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The camp reeked of blood. Of course it did, really. There was that poor Tiefling bard gutted in the middle of it, a strange circle drawn around her in blood, and a reek of death and spatter so strong that it made Astarion’s head ache.
And one of their number was missing.
At least no one had started hurling accusations his way. He had to admit, he’d been nervous, when he first woke and inhaled the sharp tang of iron. The vampire probably seemed like a reasonable first place to look.
But no, because there was a far more suspicious target.
Ironic, really, that circumstances would make their pretty Paladin more suspicious than him, but with Kellyn vanished from their camp on the morning of the discovery of a grisly murder, well. He had told them all that he had strange, violent thoughts. And Astarion had noticed that he never seemed to trance, not really—and when he did sleep, it was never for long before he was jolting awake and pacing circles around the camp.
Whatever was wrong with him, it was clear that they had all quite underestimated him.
Volunteering to search for him had mostly been perfunctory—if he was smart, Kellyn was miles away by now, and they would never see him again. Part of Astarion had to admit that was unfortunate; Kellyn had proven a reliable bulwark so far, and…well, alright, if he liked Kel’s presence and his pretty face and the way his hands always seemed to linger just a little longer on Astarion, when he laid them on after a battle, then it was perfectly practical. Somehow, Kel had become the leader of their little group, and if he liked and trusted Astarion—if he was already weaving himself whatever pretty fairy tale was spinning in that head of his—then that would have only been to Astarion’s benefit. It would have made seducing him and parlaying that affection into protection all the easier.
Alas. Not to be.
At least walking down to the river near their camp meant that Astarion was away from the agonizing smell of all that wasted blood. He’d been starting to feel dizzy, so close to it all—the fresher air was certainly doing him wonders.
There was a strange sound, further down the river.
Astarion frowned, and turned himself to listen, and it took him a moment to realize that what he was hearing was frantic sobbing.
No. Surely not. Kellyn wasn’t a fool. This had to be something else.
Nevertheless, he approached the sound, crouched low and moving slowly just in case it was a distraught cleric with a stake on hand or some kind of horrible beastie that mimicked sobbing to lure in good-hearted idiots. But as he approached, he caught a glimpse of white-purple hair and amethyst skin, and no. There was simply no possible way—
Except clearly there was. Astarion stood, and moved closer, still slow and careful, and winced at what he saw.
Kellyn. Nude, on his knees, blood-spattered clothes laying in a wet heap next to him on the riverbank. If Astarion had any remaining doubts about the perpetrator of Alfira’s murder, that put them to rest, even if the why still seemed elusive.
He was scrubbing his hands in the river.
From the looks of it, the raw redness from fingertip to elbow, he had been scrubbing his hands for a long, long while.
“Kellyn?” Astarion modulated his voice down. Soft, gentle. Don’t spook him. “Have you been out here all night?”
Kellyn made an awful, wrenching sobbing noise. Almost enough to make Astarion feel moved. But he just had to remember that awful murder scene—he knew now, that the soft doe eyes, the sweet gentle Paladin, had to be some sort of facade. A true wolf in sheep’s clothing.
They were more alike than Astarion had ever thought to consider.
“It won’t come off,” he said, pathetically, and he started scrubbing harder. “The blood. Her blood, it won’t come off my hands, I can’t get it off.”
There was, as far as Astarion could see, no blood on Kellyn’s hands.
“Darling,” Astarion deadpanned, as if that would help, somehow, “ what blood? Those lovely hands of yours look rather raw, and I suspect if you keep this up, they’ll start bleeding, but they’re quite clean.”
“What do you mean, clean, they’re covered in—” Kellyn blinked. Shuddered, full body, and pulled his hands out of the water, staring at them in confusion. “Covered…in….”
He sat back on his heels.
“But I saw—” He turned, looking up at Astarion in a way that was far too helpless and doe-eyed for someone who was clearly a few hours off committing a brutal murder. Worse, now that they were fully turned on him, Astarion believed the damned doe eyes were probably genuine. Was all of Kellyn’s softness a facade? Or was he something far more complex—far worse, perhaps? “I killed her, and her blood was everywhere, and I couldn’t get it off, and what is wrong with me?”
Against his better judgment—against every instinct screaming that whatever was wrong with Kellyn was nothing that Astarion should be toying with—he knelt down on the riverbank and very carefully gripped Kellyn’s arms, above the parts that he suspected would hurt to touch.
“Yes, well. All your penitent scrubbing has done its job. Look.” His voice was gentle, like talking to a spooked animal—or like talking to Leon’s daughter, when she got herself into a panic. The poor thing should never have been in Cazador’s palace, but her father was too much of a fool to send her away, and Astarion found himself dealing with her far more than he liked. “Come on. Let’s get you dressed and go back. The others will want to hear your explanations.”
Kellyn tensed. Looked like he wanted to bolt.
“The others—no, I can’t, I can’t go back, I don’t know why I killed her, what if it happens again.” His voice cracked, pained and panicked all in one, and Astarion felt his heart sink. No, he could not let Kellyn run off—this idiot Paladin with his head full of ideals was the only one that seemed to find his charms…well, seductive. And he could not lose out on a potential protector so powerful. Especially now that he knew that all Kellyn’s dirty little violent fantasies weren’t so fantastical—now that he knew that there was a real, powerful darkness there. One that he might be able to exploit.
To see Cazador sliced open the same way that bard had been—the thought almost made him shiver. What a fitting revenge for a monster so obsessed with making others bleed.
And if that was going to happen, he needed Kellyn to stay. So, tragically for him, it was far too late, because Astarion had invested far too much in winning him over to let him disappear. Besides, it would be a waste of a perfectly good Paladin to see him become a mind flayer.
“And where will you go?” Astarion asked. “If you wander out there alone, you’ll die. When we first met, you told me we had a better chance as a group, and you were right. Besides—perhaps your little extra passenger might have influenced this, and if that’s the case, you ought to stick with us more than ever. Better to have it turn you on a group of people who can defend themselves, no? Rather than some poor village of peasants you ran into on the road?”
“I—It….” Kellyn shuddered, again. “It wasn’t the tadpole. At least, I don’t think it was, I—there’s something wrong with me. ”
“Well,” Astarion said, quite practically, “let’s keep that between us.” Kellyn opened his mouth to argue, and Astarion shook his head.
Fuck, he was going to have to be honest and open and….and vulnerable, wasn’t he, if he wanted to keep Kellyn here?
“Kellyn.” He made sure to look into those lovely red eyes, currently wet with tears that Kellyn was clearly struggling to hold back. “I know what it is, to be controlled. To do things against your will, that you never would otherwise.” He reached up. Laid a hand on Kellyn’s cheek. Felt Kellyn lean into it. “Whatever possessed you to kill poor Alfira—we’ll figure it out. But we have a better chance of doing it if you stay. ”
Kellyn took a sharp breath, a hitched little sob.
“Okay,” he said, quietly. “Okay. I’ll come back.”
“Good,” Astsrion said. “I’d hate to see you disappear.”
He meant it, even. All games aside, as much as part of him loathed Kellyn’s idealism, his heroism, his burning desire to save kittens from trees and tieflings from goblins, another part of him liked that.
Liked him even better now that there was a touch of shadow there.
Kellyn stood up, with a little assistance, and staggered over to put his clothes on. He frowned, and looked back at Astarion, briefly.
“There is… these are…bloody, aren’t they?”
Oh. The poor thing. He couldn’t trust his own eyes, could he.
“Yes, but that’s nothing that can’t be cleaned out.” Astarion shrugged. Kellyn nodded, slowly, and went back to dressing.
“You’re better than you think you are,” he said, after a long, silent moment. Astarion couldn’t help himself—he barked out a laugh.
“I do know how to be nice on occasion.” He rolled his eyes, though there was a touch of fondness to it. “I’ll be back to my old self in no time. Come on, let’s go.”
And yet, he couldn’t help but notice—Kellyn looked at him differently, when he looked back. A certain…sparkle. .
Good. That would make all of this so much easier.