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sky-kiss · 1 year ago

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A/N: Blatant Asmodeus propaganda. After betraying Raphael in the HoH to save Baldur's Gate, they steal his corpse back from Meph and entreat Asmodeus. Also. A Dracula gif. To push my agenda.

Raph x GN!Tav: A Pact Struck, A Contract Sealed

Ages have passed, and empires have risen and fallen since a mortal last attempted to bind his Aspect. Asmodeus feels a tickling in the back of his psyche, barely a drag at his near-infinite energy. His awareness fragments and then shifts, searching for the source of the petition. The words come second, the feelings first.

Desperation. Pain. A soul-deep grief. Physical hurt, too, but it's a stinging afterthought. The Lord of the Nine Hells cocks his head to the side, eyes closed. They are petitioning his avatar. They whisper in the darkness. A chill winter breeze howls around them, bowing the branches of dead trees. How fitting, he thinks, that this little creature should surround itself with such things. They wear death like a shroud.

He is not in the habit of entertaining such low-hanging fruit…but there is a touch of something in their desperation, a sweetness Asmodeus has not sampled in many years. It amuses him. And he is not above indulging his amusement—the Archdevil motions with his right hand, passing a fraction of his awareness to the Aspect. The darkness of his throne room fades in favor of a moonlit night—the sickly sweet tang of blood colors the air.

Ah, and there is his petitioner. They sit with their back pressed to an ancient white birch, skin badly frostbitten. Cania's stink lingers across their skin, brimstone and hellfire marrying together. They curl around their prize, clutching a badly mangled figure to their chest. Asmodeus hums, kneeling. Its wings are broken. So many bones shattered.

"Tell me, child." His voice is low and pleasant in the chill air, a warmth chasing along the baritone. "Do you know whose name you have called? The attention you would court?"

They nod, grip tightening on their prince. Tears cut through the mess of dirt on their skin. Crying, he thinks, and what a charming little oddity. Who shed tears for a devil? How curious. How delightful. "Lord Asmodeus, Prince of the Darkness. Lord of Lies."

"Indeed, I am. Pretty titles, aren't they?"

"I thought…" they catch themselves. Asmodeus notes the tremor in their right hand and the way they struggle to stay upright. His presence is overpowering at the best of times; the wounded little creature is fighting valiantly not to succumb to darkness, mind breaking under the weight of his Aspect's attention.

"My apologies, little one. It has been some since I treated with your kind. Allow me." He reaches out with one clawed hand, tapping his nail to the center of their forehead. The ward will protect them from the worst of it. They blink at him. "Continue, please."

Their right hand tightens in the corpse's dark hair. "My Lord, I had hoped to make a deal with you. I know…I am beneath your attention…"

"Most are. The benefit of being a god, I suppose. But it has never stopped me in the past."

Despite themself, they smile. Shuffling, the adventurer turns their burden outwards. Though badly burned, cheekbones shattered, he recognizes the features—so much of the father in the son, an agony to both parties. Mephistopheles' boy stares blankly forward—a hollow shell of himself, a waste of potential.

It pains the Prince to see so promising a resource wasted.

"I made a mistake. I…" they swallow. "There was something that had to be done. And it came at a cost. Raphael…”

"The boy is known to me, child. If I may?" They hesitate. Asmodeus forces his temper down, the air around them heating. He is a god and not in the habit of being denied. But the Hero of Baldur's Gate relents, shifting their burden into his arms. The Lord of the Ninth cups his hand over the pretender-king's mouth, his forehead. Asmodeus shuts his eyes. "Such a waste."

"Can you help him?"

"Do you doubt me, little one?" They shift back, dropping their eyes at the sharpness of his tone—a warning, barely veiled. "Mephistopheles has devoured that which he gave—the infernal. The mortal soul…is uncontested. Lost somewhere in Avernus. It could be located…for a price."

"Anything."

Asmodeus chuckles. He is not ignorant of the sudden rush of color in the little creature's cheeks or how the sound makes them avert their eyes. This guise is pleasant, after all, tall and angular and dark. The wind catches in the blackness of his hair, the long strands falling well below his shoulders. "How dearly naive. I've half a mind to take advantage of such generosity." They shiver under the force of his stare, reality undoubtedly going dark around the edges. He hums. "But��the alternative could prove a more pleasurable distraction still."

The Lord of the Ninth stands, holding out his hand. The hero, Tav, sets their palm in his. He helps them to their feet, settling his other hand on their shoulders. So close, he can feel the weight of their exhaustion and desperation rolling off them, an ambrosia. The depth of their affection for the boy-king. Interesting and useful. Asmodeus touches their cheek.

"I will treat with you, little one, and more fairly than I ought. Your dear one's potential: a few more centuries, a stern hand, and Raphael might have made a powerful piece on the board. His sire is…" Asmodeus tapped his chin. "Increasingly irrelevant. Immutable and tiresome."

Tav stares up at him, such a little thing. And there is potential there, too, the ability to warp and mold this boy-king into something suitable to his grand design. He touches their cheek with a claw. "I will give the means to locate Raphael's soul. In retrieving it, you will prove your worth and dedication. I have no use for the faint of heart. Is this clear?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Clever pet, very clever." He smiles, chucking them under the chin. "You bring the boy to my court in Nessus, where he shall be given the means to decide his fate. Is that clear?"

"Yes."

What an amusing twist of fate. He bends, collecting the Prince's mangled body in his arms. Tav looks ready to protest, to fight for their dear one (and again, how delightful; Asmodeus cannot help but feel charmed), only to remember what precisely stands before them: a god in truth, the Lord of all the Nine Hells. Asmodeus smiles at them, bowing his head. "I shall keep him for you, little one. You have my oath. Collect his soul, and we will meet again."

He leaves them without another word, a touch of the dramatic, a hint of mystery to whet their palette. Asmodeus inspects the corpse in his arm.

Sweet Prince, broken and bloodied.

Asmodeus will make him whole again.

#bg3 raphael #raphael x tav #d & d asmodeus #asmodeus #my writing #bg3 fanfiction #longfic #by tumblr standards #Tav: i sacrificed my loved for the greater good #Asmodeus: Cool story fam would you like to go on a quest to get him back? We stan some love. Like. For my own gain but.#raphael x durge #Gonna fight the desire to make this a whole ass story lol

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ghost-proofbaby · 9 months ago

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“Do not,” he whispers to her in a low tone, face still impassive as he presses himself just close enough so that she’s the only one that can hear him, “Get involved in this. Unless, of course, you’re going to swing on one of the poor saps. In that case, I fully support you, my dear.”

summary: when the party finally encounters a proper fight, aruna only has one thing on her mind: save astarion. and if she finally starts to piece together a few things about herself and her magic, well - that can't possibly hurt, can it?

wc: 5.3k+

warnings: continued memory loss, fighting, spoilers for the game (play by play description of scenes from emerald grove in act 1), aruna and astarion can't decide if they'll play nice with each other or not lol

a/n: this fic is about to be just a constant cycle of aruna taking a spray bottle to astarion as her weird way of trying to keep him alive truly

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Aruna is beginning to believe the tadpole in her head was the least of the inconveniences she’d had to encounter on her journey.

When they’d left camp for the day, they’d have a very straightforward objective: discover a form of civilization, find a healer, and get the damned worms out of their heads.

Simple. Easier said than done, but certainly simple.

Or so she thought.

It starts when they’re wandering the trails of the wilderness leading out of camp. They’re not going towards the beach this time, she promises Shadowheart that much, but what they come across is far worse than having to face off with anymore intellect devourers.

Actual people. Tieflings, Gale identifies, who had a familiar githyanki held high above them in a cage.

Aruna would never say she has a bleeding heart based on her choices so far on their journey, but she still doesn’t hesitate to decide to help the githyanki. Shadowheart confirmed she was on the ship, with much distaste, and made it clear she wasn’t keen on helping her. Aruna didn’t care. Astarion also seemed less than pleased at the prospect of helping, but his hands were twitching for his daggers, and she realized he’d only kept his mouth shut due to the clear opportunity for a fight to break out.

Gale had been the only one on her side as she’d approached the situation.

One painful merging of her tadpole to the githyanki’s (although, notably less painful than her connection with Gale, and certainly less agonizing than that with Astarion) and a failed attempt at diffusing the situation in hopes for no blood to be shed later, Astarion got his wishes. A fight. That they’d won, quite easily. Whether it was thanks to Gale’s quick trigger of his magic or Astarion’s flashing daggers was up for debate (it wasn’t really – she just couldn’t bear to boost either man’s ego by saying as much out loud.)

Lae’zel. The githyanki’s name was Lae’zel, and Aruna didn’t hesitate to dismiss her in the direction of their camp, much to everyone’s disdain.

Aruna didn’t care. She had an end goal in mind for the day – she was going to find a healer, daylight be damned.

“I still don’t trust the gith,” Shadowheart is continuing to complain at her side as they trek further along these paths. There are paths. Leading somewhere. And those tieflings had mentioned something about a grove. There had to be civilization somewhere nearby, “I respect your choice, but I’ll continue to sleep with one eye open with her at camp.”

“Be my guest,” Aruna mutters, growing tired of the complaints.

She gets it – she has no former memories on how ‘distrustful’ githyankis are, but Shadowheart has made it abundantly clear they shouldn’t drop their guard around her. She got it about ten damning sighs and wistful comments ago.

“And how are we to trust all her talk of purification? What if it’s nothing more than a trap, luring us in to lead us to certain death?” Shadowheart tsks, voicing a lingering concern that Aruna already had. But that bit of information that Lae’zel had offered was the first real lead they had on getting rid of the tadpoles, and she wasn’t about to dismiss it as Shadowheart was, “We simply can’t tr-”

“I’d hate to interrupt, but may I have a word with our fearless leader? I’ll only be a moment, I swear.”

Astarion had been lingering towards the back of the group for most of their walk. Quiet, occasionally humming to himself and smirking at others' comments here and there. Less out of real amusement, Aruna senses, and more in a belittling way.

But suddenly, he had picked up his pace and fallen into step on Aruna’s left, leaning over and looking to the cleric who had been complaining endlessly on her right.

Shadowheart, surprisingly, takes the hint well.

The moment she’s fallen back to join Gale instead, probably still airing her superficial issues, Aruna is shooting a glance in Astarion’s direction. “If you’re here to say you also don’t trust Lae’zel, please just- save it for when we’re back at camp, please.”

She doesn’t think her headache could handle anymore.

“What? Oh, no,” Astarion scoffs, scrunching his nose for a moment, “I could care less about the gith. I just knew if Shadowheart’s yapping was getting on my nerves, you must be in desperate need of a break.”

Yapping. It was a cruel way to put it, but it still made a smile nearly break on Aruna’s face.

“What was it you needed to discuss, then?” she asks, a little less on edge now.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“As I said, it just seemed as though we all needed a break from talk of the gith.”

That was… oddly kind. Even if Astarion had clearly done it in part for his own sanity, Aruna found herself appreciating the gesture regardless.

They walk in silence for a while. Only a few mutters escape from Gale and Shadowheart from behind them, but Aruna chooses to block them out. With Astarion at her side now instead, she was able to better focus on leading them somewhere useful. Somewhere with answers, somewhere with a healer-

She should have known the peace wouldn’t last.

Shouts sound up ahead, but the entire group’s view is entirely blocked from a large hill.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Astarion notes the obvious, offering a quick side glance, as if observing Aruna’s own reaction to guarantee it aligned with his own.

And it did. Well, sort of. “We should check it out.”

The entire group stares at her as if she’s finally grown tentacles.

“We’ll be careful about it, obviously-”

“Obviously,” Astarion cuts in sarcastically.

“-But I have a feeling wherever that yelling is coming from, is… is…”

Civilization? A step in the right direction?

“A healer,” she finally settles on it, which only makes everyone’s faces twist even further at her, “The shouting must mean people, and the more people, the higher likelihood of a healer.”

That seems to convince them all well enough.

They creep up the hill and easily break off into natural pairings – Astarion stays at Aruna’s side as they find a hiding place in bushes near the hill’s peak, Gale and Shadowheart find a safe spot behind a tree on the opposite side, a bit further back.

In the clearing below, Aruna spots the commotion easily. Three people – seemingly human – banging on a large wooden gate covered in vinery. At the top of the gate, there stands multiple tieflings, all arguing besides a large wheel that Aruna can only presume opens the gate.

And she can finally hear the words being shouted.

“Open the bloody gate! Goblins are coming!”

She feels Astarion tense beside her, clearly hearing what she had. Goblins. She can’t exactly visualize them, her memory predictably failing her once more, but she doesn’t have to wait long before the horde shows themselves.

A large group. Foul creatures of all kinds, not just these goblins, are snarling in the direction of those humans.

Finally, as if seeing were truly believing, a tiefling begins to open the gate. But Aruna already knows it’s far too late before the arrow that ends him has flown through the air – they had hesitated, and it just cost one of their own their life.

The gate drops, despite the humans efforts to hold it up. The tiefling falls, a scream echoing from someone nearby.

And amongst it all, as Aruna’s heart begins to race at the action, a realization strikes her.

P.S. DO NOT FORGET – SAVE ASTARION.

She hadn’t been sure of what to do with that in the last day, when they weren’t in danger. When it was nothing more than brains with legs and small bickering amongst the camp so far that posed the most threat, Aruna couldn’t comprehend why she was supposed to save the elf that clearly had an upper hand with his skilled hands and sharp daggers.

But here, watching the beginnings of a battle unfold, she understood.

Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the danger.

Astarion is hardly a breath of a step ahead of her, crouched into a thicker part of the bush. Closer to the action – closer to the danger. Her hand flies out to land on his bicep without another thought.

“What are you-” he turns to look at her, clearly startled, but she’s determined.

He gets on her nerves. He’s impossible to read at times. She’s pretty sure he’d betray her the moment a better option of safety arose. But the letter said to save him, so save him she shall.

“Get behind me,” she commands in a low voice, leaving no room for argument.

He still finds the space to argue. Of course he does.

“Excuse me? I am not-” he begins to hiss at her, but he’s cut off when one of those wretched goblins have climbed to the top of the hill.

They were only looking for higher ground, but Aruna isn’t quite as well-hidden as the rest of them.

“Well, well, well,” the goblin snarls, “Thought yourself sneaky, did ‘ya?”

She only sees Aruna. Not Gale, not Shadowheart. And most importantly – not Astarion.

Her hands fly to her daggers just as the goblin reaches onto her back and produces a bow. At the sight of it, Aruna’s stomach plummets. She can hardly wield her daggers against brains – better than someone who’s never held a weapon a day in their life, but not by much. And her daggers are for close fights; that bow will end her life without the goblin having to take so much as another step towards her.

Aruna has the disadvantage here; Aruna is going to die here.

She still lets her shaking fingers wrap around the hilt of her dagger, deciding it’s better to go down with a fight rather than simply lay here and die, but then-

The goblin hardly had the time to string her bow, an arrow not even properly secured in it, when two daggers are easily cutting through the skin of her neck.

Aruna hadn’t even noticed Astarion move, as if he had blended in with shadows she hadn’t seen existing on this hilltop. One moment, he’d been beside her, and now he stood behind the goblin, holding on for an extra moment before he let the lifeless body drop.

“You expect me to believe I should allow you to protect me,” he nearly spits out, looking at her less in anger and more in disbelief, “When you just nearly got yourself killed.”

“I had it under contro-” she starts to argue back, but she cuts herself off when she looks over his shoulder. Most of the goblins and other creatures are focused on the four humans below, a new helping hand having joined them as he blasts his foes with red strikes that resemble lightning, but across the way stands a goblin with his eyes narrowed right at Aruna and Astarion. He’s quick, his arrow firing off in their direction just as Aruna notices him, “Duck!”

For once, Astarion doesn’t argue. Thank the Nine Realms.

He drops to the ground with perfect timing, the arrow narrowly missing his back before it pierces the ground just beside Astarion’s splayed hand.

In his shock, Aruna makes an easy decision.

Fuck the daggers.

Her magic still burns in her veins, humming gleefully as she calls to it with an outstretched palm and her focus set on the goblin that had sent the arrow in Astarion’s direction.

DO NOT FORGET – SAVE ASTARION.

It’s the only thing on her mind as she recalls incantations that had fallen from Gale’s lips just the day prior, and she repeats them effortlessly, “Tormentum.”

In an instant, three red spheres burst from her palm in a straight line, heading straight to the goblin.

They hit him without miss, in the center of his chest, back to back.

Just as Astarion is rising back to his full height, he witnesses the goblin fall to her magic. His neck nearly snaps with the speed in which he looks back to her, “You have magic? Bloody Hells-”

She ignores his outburst, quickly slipping herself in front of him on the cliff’s edge, making herself all but a meat shield for the quick-footed elf. Most attention continues to evade them, but she’s able to spot the next goblin that has set his sights on them before he has a chance to draw his weapon in their direction. This time, as she outstretches her hand in his direction, she decides to shout a different spell.

“Ignis!”

She’s more confident this time, power thrumming through her as the familiar bolt of a flame flies from her fingertips and heads straight for their enemy. Her aim is less on par, but it doesn’t matter – even when the flame hits the goblin’s legs rather than chest, the sparks of the magic catch fire to everything around it, effectively burning the goblin to nothing more than ash and bone.

She can’t tell if her heart is racing with exhilaration of using her magic – magic she knows for sure now that was never learned nor gifted to her by some deity, but is hers entirely – or if it’s from the fear of keeping Astarion safe.

And he’s making the latter exceptionally more likely when one of the creatures that resemble a distorted wolf finally looks up to them with bloodlust in its eyes, and he’s quick to step out from behind her.

“No,” she gasps, turning to him just long enough that when she looks back, the animal is already clambering up the stones, nearly arriving to them, “Astarion, do not-”

All at once, it feels as though she loses control of her magic. As though it’s reached such extensive heights that her grasp on it slips, and between that and her swirling emotions, she has no control over what happens next.

Her mind is a mess. Between the power, the worry of this being what she was meant to be saving Astarion from, the anxiety of him no longer being behind her so that she could fool herself into thinking she might be capable of shielding him – it’s a mess.

Not a single incantation has to fall from her lips when the magic erupts from her, turning the innocent plants around them into enchanted greenery. Viscous vines, glowing as they ensnare both the creature clambering up to them and Aruna.

They should have ensnared Astarion too. She thinks they’ve done as much until she watches him dart down to where the animal is one step below, and his daggers find deathly purchase in its fur.

Blood splatters about the vines that Astarion is still able to avoid somehow, and when he pulls back, the creature falls just as limply as that goblin did.

He looks up at her, small spatters of the blood marking his cheeks, a smug grin painted across his face, “As you were saying?”

Damn him. Damn him to the deepest depths of the Hells, and back.

“I… You…” she can’t finish her snappy comeback, can’t even formulate a proper thought as a sudden drain from her use of magic hits her all at once. The snarling vines still encase her lower half, and her headache blooms so painfully that she fears she might lose consciousness from it.

The grin is short-lived when he realizes what is inevitably about to happen once her own self-made trap lets her go.

He’s at her side before the vines have even finished retreating, catching her just before she tumbles over the edge of the small cliff. He yanks her backward, leveraging himself behind her for a moment so that she’s flush his chest before he spins. Suddenly, roles have been reversed. Astarion has become the meatshield, and she doesn’t even have the energy to fight it.

“Gale,” his voice is stoic as he nearly carries her, “Shadowheart. Be dears and take over for us on the front lines, yes?”

There’s not much more fight to be had. Between the goblin and creature Astarion had taken down, and the two goblins that Aruna’s magic had fell, the fight is mostly left up to the humans below.

Gale and Shadowheart listen to Astarion regardless.

He manages to get them to the tree where the other two had been hiding with ease, finally maneuvering her so that she’s leaning against its bark. When she slides down to sit on the ground, it leaves biting scratches that she feels the sting of, even through her clothing.

“I’m fine,” she gasps out, a clear lie when the edges of her vision were still spotted, “I’m fine, just let me-”

When she goes to stand, he’s quick to press two cold palms on each shoulder. Had he always been so cold?

“Not so fast, my magical friend,” Astarion tuts, crouching to be eye level with her, “I’m sure the wizard will suffice in ending the bloodbath. He can walk without a helping hand.”

“I’m fine,” she repeats herself, but it sounds like she’s trying to convince herself more than him.

At the edge of the hill, Gale is firing off magic missiles, just as Aruna had been.

Astarion’s entire face goes hard, and she realizes that this may not be a fight she’ll win. His sarcasm is venomous as he says, “Ah, yes. You’re currently the picture of health – impossibly pale in the face, too weak to stand on your own, eyes so dazed I highly doubt you’d be able to tell me how many fingers I’m holding up. Shall I go on?”

Her silence is his answer.

“Now, I’m far more concerned with the fact that you have magic. And lots of it, if we’re to go off of your little display with the vines. When exactly were you planning on sharing that with the class?”

“Gale and Shadowheart already know,” her vision is finally fully coming back to her, entirely focused on Astarion’s face, centimeters from her own, “It’s not my problem you were more concerned with insulting my mapping skills last night rather than asking more personal questions.”

“You wound me. Is there nothing more personal than sharpening charcoal for someone who’s deficient with their own daggers?”

“Go to Hell.”

Gods, they were going to end up fighting each other, letter be damned, before she ever figured out the truth behind her mysterious savior quest. Maybe the true meaning was for her to avoid burying her daggers into his chest. Save him from her, it seems.

Astarion only smiles at her, leaning back, creating distance as his palms fall from her, “I’ve already been, my dear. Can’t say I enjoyed it.”

She rolls her eyes, and it worsens the pounding in her temples, but it’s worth it.

At the most opportune of times, Gale and Shadowheart return back to their sides. Gale is the epitome of worry as he kneels beside her where she continues to sit against the tree trunk, and Shadowheart’s eyes are already examining her for wounds.

“Are you hurt?” Shadowheart’s words come out harsh, but only with concern.

“Never been better.”

“She could have killed us both with those enchanted vines,” Astarion says, although no one certainly asked him.

“I might have some salve back at camp for any rash from the vines-”

“She could have gotten us all killed.”

Shadowheart is ignoring Astarion with ease as Gale lifts each of her arms methodically, flipping them as if to assure that there really isn’t any injury.

“That wasn’t my intention,” she whispers, being the only one to acknowledge Astarion even though his anger is clearly directed at her, “I just- I don’t know why my magic did that.”

Gale’s eyebrows shoot up at that, “Did what exactly?”

Astarion’s glare is hard to ignore, but Aruna manages as she swallows hard and chooses to focus on the wizard offering her far more kindness for the time being.

“I was using incantations – just, I guess I knew them from you, hearing you use them during the fights yesterday. But then, suddenly, I just… I just…”

“Decided that enchanted vines were the solution.”

“I don’t know how I did that, Astarion.”

She really, really doesn’t. That surge of magic had ripped from her unpredictably, tearing out of her veins as if she couldn’t stop it if she tried. She doesn’t even know what incantation could conjure those dangerous plants.

“Interesting,” Gale murmurs, leaning back on his heel. He looks far less concerned than Aruna feels, “Very interesting, indeed.”

She’s beginning to recognize that look – the look of a hungry mind. She’s starting to believe that every time it crosses Gale’s face, it’s actually just spelling out trouble for her.

“You’re not going to elaborate on why it’s all so interesting, are you?” she asks with a sigh, deflating in defeat.

He shakes his head, a smile still on his lips. “Not a chance – not here, at least. Perhaps it’s a better conversation to have at camp.”

Her eyes dart up to Astarion first, against better judgment considering he still looks to be fairly irritated, and then to Shadowheart. Eventually, though, her line of sight wanders to that gate covered in vines. Normal vines, not magical.

Whatever that gate was protecting, she’d bet all two gold pieces in her pack that it was a civilization. That there was a healer.

Her problems could wait.

“Fine,” she says, digging the heels of her palms into the ground and beginning to stand. She doesn’t miss the way Astarion flinches, hands twitching as if readied to catch her despite his angry facade. “Keep your secrets, o’ wise old wizard. For now, I think we have a healer to find.”

Gale frowns, but over his shoulder, she can see Astarion lose the fight against his amusement in her words.

At least he still finds her funny, even after she nearly ‘got them all killed’, as he had so eloquently put it.

—

Emerald Grove.

It’s an interesting place, to say the least.

When they approach the gate (after carefully descending down the hill, during which Astarion’s hands continued to stay near Aruna in case of any more fainting episodes), the tiefling manning the wheel above opens it without question for them. They fall into a formation eerily similar to the one they’d approached the fight in – Shadowheart and Gale bringing up the rear, and Astarion sticking to Aruna’s side. He keeps a little distance, but hardly much.

She’s sort of glad that it’s him, of all the companions, that’s choosing to be her shadow. As they walk through the short tunnel to properly enter the grove, he’s the only one to breathlessly laugh as she jokes, “Think we’re about to get a hero’s welcome?”

She likes his laugh. Painful to admit, but she can’t deny that her heart swells with a specific type of pride when she hears it fall from his lips, even in a whisper.

Besides, it’s far more encouraging than Gale’s, “I sincerely hope you know what you’re doing.”

She doesn’t respond to that comment. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.

One of the tieflings she’d caught sight of fighting during the battle stands just uphill of the entrance, face to face with one of the humans. An obvious new fight is taking place.

She can feel Gale falter in his steps behind her as she approaches, even Shadowheart slowing in her faithful following. The only person who sticks by her side is Astarion. Probably just eager to see if they can make it worse, really.

“There are children here, you fool!”

The tiefling is furious. And it almost frightens Aruna for a second, until she feels that reassuring presence of the elf that had just saved her life at her back. If things go south, she’s sure Astarion will be the first to draw his weapon. Whether it’s for her safety or not, she’s quickly learning that it might benefit her to have a dagger-happy friend on her side.

“We was running, for our lives.”

The human is red in his face, voice breathless, still clearly recovering from the fight outside the gate. If Aruna was wise, she’d hang back and not interrupt this argument.

Wisdom isn’t her forte, she guesses.

“You led them straight to us. And you let them take the druid, too. Unbelievable!”

Druid? Had the goblins taken any hostages? By the looks of the bloodbath outside, it hadn’t seemed like there were any survivors to take a hostage.

Astarion closes the space between them even further as she steps up to the plate. She could ask about the druid, point out her astute observation, but her quick tongue works faster than her mind does.

“One fight just ended, and the two of you are already picking another one?” she questions, eyeing both of them in disbelief, “Relax.”

Astarion snorts at that. Ever so helpful.

“Tell that to the dead at the gate,” the tiefling snarks back in a low tone, his glare hardening further on the human before him.

“Shut it, horns. I’d be lying dead at the gate next to the goblins if you’d stalled any longer.”

And- well, the human has a point. Aruna has no idea what dynamic is at play here, but the human would have been dead if everyone inside the safety of the gate that had chosen to aid them had put off intervening any sooner.

She’d also be dead, possibly. Astarion as well. The thought alone sends a shiver of fright up her spine.

“My duty is to this camp,” the tiefling anger grows to palpable levels, enough that Aruna is carefully taking the slightest step back.

Unfortunate for her, her shadow seems to be getting more comfortable with impossible closeness. It’s a small step that would’ve gone entirely unnoticed, but her foot finds purchase on top of his as her back brushes in near collision with his chest. She’s quick to glance over his shoulder, expecting some sort of reaction, but he’s still as stone. If her stepping on his foot has caused him even the slightest bit of pain, she can’t see it as his focus remains entirely on the fight in front of them. She even glances down to see that his palm is already hovering over the hilt of one of his daggers.

Yes, indeed. Having a dagger-happy friend on her side was going to be very beneficial.

“God forbid you risk your precious tail,” the human sneers, and Gods, she notices all the jabs he’s making endlessly at the other’s race. Low blow after low blow, she’s starting to wonder if these two men even have any sort of alliance to begin with, “But I shouldn’t be surprised. Foulbloods ain’t known for courage.”

She has no memory nor reason to feel defensive over tieflings. She’s unaware of the deeper history at play. But as far as she knows, tieflings are nothing more than another race in this world that she’s being forced to relearn. Horns and tails, sure, but foulblood?

It’s as if Astarion can feel her defensiveness beginning to boil beneath the surface.

It’s certainly a tempting idea. Part of her wonders how it would feel to crack her knuckles against the face of the human, to wipe the indignation right off his face. But he has a point. And so does the tiefling. She can’t just pick a side – she can’t just choose given what she knows of the situation.

Aruna is well aware that Astarion’s insistence for her to not get involved is probably to avoid him having to carry any extra load, to have to come to her rescue if her punch doesn’t land. He couldn’t care less about the entire ordeal. It’s not his problem unless Aruna makes it his problem.

If she doesn’t swing, however, she knows one of the men before her will. She can see it easily in their faces. Both twitching with anger, both buzzing with hatred. She needs to diffuse the situation, and quickly.

In her most persuasive tone she can muster, she interjects, much to Astarion’s disapproval, “More violence won’t bring back those you lost. Stop and think.”

She ends the plea in a bit more desperation than she means to, but only because her mind has begun to run a mile a minute in considering what a fight breaking out between the two might mean.

More danger. More fighting. More possible situations in which she’s supposed to save Astarion.

“You’re right,” the tiefling’s eyes flicker to her as he sighs, and she’s realized that her words have worked, “There’s too much at stake.”

“Worried about your precious hides. The both of you.”

Her words have worked on the tiefling. Not the human, clearly.

She braces herself as the fight begins to feel just a little too inevitable, and out of reassurance to herself, she decides to glance back down at Astarion’s hand by his dagger. It’s no longer just hovering – he’s fully made contact, fingers curling eagerly around the leather grip. He’s tense as ever, but not with the same anxiety that Aruna is. His tenseness is simply readiness. It dawns on her momentarily that whoever wrote that note to her, whoever tasked her with saving him, is an absolute idiot. It’s becoming abundantly clear with every moment they spend together that Astarion is the one more equipped to save her than she is him.

She’s so caught up in the thought that she misses the resolution of the argument, some exchange of words that unexpectedly lead to both men walking away. And embarrassingly, she only notices when Astarion’s fingers release his dagger, flexing for a second, before wiggling as if taunting her.

“See something you like?” he practically purrs, suddenly too close for comfort.

She jumps, stepping forward into the new empty clearing before them and giving herself a little space to simply breathe. Shadowheart looks entirely unimpressed when Aruna looks to their companions for help, and Gale only shrugs.

She spins to face Astarion head on now, trying to even her breathing, “Never. Someone just has to make sure you don’t go on a stabbing spree for your own entertainment.”

“Oh, mother may I?” he taunts, stepping forward and making her effort of space entirely useless. He’s fast to unsheath a dagger, twirling it in his hand, blade flashing in the sunlight. She knows he’s not going to do anything with it, though. Not when his face melts into something a little more serious, a little more genuine, “You do realize we’ll never find a cure to our little…. problems if you try to involve yourself in every fight we come across?”

Yes. “It might do us well to have a few favors to call in. Just in case.”��

“I highly doubt either of those men would offer us a favor for your interjection.”

“Guess we’ll just have to find out, won’t we?”

The tiefling is hanging back, not far off from there, and she senses he’s only staying back for the time being due to the way Astarion still holds his blade, carelessly letting it wave around during their conversation. And she’s starting to sense it’s purposeful on Astarion’s part.

He presses his lips together tightly as he looks down at her, garnet eyes flashing momentarily before he simply gives in. He’s picking his battles to win the war. “I suppose we will. And I do suppose you’re wanting to talk to that tiefling now, aren’t you?”

She answers wordlessly with a smile as he sheaths his dagger. He’s learning quickly.

#my writing #ghost's stories #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #astarion bg3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion fanfic #astarion x original female character #aruna can't decide if she wants to save astarion from danger or put him 6 feet under #they both actually have a buff in getting on each other's nerves #her: can you behave?#him: no! thanks for asking :D #also i haven't been using tag list for this because i assume most people follow me for eddie #i might add an astarion tag list if people are interested??? idk?#y'all tell me lol #blood of lathander quest is gonna go hard between these two #the moon will sing

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