Astarion's trance is restless despite his exhaustion, spoiled by a vivid dream in which his mysterious Dream Visitor tells him he must "wield the power" of their tadpole - whatever that means.
When he wakes, he turns to look at Aysla's face to find that she is wide awake, looking back at him.
"Gods!" he gasps. "Were you watching me sleep?"
"Oh, get over yourself," she says dismissively, "I was already awake and you were mumbling."
"Why were you awake?" he asks.
"Just up worrying," she says, "you know, the usual. Are there doctors for vampires?"
"I don't know... I can find out?" he replies, bewildered.
"The tadpole is protecting your skin from burning in the sun, but there are vitamin balances that are affected by sun exposure that we ought to check on, too, at some point," she says, eyes far away now.
The sun is beginning to rise. 'How long has she been awake?' he wonders.
At some point in the course of the night, like the flip of a switch, she had come to terms with the fact that she really, really liked him. And, as the only person in the world that she cared even a little bit about, she felt an added weight of responsibility, and her mind ticked.
"...Okay?"
"Did you know you clench your jaw when you sleep?" she says, with an admonishing look. "Anyway. I suppose you just had the 'visitor' dream?"
"Indeed, darling. What's going on with you?" he asks, confused at her sudden fussing.
"What do you mean?" she asks, cocking her head.
"I just mean - why so fretful? I too, value our 'alliance'," he says, calling back to their running joke, "but frankly, you've never concerned yourself much with my well-being until now - outside of our little trysts, of course - which have been ever so much fun ."
She chuckles at that.
"How dare you!" she says, playfully shocked. "I suppose I haven't been the picture of protectiveness. I do like you, you know; at least enough to care if you live or die. Don't tell the others."
Astarion feels a mixture of victory and... nerves butterflying up in his stomach. This was what he intended, right? Now that he's successfully wooed her, his mouth feels dry, his words getting caught in his throat.
"It sounds like our little dream visitor wants us to 'harbor the power,' or whatever - so, you can have the next tadpole, on me," she says, kissing his nose lightly before rising. "Consider it a token of my affection for... all the 'fun', I suppose."
She sneers at the word - 'fun.' Is that all she is to him? Most men are smitten with her after one night, let alone as many as they've shared by now.
Aysla decides then, in her heart, to be petty for the rest of the day.
"I almost forgot - scars?" she offers, already halfway turned towards camp.
"I - well, this isn't your problem, you know," he says, offering her an out.
She twists her face. She sort of wants him be her problem.
"No? I mean, it's up to you," she says, backing off, feeling her pride sting even more.
"Er - no, you're right, wait," he says, starting to get up. "Here."
He turns around, and her mind tentatively reaches out to connect with his, as her eyes comb over the markings.
The scars, which he had felt with his hands but never seen, are horrific. Raised jagged edges in the shapes of unreadable letters. He remembers how it felt to receive them, but they look even worse than he pictured.
"What in the hells?" he murmurs. "What did he do to me...?"
He turns around to face her again, their connection terminating.
"Bad news?" she asks, crinkling her nose.
"I've no idea. This is a surprise, and surprises from Cazador are never a good thing..." he says. "Thank you, by the way. This is - well, it's something."
He always gets so weird when he has to say "thank you," she thinks.
"Yop! Anytime," she says lightly, with a hint of petulant aloofness.
Why not 'Thank you so much my beautiful Aysla, let me walk you to camp?'
She purses her lips and walks off.
Astarion, for his part, is completely confused by her energy this morning.
A strange show of concern, and then sudden, cool distance. Does she like him, or not?
He's bedded her regularly for weeks, and now he somehow feels more likely to be the one she throws in the lines of fire.
He wonders how he could have possibly managed to earn her scorn in all of the two seconds he's been awake.
And he wonders why it bothers him so much.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
As they explore the underdark, Lae'zel is in a foul mood.
"It's not like we'll be here long - we'll go find your crash or whatever it's called, afterwards," Aysla says haughtily.
Faced with a choice between going to the underdark first and creche second, or to give Lae'zel, whom she was still annoyed at, what she wanted, she chose the former.
It's hard to tell what time it is without the light of day, but they know they've been down there for a few hours, at least. They're currently on their way to kill a group of dwarves at the behest of a colony of sentient mushrooms - shouldn't have wished to live in more interesting times.
Suddenly, there's a man in fine clothes who appears, seemingly out of nowhere, directly in their path.
"My, my, what manner of place is this?" he says as they approach. "A path to redemption, or a road to damnation? Hard to say."
The group exchanges glances.
"The fuck...?" Karlach whispers.
"The mouse smiled brightly: it outfoxed the cat!" he continues. "Then the claw came down, and that, love, was that. Ha! They do know how to write them in Cormyr, don't they? Well met - I am Raphael. Very much at your service."
"Can I help you?" Aysla asks impatiently.
"Perhaps you can! But not here," he replies. As he snaps his fingers, the group is transported to an elaborate dining room.
He transforms before their eyes into a red devil.
"Welcome to the House of Hope! I understand that you all are in quite deep over your tadpoled heads," he says.
"Oh, hells. No, no deals with devils, thank you -" Aysla starts, but Astarion cuts her off.
"Well! Actually, I could use help with something," he says tentatively.
She offers him a little shrug, and gestures for him to continue.
"My old - well, a long time ago, someone carved some runes into my back. I'd rather like to know what they say," he says.
"Hmmm..." is all the devil responds with.
"Well?" asks Aysla.
"Oh, suddenly flip-flopping, are we?" says Raphael.
"I didn't say I'd make a deal, but the man is asking you - what happened to 'at your service'?" she chirps defensively, having been caught folding to Astarion's opinion the very millisecond it differed from hers.
"It's something very important to your master - but is it a love letter, a warning, or a deed of ownership? I could give you all the gory details," he says to Astarion, "but of course - you'll have to do something for me, first. Let me think about it, and get back to you."
"You'll get 'back' to me?" Astarion huffs indignantly. "This is important, devil. When? "
"Don't worry!" Raphael reassures. "I'm motivated to help you. Scars often tell such wonderful stories - I think yours might be truly exquisite. I'll see you soon."
And just like that, the group is dropped back into the underdark, and Raphael is nowhere to be seen.
"Astarion, there must be another way to find your answers," Wyll says, looking concerned.
"As if you're one to talk?" balks Astarion, reading Aysla's mind.
"Get his ass," murmurs Aysla, under her breath.
"What?" Astarion says, defensively. He didn't hear what she said, just saw her mumbling sassily, and he assumes it's directed at him, not Wyll.
'Is she really going to side against me on this?' he wonders. He racks his brain, trying to recall when, specifically, he must have annoyed her that morning.
"Oh darling, no, I was agreeing with you - no offense, Wyll," she says. "We'll figure it out, and we'll either work with or around the devil. I've no preference."
She briefly touches his lower back, rubbing a small circle before striding past him. As she passes, she murmurs so he can hear, "Don't worry my 'fun' -loving ally - you're still my favorite."
At the brief, affectionate touch, combined with the simultaneous compliment and jab in her statement, Astarion is still left with a mixture of emotions, similar to how he has felt all day.
She continues to lead the group towards some ramparts, which quickly turns out to be an ambush.
Aysla, having led the way, is glanced in the shoulder by an arrow, and ducks, rushing further into the structure. Suddenly, gray dwarves appear around the creaky structure, and multiply.
Astarion quickly darts to the shadows, and has a knife at the neck of the one who shot first. Fireballs fly from Gale's direction, and the rest of the party splits up, all going in different directions to try to pick off the duergar.
Aysla, for her part, is prone, as three dwarves encircle her.
She's lying on her back, and her mind flashes to her recurring nightmare. Dark figures, standing above her. As she looks up at the dwarves, their faces shadowy, she swears she can see their faces - the ones who violated her. Her last straw. The final encroachment on her honor that she had been forced to take before she snapped.
She only remembers flashes of that day, and she tries so hard to forget. She remembers panicking, bucking, and screaming - and she remembers afterwards, three men laying dead. She remembers Davidus, despotic as ever, commanding her to 'calm down'. She remembers his hand over her mouth, and arm around her neck, squeezing. She remembers the crunch of bone, and the taste of blood in her mouth.
And now, like then, she snaps.
Her eyes go black, and the three dwarves are sent flying over the ramparts by her blast of energy, two of them falling to their deaths immediately. She floats down ghoulishly on a cloud of necrotic smoke, landing in front of the remaining one.
Her rapier slides from its hilt. Her whip-thin silver blade, with tendrils of black shroud twisting around it, glistens as she raises it. In a second, it flashes, and the third dwarf's head topples to the ground.
"Gods above," Wyll murmurs.
Her companions' eyes are wide on her. Karlach makes light work of dispatching the last remaining one of their attackers.
Astarion stands there, motionless, having seen it all from where he stood. Does she want for comfort, now? Is she a danger to them while she's like this?
She blinks a few times, as she regains her bearings.
"Apologies," she says to the air, already walking back in the direction of the myconid colony. "I do try to keep the freaky scourge-aasimar stuff to a minimum. Unless you're into that kind of thing, of course."
The group begins to trail behind her.
"And why would you hide such a boon in battle?" asks Lae'zel.
"That was awesome!" cheers Karlach.
Aysla smiles, but as she trudges along, her hands are shaking again, and not from alcoholic withdrawals - those had already left her.
Her eyes return to normal, and the cloud dissipates, but she can still hear the laughing in her head. Laughing; the sound of a belt; a zipper; screaming; crunching; blood in her mouth.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Having earned the thanks of the mushroom people, the party begins to set up camp. They can't be sure what time it is, but the day has left them thoroughly exhausted.
Aysla walks round, surveying the area, picking up slack where she can see it. She notes that their environment holds nothing red-blooded, from what she can see.
She stops and hovers by Astarion as he sets up his tent.
"You can feed on me tonight, if you'd like," she says dryly, looking at her nails.
"Oh! You generous thing," he replies.
A beat goes by before he asks, "Are you - angry with me for anything?"
"No, why ever would I be?" she asks innocently, clearly too stubborn to discuss the reason for her coolness.
Then, Gale appears.
"Oh, hello Aysla! Astarion," he says, nodding to him only as an afterthought.
"Could I... speak with you? A bit more privately?" he hedges.
"Umm, surely," Aysla replies.
She begins to walk with Gale, without so much as a glance in Astarion's direction. He feels a bit of a sting.
As they walk along the outskirts of their encampment, Gale says, "It's quite thrilling, is it not? To fight off such grim creatures. With you at my side, especially."
'Oh, no ,' she thinks. She prepares to let him down easily.
But then, will Astarion think she's rejecting other suitors for his benefit? She would hate to grant him that ego boost when he hasn't even claimed her publicly, or thought to clarify their relationship. For all their companions must think, they're all good platonic friends. She's never been the one to have to issue the "what are we" conversation - it's always been the other way around. And she actually likes him. They get along, they laugh, the sex is fantastic - why hasn't he?
"I once read a book that explained the effect a brush with danger could have on... er, other forms of stimulation."
"I'll stop you there," Aysla says, as kindly and softly as she can, touching his elbow.
Despite her best effort, Gale's face looks as though she'd cut him with a knife.
She notices Astarion in her peripheral vision, who is standing by his half-made tent, completely unproductive as he spectates, looking disgruntled.
'Why in the hells is she touching his arm? Are we all going around stroking each other's arms now? I'll stroke every arm in this camp before sun-up if that's how it's to be.'
"Gale - are you hitting on me?"
"I mean," he says, looking panicked. "I suppose - it would be nice, if we could get better acquainted with each other later?"
"Oh, sweet, sweet Gale. Let's walk and talk," she says.
They continue to walk, until they are out of view of the rest of their companions. It may not be necessary, she hopes, but she thought it best in case he begins to cry.
"Gale," she starts.
"Gods, have I embarrassed myself? Have I offended you?" he asks, looking mortified.
"Gale, no - I think you're confused. I wanted to pull you aside because I figured this was as good a time as any to talk about it. I think," she says, hesitating, but opting to rip it off like a bandaid, "I think Mystra, um... groomed you, dear."
Again, despite imbuing her tone with as much softness as she can muster, his face looks devastated.
"...What? Whatever could you mean? Have I lost a memory? We were lovers, it's true, but-"
"How old were you when you met Mystra?" she says. "Sixteen, right? I know you've felt things with me, and I'm ever so flattered - look at you! But, in all honesty, I'd be taking advantage. I think you may have your feelings all muddled still. I say it from a place of empathy - gods know, I've been there. I haven't told any of you the half of all that was done to me."
"And anyway, you're far too good for me," she says, hoping that what she is saying is a salve to his ego. Gesturing between them she continues, "I think that what's here, is simply two people who've been grievously injured, feeling a sense of connection. I think that maybe you recognize that commonality, without having taken too deep a look at it in yourself."
She attempts to smile kindly at him, though it looks a bit like a menacing, creepy doll's stare. She isn't used to being comforting, or, really, having any friends at all, but she has the spirit.
He looks crushed.
"I've never thought of it that way. I - I suppose it is a bit strange, out of context." he says, though he doesn't look like he trusts himself enough to form an opinion on it yet.
She nods.
"Right, well, I was fully human trafficked, and until the other day I just thought of it as 'my ex being a bit mean to me.' It's tough to, erm, back yourself, I suppose. But think about it," she says, "a three bajillion year old Mystra takes a handsome, promising teen under her arm, and, lo and behold, in several years he's been groomed into a powerful wizard, who's so loyal to her he'd break the fabric of magic and reality just to give her a gift. It's at least a little manipulative if we're to be generous, and predatory if we're being realistic."
She gives him a light pat on the back, and then sort of looks off into the distance, avoiding eye contact, and awkwardly pursing her lips. Does she hug him here? She is hopelessly lost at these kinds of things. She looks at him and can't tell if he feels better or if she's stuck her foot in it.
"Hmm. This is a lot to absorb. Thank you, for all that you've said. I'll be happy to continue this journey at your side - as a friend," he says, warmly.
She laughs with relief.
"Amazing! Best pals from here on out," she says, smiling victoriously at having succeeded in 'friendship.' "As your friend, I also feel obliged to tell you that hitting on anyone with a line out of a textbook in the future is undoubtedly a mistake."
They part ways laughing, with Gale slightly more heartened.
Aysla opts to stay off to the edge of camp, while Gale returns to his tent.
She goes to the stream nearby to bathe, assuming that Astarion will come find her to have his dinner someplace secluded. She supposes they'll hash things out then, too - she's already bored of the odd tension she's created and she'd rather have it out.
'Do you like me, or not?' is probably what she'll say. Direct; to the point. If he says yes, great; if not, then at least she'll know. She'll just sulk for a few days, maybe a tenday or two if she decides to be pathetic, she imagines.
She finishes bathing, and towels off. She gets dressed. She fiddles with her hair. Astarion doesn't come.
Assuming he can just find her in her tent, she goes to retire for the night.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Three hours later, she's lying awake in her bedroll, and Astarion hasn't come. Is he mad at her , for being mad at him?
She knows that full elves trance, so it would be silly to think that he simply passed out and has been snoring away the last several hours.
She sits up. She would really rather get this over with tonight rather than continue the double cold-shoulder routine with him tomorrow. She rises to go to his tent.
When she arrives, the flaps are shut. She clears her throat.
"Yes?" he says after letting a few seconds pass, in a starkly different tone from what he typically uses with her.
He sounds cold . Her face falls.
"May I come in?" she says slowly, matching his cool tone.
"You may," he says, dripping with disdain.
"What the fuck's eating you? " she says, affronted, as she pops her head into the tent.
He's just sitting there, pouting, atop his neat bedding.
"I hear you found a new lover," he replies. "So - will you want to keep yourself for your new, true love? Is this the end of our late night trysts? Even though they were an awful lot of fun? " he asks, with an air of aloofness.
She floods with relief. The fool is angry at her for fucking Gale, and she hadn't even done it. Which means, firstly, he likes her enough to be a bit jealous; and secondly, when she reveals that she hasn't, the rest of the relationship-defining talk should be a cake walk.
She decides to let him sweat it, just a little, though.
"Oh, Gale?" she replies, equally nonchalantly. "It's a tough predicament I find myself in."
"Oh, darling, it's fine - we both knew what we were to each other; a fun distraction, nothing more! And anyway, I still get to look at you, and remember everything we did together." he says.
That stings, a little. 'That fucking word - ' - again,' she thinks. He would really just let her go, so easily; with Gale no less?
"That's true," she remarks, shrugging. "I thought of you, when I was with him, you know."
"You cheeky thing! I can't say I'm surprised... But, we must have standards. I don't want to be in any love triangle that involves - ugh - Gale," he replies.
'Love' rings in her ears. 'What is it, Astarion? Love or fun?' Aysla thinks.
"Well you've got me in a bind; if I must choose, it's close , but I think I'd rather be with you," she says lightly.
"What? Why?" he says, failing to hide his shock. "I mean, obviously I can understand why - we've had a lot of fun together. But I thought you had something... more? with Gale?"
"I'm not fucking Gale, you brat," she replies, lightly swatting his hand.
"Oh, spare me," he scoffs. "I went to your tent, and you weren't there. Hours went by. Do you think I'm a fool?"
"I was waiting by the river for you! Gods dear, I was washing up your dinner, the dutiful lover I am, and here you are accusing me. I'm wounded," she says, holding back laughter with a hand over her heart.
He looks horrified.
"Forget I said anything," he says.
"Well it's tragic that we aren't 'something more ' then. I'll go back to my tent until you summon me for a bit of 'fun', I suppose," she snarks, letting the resentment seep into her voice.
"I mean - we could try? If that's what you want," he says, flustered.
A few seconds pass as she absorbs his underwhelming response.
"Hardly a resounding declaration of love," she says flatly.
He smiles at her then, and tilts his head. He pulls her in for a soft, gentle kiss.
"You know," he says, pulling back and still smiling at her, though she remains glaring at him, "I've never had anyone before, not really - nothing that compares to ," he confesses, warmth overflowing in his voice and his eyes.
That touches her deeply. Her lips downturn into a deeply pouty frown, her eyes tender. Aysla had been prepared to be catty for the entirety of the rest of their journey together, but her anger disappears at his statement.
Aysla, whose last partner sold her body like she was chattel. Aysla, whose revolving door of lovers had all smacked, choked, spit on or otherwise belittled her. Aysla - whose mother hated her, whose god abandoned her, whose best, only friend for the last several years had been the bottom of a bottle.
"Same," she says, her voice a bit choked. She looks down and squeezes his hand, feeling slightly too emotional to look at him.
"Anyway, if I was looking for a 'fun distraction,' I'd go to the godsdamned circus, Astarion," she says as cavalierly as she can, recovering. "I'm obsessed with you, obviously."
"You are?" he asks, beaming. "Well of course you are, aren't you? You poor, desperate thing."
"So, to confirm - because what the fuck does 'something more' mean," she says, "are we travel-companions-that-acknowledge-each-others'-existence-outside-of-their-secret-midnight-forest-fucks now?"
"Oh my gods, she's proposing!" he says, putting the back of his hand to his head theatrically. "I accept."
He pulls her into a silly and sweet kiss.
She thought everyone was asleep, but she hears Karlach wooting from several yards away, and she thinks she hears a "Tchk," in the distance. When they break their kiss, she is still smiling. She gives his cheek a kiss, and boops his nose with her own. Then she plops down on his bedroll, bending her neck dramatically.
"Before your dinner gets cold!" she chastises playfully.
He looks at her with tenderness in his eyes. His heart aches, a little. He really hasn't ever had anyone, like this, before, or really at all. Nothing but endless bodies, for a single night. But never anyone in his corner, anyone on his side. At the end of the day, he wants her loyalty for his own selfish reasons - but it's touching, all the same.
He's aware that she's no angel, aasimar blood aside. In the time he's known her - which hasn't been very long at all - she's often conceited, dismissive, and has a temper like a lash. But she could also be affectionate, and sweet, and protective - and so far, it had only been for him and the owlbear, whom she had left sleeping in her tent.
"My sweet little bloodbag," he says, as he lowers himself to her neck.