We make camp along the edge of the swamp lands that evening, not feeling completely secure within its boundaries. Even with the strange old woman gone, there is still an air of magic that sparks through the atmosphere... a sort of putrid, heavy energy that leaves the whole place feeling... wrong - as though we are being watched by pairs of invisible eyes. Something about the swamp is not as it seems... something that dances just on the edge of my awareness but something I still can't quite place my finger on. But now, with the swollen sun setting in the west, we will have to wait until daybreak to investigate further.
Wyll approaches me where I sit alone staring into the warm, flickering flames of the campfire. He's asking me something, but I'm hardly listening. His voice sounds like a distant murmur through the blaring thoughts that swim through my mind. He attempts to offer me something for dinner but I absently decline. I'm not hungry again. My head is thick, and buzzing, practically intoxicated by the magic in the air. At least that's what I tell myself. But there is something else tonight... something that goes beyond the magic of the swamp... something that goes beyond hunger and beyond my situation with Astarion.
A sickly feeling twists my stomach into aching knots of terror and dread. The Urge is calling on me tonight. It had been fairly quiet as of late, but tonight it is hungry. It yearns for blood. It's almost paralyzing. As my eyes scan the camp surrounding me, I no longer see my companions going about their night. Instead, I see nothing but throbbing meat-sacks full of warm blood and stringy sinew just below the tender flesh.
I shudder, shaking my head violently to dislodge the images out of my mind. The Dark Urge will not get its satisfaction tonight. Especially not on my companions. I refuse to allow it. I will suppress it as long as possible. I try to ignore the sense of urgency gnawing away at my insides. I'm dangerous. I should just leave before it's too late...
"Well you and and Wyll have certainly been rather chummy as of late." A haughty, familiar voice rips through my mind suddenly, jarring me out of the almost trance-like state that I hadn't realized I'd been in. My head snaps around and my gaze locks onto a pair of ruby-red eyes searching mine questioningly. When did Astarion get here?
"Huh?" It's the only sound I can manage as I work to find my voice.
"Come now. Don't tell me you haven't noticed. He's been doting all over you," Astarion says with unabashed disgust, as if the very idea of my companion showing me any sort of compassion leaves a bad taste in his mouth. "He's been fretting like a mother hen ever since breakfast time. What did you two get up to in the forest this morning?"
"I mean... we talked, I guess," I shrug. "I suppose he's just worried about me, though I'm not entirely sure why. But it's still more than I can say for a certain vampire in our party." My blood roils with warmth as the words leave my lips and my eyes dart away back to the fire, unable to find the courage to witness his reaction.
"Ha!" Astarion scoffs in amusement. "Well, Wyll can 'worry' all he wants, but he doesn't share the same bond we do. And as long as he's not a vampire, he never will."
I can feel Astarion's sharp gaze on me, and when I glance back at him, I see his eyes watching my neck hungrily. Warm blood squirms beneath the surface of my skin.
"Hey listen... Astarion," I chew my lip, trying to ignore the way he's looking at me. "About this morning... I just wanted to say... well what I mean is... I'm sorry. I was just so worried about what the others would think I didn't consider your feelings. I apologize."
Astarion's eyes flit black up to mine, growing wide as if he just saw me sprout a second head. Then, the initial shock on his face melts into confusion, as if he's never heard an apology before.
"Oh," he begins slowly, his voice is oddly small. "Well, I-"
Suddenly, his words are cut off as a commotion rises throughout camp. My companions are suddenly jumping to their feet and reaching for their weapons as a mysterious intruder breaks through the forest treeline and waltzes into camp. Astarion and I follow suit, scrambling to our feet, our fingers twitching on our weapons, reading ourselves for a fight.
"I'm so glad I found - wait, it's me!" As the mysterious horned figure steps into the light, I see a familiar face... one I haven't seen in some time. The kind, sweet face of the tiefling bard from Emerald Grove. "It's me," she urges, her eyes growing wide when she sees us all standing with our weapons at the ready. "It's Alfira from the grove!"
"Alfira!" I exclaim, surprise causing me to release my death-grip from the handle of my war hammer. "What in the Hells are you doing out here?"
"I'm sorry for barging in like this," Alfira says, clenching her fists at her sides. "But I just had to come find you. You've inspired me. I want to stand on my own to feet, to prove that I can be half the bard Lihala was. I want to join you... to fight by your side. I want to help people as you've helped me."
I study the sweet bard in the dim firelight. She's too precious, and our adventures are too perilous... and she is no warrior. I fear if she travels with us she won't be finding her own adventures. The only thing she'll find is death.
"It's safer for you at the grove," I say finally.
"True. But I'm a bard, remember?" Alfira replies with conviction. "I want to do more than sing about other people's adventures. I want to make my own stories. And I can't think of anyone else I'd rather share that with."
My brain buzzes with a warning. Something inside of me is telling me to turn her away before her fate is sealed. But the voice of the Urge is stronger... the voice that whispers what a lovely corpse she'll make. That the sweet, metallic scent of her blood on the ground would be like poetry. I shake my head, dislodging the thought from my mind as my eyes raise to meet Alfira's. She has such a pure heart, and such bravery - such determination. It almost makes me want to protect her, but at the same time I don't want to stifle that spark in her eye and the fire in her heart. Who am I to dictate her desire?
"Alright... You can stay - for now," I finally decide, though not without some reluctance. "Let's see how you fare."
"Really?" Alfira's eyes light up, and she clasps her hands together in earnest. "Oh, this is wonderful!"
I can practically hear Astarion and Lae'zel's collective groans rise up behind me at my decision, but the rest of my companions seem more than happy to have her join our side.
"Really? Just like that?" Astarion clicks his tongue. Then, with a defeated sigh, "Alright, but if she reaches for that lute, it's firewood."
"Behave." I shoot Astarion a warning glance.
"Mm..."" Lae'zel grumbles. "I agree with the elf. Just keep it quiet with that lute, hear?"
"Nonsense!" Gale says with enthusiasm. "The more, the merrier, I always say."
"Ease your worries, warm your hands," Wyll offers kindly. "We owe you that much."
"Thank you!" Alfira exclaims. "I won't let you down. I promise."
As the commotion slowly begins to die down, I settle back down onto my heels near the campfire, wiping a trickle of perspiration from my brow. My skin feels hot. But it's not from the warmth of the flames. My body quivers with the Urge's hunger. It is coiled inside my body like a spring-loaded weapon, ready... restless for blood. And as my gaze carefully watches our new party member... the bard, as she interacts gleefully with the rest of my companions, I have a dreadful inkling that this murderous compulsion will not go away until the Urge's hunger is sated. Was it a mistake letting her join our party?
No, I will not give The Urge what it craves. I won't do it. I refuse...
Yet... my fingers twitch near the place where a knife rests against my thigh just beneath the fabric of my trousers, my palms sweaty and eager. I can feel the shape of the blade-edge pressed against my skin, the cold metal now suddenly growing warm... buzzing and electric. I feel as though I am on the precipice of madness. My gaze is so intent on the newest meat sack... no, I mean the newest party member... that I hardly notice the way Wyll is watching me with concern from over the flames of the campfire.
And after what seems like a few moments of silent deliberation, he begins to move in my direction, but stops short as Astarion swoops in first, sitting down next to me at the campfire. But with my attention on the bard, I hardly acknowledge their interaction, so when Astarion finally speaks, it jars me back to my senses. The tight hold that The Urge has on my mind unravels in an instant and I escape its grasp, if only for a moment. And as the sharp ringing in my ears grows hollow, I realize I hadn't understood a word the elf said.
"Huh...?" I say, my mind muddy and my words slow. "Sorry... what was that?"
"Bloody Hells, I was asking if you're alright," Astarion clicks his tongue, seemingly annoyed at having to repeat himself. He's stiff, uncomfortable, awkward even... unused to the act of checking on someone else's well being. "It's just that-" his voice softens but doesn't completely lose its snarky undertone... almost but not quite. "Well, you don't look like yourself. You look ill. Did you eat something bad? It isn't because of... what happened this morning, is it?" His eyes waver with uncertainty.
"It isn't," I reply honestly.
"Oh good," Astarion leans back on his arms, feigning relief. "Because if so, you don't have to worry about them, you know... the others. You don't have to worry about what they think. I never do."
"Well, that much is obvious," I reply, unable to suppress the grin tugging at the corners of my lips. He's trying to console me. It may not seem like it, but he is comforting me in his own way. And although I don't know why he's even bothering, somehow it makes me happy.
"But they're our traveling companions after all," I say. "We're in this thing together, at least until the tadpoles are gone. Shouldn't their opinion of me matter at least a little? At least until our adventure is over and we all go back to our lives?"
"Oh, damn them and their opinions," Astarion scoffs indifferently. "You don't owe them an explanation for your actions. At least I know I don't. I'll never worry about that sort of thing again. From now on, I'll do as I please, and you should too."
His comfort, such as it is, seems to be enough to quell the swirling turbulence in my soul. But I can't bring myself to tell him that I am grateful for it. I feel the presence of his hand resting near mine and I want to reach out and bridge the short gap between us. I want to touch him... to let him know that he means something to me, whatever that 'something' is. But I can't. Even though we've been intimate... even though we've shared our bodies and bonded through blood there's still a chasm between us... that unspoken distance that I can feel as tangibly as I would any material wall. He's only inches away from me, yet still so out of reach. And I'm not sure if that distance can ever be closed.
Silence falls between us as I watch the bard entertaining the rest of my companions with a merry tune. She is playing her lute beautifully, singing to them in her voice like a bird's. Maybe she will bring us some joy on this grim journey. Or else...
"Ugh, the bard," Astarion says with disgust when his gaze follows mine. "Alfira." The way he says her name sounds as if he's gagging on a piece of phlegm in the back of his throat. "So bright and cheery. I can't believe you let her join the group. She's so out of place here. It's not like she has one of those tadpole things swimming around in her head. She's not like the rest of us."
He's not wrong. She doesn't fit in with us at all. We're all hardened fighters with dark pasts and one shared trauma... the mind flayer parasites. She isn't like us at all. She's so innocent and sweet. Though she's had a troubled past too from the sound of things, it's just not the same. I have a horrible feeling she's not going to fare well with us, and deep down I already knew it the moment I gave her a chance.
"You're right," I say, hugging my knees to my chest. "I don't know what I was thinking... I guess I just got suckered in by those pleading doe-eyes of hers."
"You softie." It sounds almost like an insult, but when I swivel my head around to look at him, Astarion's expression is gentle. "Oh well, what's done is done, I suppose. We're stuck with her for now. It's not like we can't dump her off in the next city we come across if things don't work out."
"True," I say quietly, my body suddenly tingling with warmth, chasing away all thoughts from the Urge. I want to thank him for taking my side. For having my back. For being here. But the words stick fast in the back of my throat. Instead, I say, "I'm beat. I think I'll turn in early for the evening."
"Are you sure you don't want to miss the bard's riveting ballads?" Astarion teases mercilessly. "I'm almost not snoring."
"Ha ha," I pretend to laugh sarcastically. "As tempting as that sounds, I'm exhausted. Goodnight, Astarion."
"Suit yourself." Then, "sweet dreams," I hear him say as I slip into my bedroll and turn over, facing my back to everyone.
As the bard's music lulls me to sleep, a faint, unpleasant buzzing sensation begins to claw its way up my spine, gnawing at the base of my brain. But I'm asleep before I really notice it.