Chapter Text
It’s pouring rain. You’re running. Your bare feet carry you over cobblestones, through alleyways — always in shadow. Never in the light.
Don’t let him see you. You can’t let him find you.
Your heart pounds. Your lungs ache. It’s raining. You’re running. You can’t remember why.
You only know you can’t stop.
Were those footsteps behind you? Do you dare turn your head? Your body keeps moving you forward. But your chest is burning now. The rain obscures your vision.
Is that blood? You lick your lower lip. It’s cracked and swollen. Did you fall? Were you hit?
You can’t remember. You can’t remember anything.
Keep running. Don’t stop. He’s right behind you.
The alley splits in two directions. You have to choose.
You turn right, nearly slipping as you careen around the corner — and find yourself up against a wall.
No. No. No.
You have to keep running.
You turn again — then you hear it — a man’s voice, right in your ear.
“You’re mine now, little bird.”
But there’s nobody there.
Run.
But your feet won’t move.
Run.
But there are fingers tangled in your hair.
Run.
Your head meets the pavement with a sickening crack.
You should have turned left.
The world goes black.
six months before you ran
You catch a glimpse of your reflection in the tavern window. A bruise, deep purple and black decorates the skin around your right eye. You can’t remember how you got it.
It doesn’t matter. Probably a bar fight. You’ve been drinking a lot lately. This isn’t even your first tavern of the night — at least, you don’t think it is.
Your memory is unreliable these days.
You push your way inside the tavern, through the crowd, and make your way up to the bar. You catch the barkeep’s attention and ask for the strongest drink they have.
“You’re one of them, right? One of the heroes?” The barkeep slides a mug your way.
“Hero. Yeah, I guess.” The word leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You dig in your pockets for payment.
They call you a hero, but you know the truth. You are a killer. A monster. Your father reclaimed his blood, but the darkness still festers in your veins. You’ll always be a Bhaalspawn.
“On the house,” the barkeep says.
“Thanks,” you mutter.
You take the drink and find the darkest corner of the tavern. You prefer to be alone these days.
This is your punishment for the countless atrocities you committed in your father’s honor. You can’t even remember the names of your victims, you can’t recall their faces — but they still haunt you.
The amber liquid burns as it slides down your throat. You drink to forget what you cannot remember.
You’ve almost emptied the mug when you feel eyes on you. Shifting in your seat, you scan the room. Nothing.
Nobody is paying you any mind.
You’ve been so paranoid lately.
You close your eyes and sigh. When you open them — he’s in the seat next to you.
“Astarion.” Your heart leaps up into your throat.
He reaches up and cups your cheek, his thumb gently brushing over the edge of the bruise. You wince, but not from the pressure — from the affection that you know you do not deserve.
“What happened to your eye?”
“I don’t know. Bar fight, probably.” You lean into his hand.
“You should ice it,” he says.
You notice now, just how warm his hand is.
“I used to be able to use your hands for that,” you say.
“Mm. Yes. Not anymore.” He drops his hand and smiles. His eyes never leave your face. It makes you dizzy.
“What are you doing here, Astarion?” you ask.
“I should be asking you that question, darling. This place is . . . beneath you.”
It’s been a month since you vanished from the docks without saying goodbye. You thought it would be easier this way. You were wrong.
In fact, you should have left the city by now, but you just couldn’t stomach abandoning your home. It’s as though something kept you here.
“I’m drinking,” you say.
“Yes. I can see that.” He’s judging you.
You down the rest of your drink and slide the empty mug to the middle of the table.
“Not leaving so soon? I’ve only just found you,” he says.
“I didn’t ask to be found.” You sway when you stand. You’ve had one too many.
Astarion stands when you do. His hands are on your hips, holding you steady.
You’re too drunk, too slow, to swat him away. Besides, as much as you hate to admit it, his touch feels nice.
You recall the last time someone touched you with such kindness. Shadowheart. The night before you tried to kill her in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. The night before your body betrayed you.
Your fingers twitched as you approached Shadowheart’s sleeping form. You wanted nothing more than to curl your fingers around her throat and squeeze the life from her lungs.
You shake your head as if trying to erase the memory. Your stomach lurches. Bile crawls up your throat.
You miss her. You don’t want to think about it.
“Why are you here, Astarion?” You ask.
He pulls you closer to him. One of his hands slides up your lower back, under your shirt. “Would you believe me if I said I missed you?”
Oddly enough. You do believe him. “I’d have to be a fool to believe that. You must want something from me.”
He smiles. It’s so sweet it makes you sick. You thought the ritual killed the man you knew. Maybe you were wrong.
“Walk me out?” you ask.
“It would be my pleasure.” He holds you with a firm grip now.
You definitely drank too much. The room is spinning. You lean into Astarion for support.
Gods. You’ve been so lonely.
You walked away from everything, everyone you knew, to protect them. To hide your shame after your —
No. You definitely don’t want to think about that.
But, Astarion. He doesn’t need anything from you. Maybe he can withstand any damage you inevitably cause just by being around him.
And, he’s here now. He’s holding you. You stumble out of the tavern and stop on the steps. It’s much quieter out here. You hope the brisk night air will help sober you up.
Astarion pulls you against his chest and wraps his arms around you. You shiver when his lips find the curve of your neck. He breathes you in.
You remember all the nights you let him feed. You swore to yourself it was to make him stronger, a better fighter. But your body betrayed your secrets. You both know exactly how it made you feel.
His breath tickles your neck when he whispers, “Why’d you have to fly away, little bird? You know I’ve missed you so.”
You slide a hand up between your bodies and push him away, just far enough to meet his eyes. You look up at him and smile.
“You caught me now, didn’t you?” This is a terrible idea. But the alcohol did not do its job this time. You still need to numb the loneliness that crawled into your heart and died there.
Besides, nobody else bothered. You thought you had friends. They didn’t go looking for you.
Shadowheart didn’t find you.
Astarion did.
“And, do I get a prize?” Astarion purrs.
Shadowheart woke up the night you tried to kill her. She tied you up. She stayed by your side all night. She would have remained by your side — but she saw you for what you are — evil, unlovable. So you left her. And she let you.
But, the way Astarion looks at you now. Like he would love you if you let him.
It’s . . . something.
“Yes. You get a prize.” You take his hand and drag him down the steps and around the corner into a dimly lit alley.
He follows you into the shadows. “I like where this is going,” he teases.
You wonder if you’ve ever killed anyone in this alley. You wonder if Astarion ever took a victim here.
You lean back against a brick wall and look up at him. He’s waiting for you to make the first move.
You can do that.
You can do this.
You fucked him once before. When you were still practically strangers. So much has changed since then. Neither of you are those people anymore.
You slide a hand to the back of his neck and pull him toward you. Your lips collide in a moment of desperation.
You kiss him like you need him. You grab him like you’re holding on for your life. He returns the favor.
Your lips are moving against his, but you’re thinking about her.
Her hands on your hips, not his. Her mouth on your lips. The way she whispered your name as you held each other in the dark.
But she’s not here. He is.
You have to forget.
He presses you against the wall and you roll your hips, testing him. The movement pulls a moan from his throat into your mouth.
You take his wrist and guide it up your shirt. It doesn’t take much enticing before his hand cups your breast — thumb bringing your nipple to a hard point.
You are pressed impossibly close to him as your hands explore each other’s bodies with fervor. He is a distraction from the ache in your chest.
She’s not here. He is.
You’ll use him to forget.
“Fuck me,” you whisper against his mouth.
He nips at your lower lip and pulls back. He bumps his forehead against yours. Have his eyes always been this dark?
“You’re drunk,” he says.
“Not that drunk.” The alley is spinning. He’s all you can see. “I just want to feel good. Make me feel good, Astarion. Please.”
He likes it when you beg. You remember that much.
Astarion laughs, and it stings. He rolls his hips and you can feel him, hard, beneath his trousers.
“Ask me again,” he demands.
“Fuck me, Astarion. Please.” You try to kiss him, but he leans away.
He grinds himself against you, harder this time. “No.”
You whimper and reach between your bodies, trying to undo his pants. “Please.”
He grabs your wrists and pins them to your sides. “No.”
But he’s still pressed so close to you.
You whine and throw your head back against the wall. His lips find your neck, pressing light kisses to your warm flesh. It gives you an idea.
“If you won’t fuck me, then bite me,” you say.
You feel the drag of his fangs.
“No,” he whispers against your skin.
He releases his grip on one of your wrists and slides a hand between your legs. The light contact is enough to drive you to insanity. You wonder if you’ve soaked through the fabric.
You close your eyes. For just a moment, the world dims. You feel him release you. When the lights come back on he’s holding your shoulders and looking into your eyes.
“Don’t you want my blood?” you slur.
“Of course I do,” he says.
“Then bite me. Make it hurt,” you say.
You’re too drunk to track his expression. His hand slides to the back of your neck. “I could never hurt you,” he purrs.
You’re so dizzy. Your heart is thrashing around in your chest. His eyes are on your throat. If he doesn’t want you, then nobody does.
“Then what good are you?” You struggle against his grip, but he’s far stronger than you. He holds you in place.
“Why do you want me to hurt you?” There is concern in his eyes. You can’t tell if it’s real, or if it’s just part of the mask.
“I deserve it, don’t I?” You squirm, but he doesn’t let you go.
“Did our little adventure teach you nothing?” He bumps his forehead against yours again. You will drown in his eyes if you aren’t careful.
“It showed me what I can have. I lost everything, Astarion. My friends, my . . . “
You’re drunk. You’re dizzy. You haven’t told anyone this. You shouldn’t tell him. But the words are already in your mouth, and they threaten to spill from your lips.
“Your what?” He holds you steady. “What else did you lose?”
Before your brain was ruined, before all of this — you were a sight to behold. You killed without mercy or shame. Your heart pumped a deep magic through your veins. The power over blood. Something you kept secret. But it was yours.
You felt the magic in you die when the tadpole was removed. Now, you have nothing.
You are alone.
Well, you were alone.
Astarion is here now.
“I haven’t told anyone . . .”
“You can trust me,” he whispers. There is no trace of venom in his voice. Your gaze stays locked with his. “We saved the city together. I can help you. Tell me what you lost.”
Tears burn in the corners of your eyes. You shouldn’t say this. You wouldn’t say this. Maybe it’s the alcohol? Honesty will be the death of you.
“My power, Astarion. It’s gone.”
You’re crying now. Silent tears break free of your eyes and roll down your cheeks. You don’t know the last time you cried. Maybe never.
He pulls you into his arms and presses your face against his chest. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
Pressed this close to his chest you hear his heart. You can feel the power in his blood. Another reminder of what you lost.
Was he always this sweet? It’s disgusting. You taste bile. Your tears will stain his expensive doublet.
You’re not sure how much time passes before you pull away and wipe your tears. You avoid his face.
You can’t look at him, not when you’ve been this vulnerable. Fucking alcohol. It would have been so much simpler if he’d just fucked you and fed. At least that was an exchange you understood.
Astarion grabs your chin with two fingers and turns your head. You continue to avoid his eyes.
“Look at me,” he says softly.
You sigh and give in.
“Come home with me,” he whispers.
You’re not sure why, but you nod. “Okay.”