#karste

Honestly, it had been tiring to read about. He’d been ridiculous before losing his memories, not that he’d admit it aloud. Yes, fine, his mother had walked out on him. Sure, he was a maleficar. But.

But.

He was an extremely handsome and rich maleficar. Karste clearly wanted for nothing in her life and even without his memories he was more than happy to indulge her. She was beautiful, fascinating and a delicious challenge intellectually. She’d also stabbed him, having forgotten he no longer had a demon to fix him up. He couldn’t ask for anything else.

Well, no, he could ask for her to not be… like this. He gestured at the sparse vegetation and severe mountain side. Fred yowled. 

“Precisely,” Vasili told his cat. He scooped up more salve and gently worked it into Fred’s skin. It wasn’t chapped, not by some magic or miracle, no, by meticulous application of lotion. Did Vasili use the excuse of applying lotion to get out of manual labor? Absolutely. Did he feel guilty? Not a lick.

Fred kneaded his leg and raised his back into the gentle massage.

“Yes, she’s being very tiresome. And her little rebellion’s going to fall into shambles while we’re out here fucking around in the desert and then she’ll complain about having to fix everything herself.” Vasili chatted for the rest of the salve application and then closed the jar with a grumble. He shoved it in his pack and then settled Fred into his ring of spells and pillows.

“I think it’s time to do something about her.”

Fred meowed in agreement, far more permission than Vasili needed.

As ever, Karste couldn’t meet his eyes as he approached. She bit the inside of her cheek and mashed her pestle harder into the mortar.

“That can’t be more interesting than me,” Vasili said.

Still, she refused to turn.

“Hey, look at me,” Vasili said, his tone a garbled mess of demand and soft plea.

The moment Karste turned her head, Vasili grabbed her chin and kissed her. He hadn’t intended to be rough, but her surprised resistance had forced his hand and then she’d bitten his lip and grabbed his hair so tightly it hurt. It was magnificent and warmed the only cold spot in the entire forsaken wasteland she used to call home.

She tried to pull away. “Vas-”

“Don’t run away now. I want you.”

“Va-” 

He interrupted her with a kiss. “My name isn’t a no.”

There came the sound of a heavy door opening, and light flooding from a staircase at the end of the room. “Vasili?” called a woman’s voice, followed by the careful click of boots on stone. She carried a lit candlestick in her hand as she moved down, one hand on her hip, the side he couldn’t see.

“Andraste’s mercy what happened to you?!” she asked as she knelt next to him, placing the candle to the side. “It’s only been two days!”

He didn’t respond. This woman certainly wasn’t the master here. She didn’t feel or smell like mage and she dressed like a peasant from what he could see. He didn’t move his head. This Vasili, whomever he was, was certainly logging all of his transgressions. Would there be a flogging? He couldn’t imagine what that would feel like. Was that good or just another thing he’d forgotten like his name and where he was and everything.

Actually, he remembered one thing. A slave covered in lyrium tattoos. The designs didn’t look like his, but maybe they served the same purpose.

“Vas! Talk to me!” She slapped his cheek lightly.

He really didn’t like this. This was exactly the kind of test he’d do if he had a slave. Send someone to interact with them and then punish them for responding. Maker, but he was too clever to be a slave. It wasn’t fair.

“…your marks are different,” she breathed, speaking mostly to herself as he stayed still beneath her. “Where’s George? Can you cast anything?”

Well, he didn’t remember who George was either and if he showed her his prowess he’d be in a very liable position, so he continued his vigil lying silent.

“Vasili Sokolov I did not marry you just to peel your stupid ass off the floor because you can’t handle me going away for two days with my sister!” Her voice grew louder and more frantic as she felt him down, for injury maybe.

Those hysterics certainly sounded genuine. And there was no sign of his master so far. He whispered, “Shut up before you get me whipped, woman.”

“This is your own home, you imbecile–”

Then suddenly, as if realizing, she let go of him with her brows creased in worry. “You haven’t called me that since we married,” she said quietly, “There’s really something wrong with you. What have you done to my husband?” She cradled his face with her hand, looking at him as if searching for an answer.

“If I killed him, I really did it in the worst way possible. I feel terrible,” he said, his voice still impossibly quiet.

“What do you mean you feel terrible?” The woman sounded like she was trying not to come off alarmed. “Let’s get upstairs where I can see you properly.” With a tired groan, he let her tug him up so he was seated. Her touches seemed more frantic as she touched his forehead and pressed her ear to his chest.

“I need you to try and stand so I can get you upstairs,” she instructed, “I doubt anyone can hear me shout from down here.”

“You must be new here. That’s okay. I don’t have any memories, but I do know that when your master leaves you in the blood magic dungeon, you stay in the blood magic dungeon.”

She muttered a string of curses of mixed Anders and Tevene. “–new here, this is your house, we don’t keep slaves, Vasili, mark yourself lucky Anja isn’t here…”

The woman let out a slow exhale. He wondered if she were more irritated or worried, but neither mattered. His vision spun and he wanted to lay back, so he tried to push her off.

“Killian! Gerout!” she shouted, tightening her grip on him. Her voice echoed through the basement with no answer, and then she yelled again, louder this time. He winced and turned his face away from her.

Eventually the sound of armoured boots echoed from the hallway above the stairs.

“My lady?” a man called down.

“I need your help!”

The clattered down the stone steps and lingered just on the threshold, both of them uncomfortable with blood magic. One of them cleared his throat. “Ah, um, is he drunk again, my lady?”

“No, he’s not drunk, he’s sick look at him!” The lady gestured so emphatically it took both hands, which meant she dropped him, but then she caught him before he hit the stone floor and he felt well and truly sick. “The marks weren’t like this when George- After Adamant. I don’t know what it means. Help me get him upstairs.”

He wanted to protest again, but the only sound that came out was a weak moan as the guards lifted him gently off of the stone floor. He wasn’t convinced this lady was an actual Lady - just look at her - but he had some faint hope he wasn’t about to be tortured.

The light of the upstairs was blinding as they moved through the house, and then up another long flight of stairs.

He finally let out his breath, a tired groan of pain as he was set down on something soft. He opened his eyes enough to confirm that yes, it was a bed, and a nice one. There must have been a dozen pillows and cushions piled behind him.

The woman hastily gave orders out.

“–I don’t care what Cassandra said to you last time, I need you to get them both and specifically tell them George is gone and something is very wrong with Vasili,” she urged, “Take Killian with you and don’t stop for anyone. And I need you to get us something hot and gentle to eat, two basins of water–”

“Are you done yelling?” he muttered from the bed.

He was answered with silence as several people ran off.

There was the sound of clothes hitting the floor once the door gently closed, a rustling of fabrics and another door in the room opening and closing. The mattress dipped next to him and she wiped away at his chest with a damp cloth. He cracked open one eye to see her changed, the dirty clothes she wore before piled off to the side.

“Explain to me how you feel,” she said, avoiding his eyes as she cleaned the blood away from him.

“Cold, tired, weak… Empty.” He tried to sigh, but he could barely manage regular breaths, so he gave his dramatics up for loss. “I imagine the master bled me extensively. Maybe I’m used to store magical energy with the marks and they drained it all. It doesn’t really matter, in the end, so I hope you’re happy when I get punished for this.”

“My husband the idiot.” She seemed lost in thought as she rinsed the cloth in the bowl near the nightstand and came back to finish. “Do you remember who you are? You don’t recognize me, obviously.” The woman seemed hurt as she spoke.

When the servant came back with a tray bearing bread, broth, and candied slices of fruit, the woman beckoned her set the tray on the bed and then dismissed her with a grateful nod. She pulled him upward to sit again before she dipped the bread in the broth and held it out to him.

“Start eating, Vasili. We’ll see if it helps before Teren gets here.”

He refused the food. “So you really are pushing that whole ‘you-are-Vasili bit.’ Look, I’m too old for that kind of master-slave game. Can you just roll me onto the floor or something and we can be done with this?”

“Vas.” Her voice cracked this time when she spoke. “If this is some…melodramatic game you’re playing because you don’t want me helping those people anymore…”

There was a gentle, scratching purr from the floor when a hairless cat leapt onto the bed, stepping over the woman’s lap to nudge his nose on her stomach. She seemed uncomfortable with the motion and nudged him away. The cat moved to him instead. He sniffed him and then pushed its face against his bare chest, chirping.

“Fred, off of him, he’s unwell,” she said through gritted teeth, pushing the cat to the side. “Vas, please eat. No one here is going to hurt you.”

“Look, I know you’re new here, but-”

The woman shoved the sopping bread in his mouth. “You are a mage you fuckwit, now fucking eat.”

She seemed to have found some sort of nerve and well - he was going to die anyway wasn’t he? Why not enjoy one last meal. He surmised he must be her illicit lover, that’s why she was so desperate and bad at this. She watched him eat without moving, giving him no chance to pause or ignore the food. She slapped his hand down when he tried to push her off.

“If you’re so desperate to follow orders you’d better start following mine.”

“Rude,” he finally managed to snap out between the force-feedings. When he’d finally had enough that she was satisfied he coughed and sipped some water under his own power. “You could have mentioned the mage-bit up front. Not that there are no mage slaves, but honestly.”

“I hate you so much,” she muttered, “How do you feel since you’ve eaten?” She glanced at the door, irritation giving way to a flicker of disappointment. When she looked back at him her expression settled at unimpressed once more.’

He was busy petting the cat, Fred?, who was more than happy with the situation, purring and kneading his side. The cat was a little raggedy, with scars and a torn ear, but he was apparently his. “Wait, so is my name actually Vasili then? And you’re not just stupid?”

The pointed look she gave the cat was more than a little unsettling. She crossed her arms and he watched her physically bite down on the first comment that came to mind.

“Vasili, answer my fucking question or so help me I’ll send one of the staff to fetch Pavus to witness this,” she threatened. He didn’t know who Pavus was, but she seemed serious, so he deadpanned her.

“Cold and exhausted,” he repeated.

The woman threw her hands up with a howl and left the room for a moment. Vasili, that was not a Tevinter name, but he was pretty pasty and pretty elf-y for a Tevinter, so who knew, looked down at his cat. “Is she always like this?”

Fred purred louder. Vasili took that as assent. He was so busy rewarding his clever cat with more pets that he didn’t notice she was back until the woman angrily threw a duvet over both of them. “Rude. Fair, but rude.”

“I hate you so much. Just wait until your brother gets here. I am not going to stop any of his mocking.”

Vasili stopped petting Fred long enough to pull the blanket off of his face. “I have a brother?”

“A twin! And he’s a magister, so stop it with this stupid slave nonsense. What did you even do to yourself?”

“If I knew that, we wouldn’t be in this position, would we?”

Sa’alle doesn’t look up from his grimoire. He has a stack of notes at his right hand with the information from Cassandra’s half and there’s a page splayed across horizontally with new notes. Eventually he clears his throat, but when he speaks his voice is disturbingly quiet. “I’m afraid Karste may be correct. I’ve healed the damage, but it’s degenerative and recurring.”

“I won’t let her die. I can save her,” Vasili says. His own voice is dark and there’s an unnatural edge - George’s input.

“But at what cost? Will she forgive you?”

“I won’t forgive her if she dies!”

Sa’alle shakes his head. “If you channel that much magic, you will die. Your body can’t handle it anymore. That ritual will give free reign to what’s killing you.”

“If you can’t do it – then I have no choice. I’ll do it. The cost is worth it. She is mine and I won’t lose her.” Vasili pants as George gives him control back. He wipes the sweat off of his forehead. “I need her, Sa’alle.”

The sound of pages turning is deafening in the small office, but Sa’alle is looking for something specific, it’s not an idle motion to busy his hands while he plans what to say. “There may be a way.”

“Anything. Anything.”

“Her sister will-”

“Anja will do whatever it takes.”

“Take all of the pain for her? Feel every ounce of exhaustion? She will have everything on her body but the baby.”