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ghost-proofbaby · 6 days

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summary: the gang gets a dog, and aruna finds out that shadowheart is an excellent person to gossip with. just not when it's about aruna's own personal life.

wc: 5.8k+

warnings: some more leftover description of the blood-drinking ordeal, mentions of dead bodies, astarion is being avoidant again.

a/n: we've finally made it to scratch!!! and karlach!!! wahoo. also, i'm trying something new with the chapter dividers, so bear with me. <3

ao3 | masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

“What-” Astarion is the first to speak up between them, pupils so large that they swallow his eyes in pitch black. A drop of her blood has long trailed past his chin, marking down the side of his neck now as he takes a shaky breath, “-was that?”

Aruna feels as though she can’t move as she brings ginger and nervous fingers up to her neck, pressing into the wound left behind. A damaged neck, a damaged mind – she was certainly acquiring quite the seen and unseen wounds, wasn’t she?

“I don’t know,” she mumbles, slowly pulling up her knees, trying to dispel all her dizziness, “I- Gods, I don’t know.”

One moment, she was getting lost in it all – in Astarion’s fangs inside her, in his hands holding her so closely, in the weight of his chest pressing to hers desperately and matching each of her ragged breaths – and the next, it had simply been pain.

Were they memories? Were they wishful hopes?

They felt so real. Each image had burned into her as though she’d already experienced them. Like she knew every inch of Astarion’s skin already, like a well-loved and memorized road map to all that she could be. As though she might have spent endless nights watching him with careful consideration as he would trance, not just under the stars but within a tent with her at his side. Even now, the ghost of how he had felt curled up against her haunts her vividly, somehow warming her despite the chill she knew he would leave behind.

“What in the Hells was that?” he repeats himself a bit more aggressively this time, quickly lifting a hand to swipe away at her blood trailing down his throat. He leaves behind the scarlet trail of her across his lips and chin – a painful reminder of what she had just given him.

Of what boundaries they had just crossed, only to be burned.

“Like I said two seconds ago, I don’t know,” she snaps this time, palm still cupping where his mouth had been. The blood flow had finally slowed, clots that would turn to scabs beginning to form.

“Was it your magic?”

“No-”

“Was this all an elaborate ploy just to get me close enough to use your magic against me? Conjure images just to-” his eyes flare with mistrust as he stands quickly. Against her better judgment, she follows, “Just to trick me?”

“It wasn’t my magic,” she grits out. She wishes it was – she wishes she didn’t believe any of those images to be real. She wishes she hadn’t just been handed over something to miss, “I don’t know what it was, but I had just as much control in it as you did.”

Dark holes in her mind, slowly growing over with all those memories. Gaps being filled, questions being only half-answered. It was as though a piece of herself had just been returned to her; as though she’s one step closer to being whole again. Fragmented puzzle pieces that were finding their place in her psyche whether she wanted them to or not.

He’s quiet for a few moments, still fiery with misplaced fury. “If it wasn’t your doing, what was it?”

Memories. Glimpses into a past, glimpses into another thread of time similar to this one, just a tad bit different. Frayed in different segments and taut where this one twists.

She knows that’s what they were, even if her churning gut and tired mind want to deny it to all Hells.

“I don’t know,” she lies with slumping shoulders, accepting the weight alone, “I wish I did.”

Gods, why is it so hard to lie to him? Why is her tongue suddenly so heavy as she forces each word out?

She could tell him what she feels is certain, ask him to indulge her in the possibility that what they just saw were real moments that had slipped from their grasp. Maybe she should ask him if he felt it too; if he felt a large, gaping hole in his chest as residual damage. She could ask him if it aches for him the way it aches for her.

But she isn’t going to.

She lets the weight of what they saw wash over her just as suddenly as the creases in his face smooth over. He’s compartmentalizing; she’s drowning.

They’re going to pretend it never happened. For real, this time.

He won’t admit to being a vampire, he’ll never tell the others that he’s tasted her blood, and he won’t be entertaining any theoretical discussion of all those moments they’d just seen.

There was too much vulnerability there to be witness to. The way that version of him had preened beneath her touch so comfortable, the way his body had melted against hers as if it had always belonged at her side. She feels like a stranger in her body as she recalls that softness that lingered between her and the man before her in those snippets that had just flashed between them. None of it existed in the here and now. She’s sure if she tried to lean her weight against him as she had in that memory (or whatever the scene had been) now, he’d scoff and toss her aside without second thoughts.

Where the Astarion that had been shown was all molten softness, there only lay sharp edges before her. Jagged bits and serrated defenses.

“Very well,” his mask returns in the blink of an eye. His chest puffs out again, his posture straightening and his chin lifting as he takes a few steps around her, adamantly keeping his distance, “In that case, I should retire back to my tent for the night,” she doesn’t turn to watch him, only listening to the soft crunch of his footsteps over twigs, “Before anyone notices our absences.”

Keen. Precise. Stabbing. Not an ounce of whatever gentle notions she’d seen from the version of him who had been tugging a blanket around her to ward off the cold. No softness to spare.

She can’t blame him. Even more haunting than the contrast of that version of him compared to this one is the difference between Aruna.

Someone kind, confident, and determined. A version of her with purpose.

For every sharpened point he bares, she wields a blade just as dangerous in comparison to who she might have been. The version of her in those visions was something soft, something to hold, something that had only ever bared its teeth to smile.

It doesn’t really matter that this Astarion wouldn’t wrap her in a blanket; this Aruna wouldn’t let him if he tried.

She’s almost sure she’s been left to her smothering thoughts, mouth still agape as she takes deep breaths to stay upright, when his voice cuts through the night one final time.

“This is a gift, you know. Strange visions aside.”

One final bout of deja vu swallows them whole as she turns slowly, just in time to see the way he turns his head. He’s not fully looking at her, but the gesture lets her know he’s speaking to her and not the moon, at the very least.

“I won’t forget it.”

It’s in his cadence, in the bit of his brow she can just barely see as it furrows. He means it, sincerely.

The hand that was still cradling the side of her neck drops so slowly that it hasn’t returned back to her side until he’s long gone, returning to his tent just as he had said he would.

—

In an interesting turn of events, Astarion is the one avoiding Aruna in the following days.

Every morning, she looks to his tent. And every morning, she finds it empty.

They don’t find another one of his meals during their adventures, thankfully. Aruna finds herself filling the empty space left behind from the absence of her shadow with Gale instead, to the point in which she doesn’t even have to ask the wizard to join her most days. He’s already ready for her, waiting as she finishes fastening her own armor and gear. No one knows outright about that night, about what Astarion is and about what Aruna gave, but Gale must have noticed something having changed. He must have sensed the gap for him to fill was there to have stepped up so easily.

Aruna doesn’t particularly care if they find out at this point, in all fairness.

Astarion’s vampirism is the least of her worries from that night. She could wake up to him trying to take another taste of her blood, and she wouldn’t even attempt to stop him. No, her companion’s strange affliction wasn’t the problem. The problem was what she truly gave.

It wasn’t just blood.

She spends most of her time lost in thought as she rolls those flashes of herself and Astarion around in her mind. The tadpole connection had yet to return to them, or perhaps neither of them had really tried to mend it yet, and she’s grateful for it. She can’t decipher if her gut feeling, if her assumption that what they saw were some strange and twisted version of memories was actually correct, or if it were something else at hand.

Had it been her magic? Had it been a side effect of a vampire drinking a thinking creature’s blood?

Maybe it was a projection of what she truly wanted deep down. A manifestation of her deepest wants and desires, entirely exposed to the two of them.

That must be it, because the more Aruna considers it, the more she realizes she wouldn’t mind being in the situations she’d witnessed. It would be nice to lay with a lover at the end of the day and feel the way they sunk into her touch. It would be reassuring to have someone there, ready to share body heat beneath whatever sorry excuse for a blanket they could get their hands on. It would simply be nice to feel like someone was on her side, given their current situation.

Although she could argue Gale was at her side, both metaphorically and physically.

When she stops at the entrance to a short bridge, not far from where they’d found the boar that had disappeared after Aruna’s night with Astarion, he’s right beside her. Not right behind her as Shadowheart and Wyll were, but beside her.

“Is that… a town?” she questions, squinting into the distance.

Across the bridge, she could see a crumbling wall with the roofs of buildings peaking just over it. And even further, an arched entrance that had a clear view of a few of those said buildings.

“It’s a bad idea, is what it is,” Gale murmurs, and she follows his trail of sight to see what had him consumed with hesitation – bodies.

Just between the cobblestone of the bridge and the entrance to this apparent village, several bodies lay across a blood-soaked ground. The bodies aren’t fresh by any means, but that doesn’t mean that whatever had killed those travelers wasn’t still nearby.

Aruna’s suddenly very glad she had half the mind to be mentally present for today of all days rather than still lost in her thoughts regarding Astarion.

“Well,” Aruna sighs, counting the bodies. Four, that she could see, “That’s not ominous at all.”

If Astarion had been with her, he probably would have laughed. Whether it was because he genuinely found her funny or not, he still would have been entertained by her sarcastic comment. A predictable pang rings out in her chest.

Gale could try to fill that space at her side all he wanted; he still could never fit the shoes of the vampire who was probably lounging back at camp at this very moment.

“Whatever killed them may very well still be nearby,” Wyll comments as he takes a few steps forward, peering at the scene, “Do you think it could have been the goblins that attacked the Grove?”

“Maybe,” Aruna shrugs.

Probably. Unlike with the boar, she doesn’t think Astarion would leave behind such a scene. Especially since she now knows.

“Gale and I could always go ahead, try to see if the culprit is still around,” Wyll offers, turning to look at the two mages, “Shadowheart and yourself could fall back and stay hidden. If it’s a trap, at least it gives us an upperhand.”

Shadowheart huffs from behind Aruna, “If it’s a trap, then they already have us right where they want us.”

It was moments like these where Aruna hated the burden of leadership. She didn’t want to make these choices. She squirms uncomfortably beneath the expectant stares of everyone, mind reeling as they force her hand. It was hard enough dealing with whatever her memory loss truly was, coping with the situation she’d gotten herself into with Astarion, nevermind trying to make tactical decisions like the one before her now.

“There’s nowhere for Shadowheart and I to even hide-” she starts, before Gale cuts her off.

“There,” he points to a broken food cart not far off, not quite halfway across the bridge, “You two could always hide there.”

Fair point. The decision, it seems, has been made for her.

“Fine,” Aruna surrenders, a hand flying to one of her daggers as she ignores the wary stare of Shadowheart, “Fine, you two go ahead. Just… just don’t enter the village. If we want to enter the village, we do it as a group. Got it?”

“Got it,” Wyll nods, grinning ever so slightly.

He takes a couple of steps forward, Gale joining his side instead, but they don’t take off to fully cross the bridge. Not yet.

They’re waiting. Waiting for Aruna’s command, her signal to go forth.

She hates it.

Regardless, she motions subtlety for Shadowheart to follow behind her as she quickly moves to stand behind that cart Gale had pointed out. And just as she slips past Gale, narrowly missing his shoulder, she nods at the two men to continue on.

The cart is an excellent hiding spot. She has a clear view of the braver half of their party as they approach the bodies, and she’s certain that if anyone lays in wait on the other side of the bridge, they wouldn’t be able to spot herself and Shadowheart.

“You know, now would be an excellent time to have a rogue with us,” Shadowheart whispers as she crouches beside Aruna.

Aruna knows exactly who the cleric is referring to. And it makes her already sour face twist up even further.

“It’s not my fault that Astarion was nowhere to be found this morning,” Aruna hushes back, careful to keep her voice low enough as to not travel with the wind.

One of her palms is wrapped around the hilt of her dagger, almost mimicking the common position of the man they were currently discussing.

Shadowheart hums softly, “Yes, how odd. First, it was you blatantly ignoring the pale one, and now it’s him avoiding you.”

“I wasn’t avoiding him-”

“When our journey first began, it wasn’t even a question. Every day, Astarion was at your side. You can’t tell me that this isn’t an avoidant situation after the two of you being so attached to one another.”

Aruna scowls as she bites her tongue. They hadn’t even been traveling together that long; all of Shadowheart’s accusations felt ridiculous. Even if she was on the nose regarding their current predicament, it’s not as though she had spent months with Astarion as her shadow. It had been a week, at most.

But had she been that obvious with her need to keep him close? She tries to recall if she ever even asked Astarion to join her previously, or if it had simply been a known choice. Each day they would be heading out on their search, and each day, Astarion was by her side before anyone else.

Just as Wyll and Gale approach the first body, Shadowheart speaks again, “I don’t mean to offend you or pry. It’s just… a curious observation.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Aruna bluntly replies, eyes locked on the two men as they investigate.

“True,” Shadowheart moves a bit closer, trying to get a clearer view at Aruna’s side, “But our group seems to have enough brushes with danger for that point to be moot.”

Aruna nearly rolls her eyes, finally tearing her gaze from Wyll as he crouches beside the second body to glance at Shadowheart, “We do not get into that much trouble. Besides, we’re all alive, are we not?”

“We are. Alive enough for two members of our party to be in a lover’s quarrel, it seems.”

Aruna’s entire body freezes, “Astarion and I are not-”

“You don’t have to defend yourself to me,” Shadowheart fights a smile, eyes deliberately locked ahead rather than looking at Aruna, “Your questionable taste in who warms your tent is none of my business.”

“I don’t even have a tent,” Aruna isn’t sure why she’s so hellbent on denying anything going on between herself and Astarion, but she is. Terribly so.

Shadowheart finally looks at her, “Perhaps you should fix that, then.”

“Of course,” Aruna says, brows creasing, “Let me just add it to my already massive to-do list,” she glances back up to the boys. So far, so good. No sign of an impending ambush, “You know, I never took you to be so keen on camp gossip.”

“And I never took you to be so sensitive regarding our camp rogue-” Shadowheart surely has more to say, but she’s cut off when Wyll stands abruptly and looks in their direction.

He waves, a bit too obviously for Aruna’s liking if an ambush is still a threat, and Aruna sighs as she pushes herself out of her crouch. “Stop worrying about where my fondness lies, Shadowheart. If you ever want to gossip about Lae’zel’s curiously large weapon collection, however, I’m all ears.”

When Aruna glances to the half-elf, she’s taken back to see the slightest of smiles on her lips. The woman had been head-strong and focused their entire journey, so lost by her need to solve the issue of their uninvited visitor in their heads, Aruna had hardly gotten any friendly vibes from her. Up until now, she’d only felt like a means to an end for her. But somewhere in that not-quite-a-smile, a warmth buries deep. Kindlings of a fire that could become friendship, if provoked enough.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Shadowheart hums as she stands to her full height beside Aruna.

Aruna sort of hopes the cleric does find a new reason to join her in camp and ‘gossip’ with her. There’s much worse company to share a bottle of wine with, Aruna imagines.

Their party reunites carefully as the two women cross the bridge to join the men. Gale is still crouched beside one of the bodies, having dug a flyer of some sort out of the pockets of the departed soul’s pockets.

“Find anything good?” Aruna asks as she approaches, squinting, trying to decipher what was on the page that Gale held so closely to his face.

Gale’s entire face creases as he glances up to her, “Nothing particularly invigorating, unless you consider a wild goose chase for some sort of Nightsong worthwhile.”

Shadowheart stiffens, earning her a curious glance from Aruna.

“Sounds interesting,” Aruna says slowly, eyes taking their time to look back to Gale, “But not very useful. Just grab any supplies left behind. I know we haven’t been ambushed yet, but I’m not overly eager to use that easy entrance to the village. We should probably find another way in.”

Gale ends up pocketing the flyer regardless. Aruna doesn’t press it, leaning down to grab a discarded weapon instead. She’s actually glad he had kept the page – it had elicited a reaction out of Shadowheart, whatever the Nightsong might be, and that was enough to spark Aruna’s endless curiosity.

They collect what they can from the bloody scene – a few extra packs, some even filled with food that hadn’t gone bad quite yet, and used weapons that could surely be put to use at some point – and it’s back to a despicable game of follow-the-leader. Aruna, guiding the group down a path along the side of the village, and everyone following blindly.

If she leads them to their death, they can’t even be mad.

Shadowheart follows a bit closer this time. Gale is forced to fall into step at Wyll’s side as the cleric claims residency over the clueless sorcerer’s side. It’s not until Wyll notices even more supplies discarded beneath a net in some of the foliage along the path that Aruna realizes why Shadowheart is sticking so closely to her side.

“I hope I didn’t offend you,” she says just as Aruna has taken to inspecting a bush to occupy herself. She was perfectly content for Gale and Wyll to be the ones to gather up the supplies they were finding – Aruna would much rather be left with her comfortably light pack for now, “Earlier. When I pointed out whatever… bond you’ve formed with Astarion.”

Aruna pauses with a lead pinched between her fingers, keeping her breathing even as she remembers the heavy letter that takes up residency in that light pack of hers, “Hard to offend someone without memories. Besides, you weren’t entirely wrong. Astarion has just proven himself… useful.”

Useful is an understatement. They may have only been traveling together for a brief time, but he’s already saved Aruna’s ass more times than she can count. The scales are horribly unbalanced, even including the gift of her blood that she had offered.

“You’re referring to Nettie, aren’t you?”

Aruna finally gives up pretending to be endlessly interested in the branch of the bush as she looks up to Shadowheart, “Amongst other things, yes. I still don’t know how he got the two of us out of there.”

If it hadn’t been for the sudden appearance of memories, Aruna probably would have given that more thought. She can’t imagine what sort of scene might have been caused or left behind after it was all said and done. They’d returned to the Grove since, and no one had made a fuss, which should be a good sign. But it only makes Aruna more curious as she gives it more thought now.

How had he got her out of there undetected? And had he hid Nettie’s body? Did the Grove even know what she had done?

“He didn’t exactly give the details,” Shadowheart looks just as curious, almost a little concerned, “It was quite an event, in all fairness. Nobody asked too many important questions about the how when he showed up with you, poisoned and covered in blood, in his arms.”

In his arms?

“He carried me back to camp?” Aruna chokes out, “Gods. I- I guess that makes sense, I just hadn’t considered the… logistics.”

“He more than just carried you, Aruna. I thought I might end up the next victim of his dagger if I didn’t comply with his demands to save you.”

Save Astarion. No matter the cost.

“I know he’s not always the kindest but, surely, he didn’t threaten y-”

“He did,” Shadowheart interrupts, raising a brow as she crosses her arms, “It’s the only time I haven’t seen the elf be an absolute sarcastic ass. He was deathly serious. With the way he panicked, I could only assume… I thought…” Shadowheart drifts off for just a second, leaving a beat of silence that speaks volumes, “Well, you don’t necessarily react that way towards a stranger.”

“You assumed I was his lover, based solely on his reaction to my near-death?” Aruna murmurs, eyes darting towards Wyll and Gale to ensure they weren’t eavesdropping.

“How would you react, right now, if I were to prick my finger on a poisonous bush?”

Aruna opens her mouth, the answer seeming obvious, before she stops herself.

How would she react?

She’d be worried, of course. She’d try to help, without a doubt. But how far would she go with all her worry and helpfulness? Would she go as far as to carry Shadowheart all the way back to their camp? Would she threaten her fellow companions if they didn’t do something to help?

“He wouldn’t leave your side,” Shadowheart’s voice drops to a whisper, looking right into Aruna’s eyes, as though she needed to make sure the girl was processing every single word spoken, “He wouldn’t let any near you without first knowing their business. And even then, he hovered. I don’t think he tranced once during the days you were down, showed no interest in eating either. I believe the only reason he allowed us to take you into my tent was due to the lack of his own,” she pauses and lets the words sink in as Aruna’s mind reels to keep up, “I would expect that behavior from Gale. Or even Wyll. But from the man who has seemed Hell-bent on maintaining an arm’s length distance from us all? The man who has pretended to be entirely unaffected by our entire situation and all the violence we’ve encountered? Truthfully, the fact that you two aren’t involved makes it all the more confusing.”

It was odd. It was entirely peculiar, extremely out of character for the man they had all gotten to know.

Or at least, the man that everyone else had gotten to know.

They weren’t exchanging light-hearted jokes with Astarion. There were no late night conversations under the stars with him for them to ponder on, no glimpse beneath the mask to ruminate on. No memories of a version of him that was softer than what he offered now. They saw him to be as sharp as his daggers, his words capable of digging beneath their skin far easier than his fangs even could.

Aruna had an unfair advantage, but so much of that had come after Astarion had been her knight in shining armor. She hadn’t given him a reason to care so deeply; even now, she hadn’t, in her honest opinion.

“I’d do the same for any of you,” Aruna finally says, but it’s a blatant lie. Her tongue isn’t quite as heavy as she speaks false words to Shadowheart, though. The vowels didn’t stick in her throat the same way they had when she’d denied Astarion of her full truths, “And I’m sure Astarion would, too, if it came down to it. We need each other to survive. That’s all.”

She would do the same, to some extent. She doesn’t think she’d be pointing daggers, but she would be worried. It’s not a full lie.

“All I heard is that we need each other to survive,” Wyll inserts himself with impeccable timing, the pack on his back now looking a bit bulkier. Aruna nearly snorts as she realizes Gale is seemingly taking the same approach as her with traveling lightly, “And I couldn’t agree more. Speaking of which…”

Three sets of eyes land on Aruna, and this time, she ignores the discomfort bubbling up.

They need each other to survive. This is far beyond just her and some silly mission to save Astarion now – these people, these friends, look to her for guidance. Reluctantly or not, eagerly or not, she should be mindful of the weight that carries.

She should be mindful of the trust involved.

—

“I’m an animal-lover just as much as the next-”

“It’s not up for discussion, Gale.”

“-And I also hated the idea of leaving the poor thing behind-”

“What’s done is done.”

“-I just think we should have considered how exactly we might be feeding this extra companion at camp! That’s all!” Gale finally finishes spitting out his argument to Aruna as they trek down a dusty road, a river rushing along their side, “We’re in no position to be collecting pets, Aruna.”

Aruna can certainly hand it to Gale – she wasn’t thinking about these particular repercussions when she’d encountered the poor dog who’s collar-tag read Scratch when she’d offered her scent for him to follow. But she’d made her decision, not even glancing back at her companions to include them in her choice, and there was no taking it back now. She almost wanted the dog to show up at their camp now, purely out of spite for the lecturing Gale had taken to giving her as they’d continued to follow the path.

The path which Aruna had a sinking suspicion would not be leading to a new entrance to that village. But her gut had been tugged in this direction, something whispered for her to follow the river, and she’s done enough critical thinking for the day. The worst that could come of it is that her internal compass leads them to absolutely nothing, and they have to make the far trek back to camp entirely empty-handed.

Or they could finally stumble into that ambush they’d all worried about at the main entrance to the village. That’s also a possibility, Aruna supposes.

“He wouldn’t be a pet, Gale,” she grumbles, slowing her steps as she looks around. There hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary so far.

“What would you call him, then?” Gale argues, fiddling with the straps of his own pack.

How ironic it was that he had taken to complaining so ardently about the possible furry companion when he’d happily looted the corpse of the previous owner, slipping numerous envelopes into his bag to read later. He certainly hadn’t protested then, when it served some sort of odd purpose for him.

“A…” Aruna trails off, facing Gale, back to the river. She racks her brain for a term that might justify her choice, even if only slightly, “A familiar. Yes - a familiar! You know, those trustworthy companions that those wonderful books of yours have detailed extensively? Are you truly so against me having one?”

Gale’s eyes narrow at her, “He is not your familiar.”

“He could be,” she chimes, standing strong in her decision, “He certainly won’t be yours with all your griping.”

“You two are…” Wyll glances between the two of them, sighing heavily, “Something.”

“Better she bickers with Gale than Astarion,” Shadowheart pipes up, quickly looking remorseful when Aruna shoots her a look, “Sorry, just- Gale doesn’t argue just for the sake of arguing with you. He’s actually making a point.”

Aruna opens her mouth, instinctively ready to defend Astarion despite the fact that that is exactly what he did when he’d join them in adventuring, but Gale beats her to a response, “Precisely! I only aim to ruffle the peace if it’s necessary. And a dog at camp? Well… not particularly necessary, if you ask me.”

“The dog will keep me warm at night when I’m left defenseless without a tent,” Aruna snaps, focusing back on the wizard, “There. Is that convincing enough for you?”

She certainly notices the chuckle that Wyll tries to cover up, and the slyest of quirks on Shadowheart’s lips.

“I’m…” Gale is speechless. It’s a blatantly obvious way in which he can’t fill her shadow’s shoes – Astarion would have been absolutely bursting at the seams with a snarky comeback for such a childish response from her. “I apologize. As you said, the decision’s already been made. I’m… I’m sorry for refusing to consider your side of it all.”

A nice way of saying I’m sorry I forgot you have far less than the rest of us.

They continue to walk with the current after that in silence, leaving Aruna to her own mindless thoughts. Worries for Scratch certainly linger, but she finds herself pondering her tent situation and her Astarion situation far more.

She really, truly needs to obtain supplies for her own tent. The weather may be gentle now, but if this situation drags out any longer (which she senses it will), she’ll need something to protect her from the chill of winter. Or even any rain, should it come to that. She could always bother one of her companions to allow her to bunk in that scenario, but she isn’t exactly eager with the idea.

Gale would keep her up with endless chatter. Shadowheart is still just a little too guarded to offer up her space, unless Aruna is on the edge of death, of course. Aruna has no good excuse when it comes to Wyll, but she certainly would have to sleep with one eye open should she try to bunk with Lae’zel.

There was always Astarion. If he ever decided to stop avoiding her, that is.

Aruna nearly cackles out loud as she glances up to the sky to see a few clouds gathering. Not quite threatening of a storm, but it certainly felt like a slap on her wrist from the Universe. A quiet reminder that all her theoreticals she was pondering over were very possible options.

“What’s that?” Shadowheart suddenly stops dead in her tracks, surprisingly, as Aruna continues to carry on, “Up there?”

It takes her a second, but Aruna quickly spots what Shadowheart is pointing out.

The next few events all happen too suddenly to properly react.

Aruna’s eyes widen at the ball of flames, huddled just across the river they had been following, a tree serving as a bridge between them and the fiery being. A terrible, nauseating deja vu disorients her nearly immediately as she begins to make out a figure at the center of those flames. The same sharp pains that haunted every new interaction with her fellow companions, a dizziness she’d only felt with Astarion spinning her world on its axis.

Her vision nearly goes black as that cleaved half of her soul becomes apparent, awakening at the sight. An overly eager whisper of, we’ve been here before. We know this. We know her.

The stench of sulfur is the only thing Aruna can make out as all her other senses fall victim to the deja vu.

As if below water, she can just barely make out Wyll: “Advocatus diaboli.”

She knows what’s about to happen. She can hear the venom in his voice, and she knows she has to act fast.

But Aruna’s actions are not her own. She doesn’t tell her feet to fly forward, attempting to catch up with Wyll as he barrels across the trunk-made-bridge. She doesn’t instruct her hand to shoot out, fingers narrowly missing the fabric of Wyll’s shirt and grasping at air as she gasps out, “Wyll, no!”

And she certainly doesn’t mean to lose her footing on that trunk, soles of her boots slipping, arms flailing for balance now rather than to stop Wyll from approaching the mass of fire.

Not even Gale and Shadowheart’s hands reaching for her biceps could save her from the rushing water waiting below.

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