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The orthon is dead. His deal is done. Well, almost done. Raphael still needs to give him the answers he is owed. His part of the deal is finished, now he just waits for the devil to hold up his end of the bargain.
It had been… well, it hadn’t been easy, but it had been a lot easier than expected, in large part due to how readily his party members his friends? agreed to help him.
He has asked, and they had said yes . It feels almost absurd. They hadn’t even asked for anything in return! It’s… when Karlach had said that they would have helped him, if he asked, after they met Raphael at Last Light, he hadn’t really believed her. He might believe her now.
His party friends? might actually be on his side.
He has spent so long with no one on his side, that the thought feels absurd. It doesn’t sit right in his mind. Under Cazador, it was dog-eat-dog, each and every spawn for themselves, fighting each other for scraps. His siblings were never on his side, not even the more tolerable ones. The best he had ever been able to hope for, before, was ambivalence. For someone to not actively wish him harm.
This isn’t that.
Once they return to camp, beaten and bloody, they wait. The devil said that he would show up, and at this point they can only take his word for it. Slippery and sly he may be, but as a devil he rarely deals in flat out lies. They find more joy in omissions, half truths, painful truths, than lies.
Once the devil shows up, stepping out of a flare of sulfur and smoke, his party members are definitely on his side.
He’d expected Gale, maybe Shadowheart, the two people in the party he got along best with, who tolerated him the best. Karlach and Wyll, maybe, if their bleeding hearts got the better of them. But no. It’s all of them. He’s flanked by six people, all of whom have got his back, when Raphael comes to make good on his deal.
Having them at his back feels comforting, secure. They care.
The devil grins. “Do you know what happens when a devil is struck down on this charming plane of existence?” He asks it as if he’s expecting an answer, but he keeps talking before any of them can respond. “It returns to the hells - to the very point it last stood before venturing to whichever devil forsaken plane it died on. In the case of our friend Yurgir, the orthon you so handily dispatched in the temple of Shar, he manifested in my House of Hope. He returned to me chastened but intact, his wounds healed, his body restored. He thought I would dismember him but he has his uses so instead I am reeducating him.”
The devil’s tone reminds him of his own ‘education’. He feels little guilt about sending the orthon back, about doing what was necessary for this deal, but his distaste for Raphael takes on a new tinge. It’s almost funny, how all powerful men are the same. From vampire lords to cambions, they all do the same things, want the same things. Raphael just plays with his food enough that he might let slip something useful in the tussle.
“We delivered the devil.” Slipping into a snarl is easy. It’s what’s expected of him. Raphael being the one he’s directing it at helps, though. “Now I want what I’m owed - we had a deal.”
Raphael saunters closer, a slimy grin on his face. “Indeed we did. I discovered all there is to know about those scars of yours - it’s a rather grim tale, even for my tastes.”
He glares. “Stop stalling.” He just wants to get this over with.
“As you wish. Brace yourself, Astarion - we’re about to unveil your destiny.” The devil waves his hands in a flourish. “Carved into that ivory skin of yours is one part of an infernal contract between the archdevil Mephistopheles and your former master, Cazador Szarr. In full, the contract states that Cazador will be granted knowledge of an infernal ritual so vile it has never been performed.” He pauses, clearly intending a dramatic effect. “The Rite of Profane Ascension.”
“It promises to be a marvelous ceremony. Very elaborate, incredibly ancient, and entirely diabolical. If he completes the rite, he will become a new kind of being - the Vampire Ascendant. All the strengths of his vampiric form will be amplified, and alongside them he will enjoy the luxuries of the living. The arousals and appetites of man will return to him, and unlike Astarion, he will have no need of a parasite to protect him from the sun.”
It sounds too good to be true. Nothing is ever that easy, nothing ever comes without a price. A steep one. If Cazador had access to this ritual, why hasn’t he performed it? Astarion has had the scars on his back for years, though the pain still feels as fresh in his memory as if they had been carved just days earlier. Cazador is not a man to deny himself anything. The price to pay, for him to delay like this? It must be monstrous.
Raphael smiles at him as if he can see what he’s thinking. “But the ritual has its price, as all worthwhile things do. Lord Cazador will need to sacrifice a number of souls, including all of his vampiric spawn.” He gives Astarion a pointed look. “If he is to ascend.”
Oh.
He’s a sacrifice.
All this time, he has been… Right. That’s okay. He will just have to… not get sacrificed. Preferably. As if being a pet wasn’t enough, he’s a sacrificial lamb as well.
The vagueness with which Raphael mentions a number of souls is worrying, though. If that’s what the price is, and that’s what has been delaying Cazador, how many could it require? What order of magnitude must this loss of life be to make even someone like him hesitate? Astarion cannot fathom a number great enough. And Cazador will perform it once he has Astarion again.
Was it an issue of hesitating then? Or was there some other factor at play?
Raphael continues, gaze still locked on Astarion, a smug grin plastered on his face. “Imagine how he felt, then, when one of those precious spawn simply disappeared into thin air.” The theatrical wiggle of his fingers makes Astarion want to strangle him. “The only missing ingredient is Astarion.” He steps closer, pressing into his personal space. “You are the final piece he requires to complete the ritual - your scars bind you to it. Your soul will set off a very wave of death, bringing Cazador his twisted life.”
He feels empty. All this time, he has been… fodder? A thing to burn. He knew Cazador didn’t care for him, he knew he saw him as lesser, as property, as a pet at best, but he had imagined… He’s not sure what he had imagined. An end to it that didn’t result in Cazador gaining unfathomable power, maybe? A hope that, at some point, somehow, he would get to be free. That he would get to be more than a thing. That he could be a person again.
These months with his companions have let him do that.
He doesn’t want to lose that.
The devil smiles, clearly enjoying his distress. “And that, my tragic and toothsome friend, is that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have business elsewhere.” He disappears in a puff of smoke, just like he did the last time they spoke to him.
Gods he is annoying.
He can feel the party’s eyes on him, and he takes a steadying breath before turning to face them. They look worried, faces drawn. This revelation isn’t sitting well with anyone.
“So! That was enlightening!” He tries for breezy, glib, but he ends up somewhere closer to strained panic.
For a moment, no one seems to know what to do. They just look at him, and he feels himself wilt, shoulders slumping and neck bowing. He wants to be glib about this. He wants it to all be a joke, one massive joke, not a death sentence. He wants his fate to be something better than that of a sacrifice.
Gale steps forwards carefully, one hand hovering by Astarion’s shoulder, not touching. “Are you… Are you okay?”
He almost laughs. What sort of question is that? Is he okay? Has he ever been okay? Did learning that his purpose is to burn in a ritual make him any less okay?
He’s not sure.
But Gale looks so gentle, so worried. He really does care if Astarion is okay. He isn’t quite used to that yet. He hopes he’ll have time to get used to it. Hopes he’ll have more time with Gale.
“I’m… about as okay as I could be, I suppose.”
Gale finally lets his hand fall onto Astarion’s shoulder, just holding it. “You don’t have to be. It’s okay not to be.” His thumb rubs small circles into his skin through his shirt. “It’s almost expected, after a revelation like that.”
He does laugh, this time. “It really shouldn’t come as a surprise though! What did I expect? I’ve always just been a thing .” His throat feels like it’s closing, his words coming out strangled.
“You’ve never been a thing.” Karlach says from behind Gale. “You’ve always been a person, even if he tried to take that away from you.” She walks up to him, putting her hand on his other shoulder. It’s larger than Gale’s, warmer. “You are more than what he made you.”
Her eyes are filled to the brim with understanding, with sympathy. She’s speaking as someone who was owned too. Their purpose may have been different, but their masters were cut from the same cloth. All masters are. She knows. She understands.
He nods back at her, unsure of what to say. He doesn’t know how to make the words stick in him, how to make them ring true, but her faith, her strength, is comforting.
Wyll steps up next to Karlach. “We won’t let him take you. You have our word.”
Both Shadowheart and Lae’zel chime in in agreement. “He has another thing coming for him if he thinks we’ll just give you up.” “You have powerful allies now, we will not roll over and yield.”
He doesn’t have time to say anything in response before Halsin speaks up. “You were alone before, but now you are not. He will not be able to get to you again.” One of his big hands pats Astarion on the back. “You are not alone.”
They- they are all ready to fight for him. They are offering him protection, for no reason other than that they… care? It refuses to land in his head, that someone would do that for him. That these people have grown to care about him to this degree.
He feels whichever words he was about to speak catch in his throat. He’s not sure what they were, what he even can say to this display of dedication. He works his jaw, fighting to get something out, something that makes sense, something to tell these people how much their loyalty means to him. He looks up, meeting Gale’s eyes, and they’re so soft, so understanding, that he feels how something leeches from his chest. “Thank you.” It comes out choked, almost clipped, but his companions smile at him, and so it can’t have been wrong. He attempts to smile back, feeling how it wobbles on his face.
It’s all so much. So much care. So many people who care. So many people who he has somehow grown to care about in return. So many people who might risk their lives in a suicide mission to keep him safe. He has to warn them.
Speaking hurts, but he fights through. They need to know. “It won’t be easy. My- my former master is a powerful man, even discounting his vampiric abilities. He has resources, he has people working for him, he- he won’t give up until he has me.” The thought of all of these people, of his friends , dying to protect him from the inevitable hurts .
Gale squeezes his shoulder. “We know. We will be ready.”
“What if that doesn’t help?! What if it’s too much?” He grabs Gale’s hand where it sits on his shoulder, looking up into his eyes with desperation. “What if you protect me and he still takes me and you all die?”
He looks so soft as he answers, more gentleness than man, but there is steel in his tone. “Then that is how it goes. We are not abandoning you.”
He doesn’t know what comes over him. For a moment, his body just moves on its own, his arms wrapping around the people close to him, pulling Karlach, Wyll, and Gale into a hug. No one moves for a moment, not him, not them, they all just freeze, until Halsin wraps his arms around all of them, squeezing them together. That prompts Shadowheart and Lae’zel to join in as well, though they do it in the form of supportive pats on his shoulders. He appreciates it still.
These are his friends . He has those now.
Karlach is like a furnace, her great bulk almost scorching against his cool skin. Wyll is all wiry muscle, hard and unyielding, but he hugs back just the same. Gale is soft. His hand draws patterns on Astarion’s back as he holds him, his forehead pressed against the side of his face. One of Halsin’s big arms is slung across his back, the other wrapping around Karlach and Wyll, holding them all close.
He feels safe.
He can’t remember the last time he was this close to someone, to multiple someones, and felt safe .