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Welcome to the first chapter of my fanfic, “The Embrace of Love and Death”! When rogues Astarion and Miss Fortune (OC) get abducted from Baldur’s Gate and infected with mind flayer tadpoles, they both become “conveniently lost” from their troubled homes. As they grapple with their past traumas they find companionship, healing, and eventually love and renewed purpose in each other. Will getting a mind flayer parasite inserted into their eyes wind up being the best thing that ever happened to them? This slow burn tale of romance, sex, and healing will reveal the answer to that in due time.
Prefer to read on AO3? Gotchu covered right here:
https://archiveofourown.org/works/64221298#main
The sun was beginning to set on a day so bad that calling it a nightmare would be about as euphemistic as calling a raging owlbear a hungry house cat. One moment Miss Fortune had been trailing their mark through an alley in the slums of Baldur’s Gate, and the next they were abducted into a nautiloid, strapped in a mind flayer pod with a tadpole burrowing into their brain. They’d met that green woman, rescued a cleric named Shadowheart from her mind flayer pod, fought screeching imps, and then crashed the whole damned ship into who-knows-where. They had no idea how they survived the ordeal, but the screaming pain in their head didn’t give them much hope that their luck would last.
They’d never even been outside of Baldur’s Gate before, and now they were lost in the wilderness with two strangers. They’d lost sight of the green woman after the crash, found Shadowheart outside, and met a handsome, effeminate high elf with blindingly pale skin who’d tried to slit their throat on sight. The elf’s name was Astarion, and while they’d talked him down from violence and convinced him their odds of survival were better together, the half-elf rogue resolved to keep an eye on him. Not that they could fully blame him for the attempted murder; had the roles been reversed, they probably would have done the same. But still, they much preferred their blood inside their body.
Miss Fortune couldn’t for the life of them understand why their new companions were already looking to them like some kind of leader. While they were used to people gravitating to them in more mundane settings due to their good looks and charismatic persona, those skills hardly felt useful out here. What the hells did they know about anything real? They’d have to fake it, they realized.
“Sun’s going down, and this spot looks as safe as any to set up camp,” they said with feigned confidence. The companions nodded, set down their packs. Still they looked at Miss Fortune, waiting for instructions. “Err…do either of you know how to start a fire?”
“Gods, this is hopeless!” cried Shadowheart. “Have you never camped before?! No matter, I’ve done it plenty. Watch and learn, gentlemen, because I won’t be doing this by myself every night. I’m not your camp mother.”
Shadowheart walked the others through the process of setting up camp, showed them how to catch fish from the river and impale them on sticks to cook over the fire she started. Miss Fortune stumbled over their actions, and Astarion was even more helpless - but they managed, and they had places to sleep and food to eat by the time the sun winked out of the sky.
“So, Miss Fortune is an interesting name,” Shadowheart said cautiously between bites of fish and the other rations in their packs. “Did you come up with that on your own?”
“I did,” they replied. “I don’t like to take myself too seriously.”
Astarion snorted. “Really? I never would have guessed.”
“Why ‘Miss Fortune’ if you’re…well, you know,” Shadowheart pressed, gesturing to their masculine body.
The half-elf was about 185 centimeters tall and lanky to the point of looking underfed, but their lean frame had the buds of muscles beginning to form from the last couple moons they’d spent running with the city’s thieves guild. Their tan skin was sprinkled with freckles over the slight bent of their nose and high, prominent cheekbones. They had raven-black hair with violet highlights that was shaved at the sides while the long top was pulled into a tight bun at the back of their head. A purple-inked tattoo of three swallows swooped out of their hairline, fluttering across their left temple, and despite the harrowing day they’d had, the berry-colored lip stain and angled purple eyeshadow they donned each morning remained fairly well intact.
Miss Fortune worked hard to cut a visage that danced the line between masculine and feminine, though they often found themselves shackled with the ill-fitting label of ‘man’ by strangers who could only see the world in terms of this or that. All of which was more than the rogue was willing to explain to someone they’d just met.
“It suits me,” they said instead. “To my foes, an encounter with me spells their misfortune. And to my friends, well…I can only hope they feel fortunate to know me. And besides, everyone knows luck is a lady.”
“I can go with that,” Shadowheart agreed. “If not for you, I would have had the misfortune of staying stuck in that mind flayer pod. Though I hope you and our pale friend here will be able to hold your own out here. You both strike me as pampered city boys, judging by your lack of survival skills and soft hands.”
“I’m a city person, yes, but I would hardly consider myself pampered,” Miss Fortune replied. “Not everyone works with their hands, you know.”
“Yes, some of us work with our minds,” Astarion chimed in. “I’m a magistrate back in the city. All terribly boring work I assure you, though I can handle myself with a dagger.”
Having finished their fish and rations, Miss Fortune looked over at Astarion as he spoke and noticed him slowly pushing his food around the plate without eating.
“Food not up to your standards, your honor?” Miss Fortune jabbed. “I’ll take whatever you don’t want.”
“Oh, by all means enjoy,” Astarion said, handing the plate over. “This is hardly the fare I’m used to.”
“So, how about you, Shadowheart?” Miss Fortune changed the subject while shoveling Astarion’s food into their mouth. “You mentioned you’re a cleric - you from The Gate?”
“I am, and I’ll be headed back not a moment after we find a cure. I’ve something very important waiting for me back home.” Shadowheart’s facial expression darkened; Miss Fortune sensed it was a touchy subject and wondered if it had anything to do with that strange artifact she carried. She’d been dodgy when they asked her about it after they reunited on land.
“Impatient to get back to a lover, perhaps?” they jested.
“I don’t see how that’s your business, but no, and we’ll leave it at that” she replied.
“All right, all right, we girls all have our secrets,” they said, crossing their legs and miming tucking an invisible strand of hair behind their ear. “Anyway, thanks for showing us how to set up camp. I’ve got cleanup.”
The trio each went their separate ways after dinner; Shadowheart and Astarion heading to their respective tents, Miss Fortune down to the river bank with the dirty dishes and a rag. As the half-elf knelt by the river scrubbing away, their senses were assaulted by all the unusual sounds and smells surrounding them. They were used to the din of pedestrians day and night, the hawking of vendors and clopping of horse hooves on cobblestones. There were always sounds and scents in the city, and even when they were unpleasant their presence was oddly comforting. Out here in the dark with all these new sensations, they found themselves feeling utterly alone and insignificant.
Another familiar and unwelcome sensation began to coalesce at the edges of their consciousness, as if their head were filling up with a swarm of angry bees. It happened often enough that the half-elf knew they didn’t have long before their mind assaulted them and robbed them of rational thought. They quickly finished their cleanup duties and rushed back to camp, placing everything in a neat stack by their packs. By this point, Miss Fortune’s lips and the tip of their nose had started to tingle, their chest felt tight, and the buzzing feeling in their head had intensified to a dull roar.
This can’t be happening right now, they thought to themselves. Please, please not now. For a devout person this would have been the time to begin praying, but Miss Fortune knew it was pointless; no god had ever deigned to answer before.
Perceived danger lurked in every corner, every shadow of the camp. Frantic and woozy, the half-elf began to search for a place that would be out of both Astarion and Shadowheart’s line of sight. They ducked behind a large rock that seemed to fit the bill and let their trembling legs give out beneath them. Crumpled into a ball, their breath grew shallow and ragged as a world of nightmares clawed into their thoughts.
Everything is terrible. I’m going to die out here, Miss Fortune’s thoughts screamed at them. I can’t do this, I can’t survive whatever those monsters did to me on the ship. We’ll never find a cure. I’m going to turn into a grotesque mind flayer, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. My life is over. I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die! And I can’t do anything to stop it…I’m too weak…I’m going to die all alone. Utterly unloved. And nobody will miss me. Worst of all, I deserve this. I’ve never done anything worthwhile with this pathetic life of mine, not once in these miserable 28 years.
Tears rushed out and streamed down their face in an ugly, snotty mess as the panic fully gripped their mind. A gulping cry escaped their lips in defiance of their efforts to fall apart quietly, which only made them wish to hide somewhere further away from their new acquaintances.
“Is…something the matter?” they barely heard a cautious man’s voice call out. “Why, you’re positively shaking!”
Miss Fortune buried their face in their knees. “Please, don’t look at me,” they sobbed.
“I…should I leave?” Astarion asked.
“Go ahead. I’m…fine,” the half-elf lied.
“I’m not stupid, you are clearly not fine.”
“The Ma—my old boss always told me I’m just overly dramatic. I’m having a dramatic episode, as she used to call it.”
He’s going to hate you now too, the negative thoughts intruded. Not even a full day in and you’ve shown just how weak and pathetic you are.
Astarion stood there in dumbfounded silence as he watched Miss Fortune gulp for air, seemingly unsure whether to approach or wipe his hands of the whole situation and return to his tent.
“You should try this thing called breathing,” he called out eventually. “In, out…in, out…surely you know how it works.”
While the tone was condescending, it struck a cord. Miss Fortune focused on their breath between sobs, inhaling slowly through their nose and exhaling through their mouth. It took several long moments, but the angry bees began to fade and the maelstrom of negative thoughts receded along with them. Their chest still felt tight, their eyes ached, and as the last of the panic ebbed they were left with the usual crushing exhaustion; the usual collateral damage when they lost a war with their mind. Their body posture slackened as they heaved a deep sigh.
“I’m sorry you had to see me like this,” they mumbled into their knees. “I’m not usually this weak, I swear. It’s just been a hell of a day.”
“…you should get some rest,” Astarion replied, his voice deadpan and unreadable. “I’m not feeling tired just yet, so I’ll keep watch over you and the camp.”
Miss Fortune rose unsteadily to their feet, lurching to the side as their knees threatened to buckle. They recalled the flash of steel against their throat hours earlier; were they less drained from their mind’s attack they would have laughed at the irony of his offer.
“Thank you, I’ll feel better knowing you’re watching over us,” they lied instead. “Goodnight, Astarion.”
“Goodnight, Miss Fortune,” he replied coolly.
It was all the half-elf could do to keep from hurting themselves as they collapsed onto their bedroll. Despite their misgivings about Astarion, they were too tired to keep their eyes open. And if he slit their throat in the night, well, they probably deserved it anyway.