Chapter Text
When Astarion had first met Wyll, he thought him to be an arrogant bastard and a fool. No one referred to themselves by a gods-forsaken title without being a total arse. And his overly optimistic attitude had made Astarion feel sick to his stomach. But of course, their ragtag group of worm-infested weirdos had taken an instant liking to Wyll like a drowning man to a raft. Gale especially. He had cunningly convinced the others that a well known 'hero' would be their ticket to navigating this damned wilderness towards someone willing to help remove their tadpoles. Wyll was charismatic, trustworthy, and had more survival experience than the rest of them combined. Even Lae'zel had folded to their debate, smart enough to know when she was out of her element and brave enough to admit her weakness, though it clearly ate at her. Astarion had been forced to smile and cheerily accept that he would now be following the ‘Blade’ around like a lost puppy.
It wasn't all bad, he had supposed, Wyll was easy to read. Astarion could endear himself to him and ensure his spot within their little group in case things ever went arse-up. All it would take was a bit of flattery and wandering eyes… But no. Because nothing in this situation could be simple, Wyll was practically a stone wall. Astarion could bat his eyelashes, jut out his hip, and lower his voice to the most sensual timbre, but Wyll would only laugh and wave away his advances. It was beyond infuriating—and even humiliating—to have his one reliable means of self preservation outright ignored. Astarion was all the more frustrated by the fact that, unlike everyone else in their camp, Wyll seemed inoculated against his charms; being the only one innocent of sending the occasional appreciative sidelong glance in his direction.
It all changed when they tracked down the trail of the devil Wyll's contact had sent him to hunt. They climbed down the craggy stone over the winding river past the broken bridge after having to deal with half a pack of ravenous gnolls. When they followed the trail of blood and bodies and found the one horned woman, Astarion had watched from behind the man as Wyll visibly froze before finally trembling with barely contained rage. Wyll exchanged snarled words with his prey before the tadpole's powers connected them all, revealing the woman to be no devil at all, but instead a tiefling forced to fight in the blood war against her will. Brief memories of Astarion's first conversation with Wyll came to mind. The crimson fires of Avernus, advocatus diaboli .
Well, now that was interesting.
The tiefling, Karlach, had eventually convinced Wyll of her innocence with some difficulty. Wyll's fury then soured into fear, as he had noted with despair in his voice that he had broken his oath, and the punishment would be severe. Astarion alighted at the confession, immediately driven curious by Wyll's entirely alien demeanor. Where had his charming smile and aura of confidence gone? How could Wyll possibly be punished for this alleged misdemeanor while in the middle of nowhere?
After assisting Karlach with slaying some pesky paladins, their group set up camp. Wyll would typically be the one to conjure up something almost edible from their meager supplies for supper. Shadowheart had admitted she lacked any skill in the culinary arts, Lae'zel believed that food existed only as a source of energy, and Astarion hadn't had a meal for almost two centuries. Astarion would pretend to be preoccupied in his tent while the rest of the group sat around the fire and sip on their watery stews. If they were suspicious as to why they'd never seen him consume anything but wine, they didn't show it.
Wyll apparently had no interest in cooking that night, instead he spent some time talking with Gale in a rushed, worried tone before the archmage went about slowly roasting some lamb above the fire. Wyll paced about while Astarion watched him with the eyes of a predator trailing their target. This side of Wyll intrigued him to see, and seeing a pompous twat like him squirming in fear was absolutely delicious . It was times like these that Astarion's mind drifted to fantasies on what it would be like to consume his momentary allies. Would the hero's blood be as sickly sweet as his demeanor, or would it have that hint of spice that he had unwillingly revealed as he tracked down the 'devil' Karlach. Would Wyll struggle against his cold grip until the life was bled from him, or would he quickly succumb to the airy bliss of the bite's deceptive thrill. Astarion licked his lips, mouth salivating and fangs sliding out involuntarily, painfully pricking against the tender flesh of his inner lip.
Astarion had seduced many a patriar during his years serving his Master, luring them from the bustling midnight streets to darkened corridors. HisTantalizing kisses and slips of skin against skin promising an intimate conclusion to the heated encounter. Astarion could smell their arousal and practically taste their flushed blood, hot beneath where his tongue met their skin. Yet as long as he was bound by Cazador's commands, his fangs could not break the surface and claim the sanguine feast below. Astarion could only offer up his body like a good slave, fighting to find any satisfaction at all in the moments before his Master tore through the 'guest room' to claim his meal. If Cazador was pleased, perhaps later after the patriar was drained he would force Astarion to the ground to crawl after a rat. If he wasn't satisfied, he would make one of the other Spawn beat Astarion until the wailing ceased to rouse him.
The darker turn of his thoughts was interrupted by an eruption of flame only a few lengths away from where Astarion reclined upon a pile of cushions. A blackened figure emerged from the blazing circle as the others jumped to the defensive, immediately wary of whatever beast may spawn out of the magical portal. A pair of leathery wings outstretched, revealing an elegantly adorned figure beneath. There stood a real devil, with lavender skin and a devious grin on her face. Shadowheart and Lae'zel still stood at the ready, swords drawn and lips pulled back in defiance. Gale stood off to the side, expression thoughtful as he studied the she-devil. Karlach was beside Wyll, exchanging venomous words with the beast. All the while Astarion only had eyes for their noble leader, now balking in shock.
"Of course, it had to be you," Karlach spat. "Zariel will never fucking leave me alone."
"Oh yes, hello Karlach. Zariel does send her regards. I see leaving the hells has done nothing for your manners."
Wyll angled his chin upwards, portraying what could only be false confidence. "Mizora."
" Tsk'va . Stand aside and I will relieve this devil of its head," Lae'zel proclaimed with her usual bloodthirsty fervor.
"No, Lae'zel… everyone. There's something I need to tell you."
"Oh, my little Wyll, you haven't even told your friends about me! I'm positively wounded," the devil purred.
"So this is the source of your magic, I presume?" Gale said thoughtfully.
"Yes, I made a pact with a devil. And now I have to pay for it." Wyll's face fell to something nearing resignation. He returned his rapier to its sheathe and turned to look at their motley group, likely to gauge their reactions. Astarion wore nothing but a satisfied grin, and if Wyll was put off by what he saw he didn't let it show, instead only lifting a curious eyebrow in Astarion’s direction.
"We will speak of this later," Shadowheart said brusquely. She withdrew her weapon and backed away from Mizora.
"Now that all those pesky introductions are out of the way… you've been naughty, Wyll. Breaking your contract and letting Karlach live." Mizora shook her head in feigned disbelief, tutting in disapproval. "Now what will I do with you?"
"You told me devils only. She's a tiefling, not a monster!" Wyll hissed.
Mizora curved her hips to the side, smiling with all fangs and teeth. "Silly pet, Clause G, Section Nine: Targets shall be limited to the infernal, the demonic, the heartless and the soulless. Karlach certainly meets that criteria. I'm sure she'll be delighted to tell you all about it."
"Devils and their fucking contracts," Karlach growled.
"I'm not killing her, Mizora. Take your price, but I will not slay an innocent tiefling to save my own hide."
Astarion did not need the tadpole's magic to read the disgust on Lae'zel's curled lips. The two of them were often of the same mind and this instance was no different. Her slit eyes found Astarion's as she cursed out, " she'lak , he would submit himself to a devil over a stranger. His idealism makes him weak." Her voice was quiet so as to not draw attention to her little mutiny.
"At least it will be a good show," Astarion whispered back playfully. Lae'zel made a sound of disgust.
"I will take no pleasure from this."
Well, it was her loss.
Astarion watched as the devil yanked some unseen piece of Wyll seated deep within his chest, sending the man stumbling forward as if he was tethered to a short leash. It was an attractive sight, yet it reminded Astarion of many nights chained by manacles as Godey twisted his limbs until they snapped. It seemed that not even the simplest of delights could be relished without being tainted by his old Master.
The hellsfire that had signaled Mizora's arrival quickly engulfed Wyll as his knees buckled below him. The darkness enshrouded his body as the fire soared high. Wyll screamed in agony for what felt like an eternity, all while the devil laughed.
"Mizora! Let him go now or gods be damned—" Karlach stepped forward, axe at the ready.
The devil gave Karlach an unimpressed look. The fire surrounding Wyll slowly crawled up his body revealing changes that made Astarions eyes widen in disbelief. Wyll's dark skin was now covered in thick ridges, a pair of horns curled above his head, and his good eye was now black in the sclera with a blood red pupil.
Mizora gave a deeply satisfied laugh as she eyed up her work. "Now that's much better. A promise broken, a price paid. You knew the terms. Get used to your new look, pet - there's no going back now. Let's see how people look upon their Blade now that they know he's a devil."
"Gods, what did you do to me?!" Wyll shouted as he frantically looked to his exposed limbs, engraved like a tiefling's infernal flesh.
"I must be going now, pet. Don't worry, our pact still stands." Mizora raised her arms into the air before stopping for a moment, as if suddenly remembering another detail. "Oh, and Karlach, do keep an eye on the poor boy. And I'll be keeping an eye on you ."
With another flash of hellsfire, the devil was gone. The rest of the party regarded Wyll warily. Shadowheart claimed his attention first by demanding answers. "You have some explaining to do. You endangered all of us by crossing that fiend."
"I know, and I'm sorry to all of you. I'll tell you what I can, but I am pact-bound to secrecy. Mizora is the one who grants me the power you see me wield in battle, at least most of it. Before the tadpole I was much stronger, summoning hellbeasts and festering clouds. But I promise you, everything I've done has been for the good of the Sword Coast."
Lae'zel regarded Wyll with cold fury. " Istik , why did we not simply slay the devil? You have shown your weakness many times today. You are not fit to lead us if you cannot keep focused on our survival. I have seen how the 'teethlings' have drawn ire and know that your form is now a hindrance for us."
"It is a part of the pact," Wyll protested weakly. "I can do Mizora no harm. She has foreseen every way I could possibly escape it and ensured that it would never come to pass without her approval."
"You were a fool to agree to her bargain in the first place," Shadowheart said.
"The consequences have been steep, but know that I do not regret my past decision. It was worth the sacrifice. You must trust me on my word."
Astarion bemused aloud, "What do we do now? Of course, Lae'zel is right. We can't have you running around with the face of a devil claiming to be the 'Blade' anymore, can we?"
"...I do not believe that would end well, no," Gale agreed hesitantly.
Wyll met Astarion's gaze. His eyebrows were drawn tightly, but it was difficult to gather what emotion his eyes expressed now that the humanity had been stripped from them. Astarion was loath to admit it, but Wyll's changes had perhaps made him even more charming. The unnaturalness was alluring the same way the most venomous of beasts were. "You should lead us, Astarion."
Pause.
"You're joking right? Please tell me you aren't serious. Do I need to explain why that's a terrible idea?"
Wyll gave his first honest smile of the evening. It brightened his handsome face in ways that made Astarion feel ill. "Now, now, Astarion. You might not be the most noble of men, but your penchant for talking your way into or out of anything will be invaluable if we intend to survive anything beyond owlbears and harpies."
"No. No. Don't make me do this." There were a million reasons why Astarion could not take the helm of this group, his moral failings aside. His vampiric nature made up for about half of them. He was weak with insatiable hunger even now. Cazador would surely send his minions out looking for him eventually, and that was the one encounter Astarion believed they would not survive. Of course, there was also the fact that Astarion knew little beyond the midnight streets of Baldur's Gate and the dusty stone floors of his Master's crypt. If it weren't for the tadpole, Astarion would be too pathetic to do much at all besides run straight back to Cazador.
"I trust you, Astarion," Wyll said softly. And wasn't that the most darling, awful decision anyone could make. Maybe this would be good for him. If the others trusted him to lead, then maybe he would be able to convince them to help him against Cazador in the future. First, they would have to not stake him in the heart, but that was such a little detail in the grand scheme of things.
"Why not let Gale do it? Or Shadowheart? Hells, even Lae'zel would be a better fit!"
Gale gave a slight chuckle and inclined his head. "I find Wyll's judgment to be sound. Though you may not enjoy the mantle, your charm and wit has been quite the aid to our endeavors so far, and I do not see it suddenly forsaking us in the future. I am not so self absorbed to know when I am outmatched."
"My kin will understand my need for underlings to find my way to their creche . I will not disagree with Astarion's leadership, for the time being," Lae'zel said flatly. Her eyes were sharp and analytical, looking within Astarion for signs of weakness and somehow finding none. She wasn't looking deep enough, then.
"See, there's no reason to doubt your abilities. You have been a sight to see in battle, and a welcome companion on our unusual journey. I would gladly follow you," Wyll said.
"Fine! I'll do it! Don't come crying to me when this all goes to the hells," Astarion gestured wildly with a flamboyant whine. He was exhausted from all of this. Any enjoyment he'd gotten out of Wyll's misery had vanished. Astarion stalked over to his tent and went about moping for the rest of the night, until falling into reverie by the fire.
Their ventures in the wilderness surrounding the druid's grove continued as well as before with Astarion now making the majority of the party's decisions when conversing with those they stumbled upon. They had rescued an official from the city from a burning town that had recently fallen victim to a goblin’s raid. Or rather, Astarion had half heartedly encouraged Wyll and Karlach to rush in like dashing heroes to save the people trapped inside while he watched from a safe distance with the much more sensible Shadowheart. Counsellor Florrick thanked them for her rescue before informing them that Duke Ravengard had been taken by drow to the west for some unknown purpose. Wyll then decided to divulge to them the information that this Duke was actually his father, which explained Florrick's familiar tone with him. It must have been quite humiliating for Wyll to see one of his father's colleagues bearing his new horns. Fantasizing on Wyll’s misery was all that was keeping Astarion level-headed when Wyll frantically asked to go rescue his father, far, far away from any cure for their tadpole infliction.
The most logical choice would be to head to Lae'zel's githyanki creche as quickly as they could. However, Shadowheart, Karlach, and Gale all insisted they pursue the missing druid Halsin who was likely imprisoned by an entire horde of goblins. In the end, Astarion folded and agreed to charm their way into the goblin camp. It was a bit of a blow to his self esteem, groveling and flirting for these savage beasts' approval. It was an almost euphoric bliss upon releasing the druid when their goal quickly turned to massacring the entire camp. It seemed even the galant Wyll relished the slaughter of the wretched creatures. He joined in the bloodbath with a smile on his face, and hellblade in hand.
After slaying the leaders of the camp they returned to the druid's grove with the archdruid Halsin in tow. The tiefling refugees celebrated their arrival with words of gratitude and a promise to prepare a true party for their saviors that evening. Astarion was entirely out of his comfort zone, being thanked for fulfilling a good deed that hadn't come to benefit him in any way. It made his stomach turn with an unknown feeling that he wished to claw out of himself to avoid ever experiencing it again. Lae'zel seemed equally disturbed by the fanfare, electing to sulk around the edges of their group to avoid attention finding her.
It was only a few hours later after being properly healed by the grateful druids and spending a few moments to rest did the celebrations truly begin. A tiefling bard named Alfira was playing a lovely little tune while other refugees drank and danced about their camp. It was an atmosphere that reminded Astarion of his times hunting prey for his Master in the Elfsong tavern. This nostalgia was not exactly painful, but still unwanted. Astarion watched from his tent as his companions mingled among the tieflings, feeding from their prepared feast, and drinking the wines they had thought to carry from their flight from Elturel. Astarion partook in the wine, moody for reasons even he did not truly understand. He should be happy, he was being celebrated like a hero. Didn't he enjoy feeling wanted? Shouldn't he? Shadowheart had been watching him, as had Lae'zel, but he didn't approach them. Why didn't he? Why didn't he want it ?
Because Cazador had made him a broken man .
Later, as the night drew to its natural end, couples had gone off to celebrate in their own intimate ways. The flames of the campfire and torch posts had dwindled down to dull cinders, but Astarion's eyes were meant for this lonely darkness more than the sunlight after all. He watched Lae'zel head to her tent with some tiefling warrior Astarion couldn't remember the name of. Karlach had passed out from booze some time ago, and no one could drag her off the ground without flame resistant gloves. Shadowheart and Gale had exchanged flirtatious words but ended up heading to bed alone. Curious.
Wyll was still up sharing tales with Alfira and a few other drunk tieflings. Astarion watched them from afar, hunger aching in his empty belly. He had not fed on anything for days. Perhaps after Wyll went to his tent Astarion would sneak away and find something large enough to satisfy his starving body. Or maybe, he could feed from Wyll instead. He wondered if his blood would be more effective at getting him drunk than the alcohol was. Ever since his allies had named Astarion as their new de facto leader he had been unable to escape to hunt for his meals. He was needed to plan their path ahead, to discuss battle tactics or strategies.
While lost in his hunger, Astarion had not noticed that Wyll had approached him. He was alone, slightly drunk, and as handsome as ever. Astarion gripped his glass tighter and fought to hide a scowl.
"You've been quite solitary tonight, friend. Is everything alright?" Wyll raised an eyebrow in his direction. He had probably expected Astarion to be one of those who had gone off into the woods to have sex to celebrate the occasion. Well, it wasn't too late for that yet.
"Don't worry about me, darling. I've just been enjoying the view," Astarion leaned in with a coy smile and prayed that Wyll did not see through his lies.
"Is that so? Even with my new… appendages?" It wasn’t a secret that Wyll was ashamed of his new features.
"You don't believe me? I'm hurt."
Wyll chuckled. "If I know anything about you, you aren't afraid to speak your mind, so why haven't you?"
"Fine, then. Wyll, why don't we go celebrate in private? Just the two of us, and our bodies together. Preferably yours inside of mine," Astarion purred.
Wyll stepped back immediately. Astarion was not exactly surprised, Wyll he was looking upon him far too passively for his taste. "Is that what you truly want? Some fling that you can forget about when the sun rises?"
Astarion did allow his frown to show this time. It marred his features with ugliness. "What else is there? Do you expect to court me as we run about with these worms in our heads?"
"Yes," Wyll said softly.
"W-what. You can't possibly mean that."
"And why not? Astarion, you have a beauty the bards could sing epic tales about, and I have enjoyed every moment we have spent in each other's company. Is it truly so strange for me to want to show you affection?"
Yes, because none of the others have ever wanted to before . Because even his own body had been stolen from him and any act of pleasure reminded him of the countless victims he had seduced for Cazador. For the nights his Master had punished him in more intimate ways. Astarion could not remember the last time he had been touched with love in mind rather than personal gratification. When had there been hands on him that did not leave a permanent brand on his flesh?
"You don't know a single thing about me," Astarion hissed. He suddenly felt ashamed for even thinking of protecting his position within their party by stoking the fires of lust in Wyll. Clearly he had chosen the wrong target. He couldn't meet the man's mismatched eyes.
A warm hand met Astarion's cold jaw. "Look at me, please."
Astarion did that, though it pained him.
"I do want you, Astarion, but I also want a real connection with you. A relationship. If you don't want that then I'll walk away and we'll just go back to being dysfunctional allies."
Astarion froze. He did not know why, because there was no possibility of responding with any answer but 'no'. Wyll was good and kind, everything that he was terrified of. Astarion did not know what it was like to trust someone, to be vulnerable and not be responded to with mindless torture. Even his fantasies were bereft of such things as love. Mostly they involved every potential way he could murder Cazador.
The longer Astarion toyed with the idea of not even pursuing Wyll but of being in a relationship at all, the more ridiculous he felt. Even if he could look past Astarion being a monster, there would always be the insatiable urge to feed within him. One moment's lapse in control could get either of them killed. He'd never even fed on a thinking creature before, and Astarion knew once he'd gotten a taste for it there would be no turning back.
"Before you get ahead of yourself, there's something I should tell you. It's… just a little thing really."
"Oh?" Wyll was bemused. "This sounds serious."
Astarion placed his glass on the stool outside his tent. "I'd rather we not speak of it here. And trust me when I say that I'm not trying to trick you."
Wyll agreed with his usual cordiality. They took a slow walk around the camp's winding stream until they began to trudge through the dense woodland surrounding it. The night’s deep shadows cast the landscape into an entirely new light. The lack of any true path through the underbrush made the journey much more perilous. Wyll's new devilish eye allowed him a degree of sight in the dark he would not have managed previously. A lack of darkvision would have forced Astarion to practically lead him by the hand. It made the trek more manageable, even when buzzed with the pleasure of alcohol and the excitement of a secret to be revealed. The treetops were silent except for the soft buzz of insects and nocturnal creatures prowling about. Astarion led the both of them until he felt comfortable enough with their distance from camp and heard no other couples reveling nearby.
His first intent was secrecy, his second was to be far away from everyone else if his revelation did not go as smoothly as he hoped.
Astarion finally halted their march and turned to Wyll. His undead heart was fluttering in his chest so hard it hurt louder than his hunger. He had always pictured telling Gale first, but it was too late to withdraw now.
"It would be easier if I showed you."
In the moon's subtle glow through the dense trees Astarion could see Wyll's confusion. "You're starting to worry me," he said lightly.
Astarion took a deep breath. He removed one of his daggers from its sheath and offered it to Wyll. The other man accepted it, albeit hesitantly. "Draw blood. Just a prick."
"Astarion…?
"Please."
Wyll did as he was told. The cool steel of the blade's tip easily cut through the calloused pad of Wyll's finger. Lazily, a small drop of blood flowed to the surface of his skin. Immediately Astarion could smell it perfuming the air. His entire body shivered, actually shaking with desire. He dug his nails into his palms in order to stop himself from rushing forward and suckling on the tip of Wyll's finger. Instead he made sure the other man could see how his irises began to alight with an unnatural glow. Astarion's fangs fully released from his gums now long enough to reach below his bottom lip. He allowed his mouth to fall gently agape, enough for Wyll to see what he needed to.
"I had thought at first … but you really are a vampire? You fooled me by walking in the sun," Wyll admitted, his eyes wide. "This explains a great deal."
"You aren't… mad?"
"No. You've accepted my dealings with Mizora, it wouldn't be right of me to turn you away because of this."
Astarion allowed himself to feel a modicum of relief. "And now? Do you still intend to court me knowing what I am?" He filled his voice with his usual charm, but even to him it sounded hollow.
"That depends." Wyll stepped in closer, close enough for Astarion to feel the warmth of Wyll's body and hear the blood pounding in his heart. "Would you allow me to kiss you?"
Astarion breathed in sharply.
"Yes."
Wyll took Astarion's cheek into his hand and pressed his lips against his own in a chaste kiss. It was almost cute in its innocence. It was the best kiss Astarion had ever had in the centuries of his undeath. His fangs grazed against the swell of Wyll's bottom lip in a way that made Astarion feel almost ravenous. He needed to find something to feed on before he did something he'd regret. They pulled away from each other as quickly as it began. Astarion stumbled backwards, causing Wyll to call out to him in concern.
"I don't want to cut things short but I need blood or else I'm going to pounce on you like a cat in heat. It's been wonderful, darling," Astarion panted as he eyed the small drop of blood now smeared across Wyll's hand, with a matching blot across Astarion's pale cheek.
"I trust you not to feed on any of the tieflings we've just saved," Wyll grinned.
"Of course."