The stone dungeon was swathed in darkness, the faintest orange torchlight casting a feeble glow across damp walls. A sickly, rotting stench permeated the air and assaulted Astarion's nostrils as he slowly regained consciousness.

He immediately became aware of an intense pain in his arms and the feel of coarse rope biting into his wrists. Looking up, he saw he was suspended from a metal hook in the ceiling, forcing him to stretch on his tiptoes, his heels hovering above the slick floor.

His body still felt stiff and sore from the cockatrice venom, and he was dismayed - but unsurprised - to see that his weapons and armour were missing. Clearly, whoever had used the antidote on him had also helped themselves to his gear.

Spinning himself round, Astarion was relieved to see Ashara alive and well, slowly shaking off the lingering effects of petrification. He was less thrilled to see her chained to the wall, arms splayed, her wrists cuffed high and tight against the clammy stone.

His muscles screamed with the effort of holding himself steady, but Astarion masked his discomfort with an arch of his brow and a biting tone. "Well..." he drawled, his voice a blend of sarcasm and irritation, "that could have gone better."

Ashara gave him a pained look. Her face, streaked with grime, betrayed a flicker of guilt. "How was I to know they had a cockatrice kept down here?"

Astarion let out a theatrical sigh, his crimson eyes rolling toward the ceiling. "Oh, I don't know," he said, his words dripping with condescension. "Maybe the highly detailed statues dotted around the place might have been a bit of a clue?"

Ashara shot him a sidelong glance, her expression hovering between sheepishness and defiance. "I just thought they had weird taste in art."

A short, harsh snort escaped him. "If you genuinely think an orc berserker in frozen battle stance qualifies as art, I must seriously question your judgment."

"I've never been to an art exhibition," Ashara retorted. "So I wouldn't know."

Astarion smirked, the gesture a touch strained by the discomfort pulling at his shoulders. "Yet another thing to add to the list of experiences I need to introduce you to."

"Let's focus on getting out of here first, shall we?" Ashara grunted, her shoulders straining against the iron manacles.

"What a splendid idea." Astarion's smirk turned sharper, his voice laced with mock enthusiasm. "And here I was quite content to just hang around."

Her withering look could have pierced steel, but she soon grew somber, her gaze dropping to the damp floor. "There were never any refugees here, were there..."

Astarion tilted his head, a dry laugh escaping him. "Only just figuring that out now, are you? Bravo."

"Then why did the barkeep tell you there were tieflings staying here?"

Before Astarion could respond, a voice echoed from the shadows, smooth and mocking. "Because you asked about them."

Cassius stepped into the torchlight, his face half-obscured by the wavering glow. His gaze slid over the pair like a butcher sizing up his next cut. "If you were looking for a priceless artifact or even a lost cat, he'd tell you to visit the fort."

Astarion scoffed, tilting his head with a disbelieving smirk. "Well, that's just plain dishonest. And after I tipped him too. Honestly, no honor among scoundrels these days."

Ashara leaned forward as much as her restraints allowed. "Why?"

Cassius took another step forward, his movements unhurried, deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. His gaze flitted briefly to Astarion, a smirk forming on his face. "She really is a dumb one, isn't she?"

"Hey!" Ashara's protest echoed in the chamber.

Astarion arched a brow. "No, he has a point. How can you not see that this was a setup?"

Her glare swung to him. "I was asking why he set us up, you jerk."

Cassius chuckled low in his throat, a sound that made Astarion's skin prickle with distaste. "Same reason a pickpocket works a crowd," he said, his tone maddeningly casual. "Opportunity. But in our case, my bandit crew and I barely ever have to leave this fort. Everything we need walks right through our doors - including entertainment."

His gaze slid over Ashara in a way that made Astarion's stomach churn, bile rising in his throat. Every fiber of his being screamed to act, but the restraints mocked him, rendering him helpless.

"You should have taken me up on my offer, girl." Cassius's voice dipped, sickeningly smooth. "You could have had a night to remember. Now I'm afraid your experience will be far less... pleasurable."

Ashara stiffened, her jaw clenching as the meaning behind his words clicked into place.

"Listen," Ashara said, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes. "We don't need to be your enemies. Let us go, and I swear we won't speak a word about your operation here. Trust me, I never break a promise."

Cassius tilted his head, considering her words with a mocking pout. "That's real sweet. But I'm afraid you're not going anywhere." His smile turned razor-sharp. "And since you like directness, let me explain things in a way your dense little brain can understand."

He moved with a speed that startled even Astarion. In a single, brutal motion, Cassius grabbed Ashara by the collar, yanking her forward and crushing his mouth against hers.

The sound of the kiss was grotesque in the silence. Ashara's eyes widened, her body jerking in resistance, but the chains held her fast. When he pulled back, a dark chuckle rumbling from his chest, she spat, her eyes burning with a fury hotter than any flame.

"Do that again, and I'll kill you," she snarled.

Astarion's voice was cold as ice, his crimson eyes gleaming with murderous intent. "Not if I gut him first."

Cassius spared him only a glance, his smirk firmly in place. "You'll get your turn soon enough." His tone was as dismissive as it was taunting. "I've a few on my crew who will be very pleased to see you, pretty boy."

Astarion's lip curled, a flash of fangs just visible as he struggled against his restraints, feeling the strain on his wrists intensify. His mind was racing, heart pounding with a grim resolve.

Cassius's gaze slithered back to Ashara, his fingers curling around her shirt collar once more, his eyes gleaming with a twisted glee. "Of course, while we all share what we loot," he said, tightening his grip, "as leader, I always get first pick of everything."

Astarion saw the way Ashara's body stiffened, a tremor running through her as the mans fingers began to tug at the laces of her shirt. Her eyes flashed up, meeting Astarion's with a silent, raw plea. The sight was like a spark to dry tinder. Astarion writhed against his restraints, his muscles coiling like a spring wound too tight.

"Get your hands off her!" he spat, seething with barely contained rage.

Cassius ignored him, grunting as he exposed the leather bandeau beneath Ashara's shirt. His expression twisted with irritation, and he yanked a small, jagged knife from his belt, bringing it toward her chest.

Astarion looked up, measuring the hook above him, and took a deep breath to brace himself. Gathering every ounce of strength left in his battered body, he swung his legs up, wrapping them around the hook.

For a moment, he was suspended upside down, blood rushing to his head as he strained against the searing pain in his shoulders. His bound wrists slipped from the hook, and with nimble precision, he transferred his grip to the hook, unwrapping his legs and lowering himself, silently, back to the floor.

Cassius's blade was poised against the leather strip across Ashara's chest, his lips curling with dark intent, when Astarion struck. He moved without thought, his instincts raw and honed, throwing his bound arms around the man's throat, locking him in a vice-like chokehold. In the same breath, he bared his fangs and drove them deep into the humans neck, tasting the hot rush of blood as he bit down savagely.

Cassius let out a strangled cry, thrashing, trying to slam Astarion against the wall to shake him off. His back hit stone with a sharp impact that sent a jolt of pain through Astarion's spine, but he held firm, tightening his grip, the taste of blood flooding his senses, drowning out everything else. He drank deeply, feeling the man's struggles weaken, the once-violent thrashing reduced to feeble gasps until the human's body sagged in his grasp and finally collapsed to the ground.

Astarion's gaze was distant for a moment, savoring the lingering taste on his lips, the rush of power from the kill still hot in his veins. He glanced down, catching the glint of Cassius's knife, and sliced through the rope binding his wrists. Tucking the knife into his waistband, he knelt and searched the body until his fingers closed around a cold, heavy key.

When he turned back to Ashara, the thrill of victory dimmed, fading as he saw her expression. She was slumped as low as her restraints would allow, her head bowed, gaze fixed on the ground. Her face was pale and her eyes looked hollow, as if she'd retreated somewhere unreachable, lost in a place he couldn't see.

"Ashara?" Astarion murmured, taking a cautious step toward her. "It's alright now. The bastard's dead."

She didn't respond, her gaze still fixed somewhere far away. Her silence, her stillness, unsettled him more than he wanted to admit. Slowly, he lifted the key and started unlocking her manacles.

The moment Ashara's wrists were free, a fierce, raw energy snapped back into her like a fire reigniting. She lunged at him with a guttural cry, knocking him off balance and driving him to the floor.

Astarion barely had time to raise his hands to protect himself as she rained punches on him, her fists connecting with frantic, unrestrained force. Pain radiated through him with each hit, her knuckles hard and merciless. Her eyes blazed, wild and unfocused, each strike driven by a primal, seething rage.

"Ashara!" he cried, wincing as her fist collided with his shoulder. "Stop it! It's me - Astarion!"

His voice finally broke through, and she froze, her fist suspended mid-air. Her eyes snapped into focus, and she blinked down at him, her expression shifting from rage to dismay as she registered his face. She glanced at her own trembling hand, horror dawning in her gaze, and she scrambled back, pulling away from him.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!" Her voice was small, almost broken, as she hugged her knees to her chest, as though she could fold herself into nothingness.

Astarion sat up slowly, wincing as he rubbed at the fresh bruises forming on his arms. "I should bloody well hope not," he grumbled. "That hurt, you know."

Ashara's gaze dropped, guilt heavy in her expression. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, looking smaller than he'd ever seen her. "I thought... I thought you were still him."

He relaxed, the sting of pain fading as he looked at her. He offered her a dry, half-smile, softening his tone. "An understandable reaction. Though, I am a little offended that you'd confuse me with that hideous brute. Surely I'm far more... refined."

A tiny, reluctant smile tugged at her lips, and Ashara looked up at him, a faint light breaking through the shadow in her eyes. "No," she murmured. "You're nothing like him at all."

A faint twinge of shame pierced Astarion as an accusatory thought crept into his mind. That's not entirely true now is it...

He rose, dusting himself off with an exaggerated flourish before extending a hand to her. "Glad to hear it." Tilting his head toward the door, a wry smile curled on his lips. "Now, shall we see about finding a way out of this wretched place?"

Ashara looked at his outstretched hand for a heartbeat, and then, with a small, resolute nod, she slipped her fingers into his and allowed him to help her rise to her feet.

The moment they stepped outside the cell, the damp silence of the dungeon gave way to the low, murmuring echo of voices - likely more bandits - down the dim corridor.

Shadows twisted under torchlight, flickering along the jagged stone walls like dark, restless spirits. Astarion's gaze shifted forward, his every instinct urging haste, but the snatches of conversation that floated down the hall stopped him cold.

One of the bandits was laughing, his voice rough and eager. "Hope the boss hurries up. Can't wait to get my hands on those two. You know how much the brothels charge for an elf? Daylight robbery. And we get not one, but two for free tonight."

Another replied calculatingly, "The silver-haired one looks like he would fetch a pretty penny in the flesh markets."

Astarion swallowed, bile rising as the meaning behind the words twisted like a knife in his stomach. He shot a look at Ashara, who had frozen beside him, her face drawn tight, muscles taut. Her shoulders trembled, her breaths shallow.

His mind raced, cursing the timing, wondering if she'd be able to hold herself together enough to fight. But before he could even reach out to steady her, she gripped his arm with a surprising strength, her fingers digging into his skin.

"Astarion..." Her voice trembled, her eyes wild and haunted. "I need you to promise me something. Whatever happens next, whatever you're about to see... Do not run from me."

Her gaze was desperate, pleading, her words a broken whisper that unsettled him, twisting knots of dread in his stomach.

Astarion forced a dark smile, keeping his tone steady. "Darling, something tells me there won't be much running from either of us. But I'm not about to just lay on my back without a fight, and neither are you."

Ashara's grip tightened, her eyes wide and brimming with an unspoken fear. She shook her head frantically, her breaths growing uneven, her voice barely a gasp. "No, you don't understand. Don't run. If you run... I might kill you. Please, promise me, don't run."

Alarmed, he recoiled slightly, discomfort prickling beneath her grip. He tried shrugging her hands off, irritation flashing in his eyes. "What are you talking about? Let go of me."

Her grip held firm, and her voice was a ragged whisper. "Promise me."

Astarion's frustration simmered, but he relented, sighing sharply. "Yes, yes, alright. I promise. Now get off me!"

For a brief moment, relief softened her face, but it was fleeting, and a shadow of sadness replaced it as she whispered, "I'm sorry."

Before he could question her, she twisted, shoving him backward with surprising force. He stumbled, the world spinning for a brief moment before the door to the cell slammed shut in his face, and the cold sound of the key turning sent a jolt of shock through him.

A flash of anger surged through him, mixing with a sickening wave of panic. He threw his shoulder into the door, feeling the solid resistance beneath him. "What are you doing?! Open this door at once!"

Astarion heard her voice from the other side, faint and fractured. "Stay... safer in there. Remember."

Memories crashed over him, dark and suffocating. The flash of betrayal, the feeling of being locked away, helpless. He remembered Durge's heartless gaze, the binding chains, and the unforgiving face of Gandrel looming over him. Fury and fear churned in him, flooding his voice.

"No, don't you dare leave me here!" He slammed his fist against the door, voice rough, desperate. "You said we were in this together!"

His cries were met with silence, and he sank his forehead against the door, the cold wood pressing against his skin. Then, suddenly, a high-pitched - though distinctly masculine - scream echoed through the corridor outside.

Astarion's heart jolted as the scream cut off sharply, leaving a chilling silence in its wake.

Muffled shouts, chaos, and more cries soon followed, echoing through the passage. With a sense of dark foreboding, he pressed his ear to the door, straining to make sense of the carnage unfolding.

Then came a sound that chilled his blood: a howl, deep and terrifying, reverberating through the walls. His pulse quickened, and a cold suspicion began to crawl up his spine.

Without another thought, he dropped to his knees, examining the lock. The key was still there, and his gaze shifted to the gap beneath the door. Tearing a strip of cloth from Cassius's tunic, he slid it under the door and poked the key out with the tip of his knife.

Hearing the satisfying dull thunk as it landed, Astarion drew the key under the door and into his grasp with bated breath. With a quick, frantic motion, he unlocked the door and slipped into the corridor beyond.

The silence felt oppressive, broken only by his own careful footsteps. As he rounded a corner, he froze, his eyes widening at the sight before him. Two bandits lay torn in half, their bodies shredded, limbs and viscera scattered as though they'd been snapped apart like brittle branches. Blood pooled beneath them, spreading like spilled ink over the cracked stone.

He stared the massive paw prints trailing from the gore, each one nearly the width of his own chest. Astarion swallowed, his throat dry as a desert, memories of the skull-headed wolf flashing through his mind.

Shaking himself, he bent down, stripping weapons from the mangled bodies - a sword, a dagger - anything that might offer a chance of survival. As he straightened, a fresh wave of screams echoed from deeper within the fortress, the desperate cries resonating in the dark, twisted halls.

The further he went, the more the corridors resembled a nightmare. Torn limbs, shattered armor, blood splatters stretching across the walls. The air was thick with the coppery scent of death and the lingering tang of fear. Each scene was worse than the last, a tapestry of violence that left little to the imagination. The bandits had been utterly decimated, their bodies twisted and broken, expressions frozen in a mixture of terror and agony.

Finally, he found a small room, barely more than a closet, lined with chests. He opened one, the sight of his leather jerkin and familiar weapons almost a relief. He quickly donned his gear, fastening the shortsword at his hip and slinging the bow and quiver over his shoulder. He packed the remaining items - including Ashara's armor and weapons - into a canvas sack, slinging it across his back as he continued through the winding corridors.

Rounding another corner, Astarion stopped short, eyes narrowing at the sight of a bloodied dwarf crawling on his belly through a doorway. His fingers clawed desperately against the floor as he dragged himself forward, leaving a thick, red smear in his wake.

The dwarf looked up, eyes wild with terror, his hand reaching out, pleading. "Help me!" His voice was choked, raw, the desperation in it a twisted plea that made Astarion's heart skip a beat.

But before Astarion could react, the dwarf was jerked backward with brutal speed, his scream cut short by a sickening crunch that echoed down the stone corridor.

Astarion felt his body tense as he took an instinctive step back, and then he saw it - a shadow darkening the doorway, expanding, coalescing into something monstrous. A massive, hulking form crouched as it moved forward, ducking through the doorway with terrible, fluid grace, holding the upper half of the unfortunate dwarf in its pale, skeletal jaws.

It was a wolf, but not of any kind he had ever seen. It's sheer size made Onyx look like a puppy in comparison. The creature's coat was an abyss of pitch black, glistening as though dipped in shadow, each movement sending a dark shimmer over its colossal form. The skull-like head was both beautiful and terrifying, pale bone meeting dark fur at it's upper forehead, its eye sockets blazing with icy blue light that felt cold enough to burn.

The wolf's bulk filled the corridor, its ears brushing the ceiling. It's head was turned away from him initially, its attention fixed farther down the passage. Blood dripped from its jaws, trailing down its thick, muscular chest in rivulets that pooled on the floor. But as Astarion took another cautious step back, his heart skidded to a halt as those piercing, glacial eyes swiveled to him.

The remains of the corpse slid from its mouth with a dull, sickening thud, landing in a crumpled heap at its feet. The wolf's ears flattened, and a deep, rumbling growl reverberated through the floor and the walls, sending a cold shiver down Astarion's spine. He watched, frozen in place, as it took a step forward, each movement calculated, stalking towards him with deadly intent.

Astarion's mind screamed at him to turn and run, to flee from this nightmare, but he found himself paralyzed, trapped beneath the creature's unwavering gaze. Ashara's voice echoed in his memory, faint but insistent. "Don't run from me."

The pieces clicked into place, horror dawning over him.

Trembling, Astarion forced himself to stay rooted, his breaths shallow and rapid. The wolf loomed directly over him now, the heat of its breath washing over his face, each exhale thick with the stench of blood.

Its jaws opened to reveal needle sharp fangs the size of daggers. Blood from its last victim dripped onto him, sliding down his face, and he shut his eyes, every muscle locked in fear as he choked out, "Ashara... please don't eat me."

For a tense moment, there was only silence, his own ragged breathing filling the empty space between them. Then, with a heavy click, the jaws snapped shut inches from his head.

He opened his eyes to find the creature's nose hovering close, nostrils flaring as it drew in his scent. A hot gust of breath followed, an exhalation that sent a ripple of gooseflesh across his skin as the wolf slowly stepped back, its gaze still locked on his.

They stared at each other, an understanding dawning between them, and Astarion found himself in silent awe. "What... are you?" he breathed, the words barely more than a whisper.

The creature's ears twitched, and it jerked its head around, glancing back down the passage as if hearing something distant. A low growl bubbled up from its throat, and with a snarl, it turned and bounded down the corridor, its massive paws thudding against the stone as it disappeared into the shadows.

As the silence settled, Astarion's knees nearly gave out. He pressed a hand to the cold stone wall, steadying himself as his legs wobbled beneath him. His heart hammered, each beat a painful reminder that he was still, somehow, alive.

"What in all the nine hells have I allied with?" he muttered under his breath, trying to shake off the lingering tremors.

After a moment, he forced himself to push forward, his footsteps echoing in the now-haunted silence. He found no living soul left in the fortress, only bloodied remains and the twisted, frozen expressions of the bandits who had thought themselves invincible. The bloody pawprints led to the main doors, and against every ounce of self-preservation, Astarion followed them outside.

The landscape was shrouded in mist, the air thick with a damp chill. Barren grasslands stretched ahead, broken only by patches of bog and the occasional gnarled tree, twisted like skeletal fingers. Overhead, the sky threatened rain, clouds heavy and brooding. In the distance, thunder rumbled, a low, ominous warning.

He traced the massive pawprints through the mud and barren earth, watching as they led farther from the fortress, until he could see the faint line of the forest on the horizon.

Then, abruptly, the prints stopped, replaced by a set of smaller, barefoot humanoid footprints. His suspicions solidified, a dark understanding settling over him as he followed the new trail.

The tracks led Astarion to a small depression in the scrub, the tall grass swaying around him as the wind picked up. In the center, a small figure lay curled into itself, covered in mud and blood.

As he drew closer, Ashara's fragile form became more recognisable, naked and shivering violently, arms wrapped tightly around herself as soft, broken sobs escaped her lips.

For a moment, he simply stared, torn between pity and the unnerving memory of the beast she'd become. The fierce, dangerous creature he had just witnessed seemed worlds away from the vulnerable woman before him, and yet the connection was unmistakable.

With a resigned sigh, Astarion reached into the bag slung over his shoulder, pulling out a cloak. He moved forward slowly, each step careful, until he knelt beside her and gently draped the cloak over her, the fabric sliding over her mud-streaked skin.

The soft touch of the fabric seemed to stir Ashara, and she uncurled slightly, her arms moving from around her shoulders to reach up and wrap around his neck instead.

Astarion froze as she pulled herself closer, pressing her face into his chest, her body trembling against him. For a heartbeat, he was struck speechless, caught between the urge to push her away and the strange impulse to protect her.

But as her shivering continued, her breaths rapid against his skin, he forced himself to focus, scooping her up into his arms. Rising to his feet, he cradled her against his chest, her weight slight but solid. She clung to him, her fingers digging into his back, as if afraid he might vanish.

He steadied himself and began walking toward the dark line of trees on the horizon, ignoring the chill in his bones as the mist around them turned into a light rain. Each step felt heavy, loaded with questions he dared not ask, not now - not yet. For now, he walked on, his gaze fixed on the sheltering darkness of the forest, where, perhaps, they could find safety.

Gradually as he walked, Ashara's trembling began to subside, her heavy breathing slowing, until eventually slipping into the gentle rhythm of sleep. Glancing down at the raven-haired head resting on his chest, Astarion felt a strange warmth blooming in his chest at the complete and utter trust she was placing in him right now. A trust he wasn't entirely sure he could accept yet - not until his questions were answered.


Ashara's eyelids fluttered open to the soft crackle of a fire and the heavy rhythm of rain pounding against the ground outside. She blinked, disoriented, the dimly lit walls of a cave surrounding her, and felt the softness of a fur cloak draped over her shoulders.

For a moment, she let herself soak in the warmth and the familiar scent of earth and woodsmoke. Then, the recent memories of her transformation surged into her mind. A strangled gasp escaped her lips as it all came flooding in - the fortress, the bandits and the terror in Astarion's eyes.

Ashara turned her head to see him silhouetted against a small fire, his head facing the cave entrance, gazing at the rain outside. She struggled to sit up, hastily pulling the cloak tighter around herself as she realized her exposed state.

Her sudden movement caught Astarion's attentions and he looked back at her, the fire casting harsh shadows across his face. There was a brief flicker of something raw in his gaze - fear, or perhaps simply wariness - but it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by his usual composed expression.

"Glad to see you're finally awake. Your armor and some spare clothes from our late hosts are in the bag beside you."

Ashara followed his gesture to the canvas sack near her and reached out for it, focusing on the rough texture under her fingers. She glanced back at Astarion to see that he had deliberately turned his back to her, facing away with a rigid set to his shoulders.

Grateful for the subtle gesture, Ashara pulled a tunic and leggings from the bag, dressing as quickly as she could. Once clothed, she moved across the cave to settle by the fire, facing him across the flames.

Astarion watched her with an intense gaze, as if he were scrutinising every flicker of her expression. She traced a finger through the dirt beside her, letting the silence hang for a moment before taking a steadying breath. "I suppose you have questions for me."

He gave her a dry, sardonic smile. "That, my dear, is the understatement of the century."

She met his gaze with a faint frown but sighed. "I may not have all the answers you want, but... go ahead. Ask."

Astarion leaned forward, eyes narrowing as he studied her. "Curse, warlock pact, deal-with-a-devil, magical experiment - or are you another one of Fenrir's soul fragments?"

Ashara considered his question thoughtfully, fingers pausing in the dirt. "None of those... at least, that I'm aware of. Though 'curse' is probably an accurate description, even if it's not an explanation."

Astarion raised an eyebrow, leaning back as he eyed her with suspicion tinged by something like fascination. "So... transforming into a giant skull-headed wolf just comes naturally to you, does it?"

Ashara's eyes dropped to the fire, watching the flames dance in erratic patterns. "It appears to, yes. Ever since I turned eighteen, whenever I was in mortal danger or if my emotions ran... too high, I would transform into that thing."

He gave a thin-lipped smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I can see why you're practically a hermit then. I'd imagine most people wouldn't appreciate being bitten in half if they happen to, oh let's say, mildly irritate you."

The faint edge in his voice made her pause, the realization sinking in - he was afraid of her. A pang of regret stilled her response, but then a familiar nausea bubbled in her stomach.

Shooting to to her feet, Ashara staggered out of the cave and barely managed to put some distance between herself and the fire before she bent over and retched. The remnants of the wolf's gruesome meal spilled out of her, a torrent of blood and mangled flesh hitting the ground with sickening squelches.

As she emptied her stomach, she sensed Astarion's presence beside her. She looked up, wiping her mouth and meeting his gaze with a miserable expression.

"I... I will understand if you don't want to be around me anymore," she said, her voice strained, her body trembling from the violent heaving. "But... you aren't in any danger. I only lost control because..." Her voice faltered as she struggled to find the words. "Because of what that man nearly did. And what the others were planning."

Rain pelted down on her face, cool droplets mingling with the remnants of blood and dirt. She lifted her head to the sky, letting the downpour wash her clean, trying to steady her breathing, her heart, everything.

She looked at Astarion again, her voice softer, almost broken. "Is that all people ever think of when they look at us? Is it... an elf thing to be seen as something to be... taken?"

A grim smile curved his lips, though his eyes held a haunted darkness. "In my personal experience... yes. Though I suspect those degenerates wouldn't have cared what we were, as long as we were warm bodies."

Ashara shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself as though it could shield her from the memories. "This isn't the first time someone's tried to..." Her voice faded, the words too raw to finish. Her fingers dug into her arms, leaving faint indentations on her skin.

"The wolf emerged the first time it happened. Protected me when I couldn't protect myself." She swallowed hard, suppressing the roiling emotion. "I wanted to keep it controlled back there in the dungeon. I didn't want you to be afraid of me. But... when I heard the others talking like that..."

"You don't have to justify yourself to me, Ashara," Astarion interrupted, his tone surprisingly gentle. "That part of you already saved me once before."

He managed a faint, wry smile. "Though it was a... rather different experience seeing it again, knowing that you're the one behind that terrifying creature and not Onyx."

Ashara looked up, caught off guard by the sincerity in his eyes. He wasn't mocking her - he was grateful.

"I mean it, Astarion. Now that you're a part of my pack... now that I know your scent, I won't hurt you. No matter what happens." The words tumbled out, surprising even her with how natural they felt.

Astarion stared intently at her face, and his expression softened, an odd look of wonder in his eyes. "I believe you. I'm likely insane for feeling this way, but... somehow, I trust you." He gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Isn't that strange?"

Ashara brushed her soaked hair from her face, frowning slightly. "What's so strange about it?"

He stepped closer, close enough for her to see her reflection in his eyes. "Because the day that cursed Dragonborn handed me over to the Gur, I swore I would never trust anyone again. I promised myself I'd rely on no one but myself." He gave a wry smile, shrugging faintly. "And yet, here we are."

She studied him, feeling the pieces of his guarded self slowly revealing themselves. "And I swore I'd never have a friend who only had two legs." She tilted her head, offering a faint smile. "And yet, here we are."

Taking a step back, Ashara held out her hand, her voice quiet but steady. "Friends?"

Astarion seemed startled, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face, before he took her hand. "If you like."

She shook his hand firmly, her smile widening, a brief warmth replacing the heaviness in her heart. But the moment was interrupted as her stomach lurched again, and she quickly turned away to retch once more, her face paling as she bent over heaving.

Astarion peered over her shoulder with a look of mild amusement and detached curiosity. "Oh look... There's an eyeball."

Her face paled even further, and Ashara gagged, retching once more, the revulsion twisting her stomach further.

Astarion took a casual step back, waving a hand dismissively. "Well, when you're finished, do come back and warm up by the fire. I'll be inside, avoiding the remains of your... meal." He turned and strode back into the cave, the faintest smirk playing on his lips as he left her to her misery.

Ashara wiped her mouth and looked up at the storm clouds above her and groaned, "Oh gods... why did I have to eat one of them?"