Chapter Text
The poison of the Honey Bee
Is the Artists Jealousy
The Prince's Robes & Beggar's Rags
Are Toadstools on the Miser’s Bags
A Truth that’s told with bad intent
Beats all the Lies you can invent
It is right it should be so
Man was made for Joy & Woe
And when this we rightly know
Thro the World we safely go
Joy & Woe are woven fine
A Clothing for the soul divine
Under every grief & pine
Runs a joy with silken twine
-From Auguries of Innocence by William Blake
You’ve made it out of the hells and the dark and back to Baldur’s Gate. Everyone - everyone - wants something from you. You resort to tearing down a Wanted poster and making a master list so that everyone can see that, no, you’re not ignoring them. You’re going to deal with the gods and patrons and masters and the tadpole and parents and everything, but it’s gonna take a hot minute.
You don’t particularly enjoy being the leader of this gang of misfits, but if they’re going to make you lead, then you’re going to prioritize the way your heart demands, so you go after Cazador first.
It’s…bad.
The cells go on and on. They’re filled with vampire spawn. Most are thin, desperate things. You try to not look too closely, knowing that every single person here has a sad story about being trapped or tricked or taken. The world isn’t fair, but gods below this is fucked up. How long has he been planning this?
One of the cells draws your eye and you have to stifle a reaction. You say, “Children. He turned children?”
Astarion follows your gaze and shrugs, but his shoulders are tense and his jaw twitches with the tension he’s trying to cover.
You make your way to the cell door and look at the child—the miniature vampire spawn—and swallow your horror. You say, far calmer than you expect, “You’re the children. Of the monster hunters. The ones they asked us to find.” Gods, I don’t know if this is worse or better than finding your corpses in a pile. Are they going to kill you themselves if we bring you to them? Fuck, there’s no good ending to this story, is there?
The girl struggles, trying to bring back her memories. She asks, “Parents? Our… parents?” She’s confused for another second and her face transforms from confusion to rage. She lunges forward and snarls at Astarion, “I’ll kill you!”
You jerk back from the cell and look between them. Astarion seems blank, expecting the hostility, but not necessarily sure why he’s getting it. You look for something to say, but the girl shouts, “You! It was you! You’re the one who brought us here! I’m going to kill you!”
You blink and look at Astarion, certain your confusion is obvious. He’s taken aback and stammers, “Well, um, yes, now that you mention it, I recall that happening.” He catches something in your eyes and says, the very picture of vampiric indifference, “I had to do it. Cazador’s orders. I kidnapped them, brought them here, and forgot about them.”
You run your hand over your face and say, “Right. Well, shit. One more thing to count against him.” You take a moment to pray for patience and say, “We need to find whatever it is that’s keeping these cells closed. And kill Cazador. And then get out of here.” You kneel to be on eye-level with the child-spawn and say, “If we all live through the next couple hours, we’ll get you to your parents.”
She doesn’t seem to believe you, but it’s not like she’s getting any better offers, so she nods and keeps glaring at Astarion.
“Come on, let’s find him and finish this.” You motion for Astarion to lead the way deeper into the vampire’s lair.
Of fucking course, you can’t just stab the bastard while he sleeps and be done with it. He’s ready for you and has the other six marked spawn already in their places for the dark ritual.
Cazador smugly wraps Astarion in bindings of toxic red power. He pins him in place and holds him motionless.
Karlach and Lae’zel spring into action, distracting Cazador from what the spellcasters might be doing. You nod at Shadowheart and she starts chanting. You sing along with her words, granting her volume and luck.
Cazador throws a Counterspell your way and it tangles up around the Inspiration you’re casting and fizzles. He starts monologing about his evil scheme and deriding your efforts as weak and paltry.
You laugh at the expression he wears when his magic staff—the one he needs for the ritual—suddenly bursts with radiant sunlight. He screams in pain, echoed by the spawn. Except for Astarion, thanks to the tadpole.
The distraction is enough. Gale hits him with fire and the rest of you carve enough of him away with blades to be able to shatter the magic holding Astarion in place.
You’re there to steady him and he draws his spare daggers from their holsters on your back. He stalks to where Cazador kneels, beaten and under control.
Astarion raises the dagger but doesn’t take Cazador’s head or heart. You feel the blood leave your face as you realize his plan. No. Please, no, love. Don’t make me have to kill you, too. He looks from the dagger, to his former master, to the space where he’d been pinned, and back.
“Help me!” Astarion finally demands, looming over Cazador. He looks at you and says again, “Help me. Use the tadpole so I can see my scars so I can put them on him. The ritual needs seven and it doesn’t matter which of us are in those places.”
Cazador tries to protest, saying something stupid like Astarion can’t do that. Gale also protests, as does Karlach.
Fear grips your heart and you beg, “No, don’t do this! Don’t sacrifice seven thousand lives! Don’t sacrifice yourself to this power. Please! Please don’t do this! Don’t go down a path I can’t follow! Please, Aster, just kill him and be done with it!”
Astarion bares his teeth and shouts, “I can’t do this alone! Help me! This is all I need and I’ll have the power to do anything I want! I will be the vampire ascendant, not him, and we will both be safe.”
I didn’t want it to come to this, my love. You shout your ultimatum at him, “I will not be your spawn, your pet, or your slave, Aster! I will be your equal! I will be your partner! Or I will be your nothing!” You wait for him to make his decision, heart in your throat.
Astarion looks at you, looks at the knife in his hands, looks at Cazador. He makes his choice.
If he decides he wants to go through with it, go to chapter 2.
If he decides it’s not worth it, go to chapter 5.