pink with emotion and his voice sounded tight. “I imagine Tara would say something like…’Promise me you’ll find another way so you can return home when this is over, Gale. Otherwise you're going to kill me and your mother both. And you’ll have wasted yourself for no good reason at all.’”

“She sounds like a wise old soul, that Tara. And do you—“ Miss Fortune was interrupted mid-sentence by a commotion outside followed by the strong stench of sulphur cutting through the rot of the curse. “Shit, something’s wrong. Let’s consider our options so I don’t have to deliver bad news to your mom and tressym, please?” And then Miss Fortune dashed outside. 

Miss Fortune skidded to a halt behind their companions, who had gathered in a clump a few steps back from the fire. Irritation flared immediately when the half-elf saw an apparition of Mizora, Wyll’s warlock patron, shimmering above the flames with a cruel smile dancing on her lips. 

“Playtimes over, pet,” she mused in her usual haughty voice. 

“Mizora,” Karlach growled, looking about ready to launch herself into the fire in a futile attempt to tackle the devil. “Gotta love this time of year. The dickheads start popping up wherever you look.”

“Wyll, control your playmates,” Mizora commanded. “It’s time to get our listening ears on.”

Miss Fortune gently nudged their way to the front beside Wyll both so they could better pay attention and so they could support the Blade of Frontiers during this no-doubt stressful encounter. Long, pointed fingers curled around their hip and began to gently knead it in a presumed bid to remind them to keep their cool; Miss Fortune supposed it meant Astarion thought no one would notice given how tightly they were packed together.

Once the companions had quieted down Mizora laid out the terms of Wyll’s new mission: he was to rescue an important asset of the archdevil Zariel from Moonrise Towers. If he failed, she would turn him into some kind of blob of stink flesh that would be forced to fight on the front lines of the hells’ Blood War. Something didn’t add up, though. Mizora had an air of desperation about her; despite acting as if she had the upper hand in the situation, Miss Fortune realized that this mission was very important to her. She couldn’t afford for them to fail. 

In a flash Miss Fortune turned to Wyll and signed ‘do you trust me?’ in thieves’ cant only to be met with a bewildered stare that bordered on annoyance. Wyll gave them an exaggerated gesture that reminded them he didn’t know the cant. 

“Trust me,” they mouthed instead before turning back to Mizora. “We’ll do it on one condition: you let Wyll out of his pact.”

The devil laughed viciously, her sharp teeth looking like they could rip out Miss Fortune’s throat even as an apparition. Her eyes narrowed at them.  “Interesting that you think you’re in a position to be making demands. Why would I go letting my favorite pet off his leash?”

Panic flashed hot across the half-elf’s upper back. They hadn’t thought that far ahead. Mere minutes ago they’d been talking their best friend off a ledge and now they had to negotiate a devil’s pact with no formal education on, well, anything? Frantic moments ticked by while the leader struggled to come up with a convincing argument before their mind pinged with a Message spell from Gale.

‘Repeat this phrase: abi, diabole, et nunquam redi. It can void a devil’s contract.’

A clumsy repetition of the phrase only served to elicit another full-throated laugh from Mizora, her hands flying to her stomach as if she were exerting herself from sheer amusement at their expense. And yet, it worked.

“Bravo, bravo! I’ve never seen such a fearless display of such sheer idiocy. And that’s saying something for me. Fine, I’ll play your game. But I amend the clause of his contract after you rescue the asset and not a moment sooner.”

The rogue and warlock locked eyes and the latter nodded with a grimace of distaste. 

“You have yourself a deal.”

“Wonderful! Best be on your way then, pup. Ta-ta!” A surge of flames swallowed up Mizora’s visage, leaving only stunned silence in its wake.

“Anyone else have a nefarious tormentor waiting around the corner to pop up and ruin our days?” Astarion demanded sourly from behind Miss Fortune. Despite it all they found themselves smiling. If they weren’t so hesitant to air their dirty laundry they’d have made a joke about the Madam or her lackeys being on their tail but they swallowed their witty retort.

“Miss Fortune, a word?” Wyll cut in. “Oh, quit your grumbling, Astarion. I’m not going to lay a finger on them.”

A quick glance behind them only served to further unsettle the half-elf. Those ruby eyes were dilated and frantic and his grip on their hip had grown more insistent. They had to say something, anything. Rummaging through their mental dressing room produced the right mask: the kind of sultry attitude that would sound filthy on the surface but hopefully convey their affection between the lines.

“Come now, Astarion, do you really think I would spoil myself early, after we made plans to thoroughly exhaust each other later? I’m saving all my best moves for you, hot stuff,” Miss Fortune teased, hoping that what he heard was ‘I am yours, now and later, and I’m coming back to help you as soon as I can.’

There was no question about it: Astarion was going through something. Having lived with this condition their entire life they were well aware of the early signs of an impending panicked episode. They could tell by the way he struggled to formulate a response, his brow furrowing while he deliberated on whether to flirt back or keep up the possessive facade. Just as his eyes lit up in answer and he opened his mouth to speak, Wyll saved him.

“Mind yourselves, would you? Keep your private business private,” he groused. 

While removing Astarion’s hand from their hip, Miss Fortune worked in a discreet squeeze to his fingers before they walked back to their tent, this time with Wyll in tow. 

Wyll had never been inside their quarters before, and he seemed genuinely surprised by what he found within. Having nothing to hide, Miss Fortune simply sat on one of their cushions with their legs crossed while the warlock roamed around, noting their vanity with all its makeup, the tent wall covered with outfit sketches. When Wyll turned at last to look at the owner of all these items he looked as if he were seeing Miss Fortune for the first time. 

“I didn’t know you were so interested in fashion,” Wyll admitted as he gracefully descended into the opposite cushion.

An antagonistic reply was on the tip of their tongue but Miss Fortune reeled it back in at the last moment. It was time to try once more to bury the hatchet, so they tried a touch of vulnerability instead. “It was one of the few interests I was allowed to have growing up in the brothel.”

Something in the way Wyll’s eyes didn’t quite meet Miss Fortune’s made them feel uneasy. An uncomfortable silence grew thick in the space between them before Wyll cut through it by clearing his throat. 

“I wasn’t expecting you to make a move to get me out of my pact back there,” he admitted at last. “That was a bold move that could have backfired easily. …But it didn’t. You have my thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I only hope Mizora will hold up her end of the bargain when we rescue this asset.”

“Me too. She has to, right? Devils may be evil but they’re bound by laws.” Wyll steepled his hands and tapped his fingers together at a quick rhythm; even in their limited time spent together Miss Fortune knew it was a nervous habit of his. 

“Laws with plenty of loopholes, from the sounds of it.”

“…Yeah.”

More silence. The distance between them felt insurmountable, as if Wyll were atop the tallest mountain and Miss Fortune was standing at its base with no shoes or climbing equipment. But that didn’t mean they weren’t going to try. For the good of the party and for their own peace of mind. 

“Wyll, can I speak plainly with you?” they asked cautiously. 

“By all means.”

Miss Fortune began to rub their face with a groan, realizing just before their fingers reached their eyelids that they were about to smudge their eye makeup. The last thing they needed was to give him something to laugh at them over when they were trying to be sincere. 

“I’ve been unfair to you. And I apologize for that. My upbringing was…not great. To put it mildly. Nobody looked after me, I was just a wildling with ‘strange ideas’ nobody wanted to deal with. I witnessed things not appropriate for a child and dodged many a wandering hand. There were plenty of wandering hands and…other things…I couldn’t dodge as well. Did you know they held a countdown for when I would be old enough to sell my body? …I think you get the point.”

“I think I do.” For indeed, the Blade of Frontiers was grimacing in disgust and thinly veiled anger, his nostrils flared and his fists clenched.

“Do you know how many patriars and adventurers milled about my brothel? How many of them would kick back their feet with a girl in their lap and a drink in their hand, telling story after exaggerated story about all the damsels they’d saved, all the good they did for humanity? And yet not one of them— not a single one —ever stopped for a moment to think ‘gee, what’s this kid doing here? What an awful place to grow up.’

“I was essentially on house arrest from the age of 14, rarely allowed to leave unchaperoned because I was a flight risk. I watched this world of righteous heroes from the windows and stairwells. Watched them pass me by, pass by the orphans and the beggars, the sick and downtrodden, all in search of a bigger glory. Meanwhile those in power continued to amass more power and wealth without using it to address the widespread injustices right under their noses.”

“…What does this have to do with me?” Wyll asked, confusion twisting his features.

“Not a damned thing, and that’s my point. You see…I was lumping you into this group. Doubly, mind you; you’re both a hero and a member of a privileged class. While I still think our worlds are too different to fully understand one another, I’ve come to see that you try your best to right the wrongs you see. So I apologize for my unfairness. I count you as a valued ally.”

Now please accept my apology so I can go check on Astarion, they mused to themselves. 

“Apology accepted. And I hope you’ll accept one of my own.”

Miss Fortune raised an eyebrow.

“I hunt the cruel and the heartless. I kill monsters. And when I joined your camp that’s all I saw in Astarion. A monster, an affront to humanity. I couldn’t understand why you were drawn to him, why you stuck up for him and kept him close at all times. Truth be told, I still don’t. Astarion and I share little in common. However…”

“However?”

“I may not trust him, but I trust you. So I apologize for taking cheap shots at you for your involvement with him. I’ll try harder to keep my thoughts to myself going forward.”

Irritation tightened their chest; some apology! If anything they felt more insulted than they had before. As far as they interpreted it anyway, Wyll was essentially saying he still disapproved, he’d just try to wipe the sour look off his face. That wouldn’t do. The half-elf leaned forward until they were right at the edge of his personal space, brow furrowed in annoyance.

“I care for him, you know,” the half-elf said, their voice low. “This isn’t some frivolous fling to get my rocks off. Not for me, anyway. I don’t need your understanding or approval, and neither does he. But you should know Astarion is so much more than ‘just a monster.’ You’re missing out if you don’t bother to see it for yourself. The next time you’re tempted to look down on him, I invite you to ask yourself: ‘How long is 200 years? What would I be like if I were tortured and enslaved for three or four of my lifespans?’ And then I want you to look at him again, and take a moment to appreciate his strength and resilience. Because I bet you’d be a hundred times worse than he is after enduring what he has; and that’s no slight to you. I would be too.”

Through pursed lips and a clenched jaw Wyll had the good sense to look chastised. But he said nothing, so Miss Fortune continued without relinquishing any of the uncomfortable space between them.

“I accept your apology. But you won’t like the monster I’m willing to become to protect Astarion. So watch that sharp tongue of yours and we won’t have a problem. Do we have an understanding?”

“Aye, we do.” One of Wyll’s hands stretched across the space for a handshake, and Miss Fortune grasped it firmly. The ridges of his skin, thickened and marked from being turned into a devil, tickled the half-elf’s fingertips and they had to steel themselves not to squirm or giggle. This was progress, and they didn’t want to see it ruined by an involuntary reaction, especially seeing as Wyll was still insecure about his new appearance. 

The warlock didn’t stay much longer, although at least the tension had eased and the pair managed some pleasant small talk before Wyll, perhaps sensing Miss Fortune’s eagerness to part ways, took his leave. 

“Are you a hugger?” Miss Fortune asked on Wyll’s way out. The more time that stretched between the present and their time at the brothel, the more they realized how enjoyable friendly hugs could be. It felt like one last gesture of goodwill they could offer to shepherd this relationship into greener pastures. 

“Am I a hugger?” Wyll scoffed. “Does a werewolf howl at the moon? Bring it in, friend.”

Wyll’s embrace had all the hallmarks of someone who had grown up with love and affection: his body posture was loose and relaxed, his arms seemed to know exactly where to go on instinct, and he applied just the right amount of pressure. Miss Fortune realized he probably wasn’t even overthinking it as much as they were, which did little beyond awaken that familiar pang of envy. The pair separated with claps on the back before leaving the tent.

Seeing Astarion had retired early further heightened the half-elf’s concern. So although they watched Wyll slip back in with the fireside gathering and begin another story, they shot down Karlach’s waved invitation and instead slipped back into their tent momentarily to grab their restoration amulet. One more stop for wine and dinner rations and Miss Fortune was rushing anxiously towards their lover’s tent. 

“Astarion, may I come in?” Miss Fortune asked loudly. They waited, and waited some more. No answer came. “…Astarion?” Still nothing. 

Maybe he forgot that he turned on the silencing charm, they guessed.

“Astarion, I’m coming in on the count of three. One…two…three!”

Despite the warning Miss Fortune entered slowly with their full hands held up placatingly in case they were interrupting anything. The first few moments were sown with confusion as they looked around and didn’t immediately see Astarion. But once their eyes landed on him a bolt of shock and panic struck them, causing them to drop the food and drink in their hands.

“Astarion!” They cried out at the same moment the wine bottle hit the ground, glass cracking and spilling wine in a blood red puddle.

Chapter Text

Miss Fortune wasn’t sure what they were expecting to find when they entered Astarion’s tent, but it wasn’t this. The sight that greeted them set their mind to racing. The pale elf had managed to wedge himself into the far corner of his tent where he huddled with his arms around his knees crying so profusely it was a minor miracle he hadn’t dried himself out into a desiccated husk. And although he had no need for air, his lungs pumped like an accordion anyhow as the vampire hyperventilated in sheer terror. 

Taking in the scene, Miss Fortune felt like a tunnel to the past had opened; they could almost see themselves as a child superimposed over Astarion in that same position in one of the brothel’s dark, empty rooms, cowering while a maelstrom of terrifying thoughts swarmed around them. They vividly remembered how small, powerless, and alone they felt. 

The half-elf knew a worried mind episode when they saw one. Astarion was so deeply at war with his own mind he hadn’t even noticed them enter his tent, nor did he appear to hear the shattering glass of the wine bottle Miss Fortune dropped in surprise. 

A calm determination caressed Miss Fortune’s mind and steadied their limbs. Their lover needed them and they couldn’t afford to fail. They had to show him that his trust in them was not misplaced; that they could be more than just a warm body in his bedroll and a neck or wrist to drink from. They could do this. After all, they had a lifetime of experience to pull from. 

“Hey, Star, it’s just me, Miss Fortune,” they called out, smoothing their voice into the softest silk. “You’re safe, sweetie. I’m going to approach you now.”

Their throat felt like they’d swallowed an orange whole when they saw their lover’s frantic eyes register their presence and throw his hands up over his face to hide.

“No, don’t touch me!” Astarion begged, his voice shaky and hoarse. 

“I won’t touch you, love, but you don’t have to face this alone. I’m here. You’re safe. I’ve got you, my darling.”

Bit by bit, Miss Fortune crept forward with quiet, practiced steps until they were seated next to Astarion. At this proximity they could see how his curls had flattened against his head from his panicked perspiration and could smell his death scent clearly. It didn’t bother them, didn’t make them want to move away. The brothel had been full of much ranker scents from time to time, this was nothing they couldn’t handle. 

What threatened to break Miss Fortune’s composure, however, was the raw anguish they felt at seeing the person they cared so deeply for rocking back and forth in pain. Astarion had been on edge since the elevator from the Underdark ground to a halt and they were all subjected to the seemingly sentient fog of the curse. They all had been disquieted, but especially Astarion.

“You’re gonna be okay, Star. I’ve got you,” they repeated gently. “Whatever happens, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere, love, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than by your side through good, bad, and worse.”

Sweat continued to stream down the sides of Astarion’s face and he slowly turned his face to regard Miss Fortune, his pupils blown wide with persistent terror. He let out a strangled wail that could rival a grieving mother. 

“You shouldn’t…shouldn’t see me like this!” he gulped.

Miss Fortune sat on their hands to keep themselves from reaching for him. They wanted to point out how often he’d seen them in the same sorry state but this wasn’t the time. 

“There’s nothing at all to be ashamed of, love. It’s just you and me, and I’m the last person who would ridicule you for having a bad moment. And that’s all this is: a bad moment that’s gonna pass.”

When Astarion didn’t respond Miss Fortune declined to press further. They’d had a lot of time to think about what kind of support they wished they had over the years. His directive not to touch him was a slight divergence; Miss Fortune recognized that they were a touch-starved bundle of need who would, given the choice, probably be in constant contact with Astarion even if it were merely the slightest brush of forearms or fingertips on a shoulder. In the midst of a mind attack a hug or a hand on their shoulder helped bring them back down to the ground. But this was fine. They could help him without touch. 

“Can you work on matching my breathing, Star? Let’s slow ourselves down a little, c’mon.” 

Miss Fortune modeled inhales through their nose to a count of four followed by slow exhales through their mouth to the count of six. Over and over they set the pace, not once minding that Astarion didn’t even make an attempt for a good while. A memory intruded that nearly derailed their focus: the condescending way Astarion had attempted to guide their breathing on their first night at camp after the abduction. How he had looked on with amusement tinged with confusion, flitting between a desire to mock and a desire to connect. 

And look at them now, roughly a moon and a half later. The tables had turned, and Astarion was letting them in during this most vulnerable of moments. There was the faint flicker of warmth in their core, even if it was eclipsed by their roaring concern. 

Finally, the jagged edges of Astarion’s panic seemed to wear down, his breathing growing slower and more deliberate. After what felt like forever his sobs quieted to sniffles and he was more or less matching their breathing. 

It took all of Miss Fortune’s focus to keep up their measured breaths when Astarion shuffled closer, and after a few minutes closer still, inching towards them until they were connected side to side from foot to shoulder. Hunched as he was, Astarion’s trembling body felt so much smaller despite the fact that they were nearly evenly matched in both height and weight, with Miss Fortune being only a touch taller and broader. He certainly felt small enough to envelop completely in their embrace—but no, that was off the table until he placed it back on. 

“He’s so LOUD here,” Astarion choked out. Miss Fortune did not need to ask who ‘he’ was. They chose not to ask anything at all, just let him say whatever he needed to say. 

“When he turned me, he placed four commands on me. They bound me to him forever. I…I will always belong to him. Always be his…slave. No matter what. Even out here, there’s no escaping him. What a fool I was to think otherwise.” A shudder ran through his entire body and it took him a moment before he continued, eyes squeezed shut. 

“First, thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures. Second, thou shalt obey me in all things. Third, thou shalt not leave my side unless directed. Fourth, thou shalt know that thou art…mine.” Astarion choked on the last word.

A wave of grief threatened to overwhelm Miss Fortune when they heard the rules that had bound Astarion for nearly 200 years. That last one was a barbed hook buried deep into Astarion’s soul; it served no functional purpose except to subjugate him, destroy his peace of mind. It bound him as a slave forever. Anger and shame invited themselves to the party at that moment. They had felt trapped at the brothel even without some all-consuming magical law binding them there. How much worse had it been for Astarion?

“Is it…the lack of sun here?” Miss Fortune suggested in a gentle invitation for him to tell them more.

“I-it feels like he could be lurking anywhere, any time of day. And I-I-I don’t know…I don’t know if it’s the tadpole protecting me from his commands or the distance.”

“I know you can hear him in your mind, but can you feel him in there? Assuming it feels different?”

“There is a difference…and no, I can’t feel him. It’s like the shackles are off right now. But I can still feel them, hovering just out of reach.” Some of the tension in Astarion’s body released and his head sagged on Miss Fortune’s shoulder. But still they did not move to touch him, even though their impulses snarled and fought against the chains that had been placed on them temporarily. 

“I’d put my money on the tadpole then, love. He can’t control you anymore. And he never will again, we’ll see to it.”

“How can you be so sure?” Astarion scoffed.

“Even if we evict our tadpoles at Moonrise Towers, we’ll find a way. Keep you somewhere safe out of his reach while I go with the others to kill him—“

“You’d die! You’d have to get through my six brothers and sisters first, and all the fanatical house staff—they’re all freaks, they’d fight to the last person for Cazador by choice. And then he’ll have me again anyway when you fail.”

“Do you think so little of my skills, those of our friends? And we are making allies. Allies who will owe us favors…I’d call them all in if it meant helping you.”

“But why? ”

Because I am the biggest fool in the realm and I’ve allowed myself to fall in love despite my ramshackle efforts to resist. I never stood a chance against these feelings. Against you. Because you’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met, and I want to remain by your side, they thought.

“Because it’s what you deserve. You deserve to be free of him. And because he doesn’t deserve the power he has,” they said instead.

This answer only served to make Astarion fold back into himself, his eyes distant and haunted and the ruby hue of his irises dulled to that of a rough, unpolished stone. They sat in silence for a long while, Astarion seemingly lost in thought but less panicked than before. Miss Fortune’s eyes returned to the broken glass and the spilled wine. The small sack of dinner rations thankfully fell in a different space and would still be edible. 

“…Do you want a distraction?” Miss Fortune broached after a time, voice quiet so as not to spook him. Astarion flinched anyway.

“What kind of ‘distraction?’” Suspicion was laced in his words like poison. 

Dear gods, did he really think they were trying to get into his trousers right now?! Of course he did, they realized with horror. Miss Fortune knew all too well that customers—or in Astarion’s case strangers—didn’t care what state of mind a sex object was in. They cared only for their own needs and pleasure. Their hand crept up to rub absentmindedly at their neck. They hoped Astarion’s response was pure instinct, that he didn’t actually believe they would treat him so callously. 

“Not the kind you’re thinking, sweetie. Um…I’m still not very good at it, but I’ve been working on a technique with Gale.”

“Ugh, Gale again?!”

Miss Fortune elected to ignore that. “It’s like going on a journey in your mind. It works best if you get comfortable first. I like to lie down. And then you close your eyes and picture the things I say while you breathe slowly—or don’t breathe at all I guess? Whatever works best for your body. What do you think, Star? Will you go on a little journey with me?”

Miss Fortune felt another pang in their chest as they watched him try to search for a witty retort and come up empty. “All right…” he sighed in defeat. 

“You get comfy Star, I just need to clean up a little mess I made earlier. Voco!” Working together with the Mage Hand they conjured, Miss Fortune grabbed a rag from the floor and had the glass and spilled wine cleaned up in no time. They had to wave off looks of concern from their friends when they saw the rogue slipping out of Astarion’s tent with a spectral hand full of broken glass.

“Just a little mishap,” they mumbled. 

“You boys really get into the moment, don’tcha?” Karlach said with no small amount of envy in her voice.

Use the cocky mask. Don’t let on that anything other than passionate fucking was going on in that tent, they told themselves. 

“Ungh, can you blame me?” They gushed, the picture of a lovesick fool. A look that was embarrassingly easy to conjure these days. “I mean, just look at him, he’s perfect! It’s hard not to get carried away when he puts his incredible c—”

“Down girl,” Shadowheart cackled. Thinking she was talking to him, Scratch whined at her feet. “Not you, Scratchy poo! The hornball love monster over there.”

“Hey, Karlach started it! Don’t start anything you’re not prepared to see through to the end,” Miss Fortune defended themselves. They took a step outside the camp opening and tossed the glass off into the distance before dismissing the Mage Hand. 

“Just look at him, he’s perfect?” Astarion snarled with disgust from where he lay on his bedroll, one crimson eye cracked open, when they returned. 

Shit. They’d momentarily forgotten that Gale’s charms only blocked sound in one direction. 

“I was putting on a performance since I imagine you wouldn’t want anyone knowing what’s actually going on in here?” Astarion shook his head no. “That’s what I thought. Now where do you want me, love? Still no touching?”

Astarion hesitated, tensed. “Honesty please. I won’t be upset.”

“…still no touching. Your…your body heat is painful when I’m like this. But close by. Next to me. Please.”

Once Miss Fortune was seated they took a few deep breaths while they gazed at Astarion. He didn’t look as bad as he did when they first found him but it wouldn’t take much to improve upon that sorry state. He still looked wrecked; pale even for him, and his face was drawn tight in anguish. How they wished they could smooth his brow and siphon his worries away, but Miss Fortune had a feeling Astarion’s sorrows ran so deep they would drown in them. So instead they shifted focus: what kind of journey should they go on? Their mind immediately jumped to an answer. It was embarrassing, but they couldn’t think of anything else. 

“Um, Star, I have a journey in mind for us. I hope you won’t mind me taking some…liberties. I don’t really have any pleasant memories I can use since I imagine you wouldn’t appreciate picturing yourself in bed with my dead ex-lover, heh. Hells, I don’t even want to imagine that anymore.” Astarion’s derisive snort confirmed it. “So this is a future scenario that…that makes me happy to think about. I hope you’ll like it…”

And with that, Miss Fortune closed their eyes too and began narrating the scenario in a quiet, soothing murmur.

“Our adventure is over and we have won. Cazador is dead, I’m free of my debt, and the cult of the Absolute is no more. Most of our companions have scattered, but Gale…Gale has offered to let you and me stay in his tower for a bit while we figure out our next steps. 

“The three of us pool our resources to buy a carriage for the journey; we all take turns driving and you are able to stay safe and secure inside the carriage during the day. All of your needs are met because you deserve nothing less.

“Our journey to Waterdeep takes several days but is otherwise uneventful. Whenever we take breaks to stretch our legs or hunt, conversation flows easily and we all feel comfortable together after all we’ve been through. Whether you choose to take your trance alone or not, your rest comes easily and is undisturbed. 

“Gale’s tower is spacious and well-kept when we arrive. It appears that Tara was able to hire the appropriate help while Gale was away to keep everything in order. There’s a separate entrance on the guest floor, which Gale takes us through. He shows us to our…I don’t want to be presumptuous, Star, so I’m going to say he shows us to our rooms. You can picture it however you want though, a single shared room or separate ones.”

Miss Fortune cleared the lump that formed in their throat. For their own mental image, they were sharing a room. They could only hope…

“Tara will no doubt commandeer Gale’s attention for a while yet so we’re left to our own devices to unpack our belongings and change out of our travel clothes. There’s a little common area outside of the guest rooms that is overflowing with comfortable seating, a fireplace, and a few bookshelves of course. Gale’s tower is bursting with books of every type on every floor, enough that you could probably read for at least a year straight and not have to repeat a book. And best of all there are no windows on this level of the tower; it is underground. So you can pass the time here any time of day without worry. 

“We settle in and we are safe, we are entertained, and we are comfortable. For once in our lives our every need is met. He even has a local butcher begin delivering blood to the tower daily. Gale tells us there’s no rush to figure out our next steps, so there’s no pressure to move on before we’re ready. During the day we pass our time reading, sparring, perhaps trying to win Tara over so she’ll grant us access to her special reserve of first edition novels. And once the sun sets we’ll have the chance to explore the splendors of Waterdeep. 

“Take your time to fill in whatever specifics for this scenario you want. Whatever will make you feel happy, safe, and fulfilled. There’s no rush so spend as much or as little time as you want on this mental journey. But when you’re ready to come back, slowly work into the present moment by wiggling your fingers and toes, and then opening your eyes…”

Miss Fortune opened their eyes as soon as they stopped speaking. It was better that way. No need to let their mind run rampant imagining a future with Astarion right now; they’d probably wind up getting emotional or making some ridiculous face right when Astarion opened his eyes. And besides, they had a rare opportunity before them to stare at him as long as they wanted and he’d be none the wiser. That is, unless his vampiric senses could somehow feel their retinas boring into him.

Already the lines waving across Astarion’s brow were less severe and his eyebrows had gone dormant, neither raised nor furrowed. Those kissable lips were parted, but only just. As Miss Fortune continued to study his face they noted the journey his deep blue veins took, so starkly visible due to his striking pallor. Tranquility spread in their chest and across their shoulders the more they gazed upon him. They were captivated; this was a face they never wanted to forget, and so they lost themselves in committing every line and pore to memory.

By the time they had exhausted themselves poring over every bit of his angular face the half-elf’s eyes traveled up to his hair and began tracing each curl with their eyes as if wandering through a labyrinth in the center of which lay the key to their happiness—or their destruction. Hells, he was really it for them, they realized. It was Astarion or it was no one. Were they a different kind of person this might have been the point where they started waxing poetic about star-crossed lovers or whatever other fairytale drivel happy people liked to spout.

But despite the name they had chosen for themselves, Miss Fortune didn’t put much stock in luck or fate. Doing so would require them to reconcile the fact that fate had somehow cursed them at birth because they could think of no other explanation for why they’d been made to suffer as they had. No, Miss Fortune believed in making their own luck; even if that meant a bit of cheating from time to time. Losing Carlo had taught them that. 

His death had been the catalyst they needed to start making moves to escape the brothel once and for all. But escaping had only been the first step. Their spirit had made it out of there broken and battered and they’d had to fight so hard to survive in the larger world that they hardly had time to stop the emotional hemorrhaging. For so long they hadn’t even thought they were worth their own effort. And yet meeting Astarion, getting to know him, trying—and failing—not to fall for him made them want to do better. To be better. 

I don’t even know if he feels the same way, though. What if I put in all this effort only for him to crush me under his boot? This man has the power to ruin me…

“See something you like?” Astarion interrupted their thoughts. He looked better, calmer. His eyes held far less pain than they had when Miss Fortune found him. In fact, a softer emotion seemed to emanate from him, one the half-elf couldn’t name. 

“When I’m looking at you? Always,” they flirted. Their cheeks suddenly felt hot and they cursed themselves silently for being so foolish as to blush. “Did that help at all?”

“His voice is still so loud, little bird. But it’s not deafening anymore. I can hear other things again. I can hear…you. Thank you. I may not have appreciated your meddling at first but I’m glad you stayed.”

A smile spread across Miss Fortune’s face despite their best efforts to control it. “I’m just glad I could help. Fancy some supper?”

“Sounds delightful, my sweet.”

Supper was an interesting affair with Miss Fortune popping rations into their mouth with one hand while Astarion fed from the other wrist. But it worked somehow, and the blood seemed to further help him calm down. Once they had both finished and Miss Fortune restored their strength using the amulet they turned to him, uncertainty tugging their mouth into a slight frown.

“What is it, darling?”

“Do you…want to be alone? Should I leave?”

“Only if you want to,” came his reply. His face was neutral and unreadable.

So they were back to that again. Neither of them wanting to show their hand. Miss Fortune found themselves frozen to the spot, their frown deepening and hurt growing in their chest like a rose bush that was all thorns and no flowers. Was it so hard for him to simply ask them to stay? They began turning towards the exit. 

“I’m hearing that as a no. Which is perfectly fine, Star. I’ll see y—“

“No, I…I’d like it if you stayed,” Astarion mumbled without making eye contact. 

Miss Fortune paused, turning to look at him. They saw sincerity in his eyes, the firm set of his jaw, and their own expression softened once more. 

“I’ll be back shortly then. I’m gonna wash off my makeup and make some tea, then I’ll be back over with my bedroll.”

“Why?”

A groan of frustration escaped the half-elf’s throat involuntarily. “You asked me not to touch you, love. Hard to honor that witho—“

“That was before, when I was…indisposed, shall we say. I’m ready to be touched again.”

“Well in that case just makeup and tea, then. But first…I hope you won’t mind if I make the ruse a bit more realistic.”

Miss Fortune half-untucked their shirt and undid the top laces on their trousers before mussing up their bun a bit and smearing their makeup. As a final touch they went over to where they knew Astarion kept his perfume and rubbed a scant dot along their collarbones before wiping the remnants off on their shirt and trousers. Astarion’s wry smile was enough to tell them they’d done a sufficient job in making themselves look bedraggled. On their way out they widened their gait just enough to look as if they were trying to hide being bow-legged. 

Lo and behold nobody bothered them on their walk back to their tent, although Halsin did shoot them an appreciative, lusty smile while they were making tea in their “Drider Rider” mug. Something told them the druid likely conjured their visage in his mind theater when he touched himself at night—and that a normal person probably would have been more upset than they felt. But then again, their sense of propriety and boundaries had yet to hatch and so they smiled back in as neutral a way as possible before returning to Astarion’s tent. 

“Welcome home, darling,” Astarion purred in his bedroom voice once the tent flap dropped behind them. He’d assumed a laidback pose that had seduction etched into every angle.

“No.” Miss Fortune said simply but firmly as they glided down to sit beside him.

“No? What do you mean ‘No?’” Confusion and irritation competed for the starring role on the stage of his face. 

“You just got through a worried mind episode, I know you’re not in a space to seduce me right now.” Miss Fortune sighed. “I don’t know who I am underneath all my masks but I’m trying not to wear them around you when it’s just us. I’d like it if you did the same. If you’re comfortable.”

“What, you don’t like the sexy vampire schtick? Everyone loves a sexy vampire,” he pouted playfully, but there was a hurt in his eyes that betrayed his true feelings. They got the feeling he didn’t enjoy being objectified; they didn’t either.

“I like…you. Just…you. The fact that you’re a vampire is irrelevant. And I like you best when you are genuine.” They reached a tentative hand out aimed at his cheek. When Astarion brought his own hand up to grab theirs they thought he meant to swat it away; but instead he grasped it and brought it to his cheek himself. Miss Fortune all but melted.

“Nobody likes me when I’m genuine, little bird,” he said mournfully. 

“Guess I’m nobody then.”

Watery eyes stared back at the half-elf while the vampire let their words sink in but he made no move to reply or to relinquish their hand. It wasn’t until Miss Fortune was nearly done with their tea that Astarion spoke again, startling them out of their zoned out state.

“Just so you know, I pictured a single room. In Gale’s tower…With one big, comfy bed. Silk sheets.”

Hope fluttered in their chest, tingly and warm. They took one last deep swig of their tea before setting the mug down beside them. “Me too,” they admitted with a shy smile. 

“Your heartbeat. I need it.” A pair of open arms invited them into Astarion’s bedroll and they scrambled into them wordlessly, nuzzling into his tepid but firm embrace. It didn’t take long at all for Astarion’s ear to rest in the center of their chest and they thought, not for the first time, that there was nowhere else they’d rather spend an evening.

Chapter Text

It was impossible to slip out unnoticed in the mornings when your elven lover finished his trance hours before you awoke. Which was unfortunate because this was one of those mornings Miss Fortune woke up feeling raw and vulnerable. Everything about them felt wrong and they didn’t want to talk about it, not so soon after Astarion had needed them to support him. In lieu of being able to slip out of Astarion’s bedroll while he slept, they instead pretended to still be asleep so they could think through their feelings on the sly.

“I can hear your heartbeat quicken you know, darling,” Astarion teased. His cold lips brushed against Miss Fortune’s neck and a hand slid up under their shirt to graze their stomach. “Good morning.”

“Um, good morning.” Self-loathing squirmed within them. Kindness was painful today and every gentle touch only served to further discomfit them. Miss Fortune would have been more at ease if Astarion had tormented them with a wake-up prank instead of caressing them tenderly. 

They weren’t supposed to be here. They’d overstayed their welcome. The crisis of Astarion’s worried mind episode was over and he didn’t need them anymore, so it was time to go before he remembered he’d been meaning to break things off with them.

Tomorrow…I’ll be brave enough to give him a chance to end things tomorrow, they lied to themselves. The same lie they’d been telling every morning after they spent the night together. Just one last kiss and I’ll be off.

“Always in such a rush to leave in the mornings,” Astarion continued teasing them after their lips separated. “Does my bed head scare you that much?”

“I love your bed head—and I love your ‘bed head’ too,” the half-elf blurted out in their own sorry attempt at a joke. “My beauty just isn’t as natural and effortless as yours is; it takes time to look as good as I do—and before you tease me about charming zombies again, I do it for me.”

The anxiety that had plagued Astarion last night was far enough beneath the surface that he was silly and warm. He put in a solid effort to make it as difficult as possible for Miss Fortune to escape his embrace, and while his arms required some minor contortion to escape from, it was his affectionate mood that nearly snared the half-elf. But no. They had to go before they ruined everything.

Back in the solitude of their own tent, Miss Fortune let out huge sighs at their reflection in the mirror of their makeshift vanity while they twisted and turned to regard every angle of their nude body, pinching and prodding with distaste. They were putting on weight. The fact that it was mostly muscle was irrelevant; they had never been this large before. It had been convenient to ignore that fact up until now, but reality caught up with them when they realized while undressing that their shirt had become snug at the shoulders and their trousers weren’t as loose in the legs. 

The Madam would starve me for a tenday if she ever saw me like this. She’d make sure I knew how disgusting I looked and remind me that no man would ever want me unless I were tiny and fragile.

But just as they began to hear the Madam’s voice echoing in their skull other thoughts moved in to muddle her message. 

Halsin’s always looking at me with heat in his eyes and Astarion hasn’t made any disparaging remarks when I’ve changed in front of him or when we’ve had sex. I…I wonder if her comments had more to do with keeping me weak and docile than what men like? After all, the other guy at the brothel was huge. …Do I like myself better this way? What a novel question.

Miss Fortune shook their head to clear it; they’d have to explore this line of thought later. With one last curious glance backwards flexing their glutes in the mirror—maybe these developments weren’t all bad—they began to don their underclothes and leathers for the day. They’d just finished lacing up their leather trousers when they heard Astarion cry out.

“All right, which one of you did this?” he exclaimed. 

A protective growl rumbled up from deep in Miss Fortune’s belly, their fingers flying faster in a bid to finish suiting up before rushing to the vampire’s defense. After all, dashing out shirtless would just make them look over-eager and foolish. But if someone was messing with Astarion there would be hell to pay.

“What the—“ Miss Fortune’s possessive ire died in their throat a split moment after they burst out of their tent and saw Astarion by the provisions table holding up a small jar of blood. 

Shadowheart stood before Astarion, arms crossed and back to Miss Fortune. “We all agreed we wouldn’t say who it’s from,” her voice dripped with smug satisfaction. “That way you don’t feel beholden to anyone in particular. It’s not much but we’ll all pitch in when we can.”

Wyll walked over to clap a hand on Miss Fortune’s shoulder. “After all, we can’t let our leader be the only one feeding you or you’ll drink them dry.” His tone sounded sincere, so Miss Fortune decided to give him the benefit of the doubt that he wasn’t attempting to guilt trip Astarion with that comment.

“Oh. Well! Your contributions are most appreciated, I assure you all.” Astarion began to look somewhat constipated with emotion for a split moment before the mask slid on and his features warped into something more egotistical. “Better to offer it up than let me get hungry enough to give in to temptation, I imagine.”

“We all should have what we need to fight our best,” Lae’zel interjected. “Our blades and instincts cannot afford to miss here.”

She was trying to hide it, but from Miss Fortune’s vantage point they noticed a small, fresh bandage on her wrist. It seemed Lae’zel was the first donor. They thought that showed a rather admirable growth in her character; the Lae’zel they met on the nautiloid would have just let Astarion starve without remorse. Their companions were beginning to accept Astarion, and it meant the world to them. And yet…Miss Fortune retreated to their tent as quickly as they’d left it so no one would see them overcome with emotion. 

Now he’ll need you even less, those hateful thoughts poked and prodded. You’re not special. Everyone has blood.

“Don’t even go there, darling,” Astarion warned after they’d been wallowing a few minutes. The pity party had been so loud in their mind that they hadn’t even heard him enter. Miss Fortune turned with a jolt; they’d been midway to putting on their belt with their daggers and pouches. Astarion double-tapped their enchanted lanceboard piece by the entrance for privacy and stalked towards them. “I saw the face you made out there, subtle as it was. You looked like a bride who got left at the altar. Quite adorable, really. And incorrect.”

By the time he was done speaking Astarion had backed Miss Fortune up against their vanity. He wedged a leg between theirs and pulled them in close with a gloved hand around their waist. Once he had them where he wanted them, he whispered in their ear. 

“Remember what I told you in the beginning, my love? I am a man of tremendous appetites, and I’m afraid my appetite for you has grown positively insatiable. Now be a good pet and repeat after me: I am one hot bitch. Just like you used to hype yourself up at the brothel.” He nibbled on their pointed ear, sending shivers up and down their spine. 

“…Star…” they whined. They didn’t feel like a hot bitch today, or even a lukewarm mutt. They felt more like a bloated goat. 

“Say it, darling.” His voice dipped into bedroom mode as he growled against their neck in a way that made Miss Fortune’s legs nearly give out from the heady intoxication of his nearness. 

“I’ve…I’ve put on weight since leaving the brothel.”

“Which you desperately needed to do, darling, you were practically a corpse. It’s nearly all muscle anyway—and you need your strength if we’re going to stand a chance against Cazador. We don’t have time for me to bend you over and show you just how sexy you are…” his hand waltzed downwards to brazenly squeeze their ass. “…so I’m going to need you to put on your finest facade and fake it for now. Say it. Tell me what a hot bitch you are.”

“…I’m a hot bitch.”

Astarion wedged his leg a little further between theirs and leaned in to kiss them, his tongue slipping inside their mouth for a few teasing moments before he pulled away with an impish smirk and a glimmer in his ruby eyes. The taste of Lae’zel’s blood lingered faintly on his tongue; it didn’t taste any different to them than their own, so it didn’t bother them. “Again. Like you mean it.”

Miss Fortune closed their eyes a moment, both because they felt a little dizzy from the kiss and so they could get into character. When they opened them again they composed their face into the picture of a happy, confident leader. “I’m one hot bitch, sweetie. And don’t you forget it.” The half-elf reached around to squeeze Astarion’s ass as well and kissed his neck.

“There’s my delightful menace! Now let’s go.  We’ve got a date with some Harpers.”

“Let’s get this over with. And Star? We shouldn’t use the thieves’ cant around them. They’re not very friendly to the Guild and I wouldn’t be surprised if they knew the signs. But if you see an opportunity to split off from the group to snoop around, you should. Harper hideouts are usually bursting with secrets. I’ll try to keep their focus on me.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard for a person of your talents. Give me your best ‘I want to kiss Astarion’ face when you want me to slip away and I’ll disappear.”

The Last Light Inn would have been more aptly named Last Leg Inn for how dilapidated it was. Miss Fortune would be lying if they said they weren’t disappointed; they had been clinging to a small hope of finding clean rooms, hot food, and—most importantly—a steaming bath. But instead they were greeted by yet another victim of time and the curse; there were only a couple rooms with a solid roof overhead and everyone camping there was eating the same tired rations the companions were. Certainly not enough intact rooms for Miss Fortune and their crew to stay in, even if they crowded themselves. And while there were a couple bath tubs, they appeared to be powered by druids and thus used sparingly. 

It wasn’t all bad, however. The respite from the curse was certainly lovely. Miss Fortune felt like they were able to take the first full breath in days once they’d crossed the threshold into its protective barrier. They could take or leave the skeptical welcome they received from the High Harper Jaheira, however. Suspicious that the group were Absolute cultists intent on infiltrating the inn, she ensnared Miss Fortune in magical vines to interrogate them, a tadpole trapped in a jar held out in their direction so it could detect the parasite burrowed within their brain matter. 

Had it not been for Mol, the tiefling kid who headed up the budding cabal of child thieves, their journey might have ended right there. But she’d vouched for them, and Jaheira relented with a grimace. Miss Fortune did not miss an opportunity to shoot Astarion a pointed ‘I told you so’ look. Helping people was a common point of contention between the rogues, but here they had a shining example of how scratching someone else’s back could result in getting yours scratched in return. 

If only Mol’s glowing recommendation had allayed all of Jaheira’s suspicions. Miss Fortune currently found themselves staring her down from across a table, a goblet of wine laced with truth-telling poison in hand. Neither of them spoke a word. Miss Fortune noted the tension in the elder half-elf’s shoulders; she had tried and failed to get them to drink several times now while they each pretended to enjoy idle chit-chat. 

Having noticed all the other Harpers in the room focused on them, Miss Fortune shot Astarion the signal he set—their best ‘I want to kiss you’ face—and he all but disappeared inside the inn’s dappled lighting. They hoped he found some good contraband while they distracted the spy faction. 

“You know as well as I do, Jaheira, why I’m not drinking this wine. I could smell Klauthgrass anywhere. If you want to work together you’re going to have to trust me.”

“I didn’t get to my ripe old age by trusting every grinning fox with a pretty face that pops in to say hello. I live by the saying ‘trust, but verify.’ If my own mother told me she loved me, I’d still investigate to prove it.”

Oh, Miss Fortune liked her. Shrewd, calculating, great sense of humor. Not bad for a Harper. But instead of rewarding her with the smile they desperately wished to give they steeled their face to remain neutral save for the slightest upward quirk of the corner of their mouth.

“An admirable ideal to live by, High Harper, but desperate times call for us to relax our standards. After all, what choice do you have but to trust me? None of your Harpers can infiltrate Moonrise Towers like my companions and I can. They’d be captured or killed the moment those cultists realized they lacked a certain unwelcome guest in their skulls. We need each other, admit it.”

“Tch. I hate that you’re right, Miss Fortune. But I’ll drink to your name anyhow because we sure could use some good fortune right now and if you’re half as good as you say you are then you’re everything we’ve been waiting for.”

“Oh my gods, is the legendary Jaheira flirting with me right now?” Miss Fortune teased, tucking an invisible strand of hair behind their ear while they looked her up and down, shifting their weight to one leg so their hip popped. 

The High Harper barked out a raucous laugh and slapped her thigh, effectively disintegrating the tension that had been lingering. They noticed the Harpers around the inn shift their attention elsewhere and begin milling about again, and behind them Karlach and Wyll joined in on the laughter. 

“I most certainly was not, young cub. But I think we’re going to get along just fine. Now go on upstairs, you’ll find Isobel there. She’s our shining beacon of hope, the reason we’ve survived this long out here. She’ll give you a way to traverse through the curse.”

“Ugh, if we must!” Shadowheart lamented with a scowl and a defiant cross of her arms across her chest. 

“Hush up, Shaddy,” Karlach admonished. “You can put up with a little moon magic if it means safe travels, yeah?”

As if on cue, Astarion popped back into view looking for all the world like he’d merely gotten bored listening to the diplomatic volley between the two leaders. There was a frenetic energy to his aura, however. When Miss Fortune turned questioning eyes in his direction he raised his eyebrows and then jerked his head in the direction of the room behind them. 

Raphael. What in the hells was that devil doing here?! He was playing a game of lanceboard with Mol, but that didn’t explain why he had come here to begin with. There was no chance this was merely a social visit. 

“Excuse us, Jaheira. There’s an old acquaintance we ought to say hello to,” Miss Fortune said with a grumble, leaving the poisoned wine chalice on the table when they turned to take their leave. 

After a quick huddle, the companions agreed to split up for a short while; Raphael wasn’t the only person Astarion had spotted on his walkabout that they needed to converse with. Miss Fortune, Astarion, and Gale would see what the devil wanted; Wyll, Halsin, and Lae’zel would speak with Counselor Florrick and the Flaming Fists from the city; and Karlach and Shadowheart would make the rounds checking in on the tiefling refugees who had made it to the inn. The group would reconvene at the bar after everyone was done so they could all receive the protective spell from Isobel upstairs. 

Mol and Raphael were trading lighthearted banter when Miss Fortune approached flanked by Astarion and Gale. While not an expert by any means, the half-elf had learned how to play lanceboard as part of their training at the brothel and at a glance Mol was poised to lose. There was a fierce gleam of determination in the eye that wasn’t covered by the bandage she always wore and she asked them for advice on her next move. 

Gale, ever the erudite scholar eager to show off his smarts, jumped in quickly. “He’s laid a fine trap for you, Mol. But it looks to me like his Cyric could be dethroned,” the wizard said confidently. 

The layout of the board didn’t inspire as much confidence in Mjss Fortune. Approaching the board and leaning down to inspect it closer, they jostled the board “by accident” and caused a few pieces to topple over and away from where they were. 

“Oh gosh, it’s been so long since I’ve played, I was trying to get a closer look and look what happened! Here, I think this is where everything was before my clumsiness,” Miss Fortune put on their best performance while moving a few pieces to be more favorable for Mol. 

They didn’t think they’d fooled anyone but before someone could comment Mol seized the moment and handed Raphael a swift defeat. The devil and tiefling exchanged a few more words before Raphael turned his attentions back to the companions, his usual smarmy grin decorating his face. He was a handsome devil, Miss Fortune would give him that. But they’d trust the plea of innocence from someone covered in blood standing over a corpse with a weapon in their hand before they’d trust the cambion.

“Let’s cut to the chase: why are you here, Raphael? And what do you want with Mol?” Miss Fortune crossed their arms across their chest. To either side of them Gale and Astarion each assumed their version of an imposing stance, Gale leaning heavily on his staff while Astarion bounced nimbly on the balls of his feet, his eyebrows arched in a promise of mischief.

“Oh, don’t you worry about Mol,” Raphael crooned, holding his arms out wide in a charming gesture. As if he were welcoming them into his feast hall again. “She still has the unconditional freedom to choose the only option she has left. But enough about her. I want to talk about you.”

The cambion’s finger wasn’t pointing at Miss Fortune; he was addressing…Astarion? The vampire looked about as confused as they felt. 

“What about me, devil?” Astarion demanded. 

“I sense there’s something you want to ask me.” The intensity of Raphael’s smugness crept up another two notches. Funny, Miss Fortune thought he’d already been at peak smugness. They were beginning to wonder if he had a limit. 

“…I do. I have a…proposal for you,” Astarion admitted hesitantly. 

Their eyes met briefly and suddenly Miss Fortune understood. Of course. Who else do we have access to who could read Astarion’s scars better than my Comprehend Languages spell was able to? The half-elf nodded their approval. Not that he needed it, but they hoped it would lend him some extra confidence. They also hoped Raphael’s price wouldn’t be too damning. 

After a bit more banter—Raphael did so enjoy toying with his prey—Astarion was able to get to the heart of the matter. With a tremor of anger in his voice he described the scars on his back and explained that they were a part of a bigger contract, that he wanted to know what the full contract said. 

When Raphael made like he was about to continue toying with their lover, Miss Fortune decided to jump in.

“Wow, sounds like perhaps your skills aren’t up for the challenge, then? Why else would you be reluctant to strike a deal?”

“Merely having a little fun, dear, you’re so impatient! It is something very important to your master. But is it a love letter, a warning, or a deed of ownership? I could give you all the gory details. But of course you’ll have to do something for me first! Let me think about it and get back to you.” 

A malicious smile spread wide across his face and the brimstone glow in his brown eyes crackled with ill-intent, sending a shiver up Miss Fortune’s spine. Astarion was playing a dangerous game; they only hoped that as a group they’d be able to win. Astarion didn’t seem to have the same reservations, however. He sputtered in agitation, his hands gesturing sharply when he spoke.

“You’ll get back to me?! This is important, devil!” He sighed, the picture of a sulky child—not that Miss Fortune could blame him. “When?”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry, I’m motivated to help you! Scars often tell such wonderful stories and I think yours might be truly exquisite. I’ll see you soon, little vampling.” And then he was gone, vanishing in a puff of smoke that left behind the scent of cherries, musk, and sulphur.

“I had no idea you carried such a burden on your back, Astarion,” Gale said once they’d all had a few moments to process what had just happened. “For what it’s worth, I am deeply sorry that happened to you. I know all too well the cruelty of an uncaring master—or mistress, in my case.”

“Ugh. Thank you, Gale,” Astarion frowned, though his irritation didn’t seem directed at the wizard. 

“Gale, might Astarion and I have a private word?” Miss Fortune asked, grasping the wizard’s shoulder and glancing at him with apologetic eyes. 

“By all means, of course! I’ll go see what Wyll and his group are up to.” The wizard patted Miss Fortune’s shoulder fondly on his way out. 

Miss Fortune sat on the desk in the corner of the room, dangling their legs back and forth while they regarded their lover. Astarion appeared deep in thought, the air of annoyance still apparent in the slump of his shoulders and scowl on his face. He sauntered over to Miss Fortune anyhow.

“Copper for your thoughts, love?” The half-elf broached cautiously. 

“I’d rather hear yours first,” came his curt reply. 

“…I understand why you seek to strike a deal with him. He’s probably the best chance you’ve got at understanding exactly what’s on your back short of marching up to Cazador and demanding answers. I just hope his price won’t be too steep. I don’t trust him.”

Astarion seemed to relax once they’d reassured him that they weren’t angry. Did their opinion truly matter that much to him? Miss Fortune watched as he shook the tension out of his body and prowled closer, eyes darkening with a promise of promiscuity. He slid between their legs and grasped their chin in his hand, tilting their face upwards. 

Their stomach did a flip in excitement, and they closed their eyes as his lips descended towards theirs. And yet, no kiss came. Opening their eyes in confusion, Astarion stared back at them with teasing amusement. He lingered a few moments longer until, just when Miss Fortune let out a quiet whimper of frustration thinking he planned to evacuate his plan, Astarion claimed their mouth in one swift movement. The kiss was heated but over too soon, leaving Miss Fortune gasping and yearning for more. 

“I don’t trust him either, darling,” Astarion finally replied, brushing his front against them as his hands reached out to cradle their head gently in his hands, thumbs rubbing their earlobes in a way that scrambled their brain. “But it’s as you said: what choice do I have? He’ll use me, I’ll use him, and we’ll both get something out of the deal. Thank you…for supporting me.”

Unable to help themselves, Miss Fortune grabbed the vampire’s rump and proceeded to knead each cheek rhythmically. “Always, Astarion. I want you to get the answers you seek.”

Footsteps began to approach their little corner of the inn before halting and retreating. People were so predictable; it was easy to get a private word in even in crowded places if only you acted horny enough that they were too uncomfortable to interrupt.

Astarion cleared his throat. His  worried expression betrayed his concern for them, which only served as a crowbar trying to wedge its way under the mask they’d donned for the day. They were desperately clinging to it and it already felt as if it were riddled with cracks.

“How are you feeling, darling? You were a bit rough around the edges this morning.”

“Please don’t ask until we’re home,” they murmured. The pain in the vampire’s eyes threatened to further pry off their disguise. “It’s easier to stay in character if I don’t allow myself to think about my feelings at all. I need the distance. Find anything else I should be aware of immediately?” Miss Fortune changed the subject.

Astarion regarded them with amusement. “I think there’s someone you’ll want to meet right behind you, darling. Might even help your mood.”

Gooseflesh prickled and pinched all along their arms and neck. Someone was behind them and they hadn’t even noticed? Miss Fortune jerked their neck behind them so fast it protested with a twinge but there was no one behind them. 

As if sensing their confusion, Astarion chuckled derisively. “Look down, little bird.”

Miss Fortune craned their neck down and oh gods, there he was. Just waking up from a nap it seemed, he stretched with his butt bared to the heavens, naked as the day he was born and mouth spread wide in a huge yawn. It was a hairless sphynx cat, and when he finished yawning his clear blue eyes regarded the half-elf haughtily. 

“Look at you, sweet boy!” Miss Fortune cooed. 

The sphynx’s face curled into an irate scowl and he hissed, ears pinned back against his head and one paw raised in warning. Miss Fortune was completely unfazed. They’d befriended plenty of strays, luring them up onto the balcony that was their only outdoor respite in the years they’d lost outside privileges. It was amazing what bits of fish, bowls of milk, and endless sweet-voiced praise could accomplish. This sphynx would be theirs. After all, everyone else had Scratch; why couldn’t they have a pet, too?

“Astarion, if you love me you’ll get my pack,” they deadpanned, not wanting to let the majestic cat out of their sight. 

“I—I’ve never said I lo—” Astarion began to sputter.

“Figure of speech. Get. My. Pack. Please. ”

A hair-raising territorial growl rumbled up from deep within the sphynx when Miss Fortune’s pack landed on the desk with a heavy thump . The half-elf rifled through their belongings with all the glee and savagery of a sugared up child opening presents on Winter Solstice, letting out a quiet whoop of celebration when their fingers grasped the potion of Speak with Animals. Miss Fortune slammed the potion back so hard they nearly choked, but their eyes were already searching for the next item while they coughed and cleared their throat. There. All set.

“What in the hells are you—get up off that floor, you loon! There’s 100 years worth of cursed dust bunnies hopping around down there, you’ll catch your death if you inhale one.” Astarion’s voice was constipated with consternation, but Miss Fortune ignored him.

Laying flat on the creaking, half-rotted floorboards of the old inn, Miss Fortune propped their head up in one hand while the other snaked forward, a bit of smoked fish pinched between fingers trembling with excitement. The sphynx’s paw lashed out with deadly precision, leaving red weeping slashes on the half-elf’s hand and causing them to drop their offering.

“That’s close enough, leave it there,” the angry feline commanded.

“Whatever you say, you magnificent creature,” Miss Fortune said calmly. Funny how a little cat scratch barely registered on the pain scale when you had a vampire regularly savaging your neck and wrist at night.

“Why yes, yes I am magnificent. You aren’t half the imbecile I thought you were, it seems.”

“What are you doing, darling? The vicious little blighter scratched you, you’re bleeding!” Astarion bounced on the balls of his feet, no doubt battling the urges that had flared up from the scent of blood.

“Shhh…I’m gonna get me a kitty.”

“I thought you had no interest in pussy,” the vampire joked, but there was an undertone of annoyance in his voice. 

“I make exceptions for the four-legged kind. I know exactly what pleases them.”

“Hmm, yes, this one looks so very pleased right now.”

“Oh my gods just think of all the cute sweaters we can make for himmmm,” Miss Fortune wheedled before turning their attention back to the sphynx. 

“Do you have a name, precious one? How about a person, have you claimed a person yet?” Miss Fortune communicated in cat-speak, offering up another morsel of smoked fish. 

“His- mmfh- Majesty,” the cat said at last between bites of fish. “I claim no person but this territory is mine.”

“So you have no one to adore you and see that your every whim is met? How tragic,” Miss Fortune said wryly, army crawling just a little closer and holding out a finger for His Majesty to sniff. The cat emitted another low growl but did not scratch them again. Progress already! “Is this territory worth guarding? Or would your charitable, magnanimous self be willing to consider relocating?”

“I’m listening, two-legs, but I’d listen better with another offering. Do you know that Isabel lady is a rotten liar? She has promised me fresh milk, and yet my bowl remains empty.”

The half-elf offered up the rest of the fish. But when they reached a tentative hand toward His Majesty’s head they received five quick warning baps and quickly withdrew. No claws, though. They were going to succeed, they just knew it. 

“Picture this, my soon-to-be feline friend. Currently we are stuck in these same cursed lands, but we’ll be moving on to a big city after that. So in an immediate sense, here is what I can offer you: plenty of food; a smelly dog to bully and boss around as you see fit; a ring of tents you can roam through freely; nine people who will give you as much or as little attention as you want; no shortage of comfy places to sleep. We all just purchased some furs for our beds from the quartermaster too to combat the cold, so our beds will be extra fluffy.”

The cat made a sound a bit like a human’s scoff and when he paused in his attentions on the smoked fish he had this to say: “I have all of those save for the dog to use as a punching bag right here. Why should I move?”

“What are they doing?” Shadowheart asked Astarion in a hushed tone behind them.

“Trying to bring home a nasty, pale little cat who has already scratched them once and keeps threatening to bite them,” the vampire said sourly. “Honestly I’ve no idea why they’re so excited to take in another vicious stray.”

“Must be he reminds them of you,” the cleric snarked. 

“Ugh, excuse me?! I am much cuter than that overgrown rat!”

His Majesty snarled in annoyance, looking about ready to bolt. “Hiss! I say: HISS!”

“You are cuter, but do you two mind?” Miss  Fortune groaned. “I’m making progress here! Back up, you’re angering him.” The half-elf once again turned back to the sphinx, and when they spoke again to him they poured every ounce of honey they could muster into their words. 

“The crux of my deal lies in what comes after this place: a city bursting with all the rats and mice you could hunt for. I will have access to fresh milk and fresh fish for you every day. None of these smoked or cured offerings unless you want them. I submit myself to your benevolent reign and will adore you as you deserve to be adored, which includes as much affection as you demand as well as hand-sown clothing to keep you warm in cold months. I will see to it that you want for nothing. In return I get the privilege of your company and the opportunity to be owned by a most splendid creature. So… His Majesty. What do you say? Will you take the deal?”

His Majesty remained silent while he finished gnawing at the smoked fish until all that remained was bones. He proceeded to sit on his haunches and fell into a bathing pattern of licking the top of his paw and then swiping his face with his spittle-covered appendage. Just when Miss Fortune was about to interpret his silence as a no, his cerulean irises locked on theirs. “I accept, two-legs. I just need to wrap up some business here first and then I will follow you.”

A squeal of excitement ripped out of Miss Fortune momentarily before they brought themselves back under control. “I’m so glad you’ll be joining us! There’s just one more thing: see that white-haired elf behind me? I want him to become my mate. If all goes well for me on that front, you’ll need to convert him into a loyal subject as well. Will you turn your full and no-doubt considerable repertoire of charms on him so that he likes you too?”

Without another word His Majesty rubbed his temple against Miss Fortune’s hand and then sauntered over to shamelessly rub against Astarion’s legs with a loud purr. 

“What in the—darling, what did you say to him?!” Astarion demanded to know.

Dusting themselves off after they hopped back to their feet, Miss Fortune realized they had an audience; the rest of their companions had returned and silently watched them charm the regal, hairless cat. 

“Meet His Majesty, our new camp cat. I guess he sees a kindred spirit in you, Astarion,” Miss Fortune said with a smug grin that only widened at Astarion’s grumbling. Before they could tease him further, however, Karlach burst forth, sending His Majesty scampering off with a loud yowl of surprise. 

“Lady Luck, he’s here! Dammon made it! And he thought up a new solution. C’mon soldier, it’s time to fix my ticker and GET. MY. HUG!”

“Holy hells, yes!” Miss Fortune exclaimed, losing no time breaking into a trot towards the inn’s courtyard.

Chapter Text

His Majesty’s tail vibrated with excitement watching Miss Fortune lay out the furs they’d purchased for their tent, including a soft, pillowy patch of rabbit furs in the corner for the sphynx. 

“Most adequate, I do think,” His Majesty sniffed, coaxing a snicker out of the half-elf. With the Speak with Animals potion still in effect, they understood his every word. The hairless cat stood by the tent’s entrance, still looking uncertain about being so close to both Miss Fortune and Astarion, the latter of whom was nestled into one of the cushions mending Miss Fortune’s armor and underclothes, which had been shredded in several places earlier today.

“Merely adequate, His Majesty? And what could I do to take it from adequate to splendid?” Miss Fortune asked, their hands pausing in their efforts to arrange the rabbit furs just so in order to look at their new feisty feline friend. He had already given poor Scratch a slash across the nose by way of greeting, effectively ensuring the canine would give him a wide berth and earning Shadowheart’s protective ire.

“Oh, I imagine it would be quite splendid indeed if you took the rabbit furs and gave the woolly ram pelt to me.”

An involuntary guffaw rolled up from deep in Miss Fortune’s lungs. “Not a chance, scruffball! You want the ram pelt you can snuggle with me for it.”

“What’s so funny, darling?” Astarion demanded to know, looking quite sour to be left out of the conversation. Which had been by his own design, they’d reminded him several times already. Miss Fortune had offered up one of their Speak with Animals potions and he’d declined with a huff, stating that a cat couldn’t possibly have anything to say worth drinking a nasty potion to understand. 

“You two are so alike it’s uncanny,” the half-elf teased, hobbling over to him on their knees until they knelt between his legs, their hands gripping his thighs. Lascivious thoughts danced in their eyes as they peered up at their lover only to be swallowed moments later by the loathing they’d been carrying inside them all day. “Demanding all my best belongings, making me bleed, being more adorable than anyone has a right to be…it’s no wonder I adore him already.” 

Despite the teasing tone, their chest muscles were pulled tighter than the skin of a drumhead. Astarion stopped sewing and set the undershirt aside. Ruby eyes were darkened by brows downturned in concern spliced with a splash of annoyance. 

“You’re baiting me darling, I can tell. Well I won’t fall for it; Doctor Halsin has prescribed you some supervised rest after your reckless decision to take flight lessons from a cultist. Which I am still cross with you for, by the way!”

“Halsin’s just being a mother hen. Gale cast Feather Fall and I didn’t even hit my head! And how was I to know that winged freak would be able to carry both Isobel and me?! I figured my death grip on his wing would have grounded him.” 

Astarion took a moment to brush a hand over the many bandages covering the cuts and abrasions decorating Miss Fortune’s arms, chest, and face. His gentle touch tickled wherever there was bare skin, but rather than squirm Miss Fortune let the sensation roll over them, summoning gooseflesh wherever fingers trailed. 

The kindness still hurt; the clock was going to toll midnight on this relationship-that-wasn’t any moment now, and every affectionate gesture would be just another stone in their pockets dragging them to the bottom of the sea of their grief when Astarion finally worked up the nerve to leave them.

“Ahem,” His Majesty interrupted. Miss Fortune rested their head on Astarion’s thigh and turned their head to regard the cat. “You say you wish for this one to become your mate? Is he not already? His scent pervades your territory, two-legs. And you allow each other so close.”

“…No, he’s not,” the ache twisted tighter in their chest. “Not yet. We can mate without being mates. Two-legs have strange customs sometimes. We have to agree to be mates with our words,” Miss Fortune explained patiently. His Majesty merely scoffed and sauntered over to the rabbit pelts, where he laid down after walking in a circle three times and closed his eyes to nap. 

“Up here, darling,” Astarion called their attention back to him with an insistent finger beneath their chin. “You’re lucky Gale’s wits were quick or you and the cleric would have both been red smears on the ground. Had it been anyone else I almost would’ve relished seeing Withers’ face when we asked him to resurrect them. But you?” The vampire trailed off, face mired with conflict. 

The companions weren’t the only visitors Isobel had when they’d sought her protective blessing. A Flaming Fist named Marcus who had been tadpoled and controlled by the Absolute flew screeching onto the balcony on bony, feather-bare wings, intent on kidnapping the cleric. Without her magic every Harper, Flaming Fist, and refugee would be lost to the curse, converted into vengeful zombies. Which was precisely what The Absolute cultists wanted.

With angry shouts to warn the others below, the companions fiercely defended the cleric, but Marcus hadn’t come alone. Moments after Miss Fortune, Karlach, and Lae’zel had boxed him in, the horizon darkened with reinforcements. A few dozen winged horrors descended upon the inn with a cacophony of ear-splitting screeches, tearing into Harpers and Fists from above. The undead aberrations surrounding the companions lashed at Isobel with a singular focus and it wasn’t long before Halsin’s roar split the air in a warning that the cleric had fallen.

Marcus’s wings had snapped out from where they folded on his back, propelling the companions away so he could scoop up his unconscious quarry with blood-soaked hands. One of Astarion’s crossbow bolts glanced harmlessly off his pauldron with an impotent tink! There was no time left to think. Only enough time to react. 

Without considering the implications Miss Fortune had tackled Marcus, fixing a death grip on one of his wings and digging their heels into the floor to keep him grounded. Their trusty dagger glinted in the candlelight as the half-elf slashed across the base of the wing in a mad bid to hack it off. 

“It’ll take more than that to ground me, flightless little bird,” Marcus growled in annoyance. 

Miss Fortune’s stomach nearly dropped out of their body as their feet left the ground, both from the anxiety of being airborne and from Marcus’s coincidental use of Astarion’s nickname for them. The half-elf had flopped through the air as Marcus beat his wings in a bid to shake them off, but Miss Fortune managed to keep their grip with one hand while the other continued its frantic efforts to sever wing from back. 

“Darling, let go! Let him have the damned cleric!” Astarion had howled from the edge of the balcony. “You’ll fall to your death, you damned fool!”

A guttural scream had erupted from Miss Fortune’s lips when several of the winged horrors tore into their flesh with barbed talons, shredding through their armor and ripping into every bit left unguarded. So many lives depended on them to save Isobel. That sobering realization steadied their hands and rallied their determination, but they had lost so much blood so quickly their vision flickered. With one last push of sheer stubbornness their blade found purchase at just the right angle, slicing the wing clean off. The last thing they were aware of before they lost consciousness was the feeling of freefall. 

Astarion and Shadowheart had both been livid when they awoke, tearing into them with biting words about their recklessness while Halsin tended to their wounds with a gentle, affectionate smile. The cleric had used her magic reserves seeing to Isobel. 

It seemed Astarion was not prepared to let their selfless act go unpunished even now that they were back in the safety of Miss Fortune’s tent. 

“I don’t regret it,” the half-elf insisted. “We all need Isobel’s protection, and so does the inn. Without her we are stuck out here without allies, without a way to traverse the curse. You all could continue on without me, but not without her.”

“But what about me?!” Astarion lashed out, voice shrill and eyes dilating wide with fear. It was a good thing they’d turned on the silencing charm so nobody would have to overhear whatever argument they were about to have. 

“What about you, Star? You’d be fine. The others care enough for you to supply you with blood in this crypt-like wasteland, and I’m confident they’d help you with Cazador. Your survival doesn’t depend on me, okay? You’re going to be safe no matter what.”

A grinding sound emitted from Astarion’s jaw, clamped tight in anger now. And yet there was a helplessness in his eyes, a guilt etched in the creases on his forehead. Moments stretched between them as they stared, unblinking, into each other’s eyes. The vampire was the first to look away. He swallowed whatever words were threatening to spill from his mouth. 

“I’m glad you’re all right,” he relented with a sigh, his shoulders slumping and his hand falling away from their chin. “In time perhaps you’ll understand that you’re not some expendable pawn. You…you’re important. To me. To all of us.”

Miss Fortune’s mind may as well have cast Shield the way it rejected the words of support, refuting them instantly. But instead of letting him know how impossible it was to believe his encouragement they elected to wind their arms around his trim waist, laying their head in his lap so they could enjoy his nearness without continuing to wither under his concerned eye. 

“No response, hm? Fine. I know when to leave well enough alone,” he huffed. Rather than return the embrace Astarion simply resumed mending their clothes, the fabric draping over their head like a blanket. They closed their eyes and drifted between consciousness and unconsciousness.

“Knock knock,” Karlach called from outside after a spell. “Supper time, boys! And then don’t forget it’s group hug tiiiime!”

They heard her stomp away without waiting for an answer; by this point no one dared barge in on either Miss Fortune or Astarion’s tents when they were together, whether out of respect or fear of being mentally scarred to find them entangled with one another they weren’t sure. Probably a bit of both.

“Shall we?” Miss Fortune broached with a sigh, not wanting to let go of Astarion. They stood with a groan, swaying on their feet a bit once they were at their full height. The healing had been helpful but they were still sore and a bit woozy. 

Astarion stood moments later. The half-elf watched him dust himself off, turn towards the tent entrance, and then pause. With catlike movements so fast their eyes couldn’t follow, Astarion turned back and grasped them by the hips. He pulled them in for a needy kiss, claws digging into their flesh in a way meant to claim them. His nose pressed against theirs while their mouths connected, and with a desperate mewl he pulled them closer still.

Miss Fortune embraced his back, chasing his mouth when it retreated. Their lips joined his once more and their tongues intertwined in an emotional tangle. Moments later Astarion broke away long enough to bury his face in the crook of their neck and inhale their scent greedily, his fangs grazing their skin with a growl before he tore himself away and returned to hungrily devouring their mouth. 

The half-elf lost track of how long they stood there tangled up in one another but eventually the vampire pried his lips off of them and it still felt too soon. But when Miss Fortune tried to close the distance he instead rested his forehead against theirs. 

“You seem so eager to repeatedly make me think about what it would feel like to lose you,” Astarion breathed, his voice husky and desolate. He reached up with a trembling hand to thumb their lower lip, trailing it down to cup their chin.

“Does it make you think about what it would feel like to keep me, too? ‘Cuz I can’t stop thinking about it. I want you…to keep me,” Miss Fortune blurted out. Shit, I shouldn’t have said that.

“What, like a pet?” Astarion deflected with a tease, using his leverage on their hips to begin walking them backwards towards their bedroll.

“Mmm, sit in your lap all day so you can pet me until I purr? I can think of worse arrangements.” 

Miss Fortune felt a stirring in Astarion’s trousers that sent a shiver licking its way down their spine. The rogues hadn’t been intimate in a while, at least by their standards. They wanted him so badly. And yet…even with Isobel’s blessing the cursed lands weighed heavily on their mood. The long-overdue conversation they were convinced would result in Astarion leaving them didn’t help. The desire withered within them as quickly as it had bloomed. 

“We can’t do this right now, Star,” they protested when he began trying to lower them down onto the fluffy new ram pelt. “I should eat, and Karlach isn’t gonna let us off the hook from that hug.”

Hurt flared like fire in his crimson eyes. “You don’t want me? I—what’s wrong? I mean, it’s been a while since we…you know…” Astarion halted in his movements, instead moving a hand to the small of Miss Fortune’s back to steady them from falling backwards. 

“Of course I want you. I’m yours, remember?” But you’re not mine, their mind finished the thought. “Should you decide to spend the night, I look forward to snuggling up under this thick pelt until the warmth seeps deep into our skin, lulling us to sleep and trance.”

“Is that all you want?” A cocktail of emotions swirled within Astarion’s eyes, rendering Miss Fortune unable to tell what the right answer was. They decided to dodge yes or no entirely and go for the leg-sweep of a cheeky reply.

“Look, if you want to sit on my face so I can feast on you until sunrise like the exquisite delicacy that you are, you need only say so. But dinner first!”

“You cheeky little pup!” Astarion gasped, but they felt his arousal twitch against them at the suggestion. 

This was the perfect place to end the conversation and walk out, they realized with wicked satisfaction. It was perhaps the first time his desire eclipsed theirs and they wanted to go out on a high note, leave him aching for them. They heard the vampire muttering to himself while adjusting his trousers as they left, but he made no moves to pull them back to him.

Supper was a lively affair despite how close they’d come to being zombies earlier. But while Miss Fortune felt more subdued after taking the brunt of the beating, the others had plenty of energy left to recount the battle and their leader’s desperate feat of heroics between bites of rations and long swigs of wine. Astarion was for once silent; he was steadily drinking through the not one but five vials of blood that had been waiting for him at the provisions table—evidently the others truly wanted Miss Fortune to take it easy tonight. 

‘I won’t tell them you don’t really need that much blood if you don’t,’ Miss Fortune signed to Astarion with a wink.

The vampire winked back as he drew the last vial to his lips and drank, only for his entire face to crumple in on itself in disgust. Astarion exorcised the blood from his mouth like it was holy water, swearing profusely in Elvish. “What in the wretched hells?! GALE this must be yours, it smells like you—it is VILE, wizard, what is WRONG with you—I mean to say how are you still alive?! Good gods, man!” Astarion marched over to where Miss Fortune sat next to Karlach and swiped their wine, draining the goblet in one fell swoop to cleanse his palate.

“HEY!” Gale and Miss Fortune cried out in unison for wholly different reasons. 

Astarion pointed at Miss Fortune. “You hush because I’m refilling your cup,” he snipped as he stalked over to the provisions table. “And you—“ he pointed at Gale. “You hush because I’m the real victim here. Victim of an attempted poisoning!”

“Fangs protests too much, I’d say,” Karlach said with a slap of her knee. “Just be thankful you’re gettin’ a meal seeing as Lady Luck was drained dry by those nasty winged buggers earlier!”

“Karlach speaks true, Astarion,” Lae’zel agreed. “And while we’re on the topic: Miss Fortune, I cannot deny your method was steeped in madness but your mettle was unmatched today. I am proud to fight beside you,” Lae’zel praised. 

The half-elf felt their face igniting; that was exceedingly high praise coming from Lae’zel. They almost would have preferred she insult them or say nothing instead. 

“D’awww Lady Luck why’re ya getting embarrassed?! C’mere you goose.” Karlach swept the half-elf up into her arms, effectively plopping them down in her lap for a huge inferno of a hug. She was still impossibly hot but they weren’t getting burned, not really. Miss Fortune returned the hug, burying their face in her shoulder. 

Behind Karlach’s back Astarion simmered with thinly-veiled jealousy, tapping his foot impatiently with one hand on his hip and the other holding Miss Fortune’s newly filled goblet. Ever-alert, the barbarian reached out to try and sweep the vampire into her embrace as well but he flitted just out of reach.

“Oh no, no thank you. I’m not a hugger,” he sniffed. “Apparently just a butler waiting for his absentminded lord to get their face out of your bosom and take the wine they wanted.”

“If you join the hug I’ll gladly bury my face in your bosom instead, Astarion,” Miss Fortune teased, flashing him hungry eyes from over Karlach’s shoulder even as they reached out to take their wine.

“Tempting, but no,” the vampire said with a sniff, turning on his heel to leave. The way that pert ass snapped back and forth on his way back into their tent robbed them of reasonable thoughts until he was out of view.

“Well if Astarion won’t join, I will,” Halsin boomed, and soon Miss Fortune was sandwiched between two giants. Halsin’s arms completely enveloped Miss Fortune and still had enough wingspan for his hands to anchor around Karlach’s waist. “Oh Karlach, you’re warmer than a phoenix egg, how delightful.”

“Warmer than a phoenix egg, hmm? I’d better see for myself,” Shadowheart exclaimed, moving in to kneel behind Karlach to lay her head on her other shoulder, arms resting beneath Halsin’s.

“Ahhhhh guys I am screaming with joy inside!” Karlach practically screamed out loud. “This is the best day ever!!”

“Now that my orb’s stabilized I can engage in a friendly group hug without worries,” Gale chimed in, settling in beside Shadowheart. “Don’t mind if I do—oh, Halsin was not exaggerating, your body temperature is certainly quite elevated.”

“If it will help steel your mind in battle then I…I suppose I shall help you in making this memory,” Lae’zel conceded with a frown that didn’t look wholly convincing.

“And what better way to celebrate our enemies-to-friends redemption than with a celebratory hug?” Wyll asked, kneeling in front of Karlach and spreading his arms wide to grab onto whomever he could reach, which ended up being Halsin and Lae’zel.

Unable to contain himself anymore, Scratch barked wildly and zoomed between everyone, slobbering kisses on every face he could reach and jumping all over the whole pile. It only served to make Karlach giggle harder, her joy positively palpable.

Once everyone else was in position Astarion came back to perch himself frigidly in an empty spot to resume mending Miss Fortune’s clothing over crossed legs. His Majesty sauntered out behind him with tail crooked into a question mark high in the air. He came to a hunch on the log beside Astarion and the two looked like a matching set. Scratch immediately tried to climb into Karlach’s lap to gain as much protection from the sphynx as possible, winding up sinking between the barbarian and Miss Fortune with a disheartened whine. 

“Is this sufficient effort to enamor the mate-who-isn’t, two-legs?” His Majesty said with a yawn. “He said a word that sounded happy when I began to follow.”

“Keep it up, you’re doing great,” Miss Fortune encouraged. “He’ll be a loyal subject in no time I’m sure. One more thing my Mimûn—that means ‘little one.’ I won’t be able to understand you when I awake in the morning. I need potions from my pack to do this and I can’t drink them every day.”

His Majesty declined to answer, which was just as well because everyone suddenly squeezed them tighter. 

“You sound hilarious speaking cat, Lady Luck,” Shadowheart sniped. 

“Aww but look at them over there, it’s like I’m seeing double!” Karlach gushed. “I always knew there was something catlike about you, Astarion.”

“It’s called grace, darling, you should try it sometime,” he shot back without looking up from his work. 

“Overrated! Anyway, I was thinkin’ while we’re all snuggled up we could share some feel-good memories? It’s so gloomy out there I think we could all do for a lil pick-me-up, yeah? I’ll go first! This right here, this is the memory, soldiers. This group hug will be my last thought before I blow, I swear it—no, not right now silly billies!” She added when everyone started to wriggle away.

“I’ll go next,” Wyll chimed in. “Karlach, I’ll never forget the way you were ready to leap into the waist-high flames the other day to strangle the smug look off Mizora’s face when her apparition popped up to taunt me. You’re a ride or die companion, and I am grateful to call you friend rather than foe.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Karlach,” Shadowheart warned, “but I adore that you are ‘that person’ I cannot—cannot—make eye contact with when we’re knee-deep in serious matters. We’ll all be listening to some refugee sobbing about their dead cat or something and I’ll look over to see you dancing with a shit-eating grin on your face like you’re having the time of your life—“

“I am, always!” Karlach interjected.

“—and I can’t keep it together anymore after that,” Shadowheart finished. “Nothing has or ever will be more ‘Karlach’ to me than that.”

“Aww, thanks Shaddy,” Karlach blushed, harmless blue flames puttering up from the vents in her shoulders. 

“You yell, you swing, and our foes fall to the ground,” Lae’zel’s raspy voice broke the brief silence that had settled over the group hug while the others thought. “I never have to wonder if you have my back, especially not since the time that giant spider managed to root me and my sword to the spot with her vile webbing. I thought I was facing my end until I heard your mighty roar and a moment later saw you leap onto the arachnid’s back and begin hacking her to pieces.”

A comfortable lull settled over the group while the remaining companions reached for a memory. Miss Fortune and Astarion began speaking at the same time, sputtering and laughing over the coincidence.

“You first darling, I insist!”

“All right,” Miss Fortune agreed. “Karlach, I love how deceptively perceptive you are. For all that your happy-go-lucky personality can sometimes make it seem at a glance like that’s your whole story, there is so much lurking beneath the surface. You see through to the heart of people. And I admire your courage, too. It takes a strength I’ll never know to look the ugliest bits of the world straight in the face and choose hope, happiness, and positivity anyway. You light up my life, even if we don’t always agree on how to tackle our challenges.”

“Lady Luck, you bloody rascal, I’m gonna cry!” Karlach practically crushed them anew with her hug, prompting everyone else to squeeze in tighter for a moment as well.

“Well, that’s a tough act to follow,” Astarion cleared his throat uncomfortably.  “Erm, Karlach, I suppose I quite like the sound of your laughter around camp, even if at first I thought you’d lost your mind. I’ve come to see it’s just…part of your charm.”

Astarion’s half-assed compliment earned him a chorus of cackles from the group, no one laughing louder than Karlach. Even Scratch joined in with an enthusiastic howl.

“Oh Fangs, I hope you do better than that when you’re alone with Lady Luck! But I see the heart behind those words and I love it. Thanks. I didn’t mean all the memories had to be about me though, sheeesh.”

“Well, too bad. You’re getting a toast to your awesomeness,” Miss Fortune said. They were starting to overheat from all the close contact but endeavored to hide it. Halsin and Gale were the only ones left, they’d be able to cool off soon. 

“I haven’t been with you all long, but it is heartwarming to see what an absolute inspiration you are to the young tiefling refugees,” Halsin contributed with sparkling eyes. “You are to them what Jaheira is to you, and I hope that warms your heart, figuratively speaking of course.”

“Oh my gods, Halsin, bring ‘er here,” Karlach cried, tears welling up in her eyes as she further crushed Miss Fortune between their two hulking frames. 

“I’ve been perusing my considerable mental vaults trying to pluck the perfect words, the ideal memory from the annals of my mind,” Gale began. Normally Miss Fortune adored their wizard friend and his propensity for yapping, but caught in this sweaty, steamy hug all this time they found themselves groaning inwardly. “But mere words do not suffice to capture the might and splendor that is Karlach…”

With an apologetic smile and a sticky pop the half-elf squeezed themselves out of the hug, panting from the excessive heat, to take a seat on the ground in front of Astarion. Finally able to cool off a bit, they heaved a great sigh of relief and watched as Gale began to spin up a projection using the weave. 

He showed off images of Karlach: cleaving a path through swaths of goblins; kicking down the stuck door to the burning inn at Waukeen’s Rest and charging in with blazing determination to rescue Counselor Florrick and everyone else trapped within. And then the image shifted to show her cackling infectiously with everyone; chasing Scratch around their old camp; telling war stories from her time in the Blood War with wild gestures. Gale let the illusion drop after that, his eyes moist and smile sparkling. 

With showtime over, the rest of the companions began to untangle and separate neatly back into their own personal space. Dancing blue flames still sputtered from Karlach’s vents, a beacon of her joy tonight. 

“How was that for a celebration of touch?” Miss Fortune asked mischievously. 

“Gods, incredible! Though I can think of a few other ways to celebrate touch too,” the barbarian crowed. Miss Fortune caught the sidelong glance over at the Blade of Frontiers; Wyll didn’t. 

“I’m afraid I can’t help you facilitate that, my friend. Besides, I’m beat. We made great progress today and need to discuss our next steps so we’ll plan on a rest day tomorrow.” Miss Fortune bade the group goodnight, fanning themselves with their too-tight shirt to continue cooling down. 

Astarion and His Majesty hopped up right after, following them inside. On instinct Miss Fortune double-tapped their enchanted lanceboard piece for privacy, turning back towards Astarion once the tent flap dropped behind him. With a final brush of his body against the vampire’s legs His Majesty sauntered over to his new corner to lay down on the rabbit pelts, leaving the lovers to their own devices. 

“Here. I finished the repairs,” Astarion murmured, holding out the armor and underclothes. He looked strangely cross for someone who was offering up a kind gesture, though. 

“Star, thank you. Truly,” they said with heartfelt earnestness as they took the mended garments and began to fold them neatly. “That makes me feel…cared for.” 

By the time they carefully placed the garments by their packs and turned back to the pale elf, he was staring down his nose at them with arms crossed and a sour face. “I suppose you’ll be all touched out now after that stifling group hug?”

Suddenly his body language made sense. A touch of jealousy rearing its ugly head. Miss Fortune sashayed towards Astarion and threw an arm around his waist while grabbing one of his hands at the same time, guiding it around to cup their ass. “I think you’ll find I’m never touched out when it’s you doing the touching.”

Astarion’s grumpiness dissolved and the energy shifted to a more intimate ambience. Miss Fortune felt their breath catch, found themselves magnetically drawn to their lover as their noses brushed together. A little tilt of the head was all it took for their lips to join in the sweetest homecoming. 

Resuming where they’d left off before supper, the pair walked backwards toward Miss Fortune’s bedroll. Astarion tenderly removed the half-elf’s shirt while minding their myriad bandages before discarding it unceremoniously onto the ground behind them. Astarion’s shirt was next, and Miss Fortune couldn’t help but be grateful he wasn’t wearing the blue one they sewed for him so they didn’t have buttons to contend with. Fingers roamed over newly exposed flesh while tongues danced and teeth nipped and teased. The lovers slowly lowered to their knees once they reached their destination beside the bedroll.

Trousers were next to lay discarded and quickly forgotten on the ground. In short order they were both down to their underwear, their growing erections rubbing together while they continued kissing. And yet, despite their arousal, Miss Fortune found themselves not wanting to go much further beyond this. Sex with Astarion was incredible but always left them hollowed out with anguish when they invariably despaired over the disparity in their feelings for each other. Somehow making out didn’t wallop them with the same emotional gut punch. 

“Can we…stay like this?” Miss Fortune broached when they’d managed to tear their mouth off his for a moment. They bit their lip awaiting his answer. 

“You…don’t want sex?” The vampire challenged, eyebrow raised while his eyes bored into them.

“It’s not as simple as a yes or no, my love,” Miss Fortune said hesitantly. “I could be persuaded though,” they added, already backtracking from the worry of denying Astarion. “Do you want sex?”

The vampire regarded them cautiously for several long moments, his claws scritching light circles into their lower back all the while. “If we don't, can I still stay?”

“Gods, yes.”

“What do we do about these?” He squeezed his cock through the underwear.

“Whatever you want? They’ll protest but they’ll go to sleep on their own eventually either way. C’mon, let’s see just how deliciously warm and snuggly it feels under this pelt.”

Astarion declared ownership of Miss Fortune’s mouth once more, gently pressing them into a horizontal position before cloaking them both with the bedroll blankets and then the pelt. Even with the lovers undulating together the heavy pelt remained in place, enveloping them in radiating warmth that didn’t smother. 

“How would you feel about going just a little further?” Astarion panted after a time. One of his hands found Miss Fortune’s and tentatively guided it to his hard length. 

“Yeah,” Miss Fortune breathed, releasing Astarion’s cock from the fabric confines and beginning to stroke. Moments later they moaned when they felt Astarion pull down on their underwear, his hand wrapping around them. 

The rogues didn’t rush to usher the other to the peak of pleasure but rather teased and savored the feel of each other while they continued to kiss. Once they each found sweet release they wrapped their arms around each other and Astarion’s head migrated over to its favorite roosting spot while Miss Fortune’s hand burrowed into the vampire’s curls. With contented sighs and one final peck on the lips, the pair drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

Sleep still clung to the corners of Miss Fortune’s mind even as their body started to rouse with a stretch and a sharp yawn. Sleep had claimed them before they had a chance to grab their eye mask it seemed. Gloomy daylight grey nagged at their eyelids, causing them to squint tighter in a bid to stave off the day just a little longer.

They would have stayed like that for an indeterminate time, too, if it weren’t for the uneasy feeling crawling around in their gut. Something felt off. Something they couldn’t immediately place. A groggy mental inventory eventually revealed the outlier. Astarion had spent the night; anytime they slept together Miss Fortune could expect to be woken up by the gentle rocking of Astarion’s arms turning the pages of a book. But this morning all was still. Eerily still. 

The half-elf’s sleep-crusted eyes flew open to regard their lover only to find his eyes closed. In the delirium of their half-conscious state, panic flared and logic snuck out the back door. He was cold. He was pale. His body was completely still; there was no heartbeat, no rise and fall of air filtering through his body. 

Oh gods, not again, the thought shrieked within them. 

“Astarion!” They wailed as they shook him, their voice cracking. They felt like they were suffocating, their lungs suddenly forgetting how to work as they began to hyperventilate. 

“What’s wrong?!” The vampire shot up with a surprised snort, his eyes darting wildly around the tent even as his hand whipped beneath Miss Fortune’s pillow to grab their dagger. 

“Astarion!” Their hands darted forward to grasp his shoulders, their grip cloying and desperate. The dim light hurt as their pupils flooded wider.

“Yeees, it’s me. What’s. Wrong?!” His panic mirrored their own, still frantically looking around to spot the danger. 

“I—you weren’t breathing—I thought you were—“ The words screeched to a halt behind their tongue when they realized the folly of what they were about to say. Miss Fortune swayed momentarily when they felt the pulse of anxiety rushing out of their body. Gods, they were an idiot. 

Catching on quickly, Astarion quirked an eyebrow upwards, the corner of his mouth following suit. “Go on, dear. Finish that sentence, I dare you.”

“—dead.”

Barking laughter crashed around the confines of the tent, startling His Majesty out of a deep sleep and sending him hurtling outside with a low growl. Astarion lowered the dagger to rest atop the pillow and wiped dramatically at the corners of his eyes while he laughed at them.

“Oh darling…I AM dead. Well, undead. You get it.”

“But you slept, Star. You weren’t trancing! I didn’t know you could do that.”

It was Astarion’s turn to look haunted and shocked. His eyes widened and his mouth hung slack while he rubbed his bare chest. “I didn’t either,” he admitted. “Oh gods, who knows what could have happened! Anyone could have—“ his fiery eyes snapped over to regard Miss Fortune with indignation when their shoulders began to shake with quiet laughter. 

“Gods, what an anxious mess we both are, huh? I’m scared my undead lover died in his sleep, you’re scared someone is gonna ambush us just because you slept. Even though there are always allies on watch.”

Icy indignation thawed and melted into languid amusement. The vampire leaned forward to rest his balmy forehead on Miss Fortune’s shoulder, nipping at them gently as he did. The half-elf pulled him into a firm embrace, clinging to him and kissing his hair in a bid to soothe their mind. 

“Did I ever tell you how Carlo died?” Miss Fortune said after several minutes, releasing Astarion from their embrace but trailing their hands down his arms to rest their fingertips in his palms. 

“I don’t believe so.”

“Next to me. He died next to me, in bed. We were both drugged and abused by a patron that night. It was Carlo’s big debut, and his final act all in one.” Their voice broke with a sad laugh but they didn’t cry. They’d had two years to relive that night as they lay, sleepless, in the very same bed. The raw gash of grief had since scabbed and scarred, and they were squeezed dry of tears by now.

Astarion’s face was serious but impassive, and they could see him holding himself back from commenting so they could continue.

“The man strangled us after assaulting us repeatedly in every way imaginable. I passed out, Carlo died. I guess he thought he got us both. To this day I don’t know why nobody heard and intervened—I wonder if the drugs stole our voices? Or the choking? Regardless, I woke up to fnid Carlo blue and the man gone. I had a bit of a flashback just now when I awoke to find you so still. I’m a fool, I know.”

“Well, how convenient for you then, hmm? In order for me to die in your bed someone would have to stake, behead, or immolate me and I rather think you’d wake up first.”

The vampire had a point. And while it was an odd thing to say, Miss Fortune did find comfort in it. Here was a lover who was nearly unkillable—especially once the tadpoles were gone. They realized with another pang that they were assuming Astarion would stick around. 

“True! Hopefully my mind will remember that next time,” they replied, trying to keep a neutral face despite the fact that both of them were aware of the half-elf’s thundering heartbeat. “So, how did you manage to fall asleep? Do you even know?”

Astarion’s brow furrowed and he bit his lip while he thought, his eyes momentarily flitting over to the tent flap when it waved open and shut to let His Majesty back in. The cat brushed up against Astarion on his way over to his bed and it wasn’t until after Astarion watched the sphynx settle down that he finally answered. 

“I…don’t truly know,” he admitted, sounding flummoxed. “It was so warm under the ram pelt and your hand was running through my hair and I was so…comfortable…I guess I just let go.” His confusion dissolved into wonder as he explained, but still he didn’t meet their eyes. Miss Fortune watched him wince discreetly, as if guilt had just stabbed him in the side. That emotion didn’t seem to belong with the admission he’d just made. Shouldn’t that be a wonderful thing, that he could relax around them completely? They certainly thought so. Unless…

“Was rest time not safe in the Szarr residence? Did Cazador and your siblings ambush you a lot when you tranced?”

“Add monster hunters to that list, too,” Astarion said sourly. 

“Well, the only wake-up ambush you have to worry about from me—today aside—is the kind where my lips are wrapped around your cock,” Miss Fortune smirked. “In fact, had my senses not abandoned me that’s probably how I would have woken you upon discovering you’d actually slept.”

“Oh really? Hmm…you know, I’m still feeling quite sleepy. Truly—yawn—fatigued, I don’t think I could possibly keep my eyes open another moment.”

Astarion all but tackled Miss Fortune back onto the bedroll and promptly pretended to fall asleep on his side, doing a terrible job of mimicking Gale’s snoring. The half-elf worked to shove the residual panic down to make space for the giddy joy that had alighted in their chest. 

With one arm around Astarion, Miss Fortune took their time tracing the lettering carved into his back, occasionally interrupting their own efforts to plant fluttering kisses across his shoulder, cheek, and forehead. At one point the vampire attempted to sneak a peek at them through a tiny slit and they both had to stifle a laugh when Miss Fortune caught him. 

Eventually their hand began to wander further down Astarion’s back, deftly slipping under the fabric of his underwear to knead at his firm ass. Astarion flexed each time he felt one cheek was getting left out of the action too long, encouraging Miss Fortune to switch between them often. Heat flushed through the half-elf’s body when they felt the vampire’s arousal growing against their stomach. He rocked his hips towards them but was otherwise patient enough to keep up the sleepy ruse.

Once Miss Fortune could deny themselves the temptation no longer they began to kiss their way down the front of his body, using their free hand to squeeze his pecs. Peach-hued flesh puckered between their fingers; an appreciative sigh spilled from Astarion’s mouth when they brought their lips to suck on first one, then the other peaked nipple.

Another full-body wriggle, less subtle this time; Astarion’s patience was wearing thin, his cock fully erect and twitching in painful need of attention. It was almost a pity, Miss Fortune thought to themselves. As much as they enjoyed releasing him in all his glory they also thought it would have been fun to revive his sleeping member with their mouth. Perhaps next time. 

Continuing their descent, their lips brushed against his smooth, hairless abs until finally they kissed his tip through the cloth caging his desires. To Astarion’s credit he kept up the performance of a sleeping lover reacting subconsciously to pleasant sensations with sleepy sighs and clumsy hip rolls.

It was time. In the dim light beneath the covers they marveled at the sight of him being revealed as their fingers dipped into the waistband and shimmied it downwards, bringing it to rest beneath his balls. Still such a gorgeous specimen; Miss Fortune felt tingles of excitement crackle within them as they admired Astarion’s cock standing pale and proud. Tongue teasing, they traced each protruding vein along his length a few times before swirling around the corona. Astarion’s gasps were the sweetest symphony they could hope for, further stoking the flames of their own growing desire. 

Another needy hip roll pushed the head between Miss Fortune’s lips but they continued to tease by moving their head away and to the side, lips gliding down the shaft and then licking back up his underside. Moments later claws swooped down to grasp the back of their head, sharp points digging into skin and cool palm pressing them forward to take him fully.

Miss Fortune obliged, their hands gliding down to knead at his lean, wiry thighs as they descended ever deeper until he was fully seated. Their nose tickled his stomach for a moment before they came back up for air. Gods, the taste of him, his sweet musky scent, they couldn’t get enough. It wasn’t long before they worked frantically up and down his velvety smooth shaft, one hand moving to fondle the smooth orbs of his sack and the other reaching down to pump at their own leaking cock. 

“Oh darling, what a lovely way to wake up,” Astarion purred with feigned surprise, thrusting forward to kiss the back of their throat with his tip. “I want to watch you make my cock disappear,” he added, tossing the covers aside. 

Cool air pelted Miss Fortune’s back, sending a shiver down their whole body. But they were undeterred in their mission to venerate their lover. Their mouth and hands worked in unison while Astarion writhed and panted under their expert attentions, his grip on their head softening to a gentle but insistent guide. 

He was quieter than usual; Astarion often enjoyed talking dirty to them while they blew him. A glance up his body revealed that the vampire was lost in the pleasure of watching Miss Fortune pleasuring him, his eyes half-closed and his smile loose and easy. 

“Mmf, I love taking care of you like this, Star,” Miss Fortune panted when they popped him out of their mouth momentarily, stretching out their jaw while their hand continued working him. “Do you like my mouth, baby? Am I making you feel good?” They ran their lips up and down his shaft, tongue swirling hungrily while they waited on his answer.

“Gods yes, love,” he said unguardedly, biting his lip with a groan. His hand traced along their jaw, coming to cup their chin while he began to gently thrust. It was so deliriously sensual that Miss Fortune began to feel a familiar ache creep up on them; they wished this were real. It felt real. And yet…a lifetime of experience to the contrary continued to give them pause. But that look in his eyes…

Miss Fortune locked their gaze on Astarion’s crimson irises, radiating with warmth and elation. Whatever that look was, it was real. It had to be. They had to focus on that. Matching their strokes on their cock to the rhythm of Astarion’s rolling hips, the buildup of pleasure scrambled their mind in the best way. Although Astarion’s grip on their chin held them steady, they began to suck him frantically, their tongue swirling and wagging along his underside until at last he rewarded their efforts, spilling into their waiting mouth with halting moans.

“Come here,” he commanded once his cock stopped spasming. “Let me finish you.” It didn’t take long before Astarion brought them to their peak, thigh muscles trembling as they knelt before him and delivered their spend down his throat. Sated, they slid back down to lay beside him with a contented sigh.

“Not kicking me out or running off first thing in the morning has its benefits, hmm?” Astarion teased. 

“…Yeah, it seems that way,” Miss Fortune said hesitantly, head still swimming pleasantly. “Truth be told, lazing in bed all morning is a guilty pleasure of mine. There’s nothing better. Especially with a lover.” They rolled onto their back, hair fanning out beneath them, and rubbed absentmindedly at the trail of fuzz on their stomach.

“Then why in the hells do you insist upon being alone every morning?” Astarion’s voice was raw with hurt.

How do we always manage to end up squabbling after sex, hurling accusations and throwing up shields when most couples would be whispering sweet nothings?

“Do you want the honest answer or the pretty lie?”

Astarion hesitated. He wasn’t sure, it seemed. “…honest answer.” His hand moved slowly, uncertainly, to rest over top where Miss Fortune’s rested on their stomach.

“I…I just keep waiting for whatever this is between us to end. And I don’t want it to. But I’m used to people leaving. It doesn’t matter that you’ve stayed longer than anyone, been more consistent. I’m still waiting for you to wake up one morning and realize you’ve made a terrible mistake in spending time with me. So it feels easier to run off in the mornings, more comfortable. Safer. As if that way I can…trick you into forgetting how much you want to get away…”

Their interlaced hands surged and fell as Miss Fortune’s heaved a great, heavy sigh.

“I suppose I’ve done a poor job giving you a reason to think otherwise, hmm?” Astarion lamented, his lips pressing together in a bid to tamp down his emotions. “Before you, I’d never spent more than one night with someone. They’d normally just get dragged off by Cazador. As familiar as it is, it hurts when you leave.”

“You could ask me to stay…”

“I do! Not in so many words, mind you, but you brush me off anyway.”

He’d asked them to stay? When? Closing their eyes to think, a series of flashbacks flitted behind Miss Fortune’s eyelids. All the many flippant comments Astarion made with that same wry smile on his face about them running off too soon, or about how much warmer it was in bed…Miss Fortune realized that in their self-conscious rush to protect themselves from rejection they’d instead been rejecting him repeatedly. Their hands felt like boulders on their stomach slowly squeezing the air out.

“I’m sorry, Star. If I had my way I’d permanently attach myself onto you but I don’t think you’d appreciate that,” they smirked, trying to bring some levity back to allay their guilt. 

“It’d be impossible to get anything done that way, darling!”

“But Star…” The vault had been cracked open; they couldn’t leave well enough alone, it seemed. “What of that talk you’ve been meaning to have with me? Haven’t you been planning to…end things?”

“How is it you’re so sharp-witted and yet such an idiot at the same time? Didn’t I already tell you it wasn’t about that?” Astarion stammered nonsensically for a few moments. “Look, erm, I just need a little more time…before I’m ready to talk. But isn’t this nice, for right now? Being here, together?”

“It always is…” Miss Fortune relented. 

“I thought so.” His baseline smugness returned at that moment. “Now give me some breakfast, my love, and I’ll fetch some for you after.”

Astarion fed from their neck this time, the first time he’d done so in several days. They’d gotten back under the covers again and Astarion climbed on top, pressing his body close before biting down. Miss Fortune relished in his proximity, rubbing his back and zoning out while their consciousness bobbed along until, just when they were dancing on the edge of danger, Astarion pulled away and licked their wounds closed. He lingered even after the blood stopped flowing, their blood warming his body and giving him the faintest blush across his cheeks. If they weren’t so famished, Miss Fortune would have kept him pressed against them all day and it still wouldn’t have been enough. 

After Miss Fortune finished the breakfast Astarion brought them—being sure to share the best bits with His Majesty, who had come over to beg—the vampire helped remove the bandages peppering Miss Fortune’s upper body. Whatever magic-imbued balm Halsin had applied had worked wonders; nothing but smooth, unbroken skin underneath. 

The half-elf knelt in front of their mirror inspecting their healed skin when Astarion left momentarily, shuffling up behind them with a faint giggle when he returned. They felt the cool brush of fingers winding around their waist to grasp at either side. 

“Remember when you sent me sneaking off to snoop through Jaheira’s room while you were bantering over a poisoned wine chalice?” Astarion nipped wickedly at their shoulder.

“Of course love, it was only yesterday.”

“Weeell I may have snagged a little souvenir. For you. Maybe for me, too. All right, for both of us.” It was then that Miss Fortune noticed something even colder than Astarion nestled against their skin, suspended within his palm.

“You stole from Jaheira? Are you mad?! I hope you were extra careful to make sure no one spotted you,” the half-elf scolded. 

“Trust me, darling, every Harper eye was trained on dissecting your every twitch while you chatted with the crone. Now hold out your hand.” 

The vampire was practically vibrating with excitement, which only heightened Miss Fortune’s anticipation. Anything that could elicit such a reaction from him must be very good indeed. When they held their palm out to him Astarion dropped the prize, his fingertips lingering well after a metal chain dropped into the half-elf’s hand. 

Curiosity won out. Taking their hand back, Miss Fortune quickly realized the delicate chain was far too long to be a necklace. They stretched it out between their hands and let out a quiet gasp of surprise. It was a belly chain, elven in design, a delicate braided gold interspersed with topaz and sapphires. A couple smaller chains hung down from the main one, looping back up at regular intervals to form half-moon shapes that were likewise adorned with alternating topaz or sapphire gems. It was the embodiment of sunshine and blue skies; while it didn’t feel magic-imbued, Miss Fortune felt it lifting their mood as if it were. 

“May I try it on?” Miss Fortune asked, their fingers tracing over the gems reverently. 

“No, darling, I stole it for you to look at only!” Astarion grinned, the sarcasm obvious in his tone. “May I do the honors?”

Miss Fortune handed the belly chain back to the pale elf and shivered in anticipation when cool arms once again reached around their waist and metal tickled at their skin, getting clasped snugly in the back. 

“Go on, show it off. Give me a twirl,” Astarion encouraged, voice dripping with smug pleasure. 

The half-elf looked down at their midriff, sent their hands traveling down to trace where chain met the tops of their hip bones, and in this moment they felt beautiful for perhaps the first time since they left the brothel. They twirled in a slow arc, eliciting a low whistle of appreciation from Astarion.

“Gorgeous, as always,” he purred as he took up position behind them again, his hands cradling their hips and his mouth seeking the crook of their neck. His lips tickled, causing Miss Fortune to giggle and shrink away for a moment before preparing themselves for the sensation and trying again, leaning back and tilting their head to the side. 

“How many nights of passion do you think this delicate little chain kicked off for the hero of Baldur’s Gate, hmm?” He said, trailing his tongue along their neck. “And how many more will it inspire for us?” His hands began to roam now, caressing the trail of fuzz along their abdomen and groping the firm swell of their pecs. 

“‘Us,’ huh? I like the sound of that. At least one, I’m sure,” Miss Fortune murmured, their restraints going hazy. “Perhaps when we’re in a less cursed, more amorous setting? We already indulged today and as nice as this is…” they trailed off. 

“Of course, darling, of course. But I was thinking…if you wore this under your night clothes around camp who would be the wiser? Or you could wear it in your tent when it’s just you, or us. An easy way to add some extra femme flair to your day, hmm?”

“Yes…thank you, Star. Let’s hope Jaheira doesn’t miss this, ‘cuz I don’t want to give it back.” They reached a hand back to run through his curls then, and when they turned their head to the side his mouth was already there, waiting to join with theirs. They kissed leisurely and without any expectation of taking things further, merely enjoying each other’s proximity, the feel of hands and tongues roaming freely with the intent to comfort and explore.

“You said this was a gift for you too, though,” Miss Fortune breathed once the kiss ended.

“I have the pleasure of seeing it on you, don’t I? And besides, I imagine if I ask nicely you’ll let me wear it sometimes. Then I’ll have the pleasure of whatever you do to my gorgeous self when you can’t keep your hands off me. Double pleasure,” Astarion crooned with a wolfish grin.

“Sounds like a plan, sweetie.” Miss Fortune paused then, hesitating. They had plans for the rest of the day and they were going to need Astarion’s help. Which meant the clock had chimed midnight on a few secrets they’d been sitting on all this time. Taking a deep breath to steel their nerves, they turned to look the vampire in the eye.

“Not to ruin the moment, but speaking of thieving at Last Light Inn…Star, I have a favor to ask of you. I need to go back there today to meet someone. And I need you there for backup in case things go poorly. Which means there’s something I have to tell you. When I told everyone I’d been picking pockets for the Thieves Guild for a couple moons before this adventure of ours started, I might have been omitting a few teensy details…”

Chapter Text

Miss Fortune and Astarion’s hands threw sharp, angry signs back and forth in rapid succession while they traveled towards Last Light Inn with Karlach, Shadowheart, and Halsin. If the crispness of their thieves’ cant weren’t enough of a giveaway, the vicious slants of their eyebrows over narrowed eyes smoldering with vexation made it plain as curse-smothered day that they were having a disagreement.

“Shaddy, why are mum and dad fighting this time d’ya think?” Karlach shout-whispered with her characteristic lack of subtlety.

“Some asinine lover’s spat, no doubt, who cares?” Shadowheart replied flippantly, her eyes roaming the landscape for threats. “Probably something like whose turn it is to stick it in, or who gets to use the last of their hair products.”

Astarion’s head snapped so quickly in Shadowheart’s direction Miss Fortune was surprised it didn’t break. “Butt out, cleric. All I will say is it’s much more serious than that. You share a bed with someone for a whole moon and a half—“ his head whipped back to glare at Miss Fortune “—and you think you know them! But you could be wrong. Oh-ho-ho, you could be wrong.”

‘Can you blame me for keeping this one close to my chest?’ Miss Fortune threw at him.

‘YES!’

To Karlach, Miss Fortune asked sweetly, “which one of us is mum and which is dad?”

“Hmm…I think you’re mum cuz you’re the nice one, and Fangs is dad cuz he’s the scary one,” she replied thoughtfully.

“Eugh, I hate my ‘dad,’” Astarion scowled.

“And I hated my mum,” Miss Fortune agreed. “Everyone knows nurturing traits are more common in masc people anyway.”

“HA! What rock did you live under?” Shadowheart scoffed. “That is the most endearingly misguided opinion I think I’ve ever heard.”

“…A brothel, where the only person who was consistently kind to me was a man. Who was murdered by the women. For the unforgivable crime of wanting to give me a better life.”

Miss Fortune dragged the admission from the bowels of their mind through clenched teeth, not out of anger but rather the reluctance to tell the others more about them. They didn’t like feeling like a charity case to their more well-adjusted companions. Everyone halted in their tracks to see this discussion through.

“Case in point: Halsin, kindly come stand by Shadowheart?” Miss Fortune requested.

Miss Fortune’s point seemed perfectly clear when comparing Halsin’s gentle but proud stature to Shadowheart’s prickly posture and Karlach’s imposing might, but nobody else seemed to get it.

“I dunno what you’re trying to prove, Lady Luck. You’re a lovable little weirdo. You wanna be dad, be dad. Sounds like Fangs is perfectly happy being mum anyway,” Karlach said definitively.

“We’re all missing the painfully obvious point here that neither Astarion nor Miss Fortune are parental material. Dear gods, nobody ever give them a child,” Shadowheart sniped at them before she resumed walking.

Miss Fortune declined to answer because they knew it was true. Raising a child was the farthest thing from their mind, anyway. The group resumed walking after that, but Astarion wasn’t done with them. He retook his spot next to Miss Fortune and began signing at them again.

‘You’ve been a spy for the thieves’ guild for two years and you only told me NOW?’ he threw the accusation in their face for perhaps the third time since Miss Fortune’s confession in their tent.

‘The information wasn’t relevant until now!’ they gestured wildly, upset that they’d upset their lover.

‘So if this associate of yours hadn’t shown face at the inn you would have told me…when? Never?’

Miss Fortune hesitated, picking nervously at the scabs on their neck while they thought.

‘Stop. They’ll scar,’ Astarion scolded.

'Maybe I want them to scar. Give me a memento to remember you by always.'

'Don't try to butter me up, you're changing the subject. Well? What do you have to say for yourself?’

‘I would have told you eventually,’ they deflected. ‘I was…ashamed. Most of my ‘spying’ was done on my back.’

‘I’m hardly one to judge you.’ Astarion’s shoulders slumped, his posture softening slightly although his eyes were still roaming wildly across the half-elf’s face.

His boot caught a gnarled root sticking out of the ground and he stumbled. Miss Fortune’s arm shot out on reflex to steady him, their lips whispering against his forehead like a confession of sin before releasing him. Argument or no, they would do anything to ensure he was safe—even from a threat as small as tripping on his face.

‘I know,’ they continued. ‘I hadn’t decided whether I would go back to that life after our adventure so it didn’t seem important. But it seems my past has caught up with me.’

‘What else are you hiding?’

‘Only a couple other things—‘

‘Is that all?’ Astarion’s arms flew wide in an aggressive challenge of a question.

‘I definitely can’t tell you before we meet my associate.’ Miss Fortune paused, considering. ‘You’ll know everything before we return to Baldur’s Gate. I promise.’

“Enough, boys, put those roguish hands away,” Shadowheart interrupted in annoyance. “You’re clearly not watching where we’re going or else you’d see how close to the inn we are.”

After Miss Fortune's revelation to Astarion that they had doubled as a spy for the last two years of their tenure at the brothel, they had also mentioned that they recognized the person who initially recruited them among the Harpers at Last Light Inn.

The man, Antony, had been a die-hard Guild member so they were certain he hadn't defected; which meant he was here on an undercover mission. The half-elf had begged Astarion to help them confront him, and after making them sweat for several minutes while the vampire stewed over the situation, he had agreed.

It had been easy to convince others to join them on a trip to the inn. Although it was a rest day, Halsin was eager to keep trying to connect with the strange man who had fallen out of a portal from the Shadowfell and been discovered by the Flaming Fists.

Given Wyll's complete obliviousness to Karlach's interest in him, Miss Fortune suspected the barbarian had agreed to come along to find someone to break her 10-year stint of celibacy with.

And Shadowheart? As mysterious and closed-off as always, she'd said her reasons were her own and to butt out.

“I’ll be spending more time with that old Flaming Fist singing about Thaniel,” Halsin explained without slowing his pace. “Nobody leaves the inn’s shields to return to camp alone, that is non-negotiable. So come and find me when you’re all done. I’ll spend as much time as I can trying to find a way to wake him up and see what he knows about my nature spirit friend.”

“Right, makes sense!” Karlach chimed in, looking over at Astarion and Miss Fortune expectantly.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Miss Fortune beamed, seeking to seem as agreeable as possible to the others. “We wouldn’t dream of slipping away from the inn alone. Now, slipping away inside the inn might be a different story, if Mr. Grumpyfangs forgives me.”

Astarion grumbled and muttered under his breath momentarily but nodded anyway.

“Excellent! It’s settled then, we all reconvene with Halsin when we’re finished with our business,” Shadowheart agreed.

———————————

It didn’t take long to spot him. Roaming close together to look like restless friends strolling the inn’s grounds, Miss Fortune and Astarion found the undercover thief pretending to check over some supply crates near where Talli the quartermaster had set up her wares for trade.

He was a short, dark-skinned human parading as a Harper, but Miss Fortune would recognize him anywhere by the skeleton key tattoo tucked behind his left ear. Antony always kept his head clean shaven and apparently hadn’t thought to grow his hair out to cover the tattoo since taking…whatever assignment this was. The half-elf didn’t have high hopes that it was merely an innocent mission to keep tabs on the Harpers all the way out there; but then again, Nine-Fingers Keene could be relentless when she sunk her teeth into something.

As they’d planned with Astarion earlier that morning, Miss Fortune began talking loudly to him in a way that made it seem they were merely excited as they walked past Antony.

“Our companions pulled us away too quick yesterday, but I could have sworn I saw some untouched chests when I peeked inside that cellar! Looks like we’ve shaken them for now, what do you say we pick the lock and go take a look?”

They locked eyes with Antony as they finished talking. His eyes widened, betraying his shock at seeing them here. Hot anxiety jolted through the half-elf like bolts of lightning but their happy-go-lucky mask remained firmly on their face. They tossed Antony a nearly imperceptible nod, and the corner of his mouth twitched. He’d follow them, Miss Fortune was sure of it.

“Sounds like a plan, darling,” Astarion drawled amicably.

His eyes slid over to Antony as well, sizing him up. Miss Fortune heard a quiet growl rumble deep in his chest; the same sound he’d made when the half-elf had revealed that the only way they were able to get in with the Thieves Guild initially was to lure Antony onto their balcony with the promise of sexual favors.

The problem with beginning a professional relationship in such a manner was that it was nearly impossible to take those favors off the table later, no matter how much valuable intel they provided. Not when Miss Fortune was confined to the brothel; it wasn’t like they could have snuck away long enough to travel to the Guild hideout and back. And besides, Antony had claimed them as his asset. There was no way he’d have let someone else “handle” them, so he set the terms of Miss Fortune’s “employment” with the guild. And those terms involved them on their knees or bent over the foot of their bed every time they met to sell him new information. He was the one who taught them thieves’ cant; he made a point to pass by their balcony every few evenings so they could communicate from afar to decide whether a meeting was warranted.

Once Miss Fortune escaped the brothel they were able to shake free of Antony’s demands for sex, but three moons wasn’t nearly long enough to wash away the disgust they felt just laying eyes on him again. Their veins felt like they were slowly filling with tar, making every step towards the back of the inn feel heavy and laborious. The thief hadn’t taken kindly to the end of his free access to their body. Any time he’d seen them in the hideout he had tried to corner them, coerce them, or find some other underhanded way to get under their clothes.

“He started trailing us like you said he would, darling,” Astarion murmured under his breath. “Are you certain we can’t just ambush him and dump his body somewhere the curse will take him?”

“And have to kill him again as a zombie? No. Besides, we need to know what he’s doing here.”

By the time the rogues meandered their way around the back of the inn, Miss Fortune’s entire body was tense from nerves. Antony was far enough behind that they estimated about a minute of alone time. It would have to do.

The half-elf swallowed hard, closing their eyes when another wave of panic rolled over them, causing them to sway. They had just begun making progress in not thinking of themselves as a prostitute any longer. They had little hope they'd be able to face down someone from their past who looked at them as if the word "whore" had been permanently tattooed across their forehead without wounding their mental health.

“Darling?” Astarion’s voice wound around them like deep roots grounding them to a small patch of belonging and calm. They found their body responding instinctively, swaying towards him. If they had to face Antony, there was no one else they’d rather do it with than Astarion.

Yes, it would be different this time. Miss Fortune wasn’t alone anymore. Their lover was by their side—even if he was upset by how much they’d withheld from him, he still came. And they’d picked up new skills since they left the city, hadn’t they? Antony was a known entity to them, even if they didn’t know his motive for being here. But he didn’t know them anymore, which handed them the advantage.

Breathing out a long exhale, Miss Fortune reopened their eyes to find Astarion studying them, brow wrinkled in concern and lips pressed together. Their nervousness must have rubbed off on him because although he was leaning against the inn’s outer wall in a way meant to look casual, his muscles were tensed and ready to strike, his teeth quietly grinding.

“Astarion,” they breathed, closing the distance between them. Trembling hands reached for him and he accepted their embrace with a heavy sigh—whether from annoyance or relief they couldn’t tell. “Antony’s an asshole. He’s gonna try to get under our skin. So I…I need you to know something.”

The vampire’s only response was a raised eyebrow. Miss Fortune pressed closer into him, reaching up to cup his face in their hands so he’d meet their eyes. They needed him to see the sincerity on their face, see that it wasn’t a mask.

“Whatever I say during this conversation, this is the truth: I am yours. And I…I care about you. Truly.” Before they ran out of time they pressed their lips to his, letting the warmth of their affection flush out the dread sloshing in their core. And although it was over too quick, Astarion gave them the courage they needed when he reciprocated, crushing their bodies together with a firm arm thrown around their waist.

“All right, let’s see what this prick wants,” Miss Fortune said, stepping away and turning towards their old colleague moments before he rounded the corner.

It was strange seeing Antony in Harpers insignia, but beyond that little had changed. He still walked with his back hunched and a slight limp, his stocky frame lumbering towards them. He’d always taken more of the brawn-heavy jobs in the guild as a lookout, bouncer, or enforcer, so he probably appeared a solid enough fighter when he signed up for the Harpers.

“Well well, who do we have here?” Antony’s slippery voice slithered across the rapidly closing space between them. The half-elf had to repress a shudder of revulsion. “Why, Miss Behave! Or should I say Miss Fortune? I thought for a moment I’d seen a ghost! You might as well be; do you have any idea how many people are looking for you back in The Gate? You’re as good as dead the moment you return.”

“I’ve always been popular so that doesn’t surprise me. Hello, Ant. You haven’t lost your knack for kicking off a conversation as offensively as possible,” Miss Fortune drawled, affecting a bored tone while they inspected their nails. Inside, however, they were screaming. Several groups of people looking for them? It was worse than they thought.

“If I was looking to be offensive I would have commented on how much hotter you look in a dress—or at least you did, before you packed on all this muscle. That’s new,” Antony said hungrily, practically raping them with his eyes. “Or I could have mentioned how much hotter you look out of a dress.” His eyes shifted over to where Astarion leaned against the wall. “I see you brought backup. That afraid you’d be unable to resist all this?” Antony ran his hands down his body with a shimmy and Miss Fortune had to stifle an involuntary retch.

Everything Miss Fortune had been mentally preparing for this encounter since they first spotted him at the inn turned to icy slush within their mind. They were frozen, pinned to the spot by his lecherous, dissecting gaze. Reduced once more to the whore that they were, that they would always be. People like Antony would never see anything more than flesh to squeeze and holes to use.

“Darling, you failed to mention what charming company you kept back home,” Astarion purred. He sprung away from the wall to saunter over to where Miss Fortune stood, his shoulder brushing against theirs as he trailed to a stop. “Introduce us, would you?”

It was ironic how much warmth Astarion’s cold touch imparted. His nearness thawed them back into character. “Oh yes, where are my manners? Forgive me. Astarion, this is Antony, an old colleague. Antony, meet Astarion, one of my deadliest traveling companions.”

“Charmed,” Astarion said, a cold, vicious smile putting his fangs on full display. “I’d shake your hand but, well, I don’t want to.”

“He’s cute. Where’d you find him, Fortune? You guys fucking yet? I'll bet you are,” Antony laughed, sizing Astarion up.

“That's none of your business, Ant, and this isn’t a social visit,” Miss Fortune cut in. “What are you doing here?” Beneath the silken visage they held firmly in place, jagged spikes bristled and slashed at their patience, longing to spear the man where he stood.

Astarion’s was already wearing thin. His eyes were narrowed with cruel intention, his cheeks hollow from sucking in his breath to keep from bursting forth with whatever words were on the tip of his tongue.

Completely unaware of how quickly his welcome was drying up, Antony looked for all the world like he had stumbled into a bittersweet reunion with a long-lost lover. Which couldn’t be further from the truth; he had not been their lover, he had been an antagonist, someone they had used and let use them. Miss Fortune had been sure to make that clear to Astarion ahead of time.

“Oh, you know our mutual employer. She wants eyes everywhere. Very keen—ha, see what I did there?—to have her fingers in every pie,” Antony explained, spreading his arms wide. “Caught wind this lot was shipping out to some curse-infested shithole to sniff out an emerging cult and sent me off undercover.”

Antony ambled closer; close enough that his rank scent rolled over Miss Fortune like fog: tobacco, patchouli, and stale beer. He looked around once more to ensure they had privacy, then continued at a volume barely above a whisper. “If the High-and-Mighty Jay looks like she’s going to play her harp out of tune, I’ve orders to silence the songbird. And now that you’re here, you’re gonna help me.”

There it was. Antony was a shoddy spy; but an assassination mission made far more sense for his skill set. Nine-Fingers didn’t often get her hands dirty with kill orders, but evidently she thought times were desperate enough. However, this was an ill-fated assignment. She didn’t have enough information to make a nuanced call here, and Antony had neither the resources to get word back to her nor the brains to grasp just how screwed everyone would be if he offed Jaheira.

“Not a chance, Ant,” Miss Fortune declined coolly. “You’re a big boy, killed lots of people in your career. You can figure it out. After all, I’m just a dumb whore, aren’t I? Isn’t that what you liked to remind me every time?”

Antony lunged at them then, his stubby fists clutching the front of their leather armor to pull Miss Fortune’s face down until it was only a hairbreadth away from his scruffy, unwashed mug. “You’re in no position to refuse, you filthy little tramp,” he snapped, sour spittle spraying. “One word to the Madam and it’s back to the brothel with you the moment you step foot in Baldur’s Gate, and I’ll be more than happy to help her break that perfect little body of y—“

“Get your fucking hands off my leader, you maggot-infested dung heap, or I swear to the gods I will drain you of every last drop of blood, snap open your bones to lap up the marrow, and then use the jagged edges to pick your rancid flesh out of my teeth,” Astarion seethed, hurling the objurgation at the man at such a deathly quiet volume it would probably haunt him to his last breath.

"Do as he says, Ant," Miss Fortune cautioned, resenting the tremor in their voice that threatened to undermine the unruffled mask they were working so hard to maintain. "And Astarion, those are hardly the kind of manners I'd expect of someone from Evereska," they used their safe word to get him to stand down. This was textbook Antony, and the thief was playing Astarion's emotions like a fiddle.

Antony's complexion turned ashen at Astarion's threat and he leapt backwards to a respectful distance so quickly that Miss Fortune was propelled backwards, halted only by Astarion's arm shooting out to catch them. How very typical of a bully to act smug until someone crazier and more threatening came barrelling around the corner.

Astarion's eyes were wild with fury, his jaw working like a raging bull readying to charge. Gods, they loved this man. He was as beautiful in his wrath as he was in his mirth, curls swaying out of place from the speed at which he intervened. And seeing him this worked up because some dimwitted lecher insulted them had them wondering if maybe, just maybe, he might love them too? If not love, then perhaps he was at least on a path that eventually led there.

The rogues stared each other down for a few frantic beats of Miss Fortune's heart that felt like they stretched into eternity. They didn't even need the tadpoles to read each other's thoughts and feelings; their eyes had thrown wide the curtains to their souls.

Miss Fortune saw that he did care about them, but that he was doubly mad for himself as well. Antony was a reminder of all the times the vampire had been underestimated, belittled, and objectified. He was the kind of guy Astarion hadn't thought twice about seducing, not because he desired them but because their deaths wouldn't stain his consciousness.

I know, my love, Miss Fortune's eyes reassured him. They weren't sparing Ant from Astarion's ire out of a sense of altruism but out of practicality. Unless they played their cards extremely well—and quickly—Antony was to all the inn a bonafide Harper, and thus off limits. It was that last realization that made Astarion de-escalate his emotions with a sharp blast of air through his nose.

And then, just like that, his charming-but-deadly mask snapped into place and he turned to regard the chastened Antony with a wide, cruel smile.

"That's much better," Astarion purred, flashing his fangs again with a feline smile. "My leader is very important to our group and you'll treat them with respect. Or you'll deal with me, and I'm not nearly as restrained."

My leader. It would have been so easy for Astarion to play the protective lover card, to react with vicious jealousy and vindictive possessiveness. To perpetuate the idea Antony was pushing that Miss Fortune was merely a body to be passed around from person to person. But he didn't. Instead, he chose to elevate them to a professional, skilled position. A leader, a valued member of a team. The half-elf swelled with pride.

"U-understood," Antony gulped, but when he turned his attention back to Miss Fortune his pupils narrowed into cruel slits, the fear morphing into smug satisfaction. Evidently his caution only extended to Astarion.

"Let's get back to the conversation at hand, Ant," Miss Fortune asserted. "I won't help you because it's a bad idea. She has a starring role in a play far too complex for your pea brain to comprehend."

Antony laughed ruefully. "Orders are orders. All you have to do is follow up on a lead I got for some ingredients for an incredibly potent poison supposedly sitting around at the Waning Moon tavern in the abandoned town to the east. Bring 'em back to me and I'll take care of the rest. You're still part of the Guild, unless you wanna add Keene to the list of people putting a bounty on your head?"

"I knew you were stupid, but clearly I've underestimated your dullness if you can't even understand the word 'No,'" Miss Fortune scoffed. "She'll understand if I explain the situation. And if she doesn't, I'm willing to roll the dice on the consequences; and I'm very good at dice."

Antony attempted to approach again, but he halted when Astarion's hand flew to the hilt of his dagger, lips curled back in warning. The man's flippant facade was beginning to crack. Bright sepia eyes dulled to a cracked and worn terra cotta and the corner of his mouth twitched. But just when he was about to speak once more, he halted. They all heard the clomp of footsteps approaching along the cobblestone path and dispersed like insects fleeing sudden light.

Antony broke into a scouting position, appearing for all the world like he was peering out into the curse's depths for any signs of unlife. Astarion and Miss Fortune, their minds once again seemingly in sync, scurried over to the inn's wall. The way Astarion's posture so naturally assumed an air of clandestine flirtation lit a tiny flame of desire in their core, but they were loath to give Antony more fuel for his objectifying fire. So although their mind chanted 'kiss him, kiss him, kiss him!' like a hormonal teenager, they instead latched a hand onto his broad shoulder and forced out a deep laugh like he'd just told the funniest joke imaginable shortly before another Harper came ambling by.

"Oh my gods, he really said that?!" Miss Fortune wheezed, hunching over to clutch their stomach. "Shadowheart must've been livid! Tell me she put him in his place?"

Without missing a beat, Astarion's face split into a wide grin. "Oh, you know Shadowheart, she immediately had a witty retort. Something to the effect of 'Shar may be the lady of loss, but at least she doesn't demand the loss of one's virginity in order to become her chosen like Mystra does!' Our dear wizard turned about the same plum shade as his shirt!"

The pair cackled like hyenas on cue, watching out of the corners of their eyes and continuing to make small talk while a tiefling Harper paused to greet Antony and then passed without paying them any mind. Once the tiefling rounded the far corner of the inn, Antony ambled over to where the rogues had gathered once more, his downturned eyebrows and sharp scowl still betraying how displeased he was with where their conversation had left off.

"What's to stop me from ratting you out the moment I get back to the city?" Antony threatened. "Let me paint you a picture: the Madam's put a 10,000-gold bounty out on you on the black market. Who knows how many mercs'll be riding your ass the moment you're recognized? And then there's the Fists. You’re still wanted for being a murderous—"

"No! I'm aware of that one, move on," Miss Fortune blurted out, panic pulsing down their body, white and hot.

"Oh, loverboy doesn't know, does he?" Antony smirked, mocking. "A right riot, innit." Turning his attention to Astarion once more, he continued. "You have no idea who you're traveling with, do you? You really ought to be more careful to vet your lovers. This one over here? They're—"

A pale, clawed hand blurred past Miss Fortune's face while another shoved them backwards a few paces. A split moment later, Astarion maneuvered to the side and brought his arm—now grasping Antony by the back of the head—screeching back into the direction of the inn’s siding. Antony let out a string of whiny expletives when his face collided with the structure with a loud thud, and Miss Fortune swore they heard the snap of bone.

"Oh my, and you really ought to be more careful to watch where you're going, friend," Astarion drawled as if he were remarking on the weather. "Seems you've tripped and taken a nasty fall, what a pity. I'd direct you to our good cleric friend but I'm afraid she doesn't heal stupidity. Now, be a dear and get to the point without the petty blackmail."

"You fucking prick!" Antony bleated, a vacant whistle in his tone that hadn't been there before. He held a bloody hand to his nose while he danced from foot to foot in agony. "You're that fucking whipped by a little boy pussy? You whores deser—"

The thief stopped mid-sentence when Astarion made a move to slam him into the wall again."It's called impulse control, you repugnant troll. Try it sometime."

This went sideways and off a cliff so fast, Miss Fortune groaned inwardly. It was mostly Antony’s fault for being an insufferable prick, but Astarion was snapping up every bit of poisoned bait like a starved displacer beast. They had to reassert control of the situation somehow.

Think fast, c’mon, they goaded themselves. I can’t believe how obsessed Antony is with my sex life. It’s clearly driving Astarion into a frenzy. …Gods, I hope Astarion remembers what I told him before this encounter kicked off so I don’t hurt him.

Stepping between their lover and former colleague with arms spread wide, Miss Fortune kept their tone even and placid. “Let’s calm ourselves, everyone. And let’s get some things straight. Astarion and I aren’t a thing, Ant, and we never will be. He’s merely a useful and loyal ally who takes offense to poor manners.”

Miss Fortune felt like they may as well have stabbed Astarion in the back for the way he gasped and his eyes widened into red-rimmed black pools in perceived betrayal. The half-elf felt their insides twist and knot, distraught at the thought of hurting him. But they had to press on.

“And for all that you seem eager to get another taste of this ‘boy pussy,’ you’re going to have to be a lot nicer to me than this to actually get it. So here’s how this is gonna go. Listening, Ant?”

The broken-nosed thief swallowed hard and nodded, though his eyes still bored past them and into Astarion.

“Wonderful. I’m not going to help you because it’s a bad idea. And you’re not going to turn me in to the Madam, the Fists, or anyone else after me. You’re in a cursed land all by your lonesome without true allies, unless you get lucky enough to count me. Even if the Harpers turn on me, I’ve got Astarion here and several other allies who will fight for me. So there is nothing stopping me from ratting you out to Jaheira.

“Or, barring that, Astarion would be more than happy to help you breathe your last right here and we can take our chances with the Harpers. Either way, touch me or threaten me and you’ll be dead before you can so much as dip a pinky toe back in the city. Nod if you’re following. Excellent. Here’s my deal: you tell me everyone who’s got an interest in me in the city, minus the Fists since I’m well aware of that threat.

“And in return, when I go snooping around Moonrise Towers I’ll share any tidbits Keene will find interesting so you can make a thorough enough report that she won’t bat an eye that the High Harper still lives. Scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. And if you play your cards right, we’ll see what else we can scratch for each other back in the city. Deal?”

Antony continued glaring at Astarion while he thought, then finally spat a bloody gob at the vampire’s feet before wiping his mouth derisively. “Fuck. Got me in a box here, Fortune. Yeah, deal. Better make the intel real bloody good.“

Miss Fortune bit the inside of their lip to keep from audibly sighing in relief, but they let themselves shift subtly in Astarion’s direction. As they lowered their arms they brushed one against their lover in a way they hoped would look accidental but that Astarion would know was deliberate. When Antony didn’t follow up with his part of the deal, they arched their eyebrows at him and tapped their foot.

“Oh you meant now?” Antony scoffed, then backed down again when Astarion’s growl curled around Miss Fortune and straight into the thief’s chest. “Well, I was already halfway through anyway, before. Consider it a downpayment in good faith of your delivery.

“So, the Madam. May as well admit I do a bit of side work just for her so I’ve got it on good authority about that 10,000-gold bounty. Which’ll be added to your debt upon capture, no doubt. She’s already doubled it by the way. To cover lost earnings and the bribes she had to make to cover up your little…outburst…when you up and disappeared. So you’ll be sucking and fucking cock til both holes bleed every night for the rest of your life to pay that down.

“Keene ain’t so happy with you either. She was keeping the Madam at bay for ya so long as you made your payments on time, and then you up and disappeared on her too. So I figure the Guild will wanna take you in for questioning right quick.”

This conversation had to wrap up quickly before Miss Fortune fell into the pit of despair that was yawning open within them. 50,000 gold had seemed impossible enough to pay off, but 110,000 was…they might as well give Astarion one last big meal and let him drain them as a mercy kill. They couldn’t go back to working the sheets. Death was preferable. Death seemed…inevitable. Their heart pounded in their chest like a prisoner behind bars, pleading innocence and demanding release.

“Hmph, is that all?” Astarion mused, fiddling with the clasp on his armor.

“What do you mean is that all?! They’re in a world of shit, you pale freak,” Antony spat.

“And here I thought you were going to tell me my leader was actually in over their head. This is nothing we can’t handle. Now then, we’ll be in touch. Mosey on along before you blow your own cover; so unpleasant to meet you. Buh-bye!”

Astarion’s dismissive wave pulled more grumbled curses from under Antony’s breath but he shuffled off with barely more than a “see you later” to Miss Fortune. The half-elf watched his stooped back grow smaller, completely frozen in despair. Once he turned the corner, leaving the rogues alone, their knees buckled. But instead of falling they were twirled around until their back was pressed against the wall.

Wobbly legs be damned, Astarion’s hands slid down to cup their ass, lifting Miss Fortune up and pressing into them, hard and needy. His talons dug into their glutes and it was all the half-elf could do to wrap their limbs around their lover as if clinging to a tree to avoid being swept away by a hurricane.

“Mine. You are MINE,” Astarion snarled into their neck, his voice half-broken and cloying. The vampire’s breath sent a chill down their body.

“I’m yours, Star,” Miss Fortune confirmed, suddenly confused. They’d never seen Astarion this desperate before, but it didn’t seem to be stemming from a place of sexual desire. Or at least, there was no insistent press of arousal where their groins met.

Twin points sunk softly into Miss Fortune’s neck in the very same spot he’d chided them not to pick at earlier, claiming them again. He only drank a few mouthfuls before he closed the wounds for them once more, a low keen sounding from his belly and rumbling against Miss Fortune’s body. When the vampire pulled away to bear down on them with ruby eyes blazing, the half-elf crumpled further into his embrace, wishing they were already back inside their tent with the silencing charm on so they could let themselves go.

“They won’t take you back. They won’t. I—I’ll kill them all, every last one of them,” Astarion stammered, teeth still gnashing in fury. “I hate to taste dread in your blood. They’ll pay for that too, I’ll rip it out a thousandfold from their wretched throats.”

He…he’s afraid of losing me, Miss Fortune realized. And I…don’t think it’s because of my promise about Cazador anymore. Gods, what a mess we are…

“Star, that’s too many people, we—how could we possibly fight them all?” Miss Fortune lamented, the panic clanging like discordant bells in their mind and scrambling their thoughts. “Promise me, please…if they take me, you’ll kill me. A mercy kill. If it’s by your hand…”

“NO! We’ll figure this out. We…we need to tell the others. You can’t keep this to yourself. We need everyone on board.”

“I don’t want to, but…okay. I trust your judgment. But later, before we enter the city. We…we need to focus—mh—on the—Star, you’re distracting me—we need to focus on the…cult first,” Miss Fortune pushed out in fits and bursts, thrown off by the savage kisses Astarion had begun bruising their neck with.

“Mine,” was all he could manage to growl out again.

Miss Fortune grasped Astarion’s curls and brought his mouth to meet theirs, blood smearing over their lips like lipstick. Their kissing was possessive and violent, a frantic clashing of tongues and nipping of lips while their hands gripped impotently against leather where they wished instead to find bare skin.

The longer they devoured each other, the further the panic slipped into the recesses of their mind until it was well below the surface thoughts—as were any thoughts about how very public and open a space they were grinding against each other in. For indeed, they were each straining against their constricting leathers, Astarion rocking his bulge against theirs in time with the rhythmic collision of their mouths.

But as soon as Miss Fortune’s hormone-addled mind began to think about taking things further, the shame walloped them in the gut with the force of a battering ram. They were just a whore, as Antony had reminded them. A stupid whore who had done the worst thing imaginable: fall in love. And without his saying it explicitly, it didn’t matter how well Miss Fortune dissected Astarion’s words and actions to decipher whether the feeling was mutual; they could be wrong. And they just weren’t sure anymore that they wanted sex without love.

Which was all too overwhelming to talk through so instead they threw their head back and let Astarion keep ravaging their neck, buying them enough air to talk.

“Star, this really messed with my head today,” they began.

“mmph, I can tell,” he mumbled through a mouth full of Adam’s apple.

“I’m gonna need to spend the night alone so I can think.”

“Not…a chance…” he nibbled on their earlobe. “Last time…you just spiraled.”

“But I…don’t wanna talk about it,” they groaned, fingers swirling at the curls in the back of his head.

“Then don’t.”

“I don’t wanna have sex, either…”

“Then we won’t,” Astarion purred, removing his mouth from their body to look at them. His eyes shone with intense emotion Miss Fortune didn’t recognize.

“I’ll be bad company,” they protested.

“I don’t need to be entertained, darling. We can do one of those…mind journey thingies…or drink ourselves silly. I don’t care! But I am not leaving you to rot alone in your tent.”

“You—“ Miss Fortune had been about to argue further when they heard Karlach’s jubilant laughter off in the distance. Shooting a glance over their shoulder revealed the barbarian beaming brightly while waltzing down the path hand in hand with Dammon.

“Looks like our fiery friend scratched her 10-year itch,” Astarion smirked.

“That it does. And she’s going to notice us aaany second. Is it more embarrassing for her to see me hoisted up against a wall like a drunken wench or for her to see us scurrying out of position like cheating spouses?”

“I say option three: no embarrassment, just me, continuing to claim you as if we didn’t have a care in the world.” A hungry smile crept across his face once more, his eyebrow arching in invitation.

In lieu of a witty retort, the half-elf simply enfolded Astarion further between their legs and pulled his mouth back to theirs. If they hadn’t been solely focused on the feel of him and the way his citrus-herbal scent mingled with their sweet woody-floral perfume, they would have marveled at how the vampire had managed to hold them aloft this long. But those were thoughts for less emotional moments. Moments when they weren’t trying to use Astarion’s tongue to lash the anxiety out of them.

“Damn boys, you know there’s actual rooms inside you can use, right?!” Karlach shouted, following it up with a wolf whistle.

Miss Fortune’s only retort was to flash her the middle finger with both hands nestled behind Astarion’s back, which made her howl loudly with laughter.

It wasn’t until some time later when Miss Fortune felt their feet being gingerly set back on the ground that they realized they’d dissociated for an unknown duration. Their lips felt nearly as swollen as their cock and they were panting for breath. For his part, Astarion was staring them down once more with concern in his eyes.

“Sorry, I…wasn’t all there for a bit. N-not because I didn’t want to be, it’s just…you do it too, don’t you? So you know.”

“I know, darling. I’m sorry I didn’t catch it sooner but once I did, well…why do you think I put you down? Come, love. Let’s take a moment to calm ourselves before we head back to Halsin, hmm? Sooner we get home the sooner you can fall apart properly. And I’ll be there to help pick up the pieces.”

Chapter Text

The heavy scent of cherries, musk, and sulphur still clung to the air around them even though Raphael had disappeared with a snap of his long fingers minutes ago. The companions stood in an arc around Miss Fortune and Astarion, and everyone was for once dumbfounded into silence. As the leader of the group, Miss Fortune knew they should probably take a quick inventory of moods but they made no move to do so. Instead, it was their lover they were focused on, as if staring at him long enough could decipher his thoughts in every tensed muscle and wrinkle in his brow.

For his part, Astarion appeared to be taking inventory of every pebble and grain of dirt on the ground, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. He stood still enough that he’d be the envy of a statue, his disregard for oxygen allowing him to forgo even the movement of breath.

It was the vampire’s reticence that kept Miss Fortune from succumbing to their own fraught emotions, prevented them from letting the gravity of grief pull them to their knees before everyone. After all, Raphael’s damning intel had revealed Astarion’s fate, not theirs. And yet…they had wound their own wellbeing so tightly around his that the truth of his scars might as well have been branded into their skin as well.

Raphael had revealed that Astarion’s scars bound him not only to Cazador and his spawn ‘siblings,’ but also to a dark ritual so vile it had never been performed before. The Rite of Profane Ascension: a deal Cazador struck with Mephistopheles himself to sacrifice a number of souls to him in return for becoming the Vampire Ascendant, an all-powerful being with all of the awesome powers and none of the cursed shortcomings of a vampire.

If he managed to get ahold of Astarion and complete the ritual, their lover would be sacrificed, gone forever. Miss Fortune didn’t even truly have Astarion yet and they were already forced to picture a possible future in which they never would. In the cauldron of their emotions, grief bubbled and swirled until it boiled over into anger. This wasn’t fair! To taste freedom, to allow themselves to dream of love and companionship only to discover some grand design ready to slash it to ribbons.

Trapped in their silent rage, Miss Fortune kicked absentmindedly at the ground while they envisioned all the many ways they wanted Cazador to meet his end. They wanted Astarion to be free—truly free. Learning of the ritual added too many challenges into the pursuit of that freedom for Miss Fortune's liking.

Just learning this information had been a challenge in itself. After days of trekking through shadow-cursed lands and combing building by building through the crumbling ruins of an abandoned town, the companions had seen the looming shadow of Moonrise Towers to the south. Once the town had been cleared of undead and declared safe, they decided to move camp to its center.

Further exploration north brought them into the town’s sprawling, dilapidated graveyard and eventually to the Thorm family mausoleum, where Raphael was waiting for them. They stumbled upon the cambion practicing lines to a poem when they crested the stairs; a poem of warning, he said.

But the duplicitous devil had been counting on them to press him further; it was through Miss Fortune’s playful interrogation that he eventually revealed his hand: his price for the story of Astarion’s scars was to kill Yurgir, an orthon trapped deep within a temple of Shar hidden away at the back of the mausoleum.

They had fulfilled their end of the bargain this morning, and so he had come to them to mete out a reward that in hindsight felt more like a punishment.

Would it be better to give Astarion space? Pull him aside for a private conversation? Miss Fortune truly had no idea, and the paralysis of indecision was eating away at them. It was Shadowheart who took charge and broke the silence.

“Astarion, we’re not going to let that monster of a vampire lord offer you up as a sacrifice to Mephistopheles. So don’t even let that worry darken your mind,” she asserted sternly. When he made no move to respond, she turned on her heel and snapped at the rest of the group.

“Well, the devil’s gone so we might as well make our new camp homey,” she ordered. “What are we waiting for? Wyll, Gale, break out that cauldron and get chopping on the fresh vegetables we picked up from the inn yesterday. It’s been ages since we’ve had a hot meal. Karlach, Scratch needs some exercise. Halsin, work with Lae’zel to fortify the area. I’ll find a spot to dig a latrine.”

Everyone shuffled off, leaving the rogues on their own in front of the fire pit they’d just finished making before Raphael’s appearance. Miss Fortune sidled up to Astarion, still at a complete loss on how to react. Off to their left they heard Karlach cackling and Scratch barking as they began a game of fetch, and all around them the others carried on as if it were business as usual.

“Hmm…” Astarion hummed quietly.

“You’re unusually quiet about this, sweetie,” Miss Fortune broached. Completely unaware of their nervous habits, they began scratching at their arms while shuffling their weight from one foot to the other.

“It’s a lot to take in,” he admitted. He looked far less perturbed than they felt. “What do you think we should do?”

Their eyes slid up to his and they stared at each other for a few moments, pondering. Miss Fortune sighed, realizing they couldn’t afford to stay in an emotional space thinking like his lover. They had to put their spy persona on.

“As your, uh…well, whatever you think of me as, I want to say we should stab him until he’s a red smear on his polished palace floors. But speaking as a…professional…we need more information. This is dangerous and we can’t afford to rush in and find out the hard way that we miscalculated. No matter how reclusive a figure Cazador is in Baldur’s Gate society, people will have to know something about his preparations.”

Astarion rubbed his chin thoughtfully, eyes coasting downwards again. Thinking, thinking, thinking. Miss Fortune felt waves of unease crash upon the shores of their mind with each sharp chop! of a chef knife meeting the cutting board while Wyll and Gale prepared the vegetables a ways off.

“In either case, I’m hearing that you think we need to take the fight to him, if I’m interpreting your words correctly.”

“You’ll never be truly free until he’s dead, sweetie. And you can’t just spend the rest of eternity running and hiding; that’s no way to live,” Miss Fortune explained.

“I hate how right you are. But also…did you listen to yourself just now? Perhaps you ought to apply the same logic to your predicament, hmm? Instead of immediately jumping to begging me to kill you if you’re captured. What would you say if I did that just now?”

A fierce protective streak roared to life; they would never agree to that. If anyone took Astarion they’d rip apart the entire city stone by stone until they found him again, and there would be no one left alive to regret the decision to kidnap him. They could tell by the way their chin had defiantly jutted out that their face was answer enough.

“Precisely, little bird,” Astarion said smugly.

“Don’t change the subject,” Miss Fortune groused, crossing their arms in front of their chest. They didn’t miss the way Astarion’s eyes flitted down momentarily to savor the way their chest flexed as they did so.

“Am I? Our situations are similar. How can I trust you to fight for me when you won’t even fight for yourself?”

“Because I l—“ Nope, we’re not letting Astarion goad us into blurting that out, Miss Fortune’s better judgment interjected suddenly, saving them from declaring their feelings in a fit of passion. “Ahem. Because…fuck, you got me. Okay. It’s like we’ve said all along, we’re a team. We’re gonna help each other and nobody’s going to become a sacrifice to their sadistic masters. Deal?”

It was refreshing to see Astarion looking smug rather than defeated, even if the transition happened at their expense. Still, their anxieties needled at them and they wished they could wrap the vampire up in their embrace and shield him from all the horrors lurking just beyond the horizon. But that wouldn’t do, not in front of the others. Too intimate for people who were “just fucking.”

“I’m just glad you’re still talking to me after the way you chewed me out in the temple,” Miss Fortune teased instead, although their voice was still strained with emotion.

“How was I supposed to know you were trying to talk it to death?!” he hissed, annoyance rearing its head once more at the reminder of how Miss Fortune had pretended to agree to help Yurgir find a way out of his contract with Raphael.

“I figured you would trust me enough to know I would never do anything to jeopardize you getting what you need, and I’m a little hurt that you didn’t,” they bantered with a sly grin.

They weren’t hurt though, not really. Astarion’s shocked, indignant rebuke had played perfectly into convincing Yurgir that they were making an earnest if unexpected attempt to help him. Yurgir's contract commanded him to kill all who could hear the song that served as the terms of his servitude, and Miss Fortune had managed to convince him to kill all of his allies and then himself, effectively fulfilling Astarion's bargain with Raphael without a fight.

With a huff, Astarion spread his arms wide in defeat. “Of course I trust you. I just…ugh, I don’t know. I need some time alone, to think. I’ll see you later, little bird.”

The darkness spread within Miss Fortune as they watched Astarion's disappearing form get swallowed up by the cursed gloom. Once out of sight, the half-elf heaved a long sigh, only to turn and realize Wyll and Gale had been standing awkwardly just out of earshot with arms full of stew ingredients, clearly waiting for the rogues to stop having a private conversation in the most public part of camp. The leader waved in apology and brought the cauldron over to the fire for them, hoping that made up for it.

After a tenday of subsisting on cold rations, tonight's hot stew filled every crevice of Miss Fortune’s insides with a satisfying warmth they’d taken for granted until it was gone. Astarion had not reemerged by the end of supper so they found themselves wandering towards Shadowheart’s tent in search of company. Anything to avoid being alone with their thoughts.

Usually they would seek out Gale, but he was still grappling with his own impending death sentence and they didn’t want to further burden him. And besides, while they were trailing Yurgir they discovered the Gauntlet of Shar: a series of trials that Shar's devout undertook to become Dark Justiciars. She had reacted strangely for someone finding the path forward for her greatest ambition, so Miss Fortune wanted to check in with her.

The leader found their friend not in prayer but rather lounging on one of her round purple cushions, swirling a glass of wine lazily in her hand. Miss Fortune halted when they noticed a bottle and second glass waiting beside her; she was expecting company. Would they be intruding?

“What an adorable little expression, Lady Luck,” Shadowheart called out when they turned to leave. Glancing over their shoulder, the cleric mirrored their face, making a surprised O with her mouth while her eyebrows disappeared into her bangs. She patted the cushion beside her. “Get over here. You’re the visitor I was waiting for.” She mimicked their surprised face again, then cackled. “I know you by now, my dear. You looked absolutely gutted when Raphael gleefully revealed the secret behind Astarion’s scars and your husband is still off sulking, so…”

Miss Fortune’s eyes took a tour of their skull as they rolled their eyes at the cleric but they lowered themselves down onto the cushion anyway. They had a filled glass in hand within moments and the pair clinked rims casually before taking dainty sips; it was a rich red with notes of plum and vanilla, not too acidic.

“Mmm, nice find, hun,” Miss Fortune complimented. “Don’t think you’re getting away with that comment, though. He’s not my husband; he’s not even my boyfriend or…whatever one calls someone they’re in a relationship with. Point is, we’re not together,” they whined, tugging at the too-tight neckline of their night shirt.

“Bullshit.”

“Oh my gods, Shad, why’re you being so mean?!”

“Because I’m beginning to think you’re being an idiot on purpose,” she griped, flicking them on the side of the head hard enough that it stung. “Have you even told him how you feel about him?”

“Owww! Sort of…I told him enough that the next move is his to make. I said a lot of things I probably should have taken to my grave. Like that I’m his, and that I want a committed relationship instead of just a fling. Ugh, just saying it out loud to you makes me want to die of embarrassment. Hold me, Shad.”

Miss Fortune withered sideways into their friend’s embrace, finding comfort in the way her soft arms wound around their shoulders. She smelled of lavender and dark amber—at once comforting and mysterious—which was fitting for her. Shadowheart sighed heavily as if she were put off by their request but when they looked up she smiled fondly.

“Why is it embarrassing to tell someone you have feelings for them?” She challenged softly. “You’re not a prostitute anymore, Lady Luck. You don’t have to screw strangers unless you want to. You’re allowed to…make love. To fall in love. Or hells, just cuddle up without having sex at all. Just because I think love is a waste of time doesn’t mean I can’t recognize that you’re the type who craves it. Own it.”

“If only it were that easy. I didn’t come here to talk about me though, Shad. I thought maybe—"

Miss Fortune was interrupted by Karlach barreling over to Shadowheart's tent. “Sorry I’m late for the intervention!” she bellowed, crouching down with hands on her knees as she panted, Scratch tight on her heels as he wove between her legs excitedly.

“Are they—“

“Oh, they’re resisting all right," Shadowheart said wickedly.

“Wha—intervention?!” Miss Fortune sputtered, bolting upright from where they’d been comfortably lounging against Shadowheart. They looked between the two women, not even trying to hide the confused betrayal they felt. “Nope. That’s not happening, ladies. Astarion and I can figure our own things out. Karlach, you can stay if you want but I’m steering this conversation back over to Shadowheart.”

The ground shook when the barbarian let herself fall onto her behind in front of her friends. After Scratch settled down beside her with his head between his paws and tail thumping softly against the ground, Karlach swiped the wine from Miss Fortune's hand and drained the rest of its contents, wiping her mouth with a quiet burp.

Miss Fortune took a brief look around the camp, hoping to see someone, anyone out and about who could spare them from this so-called intervention, but all was still. It was just the three of them and Lae'zel, who was engaged as always with her training dummy. Miss Fortune, Shadowheart, and Karlach were the only pocket of liveliness in the eerie stillness of camp.

"Anyone ever tell ya you're no fun?" Karlach ribbed.

"More times than you could guess, my fiery friend," Miss Fortune replied with a wink. Then, turning to Shadowheart: "I was surprised you didn't immediately drag us through the Gauntlet of Shar when we found it. Any particular reason?"

The cleric's congenial expression darkened, her inner turmoil suddenly on display. "I…I can't say. It's all I've wanted for as long as I can remember, and yet…I can't help but feel I'm not ready. I must commune with Lady Shar on the matter first."

Shadowheart had taken the end of her long braid between her fingers and begun twirling it absentmindedly with eyes downcast. Miss Fortune could tell that was all they were going to get out of her on the matter for now.

"Well, the good news is that we know where it is," Miss Fortune broached carefully. "I don't think it's going anywhere. So whenever you feel ready we'll gather up the cheer squad and rush on back there to see you through the gauntlet."

"Thank you. Truly." She tipped the wine bottle over to pour herself another generous helping before topping off Miss Fortune's—now Karlach's—glass. "Now can we please get back to the juicy topic of when you're going to get over yourself and confess your undying love for Astarion already? Not that it isn't amusing to watch you mooning over him like a lovesick puppy, but…as your friend I want to see you happy."

"Seriously!" Karlach threw out a muscular arm and wrapped Miss Fortune in a loose headlock with a heady laugh, mussing their hair with their free hand.

"NOT THE HAIR!" Miss Fortune howled. With a deft movement they slid out of her grasp and vaulted themselves over her back, locking her head between their thighs and using the momentum to flip her backwards in a flying neck scissor choke—a fun little move Lae'zel had taught them for close combat with larger opponents.

They maneuvered to sit on her chest with smug satisfaction, knowing full well all the tiefling had to do was roll over and crush them to get the last laugh. And she probably would have if she weren't wheezing and cackling too hard.

Scratch barked furiously, a growl rattling in his throat as he darted over to tug at Miss Fortune's shirt sleeve.

"They're not hurting me, Scratchy. Down, boy!" Karlach commanded, but the dog had already torn a hole in the fabric. That'd be at least an hour of mending work.

"Lady Luck, noted on the hair you slippery little devil, dear gods! A bit high maintenance ain'tcha, even though we're all grime caked and greasy being stuck in a cursed land with nary a bathtub between us?"

"Speak for yourself—I'm managing to stay clean just fine," they replied, helping her up before reclaiming their place beside Shadowheart. "And to answer your question, Shad, I have no idea. I mean gods, he just got sucker punched with some pretty heavy news tonight. I'm probably the farthest thing from his mind right now. And…I've already put myself out there. If he wanted me, I think he would've…would've…ugh I don't know, what do normal people do? I don't think I'd recognize love if it sat on my face."

Miss Fortune found themselves melting down onto the ground with arms thrown dramatically overhead, only to be joined by their companions moments later. The half-elf wound up sandwiched between the cleric and barbarian, their breasts pressing against either side of their ribcage and their faces nuzzled into their shoulders. A chuckle rumbled up from deep within when they realized this would be the stuff of heavenly dreams for many a person, and yet they were far too gay to appreciate how lucky they were to be flanked by soft bosoms.

"What's normal anyway, Lady Luck?" Karlach challenged. "You spend so much time together, you really think Fangs would spend the night so often if he didn't care at least a little?" Her lips on their cheek felt like stray ashes fluttering over from a bonfire when she planted a friendly peck there. "Who wouldn't want a sweetheart like you, huh?"

"Have you any idea how many times that pale menace snips at me not to touch him even when he's injured and I'm just trying to heal him?" Shadowheart added. "You're special to him, I can see it. Why can't you?"

Not to be outdone by Karlach, the cleric interlaced her fingers with Miss Fortune's and nuzzled her nose into their other cheek. The half-elf sighed; they knew the women meant well. They recognized the care with which they were choosing their words. But they just weren't in a place to receive them. They had a lifetime of experiences that ran counter to everything their friends were saying and it was hard to rewire their brain to believe they had good, desirable qualities beyond their looks and bedroom skills.

Squeezing their eyes shut, Miss Fortune's mind drifted instead to Astarion: what was he doing right now? Was he suffering alone, too proud to reach for them? Was he making that distraught face that exaggerated all his worry lines, or tossing around his dagger to distract himself? Maybe he was rubbing his earlobe like he did when he was deep in thought about something unpleasant.

While they thought, confident footsteps approached from the direction of Lae'zel's tent, growing louder the closer she marched at a soldier's crisp, even tempo.

"Get up," she commanded in a tone that left no room to argue. "Miss Fortune doesn't need to be coddled like a hungry babe. They need to train if they've any hope of taking down a vampire lord."

Cracking an eye open revealed the Githyanki standing at their feet, slim lips pressed and downturned in a stern glower. Relief unwound the tight knot that had been forming in their stomach; they could almost always count on Lae'zel to spare them the compliments and bluntly tell them what they needed to hear—whether they wanted to hear it or not.

"The stubborn ass didn't seem to be lightening up from our compliments," Shadowheart conceded. "Go ahead, try it your way, Gith."

Such coldness directed at the person Shadowheart was bedding; then again, maybe they both liked the torment of rough love. Who was Miss Fortune to judge, anyway? They didn't have long to ponder it before Lae'zel grabbed them by their ankles and dragged them out of Shadowheart and Karlach's cuddle pile before dropping their legs back to the ground followed by a pair of practice daggers.

"Get. Up." Lae'zel barked again before turning to head back to where she'd set out her training dummies; Miss Fortune suspected they wouldn't be using those tonight, however.

"Thanks for the company, ladies," Miss Fortune said with mock regret as they dusted themselves off and grabbed the daggers. A quick glance backwards showed the pair had absorbed the space the rogue left behind, Karlach playing absentmindedly with the chains caging Shadowheart's braid.

"See ya, Lady Luck," they said in unison with a giggle.

Several minutes later, Miss Fortune and Lae'zel circled each other with blunted weapons at the ready. The warrior had traded her favored greatsword for a pair of wicked looking knives that curved forward. Kukris, she had called them. Weapons favored by fierce warriors on another plane that the Githyanki had discovered and adopted into their arsenals over time.

While they traded blows blade to blade, Lae'zel explained that they were much bulkier and heavier than daggers, meant for chopping and hacking rather than stabbing and piercing. Yet they had less heft than a greatsword, allowing someone used to heavy weaponry like Lae'zel to shift to a quicker fighting style without completely changing the maneuvers she was used to.

After Lae'zel landed several bruising hits in a row, she clicked her tongue. "Chk. You are distracted," she scolded. "I am surprised, Miss Fortune." Her kukri swung forward in a tight arc towards their shoulder; the half-elf blocked it this time and parried with their other dagger, catching her in the side. "Are you not the one always extolling the virtues of having all the information? I thought you would be overjoyed to have such valuable intel on the vampire lord's intentions for Astarion."

"Overjoyed to learn that one wrong move lands my—lands Astarion on a sacrificial altar to Mephistopheles? You must be joking." Miss Fortune leapt over Lae'zel's legs as she attempted a trip attack but failed to land a hit before she swung back around. They were supposed to be able to count on Lae'zel to train them senseless, not give them a heart-to-heart while they sparred.

Dull practice blades clanked together as they continued to spar, the sound of metal on metal resonating through the space around them. Lae'zel smirked coldly as if Miss Fortune were little more than a petulant child pouting over not getting their way. The half-elf realized that the warrior had been slowly and meticulously leading them away from her tent and towards the abandoned town square—looking to add stairs combat and uneven footing into their exercise, no doubt. Already sweaty and feeling constricted by the too-tight shirt, Miss Fortune removed it to raucous wolf whistles from Karlach and Shadowheart where they lounged, evidently watching the action from afar.

"I warned you in the beginning that you were bewitched by the vampire, that his beauty would be your undoing," Lae'zel pontificated while she feinted and darted in for a slash across the stomach, only to be disarmed when Miss Fortune—growing increasingly more annoyed—blocked her with enough force to send the weapon sprawling.

The Gith continued lecturing while she retrieved her kukri. "Your feelings for him cloud your vision. The information we learned today is valuable. We know enough to keep your lover safe until we can learn more. Rejoice in that small comfort, but do not grow complacent. We will continue to train until no vampire lord could hope to best us. And perhaps," she added with a sly wink she must have picked up from Shadowheart, "consider formalizing your relationship with the pale one so you'll stop being so moody and distracted."

Miss Fortune groaned loudly in exasperation. "General, not you too!" they scoffed. "I thought you were better than this. Did Shad put you up to it?"

Lae'zel had just taken a step backwards onto the first step of the raised town square, dragging one kukri upwards under Miss Fortune's daggers with a shink! while the other slipped through their defenses to whack them in the chest, when Miss Fortune realized they weren't alone anymore. The hair on the back of their neck stood up, a familiar omen that Astarion was creeping closer.

Clenching their jaw, Miss Fortune steeled themselves not to look behind them; Lae'zel would seize the opportunity to knock them on their ass and bruise their ego. So instead they ignored the buzzing trepidation in their mind and pressed after her up the steps, ducking and weaving while their daggers glinted in the faint torch light, swinging with a precision they'd honed over many such nights squaring off against the warrior.

The half-elf had to admit a small part of them was trying harder now in the hopes of impressing Astarion. With a series of grunts they continued their flurry of slashes until a few minutes later Lae'zel's back hit the wall of the large statue at the town's center.

They held a practice blade to the Gith's throat. "Yield!" Miss Fortune commanded, their eyes squinting and lips pulled back into a ferocious snarl. And then they felt the chilly kiss of steel against their stomach and the ruthlessness swept out of them with a whoosh. "A tie, then," they grinned.

"A tie," Lae'zel praised appreciatively. "Though were I in possession of the supernatural powers of a vampire lord, you would be outmatched. Come to me more often, we will continue to sharpen your skills."

From over their shoulder, the clearing of a throat. The rogue and warrior removed their blades from each other's bodies and Miss Fortune disengaged. They finally allowed themselves to turn towards Astarion then, and their chest ached to see the haunted look in his eyes, the sorrowful frown.

The shirt Miss Fortune had made for him draped elegantly across his frame with the top three buttons undone to expose the sternum and the muscular ridge of his pecs. His hair looked freshly coiffed, and newly-applied perfume clung to him. It struck the half-elf as odd, but they brushed it off. After all, they were prone to going the extra mile to look good when they felt awful inside too.

"I'd like to borrow Miss Fortune please," he called out without any of his usual cockiness. The vampire rocked back and forth on his heels. It was then that Miss Fortune noticed he was hiding something behind his back.

The half-elf felt a sinking dread drop down into the depths of their belly; logically they knew it wasn't the end—probably. He'd told them already he had no plans to end their affair. But logic was too often an unwelcome guest in matters of love, especially to an anxious mind such as theirs. The longer Miss Fortune stared at their nervous lover the more nauseous they began to feel, but they nodded anyway and waved in thanks to Lae'zel without looking back at her.

"Let me just grab my shirt," Miss Fortune mumbled, rubbing their forehead and trudging down the steps.

"No need," Astarion replied firmly. When the half-elf reached him, he held out a trembling hand towards them. In it he held a folded garment. "The old one didn't fit you anymore anyway."

With hands tremoring worse than Astarion's, Miss Fortune took the offering. Their breath caught in their throat; where in the hells had Astarion gotten his well-manicured hands on silk in this wasteland?! They couldn't discern the exact hue in the dim light but it appeared to be some shade of dark purple. Letting it unfold before them they saw a neatly stitched wrap-around shirt with a gold-threaded tie at the bottom. Miss Fortune knew without needing an explanation that Astarion had selected a design they wouldn't grow out of no matter how much more muscle their frame packed on. The gesture was so sweet they almost forgot they were nauseous with nerves. Almost.

"Astarion, this is…this is gorgeous work," they praised, voice cracking with emotion as they slid it on. An involuntary groan of appreciation escaped them when the fabric caressed their skin. It had been so long since they'd felt such a high threadcount or soft fabric and it tickled their mind in indescribable ways. "Thank you…"

The vampire stepped forward to help them secure the inner tie and then to wrap the outer tie around their waist, using their proximity as an excuse to brush a stray hair behind Miss Fortune's ear when he was finished.

"Let's go somewhere private. I…I think we need to talk." Without waiting for an answer, Astarion turned and began to lead them away from the others.