Chapter Text
Far beneath the streets of Baldur's Gate, below the noble halls of Szarr Palace into a place where nobody knew, the air changed. The city noise disappeared first. Then the warmth. Stone corridors that led to darkness, slick with moisture and old blood. Ancient torches burned with a weak light, barely illuminating statues of forgotten vampires that watched from alcoves like silent judges. Every step echoed. Every breath felt stolen.
And at the center of it all stood Cazador Szarr.
The final chamber opened suddenly, impossibly vast, carved into a cavern hanging over a bottomless abyss. A circular platform stretching across the void, connected by narrow bridges of black stone. Below, there was nothing.
Only depth. Only hunger.
Seven figures knelt around the platform inside, glowing crimson sigils, their bodies trembled as streams of scarlet energy rose from them into the air, seven kneeling figures that were Cazador’s own spawn.
The moment Cazador saw him, the room seemed to shrink.
Astarion froze, not from the magic at first, from memory.
Cazador, who smiled with the calm certainty of a man who has never once doubted his ownership over another living creature. He did not shout. He did not rage, he simply spoke to Astarion like a disobedient pet who finally wandered home.
Every word cut deeper than the blade used to carve that contract into Astarion’s flesh.
Astarion tried to resist. He tried to stand tall. But centuries of fear clawed their way back into his voice. Before anyone could react, dark magic lashed across the chamber. Blood-red chains that ignited around the ritual circle, and Astarion, dragged screaming into place among the other spawn.
A thrum pulsed through the floor, slow, immense, ancient.
From the shadows crawled undead servants with empty eyes. Wolves emerged snarling from hidden tunnels. Swarms of bats exploded into the air like living smoke. Necrotic magic flooded the chamber in waves cold enough to numb the soul.
And through it all, Cazador moved like a phantom.
One moment he stood before the party, elegant and smiling. The next he dissolved into mist, reappearing across the arena with claws extended and eyes burning red. Every attack felt calculated. Cruel. Personal.
The edges of the platform became a nightmare, one wrong step meant falling into oblivion. Enemies were hurled screaming into the darkness below. The abyss was always waiting. Hungry.
Astarion struggled against the restraints, panic flashed across his face as blood magic drained through the sigils beneath him. For all his arrogance and charm, this is the terrified man he used to be, trapped, helpless, and awaiting a punishment that he had never earned.
A spell erupted across the chamber like a miniature sun. Bright brilliance tore through the gloom, and for the first time Cazador recoiled. His perfect composure cracked. Smoke rose from his cracked flesh and hissed, furious and animalistic.
Daylight.
Gale stood behind Shadowheart and Karlach, his eyes bored into Cazador’s with a fury nobody had ever seen on him, sweat beading on his forehead as he fought to keep his concentration against his blinding rage.
Shadowheart came through next. Holy fire scorched undead flesh. The air filled with screams, wings, curses, and the roar of magic. One by one the ritual’s defenses began to collapse. The spawn freed. Cazador staggered beneath the light, his skin still burning and cracked.
Then, the vampire lord fell. Silence fell.
Only ragged breathing remained in the chamber. Then, all eyes turned to Astarion, the fight was never truly about killing Cazador, yes Astarion wanted to be rid of him, but that satisfaction would only last a moment. It was about what came after.
Freedom.
Astarion could have had it all. He was so close, all he needed was those scars on Cazador’s back and the ritual would be his, he would be able to taste the finest wines in Ferûn, walk in the sun all he wanted. It would be as close to living again as he could get.
He could have it all.
Cazador was at his feet, defeated but alive. All he needed was a little help, and that power would be his. 200 years of pure shit had accumulated to this very moment, surely nobody would deny what should be his right?
“Astarion, don’t do this, please..” Gale’s words pulled Astarion from his rapidly spiralling thoughts, he was shirtless and covered in blood, a mixture of his own and his masters.
“Don’t do it? Gale I could have everything! We could have everything!” He shouted, annoyed at the disruption, tears beginning to build in his eyes as he looked toward his love. Gale couldn't help the desperate look on his face, he understood where Astarion was coming from, of course he did, he would be the realms greatest hypocrite if he couldn’t see why Astarion wanted this.
“Astarion, we already have everything! Look at what the ritual did to Cazador. He was ready to sacrifice seven thousand people, and the spawn he himself sired, including you. This power.. You’d descend into madness, and you’re better than him.”
Gale was right, and Astarion knew it. Nothing good ever came of this much power. Cazador laid broken at the center of the ritual he believed would make him a god. The crimson sigils flickered weakly now. The abyss below waited unchanged, indifferent to victory or suffering.
“You’re right. I’m better than him. But I’m not above this.” Astarion clenched his jaw, thrusting the dagger into Cazador over, and over, and over again. His vision went red, all he could hear was the sound of flesh piercing and tearing, the sound of his former master choking on his own blood. And eventually, the vampire lord fell.
Silence crashed into the chamber.
Only ragged breathing remained.
Then all eyes turned to Astarion.
Cazador Szarr was dead.
Overwhelmed by the smell of rotten blood in the air, his skin sticky with it, Astarion fell to his knees, Rhapsody clattering on the stone floor, and sobbed. Heartbreaking wails filled the ritual chamber, tears began to spill down Astarion’s pale cheeks mixing with Cazador’s blood
But he was free.
Nobody moved for a moment, the party looking between each other in understanding as they let Astarion have this moment to grieve, listening to his sobs echo around the chamber until they stopped. Gale stepped forward, gently placing his hand on Astarion’s shoulder and kneeling in front of the elf.
“I am so proud of you, Astarion.” He whispered, gently guiding Astarion to lean against his chest. Astarion took a deep breath, focusing on the sound of Gale’s heart.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Gale’s heartbeat was comforting, his warmth even despite his armour was grounding.
“I think we’re done here..” Astarion finally spoke, sniffling and wiping his face on his hands, which only made his appearance worse, blood and tears smearing the drying viscera on his face. Standing up, he took hold of Woe, the staff felt balanced in his hands as he looked towards his siblings “Take the remaining spawn to the Underdark, I can’t guarantee you’ll be safe there, but you’ll be a damn site safer than in this gods forsaken city” He spat, bringing the staff down on the ritual circle, freeing seven thousand souls.
The walk back to camp was quiet, Gale and Astarion staying a few paces behind. Neither of them spoke but Astarion gripped Gale’s hand tightly all the way back to the Elfsong. The next few hours were just as quiet, the party disappearing down to the pub for some food to give the two of them space. Gale helped Astarion out of his armour, letting him sit for a while as he cleaned it before filling the bath with hot water and scented oils.
“My heart, why don’t we get you cleaned up? You’ll feel much better.” Gale suggested, Astarion nodding as he stood up, walking toward the bath and getting in. bringing his knees to his chest and staring at the water as it rippled around his body. Gale rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, kneeling beside the tub, armed with soap and a jug he began to gently wash Astarion’s skin, humming a song his own mother used to sing to him.
After a little while Astarion sighed, leaning back in the bath as Gale rinsed his hair. “You know, Gale, you would think surviving a vampire lord would earn me peace..” he spat, sharp and bitter.
Gale ignored the sharpness in his tone, continuing his rinsing “I’m worried about you.”
“There it is.” A bitter laugh escaped Astarion’s lips. “Your favourite role, the concerned wizard.”
Gale paused for a moment, he wasn’t sure how this evening would go, but this wasn’t what he expected. “What happened down there was terrible. You don’t have to carry it alone.”
That made Astarion finally look at him. For a moment, Gale saw something raw in his eyes. Fear. Exhaustion. Something close to grief.
Then it vanished.
“You still don’t understand,” Astarion said softly. “It’s over now. Cazador is dead. I should be happy.”
“But you aren’t..” Not a question, a statement.
“No.” His voice cracked slightly. “No, I’m not.”
Gale smoothed back a few wet curls from Astarion’s face, offering a kind smile “Then let me help.”
“Help?” he snapped. “Gods, Gale, must you always try to fix things?” He laughed, though it sounded as hollow as he felt.
“I’m not trying to fix you, I’m just-”
“Just what?” Astarion interrupted, turning away, arms holding his legs tightly. “You look at me like I’m some wounded animal.”
“That is hardly fair.” Gale said with a raised eyebrow, seeing through Astarion’s twisted attempt to save himself.
“Fair?” Astarion laughed again, colder this time. “Nothing about me is fair. I told you exactly what I was from the beginning.”
Gale stared at him. “And yet, I chose you anyway.”
“That,” Astarion said quietly, “may have been your first mistake.”
“Well, I’m not exactly known for my good choices, am I?” Gale teased, resting his chin on Astarion’s shoulder. “But you are the best choice I have ever made.” Gale loved with such frightening sincerity that Astarion no longer knew what to do with it.
“I can’t be what you want,” Astarion said. “I don’t know how to sit in the sunlight and pretend everything is normal now. I don’t know how to be loved properly.”
“And you have to do none of those things.. You just have to let me love you as best I know how, and occasionally point me in the right direction” Gale smiled “I don’t expect anything from you, Astarion. We’ll get through this, one way or another, just don’t push me away..”
“I can’t promise you anything, but I’ll try” Astarion gave a sad smile, leaning his head against Gale’s.
“And that is all I can ask of you..”
Cazador was dead. But somehow, Astarion still felt trapped in his shadow.
Yet Astarion knew he couldn’t dwell on the feeling, they had a world to save.