Houses of Blood - Endless_Nova (2024)

Chapter 1: But...

Chapter Text

She stared at this man across the fire from her. Why had she invited him to travel with her? He’d held a knife to her throat. Where she came from that was grounds to kill, not smile politely and say “you should travel with me.”

Where she came from…he must be from there also. Maybe not Menzoberranzan, maybe he was Seldarine. A man in Menzoberranzan would never hold a blade to a woman’s throat unless he was going to slit it. It wasn’t something one did as a threat. It was something one did at the behest of another House. Or maybe a daughter.

But he must be drow. Mustn’t he? Clearly of elven descent. Those ears were not half-elf ears. The pale skin, the red eyes, the white curls, the perfect nose…she’d never seen a nose so perfect…

She shook her head a little. Was that admiration creeping into her thoughts? No. Focus…

Pale skin, yes, but it was so…white. All the drow—she’d ever met, at least, to be fair a small sample size—had some tinge to their skin. She herself was more gray. She was pale, even for her kind, with a faint sprinkling of freckles across her nose, but there was still that little tint…

He watched her across the fire, a slight smile on his face. He saw it, creeping across hers, the look he’d seen so many times before. This man is infuriating. But…

Her red eyes and gray skin gave her away so easily as a drow. And the ears. They were kind of cute, pointing more horizontally than his. Pierced. How many piercings? Could he count in the dim light? Some of them were pretty small…

Pretty was a word he’d use to describe her. Well, at least when her face wasn’t all screwed up in examining him. A scar ran parallel to her eyebrow on the left. It didn’t look particularly new; she must have been fighting for a while. Her eyebrows themselves were thick but well-maintained. Shadow was smudged around her doe eyes—a choice or a by-product of the day? They were intensely red and sparkled in the firelight. Her nose was kind of cute too, slightly upturned. Pouty pink lips, although he imagined she was one who rarely, if ever, pouted. She had another scar running through the outer third of her lips, vertical this time. Yes, she’d fought many times before. Or she had a particularly ruthless trainer.

His eyes wandered downward. A thin, long neck, with a bluish-black outlined rose tattoo on the left side. Pronounced collarbones…no, keep looking, don’t linger too long on the neck. Fit, clearly a product of her good paladin training, but still it appeared beneath her looser clothing that she had a good bustline. He could just peek down her shirt...yes, quite nice. A tucked-in waist, full hips…from where she was seated on the ground he couldn’t tell much more about her figure. When he’d held that knife to her throat it seemed that she was probably almost a head shorter than he, but still he wouldn’t want to meet her in a dark alley. He smirked. But maybe she wouldn’t want to meet him there either.

She called something across the fire. He looked back up at her face, one of his most charming and disarming smiles on his lips. The tips of her ears went pink in a blush. Oh, she would be easy.

He called something back across the fire. She stared at him.

“So,” he said decisively, “you don’t speak elvish, and I don’t speak drow. So let’s stick to Common then, shall we?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I asked you what House you were from. I didn’t realize Seldarine was so different from Menzoberranzan.”

“I’m from House…Ancunin.” The first time in a long time he’d been able to say his own name. Besides, she didn’t know any better and he certainly wasn’t saying his name. “And I don’t speak drow, darling, as I previously stated.” Smile.

“How does a drow not speak drow?” Her eyes narrowed further.

He sighed. The idiots he had to put up with. “Well obviously I’m not drow, that’s why I don’t speak it.”

“How are you not drow? You look drow.”

“Ugh, you are…” dense. But don’t say dense. You need her.

She raised an eyebrow.

“You are…clearly drow, aren’t you, darling?” he said, turning the dial from disdain to charm.

She tilted her head to the side and up and sniffed. A noble affectation if he’d ever seen one. She might be even more useful than he thought.

“House Duskryn.”

He nodded. He did recall her saying that name when she’d introduced herself. He’d found it odd at the time to give her full name, but now it made sense. He didn’t know much about the current rankings of the drow houses but Duskryn must be higher on the list.

She looked at him quickly, annoyed. He cursed inwardly; he should have fawned over her name, even if he had no idea what it meant. He was losing points, points he desperately needed if he wanted to ensure she didn’t just stab him in his sleep. Or when he…No, he mustn’t think of that now. Although he was ever so thirsty…

“Well, if you were drow you’d know who we are,” she asserted definitively.

As previously stated , he was not drow, he screamed in his head. But no, don’t say what you’re thinking, keep that smile. Keep safe. Keep alive.

Her eyebrows knitted together as she looked at him smiling across the fire. Not drow. Maybe she was ill-informed about what high elves looked like. The hair fit what she believed yes, but the eyes? And the skin? How did he manage in the sun? She’d been squinting in that direct sunlight all day with her red eyes and his might be even redder than hers.

She co*cked her head to the side, examining his appearance again. His shirt was cut in such a low V it was almost indecent. The way he rolled up his sleeves to show off his toned forearms. And the tightness of his leather pants. Nothing left to the imagination there. Men she knew were so much more demur. Still, she had to admit he cut a nice figure.

Why was she inspecting him so much? There was a literal gith only feet from the fire. Unless…

His grin changed and he raised an eyebrow at her. Her ears colored again and she dropped her gaze. The gold charms in her intricately-braided hair tinkled softly and reflected the light back at him. He was sure with the way she’d said her House name that they must be real gold, not brass. They were bright against her white hair. Her hair wasn’t as light as his though; it was more leaning towards the gray side of white, like her skin.

He’d never actually been with a drow—did the curtain match the drapes? Not many of them came surface-side to Baldur’s Gate. But everyone knew the stories of the Lolth-sworn. More bloodthirsty than gnolls, more ruthless than the Guild, more power-hungry than…well, even his master. And racist. No one was as good as a drow. And sexist. No man was as good as a woman .

He eyed her up and down again. That was it. She was surprised by his audacity. And she seemed young, inexperienced. Younger than he was. But he’d heard drow didn’t live as long as elves—a rough life of training and backstabbing and…poisoning.

“How old are you, darling?” he said suddenly.

She looked back up at him out of the corner of her eye. “182. How old are you ?” she countered.

Oof. He’d walked into that one. How was he rusty with her? Did she make him slightly nervous? Yes, but for a different reason than he made her nervous. Cold eyes, no restraint…he was more likely to end up dead with a drow than anyone else he’d met. Well, more dead. And almost anyone else.

“Oh, you know,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “In the two…thirties.”

She tilted her head sympathetically to the side. She shouldn’t have asked his age. Men were so squishy and vain. It must have been hard to admit that. Midway to his grave, by all standards she’d heard of.

Why was she tilting her head like that? His eyebrows knitted together now. She was so…odd.

Well, this night was a bust. He’d have to rethink his usual tactics to hook a drow, apparently.

“Well,” he said, rising, dusting the dirt from his pants and hands. Perfectly fitted pants, she noted again. It was quite…distracting, how well fitting they were over his calves, his thighs, his—

“While I’ve…enjoyed our…little chat, it is getting late and it has been quite a day. Sleep tight, Lady Phaera Duskryn,” he said with a deep bow. He sneaked a peak at her while he was bent over. Yes, that was the right thing to say. She was preening a little over someone using her official title.

“Yes.” A moment passed; he was still bent over. She flicked her eyes up and down him again. He was clearly waiting for something. “Good…sleeping, Astarion.” She turned pointedly to watch Lae’zel. Her face was starting to scrunch up again, watching this green creature.

He was dismissed, he thought. He straightened up and headed to his tent.

She was infuriating. But…

Chapter 2: Unbalanced

Chapter Text

Unbalanced

“So,” he said across the fire. “We have an Oathbreaker in our midst now.”

She looked over at him sharply, red eyes flashing. He was playing a dangerous game, but one he thought he could win. “What was your Oath again, darling?” he asked with feigned disinterest, examining his nails.

She looked away, towards the spectral knight standing at the edge of their camp. The faces of the tieflings flashed back in front of her face. It wasn’t as if she’d never killed before, but at the mere behest of a gith she didn’t really even know? She’d only ever tried to uphold her Oath and please Lolth. But she’d made the decision to simply slaughter instead.

She’d doubled over in pain as she felt the Oath break. She didn’t make a sound—she never did in battle—but her face betrayed her. Astarion had looked at her askance, a single eyebrow raised, but no one really knew what had happened until they came back to camp and there stood the knight.

“Does it matter anymore?” she countered with her usual abrupt manner.

“I suppose not,” he conceded. Hm. Maybe he couldn’t win this one. Shift tactics. “Well, I for one applaud you. Why dedicate your life to someone else’s code when you could live for yourself?” He watched her carefully although he maintained his air of indifference. Her responses now framed how he would continue his advances. Reveal, conceal; that was how this game was played.

She looked back over at him, her jaw working. “Have you never had allegiances? Things you believed in? Or have you always danced with chaos?” Her words were venomous but she didn’t really even understand why. It wasn’t as if she’d chosen the Oath in the first place. And she was drow; allegiances came and went like snakes shedding their skin. What had she truly lost?

He was a little taken aback by the intensity behind her words, but he only missed a slight beat before he smiled smoothly. “Perhaps. But before you were born, darling,” he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand.

The tips of her ears colored a little at him calling out her youth. She acknowledged to herself—not him, she’d never admit it to him—that she was inexperienced. Was this just how the world actually worked? She didn’t know much of anything beyond her House and her barracks and her temple. She’d been on leave when she decided to visit the surface and had immediately been snatched up by the mindflayers. She’d barely squinted into a sun she’d never seen before she was on a ship and being ocularly impregnated.

If she was honest, there was nothing for her in the Underdark. Did anyone even notice she was gone? She’d been cast from her House as soon as her sororicidal aunt could, sent to a temple of Lolth, her fate to become a paladin over a cleric decided for her before she was even 60. She involuntarily touched the rose tattoo on the side of her neck. Not even the symbol of her House. Not that this elf across her would know, roses were probably commonplace for him. But she’d panicked when all the other women in the company had gone to be tattooed and brought her along, cajoling her to get something to remember their time as trainees. They’d given pause when she chose the flower instead of her crest but assumed there was a hidden meaning behind it. But there wasn’t. She’d chosen the first thing that came to mind that she could accept as a permanent reminder of the fact that she had nothing.

Astarion watched her intently but kept glancing away to appear detached from the conversation, as if it was meaningless instead of something that could keep him alive. She wouldn’t notice either way; her eyes were unfocused as she rubbed the tattoo. There was something there, he mused. It wasn’t the symbol of any Oath or god he’d seen. It seemed unlikely that a rose was the symbol of a drow House—flowers? For drow? No, it meant something else.

How could he use this? He needed her off-balance, looking for someone to restore it. That was when he’d swoop in, like he always did, and provide the only comfort he knew how. And once he did, she wouldn’t get rid of him. He could build a surprising amount of trust in a single night. That and he was simply good at what he did and she’d want seconds.

She was fairly vulnerable now: oathless, a drow on the surface, harboring a tadpole. But she was resilient; he needed her to be just a little more lost than she was. Then…

“It doesn’t matter,” she said suddenly in response to nothing. Her eyes focused on him again.

He blinked and raised an eyebrow but did not reply. This was not going the way he’d expected from centuries of experience. Either drow as a whole were built differently or just she was.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said again, more confidently, dropping her hand from her neck—such an elegant neck, he noted again. She held her head higher, the noble in her peeking through. She was making peace with things and his window was closing.

“I can live for myself. No more rules. No more tenets, no more stupid book,” she said, pulling something from her pack: a worn book with a leather cover stamped with a spider and some script in drow. She went to toss it in the fire, but Gale suddenly appeared beside her.

“I’ll take that, thank you,” he said, plucking the book from her hands with a glare. He moved quickly from her reach and the fire.

Astarion and Phaera stared at him.

“Ha!” Astarion barked. “It would be like the wizard to save something useless. How long do you think he’s been listening to us?” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Do you think it’s his thing ?”

Phaera looked at him sidelong with a slight smile on her face. And there it was, he thought to himself. The last little thing to unbalance her. And it was that damn wizard stealing her book of tenets.

He smiled back at her, a rakish smile, with his single eyebrow raised. Her ears colored again and her eyes dropped. After a couple of nights sitting around the fire she was starting to accept that she simply didn’t know how to act around a man who was so sure of himself. She was used to the ones that fawned and peaco*cked, seeking the slightest approval from a woman. And he did not seem to be that type.

She stood suddenly. “I, uh, need to get some sleep, it’s been a long day.” Without waiting for a response she turned in the direction of her tent and walked off. She slowed her gait and held her head up after a few steps, trying to appear somewhat regal.

“Of course, darling, we’ll have plenty of time together tomorrow.” He grinned although she couldn’t see it.

Her ears colored deeper and she walked a little faster.

Perfect.

Chapter 3: Bruised

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“You fought well today,” Phaera said to him awkwardly. He’d moved from his place directly across the fire to a spot closer to her right, edging ever closer each night.

She touched the bruises on her neck from where he’d bit her the night before. It didn’t look like it was going to scar, not like his.

“Well I did have some delightful drow blood to power me today, darling.” He smiled as he looked at her over his shoulder. It was a half-sincere smile, the most sincere he’d been with her. Well, except for last night. He’d been sincere when he thanked her. She truly had given him a gift, something he would not quickly forget.

The tips of her ears colored as usual. “Yes,” she said stiffly.

“May I?” he asked, motioning to her neck.

“Again?” she replied, looking at him with wide eyes. Something triggered in him, looking into those eyes. She was somehow innocent, despite her body count, and he liked it. Maybe it wouldn’t be simply a task to check off his to-do list to bed her.

Instead of indulging those thoughts now, he merely laughed good-naturedly. “No. Well,” he held up a hand, both thinking it through and dismissing it. “I mean, I wouldn’t turn it down, one does need to eat regularly, but I just wanted to look at the spot. And I promised, I wouldn’t nibble without you inviting me.”

“Oh,” she said. Was that maybe some disappointment in her voice? Good.

“Yes, of course,” she recovered. He shuffled over on hands and knees to examine the spot where there should be puncture marks. She watched him intently, a smile on her face he hadn’t seen before, yet no blush in her ears.

This was how she was used to seeing men and thoughts of the last one who she’d allowed to grace her bed flitted through her mind. He couldn’t compare in terms of looks to Astarion, however. The perfect hair, the perfect nose, the perfect figure. Those perfect eyelashes batting at her, framing perfect red eyes…

And then his fingertips were on her neck. She inhaled sharply at the touch and his scent returned to her. Sweet bergamot, spiced brandy and…something under, something she couldn’t place, an edge.

He pulled his fingers back, a concerned look on his face. “I’m sorry my dear,” he said genuinely. “Did that hurt?”

“No,” she said more confidently than she felt. “I just…didn’t expect it.” She cursed at herself inwardly. That was a lie; she didn’t expect how it would make her feel. A thrill had run up her spine, she’d felt something in her stomach, her breath had quickened. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d felt like that. And she wanted him to touch her again.

“Oh,” he said. Did he detect the lie?

He reached back out and ran a finger across where he’d bit. No wounds, only bruises.

She held perfectly still for him. The only thing that moved were her eyes. She followed that halo of white as he leaned in to take a closer look. She felt his breath on her exposed shoulder, she closed her eyes—

And then he leaned back, touch gone. A pang of disappointment in her stomach at the brevity of the touch. Put your hands on me again.

“Well, I don’t know why, but it seems it won’t scar like mine.” He sat, but didn’t move back to his original spot at the fire; he stayed right beside her. The final move, he thought. Well, almost final.

She pulled the neck of her shirt up a little. It covered her shoulder but wasn’t high enough to cover her neck. The bruises remained exposed.

“I wonder if it has to be a transformation, if that’s what makes it scar,” he mused aloud. He stared across the fire blankly.

“Maybe whoever did it to you wanted to leave a scar,” she said absently. It wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibility, if it had been a drow. They liked to leave reminders, if they left you alive.

“What?” he said, looking at her sharply, glowering.

Her eyes flicked over to him, one eyebrow furrowed. She’d hit a nerve. “Or maybe spawn can’t scar people,” she said quickly, trying to diffuse the tension. So. Whoever had turned him was a sore spot. She noted it for the future, both as a point to approach delicately and a potential weakness that could be exploited, if the need arose. It was a habit she’d learned from trying to stay alive in the Underdark. She desperately hoped she wouldn’t need to use her skills against him. She was, in fact, surprised at herself for how desperately she didn’t want to have to hurt him.

The diffusion worked; he relaxed. He leaned back on his forearms and stared up at the sky. He mentally rolled the implications around in his mind. If he didn’t leave obvious puncture wounds, chances were good that no one else would notice a couple of bruises on an arm, should Phaera prove reluctant to provide a meal in the future. As long as he was quieter than he was the night before he shouldn’t get caught. He blamed some of her wakefulness on being a drow, however. They seemed to be hypervigilant, maybe appropriately—as far as he’d heard they were always trying to murder each other and avoid being murdered.

She picked at the seam of her pants as the silence stretched on. “Since you did so well fighting today, maybe you’d like to feed again tonight.” She didn’t look up at him so she couldn’t see the look of surprise that flickered across his face. He hadn’t expected to be asked back so soon. He swiftly recovered and used one of his smoothest voices to reply.

“I was so hoping you’d say that…”

Chapter 4: The Game

Chapter Text

It was the first time he’d invited her into his tent instead of them sneaking off to the woods like they were in their 80s. Karlach had caught Phaera’s eye and winked at her as Astarion held the tent flap open. Phaera had felt herself flush but tried to look confident and attempted a wink back. She didn’t think she was successful.

The tent wasn’t tall enough for them to both stand so they knelt on his bedroll. She smiled at him timidly; why was she nervous? This wasn’t the first time they were doing this and he certainly wasn’t the first man she’d been with. She was 182 after all. But he’d been in servitude longer than she’d been alive. Was that it? He was the “older man?”

He could see the anxious thoughts skittering across her face. How many times had he seen that? But she was…different. In all his years he’d never been with a single person as many times as he’d been with her. He could probably stop; he’d gained her trust. She wouldn’t turn on him. Why did he keep asking her then?

He pushed down his thoughts and cupped her face, smiling reassuringly. She leaned forward hesitantly and kissed him softly. He pressed into her and made the kiss deeper. His hand slipped down to her waist and the other joined to pull off her shirt. He leaned back and grinned his side smile as he looked her over, pausing at his favorite parts. Perky, pleasantly round, the cool air starting to catch up with her…

He quickly pulled off his own shirt and pants and pushed her back. He gripped her waistband and pulled her pants off in one swift motion—no small feat for leather pants for sure. He found his head at her ankles so he kept his head low and surged forward, spreading her legs and burying his head between her thighs. She leaned back and sighed, twining her fingers through his hair. He was an expert and knew it; sometimes she thought he just liked to show off. Her breathing came heavier, her hand gripped his head a little tighter—

Then he shifted his arm position and ran his tongue up her stomach, between her breasts, up her neck, her chin, and kissed her hard. He hooked his right leg under her left, spreading her legs wider before pulling his head back so that he could look at her as he thrust in. He grinned as she gasped and flushed, realizing that the others might hear. He paused inside her, his roguish grin widening as a light went on behind his eyes.

“Let’s play a game,” he said in a low voice. “Every time you make a noise, I get a nibble.”

She smiled as she laced her hand in his white curls. An easy game for her to win. She was always quiet until the end. “Ok,” she whispered breathlessly. “Let’s.”

He smiled again and leaned down to kiss her. He pulled his head back, pulled out, and thrust forward hard. She gasped at the force and depth, then looked at him with a mixture of surprise and panic.

“That’s one,” he said as he dropped his head to her neck, finding the space right behind where her jaw met her ear. He bit and she inhaled sharply, but it was tempered by a sigh as he built a gentle rhythm with his hips. Her hand clutched his head to her as he drank—just a little sip. Her other gripped his back, feeling the raised scars under her fingers. He’d never said they hurt to touch but she tried to be ginger with them anyways, just in case.

He drew away from her neck and ran his tongue along the marks to start closing them. He continued drawing his head back, far enough to look at her before leaning forward to give her a timid kiss, her blood still on his lips. He didn’t know if this was something she would allow; she hadn’t minded tasting herself earlier but maybe blood was different.

She tugged his head in forcefully; it was not the first time she’d tasted her own blood, salty and metallic, and it wouldn’t be the last.

He pulled away to look at her again, pulled almost all the way out, and thrust forward hard again. She tried to bite the cry back. Her back arched under him with her effort but she still made a noise. “That’s two,” he said, grinning again.

“You’re cheating,” she gasped.

His face changed slightly as he looked at her and stopped moving. “Do you want me to stop?” He paused and waited. “Phaera?” Pause. “You know what to say,” he said gently.

They’d agreed on it, days ago. She’d flushed when he said the phrase. Of course she knew what a safe word was, she wasn’t in her 20s. He’d insisted though that if she—or he—ever said it, everything would stop and there would be no hard feelings. All she had to do was say it, the only word they’d thought they’d never say while being intimate: tadpole.

He waited but she grinned and shook her head no. “I just have to try harder,” she whispered.

“So will I,” he countered as he brushed against her lips, faking a kiss but instead ducking his head down to her neck, biting just below the last one, still tempering the pain with the rhythm he knew she liked best. Sharp inhale and sigh, just like the last one. A drink, a lick, a kiss, a thrust, a gasp, a bite. He was very good at this game, and she was very bad.

Five bites trailing down her neck and chest. He didn’t let either of them finish, always pulling out right before. He’d planned it, this last one. It would be the most sensitive but the most satisfying. But, he had to ask first.

But first the game. A thrust, a gasp—he thought she was getting louder as she lost more—and he paused again to look at her. “Are you ready for this one?” She nodded at him. “Say it.”

“Yes. I want it.”

He broke into a wicked smile and dipped his head down to her nipple. Gentle, but a bite nonetheless. She cried out louder than she had all night. He went to pull back but her hand was in his hair, holding her to him. He melted into her and drank, finding the spot with his hips where he knew he could finish her. Her breathing came harder and more ragged, yet still she held him to her. He felt her tense and begin to writhe under him. Just a little longer…now. He released as he felt her do the same.

“Astarion!” she cried involuntarily before she pulled the hand out of his hair and clamped it over her mouth, thoroughly embarrassed that certainly everyone in camp had heard her. Free of her hand he licked her wound then shoved her hand away from her mouth to give her one last intense kiss before he pulled out and rolled over to her side. They panted for a moment before he trailed a finger down the path of bites, already closing. They would bruise but they would not permanently mark her. She trembled beneath his touch.

“I liked this game,” he whispered in her ear.

She shuddered and turned her head to brush her lips against his. Her fingertips met his on her bloodied nipple. “So did I.”