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Chapter Text

There were goblins everywhere.

Perhaps this hadn’t been the best time to ambush their camp. But Wyll had pressed them, stupid Wyll. That man. Or, should he say, child. Who was that young? Nobody was that young.

He went on and on about the tieflings, oh they must be saved. And the druids, oh they must be helped.

Sure enough, it was a creative plan. Astarion could appreciate that.

The party’s darling little rogue was to sneak in first and kill as many goblins as he could in the shadowy corners of the ruins. Any goblin that was drunk, napping or alone. Easy.

Then the valiant, not-so-dynamic duo Wyll and Karlach would charge in hell-for-leather.

They were to be followed by Gale, who was supposed to sound the horn. The horn they’d gotten from the ogres in Moonhaven. Who knew why the walking encyclopedia was put in charge of those brutes. Hilarious.

If Gale was the icing on that delicious cake of chaos, Astarion was the cherry on top.

‘Are you positive they’ll even show for this little scramble of ours?’ Gale asked Wyll. ‘Ogres aren't exactly the paradigm of honoring promises, are they?’

Wyll shrugged. ‘That's why you always have a backup plan. No strategy is complete without one, like my father always said.’

Astarion rolled his eyes. Wyll quoted his father far too much not to have daddy issues. Some intuition deep within him said that the man was unfairly demanding. Something’s got to give in situations like that. Something clearly gave. He found himself feeling a little angry on Wyll’s behalf.

‘Wait! We’ve got a backup plan?!’ Karlach laughed out loud.

‘Shhhh!!!’

They were hiding in the bushes just outside the goblin camp, listening to the rampant drums and general mayhem.

'That's enough of this sorry tea party. I've got some goblins to turn inside out.' Astarion said as he emerged from the bushes.

‘You can do it, fancyboy!’ Karlach held up her thumbs and smiled her devilish smile. She was certainly eager to sink her axe into some skulls.

‘What else is new, firegirl…?’ He answered dismissively, striding across the bridge. He made sure to saunter. Looking good was ever important, ever powerful a spell.

He could feel the eyes of his party on him. He looked like a martyr marching to his death. Maybe that’d do something for the wizard. Hah! 

When Astarion looked over his shoulder though, he saw a strange look on Karlach’s face. She didn’t look angry, more like… What was it? He’d seen that look before, on tavern-goers' faces.

There’d been brawls over him. Once or twice.

Anyway. As soon as he was out of sight, he dropped all that. He, too, was ready for the hunt. He felt its calling.

The air was thick and acrid. Astarion’s nostrils hurt as he inhaled. Ugh. Urine, sweat, grog…

The goblins partied around the campfire. They were each armed with crude weapons.

Astarion paused, crouching low. He moved closer, his movements blending with the shadows. His dagger had already slit five unsuspecting throats when he heard the shouting.

‘The hammer’s gonna fall!’

Karlach.

He then walked into sight and immediately dodged a goblin with a rusted sword and very sharp teeth.

‘Ya fucking baaaastaaaards!’

Astarion used his foot to knock her off balance, then slid behind and... 

‘Night night.’ He said. 

He felt a breeze in his hair, and raindrops on his skin. Rain was beginning to fall over the ruins, hissing as it hit patches of burning grass. The wind scattered raindrops and ashes all over.

‘Watch it!’ Wyll shouted. ‘They’ve got themselves an ogre as well!’

The ogre was like a moving mountain, towering over the goblins. Muscles bulged beneath her thick skin, and her eyes were small and bloodshot, blazing with rage.

But her hair did look cute in those two little braids of hers.

‘Up there! Archers!!'

Astarion turned and saw Karlach take an arrow to the knee. He gasped. Kalrach roared and he thought he glimpsed her just as she was back in the Hells. Furious and terrifying.

Then he smelled the blood before he even saw it gush out of her wound. His throat burned. His fangs ached. Oh it smelled divine. Blood. Blood. Please.

Up above them, more goblin archers raised their makeshift bows…

‘Dolor! ’

…only to be knocked back at once by Wyll's red beams of crackling energy. 

But just then, Astarion felt another goblin lunge at him, and used his dagger to stop the creature’s bone knife from sinking into his stomach. 

With a flourish, he sent the knife flying, then used his knee to pin the goblin against the ground – and stabbed him again and again and again, taken by a raging bloodlust.

The world outside was forgotten. All that mattered was blood – stoking the fires of his frenzy to an almost unbearable peak.

Cazador. He was going to pay. He was going to kill the bastard. He was going to bathe in his blood after everything he had done to him, after all the torture, all the punishments, all the humiliation, all the–

Gods. Hells! 

Where the was Gale with those ogres?! 

‘Come to daddy, sweet cheeks!’

His next opponent was apparently a bugbear with tufts of hair coming out of his ears and armpits. He swung a club and flexed his shoulders.

In response, Astarion swung his bloody daggers with a flourish.

‘Careful, darling… I bite.’

But the bugbear did not attack. Instead, he blinked stupidly. Astarion’s pointy ears twitched.

Then, a great shadow enveloped them.

‘COME! HERE! NICE TO EAT!’

Oh. There they were.

Right behind the colossal ogre, Gale was waving his arms frantically and shouting something. Astarion was unable to make out what the wizard was saying.

At that moment, the ogre swung his massive fists down at the bugbear. Astarion tried to get out of the way, tripping over his own feet most ungracefully like a cat skidding on ice. 

The impact of the ogre’s blow was so great the whole ground shook and Astarion was sent flying. He thought he heard all the bugbear’s bones break – before he hit his head on something hard.

His stomach threatened to expel its contents. But there were none. He lost consciousness. In a way, he was glad. He wasn’t putting up much of a fight anyway.

Maybe Gale was telling him to get out of the way. Yes, that was it. 

Chapter Text

Karlach ripped out the arrow from her knee, cursing in Infernal.

That was that. Done and done.

The tieflings were saved.

As soon as the haze of battle lifted, she did her mental checklist.

Was she dead? No. Awesome!

Were her companions dead or injured?

Gale, ever the diplomat, was negotiating with the ogres. He was untouched. Even his robes were clean. That was news. Usually enemies went for the wizard as soon as combat started. She often had to cover him. And she was glad to.

Wyll was already pressing a piece of cloth to his shoulder. The Blade of Frontiers was used to scrapes and bruises, of course. They exchanged chummy smiles.

Then doubt surged through Karlach as she figured who was missing.

‘Where’s Astarion?’

She scanned the ground for that striking cloudy head amid goblin corpses. Fuck. Fuck no. Not like this.

Her stomach had felt impossibly tight as she’d watched Astarion stroll into the goblin camp. She trusted him a little more now. Might as well admit it. But she did hate… what? Seeing him march alone into a nest of enemies? He was… fragile, in a way. Impossible to break, in another.

‘There!’ Wyll shouted, interrupting her thoughts.

Karlach saw Astarion’s lifeless body. A flash of panic surged through her, her protective instincts igniting at once.

The elf lay next to a heap of stone slabs, eyes closed. A dagger had slipped from his limp hand. How was it possible that he looked so beautiful even while unconscious on a battleground? A curl of silvery hair fell over his eyebrow, and the splattered blood flattered his sharp nose. How? How did he do this?!

But he was quiet. Too quiet. It was very, very strange seeing him like this… He looked… innocent, even.

They hadn’t brought Shaddy with them, but Karlach was used to tending to others both in battle and at camp. Bruises, gashes, curses… She’d seen the lot back in Hell. And now that they had these little fuckers crawling around in their brains, she could say she’d seen it all.

But still, she felt unsure as she knelt down. She thought of moving Astarion’s head to her lap. It felt undignified to leave it in the dirt. But that was not the priority here, was it?

‘Is he quite alive?’ Gale asked, coming over.

‘About as alive as he can be. I must confess I never checked a vampire’s pulse when hunting them across the frontiers.’ Wyll said.

‘I can't see any injuries. Or wounds. He probably just fell and hit his head.’ Karlach said. 

‘We’ll have to carry him back to camp so Shadowheart can take a look at him, I suppose.’ Wyll said. ‘Want me to lend a hand? Or two arms?’

Karlach bit her lip. She’d pictured herself carrying Astarion in her arms. Bridal style. But of course she couldn’t. The sun hadn’t got him yet, so she wasn’t the one who was going to burn him into a crisp now.

She’d… fantasized about Astarion before. After Waukeen’s Rest, after they’d put out the flames. She’d seen Shadowheart wiping away the soot on his pale cheek, and had burned blue with jealousy. It was stupid, of course. Shadowheart was their cleric nurse and was only doing her cleric nurse duty.

Sometimes, Karlach found herself staring at the two puncture scars on his neck. She didn’t know why… Some strange, dark fascination, probably. She wondered how much it’d hurt.

But if he noticed that, he never did say.

Still.

It made sense for someone else to carry him.

And so their sorry lot dragged themselves back to camp.

Gale led the way, Weave ready at his fingertips to respond to any ambushes. Then the Blade of Frontiers did his best to carry Astarion, the perfect fallen angel, head falling back and arm dangling. 

Karlach brought up the rear in a foul mood. She didn’t think she’d ever cursed her engine so much in her entire life.

Chapter Text

Astarion’s eyelids fluttered. There was a golden light somewhere. He heard the canvas of a tent flapping in the breeze.

A damp cloth was pressed to his forehead. It smelled of chamomile. Oh, it was a delicious sensation. He could not remember ever experiencing something like this. Some strange sound escaped his throat, almost like a breathy purr.

‘Are you awake, soldier?’

‘Lady of sorrows guide us. How can a person who’s asleep ever answer that?’

Astarion opened his eyes. A throbbing ache was beginning to bloom on the side of his head. They were at camp and he was lying on a bedroll spread over a big block of stone.

He saw Karlach’s eyes glowing like gems. Like tiger’s eye. Beautiful ochre gems though not expensive. She was sitting on a stool in a corner of the sick birth. Shadowheart was putting away her medicine kit and incense.

‘The goblins…’ Astarion started.

‘Dead. Every single one of them. We did it, soldier.’ Karlach said excitedly. ‘We saved the tieflings!’

Astarion and Shadowheart exchanged glances. They didn’t know each other that well yet, but not giving a damn about the refugees was something they obviously had in common.

‘Yes… Wonderful.’ He managed to cough.

‘Wonderful.’ Shadowheart echoed half-heartedly.

‘I’m… glad you’re on the mend now.’ Karlach said, standing up. ‘Hang in there. I’m going to tidy up my tent a little before the tieflings come.’

Astarion looked at Shadowheart interrogatively after Karlach left.

‘Zevlor and the tieflings are coming to our camp for a celebration tonight.’ Shadowheart explained as she put a jug of oil away. ‘I can’t say a party is unwelcome. Instead of another night of blood and gore, that is. It’ll be a nice change. I suppose.’

Astarion gazed at Shadowheart’s braid swinging behind her back. She was petite but one of their strongest.

He’d been useless in that last fight. Perhaps it was time to make himself useful before they threw him out. Perhaps... the little cleric of Shar enjoyed playing nurse.

‘Shadowheart… I must say, it’s rather touching to wake up to such dedicated care.’ He let his voice dip into something soft and inviting. A flicker of vulnerability, just enough to bait the hook.

But Shadowheart was unimpressed. ‘Are you trying to be pathetic?’

Well, well. That was not the reaction he expected.

So, who to target? Who would keep him around and Cazador at bay? Best not to be alone when the sun set and vampires walked free. Best to be an asset. 

A nice, simple plan began to form in his mind.

Chapter Text

The night sky was the best. There were no stars in the Hells. Only an endless red sky. Nothing could beat starlight in summer, really.

Karlach knew exactly how the tieflings felt. 

Happy to be alive. Full of hope. They too, like her, got a second chance at life. That had to mean something in the grand scheme of things, right? That there was some good in this world.

Well, Karlach thought, she did have the parasite. Otherwise she'd go straight to Baldur's Gate with them. Protect them along the way. If only she could. 

Anyway, tonight nothing mattered as long as she had a pint of frosty beer to knock against a friend's. Yes, there were parties in the Hells. But not the connection. Not to another living being, with a heart and a soul. And no stars to dance under, to sing and drink and laugh. Karlach did all of those.

Alfira strummed her lute, a little sloppier now, her voice rich with wine and warmth. The night was buzzing, alive with laughter and the smell of roasted meat, pine smoke, and something magical in the breeze.

When Alfira grew tired, Gale conjured a couple of Mage hands to play the bongos. But they were tone deaf and began playing catch with the bongos instead. Everyone watched and laughed.

Oh yes. She would forever remember this night and treasure it in her heart. It was almost perfect. Almost. The oak leaves rustling in the warm breeze. The fireflies. The fire. Astarion in the firelight.

He stood just outside the ring of revelry, a wine goblet dangling from elegant fingers. His eyes weren’t on the fire, or the dancers, or the stars.

They were on her.

And when their eyes met, he dipped his head just slightly. Subtle. Intimate.

Come here.

Karlach’s tell-tale engine thudded and her cheeks flushed. Thankfully her red complexion covered it up well. She hoped.

‘This is the life, huh?’ She said to him as she came over. She stood a few steps away, suddenly unsure of what to do with her hands. Or her face. Or anything.

She was never like this. Never shy, never flustered. But this wasn’t a fight. It was worse. It was hope. And that was so much scarier.

‘You certainly look like you’re enjoying yourself, darling.’ Astarion said with a smile playing on his lips. Red eyes catching the firelight, shirt undone just enough to tease, curls tousled in the breeze like he hadn’t even tried. And gods, he probably hadn’t. Her heart kicked up another gear.

‘Well, hard not to when you’re here with me.’ She said.

His brow lifted ever so slightly. ‘Is that so?’

She instantly wanted to slap herself in the face. Smooth, Karlach.

But he looked a little curious, a little pleased.

‘You… looked like you were waiting for something. Or someone.’ He said quietly, tilting his head.

You , she wanted to say, but didn’t. Instead, she shrugged, doing her best to keep her voice casual even as her insides did cartwheels. ‘Just soaking it all in. It’s… it’s a good night. One of the good ones. Y’know?’

‘I do,’ Astarion said, and then lowered his voice even more so that Karlach had to lean in to hear him, ‘But it’s a bit too noisy for my taste. Why don’t we go somewhere quiet? Just you and me. There's a trail back there, past the tents. Private. Intimate. I thought you might enjoy a little… moonlight walk.’

Her breath caught.

Is this real? Is this happening? Me? She could hardly believe her luck. A year ago she was in the Hells, literally. Now she was being invited on a romantic forest stroll by the most impossible, infuriating, perfect man she'd ever laid eyes on.

She was giddy and terrified all at once. She tried not to show it. Tried not to look like a girl who’d been hoping for this exact thing, only every damn night.

‘Alright. See you there.’ She said.

Chapter Text

Astarion had no idea what he was doing.

The forest was all moonlight and shadows, quiet save for the crickets. The tiefling’s laughter and drunken cheers were still audible to his elven ears. Pleasant enough.

He leaned against a tree as though in a painting. Chin tilted and arms folded, the picture of control. Like this was part of some grand plan.

It wasn’t.

Karlach's jaw was set in that way it did when she was trying not to smile too soon. Her eyes were always so bright.

Broad shoulders and powerful arms that could lift him off the ground and carry him to safety.

Somehow, she was wonderful.

Infuriating.

Astarion took a step closer and felt it instantly. The heat rolling off her. The fated infernal machine in her chest was a fire he couldn’t walk through.

What would he do now? A hand on her waist. A kiss to her neck. Teeth at her throat. Seduction was his blade, his armour, his craft. And she made it all useless.

Suddenly, the frustration coiled up in him like a snake.

‘You’re quite the forbidden fruit… Aren’t you? It's like trying to seduce a campfire. Do you have any idea how frustrating you are, Karlach? I could make you feel things you didn’t think possible. If only…’

He let the sentence trail off. Let her fill in the rest.

Karlach blinked. ‘I mean. Sorry? Maybe try not to be such a jackass about it.’

Astarion exhaled harshly. ‘Yes. Yes, that was harsh. I’m sorry. Karlach.’

He quite liked saying her name.

It wasn’t her. It wasn’t her fault. But it didn’t matter. Astarion needed her. Wanted to use her. Wanted to win her the way he’d won others.

A hand on his chin, guiding him. A tongue trailing his... He swallowed and tried to ignore the images of the past that flashed through his mind.

Karlach’s gem-like eyes were steady on him. Gods, you know you're in trouble when a Barbarian is not angry at you, just disappointed. 

It made something inside him squirm.

‘It’s just… Not being able to touch you, having to slow down. It’s all very new to me.’

The words felt absurd in his mouth. His voice came out too honest. He hated how raw it sounded, even though he tried to keep low.

‘I don’t know what to do.’

Karlach raised her eyebrows.

There was a pause. 

‘I don’t know what else there is. ’ He went on, in spite of the fear. He felt terrified, really. ‘Could you… show me what to do?’

There. Truth, laid bare. Ugly. Small.

Like a scaredy virgin on a wedding night, asking to be shown what to do. He looked away in shame, feeling the same anticipation of Cazador’s punishments. His master’s cold laughter when he put Astarion on display, to humiliate him. Making him confess things. Asking him the most horrible and intimate questions and laughing at him when he answered them, after hours of torture.

He looked down in sadness. 

But Karlach didn’t laugh. Didn’t mock him. Or even walk away.

‘This is all new to me too.’ She said. ‘But there are other ways to connect with a person.’

Astarion sighed theatrically. He truly was getting tired. His head still hurt. 

‘Oh yes? Like what?’

‘We could talk, then fall asleep. Close but not too close.’

Astarion blinked. That was… certainly not the angle he’d been aiming for.

Just… talking? And sleeping? Beside someone without expectations?

It should’ve felt like rejection. He should've laughed. 

Instead, he felt something inside him unravel, soft and strange. A quiet warmth crept into his chest. Not the heat of lust or hunger, but something… gentle. He couldn’t quite name it.

Oh.

It was relief. Like exhaling a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

It made no sense.

And yet—

He realized, quite suddenly, that he didn’t want to touch her. Not really. Not in the way he thought he was supposed to. The idea of being close, yes. Of her presence, her voice, her laugh. But not skin. Not mouths or hands. 

Not... that.

He looked at her again. Gods help him, he almost smiled.

‘That sounds... surprisingly tolerable.’

Karlach grinned. ‘High praise, coming from you.’

He gave a soft huff, sitting down beside her. Carefully spaced, just outside the reach of her heat.

‘Alright, Karlach. Let’s try it your way then.’

They didn’t speak for a while. Just sat. Quiet. Close. Listening to the crickets and the owls for the first time Astarion could remember.

And though he didn’t yet have the words for it, not the right ones at least, somewhere deep in the back of his mind, a truth stirred.

Maybe he just needed something different.

The full moon hung high above them, casting pale light across the vermilion of her skin and glinting on the silver rivets laced through her clothes. Her hair tumbled in untamed curls over one shoulder, framing the strong curve of her neck. She turned her head toward him, eyes steady in a way that disarmed him. For all her fire and fury, in that moment she was nothing short of a lady.

‘So… elves,’ She said. ‘You lot always seem so mysterious. Got any stories? Gods? Corellon’s, like, the big one, right?’

Astarion hummed, eyes fixed on the stars above them. ‘Yes, well. The father-mother of the elves.’

Karlach shifted beside him, propping herself up on one elbow. She was watching him, waiting.

The grass whispered beneath Astarion as he laid back. His gaze traced the constellations above, as if trying to read something between the stars.

‘So, are elves really immortal?’ She asked.

‘Immortal? Well, we don’t just die. Not the way you do. The faithful believe our souls return to Arvandor. And then, after a time… we come back.’

‘Wait, like… reincarnation?’

‘Not quite. There really isn’t a word in Common for it. It’s a new life, yes. But echoes remain. Dreams. Instincts. Sometimes skills. Sometimes grief.’

‘Do you know what this elf heaven is like?’

‘Arvandor? If I was ever there to begin with, I certainly don’t remember. Elven children do, though. Then they stop remembering.’

‘Really?! How come?’

Astarion waved a hand dismissively. ‘It’s complicated. You wouldn’t understand.’

'It's nice, though.'

'What?' 

She shrugged, gazing at the stars. 'I don't know. Knowing you get a second chance. Knowing you'll live again. I mean, you get to live over and over again, trying everything for the first time. Your first taste of honey. Your first kiss.'

Astarion dug his fingers into the grass. Another thing Cazador took from him. He was undead, stuck here, forever unable to walk the way of the elves. But he said nothing about it. 

‘Astarion?’

‘Yes.' 

‘Have you ever been in love?’

‘Love?’ He huffed, then chuckled. ‘I don’t remember love.’

The breeze picked up. There were white moths in the moon beams. He felt calmer now. 

‘Well, what about you? Did you have a beau before the Hells? Before all this?’

‘A couple of ‘em. My first boyfriend was a bard, believe it or not.’

‘Really?’

She laughed. ‘The worst kind, too. He thought he was the second coming of Deneir himself.’

Astarion snorted, intrigued despite himself. ‘Of course he was.’

‘Oh, it gets better,’ Karlach said, eyes gleaming. ‘He tried to serenade me outside my window at, like, three in the morning. Only problem was, he got the wrong window.’

Astarion blinked. ‘…No.’

‘Yes! Woke up poor old Mrs. Crandle, the tailor’s wife. She screamed so loud, he fell off the barrel he was standing on and broke his lute in half! And the kicker? He still went on playing that broken lute. Said it gave him a ‘more honest sound.’

Astarion actually let out a laugh.

‘That is appalling.’

‘Right?’ Karlach wiped at a tear. ‘He was sweet though.’

Astarion studied her for a moment, his smile fading into something softer.

For the first time in centuries, he didn’t feel the need to leave his body behind.

Strange.

Chapter Text

The stars faded one by one, and the world, as if remembering itself, began again.

Astarion stood facing the east, toward the light.

The first rays of dawn spilled across the hills. They were a golden unveiling. The trees stretched their shadows into the forest behind him, unwilling to let go of the night.

The hush was profound. Even the birds and the river held their breath.

It came like a gentle breeze. He felt it on his face, his throat, his chest. It was like a sweet kiss, warm and unfamiliar to him.

He felt no triumph. No dread. The moment was too large for such things. The sun was not rising for him. It rose because that is what the sun does. And somehow, that made it more real. More generous.

The first true ray touched the edge of the forest and spilled, slow and wide, across the clearing.

He didn’t know how long he stood there. Morning did not happen to him. It was something he passed through. Or perhaps it passed through him.

The years lost in the night. He forgot about them as he made his soul naked to the sun. It rose, and it did not damn him.

Chapter Text

Karlach was thankful Tieflings had darkvision.

Well. Not that it would save her from sudden death in the Underdark.

The party's footsteps echoed as they navigated a corridor. The air was thick with ancient decay.

'Keep your wits about you,' Shadowheart says, her hand resting on the hilt of her battleaxe. 'We're in for a rough ride.'

The tunnel narrowed ahead and the walls seemed to close in around them until a gate came into view.

It stood imposingly, its iron bars bearing the scars of countless failed attempts to breach its defenses.

Suddenly, Astarion held up his arm, motioning for the group to stop. His arm directly brushed Karlach’s chest, and she thought she felt a hint of protection in that gesture.

'Traps. Someone doesn't like visitors.'

'Any chance you can disarm it?' Gale asked.

Astarion flashed a confident grin. 'Too easy.' Then, he threw a fearful glance towards the end of the tunnel, so quickly Karlach must have been the only one to have seen it. 'Cover me.'

He kneeled beside the gate, taking out his tool kit.

Gale, Karlach and Shadowheart stood watch, grasping their weapons tightly. Karlach could see Shadowheart's knuckles had gone white. 

'Ah, the Underdark,' Gale murmured beside her, his voice tinged with a mix of fascination and caution. 'A place of ancient mysteries and unfathomable darkness. The forces that dwell here are as old as the Weave itself.'

'Will those, er, forces harm us?' She asked. 

'No, I don't think so. But their very presence can corrupt the air itself, filling it with malevolent energy.'

Shadowheart snorted and shook her head, but made no comment.

Karlach glanced back at Astarion.

She watched as he disarmed the traps in the gate, each subtle movement guided by keen intuition... His eyes were closed, his eyebrows furrowed, as if he could hear a secret song.

Despite the darkness that surrounded Karlach, she lost herself in him as he fought against the intricate mechanism. The spidersilk armour that had been Minthara’s looked smoking on him. It clung to Astarion like it had been made for him, each curve of supple leather making for a snug fit at his waist. The silver and gold spider-spun leather on the shoulder pieces shimmered when he rolled his shoulders, just enough to catch the eye and hold it.

All that with a high collar framing his pale throat and his favourite tight leather gloves on, he looked like an elven prince adventuring in the Underdark.

Of course, the thoughts running through Karlach’s head weren’t exactly poetry. Honestly, she wanted to slam him into the nearest wall. She liked him in that armor. Or out of it. She imagined getting rid of every piece of it, undoing every buckle and every clasp until it was just Astarion. Astarion leaning into her touch, betraying the pleasure he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, deny.

'That's taking a while.' Shadowheart complained, breaking Karlach’s daydream into a million pieces.

'Astarion... Shall I cast Knock instead?' Gale asked.

'No...' He growled under his breath.

Karlach sighed. Her feet hurt. Was it time for a new pair of boots? She was also getting hungry.

'Gods dammit!' Astarion threw a broken lockpick at the floor. It clinked against the stone slabs. ‘That was my last one!’

‘Did you hear that?’ Shadowheart said.

‘What?’

The tunnel fell silent for a moment. Then a faint, high-pitched chittering echoed off the walls, almost too quick to catch at first. Karlach’s hand went instinctively to her greataxe.

From the shadows above and around them, tiny, glinting eyes appeared.

‘Imps.’ Karlach said at once.

The creatures dropped from the ceiling and darted from the walls with unnatural speed. Their wings buzzed like angry wasps as they swooped down, claws outstretched and fanged grins splitting their tiny faces.

The ambush was perfect: relentless, chaotic, and mercilessly fast.

Gale lifted his arms, raising a wave of hot air that buzzed and crackled.

‘Detono!’ He shouted, and the mighty sound of thunder echoed in the tunnel, deafening, as Thunderwave pushed back dozens of imps.

But more were coming. 

Karlach growled, planting her feet and swinging her weapon in a wide arc, taking down some more.

Shadowheart’s divine energy cut through another swarm. Several creatures squealed horribly before disintegrating into a cloud of ash. And then another one lunged from the shadows behind her, but a quick spin of her mace sent it flying into the stone wall.

‘Good one, Shaddy! I think we got them all.’

Then Karlach saw a dagger fly in the air towards her.

Right towards her face. She opened her mouth to scream, but it flew right by her horn. She heard it hiss next to her ear. Then, she heard it sinking into flesh with a sickening crunch.

She turned. The dagger had stricken down an imp right before it bit off a piece of her shoulder. It lay dead behind her. 

Astarion stood several meters away, arm still in the air.

A breath left Karlach’s lips.

That was hot.

The party went back to camp, none the wiser.

Wyll unfurled some maps on top of a crate, discussing possible routes with Lae’zel. She pointed out hideouts and viewpoints, placing small wooden figures here and there on the map. She scolded him for not taking the Mountain Pass and Wyll scratched his head, trying to keep up with her githyanki strategy.

Karlach stretched her arms.

‘Man, I’m wrecked.’

‘That’s probably because you stayed up so late talking to Astarion.’ Shadowheart teased in a singsong voice before pulling her chainmail over her head. It fell heavily at her feet and lifted a cloud of dust. That thing was heavy, alright.

‘What, er, do you mean?’

‘Well, you and Astarion have been looking very cozy.’ Shadowheart gave her a little smile.

Play it cool, Karlach.

‘I’m… not sure “cozy” can go in the same sentence as Astarion.’ Karlach said with an overexaggerated shrug. ‘I mean, I’d ride him to the Feywild and back, but I’m not sure I want to let my guard down around him.’

‘Why does he keep a mirror, anyway? Does he look in it everyday to see if he’s still a vampire?’

‘You know what, I think he does.’

Shadowheart rolled her eyes and walked away to her tent.

Gale was chopping carrots by the cookpot. A Mage Hand stirred the cauldron as it magically hovered over a purple fire.

Karlach went to find Astarion.

In the oppressive darkness of the Underdark, where light was rare and precious, she was thankful for the giant mushrooms. She was in awe of the towering pillars of fungal growth stretching high overhead, their surfaces pulsating with an eerie glow. Blue, yellow, orange…

They hadn’t really talked after that night in the forest. Right after the party, they’d made for the Underdark and had spent the day exploring, setting up camp, and collecting new supplies.

She did feel a little disappointed. Any words they’d exchanged had been normal ones. Like nothing special had happened between them.

Well, had anything special happened between them? She could feel a pleasurable tension. But that was it. Would Astarion have felt less hard to reach if they had indeed rolled in the hay together? How long would he stick around for? Until they found more infernal iron? Or would he go sink his teeth in someone else’s neck?

‘Hello, my sweet.’ Astarion said happily when he saw Karlach approach his tent.

Unexpected! Karlach instantly melted.

Under the bioluminescent toadstools, light struck Astarion’s irises like red glass lit pink from within.

‘You look good in this lighting.’ She said.

He let out a kind of charming giggle, visibly pleased by the compliment.

‘And you look… well, positively radiant as always, darling.’

Karlach snorted. ‘Careful, or I’ll believe you mean it.’

‘Oh, but I do,’ he replied smoothly, lowering his voice as though the Underdark itself might be eavesdropping. ‘Not everyone can pull off “towering warrior who could cleave me in half but still blushes when complimented.”’

Karlach crossed her arms, trying not to beam. He was teasing, of course, but there was something genuine under the silk of his words.

‘You’re awful chipper tonight.'

Astarion spread his hands, graceful as always. ‘Why wouldn’t I be? We’ve survived another day without being skewered, petrified, or devoured. You’d be amazed how low I set the bar for joy these days.’

‘Mm-hm,’ Karlach murmured, taking a step closer into the pink glow of the mushrooms. ‘That all, then? Just happy to be alive?’

‘Alive. Free. And… in excellent company.’

'You know… I thought maybe things’d feel different after that night in the forest. But here we are. Just talking like nothing happened at all.’

Astarion’s smile twitched. Still charming, but sharper at the edges. ‘Ah. Yes. The little matter of us… not tumbling about in the leaves, as it were.’

Karlach frowned. ‘That doesn’t bother you?’

‘Bother me?’ He laughed softly, but it didn’t ring quite true. ‘Oh, I wanted to. Believe me, I did. But darling, I am centuries old. I’ve held more lovers than I can count, an endless parade of bed partners...’

Karlach folded her arms across her chest, heat prickling under her skin that had nothing to do with the engine. 

‘I’ve had more than anyone needs in ten lifetimes.' He went on. 'So don't worry that pretty little horned head of yours, because there is nothing I’m at risk of missing out on.’

‘Hells, Astarion, way to make a girl feel special.’

He looked puzzled, a confused smile frozen on his face. Then he waved his hands, trying to backpedal out of what he’d said.

‘Darling! That’s not what I meant at all... You're just as special, I mean, even more special...'

But Karlach wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it. She hated the sudden sting behind her eyes. Stupid. Why should she care if she wasn’t the only one he’d ever wanted? Of course she wasn’t. Of course she couldn’t be. She was half a furnace strapped into armour, and he… he was all pepper and leather, and sugar and silk, and centuries of experience.

People had a past. They had lives to live unlike her. 

And still. She wanted to be wanted like no one else before. By him. 

His eyes flickered in the fungal glow, sad and terrified like an abandoned cat’s.

Her anger melted into something heavier, sadder.

Worry.

She blew out a breath. ‘Y’know what? Forget it. I’m just being stupid.’

‘You’re not,’ he said too quickly.

Karlach froze. That wasn’t the usual Astarion answer. 

She studied him in the glow of the mushrooms. For all his polished airs, there was a tension in his shoulders, the way he kept his body angled just so, like he was holding a door shut inside himself.

‘What?’ He insisted.

‘I… see you.’

He blinked. ‘And what do you see, exactly?’

Karlach opened her mouth, the words hovering on her tongue. I kind of love you. Her chest tightened with the weight of them, and for a moment, she almost let them fall.

But the moment felt too fragile, too dangerous. She shook her head.

‘I… should check on the others.’

She hesitated for a heartbeat, but then forced herself to walk away.

He said nothing as he watched her go.

Chapter Text

The tavern was falling apart under the shadows. It looked like a dreary place under the blue tint of the curse.

They walked into it as nonchalantly as possible. Just as though they were patrons. The erratic blabber of the zombies made Astarion's skin crawl. He kept his dagger close. They didn't look set to attack, but then again... why wouldn't they?

And then he saw Karlach hoist herself up onto a stool with all the ease of a regular.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. Even more so when the... what to call it? The bulging aberration of Thisobald Thorm slapped a purple hand on the counter. 

'Drink, gulp it down, wet your whistle! Tell your story!'

The creature’s guttural voice dragged through the air, heavy, laden... It reminded Astarion of the brutes forcing themselves on him at Fraygo's Flophouse. The smell of alcohol on their breaths, the wandering hands. He scowled in disgust. He hated drunks.

'Was this once a man?' Gale murmured. 'The shadows have corrupted him beyond comprehension.'

Astarion crossed his arms and watched, intrigued.

Karlach picked up the tankard. It looked like a thimble next to the one Thisobald took up to his hood, his face unseen and unmentionable.

She held it up...

'You and I both.' The creature said. 'To our good health!'

'Cheers mate!' Karlach said, and drank the thick blue liquid. Her face contorted as though she'd drunk curdled milk, but she held fast.

Astarion, Gale, and Wyll exchanged looks of admiration.

‘Well, we’re lucky to be travelling with a Barbarian, are we not?’ Wyll said. ‘Sometimes I think they can down anything.’

'Ahhhh! Eeelixir!' Thisobald went on, smacking his lips under the disgusting hood. 'But such a small sip you take... Fear not. You will soon quaff as I do!'

‘Don’t mind if I do, pal!’

That absurdly delightful episode went on. Karlach told stories of mind flyers and goblins, exaggerating certain bits... Then taking up the tankard and drinking again. And again.

She was amazing, bravely wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

But uneasiness had settled over Astarion. He was getting worried about the effects of the drink on her, and on the monster itself. The more he drank, the more his voice took an unsettling edge.

'Father told me.... I can't perish... No... Nay... Neither... Too strong...!!'

Karlach jumped off her seat as Thisobald Thorm exploded, a spectacle of decayed flesh splattered on the floor. Astarion repressed the nausea. Gale covered his nose with his hand.

'Mystra's mantle!'

'That was amazing, Karlach!' Wyll clapped.

'As always, you take on more than expected. No easy feat.' Gale complimented her, smiling.

‘Nothing I haven’t seen before in the Lower City!' Karlach joked, looking proud but a tad unsteady. 'I beat a few dwarves from the docks at their drinking game once in a while... on Fridays... after punching the clock.’ Her hand took to her stomach.

'Are you going to be sick?' Astarion asked her.

‘Naaaaah’ but then Karlack covered her mouth. ‘Ugh, on second thoughts…’

Astarion watched as she stumbled through a door that led outside. The vomiting sounds she made sounded almost thankful.

He stood there. Waiting? He didn’t know. He should perhaps hold her hair. But suddenly he was… He felt…

When the noises subsided, he followed. The dark grass crackled under his slow steps.

Karlach leaned against the wall of the brewery, wiping her forehead. He had to suppress a giggle. The whole thing was still rather funny.

'All done?'

'Sorry for that.'

'What for?! You were incredible!'

Karlach stood there, smiling fondly at him. A comfortable silence fell over them. As Astarion gazed upon her face, his heart gave a little flutter. She was precious. More precious than any treasure he could steal. He felt like— He wanted to say—

‘Thank you, Astarion.’ She said, and reached out with her hand.

She was just about to clap him on the shoulder when they both suddenly hesitated.

Karlach’s hand faltered before she drew it back. She’d almost touched him.

Astarion shifted a step away, his body tensing. He’d almost been touched.

There was a beat of silence.

‘Say, Astarion?’

‘What.’

‘For a guy who flirts like his life depends on it, you sure don’t like being touched, do you?’

Astarion gave a careless little shrug, the kind that was meant to look effortless. But the way she looked at him made the gesture feel brittle. 

‘Not if burn scars derive from it, dear.’

Her gaze lingered, searching. Too gentle. Too knowing. Astarion tried not to squirm. She had no right to look at him like that.

‘See, I know a thing or two about avoiding touch. You’re not on fire like me. But it’s almost like you wish you were.’

Gods, of course she’d noticed. She was sharper than he gave her credit for, and that was dangerous.

He could tell her about the forced, hollow parody of sex. That his body had never been his own, that he had been made to submit, to seduce, to smile. That he had learned long ago to turn revulsion into performance, disgust into obedience.

Was that disgust truly his, or just another chain Cazador had hammered into him? Not knowing was its own torment.

Astarion smiled charmingly, leaning in with a cute tilt of his head.

‘Karlach. You ask the most dangerous questions. I could almost mistake it for genuine concern.’

Her mouth parted to speak, but he cut her off with a soft laugh. ‘Not that I mind. Your voice is rather nice to hear, you know.’

Flirtation was safe. But as the words left his lips, the faint tremor of truth was obvious in them.

He actually meant them?! Oh nooo, no, no.

Karlach laughed, the tension easing from her shoulders. ‘Hells, Astarion. You really are impossible.’

‘I know, I'm a real delight.’

She let the conversation drop.

‘Come on. Let’s head back.’

‘Let’s try the cemetery. We might come across infernal iron there’ Astarion said, glad to add fuel to distraction.

‘I feel we should have brought Shadowheart.’ Gale said, stroking his beard. ‘I’m not sure I know enough Radiant spells should we be rushed upon by the Undead.’

‘She has to rest for tomorrow.’ Wyll said ‘Remember she’s going to use Disguise Self to infiltrate Moonrise Towers. But we still might need you. Who knows what dark magic they might be performing in that place. I just hope my father…’

Wyll didn’t finish the sentence. He stared ahead grimly, his infernal eye hollow and angry.

‘So. Any infernal iron here, I wonder? I think I smell… something.’

They looked around the cemetery. Everywhere was that endless green fog that enveloped the Shadowlands like a spectral shroud.

Gnarled trees, their branches twisted and bare, loomed over countless graves. Their silhouettes resembled skeletal hands reaching out of the earth.

‘Sulphur. I'd recognize the smell anywhere’ Karlach said. ‘Ugh.’

Astarion paused. Could that mean…

Raphael leaned against a small mausoleum, inspecting his manicured hand.

‘The hero thought but of treasure ahead, did not consider the peace of the dead…’

‘What do you want?’ Wyll snarled.

‘To warn you of the danger ahead, of course. I’ve grown quite fond of you, in my own way.’ He said.

Astarion listened intently to their conversation about some beast from the Hells lurking in the temple of Shar behind them. Whatever.

Then Raphael turned to him. Everyone was surprised, uneasy.

‘But let’s talk about you. I sense you have a question for me.’

He never broke eye contact with Astarion. Smirking. Choleric. Knowing.

Astarion stared back defiantly.

‘My old… A long time ago, someone carved some runes into my back. I’d rather like to know what they say.’

'It is something of great importance to your master. But, is it a love letter? A warning? Or, a deed of ownership? I can give you all the gory details. And I will. Once the beast that lurks below is vanquished. And sent back to the Hells.'

'What are you talking about, Astarion?' Karlach asked, her voice impossibly strained with worry. 'What scars?'

'You haven't told them?' Raphael feigned surprise, almost smiling. He knew already. But was obviously delighted at the inevitable outcome of this farce. 'And you’ve kept your clothes on this whole time? How unlike you.’

Karlach frowned menacingly. Her engine thudded like a heartbeat of anger.

‘Why not let them see?’ Raphael smiled. ‘Don't be shy.'

A wave of the devil’s hand, and the cold kiss of the air on Astarion’s skin. His clothes were gone, even his weapons.

He was naked. The scars were there for everyone to see. His humiliation.

Everyone knew now that he was bound. That he'd been forced.

That he was vulnerable. Fragile. Less.

Everything he pretended not to be.

And he pretended still.

‘Astarion…' Wyll said. 'Please don’t keep anything like this from us again. We could have helped. You don’t have to go making deals with devils.’

‘Well, if you must know…’ Astarion started innocently, then his voice rose slowly to rude annoyance. ‘I’m actually a princess of House Nightstar. And I’m married to a tarrasque named Jonathan!’

Karlack sighed. Gale pinched his nose bridge. Wyll stood with his hands on his hips.

Astarion’s outbursts echoed in the empty cemetery.

‘Anything else you’d like to know?!!’

Chapter Text

‘How do I look?’

‘I hear Shadowheart.’ Wyll said smiling. ‘But I don’t see Shadowheart.’

Before them stood a female drow, muscled and clad in a very faded spidersilk armour they’d patched up. Astarion wouldn’t part with his, of course.

‘This kind of disguise served me well when I was an apprentice back in the Gate. That feels like a lifetime ago.’ Shadowheart said. Her wistful voice didn’t match her brute appearance at all. ‘Ahh.’

She rubbed her hand, where her wound glowed purple.

Karlach’s heart softened. She felt for Shadowheart, who seemed confused and lost under all that pressure from Shar. All she talked about was becoming a Dark Justiciar, but at what price?

Then there was Lae’zel, who’d been sitting around in camp in discouragement after everything she believed in had collapsed… much like the monastery in Mountain Pass. She didn’t even sharpen their weapons anymore. The great grindstone was silent every night now. Or what passed as night in this stupid land of shadows.

‘Great work, Shadowheart. You look just the part.’ Wyll said. ‘Now remember, I’ll do the talking.’

It made sense for Wyll to do the talking. He was the most charismatic. Karlach would just put her foot in her mouth, probably.

‘Karlach and Lae’zel?’

‘The bodyguards.’ Karlach said and saluted with a couple of fingers.

‘Make people think twice about asking questions.’ Lae’zel said menacingly.

‘Right. Perfect.’ Wyll said.

Every night, Wyll paced back and forth every night thinking about how to free his father, who had rejected him and sent him away from home. He was so young, but looked so much older now under all that responsibility, and under the weight of the cursed devil horns.

‘Gale, did you learn those spells we talked about?’

Gale was also in rough shape after Mystra had told him to kill himself. He was considering it. Considering ending his life and blowing himself up just for the forgiveness of a goddess. That drove Karlach insane most of all.

‘Manipulate and charm to start. A storm of fire if required.’ Gale said, his eyes brimming with emotion. He tried to smile, but couldn’t. ‘The orb if all is lost.’

Wyll nodded grimly.

‘And you Astarion…’

‘Yes, darling. You do the talking, and I’ll do the sneaking.’

Astarion. Karlach looked at him. He was so brave. Her heart ached for all her companions, her family as she now thought of them. But it ached especially for him. He’d just found out the ritual Cazador was preparing. He was terrified and the circles under his eyes were darker than ever, and yet here he was. By their side. By her side.

Were her engine a heart, it’d be beating for him.

Oh, how could she forget. There was also the matter of her burning to death, bound to die if they didn’t find some infernal iron as soon as possible.

But then, if they turned into mind flayers then all their problems would go away.

Was there ever anyone more fucked than them?

They all turned to look at the great dome of moonlight shining in the near distance. Last Light Inn.

Back at camp, Halsin rose a hand. He was surrounded by children, Arabella, Oliver… and their beloved animals, Scratch and the owlbear cub.

‘May Sylvanus protect you.’

They all stared at each other solemnly for a few moments, before turning and heading down the path to Moonrise Towers.

Moonrise Towers  seemed endless, a labyrinth designed as much to intimidate as to protect. 

The corridors were narrow and shadowed. Tapestries depicted impossible rituals and battles long past. Carved gargoyles glared down from above.

Karlach hated it. It reminded her a bit of Wyrm Rock, a twisted and cursed version of it. She didn’t like stupid Wyrm Rock much either. The towering bookshelves, the sharp glint of weapons. Every detail screamed command and control. 

As the party wandered about, Karlach’s eyes flicked to the shadows where the cult’s guards were watching. Even ten years later, she was still the best bodyguard in the Gate, after all.

There were many whispers of the Absolute’s presence. These cultists sure were a brainwashed lot. How could so many people believe this load of waffle about True Souls? Even most goblins had rejected their wacko god.

Wyll turned to them.

‘We should try the kitchens. Back in the Gate, that’s where the best gossip was.’

‘Let’s do it.’ Shadowheart said. She raised her voice. ‘Say, I’m hungry! What does a True Soul have to do to get some grub?’

‘That way, True Soul.’ A guard pointed at a door.

They entered a large room that served as a kind of antichamber for the kitchens. There were crates and supplies everywhere.

There was also a drow there, standing before a desk littered with dark, gleaming artifacts. The light from a dying fireplace glimmered on them, and on metallic red eyeliner around her evil eyes.

She introduced herself.

‘Araj Oblodra. Trader in blood and the sanguineous arts. It is a pleasure to stand before a True Soul. And your pale companion.’

Everybody looked at Astarion, who narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

‘I’d like to offer my services, if you’re willing?’

‘Why are you interested in him?’ Wyll asked.

‘Please, you think someone in my line of work wouldn’t recognize a vampire spawn when they see one?’

Lae’zel, Shadowheart, and Gale looked nervously around.

‘Oh don’t worry.’ Astarion said. ‘We’re all friends under the Absolute. I won’t bite.’

‘Oh I’d prefer if you did. I assume he belongs to you?’

Wyll cleared his throat. ‘Excuse me? He’s his own person.’

‘I’m sure he really believes that. How utterly adorable. Do you have a name, spawn?’

‘Astarion, but hold on…’

‘Now, Astarion, I’ve dreamt of being bitten by a vampire ever since I was a young girl.’

Astarion rested his weight back on his hip. ‘I’m sorry. You want to be bitten?’

‘To feel your life’s blood slipping away? To dance on the edge between life and death? Yes, I want it. I’ll even compensate you. A potion of legendary power that forever increases the strength of the one who consumes it. It’s not for sale, but it’s yours if you bite me.’

‘I will have to… decline.’

‘Excuse me? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity and you’re squandering it.’

‘I gave you my answer.’

Araj turned to Wyll ‘Can’t you talk some sense into your obstinate charge?’

Araj’s last words were still dripping with condescension when Karlach’s patience finally snapped. Her engine was pounding like a war drum.

She stepped forward and punched the drow’s jaw. Araj reeled back against the desk and her artifacts clattered to the floor.

‘He said no!’ Karlach roared, her voice reverberating like thunder.

Everyone froze. Lae’zel blinked. Shadowheart opened her mouth, but no words came. Gale blinked rapidly, as though trying to calculate how many diplomatic disasters could be set off in one instant. Even Wyll just stood there, jaw slack.

But no one looked more stunned than Astarion. His red eyes widened with disbelief. For once, he had nothing clever to say.

Karlach’s chest heaved, flames lapping at her hair. ‘“He said no!’ she bellowed into the silence again, her voice cracking against the stone walls.

‘Gods…’ Gale muttered under his breath, rubbing at his temples. ‘We’re all going to be executed.’

The stillness shattered.

Shouts erupted and guards poured in, along with curious onlookers. Crossbows were leveled and blades were raised.

Araj dabbed the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing red across her fingers.

‘I’m sick of it,’ Karlach spat, her voice echoing off the high stone walls. ‘Everywhere we go, someone’s treating him like he’s— like he’s some pretty little thing to own. He’s a person. Not your fantasy. And if you can’t see that, then maybe you deserve another punch.’

‘Hold!’ Wyll stepped forward, palms raised. ‘We’re all on the same side!’

‘Indeed,’ Gale added quickly. ‘Tempers flared, yes, but let us not dishonor these halls with further… unpleasantness.’

People started leaving, realizing there’d be no bloodshed. Some guards stayed behind to keep the order. Araj was screaming at Wyll, who was trying to offer some gold to compensate for the broken instruments.

‘Karlach…’ Shadowhear said. ‘We shouldn’t…’

‘Just leave me be. I need some air.’ Karlach said, turning to leave.

Astarion took one more glance at Araj, and followed.

‘Karlach, wait.’ He said softly. ‘That’s… charming. But let’s not pretend otherwise.’

‘What?’

She grabbed him by the arm, pulling him into a shadowed alcove. The heat from her skin made him flinch.

‘Why’d you say that?’ She demanded, voice low but burning.

He arched a brow. ‘Say what, darling? I say many things.’

‘Don’t play stupid. You know what.’

‘Karlach… you make it sound like… I, we could have used that potion. I was being too precious.’ He shook his head in a sudden mix of confusion and sadness.

‘It makes me so sad to hear you talk like that. That’s what he did to you. What he made you believe. But it’s not who you are.’

Astarion laughed. ‘You don’t understand. You—’ His voice faltered, and he swallowed hard. ‘You can’t even touch anyone, and still you talk like you know.’

Karlach’s fists clenched at her sides. ‘I know enough to see you’re more than his damn chains. I know enough to see you’re not a thing. You’re you. Astarion.’

For a long moment, there was silence. Neither of them moved. 

Astarion’s gaze drifted, just for a heartbeat, to her lips. And hers did the same.

Karlach’s engine stuttered. The air between them thickened and hummed with the ache of two people leaning closer in spirit even though not in body.

She didn’t dare to move, but gods, she wanted to. He didn’t move either, though his chest rose and fell as though every breath was a battle.

They hovered there, on the knife’s edge, as though a kiss could happen at any moment.

Then there were marching boots and shouted orders down the corridor.

Astarion cleared his throat. Without a word, he slipped a hand into his armour. When it came back out, something dark and heavy rested in his palm. Karlach couldn’t believe her eyes.

‘Infernal iron!’

He held it out to her, tilting his head in that familiar, sly angle. But his voice was quieter than usual, lacking even. ‘I thought you might have a use for this.’

She turned the piece over in her hands. Black metal veined faintly with a hellish glow.

Karlach clutched the infernal iron tighter and looked to Astarion, still standing just a few steps away. He didn’t speak, but she felt it. She saw it in those eyes. He knew.

He knew what the iron meant.

Her engine whirred, louder now, but not in anger or hunger. In hope. In relief. In the tiny, fragile possibility of something more.

“This… this changes everything.’ she breathed.

And she did not know then she couldn't be further from the truth.

Chapter Text

The oxen of Last Light Inn watched as the horned one who banged on shinny bits wiped the sweat from his brow. Everything smelled of iron and oil now, but they liked him. He was nice.

There were other horned ones there with him. They were nice too, but smelled strange. One had big horns and a strange eye. He was worried. The other one was red. She only had one horn. That was unfortunate, the oxen thought, feeling glad to have both horns on their heads.

Karlach looked down at her hands and flexed her fingers.

‘So did it… work?’ Wyll asked.

For the first time since she’d left the Hells, the infernal engine in Karlach's chest hummed silently.

‘Only one way to find out.’ Dammon said.

Tentatively, Karlach reached out, brushing her hand against his. She braced herself, waiting for the familiar recoil of pain.

‘I can’t believe it.’

Dammon barely had time before Karlach threw her arms around him in a crushing hug. He staggered, then chuckled in his own shy manner, patting her back. 

Then Karlach threw her arms around Wyll too. He returned the embrace warmly.

After so long, the simple press of another person against her was like breathing after nearly drowning. Or like a warm fire after escaping a snow storm. 

Even her tears of gratitude trickled down her face without evaporating. Oh, the sensation of them was amazing. It made her feel alive, so alive. Like a person again.

She turned to Dammon again, fighting to control her voice.

‘Thank you, Dammon. Thank you so much.’

The smith hesitated, glancing at the black runes tattooed across her body. His voice was careful, almost apologetic.

‘Karlach… I was telling you that this is only a stopgap. The infernal engine wasn’t made for this plane. If it’s to survive long-term, you’ll need more than I can give here. You’ll need to return to Avernus. For good. Or this thing is going to burn you up from the inside out. And sooner than you think.’

Wyll’s smile disappeared, his brow furrowed.

‘Oh no… Karlach.’

Karlach cut the air with her hand. No. Anything but that. Death, even. It would be a happy death, at least.

‘The minute I step foot back in Avernus, Zariel will force me back into service’ She said. ‘I’m not doing her biding again. I’d rather die.’

‘I get that, but don’t rule it out! The world just might be better with you in it. Even in Avernus.’ Damon shook his head. ‘I won’t stop trying to figure it out… but I think we should prepare ourselves for the inevitable.’

Karlach waved her arms. ‘Right? All this doom and gloom! I have something far more exciting on my mind rather than this tin box.’

She wanted to share this miracle. Her thoughts went to one person, out there beyond the moonlight dome of Last Light.

Everyone at camp got a hug. Even Lae’zel. 

As for Astarion, he kept his distance when he saw Karlach coming to him after spending a good while rubbing Scratch’s belly.

‘How do you feel?’ He asked slowly. 

Karlach took a deep breath, closing her eyes. 

‘Incredible! Like I’m really alive.’ She opened her eyes. ‘Like we can finally be real.’

‘Ah. About that.’ Astarion started. 

She steadied herself, her voice softening. She felt soft. All over.

‘I was thinking I could come visit you later. When everyone’s asleep.’ She said. 

But Astarion looked so nervous that Karlach raised her brow in concern. What could be the problem? Was he... going to break up with her? But everything was going so well. Wasn't it?

‘Are you alright?’ She asked, concerned. 

‘I… wanted to thank you.’

Karlach stared at him apprehensively, trying to understand. She felt a chill. It was coming, wasn't it?

But then he gazed upon her with… What was that? She'd often seen it in the faces of young couples strolling in Bloomridge Park back in the city, a kind of sweet adoration.

Even his eyes seemed less sharp and even less red. More like doe eyes. More like a dark pink.

‘For what?’

‘For what you said to that vile drow. I spent two hundred years using my body to lure pretty things back to my master. What I wanted, how I felt about what I was doing… It never mattered. You could have asked me to do the same, to throw myself at her.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘But you didn’t. And I’m grateful.’

Karlach was struck dumb with surprise. She'd almost forgotten about punching the drow. But could this really be the Astarion she knew? The sing-song-y teasing had vanished. His voice was so different now.

And gods, now that she took a good look at him, he was clearly terrified. Like a cornered cat half-expecting to be hit with a broom.

But of course she'd never ask him to do that. What was he going on about?

‘I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do.’ She said. And meant it. She knew what it was like to be forced to do things. 

‘It’s a novel concept, I admit. And, hum, a little intimidating.’ He said. He seemed to relax more. ‘It would have been so easy to just bite her. One moment of disgust to force myself through, and then I could have carried on just like before.’

What in the hells was he talking about? Karlach wasn’t very good at math, but something wasn’t adding up.

‘Just like before? But then… why did you do this to me? Did our time together mean nothing to you?’

‘Of course it did! That’s the problem. Or part of it.’

Karlach waited for him to speak.

‘Being close to someone, any kind of intimacy was something I performed.’ He said, clearly fighting to get the words out. ‘To lure people back. For him.’ He gestured to her. ‘Even though I know things between us are different, being with someone still feels… tainted. Still brings up those feelings of disgust and loathing.’

She shook her head. She thought his conquests had been his own. Not forced.

She could usually tell those who bragged the most were the ones getting the least action. There was always someone at the tavern boasting about their feats in the sack, when it was clearly all talk. But in Astarion’s case, well. With a face and a body like that? She believed his promiscuous jibes. 

‘Throwing your body at someone becomes second nature.’ He added bitterly.

It was all a lie then. As ironic and paradoxical as vanity in a vampire, who can’t even see his own reflection.

‘Astarion…’ She started.

‘And there’s another thing.’ He interrupted. ‘Because I know you can touch people now. But…’

He swallowed hard, glanced here and there before finally looking her square in the eye.

‘I don’t think I want you to think of me in terms of sex.’

He then allowed himself to look away, as if speaking to himself. ‘I don’t know if I want anyone to.’

‘So you don’t enjoy sex even on your own terms?’ She asked.

‘Enjoyment? I… I think I could enjoy it. But that hadn't even crossed my mind, regardless of what Cazador did to me.’ He let out the saddest of sighs. ‘You see, I can't escape my body. And the truths about it I know. It's just not me.’

Karlach stood there in silence. She could tell. He was sensual, yes. Very much. But not… sexual, so to speak.

It didn’t matter to her. As long as they had each other.

She couldn't stand seeing him like this. He looked so sad. They were supposed to be happy tonight.

‘I care about you, Astarion. Deeply.’ She said. She tried to show him all of the warmth and safety she could offer.

‘Really?’ His voice was small and expectant.

Karlach smiled and made her choice.

She stepped forward. Astarion blinked, bracing himself. She slid her arms around him, feeling the tentative press of his body against hers.

Just a hug. Nothing else. Nothing sexual. That’s all she wanted.

He froze at first. She could feel the tension, the caution that had been drilled into him over the centuries. But slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, he leaned in, returning the embrace. Then, finally, he pressed his forehead to her shoulder, letting himself be held.

This made Karlach feel like she was on top of the world.

After a moment he looked up at her.

‘You’re… You’re full of surprises. Aren’t you?’

‘Astarion, we can be together without sleeping together. I just want to be with you.’

He gave an embarrassed chuckle. 'Darling, I have no idea what I'm doing.'

She loved that shy smile. She loved this.

Was she in love with him before? Because now there was really no turning back.

‘I’m just going to ask you one thing, if that’s alright.’

‘What?’

‘Could I kiss you?’

‘Darling, you don’t have to ask.’ He smiled openly, the first smile she’d seen in a long time. Perhaps his first real smile. Then he tilted his head coyly. ‘But, hum. I’m glad you did.’

Karlach’s heart hammered as she leaned closer. She brushed her lips against his, soft at first. She hadn’t done this in so many years, she almost didn’t remember how to. But thankfully he did, and she followed his lead.

Astarion’s eyes fluttered closed.

The kiss deepened slowly, very slowly. It was so tender.

Karlach almost didn’t think of death. Death, if not at the hands of the mind flayers, then the engine. Or the sun.