Chapter Text
Her powers are gone, her body is weak, and the world is hellbent on killing her.
Caspian stumbles back from where she’s crushed the head of a Mind Flayer beneath her boot, huffing and trying to wipe off the splattered gray matter from its broken skull on the floor to the best of her ability.
She’s standing inside a crumpled ship, burning debris everywhere she looks. The smell of sulfur wafts through the air, burning her nose and the back of her throat. She tries to blink the image of that Illithids wet, orange eyes out of her mind. Her scalp itches incessantly from the sand she landed in earlier that day, but she’s too grateful to have made it out alive to be terribly bothered by it. She presses her hand to her side when it twinges, feeling the blood that oozes from a wound she obtained during her far-too-many close calls of the day.
“That was disgusting,” the dark-haired cleric behind her says, her tone as flat as she can make it. When Caspian turns to look at her, she sees the woman’s lip pulled into a grimace. “Shall we move on? I really do not want to be the next bug squashed into someone's sole, and people are bound to come investigate.”
The last day has been one of the most confusing, horrifying times of her life. She was on the road back to Baldur’s Gate when she was kidnapped by the Ilithid ship, hardly a year after the last time she’d returned. At least this time it was of her own volition that she was going back. In all honesty, she hadn’t gotten very far with any plans to rescue Astarion, but she was returning anyway in order to at least give him an update. She had promised.
Now, she’ll have left him waiting.
Caspian and this cleric, a woman named Shadowheart, had found one another on the beach that the Nautiloid crashed into earlier in the evening. They’d worked together to clear an old temple down the road, and the only reason they’re still standing is because of Shadowheart's healing spells. Unfortunately, they couldn’t dig all the way through before being worn down with exhaustion, so now they’re back at the crash site and trying to find enough resources to rest before beginning once again.
“We could try to find Lae’zel,” Caspian suggests. “She said there was a way to cure us of the tadpole, didn’t she?”
Shadowheart narrows her eyes. “If anything in that regard was mentioned, it was between you two alone.”
“That may have been before I got you out of the pod,” Caspian shrugs minutely, turning to a large open gash in the wall. Beyond it, she can see a small expanse of sand and dirt. “We should check for survivors, though, even if only to make sure no Illithids or their thrall manage to get away.”
“Please,” Shadowheart sighs. “Caspian, we are the thrall getting away.”
“Not yet,” Caspian murmurs, her gaze locking on a dead Mindflayer lying on a ledge a few feet to the side. She walks over and begins to dig through its pockets, slipping what appears to be, and what she hopes to be, a health potion into her own. She slips a dagger nearby into her sleeve before climbing back down to the ground. "I'm planning to keep it that way.”
“It’s not as if we have much of a choice,” Shadowheart mutters, following Caspian out of the structure and on to the beach.
Caspian digs through a box that she finds partially buried in the sand, coming across a set of old lockpicks. She hums and shoves them too into her pocket, continuing to a locked box a few feet away. She kneels down to begin to tinker with the small, rusted mechanism before her. “You can continue forward,” Caspian says over her shoulder as she leans forward to listen to the clicks. She can practically feel Shadowheart pull a face.
“Please tell me this won’t take as long as that door did earlier.”
“I’ll catch up in a moment.”
Shadowheart groans. “If I don’t see you in the next hour, I’ll know where to come back to,” She sighs, parting from Caspian quickly and beginning up the small hill that their path follows. She disappears behind the brush in a few moments, leaving Caspian to attempt and fail to open the crate. After several tries, each of which nearly breaking the tools in her hands, she sits back on her heels with an annoyed huff. She scrapes her fingers through her hair, wincing when they catch on several tangles on the way through. After a few more seconds of this useless prodding, she glances up to make sure Shadowheart hasn’t come back. When she confirms the half-elf is not within sight, she stands up, steps back, and blasts the crate with a ray of red force. The structure shatters immediately, and Caspian pushes away the rubble, satisfied. She pockets another potion and a roll of rope, then takes a deep breath. She fights to smell anything other than the smoke behind her, and faintly, she can smell the salt of the sea. Within her skull, she feels the weight of the parasite. It feels heavy and foreign. It’s a burden on her shoulders just as much as it is in her head.
Soon, thinking proves to be a tumultuous task. She rubs her temple and grounds her mind, focusing again on the task ahead.
She walks up the hill, trailing the direction that she’d seen Shadowheart go. She pulls at her collar, fanning her face with her hand to try and combat the sticky heat of the day. She counts her steps as she makes her way forward, staying strictly to the edge of the path simply to give her something to look at other than rubble or gentle blue waves.
This is all until she hears Shadowheart yelp, at least.
Caspian immediately summons another crackling ray of magic to dance around her fingertips as she begins to step forward, much more cautiously now. She cranes her neck and can hear some sort of scuffle a few feet from where she’s currently standing. While the bushes provide her some cover, she can’t see what’s happening through them.
“Sh-h-h, quiet. Unless you insist on me cutting open that pretty neck of yours.”
Caspian jerks to a stop. I know that voice. She steps out onto the path again and, sure enough, there they are. Shadowheart is lying on the ground with an elf over her, a knife to her neck. She has her hand around his wrist and her head as far back as she can, eyes locked onto her attacker.
The familiar man in question is paler than Caspian remembers him being. His hair shifts gently in the breeze, the white strands framing his face. His figure, in the light of the sun at least, seems gaunt. Thin. His skin is almost translucent without the shadows of the night to hide it.
“Astarion,” Caspian snaps without thinking.
The vampire immediately stills, his gaze flicking to hers. “You,” he breathes, his voice dripping with venom. Though, despite how nearly everything else has changed, his eyes are still just as red, and entirely still as fierce as they were before.
“What are you doing here?” Caspian asks. It then occurs to her exactly how sunny it is on this little strip of land. She changes her question, and motions to him. “How are you here?”
Astarion balks for a moment, then he sneers and glares at her. “Don’t be stupid. I got here the exact same way you did-”
“You know what I mean.”
It’s then that Shadowheart clears her throat. “I see you two know each other. While typically I would enjoy such a touching reunion, will you let me stand up?”
Astarion laughs once. “Let you go? You kid. I saw you up and waltzing around in that gods forsaken ship! I am not in the habit of letting mind-flayer thrall-” His little speech is cut off by an anguished cry the moment he makes eye contact with Caspian. For barely a moment, she’s confused.
She wishes that moment had lasted longer.
A vicious pain suddenly rips through her skull, and Caspian stumbles backwards, clutching her head as the tadpole writhes within. She tries to shake the sensation away, but before she can ground herself, she’s mentally transported back to Baldur’s Gate. She’s slinking through the shadows, eyeing the citizens before her and sizing them up as they pass. She looks to the alleyways for pathetic drunks she might be lucky enough to lure back. She chances a tavern or two, always searching, always looking, always feeling out who might just be lonely enough to simply disappear. The gnawing hunger that grips her stomach may have drawn her to near insanity a century ago, but now she’s used to this torment. The torture. Now, it is simply life.
The memories shift. She’s in a palace, a very familiar one, with hands grabbing her hair, and carpet burns on her skin. She knows they will heal. It doesn’t stop them from hurting any less. She stays still as she is instructed, no commanded, as she’s dragged down the hall.
The memories shift. She’s back on the street, and her arms hurt. She can feel where Godey sliced her skin with knives, always too careful to never leave a mark above the neck. No, no, she’s much too beautiful for that. She needs her face. It’s the only thing that gives her a chance.
The memories shift. She’s writhing against the mental powers of the mind flayer infront of her, unable to crane her neck far enough to get away. She never was able to escape before, why would she be able to now?
The memories shift. She’s back. She’s on the ground. On this beach. The sun is shimmering down on them, filling her with such an intense dread, she prepares to burn. To die. Every second that passes, she expects it. She waits for it to hurt, even as she pins down a dark-haired woman.
For a moment, she’s looking at herself. The hatred, the anger, the spite that bubbles from her chest the second she sees her own face is of no surprise. She watches herself speak. Her dark hair thrown messily out of her face, that oddly shaped burn scar on her neck and part of her jaw, and those plain brown eyes.
With a jolt, Caspian finds herself back in her own head, still bathed in sunlight, and on the ground. She coughs, pressing her fingers to her temples as the writhing within her head finally dulls down. She looks up and sees Astarion nearly in the same position. When they look at one-another again, Caspian feels a spark of untelling recognition pass between them. Astarion seems to have set aside his anger for the current moment, his gaze shifting to the burn scar on her neck.
She doesn’t want to know what he saw.
Shadowheart is apparently standing now, dusting off her hands and glancing between both of them with a very unamused expression. “There. You may go back to bickering like an old married couple now that I am not at knifepoint.”
“Thank you for your permission to do so,” Caspian mutters, slowly drawing herself up to her feet as well, still slightly thrown off by their less-than-consensual memory swap.
The other half of that swap seems to have recovered easily enough, his fury returning as quickly as it had blinked away. “What was that?” Astarion snaps, looking between Shadowheart and Caspian wildly.
“The tadpoles connect us telepathically.” Caspian brushes her legs free of sand for the second time this morning. She looks up again when Astarion makes a small noise.
“Ah, yes. Obviously. I should have thought of telepathy,” he laughs. “Silly me!”
Shadowheart raises an eyebrow at him. “You know what these tadpoles will do, don’t you?”
“Apparently I don’t,” Astarion drawls, picking himself up off the ground. “Do enlighten me.”
“They’re going to turn us into mind flayers.”
Yet again, the vampire stops. He blinks several times, then he glances at Caspian as if she would refute this. She doesn’t. Astarion reaches up and presses his fingers against the side of his nose, taking a long, deep breath.
He’s good at that, Caspian thinks. Although, I suppose that was part of the performance.
“I should have known it would turn me into a monster,” Astarion hisses, breaking the train of Caspian’s mind. “Well. I don’t suppose you know how to get them out?”
“We were in the process of trying to find out when you trapped and nearly beheaded me,” Shadowheart says, her disappointment palpable.
“Ah, yes, I do apologize for that. Nerves tend to run high after being kidnapped,” Astarion now shoots her a charming smile, one that only seems to put her off further.
Shadowheart looks him up and down, then she promptly turns to Caspian, effectively ignoring the elf altogether. “We should continue forward if we’re to find a healer as soon as possible.”
Caspian nods, then she glances back at Astarion. He’s picking at his nails and looking at anything but the two of them, but he’s clearly paying attention. Her eyes slip to his outfit. As usual, it’s entirely unsuitable for the wilderness. Purple velvet, gold stitching, and blue silk make up probably his worst choice of wardrobe thus far. Even the red suit he wore the first time they met likely would have had a better chance. She eyes his sleeve, satisfied when she sees the small bulge where he put his dagger after he was done with it. Her mind wanders to how easily his fangs pierced her lip, and how much of a weapon they are in themselves. Though it strikes her that, even with his air of pure confidence and his deadly affinity for physical combat, there is a very high chance he won’t be able to survive out here on his own. Not many can.
He must feel her staring at him, as his eyes flick upwards and meet hers. His lip curls, then he looks away again.
“What I mean is, I can ask to get you out.”
“I honor my promises.”
She hadn’t technically promised to help him live, only to escape Cazador.
Aren’t those essentially the same?
“You should come with us,” Caspian says.
“Caspian-” Shadowheart groans.
“I said we should find more survivors. We won’t be able to do this just the two of us, it would be virtually impossible,” Caspian continues. “We’ll need everyone we can get. You’ve seen how fast he is, he’d be an asset.”
“Why in the nine hells would I agree to go with you?” Astarion asks, snapping his fingers to draw her attention once again.
Caspian levels a skeptical look at him. “You think you could find a cure on your own? Survive on your own?”
“You have no idea what I’m capable of, warlock,” Astarion spits, he steps closer, his nostrils flaring as he glares at her. “I don’t need your charity.”
“You’re right. What you need is to accept the fact that none of us will live out here if we don’t find a healer. is to have a group capable of watching your back,” Caspian returns, looking down at him. “I told you I would help you. I am willingly offering up much more than I’ve bargained for in the first place. If you’re too prideful to take the protection I am giving you, I will let you leave.” She sighs then, pursing her lips. “If you die after that, it is no fault of my own.”
Astarion furrows his brows, rolling his jaw and standing entirely still. His eyes flick back and forth between her own as he clenches his fists. Finally, he opens his mouth to speak. “Just how far does this protection extend?” he murmurs, his voice so low Caspian isn’t entirely sure Shadowheart was able to hear him. That does seem to be the point, though, since he then gives the woman a weary glance.
“However far you need it to, for the time being,” Caspian whispers back.
Astarion looks like he’s bitten into an unripe lemon. “I suppose you weren’t actually able to do what we agreed upon, unless every bit of this was your fault.”
“I can assure you, it’s not,” Caspian sighs.
Astarion stands straighter, then he turns to Shadowheart. “Well. I may as well introduce myself, then. My name-”
“-Is Astarion, yes, I’ve gotten that bit.” Shadowheart crosses her arms. “I’ll spare you the few seconds it would take to ask. My name is Shadowheart. I will make this very clear. I do not trust you, but I trust her judgment,” She says while pointing to Caspian. “I will not hesitate to kill you should you attempt to either of us again.”
“Thank you,” Caspian whispers, honestly kind of taken aback by the blatant confession.
Shadowheart glances at her, her expression softening just enough to be visible. “It’s the least I can do after you’ve repeatedly saved my life over the last few hours.”
“And you, me.” Caspian offers a small nod. Then she steps back and glances between both of them, sighing. “We’ll need more supplies then. Let’s head to the other side of the ship and search there. Then we can rest for the night, and go back to the temple to finish exploring.”
As Shadowheart turns and walks into the burning ship behind her, Caspian feels a hand grab her arm. She turns to her side, pursing her lips as she observes the vampire. “Yes?”
He stares at her for a moment, a pensive look passing over his expression. He grinds his jaw as his grip loosens and his hand falls back to his side. “If Cazador somehow manages to find me out here,” Astarion whispers, hissing the man’s name with vile contempt, “we’re both in trouble.”
“Will he be looking for you?”
Astarion snorts, narrowing his eyes. “You really know nothing about me. About him. Yes, he will look. He will not stop until he has successfully hunted me down, beaten, and humiliated me in front of all of my siblings.” He tilts his head up, looking at her through his lashes. “I bring this up only because you have to know. If he finds me, he will find you. Trust me when I say, what he will do to me will appear merciful.”
“Sounds familiar,” Caspian murmurs, allowing the weight of his words to sink in. It doesn’t do much to amplify her already raging anxiety and fear, that seems to have capped hours ago. She shakes her head, shrugging ever so slightly. “It’s not like I can do anything about that. If he finds us and he is as powerful as you’ve implied, the only thing left to do is pray.”
“And what gods would you try to coerce into helping us, exactly?”
“That decision depends on the moment. Nevertheless, thank you for telling me.” Caspian begins to back up, nodding over her shoulder. “Shall we?”
Astarion brushes past her, nodding curtly as he does.
“Caspian?” Shadowheart’s voice brings Caspian’s attention away from the elf, and back to the interior of the ship. She’s standing in a hole on the other side, one foot on a small beaten path and the other still inside. “Come look at this. It’s a… portal, I think?”
“You’re being summoned,” Astarion drawls, tromping his way over to the woman calling her. “A portal? What fun. Shadowheart, you should touch it first. See what happens, won’t you? I’ll pay very close attention, don’t you worry.”
Caspian takes a moment to stand there in silence, turning to look over her shoulder. The sun glitters off the ocean’s surface behind her. Birds sing, the wind blows, and fires crackle somewhere beyond her direct eyesight. The air still tastes minutely like salt, and her head feels heavier than before.
Her mind flutters back to how Astarion looked at her after their… memory swap, and then to how he looked at her right after she’d given the Soul Coin to Zephis a year ago.
“You spare my life, and I help you get yours back.”
Anyone smart would be fighting for their own life, not some strangers.
But that memory of being dragged through the hall that Astarion had shared with her whether intentionally or not, that’s enough to settle her decision.
She reaches up, her fingers brushing against the warped skin on her throat. She flinches at her own touch, dropping her hand with a frustrated breath. She turns back again, somewhat expecting her senses to be blinded by sulfur.
And yet, the beach stays still.
It’s only her and the muggy weather.
No Zephis, no Cazador.
She can hold on for another decade or so. If they make it through this whole Ilithid thing, anyway.
That idea in itself makes her snort.
“Caspian!”
Caspian looks up again, seeing Shadowheart waving her over from where she was before. Astarion is nowhere to be seen. “I’ll be right there!” She responds, finally dipping back into the wreckage to follow her new companions.
