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"Are you an angel?" That was all the dragonborn had asked when she had found him on the nautiloid in a broken pod. He'd been covered in blood and he confessed that he didn't know anything but his name Durge. There had been no time to let that sink in when they were in a mindflayer ship in the Hells, that seemed like a more urgent matter. She had joked about how funny it was that she was a draconic sorcerer and how he was a dragonborn. He was a fellow sorcerer, a storm sorcerer. That was a plus when they had fought with Lae'zel and Shadowheart on the ship.
"Did you save me again?" he had asked when she found him on the beach. She had laughed and said that maybe she was his guardian angel. His eyes had gone wide at that but she thought that he understood the joke. There had been a few issues with him and some of the other companions. He did almost stab Astarion for threatening her when they first met but she couldn't blame him for that right? And there was that little thing that he almost used Gale's hand as a chew toy. But he was fierce in battle, so that made up for it right?
Everything had gone well for a few days until Astarion had snuck up in her sleep to bite her. She had given in to the vampire spawn, she needed everybody at their best abilities and Shadowheart could patch her up the morning after. No problems for anybody. She hadn't suspected that Durge would lunge for Astarion the next morning, trying to tear the fangs out of Astarion's mouth.
"Don't hurt Seara," Durge had hissed. It had taken her a half hour to convince him that she had been fine with it. It was good to know that he had her back but she had to direct his energy more towards enemies than allies. There was also the Alfira-incident that was not spoken about anymore.
There had been a lot of nights where she had retired to her bedroll and had found his gifts on it. The toe of Crusher with the ring still on it and the hand of Priestess Gut had only been the beginning of this. Outside of the murdering and threatening and weird gifts, he was not that bad to hang out with. Sure, there were things that he didn't understand like social situations or that standing behind her like a crazed bodyguard wasn't great when she tried to sweet talk their way out of something. There was the fact that he preferred almost raw meat, but who was she to judge? Not everyone grew up with a refined taste as her.
It had been a shock to her when he had asked her to hang out in private at the tiefling party. She knew that she was gorgeous and charming, that was not the case but he just didn't seem like the type that wanted companionship. While some of her companions had been flirting the whole time, he hadn't tried unless you counted the weird gifts as it. She had been intrigued, even rejecting another round with Astarion for it.
She wasn't surprised that he had a collection of skulls and two hearts in a jar waiting for her but more that he had a blanket with some bottles of wine ready for her. A suggestion from Wyll he had confessed. It had been a nice evening, looking up at the stars and telling him about herself and her family.
"Maybe we'll find something that gets your memory back. So you'll be able to talk about your family as well."
"Maybe. But I like listening to you talk." And yes, she had cuddled with him and kissed him. Blood still ran hot after all. She maybe had fallen asleep in his arms to be woken up by him staring at her.
"You're really beautiful." She did like a man who could lavish her in compliments.
After traversing the Underdark, eradicating both the Absolutists and the duergar and surviving a horde of murderous Giths, she was grateful that Durge was at their side. She always felt that tiny bit safer if he was around, always dedicated to annihilate anyone who dared to hurt her. The collections of her gifts had grown as well, from a Gith foot to a Necklace of Elemental Infusion and the offer to share his collection of dwarf meat. Something she had quickly refused. The Shadow-Cursed Lands were a different beast, with danger looming in every corner.
There had been some hope when they had found The Last Light Inn. Even more when they had received a blessing from Selûne from Isobel, but something about Durge was off again. In an attempt to keep him calm, she had grabbed his hand. It had surprised him when she squeezed in it, he almost had been hesitant to let go when Marcus had attacked the Last Light Inn.
"Why did you do that?" he had asked, genuinely confused.
"You looked like you could use it," she had replied.
"I think I did."
The morning after that incident he had been acting weird, it had only been amplified when they went to Moonrise Towers. He was gritting his teeth together, his jaw was tense as a strung bow. Not that she wasn't intimidated by Ketheric Thorm pulling a greataxe from his neck. Even speaking with Z'rell proved to be tricky with the woman peering in her mind and going through every thought. In an attempt to throw her off, she thought about Durge and how she had kissed him and how she had held his hand and how he had been soaked in Githyanki blood in the creche and how he had almost torn a duergar's head off when they had insulted her.
Oh. Oh.
"Seems that you like to play with danger, True Soul. Many wouldn't dare to dance with it like you're doing." Her whole face had turned the same red as her scales at that remark. Everyone knew all too well about who that remark was. So it wasn't a surprise that she was hounded by everyone at camp.
"I don't know but I do have draconic blood, my ancestors might be proud of me?"
"Proud of you for banging our bloodthirsty dragonborn who almost tore my fangs out because I bit you? Low standards, darling." She would never live it down.
Instead of a gruesome gift, she had found a note instead to join Durge in the cellar of the Inn. It seemed fitting for him. One thing that she didn't expect was how nervous he was about something, almost pacing back and forwards.
"Do you trust me?" he had asked, danger tangled between the words. A glaring red flag, the red of his scales that should make her stop in her tracks.
"Yes, I do. I don't think it's smart but I do. You wouldn't hurt me." A dumb thing to say, the lamb trusting the wolf. At this point, she didn't care anymore. When he closed the space between them, charging towards her like a predator, she welcomed it. But there was no dagger or death at the end. Only his mouth, so hungry and needy. He had enveloped her, lifted her up to be at the same height. Her hands roaming over his warm scales, his hands squeezing her thighs. He moved over her neck, kissing and biting the sensitive skin there. There was a slight hesitation when he felt her aorta, her heartbeat drumming through it. She knew he could tear it out with bare teeth, it drove her even more insane.
"Mine. Mine. Mine." He growled it at her like a incantation, feverishly lavishing her with bite marks.
"I'm yours. I'm yours," she replied almost like a prayer. A dagger appeared in his hand, tearing through her top. The wolf devoured the lamb.
The day after she had to be healed by Halsin, seeking out the druid in the hopes of being a bit more subtle. Some marks he couldn't heal instantly, he had advised her to keep health potions handy in intimate situations so she would heal quicker.
"Look at you hobbling and wobbling, darling. Did you take a ride on our resident dragon?" It was all light teasing until Durge killed Isobel. And Last Light Inn had fallen. And they had to battle all the residents who were infected with the Shadow Curse.
That had not been a good day. Or a good evening when she had to explain to Astarion that his feeding privileges had run out. But it didn't matter when Durge curled up next to her in his bedroll, the warmth of his body radiating from him.
"Do you want to see something?"
"Is it a little gift?" The morning after everything, he'd lead her out of camp. Told her to watch closely when he shifted into a grotesque form. It was called The Slayer, very fitting. But it was him, even more powerful. She had pressed her lips to its forehead. She would love all of him, she wasn't afraid. It was him, every facet of him.
They had made their way through the Shadow-Cursed Lands, fighting the Thorms and the Shadows. Taken some of the garrison out from Moonrise and had made their way down the mausoleum. Slayed Balthazar and all of the undead. There hadn't been a moment where she would doubt that they would make it to the end. Durge was with her, towering behind her in battle while their spells slung around the battlefield. Fire and storm, working together like two forces of destruction. Gods, he was intoxicating.
"Can we keep her? he asked after they had defeated the orthon while persuading his displacer beast to rise against him after being manipulated with succubus spittle.
"If you can haul the displacer beast back to camp, my dragon." He'd been pleased with that but there was another thing that had caught his eye. While everyone was looting, he had snuck up to her as he pushed his body to her back. His broad arms pressing her against him.
"Could I persuade you to come to his bed this evening, my sweet?" he whispered in her ear. The heap of corpses that made a bed were all in different states of decomposing. A foul stench radiating from them.
"Find me a few fresher ones and I'll consider but no way I'm going on that stinking thing."
That night he had gifted her a bed made from fresh corpses, no idea where he had gotten them.
Everything had led them to the mindflayer colony underneath Moonrise Towers, the festering pit of the Absolute. When they had explored, they had run into a Myrkulite who had recognized Durge, who had told them about putting them back together. He'd been enraged, blaming her for his amnesia and messed up brain. They had made short work of the necromancers. Later they had found a broken pod that seemed familiar to Durge, even Astarion confirmed that the blood was his. The mystery of Durge and his background became even more complicated.
"We will find answers for you, my dragon," she had promised. Their boots sticky with blood, blood on his face. More questions raised then answers.
The reveal of the Chosen of the Dead Three behind the plan hadn't given them anymore answers as well. She had recognized one, although it was his name that Karlach had said. Enver Gortash, the man that she was supposed to marry. A union arranged by her parents. The tadpole had given her her freedom, which she had taken with both hands. She would need to be more ruthless now, she couldn't fall back in her old life again. But Durge wouldn't allow that. She was his now.
They had just arrived in Baldur's Gate when they were already plagued by Orin. Posing as a Flaming Fist and a Stone Lord follower, being cryptic and messing with their head. She had even adressed Durge with some weird remarks. It was to mess with them, try to make them distrust each other.
After their first night in Rivington, Durge had taken her aside. He looked serious, his hand firm around her wrist. Like she would run away from him, but there was nothing that would cause that.
"I had a dream last night, my sweet. It was about my family. I'm a Bhaalspawn, my sweet. I'm made from Bhaal's flesh and blood, made into his weapon to wield. Orin tried to kill me to win Bhaal's favour." She had looked at him, his red eyes piercing into hers. Maybe she should run. It would be the most sane thing to do. But she didn't. She was irrevocably in love with him. Her dragon, a son of a God. Her Slayer. The body she had worshiped was divine, his blood that of a God.
"You're divine, my dragon. The flesh of a God, I knew you were special."
"You won't go?"
"Never."
Later that day they had faced Enver Gortash, a meeting that had proven to be really enlightening. He had been shocked, his mask falling for just a second. His supposed radiant bride and nearest and dearest together, smiles that could cut like daggers. Durge had planned this all, this all had been his idea. The web they had been tangled in was one of his making, the plan that had given her freedom had been his. It was like it was fate. That they were meant to meet this way. Her hero, her destiny. An alliance had been made, to rule Toril as kings as Gods.
But he was already divine, his flesh wrought from a God himself. He'd let his claw run over her neck, he closed his hand over her throat, squeezing softly.
"Would you put your life in my hands, my sweet?"
"Always." There was some more pressure on her throat, her breath becoming a bit more labored. Her eyes half-lidded staring up at him, her hand on his arm.
"I'd die at your love, my dragon." He'd kissed her with an intensity she had never known before. Trying to pull each other tightly, trying to fuse together.
There had never been a sweeter sight, never been something that could rival her view. Durge stepping out of a pool of blood, a Holy Assasin of Bhaal. She'd run up to him, he'd taken her in his arms. She could feel how blood soaked her robes, feel it spreading on her arms and face. Like he wanted to absorb her, have this rub of at her as well.
"She'll make a fine mate. A good womb for Bhaalspawn," Sarevok had commented. It was what Sceleritas had commented as well. They saw the rot that had started to go through her, what he had started. The corruption that had lingered behind the surface, torn open by him. Her ambition and urge for freedom amplified by him. Like she had finally woken up to her true potential, to her true fate. She could taste the blood when they kissed, her nails clawing at his scales.
That night he had taken her to the graveyard, close to where the Murder Tribunal was. Would it be to talk about Orin and how he would face her in a duel tomorrow? Or was it to give into each others desires again?
"Do you want to taste divinity?" A question so blunt that she almost was taken back about it.
"I taste divinity every day with you, my dragon."
"We could be Gods, we could be Absolute. Why should I carry out orders for my Father who has forsaken me? We could both ascend to divinity." There was nothing she wanted more.
Her screams had filled the temple of Bhaal, desperate and broken. Bhaal had taken his flesh and blood from Durge, his lifeless body on the temple floor. Tears had filled her eyes, her knees had buckled underneath her. She crawled her way over to him, touching his face. She would tear everything down of Bhaal, would tear him from divinity and destroy his clergy. She could hear Withers voice but everything was consumed by him. The floor was covered in blood, Orins blood mostly. His head in her lap, tears falling on him like rain. It couldn't be, it couldn't be. Not him, they couldn't take him away from her. But he started to breathe again, Withers giving him new life. He had touched her tears, they had mixed with the blood as he licked them from her face.
The companions had left them at their request, they needed to be alone. He was no longer tied to Bhaal, but she knew what it had meant. They were now tied together. It had been his gift to her. He'd gifted her the Absolute. He'd gifted her the demise of Orin, the only reminder of her existence was now the blood and viscera on the floor.
"Would you have died with me, my sweet?"
"I would have, I'd have taken my own life at your blade." He'd pinned her on the ground, the blood still sticky around them as he ripped her robes off. The lamb had turned into the wolf as well.
They had done it, had battled their way up to the Netherbrain and they had defeated it. Now was the time, the time to make a decision. Gortash standing next to them, ready to make the alliance real. The Emperor not aware of their plans, they had been planned in touches and looks, the plans that they had spoken out loud of betraying Gortash double-crossed. Daggers flashing so beautifully in their hands as they plunged it into the mindflayer, the blood coating both of their hands. Their first action together as the Absolute. They had walked over to the chair, she had sat in his lap.
"In our name," they had proclaimed.
A gift for the both of them.