Chapter Text
"Thank you, sweetheart. We owe you." D'ylân flashed a wide smile at the young merchant, a half-elf who was smitten by his tall customer. He had been apprehensive at first when the tiefling walked up to his stall. He was a threatening appearance in his long leather coat and studded fingerless gloves. Impressive dark horns, glowing purple eyes, a crooked nose and a scar across the lip that his blond beard couldn't conceal— yes, for a few seconds, the merchant was scared. But then, the tiefling greeted him with a deep, warm voice and an inviting smile that had a fair chance of winning over even a kobold.
The half-elf's blush deepened when his customer grabbed one of the crates and lifted it with ease. The short sleeves of his coat allowed a good view of strong muscles tensing under the blue, freckled skin. He joked and laughed with his friends, a human wizard and an even fiercer-looking tiefling woman who was covered in battle scars and looked like she could carry two crates and one of her friends if she set her mind to it.
"Well, you kinda still have to pay," the merchant muttered to the dragonborn sorcerer who still stood by his stall. Mind half-absent, watching the tiefling's broad back as he walked away to help the wizard load the cart with a stash of camp supplies that should last a group of five for almost a tenday.
"Of course." Durge opened his stained leather satchel and rummaged through it. Between scrolls, dried herbs, and a couple of bleached bones with an interesting smell that had caught his attention, he found the brittle leather pouch with his money at the bottom. He tilted his head and frowned when he pulled it out. It looked small in his large hand, but it felt significantly lighter than the last time he held it.
"Astarion!" he growled, jerking his head around.
"Hm?" Astarion had browsed the goods of the neighbouring market stall with a rather bored expression. Upon hearing his name, he looked up, tossing an apple he had been holding into the air and catching it again. Druge didn't remember Astarion taking one from the crate with the fresh produce.
"Did you pay for that with my coins, or did you steal both?" Durge pointed a long, sharp claw at the apple.
"Really, what is it with you guys? Why am I always accused of treacherous misdeeds when you misplace your valuables?" Astarion sank his teeth into the red fruit.
"Don't bother with him," D'ylân called from the cart. He pulled his purse from his coat and tossed it at Durge. "I'll cover for us. It'd be rude to let our new friend hang after he treated us so generously." He winked at the blushing vendor who had nervously watched the exchange between the grumpy-looking dragonborn and the suspicious high-elf who'd have so easily stolen from him if the dragonborn hadn't caught him red-handed.
"Throw in an extra copper to reimburse him for the trouble and Astarion's sticky fingers!" D'ylân added. After heaving the last bag of flour onto the cart, he walked around to join Karlach, who was already bouncing on her feet, ready to work off some of her seemingly endless energy.
"Hey! I didn't steal anything!" Astarion's protest went unheard, or rather, ignored. The two tieflings were chatting and laughing. Gale threw in the occasional remark, smiling, while he double-checked their supplies and made sure they were efficiently secured. Durge counted the coins from D'ylân's purse into the merchant's hand, and they thanked each other for a deal that was mutually well-received.
The cart was an old, used thing they had pulled from a ditch close to their camp. Wyll and Karlach had done their best with the repairs under Lae'zel's watchful eyes and curt instructions. To say it was as good as new would be like selling a work pelt for eiderdown. The wheels squeaked for oil and half of the screws were held in place by red layers of rust. But it did its job of transporting enough food, drink, and other necessities back to their camp, and the exercise of pulling it over the rough terrain was of a greater benefit than wasting one of Gale's dimension door scrolls, according to Gale.
Rolling and rumbling, they soon were on their way back to camp, leaving the settlement behind them within minutes. It was tempting to pack up their tents and belongings and move closer to the company of civilians who were too busy with life to be hostile. But with their tendency to invite trouble lately, peace was as fragile as the lives of the villagers they'd risk.
Their camp was about half an hour's march away if they weren't slowed down by the weight of the cart. It saved them a second trip, which made it worth it on paper. It certainly did not feel like it as they simultaneously pulled and pushed that damn thing uphill on a path that seemed to have grown an excessive amount of roots and rocks to purposefully put the axle to a test.
"Thank you." Durge handed the coin purse back to D'ylân after they conquered an exceptionally steep stretch of the road. "It doesn't feel right to have you pay for everything after you already talked the price down. I'll pay you back once I find out where my coins have disappeared to." He shot a glare at Astarion, who fell casually back with a very important question for Gale about the local flora that just couldn't wait. Durge growled through closed teeth. It was almost remarkable how innocently this elf could act while he dodged his accusations and an opportunity to help Gale push the cart at the same time. Well, he'd have a serious talk with Astarion about the curious matter of his disappeared gold later.
"Don't mention it." D'ylân's laugh was strained from fighting the cart that wanted to pull him and Karlach back down the slope, but nevertheless genuine. "I had a profitable week in Baldur's Gate before the tentacle faces got us. A Fist marshal had thrown her retirement celebration in the Blushing Mermaid. Drunk military is the best that can happen to a bard who knows how to duck out before they move on from hedonism to brawling."
"Scandalous!" Astarion scoffed. As usual, he kept up his disrespectful attitude towards D'ylân from a safe distance. "With such flippant protectors, it's no surprise the Lower City is going down the swannee. And in no just world should such untoward behaviour fill the pockets of a third-rate fiddler. You even seem to be proud of the filthy tavern money in your ale-stained purse!"
"That third-rate fiddler's filthy tavern money had magically transformed a petty pickpocket into a paying customer," D'ylân shot back with a laugh. "Also, I didn't hear you offering to take care of the tab. I suppose magistrate and vampire spawn are two incongruous careers."
"Naturally, I could easily have paid for twice the amount of goods," Astarion said with a little, high-pitched laugh. "But unfortunately, I lost my purse when I was dragged on board the Nautiloid, and couldn't find it among the debris. Who knows what kind of hoodlum devil ran off with it and uses it to impress his companions these days…" He gave D'ylân a pointed look, who could only snort at such a blatant attempt at turning the tables.
"AMBUSH!" Gale's alarmed voice cut through their squabble, and before another word could be said, they were already in the middle of a fight.
Three rugged bandits jumped off the trees and blocked their way. Four more attacked from each of their flanks. Their clothes were ragged and covered in dirt, camouflaging them while they lurked in the trees and bushes, waiting for unassuming travellers. The steel of their axes and spears was polished and sharp.
"Eleven versus the five of us, looks like we're outnumbered." D'ylân dropped the cart handle and unstrapped his violin and rushed through the songs in his head, trying to make up his mind on which one would serve them the most.
"Great, our tiefling can count, we're saved." Sighing, Astarion pulled his dagger.
"Yay! Finally, some action!" Karlach, battle axe already in her hands, stormed towards the trio in front of them. Gale's firebolt hit a scrawny hobgoblin's chest. A goblin came to his buddy's help but was brought down by one of Durge's thunder spells.
"Fine, no music for swine like you." With no time to reattach the instrument safely, D'ylân quickly stored the violin among the goods they transported.
A duergar charged at him with a shrill battle cry, swinging his axe. D'ylân would have lost his right arm hadn't he jumped aside.
He didn't have the time to pull his short sword, and it wouldn't have done him much good anyway; he was still years away from being trusted to peel a pear without chopping off his foot, as Astarion liked to put it.
But who needed forged steel in a fistfight?
He was almost twice the height of the dark dwarf, and his muscles weren't just for show.
D'ylân grabbed him by the neck and dragged him off his feet, understanding more of the stomach-turning curses that spewed from the duergar's mouth than he liked.
"Oh, me, too, me too!" Karlach laughed when the short, sturdy bandit hit the ground inches away from her. She buried her axe in the head of the hyena one of the hobgoblins had sicced on her; D'ylân gagged at the cracking noise of the skull splitting.
The goblin, shocked by Durge, was just coming by when Karlach picked him up, lifted him over her head, and hurled him down the slope with a happy giggle.
"Reinforcements coming!" Astarion shouted, ducking when another duergar came flying his way, thrown by D'ylân. Astarion pounced as soon as the bandit had hit the ground and slit his throat. Grinning like a satisfied feline chilling in a tree, he licked the blade of his dagger. "Mhmm, not the finest vintage but nicer than that worm-infested apple."
Another wave of bandits ruined his chance of draining the dying duergar of the rest of his blood.
"Dammit, there has to be a nest somewhere!" he huffed.
Another dozen hobgoblins and bugbears appeared from the shadows. Shouting and waving their weapons, they stomped over the bleeding and sizzling corpses of their fallen friends.
At least, this time, they all came from the same direction.
"D'ylân! Gale! Stay back!" Durge ordered. "We can take them down if you back us up! Guard the supplies!"
"In striking distance." Gale stood by the cart, reading another firebolt. Their enemy was fierce and strong but they didn't seem to have spell casters with them. Now, if they were lucky and the bandits weren't joined by archers, their chances were indeed good.
Karlach had already mowed down two of the bugbears. Her face was glowing with excitement under the blood splatters from her enemies.
"I guess a fireball would be too risky?" D'ylân groaned. Punching some lights out was one thing but he still wasn't used to the noises and smells that came with crushing and chopping up bodies.
"I'm afraid it'd not only roast our eager new friends, but also our supplies that we want to protect from them in the first place. Well, and us as well, I should mention."
"A peripheral detail." D'ylân grinned wearily. He knew why he was sent back with Gale. While physically much stronger and sturdier than the wizard, his lack of sword skills could quickly be a liability if faced by more than two, maybe three blades. The fire he could cast with the help of his music couldn't keep up with Gale's wizardry and Durge's storm sorcery.
It was too soon to use up the little healing magic he had and his charisma and flirting were good for haggling but would at best get a laugh out of their attackers if he tried.
Suddenly, despite his size and strength, and the skills that earned him easy money on a normal day, he felt rather useless.
He didn't have the luxury to fret about it; from the corner of his eye, he caught movement. Expecting to see Astarion when he turned around, he was surprised to see a goblin run off with a barrel of smoked sausages and jerky!
"Oh, you little—! Not on my watch!" Solely urged by the wish to be of some use in this fight, he set after the goblin without thinking.
"D'ylân! Come back! Don't separate from the group!" Gale shouted after him, but it was too late.
"Shit!" D'ylân hissed through his teeth. The goblin had disappeared behind a wall of three hobgoblins. Two broad swords and an axe were ready to deliver the consequences for his impulsive desire to play the hero to a barrel of food.
"By Mystra, what now?" Gale muttered, flames dancing above his fingertips as he pulled the weave into another fire bolt. But from this angle, D'ylân blocked his view, and it was impossible to predict where he or the three bandits would move next. He might incinerate his friend as well as one of their foes if he acted as rashly as the bard.
"Look at you, three strong guys against one peace-loving musician." D'ylân forced a laugh, taking a careful step back. A blade would shatter his spine if he turned his back on them in an attempt to run away. "Can't we solve this like gentlemen? In a fistfight? Mano a mano? No?" He was buying time, but for what? If he grabbed or punched one, two others would chop his arm off.
"Dragonborn meat is tough, but devils make for a nice stew," one of the hobgoblins with a sword grunted, the other two snickered.
"And you know what they say about the horns!" the thieving goblin called from behind them. Laughing, the trio raised their weapons.
"Fuck!"
A whistling noise shot past D'ylân, missing his face by inches.
The first hobgoblin, axe raised above his head, went to his knees and slumped over, an arrow sticking in his eye. The whistling returned, delivering the same fate to one of the swordsmen.
The third looked at his dead friends lying in the dirt. He was struck by an arrow in his neck when he turned on his heel to run for it. The only one making it out alive was the goblin, after he dropped the barrel.
"What the—" D'ylân turned around and looked up when he heard a familiar scoff.
"Oh no, the bard still stands. Looks like I missed three times." Astarion sighed, inspecting the tip of a fourth arrow. He sat on a branch high up in one of the trees, back leaning against the trunk, one leg dangling in the air.
"Excellent aim, Astarion!" Gale laughed and sprinted towards them. "Are you alright, my friend? You seem rather pale around the nose."
"Perfectly alright, not counting the dent in my pride." D'ylân picked up the barrel and carried it back to Gale. Karlach and Durge had jogged up to them. Astarion took his time sliding down the tree but eventually joined them, too.
"That was refreshing, wasn't it?" Karlach grinned, her yellow eyes shining like glowing embers. Her axe rested casually on her shoulder. She wore the bloodstains on her skin and clothes like rewards received for a job well and thoroughly done with an imperturbably good attitude.
Durge grunted in agreement. The deadly precision of his lightning bolts had filled the air with the smell of burnt flesh and hair. Next to Karlach, his white scales and sorcerer robes looked pristine, but his eyes shone with the same glee and satisfaction as hers. And a tint of delight that one could read as madness, if one had the unfavourable inkling that his bliss came from the creation of death, and not the protection of his companions.
"I told you to stay back with Gale." The dragonborn growled. The rush of the fight, the smell of blood, the melody of steel on steel, through flesh and bones, it was all like sweet toxins in his pulsating veins. A drug that eased the ever-present, throbbing pain inside his skull but took away his ability to control his tone.
"If I tell you to do something, you follow, unless you want to end up as dead as those vermin."
"Sorry, sorry, you're right." D'ylân flinched at the unexpected harsh words that sounded as if next time, the enemy didn't kill him, Durge would take care of it. He scratched his chin, and after a quick assessment of Durge's mood and the cold fire in his eyes, D'ylân decided against smoothing things over with a joke or an appeal at the tentative friendship between them. It was certainly not a good moment to tell Durge that he didn't like to be spoken to in this tone.
"I followed an impulse, and it was a bad idea. My bad, won't happen again." His smile became more genuine when Durge's features softened as soon as Gale put his hand on the dragonborn's arm.
"If that tiefling finally learned to use a sword for more than removing the dirt from under his claws, we could have skipped this conversation." Astarion sauntered over, his bow over his shoulder and twirling an arrow between his fingers. "And I'd appreciate it if we could move on to more important matters. I had a look at the poor bastards you and Karlach butchered. Half of them are roasted to a crisp, the others turned into minced meat. As a vampire with healthy teeth, I prefer meals with texture over mush. So, if nobody minds, I'll take care of the idiots I killed while their blood is still warm and unclotted."
"Is unclotted even a word?" D'ylân promptly asked as Astarion marched past him.
"Are you even a tiefling or a condition?" Astarion snarked back. "Also, you owe me for killing the bandits when it should have been your job, if you were capable of more than yapping and fiddling."
"Can't argue that," D'ylân conceded immediately. "Thank you, Astarion. This could have ended badly for me, but you really saved my life. Thanks, I mean it."
"I was hunting for a drink. Saving you was an unavoidable side effect."
"Aw, you two are so sweet when you pretend you can't stand each other!" Karlach chuckled, unperturbed despite the side glances from Durge and Gale.
"Pretend?" D'ylân laughed, securing his grip around the barrel that seemed to become heavier with every minute they were standing around. "I thought I was in charge of making the bad jokes around here."
"I think that's enough," Gale quickly threw in, effectively stopping Karlach from pursuing a topic that was better not touched any time soon.
"Take the barrel back and check the cart. Please," Durge added. The storm in his blood had calmed down. His mind became clear again, despite the return of his migraine. "Karlach, please help him. Gale, would you agree to search the bodies for valuables with me?"
"Funny," Karlach whispered to D'ylân, giggling, "How he orders us around while asking Gale as if he invited him to a dance, instead of looting corpses."
D'ylân snorted, grinning in agreement. It was impossible to miss the looks and smiles traded back and forth between Gale and Durge. The only thing unclear was whether those two were unaware of everyone knowing or if they didn't care.
The cart groaned under the added weight from the pile of weapons and leather clothes that had been thrown on top of their supplies. They'd leave the choice to go through them and decide what to keep and what to sell or repurpose to Wyll and Lae'zel. Both had keen eyes for good weapons even if they didn't plan to use them.
"You still got something on your face," D'ylân lied and vaguely pointed at Astarion.
"I swear to the hells, if I find out you're messing with me!" Irritated, Astarion rubbed his cheek until the skin turned red.
"Not my fault you have the table manners of a child."
"D'ylân! Astarion!" Gale warned, not for the first time, since they continued their trip back to their temporary home. Worried, the wizard looked at Durge, relieved when the dragonborn smiled. The blood rush that had threatened to take hold of Durge had faded, leaving him tired but at a fragile peace with the world. His casual chat with Gale and Karlach, but especially Gale, was quite enjoyable and the antics of the two morons were quite amusing. Yes, this was something someone could get used to. If only the "compared to what?" weren't hanging over him like a dark, ominous cloud.
"A brute, and rude!" Astarion huffed, after a pause, and when Gale and Durge were deep in another conversation about spellbooks and the weave, boring Karlach to death.
"And lest we forget, useless in the smallest of fights," he added. "And ungrateful. I don't even remember you thanking me properly for saving your tail from being turned into a dog leash."
"I've thanked you a dozen times already," D'ylân hissed back. "I think this is a fair amount since you insist you didn't even want to save my life every time."
"Oh? So your life's value is equal to twelve expressions of gratitude? I knew you're not of much worth but even I wouldn't have guessed it to be that low."
"A shame, I was just about to praise your archery skills. But I suppose coming from me, you wouldn't care to hear it anyway."
"Of course, I wouldn't care about the opinion of someone who can't tell a greatsword from a bread knife!" Astarion wrinkled his nose and snatched another apple from the cart. He tossed and caught it, but didn't take a bite. It just seemed like a normal, smooth thing to do, and it kept his hand busy. "But I also have more important matters to think about than telling you what you can and can't do. So if you need to gush about my marvellous aim and quick wit, and the fine figure I cut while hitting my marks with deadly precision, I won't stop you."
"With all that bullshitting you do," D'ylân snorted, "It's a marvel your head isn't circled by so many flies that someone might mistake you for a druid."
"Oh, I'll tell Halsin you said druids are piles of shit!"
"Snitch!"
"Clutz!"
"Guys, guys! Come off it before someone cries, will ya?" Karlach laughed.
Listening to Astarion and D'ylân was way more entertaining than Gale and Durge discussing spell parameters and the philosophical concepts behind studying the weave from their respective perspectives as a sorcerer and wizard. In short, it was gibberish to the ears of an honest, practical barbarian who preferred mayhem over method. But as funny as the quips of her two dear friends could be, she didn't want them to start a real fight.
"Look, what a beautiful day it is!" she said cheerfully. "We got all that fresh food, had some fun exercise, the sun's still out, the bees are playing with the flowers! Look at them flowers! Man, I didn't know how much I missed them until I escaped Avernus."
"Flowers, so pretty and yet so cliché." Astarion rolled his eyes and tossed the apple back into the cart.
"Nah, flowers are fine, Karlach's right." D'ylân and her high-fived over yet another thing they had in common.
"Roses or lilies?" she asked, excited.
"Daisies and dandelions. Wildflowers are more fun and often useful. And they have better attitudes."
"Yeah." Karlach tilted her head, thinking for a second before she smiled. "They're sturdy, wild, cute, and free. Yeah! I get it!"
"Well, I don't!" Astarion scoffed. As stupid as the conversation was, he did not tolerate the impertinence of D'ylân and Karlach, to exclude him like this!
"Flowers are flowers," he declared his lofty verdict. "Rather decadent and smug for such useless plants. I will admit they're pretty, but they certainly don't have enough to them to possess any kind of praiseworthy attitude!"
"Hey, Astarion!" Grinning, without slowing down or neglecting his cart-pulling duties, he bent down and plucked one of the many small flowers growing by the wayside. "Look at this!"
"What now?" Astarion stared at the little flower in D'ylân's big hand. It was a dandelion in its late phase of life. The yellow petals were gone and replaced by what looked like a green stem with a round sphere of white, fluffy cotton fibres on top.
"You have the same hair! It's just like you but with a prettier attitude!" D'ylân laughed and huffed against the fragile seeds, blowing them into Astarion's face. Karlach snickered next to him.
"You…!" Astarion smacked the seeds away like irritating flies. Furious, his cheeks pink and his red eyes flashing, he opened his mouth. Whatever verbal retaliation Astarion was about to hurl at him, D'ylân was ready and primed to retort in kind, just wittier.
Astarion closed his mouth. As quickly as it had boiled up, his anger disappeared. His face fell, his shoulders dropped, and he just looked defeated as he deflated in front of D'ylân's eyes.
"Fuck you." He stomped away, barely looking at Gale and Durge as he marched past them. "I'm scouting ahead. With all of you being so taken in by your clever conversations, someone has to make sure we aren't walking into another ambush."
The two spellcasters looked at D'ylân, who shrugged. This was just one of the many instances of Astarion being Astarion, they concluded.
"I'd ask you if it was necessary to tease him like this," Gale said to D'ylân. "But from what my ears caught, he didn't hold back with ruthless retorts either. Between the two of you, one's just as bad as the other."
"Ah, shucks! It wasn't that bad. I think they were both quite funny," Karlach came to D'ylân's defence. "Who knows what has eaten Astarion. Maybe he's just sulking because he couldn't think of a better insult."
"Wouldn't put that beneath him," D'ylân mumbled. It would be a simple and convenient explanation, but there had been something Astarion's eyes he didn't quite like to see there. For the life of him, he couldn't think of what could have been hurtful about what he had said. They had bantered worse. And before it was banter, the insults had been real and meant to hurt.
"Don't look so grumpy. I don't think it's that deep." Karlach gave him a nudge. "You two are making progress. When I joined you, you barely spoke unless it was to insult each other." It was like she was reading D'ylân's thoughts, but in truth, she had noticed the same changes everybody else had.
"That's true." Gale nodded, smiling. "Not too long ago, Astarion kept such a careful distance between the two of you, that your shadows wouldn't even touch. And now, you casually walk side by side. To insult each other," he finished with a sigh. An unlikely friendship had begun to grow between the studious wizard and the frivolous bard, and while Gale found amusement in the occasional light teasing, he was glad he wasn't the target of the sharp-tongued quips D'ylân and Astarion sniped at each other.
"Your behaviour has improved after your return from the Underdark." Durge scowled at D'ylân. "And then, it became worse again. I trust you and Gale when you say our different approaches to life and conflicts will prove useful on our journey, and you've been right more than once. But I also warned you and Astarion. We cannot have your differences put us and our search for a cure at risk. Not when we also have to deal with vampire hunters and a tadpole-infested cult."
"I swear to a deity of your choice, I didn't mean to seriously piss him off. It's just—" Too much fun? Too easy to take the bait today and lay it out tomorrow, when Astarion jumps just as eagerly at it? Too aggravating that Astarion still held some kind of personal grudge against him since the moment they met, and that it frustrated D'ylân that he didn't know why or what he could have done and that he wanted to know the reason? Especially since their involuntary trip to the Underdark, when it became clear there was something else at play than plain, old racism and prejudices against tieflings?
"I'll talk to him if he hasn't calmed down later," he said and shrugged. "And apologise once I find out for what."
"Good. You're in your thirties, he's in his two-hundreds. It's time to act like adults, not children. You can tell him that, too. Now, Gale, the other thing I wanted to ask you about—" Just like that, Durge and Gale considered the case closed and returned to their conversation, as relaxed, friendly, and starry-eyed as before. It was so shamelessly obvious that those two were smitten with each other. D'ylân had seen only two people exchanging such looks, his parents. A somewhat funny thought, to be reminded of his kind-hearted mother and father, pacifists through and through, by a chatty, sometimes petty, fire-flinging wizard and a grumpy lizard with sometimes violent mood swings.
He also couldn't help but wonder what his parents had to say to the whiplash he was getting from the constant switch between the open hostility from Astarion and mutually enjoyed banter. Well, at least he hoped he wasn't the only one having fun.
"Hey," Karlach whispered. "Don't take it to heart. I think you're alright, and I like that you and our bitey elf aren't always dead serious like our old lizard buddy. Let this soldier tell you, the worse the war, the more immature the jokes. It keeps you laughing on a good day and wanting to survive the bad ones. Learned that the hard way."
"Thank you." D'ylân gave her a grateful smile. "You're right, and so are Durge and Gale. Everyone of you is right in one way or the other." He frowned. "Except Astarion. If in doubt, Astarion is wrong." The twinkle in his eye gave away that he wasn't serious. Karlach caught it and laughed.