Work Text:
Astarion tried. He really did try. He didn’t want to give Godey the satisfaction of pain. But the skeleton was practiced in his craft. He knew just what to do to make the spawn, any spawn, cry out. Or in his words 'sing'.
All of Cazador’s spawn knew it would be only a matter of time for Godey to succeed. And as Godey had told him many times, Astarion was his favorite to make sing.
Astarion was brought back with the sudden burning magic coursing through his wrists, traveling down his arms, and coalescing at his back, taking shape. The new scars felt as if they were molten once again. The incisions that were carved slowly and methodically over the course of several hours… days? Astarion wasn’t sure of the passage of time. Especially while in the throes of pain.
As if he traveled back in time, he was there once again. Forced onto his stomach after a couple of weeks of starvation. Astarion could barely fight back if he wanted to. But he knew if he did, whatever the Master had planned would end up being far worse.
He could barely think from the constant burning, cutting, and peeling. Astarion couldn’t see past the pain. He heard a wet ‘shlick’ as something dropped to the ground next to his face.
Wide eyes turned to the sound and he stared, trying to focus his eyes and when he finally did, he wasn’t sure what he was looking at. Astarion could barely think through the pain in the first place and he was about to give up when another long piece of… something joined the first. With a sobering thought he realized;
Those were pieces of his skin.
He felt his stomach drop. The next cut almost seemed infinitely more painful now that he knew he was being flayed.
Astarion wasn’t sure if anything could have been worse. Maybe he should have fought back. Maybe this would have been the time he would have been able to escape. Another hour of pain passed, or maybe it was only a minute, h e could hardly keep track of the time under Godey’s watch, there was no hope of knowing how long Cazador spent with his playthings. Especially when he was invested.
At least Godey let them writhe.
And with that thought, he found himself back in the torture chamber with the manic undead.
Confusion briefly passed through his mind at the disjointed feeling before the pain came back. The rings around his wrists. The unbearable scalding feeling in his veins traveling all through his body, looking for that weakness, that one tipping point.
Astarion held on for as long as he could. But even his own practiced years of enduring the skeleton’s torture were no match for the patience of the guard.
He felt his lungs spasm, he felt his breath get caught in his throat before a sharp, pained cry finally left his lips. He tried to ignore the delighted chuckle that followed. As soon as one noise slipped, it was as if the dam broke. Astarion dimly heard the throaty voice drift through his overstimulated senses.
“There’s that beautiful voice." Godey laughed before continuing with glee, "Now let’s see how long I can keep you singing this time…”
And Astarion screamed.
The pale elf shot up from his trance. Panicked red eyes shot around quickly, registering where he was and what was around him. He took a slow breath he didn’t need and let himself read the book spines to try to ground him in the moment.
Astarion closed his eyes and brought his hands to fist into his hair. He focused on the pinpricks of stinging and let himself take one more deep breath before letting it all out. ‘I am not there. They are not here.’ One of his hand idly trailed to his shoulder where he could feel the raised scarring on his back, ‘It’s over.’
Astarion opened his eyes again and sat in his exhausted anger. He blankly stared at the tent wall for a few minutes before making the effort to relax his tense shoulders. He looked to the side and locked eyes with the human laying next to him.
The Vampire was glad Gale hadn’t made any move or said anything. Astarion wasn’t sure what he would have done if he was still in his nightmare. Or if he was still trying to calm himself down.
And Gale knew that.
It was an experience they both weren't going to forget anytime soon.
A different kind of warmth sprung up from his chest. Not as torturous as the memories of his back, but still somewhat painful. Along with a small amount of guilt. Astarion ignored the feelings and laid back down. He watched as the wizard brought his arm out from under the quilt and laid it on top, palm up.
An invitation.
He stared at the hand for a few moments before extending his own and placing it gently on top.
He felt Gale’s fingers curl slightly before a thumb barely caressed against one of his knuckles.
Astarion bit his lip and closed his eyes as the warmth roared once again. He wondered if he would ever be able to separate the good hurt from the bad. Red eyes opened and took in the profile of the wizard. He felt the thumb slow in its’ caress and the relaxing of the fingers as Gale drifted off to sleep.
Maybe he would be able to. In the future.
Astarion kept staring until the light streaks of morning started to filter in through the fabric walls. He watched as the almost black and white visuals fill with color and felt the corner of his lip curl slightly.
He had no doubt the wizard would enjoy the metaphor but Astarion would not share the fact that meeting the small group brought him, for lack of better words, to life.
That they brought color into his bleak and dark world.
The illithid brought him freedom. But the group brought him family.
In the private tent, with the only other occupant deeply asleep, and no one else to witness; Astarion allowed himself a genuine smile.