Fourth Wall

Fifteen: Astarion

Astarion had tried not to learn the names of he refugees he guided, lest one - or several - of them not survive the journey. But the little ones were curious, and once they'd had a day or two to adjust to not being in cages, asked Astarion near-constant questions. Most, he ignored, but some he indulged.

Regardless, he was surprised when he led them all alive and well through the gate at Emerald Grove and waved at their retreating figures. He felt this sad sense of hope. Hope that they would survive, that they would reach their respective homes. And a knot of dread, knowing that likely they wouldn't.

But he had done all he could for them. Even fought a wild boar with his bare hands at camp one night to protect the sleeping ex-prisoners. Why had he done all this, he wondered to himself?

The answer came to his mind crystal clear: for her.

Chloe.

Astarion shook himself as he turned on the road toward where the Druid had said the path to Moonrise Towers would begin.

Why in the sweet hells would he possible do what he had done for her? He told himself he only saved her life because he was so attached and accustomed to the sweet taste of her blood.

But when he saw her cut down, run through with that nasty goblin's blade, it was more than a love of her blood that drove him. He'd lost himself momentarily, become an animal. His only need to protect her. But as soon as he'd jumped down from the scaffolding, he'd regretted it. He knew Chloe had trusted him to keep the refugees hidden.

And he had fully intended to.

And so now he had to face the realization that he would've given them all up for her. All of their lives.

Luckily, he didn't need to this time. But he would. He knew that now.

He stopped walking at the realization, his eyebrows furrowing.

He would do it again. Was there anything he wouldn't do for her?

The answer came again without hesitation, and Astarion's fists clenched at his sides.

It was a mistake, getting this close to her. No good could possibly come from it. He would become another slave to her whims, as he was for Cazador. She would use and abuse him once she realized what a broken monster of a man he truly was.

Or worse, she would laugh in his face. How could she love a monster like him? Perhaps he deserved the punishment he'd received at Cazador's hand.

A sudden memory cut through Astarion's convoluted thoughts, crisp and clear: "I don't hold your nature against you, Astarion," she'd said, that twinkle in her eye so obvious in comparison to the person who'd fallen asleep beside them all that night. "It's what we do that makes us monsters, not what we are."

Somehow, he had known that she meant it. And she'd never treated him like a monster.

She'd treated him like a...

Like a friend, he realized. How long had it been since he'd had a friend? Someone who cared about him, with no ulterior motives? He had told Chloe he would leave, and she told him to go. She let him be free. She trusted him with the refugees.

His mind flitted then to her slender fingers clamping over his mouth, forcing him to be silent.

"I trust you," She'd said. No strings attached. She'd trusted him enough to guard the lives of innocents. She'd honored him, truthfully. An honor he didn't feel he deserved. Still, as his feet began moving again, his mind turned away from his typical dismal memories of being chained in the Szarr dungeon, the 'poem' Cazador had carved fresh and bleeding on his back, and turned instead to Chloe.

To him, she looked every bit a tiefling druid. Not exactly average, she was in fact gorgeous with her smoke-tendril tattoos and complex decorative facial scars. Even the horns, he found himself quite attracted to. But he wondered what the real Chloe looked like. What color was her skin, if not the oft-reddish hue of the tiefling race? Was she taller or shorter than the Chloe he saw, the "avatar," as she called it? What color was her hair, if not white like his own?

What did she enjoy, in her world? It all sounded so strange to him, it was difficult to keep anything straight. But he wanted to ask, he simply could never let himself.

He was already so dangerously attached.

He needed to leave the party, before it was too late.

But as he stood on the outskirts of the forest, his back turned to the Grove and facing down the rest of the journey, his heart twisted painfully in his chest. He could disappear now. Chase his own leads about how to remove the tadpole. That devil Raphael, for instance, he thought with a wicked grin.

But could he truly never see her again? Never hear her call him "dude," whatever that meant. Never listen to that obnoxious laugh that has her throwing her head back?

Never taste the sweetness of her blood, her skin...

Surely any other human would taste as good, he reasoned with himself. After my previous diet of two hundred years, surely every humanoid I drink from will be a delicacy.

He made a mental note to try it out, and see if he could be just as fulfilled with another person's blood, and perhaps even cure himself of his newfound fondness for the strange tiefling woman. Every time the path got too dark and Cazador crept into Astarion's mind, he conjured Chloe's voice instead.

"I trust you..."

"Go,"

"Do you...need to...?"

"I can take it!"

"I don't blame you for your nature, Astarion..."

He realized that he'd been walking while thinking, without really making the decision which way to go. But strangely, when he checked the map, he found he wasn't lost. His feet had taken him on the path to Moonrise Towers. His feet had chosen Chloe for him.

He sighed, knowing he was well and truly fucked.