Chapter Text
It was supposed to be a quick job. Dock, break into the Ramazith’s Tower, steal the Annals of Karsus for her client, get out of the tower, and sail with the tide. In and out of Baldur’s Gate in less than a day. Visenya had done her research, created a plan, a backup plan, and a backup-backup plan. She had been prepared for anything.
Except fucking mind flayers.
Visenya would definitely be making a contingency plan for “abducted by squids” in the future.
As she crawled out of her smashed pod, Visenya could feel the tadpole wriggling around in her head and the fleshy material of the Nauteloid squelch under her hands and knees. She fought the urge to hurl into her mask.
Acrid, black smoke billowed theough the chamber, obscuring her vision and filling the air with the smell of burning flesh. While not being able to see potential threats made Visenya nervous, it did provided cover as she crept around fallen pods and rubble, thankful that her Deathless Nature enabled her to forgo breathing in the noxious fumes.
Movement caught the corner of her eye.
Flattening herself against a downed, but intact pod, Visenya stilled as an Ilithid glided into the room. She was fairly certain she had never seen anything so creepy. It’s moist, rubbery looking purple skin glistened with slime; from its elongated head sprouted long tentacles, which writhed like disturbed earthworms. Two pupilless orange eyes glowed in deep orbital sockets. It reminded her of a dead, bloated squid that had washed up on the beach one summer.
A gust of wind caused the smoke to billow, obscuring the Mindflayer. Visenya stayed where she was, fingering the handle of her dagger. She wasn’t sure she trusted the little magic she had right now. Not with the tadpole doing gods knew what in her brain. When the smoke thinned, the Mindflayer was gone. Visnya peeked over the top of the pod to check the coast was clear.
Frantic tapping on the glass caused her to duck back down, eyeing the pod warily. Someone — or something — moved inside. Cautiously, Visenya peered through the glass. It looked like…a man? No, a male elf. Pale, brilliant white hair, and…red-eyes?
“Get me out of here!” The elf demanded in a pompous voice.
“Well. Somebody is bossy,” thought Visenya. But she would want someone to let her out, if the roles were reversed, so she looked around for something with which to smash the glass. Spotting a heavy looking slate covered in strange markings, Visenya lifted it. It was indeed heavy.
“Cover your eyes!” She called, before heaving the slate over her head and letting it smash into the glass. Cracks spiderwebbed out from the point of impact. Grunting, she raised it above her head again and let it fall. More cracks appeared. Visenya leaned against the pod, catching her breath.
“Hurry the fuck up!”
Visenya could sympathize with wanting to get out of the pod, but thought some patience and gratitude was in order. “Say please.”
“What?!”
“Say. Please.”
“Fine! Please hurry the fuck up!”
“Smart ass,” she thought, grinning slightly under her mask.
Visenya hefted the slate a third time and let it fall. The glass shattered, covering the elf in shards of glass. Visenya stepped back, keeping an eye on the two entrances in case the noise had attracted any unwanted visitors. She really didn’t want to fight any mind flayers. Her brain was running scenarios of possible ways to escape, but not knowing anything about this ship was a huge disadvantage. As Visenya resigned herself to the fact that she would have to wing this one, a streak of white caught her eye before she was tackled to the ground, instinctively calling lightning to her fingers as she felt a knife press to her neck.
“Shhshhshh. Not a sound. Not if you want to keep that darling neck of yours.”
With some effort, Visenya dismissed the power in her hand, glaring at the elf crouching over her. She was pissed at herself for being too consumed by her thoughts and annoyed at him for attacking her after she had rescued him.
“What did you and those tentacled freaks do to me?”
Visenya thought the tadpole must be effecting his cognitive abilities. Or he was just stupid.
“You’ve got it backward. I’m a prisoner too,” she explained, keeping still.
“Don’t lie to me.”
“Lathander’s balls. Why would I set you free if I was working with those squids?”
The pale elf cocked his head, ears twitching and eyes narrowing. Visenya noted they were indeed a familiar shade of red.
The pressure on her neck eased slightly, but before Visenya could take advantage of it, a twisting, crippling pain shot through her brain. She heard the elf cry out, her hands flying to her head, clutching at it as her body curled in on itself. Her mind lurched, and she was looking out of eyes that weren’t hers, prowling dark, busy, unfamiliar streets. Sounds of drunken laughter and music. The scents of booze, bile, blood…and fear.
Her mind lurched again. Visenya could feel something — someone — rooting around in her brain, and her own memories were dragged to the surface. Warm fur beneath her fingers. The smell of old books and salt water. A once familiar laughing voice that turned to screams as the taste of her own blood filled her mouth.
“No!” Visenya cried, slamming her mind closed, her breathing ragged and hands trembling. She didn’t need to relive that outside her nightmares.
“What was that?” the elf demanded. “What’s going on?”
Slowly uncurling, Visenya pushed herself up. The elf was already on his feet, leaning against his smashed pod.
“It’s the tadpoles,” she said shakily. “They connected us.”
“You’re…not one of them.”
“Oh well spotted. What gave it away? No tentacles?”
“You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?”
Visenya didn’t answer, mind still reeling from her old memories.
“They took you, just the same as me,” the elf mused. “And to think, I was ready to decorate the ground with your innards. Apologies.”
“Apology accepted. Just don’t do it again, or I’ll have to gut you.”
The elf chuckled humorlessly. “A kindred spirit. My name’s Astarion,” he continued, straightening up. “I was in Baldur’s Gate when those beasts snatched me.”
“I’m Visenya. I was in Baldur’s Gate too.”
“Is that so? We clearly move in different circles.”
“No, it was my first time there. Just arrived, actually. I’m from the Moonshaes.”
“Aah, that explains the accent.”
There was an awkward pause. Visenya thought she heard the sounds of fighting in the distance. Maybe some other prisoners were putting up a fight.
“So…” Astarion drawled, “do you know anything about these worms?”
Visenya wasn’t entirely sure this was the time for chit chat. The longer they stayed put the more likely a mind flayer would come along.
“They’ll turn us into mind flayers,” she said far more calmly than she felt. Internally, her mind battled with itself to keep from having a complete breakdown. Moving in the direction she thought the fighting was, ideas for joining up with others for safety or using their revolt as a distraction to get away cycled through her mind.
“Turn us into?” Astarion laughed bitterly. “Of course, it’ll turn me into a monster. What else did I expect?” His voice was laced with bitterness. “Although,” the elf pondered, following her, “it hasn’t happened yet. If we can find an expert, someone who can control these things, there might still be time.”
“I would really rather get it out of my head,” Visenya groused, peering around the corner. The coast was clear.
“Well of course, but first things first…”
“Look,” she said, rounding in him, “we won’t find any help here. Step one.” She held up her pointer finger. “We need to get off this nasty ship. Step two.” She held up a second finger. “Find someone who can get these things out of our heads, preferably without killing or maiming us.”
Astarion blinked at her, his red eyes sweeping from her head to her toes and back up again. He was, she realised, stupidly good looking. She felt heat rise to her cheeks, glad for her mask.
“Look, I know it’s not a great plan,” gesturing her hands in placation. “It’ll get better when we have more information.”
“You know,” Astarion said, “I was ready to go this alone. But maybe sticking with you isn’t such a bad idea. You seem like a useful person to know. Lead on my dear.”
Face growing hotter, Visenya started down the fleshy corridor. She really needed to get out more than once a decade if being called “useful” and “my dear” by an elf who had just held a knife to her throat made her blush like a teenager, even if he was possibly the most attractive man she had ever seen.
*
Some of the other prisoners were fighting back.
Visenya crouched in the shadows, Astarion breathing down her neck, as they watched a githyanki female slice an imp in half and a huge human male stab a corpse into an unrecognizable stain. A tall, dark haired half-elven woman hit another imp with something green and sickly looking, killing it instantly.
“I really hope they’re on our side.” Astarion muttered.
Visenya hummed in agreement. “We’re gonna sneak to the helm while they take care of the imps and that squid. Stick close.”
Crouching low, Visenya crept as quickly as she dared along the wall, keeping her fingers crossed that none of the imps or the mind flayer would spot them. It was best to avoid fights, whenever possible. Visenya felt Astarion creeping along behind her, thankful he seemed competent at basic skullduggery.
They were mere meters from the helm’s control panel when a flaming imp hit the wall in front of them, narrowly missing Visenya. Surprised, she jerked back, stumbling into Astarion and sending them both to the floor. Her face would have flushed with embarrassment if the mind flayer hadn’t turned its glowing orange gaze on them, sending a jolt of panic through her.
“Fuck,” she swore in unison with Astarion.
A fire bolt hit the creature, but the Ilithid brushed it off, advancing towards Visenya and Astarion, sending a pulse of psychic energy at them.
“Move!” Visenya yelled, diving to the side. She felt the psionic blast brush over her back in a narrow miss. Rolling to her feet, Visenya flung three Magic Missiles at the mind flayer, the red bolts causing the creature to stumble back. It retaliated with another burst of energy, flinging Visenya back against something hard. She cried out as her ribs dislocated, and shrieked, body jerking, as they immediately snapped back into place, ligaments tightening.
A bolt of radiant light streaked towards the squid, causing spots to dance in Visenya’s sensitive eyes. The githyanki’s slashing strike missed wide. Astarion stabbed low, gracefully flipped his dagger, and swiped at the mind flayer’s face, severing two tentacles. The creature screamed.
The giant human barreled past, dashing for the console, the Ilithid reaching for him, narrowly missing.
The dark-haired half-elf fired another eye-popping bolt, missing again. Astarion stabbed the creature in its side, only to be knocked to the floor by a psionic blast. The squid advanced on the downed elf. Surging forward, Visenya leapt on the Ilithid’s back, clamping her sparking hands around its lumpy skull. Gritting her fangs, she clung on, putting everything she had into frying the squid’s brain. She didn’t let go as it toppled to the ground, twitching. An unpleasant smell reminiscent of charred fish wafted from the corpse.
“Calamari, anyone?” Visenya panted.
The githyanki “tchk-ed” at her as the half-elf rushed past after the human who was struggling with the console.
Astarion groaned dramatically from the floor. As Visenya turned to help him, the ship lurched, throwing her in the air. She landed feet first on the ceiling, her brain instinctively reorienting up and down. Bodies and debris flew around her. The ship lurched again, sending her flying through space. The dark-haired half-elf spiraled past her, disappearing through a hole in the ship. Visenya tried desperately to grab hold of something to prevent herself from following, but the moist flesh surfaces of the Nauteloid offered no purchase. Bits of the ship and dead imps flew past. One clipping her shoulder, sending her into a spin. Someone crashed into her, and Visenya got a face full of white hair. Astarion. Visenya instinctively latched onto his jacket as the momentum from the collision carried them both after the half-elf.
*
The first thing that registered in Astarion’s mind as he regained consciousness was how bright it was. Blinking rapidly, he cracked open his eyes and saw the brilliant blue of the daytime sky. Shooting to his feet, he looked around for cover. He needed to get out of the sun. Now. Before he began to burn. Slowly, it registered that he was not burning. The sun felt pleasant. Looking down at his hands in disbelief, Astarion realised that the sun was not burning him to ash. His skin was perfectly intact, caressed by warmth he hadn’t felt in two hundred years. It flooded through him, feeling achingly familiar, yet entirely new.
“How?!…” was the only question in his mind.
Astarion ran his tongue over his teeth, hopes falling. He still had fangs, so he wasn’t cured. But if he could walk unharmed in the sun, what else could he do? Feeling a strange mixture of giddy and unnerved, Astarion looked around.
Only then did he notice the girl (woman?) — Visenya — from the ship sprawled in the sand. She was propped on her elbows like she had fallen back from a crouched position. Dressed head to toe in black, a hood covered her hair and a mask obscured everything except the greenest eyes Astarion had ever seen. The getup would have been a little intimidating if she hadn’t been lying on the sand, regarding him with something close to awe.
“You…you’re…fine…”
“Amazingly…” Astarion narrowed his eyes at her. She couldn’t possibly know he was a vampire. She must be referring to surviving the fall. “I see you are too.”
“Amazingly.”
“Someone’s cheeky,” he thought.
“Any idea?…”
Visenya shook her head in reply.
Astarion looked around, still feeling dazed and slightly unnerved.
The beach was littered with chunks of burning Nauteloid, filling the air with acrid smoke and the unpleasant smell of overcooked meat and oil. Bodies dotted the sand. Behind them lay the bulk of the ruined ship, before them, the sparkling river. Astarion stared at it, wondering if he was safe from running water now too.
“I think it’s the Chionthar.”
“Hmm?”
“The river,” said Visenya, standing and brushing sand from her trousers. She was small. Astarion doubted her head would barely clear his shoulder. “I think it’s the Chionthar. Meaning we’re west of Baldur’s Gate. No idea how far.”
With a jolt, Astarion realised this was the first time in two centuries that he had been outside the city. Leagues between him and Cazador. His ears twitched as he clenched and unclenched his hands.
“We should look for supplies,” Visenya was saying. “Find somewhere safe to make camp, figure out where we are, go from there. That is…if you want to stick together?” The uncertain timidness of her question was at odds with her previously assured tone.
Now that he was out of the Nauteloid and immediate danger, Astarion wasn’t sure what to do. Or what he wanted to do, other than find out why he could walk in the sun and how to prevent himself from turning into a hideous monster. He fully admitted to himself that he had never been a details person, but Visenya seemed to be a planner. She could be useful. She had also proven to be somewhat capable and deadly, freeing him from the pod and frying the squid with a vicious shocking grasp. Astarion was almost impressed.
“Well, darling,” he said, stepping towards her, “we’ve managed to get this far together, let’s see where this partnership takes us.”
*
The setting sun was painting the early Marpenoth sky brilliant shades of orang and purple. Sitting at the entrance of his newly acquired tent, Astarion thought it was the most beautiful thing he had seen in decades. He had quite forgotten how colourful things could be. As a denizen of the night, his world had mostly been reduced to shades of grey, occasionally punctuated by flashes of colour here and there. Mostly red.
Taking a deep breath, Astarion tried to relax. While he had some new problems to contend with, this was the first time in his memory that he didn’t have to worry about Cazador; but the anxiety that his master was waiting for the cruelest moment to drag him back to the city — back to the kennel and Godey’s sadism and to sentencing the innocent and the unlucky to a horrific death — wouldn’t leave him. Although physically liberated, Astarion didn’t quite feel free.
Looking for something to occupy his mind other than thoughts of Cazador, Astarion’s gaze slid from the fading sunset to Visenya. Sitting by the fire, still in her hood and mask, she was cooking some fish and random vegetables they had found while scouring the crash site. Unsurprisingly Astarion hadn’t found anything suitable for his dietary needs. He was starving. Miraculously, Visenya had also found two bags belonging to her: one containing the basic necessities for bivouacking, the other stuffed with an unholy number of books. Astarion wasn’t sure how it was possible for that many books to fit in the average sized shoulder satchel. The apparently bottomless book bag had also contained several maps of the Sword Coast and adjacent islands, one of which Visenya was examining between pokes at her cooking dinner.
As Astarion watched her, Visenya set the map aside and buried her face in her hands. She looked upset. Astarion frowned, wondering if he should do something. Comforting people wasn’t really in his repertoire, but he supposed he could try, if it meant keeping a valuable ally. Visenya sat very still while Astarion contemplated what he should do. After a minute, she heaved a sigh and slowly pushed back her hood. Astarion watched as she plucked pins from her hair, freeing copious curls. She shook her fingers through the roots, causing the curls to explode around her head. Astarion almost felt a little envious. He was used to having the best hair in any room, and hers, although brown, was almost on par with his. Almost.
Then Visenya removed her mask. Raising his brows with curiosity, Astarion stood and crossed to the fire. She hadn’t removed her face covering all day, and he had started to wonder what she was hiding. His imagination had gone wild, imagining scars, birth defects, a botched tattoo, and other reasons someone might want to hide their face. As he approached, Visenya turned to look at him.
She was pretty. Petite button nose, high cheekbones, oval face, not a blemish to be seen. The only possible detractor was that her pale skin had an ever so slight sickly pallor to it. She would definitely turn some heads in the street and be sent drinks in taverns. She would more than meet Cazador’s standards.
Astarion mentally shook himself. He wasn’t on the prowl. He was free. He didn’t have to seduce pretty things for his master anymore. Visenya wasn’t a mark, she was his ally, and as Astarion looked at her — somewhat mystified as to why she hid a face that would spark envy in most women — he realised that he was relieved they hadn’t met in Baldur’s Gate.
“Well,” he said, lowering himself to the ground, “here I was wondering what hideous deformity you were hiding. And now I can’t help but wonder why you’re hiding at all. Absolutely nothing to complain about.” A delightful, pale blush spread across Visenya’s cheeks. Astarion felt his stomach clench, hunger clawing at him.
“She’ll go down easy,” thought Astarion, before he mentally berated himself again. “She’s not a mark. I don’t have to do that anymore. I don’t want to.”
“I don’t like people looking at me,” she muttered, lips barely moving, as she picked up the map again. She traced a line with her finger, then measured a distance with a piece of string and checked it against the scale. The corners of her mouth and eyes turned down.
“Something the matter, darling?”
Visenya sighed and scooted closer to him, laying the map across both their laps. She smelled delicious.
“I’m fairly certain we’re here, she said quietly, tapping a spot on the map just east of Elturel. “And Baldur’s Gate is here,” she tapped a spot on the coast. “That’s over 300 kilometers. If we really pushed it, it would take us two tendays to get back. It’ll likely take longer though. We need adequate supplies. The terrain could be rough and we’re on foot. And it’s never smooth sailing on roads. There’re always bandits, storms, things that want to eat you. Plus, all that shit going down in Elturel. And we’ll be looking for a way to get rid of these,” she tapped her temple. “I give it a month at absolute best. And…I’m not optimistic about that.” Her voice cracked.
“What’s the rush, darling? Have someone you need to get back to?”
“Raggy.”
Astarion thought that was a gods awful name for a person. Raggy’s parents must have hated him.
“My dog, Ragnar.” Visenya clarified thickly, lips pressing tightly together.
“Your…dog?”
Tears spilled from her eyes. “My poor Raggy is all…all…alone. He’s a sm…smart boy, but what if some…some…something happens to him? He…he’s all I have,” she choked.
“Hells, she really loves this dog.” Astarion thought. He knew people got weird about their pets — plenty of his marks had waxed poetic about a cat or a dog — but Visenya seemed particularly attached to hers, judging from the tears.
The smell of burning reached his nose.
“I think your dinner is burning, darling.”
Swiping at her face, Visenya swore and removed the slightly charred fish and vegetables from the pan. They sat in silence while Visenya picked at her food. Astarion noticed she hadn’t made very much, and she didn’t offer him any. Even though she couldn’t know he was a vampire (it wasn’t really something he advertised, for obvious reasons), it seemed odd – rude even – that she hadn’t offered him some. He wanted to find something to drain.
“I’m sorry,” Visenya muttered, after several minutes. “I’m not usually this…emotional. It’s been a weird day.” She pushed a bit of burnt carrot around her plate. Her eyes were glassy.
Astarion hummed in acknowledgement. Weird was, perhaps, an understatement. He might have chosen ‘disturbing’ or ‘life-altering’, but Astarion supposed it was a matter of perspective. He didn’t know or particularly care about what Visenya got up to on a day-to-day basis.
“Do you have anyone you need to get back to?” Visenya asked softly.
“No.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“It’s hard being alone.” Her tone was matter of fact.
Gazing into the fire, Astarion realised Visenya was right. He was alone. His so-called brothers and sisters hardly counted as anything more than fellow-prisoners, and while Cazador would certainly be livid that Astarion was gone, it wouldn’t be because his master cared about his well-being. The Vampire Lord would just be missing his favourite torture-thing. Astarion wasn’t sure what he thought of being completely alone with no one to miss him. He hadn’t had the luxury of caring before. Clearly, Visenya thought being alone was difficult. Something to be sad and sorry about. He wondered why she didn’t seem to have anyone besides a dog.
Astarion’s gaze slid to Visenya, the question forming on his lips. He paused. She was staring unseeing into the fire with a blank, far away expression that he had seen many times upon his siblings’ faces. Astarion frowned, a strange feeling twisting in his gut. Happy, untraumatized people didn’t look like that.
Seemingly unaware of his scrutiny, with a shaky breath, Visenya shook herself and stood. “I’m going to sleep. Things always seem better in the morning.” She turned her impossibly green eyes on him. “If you get bored, feel free to grab a book.” She nudged the book bag with her foot. “Night.”
“Sleep tight.”
Astarion stayed by the fire, listening to Visenya toss and turn until eventually her breathing slowed and deepened. When he was certain she was asleep, the vampire rose and slipped into the forest. When he returned an hour later, belly full of deer blood, Visenya was still asleep, head tossing fitfully. Astarion lay on his own bedroll. It felt strange, resting at night. It would take some getting used to. He listened to the hissing embers of the fire and an owl hooting in the trees. Visenya whimpered in her sleep, then fell still. Astarion closed his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to relax, but his brain was still processing the last day. He had been liberated from one hell, only to be thrust into a different peril with only the clothes on his back and a tiny, sad woman as an ally. It would be a miracle if he came out the other side free and intact and unchanged.