chapter five.
tree's embrace
Fallon had to admit there was a level of delight she felt whenever she allowed Dalaia off the leash, so to speak.
Not without a sliver of jealousy did she approach the scene. Dalaia had surged back into the camp with vigour and knocked Astarion clean to the ground. He had made an odd sound when he'd fallen, like the air puffed from a duck feather pillow, gathering his wits soon enough after to begin cursing her with a sharp tongue. A wall of stone, Dalaia remained steady with the pressure of her boot atop his chest, flicking her head over her shoulder as Fallon approached at a measured pace.
Astarion followed her gaze after unsuccessfully attempting to wrench the boot off. Fallon came to a stop a few feet away, not hazarding any closer, lest he turn his attention on her footwear. His eyes, narrowed and sharp, eased at the sight of blood.
"You know, if you go out hunting, you're usually meant to bring the prey home with you." Astarion said with a slight wheeze.
"No need to bring prey back when it's already here."
"I promise you, I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Is this really necessary?" Marth muttered, having surfaced from the side of the river. His eyes flickered between the three before resting on Fallon. "If you changed your mind, there's probably a more civilised way of asking him to leave."
Fallon ignored him for she had found Orikas. Head angled low, a glower set on his face, she could see subterfuge forming on his lips.
"Did you know?" She demanded curtly, though he did not need to reply for her suspicions to be realised. "Right. So you both have something to explain. Who's first?"
"Well I'd love to, if you'd call off your dog first."
Astarion's words were punctuated with a pained grunt. Dalaia had dug in her heel and twisted. Her face did not strain with effort, in fact there was something close to serenity in her bemused expression. She was quite content in violence.
As much as it gave her satisfaction to see him squirm after the blows her ego had suffered, Fallon was no sadist. She sighed and gestured for Dalaia to loosen up. Dalaia pouted but lifted her foot, allowing Astarion to slide from below and find his feet.
"Any weird shit and we can go round two."
"Oh no, I wouldn't dream of it." Astarion replied, his tone implying quite the opposite. For the second time since she had met him, Fallon watched the man dust himself off. "Look, next time you want the truth, maybe just ask?"
"Fine, have it your way. Care to tell me why a monster hunter named you as his prey?"
Astarion's expression remained unchanged, but Fallon detected a slight tension in his brow. Clearly he was a man who preferred to deal the cards, not receive them.
"I'm starting to see why you didn't drag your victim back to camp. Still, I would have wished you'd have saved me the spectacle and washed your hands first."
"Answer the question."
"I told you that Cazador would likely send others." His sounded bored as he straightened up to face her. "What? Are you angry that I didn't come right out with it? Darling, I needed to show you all first that I could be trusted not to have a nibble. Are you really angry that I didn't immediately confess my life story to you?"
"Quit playing coy. Just come out with it."
"Hmm, I thought you would've liked a tease," he rolled his eyes. "Fine, gods, have it your way. I'm a vampire. As you perfectly happy now?"
An unsettling quiet descended in the air around them. Hearing it from the Gur had been one thing, somehow hearing it from Astarion's lips was quite another. She felt Marth tense beside her, though nothing stirred in Orikas. Yes, he had known, Fallon could be sure of that now.
"You're a ... You're a what?" Marth sputtered.
"A vampire, well a vampire spawn, but can we stop making me repeat myself? This is already such a headache without all the dramatics, believe me. I'm as shocked as you are that you've found me out."
"Hells, and out in the sun?"
"Long story. Or a short one. Either way, I don't really feel like telling it. Why don't you ask Orikas about the tale? I have to say, his story is eons more interesting than mine."
He may have held back the smugness from impressing his lips, but it bled through his tone. On this, Fallon was more than happy to pull her focus away. Indignity renewed, she jabbed a finger towards Orikas.
"Yes, it has become crystal clear you have held your tongue long enough. Explain yourself, Orikas."
Her brother still held his book, now closed and pressed to his chest as he met Fallon's eye. She registered hesitation in his eyes, the sight standing sore against his otherwise stony veneer. Whatever he held behind his lips was something he had not yet prepared to confess.
Dalaia now stepped forward to fill the gap between the two parties. She shot them both a look of warning.
"Keep in mind that someone benefits from you two being at one another's throats, yeah?"
Orikas closed his eyes, kneading his brow with his fingers. "Yes, perhaps in private."
"Do you not think that you have had quite enough privacy already?" Fallon replied.
"Fine ... But I warned you." He angled his body away, as though he could not face the others, the whites of his knuckles shining against his skin. "There is some context you should know. Part of me wonders if there is a point. I don't doubt you will find my actions foolish at best."
"I do hope this is going somewhere," Astarion drawled.
Despite the tense atmosphere her brother's words had evoked, Fallon felt herself bite back a smirk. She covered it with a brief cough, as if to clear her throat. Briefly their eyes met. Fallon turned back to Orikas quickly.
"When I was young, I had a githyanki lover—"
"And now I see it has."
Dalaia snorted. "What a way to start."
"I don't think I needed to know that." Marth said, scratching his head.
Orikas shifted, clearly uncomfortable himself to be admitting something so personal. Fallon had to suppress her shock. They had been tethered to one another as youths, but unlike work, their respective private lives had remained untangled. Orikas had always expressed a level of apathy to knowing more, one which Fallon was all too happy to oblige. Still, a hint at any affection Orikas had received was a surprise. In many ways, she had considered him either incapable or disinterested in matters of the heart, perhaps both.
Above them, the clouds shifted in the sky and cast a premature shadow across his face.
"No more interruptions. I had a lover, yes, the daughter of some high-ranking officer or other. Her story was typical, apparently not even the gith are beyond a rebellious streak towards their parents. I had a fascination already with the Astral plane, but after her tales, well ... It did evoke more. Not with the gith though. The illithid. That was where it began. Little did I know it almost brought about my end."
His voice trailed off. Something about the tale perturbed him. What had turned his stomach? Was it the same thing turning her own? She had heard of the illithid before, but much of her knowledge was the kind traded in the halls of a tavern, rudimentary and likely based more on myth than fact. What little she did know made her deeply uneasy as she began to slowly piece the trajectory of his words.
"Yes, when the earth shuddered, I left. I had been at the mouth of the cave that night and saw it streaking over. Like a ship meant for the seas, yet beyond any seafarers comprehension. A giant conch with tendrils licking the dark sky. I knew it instantly, from spoken tales and the pages of books. A once in a lifetime experience, seeing an illithid vessel. I was at the mercy of my curiosity."
His voice dropped to a low octave. Here Fallon could no longer read him, guarded as it had become. His discomfort had dissipated, though something remained beyond the reaches of her mind's grip.
"I don't suppose you rushed to find survivors," Fallon murmured slowly. Orikas shook his head.
"I admit that I had ambition when I came upon the wreckage. I am unsure what I wanted to see. The technology? The architecture, in ruins? A mindflayer? I found all three. So in a way, I did seek survivors. I suppose I just didn't know the consequences of my actions."
He closed his eyes, shaking his head. From the corner of her eye, she saw Astarion bristle with impatience. She hadn't before noticed the sense of unease that had settled in the lines of his brow.
"Allow me to cut through the humdrum." He jabbed a finger towards Orikas' temple, pausing to gauge the attention of the others. "What he's getting at is that he's gone and got himself infected with an illithid tadpole. Now it's burrowed into the meat of his brain or squirming around behind his eye or whatever the wretched things get up to. And yes, before you ask, I know because I have one too."
There was collective recoil at the brash claim. Fallon felt her worst suspicions confirmed, her mouth turning dry as the pages of Orikas' tome. No doubt it had served his curiosity, though now Fallon did not doubt whatever knowledge he had gleaned was second to such a visceral lesson.
"It cannot be," was all she could manage, even as the truth sat plain.
"It is so."
His voice was grave, a firm indication. The silence that had plagued the group hung heavy among them. No one quite knew what to say. Fallon was ignorant to the gravity his admission, but the burden of information implicitly rested itself upon her chest.
"But if it was an illithid tadpole, then how do you stand before us?" Marth pressed, his brow furrowing. "I have read of the illithid myself. The process of ceremorphosis is swift, is it not? A week at most."
"I thought the same. That night was one of the longest I have ever experienced. If you retrace your memory, I stayed away past noon the next day. Yet apart from the squirm in my eye socket, I felt no ill effects. I have no knowledge why." He paused to tap the book against his chest. "And I have found no more answers between these pages."
"And you too?" Fallon breathed, turning to Astarion. "What next? If you mean to confess you are also part-owlbear, I'll ask that you do so now."
"Do you see any feathers? No, I regret to inform you I am merely an unwitting host and a humble spawn. Your party were mere days from a fate like mine. I was snatched from Baldur's Gate when that cursed ship hovered above the city. Can't say I'm complaining necessarily when it comes to alleviating the allergy to sunlight and the requirement of invitation. Less than palatable is that it granted passage into my thoughts, to which your dear brother has been privy. Much to my displeasure, and at times, his."
A dark glint took his eyes. Fallon felt something strange stir in her chest, though quickly Orikas' scowl pulled her attention.
"It's true. Now you can see why I overstepped. You might trust my judgment in future," Orikas interjected. Gone completely was hesitation. Her brother was back to business as usual. Fallon snorted.
"And overlook the road that led us here? I've heard enough. I don't take any bit of this lightly, but I need to think." She turned to Astarion. "Particularly on you."
"Of course, do all the thinking you like. I implore you to imagine me in every scenario, especially the ones where I'm not cruelly thrown out in the cold," he replied with a grin.
Fallon could not think of a reply that would not play into the man's words, turning her back on the others as she made for the river. As she crouched down by its side and began to wash her hands clean, she felt Marth's presence towering above her.
"I hope you're not considering letting him stay."
"I'd rather keep my thoughts my own for now, if it's all the same to you."
Her voice was sharper than she intended and Fallon did not have to look up to see his face had fallen.
"I'll leave you be then," he replied. "Just remember to get beneath the nail beds."
His footsteps retreated and Fallon stayed as she was. Scrubbing her hands clean, from rubbing palms together as the water bloomed pink as the flush upon her cheeks.
✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼
Between the branches of a tree's embrace, Fallon sat shrouded in the blanket of night as she plucked a discordant tune on the strings of her lyre. Around the slender curve of her neck, the dark fabric of her cowled tunic draped low enough to expose the arches of her collarbones. A rare hint, given her want to mute features that could be discerned in the cover of shade.
The lyre was as scarred as she, for it would have been a crying shame to take an instrument of any higher pedigree on the road. Indeed, it was not the only iteration of the instrument she owned, Fallon had long ago plucked the prized possession of a womanising bard but had since left it stashed beneath the false boards of her bedroom back home. Her fingers might have been well trained for sleight of hand, but she dared not play the finer instrument, unable to overlook the unworthiness she felt in its presence.
She much preferred her road weary lyre, even with its two out of tune strings and the odd splinter it gifted, for it served as a reminder of her past. Its lack of value had meant that even when the group had been ambushed, the bandits had left it discarded, and this seemingly innocuous action had been key to Fallon's continued grip of hope. The lyre had been with her near as long as Orikas had. An echo of her mother's harp, of Cosmel herself, for her body had been burned on the Mossdreamer estate and had not even known the chill of an unmarked grave.
Not just of sentimental value, Fallon found practical necessity in keeping the instrument so close. In times of chaos, she needed only the beginning of a song to still her mind. Now Fallon plucked three notes in descension, quietly singing beneath her breath lyrics imprinted marrow deep. A lullaby, carried on the winds of time.
"What a pretty tune."
Her fingers froze in place at the sudden affront to solitude, her skin prickling. Silence did not serve to ward away Astarion's intrusion, for moments later he called out again.
"I hope you don't intend for me to climb this thing in order for me to speak to you."
Fallon swung her head downward to catch a glimpse of moonstruck hair and Astarion's jewelled eyes peering up at her. Perhaps the last person she wished to converse with during her contemplation, though Orikas remained in the running. She huffed, shifting her body away from the trunk. Maybe he would take a hint? As evidenced by the sigh of branches below her, Fallon would not be so lucky.
Astarion ascended the tree branches with nimble movements, producing barely a rustle from the leaves. She resigned to watch him with feigned boredom as he lifted himself to be level with her, then to the branch above, to better see her through the nook where the trunk parted its most heaven bound limbs. He narrowed his eyes upon her, patches of dappled light casting a glow to the points of his angled face.
"Keeping secrets of your own? I didn't take you for a bard."
"I'm not." She replied, balancing the lyre against her thigh. When she refused to elaborate further, Astarion tutted beneath his breath.
"Whatever is the matter? You look so glum. Let me guess, you're grouchy because you couldn't sleep."
"Can you blame me?" Fallon replied. "Hardly the environment, or the company."
He clutched at his chest, as though wounded by her words.
"You still don't trust little old me? If I had wanted you dead, I would've left you for the goblins, darling. Like I said, I don't care to let things go to waste. Least of all someone so becoming in the moonlight."
"Hmm." Fallon frowned to hide her embarrassment at his words. "I don't remember asking."
"I'm all about the unsolicited," Astarion replied, "I mean comments. It'd be downright despicable to pursue someone unable to appreciate flattery."
"A gentleman." She rolled her eyes. "How surprising."
"All this hostility! Have I not bared myself enough for your liking?"
"I know little more than your list of conditions and the fact someone sought after you."
"And I know even less. Seems neither of us are particularly forthcoming." He paused, the sharpness of his jaw accentuating while in his thoughts. "You seem the type who enjoys a gambit."
"The kind in Three Dragon Ante?" She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "Perhaps."
"The betting kind, I could read it all over you. I don't have cards, but maybe we can play a different kind of game. A guessing game. You tell me two lies about yourself and one truth, I'll do the same. If either of us guess correct, we have to confirm the other's suspicions. How is that?"
"Why are you so curious?"
"Because we're friends now, are we not?" There was a twinkle in his eyes as he spoke. "I'm being accommodating to your obvious weakness. You're very welcome."
Fallon sighed before shrugging in resignation. From the look on his face, she doubted he would drop this, and she wasn't ready to retreat to the ground. She rested her cheek against the tops of her arms as she considered her words.
"I quite like to dance. I once had a dog named Patches whose favourite food was heads of lettuce. I like best the colour of indigo."
"It's a game, not a competition to bore the other one to death."
She rolled her eyes.
"Ok. Fine. I'll entertain then. I was orphaned when my parent's farm were held hostage by bandits. I hid in the crawlspace in the basement, I heard their screams when they died. I learnt to steal from a blind old crone, who took me in along with a band of equally wily and thuggish young children. I found her dead too, after one of the others took her ritual beatings and refused to turn the other cheek. Some years later when that same boy became a man and I a woman, we were lovers. He discarded crime for the waters and I waited by the docks for his return every trip. On the twilight of an auspicious moon, he washed ashore, having fallen for the song of a siren. Which is a lie?"
He considered her words in silence as she turned away from him. Fallon feigned the glower of someone pushed to the brink of their own comfort, but she had strayed nowhere close to her own truth.
Without warning, she felt the curtain of her hair parting. Before she could realise what he was doing, Astarion had slid the dark hue of her strands aside to reveal the elegant pointed form of her ears, slender and pale from their reticence to the sun. A gasp left her and she recoiled, smoothing her hair back in place. Something akin to fear flickered over her features, a blush set to her cheeks.
"Why did you do that?"
"Calling a bluff. It doesn't take a genius, your brother is half-elf, is he not? I saw no such visions of bandits in his mind."
"W-well he is my half-brother," Fallon began in defense. "He was away when it happened, spared the horrors."
"I don't believe you." He replied in a sing-song tone. "And given the colourful explanations, how one story blended to the next, I'd hazard to guess all were lies. Am I wrong?"
Her reply with only a stony mask of reproach. In response, Astarion smirked.
"Do you forget that I peered into Orikas' mind? It's a musty place, I wouldn't recommend it. I did find something interesting though, familiar even I confess. A dark cellar among squalid youths. The stench of impending despair. You." He paused, the branches beneath him yawning with movement as he shifted against them. "Your father is Virric Mossdreamer, is he not?"
Fallon bit upon the inside of her cheek, nodding slowly. Perhaps if she did not open her mouth to the truth, she would not shudder at its implicit admission. Satisfied with her response, Astarion continued.
"Here, I'll show you how it's done while you do me the favour of wiping away your vexation. Before my untimely turning, I was a magistrate in Baldur's Gate. Then for two centuries, I spent my life in servitude, experiencing an agonising and slow death that would never come to pass at the hands of the man who so graciously asked you for my return. And finally, I'm ever so grateful you chose to unhand me. Perhaps even a little indebted."
"I have a hard time thinking of you as a magistrate," Fallon replied.
"Ha! You mean that as a compliment, I'm sure."
She pursed her lips. Fallon hesitated in brushing the more tender parts of his words, for as much as she was want to keep her past close, she was equally uncomfortable inquiring on that of another's. This did not mean her interest was not piqued, but it was edged in warning. Prying further might give him leverage he did not need.
"Hmm, so then I suppose this is your way of saying you're ... Resentful I didn't allow Orikas to skewer you?"
"More like neutral. My statement was more a half-truth. I did feel a degree beholden, having seen something that clearly you'd rather I hadn't. After spending a good deal of my life being compelled against my will, there's a certain appreciation for when one holds things so close to the chest. But I confess, now that I'm well out of the grips of both Cazador and what I felt I owed you, you shouldn't expect much else. That is, if you wish to continue our company."
There it was, his whole reason for disturbing her peace. An inquiry of his fate. Fallon detected the faintest sliver of agitation. When she spoke again, it was not with callousness but genuine inquiry.
"If I were in your position, what would your decision be? You've proven yourself treacherous on multiple counts."
"Frankly I'd say to hells with you." Astarion replied with a snort. "But I'm not in your position, I'm in mine, so here's my final gambit. Take the cellar from your past and imagine it was your home for two agonisingly long centuries. Every worst fear your pretty little head could possibly dream up conspired in the walls of your body, to which all you could do was bare witness. You might consider me selfish, untrustworthy. After all I have endured, I believe I have earned the right to be. All I ask is one more smidgeon of your generosity. Surely that is not too much."
At this, his eyes glinted with a devilish wit. Fallon considered his words carefully but knew she would not arrive at any decision under his gaze. This would need a far clearer head than the day had gifted her.
"Maybe," Fallon said, "but I need to think on it. Alone."
"By all means. The bark was giving me an itch anyway, and besides, I'm hungry. I have a rat or two to catch ... Unless you'd do me the honour." He nodded towards her bare neck. Fallon hurriedly tugged at the fabric of her blouse.
"Funny." She said without a hint of humour. "Best be on your way then. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, darling. Don't stay up too long now. You need a clear head."
Astarion winked at her before beginning his descent. She watched him until he was out of view, relaxing once more. It remained not a second longer, for unrest shifted in the pit of a stomach. Her decision would need to come with the dawn, yet she was no closer to finding one. His words had left her conflicted, and though she knew that had been his intention, she couldn't help but search for the blade of humanity in all that he had recounted.
Fallon was not unsympathetic, neither was she soft of heart. She tread in ambiguity, an uneven twilight which had served her self-interests well but had its complications when others became involved. Things had been easier when it had just been she and Orikas, but Fallon hadn't known a good thing for what it was and sought more. She had been a hungry mouth, her pit bottomless. Still she harboured a pang, destructive as it was. Fallon sought something that escaped her in both knowledge and material reality, no matter how much she attempted to put a name to desire.
It was on this note that she felt the air around her change. It was a subtle shift, one that sent the skin of her arms to prickle. Fallon frowned. Suddenly she felt as though she were being watched. She straightened up against the branches, pulling way from the trunk to better attune to her surroundings. Hardly much of a change, yet seconds later she heard the limb beneath her crack. The sound was unnatural, it hit her ears all wrong. It was as though an invisible crack of lightening had severed the fibres of the wood.
Before she knew it she was tumbling through the air, arms clawing for purchase, but the tree itself disintegrated before her like dust between her hands. Her vision blurred as she implicitly braced to meet the ground below.
The impact never came.
When her eyes opened, she found herself tensed on the supple surface of a large crimson cushion. The world that pulled into view was not the landscape of trees but a room bathed in hearth light. The divine smells of a feast met her next, realising she was mere feet from a vast dining table, laden with roasted meet and platters of fruit piled high. Golden goblets shimmered from the glow of the fireplace. Fallon's stomach rumbled.
A cough from behind turned her attention. Standing above her was a man she had never seen before, and yet his appearance set a dark fear pulsing through her veins. Fallon leapt to her feet as the stranger smiled courteously, unperturbed by her hostility.
"Who are you?" Fallon demanded, her back colliding with a dining chair in her haste. She jerked away from it as though the wood had set her skin aflame. "Where am I?"
"Good questions." The man replied. His voice was smooth and rich as the finest of toffees, yet he betrayed no hint of sweet. "Yet both bare an answer that pales in comparison to the one I recommend."
He rose an eyebrow, tilting the dome of his head, slicked with well-kempt brown hair. She tried to swallow but found her mouth dry. Despite an ordinary height, the man's presence held an unspeakable magnitude, one that Fallon felt deep within her gut. Yet even as terror coursed through her veins, she compelled herself to speak.
"And what would that be?"
"Ah, but only the most tantalizing of them all. No doubt you have asked it of others, but they haven't come baring the gifts a man like I am capable of delivering. Here, allow me to suggest it, lest we mince words. It isn't who I am you should wonder, but what it is I have to offer."
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
AUTHOR'S NOTES
i. omg i was sick all week but now i have 100+ hours in bg3 so like was it actually a win?? yes
ii. honestly i started this trying to have a narrow scope but it's gotten to the point that i've got this spiderweb mindmap for the plot that begs a sequel, so that might happen (aka definitely will atp).
iii. also i promise there is romance in this fic, it's just that i literally cannot write ships without trying to build cook up as much tension as possible.