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Ketheric Thorm was finally dead. Properly dead and defeated, his skull crushed under the heel of the daughter of the Moonmaiden herself. And yet, Adrik felt empty and broken, like he had lost someone important to him.
Astarion smelt the change in Adrik’s demeanour before he saw it. The usual confidence and self-assurance had given way to panic and fear. He turned his head to the half-drow elf paladin that he had only recently entered into a relationship with after Adrik had told that awful drow to take a hike. Adrik was shaking. Not just slightly, but full body shakes that were causing his knees to give way.
“Halsin, gr-,” Astarion started, but with just his name the giant druid had already caught the shaking paladin. Astarion stared at Adrik as he grabbed onto Halsin, his usually upbeat companion welling up with tears. Had the fight with Ketheric really taken so much out of him?
Astarion turned to Shadowheart, who had only recently learnt that what she thought she knew of her past was a lie.Her eyes were full of concern and…understanding? As if she knew exactly what Adrik was experiencing. Strange. Then again, from their first meeting Adrik had been honest that all he knew of his life prior to the nautiloid was his name, his oath and how to use his sword. Shadowheart probably did know a great deal of what Adrik was experiencing, more than Astarion could hope to.
With their leader being cradled in the arms of their gentle giant, the party of 4 followed Dame Aylin out of the awful mind flayer colony in which Adrik had slain Ketheric with a swing of his greatsword. Astarion was sure Ketheric had whispered something to Adrik with his final breaths, but he couldn’t recognise the language. Adrik seemed to have done and that had been it, the change instant.
As they reached the camp, the rest of their travelling companions rushed over, concern in their eyes. Wyll was checking Astarion for injuries before he even realised what was happening. He batted Wyll’s hands away.
“As much as I appreciate the concern, dear Blade, I am fine,” Astarion insisted, “ Adrik is not.” Wyll checked Astarion’s eyes - well, eye since one of them was a fake that Volo had given him after a very uncomfortable extraction attempt - until he was content that the party’s vampire wasn’t lying. With a nod, the horned man turned his attention to Adrik and Halsin.
Karlach, who recently had been given back the ability to touch others without turning them into flambé, was fussing over Shadowheart. She had been frustrated when Adrik had asked her to stay in camp, especially when she found out he was taking her girlfriend with him into the colony.
Astarion moved his attention away from the sickly sweet pair, who were beginning to remind him of the Aasimar and her cleric, back to Adrik. Much to his surprise, his paladin was looking at him as well. He gave Astarion a nod. Ah, of course.
“Right everyone, to bed!” Astarion declared, “Adrik and I shall take the first watch.”
A couple eyes were rolled and tongues were tutted, Astarion identified Lae’zel and Jaiheria as the main culprits, but eventually the vampire was left with his paladin.
Astarion took his armour off and threw it into his tent haphazardly, not really caring about how it landed, his mind focused on the still shaking man in front of him. He approached him and started to help the man remove his heavy plate armour, revealing the tunic and cloth trousers that the man wore around camp.
“Astarion, I-” Adrik started, his voice shaking as much as his body. Astarion shushed him and threw the armour next to his own. He sat down on a blanket they had bought from Mattis at Last Light and smiled at Adrik.
“You can either sit next to me or rest your head in my lap, whichever you need darling,” Astarion explained, just wanting to be able to help the man who had helped him so much already. Adrik hesitated for a moment and then shuffled over, lying on the blanket with his head in the cold lap of his lover.
They both stared up at the stars together, with Astarion stroking the black shaggy hair of the other man, until he felt the other man stop shaking.
“I’m sorry,” the half-elf whispered, “I was just shocked…I finally remembered something. But…”
Astarion took Adrik’s hand and squeezed as he whispered back, “Would it be easier to show me?” There weren’t many benefits to the illithid tadpoles swimming behind their eyes, but the ability to share images and memories that were too painful to speak aloud was certainly one of them. Adrik gulped and nodded, closing his eyes. Astarion kissed the man’s head and closed his own, gasping as the connection opened.
Astarion saw the slaying of Ketheric through Adrik’s eyes and heard, now understanding, his last words.
My boy, I failed you.
The body then slumped as Ketheric breathed his last and Astarion’s - no, Adrik’s - vision went white.
When an image came back into view, Astarion could see two young girls in front of him, no older than 9, at least for humans. He recognised one of them as a younger version of Adrik, the silvery hair typical of drow, light amethyst skin, black eyes, pointed ears and scuffed knees giving him away. He knew that his love had been born female, so this was no surprise. What was a surprise was the girl sat next to him. She had red hair that shifted to white, pale skin and pale eyes. He realised he recognised her, the woman who had been talking with Ketheric and the blasted politician, Gortash. Orin, the name seemed to come to him. Kin, another thought said.
Kin? Astarion was taken aback but tried to not let Adrik feel it. He was trusting him with this memory, that was new to him and his fractured mind yet had always been there, in the back of his skull.
The two children were playing with something, Astarion recognised it as viscera. Confusion swept over his and Adrik’s mind, but they both let the connection continue.
The vision changed and now he could see a teenage Adrik talking with Orin, Ketheric and a shadowy figure. Adrik mustn't have remembered the figure yet. They were sat around a table, diagrams and plans strewn across it. Astarion couldn’t make sense of anything.
White clouded his vision again. When he could see again he saw Adrik again, though this version was closer in age to the man in his lap, leaning against a wall fiddling with the knife they had seen Orin use to control the Elderbrain. Another wave of confusion. Astarion followed the line of sight of the Adrik before him and saw him, the contemptible politician who had sold Karlach to Zariel and had attended a few of Cazador’s soirees, Enver FUCKING Gortash.
And that roach was smiling at Adrik, HIS ADRIK, with a look in his eyes that took Astrion aback. Was that…love? Care? From the Baneite who was planning so much destruction to further his own power? The vision of Adrik sauntered in a way that Astarion had done many times himself over to Enver. The knife was plunged into the wall as the two men leaned in and-
Astarion severed the connection and gasped for air. He opened his eyes to see Adrik looking up at him, ashamed and terrified. Astarion realised that he was waiting for him to push him away, run for the hills. But he didn’t.
Instead, the vampire took the paladin, who was shaking again, into his arms and held him tight in a hug. The paladin tensed and then relaxed, hugging him back.
“I’m sorry,” one of them whispered, neither quite sure whose voice it was. They stayed in that hug, eyes shut, for Gods know how long. Suddenly, they each felt a large hand on their shoulder. Halsin was here to relieve them from watch.
Astarion picked up the paladin, much lighter without his armour and carried him back to his tent. He put his lover down on the soft bedding they had been able to scrounge up from the Temple of Selune and Moonrise and lay next to him.
“So,” he drawled, “your previous life seems to have had something to do with the Dead Three, You don’t know what and are concerned I will hate you for everything you showed me.”
“Yes,” came the quiet response.
“Well, you don’t blame me for what I did for Cazador, why would I blame you for what you may or may not have done in a life you don’t even remember?”
The half-elf shrugged, “I just feel like you should. I know Karlach wi-”
Astarion cut his catasrophising off with a gentle kiss.
“Karlach won’t. That’s not you. Not the you who has saved all of our hides more time than we care to admit. Whoever that man was is not the man I see before me. The man I love. The man Karlach wanted before Shadowheart finally let her guard down enough for Karlach to be entranced by her. The man Gale, Halsin and Wyll check out whenever he comes over to awkwardly ask for a kiss,” Astarion grabbed his lover’s face in his hands, “You are Adrik. My Adrik.“
Adrik looked up at him. “My little star,” he whispered, using the translation of Astarion’s name in common, “do you know what Adrik means? It means dark, like those urges I had when I killed Alfira, when I nearly killed Isobel, when I nearly killed you!” He was shaking again. Astarion gently kissed him.
It would take time for Adrik to not feel like a monster, Astarion knew. But eventually, he would feel, not normal, but Adrik, his Adrik, again. Afterall, Adrik had made Astarion feel alive again. Now it was his turn.
He stroked his paladin’s face until he calmed again and started to doze off. Good, he’d need to be well rested for the journey to Baldur’s Gate. And Astarion would help him claw back his past and build his future, one step at a time.