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scarredwithcruelintentions · 3 days

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chapter 7: sorrowful lash

Find the master list here!

CW: Allusions to past trauma.

W/C: 1,835

A/N: A shorter chapter this time.

Astarion rolled over, a pain unlike any he’d experienced in his two hundred years as a spawn cleaving his skull. He recognized the symptoms of a hangover, shocked to find that he could still develop one as a vampire. Though, he supposed he had drunk quite a bit to numb the shocking sting of your rejection. He moaned his discomfort, blinking blearily against the sun’s rays penetrating his tent as he sat up. He gave himself a moment to gather his bearings and then parted its flaps, wincing at the sudden increase in brightness.

Looking around the grounds, he was surprised to find them all but deserted. He could hear Karlach humming somewhere nearby, and smelled the unnaturally dark ozone of Gale on the breeze. He could not, however, find anything more than the faint fragrance of you that lingered on your belongings. It appeared as though you’d left for the day, and a sense of panic washed over him as the events of the evening prior came to the forefront of his mind.

Gods, what have I done? I’ve ruined it!

He caught sight of Karlach in his peripheral vision, head whipping around to glare at her.

“Where’ve they gone?” he snapped, voice harsher than he’d meant it to be.

“Aw, cheer up, Soldier! She’ll be back before you know it,” she chirped with a grin, taking no offense at his sour tone.

“And just what in the bloody Hells is that supposed to mean?” he snarled, bristling with embarrassment at her knowing expression.

“You’re daft if you truly believe we don’t all see it, Astarion,” was all she said in response, bright smile still residing on her face. She continued her trek onward, whistling a jaunty tune.

“That’s not a damn answer!” he shouted after her.

She only continued to whistle as she walked out of his line of sight.

He huffed his annoyance, then retreated back into his tent, yanking the furs of his bedroll up over his head.

Apparently, it was to be another very long and arduous day. ______________________________________________________________

The next time he popped his head out, the dusk was already losing its battle for the sky to the blanket of night. He was relieved to see Shadowheart and Lae’zel making nice over a shared meal, Wyll laughing heartily with Gale as Karlach told impassioned tales of her adventures in the Hells. His eyes continued to scan the campgrounds, looking for any sign of you and finding none. He could smell that you’d made it back, but could not locate your whereabouts among the other companions. A warning bell tolled in his mind, anxiety tightening its chokehold on his unbeating heart.

He crept silently from his tent, following your scent as it gradually intensified. He found you sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree by the riverbank, knees drawn to your chest and arms hugging them close. He marveled at the glow of the waxing moon on your skin, sleeves of your nightdress falling to expose your shoulders. Your hair rippled gently with the breeze, reminding him of the water as it ran over and between hidden stones. You gazed out into the waiting darkness, eerily silent.

“I’d ask if you wanted company, but I doubt you’ve come all the way out here to find it,” he called out, grimacing guiltily when you startled.

When the frantic beating of your heart had slowed to a normal pace again, he took stock of your expression. There was a weary mournfulness burdening your gaze, and he was briefly arrested in his movement by just how terribly sad you looked. You said nothing, but moved to make room for him to sit next to you.

“Just needed some space to think, ‘s all,” you whispered, voice strangely devoid of emotion.

He wrung his hands uneasily, a million worries about what might have caused your strife darting through his mind.

“About last night -” he began, but you held up a hand to stop him.

“I don’t need apologies. As I’ve said before, it’s not you. Yours was far from the first bed I’d declined at the party.”

That drove an unwitting chuckle from him, quickly hushing himself at the unimpressed raise of your brow.

“I may have overheard several…propositions, shall we say, for a night of shared ecstasy,” he explained.

You cracked a small smile, momentarily loosening the grip around his heart.

“Eavesdropping, were you?” you questioned, amusement plain.

“Perhaps,” was his only reply.

You looked away again, staring unseeingly at the horizon.

Without turning to address him directly, you asked in a cold, distant tone, “Then why did you try your luck? What makes you think you’re any different?”

The grip around his heart tightened once again, breath catching in his throat and dizzying him with its sudden ferocity. Words failed him as a sense of burning shame enveloped him.

“I see the way each one of you looks at me. Admiration, adoration, idolatry…lust. As though I’m something to be consumed, a bottomless well of giving. A savior from your many sins. Have I not my own to atone for as well? Am I not due an ounce of respect for all I’ve sacrificed to get us this far?”

Though your words carried the weight of long held anger, they fell from your lips with a lifeless monotony. He hastily opened his mouth - to explain or apologize, he knew not which - but you began to speak again.

“I suppose it matters not. I am whatever I am perceived to be. No more, no less.”

A haunting echo of his own emotions reverberated dully within his skull; he knew this pain. Had lived with it for too long himself. He lost himself in the roar of agony between his ears for a time, startling when he heard a quiet sniffle.

“Forgive me,” you whispered, breath hiccupping with sorrow.

Finding his voice, he murmured, “Dearest, there is nothing to forgive. It is I who should be asking your forgiveness, once again. I would lie and say it was the wine talking, but I find that I can’t when it comes to you.”

He was surprised by his own honesty, words falling from him with an ease he was unaware he possessed. You turned to look at him shrewdly, tears spilling as you narrowed your eyes to discern his truthfulness. You said nothing, wordlessly urging him to continue. He took a shaking breath, steadying himself.

“You have shown me kindness unlike anyone I’ve met in the whole of my life, both before I was turned and after. You have no expectations of me, have given me no reason to believe that your motives lie elsewhere. You are simply lovely, just for the sake of being so.

I, too, have been wanted for things I was unprepared to give, and have been forced to give them anyway. It is a burden I would not wish upon anyone, least of all you. So, please, forgive me. I am not well versed in matters of sentient interaction beyond those of carnal depravity.”

You sucked in a gasping breath as he finished his monologue, and he turned sharply to look at you just as a great sob pushed past your lips. An icy shard of dread punched through him at the sound, fearful he’d said something wrong yet again. He watched your hands twist in the fabric of your nightdress just over your heart, clawing as though you could rip the wretched thing from your chest just so that this torment, whatever it may be, might end.

“Have I done it wrong again?” he whispered, nerves making his voice tremble.

You only cried harder, despair leaking freely from you and into the recesses of his soul, a reflection of your pain mirrored in him with its intensity. He was at a loss as to how to comfort you, never having seen you so distraught. Something urged him to reach out to you, to hold you and pet through the strands of your hair soothingly until you quieted. But another voice, louder and more ominous, told him that he should not touch you just yet. It screamed that you knew exactly of what he spoke, knew it in a way he dared not fathom.

He began to hum the lament of yours that he so loved, unsurely at first, then with more fervor. It had helped him in his darkest moment of weakness; he could only hope that it would help you much the same. Your fitful sobs gradually turned into hiccups, sniffles and then silence as you came back to yourself, listening intently to your favored tune whispered back to you. You eventually reached out to clasp his hand in yours, placing a sweet kiss on the back of it in thanks.

You gestured at the space between you and him, asking quietly, “May I?”

He wordlessly held his arm aloft, inviting you to sidle closer as he continued to hum your song. You folded into his arms, resting your head against his chest to feel the rumble of his voice. He reached a hand up and into your soft tresses, blunt nails scraping along your scalp as he sang the last phrase. A contented silence fell in its wake, one hand running idly through your hair as you held the other.

You eventually broke it with a quiet apology.

“Whatever are you sorry for now, my sweet?” he murmured, continuing his slow, soothing ministrations.

“That you’ve been used that way,” you whispered back, cautious of breaking the fragile moment.

“Ah, that. Think nothing of it, darling. If anything, it’s taught me to cherish these moments of freedom all the more.”

“Nonetheless, it’s an awful burden to carry,” you responded forlornly.

“It is one of many that weighs on me, but it is far from the worst,” he intoned, voice bitter and solemn.

“I am always here to lend an ear, should you ever need it, dear Star.”

“Perhaps one day,” he answered, resting his cheek on the top of your head.

The lull in conversation preceded another blanket of comfortable silence, and he listened to the sound of your breath mingled with the night ambiance. It was serene, startlingly so, to hold you close and offer you the same sanctuary you’d given him so freely. An uncharacteristic tenderness overwhelmed him, and he clutched you ever so slightly tighter, as though this beautiful dream were liable to shatter around him at any moment.

You cleared your throat, breaking the silence for a final time.

“We found the gith creche today. I’m taking Lae and Shadowheart with me tomorrow to infiltrate it. Lae insists that the zaith’isk will cure us, but I have my reservations. Besides, I found a reference as to the Blood of Lathander’s whereabouts, and I have reason to believe it might be hidden somewhere in the temple the gith commandeered. Would you like to join us and cause some chaos?”

“My dear, there’s nothing I’d love more.”

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