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There’s a ringing in her ears, her body moving of its own accord. Her limbs move swiftly and with precision as the butt of her quarterstaff connects with the man’s head, toppling him down. It’s as if she’s possessed by something greater than her, a rage bigger than her body can contain as she proceeds to bash the man’s head in. There’s a sound of a crack, followed by squelching sounds as she continues her assault on the long dead hunter.
It’s only after she raises her staff once more and feels someone tug it from her grip does she snap out of whatever reverie she’s been in.
“By the Gods, woman, he’s dead!” Gale exclaims, one hand clutching her staff, the other raised as if signalling he means no harm lest he be on the receiving end of another whacking.
She looks down at the corpse by her feet, it’s damn near unrecognizable. She feels nauseous. Bile creeping up her throat, hands shaky, a bead of sweat rolling down her temple. There’s sparkles of light clouding her vision as she moves away from the corpse unsteadily.
Gale looks back at everyone else, slightly raising his shoulders in question as if asking, what do we do now? Her bloodied staff still clutched in his hand, blunt side dripping blood and gore. He clears his throat. “Perhaps we should return to camp? It’s been enough adventure for one day, surely.”
She nods, hands motioning for them to lead the way. It’s a silent walk back to camp. Her quarterstaff still safely clutched in Gale’s hands. He’d tried handing it back to her but she’d refused to take the bloodied thing back into her hands. The viscera staining the wood was taunting her.
No doubt everyone in camp has begun to question her sanity, her steadiness in this quest. A few nights ago they were all raucous and joyful at the prospect of finding a cure for their squirming predicament. Now, they all walk back to camp in silence, unsure of how to feel about this spontaneous display of violence in broad daylight. She hadn’t even been this brutal with the hag.
It’s Astarion who’s interest has been piqued the most. He doesn’t scare easily, but this performance has been both frightening and inspiring. Just a mere days ago it was her who wouldn’t fight him on that ravaged beach, who shared her name and story as if it was currency. And today he watched her practically tear apart a gur that was chasing him, of all beings, through murky swamps.
He watches her out of the corner of his eye, and he’s too familiar with the far of look in her eyes. She’s killed before, that’s for sure, but it seems that this specific act of brutality has brought on something she’d rather keep buried. It gnaws at him a little, at how quickly she defended him, at how easily he manipulated her before this. The guilt is something he tries to swallow down.
When they reach camp, everyone goes back to their respective tents, too tense to try and breach a conversation about today. It’s Gale who stays behind with her, hand on her shoulder, whispering something with a soft smile on his face.
Astarion moves around his tent, trying and failing at eavesdropping. It seems Gale’s attempts at cheering her up have been fruitless. He wonders if he should swoop in, interrupt. This budding friendship between Gale and her makes him sour a bit. He’s not jealous, not that he’d ever admit that if he was, he’s just fed up with that bearded menace eating all their artefacts.
There’s a shuffling of boots before the flaps of his tent are drawn back, and he’s assaulted with that hideous purple wizard’s robe in his peripheral vision.
“Astarion, if I may,” Gale begins.
“You certainly may not.”
Gale exhales humourlessly through his nose. “I need you to keep an eye on Gaia for me.”
Astarion turns around at that, eyes narrowing. “If I remember correctly, this camp was overrun with strays capable of babysitting. Matter of fact, you seem to be doing a great job of it.”
“You.” Gale wags his finger, if steam could come out of his ears, it would. “You are the one responsible. With your vampiric dilly-dallying, leaving boars for hunters to find. Now I have to go do something with this.” He shakes the bloodied quarterstaff in front of Astarion. “And while I am preoccupied I would oh so enjoy for you to take care of our mutual friend.”
Astarion wants to deliver a retort, wants to say something snarky, but he pauses for a moment before nodding at Gale. “As you wish, oh wise netherese wizard.” There’s a smirk playing on his lips as he says it, but Gale pays it no mind, leaving as swiftly as he came.
Astarion peeks his head out of his tent, spotting Gaia sat by the boat that Withers usually haunts. He looks around, everyone else is too preoccupied with their own hobbies, and Gale has disappeared somewhere by the water, no doubt scrubbing the staff raw.
She’s zoned out, looking at the murky water as if it will whisper something to her. Hands still stained with blood, her braids come undone. She’s completely dead to her surroundings, lost in her thoughts. She flinches when she feels a cold hand on her shoulder.
“It’s just me, darling.” Astarion whispers. He moves to sit next to her, and she immediately moves away from him. There’s a pang in his chest, he won’t admit he’s hurt by it.
“I killed him.” She looks at him now, eyes watering. “And I don’t regret it. I’d do it again. And again, and again.”
Now he’s confused. If she felt so indiscriminate about killing the hunter, then why is she sat here in the sand, tears staining her cheeks?
Astarion reaches for her again, and this time, she doesn’t flinch. She moves closer to him, if just by an inch, placing her hand in his outstretched palm.
Gaia exhales through her nose. “I just couldn’t let him take you.”
“A wise choice, really I mean, I’m an invaluable asset to this team.”
She looks at him. Her mauve eyes boring into his, and he feels a warmth in his chest like he hasn’t felt in centuries. She gives no answer, no retort, just looks down at their entwined hands and squeezes.
“I know.” She clears her throat. “I mean, I know what it’s like. To run. To not want to go back. And I couldn’t, I couldn’t let him do that to you. It’s not fair.” There’s a crackle in the air, her magic sporadically exposing itself when her emotions are high. She shakes her head, as if shaking the chaos from her bones. “Sorry.”
“You’ve nothing to apologize for, really.” Astarion tries to sound nonchalant, un-phased. But there’s a darkness that’s crept into his mind. Question’s swirling about what she’s run from, if she’s still being chased, and what lengths he’d go to, to make her safe. “Do you, hm. Do you want to talk about it?” He cringes at himself.
“There’s nothing to talk about. It’s… My past is buried. I made sure of that.” There’s a firmness behind her tone. “I mean that, whoever I was indebted to, I cleared those debts. I paid my dues, I’m not..” Gaia clenches her left hand into a fist, “I’m no one’s property or weapon, not anymore. And neither are you.”
He looks at her, as if for the first time. And he’s got the oddest sense of déjà vu. She’s got this look in her eye, like a wounded animal. It’s the same look he imagines he wore trapped inside Cazador’s mansion. Memories of gruesome torture, of mockery, and abuse swirl inside his mind. And there’s a hatred that festers in his chest, not just towards Cazador, but also towards whoever laid a hand on her.
He scoots closer to her, right arm outstretched to envelop her, bringing her into his chest. Their hands are still entwined, but he feels her left arm wrap itself around his waist. She’s warm to the touch, and he’s cold. A part of him wants to try to brighten the mood by making a joke about their temperatures. But as he feels dampness on the front of his shirt, he decides against it.
Astarion buries his nose into Gaia’s hair, inhaling softly. “We’re safe now.” He whispers into the crown of her head. “Cazador can’t reach me, you just made sure of that. And I’m sure we’ll find a way to be rid of him forever once we’ve dealt with these worms.”
His slip of the word we gives him pause. There’s a silence that seems like it’s lasted forever, until he feels her nod against his chest. “You’re always cold.” She murmurs.
“And you’re always warm. We balance each other out.” A smile creeps up on his features as he says it, glancing down at the top of her head.
She shifts, moving to untangle herself from him and he feels a pang in his chest at the loss of contact. Gaia smooths her hands over the top of her head, hairdo still in disarray. “Thank you.”
Astarion’s about to reply with a quip, but he feels her warm hands grasp his cheeks, and her lips make contact with his forehead. It’s purely a peck, but he feels the warmth spread throughout his body. He clears his throat. “Yes that’s, that’s sufficient payment for my hard work, I suppose.”
A laugh bubbles up from Gaia, and he swears it’s the sweetest sound he’s heard in a long time. She moves to stand up, but he grasps her wrist. There’s a beat of silence, before she scoots right next to him. Practically shoulder to shoulder. “Let’s just… Sit here, enjoy the peace.” Astarion says, needing to provide a justification for his action, purely for himself.
“Of course.” There’s a twinkle in Gaia’s eyes as she says it. Leaning her head on his shoulder, staring towards the murky waters once again. He wraps his arm around her, bringing her warmth towards him. He places the gentlest of kisses on the top of her head and prays that Gale’s condemned to scrubbing the quarterstaff until dawn.