"We can stay at Abbadon Manor, once we make it through the gates," Aysla offers sardonically to her companions as they walk through Rivington. Karlach, Wyll, and Astarion - as always - join her. "It may be preferable to continuing to camp in the dirt, though it's far from fancy."
"Oh, la la," Karlach says, not catching the sarcasm in Aysla's voice. "Abbadon, as in Aysla Abbadon?" Aysla realizes then that her little joke didn't land because he had never shared her last name with her companions - it hadn't come up.
"The very same," she replies. "Hopefully my little shack in Brampton is still standing."
Astarion's ears perk up. He had started to feel like their little tent under the stars was his home. It would be interesting to see where she stayed, before they had met.
How strange, he thinks, that they lived no more than a hop, skip and a jump away from each other, for years, probably, in their own separate hells - held apart by nothing but circumstance.
Suddenly, Karlach is running ahead of them, shouting, "The circus is in town!"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The sun is bright, and Astarion takes Aysla's arm as they walk past the various vendors and bards.
Aysla can't help but be in a good mood. No one is attacking them for once, they're not sneaking or breaking into anywhere, and there are no shadows, dark, or danger. It feels almost normal. She wonders if life could stay like this, once their adventure is done.
They happen upon a large tree as the center of the area. A Dryad woman with glowing eyes beckons them towards her.
"Your eyes, stira -" she says, addressing Aysla. "There is pain, endless and deep. But there is also devotion - blazing like the sun. You're in love, are you not?"
"That obvious?" she laughs uncomfortably.
"Bring the one you love to me," the dryad replies, "and I will look into your hearts and tell you if your love is eternal, or doomed to fail."
"Hmm," Aysla ponders, worrying her lip. She knows Astarion probably wouldn't care for some silly fortune-telling, and she's not quite eager to share what's between them with a stranger, either. "Why don't you two go ahead?"
She gestures to Wyll and Karlach. Karlach instantly beams, and Wyll looks bashful. If Aysla had to venture a guess, they probably hadn't expressed any romantic interest to one another yet, but she felt there was a potential - a sentiment that Karlach seemed to share, judging on her reaction.
"Ah, come on soldier! It'll be fun!" she says to Wyll.
"Certainly - I'd be honored," Wyll replies, still looking sheepish.
The dryad whisks the pair away, leaving Astarion and Aysla alone by the large tree. They pull up a seat at the wooden picnic table that sits at its base, sitting across from one another. Aysla pulls his hand into hers, rubbing little circles with her thumb.
"Thank you for weaseling us out of that," Astarion says with a smirk. "Though I'm wondering now, were you worried? That our love would be deemed 'doomed'?"
Aysla breaks eye contact, opting to stare at their hands intertwined. "I was more worried that she would reveal just how eternal and undying my love is, for you," she says, half-jokingly. "Hate to make you puke on such a beautiful day."
"Is that so?" He tilts his head, trying to read her. "Well it works in my favor, I suppose. My love for you is nowhere near as pathetic - more of a let's-take-it-day-by-day sort of thing than undying and eternal - yuck," he teases.
Aysla pouts.
They don't say anything for a moment. Astarion feels conflicted. Communicating vulnerable emotions was not his strong suit - but then, neither was it hers. They had spent the first months of their relationship showing their affection solely through physical acts.
Since they had stopped doing... that - any deeper confessions of love were either masked with a joke, or they were revealed in the heat of an argument. They haven't talked about what happens - after. He wonders if she's thought of it at all. Maybe he's just the most convenient option, tied together for the meantime as they are. He hasn't had the courage to ask.
"Joking, love," he says in a voice just barely above a whisper. "You may not be able to get rid of me so easily after our little adventure concludes."
It's a toe in the water. It's not quite 'Would you stay with me when this is over? If I could give you eternal life, would you spend it with me?' But she hears the underlying question all the same.
"I hope not," she says, meeting his gaze now.
Astarion smiles. That's good enough for now - Rome wasn't built in a day, and neither can an eternal commitment.
Wyll and Karlach reappear after several minutes, both looking giddy.
"The love test must have gone well, then?" Aysla guesses.
"We're meant to be, apparently!" says Wyll, still grinning.
"Well that was fast," scoffs Astarion. He finds himself feeling slightly jealous. Romance seems so easy for his companions. He wants that with Aysla, and he doesn't know why simply saying how he feels is so much like pulling teeth.
But she's still holding his hand. She gets up, walks back around to his side of the table, and gives him a peck on the cheek.
"Let them have their moment," she says quietly through a smile, close enough so that only he would hear her. "We're still the cutest couple in camp by leagues."
Suddenly, he feels giddy too.
He takes her arm, and they leave the dryad's company to continue exploring the sights the circus has to offer. A crowd gathers several yards from them, and Aysla and Astarion follow Wyll and Karlach to investigate.
As they approach, they see a clown on stage.
"Did you hear," he calls out to the crowd, "about the scarecrow who lost a fight?"
"Oh good, puns." Astarion murmurs to himself. "As if clowns aren't horrifying enough already."
The clown continues, "He got the stuffing kicked out of him! Wa-hey!"
Scattered applause follows.
"You've all been such good friends! But alas, I have to go," he says, frowning exaggeratedly. A small child begins crying.
"Well, if you insist - how about a magic trick? I'll need a volunteer, with nerves of steel and the heart of a lion!" he says, searching the crowd.
Aysla can't help but cry out, "He loves magic!" She gestures to Astarion.
"Don't - Aysla this is not funny," he says under his breath.
"Oh, my heart!" the clown cries. "The enthusiasm is... too much! Up, up, double-sharp, or my dog here Buddy will think you don't like him!"
"I'm going to fucking kill you," Astarion hisses through his teeth.
He saunters up reluctantly to the stage, slowly enough to make his displeasure obvious. Aysla beams.
Karlach leans over to Aysla to whisper, "Gross."
Aysla turns to her, looking confused. "What?"
"The sap pouring out of your fucking eyes, soldier. We get it," she says, feigning annoyance through a smirk, "you want to have his babies."
Aysla pauses, but she knows there's no use in defending it. Her face breaks into a shit-eating grin.
"Can you blame me? I mean, look at him," she says, tilting her head as she admires him. Even scowling like a cranky old housecat, he makes her heart flutter. "You don't think the world needs one or ten more little hims running around, silver-haired and knife-y?"
"Like I said, fucking gross," Karlach says, smiling back at her. "I'm happy for you - both o' yous."
Aysla tunes back into the show just as the clown says to Astarion, "I have a message just for you! Praise the Absolute."
The dog on stage leaps onto Astarion, and he raises his arms to protect himself from being bitten. It latches onto his forearm and shakes.
Aysla sees red. She fumbles through the dispersing crowd, and then hops up onto the stage. She slices the dog's neck in the same motion it takes to pull out her sword.
"Again," Astarion grouses, "going to fucking kill you."
"Sorry," Aysla says in between getting up and slashing at the clown across the stage. "Was funny!"
Wyll sends an eldritch blast, knocking him prone, and Karlach finishes the job with a heavy thud of her axe.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Down one healing potion, and Astarion down a shirt sleeve, they head towards Wyrm's Crossing, where little shops and taverns line the narrow street.
Sporting a new casual shirt picked up at Carm's Varns along the way, Astarion feels strange walking past the familiar buildings. But he opts to say nothing, as Wyll and Karlach are eager to explore. When he and Aysla follow the pair, entering Fraygo's Flophouse, Aysla feels him noticeably tense.
Karlach goes to order something at the bar, and Wyll accompanies her. Aysla hesitates.
"Do you not wish to join them darling? I've never known you to be one to turn down an opportunity to drink - no offense," he says, noticing her freeze in place.
She pointedly looks away from the bar, wholly facing the opposite direction. But it's too late.
"Aysla?" a stocky man with dark hair and a mustache, sitting at the bar, calls out.
Her mouth twitches, as if she's holding back a grimace. But when she turns around, there's no trace. Just an angelic smile.
Astarion hesitates before reaching out with his tadpole. Would it be intrusive? But either Aysla doesn't notice, or she doesn't mind.
Peeking into her mind he sees what she thinks of - finger shaped bruises, all over her skin; the man's rough hands press against her body; he's one of Davidus' friends and houseguests; one of them.
She approaches the man, with a winning smile. "What a small world - it's been ages!"
Astarion tries to hide how his gut lurches as she walks away from him without a word. He listens casually, off to the side.
"It has!" the man says incredulously. "Whatever happened with you, and -"
"Oh, things grow old, you know," she says lightly. "We ought to catch up though - you and I."
Suddenly Astarion feels sick.
He ventures a glance, and the air is knocked from him completely, as leading the man out the front door.
He rushes towards the stairs, his vision growing blurry. He needs to hide, to calm himself.
He wants to confront her, and ask what she's doing. But then, what right does he have?
He's the one that halted things between them.
He thought they were doing fine - great, even. He thought she was fine with waiting. With not having sex.
But apparently not. He feels his chest constricting, as he thinks of this man's hands on her - his lips on her.
How could she do this to him? Did she not say that she loved him? She had just said - they were a couple, had he heard her correctly? Is he going mad, or is she just that cold and unfeeling? Would she really go to "catch up" with this man - whatever that means - leaving her love alone in this place?
And what a place to choose to ruin him this way. He looks around himself, unraveling further. How many people had he bedded here before luring to Cazador? Was this some sort of sick karma?
He walks up the stairs unsteadily, wishing to disappear; wishing to retreat into a dark corner until he can remember how to pull himself together. He nearly falls once he reaches the top.
And then he stops in tracks when he sees his siblings - Petras and Dalyria, standing at the top of the staircase. The gods were sick, indeed.
"Brother," Dalyria says. "What are you doing here? You got out - you were free."
"He must have heard of Master's Ascension," Petras scoffs. "It's obvious - he wants the power our master will grant us, and he came back with his tail between his legs."
"You always were an idiot, Petras." Astarion huffs. He wishes he had something more witty to say, but his head is still pounding.
He grabs his brother's dunce-like face, and spins him towards the light of the window. Aurelia cries out for him to stop.
"Where is he hiding? Tell me!" he hisses.
Petras says nothing as he roasts, his skin quickly cracking and turning to ash in the light.
"The master is preparing the Black Mass beneath the palace," Dalyria surrenders. "There's a defiled chapel - it was there the whole time, hidden from us all."
Astarion throws him back to the shadows. Petras nurses the ruined skin of his face.
"I'm going to stop Cazador," he sneers.
"What the hells are you, Astarion?" Petras whimpers. "What happened to you?"
"I'm more than I was. The sun can't harm me, and Cazador can't compel me. I'm not afraid of anything, anymore," he replies. "Go - before I change my mind about roasting you."
A swirling red cloud appears to transport them. As they vanish, he hears Dalyria's voice.
"This isn't over, Astarion," she says.
When they go, Astarion wonders why he feels so empty. He should feel victorious; he knows where to find the Rite, now. Everything is poised for his taking. He looks around the empty room, and he realizes with a pang - he wishes Aysla were there.
She would say something kind to him, something reassuring. His companions would probably discourage him or tell him to slow down, just as they had continuously done since hearing of the possibility of his Ascension. But Aysla would have egged him on, no matter what he did.
And now she's gods know where - doing gods know what.
He turns to head down the stairs, and Karlach is already running up them, with Wyll close behind her.
"Come on!" Karlach shouts, turning back around and gesturing for Astarion to follow.
"What?" Astarion questions.
"Your girl?" Karlach says dubiously. "Did you forget her already?"
"Quite the opposite," he replies haughtily. "I think it's clear that she's forgotten about me."
"Hells - we need to help her. Look," Karlach says, as she leads them through the door and around the corner of the building. She halts when she peeks over to the rocks below. "Gods..." she says.
Past the back of the building, on the rocky bluff by the water, just a short climb down from where they stand, Aysla stands huffing above a dark-haired man who is riddled in stab wounds beyond the point of recognition.
She looks up, blood spatters across her face. Her eyes are a hundred miles away.
First, a rush of relief washes over Astarion. He should have known - she would never. Not her. She wasn't like any of the thousands of faithless scoundrels he had gotten on his back for. She was sweet, and true, even covered in gore -
But then he feels awful. He can see from yards away that something is wrong. Her shoulders slope forward, and her hands, still holding the knife, tremble. She looks like a lost lamb.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The reunion at camp is strained and uncomfortable with their leader so uncharacteristically silent. Aysla doesn't touch Astarion's arm, anymore. She holds them crossed, pressed to herself.
"I ran into my siblings, at the Flophouse," Astarion explains to the group. "Cazador's ritual is to take place below his palace."
He isn't sure what else to say, but he feels obligated to fill the silence, hoping Aysla will snap out of her fugue state.
"That's great!" Gale chimes in, eager to find a topic, any topic, to distract from the melancholy aura emanating from their blood-soaked companion.
"We shall be heading that direction, anyway." Even Lae'zel pipes up, with a cursory glance at Aysla's face, still wearing a thousand-yard stare.
The group drifts in different directions for a time, as they wash the day off and prepare for dinner, leaving Aysla and Astarion a moment of privacy in the center of the camp for a spell.
Astarion can't hold his tongue for long. "Who was he?" he says quickly, hoping the pathetic edge of jealousy doesn't reach her ears.
"Rolf," she spits his name derisively. "He was one of Davidus' houseguests, whom I was made to 'entertain.' "
Astarion stays quiet. He wonders if she knows what he saw through her tadpole. How he watched her remember how her body had been cruelly used, as they stood in the same place where his had been, too.
"It's just funny," she says, sighing angrily, "how they all bought his little story - we just had an 'open arrangement,' he would say. The little clusters of bruises, all in sets of five - they didn't seem... suspicious?"
She laughs incredulously. "Like I'd just fallen down the stairs in such a way - to give myself bruises in the shapes of hands all over my body? That checks out!"
He doesn't know what to say. He wants to reach a hand out to touch her, but he assumes after all that - after everything - well, she likely does not want to be touched .
She bounces her knee. Astarion is so quiet. She doesn't know what she wants to hear. She doesn't know what will make it better. So she simply turns and ducks into her tent.
She doesn't come out for dinner.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Astarion stays to converse with their campmates for a little while longer, departing to her tent once the camp begins to die down.
He comes prepared with an opening line - something funny, he hopes, to lighten the fog that hangs over her head.
"Now why did Karlach just tell me that you told her you wanted to have ten children by me, or something else rather desperate?" he offers playfully as he enters.
"Oh for fuck's sake-" Aysla says, rolling her eyes.
"Vampires can't have children the last time I checked, though I'm sure we would have fun trying-"
Astarion stops his teasing when he sees her smile fall off completely, her face transforming into something pathetic. She sinks deeper into her bedroll, and slowly pulls the blanket over her face like a touchy child.
"Oh come now, I was only joking, darling," he starts. But when Astarion tugs on the blanket, he is horrified to see tears streaking her face.
"Stop!" she snaps. He has seen Aysla snap many a time, but it has never been at him.
"Aysla... What's wrong?" he asks tentatively.
Though he can't see her face, he sees her shrug under the blanket.
"Is it what happened - earlier?" he ventures.
She shrugs again.
"Can you please just tell me what's the matter?" he says, trying to sound patient.
"No," she says, through tears.
"Aysla, come on! You're being ridiculous!" he huffs, yanking the blanket again, successfully this time, to reveal her face looking tragically wet with tears.
She stares at his hand rather than his face. "I know it's ridiculous. Just forget about it."
"Oh, darling - you're serious?" he asks.
Another wave of mortification washes over Aysla.
"I know it'll never happen, and that no one will ever want to... make an 'honest woman' of me, or whatever - I know I'm damaged goods. And I know you're trying to be funny, but it's a bit of a sore spot, if you don't mind leaving well enough alone," she says, her voice choked.
"Honest woman?" Astarion looks incredulous. "Damaged goods? Darling, you can't mean that. Are you talking about... settling down? You can't think no one would want that with you because of..."
"Because I was used as live-in fuck-toy? Yes, Astarion, I don't think anyone would find that to be wife and mother material. The ship has sailed," she says, looking terribly bitter through her teary eyes. "And I don't appreciate you laughing at me from your ivory tower."
He stares at her with his brows knitted, even more confused. "Who's in an ivory tower? What do you think I was doing before all of this? Why do you think the owner at the Flophouse recognizes me?"
"That's different. No one knows that you were compelled. They probably just think you're an extremely eligible bachelor. And at least the people you were with are dead, already," she says, sounding oddly envious.
"After all of this is over, you're going to go be a Lord or whatever, and I'm going to go back to my stupid, awful life and you're going to be far too busy, and far too important for me, and that's fine -" she blubbers, her words rushing together.
"The list of people who hurt me will still be long, and it'll probably stay long, and I'll probably just keep hiding, because I'm pathetic. And honestly, I'm jealous - I wish everyone I ever slept with was dead! At least then I wouldn't have to see their smug fucking faces - knowing what they did to me - what they took from me-"
Her ears feel hot, and , and hands shake. She knows she sounds feral, but she can't stop.
"Or maybe I will kill them all, but then what difference would that make? They'll be dead, and I'll still be..." she's breathing too quickly, and she can't finish her sentence.
She feels like he must know what she's too humiliated to say. Everyone who had ever touched her cast-off, run-through body probably knows. She's disgusting - dirty - ruined.
She's so angry, and she can't help the hot, rageful tears falling from her eyes. Her hands are balled into fists now, still shaking with fury. She knows that Astarion will leave her any moment now. She's said too much - she is too much.
Astarion looks at her with an edge in his stare. Aysla thinks it's pity, perhaps. But as Astarion looks at her, he sees himself.
He sees himself in her trembling, clenched fists. He sees himself, being whipped and cut and carved into, in her wrathful, tear-streaked face. He sees himself in her defiant, but utterly, utterly broken, eyes.
He dares not wipe away the tears. She's earned them. She's earned the right to be livid, she's earned the right to kill them all. She deserves it. She deserves everything she wants.
So he just squeezes her hand.
"You are not ruined," he says, speaking low, slowly and clearly. "You're... incredible. You are not the things they did to you."
Her face twists further. It's just cruel for the gods to put this man in front of her. How she wants him, and how she knows, in her heart of hearts, she will not have him for long. No matter what he says, no matter how he reassures her, she knows she is beneath him, and once their adventure is over - he will surely realize it, eventually.
"I think the world of you," he says, feeling naked. He remembers how he felt helpless and unable to be vulnerable with her, by the dryad's tree. But he finds now, with relief, that it seems to come to him with significantly more ease when she's already poured her heart out and is actively crying.
"You're not obligated to me - but I do not want to lose you after all of this. Ascended or not - and, for all I know, it won't work; and I'll have to go back to living in the shadows again. You'd be the one in the ivory tower, then. But I will want you - that much I know. I don't think you're damaged; I think you're the most precious treasure in the world. And," he adds, leaning forward to wrap her in his arms as she begins to shake with quiet sobs, "we will kill them all."
Astarion sees red, as he tries to picture the men who hurt her - nameless and faceless as they are to him. They sit next to Cazador in his mind now. He never thought he could feel the same level of white-hot hate for anyone else.
But when he thinks of them, he feels the same injustice; the same hunger for revenge. She shudders against his chest, still wracked with anguish. It's no matter that the list is long.
He will savor the death of each one.