Chapter Text
The bonfire flared brightly, but offered no warmth. An unspoken tension hung in the air, a silence that could not be broken by Lae'zel's blade scraping against a whetstone, by Gale's annoyed remarks about the poorly dried firewood, or by the muffled steps of Shadowheart setting out her things in the shadow of the tents. The camp seemed smaller, diminished – as if a part of it had vanished with Astarion's departure.
Tav sat closer to the fire, mindlessly turning a pouch of tobacco in his hands. His thoughts drifted one after another: that Astarion was to blame, that it was his choice, that none of it mattered. But the harder he tried to silence the voice within, the more persistently it returned, reminding him of the predator's smile, of that sharp, painful hope in his eyes, of the abrupt break that left behind an unbearable quiet.
The hours stretched on, sluggish and heavy. And only towards morning – when the moon was already dipping below the horizon and the shadows were faint and ragged – did Karlach and Wyll return to the camp.
Karlach appeared first. She walked heavily, with slumped shoulders, as if carrying an invisible burden on her back. Her face was smeared with dirt, her hair standing on end. Wyll followed behind: silent, sullen, the usual confidence gone from his stride.
"Nothing," Karlach exhaled, barely stepping into the fire's circle of light. "He just vanished into thin air."
Tav looked up and saw the exhaustion in her every movement.
"We searched everywhere we could," she continued. "But you know... He leaves no tracks. Vanishing is a matter of a minute for him."
Wyll sat down closer to the fire and reached for his boot, massaging his leg. He hadn't said a word.
"He was supposed to vanish," Tav said, too sharply, almost on reflex.
Karlach slowly turned her head. A spark flickered in her eyes – not anger, but a bitter bewilderment.
"Are you serious?" her voice was weary but firm. "Are you really just going to throw your hands up like that?"
Tav stubbornly lifted his chin.
"What am I supposed to do? Go look for him? He's always playing a game anyway. He's never once been sincere with us. Always that smirk, that pretense... It infuriates me that I don't know where the real him is and where it's all an act." The words came out louder than he had intended.
From Lae'zel's tent, a sleepy grumble could be heard about istiks never shutting up.
Karlach stepped closer, crouching down opposite him, so that she was looking him directly in the eyes.
"Did you ever try though?" she asked quietly. "Did you try to talk to him for real, without sarcasm, without a mask?"
"Why would I try?" he scoffed sarcastically. "Do you think he was waiting for someone to come and dig into his soul? He'd rather slit his own throat than say one honest word."
"That's wrong," Karlach replied firmly. "I tried. And you know what? Sometimes, for a moment, he opens up. Just a little. But it's enough to understand: under all that pretense, there's someone real. Someone who's afraid. Someone who's tired."
She straightened up, brushing the dirt from her hands.
"You just didn't want to see it," she concluded, heading towards her tent.
Tav was left sitting alone. The fire had weakened, the embers glowing faintly and barely throwing sparks. Her voice echoed in his mind: "You just didn't want to see it." Tav shook his head, trying to ward off the surging feeling of nonsense, lightly flavored with... guilt? No, that was absurd. Karlach takes everything too much to heart (well, to that infernal contraption in her chest), and it's starting to affect me. And now I can't go to sleep because of the influence of this phantom guilt. Tav wearily ran a hand over his face. He felt empty inside, but he forced himself to unroll his bedroll, deciding that even an attempt to slip into a trance was better than meaningless thoughts by the fire.
*
The swamp greeted them with a suffocating silence and the viscous scent of mud. The air was as thick as jelly, clinging to the skin and making every breath feel too heavy. A dense, gray mist swirled above the water's surface, occasionally broken by hoarse splashes, as if something unseen was gliding beneath.
"Splendid," Gale muttered, lifting his cloak to keep the hem from getting dirty. "The perfect place for a stroll. If only there were more mosquitoes, we could call it a successful day."
Lae'zel shot him a look that made the wizard fall silent. She strode ahead, calculating each step with a focus as if she were walking on a blade's edge.
Tav followed a little behind. The ground would give way or sink, hiding dreadful pits beneath the layer of mud. He had to walk almost on tiptoe, testing every mound and gnarled root.
The first warning sign they noticed was near a half-rotted stump. A thin thread, almost blending in with the moss, stretched towards a nearby bush. Lae'zel knelt down, examining it carefully.
"A trap," she said dryly. "A snare trap."
Gale frowned. "But who would leave it here?"
"Someone who doesn't want visitors," Shadowheart interjected. Her voice sounded as if this held a logic for her. "That means we're on the right track."
They moved on – slower, more cautiously. But the swamp was unforgiving. Soon, Shadowheart, stepping slightly to the side, landed her foot on unstable ground, which instantly gave way. She managed to cry out before she sank into the mire up to her waist.
Tav and Karlach rushed forward at the same time: one extended a hand, the other grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her out. Shadowheart gasped for air, her clothes covered in mud, and a long bloody trail was left on her leg – somewhere in the muck, there were sharp stones or, perhaps, shells.
"Wonderful," she gritted out through her teeth, wincing. "Now my leg is a sieve, too."
Karlach squeezed her shoulder tightly. "Hold on. We'll get somewhere to bandage it."
But there was no time to rest. The forest seemed to come alive, and every rustle felt like a threat.
A little while later, there was another crunch – and Lae'zel froze. Under her foot was a disguised covering, beneath which a pit with spikes yawned. In the last moment, she pulled her foot back, but one of the spikes still grazed her shin, leaving a jagged wound.
"If there were someone here with eyes, and not just swords and books... we would have noticed it sooner," Karlach grumbled.
"I noticed it," Lae'zel snapped back.
"Too late," Shadowheart said coldly. "A certain vampire would have noticed it before we even got here."
"We're managing fine without him," Tav cut in, but Lae'zel's clenched teeth and the blood dripping from her boot betrayed the truth.
"Managing?" Shadowheart turned to him sharply. "I'm covered in mud with a torn-up leg, the gith is bleeding, and it's not even noon yet. We used to 'manage' because he walked in front and disarmed these damned traps before they hurt us."
Tav scowled and snarled, "Enough. He chose to leave."
"But we're paying for that choice," Gale said in a low voice.
A silence hung over the party. Even Tav felt the words sting him – too accurate, too close to the truth.
*
When they reached a slightly drier area, a man blocked their path. He was of medium height, wiry, with a face that held a predatory angularity. His eyes were narrowed, and his lips were curved in a smug smirk. He was dressed in leather armor, not new, but well-kept, and a crossbow hung on his back.
"Well, well," he drawled, looking them over. "What curious little birds are in these parts?"
Lae'zel immediately put her hand on her sword's hilt. "Get out of the way."
The man raised his hands as if in a gesture of peace, but the smirk didn't fade. "Peace, peace. I'm just a hunter. I'm of the Gur tribe, my name is Gandrel."
"A hunter?" Gale asked with suspicion.
"A monster hunter. You don't look like you're from around here," he continued. His gaze slid over each of them, lingering a little longer than it should have on their faces. "Maybe you've met someone I'm looking for. Pale, blond, with the mannerisms of a fop. A slippery type."
Karlach tensed almost imperceptibly. "Why do you want him?"
Gandrel's smirk widened. "My goal is to catch him alive. But I assume you know he's not what he seems."
"Who?" Gale asked innocently, but irony laced his voice.
"A vampire," Gandrel said, as if spitting out the word. "And believe me, you can't be gentle with them. For now, I need him alive to shake some information out of him."
Tav felt an unpleasant prick inside him. Shake some information out of him... He remembered Karlach's words that Astarion was afraid on the inside. Apparently with good reason, as it turned out.
Shadowheart crossed her arms. "And you decided to just ask the first group you met if we've seen him?"
"Exactly," Gandrel answered, unperturbed. "The search area is getting smaller. Sooner or later, I'll find his trail. So if you happen to run into this 'friend,' keep your wits about you. He seems charming, but it's a mask. He'll smile, he'll talk – and you won't even notice his fangs at your throat."
Tav gripped his staff handle so hard it hurt, but he said nothing. He was annoyed not only by Gandrel's brazen self-assurance, but also by how plausible his words sounded. Charming. A mask. He'll smile and then bite your throat. It was too close to his own thoughts about Astarion. However, being in agreement with this arrogant bastard didn't exactly make him happy.
Karlach, however, stepped forward. Her gaze became hard. "If we had seen him, we wouldn't tell you."
"Is that so?" Gandrel raised an eyebrow. "Well, well. So you've already become attached to this creature. That's your business, of course... But if I were you, I wouldn't get my hopes up. When he gets hungry, friendship won't matter to him."
He smirked even wider, nodded at them, and, without waiting for a reply, turned and dissolved into the fog.
The silence after Gandrel's departure was sticky and heavy, like the bog itself. Even the chirping of swamp crickets sounded like a mockery.
"I don't like him," Karlach finally said.
"No one liked him," Gale agreed.
Tav was silent. Inside, irritation boiled, mixed with a sudden wave of worry: if Gandrel really was hunting Astarion... then he might not have a chance.
*
The camp gradually fell quiet. After dinner, everyone went their separate ways: some attended to their wounds, others lay down to rest. The bonfire crackled, throwing sparks into the night sky, and there was something especially bothersome about the sound – as if the fire wouldn't let him forget.
Tav remained by the fire, turning the small leather pouch in his hands. His fingers found the familiar tobacco on their own, and he habitually rolled a cigarette. He lit it, taking a deep drag. The hot smoke burned his throat and lungs, but with it came a sense of emptiness – the kind you get after a fight, when your strength is gone but the anger still hangs in the air, unable to find an outlet.
He watched the smoke dissolve into the darkness and thought about Astarion.
"The insincere bastard." That's what he'd called him to himself. He said it out loud, too. Always with a sneer, always with anger. And it was true – the mask, the smirk, the game. But... wasn't he playing a game himself? Wasn't his own "prank" just another mask, only crude and cruel?
He winced, exhaling smoke through his teeth. Astarion's face flashed in his memory – the one that had appeared for a moment when he realized he had been deceived. No smirk, no sarcasm – just stunned pain.
"Damn," Tav breathed out and took another drag.
Honestly, being angry at him was easier than admitting his own guilt. It was simpler to convince himself that Astarion was playing a game, that he was to blame. But now that he was gone, the camp felt smaller, as if a piece of the space had been ripped out. And every step in the swamp was a reminder of it.
Gandrel was still on his mind, too. His words were stuck like shards. To catch. To interrogate. Vampire. Mask. It was too easy to imagine Astarion somewhere out there facing not just the hunter, but something worse. And that no one was there to watch his back.
Tav snuffed out the cigarette on the ground and sat for a while, just staring at the embers.
"Yeah, I went too far. Way too far. Maybe too far to fix."
The thought sounded unexpectedly clear. And for the first time in all these days, Tav allowed himself to admit: it wouldn't be so bad if Astarion were with them. He took a deep breath of the night air, now cool and heavy. The decision hadn't yet formed into words, but the seed had already taken root. Tomorrow – he would find a way to start the search.