Chapter Text
“Astarion!” Cricket screamed. There was no time to process the sound of his name before he was shoved into the dirt. Astarion rolled over and readied himself for a fight.
But it wasn’t the attacker who pushed him—it was Cricket, and now a knife was pressed against her throat.
The words for shocking grasp almost left Cricket’s lips when something happened.
Astarion heard a gasp from Cricket, followed by a surprised choking sound.
His eyes fell to her waist; a dagger was lodged in her abdomen. The attacker twisted and pulled it out. Without another word, the assailant vanished, leaving behind only a few footprints.
Cricket’s blood was everywhere. It smeared against Astarion’s clothes. It was in his mouth, in his eyes.
“Cricket!” He rushed over, trying to catch her as she slid down the wall.
“You are so stupid!” he snapped, his eyes tracing over her body. Cricket gripped his arms as her legs slowly gave way, the tips of her fingers digging into his skin like a cat clawing a tree.
There was so much blood. He’d seen gore and blood before, but this was her blood. It smelled like a bouquet of flowers, that distinct scent that only Cricket had.
That bouquet was what kept Cricket alive, and now the sweet nectar spilled everywhere. The tree wept as it lost its sap.
Astarion didn’t know how to close wounds; he’d never taken the time to learn how to heal.
Cricket’s gown was overrun with red.
Was there ever a time he’d felt more helpless than he did right now?
Astarion pressed his hand against the wound, trying to slow the bleeding. Cricket grimaced, her nails digging deep into his skin.
“I know it hurts, just hold on,” Astarion urged, scrambling to remember anything from Shadowheart—anything at all—but his mind was empty, frantic.
He felt a shaky hand caress his cheek and startled back before seeing Cricket’s gaze fixed on him.
“Are you okay? Did they get you… a-are you okay?” Her voice softened as she struggled to force the words out. Her palm pressed against Astarion’s cheek, trying to examine him, or hold on, or something he didn’t understand and didn’t know how to help with.
“I’m fine. They didn’t touch me,” Astarion mumbled, his brain going into autopilot as everything around him became white noise.
His mind stepped away for a moment, and he could see himself clearly. Her blood was all over him.
Staining his clothes, his hair, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.
“You, my darling, have been stabbed. Now isn’t the time to fuss over me,” he tried to tease. It felt like the safest place for him to go. He could fall back into his performance easily; it was more natural than breathing.
They hadn’t brought any healing potions, no spell scrolls, and there was no skeleton waiting to revive her at home.
All Astarion had was time, and it was slipping through his fingers like sand.
Astarion didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t look away, his eyes fixed and frightened.
Cricket was fading before him. Blood filled her mouth; he felt the desperate tremors of a body trying to survive without blood. It was the same twitching animals did when he drained them.
She couldn’t die. Astarion had seen Cricket die before, and he never wanted to see it again. Something came out of his lips like vomit, sickening and out of his control. He screamed a desperate cry for help.
“Cricket, stay awake, love, alright? You’ll be okay.” He used his other hand to tap her face, but it kept lulling to the side. He needed to keep her awake.
He screamed for help again, knowing no one would come. People weren’t like Cricket; people weren’t stupid enough to rush into danger because they wanted to help.
He felt tears crawl up his throat. This couldn’t be it. She didn’t survive Bhaal and the Netherbrain to be taken down by a stab wound.
“Help, please, anyone!” he shouted again. This was stupid, drawing attention to anyone nearby, but he didn’t care now—nothing else seemed to matter.
His ears twitched. Footsteps approached, hurried and light. He quickly turned toward the direction, positioning himself across Cricket’s body, in case it was another vagrant.
A small figure approached, a torch pushing away the vast darkness. “Are you alright? What happened?”
“My… my friend, they’re bleeding out. Do you have a healing potion? A bandage? Anything?” Astarion felt pathetic, leaving himself this vulnerable for any stranger to see. But Astarion was also desperate and would take anything he could get. Anything to get Cricket to safety.
The figure crouched down, and he could see that she was a gnome with curly blonde hair and big brown eyes. She laid her hand against Cricket’s chest and began to whisper a prayer of some kind. Not a moment later, soft blue light began to seep out from those healing hands and into Cricket.
Astarion felt that familiar pulsing of healing magic—the kind of magic that felt like a warm breeze or clean sheets. Once she finished chanting, the gnome began to dig through her bag before finding a roll of gauze.
“May I?” she asked, holding the bandage in one hand and some form of healing potion in the other. Astarion moved aside. Cricket’s arm broke contact with his shoulder as he moved, so he reached out to grab her hand.
He watched with precision as the gnome worked, keeping his eye on every single movement. If she did anything suspicious, he would not hesitate to kill her on the spot. She finished wrapping Cricket’s wound, and he could feel Cricket’s tight grip soften. Her pain was lessening, and the wave of relief that coursed through him could have taken him out to sea.
“Thank you,” he sighed. Cricket was pale; he knew it had been a bad idea to wander this far from home unprepared.
One of the Gur children hadn’t come back, and Cricket insisted on looking for them.
“Okay, love, come on.” Astarion struggled to lift her. Cricket was always a lot stronger than him. His physical aid ended at letting Cricket lean against him.
“Do you want help? My party is probably right behind me—oh, speak of the devils,” the gnome smiled as four other adventurers ran after her.
“You can’t just go running off to every call for help you hear, Fenbi!” an elven man struggled to catch his breath as he scolded the gnome.
“My legs are twice the size of yours! How are you so fast?”The gnome scolded back, “Sorry about him, not the trustworthy type.”
Astarion bit the inside of his cheek. The last thing he wanted to do was make friends, especially with these children. He’d much rather get Cricket back home as soon as possible.
“I appreciate all of your help, but now, if you don’t mind, I need to get them back home.” Astarion once again tried to lift Cricket over his shoulder and struggled.
“Zephyr can help if you want, she’s really strong,” the gnome gestured to a pale half-orc with quite a few inches on him. He forgot how all adventurers walk around in armor everywhere; it would be intimidating… if all of their armor wasn’t in desperate need of maintenance.
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline,” his voice strained as he struggled to lift her.
They had to stay hidden; who knew how many monster hunters would sniff out any possible trail to them?
It wasn’t worth the risk.
Astarion got Cricket’s arm around his neck, but as soon as he managed to stand, she winced, wrapping her arm around her abdomen and falling back to the ground.
“Your partner is really weak. I don’t think they’ll be able to make it far on foot, and we’re happy to help,” the gnome encouraged.
Astarion didn’t trust them; he knew not to trust anyone, but he looked back over Cricket, who, despite being patched up, still looked pale and was in a great deal of pain. Astarion was fooling himself if he thought he could carry her the whole way. She was barely conscious, and it wasn’t an easy walk back. It wouldn’t be safe.
He grit his teeth. “Fine… but… please be careful,” he admitted defeat. He stepped aside, allowing the half-orc to walk over and gently scoop Cricket into her arms. Cricket looked so small. So weak. She hadn’t looked this bad since the Bhaal temple, which he didn’t want to remember. He tried to shake off his fear.
“I’ll lead the way.” Astarion’s eyes stayed glued to this group of adventurers. “Do you have names, or?”
“Oh! How rude of us. I’m Fenbi, a cleric of Tymora.
Zephyr here is our sorcerer. Orla right here is our fighter,” she gestured to a small tiefling who didn’t seem big enough to be a fighter.
“Then we have Derek and his husband Alamar, our rogue and our bard,” she pointed to a human and a high elf.
“Well, that’s quite the crew you’ve got. I’m Astarion, and this is Cricket,” Astarion swallowed as he gestured towards her body nestled in the half-orc, Zephyr’s, arms.
“Our house is… hidden, it’ll be a hike to get there.”
“It’s no problem. I lived on a farm growing up; I’ve carried much heavier things over much crazier distances,” Zephyr smiled.
Astarion nodded coyly before turning away to lead them. Cricket’s eyes flicked open from time to time, but she was pretty out of it.
“You’re being so nice, Astarion,” Cricket mumbled, reaching for his hand. The attempt was poor since she seemed to have little awareness of her body parts. Astarion understood nonetheless and squeezed her fingers.
Cricket looked up at Zephyr and mumbled questions. Astarion couldn’t even understand what she said. Zephyr just offered a polite laugh in response.
“The traps shouldn’t trigger since Cricket and I are with you, but I’d still recommend not falling behind,” Astarion said as he guided them through one of the cave systems leading to their manor. As the house came into view, thankfully, Aurelia must have seen them coming and rushed out.
“Astarion, what happened?” she looked over to the half-orc. “Follow me this way,” and just like that, they were off before Astarion could answer.
He tried to follow behind before hearing someone clear their throat. He swiftly turned around, irritation not hidden away.
“Hey, we aren’t doing this for free, you know,” the tiefling bit.
“Orla!” Fenbi bit back before looking up at Astarion. “Payment isn’t necessary; we truly are just happy to help.”
“I’m not. Your little hero side quest took valuable time away from finding camp,” Orla crossed her arms.
“I wasn’t going to just let her die—” Fenbi argued back before they were both interrupted by a skinny tall man, the bard if Astarion remembered correctly.
“If you don’t mind, we don’t have a place to camp, and the Underdark is awfully dangerous,” he politely asked. He seemed awfully shy, considering he was a bard. Astarion clicked his tongue.
“This isn’t exactly an inn; it could be more dangerous in here than anything out there,” he said.
“Like ghosts or something?” Orla said, her fierce tone not dissipating for a moment.
Astarion rolled his eyes. Were they this annoying when they were adventurers?
“Undead to a different degree, I’d say,” he looked down at the gnome. She had really helped him; he didn’t know what he would have done had she not come.
They were just adventurers and not particularly evil ones at that. Better to not be in debt to them.
“Why not?” he sighed. If any of the spawn took them out, it would be one less minute of hearing them talk.
“Follow me…and Alamar, was it?” Astarion glanced over his shoulder at the tall elf. He was a twig; it looked like the wind could blow him over. He nodded, jaw setting back immediately.
“Tell your lover to keep those five fingers to himself, alright? Or you’ll be spending the night somewhere worse than a jail cell, hm?” Astarion gave a coy laugh as he led the way. The leisurely tour would have to wait until he knew Cricket was ok.
“You and your partner seem… busy?” one of the adventurers mentioned. They were passing by one of the living rooms where a few of the children were relaxing; they’d had a successful hunt that day, and he was thankful their bellies were full.
“Hah, they’re not ours,” he offered a short, quick laugh before opening one of the bedrooms often used for any vampire desperate enough to come looking for them.
“There’s a tub in there, only two beds, but I’m sure you can manage. I don’t recommend wandering the halls.” Astarion offered a cheeky smile before dropping it immediately and shutting the door.
“What an asshole.”
“Hey—”
“What? He is.”
Astarion overheard the voices through the door and let a smile stretch across his face. How long had it really been?
He made his way to his and Cricket’s bedroom, the door shut. He carefully cracked it open.
“It’s a nasty wound, but she should be alright. Lucky for her, your friends were around,” Aurelia said with a smile, Cricket’s blood still on her fingers and apron.
“That’s good to hear,” Zephyr replied, also smiling. “I’m glad Fenbi was stupid enough to run after someone shouting for help in the Underdark.” Astarion felt his stomach churn. It was stupid—both of Fenbi and, even more so, of Cricket to jump in front of him. He couldn’t even remember who the person was. One moment they were talking and laughing, and the next, he had a knife at his throat, followed by Cricket’s blood in his hands.
He clenched his fists, trying to calm down. Why did she do this? He’d told them over and over that he could take more damage than they thought. With the tadpole gone, his regeneration was stronger than ever.
Part of him—a part he didn’t even want to acknowledge, let alone give reason to—wondered if it was intentional. Some kind of punishment for her past evils. Her memories had started creeping into her head in the form of nightmares. It wasn’t every night, but sometimes Astarion could tell the next day by how exhausted she looked, her eyes clouded over.
He took a moment to catch his breath before pushing open the door. “How are they?”
“Oh, they should be fine with a bit of rest. You owe those adventurers a good reward. It’s a pretty nasty wound,” Aurelia said sternly. “Were you two sparring again?”
Astarion shook his head. “Cricket insisted on searching for Lorelei while we were in that—” he waved his hand—“settlement or whatever it’s supposed to be.” His chest ached as he recalled the moment again. “Someone snuck up on me. The idiot shoved me out of the way and got herself stabbed.” Astarion exhaled. “Didn’t even get a chance to see the bloody bastard who did it.”
“Well, whatever weapon they used, it was enchanted with something. I could feel it while I was carrying them,” the Half-Orc added.
“That, or it was coated in something,” Aurelia sighed. “Whatever it was, let’s hope it’s out of her system.”
Astarion looked at Cricket, who was sleeping peacefully, though blood was still splattered on their cheek, streaked with his fingerprints. He walked over to her and gently stroked back her hair. “You absolute idiot,” he whispered.
“Did you at least find Lorelei?” Aurelia asked.
Astarion shook his head. “Only the gods know where that child is. I’m sure she’ll be back before long,” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“Zephyr, you said?” Astarion looked down at the Half-Orc, who sat at attention after being addressed.
“Yes, sir.”
“Ooh, ‘Sir,’ I think you’re my favorite,” he teased, and the Half-Orc gave a small smile in return.
“I’ll show you to the guest room. The rest of your party is there,” Astarion said, gesturing toward the door.
“Ah, of course. Thank you for your hospitality,” she said, smiling again and giving a slight bow.
“Sister, keep an eye on Cricket, please. At least until I get back,” Astarion said. Aurelia nodded.
The first few moments of guiding the Half-Orc were quiet until Zephyr asked, “So, is everyone here a vampire spawn?”
Astarion almost stopped in his tracks.
“What makes you say that?” he asked.
“Well, the fangs and red eyes were definitely the first clues… and your sister told me.”
“What?” Astarion turned to face her, then groaned and rubbed his hands down his face. “Gods above… well, don’t worry about fangs at your throat in the night. Everyone’s been pretty well-fed, and we mostly eat animals. The blood of thinking creatures is only drunk sparingly since we don’t usually get a lot of volunteers.” He made sure to make it sound as uninteresting as possible, hoping to avoid any further questions.
“So, are you their master?” Zephyr asked, a bit afraid.
“Me? No,” he sighed. He didn’t want to answer any more questions.
“I didn’t know vampires could have children,” she said again.
“They can’t. All of these children were turned by our old master,” Astarion whispered. He wouldn’t wish their fate on anyone—being trapped as a child eternally, having to grow up that fast.
“So, this is like a safe haven?” Zephyr smiled. It was a nice way to phrase it.
“We try,” Astarion returned the smile, dropping it within their eyeline, he needed to dissuade them from wanting to talk with him any further.
Astarion could feel unspoken questions lingering in the air, but he wasn’t in the mood to entertain them. The silence between them grew heavier and all he could think about was Cricket lying injured, with wounds that could have been his if she hadn’t intervened.
Finally he arrived to the guest room, “your party members are in there already, now…sleep tight.” He stated before quickly turning on his heel
“Astarion!” Zephyr’s voice echoed throughout the hallway.
He turned around, a glare ready at his disposal.
“I hope Cricket is ok” She smiles before waving him off “goodnight”
With that there is a click of the door, and then the silence of the empty cool halls.
Cricket needed to be alright, nothing else would be acceptable. He wasn’t expecting much sleep tonight.