Chapter Text
The Shadow-Cursed Lands were living up to their name. Between the twisted half-shattered landscape, the roaming wraiths, and the shambling undead horrors that Should Not Be, it was enough to make one wish for a good old-fashioned goblin camp. Just a handful of friends sneaking around a deconsecrated temple to sneak-attack some cultists and their overpowered figureheads. Ah, the simpler times.
For his own part, Astarion didn't particularly mind the dark, accustomed as he was to nocturnal living. What he DID object to was the cold, heavy feeling that bit into one's bones and innards and refused to let go. And after the recent (and very pleasant) surprise of being able to walk in sunlight again, a borderline death march through a region of unending night felt like a bit of a slap. Were it not for a pixie's blessing, it would have been a suicide mission.
None of them were really enjoying the trek. The broody little cleric and the archdruid had managed to rig a sort of makeshift protection from moonlanterns and sacred flamelets their first night in camp, but it had required constant monitoring and no one got enough rest. The gith had been twice as much of a snarling bitch as usual the next morning, the wizard and the warlock had tended the cookfire in frosty silence, and even Karlach's usually sunny demeanor had seemed brittle.
The only thing that had kept morale together was a certain tiefling's decision that it was never too early in the day for a stiff drink. The bottle of Arkhen's Hoard had done wonders for everyone's mood, as did the distribution of potions and elixirs that followed. Mordrynn had stayed up to keep Wyll company on watch and it seemed she'd put the time to good use.
The tiefling was turning out to be a surprisingly capable leader. When he'd first joined the party, back when it was just three ladies in the wilderness and one crafty vampire, all of them newly escaped from the nautiloid, he'd thought that Lae'zel would naturally take charge of the endeavour, through sheer force of...well, force, if not by force of will. The tiefling druid had seemed like a soft target, walking rather gormlessly into his trap as she had. He'd had her on the ground with a blade to her neck before her companions could do so much as blink, demanding answers, fully expecting her to quail, perhaps even beg for mercy. Instead, she'd turned eyes the color of balefire on him, holding his knife hand at bay with a modicum of effort, and simply said....
Well. If he was honest, he couldn't remember what she'd said. He'd been too busy staring at the shape of her mouth, the little spray of freckles across her nose, the soft pulse of life along the line of her neck. She was adorable. Pretty in that sweet, vulnerable way he usually associated with an easy target. Which meant he most likely had an in. There was safety in numbers after all, and he stood a better chance of surviving long enough to get that stupid worm out of his head if he made some friends. Or at least pretended to.
Somehow, he'd talked his way into tagging along. They'd continued on as a quartet, dodged some ravenous gnolls, pulled a wizard out of a rock, and investigated some old crypt that was as full of undead monks as it was of magical treasure. It had been...a day.
Which had, of course, left him utterly famished. He'd crept to the fireside once he was sure the rest of them were asleep. Just a nibble. A few mouthfuls. Nothing anyone would miss. He could be quick, silent and swift as bat-flight. No one would ever need to know.
And then he'd seen the low light gleaming on purple-grey horns and Mordrynn had rolled onto her back with a sigh, collar slipping to one side, throat exposed, and Astarion had found himself seized with wanting so potent it nearly drove him to his knees.
He couldn't.
A nearby boar had suffered the results of the sudden pang. It was better than rats, but still plonk, as far as he could tell. Sustenance, yes, but only just. Though given how savagely he'd fallen upon the animal and how quickly he'd drained it to dregs, perhaps it was for the best. If he'd given in to temptation, if he'd gone and buried his mouth in the tiefling's throat as the urge demanded, he wasn't sure he could have stopped himself in time. That had never mattered before, except in the context of the consequences it would bring down on his head. It bothered him that it mattered now.
It took a solid week of making do with wild game before the craving...and the curiosity...finally did him in. It had been raining that night, necessitating tent-bound accommodations for everyone except one plucky druid who insisted she could make do with a stone culvert and a lean-to. It was a sorry-looking state of affairs, so much so that the wizard had even offered to risk the safety of a few of his beloved books to make room for her. (Astarion could have clocked him for it, the noble bastard.) Thankfully for his own nefarious designs, Mordrynn had answered with a cheery wave from her ramshackle shelter before bunking down for the night.
Which meant that when he went a-prowling later, the weather covering any sound of approach, his prey was alone and fast asleep.
He almost hadn't done it, even as hungry as he was. The druid had been...kind to him. She hadn't held their meeting against him and never seemed to mind his sardonic remarks on their progress. (Then again, dealing with Lae'zel's constant snarling made his occasional sass seem positively endearing by comparison.) She'd been quick to tend to his wounds and share the bounty they found, even though he was little more than a stranger. Some high-minded platitude about everyone deserving proper care and decent equipment suited to their skills. Personally, he agreed, at least as far as the group's survival rate being higher if they weren't exhausted or injured or using second-rate weapons and armor.
Mordrynn, though, sounded awfully sincere about the whole matter. She didn't believe in letting anyone go hungry either, even if it meant getting her hands dirty digging through abandoned crates and burlap sacks for a reward no greater than a basket of vegetables and a bottle of cheap wine.
And Astarion was starving. That, he reasoned to himself at the time, was justification enough for taking a bite out of the tiefling.
He hadn't expected her to wake up.
It really said something about her lack of self-preservation instincts that she decided to have a conversation about the matter instead of immediately grabbing for the nearest object sharp enough to slip between his ribs. He'd thought fast, explained as little as he thought he could get away with, plying the sad wet kitten eyes as best he could. (It had worked better before they'd turned red, though he could no longer remember what the previous color had been.) The best case scenario he could foresee was getting out of her shelter with his hide intact and being able to remain with the group to better his chances of survival, which had been the whole point of this nonsense to begin with....
And then she'd gone and asked him if he was hungry.
"Famished," he'd said before he could think. He was almost positive his stomach had growled. A shake to regain his self-possession and he lowered his voice to a purr. "If you think you can trust me just a little further...I only need a taste. I swear."
Mordrynn had frowned a little and chewed consideringly on her lower lip, an expression he'd come to associate with decision-making in progress. "Well...maybe if you just took a little? Just enough to get by. Would it help?"
Astarion was ready to grovel on his knees and beg at that point. It took all his composure to crack that suave smile and assure her that yes, it would help immensely. And of course, he'd be a gentleman.
"Just enough to calm the craving, to take the edge off the hunger. And not a drop more, I promise." He leaned closer and put an arm around her, impressed despite himself when she didn't shrink away. "Here, lie back. No reason you shouldn't be comfortable."
It would have been easier if she hadn't looked so damned trusting, laid out on that little palette, smiling nervously up at him, one lavender hand lightly resting on his shoulder while cool ivory fingers brushed her hair behind her ear and softly tipped her chin up. He'd almost gone for her lips instead of her neck, remembering at the last moment that he didn't need to resort to such tactics. He wasn't here to whor* himself for his dark master. He was here on his own account, with a pretty girl to hand, all warm and willing, and he was SO hungry, and-....
And he still couldn't tell if he wanted to kiss her or bite her.
The craving had won out in the end. Her skin was soft under his lips, her blood like honeyed wine on his tongue. Bold on the palette but not too sweet, like dark berries and stone fruit, with a little hint of something floral and a decadent woody finish. He could have swallowed a case of her, enough to be drunk for a month, and it still wouldn't have been enough. The way she trembled underneath him, back arching, heart pounding, fingers tightening in his shirt until her nails almost pierced the fabric, did not help in the slightest.
"That's...That's enough...." Her voice was barely a whisper and still it shook. It was enough to make him wonder how she'd sound under other circ*mstances...and what his chances were of finding out. He did stop when bidden (he wasn't a complete asshole, after all), gently licking the wounds until the bleeding stopped, but he couldn't help lingering for a moment, just taking in the scent of her skin, listening to the steady thump-thump of her heartbeat.
"Mmm, thank you for that. You are positively delicious, darling," he purred against her neck, delighted to feel a shiver go through her. When he pulled back, her eyes were blown dark and her lips were plush as if they too were freshly bitten. It was impossible to miss the way her gaze flicked to his mouth.
"Astarion, I...."
So tempting to lean down and indulge in a kiss. So tempting to slip a hand into the crook of the tiefling's knee and pull her on top to see if she'd ride. To see where else she'd let him ply his teeth. But that was a game for another night. No reason to play all the cards at one go. His head was finally clear and he could think for the first time in days. And he'd promised to behave himself.
"Shhh, hush now. You've had quite enough excitement for one night. And you're going to need your rest, you sweet generous thing." No argument whatsoever from the tiefling as he tucked her back into her bedroll. "This is a gift, you know. I won't forget it." She was asleep almost before he'd left the alcove. He'd gone back and checked her pulse one last time, just to be sure, finding it slow but steady. Then it was back to his own tent, where he laid himself down for the first time in decades without the pangs of starvation gnawing at his belly.
It was the first time, but hardly the last. Mordrynn had taken it upon herself to treat him every now and again, when she could spare half a pint, despite the fatigue it cost her the following day. In gratitude, Astarion made a point of being as gentle as possible, soothing the tiny pain with his tongue, holding her close as a lover might while that sinfully delicious nectar filled his senses. A bit of conversation fore and aft made the deed seem a little less transactional for both of them. He wasn't altogether sure what Mordrynn was getting out of the deal, unless it was all done out of some strange sense of altruism. (He was pretty sure that was why she kept Lae'zel around.) Or perhaps, gods forbid, it was some odd sort of charity. (He was pretty sure that was why she kept Wyll around.)
For his part, he was happy to be eating properly and the tiefling was easy to get along with. A few drops of charm here and there, little flowery platitudes, some poetic innuendos, and she melted like ice in a hot skillet. She didn't seem to want much, pleased, like most young women, to be caressed and complimented. Pitiful, really. But it did make things easier for him. The more the little druid enjoyed his company, the more likely she was to defend him if the camp ever decided they didn't want a vampire around. They'd seemed oddly nonchalant about it so far, but Astarion had made a lifelong habit of hedging his bets.
Then came the Emerald Grove and that whole horrid mess with druidic factionism. He loved a good intrigue, but not when it was all boring and predictable. It was one thing to possess power, or to usurp it in the absence of a strong leader. It was quite another to be sh*te with wielding it and Kagha had been sh*tE. Really, the only saving grace of the whole encounter had been watching Shadowheart, who had been in an uppity snit with him ever since he'd starting snacking on Mordrynn, get temporarily dragged off to the makeshift prison after an exploratory peek into the wrong crate. (She'd only been in there for an hour, but she'd griped like they'd left her to rot for a week.) That and watching Mordrynn finally put her foot down with Lae'zel. There really hadn't been any reason to threaten the tiefling refugee, even in his estimation. The chap would have told them anything they'd asked regardless, since he was speaking to one of his own kind. But Lae'zel had had to go and be a c*nt. Once more, possession of power, sh*te with wielding it.
"Mind your business, istik. I will deal with this one," the gith warrior sneered.
Mordrynn crossed her arms and frowned. "He's been through enough. We have what we need, leave him alone."
Lae'zel snarled and Astarion had been sure the githyanki was about to start swinging. He was still deciding whether he would intervene or just enjoy the show when the druid's eyes blazed and her chin tilted at an angle that he instinctively knew meant trouble. The air practically hummed around her, as if the Grove itself was lending a voice to her argument.
"I said let it be, Lae'zel. I won't tell you again."
The gith spluttered and snarled, and Astarion actually took half a step forward, certain she was about to go for a weapon. But instead, Lae'zel stormed off cursing in her mother tongue, leaving the rest of them to stare after her. And that was where the matter rested. From that moment forward, Mordrynn was unquestionably The One In Charge of their little venture.
One dreadfully exciting romp through a goblin encampment later, they'd managed to recruit a gigantic bear (who turned out to be an equally gigantic archdruid), resolve the faction nonsense without bloodshed, and clear the way for the tiefling refugees to continue on their journey to Baldur's Gate.
The camp was flooded with merriment that night. The wine flowed, music played, laughter and conversation filled the air. There were tieflings everywhere and everyone seemed to be having a good time. Gale was splitting his time between minding a positively massive rack of roasting meats and setting off little twinkly light cantrips to amuse the children. Karlach and Wyll, who was still getting used to his new horns, were happily sharing drinks and war stories with a little gaggle of fighters. Halsin, the bear-sized archdruid they'd rescued (and just how did a wood elf get to be that size, anyway?) was beaming at everyone from a comfortable position under a spreading oak tree. Shadowheart was actually smiling, even though she mostly kept to the outskirts. Even Lae'zel was in a pleasant mood, or whatever passed for one for the gith.
Astarion couldn't help but be a little proud of himself. He hated the attention - it reminded him far too much of the parties he'd been ordered to attend - but at the same time, he couldn't deny that it did feel good to do the right thing once in a while.
Mordrynn was in her element, chatting to anyone and everyone, soothing worries and gathering information. Knowing her, she was probably also making a few promises they had no way of reliably keeping, but that was a tiefling for you. As things were beginning to wind down and sleepy kids were being herded towards their bedrolls, he watched her start to make her usual round of the camp, checking in with every member of the party, as she did every night before turning in. He knew the questions that she'd ask, they were always the same. "Are you doing all right? Did you have enough supper? Do you need anything?"
There was, in fact, something he needed. A sentiment everyone seemed to share that evening, if Mordrynn's perpetually-deepening blush was anything to go by. It had started with a coy smile from Shadowheart, ruddied further a courtly kiss to the hand from Wyll, darkened across her nose at a cordial intimation from Halsin, and bloomed all the way to her ears at a bold advance from Lae'zel. Astarion hid a smile behind his goblet. It was so nice to see the whole party on the same page.
If the little druid, lavender skin turned violet from cheeks to crown, thought she was going to find relief by coming to his doorstep, she was sadly mistaken. She was primed and he planned to take full advantage. But Astarion had played the game of seduction too well and too frequently to open with a direct proposition. A little light banter, a shared sip of wine to ease the tension, then the playful smoulder. He risked a step closer, sliding into her personal space and letting his fingertips graze her cheek just so.
So satisfying, the way her eyelids fluttered and she leaned into that touch, just for a moment. Oh yes, he'd gauged this just right. Judging by the way her eyes had been lingering on the various couples milling about the camp and the wistful glances he'd seen her darting about the place, the tiefling was only slightly less touch-starved than Karlach. He'd seen those glances landing on Gale more than a few times, especially after their little magic lesson, and the wizard wasn't entirely oblivious to that regard. The stupid git was putting an arrow in his own foot though, waxing poetic about the literal goddess he used to sleep with and making polite excuses to put things off for "a more appropriate time." Mordrynn had borne it with considerable grace, but Astarion didn't miss the way her smile sometimes wavered at the edges after such a chat. Unsurprising. What woman wanted to be compared to a pet cat, no matter how beloved, or to hear that a man's previous lover had been an Actual-Living-Breathing-Not-A-Euphemism goddess?
Gale, as far as Astarion was concerned, was a blithering idiot. And if the wizard wasn't going to act on an opportunity when it was trying very hard to crawl into his lap, then the resident lovable rogue damned sure would. There had been more than a handful of glances directed HIS way too, after all.
For two hundred years, seduction had more or less been his job, per the instructions of his master. Sex was more of a business transaction than a pleasurable pastime. He was good at it and that kind of currency was accepted just about everywhere. Mordrynn was a kind soul and more than a little vulnerable to pretty words. He could work his magic on her and cement his place in the group (and away from Cazador) for the price of a quick tumble.
"You know," he murmured, letting that sensual purr creep back into his voice. "I've been thinking about you all day. About the things we've shared, and I don't just mean that lovely neck. I'm rather growing to like the whole package, honestly. And you clearly like me too, so...." He tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear and let the word trail off.
The tiefling shivered and he smelled it when her pulse spiked. "So...?"
He chuckled. "Oh come now, don't be coy. Your body's already given you away." Poor thing. If she blushed any harder, her cheeks were going to bruise. But he had her right where he wanted her. "I can feel it, every time I'm getting lost in your neck. Those little quivers of excitement. And I can see the look in your eyes every time I stop. You want more, don't you."
Mordrynn swallowed hard. It was so cute the way she tried to keep her composure when he was fairly certain he could turn her legs to jelly with a few well-placed (and appropriately filthy) whispers. "I...."
"Shhh...you don't have to say a thing. I already know how you feel. Because I feel it too." It was a pretty lie, but an effective one. "You've been so sweet, looking after me the way you have. You deserve a treat of your own. Once everyone's asleep, why don't we steal away, find somewhere quiet. Where we can be...alone." Another brief second, leaning nearly close enough to taste the scent of wine clinging to her lips, waiting until he felt her start to lean into him in return before gently pulling back with a wink and a promise. "Let me take care of you for a change."
"I-...." The tremble in her voice was everything. "I'll think about it."
"By all means, think about it." Astarion thought the smirk would reach his ears. "Have your fun, darling. Come and find me later. I'll be waiting."
As she tottered away from his tent in the direction of a table holding a clutch of winebottles, Astarion would have bet every copper in the Counting House vaults that she would be thinking about it. And that she'd be back later.
That certainty only strengthened when he saw her walk away from yet another conversation with Gale with her shoulders slumped. She went straight back to the table of drinks, poured herself a healthy draught, and downed two more just like it in quick succession. Even at a distance, Astarion could see the way the ever-present smile fell from her face, her eyes fixed on the bottom of the wineglass like it might offer solace. She winced a little and one hand went idly to her chest, palm pressing to her breastbone as if to soothe an ache.
Oh, he knew that look. Few things hurt like a bruised heart. It was a particular sort of pain, a cold hollow pang behind the ribs that wouldn't go away without the application of wine or a warm touch. All it would have taken was a kind word and a casual invitation and the wizard could have been sharing his tent with a pretty tiefling instead of a dusty pile of books.
Gale was definitely an idiot.
Another glass of wine and Mordrynn was making her way back over toward his tent. He offered a little toast with his own glass as she approached. Time to seal the deal.
"Always a pleasure to see you sauntering over. But you're a bit early, my sweet. I'm all for a bit of drink and conversation, but the real fun will have to wait a while."
"So...the offer's still open then?" Ah, vineyard courage. Gale's loss was his gain.
"Of course, darling. I'm all yours."
Hook, line, and sinker.
She'd made him wait. Nerves, he supposed. But an hour after he'd snuck out of camp to find an ideal trysting place, subtly marking the way with a bent twig or a footprint here and there, he heard the soft tread of well-worn boots entering the clearing. Her eyes widened as he stepped out of the trees, shirt already doffed in preparation, and he could hear the way her heart rate picked up as she drew nearer.
"I've been waiting for this since the moment I set eyes on you." It wasn't a lie. Whatever other sweet platitudes he might dress the occasion with, he'd planned for this since the day they met. And he was nothing if not a patient hunter. "Waiting...to have you."
"You don't have me just yet." Mordrynn chuckled and crossed her arms, but he could already see the color rising in her cheeks.
"Don't I? You're here, aren't you?" He swayed closer, one hand drifting up to stroke the side of her face. "Annnd I don't think you want to talk." It was so cute the way her pupils dilated in the dark, lips parting around the tiniest intake of breath. Though she was doing her best to play it cool, he could sense the tension in her muscles, the nerves pricked up and waiting, the subtle scent of arousal already clinging to her skin. He leaned closer and purred in her ear. "I think you want to be known. To be tasted."
"And...." He felt a shiver run through her and her voice trembled. "And what do you want?"
What an odd thing to say. It had been a long time since anyone had asked him that and meant it. The little druid was probably just being polite. Then again, she'd never been anything less than sincere since he'd known her. If there was a dissembling bone in her body, it was very small and didn't see the light of day often.
Still, it threw him for the briefest second. What did he want? To Stay Alive topped the list, followed in close succession by Blood That Doesn't Taste Like Bilgewater. Seducing the tiefling was his ticket to both and he was keen to get on with it, if only she'd stop being so damned considerate and think of her own selfish desires for a change.
"What do any of us want? Pleasure. Yours. Mine. Our...collective ecstasy." His hands settled on her waist, drawing her in. "That's what you want, isn't it? To lose yourself in me?"
"Gods yes. I mean-...." Mordrynn flushed and laid a warm palm against his bare chest. "I just want to be sure that you want this too."
She really was infuriatingly sweet. Thankfully, that just made things easier. Throw in a pretty face and a rather nice body, and perhaps this wouldn't be a chore after all.
Astarion smiled and tipped her chin up with gentle fingers. "Let me show you how much."
He'd imagined kissing her a hundred times and it was more or less what he'd expected. He'd correctly anticipated the tiny hesitation, the little moan of surrender that followed, the need for softness, the way she would lean into him, wanting to be held. The only thing he hadn't accounted for was the fact that her kind also sported sharper-than-normal teeth, but really, who was he to judge. The tiefling was clearly no virgin either. She didn't kiss like a virgin. She kissed liked someone who hadn't been kissed in far too long and was positively starving for a little affection. Lucky for her, Astarion was in a very giving mood.
She yelped and giggled when he picked her up, wrapping her legs around his waist as he pressed her back against a convenient tree. There was a good heft to her, her body firm and deliciously rounded in just the right way. He grabbed a double handful of her ass and squeezed, purely for fun, before turning and spilling her gently onto a bed of soft moss.
From there, things had gotten very heated very quickly. Astarion was surprised to find himself actually paying attention. Usually, his mind was realms away during sex, his body focused on mechanics and technique while he thought about literally anything else. But Mordrynn was deliciously eager and much as he teased and tormented just to hear her beg for more, she gave as good as she got. The girl had stamina, that was for damned sure, and far from a selfish lover. And when she gave that breathless laugh at the penultimate moment and playfully offered him her neck, well....who was he to refuse a lady?
He hadn't expected how good it would feel, to pull her pleasure into his mouth along with her blood, to taste the shimmering peak of her bliss even as she quivered and tightened around him. To hear her gasp his name as he lost himself in the heat of her. When it was over and she was catching her breath in the crook of his arm while he murmured sweet nothings, he had to admit that it had almost been fun.
It was the first time, but it was far from the last.
Mordrynn became positively generous with her nighttime feedings, now that there was an added enticement of kisses and cuddles to be had. They couldn't always sneak away for a proper tumble, but it was almost as much fun to tie down the tent flap, lay her out on his bedroll, and indulge in his little treat with his fingers buried between those shapely thighs. Sometimes, she stayed the night, even when the offer of pleasure wasn't on the table. She would curl against his side or let him lay his head in her lap, which was actually rather nice, and they would drift off together in the quiet.
And sometimes he teased and whispered and gave her sly looks all day until she could think of nothing but coming to his bed. It was easy to drive the little druid to distraction, and Astarion found that he had quite the knack for it. The whole affair was still a performance, of course. He was still running the long con. But there was no rule that said he couldn't enjoy the ride, even if it did mean putting up with Karlach's occasional jokes about playing with his food.
Much to his surprise, Astarion found that Mordrynn was willing spend rather a lot of time with him, even if they weren't doing anything in particular. She'd perch across from him in the shade while he read or mended someone's clothes for the hundredth time. (Would it kill someone else in the party to learn to sew?) Sometimes they'd talk. Sometimes they'd read together, her head resting on his shoulder. Sometimes she'd bring a book of her own to read, or the blank one where she occasionally kept notes on their journey. Sometimes she'd just sit quietly by his tent while she made the potions that kept them all on their feet. One day, they found a lute discarded along the side of the road, a bit battered but still intact, and she spent a whole afternoon cleaning it up and tuning the strings. They'd had music in the camp that night. He hadn't even known she could play.
Every so often, he'd catch her giving him a warm little smile. Not seductive. Just sweet. Like she was pleased just to have his company. She seemed to make a point of asking if he minded hers whenever she approached him during a period of rest, always a little tentative, then beaming when he said that of course he didn't mind. It was as if she always half-expected to be refused and was thrilled anew every time she wasn't. Little by little, Astarion began to get used to the idea of having her around. And more than that, he was rather starting to like it.
And then, as inevitably happens when things are going well, he f*cked it all up.
They'd traveled to the Underdark, a strange and slightly psychedelic place full of giant mushrooms and luminescent fungi, and one morning (or what passed for morning underground), they all awakened from the same dream - a mysterious visitor in golden armor, promising protection, aid, and a way to use the tadpoles in their heads to proper advantage. If there was one thing Astarion liked, it was having an advantage. If the tadpoles could be turned to some sort of gain, if they could hone those psychic skills and use them as weapons, if they could gain some sort of upper hand against the Absolute, or even delay the inevitable....what an exciting prospect!
The rest of the camp did not seem to share his enthuasiasm. He was met with one pensive, troubled face after another and everyone was very quiet over breakfast. Everyone he asked expressed similar feelings of apprehension, or even outright distrust of the vision. What was wrong with them? Couldn't they see what a gift this was?
By the time Mordrynn made her way around to speak with him, already looking worried, his temper was frayed to snarling. He expected her to ask about the dream and happily recounted his version of events in detail. But if he'd hoped for something different from his dear tiefling, perhaps a bit of ambition or bigger-picture thinking, he was sorely disappointed.
"It's an avenue that's been opened to us," she said when he brought up the idea of agreeing to the visitor's plans. "And perhaps it's worth exploring. But this is Mind Flayer territory. How do we know this isn't another trick of theirs to lead us straight into a trap?" She shook her head, braids swaying. "I just think we should be cautious."
Astarion groaned and threw his hands up. "Is there a reason you're being such an utter drip? I mean, do you have some sort of condition? Honestly, it's like you hate good news! And to think I expected you to show better sense than the others!"
The camp went quiet. Mordrynn fell back a step as if she'd been struck. Her expression crumpled into something equal parts shock and hurt.
But Astarion was too angry and too sullen to pull himself back. "Did you actually want something or are you just here to spoil my fun?" he snapped.
"No, I-...." The tiefling fell silent. His words hung in the air between them like a cloud of daggers. Then she simply turned and walked away.
Karlach met her at the fireside as she was scooping up the spare brume cloak and a foraging basket. They spoke in low tones for a moment. Mordrynn's gaze started to turn in his direction, then stopped. She looked up at her friend, shook her head, and headed out of camp. The red tiefling's expression darkened like a thundercloud. She didn't hesitate to turn a furious glare in Astarion's direction and he stood rooted to the spot like a light-blinded deer as she stomped over to him. One searing-hot finger jabbed into his chest nearly hard enough to bruise.
"You are going to f*cking fix this, long-ears," Karlach growled. "Or I will bear-hug your pale skinny arse until you catch fire." She didn't wait for a reply, instead storming off to take out her frustrations on Lae'zel's training dummy. (The dummy did not survive the experience. Astarion doubted very much that anything short of an iron golem would have.)
"He speaks ponyards," he heard Gale remark from across the way in a disapproving tone. "And every word stabs."
With a frustrated oath, Astarion kicked a tin cup hard enough that it bounced off a nearby clutch of rocks and stormed back into his tent.
Mordrynn returned later with a basket full of potion ingredients. Wyll had gone to fetch her back almost immediately - the Underdark was no place to wander alone, especially when one was distracted. Astarion didn't know why they'd stayed away until nearly lunchtime, but neither one looked tousled, Mordrynn still looked upset, and he didn't figure her as the type for a revenge lay. The warlock shot him a look even stonier than his carven eye as he returned to his own lodgings. Not a word was said, but it was quite clear that the pale elf was on everyone's sh*t list.
The next few days were sheer hell. Nobody really spoke to him beyond bare necessity. Mordrynn said maybe a handful of words to him between resolving their business with the Myconids, leaving the Underdark, and arriving in the cursed lands. The late night visits stopped entirely. Astarion had to lay in his cold bedroll alone, staring at the canvas overhead and trying to get the sour, gritty taste of duergar out of his mouth. The things one did for subsistence.
It wasn't like he needed the simpering little twit. She just tasted better than dwarf. And all right, she was decent company and didn't demand things from him. She seemed to care about him, or was at least convincing with the pretense. And sometimes when she smiled, it did something odd to his stomach. Not quite hunger, but definitely not disgust.
While he was preoccupied with a fit of brooding that rivaled Shadowheart on her best day, Gale finally managed to land a line. It was just after a skirmish with some cursed Harpers, something about the heat of battle stirring up other urges. It was almost clever. But it wasn't the line itself that rankled. It was Mordrynn's reaction.
"You're thinking of romance at a time like this?" she laughed, out of breath from the fight, still on the ground from where a well-placed bolt of ice had briefly knocked her prone. "I'm covered in five kinds of gross and I look a fright. Hardly a fit state for wooing."
The wizard just smiled warmly. "I can't imagine any time or place that could turn my heart from you. You'd always be just as beautiful, and as impressive. Perhaps it's the thrill of our near-undeath experience talking, but to stand at your side through such darkness and disrepair...." He reached down and helped her to her feet. "It only makes me want you more."
Mordrynn's entire face lit up. Gale held her gaze and kept her hands in his for a few precious seconds, letting the moment linger before disengaging with a polite reminder that they really did need to focus on finding shelter and the Last Light Inn. Astarion's fingers itched for his crossbow.
He experienced one pathetic little surge of hope when the tiefling came ambling toward his tent their first night back above ground, a folded parcel in hand. Without much preamble, she shoved it into his arms, not even properly looking him in the eye.
"I...We found this. Took it off a drow in Grymforge. Some kind of cloak that helps them walk around without being noticed. Thought you could use it."
She was already turning to leave by the time he opened his mouth to say something clever. Whatever it was died on the tip of his tongue and instead, he softly called, "Thank you" after her retreating back. He wasn't sure if she paused or if he just imagined it, but right at that moment, he would have given his eyeteeth just to make her smile the way Gale had.
But there was time. She'd miss him eventually, he was sure of it, and then they'd kiss and cuddle and have fantastic make-up sex and he could stop feeling like an idiot. Surely she would miss him, since he was coming to the uncomfortable realization that he missed her. There were plenty of fish in the sea, as the saying went, but very few tiefling druids with lavender skin and eyes like balefire. And as it turned out, he was infuriatingly partial to that particular fish.
Which was why the world stopped when she died.
