Chapter Text
The first fronds of dawn pierced through the clouds and washed over her skin. Her eyelids fluttered open, fingertips brushing the sleep away. Aaliyah curled her torso forward and slowly rose upright. The bedroll beneath her felt stiff with dust and dried sweat. Sleep had progressively eluded her, danced just far enough as it hurled night sweats and restlessness instead.
Raven black strands clung to her cheeks, and she smoothed back her hair, hoping to feel refreshed. But she felt exhausted, and presently nauseous too. “Can’t catch a break, can I?”
The rest of the camp had begun to stir. Karlach and Wyll were exchanging the whetstone for their battle-axes, already laughing between them. Gale was clearing his throat, as he stirred up their morning coffee. Shadowheart hovering by him, no doubt ensuring he kept to black coffee. Whilst they admired his culinary enthusiasm, his last experiment left them bogged at camp, hallucinating for two days. Aaliyah’s mouth twitched at the memory of them all sprawled about, giggling between blackouts. Karlach kept pointing out rainbows, Wyll cried about mud on his boots and Astarion had drunk three Blackstaffs before throwing up and collapsing in his tent.
Where was he? Perhaps he’d gone on a late hunt, Aaliyah shrugged. Languidly, she made her way to Gale and Shadowheart, plopped herself onto a tree stump.
“Morning,” chimed Shadowheart, though her brows quickly furrowed, noticing Aaliyah’s pallor. Gale glanced over to greet her too.
He took a second, longer look, “You don’t look so well love, are you alright?”
Shadowheart crouched to inspect her, “Did he feed on you last night?” They saw Gale grimace before returning to the brew.
Aaliyah shook her head slightly, a brush of vertigo mingled with nausea, “Astarion’s been hunting lately. Perhaps it was the food?”
“We all ate the same thing though,” Shadowheart contemplated, “let me try some restoration on you?”
“Sure.”
Shadowheart gently laid her hands on Aaliyah’s shoulders, citing the incantation firmly. She stood back to assess her work.
Aaliyah abruptly lurched forward, stumbling past the tent before releasing yesterday’s supper amongst the bushes. “At least the nausea’s gone,” a weak smile pinched her face.
“Strange,” Shadowheart crossed her arms, concerned, “perchance it’s what your body needed. I’ll be keeping my eye on you.”
Aaliyah felt some reprieve from her friend’s words, despite the dark claw of fear that had latched deep within. Something was very off. She’d never feared pain or death; oft had craved it. Sheets of blood had been spilt by her hand, in her father’s name. Was this a reckoning, a vulnerability regarding her own fate? “Pathetic,” jolting as her thought was cast aloud.
“Oh I’m sure it’s not that bad,” laughed Gale, gesturing at the mugs he’d filled, passing her one. “Ay, it’s ready you lot!” Gale beckoned Karlach and Wyll.
“Fuck yeah!” bellowed Karlach, almost dropping the whetstone on Wyll’s foot. He stifled a curse and followed her.
Aaliyah admired the beautiful, chaotic tiefling. Karlach nodded in response, “Hey, you look like shit soldier,” clapping her on the back, “did Mister Pointy suck you dry again?”
“Karlach!” Gale scoffed.
“Ha!” chuckled Aaliyah, “No; I think the beef didn’t agree with me last night.”
“What?” Karlach retorted, “That was some good shit, though I would’ve soaked it in a bowl of gravy,” she gestured her hands broadly.
“Sounds appetising,” Shadowheart murmured.
The group swung their heads eastward towards crackling underbrush. Wyll stood aside, hand on hilt. Astarion emerged amongst the redwood, shouldering a hefty boar. “Morning all,” he strode over, throwing a sharp wink at Aaliyah.
“Geez mate,” exclaimed Karlach, “could you maybe not sneak up on us?”
“Oh I’m sorry,” almost throwing the beast at Gale, “I had thought: why let such meat go to waste? No matter it’s cumbersome and the land dubious, but I’ll be more considerate next time.” Astarion turned to Gale, considering the coffee pot, “It’s just black isn’t it?”
“No, it’s brimming with fucking llmater,” Gale dragged the boar by it’s legs, “I’ll have to carve this now; Wyll, can you help me?” Wyll leapt to his aid.
Aaliyah studied the exsanguinated carcass; it’s clouded eyes, the cold slick sounds its hide made as the men wrestled it. Her senses bucked and she retched, a string of spit wound to the dirt.
“You’re really not well, are you?” Shadowheart pressed the back of her hand to Aaliyah’s forehead, “Hmm, no fever.”
“Aaliyah darling, are you alright?” Astarion stood beside her, thumb and forefinger clasping her chin. His dark eyes pierced her, searching irritably.
Aaliyah brushed them away softly, “I’m fine, really; I might just abstain from food for a day or so.”
Shadowheart dug a finger into Astarion’s bicep, “And no feeding off her.”
He jerked his arm, scowling, “I haven’t done so for a while, thank you.” Sharp, angular jaw sealed shut, he grabbed his mug, then stormed off towards his tent. He could be such a child at times. Even vampirism aside, he surpassed Aaliyah by a decade.
Turning to Shadowheart and Karlach, “I’ll sort him out; can either of you shout when they’re done?” gesturing at Gale and Wyll, “We have at least today ahead of us, till Rivington.” They both nodded, so Aaliyah strode towards Astarion.
He was meticulously oiling his armour, fingers and rag stained pitch; metal and thick leather gleaming. The tips of his misty curls stuck to his temples, shiny with perspiration. The edge to his features laxed minutely, as he gazed upon her.
The two elves paused before each other.
“Is it my fault then?” Astarion queried, eyes narrowed.
“No; I’ve been feeling worse this past month.”
“So I’ve noticed; is it the Urge?”
“Definitely not.” Aaliyah tensed, she would remain steadfast in her decision: transmute darkness into light, a weapon forged against its makers.
“A mystery then,” Astarion threw the rag aside, rolled his shoulders as he stood full length, “but having you sick won’t do; you dragged us into this, after all.”
“Do I look like a Mindflayer to you?” she quipped, blush lips pursed, “Or has your memory lapsed?”
“Apologies, no need to bite my head off,” Astarion sighed, his lean arms wrapping around her waist, squeezing her against him. Aaliyah felt his lips press against her left collarbone, words thrumming against her flesh, “But I am worried about you,” then pressed himself tight to her ear, voice lower, “and strictly between us, about all of this,” he hissed.
“You’re not the only one,” her words a thin whimper. Pushing against his hips, Aaliyah extricated herself. A faint wave of the nausea had returned.
Ever observant, he motioned her towards his stool, “Sit down,” Astarion ordered flatly. He ducked into the tent, re- emerging with three amber vials and a palm sized bowl. The latter contained what looked to be a plain oil. The pungent notes of rosemary and bergamot dropped into the bowl, along with lavender. Stirring them briefly, he directed “Hold out your wrists darling.”
Aaliyah complied, as he stroked the oil onto her skin. His fingertips then began to glide up along her neck, thumbs massaging the perfume near her throat. Eyes lidded, she tilted her head back, slowly breathing the mixture in.
Astarion rose abruptly, “Well, this should stave off the nausea for a little while,” watching her eyes snap open, her fingers lingering on his last touch. Scrunching his hands on a damp cloth, he hastily put his materials away.
Aaliyah grabbed his mirror, an odd token for him, and addressed herself. Whilst not ultra-feminine, her features held the finely chiseled beauty of high elves like herself and Astarion. But her mismatched eyes, amber and pale topaz, looked worn and bloodshot. The fine scar that curved left up her chin remained, its fine crimson blending with the garnet ends of her hair, which cloaked her defined shoulders. Despite her sickness, she looked passable. For whom, she wouldn’t disclose, least of all to herself.
“When you’re done admiring yourself,” Astarion interrupted, already donned in armour, “come grab me when we’re to head out.”
Her queue to leave, she resigned and silently walked back towards camp.
“Well met!” hollered Wyll, “We’ll have enough bacon to last us two months I believe.”
His bright smiled always warmed her, “That long?” Aaliyah pondered, “We should sell some of it then, some extra gold would certainly help.” Looting only got them so far, and having restocked via a trader in the Shadowlands, funds were waning.
“Ever the entrepreneur, Aaliyah,” Gale praised.
Shadowheart drew closer, clasping one of Aaliyah’s hands, “Everything alright over there?” she asked tentatively. The group were vaguely aware of something lingering between the two. The extent however, they never pried.
“I think so? He put this remedy on me,” she extended her neck.
“Hmm. He’s smart, I’ll give him that,” taking in the scent. “It should help until evening.”