"...I'm simply saying that, not only would the hair have enabled me to better channel the Weave, but it would have been a fascinating insight into the nature of hag magic. There have been so few books written on the topic, after all…"

"Now now, darling, don't sulk," Astarion cooed, doing up a bracer. Truth be told, he couldn't be bothered by Gale's fit of pique. How long had it been since he had argued for something he wanted and actually received it? And he felt so balanced now, so light. He could dodge a hundred firebolts!

"I am not sulking! I can't help but feel you are being rewarded for bad behavior, namely, stealing the hair from Karlach's pocket on the way back! Being actually in possession of the hair certainly strengthened your bargaining position."

"She laughed." And she had, another wonder. Karlach had laughed when he'd dangled the hag's hair triumphantly in front of Gale. Karlach hadn't ordered him to give it to someone better. She hadn't carved his fingers to the bone. She'd laughed - "Quick fingers, Fangs." - and let him make his arguments.

"Dexterity would affect my usefulness across the board. It's an investment, darling."

And Wyll of all people had added, "And it would probably make it easier for you to hunt," and even Gale had nodded at that. Like that mattered.

It was no doubt because they thought being better fed would make it easier for him to pick locks and disarm traps, but still…Astarion couldn't help but be giddy at the novelty of it all.

Gale continued to rant, but Astarion tuned it out to focus on Karlach bustling around the camp. From the sound of it, they'd be scouting the goblin camp today, maybe making an inroad or two depending on their luck. Time to test out his new dexterity; goblins were bound to have a few locked doors and traps. Perhaps a few diamonds to slip up his sleeve, though perhaps he shouldn't get his hopes up, goblins not being known for their exquisite taste.

Brief check on Gale. Yep, still ranting. Astarion tuned back out.

Across the clearing, Lae'zel rolled her eyes. "Tsk'va. Does the wizard not realize a whole night has passed? What's done is done."

"Wizards can be stubborn, Lae'zel," Shadowheart said with a toss of her braid. "A trait with which you ought to be familiar."

"I am standing right here!"

Near the fire, Wyll snorted, then smothered the rest of the laugh in his oatmeal.

It was both like and unlike the Szarr Palace, Astarion decided, watching the scene unfold. The squabbling between Lae'zel and Shadowheart was very familiar, as was Wyll smirking safely from out of the line of fire. Gale at his most annoying couldn't hold a candle to Petras, fortunately, or Astarion would have been forced to push him off one of the cliffs they'd been climbing outside the Grove the day before.

He could do that now, you know, now that there weren't compulsions forcing him to tolerate idiots. The thought filled him with yet more glee.

"Just gotta gather my stuff and I'll be ready to go," Karlach said, dropping her bowl in the tub of sudsy water they were using to get stuff clean. "How 'bout you, Astarion?"

He batted his eyes at her. "Ready when you are, darling."

She smiled; it lit up her whole face. "Great. Gale's doing soup for the rest of us when we come back, but Lae'zel said she'd hunt so you'd have something too. Gotta be plenty of stuff in the woods, yeah?"

His heart gave an odd twinge. She sounded so…so matter-of-fact. Like feeding a vampire spawn was as normal and expected as putting up the tents. Fed daily…what a novel thought. He realized he was staring at her like an idiot and hastily shoved the strange feeling down. "Why, you spoil me, Karlach! I'll make it up to you, I swear." He lowered his voice seductively on the last line, and was rewarded by a flush.

"N-no need for that." And she bounced off, ostensibly to check on Wyll.

Astarion smirked. Too easy.

Shadowheart snorted. "I suppose ten years in the Hells makes a person desperate enough to fall for that tired old line."

Desperate, yes. Desperate was good. People did all sorts of ill-advised things when they were desperate. Like let a vampire spawn keep living in their camp. "Jealous, Shadowheart?"

Meanwhile, Wyll let himself be harried towards his tent. Just before he ducked inside, he smiled at Karlach and said something that made her laugh. Wyll's eyes crinkled in return.

For a moment, they looked like something out of a fairytale, and Astarion's smile threatened to slip. Yes, he could flirt and fawn as much as he liked, but at the end of the day, he couldn't touch Karlach. Couldn't demonstrate the one thing he was best at. Karlach was kind now, but no sane person would keep him around if he didn't earn his place. He wasn't a hero like Wyll. He wasn't good like Karlach. She'd tire of him eventually.

Maybe they should prioritize finding that Infernal Iron after all.

His stomach churned.

Then the cleric snorted, interrupting his anxiety before it could properly spiral. "In your dreams, Astarion."

"Oh, in my dreams, you're never jealous," he said. "In my dreams, you…"

"Do not finish that sentence."

Astarion smirked at her scowl. Shadowheart was…safe, weirdly, for someone with so many secrets. Shar wasn't too interested in the undead one way or the other, and Shadowheart was more interested in finding a cure than fussing about who he drank from. Besides, she was delightfully bitchy. Quite as good as Violet in a pinch.

Gale cleared his throat. "So…Astarion, can you tell the difference? Now that you've consumed the hair, I mean." He had a basketful of vegetables in hand - probably for the stew he meant to make - and he seemed to have forgotten his irritation in favor of his favorite pastime: asking irritating questions.

"Oh yes," Astarion said. "As promised." By way of demonstration, he twirled a knife between his fingers.

Gale rolled his eyes and added without much hope. "Come and help me cut these vegetables then. Put those new knife skills of yours to good use."

Astarion snorted, but rose to his feet anyway and padded over. A few minutes chopping carrots was worth the absolutely poleaxed expression on Gale's face. The wizard was so surprised, in fact, that Astarion had roughly diced the carrots, onions, and part of the potatoes before Gale thought to ask the obvious question.

"Wait, is that the same knife you were using to stab the redcaps yesterday?"

Astarion grinned and flipped the blade between his fingers.

"Did you at least wipe it OFF?!"

Astarion's grin widened.

"Ready to go, Fangs?"

"Absolutely," Astarion said, and trotted off towards the others, leaving the wizard spluttering behind him.


Hours later, Wyll crouched with the others on a cliff above the goblin camp. From there, they could make out the bustling forms of dozens of goblins, punctuated by the larger shapes of the occasional worg, hobgoblin, or troll. Though they could not make out specific words from this distance, the raucous laughter was clear enough, and Wyll could imagine the jeers and cruelties that accompanied it.

The old, familiar hatred, well-worn, rose up, and he pushed it back down.

Later.

Instead, he forced himself to study the enemy's movement in more detail. The result was not encouraging. He'd studied strategy and tactics, both under his father and other members of the Flaming Fist, and he'd also read a great deal about great wars and battles growing up. This was not an impenetrable fortress, but they certainly could not take it with just six.

"Applying stealth will be far more likely to succeed than a frontal assault," he said at last. "There may be weak points in the wall, or we may even be able to drop down inside with Feather Fall or Misty Step."

"Sneak in?" Astarion said. "Past that?" He sniffed. "I could manage it, but Shadowheart? Gods, can you imagine making Gale be quiet for that long?"

"You got a better idea, Fangs?" Karlach asked. "I admit, I'm not very good at keeping quiet either."

He flashed his teeth at her. "I wasn't going to be the one to say it, darling. But I was going to suggest something else entirely. You saw them in the abandoned village, how they fell all over themselves when they felt the tadpoles squirming in our heads. I can't imagine the guards here are made of sterner stuff."

"What," Shadowheart said, "just walk right up to the gate and tell them to let us in?"

"All Hail the Absolute!" Astarion said. "We're "True Souls," after all, far more important than any wretched little goblin. And if there's one thing I know, it's that there's always people willing to lick the boots of those with power." He grimaced, an odd expression that lasted barely a heartbeat. "None of us asked to have tadpoles in our heads, but the fact remains that they gave us a certain...persuasiveness. I suggest we put that to good use."

Wyll considered that. Astarion had a very good point, and it would save a world of trouble. Then again, power always came with a price.

He thought briefly of cultists, the image of a five-headed dragon glimmering in the light of his magic.

He thought of the druid Halsin, possibly dead, and the tieflings who would die on the road if the goblins were not dealt with. The children he'd been teaching to fight, their foolish faith in him.

Then again, sometimes power was worth the cost.

He let out a breath. "I think that's an excellent idea, Astarion. Definitely worth a try. I admit that not even I am keen to fight an entire camp at once."

He thought he caught a flash of surprise in the vampire's face. Surprised that he was being listened to? Or just surprised that Wyll was endorsing something subtle?

"Though," Wyll said, smiling wryly, "perhaps whoever approaches the guard should be capable of Misty Step, just in case."

Karlach pumped her fist. "Yes. We have a plan!" She cast a glance up at the sun. It had taken them most of the day to work their way out of the swamp and onto the bluff. "But let's wait until tomorrow, yeah? I don't fancy being chased by goblins through the pitch black if something goes wrong."

"And in the meantime, maybe we can move our camp a bit closer," Shadowheart said. "Otherwise we'll have to do this hike again tomorrow."

The others readily agreed, and one-by-one, began slowly retracing their steps back to camp.


Astarion had hoped that the change in camp would at least get them out of this blasted swamp, but no luck, apparently (story of his life). Wyll suggested, and Karlach agreed, that it would be best to still maintain a little distance from the goblin camp in case they needed to retreat, and the swamp had plenty of traps and quicksand that they had mapped but the goblins might not be familiar with. So the remainder of the day turned into one long slog through muck and mud, packing up the camp (at least Lae'zel had kept her word and caught him some kind of large rodent with a wide flat tail that wasn't a rat). Astarion drained it as he walked, then tossed it into a nearby pool.

The small swarming fish that came out of nowhere to rip it apart had him edging back from the water.

"I must admit," Gale panted as they came to the next section of dry land and took a moment to rest. "I'm quite relieved that we're camping closer to our destination. It should make it easier to utilize more of each day in pursuance of our goals."

"I'm all a fan of making things easier, darling," Astarion cooed, then gave the wizard his best lascivious wink. "Though of course, harder also has its perks."

Karlach burst out laughing. Gale choked. Wyll sighed in irritation. So wins all around, really.

"Do you ever shut up, Astarion?" Shadowheart grumbled, rolling her eyes.

Astarion batted his eyes at her in turn. "What? And deprive you of my dulcet tones?" He sniffed. "Besides, I'M not the one jangling about in armor when we're meant to be sneaking up on something."

Shadowheart fixed him with an unamused stare. "Then let me be equally subtle now," she said. "Shut up, Astarion. You're giving me a headache."

Astarion smirked, opened his mouth to respond…and found the words literally stopped up in his throat. He choked. Tried to force out a response, ANY response. Nothing. Habit forced a smile onto his face even as a whine of panic tried and failed to claw its way out of his throat. Now that he was concentrating on it, he recognized the cold, sickening sensation. If he had not already been compelled, horror would have stricken him dumb.

Lae'zel snorted. "That is the first time I've seen Astarion at a loss for words."

"And after such a witty retort on Shadowheart's part," Wyll said dryly.

Astarion ignored them, yanking his daggers out and frantically scanning his surroundings. Cazador, here? But how? The sun was supposed to keep him safe! It was still in the sky…or, oh gods. Had this entire thing been an illusion? A dream? His reveries had never been like this before, but if Cazador was here, able to compel him in full sunlight, when Astarion could neither see him nor hear his voice…what he saw now couldn't be real. This was all just a hallucination born of pain and hunger. Mutely, he waited for the bright sunshine to be replaced with the cold stone of the kennels.

Karlach - or whatever memory Karlach was based on - frowned. "What is it, Fangs? What's wrong?"

Lae'zel's hand went to her sword. "Perhaps he perceives a threat that we do not."

Gale moved warily towards the center of the group, while Wyll began scanning the area around them.

Why hadn't his master woken him? Cazador had played mind games before, but they were usually petty and easy to spot. Offering a rat, only to pull it back. Making Astarion beg for his own pain and humiliation. What was he playing at? Astarion clenched his fists and willed himself to wake. Better to end the dream before his master resorted to sterner measures.

Nothing happened.

"He never acted like this with any other threat we've faced," Shadowheart said uncertainly, tightening her grip on her mace. "He's all but panicked."

Karlach moved towards Astarion, voice now low and urgent. "Say something, Astarion. What do you see?"

The grip on Astarion's voice changed, forcing the words free instead of choking them down. "It's what I don't see that's the problem." And, because he was no longer compelled to be silent, added recklessly, "You can stop playing your little game now."

Instead of fading, the dream Karlach looked even more concerned. "I'm not playing any games. I think you might be having a flashback, mate. Deep breaths, in and out."

Astarion did as he was told. Annoyingly enough, it helped. The panic receded. He forced himself to think.

It was not Cazador's style to do his own dirty work. Even the torture had often been delegated to Godey or the other spawn. Why risk himself out here, hundreds of miles from Baldur's Gate, with no structure to hide him from the sun? How would he have found Astarion in the first place?

He always finds you, boy. You knew that it was just a matter of time.

No! Astarion shoved that thought away with all the spite he'd harbored for so long. Cazador was not infallible.

He can't be infallible.

Hope was foolish, but this was the closest he'd had to it in a century and he would be damned if he let it slip from his grasp. Cazador was not infallible. He could be beaten, and Astarion would be the one to do it. So. Cazador wouldn't have come himself. Yet the slimy grip of a compulsion was unmistakable.

Could…could Cazador have somehow found some way to extend his mental reach, projecting his will across all the space between them? Strongly enough that even the tadpole couldn't protect him?

"Astarion?"

But if Cazador could suddenly reach out that far, why not simply command Astarion to return? Why compel him to be silent, then change it within moments? Astarion had a sudden desire to bite someone, just to make sure he still could.

And damn it, Karlach was still calling his name.

"Yes, darling?" Astarion said automatically. He'd known she was impatient, but surely whatever she wanted could wait. With an effort, he dragged his eyes up to her face.

She smiled in relief. "There you are! Must have been one hell of a flashback. Are you ok?"

"Yes, yes. Fine."

"I'm starting to think that Cazador needs to move to the top of our kill list when we get to Baldur's Gate," she added seriously.

Astarion stared at her. She spoke of killing Cazador like it was a foregone conclusion, both that she would help and that they would succeed. Only someone like Karlach could possibly believe something so naive. But to his surprise, the others were nodding along.

"I don't like the idea of a Vampire Lord so entrenched in Baldur's Gate," Wyll said. "Even if I did not know you, Astarion, I would be motivated to destroy Cazador for that alone."

"I have not yet slain a vampire," Lae'zel said. "But I look forward to testing the sharpness of my blade against such a foe."

Gale shook his head. "Lord Szarr's reputation is a grim one. If the rumors are indeed true, then there is great merit to the idea of cutting off such evil at its source. Beheading it, as it were."

"And I, for one," announced Karlach, "am looking forward to cutting his dick off and making him eat it."

This startled an actual laugh out of Astarion. "What a delightful image, my dear. Though I doubt a Vampire Lord will be so easy to defeat."

Still, it's encouraging that they already seem interested in facing Cazador at all.

I wonder what I will have to pay for it.

Shadowheart sniffed. "You don't give us enough credit, Astarion. Now come on. I don't fancy standing on this path until I'm old and grey."

Astarion was so distracted by the group's strange willingness to help with Cazador, and the poetic justice in making the bastard literally "eat dick," that it took him a moment to notice the insidious sensation of a compulsion once more. Without his conscious decision, he found himself walking towards Shadowheart, then following behind her as she turned to continue on. Once he became aware of it, he tried to dig in his heels, but it worked just as well as it ever had. His body was only a puppet to be moved by others.

Any elation he'd felt at the thought of allies drowned at once.

He was suddenly reminded of the hag's words, her gleeful grin as dark magic spoiled his landing: 'Listen to your betters, boy!'

'Come and help me cut these vegetables then.'

'Shut up, Astarion. You're giving me a headache.'

"Say something, Astarion.'"

And later: "Deep breaths, in and out."

He had the sudden desire to fling himself into the pool with the ravenous fish, let himself be torn apart. But Shadowheart had told him to come with her, and his traitorous feet would not let him turn from the path. He looked around at the others in the group, mocking him with their faux innocence.

The compulsions were not from Cazador at all.

They were from all of them.