Chapter Text
"Something troubles you, Astarion."
Cazador steepled his fingers as he stared at the little spawn kneeling on the floor before him, head bowed in apparent subservience. But his sire knew better. He could tell that Astarion's heart was not in his current task - there was guilt inside him. Guilt, and apprehension.
Not that that mattered in the least.
"I know you chose her because she's not from the city, but she still has people close to her here." Astarion didn't have to say her name for Cazador to know what his creation meant. "They're already suspicious, I saw them outside afterwards."
Cazador clicked his tongue reprovingly. "Oh, my poor, wretched boy. So you think you should pivot now for the sake of a few onlookers? No."
"My lord," Astarion almost sounded confident, and Cazador would have found the sentiment admirable, had it not been so foolish. "Allow me to find someone else, someone who won't be missed, and who no one will associate with the Caress. It's already compromised, with Lorroakan -"
"You're starting to lecture me now?" Cazador interrupted mildly, though his eyes now carried a cold warning.
"No!" Astarion immediately looked appropriately terrified. "I just believe it may have...consequences," he finished quietly, as if that were an explanation.
Cazador sighed dramatically, rising from his chair and crossing the distance between the two of them in two short strides, his sharp nails brushing almost lovingly through the curls of his pet's hair. Astarion tried to keep his breathing level, even when the vampire lord's grip suddenly tightened and pulled sharply, forcing his head up and backwards.
"When exactly did you lose your spine, boy?" Cazador asked, tone deceptively casual. "I know Godey may have done some rearranging at one point or another, but surely he put it back when he was finished." He gave a sharp tug to accentuate his point.
“Why her, master?" Astarion repeated, still choosing to persist. He really was a fool. Cazador was all too willing to assist in clearing away that particular line of questioning.
In one graceful move, he went from pulling on Astarion's hair to twisting his wrist so that his fingertips were on the underside of his spawn's chin, and then lower, one sharp nail tearing open the side of Astarion's neck in a shallow line. Instinct and training made Astarion keep still and obediently accept this method of punishment, like the good lapdog he was. "Because it was I who chose her, my dear boy, not you, and you need no further reason than that," Cazador chided him mock-gently. He watched as Astarion grimaced and let out a strained noise somewhere between a growl and a sob, which was all that he needed to hear before Cazador let him go. "You really have grown fond of this one, haven't you? It seems we will need to revisit a lesson or two about attachment."
"No need, I assure you," Astarion said hurriedly, still managing to put on a relatively unruffled tone of voice and not bothering to put pressure on his wound or stop the blood that had quickly trickled down to soak into his shirt.
"That's hardly for you to decide," Cazador replied matter-of-factly. This was one of his favourite games, twisting his spawn's words back on him, regardless of whether Astarion was submitting willingly or not.
Despite the clear threat and knowing exactly what he could expect if he resisted, there was still the barest moment's hesitation before the smaller elf answered. "Yes, my lord."
"And since you need the reminder," Cazador continued, unable and unwilling to hide the faint lilt of humour in his voice as he brushed his fingers across the new wound on Astarion's neck, "why don't you fetch my case from the desk? We will use the needles, I think."
This time, the hitch in the little spawn's breath was audible and all too amusing. But again, any hesitation was there and gone, and though there was fear on Astarion's face, there was no resistance or challenge. "Of course, master."
Cazador leaned down to give the bleeding tear he'd left a slow, deliberate lick, before straightening and stepping back, pleased when Astarion had the instinct to quickly move out of his way. After retrieving a velvet-lined box from the top drawer of the desk, Astarion quietly handed it to Cazador, kneeling again and resolutely staring at the floor when Cazador selected a thin, sharp needle and held it for a moment. "Look at me."
The order, while simple, took a moment for Astarion to process, and Cazador watched with no small amount of glee as red eyes lifted slowly from the floor. Ah yes, there were the tears. Good. His spawn did look the most beautiful when properly humbled. "You grew too fond of her, you let her get under your skin, and now," Cazador spoke softly, gently, as he raised the needle's tip to his slave's wide, panicked eyes, "you need to be reminded that you do not care for anything but my desires, you do not love anyone but me, and therefore, you do not feel anything but that which I choose to give you."
There was no response other than the terrified sob that escaped Astarion's mouth, which then cut off into a scream as the needle speared neatly into his left pupil. Cazador always did adore that sound.
Despite Astarion's earlier attempts at defiance, Cazador was feeling generous, and he gave his pet a few moments' reprieve - time to gasp and sob and adjust as much as he could with half of his sight taken from him before sliding another needle from the box. He watched, fascinated and delighted, as Astarion shook his head slightly and begged. "No, no, no, no, no, please, master, please -"
"My dear, how sweet you sound," Cazador crooned, slipping a hand behind Astarion's head and gripping his curls tightly. "Have you already forgotten that this is the result of your own poor choices? Will you never learn that there is no place in this world for you but here, at my feet where you belong?"
Astarion was incoherent enough that he hardly registered the question, continuing his hopeless pleas until the second needle slid home and blinded him completely. The scream, again, was beautiful, and had Cazador had the time or desire, he would have taken great pleasure in digging further, to make these new wounds larger and deeper, to gouge until there were only empty sockets and make use of them in ways Astarion would never really be able to anticipate.
Nor would he see them coming, would he?
Instead, Cazador indulged himself by hauling Astarion to his feet and then licking the blood and tears from his spawn's cheeks, savouring the lovely taste of fear and pain and unwilling devotion.
After a few moments, however, he reluctantly pushed Astarion away, and he immediately dropped to his knees again with a whimper - a sight that Cazador would never tire of. He raised a trembling hand to his eyes, fingers nervously hovering in the general direction of the wounds.
Cazador simply observed him for a moment, with half a mind to push the needles the rest of the way in just to see how loudly his pet would cry today. However, the spawn was still needed later in the evening, and he would need some time to heal. "You are dismissed," he said at last.
Astarion leaned towards his creator - towards the sound of his voice - and asked fearfully, "A-are they to stay, master?"
"You may remove them yourself, when you get to the kennel." Cazador reached down to cup Astarion's face in his hands, stroking his thumbs along his slave's bloody cheeks. "The others will leave you alone for the rest of the day. I trust you won't need your sight to find your dinner." He pressed a thumb down on the sharp needle in the right socket. Not enough to sink it too deeply, but enough to coax out a nice little moan of fresh pain and further rivulets of blood. Even so, Astarion did not flinch away from his master's touch, and Cazador could not help the satisfied smile that crossed his lips."Well, then? Off with you. You need to be fit to entertain tonight, once you're finished at the Caress."
That made Astarion's expression crumble even more, and his breathing remained hitching and shallow. Nevertheless, he dutifully got to his feet, bowed his head with a whispered, "Yes, master, thank you," and managed not to stumble into any walls or furniture as he left the room on unsteady feet. Cazador watched him go with an expression that was almost fond, though of course his little spawn did not have the chance to see it.
***
Lessa woke to the sounds of Devi quietly shuffling around their room as she was getting ready for school. That was a regular occurrence - it wasn't that the other woman was overly loud, but it was a small room and the accidental bumping of furniture or rattle of drawers was bound to happen, as well as the occasional soft humming that sometimes woke her up anyway. She didn't mind - having grown up in a home with four siblings and then spending her early adulthood in the barracks, she was used to the sounds of people living together and sleeping in close proximity.
These days, it was normal for her to just crack open an eye for a second, yawn and wish Devi a pleasant day of learning, and then slip back off to sleep for a few more hours.
Except this time wasn't normal. This time when she woke her head felt like a damn explosion had been set off inside it, and her stomach churned enough that when she opened her mouth to speak, all that came out was a groan.
"Lessa?" Devi was suddenly looming over the bed, green eyes wide with concern.
Lessa would have made some comment about Devi being the one looking down at her, for once, but she was too busy clapping her hands over her eyes and moaning. "Fuck."
"You're alive," Devi commented with a small chuckle, though it still held a thread of concern. "That's...good. Mostly." She hesitated, and when Lessa opened her eyes again she was holding a full glass of water and the bottle of aspirin from their bathroom cabinet. She gratefully took the pills and glass, almost dropping the latter on her bedding, but Devi thankfully didn't point that out. "What happened last night? You seemed fine when we got to work, but you were...off, by the end of shift. I had to come find you in your office."
"I was?" Her brow furrowed as she closed her eyes and fought another bout of nausea. She gingerly pushed herself up to a sitting position, propped against the wall, and slowly sipped on the water. "I don't...remember." At Devi's concerned look, she added, "I mean I remember getting to work, and working, but I don't remember what happened after, exactly..."
She fidgeted uncomfortably, then angrily clasped her hands together in an attempt to stop their shaking. She really, really hated feeling this way - shaky and unstable, dizzy, sick, hungover, weak. All the things she'd done so much to avoid. She'd take dunking her head into one of the frozen ponds outside before dealing with a hangover ever again, or any of the symptoms that preceded one.
But the nagging dread in her stomach made it clear she'd done something wrong. Something had happened, she must have messed up somehow...she swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat. She'd relapsed once and it had cost her nearly everything. She couldn't do it again, she didn't want to go through that, she wouldn't -
"Hey," Devi's expression softened with sympathy. "Look, if you did something stupid, don't worry about it, all right? Worse has been said and done here, and you have to let that stuff go. Learn and move on, or whatever that bullshit saying is."
Lessa forced a weak smile, but her eyes burned with the effort of fighting back angry, desperate tears. All she knew was that she had the worst headache and an empty feeling inside, like something wasn't quite right - no, like she was missing something. She sighed, the breath rattling slightly. "Feels like the worst hangover of my life."
"Really?" Devi's eyebrows rose.
"I'm gonna go back to sleep, I can't handle this," Lessa admitted. She rubbed roughly at her eyes and tried for a winning smile, despite her spinning head and churning stomach. "It'll be better in a few hours, right?"
"I sure hope so," her roommate didn't sound overly confident. Still, she rested a hand on Lessa's shoulder and gave it a comforting pat. "Should I ask Halsin to pick me up after school, or will you be there?"
"No need," Lessa promised, adding a solemn, shaky hand over her heart to prove she meant it. "I've dealt with much, much worse and kept my shit together. Maybe this is just a bug or something. I'll take some aspirin and sleep the whole thing off, you'll see."
Devi nodded, almost convincingly. "See you later, then. Feel better," she offered before shouldering her bag and heading for the door.
As the door closed behind her roommate, Lessa's shoulders slumped and she didn't bother to hold back the tears any longer. A sob burst past her lips, and she shut her eyes tightly, trying in vain to focus her scattered, disoriented thoughts, but all that came to her mind was a growing feeling of unease. Nothing was standing out, no memories were catching her attention - and that was the problem. She could, maybe, almost convince herself that the nausea and the headache and the desperate urge to check for pills - aspirin, truly - hiding in her drawers were the result of something she'd picked up at work, and nothing a nap and some of Halsin's homemade soup couldn't fix. She could, if it weren't for the missing hours. Something had happened. Something had gone wrong. And the fact that she had no idea what it was could ruin everything, or could have ruined it already, or could ruin it still…
Lessa shoved down the building panic, chugging the remainder of the water back and then pulling the covers over her face, willing her memories to come back or the feelings of sickness and failure to fade. When neither happened after a few minutes, she rolled over and grabbed her phone, which Devi must have kindly plugged in to charge overnight. It was still too early to admit defeat and seek help from Halsin, or to bother her sister, though both things were tempting. Instead, Lessa pulled up the most recent messages to see if anything would jog her memory.
There was nothing. The last text she'd sent had been to the group chat with her family, confirming her flight times for the following week. Morrigan had promised to meet her at the airport, Lessa had sent her back a string of hearts, and that had been that.
Before she knew it the tears had started fresh, and even yanking the covers over her head again didn't stop them. Loneliness - it felt like, sudden, overwhelming loneliness, and that didn't make sense. None of this made any sense, and the tears quickly turned into full blown sobs. This couldn't be happening, and fuck she really needed something for the headache, and a cigarette or two, or five, and more than anything she needed a long, hot shower and more water and where were the drugs she wanted her drugs she really needed a fix there must be something around here -
"Get a hold of yourself," Lessa hissed furiously into her pillow, fighting off the irrational need and the growing panic. "Do not do this. Stay on this fucking wagon." Deep breaths, in and out, in and out, she had to calm down, get the pounding in her skull under control and the shaking in her hands to lessen. But that awful, empty feeling was still there, like she needed something to be able to breathe again. And who knew, maybe it wasn't the withdrawal. Maybe it was a cold, or the flu, or something was really wrong and there was an unknown, unnamed illness lurking within her that would slowly eat away at her vital organs until they simply gave out.
Maybe that's all it was. The terminal illness might be a relief, compared to the alternative she feared most.
Finally, another thought through the panicked haze - another person she could talk to, though she hesitated. He was probably busy, he always seemed busy lately, but…
She focused on her fingers long enough to type out a quick, legible text. Are you awake? Can we talk?
It was barely a minute before she got a response.
I'm always available for you. Everything all right?
Relief flooded her aching head and chest. Not really, but not exactly a 911 situation. Could you call me, if you have a minute?
Before she'd even had a chance to put her phone down, it was lit up again with an incoming call. "Astarion, please tell me nothing weird happened last night," she answered immediately.
"What a rude way to start a phone call," his dry, amused tone came across clearly even through the phone. Lessa closed her eyes for a moment and just held the phone close, releasing a tiny breath. His voice alone was somewhat calming, and the familiarity of his teasing actually made her smile through the ongoing tears. "Good morning, dearest. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I...I might have lost track of some time last night," she admitted finally, a small, watery laugh bubbling out along with the words. "All the details are foggy, I don't remember anything. Do you know how bad that sounds?" She sniffled, wiping impatiently at her eyes. "Did something happen?"
A pause. "Well," he began after a moment, his voice thoughtful. "Nothing to write home about, I would say. I did end up needing to leave earlier than I would have liked, but everything seemed fine when I did. We were watching that damn movie that you love so much, the one with the zombies, and then I had to head off to a prior engagement."
"Oh. Okay." Lessa screwed up her face as she struggled to remember. She was at work, and it was fine...and the rest was a frustrating blank. "Then it's not..." Her throat tightened.
Astarion laughed lightly, though the sound lacked the usual flamboyance he used when other people were around. "It's certainly nothing you need to be panicking about, I promise," he said. He sounded close to reassuring, but not quite there yet. "Maybe you were just tired, or you're coming down with something? Humans and their subpar immune systems..." There was another hesitation. "If there's anything I can do, you know I'm happy to help."
"Right," she agreed weakly, forcing a laugh that died almost instantly. "Yeah. You're probably right. I'll just take some meds and...get some more sleep, maybe." It sounded hollow, even to her own ears. "I'm sorry for bothering you."
"Nonsense," he was quick to object, voice firm. "You're never a bother, please know that."
The unexpected conviction behind his words startled her, and she heard the rustling of fabric from his end of the line. Was he tossing and turning the way she was, trying to get comfortable while they had this conversation? Did he have trouble sleeping, too? What she wouldn't give to have him nearby now, a familiar presence she could curl into, someone to ground her and dispel the fear and uncertainty and the lingering doubts and anxieties.
"Lessa," Astarion's voice cut through her distracted thoughts. "Whatever you need, I'm here. Day or night."
"Even in daylight?" She half-joked with a shuddering, tear-filled laugh, wiping quickly at her eyes.
"Even in daylight," he confirmed, his voice holding a strange mixture of fondness and something bitter she couldn't place. He cleared his throat. "Sunscreen was one hell of an innovation. But I'll see you tonight, then?"
"Of course." Still, the thought of having to hang up made her heart hurt. Or maybe that was the guilt and the fear still gnawing on her insides. "Are you sure everything is okay? That I didn't mess anything up?"
"I'm sure," he said, gentle and persuasive. "Try not to drive yourself mad with the wondering. You haven't done anything wrong. I'll see you soon."
"Yeah, okay," she breathed. There was no arguing with him. "Thanks, Astarion."
"Anytime," he replied, tone easy and relaxed again. "Get some rest, alright?"
"Yeah, I will," she promised, offering a mumbled goodbye. Her hands felt numb and cold after dropping the phone, and the silence that surrounded her almost became oppressive, feeling heavier and heavier with each second she spent trying not to notice it. Finally she stood up and wobbled her way to the bathroom, where she turned the shower on as hot as she could stand it and hoped that the running water would muffle her sobs sufficiently.
And much later, as the shower steam cleared from the mirror, Lessa stood before it and examined herself. "You fucked up," she told the pale, freckled face reflected in the glass. Wide green eyes stared back, framed by a fringe of dark, wet hair, and they were rimmed in pink - evidence of her crying, or maybe something else. She tried not to think about it. "But you won't do it again. You're going to be better."
Her reflection was unresponsive, and Lessa braced her hands on the sink, watching her arms tremble as she tried to catch her breath. If she tried hard enough, she could still see the scars where needles had once punctured her skin. She ran a hand down the length of her arm, tracing the faded marks there hidden amongst the electrical scars and other reminders of past mistakes.
Past mistakes that may or may not have been similar to whatever she did last night, because she couldn't fucking remember any of it. "It was nothing," she told herself, her voice firm and almost too loud after all the crying. "Nothing happened."
But in the back of her mind, a familiar itch prickled at her, demanding attention and promising familiar, safe comfort. All the shame, the questions, the doubts, the panic, the grief, the loneliness - it would fade away. She'd be a new person - no, she'd be herself again. And right now, she very much wanted to stop feeling the things she was feeling.
Instead, she pulled on a hoodie and her pajama pants and headed for the porch, cigarettes in hand and lighter in her pocket. The walk down the stairs and across the house was unsteady, and she very, very intentionally did not look over towards the cabinets where she knew Halsin kept his patients' medications.
Outside was sunny but cold, and she shivered as she sat down on the porch steps. Her hands shook badly as she lit the first smoke, and her head was spinning again, but she did it and took a deep inhale, leaning back against the stairs and staring up into the bright sky for a moment, before closing her eyes against the light. She counted every steady beat of her heart - a few times more than normal, but so what, it didn't matter because she was fine and everything was fine and she didn't need a drink or a pill or a needle or anything.
A shadow falling over her made her open her eyes again. Halsin stood there, towering over her with an easy smile. "Hello," he greeted cheerfully, tone warm and calming as ever, looking her over and very clearly taking stock of her red-rimmed eyes and pale, splotchy complexion. He didn't say anything about it, but his expression was knowing.
"Hey," she responded, sitting up a little straighter and offering a small smile. She cleared her throat and took a drag before waving her lit cigarette. "Just getting an early start on my daily intake of nicotine."
"How are you feeling?" he asked casually, and Lessa's smile froze on her face. His expression turned to more clear concern."You look pretty worn down."
"I...have been better," she admitted after a too-long hesitation. Words tumbled out faster than she could consider them. "But it's just a headache, it's nothing, it's fine." Another inhale of smoke, letting the fumes burn in her throat. "It's fine," she repeated firmly, exhaling out through her mouth.
Halsin made to move to sit beside her, but only did so once she had nodded slightly. He was still staring at her when she turned back, brown eyes searching her face - for a hint of distress, she guessed, or hidden signs of impending self-destruction. "Headaches are never 'just a headache'," he reminded her gently, reaching over to give her shoulder a comforting squeeze. "Whatever it is, whenever you're ready, we can work through it."
"You always say that," she mumbled with a half-hearted smile, giving a tiny shake of her head.
He only shrugged, returning her smile with a bigger one. "Because I know we can," he said simply. His hand shifted to rest behind her, not touching her but there as a warm, sturdy presence. "I'm sure you've heard the sentiment half a dozen ways by now, but recovery is not a linear path, especially at the beginning. Expecting everything to fall into place without a few hiccups might set you up for disappointment."
She looked away, feeling both relieved and uncomfortable under the weight of his belief in her. Her eyes burned suspiciously again, and she fixed her gaze on the nearby wall of greenery to keep from crying. Her shoulders hunched automatically, and she couldn't fight off the guilt that seized her at her next words. If there was anyone she could talk to who would understand, it must be Halsin, and yet... "Yeah, well, I'll be okay. Just a headache." She was shivering constantly now, hopefully only from the cold. "Nothing is wrong. Nothing happened. I'll just rest and feel better and I'll be fine."
"And that's fine too, if that's all you want to share right now," he answered easily, and he sounded perfectly non-judgmental, perfectly accommodating, and suddenly she wanted nothing more than to lean into him and spill all of her messed up, crumbling thoughts, if only to ease the weight of keeping their multitude of secrets from him. Would he hate her, if he knew? Would he still have faith in her ability to recover, or would he throw her out, disappointed and disgusted?
Then again, maybe he'd hate her even more if she refused the support he wanted to provide. Lessa fought the urge to scrub roughly at her eyes again. "Thank you," she said instead.
But it almost came out like a sob, and after a moment Halsin simply wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his side. She didn't resist in the least. "Would you like to come inside, Lessa? I'll make some tea, and we'll find you something safe for your headache. It seems like a great day to set you up on the couch with a good book and a warm blanket. After all, if you're coming down with something we need to get you back to tip-top shape before your flight home next week."
"Yeah," she agreed with a small nod, the sudden rush of appreciation and relief leaving her a little dizzy. Warmth and comfort, those were things she wanted now, instead of the vices she'd been craving earlier. She almost believed it herself. "Tea sounds great, actually."