~O~
Arabella's awakening was abrupt, the predawn gloom casting long shadows across the campsite, wrapping her in a blanket of disorientation and rising panic. As awareness seeped in, she was hit by a series of unsettling realizations that knotted her stomach and sent her heart racing. The chill of the morning air against her naked skin was the first to register, followed swiftly by the gruesome discovery of blood that seemed to coat her hands and mar her face with its dried, crusty presence. Her dominant arm throbbed with a dull, insistent ache.
But it was the sensation at her neck, the probing of her fingers revealing two small, precise puncture wounds, that sent a wave of pure adrenaline surging through her veins. The reality of her situation began to unravel as fragmented memories from the night before pieced themselves together in a nightmarish collage.
Flashes of Alfira's lifeless, bloodied body haunted the edges of her consciousness, a sight so macabre and shocking that it threatened to overwhelm her senses. Alongside this gruesome image, the vivid memory of Astarion's eyes—glinting with a predatory hunger, his fangs bared in a moment of primal need—loomed large in her mind. The memory was so vivid, so intense, that she could almost feel the ghost of his presence, the chilling touch of his lips at her neck.
And then, interwoven with the horror and the bloodshed, was the undeniable recollection of a moment of carnal passion with the white-haired rogue. The memory was a stark contrast to the violence and fear, a moment of connection so profound that it seemed to exist in a realm apart from the chaos of the night.
As Arabella sat there, trying to piece together the fractured memories, a tumult of emotions warred within her. Confusion and fear fought for dominance, while an undercurrent of something darker, something akin to exhilaration, pulsed through her veins. The realization that she had been a willing participant in the night's events left her reeling, caught in the grip of a reality she could scarcely comprehend.
The silence of the campsite, the absence of any movement or sound from her companions, added to the surreal quality of the moment. As the first light of dawn began to pierce the darkness, Arabella knew she stood at a precipice, her next actions crucial in determining the path forward from this moment.
With resolve hardening in her heart, Arabella emerged from her tent, the early light casting long shadows that seemed to dance at her feet. Body still bare, her demeanor was a stark contrast to the vulnerability of moments before. The scowl etched deeply on her face was not just a mask of anger but a shield against the turmoil swirling inside her. It was not fear of Astarion that propelled her forward but a fear of the unknown depths within herself, of what she had become—or had always been capable of becoming.
Each step toward his tent was measured, a deliberate march towards understanding and confrontation. The blood that was on her hands might be easily washed away, but the stain it would leave on her soul was indelible. She was not just seeking explanations for the events of the night; she was demanding accountability, from Astarion and from herself.
Her approach was silent, yet the intensity of her presence seemed to charge the air around her. Reaching his tent, she paused, the fabric of the entrance mere inches from her fingertips. With a deep, steadying breath, Arabella pushed aside the tent flap, stepping into the dimly lit space. Her eyes adjusted to the gloom and found Astarion lying down, one knee bent, an arm resting over his closed eyes. Her eyes took in the exposed pale skin of his torso, and an image of his body pressed against hers flashed in her mind, the smoothness of his skin sharply contrasted by the sting of his bite.
"I need to know what happened last night," she snapped, her voice a blend of command and desperation. "And you're going to tell me, one way or another."
"Shit," he muttered, his tone laced with the resignation of a child caught red-handed, knowing full well the game was up. His arm fell away from his face as he sat up, the shift in his posture a silent concession to her demanding gaze.
"What do you mean, my dear?" His voice was soft, a deliberate contrast to the tension that knotted his features, the slight twitch of his lip betraying his anxiety.
"Alfira…" Arabella's voice was a whisper, laced with a turmoil that echoed the chaos of her emotions—a heady mix of apprehension and an inexplicable delight that horrified her. She pressed her fingers against her eyelids, trying to erase the haunting images that danced behind her closed eyes.
Astarion watched her struggle, the charm that usually danced so easily on his tongue now felt heavy and inadequate. He stared at her silently, his demeanor softening.
"Why didn't you tell me about what you are?" Arabella asked, her voice steady despite the unrest within. "And last night... what did we do?" Her gaze was piercing, seeking not just answers but understanding.
Astarion's heart clenched at her words, the charm that was his shield now felt like chains. "My dear, there are aspects of my nature I prefer to keep... under wraps. As for last night… it's a tangled web we find ourselves in, isn't it?" His voice was soft, an attempt to weave reassurance into the fabric of their conversation.
Arabella, however, was not so easily placated. "Tangled web or not, I deserve the truth, Astarion. What role did you play in all of this? And why do I feel like part of me enjoyed it?" Her questions cut through the air sharply.
His charm faded, replaced by a momentary glimpse of genuine conflict. "There are moments when the darkness within us finds resonance with another's. What happened between us, it was... powerful. But if there are gaps in your memory, then perhaps it's a mercy," he admitted, his usual confidence waning under the weight of his internal struggle.
"But why do I not remember? Why do you seem to know more about what I felt, what I did... than I do?" Her frustration was palpable, a reflection of the myriad emotions battling within her.
Astarion sighed, the charm that so often played his ally now deserted him. "For that, I am truly sorry," he said, a rare seriousness overtaking him. His apology was sincere, yet devoid of the explanations Arabella sought. It was an acknowledgment of wrongdoing, but she had no idea of what precisely.
She searched his face for any sign of deceit, any hint of the beguiling way he so often wielded with ease. Finding none, she was left with a hollow feeling of loss, a sense of having been part of something she could neither remember nor fully understand. Without another word, she turned and left his tent, the need to cleanse herself of the night's remnants driving her towards the lake.
As she walked away, Astarion remained motionless, the conflict within him unresolved. The charisma that had once been his armor now felt like a prison, and the guilt of having shared a moment with Arabella that was lost to her memory weighed heavily on him. He had sought to protect himself by withholding the truth, but in doing so, he realized he might have inflicted a deeper wound on them both.
~O~
Solas stood near the water's edge, his eyes taking in the landscape that was slowly becoming familiar to him. The world around him, painted in the soft hues of sunrise, seemed detached from the realm of immediate concerns, and he sighed quietly as he began to undress. As he turned to set his clothes down on the sandy shore, he caught sight of Arabella coming out of Astarion's tent, unclothed and with an odd look on her face.
Her state was alarming, a stark contrast to the tranquil dawn. Her hair, matted and unkempt, and her skin, marred by the telltale signs of blood, painted a picture of a night fraught with unseen turmoil. As she approached, Solas' initial reaction was one of wariness, his mind racing to piece together the events that had led to her current disheveled state. Yet, as their eyes met, any barriers of caution or doubt melted away under the weight of her visible distress.
The silence hung heavily between them as Arabella's eyes brimmed with tears. Solas, moved by a deep-seated sense of protectiveness and compassion, bridged the gap between them with a few measured steps, offering solace with an embrace that sought to shoulder some of her burdens.
Her initial tension gradually eased within the circle of his arms, the tears that flowed silent witnesses to the catharsis of the moment.
Guiding her towards the water, Solas' whisper, "Come, let's get you cleaned up," was more than an offer of physical cleansing. It was an invitation to wash away the night's darkness, to begin anew with the breaking day, the gesture simple yet profound.
As they reached the water's edge, the coldness of the sea awaited, a natural balm to soothe the wounds of the soul and mend the fabric of a spirit frayed by a dark night. Chest deep in the chilling embrace of the salty water, they stood together, a solitary pair amidst the serene expanse of water. Solas, positioned slightly behind Arabella, took on the tender task of untangling the knots from her hair, which under normal circumstances shimmered with the softness of night itself. His movements were careful and deliberate, a silent confession of his empathy and concern.
When he finally spoke, his voice carried the softness of a whisper against the backdrop of the gentle lapping of water. "What happened?" He asked tentatively, betraying his awareness of her fragile state. It was as if he tread on the edge of a cliff, fearful that the wrong word might send her spiraling into the abyss.
The response was non-verbal, a mere shake of her head, yet it spoke volumes. Her inability to articulate the horrors of the night underscored by the silent tears that traced paths down her cheeks, blending indistinguishably with the sea water.
Then, in a moment as unexpected as it was profound, they were both enveloped by a cascade of images—a mental onslaught that tore through the barriers of individual experience to lay bare the events of the preceding night; pools of blood, Alfira's body sprawled out on the grass, Astarion's ruby eyes glinting in the darkness as he bared his fangs.
Arabella inhaled sharply, the force of the memories making her stumble, her form naturally gravitating towards Solas for stability. Solas responded immediately, wrapping his arms around her, providing a fortress of comfort amidst the swirling chaos that seemed to close in on them. Clutching her close, he rested his cheek atop her head, offering silent reassurance. From this protective embrace, his eyes, dark and turbulent, followed Astarion as he emerged from his tent, stretching leisurely and greeting the morning sun with a cheerful yawn, oblivious to the storm brewing in their midst.
~O~
As they navigated the shadowed, dense woods on their way toward the Blighted Village, Solas and Astarion found themselves momentarily separated from Arabella and Gale, trailing several feet behind the drow and wizard. The dim light filtering through the trees cast their faces in a dance of light and shadow, setting the stage for a conversation of equally murky undertones.
Solas broke the silence first, his voice low, imbued with a clear strand of suspicion. "The circumstances surrounding Alfira's disappearance are concerningly peculiar. Don't you think, Astarion, that this situation warrants a deeper examination?"
Astarion, nonchalant in his stance, replied with a wry smile, "My dear Solas, you mistake intrigue for worry. I'm sure the bard simply reconsidered her misguided dream for adventure."
"Oh?" The mage said flatly, his gaze locking with Astarion's in a silent challenge.
The vampire's eyes narrowed, a flicker of recognition flashing in his gaze. "Say what you need to say, Solas." His voice took on a slight edge.
"The bard has vanished under mysterious conditions, an occurrence that is disconcerting at best. And amidst such disquiet, I've noticed… your influence, Astarion, and the nature of your relationship with Arabella—it's difficult not to draw connections. Does this not prompt any concern on your part?"
Astarion rolled his eyes, a hint of discomfort bordering on the edges of his thinning patience. "Concern, you say? Arabella's exploration of her darker appetites is not something to be feared, but embraced. There's a certain liberation in giving in to baser instincts."
"To succumb to every impulse is not liberation, Astarion. True power lies in control, in choosing not to let those urges define us. Violence, the thirst for blood—it's a facet of power, yes, but not its entirety," Solas countered with a measured tone, the stark contrast in their views palpable.
Astarion's laughter, though soft, carried a hint of mockery. "Ah, but you see, control is nothing more than a cage. A gilded one, perhaps, but a cage nonetheless. There's pleasure to be found in the shadows, in the embrace of our true natures. Why deny Arabella the joy of her discovery?"
The displeasure on Solas' face was evident, a frown creasing his brow as he regarded the rogue with a blend of frustration and pity. Yet, before he could formulate a response, Arabella and Gale came to a stop several feet ahead.
Arabella turned her head, looking at them both, her voice slightly raised, "We're close. Let's take it slow and quiet from here on out."
The group advanced at a slow pace, each step punctuated by the crack of twigs underfoot and the rustling of leaves. The forest was eerily quiet, save for the distant cry of a hawk.
Solas moved toward Arabella, his voice a whisper, "There's a foul presence in this place. I don't like it."
Arabella nodded in agreement, her gaze shifting back toward Astarion and Gale, who were trailing several feet behind. Astarion's eyes met hers, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He mouthed a word to her, drawing a small frown on her lips. Solas followed her gaze, a frown of his own marring his features as he noticed the silent exchange.
As the two moved ahead, Astarion fell back, waiting for Gale to follow suit before he began to speak. His words were soft, barely audible above the rustle of leaves.
"It's clear you have misgivings regarding myself and Arabella." He paused for a moment, considering his next words carefully. "You've been looking at me differently since we started this exhausting trek—"
Gale sighed loudly, shaking his head. "I'm not one to interfere with the affairs of others. Besides, I trust Arabella's judgment."
"Alright," Astarion conceded, his eyes narrowing. "But if I may ask, what is it about me that has you so on edge, then?"
The wizard paused, considering Astarion's question. "To be honest, it's not you I'm worried about. It's Solas."
Astarion arched an eyebrow, his voice low, "Go on."
Gale hesitated for a moment, then spoke in a hushed tone. "Have you seen the way he wields magic? The kinds of spells he uses in combat? It's like nothing I've ever seen before."
Astarion regarded the wizard with a wry smile. "I suppose there's something a little off about him, yes."
"There's more to it than that," Gale continued, a hint of urgency in his voice. "He's hiding something. Something big."
Astarion let out a soft chuckle, his eyes never leaving Gale's face. "Now, why would you think that? It seems a bit of a stretch to assume he's hiding some grand secret."
Gale shook his head, his gaze fixed on the ground as he walked. "It's not a matter of assumption. It's a fact. I've seen it, Astarion. Through the connection of our tadpoles—I've seen the images in his mind."
Astarion's expression hardened, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. "What did you see?"
Gale looked up at Astarion, his gaze serious. "A shadowy figure, cloaked in darkness. A pair of gleaming silver eyes, like those of a wolf. A sense of… immense power. And a name—Fen'Harel."
Astarion's eyes narrowed, his voice low. "Fen'Harel? Who or what is that?"
Gale shook his head. "I don't know. But whatever it is, it sounds ominous. And I think Solas is somehow connected to it."
Astarion fell silent, his mind racing as he processed what Gale had said. After a few moments, he spoke again. "Why are you telling me this?"
Gale hesitated for a moment, then replied in a quiet voice. "I'm not sure. For now, he's a powerful ally, but it's best we be on guard, is all."
"Well, I'll certainly keep that in mind," Astarion said dryly, his gaze shifting to the mage in question. "Now, if you don't mind, let's focus on the task at hand, shall we? We don't want to miss our chance to kill some goblins, do we?"
~O~
Solas, Arabella, Astarion, and Gale had made camp for the night within the ancient, forsaken confines of the old Selunite temple, now overrun by goblins. The temple's hallowed walls, once echoing with the serene chants of worship, now whispered of desecration and decay.
As darkness enveloped their makeshift camp, Solas was seized by a sudden illness—his body drenched in sweat, trembling uncontrollably as waves of unbearable pain coursed through him. He curled up, trying to find some relief in the fetal position, but the agony was relentless. Eventually, exhaustion overcame him, and he slipped into a restless slumber, his consciousness drifting away from the physical torment.
He was not alone. A presence, warm and commanding, enveloped him, the deep voice resonating deep within his soul. "You are far from home, traveler. And it seems I've come just in time. You are transforming," it spoke, offering a beacon of guidance in the void.
"Who are you?" Solas asked, his voice echoing in the celestial expanse, his earlier symptoms abating and disappearing.
"A friend, an ally in the darkness. You suffer, your spirit ensnared by forces unseen, but don't worry. You will not become a mind flayer. Not while I'm around," the man responded, his tone both soothing and persuasive. He extended his hand, and Solas took it gingerly, allowing himself to be pulled up slowly.
The man walked ahead of him, the plane around him shifting and dancing in vivid colors and bright flashes of light. The man encouraged Solas to use the tadpole's power, to accept it, and nurture it, combining it with the strange magic residing within him.
"And how am I to wield this power?" Solas inquired, intrigued despite the strangeness of his situation.
"Accept it, embrace the darkness within. Let it guide you, fortify you. I will protect you from the tadpole while I am able, but for the sake of us both, you must learn to wield it," he suggested, a promise of potential and purpose woven into his words.
"What price must one pay for such power?" Solas questioned, wary of the implications.
"The cost is yours to bear, a trade of equals. What you gain in strength, you must balance with sacrifice," came the cryptic reply, leaving Solas with a bad taste in his mouth.
As the voice dissipated into the silence, the astral plane dissolved, and Solas found himself once again within the cold, stone walls of the temple. The encounter left a lingering echo in his mind, a whisper of a promise that sought to sway him. Yet, as the pain receded, a resolute defiance took its place in his heart. He rejected the ambiguous offer of power that came shrouded in secrecy, especially from a presence that withheld its true nature and seemed all too familiar with his origins.