Work Text:
Kill Your Darlings
Under normal circumstances, waking up in her lover's tent would have been a perfect way to begin the day. Even in a place so dark and dismal as the Shadow-Cursed Lands. But as Faeryl’s golden eyes snapped open she was instantly gripped with fear. The last thing she could recall with any sense of clarity was the conversation she’d had with Sceleritas.
She had been the last person in camp to retire for the evening, as she was most nights. The Butler had suddenly appeared just as the flap of her tent had closed behind her. He had pleaded with her, encouraging her to make amends for her good behavior.
She had resisted the Urge to kill the cleric.
This act of defiance had left her Urge unfulfilled.
Faeryl had disobeyed the first order because she knew that killing Isobel would leave the refugees at Last Light vulnerable to the Shadow Curse. She couldn’t, in good conscience, allow that to happen.
However, the suggestion to kill her lover instead had to be avoided at any cost.
She couldn’t lose Astarion.
Faeryl’s gaze quickly swept across her immediate surroundings, frantically searching for any clues as to what had happened during the night. She had awoken in Astarion's tent, and her sense of dread grew as she found no signs of him.
She sat up so quickly it made her vision swim, her head pounding with the same intensity she'd felt after she'd murdered Alfira. Her mouth ran dry at the memory of that morning. The sticky sensation of blood covering her hands, and the aching of her arm had been the first indications of her crime.
Maybe there was hope for her lover, as her hands were clean and the only pain she felt resulted from the burn marks of ropes around her wrists.
She tossed off the small woolen blanket that had been draped over her and moved slowly toward the exit of the tent.
He sensed it as soon as she shook him awake; something was off about Faeryl. He could tell by the sheen of sweat that glistened across the golden scales atop her brow, and the frantic expression on her face as their eyes met.
He propped himself up on his elbows, frowning as he noted the twitch of her hands each time her gaze flicked down to his neck. The fading light of the campfire that filtered in from the open flap of his tent cast a shadow across his lover’s face that would’ve frightened even the most stalwart of men. The soft features which he’d become so fond of, now seemed gaunt and haunting.
"What's the matter, darling?" He found himself asking, unable to conceal his concern for the Drow. His voice held a slight tremor in it as he spoke. She looked directly at him, but didn’t seem to see him.
Faeryl knelt beside him, her breath hitching as she struggled against something. Her hand reached up to her head, her eyebrows pinching together and a groan falling from her lips as if she was experiencing a painful migraine.
"You must listen to me, Astarion," she pleaded as her hands roughly gripped the fabric of his shirt. She pulled him closer, forcing him to sit up. His hands reached up to cover hers instinctively, a quiet gasp escaping him at the sudden shift. "We don't have much time. The same... thing that possessed me on the night of Alfira's murder is returning tonight. I can feel it already clawing at my mind."
Astarion stared into her eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Very well. What can I do to help you?"
His heart ached at the sight of his beloved in such a state, but he would do whatever it took to help her through this night. This was a matter of life and death for some poor fool.
"My next target is... you." Her voice broke on the last word, tears brimming in those gorgeous golden eyes of hers.
Astarion's hands moved to cradle against her cheeks gently, unable to stop himself in such a vulnerable moment. It was such a simple gesture. But something he hadn’t done with earnest intent in such a very long time.
"You know, normally, I'd be flattered. But given the way you absolutely ravaged the Bard, I would prefer to avoid a similar fate. What can I do? We’re together in this, after all," he assured her, his voice softening as she stared at him desperately. It was clear that she was barely hanging onto her own free will.
Her gaze darkened as she looked down at him, sending a chill down his spine.
"Protect yourself," she warned before she collapsed into his arms.
The first stirrings of her companions brought her attention to the rest of the camp. She could hear their shuffling footsteps and loud yawns as they slowly gathered around the campfire. Gale would begin cooking breakfast shortly, while the others sat around and chatted. The urgency of their situation had turned them into early risers, it seemed.
Faeryl tried to stay calm as she exited the tent, not because they’d all seen her leaving Astarion’s tent, but because she still wasn’t sure where he was. None of them seemed alarmed, so that was a good sign.
“Another late one, Fae? You and Astarion going for a record?” Karlach teased with a boisterous laugh. The Tiefling eagerly took the bowl offered to her by Shadowheart. She paused to look at the grayish liquid that filled it, a brief expression of disappointment ghosting over her features before she began eating with vigor.
Faeryl hummed softly in answer, smiling self-consciously at her friend and shrugging her shoulders. She was trying her hardest to deceive the few of them gathered together. Luckily, not everyone had made it to the fireside yet.
“Speaking of… Seems Astarion snuck away before I woke up. Anyone seen him this morning?” she questioned cautiously, her eyes slowly moving from Karlach, to Shadowheart, and finally to Gale. Each of them shook their heads in response.
“Perhaps he was craving a late night squirrel after your… rather enthusiastic romp?” Shadowheart suggested, preening proudly as the others chuckled.
A knot of anxiety formed in Faeryl’s chest. “Uh, yes, perhaps you’re right,” she replied distractedly. “I’m going to go wash up. I’m sure he’ll return soon.” She quickly stood and walked away before a bowl of mystery provisions could be offered to her. She walked past Wyll and Lae’zel, who stood closely together outside of the former’s tent. She made her way to the haphazard building at the rear of the camp where they each took turns washing up when they were camping here instead of staying at the Inn.
She heard movement ahead as she climbed the stairs and quickened her pace as she hoped to find Astarion safe and sound when she reached her destination.
It was a simple matter of life and death. So, naturally, Astarion couldn’t take any chances.
The rogue had a particular talent for tying knots, and he’d found a small amount of rope he could use to restrain his lover. He wasn’t entirely sure what to expect, but he would be on guard the entire night.
Faeryl was still unconscious. He’d moved her to the bedroll of his tent and sat at her feet. She eventually began to stir. By his calculations, dawn was approaching, though it was hard to tell in the midst of this damned curse. He missed the sun.
“You will make my prettiest corpse yet,” she whispered darkly, her piercing gaze falling on him as she finally regained consciousness.
Astarion shifted where he sat, and smiled at her. His beloved was gone, replaced with whatever it was that controlled her darkest desires. “Well, hello.” He watched Faeryl struggle against her bonds, confident in their security.
This wouldn’t be the first night she’d spent in his tent. She normally snuck in for a cuddle after the others fell asleep. The circumstances of this night together were… unprecedented. He wondered what it was that made her lose herself to these Urges. What could compel such a brave, confident woman to lose herself like this?
She tried to move to bite at him and he tutted at her. “Now, now, darling. We don’t bite without permission, remember?” She narrowed her eyes at him, clearly not amused. “Don’t you worry, my sweet. I’ve got you. We’re going to get through this night together. Dawn is fast approaching.”
She continued to struggle against her bonds, but Astarion only continued to reassure her as they let the night pass.
“I think Sceleritas was right,” Faeryl admitted as she leaned against the door frame. She’d found Astarion. Safe and sound in the tub they’d been using to clean themselves since establishing this camp. It wasn’t anything glamorous, but it got the job done.
Those red eyes flicked toward her, and he moved the bar of soap back and forth on his bicep with a deliberate slowness.
“Who was right about what, my dear?” he asked before beckoning her closer. She hesitated, still afraid that her Urge would linger until it had been satiated.
“My Butler, Sceleritas. He visited me last night for the second time.”
“You have a butler? I must’ve missed that.” His hand reached toward her invitingly, a small smile tugging at the edges of his lips.
“Apparently so. Though, he refuses to tell me anything about my life before the Nautiloid. Frustrating little bastard,” she explained, huffing as she knelt beside the small wooden tub. She placed her hand in Astarion’s and felt a sense of growing relief as she didn’t have to repress any dark thoughts.
“And what was the frustrating bastard butler right about?”
Faeryl hesitated as she tried to decide how much of the conversation she should share with him. This moment didn't feel like the right one to confess her true feelings for him.
"He said that you aren't afraid of me. But you should be."
Astarion laughed, that beautiful chuckle that Faeryl so adored, tossing his head back and letting the sound fill the dilapidated room.
"If you think you're the only one in this group of misfits that has to fight against their own twisted desires, you are sadly mistaken, darling."
She frowned at him. He wasn't taking this seriously enough. Had she not warned him and resisted her Urges, he would be dead right now. And she would be unable to recover from the loss.
"You know, you'd be perfectly within your rights to hate me for what happened last night. I'd understand if you wanted to end-"
"Oh, stop being so dramatic, Fae. Of course neither of us wants that," he interrupted her quickly, squeezing her hand in his. "I've grown rather fond of you, you know. And besides, nothing happened last night."
She couldn't stop herself from smiling at him. His eyes sparkled in the firelight as he returned the gesture.
"You were my target because you mean the most to me."
He tilted his head at her and pulled his hand back, searching for the bar of soap he'd dropped into the water. He found it and continued washing himself.
"The most, huh? Is that your clever way of saying you're fond of me as well?" he teased with a grin.
"I think I'm well on my way to falling in love with you, Astarion."
He chuckled again, his curls bouncing with the movement of his head. "Falling in-? Hahaha, well, this just got serious, didn't it?"
"We aren't fully there yet, jerk. But play your cards right..."