chapter eleven.
plucking strings

Memory greeted Fallon in the folds of unconsciousness.

The sound of a plucked harp stirred movement, her eyes remaining closed with the tender grip of sleep's webbing. Senses awoken, her skin prickled with warmth from a woollen blanket, head cushioned on a plump duck feather pillow. Crushed lavender greeted her nose, fresh and bright. Melodic chords mixed with the soft hum lyrics, tender and soft in their familiarity. The lullaby, she recognised it at once with a start. Yet who could the singer be?

Fallon's eyes fluttered open. She had had the sleep of a lifetime, so impenetrable that for once she felt truly rested. However it was not calm that greeted her but confusion, as she slowly began to take in the wooden walls around her. Her eyes swept the room, a low roof and the whistle of a pot bubbling within a bricked fireplace. Tension stirred in her chest.

She knew this house but she had been a mere girl when she had last stepped foot inside of it. 

The little thatched home in the Lower City, where the air thinned from the icy gusts carried by the River Chionthar. The floorboards pale from lack of varnish, covered by a thin rug woven on the ancient wooden loom. A hanging rack of dried herbs by small square windows, the sills of which were decorated by an assortment of collected glass jars, bulbous and emerald green in colour. The sighing wardrobe with its rusty hinges, the small cot which had once been her refuge, the little round dining table where she more often ate alone than not, and beside it all in the centre of the room on a wooden stool with an arm wrapped around her harp was her mother.

Fallon blinked in quick succession, pulling the blanket up to her chin as she sat upwards. She realised only then that she had been sleeping in her mother's bed. Cosmel's fingers paused their plucking, the song on her lips falling mute. Her slender arms relaxed by her sides as she met her daughter's eye. Then, with a curl of her lips that was as mellow and sweet as rich honey, Cosmel smiled.

Her mother was not as Fallon remembered her, as the tenuous skeletal frame that coughed blood so thick it looked near black and heaved with each agonising breath. 

Cosmel was fawn eyed and thin browed, with the same pinched nose and angled cheek bones as her daughter, her skin glowing with vivid life. She was dressed in deep violet, a dress with trumpeted sleeves, the fabric cinching at her waist where the dark brown of her hair stopped just short of her skirts. More than anything, what struck Fallon most was the fervour in her eyes. A mother's love, in all its riveting splendour, and it ran a shiver of discomfort deep in Fallon's core.

Cosmel swept towards her daughter, who remained frozen with her hands clutched to the blanket. She feared any movement, fearing it would wipe the world around her clean. She would have done anything to remain. Her heart ached at the realisation, a nervous jitter flitting across her lips. Cosmel knelt by the side of the bed, her hands stretching outwards and softly clasping Fallon's own. With a gentle hand she slowly eased back the covers to properly reveal her daughter's face.

"My, you have flourished." She breathed the happiest of sighs.

Fallon was frozen in shock. To hear her mother's voice as something more than a figment of memory stung. All she could do was let out a scoff of disbelief. Cosmel chuckled.

"Has time taken your tongue? I only ever remember you as a girl who had much to say."

"You remember me?" 

Fallon spoke in a whisper so as not to disturb the figment. For this could not be reality, right? Yet it felt stronger than the material of dreams, just as vivid as Raphael's dining chambers. A cruel trick this would be, though her wariness was fading with every second that ticked by. Cosmel encased the sides of her face, as she had done when Fallon had failed to hide her latest wounds. It had been so long.

"I couldn't have imagined the woman you would become," Cosmel murmured. "You are such a beauty, yet there is that hardness. I used to think you were born with a grudge. I see you have endured much, your eyes are wary and clever as a street cat's. I see much of myself in you. Myself and your father."

Her pulse quickened at Virric's mention. Slowly she eased her mother's hands from her face, clasping them in her lap. She looked down at both, lips parting to whimper. The skin was pallid and tinged with green, just as they had been in Cosmel's final days. The sickness had worsened. Fallon had been desperate, Cosmel had been slipping from her grasp. The stench of death hung heavy in the air. Before she had run to her father's doorstep, she held her mother as tight as she dared to. The last time she had seen her alive.

"You're not real, are you? This is all a dream. You're dead and burned, I saw the pyre." And I might as well have lit the flame, her guilt bellowed. 

Bodies upon bodies. She had crouched in the shadows, watching by her brother's side. When the head of Virric's guard ignited the pile, she had turned away and sobbed against Orikas's chest. He had had the strength to watch, to mutter his prayers to Shar. Sometimes, if she breathed in hard enough, she could still taste the reek of burning flesh.

"Do I look dead to you, my girl?" Cosmel said, her brow knitting. Despite everything, Fallon shook her head.

"No! No you like alive and well. More alive than any day I knew you." She grit her teeth. "It's this damnable worm, isn't it? Torturing me, even in dreams."

"But this isn't a dream. It may not be reality, but there is a space in between. I am no cruel illusion. I am here just as strong as you are. We simply breath different air ... But that could change. The power to find me is hidden within." 

Cosmel flipped Fallon's hands, baring her palms to the heavens. She drew a tight circle in the middle of each with the ridge of her nail.

"This is why I appear before you. I mean to lead you from folly. There is much I have to tell you, but this fragile space between us wears thin by the second."

As if in warning, the ground below them trembled. A horrid ringing filled Fallon's ears. She clamped her hands against them, yet the sound travelled through her bones, worming its way into her marrow. Around her, the house grew transparent, the brown of wood turning to mere shimmers as they waned. She turned in confusion to her mother, finding Cosmel's face sombre. She sighed with knowing.

"The spawn returns. He means to awaken you. I will let him, for now. But promise me this, Fallon, promise me with every fibre of your being. Deliver Astarion to his master. His blood for mine."

Cosmel was fading before her very eyes, her skin flecking like ash from the coals of a dying fire. Half her face was gone already, the rest of falling fast. Fallon reached out with desperate hands, to grasp her mother's shoulder, feeling solid matter crumbling beneath her touch.

"Wait! What part does he have to play? I don't understand!" And then, out of sheer desperation. "Please don't leave me again!"

"I'll see you, my sweet child, sooner rather than not. Until we meet again, remember my words. Remember my love. You will need it on the road ahead."

Cosmel raised her hand and with a click of her fingers, the world around them ceased existence.

Fallon jerked awake. Her arms outstretched, grasping at nothing but the west-bound wind. Her breathing came fast, beating against her chest and sending her mind dizzy. A groan on her lips, she recognised the ground beneath her was not the harsh gravel and rock of the cliffside. Grass and pliant earth, the sprawled roots of a handsome tree. 

It was not the leaves above that shielded her from the morning rays however.

Astarion towered above her, the mark of curiosity on his face. Fallon pushed her hand against the green to prop herself up. She let out a thin hiss. No amount of rest could deter the smarting of his bite, a pain that clawed deep beneath her skin.

"Did you know you mumble in your sleep? I could have sworn you were singing when I found you."

Fallon could not have thought her condition could worsen, yet his words seemed to agitate the wound.

"You're lying."

"I'm really not, but believe what you want to. I'll just await my thanks at doing you the favour of a more comfortable resting place."

Fallon scoffed.

"Are you to imply I should be grateful that you just sapped me clean and left me to sleep on the ground?"

"Well what else did you expect? I had no idea you were going to pass out and I could hardly have brought you back to camp. The questions, darling, think of all the questions." 

He ran a hand through his hair. There was something different in the vampire spawn, a lustre born anew on his pallid complexion. The change was subtle but Fallon could not refuse it. Even the way he held himself had changed, as though he were preening before her like an exotic bird. Look at all my vibrant shades, he wished to say. He was invigorated, energised, and yet the hunger in his eyes remained.

Astarion reached down and Fallon clasped his hand, making it to her feet with a groan. She brushed a hand through her mane of hair, cleaning away blades of grass caught during sleep. Well, sleep was the closest approximation. She felt like she had traversed the very fabric of memory, stirring bygone emotions as though passing through a familial tomb. Cosmel in the flesh, the mother she had yearned for as a child. Yearned for still, she realised with a grimace.

"What? What is it?" Astarion's brow knitted. Melancholy had broken across her face. He scoured her with a detective's eye. "You had a peculiar look on your face just now."

"No I didn't. I don't know what you're talking about." She muttered in defence, frowning harshly in an attempt to tear clean any trace of her thoughts. "Thank you, I guess, for somewhere nicer than rock."

"Yes you did." For a brief time she feared he wouldn't let the matter rest. Thankfully he grew bored, rolling his eyes at her lingering silence. "Fine, keep your secrets. Rather ungracious, but I shouldn't be all that surprised."

"Ungracious? You left me to freeze!" She hadn't realised how annoyed this had made her. "If anything, you should have things to tell me. Come now, cough up your discoveries. I need something to get my mind off of this accursed ache in my neck."

"Oh, did I hurt you so deeply?" He grinned. "I won't lie, I did go a little overboard, and could you blame me? I see you clearly do, but that's not especially of concern. Gods, you're alive, aren't you? It could have been much, much worse. Truthfully, I could have drunk from you all night. Whatever's pumping through your heart's near potent as bloodfast! You're not an addict, are you?"

"I don't dabble in drow drugs, thank you very much. Besides, I have half a mind not to believe you. I feel terrible."

"That's not really the focus here, is it?" He shot her a wispy smile. "As I was saying, last night I felt alive for the first time in all my years. I can't name how much carnage I caused, but I can assure you, it was quite the death toll. Gods, I was a vortex. There's an dark undercurrent to your blood. Even now I feel the linger of its highest effect."

His stare had landed right back at her neck. Fallon clutched a protective hand against her wounds, finding it crusted with blood. She had assumed this would be a one time exchange but Astarion seemed to have other plans. Just as quick, he tore his eyes away from her, throwing his head over his shoulder.

"The others are coming. That was another thing, I heard most of the Sword Coast, my only complaint. Did you know that the vast majority of people who have the compulsion to open their mouths hardly ever have anything worth saying?"

"A stunning observation." 

Fallon's hand now felt less a defence and more a mark of self-consciousness. She began to laced the top strings of her blouse shut, hoping the collar would be enough to conceal. His hand leapt forward as she finished, sweeping her hair across her shoulder to better disguise the marks. It lingered by her shoulder as she huffed beneath her breath.

"What should we say to them?" She demanded. Astarion shrugged in response.

"Oh, I don't know, the simple answer? Just tell them we had sex. Or if you prefer a more palatable answer, that we whiled away the hours stargazing and holding hands. Which sounds better to you?" 

She swatted away his hand, narrowing her eyes on his grin. 

"That isn't particularly funny or believable."

"True." Astarion's brow quirked as he continued. "I mean, whoever would think I'd sleep with you?"

Fallon pursed her lips. "The same is true in reversal."

He clutched his chest, the back of his hand meeting his brow. That was how the group found them — Astarion deep in theatrics while Fallon considered her deepest regret at having been their enabler.

"Sorry to interrupt," Marth said in a stiff voice.

"Oh not a problem, we weren't discussing anything of particular importance. I trust you all slept well? Oh, maybe not you Dalaia, but I see you're all stitched up now. Has the dawn light done you any favours?"

True to his word, Dalaia's hand was wound tight with a fabric rag. She quickly clasped her hands behind her back and shrugged. A look of embarrassment overcame the tiefling as she averted her gaze. Fallon felt hollow with guilt. Though the evening had given Astarion some pluck, it had failed to illuminate what was wrong with her. 

"Not quite." Dalaia replied. She did not want to elaborate, that much was clear.

"So ... What kept you both away last night?" Marth queried with an intonation that begged to be read as disinterested. 

"Oh, you know. This and that. A little hunting, a little frolicking in the moonlight." Astarion smirked before shaking his head. "Nothing of note. This one insisted on being left alone, no surprise there, so I did as I was bid and found the most delicious boar. Apologies for not sharing, I tend not to be very generous with my pickings."

"Apology accepted, I suppose," Marth said, "I doubt something exsanguinated would have made for much of a meal anyways."

"It was certainly barren when I left it. Poor thing, and it put up such a fight too."

Fallon missed the quick glance he shot her. She had steadied on how fidgety and restless Orikas appeared. He itched to speak. 

With little other warning save for the clearing of his throat, Orikas stepped forward until he was inches in front of her. On instinct, Fallon drew back, only to be met with her brother's raised palm. His golden eyes were set against the stony expanse of his face, brow tensed in caution. 

"Hold out your hand."

"Don't be an idiot." She snapped, pacing backwards until she was flush with the tree behind her. Suddenly she was a cornered animal against the authority in his tone. She could feel Astarion watching in curiosity. Both Marth and Dalaia made no attempt to intervene.

"Your hand. I insist."

"And I insist quite the opposite. What is the meaning of this?" Helpless, she turned to Marth. He grimaced in response, his hesitation evident.

"He only wishes to use his sight, Fallon. We discussed it this morning, we don't dare journey to Baldur's Gate without finding the source of ... Of ... Well, whatever is happening with you."

"But why not?" Astarion's tone was that of a petulant child. "As long as she doesn't lay a hand on anyone, I don't see the issue."

"And risk harm upon a crowd? It would take one bump, one stray touch and we'd have the ire of the Watch and the Flaming Fists in a heartbeat." Marth shook his head. "I think we can all agree that such an event would best be avoided."

So that was how they saw her now. A threat best quarantined. At least they hadn't moved to oust her but they weren't desperate. Yet. She trusted that they had been wise enough to stock up on what they could from the goblins, but it would not last forever. What she read on each face but Astarion's was a question they dared not speak aloud. What if she worsened? What if spurned skin was only the beginning?

Fallon grit her teeth and stuck out her hand, blinking back her frustration as Orikas's hovered above her own. The yellow hue of his eyes began to shrink. Each became the sun, reflected on a body of an azure ocean. Slowly the gold became a mere pinprick as a glow beset his irises. Fallon felt the vibration the arcane, her skin itching with heat. As though his hand were pushing past the fold of skin, Fallon felt a tickle against her bones, crawling towards her wrist. 

Then, just as quick, firm resistance. Something was warding Orikas away. The tree behind her faded to little more than air and Fallon felt a cold curl of ghostly breath behind her ear. Whatever it was hunkered in subterfuge, guarding her body and the secret in her blood like a precious treasure. 

Orikas's face grew taught, skin flushing a deep shade of pink. As he held his breath in concerted effort, a vein in his forehead buldged harsh against his temple. Orikas clenched the air above her as if attempting to catch his adversary but to no avail. With one final kick, the connection severed and Orikas stumbled backwards.

He shook his hand like child who had put their grubby fingers too close to the fireplace. He muttered something beneath his breath, his mouth in knots as he stared in accusation at her still extended arm. Fallon lowered it to her side with a shudder.

"Did you feel that?" She breathed, her eyes wild.

"Feel what?" Orikas's voice was hard with frost. He turned away, clutching his hand. "I felt nothing. Just void. Whatever is wrong with you is beyond me. Marth, we venture then to the hut of that crone."

"Wait what? What crone?" Fallon flushed. "I'm to have some sort of explanation before we go anywhere."

"It was decided already." Orikas struck back. "No luck and we find our answers elsewhere."

"There was talk at the goblin camp. An old woman in the Wetlands that strikes business in the surrounds. Makes good apple pies, or so we've heard." Marth bit his lip. He forced a smile to his face with considerable effort. "Perhaps we could get some while we're there?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I mean, nothing, it was just a suggestion. She sells potions and such. The goblins spoke highly of her talents and we thought ... Well, we thought that she could help. And if she couldn't provide advice with you, she might have something for Dalaia." His voice faltered at her mention. Dalaia herself bowed her head, her dark brows furrowing. "Her hand blistered overnight. It's ... Well, it's resistant to everything I tried."

"Can I see it?" A deep gnawing had beset her gut. Control was a ribbon slipping between her clumsy fingers. "Please?" 

All eyes fell to Dalaia. She shifted restlessly beneath the attention.

"It's alright, Fal. Um, it's all bandaged up anyways, just be a hassle to bring it out again anyway."

"I'm so sorry, Dalaia. You know that, don't you? I would never want to hurt you, not in a million years."

"Yeah. Yeah, of course I know." Dalaia's hand drifted through her hair, studying the ground below. "It was an accident."

"Yes, it was an accident." Fallon could hear herself floundering. Did Dalaia truly think she was capable of harm? Crestfallen, Fallon's shoulders slumped. "I suppose we just ... Go to the Wetlands then."

"Seems like our best option." Marth nodded. 

The question of what would happen when no other options remained went unvoiced. Fallon could not consider that possibility, not yet. For all she knew, this was all a mere hiccup. The pull of doubt within her was strong though. Fallon felt that same icy tickle at her ear as the others turned away. You must not let it come to that.