ASTARION POV

He breathed easier as they stepped out onto the surface again, with the sun on his skin and a fresh breeze in his hair, the group finished their initial scope of the Goblin's camp. They set up their own camping supplies across a ridge in the safety of a thicket, and he considered the last three days spent down in the Underdark, running around the glowing tendrils of some plant or another, fighting for the plants with those fungal people in need. And as much as Astarion wasn't keen on sticking his precious neck out more than needed, he could appreciate the Sovereign's approach. Scorched earth indeed. The Deugar were nothing but nasty little bastards enslaving those deep gnomes and massacring the Mykonoid colonies. So Astarion putting his blade to them, or his arrows, was not a problem. It was hardly noble of him though, considering that he was mainly using it for his own catharsis.

If only someone had ever found out Cazador's crimes and put an end to him in a similar way. The thought was a welcome one. To look back on that time of captivity and imagine those big doors being kicked open by some Hero figure, to watch Cazador's world burn. But the daydream came with that bittersweet tang at the end – as if anyone would be powerful enough to end Cazador. A Vampire Lord for so many centuries, hidden in plain sight and adored by the finer people of Balder's Gate for his family's lavish parties and oh-so-generous fundraisers. All masks for the madness within. All silver gilding for the shit directly beneath. And that was why whenever the thought cropped up, Astarion quickly threw it aside. Not worth thinking over. Not worth fretting over. That past couldn't be changed, he had still stewed inside those dank walls for two centuries, forgotten by the world, abandoned by any notion of 'hope'.

But it rather proved Amaya's point from the other day, when speaking of the Goblins. Personally, I would want someone doing a bit of fighting for me, simply because they could put themselves in my shoes. If someone, anyone, had ever noticed the crimes of Cazador, and could have seen the despair he forced upon his spawn… Astarion's teeth set together. A foolish notion. Who would ever see the good in the spawn? They'd have been blamed along with their Master, pushed into the sunlight and left to burn. Then again… Sometimes that would have been a kinder option. Countless times Astarion had sought a quiet part of the palace, somewhere the stone walls didn't echo with a new victim, somewhere the blood hadn't been spilled that day, or simply not quite cleaned from the night before. Rare moments. To be totally alone in the palace, with nothing but his own thoughts and the moonlight to think on. But those moments had held some peace. Momentarily. With nothing else to think on but the stretch of time before him, and laying in his wake, Astarion had never known loneliness like it. He was nothing. Only a shadow. A pretty face sometimes spotted in a crowd, but never known. Never really seen. Not for more than that one night, or at most two while the noose was tightened.

He shook his head free of such thoughts.

It did nothing but make his heart heavy in the present.

That life, though only a few days before, maybe a week ago at most, felt separate now. Like it was another person's existence. Not him anymore. Not the him currently stood in the sunshine, able to close his eyes and bask in that heat, hearing the world around him thrum with life. And as the present him focused on that kiss of sunlight, his memories of cold moonlit torment paled. Even if only slightly.

Still, after those three days of running through the Underdark, hiding, fighting, scraping blood and heavens-knew-what else off their blades and boots, he was glad to see a glimmer of true daylight again. Not only due to the sheer novelty remaining gleefully at the front of his shadowed mind, but also because that meant their plans could continue.

Time to find Halsin within that Goblin camp and see what the Druid could do for the tadpoles. For as much as Astarion enjoyed the touch of the sun on his skin, and the freedom to think, he wasn't exactly sold on the idea of becoming an Illithid – which of course was a vast understatement. But he had already been transformed once in his long life, and that had been bad enough. He wasn't sure he could endure another. Feeling his body, flesh, and mind warp. His newly sharpened teeth forcing their ways through his gums. His new unlife scraping into being. Even as horrible as that had been, having to dig himself out of his own grave, he doubted it was half as bad as ceremorphosis. He had no intention of trying it for comparison.

On top of everything else though, it had also been another three days of expecting Amaya to remember. For her to suddenly sit up straight and know where she was, who she was, and perhaps even who he was as well. For her to turn to him with eyes filled with memories of their shared three months of stolen evenings. But the hours rolled by and nothing. The nights drew in, the camp fell asleep, the dawns broke, and nothing. It had to be more than the shock of the Nautiloid. He wondered if something had happened to her in those short moments they had been separated. She had acted like she was fleeing from something. Or someone. Had they found her that night? Done something to her mind? He wasn't sure. She would ask the others of their pasts, even him, and listen intently to it all. Curious. She was still oh-so-curious about the world. He was glad. Clearly that was a cornerstone of her not some act cooked up for pretence.

On their patrol, she had called him 'in love with life', and it had been a rather adorably misplaced notion. He enjoyed spreading his wings where he could, sure. But he had only really enjoyed things fleetingly in his long time upon Faerun's stony hide. And only more frequently in her company. Most of which, she couldn't even recall. Like the time the warm weather had allowed them to sit out on the street, perched on the cobbles at their little table, a bottle of wine in between them, slowly being emptied. And the streets had bustled. Oh, they had bristled with activity. And she had enjoyed it all, watched it all, commented on it all as her big eyes drank in the details. It had been their third week of meeting, not even at the end of their first month knowing each other, but he had begun to gather an inkling.

She had never said it, but she was hiding. They were outside, yes, but tucked back against the building behind the other patrons. She had also cut her hair even shorter than before, it's pixie-like style suiting to her but clearly meant to disguise. And even then, he had the horrible feeling they had some common ground in this hiding. She loved seeing the world around her. Adored watching people simply being people. All of it fascinated her, as if she had not been privy to it for a long time. Or ever. Like she had been kept in the dark like he had. The small marks on her hands were ever present, but he had gotten a better look bit by bit, meeting by meeting, and they were definitely defensive in nature. And numerous. And they had likely been very deep. Horrors lay in her past, which she held tight to her chest. But he also didn't feel like she hid it out of mistrust, if anything, with the way she would swerve to another subject, he suspected she kept quiet in order to protect him. As if even knowing would put him in danger.

The idea was striking for a few reasons. Firstly, that she would consider her past and connections that damning. Secondly, that she felt she wanted to protect their little connection already after so little time in one another company. But thirdly, the reason that made him stop to sip his wine a little more thoroughly as his throat pinched as they had sat on those cobbles, was that she considered him worthy of protection. It was something so wholly kind that he didn't know how to take it. At first he tried to consider the strings, but really… other than a drinking buddy, she hadn't much to gain from his company. She didn't know of his strengths in a fight, they had never discussed such things. At least not at that point. No, she simply wished to protect him, because he was him. And that was enough.

What an utterly alien concept.

Looking back on it, watching her in the present as she returned from a patrol with Karlach, their smiles broad as they finished their discussion, he knew it had been that realisation that began his foolish feelings. The real ones. The ones currently buried deep for a few reasons. And worst still, he knew it still applied. Even if he didn't know why she had suddenly turned around the night they were taken, even if he didn't know where she had gone off to when he lost track of her, even if he had no notion of what she had been running from in the first place, he still cared for her. Deeply.

"Idiot." He scolded himself, stirring the pot as Shadowheart had instructed a little too nannily ten minutes beforehand.

His teeth nipped at his tongue. His feelings, true or not, allowed or not, still had to be considered in context. And that context included the long dingy shadow of his own final intentions for the night they were taken. He had been taking her to Cazador. A direct order had been strangling him their entire final night, nudging him, distracting him, searing in his mind with his master's will stoking the flames. Astarion had been about to hand her over. To watch her die. To be the cause of her death. If she did recall things, then she would no doubt be wondering why he had suddenly insisted on taking her home. And if his connections to Cazador were ever revealed… How would she ever trust him again? And so the feelings stayed buried – while the fears bubbled to the surface.

How would any of them trust him once they knew of his nature? Sure, they all had pasts. But his own rather pointedly coloured his present as well. He was a Vampire Spawn. He required blood in order to sustain himself – he had managed to sneak out of the camp so far and find the animals nearby to make do. But one of his travelling party would notice eventually. They weren't total fools. Especially not Amaya. She saw things, she already had spotted him holding things back, 'brooding' as he had dismissed it as. It wouldn't be long… And he had to figure out what to say when it happened. Or did he bring it up first? Could he admit such a thing? He'd never really had to before. No one had been around long enough to ask, and once they knew, it was when they were in Cazador's clutches.

"Astarion!"

He jolted and looked into the extra grumpy face of Shadowheart as she took the spoon from him and stirred quickly.

She rolled her eyes. "I gave you one job!"

"I was stirring it, for goodness sake."

"At the speed of a snail. I swear if this has burnt to the bottom…" She grumbled and he backed away, letting her stew with her… well, stew.

He walked away towards his tent, mind rumbling loudly as he ground his teeth and tried to claw back some composure. The question of revealing the truth or being found out would be made moot if he went and lost his nerve. But as he reached for his tent he paused, he looked back over his shoulder. Yes, Amaya was watching again. Her cheeks pinked and she looked back towards the fire, shoulders tensed. Yes, she had been spotted. He smirked when she peeked again and he dipped his head, making her flinch and blush all the harder. Yes, playing the part of the renegade he grinned, he winked, and he hated himself for it.

Noble. That was what she had said he looked like. As if he were built for the finer parts of their world, the luxurious parts of life. And of course, he enjoyed them. His wine choices were impeccable whenever possible. But he had always seen that as him pretending. Reaching desperately for something he was not born to. Pretending with all his might while he swilled in the dirt, and fed from rancid rats. But she saw something 'noble' in him. Knowing so little else about him, she saw that refined nature and assumed it to be true. She believed in it. In him? He shook himself down and stepped into his tent. Concealed once more he drew a deep breath.

What did her searching looks mean?

It might mean her mind was clasping at details, recalling things. Or maybe, even without their previous connection, she was still drawn to him. Not that she really had been in the first place, as far as he knew. She had been at the bar, minding her own business. He approached her. A sigh rattled from him and he picked up one of the tomes Gale had decided he couldn't glean anything useful from. Astarion flicked through, seeking to get lost in its pages instead. If nothing came of this travelling together other than keeping one another safe, perhaps that was best.

Certainly, it was easiest.

AMNE POV

Bloody hells. Once again he had caught me looking, and gods be damned if it didn't make my face be lit on fire every single time. Damn it. He made me nervous, and as much as I wished to deny it, the truth was there. In the blush. In the constant dragging of my attention back to the smooth planes of his face, the elegant line of his shoulders, the swirl of his silvered curls. I'm such an idiot. And apparently, I'm bloody lonely. Why had Karlach needed to go and plant that pesky seed? That curiosity in this imaginative head of mine? Handsome, yes. Interested in me? Not bloody likely. He hadn't seemed all that convinced by my suggestion of him being refined, but I wasn't convinced of his refusal either. Astarion was a thing of beauty, and I was… Well I had no idea, did I? Sure, I might have okay hair, and my build was fairly pleasing to the eye. But it was like suggesting silk be draped over flint rock. I'm anything but refined. Anything at all.

Then again, maybe he wanted that? The way he would catch me looking and smirk, or even invite it with a smile. Unless he just found it funny. That was possible. In fact not, that felt probable. Far more than the alternative.

Ugh.

Would you listen to this shit?

I'm an idiot, of the highest degree.

I accepted my bowl of stew from Shadowheart and settled closer to the fire, enjoying the well prepared meal and focusing on getting my mind to settle for a proper night's rest. Not a night thinking of what was inside that tent. What it would be like to walk in there and simply take a chance on being maybe what he wanted as well.

Will you STOP?

You've got bigger problems!

Then again, as Karlach had said on our patrol, having the bigger picture to worry about didn't stop us being lonely in our bedrolls. She couldn't touch anyone without possibly burning them, and it made her ache to her soul. I could touch. And, I wanted to be touched. There was no denying that considering everything that had just scampered around my head. So why wasn't I? Oh yes, because I'm a scaredy cat shitebag worried about rejection. That's why.

I ate my food, rolled over and pulled my blanket over my head.

Go to sleep you horny fool.

And there we go! Planning on a weekly upload schedule every Friday, but I may occasionally go for extra ones if the feeling takes me. Cheers for reading!