Astarion lay in his tent, the sound of rain drops pattering against the canvas. Thunder groaned overhead and the bedroll beneath him seemed to invite bits of stone straight into his back. His sleeping clothes, a dark blue linen ensemble pilfered from a strangers wardrobe, were coarse against his skin. He wondered if he would have been better off sleeping on the carpet he rolled out over the rest of the floor to make it feel less like a hovel.
He was annoyed.
Under Cazador, he slept on dirt floors in a rank cellar beneath the manor and survived on the blood of rats. He had been dressed in finery, only to entice victims to follow him to the manor where they would meet death or a fate far worse: a fate Astarion had lived every day for 200 years until a parasite had been forced into his brain on an illithid ship. He crawled out of the wreckage of the ship and was met by a hulking tiefling, a scowling half elf, and a chattering human. They stated they shared the same condition and invited him to join them in search of a healer.
He agreed, afraid to be alone. He was no longer subject to Cazador's will and feared his spawn would soon be after him. The parasite, he reasoned, may have interfered with power over him. If they found a healer able to remove the thing, Astarion would be faced with two choices: remove the parasite and return to his life as a thrall in Baldur's gate or become a mind flayer.
This wasn't fair. Feeling the sun on his face for the first time in centuries was bliss. Not having to race around a dark city luring innocent people to their death every damn night was incredible.
He wasn't in love with the idea of wandering around the woods with strangers but he was free.
Across the clearing, curses erupted and the sound of canvas crumpling interrupted his brooding. He sat up and listened, ears listening for the sound of a struggle and finding none. Instead he heard more curses and wet footsteps coming his way.
"Astarion!" A voice whispered from the other side of his tent. "Are you awake? I see your lantern!"
It was the voice of the half elf, Tav. He would have feigned sleep if it had been the voice of the mage but he had no quarrel with her.
"Come in, darling. Was that you making all that noise?" he asked, rising to hold the tent flap open for her.
She hurried in, looking the part of a wet cat: angry and soaked to the bone.
"My tent fell apart. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing with that thing," she griped, wringing water from her sleeves. "Can I sleep in here tonight? I'm exhausted."
Her dark hair clung to her pale face. She would have been an ideal victim to return to Cazador, and would serve as an excellent meal if it weren't for the fact she would easily kill him. Her patron had invested well in her. She was fierce in battle and had a mean streak he couldn't help but admire.
He wouldn't be dining on her and could hardly send her back to where she came. The tiefling would butcher him if she found out. For the first time in a long time, he extended a sort of kindness.
"Certainly, I believe I have some dry clothing that would suit you as well," he purred while rifling through a bag. He pulled a pair of indigo cotton trousers and a complimentary top of the same material out and extended them to her, unable to stop himself from bowing and smirking.
"Don't worry, I'll turn my head whi-" he began.
The half elf peeled the wet clothing off without hesitation and hurled it to the floor. Before she stripped her small clothes, Astarion jerked his head away.
"Not shy, are you?" He laughed, trying to mask his confusion. He knew this half elf had some knowledge of manners. She carried herself well, spoke well when she wasn't cursing, and was extremely intelligent. This was the behavior of whores.
"I have a worm in my brain. I'm cold. I'm wet. I don't care."
"Fair enough. Let me know when you're decent, hm?" he asked.
The dry clothes were lifted from his hands and slipped over damp arms and legs. She shuddered, relieved by the warmth.
"Alright, I'm decent."
He turned and she was clothed, the indigo bold against her fair hands and pale face and neck. Her lovely neck.
Tav lowered herself onto the carpet and lay flat on her back. She was now grateful Astarion had insisted on looting it from a decrepit home in the Blighted Village. It had remained miraculously untouched by previous looters, and the goblins hadn't traipsed across it with muddy feet yet.
Astarion pulled a bottle of wine out from a crate and sloshed it enticingly over her head. He knew he wasn't going to be able to fall asleep with her here and didn't relish the idea of drinking himself into a stupor with someone else present.
"Why not?" she asked, sitting up and taking the bottle from his hands.
Before he could reach for goblets she had uncorked it, brought the bottle to the lips and began drinking. She returned the bottle to him.
He poured his serving into a goblet and returned the bottle to her before sitting on his bedroll, facing her.
"You think anyone is going to be able to get these things out?" she asked, tapping her temple. "I don't know much about surgery but once the skull is open things generally don't go well."
"I'm sure there is a lovely cleric out there who will wave their hand and banish these things back to where they came from," he answered fancifully.
"I'll take that as a no," she ventured.
"I have..." he chose his words carefully. "Studied many things. Illithid parasites are nearly unknown but do have their benefits. Considering we haven't already transformed, this may be something new entirely."
She narrowed her eyes at him.
"Benefits?"
"Surely you've felt the strength. And the ability to communicate wordlessly with others infected."
Tav took another drink from the bottle of wine.
"You don't want to be cured," she asserted, grinning. "There is something else going on with you. Out with it."
Should he tell her? That he survived by drinking blood? That he was a vampire spawn? His mind raced as he tried to weigh the pros and cons and understand how Tav would react.
"Besides the vampire thing," she added, taking another swig. "Does the parasite interfere with that somehow?"
"Vampire? I don't kn-"
She shoved the bottle at him, gesturing him to drink.
"I've spent enough time with my nose in a book to know what I'm looking at. It's not important though."
"Not important?" He scoffed, scowling. "I've been a slave for 200 years to a monster and have been a monster for 200 years. I've brought thousands of people to their deaths. I'm worse than the mind flayers... I'm..."
He trailed off. He didn't want to retell the stories he ended. He took the bottle and drank.
"Aren't we all?" She asked, a tinge of tired sadness in her voice.
"What?"
"Monsters. We're all monsters in one way or another. You probably didn't even choose to be one."
He hadn't chosen to be one. His life had been good.
"I didn't, but that doesn't excuse every night my words and my hands carried out vile crimes."
She nodded slowly. Per her patron she had killed many and found delight in it. She had her lines she wouldn't cross and her patron had shown mercy by not making her cross them. Her patron never made her kill animals or leave land incapable of hosting life. Animals and land were not accountable to the laws of man.
Astarion struggled with what he had done. He was a victim, but knowing that would not alleviate his guilt. Justice in some form would soothe his ragged mind, but justice was subjective. Justice to his Cazador was killing guards that came too close to the manor.
There was nothing she could do about that now, as much as she wished she could. Beneath the attitude and facade of charm there was a shriveled up seed of a conscience that deserved to grow. In growth, he would heal. This seed was not a pure radiant seed that grew in clerics and holy people, but one that grew out of pain. It would not lead to great acts of kindness but it would sprout occasional leaves of compassion.
Tav turned her body to face him. His straight nose, gently upturned eyes, and sharp jaw made him seem as if he had been pulled out of an old painting. His gentle white curls were an odd contrast to his refined features but a charming one. He was pretty. Tav loved pretty men and almost regretted turning the conversation to something so somber. She could have easily coaxed him into a night of passion that would render them awkward the next day.
But now wasn't the time. Tears from emotional pain did nothing for her. Tears coaxed from anguished pleasure were exquisite but the emotion burning behind his eyes was raw and painful.
Tav rolled to her knees to stand and realized quickly the wine was going to keep her from taking the few steps needed to reach Astarion. She crawled forward and sat beside him, draping an arm over his shoulder. He winced at her touch but allowed her to to stay.
"I'm sorry. I wish I could do something for you," she spoke, a slight slur creeping into her words. "I shouldn't have gotten this drunk either, but I mean it."
"I doesn't matter," he sighed, taking a swig from the near empty bottle before continuing.
"Maybe there's a way out of this for you," she mused, squeezing his shoulder. "One that doesn't mean death or going back to your old life. Or becoming a mind flayer."
"I could kill Cazador," he muttered flatly, knowing he would be going against an army of vampire spawn and surely die in the process. It was a pointless dream to chase.
"Let's do it. We'll be in Baldur's gate eventually and might as well clean house," she answered firmly.
She took the bottle from his hand and poured the remaining dregs into her mouth before rolling the bottle across the floor.
"Darling, it's not that simple," he replied, his old facade returning, along with a desire to mope. "I don't doubt your ability to eviscerate a room full of vampire spawn but Cazador has been successful for a reason. I wouldn't be the first to try and end the man's life."
"We'll figure it out later," she answered, brushing off his doubt. She drunkenly wondered if her patron would be able to guide her in some way.
Come to me when you're not sloshed, you fool.
Her patrons voice reverberated in her ears. He knew something. There must be something in it for him as well, and she would be happy to deliver for both of them.
She grinned and squeezed Astarion closer to her.
"Everything's gonna be alllllriiiiight," she promised, swaying gently. "We're gonna..."
She held the end of the word and raised a finger. Closing one eye to aim, she tapped Astarion on the nose.
"Get him!"
He couldn't help but laugh. His mood swung to bleak optimism. He wrapped an arm around her waist and swayed with her.
"And then we're gonna figure out these worms you're gonna get to do whatever you want," she continued hiccuping. "What are you gonna do first?"
He paused. He had no idea. He would still be a vampire and subject to the laws of the curse, but it would be possible to live a relatively normal life. He could barely remember what a normal life was.