Siobhan wakes in a panic, sending a flare of burning pain through her as she sits up with a jolt. It knocks the wind from her lungs but fades to a dull ache after a few deep breaths. Looking down, she sees her chest is naked save her breastband and a large bandage that has been wound around her over her sternum. The skin of her torso is clean, but her breastband is rigid in sections with dried blood that flakes away when she moves. The front of her breeches is also stiff with dried blood, and as she assesses the state of her body and clothes, it all comes rushing back to her.
The man with the crossbow.
The agony of the poisoned crossbow bolt impaling her.
The fear.
Astarion.
Astarion.
Siobhan gets up, ignoring the sharp discomfort she feels when she moves, and flings open the flap of her tent. It's very early in the morning, the light of the dawning sun still muted and tinted slightly green and grey as it filters through the dense foliage. As she staggers out of her tent, she notices Gale standing alone by the firepit, which is glowing orange with dying embers, nursing a steaming mug of his favorite tea.
Gale spots her the moment she comes out and rushes over to her in a panic.
"Siobhan, thank Mystra, you're awake! But you shouldn't be up and about. Shadowheart was very clear – strict bed-rest until she's had a chance to assess you!" Gale babbles, trying to usher her back to her tent and into her bedroll, free hand pressing against her side insistently. Now that he's closer to her, she can see how exhausted he looks, eyes bloodshot and dark circles pronounced.
Siobhan brushes his hand away impatiently, "I'm fine – where is he? Is he alright?"
Gale gapes at her, "Who? Astarion? Astarion is fine! It's you we're all worried about. Do you even remember what happened?"
Siobhan winces, "I remember we were ambushed . . . it got hairy for a bit, but I managed to cast entangle . . . after that, everything's fuzzy, but Astarion's okay? He made it back safely?"
Gales shakes his head and scoffs incredulously.
"Astarion is fine," he reiterates, looking slightly annoyed, "Nary a scratch on the man from what I could tell. But, Siobhan, when he brought you back – you were – it was –"
Gale drags a hand over his face tiredly, looking older than his years, "We had to Revivify you. You died. We also— ah, well, we used your Potions of Angelic Slumber. Before you say anything, yes, it was necessary. You can't imagine the state you were in once we got you . . . back."
Siobhan blanches, the blood leaving her face as she processes how close to death she had come, and presses a hand to the bandaged wound left behind by the poisoned crossbow bolt. It hurts, of course, but not enough to suggest the injury had been life-threatening. The potion seems to have done its job perfectly, her alchemical ability once more proving itself.
Siobhan despairs for a moment; if she'd just been quicker or more alert to her surroundings, then she could have avoided this whole mess. She shouldn't have let herself become so distracted. Because of her inattentiveness, her companions were forced to waste a Scroll of Revivify and the Angelic Slumber potion on her. Who knows when she will be able to acquire another planetar feather to brew another?
"What in the hells happened out there? Why were you and Astarion roaming outside of camp alone? Who attacked you?" Gale asks insistently.
She hesitates, "What has Astarion told you?" Did they know about his vampirism? Surely not. Or else why would Gale be so confused about what had happened?
Gale blinks, stunned, and then frowns angrily, "He hasn't told us anything! Wyll insisted we wait until you woke up so that we could hear the full story from both of you, though I hardly understand why. What are you two hiding?"
Wyll? Why would Wyll have intervened on Astarion's behalf? Spare him from the interrogation?
". . . we should wait for the others."
Gale seems to war with himself, looking as if he's torn between shouting at her and shaking her as frustration floods his face. He takes a deep breath and, on the exhale, the tension leaves his shoulders, "Fine, but you need to get back in bed. Shadowheart will have my head if she knows I let you wander about in this state."
At her surprise, Gale sniffs, "I don't know why you look so shocked. You've respected my privacy thus far; it would be poor repayment to not respect yours."
"Thank you," Siobhan replies softly. It's refreshing not to be poked and prodded, needled into revealing every thought or feeling until she relents. She wishes Astarion could respect her privacy as easily as Gale seems to. Then again, it's not as if she hasn't pushed just as much as he has. She couldn't bear to have so much of herself and her secrets known to him without knowing about him in return. Perhaps that's it, then, why their dynamic is so different from hers and Gale's. There isn't that same struggle to stay on an even playing field.
"I am very glad you're okay," Gale says gently, and Siobhan's heart clenches at the meaningful expression etched on his face. He makes a half-aborted gesture as if he wants to wrap his arm around her but is unsure if it will be met favorably, his hand hesitating in mid-air. Before he can retreat, Siobhan leans into his touch, and Gale hesitantly pulls her in close. She doesn't wrap her arms around him, but she lets her head rest on his chest and sink into his warmth. Gale smells of old parchment and the clean, scentless smell of prestidigitated clothing.
It's wrong of her to indulge him in this, to indulge herself when she knows it will only feed his infatuation. But Siobhan has felt so little comfort the past few weeks that she can't help but revel in it when it's so freely given.
"Come now, to bed," Gale says, finally pulling away.
"You'll wake me when the others get up?" Siobhan asks, and Gale nods.
"You have my word."
Siobhan lets herself relax as the exhaustion hits her in waves. She allows Gale to lead her into her tent and then crawls into her bedroll stiffly, endeavoring not to aggravate her injuries further. She falls asleep to Gale's gentle touch, fingers brushing against her cheek, feeling (if only for the moment) safe.
As promised, Gale wakes her once the camp has roused. He is accompanied by Shadowheart, who unwraps her bandages to asses the injury and lay one last layer of healing magic. What once must have been a hideous puncture wound has closed almost completely, the skin puckered and red but not inflamed. After Shadowheart is through with her, all that's left is a red star-shaped scar about the size of a gold piece. Siobhan can still feel a distant ache when she twists at the hips, but it's no more painful than a sore muscle.
Once Shadowheart announces her clean bill of health, they leave her tent to give Siobhan a chance to change into clothes that aren't caked with her dry blood. The shirt she had been wearing during the ambush, Siobhan realizes, isn't among her things, and she wonders what could have happened to it. Perhaps Shadowheart threw it away, thinking it ruined beyond repair, after removing it to bandage her up.
Siobhan delays as much as she can while she gets ready before she finally comes out to face her companions. They're all gathered by the fire, waiting restlessly. Astarion, in particular, is brimming with anxiety and standing a fair bit away from the others. Siobhan feels a wave of relief to see Gale's report confirmed. Aside from his nervousness, Astarion looks whole and healthy but refuses to meet her eyes. Is he preparing himself to run if she exposes him and it's received poorly? Does he expect her to continue the lie? Wyll keeps flicking his gaze between her and Astarion meaningfully, like he both knows their secret and will reveal it if both of them fail to do so.
"It's great to see you up and about, soldier," Karlach grins as soon as she spots Siobhan approaching them, "gave us a nasty scare."
Siobhan winces apologetically, "I'm so sorry to all of you."
"Save your apologies; just tell us what the hells happened," Shadowheart dismisses, "What have you been hiding from us?"
Siobhan wishes she'd had the opportunity to speak with Astarion before confronting the others. She doesn't want to share his secret without his consent, and if she must, she would have liked to come to an agreement with Astarion about how to do so.
"A monster hunter ambushed Astarion and me. He was looking to kidnap Astarion and bring him back to Baldur's Gate . . ."
Astarion flinches as their companions all turn to look at him, some of them realizing the conspicuous distance he's continuing to put between himself and the others.
Gale frowns at him, "A monster hunter was hunting you specifically . . . by name?"
"Let me guess," Shadowheart scowls before glaring at the elf, who looks paler than ever, "he's not a monster hunter that just so happens to be hunting Astarion. Astarion is a monster that he's hunting, is that it?"
"Yes and no," Siobhan prevaricates.
"Come on, Astarion, just tell them," Wyll sighs, "It will be all right."
Astarion, pinned under the weight of his companion's scrutiny and growing mistrust, stands up straighter and affects a clumsy air of nonchalance.
"Ah yes, of course, it's nothing really," He sniffs haughtily, "I may have neglected to mention one tiny detail about myself. I'm a vampire, you see. I had been meaning to tell you all, but with the parasite and everything, it just slipped my mind."
Lae'zel hisses like an angry cat and jumps to her feet while Shadowheart lets out a curse, "Slipped your mind?!"
"You knew?" Gale asks indignantly, glaring at her and Wyll, "both of you knew and didn't think to tell us?"
"Why didn't you tell us sooner?" Karlach asks.
"As if I could trust that none of you would kill me on the spot if I told you," Astarion snaps even as he takes another step away from everyone, hand twitching in the direction of the dagger in his belt in case their ire escalated to violence, "I had to earn your trust first, prove that I wasn't a danger."
"And how have you been managing your thirst, vampire?" Lae'zel growls, eyeing him, "I should warn you, if I were to find so much as a drop of blood on my neck, I would end you."
"There won't be a need for any of that," Siobhan insists, "I've been donating some blood to supplement his diet; he usually feeds from animals. Astarion won't harm any of you. We can trust him."
"She's not wrong," Astarion adds quickly, "We're bound together now; we share a common goal, no matter what comes. Haven't I been a useful ally?"
"Is that why you two snuck off last night, so you could feed him?" Shadowheart asks, lips curling with disgust. Siobhan nods, and the companions take a moment to process what they've discovered.
"I suppose it's fine then," Shadowheart relents uneasily, "So long as I don't wake in the night to fangs at my throat."
"You still haven't explained why that monster hunter was looking for you, Astarion. Anything else you'd like to confess while we're here? You might not have attacked any of us, but your secrecy is the reason Siobhan almost died," Gale says sharply.
"No, it isn't," Siobhan snaps angrily, to everyone's surprise, "I knew exactly why that man was sent after Astarion, and it changed nothing. I won't let you blame him for what happened. If anything, it's my fault. I was distracted, and I didn't notice him until it was too late."
"But, Siobhan—" Gale starts, but she cuts him off.
"No, Astarion acted very heroically. Given everything, he kept a cool head, and if he hadn't brought me back to camp when he did, I'd be dead." Siobhan's lips thin as she frowns at the injustice of Gale's comment.
"All of you are very brave to accuse him of being secretive." she says fiercely, "Wyll, you took your sweet time revealing your patron. Oh! Wait. You didn't. We had to find out when she appeared in the middle of camp!"
"What—? I'm not – I didn't say anything—" Wyll defends, but Siobhan continues.
"Not that I care, but Shadowheart didn't tell us about her Shar worship until last week. And Gale, you still haven't explained why the hells you need to consume magical artifacts."
Gale has the decency to look ashamed at that and looks away guiltily, effectively silenced.
"We are all entitled to our secrets as long as it doesn't endanger the others. I trust Astarion as much as I trust any of you. If you find that unacceptable, you're welcome to leave." Siobhan challenges, crossing her arms.
The silence is deafening, her heart beating wildly in her chest and her pulse pounding in her ears as she waits for them to respond. They stare at her, shock plain in their expressions at her outburst. This is the first time she's ever wielded the authority they granted her over them, and she doesn't know how they'll react. Would they call her bluff? Would they chafe against her command, reject her leadership, and set off without her?
Astarion clears his throat as the quiet drags on, "Last night was an unfortunate hiccup, but everyone's fine now. I don't think there's any reason we can't all get along. Nothing has to change," he coaxes.
Wyll is the first to speak up, closing the distance between himself and Astarion and holding out a hand, "I was fine with hunting with a vampire when I first found out, and I'm fine with it now."
Astarion shakes Wyll's offered hand haltingly and jumps a little when Wyll claps him on the shoulder amicably, "So long as you keep your fangs away from our necks, of course!" Wyll laughs.
Karlach shrugs with a wide grin, "No sense judging someone for who they are. You're alright, Astarion."
At their acceptance, Siobhan can feel the group's attitude change towards Astarion. Hackles no longer raised, and ire completely cooled.
"So be it," Lae'zel huffs in acquiescence, and soon enough, Gale and Shadowheart follow suit.
She feels the tension leave her body. It certainly could have gone worse. They all disperse to finish breakfast and discuss plans for dealing with the Hag. Gale lingers, looking as if he wants to approach her and talk privately, but stalks off with a frown when Astarion beats him to it.
"I've never seen you so . . . fiery before," he hums seductively, "coming back from the dead suits you, darling."
Siobhan rolls her eyes at him with a sigh but otherwise disregards his flattery to give him one last once over, "Are you okay? That can't have been easy."
Astarion waves her off with one elegant hand and a sly smile, "I'm fine. How could I not be with such a staunch advocate? I suppose we're even, then? I got you back to camp safely, and you secured my place in the group."
She frowns. Siobhan didn't realize Astarion considered her defense of him to the others as repayment for a debt. She would have vouched for him with or without his help saving her life. Did he know that yet? After everything? Or is this just another deflection—a distraction to avoid discussing what must have been an extremely traumatic experience?
"You're sure you're alright? What about . . ." Siobhan lowers her voice slightly, "What about Cazador? He's sent someone to bring you back to him. You're not worried?"
Astarion's smile falters, and his eyes darken, "Of course I am,"
"I'd be a fool not to. You can't imagine the power a vampire lord possesses. He could walk into camp tonight and kill us all in our sleep if he so wished it," Astarion says blackly. "But that would be a mercy I certainly won't be afforded. He'll take make back, make me an example to the others . . ." he trails off, and Siobhan sees his eyes go distant as he gets lost imagining what horrors await him if Cazador ever finds him.
"I wouldn't let that happen. Won't." Siobhan vows, feeling slightly sick. She can't imagine the stress and fear Astarion must constantly be feeling, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. "I won't let him take you."
He scoffs and shakes his head, his voice taking a slightly angry tone, or maybe it's frustration, "That's very sweet, darling. But I'm afraid that your intentions are a poor weapon against my master's will."
"You underestimate us, Astarion. I won't deny he would be a formidable opponent, but look at us, at our companions," Siobhan gestures to their friends, "Vampire lords can be killed, and you have a collection of fierce warriors and spellcasters at your side. You said it yourself. We're bound together now, for better or for worse. None of us would abandon you to a life of slavery."
Astarion considers her, his gaze searching and doubtful. After the display the others put on at discovering his vampirism, she understands why he is inclined to disbelieve her. But they had accepted him in the end, hadn't they? They were more angry at being left out of the loop than anything, and once that had been resolved, they welcomed him. Surely, he knows that, at the very least, Wyll, Karlach, and herself would happily face Cazador to secure Astarion's freedom. Right?
Astarion smiles wryly, "Well, if you say so, darling. We'll cross that bridge if we get to it."
In the Hag's lair, they find a trove of alchemical components, about a dozen potions with nasty effects, and the requisite materials Gale needs to create more of the thaumic chalk to draw a teleportation sigil to connect to the one near the grove and get them out of this godsforsaken swamp. They also find the Hag's wand, Bitter Divorce, and Siobhan despairs at Mayrina's fate and how much of her suffering is a direct consequence of Siobhan's failure to intervene sooner. The girl now has nothing. No family except an unborn child she cannot provide for and the reanimated corpse of her husband.
As soon as Gale finishes the sigil, they travel back to the grove and decide to set up camp, too exhausted to confront Kagha just yet. That conversation can happen tomorrow. Despite everything, the mood in camp has lifted slightly. It's a relief to be back within the safety of the grove, to have access to food other than dried rations and rubbery mushrooms, and to be able to rest without having to keep one eye open.
Most everyone takes advantage of the respite, Wyll and Shadowheart happily sharing a drink with some of the tieflings, Karlach chatting excitedly with Dammon about the possibility of repairing her infernal engine, and Lae'zel mending her armor.
Gale, however, is uncharacteristically aloof, distancing himself from the others. On more than one occasion, Siobhan catches him staring, causing him to look away quickly. When she catches him staring again, she finally relents and walks over to the secluded corner where he's set up his tent.
"Is everything alright?" She asks, trying not to sound too much like a fussing school marm.
The corners of Gale's lips are turned down unhappily, and he looks rather distressed, "Truthfully, no. I'm not. I wanted to speak to you about something, but I've learned that I'm something of a coward. I should have come to you sooner, but I just didn't know how to start."
"You're not a coward." Siobhan objects immediately, surprised.
Gale smiles bitterly, "But I am. And a hypocrite, too. You were right to chastise me for treating Astarion so harshly. I have not been forthcoming with you, and that ends now."
Siobhan's heart jumps into her throat as Gale kneels at her feet and pulls down the collar of his robes to expose a black brand burned into the flesh over his heart, purple veins spiderwebbing out from it and trailing up his chest and neck.
"What are you doing? What is that?" Siobhan asks alarmed.
"Place your hand over my heart; let me show you." Gale pleads.
Gale looks resigned as Siobhan reaches out tentatively and presses her palm against his chest, fingers splayed out over the spiderweb veins staining his skin. Siobhan feels a sickening squirming in her head as her worm connects with Gale's. She realizes he's letting her in . . .
Into the dark.
Purple light pulses from underneath her palm, and Gale holds her to him with both hands, anchoring himself as he groans and writhes in pain. She watches through his eyes the events that led up to the moment he lost everything. Feels the desperate ambition that guided him down the path to his ruin, to the Karsic Weave. A black netherese orb of the darkest weave that consumes and destroys now one with Gale. Gods, is it hungry.
Siobhan yanks her hand away, and the light fades away. Gale slumps to the side as he catches his breath, shivering with the aftershocks of the pain and that cold, yawning emptiness.
"Oh, Gale," Siobhan whispers soberly, horrified.
"This is my curse. The nature of my condition," Gale explains, getting to his feet shakily, "It's why I have to consume magical artefacts. If I don't, the consequences would be catastrophic."
"Catastrophic, how?" Siobhan asks.
"I don't know the exact magnitude of the eruption, but based on my studies," Gale hides his face, pressing a hand across his eyes from the shame, "it would level a city the size of Waterdeep."
He drags his hand away to look at her when she fails to respond, frozen from the shock. Gale's eyebrows are drawn together, grief-stricken and repentant, his voice trembling, "It's unconscionable that I didn't tell you and the others sooner."
Siobhan's throat tightens, and a wave of sympathy flows through her. She pulls him into her arms, embracing him tightly. She can feel him stiffen in surprise, clearly not expecting her to react in this way.
"I'm so sorry. This is a terrible burden to bear," Siobhan says.
". . . you're not furious with me?" He asks hesitantly, perplexed.
Siobhan pulls back a bit so she can look at him, "No. I can't promise how the others will react, but I'm not angry with you."
"Why?" Gale asks equal parts, troubled and indignant on her behalf, "This must feel like a betrayal. I've been risking everyone's safety, hiding the danger I pose for weeks. You should hate me. Say the word, and we'll part ways. I would hardly blame you for it."
Siobhan pulls away completely and frowns, "Leave? Where would you go?"
Gale looks off, deep in thought, ". . . away. Far away from any settlements— from all of you. Then, I would simply let the orb destabilize. It would be a just punishment for my hubris. That way, no one will come to harm or suffer the consequences of my foolishness."
"Don't be an idiot," Siobhan scowls, "I won't let you go off and kill yourself. I swear you humans—" she clucks her tongue with disdain.
"You made a mistake, Gale—one lapse in judgment. Yes, the consequences have been severe, but you haven't hurt anyone. To throw your life away, a life that is already so fleeting, at the first obstacle is nonsensical. There must be a solution! We just haven't found it yet."
Gale blinks at her, hope softening the lines of worry marring his brow, ". . . we?"
"We." Siobhan repeats firmly. "I'll help you find a way to fix this. Whatever it takes."
Gale's face brightens with relief, "You have no idea how grateful I am to hear that. Siobhan, your kindness continues to surprise me. I will endeavor to be worthy of it. Thank you."
"Of course," Siobhan smiles up at him and squeezes his hand gently, "Anything for a friend."
Astarion sneaks into her tent late into the night after the grove has fallen quiet, and everyone has retired for the evening.
"Is something wrong?" Siobhan asks quietly, bewildered by his presence.
"Not at all," Astarion smirks as he arranges himself neatly opposite where she's sitting, "I wanted to bring you something."
"Oh?" Siobhan blinks, and Astarion produces a white flowing shirt— no, her shirt, the one she'd been wearing during the ambush, and hands it to her. She runs her fingers along the clean fabric and finds that the tear in the middle caused by the crossbow bolt has been mended with an even line of meticulous stitches. But that's not all. The raw hems, so prone to fraying, have been finished with light green piping made of soft fabric and embroidered with delicate vines in a deeper green thread.
"It's beautiful," Siobhan whispers in awe, "you did this?"
"One of my many skills," Astarion says handsomely, running a hand through his tousled hair. "Your wardrobe is already so limited, I thought it would be a shame to deprive you of one of your only shirts."
"But the embroidery . . . you didn't have to."
Astarion pouts, "Oh no, I did. Your style is much too spartan. Plain," Astarion's nose wrinkles as if he's said something foul, "things that can be made more beautiful ought to be. It was purely for my sake, darling."
Siobhan has to try to hide her smile as best she can, though inside, she's beaming. The more she gets to know Astarion, the more easily she catches him in his lies. He's embarrassed by the care and thoughtfulness of his gift. Framing it as a selfish act is the easiest thing he can do to disguise it from her but, perhaps most importantly, from himself. It's sweet, if a bit silly.
You're allowed to do something nice, Astarion. Siobhan thinks to herself privately.
"All the same, it's lovely. Thank you." She smiles softly, and Astarion preens proudly.
"Of course it's lovely. I would accept nothing less."
Siobhan laughs quietly, not wanting to disturb the others, "Of course."
Astarion watches her expectantly and then sighs when she cocks her head to the side in confusion, "Well? Try it on! Let's see how it looks."
Siobhan blushes, "What? Now?"
He rolls his eyes, "Yes, now. Don't tell me you're shy. It's nothing I haven't seen before, you know." Astarion reminds her, raking his eyes up and down her body with a lascivious smirk.
Siobhan throws her pillow at his head, which he evades easily with a laugh.
"Oh, fine," Siobhan relents, feeling flushed and self-conscious as she pulls off her shirt to change. She studiously avoids his gaze as she exposes herself, thankful for her breast band preserving some of her modesty, but stops to look up at him when she hears his breath catch in his throat.
His mouth has fallen open slightly in surprise, eyes wide and inscrutable, and she realizes what it is that's caught his attention: the scar, angry and red just below her sternum, the only evidence of her near-fatal injury.
"I'm okay. I promise." She reassures him softly and his eyes flit up to hers, jaw snapping shut.
"Never thought you weren't," Astarion says mildly, "go on. Don't keep me in suspense."
Siobhan slips the garment over her head and, after a few adjustments, looks up at him timidly.
"How do I look?"
Astarion's gaze dances over her, resting over every feature, and whispers with naked satisfaction that makes her heartrate jump, butterflies fluttering in her stomach, "Perfect."