Chapter Text
“That was my last client for the afternoon,” Astarion said, poking his head into Dalyria’s make-shift office. “So I’ll be heading out. Probably won’t be back tonight.”
This was the tentative routine they’d settled into, a compromise where Astarion made an effort to let Dalyria know when he would be gone in exchange for her keeping the prying to a minimum. For the most part it worked. Even if both of them were somewhat disgruntled by it. As usual, Astarion thought Dalyria was overbearing, and she thought he was irresponsible. But their current arrangement kept the peace, at least.
“Again?” Dalyria asked, frowning.
“No, I decided it would be fun to waste my time by coming up here and lying about going out,” Astarion deadpanned.
“It’s just that I was hoping we could talk. You’ve left right after finishing up since the beginning of this tenday.”
“We’re talking right now.”
Was Astarion being difficult? Yes, but he never pretended to be anything else.
“Star, this is serious.”
Astarion knew how to pick his battles, so he sighed and lowered himself down into the nearby arm chair. Shadowheart would live if he was a few minutes late.
“Alright then, get on with it.”
Dalyria frowned, the telltale wrinkles of worry forming on her forehead. She said nothing for a moment, and Astarion sat up straighter, more attentive now that he recognized her tense energy.
“Please let me finish before you get all indignant,” she started, and Astarion didn’t take that as a good sign. “I’ve been worried, lately. Nothing concrete, but I have a bad feeling. Normally I’d keep it to myself, really, I would, but you’ve been out so much lately, and with winter approaching, usually in the dark.”
“Aren’t I supposed to be the paranoid one?”
It was meant to be a tease, but Astarion couldn’t help feeling unsettled. Dalyria wasn’t supposed to be the one afraid of the dark. Sure, he’d spent more time away from their shared apartment these last few months than usual, but he was hardly a stranger to late night hijinks. If anything, he was safer in Gale’s bed at night than he’d ever been when sampling Waterdeep’s extensive nightlife.
“I wouldn’t mention it if there wasn’t a good reason.”
“Which is?”
A fleeting hesitation. The familiar features of his sister shifted just enough to make him suspicious.
“Like I said, I’m not sure of anything,” Dalyria spoke carefully. “I thought you’d want to know, in case you want to take extra precautions.”
Oh no, he was not going to let her frame this like it was his idea. Something had to be up.
“Well I would, but that would require knowing what I’m taking precautions against.”
“Actually, I do have an idea in mind. We should implement the buddy system, if we’re going to travel at night.”
Astarion stared at her, confused.
“No. Absolutely not,” Astarion said, shaking his head. “What are we, school children? We’re vampires, Dal. Who in their right mind is going to go after a vampire at night in the middle of Waterdeep, of all places.”
“I never said anyone was going to go after us,” she countered. Too quickly. His sister truly was a terrible liar.
“I’m not an idiot, Dalyria,” he hissed. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Nothing is going on. I– Just forget it, alright?”
Godsdamnit. She was lucky Astarion had someone other than Gale expecting him; he didn’t have time to argue with her.
“Fine, we can talk about this later when you can bother telling me the truth.”
“Astarion–”
“Oh?” He gasped in faux surprise. “Have you decided to do it already?”
“Just be careful while you're out,” she finished weakly.
Astarion stormed out, slamming the door behind him. He couldn’t stand her being so hypocritical, and there was no reason he should tolerate it. He could take care of himself, and even if he couldn’t, he had a lovely wizard who would be more than willing to incinerate anyone who bothered him.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Don’t say it,” Astarion grumbled as he glared at Shadowheart, who looked far too pleased.
“I told you so,” she said anyway. “I knew you two would hit it off.”
“You don’t get bragging rights for being right one time out of ten!”
“Now you’re just being dramatic. It was closer to five.”
“That’s five too many, darling.”
“Ungrateful brat.”
“Nosey bitch.”
They stared each other down for a long moment before bursting into a fit of giggles, drawing the ire of a nearby cleric, whose glare only made them laugh harder.
“Fine, fine. You were right. Gale is a consummate gentleman.”
“And?”
“And I don’t mind his company.”
“That's all?"
“What more do you want? I can tell you how thick his –”
“Okay!” Shadowheart interrupts hurriedly. “That's enough information, on second thought.”
“How thick his hair is, darling," Astarion tsked, clutching invisible pearls. “You must get your mind out of the gutter."
“You're insufferable."
“Not to mention beautiful."
Shadowheart rolled her eyes, making sure he could see before turning to grab a small, stoppered bottle filled with snow-white feathers that she passed to him.
“There you are. Feathers from a sleeping bird. Now, if there's nothing else you need, I do have a job I should be doing.”
Astarion hesitated. For weeks he'd been trying to decide whether or not he should ask Shadowheart what she knows about Gale's past. The polite answer was that he absolutely shouldn't, but the curiosity was eating away at him. What was he supposed to do? Ask Gale, risk offending him and having his invitation to the tower rescinded? Simply not a risk he was willing to take.
“Actually,” Astarion started, willing his brain to come up with the best way to go about this. “I did have a few questions. About Gale.”
“What about him?"
“It's just that, well, he has himself a bit of a reputation, doesn't he?”
“I don't pay much attention to gossip rags,” Shadowheart replied, expression and tone carefully neutral. “You'll have to be more specific.”
Well. Might as well rip the bandage off all at once.
“Why was Gale exiled by Mystra?"
An undercurrent of accusation in his voice, unintentional but present all the same. It wasn't that he didn't trust Gale, because he did. A stupid amount, really, and more than anyone else. But Astarion was a pragmatic man, and information garnered advantage. If he was going to be, eugh, vulnerable with Gale, he ought to learn everything he could. Keep your friends close, or whatever.
“Don't you think you should ask him yourself?”
“If you don't want to tell me, just say so.”
“I didn't say I wouldn't. I just think it's strange, is all," Shadowheart had that calculating look on her face, and Astarion narrowed his eyes.
“Fine, I'll bite. What's strange?”
“You want me to answer your questions, yet refuse to answer any of mine.”
“You're a menace,” Astarion grumbled, but there was no heat behind it. Pot calling the kettle black, and all that. “Go on then, ask your question.”
“What are you and Gale, exactly?"
Astarion rolled his eyes. What was it with Waterdhavians and their damn labels?
“I don't know,” he shrugged, exasperated. “We kiss. I'm in his bed more nights than not. I'm quite fond of his tressym.”
Astarion hadn't expected to feel so juvenile, trying to explain it to someone else. He almost felt shy. Him, of all people. Ha. All over a stuffy wizard who he was, alright, admittedly rather fond of.
Shadowhearted said nothing, brow arched and hands on her hips. Patently unimpressed.
“What do you want from me? He's obnoxiously earnest. Foolish and patient to a fault, really. Makes no sense at all. He’s warmer than a furnace and keeps my favorite type of blood stocked in his kitchen. I mean, can you imagine? All that fuss for a vampire spawn. Ridiculous.”
Astarion hadn't quite meant to say that much, but he found it hard to stop talking about Gale once he started. Maybe all that rambling was contagious.
Shadowheart beamed at him, a sudden shift from her faux-apathy.
“Oh. I see. You're in deep.”
“Did you even hear me? What does that even mean?”
“I heard you loud and clear. You love him.”
“I do not,” Astarion immediately argued.
The idea was ridiculous. Maybe he'd thought about it once or a few times, but he hadn't the faintest idea how anyone that even worked. Like Shadowheart magically knew the answer to something he'd spent weeks trying to puzzle out. Yeah, right.
“Whatever you say, Astarion,” Shadowheart acquiesced, infuriatingly smug.
“Shut up. Stop looking at me like that, and answer my question.”
“Alright, I suppose I've tortured you enough. To make a long story short, Gale discovered a lost orb of netherese magic that lodged itself in his chest, and Mystra cast him out for it. Next time–”
“Excuse me? Nether-what magic?”
The name was vaguely familiar, but that was where Astarion's knowledge ended. It didn't make much sense to him, how an orb of magic ended up in Gale's chest or why that would piss Mystra off.
“If you have more questions, you should ask him, Astarion,” Shadowheart said sternly. “Relationships are built on trust, and I have more important things to do than be your go-between. I'm sure he'd spill his guts if you asked him.”
“Gods, your hips must be killing you after riding around on that high horse all day.”
“I'm serious, Astarion. Gale is a good man, but he's… he's been through a lot. That's not to say that you haven't, but he speaks highly of you. I don't want to see him hurt.”
“Gale talks about me? To you?"
Astarion had sort of known; Gale had essentially said so himself. Hearing it was another thing altogether. That Gale spoke of him, and highly at that. Astarion mattered to him outside of the game of house they were playing in his tower.
“The two of you are so oblivious it hurts,” Shadowheart sighed. “Now shoo. I've got work to do and I'm sure your wizard is waiting up for you.”
Astarion didn't bother objecting to Gale being his wizard.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Of all the places Dalyria foresaw herself going, the Palace of Waterdeep was not one of them. Even when she had the ability, she had little interest or motivation to get involved in politics. These days she was more than happy to run the books for her and Astarion’s shop; after centuries of torture, she felt like she deserved as little stress as possible.
Fate, it seemed, didn’t share the same sentiment. Which was how she ended up in the Palace’s grand foyer, stiff-shouldered and wide-eyed as she waited to be called back for an audience with the Open Lord. Gods, what was she even doing here? When has anyone in power ever given a single shit about orphaned vampire spawn?
Desperate times called for desperate measures, she supposed. It wasn’t entirely hopeless. Waterdeep was friendly to vampires, and spawn in particular. The Open Lord not only knew they thrived in the city, but encouraged them to come. Surely if she wanted them dead there were easier ways than hanging a flyer in a tavern.
Logic could only do so much as she stood fidgeting in the massive room, devoid of other people save for a single bored looking receptionist who'd assured her the Open Lord would see her shortly. Above her, the vaulted ceiling felt as distant as the night sky. With her head tilted all the way back as she gazed upward, the tangle of archways, columns and stairs formed a dizzying tunnel towards infinity.
It was broad daylight, yet the space was eerily lit. Though sunlight spilled in through the large, propped open door, it was otherwise devoid of natural light. If there were windows tucked in among the columns and balconies, they must be heavily curtained. The only light came from lit candles secured in braziers and floating motes of magic. It wasn’t quite dim, but as Dalyria stood there awaiting an unknown fate, a familiar shiver ran down her spine. While it lacked the gaudy portraits and overabundance of red, it felt uncannily similar to the Szarr Palace.
“Ms. Ancunin?”
Dalyria turned around to see who’d called for her, eyes landing on a familiar austere face. Laeral Silverhand, the Open Lord of Waterdeep. Her wait, it seemed, was over. Putting on her best customer service smile, Dalyria crossed to the cracked open door and tilted her head in acknowledgement.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Open Lord.”
Shit. Was she supposed to curtsy? Offer her hand to shake?
“Laeral is fine, dear. I imagine we have quite the discussion ahead of us. No need for you to be fussing over formalities.”
“Oh. Um, just Dalyria is fine, too.”
Laeral smiled and ushered her inside the open door before shutting it firmly behind them. Dalyria mourned her most direct escape, and tried to tell herself she wouldn’t need it. Not that she thought it mattered all that much. While the woman leading her silently down the hallway had been nothing short of kindly, she radiated power. A presence that demanded respect and had Dalyria straightening her spine without meaning to. For obvious reasons, she’d never been fond of powerful people, and certainly not wizards, but she was here with a purpose. If nothing else, Dalyria was a woman with enough wit and decorum both to survive a meeting with the most powerful woman in Waterdeep.
The silence continued until Laeral led them to a sitting room of sorts, where a table with a tea set and an assortment of confections waited. A grand piano played itself in the corner, a tinkling melody she supposed was meant to be soothing. Dalyria followed Laeral’s lead, lowering herself stiffly into the other waiting chairs.
The Open Lord appeared to be in no rush, taking her time pouring herself a cup of tea, and pouring dark liquid from a separate carafe into Dalyria’s teacup. She immediately recognized the scent of blood and fidgeted her seat. An old memory rose to the surface. Gnawing hunger in her stomach. Blood, richer than anything she would normally be allowed, served to her in fine china. Mockery poised as a gift. It was never worth the price.
Dalyria dug her nails into her palm to clear her head and forced herself to take a sip from her cup. It was delicious; rich enough to be rothe or something of similar quality. She did not allow her hands to shake.
“I understand you are a vampire spawn sired by Cazador Szarr, yes?”
Right into things, then.
“That’s correct. I admit I’m curious as to the intentions of your advertisement,” Dalyria kept her voice steady and made herself meet the Open Lord’s startlingly purple eyes.
“We’ve recently made contact with a settlement of vampire spawn down in the Underdark. I imagine you’re aware of Waterdeep’s status as a haven for refugee spawn. As such, we plan to offer asylum to those living there, as well as support the settlement with what resources we can.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand what this has to do with…”
Dalyria couldn’t bring herself to say his name allowed. The bastard didn’t deserve her acknowledgement anyways.
“We have reason to believe all or most of the spawn were sired by the late Lord Szarr.”
The world shuddered to a stop, frozen as the Szarr name left the Open Lord’s lips.
She was wrong.
She had to be, or perhaps Dalyria had misheard.
Cazador Szarr only had eight spawn. In the hundreds of years Dalyria had rotted away in that hellscape of a palace, she had only ever seen eight spawn. She’d watched all but one of her siblings be slaughtered in cold blood.
Cazador Szarr only had eight spawn. Her and Astarion were the only survivors.