"When I said - 'I'm with you, wherever this leads' - I had rather hoped it wouldn't be to certain death at the hands of an insane druid!"
Ashara winced at Astarion's tone, the sharp edge of his sarcasm slicing through her focus. She bit back a retort, forcing herself to concentrate on the woman before them - the half-elven druid, Jaheira.
Draped in green velvet and leather, the figure exuded an air of authority that crackled in the tense silence. Grey-threaded hair, intricately braided, framed a sharp, angular face weathered by many a battle. The faint scent of earth and crushed herbs clung to her, and the air around her shimmered faintly with latent magic, coiled and ready to strike.
Her eyes, a piercing shade of emerald, seemed to dissect Ashara and her companion with the precision of a blade. Each measured glance was a judgment passed, a verdict unspoken but no less damning.
The journey to this moment had been fraught. They'd trailed behind Vaarl, who had led them to the grim scene where Halsin and the others had last been sighted. There, amidst the twisted rubble and overgrown buildings, Onyx had identified the mangled remains of several Harpers.
Despite the urge to charge recklessly after Durge and their captured allies, Onyx had persuaded them to follow the Harpers' trail back to its origin. They'd agreed, albeit reluctantly, their resolve tempered by the need to find a secure haven for Mirkon and Vaarl.
That trail had led them to this place: an inn encased in a shimmering dome of silvery moonlight, its ethereal glow casting long, undulating shadows across the surrounding landscape. Last Light, the weathered sign outside its gates read. Yet the name did little to dispel the foreboding that churned in Ashara's gut.
Onyx had lingered at the treeline with Mirkon and Vaarl, his imposing frame blending into the gloom. His caution was wise - the presence of a creature like him might provoke panic among the already wary Harpers.
At the gates, the reception had been chilly. Suspicion hung in the air, thick as smoke, as the guards' eyes flitted between Ashara and Astarion. But it wasn't until Jaheira arrived that the atmosphere turned glacial. The woman's gait was deliberate, her every step resonating with quiet authority. As she halted before them, her eyes had swept over each of them in turn, her silence more oppressive than any shouted accusation.
Without a word, she'd conjured vines from the earth with a flick of her hand, the movement was almost graceful - if not for the force with which the plants coiled around Ashara and Astarion, pinning them in place. The vines bit into Ashara's arms, their strength a reminder of nature's dominance. A sharp intake of breath escaped her as she struggled to stay composed.
Astarion hissed in protest, his struggles only tightening the verdant bonds that ensnared him. Jaheira's hand moved with practiced ease as she produced a small bottle. The liquid inside glimmered faintly, its sinister occupant floating peacefully. An Illithid tadpole.
Ashara's heart thudded painfully in her chest as the bottle was brought closer and the the tadpole inside began to writhe, its grotesque form pressing against the glass as if drawn to the proximity of its kin.
Ashara didn't miss the subtle tightening of Jaheira's jaw when the tadpole's thrashing intensified, its body contorting violently as it neared Astarion. The druid's eyes shifted to to him, her expression hardening into something even colder than before.
"You should never have come here, True Soul," Jaheira said, her voice as steady as the roots beneath their feet. It carried the weight of a decision already made, a judgment passed before either Ashara or Astarion could defend themselves.
Around them, the guards and Harpers moved in unison, crossbows glinting as they leveled them at the pair. Ashara could feel the heat of the stares, suspicion and readiness to strike at a single command. The silver moonlit bubble of Last Light, meant to be a sanctuary, now felt like a cage with sharpened bars.
Astarion's voice cut through the mounting tension, sharp and defiant. "I am not a True Soul!" he snarled, his struggles renewing with desperate fervor. The vines creaked in protest but held firm, their grip unyielding.
"Hold!" Ashara interjected, her voice firm, though her pulse thudded painfully in her throat. She turned her head to Jaheira, the vines restricting even the smallest of movements. "We can explain everything. We're not with the cult." Her eyes searched Jaheira's face for a crack in her hardened exterior, some glimmer of reason she could grasp onto.
Jaheira's gaze snapped to her, those emerald eyes narrowing. For a moment, the world seemed to hang in balance, the silence stretching taut as a drawn bowstring. Ashara could feel the weight of every weapon, every glare, pressing down on her. Her own breathing sounded deafening in the stillness.
"I'm not interested in the Absolute's manipulations," Jaheira said, her voice dripping with disdain. "The tadpole does not lie."
Ashara clenched her jaw. "And neither do we," she said, a spark of defiance threading her words. "We've been fighting the Absolute. That thing - " she nodded toward the writhing tadpole in Jaheira's hand, " - is exactly why we're here."
"You expect me to believe that?" Jaheira's voice was a razor, slicing through the fragile thread of hope. "Two strangers appear, reeking of the Absolute, and yet claim innocence?" She scoffed, the sound bitter and sharp. Around them, the guards shifted uneasily, their knuckles white against the hilts of their weapons.
Astarion tensed, baring his teeth briefly in open challenge. "Oh, forgive me," he drawled, his voice laced with venom. "Perhaps next time I'll introduce myself with a bouquet and a bottle of wine. Would that prove my virtue?"
Jaheira's expression didn't waver. Instead, she stepped forward, her movements deliberate, every step radiating the kind of confidence that came from years of unchallenged authority. Her gaze locked onto Astarion, a look of sinister intrigue in her eyes.
Her hand rose, and with a flick of her fingers, a tendril of vine coiled upward like a serpent called to its master. It slithered along the side of Astarion's face, its rough texture scraping against his pale skin. His head jerked to the side, muscles straining against the magical binds as the tendril forced itself between his lips. He gagged, his muffled growl of protest vibrating in his throat, as the vine pried his mouth open, exposing his fangs to the flickering moonlight that seeped through the barrier above.
Ashara's fists clenched at her sides, her heart pounding against her ribs like a war drum. The sight of him being degraded this way sent a spike of fury coursing through her veins.
Jaheira's grim smile cut through the tension like a jagged knife. She retracted the vine with a casual flick of her wrist, the tendril curling away like a snake retreating to its den. "In your case," she said, her tone icy and sharp, "not even a field of flowers and a barrel of wine would prove your virtue - vampire."
The word landed like a thunderclap, and the shift was immediate. The Harpers surrounding them tensed, their weapons angling sharply toward Astarion. The metallic hiss of drawn blades filled the air, and the tension became a suffocating weight.
Ashara felt her stomach twist into knots, a sinking dread pooling deep within her. She knew what was coming, and the thought of it sent a shiver racing down her spine. Astarion's defiance was as fiery as ever, his eyes blazing with fury, but Ashara saw the way his hands clenched, the faint tremor in his arms betraying the stark reality of their situation.
"He's not a threat!" Ashara burst out, her voice slicing through the tension. She strained forward as much as the vines allowed, her gaze darting from Jaheira to the armed Harpers and back again. The sharp tang of desperation edged her words. "Please, you have to believe us. We've risked everything to get here. If you kill us now, you'll never know the truth about what's happening beyond this barrier. We're not your enemies."
Her words hung in the air, but the tension didn't lessen. Jaheira's cold gaze didn't even flicker in her direction, her attention locked on Astarion like a hawk watching its prey.
Ashara's fingers closed around one of the vines binding her wrist. The texture was rough and pulsing faintly with the druid's magic, like veins carrying her will through the earth. She focused on it, her mind reaching out instinctively, connecting with the natural energy coursing through the plant. It was faint at first, like grasping at a whisper carried by the wind, but as she focused, she felt it - her magic resonating with Jaheira's. She wasn't powerless.
Jaheira took a step closer to Astarion, her movements slow and deliberate, her voice as sharp as flint. "It'll hurt less if you hold still."
The pit in Ashara's stomach deepened, her fingers tightening around the vine. The world seemed to narrow, everything beyond the immediate moment fading into a blur. She couldn't let this happen.
Drawing in a deep breath, Ashara let her magic surge through her, a tidal wave of energy flowing from her core into the vines. The connection burned hot, crackling like lightning as she willed the spell to falter. The vines trembled, then collapsed in a shuddering heap, freeing her and Astarion from their binds.
Jaheira staggered back, her expression flickering between shock and fury as Ashara and Astarion burst free. "What—" she started, but instead turned and called out, "Harpers! Cut down this True Soul now!"
The air shifted, the tension snapping like the dozen taut bowstrings suddenly released, as a dozen weapons fired in unison. Ashara's instincts took over before her mind could catch up. "Astarion!" she screamed, her voice raw with fear.
Astarion dove to the ground, his lithe form rolling to avoid the onslaught of arrows and bolts as Ashara lunged forward, her body moving with primal urgency.
The shift into her wolf form was swift - barely more than a blink of an eye - but excruciatingly brutal, her bones snapping and reshaping, her muscles stretching and pulling as she fell forward onto all fours over Astarion, her now-massive body blocking the storm of projectiles as they struck her side with a sickening thud. She clenched her jaws, the force of the impacts sending a shudder through her frame, but she held her ground, shielding Astarion completely.
Blood seeped from the wounds, hot and sticky against her fur, but she barely noticed. Her focus narrowed, her world reduced to a single thought that burned brighter than the agony consuming her: Protect him.
Astarion barely had time to gasp before the barrage came. The twang of bowstrings and the metallic hiss of bolts ripping through the air sent a cold spike of terror straight to his core. Instinct kicked in before thought could catch up, and he flung himself to the side, rolling across the uneven ground. He clutched his head, bracing for the inevitable bite of steel piercing flesh.
But the pain never came.
Instead, there was a deafening silence, broken only by the thud of projectiles meeting something solid - and Jaheira's stunned murmur: "Oakfather preserve us."
Astarion's breath hitched as he slowly uncovered his head, his senses prickling with the weight of something massive looming above him. The first thing he noticed was the sound - ragged, labored breathing, wet with pain. He turned his head cautiously, his sharp eyes locking onto a hulking shadow that eclipsed the dim light. His throat went dry.
Towering over him, crouched low and bristling with barely restrained ferocity, was a giant black wolf. Arrows and bolts jutted grotesquely from its side, blood streaming down its sleek fur in dark rivulets. The sharp tang of copper filled the air. The beast trembled, its skeletal maw clenched tight, but it wasn't fear that made it quiver - no, this was a battle, a familiar, desperate, tooth-gritting war against the instinct clawing at its mind.
Astarion hesitated, his hand hovering before he reached out and placed trembling fingers on the creatures foreleg. The fur beneath his touch was impossibly soft, a stark contrast to the hardened muscles rippling beneath its skin. "Ashara?" he whispered, his voice barely audible, as if speaking too loudly might shatter this fragile moment.
The wolf's massive head snapped toward him, icy blue eyes glowing with an unnatural, ethereal light. For a heartbeat, he froze under her gaze, unsure if she recognized him or if she might turn on him. But then her ears pricked up, and she leaned down, nudging his cheek gently with the cold tip of her nose. His breath caught again, this time in awe.
For a fleeting second, wonder danced across his face, softening the sharp lines of his usual guarded expression. Slowly, he lifted a hand to touch the bony edges of her snout, marveling at how something so fierce could be so gentle. But the fragile stillness was shattered in the next instant as another volley of arrows buried themselves in her already battered side.
Ashara stumbled, a pained snarl ripping from her throat. Astarion's stomach twisted violently, his hands clenching into fists. "Stop! Stop, you fools!" he shouted, his voice cracking with desperation.
"Wait! Hold your fire!" Jaheira's voice rang out, commanding, but too late to stop the damage already done.
Ashara swayed on her feet, her massive frame trembling. Her ears pinned back, and the glow in her eyes intensified, flaring like twin winter suns. The edges of her fur shimmered, faint tendrils of silver frost curling outward and turning the air frigid. The ground beneath her paws crackled as ice began to spread outward, an unrestrained manifestation of her fury.
A low, guttural growl rumbled in her chest, and Astarion knew what was coming before it happened. She turned, her gaze locking onto the Harpers, and let out a thunderous roar that vibrated through the ground. The sound was primal, filled with an unrelenting rage that sent even the most stalwart guards recoiling. With a leap, she launched herself at them, her fangs bared, muscles coiled for the kill.
A wall of vines erupted from the earth, a desperate defense conjured by Jaheira's magic. But it wasn't enough. Astarion watched, transfixed as Ashara tore through the barrier as though it were made of dry leaves. Splinters of greenery flew through the air, her massive jaws ripping the vines apart with terrifying ease. The Harpers scattered, terror etched into their faces.
Astarion scrambled to his feet, his hand instinctively flying to his sword. The polished steel gleamed in the moonlight, but his grip felt unsteady. What was he supposed to do? Protect himself? Protect the Harpers? Protect her? His mind was a chaotic mess, his instincts at war with reason. All he knew was that he couldn't stand idle.
Ashara advanced on Jaheira, who was backing away, her confident demeanor cracked under the weight of the wolf's wrath. The druid's hand flickered with magic, vines writhing at her feet, but even she seemed unsure if she could stop what was coming. Ashara's massive body tensed, her claws digging into the earth as she prepared to pounce.
Just as she lunged, a grey blur streaked through the air, colliding with her shoulder. The impact sent her sprawling to the side, her massive paws skidding against the earth. She snapped her jaws with a vicious growl, turning her blazing eyes toward the intruder.
Onyx stood before her, his head barely reaching her shoulders. His stance was firm, his golden eyes blazing with determination as he blocked her path to Jaheira. "Ashara!" he barked, his voice sharp and urgent. "Stop!"
The tension in the air was electric, and Astarion froze, caught between relief and dread. Ashara's breath came in harsh, ragged pants, her icy fur bristling as she glared at Onyx. For a terrifying moment, Astarion thought she might attack him too.
Then, the frost that had shimmered along Ashara's fur began to dissipate slowly, its icy glint fading into the damp night air. The light in her eyes, cold and otherworldly, dimmed with each passing second, leaving her gaze unfocused and glassy. Her breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, every exhale dragging the tension from her trembling muscles.
The transformation began slowly - ripples cascading through her massive form like waves breaking over jagged rocks. Black smoke unfurled from her fur, thick and swirling like an ominous fog, wrapping around her as her wolfish bulk started to shrink, accompanied by the sound of multiple arrows falling to the ground.
"A cloak. Quickly." Onyx's voice cut through the haze like a whip, sharp and commanding.
The urgency in his tone snapped Astarion into motion. His hands moved swiftly, unfastening his cloak and shrugging it off without a second thought. He stepped closer to the shifting cloud of energy, his movements deliberate but cautious.
The air around Ashara shimmered faintly with residual magic, and his instincts screamed at him to keep his distance. But when her pale shoulders began to emerge from the dissipating smoke, vulnerable and bare, hesitation melted away. He draped the cloak over her form in a single fluid motion, wrapping it tightly around her hunched figure and fastening it before retreating a step.
The smoke evaporated fully, leaving Ashara kneeling in the dirt. Her shoulders trembled under the weight of the cloak, her fingers clutching its edges with a desperation that spoke volumes. Her dark hair clung to her skin, obscuring her face, but her body language betrayed her. She was shaking - not just from fear, but from the strain of what she'd endured.
When she slowly rose to her feet, the cloak pulled tightly around her, she moved closer to Astarion without a word. Her head stayed low, her gaze fixed firmly on the dirt, avoiding the stares of the Harpers that lingered on her with equal parts fear and awe.
She hovered just behind him like a shadow seeking refuge, close enough for him to feel her presence, but keeping herself partially hidden. He adjusted his stance instinctively, his body forming a wall between her and the Harpers. His eyes narrowed as he glared at them, his posture radiating fury.
Jaheira stepped forward, her composure returning with a practiced grace, though her sharp eyes betrayed the tempest brewing beneath. She glared at Onyx, her voice biting. "You have a lot of explaining to do, old friend."
Astarion's gaze snapped to Onyx, his brows furrowing in disbelief. "Friend?!" he said, his voice laced with derision. "You know this witch, Onyx?"
Onyx's golden eyes shifted toward Jaheira. He stepped forward with slow, deliberate movements, bowing his head slightly in a gesture of respect. "Please forgive the actions of my companions," he said, his deep voice steady and calm. "I can assure you, they mean you and your Harpers no harm."
Jaheira's lips pressed into a thin line, her sharp features etched with skepticism. Her gaze flicked to Astarion, narrowing as she studied him. "So you say, yet this one carries an Illithid tadpole in his head." Her tone was laced with contempt as she nodded toward him. "What's more, he is a vampire. Since when did you consort with such creatures, Onyx?"
Astarion's lips curled into a subtle sneer, but he said nothing, his eyes locked onto Jaheira with simmering hatred. The tension between them was palpable, a battle of wills fought in silence.
Onyx straightened his posture, his presence calm but commanding. "Since my charge, Ashara, invited one into our pack," he replied firmly, glancing back toward Astarion. "I will vouch for him, Jaheira. He is not part of the Absolute cult."
Jaheira crossed her arms, her fingers tapping rhythmically against her elbow as she studied Astarion anew, as though trying to peel back the layers of his being to expose some hidden truth. "A True Soul with a mind of his own," she said, her voice edged with skepticism. "How is that possible?"
Onyx took a step forward, his gaze steady on hers. "I am suppressing the commands of the force that seeks to use him as a pawn, in whatever game is being played in this cursed place," he explained.
Jaheira's hard gaze shifted past Onyx, her eyes lingering on the trembling figure wrapped in Astarion's cloak, partially obscured behind him. "And what of her?" she asked, her voice sharp with suspicion. "What exactly did you bring into my camp, Onyx?"
Onyx's tone was measured but resolute, a calm counter to Jaheira's sharpness. "Allies."
Astarion's sharp tongue lashed out before he could think twice. "Which you dearly need by the looks of this sorry shithole," he quipped scornfully, his gaze sweeping over the ramshackle courtyard of the inn.
The flicker of torchlight lent the area a ghostly glow, casting elongated shadows across the uneven ground and the weathered walls of the surrounding buildings. The inn at the far end loomed like a weary sentinel, its tiled roof and sturdy stonework speaking of years spent enduring both the elements and whatever horrors prowled beyond the safety of the gates.
A well sat at the center of the square, its once-pristine stone rim cracked and moss-covered. Nearby, makeshift wooden barricades bristled with sharpened stakes, hastily assembled as though the fortifications were an afterthought - or a desperate response to an encroaching threat. Scattered crates and wagons leaned at odd angles, their contents spilling out haphazardly as though abandoned mid-task.
Jaheira's head snapped toward him, her eyes narrowing to daggers. "Well, this 'shit hole,' as you so eloquently put it, is the only thing standing between us and what lurks out there in the darkness." Her voice was calm, but her words struck like hammer blows. "If you find the accommodations distasteful, then by all means, turn around and walk back out into the shadows. I'm sure they will be more to your liking."
Her words, delivered with icy precision, made Astarion's lips curl into a smirk, though his fingers twitched by his side. He opened his mouth, ready to shoot back with a sharp retort, when Onyx interjected smoothly. "We would, but there are young ones with us who need your protection, Jaheira."
Jaheira's stance shifted slightly, the tension in her shoulders loosening. She let out a slow sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Please tell me you didn't find more strays, Onyx."
The corner of Onyx's mouth curled into a mischievous canine grin. "I know how much you love collecting them."
Before Jaheira could reply, he turned toward the gates and released three short howls that echoed into the night. The Harpers around them stiffened, their hands instinctively going to their weapons, but Astarion noted the subtle, knowing look Jaheira shot Onyx.
Moments later, Vaarl and Mirkon emerged from the shadows, their Frostfire torches casting flickering halos of light around them. The boy clung to Vaarl's arm, his wide, nervous eyes darting to every unfamiliar face in the crowd.
As they neared the group, Astarion's gaze flicked to Ashara. She had raised her head slightly, her eyes locking on the boy. But as Mirkon's eyes landed on her, he flinched visibly, shrinking further behind Vaarl. The movement was small but devastating, and Astarion didn't miss the way Ashara's face fell, sorrow darkening her expression. She clutched the edges of the cloak tighter around herself, her trembling fingers curling into the fabric as if to shield herself from the silent judgment.
Onyx began introducing Vaarl and Mirkon to Jaheira, explaining their plight and the dangers they'd faced, but Astarion paid little attention. His focus remained on Ashara. She barely seemed to hear what was being said, her lips moving as she whispered, almost inaudibly, "He must have seen me like that. And now he's afraid of me... they all are."
Before he could think it through, Astarion reached out, his arm sliding around her waist and pulling her closer. Her body stiffened at the contact, but she didn't pull away. Leaning toward her, he whispered, his voice low and steady, "I'm sure the boy will come around." Then, with a sharper edge, he added darkly, "As for the rest... let them be afraid. They don't deserve your mercy."
Ashara tilted her head up to look at him, her sapphire eyes shimmering with unshed tears. The sight made his chest tighten, a strange mixture of protectiveness and helplessness swelling inside him. When she spoke, her voice trembled, barely holding back the fear and anger simmering beneath the surface. "They could have killed you."
The raw emotion in her voice struck him like a blow. His breath caught, his carefully constructed walls wavering and he forced himself to ask the question that had been gnawing at him. "Why... why did you do that? Risk yourself like that for me?"
Ashara's brow furrowed, confusion replacing the sorrow in her gaze. "Why wouldn't I?" she replied as though the answer were obvious. "My wolf form is much stronger than you are, so I knew I'd probably be okay if I shifted."
"Probably?" Astarion repeated, his voice rising slightly. "You mean, you didn't know if you would survive that barrage or not?!"
She shrugged, the motion so nonchalant it made his jaw clench. "It was a simple choice between you dying or me maybe dying."
Her words knocked the air from his lungs. He stared at her, his crimson eyes wide, as if truly seeing her for the first time, searching her gaze for... what? Some sign she didn't mean it? Some indication that her reckless selflessness wasn't real? But there was nothing in her gaze but honesty, clear and uncompromising.
His throat tightened, and he felt the sting of tears welling in his eyes. Swallowing hard, he forced them down, unwilling to let them fall. This feeling - this overwhelming rush of gratitude, confusion, and something dangerously close to affection - was suffocating. The idea that someone would value his life so much that they'd risk their own, was almost incomprehensible.
Astarion tightened his hold on Ashara's waist, drawing her closer to his side as though her presence could anchor him in the whirlwind of emotions and revelations. Her warmth, even through the thick fabric of the cloak, grounded him.
The urge to sweep her into his arms, to kiss her and let every unspoken thought and feeling bleed out into that single, reckless act, burned hot and bright in his chest. But the weight of their surroundings, the eyes of the Harpers, and his own deeply-ingrained fear held him back. Instead, he leaned toward her, his voice a low murmur just for her. "You're incredible, you know that?"
Ashara's head snapped up, her sapphire eyes widening in surprise before she quickly looked away, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. The sight stirred something almost tender in him, and he smiled softly, a small, fleeting thing that disappeared as he turned his focus back to the conversation between Onyx and Jaheira. He guided Ashara forward with him, keeping her close as they moved nearer to catch their words more clearly.
Jaheira's voice, sharp and commanding, carried easily across the tense courtyard. She gestured to Astarion without sparing him a glance, her gaze fixed firmly on Onyx. "I've traced people like him, people with parasites in their brains, all the way here from Baldur's Gate. The cult of the Absolute is spreading through the city - quietly, quickly, and with unsettling deliberation. We tracked them to this ancient village only to face a man we killed and buried over a century ago."
Onyx narrowed his eyes and sat on his haunches. "Who was—" he paused, correcting himself, "who is he?"
Jaheira's eyes darkened, her voice lowering as if the name itself carried a dangerous weight. "General Ketheric Thorm. Remember that name. He's the leader of the Absolutists. He was a Sharran once - took to building an army of Dark Justiciars beneath this very village. Alongside the local druids, we made it our business to see him deposed - dead and buried."
Astarion couldn't resist the quip that sprang to his lips, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "If he's back, are you sure you hit him hard enough in the first place?"
Jaheira's gaze snapped to him, her sharp features tightening further. "Come a little closer," she said, her tone razor-sharp, "and I will demonstrate how hard I hit."
Astarion bit back the retort hovering on his tongue, but his fist clenched tightly at his sides. Ashara glanced up at him, her brow creased with worry, and her hand brushed against his briefly - a quiet, reassuring gesture.
Jaheira continued, her tone grim. "Not only does General Ketheric Thorm live again, it seems he is no longer mortal. We met him on the road here - commanding an army of the Absolute, intent on destroying Baldur's Gate. I put an arrow through his eye myself, only to watch him pluck it out like a splinter."
Onyx exhaled sharply. "That is... concerning."
"To put it mildly," Jaheira shot back. "He healed right in front of me and chased us into the shadows. Things looked hopeless, but experience has taught me that no matter how bleak things look, there's always hope."
Her gaze shifted suddenly to Astarion, her head tilting as she regarded him with a new intensity. "You just might be that hope."
The words took him off guard, and he blinked, momentarily stunned. Then, as if on instinct, he let out a dry, wry snort. "It's rare people look at me and see 'hope.' Usually, I evoke a very different set of feelings entirely."
Jaheira's lips curled into a cold, humorless smile. "Oh, I'm certain of that. However, the light is rather dim out here in the Shadowlands. The point remains: If you truly are in control of your own mind, then you can infiltrate his forces at Moonrise Towers, posing as a True Soul."
She stepped closer, her gaze locking onto his like a blade piercing flesh. "Find out what it is that makes him invincible so we can strip him of his advantage. Once Ketheric is without his shield, then together we assault his tower and put a final end to this blight."
Astarion tilted his head slightly, his expression cool, though the tension in his body remained. "And what makes you think I'd want to help you?" he asked, his voice soft but cutting. "Especially after your... warm welcome?"
Jaheira's eyes narrowed, her sharp features hardening. "Forgive me," she said, her tone laced with icy disdain, "I mistook you for someone worthy of Onyx's trust. It seems the old dog is growing senile and does not use sound judgment anymore when selecting his allies."
Onyx's ears twitched slightly, and he let out a low, humorless huff as he stepped closer. "He's right, though," Onyx said, his golden gaze steady on Jaheira. "You've given him little reason to want to help the people who attacked him."
Jaheira bristled but exhaled sharply, her voice carrying a calculated calm. "If you won't do this for us, then do it for your own sake," she said sharply. "You need to heal yourself of your infection. Any cure starts with understanding the disease. Whatever magic Ketheric's using to control these tadpoles, it must be at Moonrise, and you are the only one who can get inside and walk around freely."
The weight of her words settled heavily on Astarion, sinking into the cracks of his defenses. He glanced at Ashara out of the corner of his eye, her quiet presence an anchor as his mind churned with possibilities. The thought of infiltrating the Absolute sent a spike of unease through him, but beneath that unease was something else - something he didn't want to admit aloud. The realisation that, perhaps, Jaheira was right.
His voice, when he finally spoke, was calm but laced with bitter sarcasm. "Well," he drawled, "this should be interesting. A vampire infiltrating an army of zealots. What could possibly go wrong?"
Jaheira's words struck like a whip. "A lot can go wrong," she said sharply, her tone as unyielding as stone. "And I do not relish the thought of everything depending on a vampire choosing to do the right thing. But the desperate cannot be picky. It seems I have no other choice but to trust you."
Astarion stiffened, her words slicing through him with surgical precision. Anger flared in his chest, hot and immediate, but it was quickly smothered by a heavier emotion - a sting of shame that burrowed deep. Her distrust was a knife twisting in a wound he couldn't seem to close.
He knew what he was, what people saw when they looked at him: a creature of shadows, a predator with no loyalty except to himself. Yet it still managed to hit the tender parts of him he tried so hard to bury. A familiar wave of self-loathing churned in his gut, pulling him under.
But then Ashara's hand found his, her fingers tightening around his in a gesture so simple, yet so full of meaning. He glanced at her, the heat of his anger cooling slightly under her gaze. She didn't say anything, but her presence spoke louder than words. She wasn't ashamed to stand by him. It wasn't much, but it was enough to pull him back into the moment.
Jaheira, oblivious to the moment between them, turned back to Onyx. "Before you go, there's somebody else you should meet," she said, her tone brisk, all business. "Isobel - a faithful cleric of Selûne and a light in the darkness. She cast the moon shield around the inn. It's the only reason we're still alive. She's upstairs in her chambers. Tell her I sent you, and she'll see you through the shadows safely."
Astarion tilted his head slightly, his sharp hearing catching a faint, muffled sound above them. It was faint, a cry carried on the wind, but it was enough to set him on edge. His crimson eyes narrowed, and he looked up, his instincts immediately sharpening. "This cleric," he said, his tone even but tinged with suspicion. "She wouldn't happen to be a half-elven woman with short white hair, would she?"
Jaheira's head snapped toward him, her sharp eyes narrowing. "Yes..." she said slowly, her voice laced with unease. "Why?"
Astarion's gaze shifted upward again, his lips curling into a grim line. He raised a hand and pointed toward the darkened sky. "Because I think I just saw her being carried away by some sort of winged creature."
The words had barely left his mouth when the inn's doors burst open, a frantic Harper rushing out, his face pale and his breathing ragged. "Jaheira!" he called, his voice trembling. "Lady Isobel has been kidnapped!"
As if to emphasize the gravity of his words, the moonlit barrier surrounding the inn flickered ominously. A low hum reverberated through the air, and cracks began to spiderweb across its surface, glowing faintly like fissures in glass. The light within the shield dimmed, the once-solid wall of protection beginning to fragment, piece by piece.
Jaheira's face went ashen, her composure slipping for the first time. "By the gods..." she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her hand clenched into a fist at her side, and her sharp eyes darted toward the failing barrier. The protective light that had seemed so impenetrable now shuddered and groaned, its glow faltering like a dying ember.
Astarion felt Ashara tense beside him, her grip on his hand tightening. Her eyes lifted to the barrier, worry etched deep into her features. He could feel the energy shift around them, the growing panic of the Harpers as they realized the fragile sanctuary they had relied on was about to crumble.
Jaheira's jaw tightened, her mind clearly racing as she barked orders to the Harpers. "Fortify the gates. Prepare for an assault. The moment that barrier falls, we'll have every shadow-spawn in the area descending on us."
"No!" Onyx's growl cut through her orders like a blade. He stepped forward, his golden eyes locking onto Jaheira's. "Jaheira, get everyone inside the inn now."
She turned to him, hesitation flickering across her face. Her gaze darted to the barrier again, the cracks spreading faster, and her expression hardened. "Harpers, fall back to the inn!" she barked, making her decision. "Now!"
The Harpers didn't need to be told twice. The courtyard erupted into a flurry of movement as they abandoned their posts and fled toward the safety of the inn.
Astarion fell into step beside Onyx, Ashara stumbling slightly as she kept pace. The chill in the air was growing sharper, the oppressive darkness pressing closer with each flicker of the failing shield.
Astarion glanced at Onyx sidelong, his crimson eyes sharp and questioning. "What's the plan?" he asked, his voice edged with sarcasm to mask the genuine concern curling in his chest. "I'm assuming you have one?"
Onyx nodded grimly and came to an abrupt stop just outside the inn's doorway, turning to face Ashara. "You need to encircle the inn with a ring of Frostfire."
Ashara froze, her wide eyes locking onto Onyx in disbelief. "I've only just learned how to light a few torches... I can't do something like that!" she stammered.
Onyx's golden gaze softened but remained resolute. "Yes, you can," he said firmly. "You could surround an entire city if you wanted to. But for now, let's focus on one small building."
Astarion's mind reeled at the implication of Onyx's words. The sheer power Ashara might possess was staggering, but there was no time to dwell on it. He stepped in front of her, gripping her shoulders tightly, forcing her panicked gaze to meet his. "He's right," he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil around them. "If you don't do this, everyone here will probably die. Mirkon, Vaarl... and me."
Her breathing quickened, and Astarion could see the fear in her eyes - fear of failure, fear of the responsibility suddenly thrust upon her. But then, slowly, her expression shifted. The trembling in her shoulders stilled, replaced by a quiet determination that settled over her like armor. She nodded once, squaring her shoulders, and Astarion stepped back, releasing her.
Ashara moved forward, positioning herself at the center of the inn's entrance. She raised her hands, palms outstretched, and spread them wide. A faint blue glow flickered at her fingertips, growing brighter with each passing second. She hunched forward slightly, her head bowed, and Astarion could see the effort etched into every tense line of her body. The air around her grew colder, crackling with energy that made the hair on Astarion's neck stand on end.
The ground before her shuddered, and with a sudden roar, a line of blue flames erupted from the earth. The fire crackled and hissed, the light it cast cold and otherworldly. Astarion's gaze followed the line of Frostfire as it expanded outward, snaking around the perimeter of the inn. The flames consumed everything in their path, moving with a sentient grace, and soon they were curling around the back of the building. Moments later, the tail end of the ring reappeared, completing the circle and rejoining the flames in front of Ashara. The Frostfire surged upward, a perfect barrier of glowing blue energy encircling the inn like a protective cocoon.
Ashara staggered, her arms dropping to her sides as the light at her fingertips flickered and died. Her knees buckled, and Astarion moved instinctively, catching her just as she collapsed backward. He pulled her close as the glow from the Frostfire lit her face, highlighting the exhaustion in her pale features and the faint sheen of sweat on her brow.
Her eyelids fluttered, and she gazed up at him, her voice soft and dazed. "Did it work?"
Astarion glanced at the blazing wall of blue flames encircling them, a satisfied grin tugging at his lips. "Most definitely," he said, his tone light but tinged with relief. "I'd like to see any shadow monsters try getting through that in a hurry."
Ashara gave him a weak smile, her lips barely curving. "Good," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I think I'd like to go to sleep now."
He chuckled softly and shifted her carefully in his arms, cradling her as though she were something fragile. "Sleep sounds like an excellent idea," he said, his voice quieter now, meant only for her. "You've earned it."
Astarion's sharp senses caught the faint rustle of movement beside him before he turned his head, finding Jaheira standing there, her eyes fixed on the shimmering wall of Frostfire. The light of the blue flames danced across her face, illuminating an expression of quiet awe that seemed out of place on someone as stern as her. Her gaze shifted briefly to Ashara, slumped in his arms, and then to Onyx, an unreadable look of intrigue settling over her features.
"I think it's time you and I had a little chat in private, old friend," Jaheira said, her voice quiet but firm, laced with meaning.
Onyx inclined his head "As you wish." He paused, his eyes flicking to Astarion and the barely conscious figure in his arms. "Is there somewhere Ashara can rest?"
Jaheira's eyes softened just slightly as she considered the question. "Take Isobel's room upstairs. Until we get her back, there's a vacancy."
Astarion didn't wait for further instructions. Adjusting his hold on Ashara, he picked her up and began walking toward the inn, her body cradled effortlessly against him. The gathered Harpers parted in silence as he passed, their expressions a mixture of reverence and caution. He avoided their eyes, his focus on the soft rise and fall of Ashara's chest as she struggled to keep her eyes open. Her exhaustion was palpable, her fingers curling weakly against his shirt as though even that small movement required monumental effort.
As he passed, a tiefling man stepped forward hesitantly, reaching out and tapping Astarion on the arm. Astarion froze, his body stiffening as his sharp gaze snapped to the man. The tiefling flinched under the intensity of his glare, his hand falling back to his side. Swallowing nervously, the tiefling's gaze darted to Ashara, then back to Astarion. "Thank you," he said, his voice trembling but earnest. "Both of you."
Astarion blinked, startled by the unexpected gratitude. Before he could respond, a ripple of murmured thanks spread through the crowd, the soft chorus of voices rising like a gentle tide. The rare and unfamiliar sensation of being appreciated left him momentarily unbalanced.
He pushed the awkwardness down quickly, a sly smirk curling his lips as he leaned into his usual persona. "Well," he said smoothly, his tone laced with dry humor, "if you really want to thank me, you could always offer me a drink. Something full-bodied and red."
The tiefling's face drained of color, and he stepped back quickly, his alarm as clear as a beacon. Astarion rolled his eyes, exasperation flickering through him. "That was a joke," he said, his voice droll. "Honestly, lighten up. Anyone would think it was the end of the world."
Without waiting for a response, he continued on, the murmurs fading behind him. When he reached the top of the staircase, he paused, glancing around. Uncertainty crept in - he didn't know where the cleric's room was. Before he could turn back, a woman's voice called out from downstairs, "Second room on the right."
Astarion smirked faintly, calling back over his shoulder, "Thank you, darling." He strode toward the double doors, pushing them open with his shoulder. The room beyond was simple but inviting, the moonlight filtering through sheer curtains and pooling on the dark wooden floor. The wide poster bed in the center of the room was draped in soft linens, an oasis of comfort after the chaos of the night.
He crossed to the bed and carefully lowered Ashara onto the mattress, taking care to ensure the cloak remained wrapped around her. She stirred faintly, her head shifting against the pillow as her eyes fluttered open. "Can you stay with me a while?" she murmured, her voice barely audible, tinged with exhaustion.
Astarion hesitated, his crimson eyes searching hers. Finally, he nodded, his voice softer than usual. "Of course, my dear."
He slipped onto the bed beside her, and settled on his back. Carefully, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close but keeping his touch light, conscious of the fact that she was still naked beneath the cloak. Her head rested on his chest, her soft breaths warm against his skin. The tension in her body melted away as she relaxed into him, her frame fitting perfectly against his.
Astarion let out a quiet sigh, the stress of the past few hours beginning to ebb as he focused on the steady rhythm of her breathing, each exhale brushing softly against his shirt. He let his gaze drift across the room, taking in the soft glow of the lanternlight, the faint scent of lavender lingering in the air, and the distant hum of the Frostfire still burning outside.
Impulsively, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. Her hair smelled faintly of the frost magic she'd conjured, crisp and clean like a winter morning. "Sweet dreams, my darling," he murmured, his voice so quiet it barely disturbed the stillness of the room.
She didn't respond, already lost to the pull of sleep, but the soft smile that ghosted across her lips was enough. Astarion closed his eyes, his arms tightening protectively around her as though daring the world to take this moment from him. As far as he was concerned, everything beyond this room could go to hell until she woke.