Chapter Text
The goblin camp was exactly what you had expected: a den of debauchery. The sun flitted over the horizon as your party reached the muddy bridge to the abandoned fortress the goblins had made their temporary home. You flinched as the overpowering scent of alcohol, burnt meat, and something more foul singed your nostrils.
You turned to address your party. You hadn’t been travelling together for long, but your career as a thief in your pre-tadpole life meant possessing a skillset that included a knack for quickly sizing people. Shadowheart was a bit of an enigma. The moody cleric was secretive and definitely hiding something from the group. The wizard, Gale, was more willing to divulge details about his past, but you suspected he was also withholding something important from your group. As for Astarion, the pale rogue with terrible manners, well, he was definitely suspicious. Maybe Illithids only kidnapped people with dubious morals and questionable pasts.
Shadowheart made a noise of disgust as she glanced around the camp. “Must we be here? Truly, why is this druid so important when we already have his research?” She grimaced and flicked a piece of ash from her armour.
“Yes, the research that told us what we already know.” You intoned mockingly and pinched the bridge of your nose. Did they think you wanted to be ankle-deep in mud and goblin shit? That tracking wayward druids was your idea of a good time?
Gale looked slightly ill but nodded his head in agreement. “She’s right, Shadowheart. Halsin’s research told us nothing we didn’t already know. And his reputation as a renowned healer makes this little…” his voice trailed off as a goblin chasing a chicken bisected his path, “excursion necessary.”
You sighed heavily and realized that while discussing the necessity of this little day trip, Astarion looked pleasantly surprised as he surveyed the chaos unfolding in the camp.
You frowned and raised an eyebrow. He met your eyes and appeared offended at your dour expression.
“What?” He said defensively. “Goblins may be nasty little creatures, but I do appreciate a good den of debauchery.” He huffed, crossing his arms and steeling his gaze.
You snorted at the expression and gestured towards the large wooden doors at the other end of the camp.
“The sooner we find Halsin, the sooner we can get the hell out of here.” You maneuvered your party around the raucous groups of goblins, only stopping to grab Astarion whenever he found something he deemed worthy of investigating, which frustratingly happened to be everything.
“You have the attention span of a drunken kobold,” you spat as you turned his shoulder and redirected him towards the looming doors now just a few feet from your group. Despite only knowing the pale elf for a few days, you had a sneaking suspicion that Astarion enjoyed annoying you whenever the opportunity arose - and whenever one didn’t, he created one.
Astarion’s initial annoyed expression shifted quickly into a practiced smirk. “My, my darling. Didn’t take you for the handsy type,” he paused and tilted his head, letting his vermillion gaze trail over your body. His tongue traced his teeth in a true predatory fashion. “Outside battle, of course. But you know, there’s always lots to be gleaned from the locals.”
“Right, of course! There’s so much to be learned from goblins. Like,” you gestured to the dwarf on a spit roast about a foot from your group, “how to properly prepare dwarf! Or perhaps chase chickens! Or how about how to torture the best performances out of bards.” You snapped. Your patience was rapidly dissipating, and if the elf wanted a fight, he could have one.
Ever the voice of reason, Gale placed a tanned hand on your shoulder, clearly anxious to defuse the rising tension.
“My friends, I fear we’ve forgotten why we’re here. Let’s find the worg pens, and rescue this Halsin. It would be a shame to have come this far only to turn into monsters.” His voice was cheery but held an edge as his gaze turned towards Astarion.
You sighed. Everyone was running on fumes. Out of magic. Potions. Charms and clearly patience. You let the tension drain from your body as you exhaled slowly and turned back to Astarion and found him watching you inquisitively.
“Temporary truce?” You asked with a broad smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. You extended your hand.
Astarion made a show of considering your offer by sighing dramatically. After an annoyed groan from Shadowheart, he smirked mirthfully. His dark lashes hide something a bit darker than mischief under his hooded gaze.
“Of course, darling. Truce.” His hand lingered a bit longer in your grasp as your handshake broke, his dexterous fingers tracing your callouses. You started to pull away, but he grasped your wrist suddenly and leaned in, placing his mouth close to your ear.
“I’ll take it easy on you. This time.” He whispered, releasing your wrist so abruptly that you stumbled back.
You felt unease shiver down your spine as his voice held the promise of…was that threat? Astarion was confusing at the best of times, constantly shifting between flirtation and visceral anger. You wondered if his temperament was driven by his desire to test your boundaries. Your brow furrowed.
I’m too tired for this, you thought, exhaustion seeping into your bones as a cool breeze drifted over your exposed, sweat-soaked skin. Astarion’s feline moodiness could be dealt with later, you decided. Right now, you have a druid to save.
You approached the wooden doors and felt your heart sink as they opened, exposing a pitch-black darkness not unlike an abyss.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire.
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The goblin guards, as suspected, were easily outwitted. You convinced the two guards that you were there to see a drow, and they practically scrambled back to their posts in fear.
“Whoever this drow is, she’s clearly bad news.” Gale cautioned the group as they settled before the altar room, where a priestess was performing what appeared to be rituals in the Absolute’s name.
You nodded. “Let’s try not to alert too many to our presence here. Even as True Souls, I doubt these people would take kindly to us poking our noses about. Let’s find Halsin and get out.”
“We should split up. We can cover more ground quickly, and whenever someone finds the worg pens,” Shadowheart continued using the tadpole’s telepathic abilities, “we can meet by that war drum.” She pointed to the corner of the altar room at a drum beside a decrepit staircase leading to the temple’s second floor.
“Alright, let’s go in twos. Shadowheart—“ you started and grunted angrily when Astarion took your arm and pushed the two of you forward.
“I’ll escort our illustrious leader. Gale, why don’t you keep the lovely Shadowheart out of trouble?”
Shadowheart’s eyes narrowed, but Gale was already scouting out a pathway to the left of the hallway. Your heart sank a bit as you watched the two disappear into the shadowy gloom of the temple.
“What was that about?” You asked Astarion, as you cautiously entered the altar room to observe the ongoing ritual.
He shrugged. “I didn’t want to get stuck with Gale, and I think Shadowheart is more forgiving than you when listening to his tales of grandeur.”
You chuckled. You were a ranger, and although you were not without your charms when they were necessary, with a tadpole lodged firmly in your brain, you were admittedly less accommodating than usual.
“Surprisingly good judgement. Bravo.” You whispered, pausing as you watched goblins form a queue before the goblin priestess calling herself Gut. You scanned the large room. It was occupied mainly by Absolute hopefuls, with a large altar in the center, almost obscuring the two rangers guarding a spider pen from your line of sight. You motioned to a shadowed pathway around the worshippers.
“Let’s keep moving.” You whispered, creeping along the edge of the cool stone walls, carefully moving stealthily to avoid drawing any attention.
Astarion was so quiet. As a rogue, you knew stealth was the foundation of his talents, but how silent he could be at times was startling. Like a cat stalking its prey. Or a ghost. You glanced quickly over your shoulder to ensure he was still following you as you ascended the staircase, only to be met with amused eyes. Whether the tadpole’s powers extended beyond conscious sharing or he was simply good at reading people, he seemed to know exactly what you were thinking.
“Still here, darling. No arrows in my back. No spinning of my beautiful corpse over an open fire.” His white teeth flashed in the darkness, and for a moment, you could’ve sworn you saw fangs.
“Oh, there’s still plenty of time for both of us to end up over a spit roast.” You snarked in a hushed tone, annoyed that he had read you so easily.
You continued your ascent up the stairs but stopped abruptly when you heard a blood-curdling scream. Astarion slammed into you from behind and cursed under his breath in irritation.
You slunk low to the ground and took out a vial of poison, dipping your arrow into the pale green liquid.
“Someone is being tortured.” You whispered, nodding your head towards the far end of the hall. Your senses as a ranger were more keen than most humans, and you could smell the fresh blood in the air.
As you began moving towards the screams, you felt a gust of air and gasped as Astarion suddenly appeared before you, blocking your path. His silver hair fell across his forehead, matted with sweat from the humid temple. His pale skin almost seemed to be translucent in the dimly lit hall. You tried to push past him, but he stood firm, moving again to block your path.
“What the hell are you doing?” You seethed, pressing into his personal space, your hand hovering over the dagger at your hip.
His gaze darkened, his mouth a frustrated thin line. “We are not going down there.” He crossed his arms, his eyes flickering to your hand at your dagger and then back to your eyes.
“Someone down there needs our help!” You growled through your teeth as quietly as your building rage would allow. You knew Astarion was motivated by self-interest, but standing idly while someone was being tortured was beyond the pale, even for the most self-involved rogue in Faerun.
He shook his head firmly and stepped forward, forcing you to step back unless you wanted your chests to touch.
“You, my dear, are a bleeding heart. And your infuriating need to help every wounded bird has endangered us enough times. We’d likely have these godsdamned tadpoles out of our heads if you could stop rescuing every stray you come across.” He leaned down, wrapping his fingers around the hand you had perched above your dagger and firmly grabbed your wrist.
“Come. Now.”
You sputtered in rage as he dragged you to the other end of the hallway into what appeared to be an abandoned room.
“You truly are a piece of shit, aren’t you? What if you were being tortured? What if that were you screaming for help?” You broke free of his grasp and jabbed your index finger into his leather armour, your fury rapidly receding as you saw his expression shift from mild anger to rage.
“You don’t know what I’ve survived. You don’t know what I’ve endured,” his voice dropped low, the threat of violence interlacing each word.
Your throat seized as you felt panic flood your body. You and Astarion had different opinions over the past few days, but this felt different. This felt…dangerous.
“I will not let my first foray into freedom in over two hundred years be squandered by a ranger with a martyr complex.”
He had you pressed against the temple wall, and you felt the dampness seep into your exhausted, adrenaline-fuelled body. Under normal conditions, this was something you would fight for. Something you would fight against. But now…as your body slagged under his harsh hands, you just wanted to close your eyes and fade away.
What was wrong with you?
Perhaps it was Astarion’s unexpected anger that had shaken you. You certainly hadn’t expected him to respond with such fire, considering that up until this point, he had helped you assist numerous others, albeit reluctantly. And while he complained and made snarky remarks, you would never have known that he harboured this resentment towards you.
“I…I’m sorry.” You whispered. Your voice was small, meek…unlike you. Perhaps the tadpole was influencing your behaviour more than you cared to admit. You stared into Astarion’s face and felt something else twinge lower in your stomach. He looked particularly beautiful in the torchlight. Of course, you had noticed how beautiful he was before, but something feral in his expression sent a jolt of electricity down your spine.
It pained you to ignore the screaming man, who was now blessedly silent. Still, as your body remained lax under Astarion’s strong grip, you realized in horror that you were feeling something other than bone-weary exhaustion. Your eyes widened as you felt warmth pool between your thighs. Arousal.
Oh, gods, no. Oh no. Not here. And not with him. Your brain desperately babbled as you struggled frantically against Astarion’s firm grasp.
He drew back from you slowly. Something akin to surprise and then recognition shifted across his face. The boiling-hot rage that had been present only moments before had faded into predatory curiosity.
“Well, what a pleasant surprise. I certainly wasn’t expecting this.” His voice was rich and thick like honey; as his vermillion gaze drifted up and down your body, taking note of your shallow breathing and flushed skin, his hooded eyes met your frightened gaze under thick, dark lashes. He leaned forward into your exposed neck and inhaled, his eyes fluttering shut, his expression euphoric.
“Delicious.”
You had spent years around predators. Your entire life had been dedicated to tracking, hunting and stalking. You had faced down some of the most ferocious beasts in Faerun, yet before this lithe elf, you were frozen still. You squeaked, drawing a knowing chuckle from Astarion as his tongue traced his plush lower lip.
This is how I die, you thought, your eyes clamping shut and your body tensing as Astarion pressed closer still, his arms adjusting to either side of your body, caging you in. He chuckled lowly, seemingly enjoying watching you sink into the cold stone in fear.
“I hope I’m not interrupting something.” A stoic voice inquired.
Your eyes blinked open immediately, whatever charm or spell broken by the stranger’s voice as your survival instincts kicked in.
Oh, there you are, you bitch, you thought angrily. If you survived this excursion, you would definitely be doing some deep reflection once safely back at camp.
Astarion slunk back with a snarl and moved to block your body from the intruder, his hands hovering over the twin daggers at his hips.
He’s acting like a lion guarding its kill, you mused hazily, gasping at the sudden lack of friction and stumbling forward.
The room was dark, barely lit by a dying candle on a stone table. Your eyes frantically searched the floor for your crossbow and quiver. You swore under your breath. You were going to die with possibly the worst possible person in all of Faerun because you hadn’t had the chance to rub one out after being abducted and tadpoled.
In your peripheral vision, you saw a pale man dressed in dark attire, with his hands held up in placation.
“I had assumed you were here to assist with the prisoner, but…after observing your conversation, I don’t think that’s the case.” As the pale man dressed in black entered the room, you noticed the scarring across his bare chest, and your heart stuttered.
Your eyes drifted back to the stone table in the corner of the room, noticing the other items on its surface aside from the dwindling candle. Maces, whips, blades, restraints…
Weapons of torture for some but pleasure for others, you thought, turning back to the pale man.
“You’re a servant of Loviatar.” The words felt like dust in your mouth. You had known people like this man, worshippers of pain and pleasure. Those touched by the goddess of pain were often physically marred, a way of identifying and commiserating with other followers.
He smiled gently at you. “Yes. A priest, actually. My presence was requested to assist with information gathering but goblins…” he trailed off, shaking his head, “are brutes with no appreciation for the art of pain.”
Astarion stood as still as a statue as he watched your exchange with the priest. His breathing was shallow. His pupils dilated as he noticed the puddle of blood in the corner of the room. His gaze fell to the stone table, and a knowing look filled his dark eyes. He met your widened eyes and smiled.
“It’s nice to see friends get reacquainted and all, but what exactly are you here for if not to gather information?” Astarion’s voice dropped suggestively, glancing in your direction with a heated expression and then back to the priest.
“The Goddess is nothing if not considerate. I believe she has allowed me to offer your friend penance.”
You swallowed thickly and looked at the weapons on the table before the priest. You knew what the priest suggested, and as a True Soul, you had to play the part. But you were reluctant to show weakness in front of Astarion, especially after the exchange you two had just had.
“Well,” Astarion smirked, “I thought today would be uneventful. What do you say, pet? Do you need to be punished?” He leaned against the stone table, surveying the instruments, and then raised an eyebrow at you.
Heat flooded your flushed face as you ducked your head shyly, averting his intense gaze, your brain screaming at you to respond viciously to the teasing.
What was wrong with you?
The priest took your flustered expression as an invitation to introduce himself. “I am Abdirak. And behind all that embarrassment in your eyes, dear one, I see pain. I would be humbled to deliver this penance.” He bowed.
You shifted anxiously. On the one hand, something incredibly concerning was happening with your brain in regards to Astarion, it was perhaps related to the tadpole, or…perhaps something more primal, and giving him a show in front of this strange man made every survival instinct you had scream in objection. On the other hand, you were in a temple full of cultists who were holding a druid hostage, who may be the key to you returning to your previous life tentacle-free, and playing along would most definitely assist with that goal. Additionally, you knew Loviatar’s blessing was a powerful boon.
You met the priest’s haunted gaze. “Would…I get her blessing if I did this?” You would suffer the indignity of a few lashes before Astarion if it meant acquiring her protection.
The priest nodded. “If your cries satisfy the goddess, she would most certainly share her blessing.”
You took a deep breath and began to unhook your chestpiece. “Fine. Where should I stand?”
Astarion made a slight, hushed noise as you allowed the priest to maneuver you into place. You grimaced as you stepped into the rapidly cooling puddle of blood in the corner of the room and faced the damp temple wall. You stared at your armour in your hands, and your mind went blank.
“I’ll hold that, darling.” Astarion stepped forward and covered your hands with his, gently taking the armour from you. You glanced up and saw him staring at you intensely, waiting for your hands to release the garment. You felt dizzy and lightheaded under his scrutiny. Your skin unbearably hot despite the cool humidity of the temple. Your fingers release the garment to his insistent hands, and you exhale slowly.
“I’m ready.” You announced to the priest, looking over your shoulder.
You had made mistakes before, but in the pit of your stomach, you knew this mistake was different. Maybe Astarion was right. Maybe you did have a martyr complex.