The Quest for Dawn

Chapter 6: Restless Lament

Astarion wrestled against the uncertainty, his arm steadfast around Tavriel's waist. Each step they took was a chorus of torment in his ears—her stifled cries, his own strained breathing. The cruel trick of fate that took his sight, but made him agonizingly more aware of Tav's suffering.

Tav's voice trailed off, a mere whisper on the wind. "I'm not sure how much longer I can..." Her grip around Astarion's waist slackened, and he felt her legs buckling.

"No, no, darling," he insisted, despite his own misgivings. "Come on. We're almost there. I promise." He tightened his grip and kept her arm fixed across his shoulders, forcing her to stay on her feet and stumble forward with him.

The worn path underfoot shifted from an earthy scent to the greasier aroma of human habitation. Astarion leaned heavily into his other senses, trying to form a map in his mind—relying on echoes and temperature changes, the smells that wafted on the breeze, and the slight shift in ground texture underfoot. He felt as if he were navigating through a thick fog, armed only with a shattered compass.

Tavriel's breathing became more shallow with each passing step, each exhale carrying a flutter of anguish that stabbed at his heart like a dagger. Her body trembled against his, her normally unbreakable spirit sagging under the weight of her physical pain.

"Stay with me," he whispered, moving forward. Her weight became heavier. Just a little farther.

The first wafts of woodsmoke filled Astarion's nostrils, tinged with the deceptively inviting scent of a stew simmering over a hearth. Somewhere nearby, laughter erupted—a drunken mirth that clashed painfully with their grim reality. He strained his ears, zoning in on the distant clatter of tankards and the crackle of a fireplace.

A vampire's heart beat slower than a mortal's. Yet his heart still pounded a staccato rhythm of urgency. The ground beneath his boots now had the cool, unmistakable texture of worn stone—a pathway to civilization, a lifeline to the help Tavriel so desperately needed. She was awake, but only barely. Somehow, she managed to steer them both into a walled courtyard with a subtle turn of her body.

Her steps guided him as they stumbled forward, but Astarion's foot caught on a stone step, and they both fell to the ground. Tavriel slumped to her knees, and Astarion found himself with his hands on the wood of a door. Without another thought, he pounded his fists on it.

There was a sudden clash and clatter from within, shuffling and stomping across floorboards. The door burst open, and Astarion fell onto his hands and knees, head bowed and panting.

"Gods above!" exclaimed the innkeeper. Shock replaced urgency as he barked, "Maevra, for the love of all gods, fetch the healer! Now!"

Behind the innkeep, a woman reeled on him, "Don't just stand there, man, help them!" Maevra hurriedly disappeared out of a side door.

Astarion felt paralyzed for a moment, the weight of his blindness crashing down on him. But then Tav's fingers weakly clutched his own. Her touch rekindled his resolve, mustering enough energy to speak. "Help her. She's hurt. An arrow to the side." His voice, usually dripping with irony or charm, was now devoid of everything but raw urgency.

The innkeeper's eyes widened at the sight of Tavriel, her face ashen and her tunic stained with blood. Astarion twitched his ears as he heard hurried footsteps inside, voices hushed, and the innkeeper blustering.

He felt the imposing presence of the innkeeper bend down to Tavriel and lift her away from the door. Astarion grabbed the doorframe and pulled himself up to stand. His hands searched around him weakly as he followed the wall and stepped inside the inn.