Chapter Text
Astarion reentered the library with Tara perched on his shoulder, her soft fur brushing against his skin. The room was enveloped in an uneasy silence, punctuated only by the faint clinking of teacups and the hushed whispers of the curtains against the closed windows. He had left behind his internal turmoil in the hidden alcove, choosing to face the decision at hand.
The others turned their attention to him as he returned, their expressions a mix of anticipation and concern. Gale, Wyll, Shadowheart, and Larianna had continued to sip their tea, but the atmosphere in the room had shifted. It was as if the weight of the impending revelation loomed over them like a storm cloud.
Gale was the first to break the silence. "Astarion, we were just discussing Cazador Szarr and how we stopped his Rite of Ascension."
“I can not believe that the Szarr were vampires all along. But now that you mention it, their whole demeanor was quite obvious.” Larianna took a sip from her tea cup and set it down with a dull clank. “I apologize if this causes you discomfort, but Wyll said, that you had bad history. Did this Cazador take a loved one from you?”
Astarion, still carrying the turmoil of his emotions, shook his head as he heavily sat back down in his chair. "Cazador took a lot from me, my whole existence to be precise.”
The silence that followed was deafening, but no one pushed him to contnue, as he gathered his thoughts.
“Cazador Szarr is… was the vampire lord of Baldur's Gate. From what you told me, your family’s disappearance could very well be his doing.” Astarion took a deep calming breath as he strokes Tara’s fur.
"He... was cunning and manipulative," he explained, his voice tinged with a mixture of loathing and fear. "He possessed a charisma that could beguile even the most steadfast souls. He was as charming as he was deadly. But don't be deceived by the facade of sophistication. Underneath that veneer lay a creature devoid of compassion, a predator that reveled in the suffering of others. He saw mortals as playthings, pawns to be toyed with, and their suffering was his delight.”
"Cazador Szarr was not a creature of restraint or compassion," Astarion contunued, his crimson eyes clouded with the recollection. "He was a master of manipulation and a sadistic hedonist. He reveled in the power he held over others and took great pleasure in tormenting those beneath him, like myself. I had the...pleasure of serving him." His words dripped with sarcasm as he recounted his servitude to the malevolent vampire.
At this revelation Larianna’s eyes widened and her hands began shaking, causing the fine porcelain to clutter omniously. Quickly, she put her hands into her lap, listening attentively.
Astarion's voice held a bitter edge as he continued, "Under Cazador's influence, I was little more than a puppet, a tool for his insatiable desires. He reveled in my suffering, and my servitude to him was a never-ending nightmare. But that life is behind me now. I've broken free of his control, and I seek to right the wrongs of my past."
The room fell into a heavy silence once more, as Larianna digested Astarion's words. The gravity of his description painted a chilling picture of the vampire lord and his dark legacy.
Astarion hesitated for a moment before finally revealing the truth, his voice tinged with the weight of centuries. "I am not just someone who seeks the protection against sunlight for a friend. I am the one who needs it." His gaze bore into Larianna's as he pushed forward, unable to look away from her reaction. "I am a former vampire spawn of Cazador Szarr.”
The room fell into an almost palpable silence. The group stared at Larianna, her shock and anger evident in the tensing of her jaw and the narrowing of her emerald eyes. The revelation hung in the air like a stormcloud, casting a shadow over the room.
Larianna's voice, when she finally spoke, was a tempest of shock and anger. Her words were sharp and biting, each one carrying the weight of her tumultuous emotions. "A vampire? A spawn to the very monster that caused my family's dark fate?" The accusation dripped with venom as she pushed back her chair, its legs scraping harshly against the wooden floor. Her posture, once curious, had now transformed into a wary stance, her body language a testament to the storm brewing within her. "How dare you?" Her emerald eyes, once filled with curiosity, now blazed with accusatory fire as she locked her gaze onto Astarion. "How dare you wear Astarion's face and claim to be a part of this?"
Wyll's voice cut through the charged atmosphere, disbelief etched across his features. "Astarion's face?" He exchanged a bewildered glance between Larianna and Astarion. "Your brother's name was Astarion as well?"
Angry tears welled up in Larianna's eyes as she hissed her response. "Yes. I would not have thought the heroes of Baldur's Gate to be this cruel by tormenting the last member of a dead family to gain powerful knowledge for the benefit of a monster."
Astarion took the insults without blinking, since he felt that she was right, of course, a stoic mask concealing the whirlwind of emotions within him, as Shadowheart rose from her seat, her anger seeping into her voice. "You don't know him. You don't know anything about the pain he's endured and how he choose to do the right thing despite it. Astarion is not a monster. Your own tragic past has blinded you to the suffering of others."
Larianna, consumed by anger and grief, took a step back from Astarion, her eyes now ablaze with a vengeful light. She raised her trembling hands, and with a wave of her fingers, a spectral illusion materialized before her. It was a vivid image of a happy family—her family. Her mother, her elder brother, her sister-in-law, and a young elven boy playing in a peaceful garden.
The room gasped in awe at the lifelike illusion. Larianna's voice trembled as she spoke, her accusations accusing as she addressed Astarion. "This was my family, vampire. The very family that was torn from me in a nightmare I will never forget."
Astarion, a deep sense of unease gripping him, struggled to connect the image before him to his own past. "I…" he began, his voice wavering as he tried to make sense of it. "I don't recall seeing these people at the palace."
Larianna's eyes blazed with intensity as she took a step closer to Astarion, her voice a mixture of desperation and accusation. "You were part of it, I know it! You served that monster, this Cazador. You were the one who took them from me."
Astarion's brow furrowed in confusion at first, his crimson eyes narrowing as he struggled to recall the events that Larianna accused him of. He clutched his head in distress, a sudden, searing headache overwhelming him. A trickle of old, congealed blood oozed from his nose and ears, staining his pristine white hair. He gasped, trembling with the pain and the unearthly sensations that coursed through him. He was shaking, and his elegant facade crumbled in the face of this onslaught.
Gale and Wyll rushed forward, trying to restrain Larianna and prevent her from causing further harm. They reached out to her, urging her to stop, but Larianna was relentless. She wanted answers, she wanted justice.
As the room teetered on the edge of chaos, Astarion's mind, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, flickered with a sudden spark.
He saw a glimpse of a grand dining room, adorned with dark, ornate decorations. A young elven boy, terror in his eyes, clutching a wooden boat as if it were a lifeline. Then, a shadowy figure—Cazador Szarr—standing at a dining table, his presence menacing and sinister. Larianna’s brother’s voice quivered with anger and fear as he spoke, his protective instincts kicking into high gear. "Get away from my family, you fiends!"
Cazador simply chuckled, an unsettling sound that filled the room. "Oh, Olleon, you have no idea how long I've waited for this reunion."
The room plunged into chaos. The mother's anguished cry filled the air as she plunged a dinner knife into Astarion’s chest, the dull blade not sinking deep, but tearing flesh. Pain lanced through him, both physical and emotional, as he gazed into the eyes of the woman filled with madness and desperation.
"You are a monster!" she screamed, her words a damning verdict that echoed in the chamber.
Astarion's eyes widened as he realized that he had been there, a pawn in Cazador's dark games. The memory was a jagged shard of pain, and it cut deep. Astarion gasped, his body convulsing as he fought to maintain his composure. The room spun around him, and he felt as though he were on the brink of madness.
But it was a fleeting moment, the memory slipping away like sand through his fingers. Astarion, now paler and shaken, finally stammered, "She is right… I... I remember... fragments. All four of them were sitting at the dining table with him. I was there, but not by choice. I was under Cazador's control. But why is this memory so fuzzy?" The words came out in a pained whisper, as he felt the weight of his own dark past crashing down on him.
Larianna's illusion began to waver, as the intensity of the moment had sapped her energy. She looked at Astarion, anger and grief still etched on her face. "You will never know the pain and loss I have suffered," she said, her voice trembling. "But perhaps you'll understand the depths of your own wretched existence."
With that, she dispelled the illusion and turned away, tears in her eyes, her anger still smoldering. The room was left in a stunned silence, Astarion on the brink of collapse, and the others grappling with the newfound knowledge of their companion's dark history.
Shadowheartplaced a gentle hand on Astarion's shoulder, offering silent support. Wyll, with his unwavering warmth, moved closer to him, ready to provide whatever strength Astarion needed.
Astarion's head was throbbing, and his vision blurry. He gripped the armrest of his chair, his knuckles white with strain, while his crimson eyes bore the weight of the past. The room seemed to tilt and spin around him.
Tara let out a concerned mewl, her golden eyes filled with worry.
The group's reactions were a complex blend of empathy for Astarion's torment, understanding of Larianna's need for answers, and a growing sense of unease as the web of coincidence and connection between them deepened.
Finally, it was Gale who broke the silence. His voice was measured, yet filled with concern. "This is an astonishing set of coincidences, isn't it? Astarion sharing both the name and the face of your dead brother, coming from Baldur's Gate, and the involvement of Cazador in the tragedy of your family." He turned to Larianna, his dark blue robes rustling as he spoke. "Is your family name Ancunin, by any chance?"
Larianna, her emotions still raw from the revelations, nodded slowly. "Yes, it is. I went by Glimmerrite after the tragedy, I couldn't stand how non-elves butchered the pronunciation."
The room fell into an uneasy silence, as the implications of the shared history and the mysteries surrounding it began to sink in. The coincidences were too uncanny, and the weight of their past actions hung heavy in the air.
"Oh, don't tell me, that you call yourself that as well?"
As the implications of the shared history between Larianna's family and their own tangled fates hung in the air, Astarion was lost in a swirling vortex of emotions and fragmented memories. The revelation of the name Ancunin, shared by Larianna's family, weighed heavily on his mind, and it clawed at the depths of his memory.
His once-focused gaze turned inward, his crimson eyes glazed with a distant, almost absentminded expression. He felt as if he were falling into a chasm of recollections, memories that had been locked away in the recesses of his mind. The room around him seemed to blur and fade as he delved into the past, searching for something that would confirm or deny the unthinkable connection.
Astarion's voice, when he finally spoke, held a distant and almost dulled quality, as if the weight of the years bore down on him. "Ancunin... It's a name that has only adorned my grave stone, I never thought there someone else who shared that name."
He continued, his voice growing more focused as he pulled fragmented memories from the depths of his mind. "It was a night, sometime in 268 DR, I think... I was returning home after a long day in the magisrate, and... I encountered a group of Gurs, common thugs, really." His words were laced with bitterness, as he recalled the violence that had altered the course of his life. "They didn't hesitate to plunge a dagger into my chest." Astarion's hand moved unconsciously to touch his unbeating heart, as if to remind himself of the wound.
As he spoke, the room seemed to come back into focus, and he turned his attention to Larianna, his eyes filled with a mixture of disbelief and hope. "Could it be that I was... that I am Larianna's lost brother? The memory of that night is still a haze, but the name Ancunin... it echoes with a distant sense of familiarity."
The room was steeped in a stunned silence, as Astarion grappled with the shocking possibility that he might be the key to unlocking the mysteries of Larianna's tragic past. The web of intertwined fates had grown even more complex, and the weight of the truth left them all in a state of quiet contemplation.
Larianna stood there, her features a tumultuous storm of emotions. The revelation had hit her like a tidal wave, leaving her stunned and overwhelmed. Her disbelief was etched on her face, as her gaze darted between Astarion and the group. The room had become a maelstrom of tension, a vortex of possibilities and shattered certainties.
A combination of shock, anger, and now incredulity painted her expression as she grappled with the notion that this vampire before her might be her dead brother. She shook her head slowly, her fiery hair dancing around her shoulders in disarray. Her emerald eyes, once filled with accusatory fire, now held a bewildered uncertainty.
The enormity of this revelation was almost too much to bear, and Larianna's voice trembled as she finally spoke, her words a fragile whisper amidst the turmoil. "This... This cannot be true. How can you expect me to believe that the monster before me is my dead brother? That he conveniently forgot everything about his origins. It's a cruel jest."
Her disbelief hung heavy in the air, her heart torn between the desire to find her family and the fear of acknowledging this unimaginable connection and what this meant for her beloved brother’s fate. The room was thick with tension, as the group watched with bated breath, awaiting her response.
Larianna turned away from Astarion, her trembling hands betraying the depth of her emotions. "I cannot bear to be in the presence of this… creature," she whispered, her voice choked with a mixture of grief and anger.
The room was enveloped in a stunned silence. Astarion, still shaking, clutched his head, feeling as though the revelation had torn through the fabric of his very existence. He had been confronted with the darkest shadows of his past, a past that was irrevocably entangled with Larianna's own tragic history. The memory of Larianna's family, maybe his own, at that dining table, the brother and the desperate attempt to protect his family, the accusing cries—it all seemed like a haunting nightmare.
The atmosphere was suffused with a potent mixture of lingering shock, uncertainty, and a touch of sorrow. Each member of the group wore expressions of contemplation and introspection, grappling with the whirlwind of emotions that had unfolded before them.
Astarion's eyes remained fixed on the doorway, his thoughts a tumultuous sea of possibilities and unanswered questions. Shadowheart's face bore the weight of empathy for her friend, her gaze distant as she reflected on her own forgotten past. Wyll stood with a somber look, his spirit subdued by the gravity of the situation. Gale was deep in thought, his eyes flickering with a profound curiosity and a sense of connection that transcended mere coincidence.
With each step that carried her farther from the room, Astarion felt the weight of these revelations press upon him. The puzzle of Astarion's connection to Larianna's family and the shared name hung heavily in the air. The alliance they had hoped to forge had crumbled, and the consequences of his past actions were harsher than he could have ever imagined. It was a sobering moment, one that left the room heavy with unresolved tension and regret