~O~
The path to Rosymorn Monastery wound through landscapes that mirrored the tumult within their small group. The terrain changed as they ascended and descended, the air growing cooler, the light sharper, much like the glances that flew between them, loaded with unvoiced thoughts and feelings.
Solas and Arabella, now separated by an invisible chasm of their own making, still found their worlds colliding in silent, intense exchanges. Their looks, heavy with sorrowful affection and deep-seated regret, harped on a connection that refused to sever, despite his decision to end their romantic involvement. And although the moments were fleeting, often interrupted by the trail's demands or Lae'zel's focused inquiries about their mission, they lingered, haunting both with a sense of unfulfilled longing.
Astarion was caught in his own storm of conflicted emotions. Unaware of the finality between Solas and Arabella, his glances towards Solas were filled with a mix of suspicion and an unacknowledged respect, a silent concession, if you will, of the elf's prowess and mystery. When his gaze shifted to Arabella, it was alight with playful mischief and flirtation, masking the depth of his affection. Astarion himself struggled to comprehend the gravity of what he felt, his heart ensnared by emotions he had never planned to entertain, leaving him internally tormented.
Although focused singularly on their quest, Lae'zel remained somewhat aloof from the tangled web of relationships. Yet, even she could not ignore the undercurrents of tension and longing that permeated the group. Her interactions were pragmatic, often serving as the anchor that kept their mission in perspective, her eyes set on the looming silhouette of the Rosymorn Monastery and the hope of the Zaith'isk within.
As they approached the monastery, dedicated to the Morninglord, Lathander, the irony was not lost on them. Here, in a place bathed in the ideals of renewal and rebirth, they each wrestled with their own shadows, the light revealing the complexities of their emotions and the uncertain paths they walked together.
As twilight draped the sky in a cloak of deep blues and purples, the group agreed to take a break for the night, setting up camp with the Rosymorn Monastery just a shadow against the night's canvas, to be approached with the dawn's first light. That evening, under the pretext of hunting, Astarion slipped away, his true intent not just the thirst that drove him but a restless concern for Arabella.
The forest was alive with the whispers of nocturnal creatures and the rustle of leaves in the gentle night breeze. It wasn't long before he found her, isolated from the rest, sitting on an old fallen tree trunk. She was a picture of contemplation, hugging her knees to her chest, her cheek resting softly against her folded arms. It was unlike her to appear so withdrawn, and Astarion felt a twinge of something more profound than mere curiosity as he looked at her.
He approached with the silence of a shadow, his steps light on the forest floor, torn between the fear of intruding on her privacy and the compelling pull of his concern for her. As he neared, Arabella lifted her head, her eyes meeting his. The smile she offered him was wistful, tinged with a sadness that beckoned him closer without words. She patted the space beside her on the log.
Sitting beside her, Astarion was acutely aware of the space he carefully maintained between them, a gap that seemed to span both inches and miles. He let the silence hang for a moment, his eyes twinkling mischievously under the starlit sky.
"Quite the night for soul-searching, isn't it?" he quipped charismatically. Despite the levity in his words, his gaze on Arabella was filled with genuine concern and a softness that belied his usual facade.
She returned his gaze, a wry smile touching her lips as she absorbed the comfort hidden within his jest. "It seems to be," she conceded, her voice carrying a mix of weariness and a faint, reluctant amusement. "I'm starting to think solitude under the stars might just be my undoing or my salvation. Glad you're here to tip the scales, though."
His smile broadened at her response, the playful edge of his nature surfacing even as he sensed the depth of her turmoil. "Oh, I'm known for being quite the scale-tipper. But, darling, you look as if you're carrying the weight of the world. Surely, that's no task for one as charming as you."
Arabella's expression softened, her guard momentarily lowered. "I fear I'm becoming my own worst enemy," she confessed, her voice a whisper against the backdrop of the night. "These... urges, they promise power, control, but all I've found is chaos in their wake. It's like dancing with shadows, never knowing when the next step might lead you off a cliff. I'm starting to have second thoughts about all of this, leading you all… gods, what am I doing?" She rubbed at her face in frustration.
Astarion leaned in, his voice a blend of mischief and sincerity, lowering to a tone that hinted at secrets shared under the cover of night. "You know, the dance with darkness isn't all bad, as long as you remember who's leading." He gave her a wry smile, his gaze locked on hers. "These urges you wrestle with, they're just the music in this odd ballroom of life. But you… you're the one making the steps."
His hand sought hers, a bold yet reassuring touch. "And never listen to your second thoughts, my dear, they spoil all the fun." A grin played at the corners of his mouth as he added, "And should you ever feel like the dance floor's getting too dark, I'll be there. After all, every good dancer needs a partner to remind them of their steps, don't they?"
Arabella chuckled softly, the sound mingling with the night air. "Thank you, Astarion. For the distraction, if nothing else."
Astarion's grin was laced with both warmth and mischief. "Distraction, protection, occasional witty commentary—I offer a full service." He grinned, the smile reaching his ruby eyes. "Anytime, love," he said after a moment.
"Well," she said, sighing wistfully. "I'm sure the others are wondering where we are." She rose from her seated position, running her hand through the length of her black hair.
When he simply stared up at her, she froze, suddenly feeling self-conscious under the weight of his clear admiration for her.
"What?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.
He shook his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Nothing, my dear. You're just... beautiful, that's all."
Arabella blushed, her cheeks flushing pink. "Oh, stop it," she said, playfully swatting his arm. "You're just trying to butter me up."
Astarion chuckled, his gaze never wavering. He stood, standing a few inches from her. "I mean it, Bella. You are beautiful." He brushed soft silken strands of black hair from her forehead, tucking them behind her ear.
She smiled, feeling a warmth spread in her chest. "Thank you."
The night air was cool, but the warmth of their bodies radiating between them kept them comfortable.
Astarion leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear. "You are most welcome."
She shivered, a mixture of desire and anticipation coursing through her veins. "Astarion..." she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.
He grinned, his eyes twinkling impishly. "Darling?"
Arabella's pause was a tangible thing, her inner conflict clear as day. The desire was there, burning bright, but so was the complexity of their entwined emotions—her heart still entangled with Solas' shadow, yet craving the comfort the pale elf's presence promised.
"I… I don't know," she confessed, her voice a delicate quiver of uncertainty and longing.
Astarion's eyes, usually alight with mischief, took on a tender hue. "Bella, the last thing I want is to be another complication in your already tangled web." His voice was a soft echo in the quiet night. "I'm here, in whatever way you need. No expectations, no pressures."
Her gratitude was palpable, warming the space between them. "Thank you, Astarion. You're a good man."
At that, he couldn't help but let out a chuckle, rich with a sardonic edge. "Ah, let's not adorn me with sainthood just yet. I've been called many things, 'good man' seldom among them."
The laughter that bubbled up from Arabella seemed to clear the air, casting light into the shadows of doubt. As her gaze settled on him once again, seeing him in a light she hadn't allowed herself to before, Astarion felt a shift in the night's melody. He was, in all his vampire spawn glory, seen and acknowledged beneath the moon's watchful eye—his allure not dimmed but enhanced by the starlight.
"You are to me," she whispered, her hand reaching out to softly trace the contours of his face, a touch as light as moonbeam on water.
And in that moment, he felt a warmth unfamiliar yet deeply coveted, a recognition of something beyond the surface—a connection not just of flesh, but of souls navigating the murky waters of desire, comfort, and perhaps something more. His gaze softened, his expression one of slight discomfort, but affection within undeniable. "Bella..."
Arabella smiled, her eyes shining with emotion. "I mean it, Astarion. You're a good man, despite what you might think. You've been there for me, you've supported me, and you've made me laugh when I needed it most. You're a good man, and I'm lucky to have you in my life."
Astarion chuckled, but he swallowed nervously, his gaze shifting to the ground.
She leaned into him, standing on the tips of her toes, and kissed him on the lips. Softly at first, but deepening the kiss when his arms wrapped around her waist and he groaned into her mouth. It was a groan of desperation, of yearning, and it sent a shiver of longing down her spine.
They kissed for several moments, their tongues meeting in a delicate dance, as her hands moved up and down his back. She wanted him. Wanted to feel him. All of him.
"I want you, Astarion," she whispered huskily against his lips.
He chuckled softly, pulling away and cupping her cheek. "Let's do something about that, shall we?" he murmured back.
His thumb gently caressed her lips, his red eyes staring into hers. There was a look in those ruby depths that sent another shiver of desire coursing through her body.
For a moment he considered that it might be a mistake, to give himself over so freely knowing she was hurting for another. But as she looked up at him through those dark lashes, her gray eyes a stormy and heady blend of desire and passion, he found he simply didn't care what he lost of himself in her. He relished the feel of her skin against his, and he made up his mind as he leaned down, taking her mouth in an ardent kiss.
Their lips never separated as he carefully led her backward toward a robust tree. When her back touched the rough bark she gasped into his mouth, a light smile on her lips. She could feel him grinning as he deepened the kiss, his tongue gently tracing the edge of her mouth. His hands moved along the curve of her body, leaving trails of fire wherever his skin met hers. She sighed against him, her arms wrapping around his neck and her fingers running through his hair. She was lost in his kiss, her body pressed flush against his as if she were trying to become a part of him.
As he explored her mouth with his, his hand wandered along the hem of her blouse, his fingers brushing along the skin beneath. She arched against him, the feeling of his skin on hers sending a wave of heat through her. His hand slowly moved up the back of her neck, gently caressing the skin at the base of her head, before slipping into her hair. She let out a soft moan, the sound lost in his kiss as he massaged the sensitive area. His lips moved from hers, slowly trailing along the curve of her neck and the edge of her ear. As his lips brushed over her sensitive flesh she shivered, her grip on him tightening slightly.
Astarion nudged his thigh between her legs, urging her to part her thighs slightly. When she obliged, he gently pressed his knee into the apex between her legs, applying pressure to her throbbing bud through the fabric of her pants. As she ground down on his knee, seeking more contact he continued to nip and kiss along her neck and jawline, the pressure on her most sensitive spot driving her wild. His lips trailed down the column of her neck and along her collar bone, his kisses warm and soft, leaving a burning sensation wherever his skin met hers. As her desire mounted her breath grew heavy, the sensations flooding her body and her thoughts growing hazy.
He broke away from her, breathing out a soft chuckle when she let out a small noise of disappointment. As his crimson gaze met her dark gray one, he slowly trailed his fingers from the nape of her neck along the line of her jaw and along the edge of her lower lip, his thumb gently pulling down her bottom lip. He smiled softly at the look in her eyes, her dark irises like twin storms, the storm that raged within her threatening to consume her. His nostrils flared when his eyes took in the pulsing vein at her neck and his gaze flickered briefly to her mouth, his lips slightly parted and a hint of his fangs glinting in the moonlight.
As she looked into his ruby red eyes, a surge of heat rose from within, filling her with a need, a desperate desire for him that left her trembling. Her thumb moved from his chin along the edge of his bottom lip, gently tugging it down, exposing the sharp tips of his fangs. As the moonlight caught on the white tips, she felt her pulse quicken, her heartbeat loud in her ears, the need within her rising to a fevered pitch.
She leaned her head back against the tree, exposing her neck in offering, as she looked into his eyes. Astarion grinned, his eyes darkening with a mix of carnality and a hint of bloodlust, as he lowered his mouth to her throat, his fangs scraping along the sensitive flesh. His tongue moved in a slow, lazy trail from the hollow of her throat to her collarbone, savoring her scent. When his tongue found her pulse she shuddered, her skin covered in goosebumps, the feeling of his skin on hers, of his warm tongue moving across her sensitive flesh, driving her wild. As his lips slowly moved up the line of her throat and along the curve of her ear, a small gasp escaped her mouth, a soft sigh lost in the night's symphony.
Arabella looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes, the need within her a physical ache as she watched him savor the taste of her skin. The storm within raged on, threatening to overflow, threatening to drown her, her heartbeat echoing in her ears. Her eyes glazed over and she shivered as she felt Astarion's fangs break the skin on the column of her neck. She bit her lower lip to stifle a moan, her body arching toward his as the warmth of her blood slowly trickled from her neck, down her collar bone. Her hand slipped through the silken locks of his hair and gripped them tightly, a silent plea for him to keep drinking. As he drank from her slowly, she felt him chuckle, his lips vibrating against her skin. His hand moved from her hip and slowly traveled up the curve of her waist, leaving trails of fire in its wake.
As he continued to slowly drink from her neck, she could feel him hard against her stomach and she ground down on the thigh between her legs, desperately seeking release. Her breath quickened, her heartbeat echoing in her ears, the need within threatening to overflow and drown her in its stormy waters. She shivered as his hand gently caressed her cheek, his lips still against her skin, before moving up to cover her mouth with his. She could taste her blood on his tongue, and the sensation made her lightheaded, a soft moan escaping her mouth, the sound swallowed in their kiss.
When he pulled away, breaking the kiss, the taste of her own blood and the hunger in his eyes drove her over the edge. The need within finally broke its dam, the flood of sensations sweeping her away, carrying her on waves of pleasure that made her shudder as her body spasmed. She let out a long, deep moan as the tremors passed and her breath finally calmed, leaving her limp against the tree.
She looked up at him, her gray eyes a tempest and her expression slightly dazed. She was surprised to see the pleased look on his face, and she couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped her lips as she leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
"That was... intense," she murmured, a light smile on her lips.
"I'll say," he said softly, his eyes taking her in suggestively.
He pulled back from her, giving her some space as she slowly got her bearings, a languid grin on her lips. He reached into the pouch at his side, and produced a small, silken handkerchief. Gently, he raised it to the puncture marks on her neck, softly wiping away the blood. Arabella opened her eyes and looked into his, her gaze filled with warmth and gratitude. She placed a small kiss on his lips, savoring the taste of her blood on his tongue.
He grinned, his smile a mixture of mirth and tenderness.
They shared a moment of companionable silence, both enjoying the lingering afterglow of their encounter. It wasn't until he tucked her hair behind her ear that she spoke.
"Astarion?" she began tentatively, her voice soft.
"Yes?"
"You're beautiful, too, you know." She grinned, her voice full of laughter, her gray eyes shining with affection.
There was a look in his ruby eyes as he gazed down at her that made her heart skip a beat. She wondered what was going through his head as he continued to stare at her, the look in his eyes unreadable. He kissed her, a bruising and passionate kiss that left them both breathless when he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers, their breaths intermingling.
"And, you're trouble," he said, a soft chuckle escaping him.
"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow, her expression playful, a slight smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. "Well then, I hope that makes me your favorite kind of trouble," she teased as she reached up to stroke his cheek.
The way he looked at her, the corners of his lips quirked upwards in a slight smile, made her earlier turmoil seem distant and far away, almost as if it had never existed in the first place. His smile unfurled knowingly, and the vision of him—ruby eyes aglow with mischief and a whisper of danger under the moon's caress—kindled a warmth in her heart. It was a warmth suffused with complexity, promising to follow her long into the night.
Together, they navigated the shadow-draped forest back toward camp, their steps in harmony. The silence that blanketed them filled with a comfortable resonance, a shared understanding that words could scarcely augment.
~O~
In the shadowed quiet of the Rosymorn Monastery, following the tumultuous end of the Githyanki Inquisitor, the atmosphere among the four companions was charged with a heavy blend of victory and underlying tension. The victory was palpable, but so too was the realization of the dark turns their journey had taken, particularly within the Githyanki creche.
As they navigated the labyrinthine corridors, seeking an exit that wouldn't lead them back to the creche's heart, Solas found himself walking alongside Lae'zel. The silence between them stretched, filled with the weight of recent revelations and battles fought. With an abrupt clicking of the tongue, Lae'zel slammed her fist against the stonewall at her side.
"Corruption," she hissed. "From the Zaith'isk, to the Inquisitor's betrayal." She seethed visibly, her chest rising and falling with a steadfast rhythm.
Solas looked at her with a tentative gaze, he could tell her composure was hanging on by a frail thread, yet he knew this might be the only time she'd be willing to hear what he had to say.
"Lae'zel, don't you see? The Zaith'isk... there was something wrong. It was not meant to save us."
The Gith warrior, her glare unwavering, shot back with a steely resolve. "The Zaith'isk was untainted. Your doubts do not sway me, Solas. Queen Vlaakith's intentions are for the greater good of our people."
He sighed, the weight of centuries in his voice. "I've seen what blind allegiance can do, Lae'zel. I've lived it. I once called gods friends, and they... their power was a cage for my people, not salvation."
Lae'zel halted, turning to face him, her expression unyielding. "Your tales hold no water for me, mage. My loyalty is not given lightly. I would give my Queen the benefit of the doubt."
He looked at her, his eyes reflecting a well of deep, ancient sorrows. "Allow me to clarify—I led a rebellion against those 'gods.' Freed many from their grasp. But the cost... it was more than you can imagine."
Lae'zel's gaze softened momentarily, the mention of rebellion sparking a flicker of curiosity. "And how did you end it, this war of yours?"
Solas' voice dropped, a shadow passing over his features. "Some stories are too painful to recount. Just know, Lae'zel, that power unchecked is a peril to all it touches."
She studied him for a moment longer, her brow furrowed in thought, then nodded once, sharply. "I hear your words, Solas. But I need proof, not tales."
With that, she turned and continued down the corridor, leaving Solas in the wake of her determination.
Arabella and Astarion, trailing slightly behind, absorbed the exchange with a respectful silence, each caught in their own reflections. Arabella, her thoughts knitting together fragments of understanding, felt a surge of admiration for Solas. It was in moments like these that the depth of his character, marked by the scars of battles fought and losses endured, truly shone through. The stories he hesitated to share, the pain that lingered in the depths of his eyes, it all painted a picture of a soul profoundly touched by the flames of rebellion and sacrifice.
She could see the hurt there, a silent echo of the past that seemed to momentarily cloud his luminous spirit, and her heart ached to offer solace. Yet, the remnants of their broken relationship hung between them, an invisible barrier that rendered words of comfort complicated, perhaps even unwelcome.
Torn between her desire to console him and the awkwardness that had settled in the wake of their separation, Arabella found a middle ground. She reached out, her fingers brushing against his hand in a fleeting but meaningful gesture, squeezing it gently. It was a silent message of support, an acknowledgment of his pain, and a reminder that, despite everything, she was there.
Surprised by the contact, he glanced at her hand enveloping his. A complex emotion flickered across his face, a mixture of gratitude and a poignant reminder of what they had lost. Yet, in that simple squeeze, there was a shared understanding, a connection that, though frayed, had not been entirely severed.
Astarion, however, observed quietly, his keen eyes missing none of the subtleties of their interaction. The dynamics of the group were shifting, evolving with every step they took, and he remained, as ever, a vigilant observer.
Lae'zel called out to them from up ahead, she found something promising. After figuring out the mechanism to reveal a concealed door, the group entered a dark passageway that went deeper underground within the monastery. As they descended, Solas looked up at the intricacy of the well-built corridors that seemed to be floating in space.
As the group delved further into the monastery's underbelly, their path veered towards an ancient bridge, shrouded in shadows yet illuminated by a singular marvel—a spiked mace, it hovered, ensconced in an ethereal glow that beckoned with an almost sentient urgency. The allure of the artifact was irresistible, drawing Astarion forward, his hand outstretched to claim the prize.
Sensing the powerful magic surrounding the artifact, Solas tensed, his heart racing in dreadful awareness as he leapt forward.
"Astarion, wait! Don't—" Solas' warning, laced with urgency, came too late.
The moment Astarion's fingers closed around the mace, a deafening crack echoed through the chamber. The air charged with energy, and then chaos ensued. A laser beam, sharp and unforgiving, sliced through the walls, sending stone and dust spiraling into the air. Lae'zel pushed Astarion out of the way of a falling boulder, and her eyes met the vampire's gaze with a steely fury.
Reacting on instinct, Solas conjured a protective barrier, a dome of shimmering energy that enveloped him and Arabella. As the world around them shook, he pulled her close, his arms a fortress against the collapsing debris. Within the safety of the barrier, he caught a glimpse of something unexpected in her eyes—relief, a haunting acceptance of mortality that shook him to his core.
The sight of her so resigned, so at peace with the notion of death, struck a chord deep within him.
"Vhenan," he whispered, the term of endearment escaping him in a breath, his eyes a tempest of glowing magic.
Driven by a tumult of feelings and the stark fear of losing what he had once pushed away, he pressed his lips to hers in a kiss that was both a promise and a plea.
A radiant light burst forth, enveloping them in its embrace, a stark contrast to the darkness that threatened to consume everything. And then, everything faded to black, the sounds of destruction, the weight of their predicament, all disappearing as if swallowed by the night itself.
~O~
Solas' transition from the clutches of unconsciousness to the realm of the awake was a disorienting journey. His first sensation was the cold, hard ground beneath him, an unyielding reminder of the reality he was slowly coming back to. As the haze of confusion began to lift, a singular thought pierced the fog of his awakening: Arabella. Panic, sharp and sudden, clenched his heart as he frantically reached out for her, fearing the worst.
A flood of relief washed over him upon finding her safe and by his side. His fingers, trembling slightly from the adrenaline and remnants of fear, gently brushed her black hair away from her face. As he gazed down at her, taking in the peaceful expression that belied their recent turmoil, a pang of regret stabbed through him. She was here, alive, because of him, yet the cost of their safety was a mystery even to him.
How had he done it? How had he managed to whisk them away from certain death to this place of relative safety? His mind raced, trying to piece together the sequence of events that had led to their miraculous escape. As realization dawned on him that it was his magic, unbidden and powerful, that had saved them, the weight of the unknown pressed heavily upon him. Where had they landed?
Compelled by a need to understand, Solas rose unsteadily to his feet, his body protesting the abrupt movement. He made his way to the mouth of the cave, the light from outside casting shadows that danced upon the walls. What he saw when he looked out sent a shiver down his spine. The Rosymorn Monastery, a structure that had stood for centuries, was nothing but ruins. Smoke still curled lazily into the sky, a stark, grim reminder of the chaos they had fled.
His heart plummeted, aching with a loss that was twofold—Astarion and Lae'zel. Had they made it out? Were they safe? The uncertainty gnawed at him, the idea that he might have failed to protect them, that their fates were unknown because of his actions, was a bitter pill to swallow.
And then there was Arabella. The thought of facing her, of explaining how in saving them, he might have condemned their friends, filled him with dread. The possibility that she might never forgive him for this, for the choice made in a moment of desperation, was almost too much to bear.
As he stood at the cave's entrance, Solas was consumed by a turmoil that ran deep, a mix of relief and regret, of gratitude and guilt. In that moment, the cave was both a haven and a prison, offering refuge from the physical dangers that lurked outside, yet unable to shield him from the storm of emotions raging within.