Author's Note 4/12/24: I'm planning on updating once a week on either Friday or Saturday. I am also planning on this being 7 chapters long.
1.
Talia sits daintily at the edge of his bed, covered only by the rumpled sheet. Her eyes staring unfocused at the two servants seated on the floor by the brazier. They work at a feverish pace to meet their master's demand; a new dress for her. So wholly distracted, her mind miles away, she doesn't even feel him moving beside her.
Astarion's lips brush against the scar at her neck, his warm breath tickling her, surprising her. An unexpected squeak escaping her lips as she tenses. He chuckles, speaking into her skin,
"Are you hungry, pet? If you are, you may have one of them." He nods towards the two on the floor.
"No, my Lord. I am quite satisfied from what I had earlier, thank you." She shakes her head, her hair swaying, brushing against his arm as he leans closer.
"Hah! How is it that you have so little an appetite?" He balks at this one remaining mystery of her vampiric nature. She had been insatiable as a mortal, before he had changed her. But for whatever reason she never suffered the hunger their kind always do.
Her brows furrow, slightly puzzled as she watches him chuckle, wondering what she could have done to make him laugh so. It is strange that she hasn't felt hungry since he found her. There was a mild hunger… or thirst? She doesn't even know which really, when she had that first drink of blood. But it wasn't anything like what she would feel after a long day of dancing or working. It's been an odd experience. All of it. Not just her lack of appetite, but also her mysterious change; how she is now a vampire, and how this man makes her feel. It's like being a stranger in her own body. None of the things that just days ago would have been normal, mundane… No… Not days ago…
He says nothing more, only pulls her back down onto the bed with him. Talia shuts her eyes tight and nestles into the nook at his shoulder, pushing away such thoughts. He need not see her sorrow, nor even know of it. She inhales deeply, marveling at how she fits so perfectly here. This comfortable place where she can feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, listening to the beating of his heart.
Talia's cool fingers trace lazy circles on his warm skin as he strokes her hair, pulling some of it over them to fiddle with. Both of their minds drifting back to earlier, to their return to his pavilion. Where he admonished her for leaving, for behaving as though she were some lowly camp follower, for thinking he would not provide her with everything she requires. And she had sweetly giggled at him for being so very angry with her over such a simple thing. She had only wished to have something to wear. She even had a way of paying for clothing; she just wasn't expecting the soldier. She apologized for that, telling him she did not think he would want to share her, and she was right. As the words left her lips he had grabbed her face, telling her in no uncertain terms that she belongs to him, and him alone. And at that she smiled, relishing his possessiveness, the darkness within her thrumming with delight as he fucked her again.
The servants finish and stand, waiting for her. Talia slips from his embrace and traipses over to where one of them holds out the newly fashioned dress. Astarion's eyes follow her every move, watching as she steps into it, holding very still as the dress is pulled up her naked body. She looks down, admiring its quality despite the haste in which it was made. It is more or less a simple copy of the gown she had been wearing, just without the elaborate embroidery or golden braids holding the front up and going down her back. Instead, the straps are the same silk as the sheet they sacrificed to make it.
Astarion tuts under his breath, walking away from the bed, circling around her, appraising the garment. He exhales sharply, pursing his lips, looking her up and down,
"I suppose it will have to do."
"You do not approve?" Her hands smooth the silk down her body as she twists this way and that, giving him a better look at how it drapes so nicely over her curves.
"It is not as I would like to see you clothed. I would prefer something closer to what you n-" He stops himself, quickly continuing before she can notice, "To what you were found wearing. That gown was much better suited to you, darling."
"I think they have done a lovely job with so little to work with. Figaro over at Facemaker's would be proud I'd think," She smiles down at the gown, thinking of the fun she had at the boutique going for fittings with Ana, "I suppose that shop is long gone… the city must be so different now…"
"My sweet Lycoris, why do you look so sad?" His hand begins to slide around her waist, but she does not turn to look at him, her mind elsewhere.
"Sorry, my Lord," Again she doesn't say his name and again his eyes grow fierce, but she doesn't see it. Her sad eyes stare at a mirror devoid of her reflection, "Will it suit until we reach a town?"
"It will," His hold on her waist tightens, bringing her closer. She quickly blinks away her burgeoning tears and focuses instead on him, chastising herself for faltering. He smiles, admiring her glistening differently colored red eyes, "We will depart tomorrow after dawn. The carriage can make better time than most of the army, so we will go ahead with just the cavalry as our escort."
"Are the roads so dangerous here?" She wonders why an entire army's cavalry needs to accompany them all the way out here. Were the rebellions he spoke of closer than she thought?
"They can be. I do not wish to risk your safety. It should only take three days to reach Channathgate. The governor there has a passable manse we will stay in until the army catches up. The rest of the journey must be made with the army. But there will be no hurry once we reach Sheirtalar."
"Why no hurry? Do you not need to return the soldiers home?"
"Hahaha. No. Why would I need to return my soldiers? We will be taking a leisurely pace, enjoying all that the great port cities have to offer ones such as us."
Her brows furrow ever so slightly for only an instant, wondering what he meant when he included her in his station, but she pushes the thought aside,
"As my Lord pleases." She smiles sweetly up at him as he brings his face down to hers. His free hand waves, dismissing the servants so he can have her all to himself again.
Astarion's kisses grow fierce, descending to her neck, drinking her again, eliciting a whimpered moan from Talia's lips. His hands move, grasping at her dress, beginning to pull at it as she tries to gently move them,
"Do try not to tear this one, my Lord. They have only just finished it." The softest of giggles accompanies the reticent touch of her hands.
"I will do as I wish." He growls into her neck as he pulls harder at the seams.
"... Please don't…" She begs in the faintest of whispers, fearing being too defiant.
"Of course, my sweet." He purrs into her scars, relenting.
Instead Astarion slides the delicate straps of the gown off her shoulders, letting it flutter to the floor. He kisses her again, lifting her out of the pile, and returning them to the bed. Talia only mildly wonders why this lord's appetite for her doesn't seem to abate. But she doesn't really care. She is just as hungry for him.
As they lay resting in the bed again something else about the day hovers at the back of her mind. Something about the officer calling him by a title usually reserved for royalty and him calling the soldiers his. Is he more than a high lord? Perhaps when he said 'ones such as us' he had meant… She shakes her head, nuzzling further to nestle into her little nook. There's no sense in dwelling on it, he hasn't said, and she won't ask; it's not her place to question her patrons.
2.
Talia's hand rests comfortably in the crook of Astarion's elbow as they walk through camp, everyone quickly bowing out of their way as they approach. She glances around, taking in the sheer size of this encampment, now finally spotting her fellow camp followers. They had been in the opposite direction she had tried looking. If only she had gone that way instead, she would not have caused trouble. She also would not have discovered how fearsome her lord could be. The brief return to that memory makes her shiver, wanting to feel that ferocity again. But what would angering him mean for this little arrangement?
As her gaze turns away from the few men and women standing there in their scant attire, she notices one of them staring at her, thinly veiled contempt in her eyes. The woman has bronze freckled skin with long flowing red hair, but the similarities with Talia end there. For the woman is human and quite tall, taller even than Astarion, her dark eyes continuing to follow as they move past. Talia muses that the woman needs better training, showing her personal disappointment at not being chosen this time. There must not be high class courtesans as camp followers this far from cities. Even Talia thinks she would not willingly follow an army on campaign were she back home in her time.
The carriage is just as opulent as his pavilion had been dark painted wood with gold-leaf scrollwork, even precious stones embedded in the eyes of bats, wolves and dragons painted over the entire thing. The inside has overstuffed plush velvet benches with soft pillows and dark curtains to keep out the world. Four large black horses are lined up in the front, braying and shaking out their manes, ready to go. She tries to keep her awe from showing, but Astarion hears the little gasp of excitement from her.
"It is not the grandest of our carriages, but it is the fastest." He's not as careful as he should be in his speech, her eyes flicking up to him when he says 'our'.
"It is truly magnificent. I cannot imagine a grander one." She peers up at his beaming face, how very like a noble to enjoy showing off his fine things to his latest toy.
He helps her inside, fussing and directing his attendant to be sure of her comfort, another servant placing a basket down at their feet. Once Astarion is satisfied with how everything is arranged his attendant closes the door and they're left to fully settle in. He pulls her in close to him so she leans back against him with her legs tucked up. Talia enjoys the warmth of him and the smell of bergamot that lightly clings to his coat. He taps the window and almost immediately the carriage shifts, the driver careful not to jostle them over much, as they urge the horses to move. Their speed increases gradually, and once the pace is set, it is the fastest Talia has seen a carriage move.
The road is well maintained and smoother than she would have thought for such a remote place, making the ride quite comfortable. Astarion has had his arm wrapped around her the whole of the morning, never ceasing his hold on her. All the while he talks to her of the skirmish he was out here for when she was discovered. Talia listens politely, asking questions when she thinks he's taken a pause for her to do so, and he happily answers.
But eventually he quiets, busying himself by reaching over to pull a lock of her hair forward to fiddle with it. The two sitting in pleasant quiet, watching the forest blur past their windows, the late morning sun shining in on them. His fingers twirl the end of her hair, his eyes focusing intently,
"Such a lovely color…" He holds the little piece up to the sunlight.
"Thank you, my Lord. I am happy it pleases you." She glances up at his face, remembering the scowling woman from camp and her flowing red hair.
"Hm," His breath stirs the hair around her face, "Blood red… My favorite..." He twists it in the light, letting it shift and shimmer in his grasp.
"A very specific shade of red seems to please you most, my Lord." His words reminding her of someone from her past… Someone she had hoped… No. No, she can't think of Him now, nor ever. He's dead. She must keep all such memories repressed, buried deep down to be forgotten; they will do her no good to think on now, or ever again.
"It does. I quite enjoy blood…" He lets her hair slip through his fingers so he may pick up her hand, "Yours in particular is quite delectable." He brings her wrist up to his lips, teasing a bite as she giggles softly.
"Are you also…" He bites down and she squirms, "Ahhhh…"
"A vampire?" He stops, leaving his smiling lips pressed to his punctures, feeling her blood well up against them, "Not quite."
He licks the drops and continues to drink from her, listening to her breath quickening, watching her bite her lip as she tries to keep from moaning. He cannot contain his joy in having her like this again, seeing her take pleasure in everything he does to her. He stops drinking, kissing her wrist, moving up her arm to her lips, pulling her to straddle him. His hands hold her curves, her hips gently moving as she moans into his kiss.
Talia lifts herself up enough to get her hands down to where she feels his hardness straining against the fabric of his pants. She looses him, her hands stroking him before she slides down, taking all of his cock inside of her, gasping at the feel of him. She waits for him to kiss her again as she begins her work, desperately wanting to hide just how much she enjoys fucking him.
Astarion's lips do not return to hers, going to her shoulders instead, kissing and biting them. His hands move to the front of her dress, pushing it further open letting her breasts spill out. He pinches and teases her nipples before taking one into his mouth. He bites down and rolls the peaked tender nub between his teeth. Talia cries out, tightening around him, cumming, continuing to roll her hips, unable to resist having more.
He holds her tight against him and begins to buck up into her, slamming hard into her wet pussy, her orgasm continuing to wrack her body. He loses himself in the pleasure of her, biting into her scars, the proof of what he made her, that she belongs to him. The taste of her blood and her body losing control around him brings him to his own end, emptying himself inside of her, pulling his fangs from her throat so she can kiss his bloodied lips.
Talia stays there, her insatiable lord breathing heavily, cupping her face, looking into her eyes, smiling, whispering,
"Gods, you're beautiful…"
He had almost forgotten how she glowed afterwards. How her cheeks would flush even in her undead state. How her lips looked, parted and softly smiling when she was coming down from her ecstasy. Never again will he give her up.
3.
Talia kneels on the floor opening up the basket while their procession takes a short break. There's meat pies and fruit for the lord and a bottle of blood for her. She arranges a plate for him but leaves the bottle. She sits on the floor, dangling her legs out the open door of the carriage, enjoying the sunny afternoon.
"You should drink, my sweet. It has been a long ride."
"I am fine, my Lord. I have no thirst as of yet."
She turns, glancing back over her shoulder only to see him rising, a grim look on his face. He looms over her, stooping down to grasp her chin firmly between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look up into his crimson eyes,
"I have had quite a bit from you already, and I intend to indulge further," His voice brims with menace. Talia stares at him for what feels like an eternity, "Drink." He commands.
Her body grows desirous for his fury, her darkness thrilled by him; but she cannot let him know this about her. She can't let him see this part of her. He must never know of her darker urges. She must keep him happy. She needs him to keep her until they reach Baldur's Gate.
"As you wish, my Lord," It's what she used to say to him, but she never said, 'my Lord', she always called him 'my love'… His mind floods with memories of his Talia, always giving him what he wanted when he wanted it. Her dark need, as Her Chosen, to be his, fueling her willing obedience. She brings the bottle to her lips, tips her head back and drinks, nearly draining it in one go. Not a drop spilled as she stops and places it back in the basket, "Satisfied, my Lord?"
His eyes drift to her disappointingly clean mouth. She was always a messy drinker… when she was having fun.
Dusk colors the sky and their traveling for the day comes to an end. The swiftness of their party means the baggage train will not be with them, instead traveling with the rest of the army. So, there is to be no luxurious tent set up. Instead, the cabin of the carriage is converted to a grand bed for them to spend their night in comfort.
Astarion eats his dinner as Talia finishes the bottle from earlier. They had spent the rest of the ride in oppressive silence, neither knowing why the other wouldn't speak. Talia is afraid she has upset him and now he will be done with her before even reaching the first town. Astarion only wishes for her to be the way she was in their life before. But he cannot think how to get her to behave that way without revealing the truth; thus, risking ruining everything.
"What do you usually do at night when on campaign?" Talia ventures the first words.
"Read." His terse response hangs heavily between them.
She tries again, her anxiety rising at his short reply,
"Are you always alone?"
"Not always. Though when I'm not alone I am usually engaged in… other activities." His eyes stare into hers.
"I see… Do you not play any games, my Lord?" She cannot think he means he only reads alone or has a bed warmer for company.
"Depends… What games are you speaking of?" His mood shifts, he wants to see where she's going with this.
"Cards, my Lord. Do you truly not play?" Her brows furrow almost concerned that this lord sounds so isolated; lonely even.
"I do," His smile warms, happy to see this is where she went, "Come, let us have a game, shall we?" He calls out to his attendant, and a moment later a deck of cards is presented to him, "Dealer's choice?"
She relaxes, smiling brightly at him, relieved to have his foul mood changed so easily. Astarion sets to shuffling and dealing the cards. He watches her, smirking to himself, as she organizes her hand and plays the first move.
Several rounds progress, each pulling his brows closer together, knitting into a pronounced scowl. Talia keeps her face placid, taking in his agitation at how the game is going; he is not as skilled at this as she is. His next turn comes, and she notices something odd… an extra flourish of his hand over the deck and discard piles… He's cheating and she saw it… It was so quick, so subtly executed, and she saw it all the same. She smirks, how very like a lord to hate losing to the point of cheating in order to win. She says nothing, of course, merely adjusting her strategy to let him win.
Three games of her starting off strong, giving him a challenge he cannot overcome, then slowly letting her lead slip away until he is victorious. With each win he guffaws triumphantly, gloating. It only serves to turn his attempts at being magnanimous into folly as he tells her that with a bit of practice she will, perhaps one day, defeat him. Talia demurely apologizes for her poor playing. She promises to do better next time, leaving her lord to crow his victories as he kisses her and claims his winnings.
4.
Channathgate sprawls out over a larger swath of the countryside than Talia would have thought. The main road coming in from the highway is paved and quite wide, leading to the town square. A grand fountain sprays water into the air and beyond it is an impressive manse surrounded by an iron gate that sits open. Going down either side of the main street are shops of every kind and restaurants with tables set outside beneath fluttering awnings. The whole town bustles with people enjoying the warm sunny day.
Their carriage goes through the gate and stops briefly. Her lord speaks to someone Talia cannot see, but she can hear him greeting Astarion, calling him 'Your Grace'. She raises her brow, tilting her head, straining to hear without looking like she's eavesdropping. What is this lord that this is how, yet another person addresses him by such a title? They continue to talk, so she is able to garner that the man outside is the governor, and that they will be returning after a trip to the shops. Then, quite suddenly, Astarion turns to her as the carriage starts to pull away again,
"You are in desperate need of proper attire, my sweet. We shall be going to the only passable dress shop in this sad little town."
"As you wish, my Lord." Again, she says neither his name nor 'my love' and he must swallow his resentment.
The ride is very short, the carriage pulling in front of a fine-looking boutique. There are beautifully colored gowns displayed prominently in large windows, a few patrons and clerks milling about inside. Astarion's attendant rushes into the shop ahead of them while Astarion slows their exit from the carriage. Talia wonders at the delay, he was so impatient a moment ago, but then she sees what is happening. All the other patrons are shuffled out of the shop, leaving it empty for just them.
She walks in holding his arm, the now ousted customers looking on in wonder, their words whispered so low she cannot discern what's being said. She tries looking back at them, but they're shooed away by armed guards that then bar the entrance. Astarion releases her and begins speaking with the proprietor. Talia drifts away to look at the fine gowns on mannequins, one tucked into a back corner catching her eye.
She goes over to it, her hand reaching out tentatively to feel the softness of the black silk. It is so like her Paramour gown she wore for masquerades. Long sleeves trimmed in black fur, deeply low cut down the front, a high slit up one side and a teasingly exposed back. It is not quite as revealing as her gown had been, but it nonetheless brings back pleasant memories, and she smiles while stroking the garment. She never notices Astarion's eyes on her, watching her meander from one gown to the next, noting which ones call to her enough that she reaches out to touch them.
She stops her wanderings to return to her lord's side, suddenly realizing there's a shop attendant hurriedly gathering everything that had caught her eye. Talia gazes up at Astarion, a bit baffled. He smiles down at her indulgently,
"You did admire all of these, did you not, my sweet?"
"Yes, but… But you need not purchase them all. I do not require so much, my Lord. You do not-"
"You will be dressed as it pleases me to dress you. Though these are all in need of altering… I do have my preferences…" He smirks down at her, arching a brow.
"As it pleases you, my Lord." Talia returns his smirk with a coy one of her own, understanding that he would prefer to have more of her on display, and she quite appreciates his tastes.
The dressmaker takes Talia aside to obtain her measurements. As she does that Astarion also orders a few cloaks and some things that would be more suited to outdoor activities. The proprietor assures Astarion that at least two of the dresses will be ready by evening, some requiring very little by way of alterations. He nods before collecting Talia, wrapping his arm around her and escorting her back to their carriage.
They return to the governor's manse, the gates groaning loudly as the carriage is let through. As it pulls to a stop and the door is opened Astarion lets out an irritated click of his tongue, holding his hand out for Talia. She takes it, stepping out and looking over to see what is vexing him. Along one side of the steps leading up to the door is a small coterie of girls: Talia looking very similar to all of them… Each one young, pretty, with bronze skin, and varying shades of red hair, one even having mismatched eyes like hers; violet and jade. At least how her eyes used to be, she is unsure what they look like now that she is a vampire. Are they even still mismatched? Talia says nothing, her face serene, not even glancing at them as she walks past on Astarion's arm. None of them show any signs of discontent, merely bowing their heads as they are passed over.
The governor stands beaming at the top of the steps, but as Talia gets closer, she can see he is forcibly spreading his lips into a pained grimace. There's sweat beading around his upper lip and along his hairline. He is clearly nervous, terrified even. He bows briefly, welcoming them inside, excusing the absence of his husband; he is off shopping in town at the moment.
On the governor leads, speaking in stuttered starts and stops, constantly bowing before bringing them to the grandest of the mansion's bedchambers. Astarion hushes the man, dismissing him with nothing more than a harsh look. The governor quickly backs out of the door where Astarion's attendant stands, waiting for his master's next command.
Talia walks further into the rooms, taking it all in as Astarion and his attendant approach the desk at the back of the room by the windows. Everything seems freshly cleaned, dust motes still settling back down after having been recently disturbed. One side of the room has a door left open leading to the bedroom, the other side has a comfortable looking chaise set before a grand fireplace, two more smaller doors on either side of it that remain closed.
She goes to lay on the chaise, ignoring whatever it is they're muttering about. She lifts one leg then the other, stretching a bit as her mind thinks on those girls...
Eventually the attendant is dismissed and Astarion walks over to look down at Talia as she lounges comfortably. She smirks, a mischievous gleam in her eyes, chancing a playful question,
"You have a type, don't you?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Those girls lined up on the steps. Your little menagerie… You can't deny I bear a striking resemblance to them."
"What do you mean by that?" He clenches his jaw, his heart beginning to hammer uncomfortably in his chest. He can't have her figuring anything out yet. He needs time.
"There's no shame in it, my Lord. I don't mind that you enjoy me because of it. Everyone has their personal tastes," She rocks her legs side to side before lifting one to rest along the back of the chaise. Her dress falls between her legs, her fingers moving, gathering up the fabric almost to the point of revealing herself, "I wonder, do you often enjoy them together?" He stares down at her, "You could have more than just me in your bed if you desired…" Her voice lowers to a husky whisper, her eyes darkening with lustful teasing.
Astarion leans over her, one hand gripping the arm of the chaise behind her head, the other sliding up her thigh pushing her gown fully up, exposing her. He brings himself down onto her, nestling between her legs so she can feel him hard for her, grinding on her exposed wet folds, making her moan.
"No need. You're all I require in my bed, pet."
She says nothing, keeping her eyes trained on his, her hands sliding down his body to open his pants, freeing his cock. Her hand grips him, stroking up and down, slowly, watching him tense up at the languid pace. His hand travels up her body, pushing aside her dress to pinch a nipple, twisting, pulling and she arches into it.
"As you wish, my Lord." She pants out her words, tipping her head back, inviting him to kiss her, as her hand continues stroking him.
He smiles viciously, claiming her lips as she guides him into her, both of them gasping at the feel of the other. His cock fills her, pushing deep inside before thrusting, hard and slow. With every heavy impact she whimpers into their kiss. His mouth moves from hers to her throat as her hands tangle into his shirt, pulling, bringing him down onto her, his fangs piercing her skin. She cries out in ecstatic agony as he bites harder, not just drinking her, but savaging her flesh. He holds her still with his teeth, his hands moving to grip her thighs, pushing them open wider, pinning them down. His thrusts building speed, slamming into her faster, her body beginning to tighten up around him.
"Harder!" Her frantic cry for him to be rough with her fuels him.
He rips away from her throat, using all his strength to pound relentlessly into her dripping wet pussy. Her climax courses through her body, making her shiver, pulsing, squeezing tight around him. Her blood spills down her neck, staining her dress and the chaise beneath her. The beautifully ruined state of his love is the end of him. One last forceful thrust before he empties himself into her. His fingers dig into her soft thighs as he waits for the shudders of release to subside.
He relinquishes his hold on her legs to go back down to her, to taste her blood. He drags his tongue from one blood-soaked nipple up over her collarbone and back to the slowing flow at her scar. Astarion cannot get enough of her.
All the while Talia clings desperately to him, wanting to feel more of him on her. She doesn't understand how or why her body responds so intensely to his touch. Why she feels her goddess' blessing on her when she's with him. It matters little. Whatever he wants from her, she will give him. A strange new desire coming from deep within her, a need to be his to do with as he pleases.
He stays there, buried in her neck, breathing in the smell of her skin as a bitter memory worms its way into his thoughts. A dark voice from a cruel god, whispering falsehoods,
"She is nothing special… Just another pretty face and willing body. How many have you bedded on your campaigns? How many has she, while you're away at war? You think yourself the only one to have fucked her in all these centuries? Do not be a fool… You will find another just like her. You have all of eternity to replace her… Give her to my beloved. Give her to her goddess as she herself so desires… Do this and I shall gift all my followers to you… Every one of them the world over will heed my call. They will come to you and then you will make them into an immortal army that will overrun all that stand in your way... Dominate this world… in your name… and Mine…"