Chapter Text
Cazador Szarr was next on Durge’s list. A known vampire and patriarch of the Szarr family who was making quite a few waves, what with all the people he’d had his spawn kidnapping. Not something the ruling bodies of the Gate’s underworld wanted to continue. So, of course, the young Prince of Bhaal had been hired for the job. After all, the Cult of Bhaal was the very best when you needed someone to no longer be alive.
The idiot wasn’t much of a challenge, all things considered. Durge was sighing in disappointment as he packed his lyre away, a bit miffed that his bardic talents had been all that were needed to kill the bastard – he’d expected more of a challenge – when the door to the room opened and a spawn walked in.
The two men were silent for a few awkward moments, just staring at each other. The elf looked down at his former Master’s body and up between said Master’s killer a few times before bursting out laughing. Which hadn’t been what Durge was expecting, but certainly not the strangest reaction he had gotten.
“Everyone!” The elf turned around to shout into the hallway. “The bastard’s dead! If you want his blood, you better get up here quick!”
With that, the elf gleefully skipped into the room, seemingly ignoring Durge as he picked up an empty glass from a small bar in the corner of the room and walked up to the corpse. He made a practiced incision in the deceased vampire’s wrist and giggled as blood sluggishly leaked into the cup.
The thundering of feet suddenly reached the door to the room and multiple pale heads were stuck in to take in the sight before them. All of them grinned and cheered merrily before joining the elf in his consumption of their Master. At some point Durge had stopped cleaning up and just bemusedly sat on the bed, watching the scene play out before him with rapt attention.
The cup was passed around to each spawn, a single sip taken by every one of them. The first elf was given back the glass at last and finished off the contents. Something seemed to have changed in the spawn- well, they were no longer spawn, for one, Durge mused. They were, each of them, fully-fledged vampires now. And he had been given no instructions on what to do with them, so he figured it was fine to let them have their fill.
They were undead, after all, and so didn’t really count towards his total body number.
“You,” the first elf declared, finally deciding Durge was worth his attention. The dragonborn smirked and raised an amused eyebrow. “Are a miracle.”
“Not my usual thanks, but I’ll take it,” the dragonborn chuckled. “Didn’t like him too much, huh?”
“You have no idea,” one of the girls whined.
“He’d torture us for fun,” a different male muttered, his voice hard.
“What will you do now?” Durge asked.
That gave each of them pause. They looked around at each other before looking back at Durge, shaking their heads.
Oh.
They had no idea.
Durge’s smirk grew.
“You know, we’re always looking for people to join the Church of Bhaal,” he mentioned, standing up to his full height. “Especially ones as talented in the sanguineous arts as vampires. Our Temple is deep below the sewers, so there’s no need to worry about the sun, down there. Wouldn’t you like to be the ones doing the tormenting this time?”
The looks of slow realization and dawning glee made Durge’s grin turn sharp.
This mission was shaping up to be one of the best he could have ever hoped for.
~«×»~
“This is Astarion,” Durge declared in front of Enver Gortash. The human raised an unimpressed brow at the nervous elf, striding forward to take him in, hemming and hawing as he circled his prey. “I found him.”
“I’m sure you did,” Gortash smirked at his partner.
“He’s a vampire,” Durge added happily.
“Oh?” Interest peaked in Gortash’s dark, intelligent eyes, a gaze that had dread-shivers running down Astarion’s spine (a mere tickle compared to the intense panic that Durge’s eyes had instilled in him and his siblings).
“I mean, he’s newly a full-fledged vampire,” Durge admitted. “Remember I told you about Szarr? Turns out his spawn hated him. And now they all work for me!”
Gortash chuckled at that, moving to give Durge an indulgent kiss. “You are very good at that,” he purred.
“What?” Durge asked with a smirk. “Getting people to join me or killing?”
“Both,” Gortash said with a shrug. “Now, why exactly did you bring him here?”
Astarion had begun to fidget with his apparel. Durge had apparently taken a liking to him especially, and had thrown out all his old rags and put him in a one of Durge’s own spare outfits before dragging him out a few nights later. He wasn’t fond of the way the garments hung off of him, ill-fitting as they were.
“He needs clothes,” the assassin said simply.
“I thought you hated my taste in clothes?” Gortash teased with a faux pout.
“They suit you,” Durge easily admitted. “I think they’ll also suit him.” The two turned their full attention to Astarion. “Once he’s cleaned up and dressed properly, I have no doubt he’ll blend in beautifully with other nobles. And his way of speaking has an old money feel to it. I’m certain he’ll fit into your new court perfectly.”
Astarion started at that, staring in horror at Durge. He’d only agreed to all this because it allowed him the freedom Cazador had stolen from him!
“Oh, don’t look so worried,” Gortash said with a roll of his eyes and a wave of his hand. “He’s been trying to convince me I need a guard for my late-night work when he’s not available. You just so happen to fit the exact requirements I set.” At that, Enver gave Durge the side-eye. “Which I tried to make so wildly different from the people you interact with that they would be near impossible to meet.”
Durge continued to look forward, smiling triumphantly.
“So… I’d just be a guard?” Astarion hesitantly asked. Enver’s eyebrows rose at his voice.
“Charming cadence, isn’t it?” Durge smirked delightedly.
“Does he even have any skills?” Gortash asked the dragonborn.
Durge looked at Astarion and motioned for him to demonstrate his abilities. The elf gulped softly before he took a deep breath and focused. The world seemed to slow down as he transformed into shadow itself and wrapped himself around Gortash, materializing only enough to hold a dagger at the human’s throat.
“Impressive,” Gortash admitted. Astarion quickly retracted himself, a bit startled at how easy that had been. He glanced at Durge, beginning to realize that that had been why the bhaalspawn Prince had forced him to meditate for hours before any attempt was made to use his new abilities for the past week straight. Durge was far smarter than anyone seemed to give him credit for.
“He also turns into a cute, fluffy bat,” Durge added, as if that in and of itself made it worth having him around.
Astarion couldn’t manage to hide his flush at the comment, memories of being caressed and carried about by the dragonborn resurfacing. He refused to admit he’d never felt so loved in his centuries-long life.
“It seems I’ve just acquired a pet bat,” Gortash said with a near-mocking sigh and indulgent smile, obviously knowing he was fighting a losing battle.
Astarion blinked a few times, looking between the two men before him.
Huh.
Maybe this whole ‘Bhaal’ thing wasn’t going to be so bad…
~«×»~
Durge smiled, heavily amused by his partner’s antics tonight. He’d perched himself in the rafters of the banquet hall, a dark cloak allowing him to blend with the shadows, with enough ‘just-in-case’ invisibility potions tucked inside of it to last a full twenty-four hours.
The hall was filled with only the best of the best of the Gate’s underbelly – all there to be introduced to the re-established Church of Bane. Any Banite was worth knowing in the Gate, their ambition and ruthlessness a trademark of success in the black-hearted city.
He watched as Astarion hurried to keep up with his new charge, looking a bit panicked whenever Enver managed to slip from his sight.
His very own Banite would need to be punished for teasing Durge’s new follower like that, the dragonborn mused as he took a sip from the invisibility potion in his grip. And to think, he’d even gone through the trouble to warn Enver that he’d be observing from the shadows tonight. It was almost like the human enjoyed being tied up!
Durge had to keep himself from snorting. They’d dropped the façade long ago. They both liked being at the other’s mercy, gagged and bound. Every time it was like they were re-solidifying their partnership, silently acknowledging the implicit trust they shared.
Now, however, he simply watched as Astarion chased Enver to-and-fro across the hall.
Of course, like every other event his little Lord hosted, someone then tried to get a bit too touchy with Enver.
Durge felt the low growl boiling up in his chest at the woman’s advances, and he was ready to rip her brazen hands from her wrists- when Astarion quickly and quietly slipped between her and Enver, holding a tray of wine samples. The bhaalspawn let his hackles lower, smiling deviously. It seems he’d chosen correctly from his various followers.
Astarion wanted to be in Durge’s good graces, not Enver’s.
And that knowledge had something hot writhing inside him.
He’d have to get Enver’s permission, of course, but…
Durge grinned, taking note of the daring woman’s face before turning back to his observation. He’d feast on her later tonight and perhaps make a midnight delivery… after all, it was best to ask for permission after giving his beloved tyrant a gift.
~«×»~
Astarion was a bit perplexed by tonight. It had been four months since Cazador’s death, his ascension to full vampiric status, and the beginning of his association with the Church of Bhaal. Gortash, who he’d been employed by for over three months now, had told him to put on his nicest clothes tonight – the ones that he hadn’t touched since hanging them in his closet. At the questioning look he gave his charge, Gortash had merely given him a bland smile.
So, he’d put on his very finest attire and escorted Gortash to the gala being held at Duke Adrian’s manor that evening.
“The lady of the house is a firm believer in keeping up appearances,” the human explained as the carriage rocked around them. “Her master has a reputation to maintain, and he’s never been one to play nice with the upper-crust, so she plays the part of the social butterfly. Adrian isn’t my biggest fan,” Gortash added with a shrug. “But I am an up-and-coming advisor to many of his constituents, so my invitation is non-negotiable. His favorite Blaze also has a poor impression of me, but I’m less worried about that.”
Astarion nodded, trying to keep up with the deluge of information he had been getting for the past three months. It felt like Gortash knew something about everyone in the city, and it was falling to Astarion to keep track of which of those individuals would be willing to kill him for it.
A surprising number, the vampire had deduced after the fourth thwarted assassination attempt as of last week.
Gortash wasn’t yet influential or wealthy enough to keep the vast majority of assassins from wanting his head, but Astarion had noted that as Durge’s control over the more murderous side of the city grew, the fewer murders had actually been happening. The dragonborn obviously had plans, but what they were seemed a mystery to all but Durge and Gortash.
“Adrian is known to spare no expense when it comes to his annual party,” Gortash continued on, snapping Astarion back into the moment. “He hires only the best catering, acquires only the best entertainment, and invites only those he cannot afford to snub. If there’s any gala to show yourself and your resources off at, it’s this one.”
Looking out the window at the manor they were approaching, with its shimmering, magical lights dancing through the air, Astarion couldn’t help but to agree.
-
“Is that-?” Astarion would have spat his sip of wine out had Gortash not casually slapped a hand over his mouth, smirking.
“He’s been the most sought-after bard this side of the Chionthar for some time now,” the human chuckled darkly as they watched Durge dance through the large hall, enchanted instruments following along behind him as he strummed his lute and let his honeyed voice linger through the air. “Rarely accepts requests to play for parties, but it’s been rumored that he’s more likely to accept if those whose company he enjoys are attending.”
“Like yourself?” Astarion asked with a wry smile.
“Well, he is known to have a refined taste in company,” Gortash smirked at him. “We’ve been spotted conversing many a time at soirees like this.” The human took a sip from the long-stemmed wineglass that he kept a delicate grip on as he watched Durge charm the crowd.
“He’s very good,” the vampire admitted, soft admiration in his voice.
“Music is in his blood,” Gortash agreed quietly, his voice almost a whisper. Astarion’s eyes snapped to the human, wondering if he knew what he was saying… He thought he spotted something in those andalusite eyes for a moment, but the flash was gone as quickly as it had come, and Astarion was left having to read the bland enjoyment that Gortash allowed to show on his face.
But deep down, Astarion had a feeling Gortash knew exactly what his words meant.
-
“Why do I allow you to make me go to these things?” Durge whined when he finally found a moment to join Astarion and Gortash. The duo had been chatting with everyone that night, some talks warm and inviting, others cold and disinterested, a few warming up into curiosity.
“You love it, dearest,” Gortash chuckled as the dragonborn snagged a tiny sandwich from a passing tray.
“You just think I look pretty when I’m hunting,” Durge snarked as he threw the sandwich whole into his mouth.
“It helps,” Gortash easily admitted.
“So, who’s on my no-no list tonight?” Durge asked after swallowing his snack.
“The usual,” Gortash told him. “Oh, and add Ravenguard’s little boy to the list.” Durge looked very disappointed at that, making Gortash laugh. “Ulder is the Flaming Fist’s next Marshall after Adrian is gone, you can’t go killing his little boy just because he looks delicious.”
“But he really does!” Durge whined.
“And I’m sure you’ll find someone must tastier,” Gortash smirked as the pout faded from Durge’s face. “Now, that’s plenty enough time to add more veracity to the rumors. I’ll see you later tonight.”
With a wink and a grin, Durge was off, pulling his lute out and strumming a tune to enchant the other instruments to play with him, colorful swirls bursting in the air around him as he sang and danced.
~«×»~
“You need rest,” Durge murmured softly as he guided Astarion to the bathtub with gentle hands. The vampire couldn’t deny he was exhausted – he’d been up for a week straight due to Gortash’s insomnia and manic inventing-spree. “I keep telling you, trying to keep up with him will kill you.”
Astarion grumbled something unintelligible as Durge helped him out of his clothes before carefully lowering the elf into the warm water that the dragonborn had made sure to fill the tub with. He couldn’t help but sigh in bliss as lavender-scented water engulfed his body up to the top of his shoulders.
He vaguely registered Durge chuckling before warm water was being poured onto his hair. Astarion moaned as gentle claws massaged a lovely smelling soap into his scalp, the tips of the claws creating a delightful scratching sensation. Astarion would never admit to drifting off to sleep due to his Master’s ministrations.
“I told him to go to bed,” Enver muttered softly as he entered the bathroom.
“He likes you too much to leave you unguarded,” Durge retorted as he began to rinse the soap out of his vampire’s hair.
“He likes you too much to leave me unguarded, dearest,” the inventor corrected with a chuckle, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of Durge’s head. “I’m an afterthought when it comes to where his loyalties lie.”
Durge shook his head with a smile, shedding his shirt and beginning to lift Astarion’s limbs from the water to clean each with a similar soap to the shampoo he’d used. “He’s a bit broken,” he admitted. “I think it’s what drew me to him in the first place.”
“Szarr didn’t have the… kindest reputation,” Enver admitted.
“Did you get a chance to investigate his mansion?” Durge asked as he moved to Astarion’s other side.
“Fascinating place,” Enver nodded. “There was a secret prison, with thousands of spawn. I took Dalyria with me, she was just as shocked as I was to see all of them. Apparently, they were all victims that Szarr’s children had brought him, who were under the impression that he had killed and eaten said victims. I discussed it with Dalyria, and we decided to let the spawn choose for themselves if they wished for release or death.”
Durge let out a growling sigh, shaking his head as he lifted a now-clean Astarion from the cooling water. Enver stretched out his arms, a large, soft towel draped over them. Smiling at his lover, Durge deposited the elf in Enver’s arms. They took their time in drying him carefully, being as gentle as they possibly could to make sure not to wake him.
“How many survived?” the dragonborn asked as he took Astarion back from Enver and returned to Astarion’s room through the bathroom.
“Around twenty,” Enver shrugged, not too bothered. “They’re with their siblings in the Temple. They’ve been sworn to secrecy – they were turned by Szarr and then sent off as spies. Astarion is never to know what happened within that house.”
Durge hummed in agreement as Enver pulled the covers to Astarion’s bed back, allowing Durge to place the sleeping vampire on the soft sheet beneath. They both carefully tucked him in before each taking a turn to lay a soft kiss on his cheek.
“Using the wood of his coffin to create the bedframes was an inspired idea, my heart,” Enver praised as they left the dark room, closing the door behind them.
“Oh, but I would never have thought to make a pendant of the thing so he can sleep wherever he pleases,” Durge responded with admiration.
“Hm,” Enver smiled viciously. “Yes, but now our bed is vampire-friendly.”
Durge chuckled as they reached their room. He squealed softly as the Banite beside him easily lifted him into his arms and claimed his lips – potions of giant’s strength were his favorite for a reason. “Very vampire friendly,” the bhaalspawn purred.
~«×»~
Astarion would admit to being surprised when he’d learned Durge’s true age. The dragonborn had grinned as young Orin had handed him a large, anatomically correct heart made from an assortment of organs from her victims. Sarevok had given Durge a solemn, “Happy 23rd,” as the Slayer had picked up his younger sister and spun her around happily.
“It’s beautiful, my little red princess!” Durge had cooed as he set Orin down. She’d giggled happily as he set the heart on his bedside table, where he’d see it every morning. “You have such an artistic gift!”
“Don’t encourage her,” Helena chuckled, adoration in her eyes as her little girl ran off into the Temple to play. “You know art isn’t what our Lord cares about.”
Durge shook his head, smile still on his face. “I know, but she’s just a little girl, let her have her innocent play!” he smiled teasingly. Helena gave him an indulgent smile before she trotted off after her young daughter.
“She’ll be eight soon enough,” Sarevok grunted. “The time for play will be ending soon.”
“Then all the more reason to let her indulge,” Durge softly scolded his elder brother. “I know your ambitions, brother, but allow your girls their fun. It’s so rare we have children grow up within the Church!”
Sarevok inclined his head in acknowledgement, knowing of Durge’s regret that he did not have the same opportunity. “So long as Father allows for it, I suppose such artistic pursuits should be available to her,” he ruefully agreed.
“See?” Durge laughed boisterously. “That wasn’t so difficult!”
The look Sarevok gave Durge spoke otherwise, but the elder just sighed and shook his head. “I take it you’ll be with your Banite tonight?” he asked instead.
“I’ve actually got a party to attend,” Durge told him with a shrug. “There’s an investigator who’s been getting a bit too involved in our business, so I’ll be taking care of him and his family. Standard warning massacre and all that.”
“Not your favorite,” Sarevok noted.
“Not my least favorite, either,” Durge reminded him. “At least it’s the whole family this time and not just a singleton.”
“And no undead,” Sarevok chuckled.
“Eh, I’d say that one worked out in my favor,” Durge grinned as he glanced at Astarion. The vampire hurried to his Master’s side at a single motion, bowing deeply to Sarevok. “Astarion, I don’t believe you’ve been formally introduced to my elder brother, Sarevok Anchev.”
“A true pleasure,” Astarion murmured, not moving from his bow. He was startled when a bellowing laugh burst from Sarevok. He glanced up to see good humor in the conqueror’s eyes.
“You’ve been training it well, little brother,” Sarevok noted. “How fair the others of its kind?”
“Their former Master had them trained in both combat, charisma, and the anatomy of different living bodies,” Durge informed him. “They’ve settled in nicely and have already become favored initiates. I expect them to rise in our ranks quickly.”
Sarevok hummed at that, looking both annoyed and impressed.
“Of course,” Durge grinned viciously. “I’ve already gotten a few of the architects working on the plans for a new laboratory space.” Sarevok said nothing, merely raised a curious brow. “Astarion’s sister, Dalyria, has been doing research to discover a way to reverse vampirism, and I’d like to give her my full support.”
“Now why would our young leader do that?” Sarevok inquired.
“I’ve had a chance to taste both vampire and spawn now,” Durge explained. “Not the most flavorful of things. But then Dalyria came to me with her research, and I couldn’t help but wonder – what in the world would a vampire returned to life taste like?”
Sarevok was silent for a moment before bursting into his deep laugh once more. He patted his younger brother’s shoulder, smile wide across his face. “Let it never be said that your appetites were less than extraordinary, brother!” the old bhaalspawn cackled.
~«×»~
“Orin!” Durge cried as he and Astarion ran to the altar. There, Orin stood over the mutilated body of her mother, dagger in hand, eyes blank. “Are you alright?!” When they reached her, Durge immediately swept the little girl up into his arms, hiding her face away in his chest while he nodded for the initiates to be quick about disposing of Helena’s body.
“She wanted to hurt me,” Orin spoke quietly, voice shaking ever-so-slightly.
Durge’s eyes snapped to Sarevok, who may have entered the Temple with them, but was leisurely taking his time to reach them. He gave his brother a sharp look, knowing to suspect the worst when it came to his fellow bhaalspawn.
“Whatever happened, darling, you did what you had to in order to survive,” Astarion murmured as he rubbed Orin’s back. “Did she injure you?”
Orin hesitated before holding her left arm out to the vampire, a deep gouge sluggishly bleeding. Durge and Astarion glanced at each other before Astarion quickly took hold of Orin while Durge took her arm into his hands, pulling out a vial of healing potion.
“What do you want done with the body, Master?” Petras asked as he approached the small group, sparing a glare at Helena’s corpse as it was removed from the area.
“Orin?” Astarion prompted, knowing the Red Princess would have some sort of opinion.
“…preserved,” the little girl finally growled. “In spikes.”
Durge grinned through the sleeve in his mouth as he shredded it into strips, pouring the potion onto them before wrapping Orin’s arm with the makeshift bandages. His little sister truly was a genius artist.
“I’ll tell Sceleritas, I’m sure he’d love your help with it,” Astarion assured her, continuing to rub her back. Orin nodded her little head against his shoulder.
“Stop coddling her,” Sarevok grunted as he finally reached them. “If she’s old enough to murder her mother, she’s old enough to handle the aftermath.”
Finally finished wrapping Orin’s injury, Durge spun to face his brother, eyes hard. “I run things around here, brother,” he chewed out passed his bared teeth. “Helena only just attacked and harmed Orin, and I will coddle her as I wish!”
“She is my granddaughter,” Sarevok threw back.
“She is my little sister,” Durge took a threatening step forward. “You, brother, are the head of the Murder Tribunal. I am the Primate of this Temple, and so long as she resides within its walls, she will be treated as I see fit.” The dragonborn sent a look Astarion’s way, and both he and Petras were quick to scurry away with Orin into Durge’s chambers.
“You seem to think highly of yourself,” Sarevok glared at the younger of the two.
“I’m the one who re-started worship of Father within this city – without a single word from you, Sarevok. You only came crawling to me once we were firmly established,” Durge reminded the human with a snarl. “And I swear, if I find out you had anything to do with this, your head on a pike will serve as a warning to all others: Do not cross The Dark Urge!”
Sarevok wanted to spit as he watched Durge turn on his heels and storm away. The whelp needed to be taught a lesson in humility, preferably before their Father decided on his next Chosen…
~«×»~
There was a hush over the Temple as the older bhaalspawn walked through the sanctuary, confidence in his movements as he strode towards where Durge stood under their Father’s icon. Astarion watched from where he was helping Dalyria carry an elf, still alive and struggling, to her laboratory, curiosity peaked.
“Any idea who that is?” Astarion whispered to his sister, nodding toward where the human had fallen to one knee before Durge.
“I think it’s another bhaalspawn from Sarevok’s generation,” Dalyria whispered back after giving a quick glance up. “Some of the deathdealers were talking about some sort of important meeting today. Anyways, it’s not our business.”
“It is sort of mine,” Astarion responded with a roll of his eyes. Nevertheless, he helped as his sister bid him do with the latest of her victims.
It was only once the human had departed the Temple that Astarion hurried over to meet Durge as he began to shed his formal garments. The vampire was quick to take them from the dragonborn, giving him a questioning look.
“My eldest brother,” Durge murmured. “Of the ones still alive, at least. Father gave me instructions for him to carry out in three tendays. It promises to be quite the show.”
“Would Bhaal not tell your brother himself?” Astarion asked as he followed his Master to the backrooms.
“He’s making it obvious which of us He favors,” Durge explained with a sigh as he rolled his shoulders. “Plus, Father’s been cross with Viekang for years now, he’s only giving him a final chance to atone for his indiscretions. I’ve sent him off with a cowled death and a dozen deathdealers to further his cause.” Durge chuckled softly before giving Astarion a grim, bloodthirsty smile. “It’s been far too long since the Slayer sated his appetites.”
~«×»~
“How could you?!” Astarion demanded, striding into Enver’s office to see him and Durge bent over a schematic on the human’s desk. The two looked up at him, both taken aback at the vampire’s rage.
“Could what?” Durge finally asked, a bit baffled.
“Sell off Karlach!” Astarion almost shouted, righteous anger falling off him in almost visible waves.
“Who’s Karlach?” Durge looked back and forth between Astarion and Enver, still confused.
“I didn’t have much of a choice,” Enver muttered with a roll of his eyes. “Zariel was putting pressure on Rafael to put pressure on me, so the bastard invoked my contract. I’m not thrilled at them forcing my hand, but at least she lived.”
“Lived?!” Astarion almost gasped. “You can hardly call being a fucking weapon for Zariel in Avernus with that engine in her chest living!”
“Oh, she’s the one Zariel put the infernal engine in?” Durge turned to Enver curiously.
“She is,” Enver nodded. “I don’t like being told what to do, Astarion, especially by their lot, but what was I supposed to do? Technically, Rafael owns my soul, he just finds me far too entertaining out here to take me back. I gave Zariel Karlach because she’s the only one in my employ who could possibly survive the operation. And I needed to see if it would work.”
“So… you or her?” Durge asked.
Enver nodded with a shrug.
“I choose her, then,” the dragonborn smirked, leaning forward to receive a lustful kiss as a reward.
“She trusted you, Enver!” Astarion wanted to continue to rage, but with this new knowledge, was far too aware he’d also choose Karlach when push came to shove.
“Plenty of people trust me,” Enver said placidly. “That has no bearing on whether they should.”
Astarion sighed as Durge held open an arm for him, the vampire defeatedly walking over and into the proffered embrace. Durge pulled him close and began petting his hair, soothing the fraught creature.
“Besides, now that we know the engine works, I can begin refining the final product,” Enver’s voice was filled with an inventor’s ambition, an almost maniacal edge to the tone. “And with the Gondian designs, my Steel Watch will be that much closer to reality!”
Astarion didn’t need to look up to know that Durge was grinning brightly at his partner and lover, tail swaying eagerly back and forth. But the vampire had liked Karlach… the tiefling had been eager to learn from him, and to protect Enver, who she had greatly respected. Though if it truly meant keeping Enver safe, Astarion would sacrifice the girl a thousand times over.
~«×»~
“So, that’s the Slayer,” Astarion whispered, still shaking. He was curled up on the settee in Enver’s office, a blanket he’d stolen from the human’s room wrapped around himself. Enver sighed from where he sat at his desk, flipping through paper after paper from the seemingly-endless stack beside him. Witness statements and Flaming Fist reports and damage assessments, etc.
“Not exactly how I thought we’d be introduced to it,” Enver admitted ruefully, running a tired hand through his hair once again. “And certainly not how I thought the city would be introduced to it…”
“Can Durge…?” Astarion asked softly, staring into the fire that roared from the hearth at the front of the room.
“Not that I know of,” Enver muttered. “Though he’s been loath to talk about such things, even with me.”
“Guys!”
Both occupants turned their heads to see Durge excitedly crawling through the window, breathless, with eyes wild and blazing, a manic grin stretching across his face.
“Durge,” Enver breathed out in relief. “I was worried about you.”
“No need!” Durge rolled into the room, unusually careless as he jumped to his feet and began to dance about. “Did you see them? Did you see them?!” he cried, throwing his hands up. “That’s what being a bhaalspawn is all about! Death in droves! Fuck the way they die, they just need to be dead! Blood soaking into the streets, screams and wails cut off without a second thought – no need to mourn when you’re next on the menu and bodies delightfully strewn around every corner, in piles, in mounds, in mountains!”
Durge was breathing even heavier when he finished, claws sharp and death leaping in his eyes, grinning snarl on his mouth that so wanted to be feasting on the meat of those he’d shredded through and-
Enver stood up suddenly, gaining Durge’s full attention. Astarion was barely even breathing, too scared of his Master to risk being noticed, but Enver was striding toward the dragonborn with intention, his face unreadable.
Really, Astarion shouldn’t have been surprised when Enver grabbed the sides of Durge’s head and slammed their lips together, the two almost instantly melting into a singular mess of guttural groans and hisses as skin was sliced through. All fear drained from the vampire as he gave out a long-suffering sigh. Tonight was going to be a bloody one.
“I’ll get the sheets,” he stated as he stood, realizing they were obviously not making it to either bedroom, and knowing how Enver hated to get fluids on his workspaces.
“Thank you!” Enver called after him as Durge refused to let the human out of his grasp. “And don’t forget the healing potions!”
-
Astarion woke up the next morning with an aching back, held tightly and securely between the bodies of Enver Gortash and The Dark Urge. He almost wanted to complain, he’d been dragged into the overzealous ‘love’-making the previous night without so much as a conversation beforehand, but he couldn’t really bring himself to regret it.
He’d never experienced sex like that before.
Violent, yes.
Claws and teeth and kisses and pain, yes.
But also so tender and caring, two sets of eyes always looking to his for permission before proceeding, soft touches and tender caresses when refusal was given. He’d never… allowed himself to be so dominated before.
He’d never seen Durge give up dominance before.
The two were perfectly fit for each other, the vampire was beginning to realize. Both obscenely intelligent in entirely different ways, deadly masterminds with a singular devotion to their respective Gods, with plans carefully crafted over years of trial and error…
And so wholly, inexcusably obsessed with each other that it might threaten everything else in their lives.
~«×»~
A certain vampire would never admit that he loved the way Gortash and Durge treated him. They were kind and soft and allowed him to dictate the pace of their relationship. And when he’d admitted to not knowing exactly what it meant to have sex for anything but manipulation, Durge had engulfed him in a hug and whispered that he understood that all too well.
Gortash- well, he’d told Astarion to call him Enver, so he’d best get used to that. Enver had explained Durge’s past of sexual abuse one night when the dragonborn was busy with murder cult business. Shamefully, it had made Astarion feel more comfortable with the two men. After all, Enver knew what it meant to help someone through that trauma, and Durge knew what it meant to actually come out the other side of it.
“Bhaal’s cult isn’t known for being morally ‘good’,” Enver muttered as he once again attempted to sketch out a design he’d been having trouble with for weeks now. “But that was almost too much, even for me. I had that coat commissioned directly afterwards, to make sure my emotions never read on my face again.” The human nodded to the extravagant coat that was carefully hung up beside the door.
“Does he even know what happened to him?” Astarion asked softly from where he sat, meticulously sharpening his throwing knives before re-applying their poison coating.
“Vaguely,” Enver admitted, sitting back and sighing as he balled up the paper and tossed it into the wastebin. “I don’t think he knows it’s considered a horrific crime, but he does know the damage it has done to him.”
“Did his Father do nothing to stop it?” the elf asked, a bit confused as to why Bhaal would not have stepped in.
However, the question only caused Enver to laugh, turning in his chair to look at Astarion. “You think Bhaal gives a single shit about Durge? All he cares about is his progeny being the perfect weapon to destroy all life. It was one of the reasons it was so easy to manipulate him at first,” the human admitted, regret filling his voice as he looked away.
“You… manipulated him?” Astarion hesitantly questioned.
Enver took a large breath of air before slowly letting it out. He set his sketching tools down on the desk and pushed the chair back, coming to sit next to Astarion. The vampire noted Enver seemed to stare out at nothing just before the story began…
~«×»~
We were both young, I’d only just re-established the worship of Bane in the Gate and Durge had newly been named the leader of the Cult of Bhaal. I had heard of his prowess and knew he’d be a valuable ally to have. I contacted him with information that some of his family’s heirloom torture racks were being displayed in the Hall of Wonders, along with the remains of an important figure in their history.
He was furious to hear of the disrespect being shown to his Father, and joined me to take the items back and return them to their rightful place.
Working with him was like breathing – easy and instinctive. We knew what the other was about to do without saying a single word. It… was addictive, I’ll admit. I’d never felt such a connection to a single person in my entire life.
But he was ever so naïve.
Bhaal had kept a close eye on his child, making sure he never truly experienced the world in an effort to keep him from forming ideas of his own.
It was ridiculous, really! Durge is a brilliant musician, so of course I hired him as entertainment for every occasion. He cleans up so well, you see, and adapted so perfectly to my parties. It even became his favorite hunting ground. Bhaal had never realized that Durge’s bardic talents could be used in such a way, and immediately gave permission for Durge to leave the city as he desired.
Durge, of course, believed I was the entire reason for his newfound freedom. He’d follow me about like a little puppy, so eager to please. He’d bring me whatever I wanted, whether it be a new flavor of pastry or an enemies head. All I had to do was give him the tiniest bit of praise and he was jumping to follow my orders.
I had him wrapped around my little finger…
…
…And then he got hurt.
It was ridiculous, honestly. He had been following me around secretly, whenever I went about my business in the late night. There was an ambush set up for me, which I was fully aware of, of course, but I was overconfident and foolhardy.
I didn’t notice the archer until Durge was collapsing behind me, crossbow bolt buried deep in his breast. I’ve never felt so helpless as when I realized my darling dread heart could possibly die in that dirty, dank alleyway. I used all the Dimension Door scrolls I had in my pack to get him back to my manor. I dragged him to a settee, and he was bleeding all over it and I didn’t even care!
I was acting a halfwit, panicking needlessly.
And then he grabbed my hand and smiled at me and said, “I’m the only one who will take your life, Envy, my little tyrant.”
Love had always been a foreign concept to me until that moment. I begged Bane for a way to save him, to allow me this one small piece of happiness.
That is when Sceleritas Fel appeared, looking for where his Master had disappeared off to once again. The creature hates me, but I’ll always be grateful to him for saving my Durge. He laughed at me, you know? For panicking that Durge was passed out and dying of blood loss. He snapped his fingers and suddenly Durge was bolt-less and looking a much healthier color.
Sceleritas is a creature forged by Bhaal, just as Durge is. He was granted the limited ability to heal Bhaal’s children, and it turned out the bolt hadn’t hit anything vital. Blood loss was the only real issue, which was fixed in no time with a healing spell. The butler allowed me to keep Durge overnight, to keep an eye on him and make sure he didn’t take a turn for the worse.
Durge woke up the next morning, only to see me sleeping on the floor next to the ruined settee he was still on. Once he woke me up, I threw myself at the fool. And I never stopped.
~«×»~
Astarion watched from beside Enver as Durge danced about the upper-city square, fingers dancing over his lute and melodic voice carrying over the wind. It was rare to see the dragonborn so utterly carefree, and Astarion quickly decided he liked Durge this way.
“He has no idea how much his performances are worth,” Enver grunted. The elf didn’t need to say a thing for Enver to elaborate. “He’s one of the most sought-after bards in the city, has been for years, but he prefers to dance about the square for free instead of allowing me to be his manager!”
Astarion didn’t bother to hold back the chuckle that escaped his lips. Enver was money-hungry, yes, but in truth he’d never try to cage Durge’s musical gifts, he cared for the beast too much to do such a thing.
They two lurked in the shadows of a side alley, Enver wearing his favorite “undercover” outfit – in truth it was still far too luxurious for anyone to not notice him, but at least he wore the hooded cloak Durge and Astarion had forced upon him.
For his part, Astarion was wearing the strange, if effective, outfit Enver had put together for him. It hid every single piece of his body from the sun, including his face, different spells woven into the fabrics and metals to allow the vampire to stay cool during even the hottest of days and not hinder his movements and sight.
It was the most expensive things Astarion had ever owned.
A cheer went up from the crowd watching Durge flit about as sparks sprung from his feet with his every step, and a dizzying display of lights curled around his body.
“Showoff,” Enver muttered fondly, a hint of a smile whispering over his lips.
~«×»~
Astarion sat very, very still, his back straight and body tensed. Durge was trying to hold back a laugh as he stood behind the portrait artist that was currently sketching out Astarion’s form. Enver was sitting behind his desk, sighing as he sorted through papers pertaining to death-cult politics.
“Relax, Astarion,” Enver absent-mindedly reminded the elf. “A painting isn’t going to suck your soul out.”
Durge finally laughed at Astarion’s face as he held back a retort, not wanting to ruin the artist’s concentration.
“And you look far better when you don’t look like you’re holding back gas,” Enver added, glancing up at Astarion with a sly smirk.
Durge laughed even harder at that, which finally caused Astarion to breath out, shoulders relaxing as an unbidden smile alighted on his face. Durge noted the way the artist’s shoulders also relaxed, finally able to capture his subject’s face in a pleasing pose. He was quick to sketch the expression out, not wanting to miss the opportunity.
It was another hour before the artist had a first draft they were pleased with, happily taking the canvas and pouch of coin Enver held out for him before departing. He’d promised the portrait would be done within a fortnight, which Enver had assured Durge was actually very fast when it came to paintings.
“I still can’t believe I agreed to this,” Astarion huffed as he shed the fine garments his two partners had forced him into.
“Because you adore us,” Durge responded happily as he wrapped his arms around the vampire from behind.
“And you’re curious,” Enver added in a mutter from where he still sat behind his desk, hair now a mess and the bags under his eyes getting darker with each passing moment.
“You need rest, Envy,” Durge chided their Lord, resting his chin atop Astarion’s head. “You’ve been going like that for almost eight days now.”
“It’s politics, my dread heart, I can do nothing about how much of it there is,” Enver responded, still not looking up at the pair.
“Please?” Astarion murmured softly.
“Not the voice,” Enver whined, finally raising his eyes. What met his gaze was two horribly worried looks from his beloveds, both sets of red eyes shimmering in the candlelight. “I have to get this done!”
The two continued their pleading looks, and Durge could tell Enver was so very close to breaking. A sly smile spread across his lips at a certain memory. Enver watched as the dragonborn leaned down and whispered something in Astarion’s ear. The vampire’s eyes widened and a delicate flush pinkened his cheeks, but he nodded and fled from the room without a word.
“What?” Enver asked cautiously, eyes narrowed as Durge approached him with that devious smile still on his face, hips swaying as he walked.
“Oh, I just thought I’d remind Star of a certain… present I had made for you,” the dragonborn purred as he reached the desk. He leaned forward on it, his arms slowly lowering his face closer to Enver’s. “Something of a… matching set to one I adorned myself with.”
Enver’s eyes widened. “You didn’t,” he choked out, memories of his previous birthday flashing behind his eyes.
“Hm,” Durge hummed as he pulled away, trotting to the office door. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t,” he teased. “But you’ll have to come to bed to find out.”
Enver was frozen as Durge casually closed the door behind him. He hadn’t… But just the idea of white skin, white scales, gold and emerald and jade and obsidian moving like liquid across their bodies, had blood rushing to uncomfortable places.
Papers were still slowly floating to the ground as the door slammed behind him.
-
Astarion wanted to laugh at the way Enver was spread out on the bed, pants half-off and shirt askew, snoring loudly. But the lord deserved his rest, and the vampire would not be the one to disturb him.
Durge was not so thoughtful. He roughly yanked off Enver’s shoes and pants before moving to his coat and shirt, muttering all the while about how many buttons the fool had on his ostentatious clothes.
“Quiet, darling,” Astarion whispered, laying a hand on Durge’s shoulder.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Durge huffed as he finally got the coat off. “I put a sleeping potion in his wine, he’s not waking up any time soon.”
Astarion raised a brow.
“What?” the dragonborn grinned mischievously. “I had to get him to leave his study somehow. You know how many anti-magic wards he’s got in there!” Astarion couldn’t deny that Enver may have gone a bit overboard with the protections in his personal study… “Feels like I’m wearing a damned muzzle in there…” Durge grunted softly as he pushed Enver under the covers of the large bed.
“And having me change…?” Astarion raised a brow, though a teasing smile was on his lips.
“What?” Durge’s grin turned sly. “Am I not allowed to enjoy my own handiwork?” The vampire finally laughed at that, the metal and jewels that adorned his naked skin tinkling melodically. “Besides, it’s not like you ever let me get a test-fit in, so think of it as a fitting session.”
That had Astarion rolling his eyes, though his good humor was obvious. “Well, it fits perfectly, sweetheart,” he assured the other male, finally looking down at himself and turning this way and that, loving the way the gems glittered in the candlelight.
“Could do with a few garnets,” Durge admitted, voice somewhat annoyed. “But Enver would never forgive me for putting my own colors in! Even if they do suit you better.”
“Does he even know you made these yourself?” Astarion asked softly as he moved towards his discarded clothes, delicately removing the adornments.
The vampire turned towards Durge when the dragonborn didn’t answer. The bhaalspawn was looking at the ground, his posture hunched inward, waves of what seemed almost like fear rolling off of him.
“Darling?” Astarion hurried to Durge’s side, only having managed to pull on his shirt. He ran his hands up and down Durge’s arms, trying to pull him out of whatever this was.
“I’ve only ever told you,” the dragonborn admitted softly. “Jewelry crafting isn’t exactly smiled upon by my Father, and the fact that I use my music to do it…” He shook his head, knowing exactly where that being discovered would lead. “We’re not supposed to have material things. The fact that I do is only because I lead the Church, so I must own certain things… I haven’t even told Orin.”
Astarion’s gaze softened, realizing just how precious the knowledge Durge had gifted him was. The dragonborn adored his younger sister, called her his ‘Red Princess’, indulged her artistic pursuits even when he knew that was not what Bhaal wanted…
“I won’t tell anyone, darling,” Astarion assured him, pulling Durge into a hug. “I swear.”
~«×»~
Astarion woke up that evening to a low buzz echoing through the Temple, whispers from every mouth spreading rumors. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes and yawning, the vampire realized he was alone in bed – a rare occurrence these days.
When red light from the effigy of Bhaal lit up the sanctuary, however, Astarion knew at once where his Master had gone. Throwing on his clothes quickly, he scampered out into the altar room, where he was met with seemingly every other Bhaalist that resided in Baldur’s Gate.
Looking around, his eyes finally landed on Durge. He was kneeling before Bhaal, head lowered and eyes closed, waiting for something to begin.
“Astarion!”
The elf snapped his head in the direction of the voice, spotting Dalyria standing at the front of the crowd with Sceleritas, Orin holding tightly to her hand. Astarion pushed his way past others, growling low at the complaints as he did, letting them know to move aside for their leader’s favored vampire.
“What’s happened?” Astarion panted out as he made it to their side, Orin immediately grabbing for his hand and receiving it.
“Bhaal is here,” Dalyria whispered, nodding her head towards the stone carving. Indeed, the eyes were glowing a deep red hue. “Spoke through Durge for a moment, said he gathered everyone here for an announcement!”
“Hush, you two,” Sceleritas shushed them, sparing a soft glare for them.
Finally, when all noise had ceased through the echoing halls, a rough, demonic voice reverberated from the sculpture.
“My child,” Bhaal growled. “I know of your deeds and your plans. Through them, I foresee all life snuffed out by your sharp claws. You shall wreak havoc upon this world not as a mere child of Bhaal – but as his Chosen.” Durge’s head snapped up at that, eyes wide as he took in his father’s words.
“You made me to be the last being alive, Father,” Durge murmured in reverence. “And through our plans, it shall be so.”
~«×»~
“I had a dream visitor,” Enver muttered, running a hand through his messy hair once Durge had emerged fully from his window. “I take it you did, as well?”
“The entire Temple did,” Durge huffed, pulling his hood back to reveal white scales adorned with bloody symbols. “Father named me his Chosen. Astarion’s helping Sceleritas keep things orderly while I’m away conferring with the other Chosen.”
Enver stretched with a yawn, the bags under his eyes worse than ever. “Guess I got the lucky draw, then? Bane simply sent out a short message to all his followers that I am now his Chosen.”
“You did,” Durge agreed as he joined Enver on the settee in the human’s office, draping himself over his lover. “Any word from Myrkul?”
“What, did Bhaal not tell you anything?” Enver snorted softly, adjusting his position to allow Durge to lay more comfortably atop him. They never spoke aloud of how perfectly their bodies slotted together, but it was a mutual understanding. Durge lay his chin flat on Enver’s chest, finally smiling as gentle fingers ran along his horns.
“I just had no idea what he was talking about,” Durge admitted.
“Figures,” Enver chuckled. “You know, for someone as deadly intelligent as you are, you refuse even the simplest of history lessons.”
“Why learn history when you can destroy it?”
“Of course,” Enver sighed, humor coloring his voice even as he rolled his eyes. “Ketheric Thorm was a half-elven priest and, for a time, a loyal devotee of the Moonmaiden Selûne. However, after the loss of his wife and daughter, he pledged himself to Shar, in exchange for her taking away his pain, and led an army of Dark Justiciars in war against the Druids of the Emerald Grove and the Harpers. He was eventually killed in said war, or at least so stories go. He’s a seasoned general and effectively immortal, though I’ve no clue as to what his methods for this are. Thorm is trading Myrkul his loyalty and soul for the resurrection of his daughter. Once he’s proven himself a capable Chosen, Myrkul will honor his end of the bargain.”
Durge hummed softly, lulled into relaxation by his lover’s voice.
“You’re not even listening, are you?” Enver rhetorically asked, softly, hands never ceasing their gentle strokes.
“Half-elf, general, immortality I’ll need to fix before we betray him, yada, yada,” Durge mumbled as he buried his face further into Enver’s chest.
“Well, at least that got through,” the human sighed. “Anyways, Thorm is supposed to work on the ‘army’ part of the plan. He’ll be stationed at his old headquarters in Moonrise Towers.” Durge’s ears perked up at that. “Yes,” Enver huffed with a short laugh. “Exactly above where you and I found our dear little elder brain dormant. Apparently, Thorm had no idea he’d had those towers built atop a Mindflayer Oubliette!”
“Would’ve been Mindflayer bait if he had,” Durge rumbled, his eyes having closed and his breathing beginning to even out.
“We’re actually going to have to break into Mephistopheles’ place now, you do realize that?” Enver grunted at the creature falling asleep on him, trying to push away the drowsiness that roared his name.
“’S easy,” Durge slurred, obviously not much longer for the world of the awake.
“We’re supposed to be having a meeting,” Enver yawned widely, trying to put at least some hint of reprimand in his voice. However, when only soft breathing met his words, he couldn’t push away the smile that slipped easily onto his lips. Meetings could wait, he decided. Sleeping under the only creature who could ever possibly be his equal was far more important.
~«×»~
“Don’t you clean up nicely,” Enver purred. He and Astarion were both admiring their snowy white dragonborn in his new formalwear – red silk draped over muscles and burgundy cloth clinging to scales. “I should force you to attend these events more often.”
Durge rolled his eyes as he pulled on his dancing shoes, lacing them tightly so there was no risk of them coming off. “I’m not doing this for you, Envy,” he muttered. “I’m one of the most popular bards in Baldur’s Gate right now, I’d lose that status if I refused too many invitations.” The dragonborn stood tall in his dancing attire, cloth and silk flowing loosely over his body. The only opaque bit was what covered his manhood and thighs, the rest leaving nothing to the imagination. Even his shoes were mostly see-through.
“If you weren’t showing off, you’d have gotten dressed before getting here,” Astarion noted with a sly smile.
“And walk around the Temple with this on?” Durge recoiled at the very thought. “Brother Sarevok would never let me hear the end of it!”
“His loss,” Enver said with a shrug, eyes practically molesting the delicious creature before him.
“And our gain,” Astarion added with a wink.
Durge could only roll his eyes once more as he pulled out the headdress that matched the outfit. “Come help me with this,” he grunted to his partners, holding out the red silk and gold metal meant to adorn his curving horns.
“Always,” Enver murmured indulgently, stepping forward to pluck the piece from Durge’s hands. With practiced ease, he methodically snapped each ring around it’s matching horn, careful to make sure the silk didn’t catch. Astarion watched the intimate moment between the two males, heart thudding loudly as an emotion he refused to name rushed through him.
~«×»~
The first time Astarion and Enver were formally introduced to the Slayer form, it was a dim and cold night in the middle of winter – freezing rain had been pouring from the sky all week, and the tyrant of Baldur’s Gate had decided to have a nice evening in for once. Astarion had curled up on the carpet in front of the fireplace in the wide living area, a thick wool blanket wrapped around his form. Enver was just a few feet behind him, laying sideways across the lounge with an old, worn book in his hands.
The scratching on the window had both of them startling, eyes snapping to Durge’s window (he had one in every fucking room). A hand with hauntingly long, clawed fingers scratched against the glass of the window, pawing uselessly at the latch. It took the two occupants too long to realize an unknown creature was attempting to enter the house – the hand had managed to hook the latch and the window was opened.
They both stood and stepped back as the single arm entered through the window, soon joined by a second arm, and then a third… the forth arm was accompanied by a frothing, monstrous head with long tusks and horns. It clicked and whined as it dragged itself into the manor, long spines littering its body and a snapping tail slamming the window closed behind it.
It was only when the monster was fully in the room that they realized it was injured – it collapsed with a soft yelp as its left leg failed on it, head sagging forward as a mix of drool and blood dripped from its mouth.
“My dread heart,” Enver whispered as he took in the creature before them.
“Durge?!” Astarion gasped as he looked between the human and the beast.
“Shh, it’s alright, my darling,” Enver ignored the vampire, instead opting to breath soothing words as he slowly approached the transformed bhaalspawn. The creature made a half-hearted attempt to snap at Enver, but the human simply ignored the aggression. “You came here for a reason, dearest Slayer, even if you don’t remember. Let me see the wound, I promise I’ll help.”
Durge seemed to sense something in those words, as he laid his head down with a soft whimper, allowing Enver to inch closer to his injury, the human keeping his hands up in a show of surrender. Upon reaching the leg, Enver kneeled to see the damage that had been done.
Enver didn’t usually let his face betray his emotions, but he was weak when it came to Durge.
And especially weak when Durge was injured.
The human yanked his shirt off and began ripping it into strips. “Astarion, get the greater healing potions,” he called as he began to wrap the strips tightly around the leg. “Now!”
Astarion darted off to do as told.
“You told me you’d show me this form once you’d mastered it,” Enver growled to the whimpering creature bloodying up his carpet. “What happened to ‘don’t worry about me, Envy, I know what I’m doing!’ hm?” He began bandaging faster when the creature’s whimpers began to weaken.
“Here!” Astarion called as he ran back into the room, arms full of the potions. Enver… would have to ask where he was stashing all those potions, it really did look like an excessive amount…
For now, however, Enver caught the bottle tossed at him and uncapped it with force before he began pouring it onto the bandages. “Make him drink them!” Enver told Astarion as he continued with his bandaging.
“How do I…?” Astarion worried as he stood before the head of the creature.
“Oh, for Bane’s- let me do it!” Enver barked as he jumped up from his position to join the vampire. He pulled two bottles from Astarion’s arms, yanking their corks out with his teeth, before kneeing Durge’s chin, causing the creature to open its mouth with a yelp, during which Enver poured the potions down its throat.
It took another four bottles before the creature began to stop whimpering, pain giving way to exhaustion. Which was a win in Enver and Astarion’s eyes.
“Go get the blankets from our beds, Star,” Enver muttered as he used the rags that had once been his shirt to wipe his hands of blood. “He’s not going anywhere anytime soon. And I’ve no idea how he transforms back.”
Astarion nodded before he once again hurried off to do as bid. Enver took the moment to run a gentle hand over Durge’s tusks, giving himself a moment to breath. “Don’t do this to me again,” the human warned as he gently kissed the dozing creature. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, my dearest.”
-
Durge awoke in his and Enver’s bed with a pounding headache that morning, memories a jumble of blood and cold and pain. He groaned softly as he opened his eyes, the world bleary around him.
“Darling!” He recognized Astarion’s voice, but he couldn’t pinpoint the exact location of his vampire.
“Careful, he’s still not fully healed.” Enver. Durge weakly reached out to try and find his human, but his hands and arms felt like lead and were refusing to move as he commanded them to. Still, a familiar hand found his own and squeezed tightly, allowing Durge to relax. “But still just as demanding as ever.” The warm chuckle sent rivulets of sunshine-heat down his spine, a smile finding its way onto his lips.
“I’ll need to return to the Temple, to tell everyone he’s alright,” Astarion murmured. “Call me if you need anything, alright?”
Durge could hear the soft whisper of lips meeting and wished desperately to be able to see the familiar vision that was Enver and Astarion sharing their affection, but was damned by his injury to be denied the sight.
“I’ve dealt with him injured before, Star,” Enver chuckled.
Ah! Enver had begun using the nickname!
“I know! I can still worry!” Soft laughter faded as Astarion left the room to don his day-time attire before making the trip to the Temple.
“You really need to not do that,” Enver chuckled as Durge curled up onto his side, bringing the human’s hand to his chest. Taking the hint, Enver rolled his eyes as he climbed into the bed and wrapped his arms around the larger male. “You’ve left the living area an absolute mess. Next time, you need to warn me that the form explodes from around you. That blood is going to take far too much coin to clean.”
“I think I apologize,” Durge spoke softly, his voice rough and broken. “Though I don’t actually remember how I even got here.”
“Figures,” Enver sighed. “You came in through a window last night in your Slayer form, with a severe injury to your leg. You were feral.”
“Yeah, Sceleritas says I’ll get more control as I practice,” Durge explained, nuzzling his head into Enver’s chest. “I’ve been using it sparingly, at the moment, can’t let word about it get out.”
“Understandable,” Enver nodded. “Just… try not to get injured again?”
Durge grinned as a kiss was pressed to the top of his head. “I make no promises,” he said. “But I will try."
~«×»~
Astarion, curled up in a lounge chair in Enver’s vast library, glanced up from his book to watch said human peruse the shelves that Durge had filled with books. They were… certainly filled with books.
“How old were you and Durge when you met?” Astarion asked softly, curiosity getting the better of him.
“Hm?” Enver’s eyes didn’t leave the spines of the books, squinting at them to try and discern the titles. “Oh, he was around… 20? Nearly 21, I think,” Enver answered as he reached out and plucked a hard-covered book from the shelf, opening it to leaf through the stained pages. “I was around… I want to say 28? Maybe 29?”
“Oh,” Astarion muttered. “So… only a year or two before you met me?”
“Time-wise, yes,” Enver hummed, pausing on a page to left out a soft chuckle before continuing to flip the pages. “I’ll admit to it feeling much longer.”
“You two were already very close,” Astarion hesitantly noted.
“Our relationship was quick to progress once the two of us came together,” Enver admitted.
“And… you had manipulated him to get to that relationship.”
Enver’s movement came to a sudden halt. He took a deep breath in even as his grip on the book tightened, carefully closing it and setting it back onto the shelf. It was only then that he turned to Astarion, his smile icy-sharp. “Pardon?” he asked, an edge to his voice.
“Well, that’s what you told me,” Astarion was quick to clarify. “That you manipulated him into falling for you. So your relationship wasn’t really… consensual…” His voice trailed off at the end as the aura around Enver grew darker and darker.
“I may trade in bodies, Astarion,” Enver’s voice was piercing as he began to chastise his partner. “But I’m nothing like your former Master. I have never once had to coerce someone into my bed against their will.”
“He was barely out of childhood,” Astarion pushed back, dropping his book into his seat as he stood. “And extremely vulnerable, considering all he had to do to re-establish his church.”
“Durge is not vulnerable,” Enver scoffed, rolling his eyes.
“He may have been warped!” Astarion protested.
“He’s bhaalspawn, Astarion, he was born warped!” Enver retorted, anger now coursing through his voice.
“Just admit you took advantage of him!”
“He didn’t take advantage of me.”
Astarion and Enver spun to face Durge, who was climbing through the window of the library. They were both breathing heavily as the subject of their disagreement casually dropped his pack from his shoulders and dug around within it, pulling out two new books. Both of his partners were silent as they watched him look for a good spot on his shelf to put the additions.
“I know you two have talked about the start of the relationship,” Durge murmured. “How naïve I was, how I followed you around like a puppy, the injury…” The dragonborn sighed as he finally placed the books on the shelf before turning to his partners. “Perhaps you’d like to hear my half of the story, now?”
Astarion and Enver both nodded dumbly as Durge led them over to the library’s sitting area.
~«×»~
I killed my family the night of my majority. That’s also when Sceleritas revealed himself to me. You have no idea how relieved I was, to find out the Urges that had been plaguing me for years at that point were completely natural, proof of how pure my blood is. I’m not as smart as you, Envy, but I’m no dimwit, either.
I had already re-established Father’s worship in the city, through some rather… unpleasant means… when Envy’s letter found me. I knew an opportunity when I saw one, and a peaceful relationship with Bane’s cult wasn’t something I could turn down.
I’d never worked with an accomplice before, but I knew the seamless way we collaborated was something I’d need if I were to continue to rebuild the Church. So, I played the part of the lovestruck fool in an effort to endear myself to you. It was six months of following you, obeying your slightest whim, even acting as an impromptu bodyguard at times, before I realized I needed to up the stakes.
You see, the reason Sceleritas was able to heal me so easily is because all he did was remove the harmless bolt from my breastplate. The pallor was easy enough to fake, all I did was cast ‘disguise self’ and end it when Sceleritas took the bolt out.
…I had been calling you ‘Envy’ for some time in my head… I hadn’t meant for it to slip out.
When I awoke the next morning, you were supposed to realize your feelings for me, and I would suddenly have all the power over you…
I hadn’t been meant to develop feelings for you. It was supposed to be easy, you gave me access to prey, I gave you an assassin to use however you wished.
But the way you looked at me that morning…
Envy, no one has ever looked at me like that.
Like I… like I mattered.
Like I was delicate, something precious to be hidden away and protected.
Like… like you were so happy I was alive…
I never told you, but while I sold my body to the highest bidder… I’d never kissed anyone before. Until you.
I wasn’t supposed to fall for you and yet, in the midst of my efforts to seize your heart, you instead came into possession of my own.
~«×»~
Durge and Enver had had to leave in the middle of the night to reach Reithwin and Moonrise this time, the only carriage with a pixie attachment being needed by Thorm, for whatever reason, quickly. The two had napped on their ride, both a bit peeved at the General for being so uncaring of their schedules.
“You should really just make yourself known,” Enver muttered as he set his coat on straight as the carriage clattered over the bridge.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Durge chuckled, sliding both his tell-tale daggers into their hiding places on his garb, instead making sure two short-swords were prominent on his back. “Besides, you know you love it when I play bodyguard!”
Enver couldn’t help the smile that twisted his lips. “I do,” he admitted. “Having death itself stare your opponents into submission is quite exhilarating.”
Durge grinned and pressed a soft kiss to Enver’s cheek before the carriage stopped and the two disembarked in front of Moonrise Towers. They walked forward with purpose, knowing they’d need to be fully united in front of Thorm once again, else the half-elf think them easy prey. The General had a horrid habit of thinking he was the cleverest in the room.
“Gnolls!”
Durge, however, did have his own bad habit that was exacerbated when they would visit Moonrise. And Enver was left to rub his temple in annoyance as Durge darted off to Barnabus and his crew, happily petting the three creatures and handing them treats Enver was almost entirely certain he’d forbidden Durge from bringing.
“Who’s a good boy?” Durge cooed as he scratched Barnabus’ belly, entirely too happy for his partner’s liking.
“Can’t you let me get you a dog like a normal person?” Enver groaned as he walked to the delighted dragonborn and gnoll.
“But I like this one,” Durge whined, pushing his bottom lip out as he looked up.
“You can’t have that one,” Enver grunted. “He has an owner.”
“Who’s not nearly good enough, is she?” Durge cooed, turning back to the gnoll that was now practically in his lap.
“We are going to be late,” Enver muttered. “Please, I am begging you, I will get you a Hyena pup when we get back, but please leave the gnolls here!”
While Durge did as he was told, he was very obviously grumpy for the rest of their trip.
~«×»~
“I must say, Master,” Sceleritas spoke as he and Durge made their rounds through the Temple. “Recruiting those vampires was a truly a genius idea. They’ve proven themselves extremely capable and ruthless, and have risen through the ranks quickly.” Durge smiled confidently as they watched Petras carefully guide two initiates through the dissection of a restrained and gagged dragonborn, narrating his actions as he did so.
“Their mastery of anatomy has made them popular teachers,” Durge agreed. “And Dalyria’s medical background has allowed her to teach the most subtle methods of killing to all who wish to learn.”
“I must admit to a bit of surprise that you’ve allowed the girl her own laboratory space to continue her research,” Sceleritas admitted, glancing at his Master from the corners of his eyes.
“She plans to reverse undeath,” Durge said with a vicious smirk. “Meaning they’d once again be on the menu. While sampling the spawn was an interesting experience, they lacked any true depth of flavor. I can only imagine what they’ll taste like when made living once more.” Sceleritas couldn’t help the delighted laugh that bubbled up from his chest at the hungry look in The Dark Urge’s eyes.
“Truly brilliant, milord,” the creature praised. “Inspired, even!”
“I thought so, too,” Durge beamed.
They observed the vampires and spawn working for a bit longer in silence before they began to move on.
“Ah, I almost forgot,” Durge suddenly remembered. “What do you think of Astarion’s desire to become your apprentice?”
Sceleritas let a huff out through his nose, obviously having given the request thought. “He is a loyal fellow, that one,” the butler admitted. “Eager to learn, eager to please. He prefers to watch others be tortured rather than do the torturing himself, a beneficial asset should he become my student, I’ll admit. He may guard Enver Gortash, but he views you as his true Master. I’ve a few tests to put him through still, but I’ll admit to having grown rather fond of the elf!”
Durge chuckled, having already noted the connection Sceleritas had made with Astarion – it was the very reason he’d planted the idea of becoming the Prince’s butler in Astarion’s mind. It served to both keep Astarion close as well as cement his loyalty to Durge.
“He’s proven himself a capable killer,” the dragonborn informed his butler. “And he seems to love leaving me piles of bodies as a ‘welcome home’ present.”
Sceleritas smiled widely at that, remembering the vampire dragging in corpse after corpse and arranging them just right in The Dark Urge’s room. The vampire certainly had potential, now Sceleritas just needed to forge it into something useable.
~«×»~
Astarion yanked the blankets off the two forms with an exasperated huff. “Both of you,” he growled. “Are late!”
Enver grumbled something and Durge attempted to wave a hand at him, which Astarion promptly bit into. The dragonborn yelped and jumped, disturbing his bedmate, who raised his head groggily.
“I’m supposed to be your guard, Gortash, not your nanny!” he complained once again. He whined about this every single morning, but they all knew he secretly adored this part of the day. He was allowed to scold the two most powerful men in Baldur’s Gate. What wasn’t there to like?
With a huff and a growl from Durge, Astarion found himself yanked into bed, his slim form slotting between the two larger males with ease. He flushed bright red, still not quite used to the adoration lavished upon him – even after all these years – by his two partners, and certainly not used to being cuddled by them.
“You’re going to have to stay with us one of these nights, Star,” Durge grunted playfully, grabbing a handful of Astarion’s ass and squeezing, causing the elf to yelp. “I’ll cast Daylight outside if I have to!”
Astarion whined as Enver kissed the back of his neck, teeth chewing softly on the tender flesh there. “We’re ever so lonely without you,” the human purred. “The bed just feels much too large.”
Finally, Astarion took his bat form, dodging hands that tried to grab him as he flew upwards. He glared at the two before he began screeching, his partners both slamming their hands onto their ears.
“Okay, okay!” Durge shouted. “We’re up, we’re up!”
With a satisfied squeak, Astarion transformed and landed back on the ground with grace, setting his clothes back in place.
“Your carriage to Moonrise is ready and waiting,” he told them as they changed clothes. “Lady Orin is joining you, so no funny business in there. I made sure the Crown was packaged properly, and it’s already been safely stowed.”
Both Durge and Enver smiled at him with fondness, moving forward to kiss his cheeks before they parted.
“We’ll be back in a fortnight,” Durge murmured. “Make sure to keep everyone in line at the Temple.”
“Sceleritas has already agreed to help me learn his routine for while you are away,” Astarion assured them. “Everything will be exactly as you left it.”
~«×»~
Enver Gortash returned to Baldur’s Gate a ruined man.
Astarion quickly fled from his home within the Temple of Bhaal when he realized who was now in charge. When he arrived at Enver’s residence, however, he was horrified to see what awaited him.
Everything was a mess.
Furniture overturned, paintings and decorations ripped from walls, arrow and dagger holes everywhere, not even Bane’s portrait had been spared… it was only the large portrait of Durge and Enver (a gift, Durge had told him with a laugh, to celebrate both their ascension to Chosen and their official alliance) that had been left untouched, oddly enough.
Astarion had hurried to Enver and Durge’s chamber and found only one of them there.
Enver Gortash was collapsed on the large bed, his most beloved coat flung to the other side of the room.
“Enver!” Astarion rushed forward, barely able to lay a single finger on his partner before Enver had wrapped himself around the vampire, sobs wracking his whole body. “Darling, what happened?!” he gasped, holding tightly to Enver’s shaking body.
“He- he’s d-dead!” Enver cried, voice hoarse. “O-Orin- she!” The human quickly shook his head and buried his face in Astarion’s chest. Looking around the room was when the elf finally noticed the familiar blade laying delicately on Enver’s desk.
Stillmaker.
Durge had been so happy with the gift, Astarion’s idea given form by Gortash, and hadn’t been without it in the three years since. Seeing it there, a sobbing Enver in his arms, with Orin having taken over the Temple made everything sink in.
“He can’t be,” Astarion tried to deny, feeling tears threatening to spill from his own eyes. “He can’t!” He gripped Enver tighter as the realization and heartbreak hit him and threatened to destroy everything he was.
The two left behind cried in each other’s arms, wondering where they had gone so wrong…