Chapter Text
The vampire had died to Amari’s sword surprisingly quickly. Before he could finish regenerating in the coffin he had hidden deep within the depths of his estate, Amari and the other Lathandarian acolytes offered a blessing to the Morninglord, pulled him from the coffin, and killed him again, more permanently this time. She wiped her sword on his fancy coat and thought about kicking the body over the ledge, but she figured that the bureaucrats and higher-ups within the temple would like it as proof.
Their small team, four paladins and one cleric, had been created for the sole purpose of assisting with the vampire threat in Baldur’s Gate and nearby cities. They’d killed quite a few spawn, but for the most part, they tried to stick with the proper vampires; spawn were usually just victims, more often than not, and they had an excellent rehabilitation program at the Temple of Lathander. Despite previous teachings, the Morninglord extended his mercy even to creatures of the night.
When they’d made it back to the wrecked ballroom area of the Szarr estate, the six spawn their team had taken to calling the ‘immediate family’ (as opposed to the ‘extended family’ consisting of nearly four thousand spawn held below) were gathered in the ballroom in various states of grief. The one they’d spoken to the most when they’d arrived at the estate over an hour previously had introduced herself as Dalyria. She looked up, her eyes haunted as though she had expected their group to fail, and exclaimed, “It’s done, then? You’ve killed him?”
Rysara, their Dawnbringer, nodded gravely to the spawn. “Yes,” she replied softly. “He’s dead. We interrupted his regeneration with the cleansing ritual. He won’t be coming back.” It didn’t seem to stick with the six spawn, so she added, “You’re all free now.”
Their reactions varied from a happy shout to a low moan of pain, but none of the spawn tried to avenge their fallen master, so in all, Amari was ready to consider the mission a success. She already planned in her head the hot bath she’d have before attending the dawn prayer and then settling in for a deep sleep.
One of the spawn, a man she’d believed was named Peter- no, Petrar? Pyotr? -said, “Wait, hold on. Where’s Astarion?”
Dalyria’s head snapped around to the group of spawn, where she seemed to be doing a headcount. She didn’t seem to find what she was looking for because she said, “Gods, he must be in the tomb still.”
Amari sighed, resigned to having to wait a little longer for her hot bath. “And where’s the tomb, then? I’ll run and get him.”
“You don’t understand.” Dalyria’s eyes were wide in fear. “He’s been in there for months now, with nothing to eat. He’ll try to maul you, especially without Cazador’s commands holding him back.”
Amari didn’t say anything, just waited for the vampire spawn to answer her question.
“But you can clearly handle a spawn,” Pingus said quickly. “I’ll show you on your map where the tomb is.”
Hunger was Astarion’s only friend, and the pain of his hands clawing against the solid stone above him all that broke up the monotony of his punishment. He was mad, surely, but he still found it in him to hope that the footsteps he heard approaching the tomb were the Master’s, come to forgive him at last. He stayed completely silent, unwilling to risk angering him before the tomb was even cracked. He would crawl out, beg and plead and thank the Master so profusely when- if he had come to free him.
The tomb opened, a solid slide that sent the heavy stone crashing against the floor next to him. Dust filled the air, the smell of ancient decay rising with it. He lay there, completely silent and still, dreadfully afraid of making a mistake.
It was not the sneering face of Cazador Szarr that greeted him, though; instead, a tiefling woman with red skin and dark slate horns peered over the tomb, staring at him in deep exhaustion.
“You Astarion?” Her voice was raspy in a way he found pleasant. She wasn’t another spawn, Astarion noted, as her eyes were black-sclera-gold-iris and not the ruby of a vampire’s. She reached a clawed hand out to pull him from the tomb. She clearly had expected him to be a bit more sure-footed because she was caught off guard when he was unable to hold himself up and simply fell against her solid body. She was wearing the armor of a paladin of Lathander, a golden sun carved in the front of her plate chestpiece. Well, that doesn’t make any sense, he thought nonsensically. Vampires hate the sun.
He was not able to consider this deeper as, when he fell against her chest, his face was shoved against where the high-collared top beneath her armor had slipped down her neck. Gods, she was mortal. He could smell her blood, could feel her pulse thrumming steadily against where his nose rested. And, fuck, he was so thirsty. It was an all-consuming fire, and he knew then that to bite into this woman would quench it.
So he did. His fangs extended, and he struck before she could say anything else to him. His mouth latched around her throat, and the first hot gush of blood was unlike anything he’d ever had. He moaned outright, one hand tangling in her satin sleeve and the other in her silky black hair. The feeling of her, the taste, they were indescribable. He’d never felt so good before, so powerful. He wanted to savor her across his tongue, take his time and enjoy it, but he’d been so hungry for so long that he could only take deep pulls, gasping and shivering against her strong body. It was as though her blood contained the warmth of the sun, something he had gone without for so long he’d forgotten the feeling, and he was freezing cold without it. The feeling of her essence moving through his mouth, filling his dead heart, and pumping through his empty veins pulled him to the greatest heights of pleasure.
That is until he felt the sting of pain that was unmistakably holy water on his throat. He choked and pulled away violently, gripping his neck where it felt like acid was eating through his skin. Astarion was still unsteady, so he fell to the ground before the tiefling, moaning in pain.
“Holy fucking Hells,” the woman exclaimed, her hands pouring healing light into the wound at her throat. “Lathander’s blinding balls, you got me good. I’m sorry about the holy water.” She was suddenly at his side, using her healing power for his new wound, as well. “Couldn’t think of any other way to get you off of me. You okay, sugar?” Her hands were on his elbows, helping him up. He was still thirsty, but it was less so, now. He was less thirsty than he’d been- Hells, ever. Cazador kept them begging for it, kept him especially-
Wait. Astarion’s breath froze, and if his undead heart could beat, it would pound within his chest. Cazador. His Master. Gods, he’d- he’d broken the first rule. He didn’t know how he’d managed to skirt around his Master’s command like that, but it didn’t matter. Whatever punishment he received would make him long for his months in the tomb. He was panicking. His breath was quick, now, and his sight was going blurry.
The tiefling woman pulled him close again, careful to keep his face in front of her own and not her healed neck. “Hey, look at me,” she murmured. “Astarion, hey, eyes on me. Yes, right here. That’s good, sugar, you were starting to panic there. It’s okay now, you’re okay. Yes, I promise you’re- hey, no don’t pull away. Look at me, please. You worried about Cazador? Shh, hey, just nod for me. Yes? It’s okay, honey, he’s dead. We killed him. There’s no more Cazador, alright? If you want, we can show you his body in a bit, when we all get out of here.” Her warm hands were rubbing up and down his arms, soothing his violently trembling body. Her voice was low and soft.
Gods, he’d definitely lost his mind in that tomb. He remembered that before when he’d seduce some poor fool for Cazador, he liked to throw around a line about ‘love at first sight’ or some other drivel, but there must be something to the trope because here he was, gazing into the eyes of this tiefling woman who said she had killed Cazador, whose blood he’d tasted, and perhaps there was no love at first sight, but this feeling must be the closest one could get.
“How did you kill him?” This must have been the first thing he’d said to her; his voice was still cracked and wounded from the months of silence interspersed with screaming and begging when he could take no more of it. “He can- he regenerates. In his coffin. You have to-”
“Hey,” she said, softly interrupting him. She put her hand to his head and scraped his sweaty, tangled, and obscenely long curls from his forehead. “Listen, Astarion, you don’t know me, but- oh, my name is Amari, by the way -but I’ve been working with others from my temple to kill vampires for a few years now, okay? We came here to wipe Cazador out, which we did, and free all of his spawn, which we are currently doing. Now if you come with me, we’ve got a really great set-up at the temple for you all. The spot we have you guys on won’t be hallowed, don’t worry, and we’ve got a bunch of warm beds and baths and some volunteers for the blood thing, so…” her voice trailed off, likely due to whatever dumbfounded expression he had on his face because what?
Holy warriors of Lathander, and they were here to not only kill Cazador Szarr but also free his spawn? "No,” he said, dully, pulling away from her warm hands. He was beginning to see the situation for what it was, and the bright flare of hope building in him had been snuffed with ice-cold water. “No, this is a trick. You’re setting me up, trying to see if I’d betray Cazador. Well, I won’t do it. Put me back in the tomb.” He made to crawl back in, but Amari grabbed him, and he was too weak to put up much of a fight. Whatever boost her blood had given him was fading, and the ceaseless thirst was crawling its way back into his throat.
She just sighed and hefted him over her shoulder like he weighed no more than a sack of potatoes. “Sorry, sugar,” she muttered, tightening her grip when he tried to struggle. “I’ll take you to see the body and the other spawn. Maybe you’d believe them instead.”
The spawn Astarion stopped struggling quickly enough, though he was too weak for Amari to consider him much of a threat, so she pulled him from her shoulder with a grunt and instead held him in her arms. She didn’t like him with his face near her throat, but she could handle another bite if he struck. Besides, he looked too stunned to do much of anything. His face had this blank look about it, like he couldn’t dare allow himself to hope. She felt for him, really, but this was more of a situation for the highly specialized counselors at the temple. All she could do for him was keep up a litany of quiet reassurances that he’d get out of here and that he’d love the temple.
She was muttering, “-and the beds aren’t luxurious, but they’re soft and warm, and I’m sure you’d like them-” when she finally made it back to the ballroom. The other spawn were doing interviews with her compatriots, who were making sure they hadn’t missed anything important (like someone locked in a tomb for months on end, holy Hells, how could his ‘siblings’ forget him like that?). Dalyria glanced over at Astarion in Amari’s arms, took in the blood staining his mouth deep red and her shirt a deeper red, and said, “He’s dead, Astarion. Cazador is dead. We don’t have to follow his rules anymore.”
His blank facade was beginning to crack, and Amari could see grief in his eyes, but he squeezed them shut. When they opened again, they were distant, and he was smirking a bit. “Ah, yes, as I’m sure you can see, I’m well aware, darling.” Gave a dismissive hand wave to Amari’s throat area. She rolled her eyes and let him down, holding her arm behind him to keep him steady. Dalyria no doubt also saw his bravado for what it was because she turned back to Rysara and continued her story.
Amari looked back to Astarion, about to ask him if he’d wanted her to just take him to the temple now ahead of the others, when she saw his eyes were rounded. She followed his bewildered gaze to Cazador’s corpse, carelessly tossed on a sheet by the entrance for later pick up and very much dead- dead and not undead.
“How?” His voice was quiet, barely a croak.
“I stabbed him a bunch.” His face whipped around to Amari, eyes still big as saucers. “With my sword. It’s holy,” she added awkwardly when he only continued to stare at her. “I’ve killed a few vampire lords like that.” Cazador wasn’t even the hardest she’d killed, though she wasn’t going to say that to someone he’d tormented for years on end.
“ You .” He paused to give a sharp, incredulous laugh. “You just stabbed him?”
“A bunch, with a holy sword.” She reiterated.
“I believe,” he said slowly, almost happily, “that I may be in love with you, you giant brute of a woman.”
“Wha-!” Amari sputtered for multiple reasons. Brute? She was a holy warrior, thank you very much! One of Lathander’s best! Instead of protesting this, though, she found she could only say, “Surely, you’re joking!”
“No.” His voice was warm, and a smile had spread over his cracked lips, making them bleed a bit. His fangs still had a bit of her blood on them, though his tongue was quick to wipe it away. His white curls were long, brushing his shoulders, and mussed with grave dirt, but he was still quite lovely, all things considered. “I’m afraid I don’t think you’ll ever be rid of me, darling. If you could kill Cazador, I feel nearly anything else that tried to get past you would meet a similar fate. Besides, you are quite easy on the eyes.” As he said the last bit, his own eyes trailed down her form seductively.
She was terribly offended. “I can assure you,” she snapped, “that nothing would be able to get past me. I am one of the Morninglord’s most trusted followers. This is not a role given lightly. And I am very easy on the eyes,” she added when he didn’t seem particularly impressed by her high status within the church.
“That’s what I said, dear,” he agreed, almost dismissively. Amari would’ve let herself feel slighted further over this, but he was looking a little woozy. “I believe you said something about grabbing a bite to eat, my love? Also something about a bed, I think.”
She ignored the ‘my love’ bit and chose to sweep him back into her arms with a small grunt. “Taking this one to the safehouse now. He’s feeling a bit weak.” She nodded to her fellow paladins, smiled briefly at Rysara, and began the walk back to the temple.
She’d hoped they would walk in silence because of Astarion’s state, but he was almost dreamily humming against where his head rested on her shoulder. “This must be the happiest day of my life,” he mused. “Well, life is a generous term. And it’s not much of a competition, to be honest, but still. First, I’m awoken from my tomb by a deliciously muscled tiefling.” She rolled her eyes and felt her cheeks warm a bit but said nothing. “Then I find out said tiefling has killed the source of all of my worst nightmares. Really, it must be my birthday or something.”
She ignored this. “We’ve got a pretty good place for you guys. It’s right off the temple grounds, but those of us who were selected to do this, me and the others you saw back there, we generally stay in the safehouse with you guys to make sure everybody’s doing well. We’ve got these, uh, volunteers who come by for you to drink from, so don’t worry about being hungry or anything. Of course, you can’t kill them,” she added hastily. “They really are volunteers.”
His head tilted far back on her arm, his eyes watching the stars as she took the trail that led a bit off from the city. The temple was in a nice little secluded area of woods, right on a hill where the sunrises were breathtaking. With so little light pollution, the stars were bright above them. “It was our first rule,” he said distantly. “‘Thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures.’ I’d never tasted real blood until yours.” His eyes dropped to hers, where they considered her thoughtfully. “It was exquisite,” he admitted.
“I’m afraid I’m not one of the volunteers,” she said after a moment of strange silence. She was almost apologetic about it, too. Of the few experiences she’d had with a vampire latching onto her, Astarion’s had by far been the least unpleasant. “But you’ll have plenty of people to choose from if any of them bother you for any reason.” Her face twisted into a dark scowl. “We’ve had a few right perverts come through, just using it as a way to get off. We’re usually pretty good about singling those freaks out, but if anybody gives you a bad feeling or a problem at all, just let me know, and I’ll handle them.”
He looked shocked for a moment, as though the thought of anyone caring this much about his well-being was a new experience, before a sly smile crossed his face. He brought his lips a few inches from her chin, where she could feel his cool breath puffing against it, and said lowly, “Now, darling, I would be absolutely delighted to see you manhandling some lecher attempting to sully my virtue.”
Amari’s groan of annoyance ended in a laugh, which had the unfortunate effect of encouraging him. “Gods, man, you can drop the seduction stuff. You don’t need to do all of that for me to help you.”
He only hummed in reply, tucking his face against her upper chest and seeming to drift a bit as they walked. She got the feeling he wouldn’t be dropping it.
Astarion woke to the tiefling lowering him onto a cool mattress. He did not think he would find the paladin carrying him safe enough to fall asleep (not even to just trance! But to actually sleep!), but really, she was his holy protector now, so he wasn’t too surprised. She didn’t seem to notice he’d awoken when she placed him down, as she was carefully tucking the thick blanket around his body. She glanced up and met his eyes, flushing at having been caught being sweet.
“If you want to rest now, I’m in the room down the hall- it’s got my name on the door, you can’t miss it -and you can come get me if you’d like to be shown where the feeding area or baths are. We’re underground right now, so don’t worry about sunlight or anything.”
She made to leave, and his hand shot out before he thought better of it. “Amari,” he said, tasting her name for the first time and finding he quite liked it on his tongue, “I- that is to say… Thank you. For killing Cazador, yes, but also for the-” He struggled to find a way to thank her for not just the blood but also the kindness after.
Luckily, it seemed he didn’t really need to say anything else. She gave him a soft smile, a curious expression on such a well-built warrior, and said gently, “Goodnight, Astarion. Morninglord be with you.” She closed the door behind her, sparing no furtive glance back at him at all.
Hells. His head fell back against the pillow. Maybe she has poor, weak vampire spawn thanking her like this all of the time. If that’s the case, he mused, I’ll make sure mine sticks out in the future. In the meantime, though, it had been quite a while since he’d lain in a bed like this, as he almost never made Cazador’s favorites list anymore. He fell asleep, alone in a dark room with the taste of blood in his mouth and a smile on his lips.