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Torments were not confined to the kennels; all the rooms of the Szarr Palace took their turn in the spotlight. Tonight it was the ballroom’s turn, with Astarion the lucky star on stage, laying spread eagle on a tilted table, limbs tightly bound.
He was vaguely aware that Cazador’s guests were gathered below, laughing, gasping, jeering, reaching out to touch his feet, but above all watching. Cazador was their gracious host for an evening of delights, and the climax of the show was at hand.
Rather literally, as the bastard took a hold of Astarion’s heart, gripped it tightly, and pulled it from his splayed open rib cage. Shriveled vessels kept the withered organ tethered to his body. The barest of connections, but enough for the curse to persist; allowing the necrotic energy flowing from his heart to power his continued existence.
Oh, oh, how glorious it would be if all those blood vessels snapped and Astarion fell into true death. How that would enrage Cazador, how these mortals would laugh at him!
Ah, but Astarion knew better than to hope for death or try to endure this stoically. He begged Cazador to stop, his lips flapping, his tongue thrashing, no sound emerging, but pleading all the same for it to be over!
His master grinned, leaning closer, stroking his heart with one clawed thumb, the horrendous sensation passing down those same cords, amplified and echoing throughout Astarion’s whole body, causing him to cry out in silent agony, having long exhausted the remaining air in his exposed lungs.
Cazador leaned closer, the crowd grew louder, and—
Astarion broke trance.
This was no cavernous ballroom, filled with a gaggle of gawkers. Only his small tent, filled with one single Karlach, her not-so-gentle snoring much easier on his ears than their laughter.
He was not there. He would never be there, under the bastard’s control, ever again.
Laying on his back, he breathed in and out, focusing on the air filling his lungs, running shaking hands over his chest. Not only was his torso not cracked wide open, he was even still clothed. He chuckled softly, making the sound mostly to remind himself he could.
Gods, he hated trancing. The amazing ability, to re-live one’s memories, a point of pride for elven-kind! What nonsense. How did Dalyria do it? True, he was apt to horrendous nightmares while sleeping, but those experiences were more… muffled. Removed from himself. On the rare occasion he could even have a pleasant dream.
However, sleep was not an option, not tonight. That blasted devil might appear at any moment, ready to make good on their non-standard contract-free deal. After carrying these damn scars for this long, Astarion was not going to miss out on the promised explanation. It would be just like a devil to mutter out some half-truth to whoever happened to be on watch before promptly vanishing.
Very well then. He would simply rest. No trancing, no sleeping. Resting. Wide awake resting. Which would be easier if he was warm. Finished with his internal debate, Astarion shifted closer to Karlach, careful not to wake her, and snuggled into her side.
He was asleep within moments.
Only to be assailed by memories of torment once more.
It was as if his vision had been put on pause, not caring how he chose to rest, it would not allow him to escape. Once again, he was upon some filthy table, in a dank room, tied down, unable to free himself no matter how much he struggled. Agony blossomed as the blade came down again, slicing through his ribs, opening up his chest cavity.
Oh gods, he couldn’t breathe! He started to gasp out in a panic, using the last of his strength to struggle against his restraints. It was all futile, his vision starting to dim due to the lack of air, limbs and eyes growing heavy.
A tube was shoved down his throat, held in place by a mask strapped painfully tight over his lower face. Air was forced into his lungs. There would be no escape after all. The agony came rushing back in full force, as the cackling winged devil-kin cut and cut and cut!
He growled around the tube, working at his bonds again, tail thrashing wildly. If these fuckers wouldn’t let him pass out then they’d have to deal with him the whole fucking time, shitbags!
Wait. Wait.
Tail? Breathing? Winged devil-kin? Daring to fight?
Astarion snapped awake, but the nightmare kept rolling in front of his eyes, around his ears, pain dancing throughout his body.
This was not his nightmare.
It was hers.
The knowledge did nothing to break the connection, he knew he was in his tent, next to Karlach’s resting body, but all his senses were telling him he was tied to a table, struggling futilely, trying to work red hands with dark claws free from infernal bonds. He focused, pushing it away, his true surroundings bleeding in through the torment.
He shuddered as the small winged brute finished making its cuts, flinging the blade aside; it lodged into what felt like his thigh. As he groped out towards Karlach’s actual body, in the vision the devil grabbed the front of her rib cage with all four of its small hands, then tugged, pulling out her sternum and stumps of severed ribs. Astarion gritted his teeth, falling prone, unable to reach out farther, unsure if his hands had ever actually made contact, as the tadpole vision blotted out all of his real sensations, submerging him fully within her nightmare once more.
The front of her ribcage was flung aside, and those tiny little hands reached in again, paying no mind to her thrashing and muffled screams. An agony greater than the cuts blossomed out from where those tiny hands were digging, pawing, slicing through her, the worst pain Karlach felt in her entire short life.
Until the next moment.
The devil cackled, tugging its prize up; her own heart, beating and beating and beating, oh so rapidly, sending precious lifeblood throughout her, trying to aid in her struggles even as the laughing devil retrieved its blade and began to sever the great vessels, her blood pouring out, bathing them both in crimson.
Astarion broke the connection. Back again, in his tent, in the shadow-lands. Even with Karlach’s continually radiating heat, it was cold as ice compared to the heat of Avernus he had just escaped. He pushed himself up on his elbows, gasping unneeded breath, sweat dripping down his face.
Karlach appeared to be sleeping peacefully. With only the most minor frown on her face. The slightest wrinkle to her brow. Never would anyone guess what horrors were playing out beneath the surface. He stared at her, mouth slightly open.
The very thing that Cazador had threatened him with so often… was done to her. While she was fully conscious. Alive. And she was still alive.
She groaned softly, shifting no more than he would consider normal, frowning, ever so slightly more.
That frown. A familiar frown. He had seen it on her face before as she slept. Quite often, as he now reflected on the many times he awoke next to her, due to his own various torments or hunger.
Astarion stared at her, eyes wide, eyebrows high. He chewed on his lower lip, pondering…
He shook her awake before he could ponder overly much more!
“Ngh… wha? Fangs…?” She propped herself up on her elbows, blinking blearily at him. “You okay?”
“It… seemed as you were having a bad dream, my dear…”
“Bwha?” She yawned and sat up, stretching as she did so. “Oh yeah, guess I was.”
He waited. And waited. Still staring up at her.
“Nothing big though.” Karlach laughed, waving off his concern. “Just stupid kid crap, got caught by my Pops while trying to sneak back into the house after getting up to shit.”
“Uh-huh…” He kept staring, and she kept smiling at him, not showing a hint of her facade breaking. It would not break, would it? She would not.
Karlach tilted her head slightly. “Fangs? You doing okay?”
Oh, no, she did break. To show concern for him.
“Mmm. I… my rest was also… unpleasant.” He looked away, unable to meet her eyes any longer.
“Bad dream too? Oh wait, you were doing that elf thing. Bad trance-dream? No Raph-fucker still huh? Never thought I’d be eager for a devil to show his stupid ass up…”
“An unpleasant vision of the past. One of the times that Cazador took advantage of the… resilience of the vampire spawn.” He forced himself to meet her gaze. “One of many. He would get very… vivisectiony, at times…”
“You can tell me anything, you know. If you wanna talk about it. I won’t be freaked out or nothing.”
“Yes, I am… I am starting to believe you, darling.” He licked his teeth then peered up at her and said, “You are aware the reverse is also true, yes?”
“Course, Fangs!” She smiled at him, oh so very brightly.
“It was… some time ago. Decades upon decades back. Cazador putting on a show for his guests. The main attraction: my good self-writhing in agony as he removed organs, one by one.”
“I know hugging can’t put a dent on that, but…” She opened her arms up for a hug, which he gladly accepted.
While nuzzling her, still in the grips of her embrace, he asked, “Nothing to share yourself?”
She released him, stretching again. “Naw, told you, was nothing big. Bad when I was asleep but fine now.”
“I… see…” He did not see. Did not see one single sign that she was lying. If not for the tadpole’s little trick this evening… he would never know the torment playing through her mind only minutes ago.
Karlach watched him, then shifted to better scratch her left arsecheek. “Fangs?”
“Ah… nothing, my dear. Very well, let us rest, best we can, before we once more tromp all about these cursed lands for… whatever it is we are currently seeking to accomplish.”
She grinned, then jolted as if remembering something and softly asked, “You need me to scoot over? Give you more space? Get out of your tent or?”
“No… no… none of those things. Though… one adjustment, I think.”
Karlach blinked as he tugged his shirt off, folded it carefully and placed it aside.
“Oh!” She held her arms open for him with a laugh.
“Mm. Do not get too excited, my sweet… this does not herald a… night of passion. Currently. Merely… this is nice. Still nice. Even… more comfortable? Yes… less barriers…” He babbled away while nuzzling her neck.
“If you get uncomfortable you can put it back on too, no worries!” She gave him a quick squeeze, then asked, “Me too?”
“Love, you are wearing but a scrap of some beast’s tattered hide. Practically topless already…”
She tugged off the leather bra, flinging it on top of his folded shirt. “It counts!”
“I suppose I shall join you in the land of pretend…” he said with a smile, pressing her back down, then snuggling up closely next to her, sighing happily at the warmth.
Karlach wrapped her tail around his leg, drawing him yet closer, softly stroking his hair with one hand, the other firmly planted on his ass.
Within seconds she was out like a light, snoring into his ear.
His eyes were wide open.
How!? How was she asleep again so quickly?! How often was she lying to him, right to his face!
How dare she!
Astarion was supposed to be the liar of the pair, not her! Not sweet noble righteous Karlach!
He wiggled out of her embrace, watching her as she slumbered. No. Studying her.
Why had she not shared the truth of her dream with him? He could not understand, it was so at odds with how freely she carried herself, how open she talked…
What a strange woman…
It really should put him off his game, how easily she lied; that he would not suspect a word of falsehood, if not for the tadpole’s assistance. It should make him doubt her, wonder if she was playing with him, for some upcoming humiliation he could only guess at… but it did not. Instead, he only felt… how did he feel?
Sad. He was sad.
Why? Over this? Astarion’s unlife was not lacking in far worse experiences… why in the world would this make him sad? What was there even to be sad about?
Sad she didn’t trust him enough to confide in him, perhaps?
No… well… yes. But that was not all.
Tilting his head to the side, worrying at his lip with a fang, he pondered… before it finally came to him, suppressing a chuckle at how obvious it was…
He was sad she had gone through something so awful. Of course he was. Who wouldn’t be, that was the normal reaction, yes? Astarion thought he was the expert in pain between the pair of them, what with being a practically unkillable vampire spawn, at the mercy of a sadistic mad-man for two centuries and all… but… learning she could understand, far more than he imagined…
“Mmm…”
The living were more resilient than he gave them credit for; at least this particular example of the living.
A distant part of him reflected perhaps he should be angry she did not confide in him, ascribe a negative motivation to her actions. Assume it was because she thought he was too weak and pathetic, too overtaken with his own burdens to listen to her own…
But…
Astarion, somehow, amazingly, did not believe any of those foul whispers at the edge of his mind. Once he would have… only a few tendays ago. No. That was not the reason she did not tell him.
But then what was the explanation?
It was too late to confront her now, that door was firmly shut. However, he should have, shouldn’t he? Gods…
He really did not have a single idea what he was doing, did he? What was a person supposed to do in a situation like this…
Murdering people was so much easier.
If only he had a single other friend, that could advise him in such matters. But he did not.
Well… Wyll was Karlach’s friend. So perhaps… maybe…? The man helped Astarion multiple times prior, for his own unfathomable reasons, and…
Astarion shook his head, discarding the foolish notion; he was on his own in this matter, as he had been for as long as he could recall.
Perhaps it simply was that he had prattled on too much about such matters already, and she knew that any story of torment she shared would be met with a like-reply? The tale would give him an excuse to share more with her and she was so tired of hearing of his centuries of misery…
That… that was much more possible.
Sighing in resignation, he snuggled back into her side, slipping under her arm without disturbing her, silently chuckling as her tail and hand both returned to their prior positions.
Some liar he was. Fooled by the woman he thought was the most open of them all.
And unable to even lie to himself this evening! His latest explanation was not the reason. Perhaps the others shied away… but never Karlach; she encouraged him to say more, time and time again. She had not been speaking of her time in Avernus to anyone. Of that he was certain, for he had taken to secretly following her about camp to… to… hells, he was spying on her. Fine. A prudent decision, as it turned out, for he could now recall her skillfully changing the topic again and again when others inquired.
Perhaps… perhaps… she was simply stronger than him. Having no need to inflict her past upon those around her in the present; able to refrain from pouring out her traumas at the slightest provocation. This latest explanation rang equally as hollow… but it made more sense…
Astarion curled up tighter in her embrace, pressing his face to her chest, muffling his latest sigh.
What am I doing?
How foolish he was, trying to have a relationship, with a partner, as if he was a true person. He didn’t even let her have sex with him! Only tonight removing his shirt, pants still around his legs. How could he expect her to let him in when he kept so many barriers up. How Karlach said she understood… was that a lie as well? Perhaps even to herself?
Was he luring her down into misery? In a different manner than all those fools, a different misery, but misery all the same, away from the light of a hero’s love, into the shadows of death?
Karlach muttered in her sleep, wrapping her arms around him tightly. He sighed, yet again. Perhaps what he should do is end this. Release her from… whatever this was. His flailing attempt at normalcy, bogged down by his endless complications. She would still protect him; he had no doubt of that now… and she would be free to… to…
She shifted again, rolling directly on top of him, snoring into his ear. It was almost as if she was answering him, pinning him in place, trapping him with her, as he felt he had trapped her. He snickered, gladly letting his train of thought fade away as he started to slink out from beneath her crushing weight.
Only for his eyes to widen and his slinking turn into actual struggles, pushing and failing, trying to turn this way and that, but making no headway for all of his efforts, despite no longer caring if he did wake her up again. Gods! She was so much stronger than him, in every imaginable parameter!
She moved slightly, drawing him yet closer to her somehow, shifting and now managing to pin his arms down to his sides as she rubbed her cheek against him and mumbled, “Cool fancy boy pillow…” Gods, even more of her weight was pressing down upon his chest!
It was a good thing he did not need to breathe, for that was now very much off the table. Hells, if this kept up she would no doubt dislocate one or more of his ribs.
Crack!
The noise was quiet, echoing only in Astarion’s head. He attempted to scream, but no air remained in his lungs to make any sound. The scream shifted to silent laughter.
Well! Make that fracture a rib or two!
Perhaps… this arrangement was for the best, after all. Maybe it was good this amazing powerful woman was with him. For the little vampire spawn would suffer no ill effects, but the same could not be said for everyone. He silently snickered, imagining a rather flat Blade of Frontiers.
How funny. She was so much larger than him, a situation he was very familiar with, but… here… it was so different with Karlach. Even being pinned so he could not move was merely annoying, not a sign of worse to come. Only now did he realize how truly comfortable her presence was… her every moment not a potential horrible prelude…
With a true smile on his face, he exercised the full range of motion available to him and kissed her shoulder, lapping at her exhaust ports.
Oh, as she would say, fuck it. Time for sleep. The devil would find him if he truly knew something about his scars, and it was not simply some joke on Astarion, getting the vampire to manipulate some mortals into doing the devil’s work by proxy.
Astarion didn’t care too much if that was the case, not right now. These weird mortals… they’d find another way to read his scars. All he would need to do was sigh dramatically, proclaim that it was hopeless and that he had given up on the matter, for it was obvious no one else could decipher the markings for him. The blasted wizard and the noble horned hero would practically trip over one another, trying to be the first to prove him wrong, he had no doubt. Heroes were so easy to control…
He drifted off, fully enjoying her warmth and the hint of delicious tangy blood emitting from her vents upon his tongue, as he lazily traced the ringlets on her shoulder.
He woke to Karlach gasping and her weight lifting. Astarion remained motionless, not even restarting his breathing, spying on her through barely opened eyes. A lack of breath in his lungs the only reason he could refrain from giggling as he watched the gamut of emotions play out over her face: confusion, fear, panic, doubt, suspicion, then annoyance.
“You shit! You don’t have to breathe!”
Astarion took a deep, somewhat performative breath, and erupted into giggles, not giving his incompletely healed ribs a single thought.
“It’s not funny! I thought I fucking killed you!” Despite her words, she laughed as she tugged him up. “Wanker.”
“Only my minor revenge for the crushing, my dear.”
She flung a pillow at his giggling face, then started getting ready for the day. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Making me over here worried it happened again.”
His giggles cut off and he sputtered, “W-wait. What? Again? You’re joking.”
She smiled and waved in his direction, wiggling her fingers with a wink.
“Exactly how many people have you accidentally crushed, my dear…?”
Karlach barked out a laugh, then bailed out of his tent, leaving him staring at the gently swaying tent flap.
The day prior he would have rolled his eyes, having no doubt she was indeed joking. But after the events of the night prior… gods, he didn’t know what to think.
Mulling it over, he erupted into his own laughter. Perhaps, it was nice sometimes… not to know. Not to know everything about a person. He tittered on, the laughter upsetting his ribs while he tugged his shirt back on, and took an essential moment to restyle his hair. He had spent far too long knowing entirely too much about his fellow spawn. This unpredictability was simply another piece of the charming package that was Karlach.
Confident in his appraisal and that his hair looked fabulous, he scurried out after her, determined she would not start enjoying herself too much without him.
Also he really should ask Shadowheart for a heal spell, Astarion had spent enough of his life dealing with broken bones, he didn’t have to do that anymore either. He would make his request in front of the whole camp, loudly. Offering no explanation for his cracked ribs beyond a lascivious grin and dancing eyebrows.