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honeybeebuns · 2 years ago

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Hiya I just recently found you and i gotta say I love your work

Idk if you do requests/fic suggestions, (feel free to ignore me if you do)

But to continue on from Rattle, Liv, and Astarion haven't really talked since that night

They go to confront Cazador, astarion is forced into the ritual and the fight begins.

After he is freed and Cazador is defeated he goes to carve the symbols on his back when he notices Liv lying on the floor not moving, gravely injured in the fight against Cazador

He would drop everything and rush to her side

Nonny, thank you for the delicious angst fodder. You really are a real one. Apologies for the delay on this. I'm a high school teacher and this week was the end of term, and it was a mess of students begging for better grades and long hours of grading. I enjoyed exploring this alternative to what might have happened in Haunted House, and I like to think that with this scenario there's a bit of internal horror because he doesn't rush to her side immediately. You know, because power. Anyway, I hope I did your prompt justice, thank you for sending it my way <3

Magic and Blood

Astarion x Liv, 1.6k, angst and spoilers for BG3 Act III.

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With one last thrust of his dagger, Cazador dissolves into mist, and Astarion is triumphant. Shadowheart’s orb of daylight still hovers above the platform, casting grotesque shadows around fallen ghouls and werewolves and bats. But he is so close to victory, to power. The air is thick with it, a heady mix of magic and blood and promise.

There is but one last step, one last thing he must do in order to snatch this ritual away, to best Cazador. He wastes no time going to Cazador’s sarcophagus and pushing it open, revealing Cazador’s resting form.

“No, no. No healing sleep for you. Wake up!” He rips Cazador from his sleep, throwing him to the ground. The relative ease of the movement is intoxicating. He is the powerful one now.

“Get your hands off me, worm,” Cazador spats.

“I’m not the one in the dirt,” Astarion sneers, picking up Cazador’s dagger. “One last thrust and I’ll be free of you. I’ll never have to fear you again. But if I finish the ritual you started, I’ll never have to fear anyone, ever.” He is so close, so, so close to freedom, true freedom. He will take the power meant for Cazador and he will make it his own. He will be the most powerful vampire to ever live.

There are seven thousand souls on the line, but he doesn’t have to consider them, he didn’t gather them, did he? That was all Cazador’s doing. And they must die, they are wretched miserable things, begging for death anyway. Why shouldn’t he use them? With this sort of power he could help save the city, be a real hero. He could protect Liv from their enemies, from her family. He and his companions would be more than successful against the elder brain, they would be triumphant.

Cazador grins. “You think me a fool? That I would allow anyone to usurp me, speak the words, and ascend in my place? Mmm? The runes I carved into your flesh bind you and all seven thousand souls to the ritual. Complete it and those bearing the scars will be sacrificed - you included. You are simply a means to an end. I made you to be consumed!”

“I am so much more than what you made me!” Astarion says leaning over Cazador before turning to his companions, to Liv. “I can do this, but I need your help.” Only, Liv isn’t there. Behind him, Shadowheart kneels beside Gale, hands glowing with healing magic. Lae’zel is limping to them, clutching her side. But where is Liv?

At the beginning of the battle, she had freed him. Dispelling the magic that held him bound. It had been chaotic, spells and arrows and claws, but she had appeared out of mist-like magic and immediately began unraveling Cazador’s spell, saving him like she had so many times before. Once free, he hadn’t hesitated to wade into the fray, and she had been right behind him, casting spells and throwing up shields. She’s probably fine; she’s always fine. She’s always been good at getting herself to a safe vantage point and casting her spells. She’s always been so good at protecting herself and others. She’s fine, and he’ll find her after he has taken care of Cazador, after he has ascended.

He just needs to link his tadpole with one of their companions, see the runes on his back and carve them into Cazador’s. It’s so simple, it’s so close, it’s so easy. Lae’zel is injured, but he’s sure she’ll help him. He just needs to ask. The words are on the tip of his tongue, and he’s already shoved Cazador further to the ground when he sees Liv’s unmoving form.

It’s no wonder he missed her before. She’s half covered by what remains of a werewolf. She’s covered in blood, but from this distance he’s unsure how much of it is hers. He can’t tell if she’s breathing, if a simple health potion will be enough to rouse her or if she’s going to need Shadowheart’s divine magic. He knows that it’s a ticking clock either way, revivify is only an option for a few moments. The longer it takes for someone to help, the higher the chance they lose her. Gods, he can’t lose her.

“Liv needs help!” he calls out, but one glance behind him tells him that his companions aren’t in much better shape. Shadowheart is still working on Gale, who somehow looks to be in even worse shape than Liv, and Lae’zel sways in place, using her greatsword to balance.

Gods. He can do this. He can do this. She’ll be fine. He can ascend and then go get her, and it will be fine! Cazador is right here, sprawled on the ground at his mercy. He has waited for a moment like this for two hundred years. Two centuries of using his body, at following every fucking command that Cazador gleefully made, and suffering either way. The end of this is so close, perhaps if he can ascend, become more than this, more powerful than Cazador even, all that suffering will mean something. He wants it to have meant something.

Lae’zel is moving towards Liv, but not quickly enough. It becomes more and more apparent that he must be the one to go or risk it….risk her. There are some prices even he’s not willing to pay. An ascended vampire will have may powers, but the power to bring Liv back isn’t one of them.

“Damn it all! Lae’zel get over here! Kill him if he so much as moves the wrong direction,” Astarion yells. He waits just long enough for Lae’zel to limp over, holding her sword out to Cazador’s chest.

She seems steadier for the order, and that’s the only reason he feels like he can turn his back on Cazador in this moment.

“It is done,” she growls.

And then he’s running across the bloodstained platform to Liv’s side. Now that he’s here, no longer looming over Cazador, he can see just how bad her injuries are. She’s covered in blood, and there are deep, jagged cuts across her abdomen and arms. She’s lost a lot of blood. He lifts the werewolf off of her, careful not to jostle her as he does.

“No, you can’t die! Get up, damn you!” he yells, hoping that simply getting her free might be enough to rouse her. He has no means of healing, nothing on him, his bag and supplies all stripped away and Gods know where now. But Liv always has healing potions on hand. He reaches into her bag, fingers frantic and soaked in her blood. His other hand rests on her neck, searching desperately for her pulse because no healing potion can restart her heart. Gods, he wasted so much time getting over here.

She can’t die, not here, not now. They haven’t really spoken since the other night when his siblings came to collect him. She’d been so disappointed in him and his lies. It had only compounded here, wading through this house, with every shameful deed of his on full display. She’d looked so glad, so hopeful when he’d promised Sebastian they’d be back, only for that hope and belief in him to sputter out the second he mentioned ascending. She’s never wanted him to complete the ritual anyway.

His fingers close around the small, tapered bottle at the same moment he feels the light fluttering of her pulse, it’s faint, too faint. He doesn’t hesitate to pour the potion into her mouth, and watches with profound relief as the worst of her wounds stitch themselves closed, but barely. She was far closer to death than he’d thought. And he had stood over Cazador contemplating vengeance while she was bleeding out.

Liv’s eyes open in what seems like an intense effort, and she is a bloody mess, but she’s here. He could leave her now, just for a moment, just long enough to take care of Cazador and ascend. Lae’zel would help him, and Liv will be safe, right?

Liv takes in the scene, looking around with wide eyes, at Shadowheart healing Gale, at Lae’zel holding her sword at Cazador and he can see the second she decides there is more work to be done. She tries to get up. “We have to finish this.”

Of course her first thought after nearly dying is to help in whatever way she can. Liv would set fire to herself if it meant keeping others warm. And his first thought upon seeing her bleeding out was that he could still have power. That she’d be fine. A sick, roiling feeling has settled in his gut.

“You’re not getting up until you’re properly healed,” he gently presses her shoulder back, to keep her down.

It’s a testament to how hurt she is that she doesn’t fight him. “I…alright.”

But then, Shadowheart is there, hands already glowing with healing magic and he draws back to give them space. Gale and Lae’zel stand over Cazador, still awaiting his judgment. He’s not alone in this. Not anymore.

He had been so ready to sacrifice everything that truly mattered for power. He is the only one who gets to decide who he becomes now. He doesn’t want to become someone who would be willing to ignore the pain of someone he cares about - no matter how much power is on offer.

He can be better than that. He is better than that.

He approaches Cazador and picks back up the dagger. “I am better than you,” he says. “But I’m not above enjoying this.”

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