Chapter Text
The halls of Moonrise were cold. The tiles of the floors clicked beneath the shoes of their small party.
It was a stealth mission. There was a certain requirement. One which could easily be broken by a tiefling literally on fire or a human who was too easily distracted into lengthy rants. No, this was a mission for those society was wary of.
That seemed to be the type this Absolute leaned towards anyhow.
The githyanki of the group was the one the most out of place. However, Lae’zel’s sharp words and cold demeanor quickly gave into how much respect she was going to be given. Which was to say quite a lot.
The half elf and high elf were perhaps a big out of place but the Shar worshipper and vampire? Those two were right at home.
It’d been made clear in the goblin camp that Zilv’eth was going to be given some level of respect on the fact that they’re a drow, one who appears more feminine at that. It still stood in the tower, even more so with the fact they weren’t the only necromancer.
They could feel a slight intrusion into their mind. It was like a sharp flick of a finger. Their head whipped over to Astarion.
What are we doing here. These are the dungeons.
And we have allies who’ve been kidnapped. The less this cult has, the better of our chance of survival.
They heard the exhale by their side. They didn’t have to look in order to know that he was sulking. They were right. He knew that.
There were two guards in the immediate vicinity, two scrying eyes to join them. Familiar figures were inside the barred cages.
“You’re not permitted to speak with the prisoners,” a guard said, coming around the corner.
Zilv’eth turned. “What are they going to do? Talk me to death?” they asked, a single brow raised which only emphasized their deadpanned face.
A moment of tension. A stare off between the two. Then the guard shrugged, waved a hand, and continued their rounds.
There had been so many tieflings, it took a moment before Zilv’eth was able to put her name to her face. Although, she was much more battered and bruised than the last time. Her hair was completely drenched in a heavy layer of grease. A nice little notch was now carved into her horn.
“Lia.”
As soon as her red eyes settled onto them, she sprung up to her feet. Her hands reached for their own, curled around it with the tips of her long and chipped talons of nails gently pressing against their skin.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” she said in a very low tone.
She looked at each person behind Zilv’eth taking stock. She nodded to herself.
“Speak to the gnomes,” she insisted. “We’re alright but speak with the gnomes, I’ve heard some whispers of a plan from them. They won’t talk to us about it but maybe you.”
Zilv’eth placed their hand on top of Lia’s. They gave her hand a soft squeeze. She released them.
Their nails gave a soft ring when they came in contact with the hallow bars. They walked with a perfectly sculpted air of indifference.
Lia went to the back of her and her brother’s cell.
No half lies were needed in order to convince the gnomes to tell. Just a mention of previous meetings with the tieflings. Seeing a slight moment of hesitance, a small addition about Barcus was the only other thing needed.
It wasn’t really a plan.
They watched for a moment. It seemed the patterns of patrol were rather much the same. Always leaving at one moment or another, the warden and a scrying eye alone together.
They knocked on the door and pushed it open.
“Good afternoon, isn’t it, warden?”
The warden did not hide her eyeroll at the sight of yet another couple of “true souls.”
The group of people allowed for Astarion to drift off into the shadows, an instinct whenever he saw the scheming look come to Zilv’eth’s face. It wasn’t obvious. In fact, it’d taken several weeks for Astarion to figure it out. A small, tiny tug on the left inner part of their lip, which was only sometimes accompanied with a fidget where their thumb rubbed circled against the fingerprints on their middle and pointer fingers.
The door whipped open for the scrying. Lae’zel kicked it closed. The warden began a walk behind her desk. Her mouth opened as she started to talk.
Everything which happened next, happened in only the span of six seconds.
Zilv’eth instantly honed in onto the scrying eye. A diamond was tossed into the air. It bounced off the blade of a small dagger which was drawn. The diamond began to glow a purple color. A flash of white, took over. Then a small, rolling thunder broke the air. The eye fell to the ground, glass cracked. The warden was then nicked with the very tip of a blade.
Lae’zel swung her firing greatsword. Once and the warden was stunned. Twice and her eyes went wide with a desperation and fear. The sword swung between her plates of armor with ease, prying it off as they did so.
Astarion’s bow was already locked and ready. He simply waited for a moment between the strikes to let go. The arrow imbedded itself in her neck. The wood of it burst into flames when Lae’zel’s sword came close.
Shadowheart’s hands plunged forward. They swirled with a light green glow. The warden clothing blackened as she fell.
“Well, look at that,” Astarion said, “You were able to hit after all. Bravo, Shadowheart! Encore!”
She threw a glare at him. “And who’s the only healer on the team, Astarion?” she hissed out from between her teeth.
“I’m self healing, thank you very much,” he said with a flash of his teeth.
She shook her head.
The room was cleared out quickly and effectively of anything valuable. The work of people clearly experienced.
Astarion stayed in the room to pull the levers as the rest moved to spread more. Then the second fight began. It went on a bit longer than the first, however, with more people that was to be expected.
With all the prisoners freed, the day should be called successfully. They should feel a sense of contentment with the day. However, Zilv’eth tensed as someone called out their name.
Astarion haunted with them. “My dear,” he said softly.
They turned slowly. Chest heaving. Their eyes went wide at the sight they saw behind Astarion. He turned to look.
There was a drow. Her skin a similar deep purple mauve as their own. Her eyes were nearly black in how dark they were and so perfectly almond. Her face was a bit longer than their own as was her nose. It was also more straight though it had that same rounded off curve to the end. Her hair was white and done in a braid which bound around her head.
“It’s you, isn’t it?” the drow asked.
They simply continued to stare. Their gaze distant, fogged in a way that made Astarion extremely uncomfortable.
She walked closer. Lae’zel was quick to place her sword between her and the group’s leader. “Speak your purpose, istik.”
She looked over at Zilv’eth. Her eyes pleaded as theirs remained empty.
She bit the inside of her lip. “I don’t have one,” she said. “Other than to know whether or not the person before me is my missing sister of nearly fifty years.”
Astarion felt himself without his permission, walk to block Zilv’eth. His hand went to their waist. He guided them behind him.
He felt their head thunk as it fell against his armor. Their lungs expanded beneath his fingertips, sharp and uneven.
“And who exactly are you?” Shadowheart asked.
“I am Ethezt of house Do’rea. Paladin of the Queen of Spiders and second in line to be head of house,” she said with a small bow of her head.
Astarion nearly stumbled forward. More weight was placed on his back. It was only through quick footwork he was able to remain upright.
A deep inhale sounded behind him. The weight was taken off, replaced by a single hand.
“What exactly are you doing in Moonrise, Paladin Ethezt?” Zilv’eth asked, halfway out of Astarion’s hiding presence.
Ethezt was quiet. Astarion could see her eyes bounce from one area to another.
“You’ve grown out your hair again,” she said.
“Do I need to repeat myself?”
She shook her head. Her hands held up.
There was no need. She’d clearly been stripped of whatever weapons she’d had. She didn’t even wear any armor.
Only rags and dirt covered the woman who called herself a Paladin of Lolth.
“I was sent on a potential rescue mission. Nearly a month ago Nightwarden Baenre, Minthara and her troupe went missing. There’s been no contact made since,” she said. “I was sent to find information on her whereabouts where I discovered the Cult of the Absolute and was captured by the cultists.”
“Go back to Menzoberranzan, Ethezt,” Zilv’eth said. “Minthara is dead.”
“Wait, what? How do you know that?”
Her cries were heard on deafened ears as Zilv’eth pulled a pack off of Lae’zel’s back. They searched the bag quickly and effectively.
A suit of armor was retrieved. It was nothing special. A simple suit of metal armor, one they would likely sell or pawn later down the road. A simple sword was also grabbed.
“If you want answers,” they shoved the metal in her hands, “get the tieflings to the Last Light Inn and I’ll— I’ll meet you there.”
“I—“ she looked at them and then back at the group of tieflings. “Okay.”
She nodded and slipped on the armor. She picked the sword up from where it’d fallen on the ground. She stood with a commanding air.
Lakrissa looked to Zilv’eth. She searched for something. Then she straightened herself. She took a position between the other tieflings and Ethezt. It was only then that she followed the woman.
“Are you alright, Zilv’eth?” Shadowheart asked, her hand coming to rest in their arm.
They moved, retracted from the touch. “We need to continue on,” they said. “The more we explore, the sooner we can get out of this retched place.”
That was that. No more entertaining the idea. That didn’t stop a worried glance from Shadowheart to Astarion that traveled to Lae’zel.
The next time they reached the Last Light Inn, the night song was freed, Ketheric Thorm was placed back into the ground, and the shadow curse was lifted.
A night of celebration and reunions began.
“Here we are yet again,” Astarion said as he placed his arm around Zilv’eth’s shoulders, “praised as heroes.”
“Do you hate it as much this time?” they asked.
“Oddly enough?” He paused for dramatic effect and then, “Yes.”
When they didn’t roll their eyes, Astarion squeezed them a bit tighter. “Come on, darling, you’ve been acting strange all night. You’re the one who said we have to tell each other when something’s wrong.”
“I said that in very different context.”
“You still said it,” he reminded. “Talk to me. It’s because of her, isn’t it? I can take care of it.”
They shook their head.
Their hand twitched upward. Half of an abandoned movement to grab his own. An instinct and habit Astarion had noticed at camp. So very often would they grab his hand and fidget with it, slip their rings from their fingers and onto his.
A small part of him wanted to grab their hand. If out of nothing but spite. He didn’t though.
“If she’s a problem—“
“She’s my sister,” they said.
“Yes, I recall her mentioning that but if she’s a problem, you can let us handle it,” he told them.
Another shake of the head.
“She. . . deserves to know.”
“And what about,” Astarion paused to search for the correct words, “what you deserve?”
They slumped against his body. He resecured his hold on them.
“I left knowing I may never see her again and I was fine with that,” they said. “She wasn’t. I’ve been feeling her staring all night, searching for a closure only I can give.”
Astarion pulled them as close to him as he could. “Wherever you go, I’ll follow.”
He pressed his lips against the back of their head. Their hair bunched up at the pressure. It tickled his nose before he managed to pull away.