The dream guardian
Itachi is no stranger to feeling bad, but this is beyond any illness he’s yet endured.
He tries to rub the ache out of his hands, but it’s hard to even move, and every little touch feels like a thousand daggers in his hands.
It hurts and his stomach lurches and roils within him, even though he can’t possibly vomit.
It feels like something living is crawling just beneath his skin, squirming and writhing. He fights the urge to claw it out of him, to tear his skin open and pry out the disgusting creature.
Beyond his illness though, he feels exhausted.
He closes his eyes and wraps his blanket tighter around himself, wishing for any sort of relief.
(He’s never felt this wretched before, even in a lifetime of being ill.)
If he can just sleep… if he can just rest a bit, maybe he’ll feel better in the morning…
It doesn’t take him long to drift off, which is strange considering how insomnia is his constant companion.
I came just in time, a calm, kind voice says. You were transforming.
Itachi’s vision is oddly sharp, and he can make out the face above him with far more clarity than he could in the waking world.
He sits up with a great effort, looking around the alien landscape with confusion.
It feels oddly familiar, though he hasn’t been here before, he’s pretty sure.
“What are you-”
His mind connects the dots and realizes what he must have been transforming into.
“But how…”
He shakes his head, figuring he won’t question a twist of good fortune.
The person above him has a face that feels somewhat familiar, though at the same time unlike anyone he’s ever met before. They have a face that could pass for either male or female, with long dark hair and dark eyes to match, standing out starkly against their pale skin.
If he didn’t know any better, he would assume this strange person was one of his clansmen.
That notion is ridiculous, of course- besides the obvious, this person does not bear his family crest, and is dressed in armor painted white and gold, rather than anything an Uchiha might normally wear.
They touch his forehead with a gloved hand and give him a kind smile.
“Do not worry. You will not become a mind flayer. Not while I’m here.”
They hold out a helping hand, and he takes it with a bit of hesitance.
The strange person pulls him to his feet, giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder and still wearing that slight, reassuring smile.
“Who are you?”
“That’s a long story. But you and I are in the same boat. We are both the victims of the Illithid Grand Design. A design that will come to pass if we do not act.”
Itachi frowns, following his guardian to the rocky ledge, where they watch crystalline spirits floating through the void all around them.
“Your tadpoles are merely a symptom of a far deeper sickness in Faerun. A sickness that will continue to spread if we do not defeat it.”
“What do you mean, spread?”
“It will not end at the borders of Faerun, or even Toril, if it is left unchecked. This cult will not be satisfied until it has consumed everything.”
Itachi lets those words sink in, their meaning dawning on him.
“They’re planning to infect our world, too.”
“Correct. You and your companions were merely a test, to see if the tadpoles could survive in minds from other realms. Now that they have proven that it is possible, once they have subdued this realm they will come for yours next. And who knows how many other realms beyond?”
“We can’t let that happen,” Itachi says, without hesitating.
His strange dream guardian smiles genuinely now.
“I’m glad you agree.”
They look up at the swirling clouds of stardust in the expanse above.
“The others infected with the tadpoles hear the voice of the Absolute, and believe it to be a god,” they explain. “It is not a god. It is far more sinister.”
“Even if it was, it wasn’t a god I would ever want to worship.” Itachi says.
The stranger tries to put a comforting hand on him, but he shrinks away before it makes contact.
They sigh in response, giving him a pitying look.
“I know you want to be free of your parasite,” they tell him. “And you will be. But in order to do that, you must learn to wield the power it gives you.”
“What do you mean, wield?”
“You have great potential within you. All you need to do is trust it. You will know what I mean when the time comes.”
Itachi nods, though he doesn’t really believe that.
He has a question he needs to ask, but isn’t sure how best to word it.
“...My brother,” he says. “Is he alright?”
His mysterious protector nods.
“He is searching for you,” they explain. “Not believing you are gone. He is angry, but he is alive and well.”
Itachi makes a small sound of gratitude.
It doesn’t sound like he knows the truth. Not yet, anyway. So that’s a silver lining in this entire mess.
“It will be alright.”
They offer him a reassuring smile, and a pat on the shoulder for comfort.
“Rest now,” they say. “You’ll feel better when you wake. I promise.”
Itachi has so much more he wants to say, and more that he wants to ask, but the world is already starting to fade away around him, unconsciousness creeping into the edges of his mind as he’s lulled back to sleep.
The person sitting beside him is impossibly beautiful, with soft white hair and a spark in her eyes that seems enticing.
Orochimaru is still wary, but they don’t seem like they’re a danger, and he has a feeling she isn't some sort of tadpole-induced hallucination.
Hallucination or not, the misery and fever that had been haunting him when he went to sleep is suddenly gone, so he probably shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
She holds her hand out, though he does not take it, still not fully trusting of this stranger. He gets to his feet on his own, not allowing himself to look away from this person, in case she’s a threat.
“Who are you?” Orochimaru asks. “Or- what are you?”
“I’m someone like you,” she reassures him. “We are both victims of this cult. I cannot do this on my own, and you cannot either. If we want to defeat the Absolute, we need to work together.”
“It’ll be hard to trust you if you aren’t forthcoming with me.”
His mysterious dream guardian sighs, shaking her head and running a hand through their wavy hair.
“I know you aren’t the trusting type. This must be hard for you to accept, but I have to keep some things to myself. Someone like you must understand that, surely?”
Orochimaru lets himself process what he’s been told so far, trying to figure out where he goes from here.
Before he works on the big picture issue, there’s something he needs to know.
“Are you able to see into my world?” he asks.
The dream figure hesitates.
“...I can,” she answers, finally. “I cannot interact with it at all, but I can see the world you were taken from.”
Orochimaru nods, folding his arms and looking out over the abyss.
“I don’t suppose anybody there is mourning me.”
“You’re wrong.”
“What?”
The new arrival makes a gesture with her hand, conjuring up two very familiar faces.
A beautiful woman with soft blonde hair and sharp, honey-brown eyes, hunched over in a chair in a spacious office, surrounded by empty bottles of alcohol; she is ranting, but Orochimaru cannot hear exactly what’s being said.
A hulking mountain of a man with wild white hair and a heavily lined face sits beside her, fumbling with large, clumsy hands while she rants, evidently not knowing what to say.
He knows those faces better than he knows his own.
Tsunade and Jiraiya.
His dear former friends, whom he was sure must certainly hate him after everything he’s put them through.
Tsunade slumps forward, burying her face in her hands, shoulders shaking with violent sobs.
Jiraiya wraps his huge, strong arms around her, pulling her close and muttering what surely must be comforting words to her.
She looks devastated, crushed under the weight of too much grief. He looks lost, staring up somewhere far away and looking like he’s in agony. Poor Tsunade is clearly inconsolable, and Orochimaru is struck with the weight of everything he’s lost over the years.
Though there’s no possible way to make amends for everything that he’s done, his heart still aches terribly
“Is there actually a way to go back?” he asks this dream figure, almost not daring to hope as he watches Tsunade grab onto Jiraiya like she’d drown in her own tears if he dares to let her go.
“There is,” the figure assures him, which gives him just a bit of reassurance. “It’s difficult, but we could use the same things the illithids used to steal you away to return you to your home once everything is done. But right now, you are not safe to go back there.”
“Safe?”
“As long as you are here, I can protect you. However, if you were to go back, I would not be able to reach you. You would turn, and I don’t think I need to tell you what would happen after that.”
True. If they want to get home, they will need to do so after getting rid of their unwanted passengers.
“Lae’zel is pretty convinced her people are the only ones who can help us.” Orochimaru says.
“The Githyanki will not help you,” the guardian says, surprisingly forcefully. “They are dangerous, do not approach them.”
Considering how prickly Lae’zel is on a good day, Orochimaru is inclined to believe this.
“What do you suggest, then?”
“I have a plan. I will be your shield, but you must be the sword. If we work together, I know we can stop this.”
“You’re asking for a lot of trust for someone who won’t tell me what your master plan even is.”
“I know it isn’t an easy ask. But please, if you only have faith in me, I will not fail you.”
Orochimaru can’t help but laugh.
“Faith isn’t something I have an excess of.”
“I thought you might say something like that.”
Orochimaru looks once more at the phantom images of Tsunade and Jiraiya, and how they are, despite how wretchedly he’s treated the both of them, still mourning his apparent death.
It hurts in a way he didn’t know he could hurt, knowing there’s nothing he can do to possibly make amends.
“I will protect you until we defeat this threat,” she says. “And until we are able to return you home. All I ask is that you allow me to, and that you embrace your potential.”
Orochimaru does not trust this one bit, but he doesn’t have another choice.
Everything they’ve tried so far has turned out to be a dead end, and he’s starting to get desperate at this point.
“You better make this worth my time.”
“I will.”
With that, he’s awake again, staring up at the canvas of his tent, his neck sore and the scent of blood lingering in the air.
Astarion is still asleep beside him, head resting on his chest, hands tangled up in the blanket.
Odd- he would assume Astarion would retreat to his own bed roll after he’d eaten, but maybe it’s just been a long day and he fell asleep before he could.
His head is still spinning, and he can’t get the face of their mysterious dream guardian out of his head.
Maybe it’s a bad idea to trust it- if Lae’zel were with them, he would assume she would blame it on the tadpole and insist that nobody trust it.
He should probably shove Astarion off him- it feels dirty, wrong, like a betrayal of the people he left behind, even though there’s no way they should ever want him back. He’s done too much, gone too bad…
The weight of Astarion on top of him makes him feel a bit less overwhelmed, so though he feels dirty for it, he allows it.
He wants to rest some more, left boneless and exhausted even though he no longer feels ill.
He can't tell what time it is, with no sun to indicate dawn, but he figures it must still be late, so he shuts his eyes and tries in vain to fall back asleep.