Although this mansion was not much different from his master's palace, Astarion found that something was different about this night.

Just a few hours ago, he had sunk into a deep sleep, wrapped in soft blankets and a pillow that he hadn't even been allowed to touch on his best days. Whenever something had been missing, the house had given it to him. Whether it was a new blanket, a pillow that smelled of fresh soap or something similar.

His stomach had growled and when he had woken up from his sleep, there had been a plate of apples on his bedside table. The house was alive and it was trying to make life in it pleasant, he could feel that. Getting lost was almost impossible because it felt like his feet knew where to take him.

Only now it wasn't like that.

Hesitantly, he turned round on the spot, looked at the walls and wondered whether the faces looking at him from the picture frames had once been tired.

Had they been old acquaintances of yours?

Lovers or friends that time had snatched from your embrace?

Something heavy settled on his chest. He himself had only been in Cazador's service for about seventy years and yet he knew the feeling too well of watching your friends turn grey and then pass away in their sleep.

Suddenly something twitched at the back of his head. It was like a hot shiver that dug into his flesh, crushed his bones and poisoned his mind.

Pure fear constricted his throat. He knew this feeling only too well. Far too well.

"No!", he gasped and wanted to run back.

Back to where he thought your protective embrace was.

But his legs were frozen. He was literally glued to the ground. Then, all at once, he was forced to move. He didn't want to, he scratched and begged at the walls for it to stop.

But his own body was no longer his. Someone else had taken over and all he could do was obey.

The slow beat of his undead heart quickened, leaping into his throat. He had to swallow a whimper as the house opened a door into the garden and his legs carried him out into the night.

The wind tugged at his clothes. It was cold and yet the goose bumps all over his body were not caused by it.

The shadows reached out for his feet, trying to hold him. They shrank back as the power that had overpowered him struck at them.

"By the Absolute, I beg of you!", he said as he almost crossed the garden and saw the rotunda, whose white stone seemed to glow in the moonlight.

The sweet smell of roses reached his nose. Suddenly he had to think of you, of how he had fallen, no, had let himself fall.

Not for a moment had he doubted that you would catch him. Not for a moment had he feared that you would punish him for doing something stupid.

But at that moment Astarion wasn't at all sure that his master wouldn't. At the edge of the ravine, his legs stopped, frozen to ice again.

His gaze flitted over the sea of white flowers. It was a beauty he had never seen before, so beautiful that he had been able to find peace in it. And now that peace would be destroyed again.

With every breath he thought he would fall, this time without your arms to protect him. How much he longed for you, to be allowed to be weak with you, not to forget his pain but to process it, to survive.

Not with this man. Not ever.

A different kind of darkness crept over his shoulder as Cazador's face awoke in the night. Though his back was to him, his toes already sticking out over the abyss, he could feel it.

That sickening smirk.

"Astarion.", that familiar voice breathed in his ear.

He wanted to die. He wanted to take one of your daggers and plunge it into his stomach until the pain and blood drowned everything.

Instead, nausea clawed at his throat. Cold breath brushed his ear as Cazador leaned over his shoulder behind him.

"Did you have a good time, worm?", he asked, sounding so hateful it was like a knife at his throat.

Colder than steel, but so dull that it would cause infection. All his courage gathered in Astarion as he took a deep breath and turned his gaze to the moon. The light was cold but as beautiful and sparkling as silver.

No, not silver. Platinum.

"What are you doing here?", he managed to get his words out without trembling.

Cazador tilted his head and looked at him.

"Where did you get the audacity to ask questions?", he didn't want an answer to the question, he just wanted to humiliate him. "A few nights in another house and you're already being impertinent. How disappointing. I'll have to beat loyalty into you."

No, the thought immediately flashed through Astarion's mind. He didn't want to go back. Not ever. Not for all eternity.

More displeasure spread across his master's face.

"Don't speak unless I allow you to.", he said simply and released his hold.

Gasping, Astarion stumbled back from the precipice and fell to his knees. Sweat dripped from his forehead. His whole body trembled.

Cazador's fingers curled. Astarion screamed in pain.

"Can you feel that? Remember that I hold your heart in my hands and if you don't want to suffer, then listen to me carefully.", he gripped his chin with two fingers, not elegantly and not gently either. "Platinum may spoil you, but he's in my way. Kill him. And if you do, I'll think about giving you some of my blood. As a reward for your work."

Astarion was barely able to make sense of the words at that moment.

All he could concentrate on was the pain in his chest, which made the world blur before his eyes. That and the scent that stuck to Cazador.

Lavender and hazelnut.