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‘Go away! Whatever it is, get someone else to deal with it!’
Astarion rubs a weary hand across his brow. The spawn are proving to be every bit as much of a headache as he had feared. At least a dozen more have recently returned to Baldur’s Gate and wreaked havoc there, making it necessary for Tav to go back to the city and try and contain them.
He has been left with the remnants, all of them, hungry, fractious and prone to violence. A lot of the spawn have already died because the Underdark is an unforgiving place, but as far as Astarion is concerned, not nearly enough of them have met their demise. He is hoping to see their numbers thinned even further and he feels no shame in admitting it.
He stands at the window of the ruined mage tower, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders, while he waits for the footsteps of whoever that was at the door to retreat. The steps do not retreat. Instead, he hears the door opening.
‘Get out! Or I very am liable to stake someone, starting with you!’
The reply takes him by surprise. A tinkling laugh and then a mocking, sultry voice chiding him,
‘Now, now pet, is that any way to greet an old friend?’
The smell of sulphur is enough to tell him who this is; he says her name before he turns around.
‘Mizora.’
The cambion greets him with a broad, fanged smile. Astarion scowls. ‘I have nothing to say to you, Mizora, get out.’
Mizora puts a gloved hand up to her breast,
‘Darling, I’m hurt!’ She laughs again, ‘Oh but that’s your line isn’t it? Naughty me.’
She closes the door behind her and slides onto the desk, pushing a pile of papers off the edge with her hip. ‘Oops!’ she says as the papers flutter to the floor. Astarion ignores her, and looks ruefully at the mess; he is not looking forward to putting all that back in order.
Tav has been trying to find the spawns’ families for them. So far, she has not had much success, but he knows better than to tell her it is a lost cause. It would not stop her, quite the opposite, Tav cannot resist lost causes.
‘So, how have you been?’ Mizora asks. ‘I must say you love birds have made such a cozy little nest down here.’ She takes off a glove and turns, running a fingertip down the wall behind her, ‘Oh look! You’ve even got running water.’ She wipes her finger on one of Tav’s books and replaces her glove. ‘I just love the top floors though, so wide and open, so very modern and innovative.’
Astarion had tried to make a few repairs the upper floors, but his lack of practical skills combined with a shortage of tools and a complete dearth of building materials had quickly led him to give up. The state of the tower is something he would rather not be reminded of, trust Mizora to latch onto it immediately.
The cambion makes herself comfortable on the desk, wiggling her hips and crossing her legs to give him a clear view of her thigh. Astarion rolls his eyes. He is not interested and he is certain she did not come all this way just to seduce him.
‘What do you want, Mizora? I’m busy.’
‘Spawn running amok, are they? You poor dear! It’s almost a cliché isn’t it? Two people in love, but then the children come along and one person just runs off and leaves the other to cope, while they have all the fun. Seven thousand children though, that’s something else. But then, your Tav never did do anything by halves.’
Astarion is rapidly losing patience, he runs a hand through his hair.
‘Can we just get on with this?’ he says.
‘Oh you’re no fun at all!’ Mizora pouts and pulls her skirt down, somehow managing to show even more thigh than before. ‘Very well, I’ve come to make you an offer.’
‘I’m not interested.’
Mizora puts her head on one side and looks at him.
‘Now, now pet. Don’t be hasty. I have something you want.’ She gets up and walks around the room, examining every crack in the stonework, every little patch of mould on the walls. ‘Unless you’re going to tell me you already have everything you want, that you’re perfectly happy hiding away in this little hole in the ground.’ She steps behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder, Astarion tries to shrug her off but her hand remains in place. ‘Do you ever regret it, not completing the ritual?’
Astarion looks ahead, he can feel his jaw tightening and he is annoyed to hear Mizora giving a little huff of satisfaction. ‘I thought so!’ she says. ‘But how could you not? Everything you ever wanted right there in the palm of your hand, and then she talked you into throwing it all away, and for what?’
That is a question Astarion has been asking himself more and more recently, especially since Tav has been away. There are very few things for a vampire to feed upon in the Underdark especially in this area. They had killed most of the duergar living here on their first visit and the spawn had quickly dispatched the remnants and any scouts they had sent out since.
It had not been so bad in the beginning, but the spawn had quickly exhausted all the blooded life in the vicinity and as they fed, they had grown in strength, becoming increasingly difficult to manage.
Needing to maintain some semblance of order, Astarion had laid down rules for them, which were quickly broken. He had followed up on his threats and staked the most recalcitrant, much to Tav’s dismay, and that of course, had led to attempts on his own life and even more stakings. It was all so tedious and pointless, but what else could he do?
The frequent lectures from his beloved about the sanctity of life and second chances were starting to grate on his nerves. It was easy to find fault with his methods, but she had offered no better solutions. As the food ran out, the spawn either turned on him, turned on each other, or tried to escape to the surface.
Just before she had left to help with the crisis in Baldur’s Gate, Astarion had asked Tav what she had expected to happen and was shocked when she replied that she didn’t know. Tav, the person who had led them to victory against the Absolute, Tav who always had a plan, that Tav, had released seven thousand vampire spawn into the Underdark without even thinking about the consequences, consequences he was now having to deal with.
Mizora’s little homily had struck home, all to often he did feel like some frustrated parent left alone with a house full of brats. His situation is rapidly turning into a Hell that he would dearly like to escape.
Mizora is still standing behind him, her fingers working into the tense muscles at the side of his neck. He lets out a groan as she works at a particularly stubborn knot and she leans forward, her breath hot against his neck.
‘What if I told you, you could still have what you crave?’
Astarion swallows. He should tell her to go back to the Hells and stay there, but instead he waits to hear what she has to say. Mizora stops massaging his neck, her hands still resting lightly on his shoulders. ‘Interested?’ she asks.
‘What are you offering?’
He can almost feel her smile.
‘All the perks of Cazador’s infernal ritual but none of the power, though you didn’t really want that, did you, you sweet, silly thing?’
As a matter of fact, Astarion would have liked the power very much, but obviously there is no point in chasing it now. Completing the Rite of Profane Ascension is beyond him.
‘So, no power,’ he says, with a huff. ‘That’s not very attractive.’
Mizora steps round to face him. She plays with the lacing on his shirt as she answers, her voice a low seductive purr.
‘Well pet, if you can round up a few thousand spawn for me, maybe we can talk.’ Astarion glares at her, wondering if she has just come here to torment him. ‘But don’t dismiss my offer out of hand.’
‘So, what exactly is your offer?’
‘Like I said, all the perks of that wonderful ritual, all the little things that make eternal life worth living.’ She counts them off on her fingers.
‘Walking in the sun, entering houses without an invitation, crossing running water, eating and drinking mortal food, warm skin, a beating heart and last, but definitely not least, freedom from your sanguine hunger.’
‘And what do I have to do in return?’
‘It just so happens that Zariel’s rather cross with somebody, as am I. They’ve been interfering in our plans. If they live, they’re probably going to interfere again. So, we’d like you to kill them.’
Astarion frowns, this sounds too good to be true.
‘Just one person?’
‘Just one.’
‘And my soul?’
‘Well, it wouldn’t be much of a pact unless we asked for your soul as well. But you’re immortal, little spawn. All you have to do is make sure you don’t die. You’ve been doing splendidly so far.’
Astarion licks his lips, his mouth feels suddenly dry.
‘So, who do you want me to kill?’
‘Tav.’
Astarion gives a roar of fury, turns and has both daggers at her throat in an instant. Mizora disappears and reappears behind him. He spins and throws a dagger at her head, which she dodges, a second later, he throws the second one. Mizora laughs and claps her hands together, the blade caught between her palms.
‘My, my, that was exciting! Aren’t you a feisty one!’
Astarion darts forward.
‘I am going to kill you!’ he roars.
Mizora quickly raises a hand, weaving it in an intricate pattern.
‘No you’re not,’ she says.
The air shimmers around them and Astarion finds himself in the upper city of Baldur’s gate. Mizora is sitting a little way away from him on a marble bench overlooking the Chionthar, she turns to him and pats the seat beside her. ‘Now, be a good little pet and come and sit by me. We can watch the sunset.’
Astarion frowns. He is standing in deep shade under some trees. He stretches out a hand, his fingertips catching one of the few rays slanting through the leaves. The sun does not burn him.
‘This isn’t real,’ he says.
Mizora pats the seat again. ‘It’s real, but we aren’t really here. Sit.’
Astarion doesn’t move. He stands under the tree with his arms folded. Mizora looks at him.
‘Pet, we aren’t going anywhere until you hear what I have to say.’
His sighs heavily and walks over to the bench. Mizora pats the space beside her again. ‘Come on, sit down.’
‘You’re wasting your time, Mizora. I’m not going to do it.’
Mizora does not even look at him. It is like he hasn’t spoken.
‘Don’t you just love this time of day?’ she asks. She stretches out a hand pointing at the city below and the river beyond it. ‘Look at how the light turns everything to gold.’
Astarion looks. Far below them, the last rays of sun are gilding the waters of the Chionthar and tinting the roofs of the houses in the lower city. He breathes in deeply and smiles as he tastes the freshness of the air. Memories of his mortal life start to return. He used to walk in this park, used to sit on this very bench. He has lost so much, forgotten so much.
And now, Mizora is offering to give it back to him.
‘There is a party on tonight,’ she says. ‘Your Tav is probably dancing with young Wyll Ravengard at this very moment. Would you like to go and see them? I think they make a lovely couple.’ Astarion would not like to see; he looks ahead without answering. ‘Not even a teensy bit jealous? How very noble of you.’
The thought of Tav with Wyll sparks more than mere jealousy.
‘I admit I’m a little jealous, seeing them having fun like that.’ Mizora continues. ‘It was very naughty of her to take my pup away. I was quite fond of him. And then there was that business with Karlach, Zariel was most annoyed about that, and so was I.’
The sun sinks further, turning the sky red and the river to a sullen grey. Mizora stands up, offering her arm. ‘Let’s walk shall we? I think you could do with some new clothes.’ She leads Astarion through the streets down to Faygor’s. The dwarf stands in his shop, he is holding out two bolts of cloth to a young noble standing at the counter.
‘What’s it to be, m’lord? Silk or linen?’
Mizora walks past him, picks up a silk shirt and offers it to Astarion. He takes it from her and to his surprise, he is able to feel it.
‘Try it on,’ she urges. Astarion shrugs but obliges her, because where is the harm in playing her little game? He has already given his answer. The shirt fits him perfectly, the silk so light it is barely a whisper against his skin. Mizora flicks through the garments on the hangers and picks out a brocade jacket, jet black, embroidered in gold and scarlet. It feels warm and heavy as he slips it over the shirt. Mizora does up the fastenings for him, her hands lingering against his chest for considerably longer than necessary.
Astarion refuses to look at her. She leads him over to the mirror.
‘Did I mention you’ll get your reflection back? And how very fine you look, don’t you think? Why pet, if we weren’t conducting business right now I might even be tempted into a little dalliance myself.’ She caresses his shoulders, runs her hand down his arms. ‘Another time perhaps.’
She has hold of his arm again, ready to lead him away, but Astarion steps closer to the mirror, looking at himself for the first time in two hundred years.
He had forgotten his face, the man looking back at him is unfamiliar. He wants to laugh at the absurdity of that. How could he forget his own face? He looks intently at the handsome stranger standing before him, noticing the fine lines etched across his brow and around his mouth and eyes. Were they always there?
And yes, Mizora was right, he does look very fine indeed. No wonder Cazador used him as he did, no wonder so many of the city’s wealthy nobles had paid to put their hands on him.
Astarion is hit by a wave of nausea as memories start to flood back, but a gentle tug on his arm brings him back to the present; right now, he is almost grateful for the cambion’s presence.
Mizora leads him back onto the street and into the market place. There is a confectioner’s stall on the corner. She selects some sweetmeats that smell of roses and lemons and presses one to his lips, leaving them dusted with powdered sugar. When he opens his mouth, it melts on his tongue, soft as a kiss, sweet as sin.
‘All this can be yours,’ she says. ‘All this and more.’
‘I told you...’
Mizora holds up her hand.
‘I know what you said. Now, pet answer me this, how old is Tav? I do know the answer, but humour me.’ She takes his arm again and leads him through the darkening streets.
‘Tav’s thirty-five.’
‘Three score years and ten. That’s the usual life-span, isn’t it? So, thirty-five years gone and thirty-five years left. Tell me, are you looking forward to seeing her age? Won’t it be fun when people see you together and think you’re mother and son? Or maybe grandmother and grandson, or even...’ she breaks off and wiggles her fingers. ‘Well you get the idea.’
Astarion does not answer. He has thought about this more often than he likes to admit, and the prospect gets less appealing every time.
‘What a pity she didn’t let you ascend. You could have given her eternity. Aeterna Amantes that would have been so romantic. Funny how she thought death was a better option, don’t you think?’
Astarion looks ahead letting Mizora take the lead. Her little attempts at seduction have been amusing so far, but now she is giving voice to thoughts that have kept him from rest, thoughts that will not leave him in peace.
‘Do you think you’ll make a good nursemaid?’ she continues. ‘I hate to say it but I can’t see that happening. And mortals are so needy when they get old. What if she loses her mind? Have you thought of that? Are you really going to take care of her, when she doesn’t even remember who you are?’
Astarion looks at the ground, he feels sick. It is like Mizora has taken all his fears for the future and stabbed him with every one.
‘And even if you are more noble and self-sacrificing than I think you are, eventually she’ll die, and you’ll be left alone, down in the dark, with only your master’s spawn for company.’
He really should have tried harder to kill her.
‘But of course, Tav has sacrificed so much.’ Mizora stops and turns to him. ‘Except she hasn’t sacrificed anything, has she? Not even her precious principles. You’re the one who gave everything up.’ She gives him a bright smile. ‘But as long as you’re happy, pet.’
Astarion frowns, he is not sure that he is.
‘Let’s go back eh? But do think about my little proposition. Tav’s death is inevitable after all, you’ll merely be bringing the date forward a smidge. And you can give her a quick death, a good death, when nature is seldom so kind. Why she might even meet a beholder on the way home from her little jaunt, and that as they say, would be that.’
The air shimmers and Astarion finds himself back in the tower, alone, in the damp room with the fungi growing on the wall outside and that all-pervasive smell of mould.
His clothes are the ones he was wearing earlier, the same old-fashioned garments he wore when he was Cazador's. The embroidery on his doublet is unravelling but he does not have the thread to repair it. He has better clothes, but there is little point in wearing them here. He could have dressed up if he had gone to that party with Tav, but somebody had to stay behind and look after the spawn, the spawn that will outlive her, the spawn she forced into his care. He knows they are never going to settle here. They will be a threat to the city for years to come.
Astarion never wanted this life, if he had his way, the spawn would all be dead and he would be enjoying an evening in Baldur’s Gate with Tav by his side. Instead he has this, and now, he has Mizora.
As if summoned by his thoughts, Mizora reappears with a scroll in her hand.
‘The contract’ she says putting it on the desk. ‘I’ll just leave that here. You don’t have to sign, but think about what I said. If Tav dies of natural causes the contract is null and void, it has to be by your hand or your blade. The longer you delay, the more chance there is that something will happen to her, and wouldn’t that be tragic, Tav dying and you curling up here in the dark with nothing, when you could have had it all.
I’ll give you a day to decide. It’s a bargain, pet. My little pup would have given his left eye for a contract like this.’ She chuckles at her joke and then pouts when Astarion does not join in. ‘Oh, you really are no fun at all, these days. Such a shame, you used to be fun.’
She waves farewell. ‘Ta ta then. Remember, you have one day. Tick tock, little spawn, tick tock.’
She disappears in a puff of sulphurous smoke and Astarion walks over to the desk and picks up the contract. He reads it, carefully. It is clear and simple, just as she said, his lawyer’s eye can find no flaw.
Somewhere below, another fight has broken out between the spawn. He hopes several of them die, hopes nobody will call him to intervene.
He takes the lift to the upper floor, where the air is a little fresher, and settles down to read the contract again, but he ends up just sitting in the dark and holding it.
In his mind, he watches the sun setting over the Chionthar, sees Tav dancing with Wyl Ravengard, Tav killed by some monster in the Underdark, Tav cut down in some future battle, Tav aged and sick, dying a painful, lingering death.
Tears start to prick his eyes.
Her death is inevitable. She will leave him one day, one way or the other, because that is the path she has chosen.
The pain he will feel at her loss is inevitable too, there is no escaping it and because he does not know when she will leave him, he feels a little of that pain, every single day.
A better person than he might try and find some noble purpose in enduring this suffering, some reason to wait patiently and let nature take it’s course. The more Astarion thinks about it, the less he is convinced.
Tav could leave him, go back to the sun, where she belongs. Astarion knows Tav and Wyll are together right now. At this very moment, his love is in another man’s arms, and he is here, alone, because that is what she wanted.
He closes his eyes, and passes a shaking hand over his brow.
No, she would not do that to him. She would never.
But even if she remains by his side, thirty-five years is not guaranteed, and to one such as he, it is but the blink of an eye.
His love is his only weakness, the ties that bind him to Tav are as strong as those that bound him to Cazador, and right now, they are chafing.
It is love that makes him fear the future, love that diminishes him, love that forces responsibilities on him that he never sought.
Astarion fears Tav dying like he fears nothing else, it is a cold hard weight in the pit of his stomach, and under his fear, resentment simmers, that she chose death over him, that she chose to embrace it.
And now Mizora has shown him how to conquer his fear, how to meet it head on and put an end to this torment.
He could be kind, and because he loves Tav, he will be kind. He will be sure and he will be quick.
If he kills his love, his fear dies with her.
If he kills his love, he’ll finally be free.
Could he do that?
Could he?