recollection
An uneasy optimism permeates the camp as everyone makes their way back, eagerly accepting the meal Gale has prepared for all of them.
None of them have much of an appetite, but tadpole or no tadpole, they all still need to eat, right?
They talk about what they’ve seen, any leads they’ve gathered, and make their plans to retrieve the druid Halsin in hopes that he can spare their wretched lives.
Shadowheart stares into her fourth glass of wine, trying to shake the heavy cloak of melancholy draped over her shoulders.
A shadow falls across her, and she glances up just as Itachi takes a seat on the ground beside her.
“Do you have a moment?” he asks.
She shrugs.
“I suppose I do, but that depends on what you want to do with that moment.”
“I’m hoping to indulge some curiosity. If you’ll let me.”
Shadowheart shrugs, draining her wine glass before immediately pouring herself another glass.
“It’s about your god, if that’s alright.”
“God dess. But I suppose I don’t mind- as long as you accept it’s not something I can talk about very freely.”
Itachi nods, taking a seat beside her with his bowl of stew, picking at it as he stares into the fire.
“What do you want to know, then?”
“Why the secrecy? It seems like a lonely way to live one’s life.”
“Most people aren’t friendly toward my lady. She is the lady of loss. Our lady of darkness. The Nightsinger. Our worship is discrete by necessity.”
Itachi nods along, the crimson firelight dancing against his black eyes.
“Those are interesting names for a goddess. I suppose that’s part of why people are wary of her.”
“I suppose you don’t have any like her where you’re from?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never actually paid much attention to any gods or spirits out there.”
“Oh? Why not?”
“I guess I just never felt the pull of the divine. Or maybe I just didn’t have the time.”
“A shame.”
Itachi doesn’t ask what she means by that, instead deciding to redirect the conversation.
“How did you come to worship a goddess like that?”
“It’s…a long story. And I don’t remember most of it, actually.”
“Really?”
“I- it’s-”
Shadowheart cringes, clutching at her hand.
“-Secrecy matters a great deal to Lady Shar. We sometimes have to make sacrifices to protect what’s important to her.”
“So you had your memories wiped on purpose?”
“I did. Once I make it home, I’ll have them restored.”
“And where is home?”
“Baldur’s Gate. The largest Sharran gathering in Faerun is there. A group of us were sent out on an important mission. That’s why I was ordered to forget. We all were. In order to protect the mission.”
“...I’m not a stranger to that sort of devotion, so I won’t be the one to judge you.”
“How so?”
Itachi plays around with his food while he thinks of a response.
(so deliberate in everything he says. So methodical. It’s uncanny.)
“I don’t suppose you have shinobi here. But that’s what I was- it’s something like a soldier. I was raised from the day I was born for that purpose. I was taught the tenants, trained to fight for my village. And for my clan.”
He stabs at a piece of meat with more violence than is warranted.
“I was good at it. I followed the dogma. I believed it. I trusted it.”
Shadowheart doesn’t miss the past tense he speaks in.
“What happened?”
“That’s also a long story. The details don’t matter, but I ended up becoming an outlaw. The village I swore my life to…I can’t ever go back. Not that I’d be able to now, anyway.”
“That’s a shame. It sounds like you cared a lot.”
“I did. Sometimes I wish that I could forget- it might make it more bearable.”
Itachi nods, setting his food down and stretching his hands out toward the fire to warm his aching fingers, a jolt of pain shooting from the tips of his fingers to the crook of his elbow as he does.
“Are you alright?” Shadowheart asks.
“Hm?”
Evidently he wasn’t as good at suppressing his wince as he thought he was.
“I’ll be fine. I just… hurt sometimes. It can’t be helped.”
Ah. So they have something else in common.
“How long?”
“What?”
“How long have you been hurting for?”
“Oh, about as long as I can remember. I’m more or less used to it.”
Shadowheart gives him a sympathetic look, and reaches out toward him.
“Can I see your hands for a moment?”
He blinks a few times in rapid succession, confused.
“I think I can help a bit. If you’ll let me?”
Reluctantly, and after much hesitation, Itachi surrenders his hands to her gingerly, suppressing a squirm of discomfort.
Shadowheart mumbles something under her breath, and a soft blue light envelops her hands first, then creeps over his. It sinks into his skin, spreading a comforting warmth that melts the pain away into a soft numbness.
The woman winces in sympathy with him, looking over the crooked fingers with their swollen joints and the chipped and brittle fingernails, marred by nicks and scars gathered over a lifetime.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” she says. “But you have the hands of an old man.”
She says it in such a matter-of-fact way that Itachi has to stifle a surprised snort.
“What?”
The corners of Itachi’s mouth quirk upward for just a moment, his best attempt at a smile.
“My mother used to tell me I was born with the soul of an old man. Maybe that has something to do with it.”
Shadowheart shrugs, keeping her concentration.
“The soul and the body are inextricably linked. She might have been on to something.”
“My mother was a smart woman,” Itachi agrees, curling and uncurling his hands to revel in how they finally move painlessly.
There’s a fondness in his voice that prompts Shadowheart to pry a bit herself- mostly out of curiosity, but also a vague sense of concern for how sad he sounds.
“Was she? What happened to her?”
Itachi deflates, turning his head away and drawing into himself.
“It’s… not something I can really talk about. I’m sorry.”
He puts a hand to his throat as he says it, unconsciously, like an invisible force is threatening to strangle him.
Shadowheart sighs, picking her wine glass up once more.
“We’re all entitled to our secrets. I won’t pry any further.”
“Thank you.”
Itachi picks at his food once more, dark eyes still fixed on the crackling fire.
Their companionable silence is only interrupted when Gale comes around to fret over them.
“How is everything? I’m not used to working with such a limited selection, so don’t be shy- you can be honest with me.”
“I don’t think any of us are in a position to be picky,” Shadowheart says, looking a bit annoyed. “But it’s quite alright, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Only alright? I must be losing my touch- I’d only been cooking for myself for the longest time.”
He lets out an exaggerated sigh, digging into his own portion eagerly.
“It’s a lovely night,” he says, looking up at the stars dreamily.
“We were just talking about what we were up to before the mind flayers,” Shadowheart says. “Why don’t you share?”
“Oh? Well, obviously I’m a wizard- born and raised in Waterdeep. I enjoy reading in my spare time, and I’m rather fond of wine and cats. There. Paint enough of a picture for you?”
“Feels a little vague,” Itachi mutters into his bowl.
“Ah, what’s life without a little mystery?” Gale laughs, waving it off. “I’m sure we’ll get to know each other well enough once we’ve spent a bit more time together.”
Itachi doesn’t dig into it further, merely shrugging in response and going back to his dinner rather than letting his disappointment show.
Off in the distance, that strange thing Orochimaru dragged back screams a string of profanities that set Hidan howling with laughter.
Were the circumstances less dire, it might be comfortable. Friendly, even.
He could have worse company, he supposes. Even if he could do without having Hidan here. Or whatever that little creature is.
Or the looming threat of becoming a mind flayer.
But he supposes one can't get everything they want.
Orochimaru should probably eat more, but he finds his appetite lacking when he catches the tail of his tadpole flickering into the corner of his vision.
He should find a distraction before he gets nauseous.
Standing up and pacing around, he decides to seek out his little pale friend to see what he’s up to.
He finds him fiddling with the book they found, trying to pry it open and getting more and more frustrated as he does so.
When he notices he has an audience he slams the book down, giving him an annoyed what do you want glance.
Orochimaru sits beside him and stretches his hands out toward the fire.
“About you biting me-”
“Oh, I’ve already apologized!” Astarion complains, rolling his eyes. “What more do you want? Unless…”
He gives Orochimaru a hopeful sideways glance.
“...You’re looking for another nibble?”
Orochimaru shrugs, chugging down the bottle of…whatever strange liquid Shadowheart said would fix him up.
It tastes bitter, sharp and medicinal, but it’s warm and comforting on the way down, and perks him up wonderfully. Whatever’s in it, it does what she said it would.
“You need to be fed the same as the rest of us, don’t you? Whatever magic is in this has me in a good mood, so I’m not opposed. Besides, if I’m going to drag you into some place dangerous in the morning, I’d say it's fair I don't force you to go there hungry."
Astarion brightens up, but tries very hard to keep his composure. He leans in close and speaks in a low voice to contain his excitement.
“Oh, you sweet, generous thing. Very well then- once the others have gone to bed, I’ll come find you… and eat you right up. Don’t worry, I won’t disturb your rest this time.”
“Well aren’t you the considerate parasite?” Orochimaru half-jokes. “I’ll see you then.”
Astarion makes a miffed sound at being called a parasite, but he doesn’t say anything further about it as he gets up to do whatever it is that he does in his free time. Probably spend more time fiddling with that book.
Somehow, Orochimaru finds himself looking forward to nightfall.
Sleep is slow to come, leaving Orochimaru lying there staring up at the threadbare canvas of his makeshift tent as the wind rustles the fabric.
(Well, he had always heard that there's no rest for the wicked...)
True to his word, after everyone else has gone to bed, the opening of his tent parts, and Astarion slinks in, red eyes luminescent in the darkness.
“I didn’t think you’d still be awake.”
Orochimaru lifts his blanket, rolling his eyes as he does so.
“Well I am, so come here.”
It’s a bitter cold night, and the lack of blankets plus Astarion’s icy skin makes him shudder from the chill.
Astarion moves his dark hair aside, quietly admiring the curve of his neck before getting down to business.
Poor thing- still so hesitant, his fangs hovering a millimeter above the flesh of his neck, where they remain for a moment while he gathers his nerve.
“...You’re sure this is alright?”
“I’m sure. Now get on with it before I change my mind.”
With that reassurance, Astarion gathers his courage, and bites.
The pain quickly gives way to that strange, almost pleasant sensation Orochimaru can’t quite put his finger on.
Astarion cradles his head in an almost loving gesture, a soft groan escaping him as he feeds.
It must be quite the experience, after having been deprived for so long. He can’t even seem to stop for long enough to get a breath- if he even needs to breathe.
His icy hands grow warmer, leeching the heat from Orochimaru’s body. When he lays a hand over the man’s chest to keep himself steady, he thinks he can feel his heart racing through the thin fabric of his shirt.
(From what little he’s heard, vampires are essentially dead creatures. He wonders if this is normal, or if it’s his blood that’s caused a still heart to quicken once more.)
He was already worn down, but he feels himself inching closer to involuntary unconsciousness, melting into the man’s grip and feeling safer than he has any business feeling.
If they aren’t incredibly careful, Orochimaru could easily wind up dead. So the fact that he isn’t afraid… he wonders if something’s wrong in his head.
(Something new, anyway.)
Unlike the last time, Astarion manages to pull himself away without being told, wiping away a smear of blood from the corner of his mouth as he does.
He takes a few great, shaky breaths that he probably doesn’t need, enraptured, gaze still transfixed on his neck.
In all honesty, his reaction is quite flattering.
“Is it really that good?”
“Hm? Well, in comparison to the putrid rats and fetid bugs Cazador would feed us, it’s absolutely heavenly. Although, truth be told I don’t have much of a frame of reference for uh- thinking beings.”
“I’ve never killed anyone! Well- not for food.”
So that’s what he meant by that.
At least he's capable of being honest about some things.
“Oh? So I’m your first, then- how cute.”
“Oh gods, don’t start with that, please. I’m not some kind of blushing virgin, you know.”
“You are a bit flushed, though. And that’s courtesy of my blood, isn’t it?”
Astarion lights up in angry embarrassment, hiding his face behind his hand though it doesn’t do him much good.
“...I’ll leave you to your rest, then.”
Orochimaru settles back down, swaddling himself in blankets again to try to regain his body heat as he shivers.
“You do that.”
He’s left alone in the quiet darkness after that, feeling his pulse racing in his aching neck.
If he had been asked what he thought he’d be doing with his life right now, feeding strange, bloodhungry creatures of the night with his own body wouldn’t make the top ten.
He's here now, though- whether he likes the situation or not. And he's sure it'll be worth it in the end.
(At least being drained of a good portion of the blood in his body finally tires him out enough to sleep.)