"We should consider the devil's offer."
"Oh hells, Lae'zel, you cannot possibly be serious!" Gale wrings his hands.
"I must free my prince - my people! How else do you suggest we retrieve the hammer?" Lae'zel shouts, equally exasperated and stubborn.
Aysla and Astarion eye each other. They and their companions intend to kill Cazador tomorrow, and bickering or focusing on anything else at all seems frivolous.
"Look - why don't we all take a breather from worrying about the hammer, just for the day. If we're to go to Cazador's palace tomorrow, we need to prepare. Aysla, perhaps you can pair with our friend, Lae'zel, while Gale accompanies me to this, er, Sorcerer's Sun Dyes you called it?" Astarion looks to Gale for confirmation.
Aysla looks slightly hurt before recovering composure, at the realization they will not spend the day together. But it's Astarion's revenge they plan for, so she'll allow herself to be relegated if it's somehow part of his plan. "Sure," she says lightly.
"Lovely darling - thank you." He presses a kiss to her cheek by way of apology.
"It's Sorcerer's Sundries - but fine. Just don't do anything rash without us," Gale scoffs, walking away.
"We won't. Not sure how much trouble we can get into at a bank, after all." Aysla rolls her eyes. "If you're going to the bookstore, can you try to find me one on plane-shifting? Apparently it's something I should be able to do - would make stealing that hammer a lot easier, anyway."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"What exactly are we looking for, here?" Gale asks Astarion, as he rifles through books.
"Must you breathe down my neck? I assumed you wanted to look for information on your precious crown, did you not?" Astarion tenses.
"Fine," Gale shrugs away. "I'll leave you to it then. I'll just await you at the front whenever you're finished looking for whatever it is you may or may not be looking for."
"Great!" Astarion says, shoulders still tensed. "A fine plan!"
"I've been meaning to ask you, Astarion," Gale says, pausing as he turns away. "Do you... do you mean to insert yourself into the Rite tomorrow?"
Astarion mulls over his words. "I think it would be unwise to not at least consider it."
"I see," Gale nods, seeming to be hesitant to say more, but clearly wanting to. "And what do you think you could find in a book that might convince you otherwise?"
Astarion shoves a book back in its case. "I don't know - but I will let you know if I find it," he huffs, with the last of his patience.
Gale simply nods once more, deciding to let it be, and turns away.
Astarion turns back to his search. He retrieves the book he had carelessly shoved once more, and he tucks it away. Already having skimmed through it and dog-eared the page, he knows it contains the information he needs.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Aysla makes it back to camp that evening before Astarion and Gale return. She arrives toting a large stack of papers.
"And what in the hells is that?" Shadowheart asks. "Not a devil's contract, I hope. Gale will be furious."
"Oh, just the documentation Astarion will need if he wants to usurp someone properly. For all the murdering we're sure to do tomorrow, we may as well ensure it doesn't go to waste," Aysla replies, going up to one of their camp's chests and filing everything away.
"Oh - funny that none of us thought of that. What did you have to do?"
"Nothing difficult - I still have access, since I never technically quit. The funny thing is, all of the Szarr estate's assets were already set up to be placed in a trust - he just never assigned a beneficiary. All I had to do was put down Astarion's information and forge a few signatures." Aysla wonders who Cazador would have thought to leave everything to. Perhaps no one, considering he never planned to die? But then why begin creating a trust in the first place?
Shadowheart looks at Aysla consideringly. "You do an awful lot for him. Most partners don't take the time to make you breakfast, let alone murder your ex-master and plan your finances for you at the end of it to boot."
Aysla cocks her head. "I guess so - it was my job, after all, before all of this. I figured I'd just take care of all the little strings, so he doesn't have to worry about them later."
Shadowheart considers before asking her next question. "Do you think it's... a good idea for him to Ascend?" she steels herself for Aysla's defensiveness to be triggered. "I know you care about him - that much is clear. But I feel like it's a battle between what he wants versus needs."
"I'd be lying if I said it hadn't given me... pause," she admits. "But it's not my place. I'd hate for anyone to tell me how to handle my revenge, if it were me in his shoes."
"But that's the thing - I mean, I just notice that you haven't even mentioned it. Your own revenge. Do you plan for it?" Shadowheart softens her voice. "All of us here seem to be running towards avenging ourselves, in each of our own ways. And you're planning, and leading, and paving the way. But what of you?"
"I guess mine just isn't as urgent," Aysla says, looking at a spot on the ground. "Or meaningful. If I come across him, I'll kill him, and that will be that. But it won't change anything. I know that much. The damage is done. I don't pretend to believe that revenge will make me feel better."
"I'm sorry," Shadowheart says, looking genuine. "That is one thing that still rings true to me, of all Shar's teachings. Some things that are lost remain lost. We're wise to embrace it. But some things, too, are yet to be found. I'm glad you two seem to make each other so happy - it's been a joy to see. You were rather dour at the beginning of this, you know," she says with a playful smile. "And now you're such a ray of sunshine, it makes me want to vomit."
"Maybe Shar would like me. I think I'm quite at peace with my loss - who would be without it? Rather boring, probably," Aysla jests.
"Right... I just hope that whatever transpires tomorrow, all will work out for the best. And it will be all thanks to you. I don't think a one of us has given a single idle thought to the legal implications of any of our actions thus far, let alone actually started the paperwork."
Aysla chuckles at then, then starts for her tent to wash up and change. As she does, she thinks of revenge. If she saw Davidus or one of her other violators, in front of her, now, she would surely kill them. But she's not driven by it. She's not hurtling towards it as if it's the only thing that matters.
Yet her heart is so much lighter than it was, at the start of her journey. She was booze-soaked and suicidal, and now she hums and smiles and plans for the future - a future that until recently, she had no desire to be a part of.
Revenge would just be what it was - a making right of wrong, a balancing of karmic scales. But it would not heal her. Love did that. So she compartmentalizes it. She can't carry all of the weight of the pain and rage all of the time; it's exhausting.
But then, Astarion seems to manage to. Whether he intercept the Rite and Ascends, come tomorrow, is not what worries her.
She worries because in the several months since she met him, Astarion has spoken of little else but his revenge. It consumes his thoughts. He seems to think that if he simply kills one man, everything will be right in the world once more.
She worries what he will do, when he realizes that it is . She worries if love will be enough to put together the pieces of him when he finds that revenge does not relieve the pain of the scars that remain.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
When Astarion returns to camp with Gale, he holds one book on plane-shifting, but the Sorcerer's Sundries' library is down an additional tome that he hides under his shirt, pertaining to ancient vampiric rituals.
"Hello, darling!" Aysla chirps.
"Hello to you, my love!" Astarion replies.
"Did you two find what you were looking for?" She eyes Astarion with light suspicion as he sneaks into their tent quickly. He disappears for but a brief moment, and returns after she hears the sounds of a chest softly closing.
"Not really - the ritual is still an enigma to me," he replies, looking a little too falsely earnest.
He sits down next to Aysla by the fire and hands her the text on the celestial plane-shift ability. Knowing he's lying, and deciding to let it go, she puts her hand over his. His world is ending tomorrow, in a sense, for better or for worse. He will kill the man who enslaved him, and he will have to start anew.
Their final night before meeting Cazador is a quiet one, much like the calm before the storm. All of their companions leave the subject alone. They've learned the hard way that trying to fight Astarion on the Ascension goes nowhere - he'll either become incredibly persuasive, or when all else fails, simply lie about his intentions. Aysla knows this too - another reason why she doesn't press him.
"And how was your day, my sweet?"
"Oh, fine. I went back to the Counting House under the cover of retrieving some old paperwork. Would you believe that Cazador's estate was already in a trust, and all I had to do was add your name as beneficiary?" Aysla remarks.
"Oh! I hadn't even thought of that," Astarion muses.
"I know." Aysla smiles. "You're not exactly a details person - good thing you have me, then."
Astarion looks thoughtful as he stares into the fire. "Tomorrow, then."
"Tomorrow."
After a pause, he speaks quietly. "So it'd be mine, after all this."
Aysla nods. "Just in case - you can still burn it all down, if you'd prefer it. But yes - it'll be yours when he's dead."
"I don't know yet - I still don't know," he says. "And even if this works, I don't know the first thing to do. 200 years as a slave will really do something to your ability to plan."
"I like to plan," Aysla replies softly. "You're a... big picture sort of person. You'll be the vision, and I'll always be there to help you plan."
"Will you now?" He looks slightly heartened. "Even if my vision is a big evil vampire kingdom, to cover the world in a fog?"
"Sure," Aysla says, shrugging with a grin. " makes you smile. I wouldn't even feel bad, I don't think - how could it be wrong, if I did it for love?"
"What an accomplice you are," Astarion teases, putting his arm around her. "Thank you for... being here for me. I still really don't know what tomorrow will bring. But I'm glad to have you by my side."
"Of course," Aysla chides. "I should thank you for letting me. Be by your side, I mean. I don't do this for charity, you know - my life was a bleak thing before you. What else would I want to do, if not be with you, helping you plan your big evil empire?"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Astarion doesn't sleep, nor trance. He stares at the ceiling of the tent, buzzing with anticipation. Nervous, excited, fearful, and sick all at once, he leaves sometime in the wee hours of the morning to pace, or hunt - Aysla isn't sure which.
Once she's sure he's out of earshot, she quietly peeks into the chest. Just as she thought, a book that wasn't there before sits atop their miscellaneous clothing and trifles. Several pages are earmarked, but there's one in particular with a corner folded doubly, as if to mark it especially:
"The Dark Kiss:
An especially rare and unique relationship between vampires is in that of the "Bride" or "Groom." To create a vampire bride, the vampire bestows what is known as the "Dark Kiss." It samples the blood of its mortal paramour three times exactly.
Once, twice, thrice - on the third day, it must drain its bride almost to the point of death. Just as the bride is about to slip into the terminal coma from which there is no awakening, the vampire opens a gash in its own flesh—often in its throat, wrist, or chest (being near the heart)—and holds the subject's mouth to the wound. As the burning draught that is the vampire's blood gushes into the subject's mouth, the primitive feeding instinct is triggered, and she drinks hungrily at the wound, enraptured.
Newly created brides are generally ignorant of their own capabilities. By lying to her or bending the truth, the vampire can convince her that she must obey his every order or suffer horrible consequences. With time, and through experimentation, the bride might find out the true level of control her creator has over her: that is, none .
Some creator vampires, particularly those who created the bride out of love, will be totally honest with their creation, depending on loyalty, friendship, and even reciprocated love, to stop the bride from trying to bring about their destruction. This is probably the most beneficial situation for both vampires.
A vampire and bride who truly love and trust each other make a team that is exceptionally difficult to defeat!"
She closes the book, feeling like she's intruded upon something. She stares blankly ahead for a moment, pondering the contents of what she discovered. She can't find it in her heart to be afraid, or angry, or even really concerned for her own interest or safety.
She had never indicated to Astarion that she would want to be a vampire alongside him, nor has he ever pushed the notion either. She supposes she should also be wary of the idea that he would turn her into a bride while letting her believe she is just a spawn, like the book says.
But even still, Aysla can't help but feel like she's won some impossible lottery of the universe. The word echoes in her mind over and over: "."
Astarion will be facing his tormentor tomorrow; a confrontation that is so pivotal to him that he spent the last 200 years wishing for it, and the last several months letting it consume his every waking thought.
And yet, on its eve, he thought of her.
Aysla knows he loves her - in theory. But her self esteem is still warped from years of self-destruction and abuse. She sometimes wonders if one day he'll drift away, get sick of her, discard her - show her in some way that he never really loved her; not the way she does him.
But maybe he does after all. Even if he's only just considering it, some part of him thought to steal a book and earmark a page that detailed, step by step, how to make her his forever.
She smiles to herself. Maybe she could fight him on it a little - perhaps he would stay with her without her needing to become a vampire? An argument for another day, anyway.
She's still smiling up until she lies back in bed, and closes her eyes. The second she does, her dream plays once again - more vividly than ever before:
She can smell the scene - there is a horrible odor of blood, death, sulfur and char. Aysla is kneeling, and there is an ornate dagger lying beside her, covered in blood. There is dried blood on Aysla's hands, too. All around her on the floor of some strange catacomb of blue-green stone that she's never been to before, there are puddles of dark, ichorous blood. And all throughout the air, there are ashes falling like blackened snowflakes. Aysla looks down, and sees Astarion lying still on the ground. He's cold to the touch - he always is, but there is something meaningful in his chill. Aysla hears the choked sobs, feral, as though from a grieving animal, before she realizes they come from her own chest.
She tries to wake herself up, but finds herself frozen. The vision changes, then. Her lungs are burning with smoke and ash, and she feels her own light fading away. This second vision she has seen before, but never with this level of detail. She can hear fire ripping around her.
Finally, the third of her visions plays. Aysla struggles further, desperately attempting to escape the dream sequence. Usually, she sees a little child, happy and laughing, as the third image. But this time, she sees a child with haunting red eyes, trapped in a cell. She stares at Aysla, and as she opens her mouth, the chilling voice of an angel, her deva's voice, familiar and terrible, speaks: "."
Aysla feels dread. Her heart tightens with the cold grip of fear. And then she awakes.
"Justice" - what her deva had told her, when she had reached out in her mind - it was vague; it was positive-sounding, and could mean anything, really. But Aysla speaks the old languages; her mother taught her the basics of celestial as a child. She knows what the words meant. And they're much clearer than simply "justice."
The words ring in her head through the rest of the morning, not allowing her to fall back to sleep, until the sun rises. She wonders how dire the consequences of this day will truly be, to have been sent such a message.
She says nothing of it to Astarion, who is quiet and tense knowing what lies ahead. But she whispers it to herself as she dresses for the day, trying to glean more meaning from the words, though the message is all but explicitly stated, already.
"Let justice be done, through the burning of souls."