Chapter Text
Prologue: Before the Nautiloid
Astarion found himself, again at the Elfsong Tavern in Baldur’s Gate. The night was young, the tavern only just beginning to fill with the crowds of what was sure to be a busy night. He wasn’t surprised; there was a famous bard playing at the tavern. It was why he’d chosen the Elfsong tonight; it made his job for Cazador easy.
He’d long since stopped caring who he brought back to his master. He had a job to do, and he knew how to do it ashamedly too well. He hadn’t even really dressed well for the occasion; choosing a loose fitting but low cut grey shirt and black trousers as his attire.
“Find me someone to feed on tonight.” Was Cazador’s exact instruction. Astarion’s body was willed to comply, and he found himself here at the tavern as soon as the sun set.
So there he sat, drinking a dry, red wine surveying the crowd for anyone who seemed to have interest in him. That tended to be how he found his prey every night; look for the one in the crowd who couldn’t keep their eyes off him, plow them with their drink of choice, and seduce them back to Cazador’s palace where they’d be whisked away for the Vampire Lord to feed on while Astarion went back to the kennels he and the other spawn were kept in and then maybe he’d be gifted a rat by Godey for himself to feed on. The skeleton was in a piss poor mood when he’d left, though. Astarion didn’t expect to be fed at all tonight.
He’d been here an hour already, nursing his second glass of wine. He surveyed the crowd, analyzing. There was a human female with brown eyes that darted to and from him off and on, though she seemed more chastened than he was willing to deal with tonight. Another drow female had flirted with him earlier, but Cazador hated the way drow tasted. He’d earned himself a beating the last time he brought one to his master. He wasn’t about to make that mistake again.
His eyes met another female, this time a high elf with impossibly dark hair, piercing pale blue eyes, dressed in black leggings and pale, worn sweater that might have once been white. He felt like he’d been punched in the chest, his breath taken away by how devastatingly beautiful the woman was, nevermind how graceful she was as she traced her way across the tavern, right towards the bar where he sat. Shit.
She came to stand on his right, so close thanks to the crowd that had flocked to the tavern he could smell her sweet, floral scent; lilac, lavender, and honey. The aroma made him dizzy.
“Hello.” She greeted casually, looking right at him. Her voice was as beautiful as a choir’s song. Astarion was in trouble.
He quickly composed himself. “Hello, my dear.” The charm he turned on was reflexive; two hundred years of habit he wouldn’t break tonight.
“Are you here to see The Drow?” She asked casually, taking a goblet of sparkling wine from the bartender.
Astarion recognized the name of the bard playing tonight. He nodded, sipping his wine, watching her the whole time. Gods, she was intoxicating, and he’d barely said two words to her.
“I am. And yourself?” He inquired, turning to face her and giving her his signature, cunning, sly smile.
“I’ve heard good things about him.” She replied, leaning against the bar, facing him fully.
She was barely tall enough to come to his chin, but she met his gaze evenly. Her eyes were more beautiful up close; the pale blue was actually an icy blue with flecks of grey near her irises. She had a wide face, her body was plump but fit, full, like she was no stranger to hard work. Astarion could find no flaws in the beautiful elf standing before him. He really should move on to another patron tonight, but something about her kept drawing him in.
“As have I.” He answered in his signature, sultry tone. “So, is a beauty like yourself here alone tonight?”
She couldn’t hide the flush of color in her cheeks. The sight of it woke Astarion up; he could feel her heart race in her chest at the frankly poor attempt he’d made at flirting with her. He could do better, but something about her caused him to lose all his normal lines. She had disarmed him, and she didn’t even know it.
“I’m actually supposed to be meeting a friend, but I’m not sure she’s coming. She was supposed to meet me by now.” She answered, sipping her wine.
“A shame, really.” He said, his voice light, flirtatious and suggestive. “Tell you what, my dear,” He began, digging himself into a hole he wasn’t sure he could dig himself out of. “If she doesn’t show by the time you’ve finished that drink, come find me.”
She hesitated, but smiled, holding her hand out to shake his. “Aelynn.”
Aelynn. Her name was a chorus in his head. He reached out to shake her hand.
“Astarion.” He took her hand as he spoke, giving it a slight shake.
“Astarion.” She said, confirming. The sound of his name on her lips was a symphony ringing in his ears setting his body on fire. “An older name. You don’t meet many Astarions anymore.”
“Perks of being pointy-eared, darling.” He gestured to his ears. She giggled.
“So…” She said. “You said find you after I finished my drink, yes?”
He nodded, taking another sip of his wine. She pursed her lips, nodding casually, then drained what remained of her wine. He watched her every move, the bob in her throat as she drank was enough to make his mouth water.
You shall not drink the blood of a thinking creature. Cazador’s voice rang through his head like a death bell. He wasn’t ever sure if it was because Cazador could actually read his mind, or if it was the visceral memory of the first day he’d been with the vampire lord. In either case, it sent an icy shiver down his spine.
“Found you.” She said flirtatiously. “How about that drink?”
He shook the icy feeling off and turned to the bartender, gesturing for another glass of wine, not taking his eyes off Aelynn.
******
The two had found themselves in a secluded booth at the back of Elfsong. The Drow had been great to listen to, but the two elves were very much not paying attention to the music he played, not after their third glass of wine each.
Aelynn moaned slightly as his hands grazed her breast over her sweater. Astarion’s mouth ground against her, his kiss hungry, nearly feral at the scent of her arousal. She kissed him back all the more hungrily, grinding herself against him, rearing herself up on her knees in the booth to get better leverage. She moved to straddle him, resting her hips over his. Her hair fell delicately as she traced his mouth with hers.
Astarion hadn’t felt this alive in over a century. The way she laughed, the way she moved, the way she so boisterously danced with him at the start of The Drow’s set had been so thoroughly invigorating. He’d forgotten how it felt to feel something; to feel this good , to feel alive. The lingering thought in the back of his mind was how much he hated that it would end with him bringing her back for Cazador’s next meal.
Astarion traced a kiss down to her neck, feeling her pulse beneath his lips was driving him mad. His eyes closed, savoring the feeling of her neck on his lips. He was rock solid beneath her, and she was completely aware of this fact, grinding her hips ever so gently into him. She was teasing him, he knew. Trying to test his resolve on bedding her tonight. And it was working; even through their clothes it felt amazing, the sensation making him want to lose all control. He pawed at her breast, cradling her head in his other hand. She let out another small noise as he nipped her neck.
He needed to find a way out of this. But how could he? Cazador’s instructions were clear; bring him back a meal. Between their conversations, their inevitable steamy makeout, he’d been trying to puzzle through how to get around that command. For the first time since he’d begun working for Cazador, he was trying to find a way to bend the rules without breaking them. He’d come at it from all angles; there wasn’t a way out of it. Or… was there?
Cazador said bring him a meal. He didn’t say it had to be the first person he flirted with tonight. Astarion pulled back, brushing the hair out of Aelynn’s eyes.
She gave him an inquisitive look. “Is something wrong?”
He wanted to continue. He wanted to take her to a room and fuck her, wanted to hear her moan his name until she came while he was inside her, feel every pulse of her as she climaxed. And then he wanted to flip her onto her stomach and fuck her again. This was new to him; a desire that, until tonight, he forgot he could ever have. His body hadn’t been his for so long, he forgot what it was like to want to be with someone like that. To need it with every fiber of his being until his resolve nearly crumbled.
But he knew this couldn’t continue. He had found the only loophole in Cazador’s instructions; he had to seize it while he could. Otherwise he would doom this woman that had woken him up from a nearly two century long slumber to a fate worse than death.
“Nothing at all, my dear.” He said, flashing his signature cunning smile. “I… just realized I haven’t closed our tab.” He motioned, hands against her hips, for her to dismount him. She obeyed, sitting next to him.
“Oh, I see. And does this tab include a room…?” She asked, trailing off, tracing her fingers gently across his shoulder.
Gods, he wanted it to, more than she could ever know. But, the plan slowly formed in his mind. It was better to leave now, make her hate him, find someone else, before it was too late.
He smiled at her again, though the joy he’d felt most of the night wasn’t found in the smile anymore. “Of course. Give me just a moment.” He gave her one more kiss, deep, wanting, before he left.
He weaved his way through the crowd, now invisible to Aelynn, making his way to the bartender.
“How much do I owe you?” He asked, pulling out his coin purse.
“Twenty.” The bartender replied, setting a pint glass down on a shelf.
“How much to add a room?” He glanced in Aelynn’s direction, though he couldn’t see her through the crowd.
“Ten.” The bartender surveyed him. “Never known you to rent a room. Not taking her back to your place?”
Astarion shook his head, pulling thirty gold pieces out of the coin purse and handing it to the bartender. The bartender took it and pocketed it.
“It's late. I don’t want her walking home alone. If she comes looking for me, tell her the room is for her.” Astarion answered.
The bartender shrugged, cleaning another glass. Astarion turned on his heel, and left the tavern before he lost all nerve to leave her in that booth.
This is for her own good… Astarion reminded himself. He reached the door, sneaking one last look in Aelynn’s direction. The crowd parted just enough for him to see her still at that booth waiting for his return, her head resting on her hand under the lamplight. He savored that image for just a moment before exiting the tavern, turning in the direction of Fray’s Flophouse.
******
“You’re late.” The skeleton said, arms crossed.
Astarion glared at him as he pulled his jacket off. Fray’s Flophouse had proven fruitful; Astarion had managed to find a willing subject to seduce and bring back to Cazador. The moon had set by the time he’d brought his victim back, leaving him in the ballroom for Cazador to collect.
“I’m not late, Godey.” He replied.
“Late enough.” Godey said snidely. “What took you so long?”
Not really a question Astarion wanted to answer, but he had no choice. Godey seemed to be itching for a fight. Astarion was right, it seemed, to have assumed the skeleton’s poor mood that night.
“Slim pickings, my dear.” He replied, not quite lying. While it wasn’t hard to convince the pirate to come to the palace, Fray’s Flophouse wasn’t the bustling place that Elfsong had been.
Godey shoved Astarion against the wall at his tone. Astarion banged his head as he hit the wall, his nose cracking as he hit it against the heavy wooden wall. He cried out instinctively, his eyes watering.
“Watch your tone, boy.” Godey chastised him.
Astarion grit his teeth, the pressure of what felt like a knife at his back was enough to keep Astarion from running his mouth.
“You’re the last one to return.” Godey said. “You know what happens to those that are last?”
Astarion’s stomach dropped. He knew it meant punishment, whether it meant Cazador or Godey this time dishing it out, he wasn’t entirely sure, but neither option was preferable to the other. Godey was a sadist, and Cazador would make Astarion torture himself.
Astarion tried and failed to take a breath, the pressure of Godey’s knife becoming too much for him. Godey grabbed his collar and dragged him down to the basement closet, tossing him in the dark room and locking the door behind him. Astarion was left in the pitch black of the room, no light to be had.
He’d been here before. He didn’t relish the idea of being back. The last time he’d been locked in here, he’d all but been forgotten. He’d managed to get Petra to admit he’d been locked in the room for six months before he was finally let out. He felt his way to a wall and sat down, resigning himself to his fate. What else was he supposed to do? Banging the door would give Godey the satisfaction he’d been wanting. He had no desire to give the skeleton that. He’d become numb to these kinds of punishments. The panic would set in eventually, he knew, but for now he felt just that: numb.
Instead, he let his mind replay the night's events. He was sure he’d imagined Aelynn, sure this whole night had been one elaborate dream. He’d wake up any moment and be in his coffin or in the kennels, ready to repeat the night’s work over again. But no, he didn’t imagine her, and this was no dream. He could still hear the silver laugh she gave at one of his jokes, still feel her pulse against his lips as he held her, still hear her moans as she ground into him, still smell that intoxicating scent of hers. He didn’t imagine her, but what she’d given him in those too short hours was a gift he didn’t deserve.
He let those images carry him to sleep.