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One moment Cirrus was in the middle of battle, concentrating on conjuring another round of lightning while hidden away from the main action, hunched behind a dilapidated wall and heart racing as he heard Karlach’s frenzy yell some distance away, followed by the sickening crunch of metal tearing through flesh and bone. The next moment there was a series of red flashes coming around the corner of the same wall, straight at him. There was sudden painful heat, searing, deliberating, sending Cirrus to his knees and then face-first into the dry soil. His chest hurt and he clutched at it, gasping and writhing in pain. He thought he heard distant screaming, someone calling his name, but he was slipping away from consciousness, the world around him increasingly distant, blurry and confusing. His heart, it hurt , there was something wrong with it - and then, another round of red flashes snaked around the wall once more, each slamming into him and Cirrus’ entire world turned black.
The next time Cirrus opened his eyes it was quiet around him, save a great sigh of relief from Shadowheart. She was on her knees above him, looking down at Cirrus where he laid on his back on the ground, clasping his hand in hers, holding it so hard it hurt.
“Whuh..?” Cirrus managed, coughing and wincing. His chest hurt. Where was he, what had happened? His mind felt so slow, as if coming out of a deep sleep. And his body - he couldn’t recall ever feeling so tired before. Even breathing felt like it required too much energy. More than anything he wanted to close his eyes, to sleep for a bit. Surely he could close them for just a moment-
“Stay with me, don’t you dare,” Shadowheart hissed, shaking Cirrus and squeezing his hand even harder. With effort he forced his eyes open again.
“Fighting’s over,” she continued. “You’re safe. You’re alive. Gods..!”
“Wh…whu happen..?” Cirrus croaked, still unable to speak properly.
“Don’t worry about that now,” she assured him. And then she spoke to someone else. More voices, movement around them. Cirrus listened, trying to understand. Failing.
Strong arms lifted him as if he weighed nothing, settling him against their chest. It was warm, abnormally so, in a familiar way.
“K-karlach…” he managed to whisper.
“Easy, soldier. We’ve got you.” She sounded sad, like she’d been crying, Cirrus thought. Why? Nothing made any sense.
“We’ll talk about it later. Just focus on recovering now,” she added, pushing her forehead against his for a moment before she started walking.
“Okay,” Cirrus replied, though he still did not understand.
—
Karlach had carried him all the way back to camp and put him onto his bedroll, tucking him like in a child. And then she stood vigil while Shadowheart fussed over him, their other companions taking turns to check on him as well, though no one seemed willing to explain why. Then again Cirrus was barely awake for most of it, often slipping back into deep dreamless sleep. For the most part they let him rest, but several times he woke to someone tugging on his tail or his ear until he stirred enough to complain about it, muttering to ask what they were doing.
“Just making sure,” was the response every time. Cirrus would grumble and roll over and go back to sleep, still not understanding. And so the whole night eventually passed.
He woke late the next morning. Everyone else was already up, dressed and fed. Most had already left to handle the quests and tasks of the day. Cirrus yawned and stretched as he sat up. It was rare for him to sleep in, but at least he felt more energetic now, his thoughts clearer. Well, to a point. Most of yesterday was still a confusing mess. He vaguely remembered a fight… flashes of red, pain… and then Shadowheart and Karlach helping him back to camp.
Magic missiles, no doubt. That’s right, he remembered now - there’d been a wizard among their opponents. Of course hiding behind a wall wouldn’t protect you from that spell. Cirrus put a hand to his chest, recalling pain . Someone had removed his robes at some point, he suddenly realised. He was wearing only his wrap shirt and pants now. He undid the knots and pulled the fabric to the side to inspect his chest, but there was precious little to see. A few small reddened spots where the missiles had struck him, but that was it.
“They aimed for your heart,” a deep voice said and Cirrus startled. He hadn’t noticed Halsin sitting near him, whittling project in hand.
“It was my turn to stand watch for you,” he explained. “Sorry for spooking you. How are you feeling?”
How was he feeling?
“Much better than yesterday,” Cirrus said. “But… what happened? My memories are… blurry.”
Halsin looked at him. Sighed and put down his whittling.
“You died, Cirrus.”
Cold fear instantly gripped him as his memories were jogged. The red-hot pain of the magic missiles, aimed straight for his heart-
“Shadowheart revived you, Silvanus bless her. Did a good job too, everything looked in order when I examined you after they took you back here.”
Cirrus didn’t even recall sensing Halsin nearby the night before.
“I… died?” he whispered. Death was always a possibility on the battlefield, of course. But to have actually died… and with seemingly so little effort, too. Cirrus put his hands over his heart again.
“You did,” Halsin confirmed. “But you’re alive now. Breathe, Cirrus,” he added, no doubt having noticed his rising anxiety.
Cirrus tried . But his body did not seem to listen. His breathing quickened and a dull roar seemed to fill his ears. Halsin came over to sit himself down next to Cirrus and took his hands in his own, trying to get his attention.
“Look at the leaves,” he suggested and Cirrus looked up at the closest tree. “Count them for me, will you?”
“One,” Cirrus started. He could barely get that much out, gasping for air. “T-two… three…”
“Keep going. You’re doing well.”
By the time he’d reached 14 Cirrus’ breathing had calmed down to something more manageable. By 20 he had stopped gripping Halsin’s hands so hard that he threatened to draw blood with his pointed nails. But Halsin still did not let go.
“You’re all right,” he assured him. “You’re here, with us. Everyone’s looking forward to seeing you up and about again. They all took turns watching you all night. Making sure you were okay.”
“I remember someone pulling my ear. And my tail…”
Halsin laughed. “I tried to tell them to leave you alone. That you needed the rest. But they wanted to be absolutely certain you were still with us.”
Cirrus tried to smile, but feared it came out more like a grimace.
“Have you ever died, Halsin?” he asked.
“I have been… close. To be in such a state of mortal fear is a terrible thing. When the final day comes we can only hope that we can welcome death as a friend. That it is swift and as painless as possible.”
Cirrus supposed his death had been… not too bad, in that regard. It had been swift, at least.
“It is part of nature, of course,” Halsin continued. We must make space for those to come after us. When it’s our time.”
“I guess. But I’d prefer to stay alive for some time longer before I go,” Cirrus replied, shivering as he said it.
“And now you will! Even as you put yourself in danger’s way again. So you must.”
He hadn’t even thought about that. Cirrus’ heart started to race again at the mere idea. To go out there again… to risk dying again… he wasn’t sure he could. He wasn’t made for this kind of lifestyle. He’d never wished to fight in the first place.
“You have to,” Halsin insisted, no doubt having seen the concern on his face. “Such is your destiny. But you don’t have to fight today, at least.”
Halsin was right and Cirrus sighed. Damned tadpole. Either Cirrus would have to fight to live or he’d have to accept death. He’d have to accept that.
-
“Heard you died.”
Astarion was truly unnervingly good at sneaking up on you. Cirrus jumped at the sudden comment out of nowhere, earning him a fanged grin from the other.
“I… got better..?” he tried, not knowing what else to say. He was sitting just outside his tent, trying to get the newest stains out of his clothes. His robes had been returned to him, washed and folded, but his wrap shirt and pants still needed to be fixed up. No one had allowed him to leave camp today; he’d been firmly instructed to just stay here and rest.
“I can see that. Everyone was fussing over you. Must be nice to have people that care about you.”
Cirrus considered what he knew about Astarion and his past. Most of it he’d had to string together from little comments and snarky remarks; the man did not willingly share much about himself. Understandable, given the… circumstances.
“Thanks for checking on me, Astarion.” He didn’t have to come over to Cirrus’ tent to see how he was faring, but here he was.
“Just… try not to die again. Don’t want to end up like me.”
“Do you want to talk about it? Cirrus put down the burnt shirt in his hands, turning his full focus to Astarion.
“There’s not much to say,” he sighed, but he sat himself down near Cirrus anyway. “Dying is awful. If you’re lucky it’s fast. If you’re unlucky… well. At least it’ll end, eventually.”
“I was lucky,” Cirrus offered. “It was pretty fast. I didn’t really realise what was happening. It was painful but I lost consciousness quickly.”
“Lucky you. I was acutely aware of what was happening when I died. Which is why I agreed to make the deal I did.”
“If I could have helped you in any way, I would…” Cirrus tried.
“This was well over two centuries before you were even born. And in another two centuries you won’t be here, so don’t bother.”
“Well, I’ll still offer my help as long as I’m alive. However long that’ll be.”
“Aren’t you a little hero,” Astarion rolled his eyes, but Cirrus thought he could see the smallest of smiles tug on his lips.
“Astarion, after you… woke up as a spawn, what was different?”
“With me or with the world?”
“Either. Both?”
“Everything was different. And very little in a good way. There’s not much else to say about it. What about you, does anything feel different now that you’ve been given a second lease of life?”
“I don’t know. I’m… more aware, I guess? I feel like I’m appreciating everything more now, even the little things feel more precious. There’s wonder even in cleaning a dirty shirt. But the world itself isn’t any different. It’s strange to think it would just have gone on without me. That we matter so little in the grand scale of things.”
“Don’t undersell yourself,” Astarion muttered, so low Cirrus wasn’t sure he’d heard it. He pretended not to. Getting the vampire to open up was a slow, careful process, one he didn’t want to risk undoing by saying the wrong way and driving Astarion away.
“Want my advice?” Astarion continued. “Kill your enemy before they kill you.”
“I’ll… consider that.”
“You’re aware of your surroundings, so that’s a start. If someone’s coming for you and they’ve done their homework they’ll know to assault you physically, since you spellcasters rely too much on your magic and won’t win a hand-to-hand fight. But preferably they’ll try to catch you unaware before you can use a spell, slit your throat while you sleep or poison you… You should start carrying a dagger for protection as well. I can show you how to slit a throat.” Astarion sounded almost excited discussing these things, but Cirrus certainly did not find it an enjoyable topic.
“Thank you,” he offered anyway. Cirruss had no desire to slit any throats, nor to even think about the possibility of an assassin sent to kill him specifically, but Astarion had a point. The more involved they got in this tadpole business the more they were painting targets on their backs. But what choice did they have? Once again it came back to the same thing. Fight to live, or die.
“You sound like you’ve planned how you’d kill me already,” Cirrus complained.
“Darling, it comes with the job. Nothing personal, I assure you. Besides, if I were actually planning to kill you, do you think I’d tell you how to protect yourself?”
To think it wasn’t that long ago since Cirrus’ biggest concern in life had been whether he’d have enough gold to buy the nice wine at the tavern that night. And now here he was, considering his own mortality after being revived after falling in combat. Considering that there might be people actively trying to kill him again, were they only given the opportunity.
“I’ll… keep the next dagger I loot off a corpse.”
“Good boy.”
—
Everyone had insisted that Cirrus stay in camp and rest that day, but they could only give him a day before he had to get back into the thick of things. Their mission was too pressing to offer him more respite than that. And so it didn’t take long before he was back to fighting.
“You’ve got this, and I’m close by if something happens” Gale assured him and Cirrus nodded, determined. Tried not to think about flashes of red searing into his chest. But Gale was here and that helped; he could hope to intercept such an attack better than anyone else in their group.
“I’ve got it,” Cirrus tried to assure himself. Readied himself, tried to ease back into the familiar relaxed battle pose he’d gotten so used to over the last month or so. Sighed deeply. Closed his eyes for just a second before focusing on the opponent again.
“We outnumber them. Not that it matters. Our magic will get them long before they can hope to reach us,” Gale continued, nodding towards the opposition. He was right.
Even so, Cirrus’ heart was pounding. Almost, he felt the phantom pain of the missiles- no, don’t think about that.
Gale seemed to sense his distraction, or perhaps he simply knew his sorcerer friend well enough.
“I bet they don’t like lightning. Shall we test that theory?”
Cirrus nodded. “Let’s.”
Calling the magic to him was as natural as breathing. It sparked and arced in hot blue waves around Cirrus’ body as he searched for it, found it and commanded it to do his bidding. He raised his hand to the sky, the very air charged around them. He could do this. He’d done it a hundred times, he could do it another hundred.
Heart pounding he released the first lightning bolt, travelling across the battlefield at impossible speeds, tearing through the ground, the following boom of thunder sending more than one goblin shrieking as they turned tail to run back to where they had come from.
Cirrus was not dying today.