As the sun began its descent below the horizon, Ishta sat beside the Chinonthar river, lost in thought. She had deliberately distanced herself from the camp, seeking refuge in the quiet solitude the river offered. The cool evening air felt refreshing against her skin, a welcome contrast to the turmoil of the past few days. Here, with only the gentle murmur of the water and the soft rustle of the wind in the trees, she could finally breathe.
She drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around them as she watched the river flow past. The surface of the water caught the last rays of the setting sun, reflecting a kaleidoscope of colors—gold, crimson, and indigo. But the beauty of it did little to ease the tightness in her chest that had grown over the last three days.
Managing the group had been exhausting—each member brought their own baggage, their own desires, and inevitably, their own clashes. Gale's relentless pursuit of knowledge, Shadowheart's secretive nature, Astarion's dark humor laced with bitterness, and Lae'zel's fierce pride—intertwining, creating a tangled web of tension and frustration that often seemed ready to snap.
Ishta sighed, rubbing her temples. It wasn't just the physical strain of travel or the fights they had encountered, but the emotional toll of keeping them all together, of maintaining some semblance of unity in the face of such overwhelming odds. She had taken it upon herself to smooth out the rough edges, to guide their steps forward, but the task had begun to wear on her more than she cared to admit.
For a moment, she allowed herself to feel the anger, the frustration of it all. Why did it always have to be her? The one to keep the peace, to find the compromises, to hold them all together when they seemed determined to pull themselves apart. It was exhausting, this endless balancing act, and she felt so damn tired.
She glanced at the rippling water, the sound of it soothing yet unable to drown out the memory of the encounter with Kith'rak Voss earlier today. They had come across a group of Flaming Fist mercenaries in a heated confrontation with a Gith patrol by one of the bridges on the road to the mountain pass. The confrontation had ended abruptly and violently when Voss had flown in on the back of a Red Dragon.
Ishta could still see the Dragon's flames sweeping across the mercenaries, the cries of the men and women as they were caught in that devastating arc. That brutal display of power had shaken her. There had been no need for such merciless slaughter, and yet it had been done without hesitation, a show of dominance that left her feeling small and insignificant.
She and Lae'zel had cautiously gone to greet Voss, prudently leaving the others hidden. The Githyanki leader had demand Lae'zel's assistance in finding the very artifact Shadowheart carried.
Lae'zel's lie to Voss had surprised her. Ishta had come to expect a certain rigidity from the Gith, but in that moment, Lae'zel had chosen to protect them. It had been a calculated risk, one that could very well come back to haunt them, but it spoke volumes about the young warrior's loyalty. Ishta had seen the uncertainty in Lae'zel's eyes, the brief flicker of vulnerability that betrayed her stoic facade.
For all her pride and fierceness, Lae'zel was still young—still grappling with her place in the world, and with her conflicting loyalties. Ishta couldn't help but wonder what it had cost the young Gith, who now sat by the campfire, likely still seething at how her own people had treated her.
Ishta closed her eyes, inhaling the cool evening air, letting it fill her lungs and chase away the heaviness in her chest. For now, at least, she could allow herself this brief respite. The campfire would be waiting, the arguments and tensions sure to arise again, but in this moment, there was only the river, the breeze, and the stars beginning to blink into existence above her.
But her solitude was short-lived. Faint sounds of someone approaching made Ishta let out a slight groan. She had hoped for a few more moments to herself before being discovered. With a resigned sigh, she forced a smile onto her face and turned to face whoever was intruding on her private moment.
Astarion emerged from the tree line with an unsteady gait, immediately causing Ishta's concern to rise. His usually immaculate appearance was now disheveled; hair tangled with leaves and twigs, and he limped slightly as he made his way towards her. His shirt was covered in streaks of blood and dirt, with rips that looked like claw marks over his chest.
However, the moment he saw Ishta sitting there, his face lit up with joy and he exclaimed loudly and happily, "There you are! My friend."
His sudden burst of glee took Ishta by surprise and she couldn't help but wonder if he had suffered a blow to the head. Quickly gathering herself, she stood up and strode over to him, eyes wide with concern. "What happened? Were you attacked?" she asked urgently.
Astarion glanced down at his blood-stained shirt and shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh, that. A scratch. I ran afoul of a bear."
He swayed slightly, his eyes unfocused, and reached out for support—but missed the tree he was aiming for and fell to the ground with a startled cry, landing heavily. For a moment, he sat there, mouth open in surprise, before bursting into a fit of high-pitched giggles, holding his sides.
Ishta hurriedly knelt beside him, her brows furrowed, taking in the sight of his unfocused eyes with growing suspicion. "What the— Are you drunk?" she asked incredulously, her hand hovering over his shoulder.
Astarion nodded with a silly grin, attempting to sit up straight but failing miserably. "Yes, I have drunk... not alcohol, of course. A bear," he whispered conspiratorially, leaning in as if sharing a great secret.
Ishta couldn't help but smile inwardly at the sight of the usually suave and aloof Vampire grinning like a loon and giggling uncontrollably. Keeping her composure, she shook her head patiently. "Yes, you mentioned that already... where exactly did you find this bear?"
Astarion waved his hand dismissively, almost hitting himself in the face. "Oh, I don't know, somewhere out in the woods. It was too busy eating from some bushes to notice me, until it was too late for the fat lump. He took a little of my blood, I took all of his."
"I see… and perchance, did these bushes happen to have bright purple berries on them?" she asked, struggling to keep the grin off her face.
Astarion blinked and looked at her with blurry eyes, his brows furrowed as he replied hesitantly, "I think so…"
Ishta couldn't help but chuckle now. "Uh huh, you're definitely drunk."
Astarion pouted defensively. "So what if I am? I've never been allowed to feed like this before—to fill myself to the brim."
Ishta's sympathy softened her features. "It's not the amount of blood that's concerning, Astarion. Those berries are Night Revellers. Their juice is so intoxicating that you can become tipsy just by getting it on your skin... you essentially drank a bear-full of spiked blood."
"I don't care, it was delicious. It's nothing compared to—well, other things I could be dining on," he said glancing at her mischievously, before a look of disgust crossed his face as he added, "But significantly better than the rats and bugs Cazador served me."
With a weary sigh, Ishta extended her hand to Astarion. "Come on, let's clean you up," she said, gesturing towards the river.
He hesitated at first, seemingly unsure of what to do with her outstretched hand. But eventually, he reached out and grasped her wrist. With help, he struggled onto his feet and leaned heavily on her shoulder as they made their way towards the river.
"Why did Cazador enjoy tormenting you so much?" Ishta asked softly, even though she already suspected the answer.
Astarion's face darkened, his voice filled with bitter resentment. "I existed, that was enough for him. He revelled in having power over me. Because those with power can do whatever the hell they want," he sneered, gesturing wildly and nearly throwing Ishta off balance.
The gravel-covered ground made it difficult for both of them to walk steadily, but Ishta managed to guide Astarion to the edge of the beach where she carefully lowered him onto a patch of sand among the rocks. Pulling out a cloth from her hip-bag she crouched down by the water's edge to soak it in the cold, clear water.
Glancing back, she asked "You think power lets you do anything, free from consequences?"
Leaning against a large rock, Astarion met her gaze with defiance. "Well... yes. You can't look at the world and tell me I'm wrong," he retorted.
Ishta sighed as she rose to go kneel beside him. "I wish I could, but I can't," she admitted softly, before adding with conviction, "but the strong have a duty to protect the weak."
Astarion scoffed, his tone dripping with cynicism. "They're doing a piss poor job, then. The strong had two centuries to pluck me from torture, but no-one came. No knight in shining armour bothered to look into the shadows for a Vampire to save."
Ishta felt a wave of empathy wash over her as she looked into Astarion's eyes and saw the deep bitterness that lay within them. She couldn't blame him for his cynical outlook—it was one she had shared at one point in her own life.
"Do you mind?" she asked softly, gesturing towards his chest.
Astarion glanced down and stared at his torn shirt for a moment before finally shrugging it off with a resigned sigh. He turned his head away as Ishta examined the slashes on his chest, wounds that hadn't fully healed despite draining an entire bear for energy. With gentle hands, she wiped away the dried blood and grime, preparing to cast her healing spell.
As she worked, Astarion continued speaking. "Heroes are half the damn problem. Fools that believe in right and wrong—good and evil. Heroes didn't save me from Cazador: Mindflayers did."
Ishta paused and looked up at the darkening sky above them, her fingers tracing the pendant around her neck. "I said the strong have a duty. I didn't say they always fulfill it," she remarked with a hint of sadness in her voice. Then, softening her tone, she placed her hand over his chest. "But you're free now—Te curo!—and that's what matters."
Astarion's laugh was hollow, his eyes reflecting the green glow of her magic with a haunted intensity as he turned to look at her. "Is it? What good is freedom if I'm always watching the shadows?" His voice was tinged with bitterness and longing.
Not sure how to respond, Ishta rose and went to rinse out the blood-stained cloth. She immersed it in the cool water, watching streaks of red merging with the current, before wringing it out and tossing it back to Astarion. He caught it smoothly, his movements becoming more steady as he cleaned the dirt and gore from his face. The effects of the tainted blood were clearly starting to wear off.
"No, I'll be safe when I'm powerful enough to grind Cazador into the dust." Astarion declared with determination, vigorously scrubbing his hands clean. "Powerful enough to do whatever the hell I want."
Ishta's voice was gentle yet insistent as she urged him. "Or… you can start over. You can be better than what he made you."
"Exactly!" Astarion agreed, his eyes flashing with determination as he twisted the cloth in his hands. "I can be better than him. Stronger. More powerful. More—"
Astarion paused mid-twist and glanced at Ishta, taking in her raised eyebrow. "Oh, you meant 'be kinder'? Pet bunnies, that sort of thing?" Despite his sarcasm, there was a hint of genuine amusement in his tone.
Ishta shook her head with a wry smile playing on her lips. "Well, maybe not that extreme. But showing a little kindness wouldn't hurt either."
Astarion chuckled, the bitterness in his expression briefly fading. "I have no objections to being nice, of course. Once I have the power to bend others to my will," he said, a sly glint in his eye.
Ishta rolled her eyes in exasperation and reached out to help him up, but as she pulled him to his feet, he stumbled on the algae-covered rocks and started to pitch forward.
In a moment of reflex, Astarion reached out to steady himself, his hand connecting with Ishta's shoulders and forcefully pushing her backwards. They both tumbled down onto the wet ground, their bodies colliding in a flurry of limbs and gasps.
The impact knocked all air out of Ishta's lungs, leaving her struggling for breath as she lay beneath Astarion's weight. But instead of panic or anger, Ishta found herself bursting into laughter at the absurdity of their situation. Her laughter echoed through the otherwise quiet forest, the sound almost manic in its intensity, as though releasing all the tension and madness of the day in one breathless moment.
"Ooft… you're heavier than you look," she giggled, her words choked by the remnants of her laughter.
But as Astarion pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, their eyes met and Ishta's laughter trailed away, replaced by a sudden realization of how close they were. Their faces mere inches apart, she could feel his cool breath against her skin and her heart began to race.
Astarion looked equally as unsettled by their proximity, his eyes wide and unfocused as his breath came in shallow bursts. For a moment he looked as if some great battle was taking place inside his head. Abruptly, his attention snapped back to her, and his entire expression shifted—like someone had just pulled a lever in his brain—into something much more intense.
The playful smile Ishta had worn faded, replaced by wide-eyed alarm as the air between them grew thick with unspoken tension.
His gaze bored into hers, the deep crimson pools of his eyes seeming to darken with desire as he looked down at her. His voice was low and husky as he whispered her name, the sound of it on his lips sending a shiver down her spine. She couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't do anything except stare back into those hypnotic eyes that seemed to hold her captive.
Oh shit…
Astarion noticed the subtle shiver that ran through Ishta's body as he pressed closer to her, and he gave a low, throaty chuckle. At last… he thought with satisfaction, feeling a sense of long awaited accomplishment—one that drowned out the small voice in his mind screaming for him to stop, before he destroyed everything.
"You know, I was just thinking about our time together. All the things we've shared," he murmured, his fingers trailing down Ishta's neck and lingering at the base. His touch was both intimate and possessive, his crimson eyes sparkling with mischief. "And I don't just mean that lovely neck of yours. I'm growing to like the whole package, honestly. And you clearly like me too."
Ishta's breathing quickened, her chest rising and falling rapidly with each passing second. The pupils in her golden irises were dilated and the sound of her heart thrummed like a drum in his ears. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he leaned in closer, emboldened by her obvious desire for him.
"I could feel it as I was getting lost in your neck," he crooned, running a finger along her jawline, his touch light and teasing. "Your little shakes of excitement. You enjoyed it, didn't you?"
The air between them crackled with an unspoken tension. Ishta reached up to rest her hand against his chest, and Astarion felt a rush of excitement at the physical connection between them. Her touch only made him bolder and he couldn't resist leaning in even closer; close enough to feel the heat from her body on his skin.
"Astarion," she breathed, barely above a whisper, and a shiver rippled through him. The closeness, the feel of her beneath him; it was impossible to concentrate on anything other than the sensation of her heartbeat resonating throughout her body.
"Astarion," she repeated, more firmly this time, "Get off me."
A flicker of doubt crossed his mind, warning him that there was something in her tone he should pay attention to. But his senses were clouded by the heady scent of her body and the overwhelming nearness of her. He ignored the warning bells going off in his mind and continued to press forward with reckless abandon. After all, this is what she wanted… it's what they always wanted from him.
"Come now, don't be coy," he purred seductively, almost brushing his lips against hers. Raising his head a fraction and smiling down at her he whispered, "Your body's already given you away. It's what you want, isn't it? To lose yourself in me?"
"Get off me NOW!"
Ishta's final word was a scream of rage as she suddenly shoved him with all her might, sending him flying backwards. He crashed into the riverbank with a force that sent a shockwave of pain up his spine, before tumbling down onto the gravel. For a moment, he lay there on his back, dazed and disoriented from the impact.
Before he could fully regain his senses, Ishta was on top of him, her hands wrapping around his throat with a strength that caught him off guard. He struggled desperately to pry her hands off, but her raw power was overwhelming. As he looked up at her face, his blood turned to ice in his veins. Her once golden eyes were now a piercing shade of red, burning with a fierce and merciless anger. In that moment, Astarion realized he had made a grave mistake—one that may cost him his life.
Ishta's grip tightened, her fingers digging into his skin with a force that made his vision blur at the edges. His heart pounded in his chest, the rhythm erratic as he felt nails as sharp as talons ripping into his flesh. He gasped for air, clawing at her hands, his mind racing with a mix of fear and shock.
"Ishta," he croaked, his constricted vocal chords barely able to form the word.
However, there was no trace of the woman he thought he knew left in those scarlet red eyes. They held a cold and murderous intent that shook him to his core. Her face twisted into a snarl, all traces of warmth gone as she bared her fangs toward him in savage hatred.
Just as blackness began to creep into his vision, Ishta suddenly released him, stumbling backward with a look of horror on her face. She stared at her hands, covered in his blood, and then back at him, her expression torn between anger and regret.
Astarion clutched at his throat, gasping and coughing, as she turned without a word and fled, her figure disappearing into the trees. The sound of her retreating footsteps was the only thing that broke the eerie silence that followed.
As he lay on the ground, blinking in shock at the emerging stars above him, the full realization of his mistake washed over him. The bitterness of Ishta's anger clung to his senses, mixing with the guilt that churned in his stomach. How could he have been so blind, so consumed by his own desires that he failed to see the truth in her eyes?
He had mistaken her shaking for excitement, her breathlessness for desire. But now, he understood the reason behind her reactions—fear. She had been terrified of him, backed into a corner by his own selfish actions. The thought made him sick with disgust.
Struggling to rise to his knees, Astarion was overwhelmed by a wave of self-loathing. He prided himself on knowing people, understanding their wants and needs. Yet with Ishta, he had been disastrously wrong. In her hate-filled eyes, he had glimpsed what she must have felt when she stood over him all those nights ago, dagger poised to strike.
Astarion gripped either side of his head, his fingers closing tightly around strands of hair as the panic rose, a suffocating grip around his chest. He wanted to scream at himself for being so stupid. She had spared him that night out of kindness and empathy. And how had he repaid her? By being the very monster she had chosen not to see in him.
"What in the nine hells were you thinking, you imbecile!" Astarion seethed, his voice reverberating through the stillness of the forest as he slammed a fist into the ground. Each word dripped with anger and bitter self-reproach. "You know damn well what she's been through!"
His thoughts were a raging tempest, each one more filled with anger and regret than the last. What had possessed him to act so rashly? She must surely despise him now. Could he even face her without her drawing a blade on him?
He needed to make things right. He needed to find her and explain, apologize for his actions. He knew that what he had done was unforgivable, but somehow he needed to make amends for the wound he had caused. Maybe he could blame the tainted blood? Even as the idea crossed his mind, he rejected it angrily. No. He had know exactly what he was doing.
"Gods," he groaned, sinking to the ground and clutching at his head in frustration. "Why did I do that…?"
"I'd like to know that too."
Astarion whipped around at the sound of Ishta's voice, stumbling back and landing hard on the ground. He sat there dumbfounded, staring up at her like a frightened animal. Her eyes were back to their usual colour, but her expression was still cold as she towered over him, lips pressed into a thin line and body tense with lingering anger.
Trying to gather his scattered thoughts, he scrambled to his feet and faced her, his heart pounding and his palms slick with sweat as he prepared for her wrath. "Ishta! I'm sorry… I didn't mean t—"
"Sit," Ishta commanded, cutting off his apology and pointing sternly towards a large, weathered driftwood branch nearby.
He obeyed quickly, dread coiling in his stomach as he braced himself for her inevitable fury. But to his surprise, she joined him on the other end of the branch, leaving as much space between them as possible. She refused to meet his gaze, her body still taut and her breaths coming out in controlled bursts.
"So… care to explain what the hells just happened back there?" Her voice was a frigid blade slicing through the silence. She was composed, but he could sense the simmering anger beneath the surface.
Astarion swallowed hard, unsure of what explanation would be enough to appease her. He knew he deserved her wrath; he was furious at himself for falling back into old patterns so easily. Regret and shame churned in his gut, twisting him into knots and making it hard to find the right words.
Taking a calming breath, he turned to Ishta and began hesitantly, "I've spent two centuries charming people and luring them back to Cazador for him to feed on. The entire reason for my existence was to seduce anything with a pulse. I never had any choice about it. If I refused or resisted in any way, I faced torture."
Ishta was silent, her face a frozen mask, and Astarion pushed back his rising fear and continued. "I learned very early on to accept my role, and seduction became second nature," he confessed, his voice trembling. "After living like that for so long, it's hard to unlearn it all. When you were underneath me just now..."
Ishta turned to look at him, and he found himself unable to meet her gaze. He clenched his fists tightly, his knuckles turning white with the strain of holding onto his emotions.
"Something just kicked in, and I slipped back into the same old routine without even thinking," he said softly, his voice filled with frustration.
Ishta's eyes narrowed as she looked at him accusingly. "It's barely been a week since the celebration party—since I told you my story and what those monsters did to me," she stated bitterly, each word laced with the pain of betrayal.
"I know…" Astarion whispered, closing his eyes, the weight of her pain crushing him. He desperately wished he could take back the moment, and erase the hurt he had caused.
"Let me ask you something, Astarion," Ishta spoke up suddenly, her voice challenging. "If our roles were reversed just now, and someone was pinning you down, touching you, and refusing to listen to you... how would you have reacted?"
Her question hit him like a punch to the gut and he turned away from her searching gaze, feeling sick with nausea. Memories of his past came flooding back as he mumbled, "When I was Cazador's slave, I would have just laid back and taken it. Too afraid that I'd be punished if I resisted."
"And now that you're free?"
Astarion groaned and lowered his head into his hands, feeling the intensity of his guilt nearly unbearable. "I suppose, I would have reacted the way you did..."
He lifted his head and looked at her again. "No, there's no 'suppose' about it. I would have done the same thing you did," he corrected with a determined tone.
"Good. Then keep that in mind the next time you feel yourself 'slipping'. With anyone, not just me." Ishta's sharp words carved into him, leaving a hollow ache in his heart.
Astarion hung his head again, nodding miserably. "I truly am sorry…"
"So am I."
Ishta's unexpected words brought Astarion's head snapping up in surprise, confusion furrowing his brow. "What do you have to be sorry about?"
Ishta let out a deep sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose, looking weary beyond her years. "I knew what you were doing and why," she admitted, her words tempered with understanding. "I've been inside your head, remember. I've seen and experienced your memories. I know the kind of life you've endured and the things you've had to do, in order to survive."
Her intensity caught him off guard, and he couldn't help but feel a strange mix of emotions welling up inside him—confusion, gratitude, and disbelief.
"Logically, I can rationalize that your actions were a result of centuries of conditioning," she said, her tone unwavering. "But emotionally, my first instinct was to try and kill you. It was a guttural reaction, honed by over a century of fighting monsters and triggered by memories of— Well… you know my past."
"You don't need to apologize for that." Astarion protested, as he clenched his fists tightly by his sides, struggling to contain the whirlwind of thoughts and feelings within him.
"Yes I do, " Ishta told him firmly. "It was a dangerous loss of control on my part. A swift kick in the balls would have done the job just as effectively. But I was so angry and… scared, that I lost all rational thought."
She turned to face him slightly, glancing at the wounds on his neck and wincing slightly. "I could have killed you… I wanted to kill you, in that moment," she admitted, her gaze dropping to the ground as she added quietly, "Thank the gods I didn't."
A heavy silence settled over them. Astarion could feel the the raw emotion behind Ishta's words, the pain mixed with relief, and it perplexed him. He didn't know how to accept her apology, feeling overwhelmed at the idea that she felt he deserved one. Mistakes were something he was accustomed to being ruthlessly punished for. Understanding and mercy had never even entered the equation with Cazador.
He closed his eyes and let out a tired sigh, feeling the weight of all that has transpired in such a short amount of time. "How do you do that?" he asked, his voice low and pained. "How can you just… forgive like that?" He opened his eyes to meet hers, searching for some semblance of understanding.
Ishta let out a bitter snort, a wry smile playing on her lips. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, the pain still evident but mixed with a hint of irony. "Oh, you're not forgiven quite yet," she told him candidly. "That will come later—probably after a vigorous bout of tree punching, if I'm honest," she added thoughtfully, her tone lightening just a fraction.
Astarion managed a small smile, grateful for the attempt at levity, and tried to play along. "What did trees ever do to you?"
Ishta raised an eyebrow, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. "Would you prefer I use your face instead?" she joked, though there was a hint of challenge in her tone.
Astarion chuckled nervously, shifting under her intense gaze. "Ah, not particularly," he replied, relieved that some of the tension had dissipated between them. They both turned their attention back to the river, watching the water flow peacefully as they sat in silence.
Ishta let out a long breath and dug the toe of her boot into the gravel, flicking stones in an almost childlike manner. "In answer to your question though," she said, turning to look at him with sincerity in her eyes, "I can forgive you because the alternative would be to hate you. But I don't want to do that Astarion. I'm tired of living with hate. It's bloody exhausting, holding onto it all."
A small smile tugged at her lips before she continued, "But more importantly, since we started this journey together, you have done more than enough to earn a second chance."
Astarion's heart ached with a mix of gratitude and relief at her words. "So... what happens now?" he asked hesitantly.
Ishta shrugged, her eyes scanning the riverbank before settling back on him. "Now we go back to camp and pretend like everything is fine," she said with a hint of resignation her voice. "We'll probably avoid each other for a bit, exchange a few awkward and guilty glances, and then eventually go right back to fighting alongside one another, like the pair of well-adjusted adults we are."
Astarion let out an involuntary snort of amusement and quickly tried to hide it with a cough as he glanced at Ishta. To his relief, he saw the welcome sight of her mouth twitching as she fought to contain her own laughter.
"I know. That last part was a bit much even for me to swallow," she admitted, shaking her head with a wry smile.
"I have been called many things in the past two centuries—most of them not fit for polite company— but I can honestly say 'well adjusted' is not one of them," Astarion remarked with a self-deprecating grin.
Ishta tilted her head and looked at him mischievously as she declared, "Alright, then we keep on pissing each other off, like the pair of screwed-up, insufferable brats we are." Her words were laced with sarcasm, but there was also a sense of fondness for their complicated relationship.
Astarion laughed, a genuine sound that echoed across the quiet river. "I can work with that," he admitted, meeting her gaze.
Ishta gave him a small smile, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly. "Glad to hear it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some fangs to rip out," she grimaced.
Astarion winced and made a sympathetic face. "Is that absolutely necessary? I'm sure the others won't mind all that much about your Vampiric side. They seem to have accepted me—admittedly somewhat begrudgingly." He grinned deviously and tilted his head playfully. "But I suspect that may have something to do with my more… unlawful side."
Ishta's golden eyes softened slightly, but her expression was firm. "It's not about what they think, Astarion," she said quietly. "It's about being able to look at my reflection and not see a monster stare back. I need to feel like... me again."
"I can understand that," he acknowledged softly, then gave her a lopsided smirk. "Well… the needing to feel like yourself part anyway. I'm afraid you have the advantage over me when it comes to seeing your reflection," he quipped.
As Ishta rolled her eyes with tolerant amusement and stood up, a thought struck him. "Are the red eyes and claws a new development? Or do they usually show up when you initially transform?"
The question slipped from his lips before he could stop himself. He saw her body tense, the change immediate and startling. Her gaze snapped to his, wide and uncertain, and he felt a pang of regret twist in his chest. He raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Don't worry, they're gone now."
She exhaled, a sound that carried both relief and something darker, her gaze drifting back to the river's shifting surface. "Damn…" The word left her lips like an afterthought, and she whistled softly, the sound low and thoughtful. "You really did get under my skin this time. I almost went full Vampire on you."
Astarion's eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise. His voice, when it came, was a touch higher, the concern threading through it impossible to mask. "That wasn't a full transformation?"
Ishta's expression tightened, shadows carving deeper lines into her face, and she shook her head slowly. "No. But that was as close to it as you ever want to see, believe me."
He hesitated, the desire to know more warring with an instinct that whispered to leave well enough alone. But curiosity was a dangerous thing, a flame he could never quite keep himself from touching. His voice dropped, softer now, almost hesitant. "What does it look like?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Astarion, just trust me when I say…" She trailed off, her jaw clenching briefly as if she were biting back something painful. "I pray you never have to find out."
Silence settled between them, thick and heavy, wrapping around them like a suffocating shroud. The chill of the night air bit at his skin, but the tension radiating off Ishta was what truly made him shiver. He shifted his weight, the gravel beneath his boots crunching softly, the sound almost lost in the vast quiet that stretched around them.
Feeling the cold seep into him, Astarion's eyes drifted toward the ground, searching. His shirt lay discarded a few steps away, crumpled against one of the larger rocks, the fabric barely visible in the dim moonlight. He pushed himself off the branch, muscles stiff from holding his body so tensely, and crossed the short distance to retrieve it. The fabric felt cool against his fingers as he shook it out, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion, the slight comfort of it doing little to dispel the deeper unease gnawing at him.
Ishta hadn't moved, still staring out over the river, her back to him as if the weight of her thoughts anchored her there. He took a breath, letting the night air fill his lungs, before stepping back to her side, uncertain whether or not to leave her alone with her thoughts.
And then, breaking the silence, Ishta spoke up suddenly. "Astarion… I need to ask you something. And I need you to be completely honest with me."
Her voice was soft, but there was a seriousness to it that made his chest tighten. He swallowed, the dry, bitter taste of apprehension on his tongue. "I'll try…"
Turning her head to meet his gaze, her eyes held his with an intensity that made his skin prickle. "Putting aside what happened earlier for a moment. Given that Cazador no longer controls you, and you don't have to bring him victims anymore, why have you still been so determined to… seduce me?"
The question struck him like a slap, his breath catching painfully in his chest. Astarion felt himself go still, every muscle coiled and tense, as if preparing for an impact that had already come. He forced a smile, the expression brittle and hollow.
"Who wouldn't be?" He tried for levity, the words slipping out like a bad joke, his voice too high, too light. "Look at you, for goodness' sake! You're a vision." But the line fell flat, the silence that followed swallowing it whole.
Ishta's expression remained unchanged, her gaze unblinking, peeling back the layers of charm and artifice he'd so carefully constructed. The chill in the air seemed to seep into his bones, and he felt a shiver trace down his spine.
The silence continued to stretch, oppressive and suffocating, until it became unbearable. The truth clawed its way up, unbidden and unwanted, but it slipped from his lips before he could stop it. "I need protection from Cazador," he admitted, lowering his gaze, the words almost a whisper. "You can provide that."
He risked a glance at Ishta, but what he saw there made his stomach twist. Confusion clouded her features, her brows knitting together as if she was trying to piece together a puzzle that didn't quite fit.
"What does that have to do with…" Her voice faltered, realization dawning, her eyes widening slightly as the pieces fell into place. "You think the only reason I'd want to protect you is if… we were sleeping together?"
Her tone held a note of disbelief, but there was something else there, too—something raw and aching that made his chest constrict. He felt his skin flush, a wave of heat creeping up his neck, and he couldn't bring himself to look at her. His gaze fell to the ground, the stones beneath his boots suddenly fascinating.
Her next question was softer, almost broken. "Do you honestly think that is all you have to offer me?"
Astarion's throat tightened, the question cutting deeper than he'd expected. When he finally spoke, his voice was brittle and resigned. "Isn't it?"
Sorrow flashed across her face, so vivid and stark that he felt it like a physical blow—a raw, open wound that he hadn't meant to inflict but couldn't understand. She turned her head slightly, her profile sharp against the dark backdrop of the forest, and he could see her struggling to hold herself together, to not let whatever was breaking inside her spill out. She inhaled deeply, the sound shaky and uneven, like someone trying to breathe through pain.
"No matter how many times I tell you otherwise, you'll keep on believing that, won't you…" she murmured, her voice carrying a sadness that seemed to seep into the very air.
Astarion tried to muster a smile, but it was a fleeting, ghostly thing, gone almost as soon as it appeared. "Probably," he said, the word laden with a weary acceptance, a truth that had burrowed deep into his soul, feeding on years of fear and survival.
Ishta pressed her lips together as if to hold back words that might shatter the fragile equilibrium between them, and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, there was a new resolve there. The air seemed to still, every rustle of leaves and chirp of insects fading into the background as she took a step closer to him, her presence a force all its own.
"What is your full name?" The question was unexpected, almost jarring in its simplicity.
Astarion blinked, thrown off balance by the sudden shift in tone. "Why do you want to know?"
"Humour me," she replied, her tone firm, though there was something else beneath it, a quiet plea for trust.
He hesitated, his gaze drifting to the river's edge, his mind racing as he searched for a reason to refuse, but found none. "Ancunin," he said finally, the name tasting foreign and heavy on his tongue, a relic of a past he barely remembered.
He looked back at her, expecting… he wasn't sure what, but certainly not what she did next.
Ishta's breath escaped in a soft sigh, and then, to his utter astonishment, she dropped to one knee before him. Astarion's heart lurched, panic flaring as he watched her unsheathe her dagger, the blade catching the moonlight and sending a sliver of silver dancing across her face. His hand moved as if to stop her, but he froze, uncertainty rooting him in place.
"What are you—" he began, his voice cracking as he watched, horrified, as she dragged the blade across her palm. The metallic scent of blood filled the air, sharp and intoxicating, and his senses flared, the hunger coiling tight and dangerous within him.
"I, Ishta Dawnstar, swear this oath upon the blood of my people, upon the Broken Chain and upon my life," she intoned, her voice resonating with a power that made his skin tingle.
Astarion's mind spun, grasping at the edges of what was happening, but it was like trying to hold onto smoke. "What… what are you doing?" he managed, his voice a strangled whisper.
"I pledge my strength and my blade to Astarion Ancunin in the rite of the Final Hunt," she continued, and he could see the blood on her palm begin to glow, a faint, eerie light that seemed to pulse in time with her words.
The air around them seemed to thicken, the very atmosphere vibrating with an ancient magic that set his teeth on edge. Astarion glanced at the sky, the stars dimming as if bowing to the power of her words. The forest around them grew darker, the shadows lengthening, closing in. He felt the urge to run, to flee from whatever was happening, but his feet remained rooted to the ground, his gaze locked on hers.
"May all the gods of Faerûn bear witness to this oath of vengeance I swear. My hand will not rest, nor will I find peace in this mortal life till the Vampire Lord known as Cazador Szarr is destroyed."
Ishta held out her hand, the blood glowing brighter now, her eyes locked onto his with a determination that left no room for doubt. Astarion's heart pounded, the weight of the moment pressing down on him, urging him to take the step he knew he couldn't avoid.
His hand trembled as he reached out, his fingers brushing hers, the warmth of her blood searing against his skin. The instant they touched, a surge of energy shot through him, a shockwave of power that stole his breath and left his head spinning. He gasped, his knees nearly buckling as the force the connection between them solidified, a bond forged in blood and magic.
"Let nothing, not even death itself, release me from this oath until Cazador is slain by my hand or yours," Ishta vowed, her voice a solemn declaration that seemed to reverberate through his very soul.
A blinding flash erupted between them, the force of it nearly knocking him off his feet, and Astarion flinched, his grip on Ishta's hand tightening instinctively as the ancient magic swirled around them. A deafening crack echoed across the sky, and for a brief, terrifying moment, it felt as if the world itself might shatter under the might of the oath.
When the light faded, and the world returned to its rightful place, Astarion found himself staring at his hand, still tingling with the remnants of energy. He look at Ishta, his heart still racing, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She released his hand, and he watched, stunned, as a faint, glowing outline of an arrowhead appeared on her palm, only to fade a moment later.
"No payment do I ask for this oath, save for that which has already been given. Trust."
Her words lingered in the air, a promise and a challenge all at once. Astarion wanted to speak, to say something, but his voice wouldn't work. His chest felt wrapped in emotions he couldn't even begin to untangle.
And then, as if nothing extraordinary had happened at all, Ishta smiled, a lightness returning to her expression. "Well, see you back at camp," she said, her tone almost cheerful, before she quickly turned and walked away, leaving him standing there dazed, his world turned on its head.
When she finally disappeared into the shadows, Astarion let out a long, shaky breath, his legs giving out beneath him as he sank to the ground. His hands trembled as he buried his face in them, the weight of everything crashing down on him all at once.
His throat tightened as he experienced a wave of gratitude so profound it left him breathless. Clenching his jaws, he fought against the sting in his eyes, the pressure building behind them almost painful. He wouldn't allow himself to break, he couldn't. However, the sob clawing its way up from his chest had other ideas.
Damn it…
Astarion's shoulders shook as it escaped, barely more than a choked breath. He pressed his palms to his eyes, as if he could somehow hold back the dam that was breaking inside him, but the tears spilled over anyway, hot and unstoppable.
He sat there, hunched over, his body shuddering as more sobs followed the first, each one tearing at the control he desperately tried to maintain. His breaths came shallow and uneven, catching in his throat as he struggled to keep his composure, but the more he fought, the harder it became. It wasn't long before he gave up, the fight draining out of him as he curled in on himself, his hands tangling in his hair, holding his head as if to keep himself from coming apart.
All the stress and fear, the exhaustion of constantly looking over his shoulder, the relentless weight of Cazador's shadow, the realisation of the sheer magnitude of what Ishta had just done—it all poured out of him, leaving him a trembling wreck.
How could someone be so selfless? How could anyone want to protect him like that, without expecting anything in return? His chest ached with the intensity of knowing that someone cared enough to stand between him and the monster who had controlled him for so long.
He didn't know how long he sat like that, his body wracked by the slow, quiet sobs, the tears soaking into the ground at his feet. The release wasn't violent but steady, a slow unraveling of everything he'd held so tightly wound inside, a release that felt almost like surrender.
Eventually, the sobs began to fade, leaving Astarion gasping softly, his throat raw and aching. He leaned back against the driftwood branch, his chest heaving with the effort of each breath, the night air cool against his flushed skin. He let his head fall back, his gaze lifting to the sky, where the stars blinked cold and distant overhead.
He felt the tears still trickling down his cheeks, but he didn't bother to wipe them away. Instead, he just stared up at the vastness above, the sky stretching out like a dark, endless ocean, his mind strangely empty in the wake of everything that had just spilled out. It was as if all the noise inside him had finally quieted, leaving only a fragile, trembling peace in its place.
Closing his eyes, he let out a long, shaky breath, the words slipping from his lips in a whisper, soft and unguarded. "Why do you have to be so incredible…"