The one thing you’d been hunting for months.
The reason you’d endured this night.
The catalyst for everything.
And he was offering it to you.
He held it out, eyebrow raised, smile placid.
But you had no doubt that behind that smile was a jaw that could bite. Claws that could seize your wrist the instant you reached for what he dangled so casually.
This was a trap. It had to be.
You hesitated just long enough for him to speak.
“I told you, didn’t I? I’m a man of my word. You completed your mission—perhaps clumsily—but you completed it, nonetheless. It’s only fair you receive your reward.”
Your eyes flicked once to the map before returning to him. “Is this some sort of trick?”
“It wounds me how deeply you doubt me, darling” he sighed, giving the map a little shake like bait, “I suppose there’s only one way to find out.”
You stepped forward, the dagger never wavering. He didn’t move an inch. Your thoughts blurred—too loud and too quiet all at once—until one cut through the noise: You’d have to face the consequences either way.
Because there was no universe in which you walked away without that map.
Comissioned @lindayss for this lovely piece! It depicts a scene from chapter 10 of my fic Hidden Beneath The Stars : The Unmasking.
“It’s not like you to disappear before the finale, my lord,” Evren said carefully.
“It was becoming tiresome,” Astarion replied, dismissive.
A faint hum left Evren’s throat. “I had thought you were particularly enjoying this evening.”
That made Astarion glance over his shoulder.
Evren stood straight, hands clasped behind his back, posture impeccable. He knew better than to speak without invitation. Which meant this was intentional.
“Speak plainly.”
Evren cleared his throat. “I noticed the disappearance of your… special guest. Shortly before you retired here. The order to conclude the evening followed soon after.” A beat. “Am I to assume she was the cause of your altered disposition?”
“You forget yourself, Evren.” His voice was calm, dangerous in its composure. “It is not your place to question me.”
“I don’t mean to overstep, my lord, merely to ensure your well-being.”
“And as you can see,” Astarion said coolly, turning fully now, “I am perfectly fine.”
“Physically, yes” Evren agreed.
Astarion’s eyes sharpened.
“Do you truly believe,” he asked softly, “that this woman is important enough to disturb my mood?”
Silence stretched between them.
Evren held his gaze—just long enough to weigh his answer. But he knew better than to lie. Not to him.
Chapter Title: Thank You for Not Killing Me the Other Night
Word Count: 3.3k
Synopsis:
Almost seven years have passed since you and your band of misfits saved the city of Baldur's Gate from the Elder Brain. Seven years since you last walked its cobbled streets. Seven years since you saw him, the man who once held your heart and then broke it.
Now, a long-standing mission pulls you back to the city's outskirts—one you’re ready to die for rather than let fail.
But did you truly believe your return would escape the notice of the Vampire Ascendant? Or that he wouldn’t sniff out what should remain hidden?
Link to Ao3
Prev Chapter
The next time you opened your eyes, you immediately squeezed them shut again.
It felt like you’d just invited the sun itself to punch you in the face.
You had grown accustomed to waking in the safety of darkness, so the flood of light that greeted you —especially after the fitful nightmares you’d been lost in—was a harsh, unwelcome surprise.
The same couldn’t be said, however, about the unbelievably comfortable mattress beneath you, or the luxurious sheets cocooning your body.
That... felt heavenly.
Your muscles ached mildly as you stretched, a soft groan escaping your lips.
The motion was cut short, though, when the sound of a door opening reached your ears, followed by footsteps retreating from the room.
Someone had been in here?
You frowned in confusion, since when did you have a room with doors?
Or any room at all?
Where the hell are you?!
Panic bubbled up, fighting its way through the sleep fog, and you opened your eyes again. This time, not just to flee your nightmares, but to figure out what fresh hell you'd woken up in.
Sitting up, you took stock of your surroundings. Massive windows stood directly in front of the lavish bed you were lying on, the curtains were flung wide open, natural light pouring in like it was on a mission to blind you.
Thanks for that.
The rest of the room was shrouded in shadow, decorated with sparse but opulent dark furniture—simple, but undeniably elegant, like something from a nobleman’s estate.
Your eyes traced the rich tapestries on the walls until your gaze hit the ceiling, and then your brain short-circuited.
A mirror.
A giant, ornate, perfectly polished, mirror, was right above the bed.
You blinked up at your own confused reflection, and after a long, painful silence, muttered, “What the actual fuck ?”
Cue the unmistakable sound of a smug chuckle. "Yes, it does have that effect on people."
Oh no.
You tore your eyes away from the mirror and gaped at Astarion as he strolled into the room, that satisfied smile playing on his lips.
Instantly, your mind did this weird thing where it clicked everything together in a split second. The mission. The Gurs. Getting your ass handed to you, and then—Astarion. Out of nowhere, there to save you.
You glanced around the room again, the realisation settling over you like a cold wave.
You were in his house. Or mansion?… probably a mansion, because of course, it was.
Astarion saved your life and dragged you back to this very expensive,very dramatic, very Astarion house.
You were in his home!
Your ex, the one you’d left. The one who had told you he was better off without you. The one who had promised you’d regret leaving him. Who called you an ingrate and dismissed your relationship as if it meant nothing.
Him.
“Well,” Astarion drawled with a grin, “I was going to say ‘good morning,’ but now I'm wondering if you're just sleeping with your eyes open.”
His words snapped you out of your stupor. “Astarion,” you said, as if saying his name would somehow stabilize this surreal situation. His smile widened at the sound of his name on your lips, clearly enjoying himself.
You stared at him for what felt like forever, trying to assess if you were in any immediate danger.
He didn’t seem threatening.
In fact, he looked absurdly relaxed— standing there, arms crossed,casually leaning against the wall as if he had no care in the world, watching you.
Still, you didn’t exactly feel safe in his presence.
But, he had saved you, hadn’t he? You had been on the brink of death, and he had stepped in and helped you.
If he’d wanted you dead, he could have easily let the Gurs finish you off. Or done it himself. You had been unconscious, completely vulnerable in his presence for—what? A full night, at least?
Suddenly, a chilling thought struck you. Your hand immediately shot up to the side of your neck, fingers searching frantically for the telltale marks.
In hindsight, you could’ve just looked at the ridiculous mirror above your head, but hey—panic brain isn’t exactly known for logical thinking.
“Relax, darling,” he drawled lazily. “I didn’t turn you. Although, wouldn’t it be funny if the Gurs were responsible for both my turning and yours?” He chuckled as if he just made the best joke of the century.
Finding no bite marks, you let out a breath and dropped your hand. “If you turned me, you’d be the only one responsible,” you deadpanned, not amused in the slightest.
His eyes narrowed, and he looked almost... offended? “Would you rather I let you die?”
Your gaze met his for a moment, and for once, you didn’t have any comeback.
Was the idea of being his spawn truly worse than being dead?
You honestly weren’t sure.
Being dead was final, finite, done. Being a spawn was decidedly not.
What made the distinction for you was that you had no idea what death would feel like, though you brushed so near to it many times to count.
But you had a distinctively good idea of what spawnhood entailed, mostly directly from the man who posed the question himself. Hence your absolute aversion to the whole idea.
"No matter,” he shrugged after a moment, dismissing the question entirely when you didn’t give him an answer “ It didn’t come down to that. I managed to save you without killing you, so to speak," he said, his tone sliding back into that smooth, unbothered cadence.
So, he had saved you—without turning you.
That was certainly… something.
You supposed you should be surprised, the man had wanted to turn you the very moment he gained the ability to do so.
And for a while, you were almost certain he only restrained himself because of the reaction the rest of the party would have if he forced you.
He said it himself, after all… that he should have turned you into a spawn just to teach you that he can have everything he wants.
Including you.
Perhaps the conclusion from all of this was that … he simply no longer wanted it.
He no longer wanted you.
Perhaps you should feel something at this sudden epiphany but you honestly… felt empty.
You made sure to pick your next question carefully, one that would ensure you both keep actively ignoring the obvious elephant in the room.
“Where am I?” you asked, though you already had an idea, you needed him to confirm it.
“Baldur’s Gate, darling,” he replied with a smirk, when you narrowed your eyes at his general answer, he chuckled. “At my palace, of course.”
“The Szar Palace?” you asked, vaguely recalling him saying something about taking over the place before you parted ways. You know, amidst all his casual world domination and full control over Baldur’s gate plans, of course.
From the brief contact you kept with your other companions, you’d learned he was somehow actually pulling it off.
Surprising, certainly, but you had a faint feeling that Astarion still had no idea what he was doing.
His smile flickered ever so slightly at your question, like a candle about to go out, before it snapped back into place. “The Crimson Palace, yes,” he corrected.
“You renamed it?” you asked, eyebrow raised.
“Naturally,” he said with a casual wave of his hand. “That man is gone, and so is his name. I made sure he didn’t leave a single mark.”
Ah, yes... of course.
You weren’t surprised, not at all, this was all rather expected.
In fact… good for him, you thought.
If there was one thing you were certain would never change about Astarion no matter how many ascensions he goes through, it was his absolute hatred of his former master.
The last time you’d dared to mention Cazador in front of him, he’d nearly bitten your head off. Of course, you’d been accusing Astarion of acting like him at the time, so that probably hadn’t helped.
But still… ‘Crimson Palace’? That sounds a little too much on the nose... did vampires just really love to drop not-so-subtle hints about their blood-sucking tendencies? Because no one else found it funny.
What’s next? A "Make yourself at home. You won’t be leaving." warning sign at the front door?
Astarion was still looking at you as if waiting for your next question, or silently gauging your reaction to his declaration.
He really does a lot of staring now, he doesn’t even try to hide it.
Just then, a thought occurred to you. This was a great opportunity to learn something that had nagged at you for a long time.
“Still,” you said, trying to sound casual, “I’d rather thought you’d choose to replace it with your own surname.”
You hoped you didn’t sound like you were fishing for information.
In truth, it had dawned on you about seven years ago, that you had no idea what Astarion’s last name even was.
The thought had hit you randomly, a couple of months after the defeat of the Elder Brain—after you and he had gone your separate ways. And yet that tiny insignificant detail had gnawed at you like a nagging itch ever since.
The realisation was like a harsh slap in the face, and had only deepened your sense of inner turmoil—how much had you truly known about the man you fell for?
Had you ever really known him? Was this charming, dramatic, murderous man you’d loved actually someone completely different from the picture you’d painted in your head? Maybe when you accused him of changing, he hadn’t changed at all—perhaps he was just finally comfortable enough to show you that the picture didn’t fit…
And wasn’t it ironic? That the man you convinced yourself into thinking was your whole life hadn’t really been a part of it for that long.
And you had been an even lesser part of his.
Sure, you’d spent intense, life-threatening months in each other’s company. You had fought beside him, risked your life for him as he had for you, and been utterly, embarrassingly in love with him. But in the grand scheme of things... how much had you managed to learn about each other?
Not to say you hadn’t shared long restless nights talking at camp, but there had always been more pressing matters than digging into each other’s pasts.
Especially his past. The years before he became a spawn—the years where he’d had agency, ambition, and choices. The years where his true character really shined.
What little you did learn was that he had been a magistrate, a fact you’d never quite managed to wrap your head around.
For how could Astarion—the walking embodiment of rebellious charm and mischief, a man who scoffed at rules as if they were meresuggestions—not only have been a law-abiding citizen but one who enforced it?
That, and that the colour of his piercing eyes before being turned was… decidedly not red.
Ah, he couldn’t remember…
Suddenly, you felt a wave of shame wash over you.
What if he doesn’t remember his family name either?
He had spent over two hundred years as Cazador’s thrall, where he’d been nothing but “Astarion the spawn”.
It was entirely possible, that even he didn’t know what his last name was, and hadn’t managed to relearn it in his few years of freedom.
Your casual comment now felt utterly insensitive.
Before you could spiral any further into your self-inflicted guilt trip, Astarion spoke, his voice unbothered, pulling you back to reality. “You know how I prefer poetic names, darling, but that’s only its official title,” He gave you a pointed look. “Had you been around Baldur’s Gate in the past seven years, you might’ve heard the common folk call it by a different name..."
He paused, flicking his hand dramatically as you held your breath, clearly proud of the next words.
“The Ancunín Palace.”
Ancunín.
That’s his surname...
Astarion Ancunín.
The name had a ring to it. It sounded… weirdly fitting.
You were still processing the fact that you finally, finally, learned something you’d pondered for years, when an alarming detail in his statement clicked into place.‘ Had you been around Baldur’s gate,’ he’d said.
So he knew you hadn’t been. He checked .
You swallowed hard. Okay, sure, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that you’d been gone, but the fact that he’d cared enough to notice? That was a whole other level of unnerving.
He must’ve asked around about your whereabouts… and that thought sent a chill down your spine.
You had made sure to be untraceable, of course. Keeping your interactions with your former companions to a bare minimum, who weren’t exactly thrilled about it, but you did what you had to.
You had to remain hidden, you didn’t want to be found. Especially not by him.
Except, well... lately you’d relaxed that paranoia a little. It had been nearly seven years, and you convinced yourself it was unnecessary to be that cautious anymore.
Surely, even if Astarion had ever thought about you, he’d have moved on by now… right?
And then, like a fool, you got too close to Baldur’s Gate again. Not because you were delusional enough to think it was totally safe, but because you were desperate—your long-standing mission had led you right back to the one place you’d sworn to avoid. Because you’d be damned if your unjustified paranoia stopped you from reaching your goal.
Except, of course, it wasn’t unjustified.
For here he was, standing in front of you, all smug and charming as ever, having found you, as soon as you stepped even remotely close to the outskirts of Baldur’s Gate, fully knowing you’d been absent for the past seven years.
But why?
The question gnawed at you, so much that you couldn’t stop yourself from saying it.
“Why am I here, Astarion?” you asked, your tone carrying a mix of frustration and genuine confusion.
He turned to you, the look on his face one of exaggerated surprise, as if he'd expected you to break into applause at his previous announcement, not ask him another mundane question. “Well, where else would you be, Darling? You needed somewhere to rest and heal. And where better to bring you than the safety of my own home?” He smiled like the answer was the most obvious thing in the world.
“But how did you manage to find me?” you pressed on.
“Right place, right time, you know the drill,” He waved his hand dismissively.
“That sounds too convenient,” you countered, not buying it.
“Doesn’t it?” he chuckled, clearly enjoying this far too much. “But it’s only the truth, my dear. I just happened to be close by right when you needed me most. Fate is a funny thing, wouldn’t you say?”
“If I believed you, maybe I would.”
He snorted as if he found your cynicism adorable. “Don’t believe me, or do, it matters not to me. The result is the same —I saved your life. And honestly, you ought to be a little more grateful, don’t you think?”
You hoped that the glare you gave him could burn, but alas.
His smirk only widened, and then, in that insufferable way only he could manage, he reminded you of something you once said to him—or at least a version of him— a lifetime ago. “Repeat after me, my dear: Thank you for helping me, it was very kind .”
You narrowed your eyes at him, thoroughly unamused.
How dare he?
How dare he act like this was part of your old banter? Like the last seven years hadn’t happened? Like he hadn’t ascended and changed on you, turning into something you could barely recognize? Like you could just pick up where you left off?
Like it was all still just the same? None of this was the same!
“Come now,” he added, voice dripping with mockery. “Surely you haven’t lost all your manners.”
Oh, now he was really pushing it.
There was something about his tone—more degrading than teasing— that lit a fire inside you.
You gritted your teeth. “I appreciate your help,” you said, the words practically hissing through your clenched jaw, “but I didn’t ask for it.”
He tilted his head, looking positively delighted with himself. “But you needed it.”
“I did not ! I would have been fine last night even if—”
“—Oh, you poor thing, that was not last night,” Astarion cut in smoothly.
You froze. “What?”
He gave an almost exaggerated sigh, like he was about to impart some great wisdom upon a clueless child. “ Oh yes, I've been graciously hosting you for some time now. Endlessly tending to your delirious ramblings, your sleep-talking, your little feverish whimpers… But of course, that's to be expected, with all that poison sloshing around in your veins—”
"How long have I been here?!" you interrupted, panic rising in your voice.
Astarion finally dropped the theatrics and gave you a serious look. “Almost a week.”
“A week ?!” you nearly shouted. “How?! I don’t understand—”
“It was somewhat... aided,” he admitted, waving a hand vaguely. “The healers suggested some potions to spare you the agony as the fever broke. You were already unconscious, and dragging you out of it would have been a disaster—you’d never manage to meditate with the pain, so I thought it was best.”
“You thought it was best?!” you repeated incredulously. "You drugged me!"
“Well, yes, I— where do you think you're going?" He moved swiftly as you threw off the covers and attempted to stand, his eyes sharp with something that resembled…concern? He was next to you in an instant, hovering too close.
“I have to leave right now!” you gasped, rising to your feet. But as soon as you did, a familiar scent washed over you—bergamot, rosemary, and just a hint of aged brandy.
It was a scent you thought you’d never smell again.
His signature smell…
It hit you like a tidal wave, dragging you back to a time when things were… different. When you felt loved, cherished, safe.
And now it suffocated you.
The world spun around you, your knees buckled and before you could react, you felt yourself falling—only to be caught by strong arms.
“What in the hells…” you muttered, as the world slowly steadied itself.
You opened your eyes and found yourself face-to-chest with Astarion, his arms steady around you.
He was close. He was so close and he was holding you.
And he felt… warm. Far too warm.
It was wrong.
It was all so bloody wrong!
“Careful, pet,” he murmured softly, his voice so gentle, comforting, as if iit had any right to be. It made your skin crawl.
“Don’t call me that,” you snapped, stepping away as soon as you could stand again. You pressed a hand to your head, still dizzy. “I must’ve stood up too fast.”
Astarion surprisingly let go of you without protest, but stayed annoyingly close. “It’s the potions, Darling. They have lingering effects. You’ll need to avoid sudden movements for a bit longer.”
You groaned in frustration. “Don’t you have something to fix this? I have to leave as soon as possible!”
His smirk returned full force. “Oh, there’s only one way to fix your dizziness, and luckily for you, it just so happens to coincide with the perfect way to repay your little debt to me.”
The sheer audacity.
“What?” you asked, regretting it almost immediately.
Astarion smiled, standing to his full height, hands clasped behind his back as though he was about to issue some grand decree.
A true Magistrate.
You braced yourself for whatever absurd demand he was about to make. But nothing could have prepared you for his next words.
Almost seven years have passed since you and your band of misfits saved the city of Baldur's Gate from the Elder Brain. Seven years since you last walked its cobbled streets. Seven years since you saw him, the man who once held your heart and then broke it.
Now, a long-standing mission pulls you back to the city's outskirts—one you’re ready to die for rather than let fail.
But did you truly believe your return would escape the notice of the Vampire Ascendant? Or that he wouldn’t sniff out what should remain hidden?
Link to Ao3
You were so close.
After months of research, the chest that held your goal was just within reach, only a few steps away, right in the middle of a Gur camp.
All that remained was figuring out how to get to it without being detected.
Shouldn’t be that hard, right?
You closed your eyes, envisioning the scene—every camper’s position, the path you could take to slip past them unseen, each movement calculated down to its finest detail.
‘This plan will be flawless,’ you thought confidently.
Then, as if on cue, Astarion's taunting voice from so long ago echoed in your mind, and you could almost see his damnable smirk “You can’t predict everything, darling. Sometimes you just have to rely on instinct.”
Seven years had passed since you'd seen his irritatingly gorgeous face, yet here he was, still renting space in your brain, especially at moments like this. Because, naturally, now was the perfect time for a mental heckling.
But, of course you thought of him now—sneaky business had always been his speciality. The man could practically pickpocket a ghost without breaking a sweat. The only problem was… that Astarion’s idea of planning was rolling the dice and hoping the universe didn’t feel particularly vindictive that day.
While you were the one to plot, to map things out meticulously—he was the guy who leapt first and asked questions while falling. Naturally, this led to countless moments of you two butting heads and exchanging snark — and blame, whenever one of your “brilliant” plans fell apart.
"I’m not a details person, alright?" You remembered him declaring once. This, of course, after he had just finished explaining in great detail how it would be soooo advantageous to use the Illithid powers to control thousands of people—except for one small flaw: He had absolutely no idea how to do that.
“We can workshop the details as we go” he’d once said confidently when you asked how, exactly, you were supposed to defeat his ancient vampire master—someone he once believed you had zero chance against.
Apparently, your impending doom was a 'we’ll cross that bridge when we get there' kind of thing. Classic Astarion.
It was all rather laughable, really—the way you and your collective group of weirdos had survived impossible odds, navigating peril after peril through a mix of dumb luck, sheer will, and, as Astarion never tired of pointing out—instinct.
Your plans had their merits, though. They had earned you the trust of your companions, putting you in the unofficial role of leader. But that never stopped Astarion from gleefully rubbing it in when his “nice, simple plans” succeeded while your carefully well-crafted strategies blew up in your face.
You were pulled from your musings when one of the Gurs on night watch spoke. "They’re expecting us at noon, we have to move soon."
What? No!
They weren’t supposed to wake up this early, It’s not even close to sunrise!
You had no time left for more planning, you got to move now!
Cursing your bad luck—and Astarion’s snicker that seemed to materialize in your mind as you once again had to rely on pure instinct—you unsheathed your dagger and drew closer.
Thankfully, the Gur who had spoken hadn’t stirred the others yet, so you still had a window.
In and out, you repeated in your head like a mantra.
You’d done this a hundred times. This was routine. No sweat.
Except you were sweating, exceptionally so.
Nothing had changed, you reassured yourself—the plan was still the same. You just had to be quicker.
So you carried on, silently weaving between the still-snoring bodies, until you finally reached the largest tent in camp—the one you were certain held the treasures.
Slipping inside, you carefully closed the flaps behind you, only to realize it wasn’t empty.
Someone was sleeping within.
No matter. You could do this without a sound, he wouldn’t even stir.
Glancing around, you could barely contain a grin when your eyes locked onto a chest— ornate, unmistakably filled with treasures, and maybe, just maybe, the one you sought.
You were halfway to it, heart pounding so hard you could barely hear anything else when suddenly—a faint, high-pitched sound broke through the stillness.
A meow.
A fucking meow – what?
Your brain barely had time to register what just happened before you felt it—something soft and furry rubbing up against your leg.
Oh, come on!
A scrappy-looking cat, probably a stray—and the gods knew you had fed and petted enough of them to justifiably wonder why are they doing this to you?— had appeared out of seemingly nowhere and decided that now, of all times, was the perfect moment to make a new friend.
It purred loudly, weaving in and out between your legs, and just as you were about to shoo it away, it let out the loudest, most obnoxious yowl you had ever heard in your life.
Shit.Shit.Shit.
Of course, the nearest sleeping Gur stirred, blinking groggily. His eyes had opened just as you were snapped out of your stupor and had the common sense to duck behind a crate.
The man stood, rubbing his eyes as he glanced around.
You held your breath as you gave the cat your fiercest glare. It didn’t acknowledge you, of course, and silently left the tent as if it hadn’t just dropped you into a world of trouble.
The Gur muttered something, peering into the shadows, his hand reaching for his sword.
You needed to act fast.
Your bow was still slung across your back—reliable, silent, your preferred weapon. But you couldn’t take him out here. If he fell with a thud, the whole camp would awaken.
Using your dagger would lead to the same result. No… you needed to be silent.
There's no other option.
You stilled yourself, fingers brushing against the magical energy you’d always been able to feel in your veins. A simple spell—just enough to keep him silent. Hopefully nothing else.
Drawing upon your unlimited but untrusted magic, you whispered under your breath, casting Silence around him. The air shimmered slightly as the spell took hold, and the guard’s confused murmurs were swallowed by silence.
The guard’s mouth opened, confusion etched on his face as he tried to call out, but no sound escaped. He started drawing his sword, but before he could make another move, you sprang from your hiding place.
With one swift movement, you closed the gap between you, knocking the blade from his hand and driving your dagger into his side. He crumpled silently to the ground, unconscious but alive.
You breathed a sigh of relief.
This could’ve gone a whole lot worse.
You turned back towards the chest, already contemplating which tool to use for the lock, when—because the gods clearly hadn’t finished messing with you—a loud crash erupted just outside the tent. Followed, of course, by a very familiar meow.
That damn cat!
Footsteps pounded in your direction, no doubt the entire camp was alerted to the noise.
There was no way to hide the unconscious Gur on the ground before they arrived, no way you could explain away the mess you’d just created by claiming to be a drunk who had strayed off the road.
You were in the middle of godsdamn nowhere.
Alone and suspiciously fully armed.
You were utterly and officially screwed.
You have to get out. Now!
Your eyes flicked longingly to the chest. No time to pick the lock, no way to fight off the camp alone. Gurs were skilled fighters, and you? Well, you were good, but not that good.
But if you didn’t get what you came for, this setback would cost you months, maybe even years. You couldn't afford that!
What the hell should you do?
Every single logical cell in your body and—even your instinct, screamed at you to start running.
But that sheer stubbornness that had gotten you into countless scrapes over the years, that fierce determination combined with a surge of inexplicable courage, kept you rooted in place as you readied your bow.
You didn’t usually go out of your way to intrude on camps and start killing everyone inside.
You avoided killing in general, unless you were forced to.
Or... you were led to believe it was a good idea.
But you were sure that they’d have no qualms about killing you at first sight, no one welcomed intruders, most especially if they realised who you were.
The Gurs certainly didn’t think fondly of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate.
For a very good reason, but that’s beside the point.
That, and you were certain their motives for guarding the map you were sure was hidden in that chest were far from noble.
So… when the first head poked through the tent, you put an arrow straight through its forehead.
The body crumpled to the ground with a heavy thud, and almost immediately, a chorus of shouts and footsteps filled the air.
That did it; Now they know you’re here.
The next moments passed in a blur as you swiftly shot down three more figures that rushed in, hitting them in various parts of their bodies. Then, Just as you nocked another arrow, a sudden force knocked the wind out of you, and you fell to the ground, your head striking hard against the earth.
Dazed, you looked up and saw the Gur you’d left unconscious earlier looming over you, sword in hand, lunging at your chest. You barely managed to roll away, but not before he slashed your wrist, leaving a gaping wound.
The pain was immediate, sharp, and blinding. You were almost certain he’d chopped your hand clean off.
Suppressing a scream, you dropped your bow—now deemed useless—and seized your dagger with your uninjured hand. Desperation surged through as you kicked upward with your feet, landing a solid hit to the Gur’s groin.
Unlike you, he had no reservations about letting out his own wail of pain as he doubled over, providing you with a clear shot at his neck, which you immediately slashed without hesitation.
His body collapsed on top of you, crushing the air from your lungs once more and trapping you beneath him, drenched in his blood.
Should’ve killed him from the start, you thought bitterly.
The other Gurs were on you in an instant, some kicking at you, some stabbing, while others struggled to pry the lifeless body off you.
You were too stuck to fight back, wondering why they hadn’t just killed you already when a large figure stepped into view.
Clearly, their leader.
"Who in the hells are you?" he growled in a gruff, fearsome voice that might have terrified you to death—if you weren’t already teetering so close to it.
You pondered again if it was truly too late to pass yourself off as a drunken fool who had simply lost her way.
“A bloody killer is what she is, she killed Boriv and Garder!” one of them yelled.
They were going to kill me first! You wanted to shout, but it was a pathetic attempt, and your throat felt like it was on fire.
You needed far more breath in than you could afford to let out.
“He’s right, killing is only punishable by death. No matter what she’s here for, we should just kill her now—”
“—Or maybe just let her slowly die from the poison—”
Poison? Of course, the wound on your wrist was more than just a gash.
“—she can be useful for other things.”
Your heart skipped a beat at this implication.
Suddenly their discussion of what horrible things they should do to you faded into the background as your eyes locked on the campfire—visible from the now open tent flaps — and wished you could set fire to the whole place and everyone in it.
You were always meant to be burnt alive.
No. NO. you're not dying.
Despite your delirious state, it seemed your remaining brain cells were still putting up a fight because you suddenly recalled a very crucial detail.
While you might be atrocious at thinking on your feet, you were, quite proudly, a decent planner— thank you very much. And you had the foresight to wear your very special, very enchanted shoes before embarking on this sneaky little mission.
With that thought in mind, you cast a spell under your breath—or perhaps just in your head, the line between the two was getting a bit blurry—and, in an instant, you found yourself transported right next to the campfire you had previously been staring at.
But relief was fleeting.
Just as you began to bask in the glow of your own brilliance, it dawned on you that you had transported not just yourself but also the dead body that had been inconveniently pinned on top of you.
With what felt like the strength of a soggy noodle, you started wriggling to escape when, out of nowhere, an arrow thudded into the ground beside your ear.
You glanced up to see the men you had just evaded rushing towards you from the tent, their faces a mix of rage and renewed determination.
Apparently, they’d finally concluded that outright killing you was the best course of action.
Desperate, you shoved the body off with all the strength you could muster and began to crawl backwards, each inch a struggle as you caught sight of a glinting sword creeping closer, an omen of your impending doom.
You are not going to die. You are NOT going to die.
You're not going to—
You're —
Then, without warning, all light from the campfire was snuffed out, plunging everything around you into pitch-black darkness.
The temperature suddenly plummeted.
What?!
For a moment, you thought you were dead for good.
Which surprisingly felt more painful than you imagined.
But then you heard the the sound of something sharp slicing through the air followed by gasps and yells from the Gur men around you.
The word “vampire” floated through the chaos, and that was quickly followed by the distinct sound of swords clattering to the ground, accompanied by what could only be the thud of falling bodies.
Just when you thought you’d never see light again, the campfire flared back to life. As your vision adjusted, you noticed that the man who had been moments away from ending you now lay lifeless on the ground in front of you.
Your senses were barely registering the chaos, but you could have sworn you heard wolf growls and the unmistakable squeaks of bats, suggesting that Nature's predators had descended upon the camp.
And then, a pair of polished shoes entered your line of sight.
You began to lift your gaze, but a familiar chuckle reached your ears before you could identify its source.
“Honestly, darling..” he purred, his voice filled with mirth in stark contrast to the bloody scene around you. “Reduced to the ground, yet again. We simply must stop meeting like this.”
“Ast…tarion?!” you choked out, or perhaps it was just in your head… again you couldn’t be sure.
“Rest, my dear,” he said, kneeling before you, his tone commanding yet soft. “I’ll make sure you survive this,” he added seriously, “but you’ll owe me, and you know how I like to collect.”
The last thing you saw before darkness claimed you was Astarion’s infuriatingly charming bloody face.
I still want to do a gif with them in prison but I can't find the gifs to put together. But Pinterest showed me this and he looks so offended by those words 🤭.
"NO!"
🤭.
@justrainandcoffee FLOR! I'VE BEEN SPENDING DAYS LOOKING FOR THIS GIF BECAUSE THIS IS LITERALLY AMOS IN HTBS! I'm not even joking, the line as well as his deeply offended reaction is so so him I can't! 😭🖤
Why can't I stop picturing my moots and their OCs talking to him? 🤭
