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Mortimer was exhausted. First they and their entire city - Elturel - gets dragged into the hells. Resulting in weeks of hiding from devils and desperately trying to avoid the carnage. Then when they were finally freed from the hells, Elturel decided tieflings were no longer welcome anywhere in the city. Mortimer had hoped their well-off parents would say something, do something, to let them stay, but no. It was too much to hope that a trip through the hells would make their parents see them as anything other than a stain on their precious reputation. So Mortimer spent the next two weeks wandering the woods outside the city, picking up a bit of druidic magic in that time. Just to be yanked from their life yet again by mind flayers and a gods-damned tadpole.
Now here they were sitting in camp after fighting off a group of goblins in front of a druidic grove. They'd found a small handful of fellow nautiloid survivors who'd agreed to travel together to try to find a cure. Mortimer had been thrilled to find out the grove was housing a group of Elturan refugees. They'd hardly known any other tieflings growing up so a sense of camaraderie was more than welcome, even if the elf and gith they were traveling with seemed less than pleased with Mortimer's promise to help.
So here they were, sitting by the fire as the evening steadily became darker and colder. They'd swear they could feel eyes on their back, but every time they turned around that damn elf, Astarion he'd introduced himself as, sat utterly absorbed in his book.
They sighed and got up, they could at least try to learn what the elf was eyeing them for, or confirm that it was just the exhaustion making them paranoid.
“Need something?” Astarion looked up from his book when he saw them walking over.
“How are you feeling after, you know, everything.”
“Ha! Quite exhausted if I'm to be honest. But then I doubt I'll get much rest tonight. The night usually means bustling streets, bursting taverns. Curling up on the dirt and resting is… a little novel.”
“I could make some tea that could help if you'd like. I found a fair amount of herbs around here.”
“Ah, no tea isn't really my drink,” he declined with a wave of his hand. “ Besides, I'll be awake a while anyway, I need some time to process this,” he gestured to his head. “You sleep, I'll keep watch.”
Mortimer didn't want to trust him on that. Hells, he'd pulled a knife on them when they first met. But, snarky as he seemed to be, there wasn't anything in his stance or his tone that suggested he was lying. And they were all in the same boat after all.
“Alright, thank you. I'll sleep better for that.”
“Of course darling, sleep tight.” He smiled and turned his attention back to his book, and Mortimer retreated to their tent to settle in. Still half convinced the elf had been staring at them, but at least reassured that it wasn't anything malicious. Perhaps he'd just never met a tiefling before? It wasn't unusual to get stared at for that. Regardless, at least all of their camp mates had refrained from making any jabs about their lineage. The same couldn't be said for that adventuring party they ran into outside the grove. Mortimer had already punched their leader once for being a jackass, and each time he or one of his lackeys called them a foulblood it just made them want to throw another.
They crawled into their tent and tried to get comfortable in the old, worn bedroll they managed to get from the merchant in the grove. Despite the exhaustion, sleep seemed to evade them. They tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable. They pulled up the ragged blanket from the bedroll and tried to curl up for warmth but they were simply too cold. They stayed like that for a while, trying to find some semblance of sleep.
Finally they sat back up, sighing in frustration. They were always a little bit of an insomniac, but it seemed the stress of everything that had happened made it worse. Looking around the tent they saw their belongings strewn about. The bag of foraged herbs was tied to the hip of their armor that now lay on the floor. Maybe they could piece together a blend of tea that could help? They searched through the bag with no luck. The only herbs they had that could aid sleep tasted awful together. And forcing themselves to down a gross cup of tea would probably have the opposite effect. They pulled their knees into their chest and pouted, all they wanted was to curl up like a cat and sleep.
Wait, like a cat? What if they wild-shaped into a cat? Those devious little fur balls always seemed able to eek in a nap no matter the circumstances. And besides, it couldn't hurt to try. They took a deep breath and focused, quickly feeling their shape changed into a decidedly fuzzier one. Feline instincts took over and they padded around the tent for a suitable spot to curl up. Frustratingly, none was found. They'd have to add searching for a better bedroll to their ever expanding list of tasks.
Their little shape slinked out from under the fabric of their tent and looked around the camp. Everyone appeared to have gone to their tents. The fire was still burning, if a little dimmer than earlier. Perhaps that would work, it would certainly keep them warm if nothing else. They circled the campfire a couple of times, and soon enough found a spot that was just a little softer than the surrounding dirt. Oh the warmth of the fire was delightful, and with the fur to keep it in? This was exactly what they needed. They stretched and yawned, before curling up and happily let sleep take them.
—
They were woken by a hand on their back, gentle and light. They opened their eyes and saw Astarion, sitting next to them. Wait, why was he so big? They looked forward and saw paws instead of hands. Oh, right, cat. It was still dark out, Mortimer guessed they'd been asleep two, maybe three hours.
They lifted their head to look at Astarion more closely, but his face was relaxed, with a slight smile on his lips.
“Sorry darling, I didn't mean to wake you.” He spoke softly.
With that reassurance, Mortimer settled back down, feeling themselves be lifted up into a dreamless sleep.
—
Birdsong filled their ears and they slowly stirred, opening their eyes to find a scene entirely different from how they had fallen asleep.
They were lying splayed across Astarion's chest, in his tent, judging by the red fabric that formed the walls. His eyes were closed, apparently still in his trance. How did they get here? Why were they here?
And then they remembered that sensation of being lifted when they fell back asleep, and it clicked.
Astarion saw a cat. Not Mortimer as they usually appeared. He must not have realized, thinking he had just found a friendly stray.
Shit. If Astarion found out they'd never hear the end of it. Maybe he'd think they'd lied to him intentionally. And they certainly didn't want to deal with the embarrassment of having to explain they'd turned into a cat because they couldn't sleep, then didn't say or do anything when Astarion picked them up like a pet.
They needed to get away, maybe sneak off back to their tent to change back, no one needed to know. Astarion would probably just think the friendly stray went off exploring, right? They lifted themselves up and moved slowly, quietly. But as they stepped to get off of Astarion they felt him stir, and panic took hold. They jumped off of him and bolted out of the tent, heading straight for their own tent. They slipped in under the fabric and inside.
They changed back to their normal state, taking a few minutes to catch their breath and calm down. It would be okay, right? It was just an honest misunderstanding, hopefully he wouldn't be mad if he found out. Once they'd managed to settle, they got dressed and headed out of their tent.
Astarion was standing outside his tent, looking around. Mortimer decided to go help Gale with breakfast rather than face him. They could hear him chatting with Wyll from their place by the fire, asking the warlock if he'd seen a cat around camp.
Before long the group had eaten and they were back at their tents getting ready for the day. Astarion approached them as they were gathering their equipment.
“You're good with animals right? Being a druid and all.”
“Uh, I suppose so, why do you ask?” Mortimer hoped their anxiety wasn't as visible as it felt. They busied themselves with their equipment rather than look him in the eye.
“Well, I happened upon a stray cat in our fair camp last night. Very friendly too. Only it ran off right as I woke up. You would know of a way to lure them back, or have found some catnip amongst your foraged herbs, would you…?” His voice trailed off at the end, seemingly distracted by something.
Mortimer finished tying their pack shut and turned to face him. “No, I don't, unfortunately. But if I find some or see any cats I'll let you know?” Astarion's face was looking off to the side, before his attention snapped back up to them.
“I would appreciate it, we have higher priorities of course, but it was quite an adorable cat.” He put a little extra flourish into his last sentence and turned away. Mortimer turned towards what he had been looking at and they felt the blood drain from their face.
Cat footprints, clear as day in the dirt. Leading directly into their tent from the side. The fabric of the tent was even bunched and creased where they entered.
Shit.