~O~

As Arabella lay beside Astarion in his tent, sleep remained tantalizingly out of reach. The camp was silent except for the gentle snoring and the steady, trance-inducing rhythm of breathing. She rolled over to face him, startled to find his back was covered in glyphs and writing that held a distinct note of familiarity to her. She leaned closer, examining the words carefully, a sense of dread pooling in the pit of her stomach.

In the silence of the night, the discovery of the markings etched into Astarion's back beneath the dim light pressing against the tent's fabric, revealed a chapter of his past Arabella had never read. The words, a narrative of pain carved in what she now realized was Infernal, only relayed a fraction of the torment he must have endured. Her fingers traced the raised scars, stirring Astarion from his sleep with a snarl borne of instinctive defense. With a swift motion that took her by surprise, he turned to face her.

The moment his eyes locked onto hers, the ferocity that had flashed so briefly dimmed, replaced by a complex mix of emotions. Arabella's gaze, filled with sorrow and empathy, silently communicated her realization of the source of his scars—Cazador, a name synonymous with dread for the pale elf. He turned away, the pain mirrored in her eyes too much to bear, the sardonic armor he often donned nearly slipping in her presence.

"Astarion—" she began, her voice a soft whisper against the heaviness of the revelation.

But he silenced her words with a kiss, a fervent melding of sorrow and passion, a bittersweet acknowledgment of his vulnerability laid bare. There was a desperation in his kiss that surprised her.

It wasn't the first time she had seen this side of him. As they had lain in his tent, she had felt the weight of his grief, the sorrow he kept buried beneath the carefully constructed armor that protected him.

Astarion, for all his charm, was a broken man.

Then, in a gesture of profound intimacy, Astarion allowed Arabella into the deepest recesses of his mind through their tadpole connection. She witnessed the horror of Cazador's cruelty, the excruciating detail of each cut, each revision that tore screams from Astarion's throat. The memory, raw and unfiltered, was a deluge of anguish that threatened to overwhelm her, the echoes of his pain resonating in the silent space between them.

Released from the grip of the memory, Arabella looked up at him through glassy eyes brimming with tears, a mirror to the agony she had just witnessed.

"Why are you crying?" He asked softly, his voice a quiet murmur.

"Because I can feel your pain," she replied, her voice catching as she fought back a sob, "and I can't bear it."

As he brushed her cheek tenderly, his gesture a soothing comfort to the pain he harbored deep within himself, the dam he'd spent a lifetime building to keep out the memories threatened to shatter.

He leaned down and kissed her, gently, tenderly, seeking the distraction she offered. Her lips were soft and yielding, and for a moment he felt a glimmer of hope.

Hope that he might be free of Cazador's tether.

Hope that he might have a chance at freedom and happiness.

And hope that perhaps he'd found the one person who would understand.

His tongue sought hers, as he drank her in, his hand cupping her breast. Arabella arched her back as she moaned, his touch setting her skin afire. He kissed her, hungrily, greedily, desperate to drown out the memories. She whimpered beneath his touch, her body responding eagerly to his ministrations.

"Astarion," she breathed, her voice a soft gasp as he trailed kisses down the length of her neck. His mouth was hungry, his teeth grazing the soft flesh of her collarbone.

His name on her lips sent a jolt of electricity through him, his arousal aching and straining against the fabric of the sheet between them. He wanted her, needed her, to drive away the dark thoughts of his past, to remind him of the present.

He kissed her hungrily, his hand slipping between her legs, his fingers finding her wet and wanting. Her body trembled beneath his touch, and she moaned as he slipped a finger inside her.

"Do you want me?" He asked, his voice a husky whisper.

"Yes," she said with a gasp.

"Show me." His breath on her skin was almost a plea as his mouth trailed a line of kisses along her neck and collarbone. She whimpered softly as he added another finger, her hips arching against his touch.

"Astarion," she moaned, her hands gripping the bedroll beneath her as his fingers curled inside her.

Her moans spurred him on, his cock twitching as he felt her body shudder with pleasure. He kissed her, his mouth hungry and eager as his tongue sought hers.

He withdrew his fingers, and shifted his weight so that he was between her legs, his hands gripping her thighs as he poised himself over her. He entered her slowly, his breath catching at the feel of her body yielding to him. She was warm, wet, and tight around him, and it took every ounce of self-control he had not to drive himself into her with reckless abandon.

"Oh, gods," she moaned as he began to move, her hips moving in time with his own.

The sounds of their breathing mingled with the soft, steady rhythm of the crackling of the camp's fire just outside. Astarion was lost in the pleasure of the moment, the sweet sensation of her body surrounding his. He closed his eyes, focusing on the way she felt, the way she responded to his touch.

He could feel her heartbeat, the pulsing so loud in his ears, it could have been his own. He could feel the warmth of her breath as it mingled with his, the soft, barely perceptible sound of her breathless sighs as they moved together.

He opened his eyes, his gaze locking onto hers as he continued to move. The intensity of his gaze was almost too much to bear, and she felt her body respond to him with a shudder. Her hands moved to his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as she pulled him closer.

He kissed her, his lips brushing against hers, the taste of her on his tongue, a mixture of desire and longing. He could feel her body trembling beneath him, her muscles tightening as she neared her climax.

He quickened his pace, the rhythm of their bodies moving together becoming more intense. He could feel himself growing closer as well, his body tensing as he neared his release.

"Arabella," he whispered, his voice a husky murmur as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of her skin. "Come with me."

With those words, he felt her body give way beneath him, her muscles tightening around him as she came with a strangled cry. He followed soon after, his own climax taking him by surprise. He held onto her, his body shuddering as he rode out the waves of his release, slowly relaxing as he came down from his high.

Astarion held her loosely in his arms, his breath coming in short bursts as he tried to calm his racing heart. An unexpected feeling of discomfort began to spread in his chest, the sensation of being exposed and too real. His eyes shut tightly, as though in an attempt to block out the overwhelming feeling.

She shifted closer, and when he could feel the growing warmth of her body against his, he stiffened involuntarily.

"Astarion?"

"Hmmm?"

"Are you alright?"

His eyes opened slowly, and he met her gaze. He could see the concern in her eyes, and he smiled faintly.

"Yes," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I'm fine, my dear."

Her hand reached up to stroke his cheek, but he caught it before she reached him, slowly bringing it back down to her chest.

"Don't," he murmured, his eyes dark.

He could see the hurt in her eyes, and he cursed himself for causing it. She turned her head away from him, her face hidden in shadows.

"Arabella," he whispered.

"It's alright," she muttered quietly, her face hidden beneath a cascade of black tresses.

Astarion felt the small coil of dread in his stomach begin to unfurl into something darker and tangled, like the roots of an ancient tree, twisting and knotted. He shifted slowly, gathering his clothes and dressing quickly.

"I'm starving... I'm going to see what I can find out there," he said quietly, afraid she would turn around, afraid to meet her gaze.

She nodded silently, still not looking at him. He stood there for a moment, watching her in the dark, before turning and leaving the tent quietly.

Astarion stalked through the camp feeling heavy, his usual grace faltering in the weight of his sorrow. He was a fool, a fool for letting her get so close, a fool for letting himself feel anything for her.

He cursed himself, a string of colorful words uttered under his breath as he made his way to the dark corridors leading to the cursed lands beyond their camp. He knew the only source of sustenance other than his companions, other than her, would be the very thing he was forced to consume for over two centuries. He could hear the scampering of tiny, clawed feet against the smooth stone of the floor, and he snarled, trapping the creature in his grasp effortlessly.

Astarion brought the wriggling rat up to his lips, his teeth sinking into its flesh as it struggled to break free from his grasp. The warm blood trickled down his throat, and he shuddered in revulsion, a deep-seated self-hatred blossoming in his chest. He threw the lifeless body against the wall, his face contorted in disgust, his red eyes darkened with a hate that rivaled the grip of a black and endless void.

~O~

The atmosphere remained stagnant, but an underlying current of foreboding infused it, reminiscent of the tense moment in a dream just before it veers into nightmare territory. Solas observed the elderly wizard intently, who was engaged in quiet conversation with Gale and Arabella. He sensed Astarion's approach before he physically noticed him slipping quietly to his side. He glanced at the vampire spawn out of the corner of his eye, a slight nod of his head acknowledging his presence.

"Well now, aren't we in for a treat? The most powerful wizard in all of Faerûn is here to bestow his wisdom upon us." His tone was dripping with sarcasm. "Perhaps he will have some insight as to why we are stuck in this situation, or perhaps he will simply wave his hand and solve our problems for us."

Solas scoffed lightly, his gaze never leaving the old man. "I highly doubt that. Although, by the look on Gale and Arabella's faces, he does not come bearing good news."

"Of course he doesn't," Astarion grumbled.

They watched as the wizard placed a comforting hand on Gale's shoulder, offering a sympathetic smile before he turned and headed in their direction.

"Oh, joy," Astarion muttered. "Here comes the doom bringer."

Elminster stopped before them, his eyes lingering on Solas for a long moment before stuffing a piece of cheese in his mouth. Solas felt the back of his neck tingle, an uncomfortable sensation prickling over him at the scrutiny. The wizard's expression was unreadable, his dark blue eyes like sapphires in the torchlight. Solas was not a small man by any means, and yet, when this man was near, he felt dwarfed in comparison.

"Solas, I presume? It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." His voice was deep, raspy with age, and yet there was a youthful sparkle in his eye that belied his true age.

Solas gave a slight bow of his head. "The pleasure is all mine, Elminster."

Astarion stepped forward, arms crossed defiantly over his chest, chin raised slightly in challenge. "So, you have come to deliver bad news, I take it? Let me guess. Gale has somehow managed to contract some incurable disease? Or perhaps the magic inside of him is tearing him apart from the inside out? He has no more than a day to live, is that it?"

Elminster's brow creased, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he gazed at the rogue. "Astarion, I presume?"

Astarion chuckled, his white teeth flashing in the firelight. "The one and only."

Elminster's smile grew, his eyes twinkling in amusement as he looked at the approaching Gale, who had an apologetic look on his face. "He is a cheeky one, isn't he?"

Gale rubbed the bridge of his nose, shaking his head as he replied, "He is quite a handful, that's for sure."

Elminster turned back to Astarion, his smile fading as he became serious. "Gale's life is not in danger, but there is a very good reason why he should not be here, in this plane. For now, he poses no danger to you all, but he knows what he must do, when the time comes."

The elderly wizard looked at Solas once more, humming a noise of approval before nodding. "You," he said with a tilt of his head, "follow me, son."

Solas looked at Gale and Astarion with a slight frown before following the wizard to a corner away from the others. Elminster sat on a rock, his hands clasped together on his lap.

"Mystra has sent me with a message for you, as well," he said, his voice low.

Solas was taken aback. "Me?" he asked warily. In the time spent traveling in this realm, he had learned quite a bit about the gods of the land, and Gale certainly held back no stretch of information when it came to the goddess of magic.

Elminster nodded. "Aye, it has been quite some time since she last spoke to you. I suppose she thought it was high time she checked in on you. She has been quite concerned with your predicament, you know."

Solas shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unsure of what to say. He could feel the furrow in his brow deepen. The voice... the one who guided him through the streets of Baldur's Gate the night he stepped through the portal. The same voice who aided him in activating the waypoint in the mountains. "But why? What is her interest in me?" he asked, trying to keep the suspicion out of his voice.

"Well now, I am not really sure, if I am being honest with you," Elminster shrugged. "I am but a humble servant of Mystra, here to deliver her message. As you know, she is the goddess of all things related to magic, and you happen to be an anomaly of sorts. The fact that you were able to travel here from another realm, by means of magic, is enough to warrant her attention. She also has a vested interest in Gale, of which I am sure you are all aware of by now."

Solas raised an eyebrow. He certainly did not know anything about that.

"I suppose the real crux of your situation is only remedied by the one who called you here," the wizard said, his eyes boring into Solas' as he spoke.

Solas narrowed his gaze. "Is that so?"

Elminster nodded. "Aye, and the gods cannot interfere with that matter."

"Why not?" he asked, unable to hide the skepticism in his voice.

Elminster gave a slight smile, leaning back on his hands. "Because they have no jurisdiction over that particular aspect of your journey. That is a matter between you and the one who called you here."

"And who would that be?" Solas felt himself leaning forward slightly, his arms crossed over his chest.

Elminster shrugged. "That is for you to discover. However, it is imperative that you do so, sooner rather than later."

Solas scowled, not appreciating the vague answers. He opened his mouth to retort, but Elminster continued on, seemingly unaware of Solas' mounting frustration.

"Know ye that there is one god above all the gods of Faerûn, a being known as Ao, the One Who Is Hidden. And he has decreed that none of the gods may intervene on your behalf. Yet, you are here on another's behalf, of whom I know nothing about, I'm afraid." The wizard stroked his long beard, his eyes squinting in the firelight. "That makes this a very strange situation indeed. I am at a loss for words, to be frank. The only thing I can tell you is that Ao has forbidden any interference from the gods, and thus they must obey."

Solas shook his head. "I do not understand. Why would he forbid it?"

"Ah, well that is the question, is it not? The gods are forbidden from interacting with mortals in general. Although, the use of avatars, or chosen ones, is the most they are allowed to do. And even then, their interactions are limited. They are not allowed to directly intervene, only guide in certain ways. They cannot compel a person to action, or tell them how to feel, but they can point them in the right direction. It is a fine line, but one that they must adhere to." Elminster sighed heavily, shaking his head. "But for this particular instance, there is no precedent, and so it remains unclear what Ao will do if the gods try to interfere. With you specifically, my boy."

The wizard stood, stretching his back, the firelight casting deep shadows on his aged face. "I must take my leave now, but know that she is watching you with keen interest. We will see each other again, of that I have no doubt." Elminster winked at him before turning away, striding purposefully toward the others.

Solas frowned, watching as Elminster stopped before Gale and Arabella, bowing deeply. "I bid you farewell, friends. I will return to you once more, when the time is right."

Before he could blink, Elminster vanished into thin air, leaving nothing behind but an empty space where he had been standing.

The others stared at the spot where the wizard had been, clearly as bewildered by his sudden disappearance as Solas was.

Before he could get his bearings, Solas' attention was drawn to the sound of Gale clearing his throat loudly, attracting the attention of all in the camp.

"I... well, I suppose there is something important I must share with the lot of you," he began, his face flushed red in the firelight. He glanced at Astarion, who raised an eyebrow, his arms crossed over his chest. "I suppose you are all wondering why Elminster would take a special interest in me? And I assume you are all well aware of my... hunger, of which I have not been entirely honest with you all until now."

Solas looked around at the others. Arabella's face was scrunched in a frown, her eyebrows drawn together as she listened intently. Lae'zel shook her head, scowling, but didn't speak. Wyll and Karlach shrugged noncommittally, while Shadowheart gave him a skeptical look, clearly not impressed. The sound of Halsin's whittling could be heard in the pregnant pause.

"What's this 'orb' Elminster was talking about, Gale?" Arabella asked, her tone clipped and wary.

The wizard took a deep breath. "Well, you see... it's complicated." He then went on to recount his sordid tale of trying to be equal with Mystra, of trying to be worthy of her affections, even as her reassurances and encouragements of contentedness fell on deaf ears. An ancient Netherese tome, the tantalizing secrets of power held within...

"As for what happened next, well," Gale knelt down on one knee, encircled by his companions. "Come, place your hand on my heart," he said to no one in particular, but to anyone who would dare.

Looking around at the small group, Solas locked eyes with Arabella, his frown matching hers. They both felt the same sense of foreboding as they approached the wizard.

Gale sighed heavily, shaking his head. "I cannot hide this from you any longer. I fear that Elminster knows all too well what this thing is, and the consequences of it." His voice was low, heavy with emotion. "I have been carrying this burden for some time now, and I am afraid that it has grown too heavy to bear."

Solas' hand rested gently on Gale's chest, the warmth of the wizard's skin palpable even through the fabric of his shirt. Beside him, Arabella mirrored the gesture, her own hand finding its place over Gale's heart. The others drew nearer, curiosity and concern drawing them in, though they maintained a cautious distance.

As they connected more deeply, the tadpole within Gale stirred, a silent invitation into the shadowed corners of his psyche. Suddenly, they were thrust into the depths of Gale's memories, viewing the world through his eyes. Before them, a book appeared, its binding ominous and foreboding. With a sudden motion, it opened, revealing not pages but an abyssal vortex of the darkest Weave. This entity, a mass of shadows, leaped forth with voracious hunger, its teeth and claws a terrifying promise of consumption. As it invaded Gale's being, intertwining with his essence, they felt the insatiable hunger that now plagued him—a hunger that seemed to devour everything in its path.

The experience was overwhelming. Solas and Arabella gasped, forcibly pulled back from the depths of Gale's dark revelation. Arabella quickly withdrew her hand, a look of distress etched into her features as she tried to erase the sensation from her skin. Solas, however, held his gaze on Gale for a moment longer, his eyes reflecting a mixture of empathy and solemn understanding. It was a silent acknowledgment of the burden Gale bore, of the darkness that now threaded through his very soul.

Finally, Solas too removed his hand, the connection severed, but the weight of what they had witnessed lingered between them.

Gale rose slowly, his expression solemn as he looked between Arabella and Solas.

"If Elminster hadn't been here today, would you have told us?" Arabella asked, her tone stiff, face tense.

"I… yes, of course," Gale responded, running an unsteady hand through his hair. "You heard the man; however, I no longer pose a threat to you all."

"Threat? What in the bloody hells is going on?" Astarion's question sliced through the heavy air, his tone sharp with frustration and a growing sense of betrayal.

Gale, now on his feet, met his gaze with a weary resignation. "It seems I've been harboring more than just arcane hunger," he admitted, his voice laced with a bitter edge of sarcasm. "A Netherese orb rests within me, a ticking bomb of magical energy that demands to be fed. Elminster, acting on Mystra's behalf, has merely... postponed its detonation."

Astarion's expression shifted from confusion to incredulity. "So, our resident wizard is not just a bottomless pit for magic items but a walking, talking catastrophe waiting to happen? Wonderful," he quipped, the sarcasm dripping from each word like venom. "And here I thought my own sanguine hunger was the group's peak of absurdity."

Gale's eyes narrowed, a spark of irritation igniting within him. "Your questionable nature does not, in fact, hold a monopoly on our group's challenges, Astarion," he retorted, the air between them charged with tension. "The orb is now a last resort, a means to an end in battling the influence of the tadpole. Elminster's intervention has bought us time, nothing more."

The argument escalated, their voices a clash of wit and sarcasm, each barb aimed with precision.

Seizing an opening, Astarion delivered a pointed jab that cut to the heart of their recent unease. "Incredible that you had the nerve to worry about Solas' secrets," he quipped. "Yet, here you are, a walking magical time bomb, and you thought Solas was the one we should be wary of?"

Gale's expression tightened, the weight of Astarion's words hitting closer to home than he cared to admit. "A fair point," he conceded, albeit reluctantly, avoiding Solas' gaze. "But my fears regarding Solas were not unfounded, just as our current predicament with this...orb...demands our caution."

It was Solas who finally intervened, his voice cutting through the heated exchange with an authority that brooked no argument. "Enough," he stated firmly, stepping between Gale and Astarion. "Our energies would be better spent focusing on the task at hand rather than indulging in petty squabbles. Gale's situation, while dire, is not beyond our ability to address, but it requires unity, not division."

The intensity of his words seemed to cool the air, a reminder of the stakes at play, but also a reminder that they each carried their own burden. After a tense moment, Astarion stepped back, his features settling into a begrudging acceptance. Gale, for his part, offered a nod of gratitude toward Solas, the lines of stress softening slightly on his face.

As the band dispersed to their separate corners, Solas noticed the way Arabella's gaze lingered on Astarion's retreating form. She looked forlorn, a hint of anger in her gaze that confused him. They had just shared a peaceful evening between the three of them the night before, and he knew she went to the vampire's tent afterward.

Gale, his eyes following the scene unfolding before them, simply sighed next to him. "You know what they say," he said, "A man who's afraid of heights fears love for the same reason. You're either too high, or too low."

Solas' face scrunched up in confusion at the saying. "That... is an interesting proverb. I can't say I've ever heard it before."

"Well," Gale said, clapping Solas on the shoulder, "stick around me long enough, and you'll find you'll have a plethora at your disposal."

Solas offered a smile, though it failed to reach his eyes. "Good night, Gale." He nodded at the wizard before turning to head in the direction of Arabella's secluded spot, driven by a desire to uncover the events that had transpired between her and Astarion.