#and karlach (somewhere in act 1)

[helpimstuckinafandom]

I....... I finished bg3.......

[kamuro-junrenka]

Man ive been playing baldurs gate like crazy lately because i wanted to romance astarion so bad you dont understand but i finished his whole questline and nothing happened..... im bitchless even in videogames this is embarrassing

[thedomesticanthropologist]

I went through the tags and replies on my post about wanting Larian to focus on finishing the game and adding content before making DLC

(paraphrasing) and here are the Top Requests from those who engaged with it:

What fans want:

Tara in camp outside of just Gales Origin playthrough

More Wyll content (he has the least out of all companions)

More Karlach content/more satisfying ending (perhaps being more companions with you to Avernus, or find a way to fix the engine so it works in Faerun, there is unfinished hints that this is possible in game?? Unconfirmed)

Re-vamp (haha) Astarions' Spawn Ending- let the player chase after him/help him

Conclude things (certain stuff consistent through act 1 and 2 that ends nowhere, be it quests? or hints from letters found, NPC interactions that seemed to be leading somewhere,etc)

Fix bugs especially act 3

Option to hug companions, hug romanced companion

Other suggestions that are popular on tumblr/tiktok and COULD be DLC

Companion camp outfits that change when the Act changes (have also heard of simple hair changes, their tents gaining times from the adventure so far

A tent for Tav (perhaps being able to pick from a few styles)

Opening up the upper city or adding in a new area to explore that is not main plot related (there are various ideas around this, but I'm keeping it generic for the list)

Please add more in the replies and I will re-make this list when it's more expanded!

[nerdallwritey]

Worth the Peril

Summary: In another life, Astarion would have made a decent barbarian. Despite Karlach’s cheerful demeanor, for the most part, barbarians were known to be violent, brutal, and cruel. All things that Astarion could easily tap into if the situation called for it. And right now, he was entering a rage. OR Upon arriving in the Underdark, you go down in a battle, leaving Astarion to pick up the pieces.

Pairing: Astarion x f!reader Rating: 18+ (no smut) Word count: 15.1k CW: reader gets hurt - violence, severe injury, blood, descriptions of wound, depictions of pain, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, protective Astarion, blind with rage Astarion, soft Astarion, reader is an idiot (and a bard), so is Astarion (not a bard, just an idiot), everyone else sees what Astarion can't Spoilers: Minor spoilers for Act 1 (in-game dialogue, plot points, etc.) Also posted to: AO3 FAIR WARNING: This is PART 5 in my series, "Beauty and the Bard." Find the masterlist here.

a/n: SHE'S HERE!! I am SO excited to be finally be posting the newest chapter of Beauty and the Bard! Thank you so much for your patience as I was sorting this one out. I've always been a huge fan of the hurt/comfort trope and the "Person A gets hurt and Person B loses it" trope, so this is my take on both of those tropes in one! Did I fudge the numbers of the Duergar fight in the Underdark from Act One? Yes. Did I fudge the numbers in terms of injury severity and what's actually possible through magical healing? Also yes! But in a world where a skeleton will bring you back from the dead for $200, OR, simply sleeping a full eight hours will heal you completely, I think I was able to make it make sense. Hopefully. Apologies to anyone working in the medical field who knows I'm a sham. But this is a series about smooching a vampire, so we gotta suspend our disbelief somewhere! There's no smut in this chapter, and for that, I apologize, but it'll make sense why it doesn't. If it helps, my beta says that this is her favorite chapter to date! Woo! Please enjoy. (Thank you to my beta @kermitwazowski for reading! - Also! She just got married! And a tiktok from it went viral! We love her, she's the best.) As a reminder, last time, you and Astarion had a little romp in the river while watching the sunrise.

Taglist: Moved to the comment section, since tumblr hates sharing fun with friends - please let me know if you'd like to be added to the list!

Barring a few dirty looks from Shadowheart and Lae’zel, your return to camp with Astarion - both of you now vaguely damp - was largely ignored in favor of packing up camp in preparation for venturing into the Underdark. So long as you were both there to help with the pack up efforts, it didn’t really matter where the two of you had spent your morning. 

Astarion squeezed your hand fondly before sauntering over to his tent to loiter and drag his feet until the camp was mostly all packed away. You knew his game; look busy without actually lifting a finger until it was absolutely necessary. You rolled your eyes before bending to gather and organize the loot in your tent. He was so annoying.

Gods, you hated him.

And you loved him.

Why, of all people, did you have to fall in love with the emotionally stunted, incredibly dramatic, freak weirdo vampire? Wyll was perfectly nice! Shadowheart had a good head on her shoulders! And yet…

Your eyes flicked over to his tent momentarily. 

He wasn’t even trying. He was fully looking at his nails. He looked up briefly and met your eye. He smirked before moving his hand to wave at you delicately with his fingertips. 

“Pack,” you called to him from across camp.

“What?” He cupped a hand to his ear as if he couldn’t hear you from the relatively short distance away. “You’ll have to speak up, darling! Or, better yet-”

He left his tent and made his way over to yours.

“Oooh, no,” you scolded and pointed towards his tent. “Get back over there and pack, you jackass.”

“Ouch, love,” Astarion squatted beside you. He looked around your tent at the trinkets you’d accumulated and picked one up, rotating it in his hands. A tiny statue of a mermaid, her face sculpted in midsong. “Heavy little bugger,” he said, testing its weight in his hands.

“It’s made of iron, I think,” you said. 

“And you’re going to make us lug it into the Underdark? Rather selfish of you, don’t you think?”

You snatched the figure out of his hands. “Can I help you with something, Astarion?”

He spread out his legs and leaned back against a chest you kept close-by. “Not particularly.” He rested his arms behind his head, very clearly trying to flex his arms to keep your attention on him.

You laughed and pushed him, making him fall sideways. “Stop trying to distract me and go pack your own stuff up. I will not help you when you’re inevitably scrambling later.”

“Yes, you will,” he said, using your shoulder to help himself stand up. He squeezed it once before heading back in the direction of his tent. 

“No, I won’t!” you called after him, but he turned and cupped his hand to his ear again, pretending he couldn’t hear you. You groaned loudly and continued packing. 

“Hate to say it, Soldier,” said Karlach, whose tent was set up between yours and Astarion’s, “but you probably will help him.”

You sighed heavily. “I know.”

~~~~~

It hadn’t been as bad as you thought.

You’d had the foresight to keep your belongings relatively close together, making use of the traveler’s chest you all shared. Once you’d gathered all your possessions and dismantled your tent, you placed everything you couldn’t carry on your person into the chest. Karlach had helped Halsin lift the trunk, full to the brim with everyone’s overflow, into an ox wagon that you all planned on taking with you to the ruined goblin camp and down into the Underdark below. Even Astarion had managed to gather most of his things before inevitably earning your help with a bat of his eyes.

It had taken maybe two hours total, but looking around the area that you had called home for the last few weeks, it was as if your party had never been there to begin with. It was a little sad to be leaving, but you were pleased with the progress you all had made and were ready to keep moving forward in order to get these damn worms out of your skulls.

The trek into the Underdark, meanwhile, was long and frustrating; Gale had to cast Feather Fall on half of your team, the ox cart, and Scratch and the Owlbear cub, while the other half of you used the deceptively long ladder down into the abandoned Selunite outpost below - much to Shadowheart’s dismay. 

Much to Astarion’s dismay, you’d actually stumbled upon a colony of Miconids after bumbling through a battle with a pair of minotaurs and looking for a place to rest. It was there that you spoke with the head of their colony, Sovereign Spaw, about eliminating a clan of Duergar dwarves threatening their population.

Which was how you now found yourself smugly walking beside Astarion as Gale and Shadowheart led the way towards the supposed Duergar hideout. The rest of your party had (begrudgingly, in the case of Lae’zel) agreed to help Halsin set up camp close to the Miconids and their beautiful glowing mushrooms, and had stayed behind.

“You must wipe that stupid expression off your face, darling,” Astarion rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Otherwise you might get stuck like that.”

“I told you they were real.” You waggled your eyebrows in victory.

“And their music was far less irritating than yours,” he teased. “So I suppose that was nice.”

“Bastard,” you muttered. “I’d love to play something with them when we get back.”

“You would.”

“Ass hat.”

“Loud mouth.”

“Would you two shut it?” Gale turned and quietly shouted. “We’re swiftly approaching the Duergar clan, according to Sovereign Spaw’s directions.”

“I still think we should have rested for the evening,” Astarion complained. “A specimen such as myself requires copious amounts of beauty sleep.”

You withheld a yawn, willing the vampire not to see it. You were still tired from your lack of sleep this morning, and your romp in the river. Not to mention the hike to get down here, and the minotaurs you’d already faced. You were able to get a short rest in at the colony, but you were definitely feeling it, and you didn’t want to worry your teammates. Plus you knew Astarion would never let you hear the end of it, given his protests about it earlier today.

“Enough, Astarion,” Shadowheart groaned. “You heard Spaw; the Duergar are a looming threat to their colony. We couldn’t risk a possible ambush in the night. Especially with all the refugees seeking shelter there.”

Astarion sighed. “And, I suppose I must admit, I like the sovereign’s approach. A little genocidal, but effective.”

“Yes, great, you’ll get your fill of blood, now would you hush!” Gale halted, causing the rest of you to stop, too. “Something’s wrong.”

You surveyed your surroundings. Wooden structures stood decaying all around, from bridges, to long forgotten buildings, and nets once used for ladders. It had probably been home to a village of people at one time.

“Looks abandoned,” you supplied.

Off in the distance you could make out a lake through some fog. Boats rocked gently against a worn looking dock, illuminated by purple crystals that populated the area. That must be the lake that Spaw had described. But wait… were those-? Lit torches?

You were about to take a step forward to investigate further, but Astarion held out an arm to block you. 

“I smell a trap,” he warned.

Suddenly an arrow shot past your ear and landed in a wooden post behind you.

“That’s quite a sense of smell you have,” Gale quipped, prepping a spell in his hands. “Think you could sniff out where that arrow came from?”

Your eyes frantically searched the area but couldn’t make anything out. 

“Duck!” Shadowheart shouted, as a flaming arrow seemed to appear out of thin air and hurdle towards your party. 

You hit the deck, lifting your head ever so slightly in the direction where the arrow came flying from. A figure appeared out of nowhere as you watched, taking a step to the side to hide behind a wall. That explained it.

“Our attackers are using an Invisibility spell,” you said quietly. “If we can get them to attack us, we can break the spell and see them clearly before they have the chance to cast it again.”

“Sounds fairly dangerous,” Gale muttered, holding a hand to his chin in thought.

“Do you have any better ideas?” Shadowheart whispered, pulling her shield and morning star off of her back. 

“Not really,” Gale said after thinking for a moment. 

Astarion, meanwhile, had already unsheathed his daggers. “Let’s spill some blood.” A wicked grin graced his features. 

“Let’s think about this for a second,” you said, holding out an arm to block him from getting up and feeling him deflate. You peered around the large rock that you and your companions had ducked behind. Platforms were littered throughout the decrepit village, perfect for you all to spread out. Quietly, you removed your lute and your backpack. 

“Now’s not really the time to serenade us with a sappy love song, dearest,” Astarion said, his eyes on your loose lute that he’d recently gifted you. 

“Shut up, and take this,” you said, handing him a scroll of Misty Step that you pulled out of your bag. You handed one to Shadowheart as well. “Gale, how are you doing on magic?”

Gale flexed his hands, the purple of the Weave sparking at his fingertips. “Good enough to take out a few dwarves, I’d say. But I have my crossbow if necessary.”

You nodded and turned to Shadowheart. “You?”

She nodded back at you. “I should have enough for some healing if anyone needs it, but I’ll stick to cantrips if I can.”

You nodded again, thinking deeply. “Okay, our magic is running kind of low, so we have to be smart about this.”

Astarion cleared his throat. “Aren’t you going to ask me about my magic, darling?”

Shadowheart laughed humorlessly. “Oh, please. As if you won’t rely entirely on those knives of yours.”

He scoffed. “I’ll have you know, I’m also very skilled with a bow.”

You sighed. “I’m sorry we couldn’t rest more before we had to do this.”

“The life of a hero is not an easy one,” Gale pointed out. “One cannot always put their feet up by the hearth when lives are at stake.”

“Speak for yourself,” Astarion rolled his eyes. 

“What’s the plan?” Shadowheart asked you. “We might want to hurry, given they know our location and we don’t know theirs.”

“I was thinking we all cast Misty Step,” you turned back around to look over the boulder and pointed to the various empty structures, “and land on those platforms.”

“Ah, the high ground! Very logical,” Gale nodded in approval.

“But do we want to be out in the open? They’ll shoot at us and we won’t have any cover.” Shadowheart raised a good point.

“I’ll cause a distraction,” you said, “no worries.”

Astarion clicked his tongue. “I hate the sound of that.”

“What do you mean?! I’m great at distractions!”

Rather than responding, Astarion hummed skeptically. Then he leaned forward to kiss you sweetly. “I’m going to go kill some dwarves now.” With that, he unfurled the scroll, recited “inveniam viam,” and you watched as he disappeared and reappeared on a platform hidden in darkness. You lost sight of him as he vanished into the shadows and turned back to face Gale and Shadowheart.

“Be smart with your magic, and be safe.” Both of them nodded wordlessly at you and prepared to cast Misty Step. You picked up your lute and stood up straight. “See you on the other side,” you winked and started descending down a hill towards your hidden enemies. 

Strumming a quiet tune, you created a Minor Illusion around yourself to look like a traveling musician, rather than an armored spellcaster. You slung your lute back around onto your back. 

“Sorry!” you called, holding your hands up above your head as if in surrender. You spotted an armored dwarf on a wooden walkway up ahead, currently visible, and walked towards him. “So sorry!”

“What?” The dwarf looked surprised by your unarmed approach. “Gehk! Got someone sneaking up on us!”

“No!” you assured. “My band mates and I,” you pointed your thumb over your shoulder towards the area where you’d been spotted with your companions, “we got a little turned around. See, we thought there might be a secluded place down here to practice for our upcoming gig, and well, we didn’t know you were already here, and-”

“Too loud, sun-scum,” came a voice from above you. You looked up to see another Duergar on a platform overhead. He wore an amulet of the Absolute and had a large battle axe strapped to his back. “Could hear you and your mates stumbling. Can hear you blinking.” 

“That seems unlikely,” you muttered. Your eyes wandered around, pretending to look for more dwarves in the area, but really checking to make sure your companions were in position. 

“Noise gets you eaten down here,” the dwarf with the amulet went on. “Reckon I’ll hush you before something hungry comes along.” 

“You’d hurt an unarmed musician?” You held your hands up higher.

The dwarf above you barked out a laugh. “Nice try, bard.” He spat the word. “Saw you lot from a mile away. Your little disguise is pitiful.”

Something seemed off. You felt a chill run down your spine as something brushed against you. The illusion of your plain clothes fell away, revealing your armor. You had a feeling your invisible foes had you surrounded. 

“Now,” said the dwarf, “where are your little friends hiding?”

You laughed. “I was just going to ask! Why would you all surround me when my little friends are over there?” You nodded your head towards one of the platforms.

The dwarf’s eyes widened as he spotted Shadowheart, whose hands were poised with a Firebolt spell. “They’re up there!” Before the dwarf could point, an arrow pierced through his shoulder from behind, knocking him forward off the platform. You sidestepped his falling body and made eye contact with Astarion who smirked down at you. 

“Attack!” The first dwarf you spoke to shouted, and all hell broke loose. 

Light surrounded you as Shadowheart cast Bless, and you were able to out-maneuver the dwarf who’d yelled as the light momentarily blinded him. Arrows flew towards Astarion, who’d been the first to shoot, and with those arrows, multiple dwarves’ Invisibility spells broke. Astarion was able to easily dodge and avoid the onslaught of attacks, thanks to the advantage of being on higher ground. You grabbed your lute and cast Shatter, causing the dwarves around you to fly backwards in a wave of thunder. Gale launched fiery arrows at your foes, and Shadowheart summoned a Spiritual Weapon to fight for you all on the ground below.

“You’re here because of those rotflowers, aren’t you?” The dwarf with the Absolute pendant got to his feet and pulled the arrow out of his shoulder. “You reek of justice and good deeds.”

“Funny,” you said, using the pommel of your rapier to push a now visible dwarf off the platform you were on, “and I just took a bath this morning.”

“Would you classify that as a bath?” Astarion called down to you, mischief in his eyes.

You smiled, but could already feel yourself starting to lose steam, even though the battle had just started. Still, you pressed on and cast another Shatter, scattering your enemies further and buying you some time to catch your breath. “And what would you classify it as?”

“I can think of many things, but we’re in such polite company, I shan’t say.” He shot a flaming arrow down onto the beach and hit multiple dwarves at once in the explosion. 

“I don’t like whatever’s happening here,” the dwarf with the Absolute amulet said. “But I’ll make you pay for siding with those mushroom abominations.” The dwarf raised his hands and uttered a spell you didn't recognize, but a cacophony of noise from below caught your attention. The lapse in focus cost you, as one of the dwarves you’d been fending off pushed you off the platform.

You heard your companions yell your name as you landed hard in the sand below. It took you a second to regain your bearings before you realized what the sound had been. Fallen Duergar were now rising, life not returning to their eyes, but risen all the same.

Animate Dead. 

You’d heard of this spell; had seen it in action with Mayrina’s husband, Connor. But you had yet to see it used in battle. 

Now you were surrounded by undead dwarves, hell bent on tearing you apart. 

“Hi,” was all you could manage through the spinning of your head. You blinked a few times before blocking the heavy strike of an axe with your slim rapier. When it was clear that the axe was going to prevail, you rolled out of the way and the axe connected with the sand that had been beneath your head. 

“Are you alright?” Shadowheart called after hitting you with a Healing Word. 

You squared your shoulders and entered into a fighting stance. “Better now, thanks!” While it was true, you were still exhausted and could feel your magic actively getting weaker. You’d have to remind yourself to get a sturdier sword after this battle. You heard a clang as Shadowheart’s Spiritual Weapon was destroyed by a few zombies that now turned their attention on you.

“Hardly the place, darling,” Astarion called, downing one of the zombies in front of you with an arrow of ice. “Dying down here? Embarrassing.”

“Stop talking and help her kill the bloody things!” Gale yelled, still slinging spells and arrows at the dwarves from up on the platforms. 

The undead kept rushing at you, and you were able to keep them at bay with brandishes of your rapier and weaker casts of Thunderwave, but it was getting harder and harder to fight back. Meanwhile, living dwarves had made it to the other platforms and started climbing up to your companions. Astarion’s help began to dwindle as his attention was split between you and the dwarves he had to face head on with his daggers. You could hear less and less of Gale’s magic as he opted fully for his crossbow, especially now with dwarves attempting to climb up to him. Shadowheart was facing the same obstacles, instead swinging her morningstar and shoving her shield to throw dwarves from the platform. 

“Guys,” you said, not as loudly as you would have hoped. There was too much going on. Even if you did manage to raise your voice, it would be hard to hear you over the sounds of fire arrows and spells. 

“Guys,” you tried again but to no avail. You cast a small Cure Wounds on yourself, but instantly regretted it. You could have saved that spell for an offensive attack, and now you felt yourself completely depleted of magic, despite trying your best to use it sparingly. Which was difficult when you were surrounded by enemies and your companions were occupied with their own battles. You were just one person. This was too much.

The undead dwarves still standing were backing you up against a cluster of boulders in the center of the beach. 

This was okay. You were fine! You’d been in tough spots before and you and your team had always come out on top. You could do this. Undead dwarves? Pah! What kind of lethal damage could someone with dead muscle inflict, right? Sure, Astarion was undead and he was a vicious killer, but that was Astarion, and these dwarves had just been resurrected. They were just getting their sea legs! Life…. legs? It didn’t matter. They probably couldn’t even think for themselves. You could handle this.

With a boost of confidence from your mental pep talk, you surged forward, away from the center of the beach, and stabbed a zombie through the chest. The visceral sound of metal entering flesh was loud and oddly satisfying.

“Ah ha!” you shouted as the zombie slumped to the ground. 

But the stab had been louder than your slim blade should have been able to muster. You pulled the blade out of the slumped zombie to inspect, but upon looking down, you saw silver glinting with red through your midsection. 

Another zombie had come up behind you and cleaved you with his axe. The head of it peaked out through your stomach.

You heard your name roared from somewhere up above.

The metallic taste of your own blood rushed into your mouth as your vision started to blur. You fell to your knees.

“Guys,” you said one more time.

Then everything went black.

~~~~~

In another life, Astarion would have made a decent barbarian. 

Despite Karlach’s cheerful demeanor, for the most part, barbarians were known to be violent, brutal, and cruel. All things that Astarion could easily tap into if the situation called for it.

And right now, he was entering a rage.

Red. 

That was all he saw. 

Red, and the corpses of the dwarves who dared cross his path on his way down to you.

He hadn’t witnessed it.

Had been too caught up in his own hacking and slashing to see the moment when the axe had made its way through your torso. But he had smelled it. Instantly, he had recognized the sweet notes of your blood entering the air. That’s when he’d looked down and saw the state of you. He’d screamed your name, far louder than any of the magic and explosions that were still triggering in the fight. 

Shadowheart and Gale’s heads snapped down to look at you, terror in their eyes. And yet they still had to fight. The zombies surrounding your unconscious form began to move away from you and up towards them instead. 

Astarion downed dwarves left and right, going overboard in his violence on the warpath to get you into his arms. 

“Shadowheart!” he yelled, as if she wasn’t already aware of the situation.

“I know!” she shouted back. “I can try a Healing Word but my magic’s nearly spent!”

“Do it! NOW!” Astarion bellowed as he sliced through the abdomen of a dwarf preparing to fire a spell. He heard a chant of “te curo,” followed by the aqua magic that usually came with a healing spell, but you remained motionless in the sand. 

“The wound is too deep and my magic isn’t strong enough!” Shadowheart slung her morning star into the head of a Duergar that had successfully climbed up to her platform. 

Gale looked over to Shadowheart and the two shared a brief, silent conversation before Gale nodded and Misty Stepped down to you.

“Don’t you touch her, wizard!” Astarion yelled as he fought his way through what once must have been a house of some kind. “Unless you can bring her back up!” His daggers stabbed through the Duergar with the Absolute amulet; the one who’d raised those dead in the first place. Astarion made sure his death was extra painful with each twist of his knives.

“Be reasonable, Astarion!” Gale yelled back and shot an arrow at one of the zombies still slinking across the beach. He bent and attempted to get you to swallow some healing potion. You’d already lost a lot of blood.

“She’s DYING!” Astarion bellowed before jumping down, out of the house, and down onto the beach. He made a sound of pain as he landed, but stumbled as quickly as he could over to you on his hands and knees. 

Before he reached you, however, he spotted an unarmed zombie halfway up a ladder. That must have been the vile creature whose blade was still lodged in you. He made a beeline for the abomination and pulled it down with enough force to rip the rope that made up the ladder it was climbing. His blades were entering the zombie repeatedly before he even realized he’d pinned it to the ground. It stopped moving fairly soon after its first stab wound, but Astarion wouldn’t let up.

“It’s dead, Astarion!” Gale said, trying to bring him back to reality. “Truly dead!”

Astarion finally stopped and breathed heavily. He abandoned the corpse and made his way over to you, sinking to his knees.

“You’re okay,” he cooed. “Help is here.” He gently pulled you into his lap, careful not to touch the axe head. “I’ve got you.”

“She’s still alive,” Gale confirmed. “I gave her some healing potion and checked her pulse.”

Astarion wasn’t listening. He rocked back and forth, wiping matted hair out of your face. “Darling,” he said quietly, “you’re too pretty to die. And look at all the precious blood you’ve wasted.” You shifted a little and he paused. 

Your eyes opened briefly. When you realized it was Astarion looking down at you, you smiled. 

“Hi,” you said weakly.

Astarion laughed, but it was a choked, mangled thing. “Hello, my love.”

“That hurt,” you said, smiling blearily until your eyes closed again. He brought his forehead lightly to yours.

Gale touched his shoulder. “Take her to Halsin. He’ll be able to help more than any of us at the moment.”

Astarion wanted to argue, but knew that Gale was probably right. Annoying bastard. 

“Help me, would you?” He made to stand up and Gale moved to help guide you gently into Astrion’s arms as he stood. The axe rested uncomfortably between the two of you, but Astarion knew better than to try and pull it out without the proper healing implements nearby to stop the bleeding. 

“We’ll be fine here,” Gale said, shooting another arrow at a dwarf on his way to Shadowheart. “You cleared most of the sorry mongrels just now, anyway.”

“I don’t recall asking,” Astarion snapped, readjusting how he was holding you. 

“Only trying to help,” Gale said sharply. “None of us want to see her suffer.”

Astarion sighed. “I know,” he admitted.

Gale placed a hand on his shoulder again. “Proprae,” he said, and warm magic surrounded Astarion. “Longstrider,” Gale explained. “It’ll get you to Halsin faster. Now go.”

Astarion nodded and took off back towards the Myconid colony.

“You just had to play hero, didn’t you?” He didn’t look down at you as he sidestepped purple crystals and wayward wooden planks. “Couldn’t stay back for once and let someone else handle it.”

You coughed a little and peered up at him. “I do it for the glory,” you wheezed with a joking smile.

Astarion’s eyes flicked to you for a second. “There are better ways to get attention, darling.” He smiled despite himself. “Now stop talking, please. Save that strength.”

Rather than argue further, you closed your eyes again and nuzzled your face into his neck. You were so tired. And cold. Numbness had overtaken your body except for a dull ache in your midsection. You didn’t even realize when you slipped away again.

Astarion felt you go slightly more limp and swore, dodging exploding mushrooms and trying to remember the way back to the Myconids. 

“Don’t you dare leave me,” he growled. “Not now. Not you.” He refused to shed a tear. You’d be okay, and then he’d have words with you about your pesky bleeding heart. 

Speaking of bleeding, he didn’t like how easily he could smell your blood. Usually he’d be thrilled to be surrounded by such an intoxicating aroma, but right now it was making him sick to his stomach. 

“Do you know how selfish you are?” he asked, knowing you wouldn’t respond. “Wasting all this blood. Some of us need a proper meal.”

He hated your silence. Hated that you weren’t strong enough to tell him he could feed from you if he wanted because of course you would. Or maybe you’d come up with some sort of jab about him being selfish for thinking about food at a time like this. He missed your voice.

“How dare you scare me like this, you stubborn clod.” 

In the distance, he saw the glowing mushrooms of the colony. He ducked his head and willed himself to run even faster. 

“Where are they?!” Astarion shouted to a mushroom sentry at the entrance. The Myconid remained stoic, but flashed a somber song through Astarion’s mind. “Not helpful!” he shouted as he ran up the steps.

There! That halfling woman who’d asked you all to find her bumbling husband.

“You!” he yelled, his eyes wild. “The group I was traveling with! Where did they go?!”

The halfling woman fumbled for words, shocked at the bloody sight of you before her.

“Tell me!” he exclaimed.

“I believe they found a clearing not far off. The druid came by earlier to swap herbs.”

Astarion didn’t respond before booking it again, the Myconids singing a mournful ballad to him as he passed them. 

“HALSIN!” he screamed when he left through the other entrance of the colony. “WYLL! KARLACH! LAE’ZEL! YOU BLASTED WHELPS, WHERE ARE YOU?!” He kept running, following along a path of glowing mushrooms.

“Astarion?” It was Wyll.

“WHERE ARE YOU?!” Astarion repeated, recalibrating to run towards the sound of his voice.

“OVER HERE!” Karlach shouted, and Astarion saw Scratch appear from around a corner a short distance away, followed closely by Karlach. Wyll and Lae’zel caught up behind them.

“Dear gods,” Wyll murmured before running into camp and creating a space for you. 

“I’ll get Halsin!” Karlach turned and ran.

“Kaincha,” Lae’zel breathed as Astarion passed her.

“Lay her here,” Wyll said, having prepped a bedroll next to the fire.

“Like hells is she going on the bloody ground,” Astarion hissed, looking around for something more comfortable. “Grab my pillows,” he nodded from Wyll to the ox cart. 

Wyll nodded and ran to the cart before coming back and beginning to fashion a makeshift mattress. 

Lae’zel looked around for Gale and Shadowheart. “Where are the others?”

“Damned Duergars. They’re in a rotting village by the lake southwest of here.”

“I shall avenge our fallen,” she nodded before running to her tent, grabbing her greatsword and taking off in the direction Astarion had come in from. 

“She’s not dead yet,” Astarion muttered as Halsin and Karlach entered the space frantically. “There you are!” He addressed Halsin icily. He had yet to put you down. 

Halsin ignored Astarion in favor of approaching you and assessing the damage. He held multiple bowls and jars of unknown substances, and his face gave nothing away. “Bring her this way,” he said, motioning for Astarion to follow him. Halsin led him to a giant mushroom cap. “Lay her down here.” He set down the materials he was holding nearby.

“On a damn mushroom? You must be joking.” Astarion held you tighter.

“Astarion,” Halsin said gently, “I’m going to help her. You have to trust me.”

Astarion narrowed his eyes and reassessed the mushroom. It did look soft, and big enough for your whole body to spread out on. He looked at Halsin again who remained calm and collected. Astarion nodded.

Halsin nodded back and helped him untangle you from his arms. “We’re going to lay her on her side,” he instructed, and Astarion did his best to roll you gently onto the mushroom cap. 

“How can we help?” Wyll asked, making Astarion jump. He’d forgotten about anyone outside of his current line of sight. 

“Fetch my pack, if you would, Wyll,” Halsin said. 

Wyll nodded and ran towards Halsin’s tent on the other side of camp. 

“And me?” Karlach asked. 

“Can you heat up some water?”

“You got it,” she said before rushing to grab a bucket.

Halsin held out his hand, golden magic emitting from his palm. He closed his eyes and hovered his hand up and down your body.

“Well?” Astarion asked impatiently. 

Halsin opened his eyes and Astarion caught a flash of panic in them.

No.

“We need to get this axe out as soon as possible,” Halsin explained. “She’s going to lose more blood, but you were right to leave it in on the battlefield.”

It was then that Wyll came back, lugging Halsin’s backpack, along with other supplies he deemed might be useful.

“So get it out and heal her!” Astarion exclaimed.

“I’ll do my best, Astarion, but you’ll have to be patient.” 

“Where’s Withers?” Astarion looked around but caught no glimpse of the skeleton.

“He said he’d find us once we’re settled,” Wyll reminded him kindly. 

“If we lose her and he can’t bring her back, I’m ending him.” Astarion knew how unlikely it was that he’d be able to kill someone who brought people back from the dead for a living (why Withers needed a living in the first place was still a mystery), but he needed someone to threaten. He was terrified. 

“Astarion,” Halsin said, “I’ll need you to help me remove her clothes. Wyll, can you prepare some bandages?”

Wyll nodded and began to gather materials from Halsin’s bag. 

Astarion hesitated before unsheathing his daggers to help cut the leather armor off of your body. Halsin helped maneuver your limbs out of it until you were left in what once was a white shirt, now a deep red around your midsection.

“Her shirt as well,” Halsin said. “Your skill with a knife is far more refined than mine.”

Astarion frowned, knowing you’d probably hate being shirtless in front of everyone, but shook off the thought in favor of helping Halsin heal you. He quickly and carefully cut your shirt away from your body, depositing it on another mushroom nearby, and leaving you in nothing but your undergarments. The gash in your back was brutal, and rather than stare at it, Astarion took your hand. It was growing cold, but he could sense your blood still pumping beneath your skin. 

“She’s so weak,” he murmured. 

“She’s a fighter,” Halsin put a hand on Astarion’s shoulder before moving to mix some sort of elixir he had in one of the bowls he’d brought over. “My magic isn’t strong enough to heal her all by itself, not completely, but Oak Father willing, she’ll make it through this.”

“She better,” Astarion growled, still holding your hand, squeezing it harder than he knew he should. 

Halsin smiled faintly, then moved around to your head. He tipped your head back and made you swallow the contents of the bowl he’d just been mixing.

“And what-”

“That should keep her from waking up right away.” Halsin came back to stand behind you and examined the state of the axe.

“So, she won’t feel any pain?” Astarion asked.

“She shouldn’t.”

“Okay,” was all Astarion could manage to say, hoping that was enough to convey his gratitude to the druid.

Halsin nodded and motioned for Astarion to hold you in place. “Wyll, can you help with this?”

“Of course,” Wyll moved around the mushroom to hold you from the other side. 

“I’m going to remove the axe,” Halsin said. “She’s going to bleed more, but I should be able to stop it with what I’ve brought with me.”

“Enough talking,” Astarion held you tight. “Get to the healing part already!”

Halsin frowned, but nodded. “Steady now,” he said, placing his hands on the wooden handle of the axe. “Ready?”

“Yes!” Astarion snapped.

Halsin let out a calming breath before pulling on the axe. Everyone held their breath to make sure you didn’t cry out in pain. When you didn’t, Halsin continued, taking the blade out in one smooth motion. 

As he’d said, you began bleeding more profusely and Astarion let out a pathetic whining sound. Halsin immediately held out his hands, aqua healing magic surrounding you from both sides. Astarion couldn’t look away as your skin knit itself back together, a clear scar forming in its wake.

The aqua magic faded and Halsin instantly dipped his hand in some sort of salve and began rubbing it along your back. 

“Wyll,” Halsin said, handing him a bowl with an identical salve. “Please cover the wound on her stomach with this.”

“I’ll do it,” Astarion said, moving around the mushroom to your front. Wyll handed him the salve and he went to work spreading a generous amount along your stomach. 

“Sorry,” said Karlach, running up with a steaming bucket of water. “I was looking for where we packed all our towels.” She held up a few. “I found them.” 

“Thank you, Karlach,” Halsin said. “We can start cleaning the area around her wounds.”

Karlach bounced on her feet. “Um… I’ll incinerate her if I try to help with that.”

“I know what you can do,” Astarion said flatly, focusing deeply on globbing enough salve onto your stomach. He lifted his head and nodded towards the axe on the ground behind Halsin. “You can destroy that wretched blade.”

Karlach smiled and cracked her knuckles. “I’ll make it wish it was never fucking born.”

“Blades aren’t born, Karlach,” Wyll said, wiping blood away from your skin with the warm water she provided.

“And yet, this one will die a fiery death,” she smirked, flaring her flames menacingly. She took off, presumably to be as hot as she pleased without endangering others.

“Can one of you help me sit her upright?” Halsin addressed the two men still tending to you.

“Sure,” Astarion said, noticeably calmer now that you weren’t actively bleeding. “How are her, um… her innards?”

Halsin smiled. “If you’re referring to internal bleeding, the potion I gave her and the spell I cast should be enough to have stopped it. But she’s still very fragile. I’d imagine it will take her some time to fully recover.” He once again held out his hand and cast a golden spell from his palm like he had earlier. “Yes, the internal bleeding has stopped. Though I’d suggest not giving into any carnal desires until she’s completely healed.”

“Carnal- I don’t want to have sex with her like this!” Astarion looked offended. “Who do you take me for?”

Halsin chuckled. “I didn’t think you would, but it still needed to be said.”

“Of all the-” Astarion narrowed his eyes but didn’t finish the thought. “You needed help getting her upright?” 

“Yes, she’ll need to be bandaged up. It’s possible she’ll bleed again depending on her movements in her sleep and various other factors, but she’ll also need to keep reapplying fresh salves to prevent infection and minimize scarring.”

Astarion nodded as Wyll finished washing away most of the blood on your back. 

“Let’s lie her on her back first,” Halsin said. 

Astarion and Wyll helped to gently roll you onto your back, and Halsin helped sit you up straight. Astarion came up quickly to place a gentle hand on your chest and another on your back to keep you upright as Halsin began to wrap bandages around your torso. 

Though your head was tipped forward in your unconscious state, Astarion whispered encouragements in your ear that Halsin and Wyll politely pretended not to hear.

“You’re going to be okay, my love. Soon I’ll get to look into your pretty eyes again and hear your lovely voice. Everything is going to be okay.”

~~~~~

Everything is going to be okay.

How could that be true when you were drowning?

Surrounded by inky blackness. Floating through nothingness.

Your limbs were heavy. And more than anything, you were tired. So, so tired. 

You’d messed up. You’d allowed yourself to fight, even though you knew you weren’t at your best, just because you didn’t want your friends to be upset. Right? They had been people you cared about? And now the last thing you remembered was being curled into someone’s side as they ran, presumably, to find help. 

Idiot.

You were an idiot. 

The person had looked so scared. 

This was all your fault. You hated being the one to cause a problem. You had to be good. You had to do everything right so no one would have to worry about you.

The person who’d held you so close and protectively shouldn’t have to worry about you. 

Whoever they were. 

You vaguely remembered saying something to them, but you couldn’t recall what it was or why you’d said it. You faintly remember making them snicker, at least.

You’re doing so well, darling. Hang in there.

It didn’t feel like you were doing so well. And yet the words filled you with comfort. Somewhere, a thousand miles away, you felt someone squeezing your hand. 

We’re going to move you now, but we’ll be gentle.

That was very kind of them. You were having trouble moving through this darkness. 

Easy, now. 

Was it possible to swim towards the voice? It sounded like it might be within reach, even though mere moments ago it had seemed incredibly distant and far-off.

You’ll be much more comfortable here, my love.

Though your head was filled with fog, something in your gut told you to go to the voice. You knew it was familiar, but you couldn’t make the connection. With all the strength you could muster, you kicked your legs as hard as you could and pulled yourself along with your arms. 

Don’t worry, my sweet, I’m not going anywhere.

Thank you, you wanted to say, but you couldn’t quite grasp the words.

Try as you might to swim towards the voice, it remained just out of reach, a wall of pain shooting through your abdomen whenever you got too close. 

I’m here, you tried to tell the voice. I can’t reach you.

Sleep now.

It hurts.

I’ll be here when you’re ready. 

Please.

~~~~~

Your sleep was fitful. It had taken about an hour before you’d started thrashing unconsciously and moaning in pain.

“Something’s wrong,” Astarion called, emerging from your tent. 

He and the others had moved you onto the makeshift mattress Wyll had created, and built your tent around you, next to Astarion’s. Or what would be Astarion’s; he had yet to set up his space, having spent all his time at camp so far by your side. 

Shadowheart, Gale, and Lae’zel had arrived at camp about half an hour after Astarion had rushed in with your unconscious form, all three covered in generous amounts of blood and gore. They had immediately asked after the state of you and were pleased to see you bandaged and sleeping soundly.

Now, however, that wasn’t the case.

Halsin and Shadowheart were quick to check on you. 

Shadowheart felt your forehead and frowned. “She’s burning up.”

“Likely fighting a possible infection,” Halsin hypothesized.

“Well, can anything be done?!” Astarion asked, taking his place next to you again and holding your hand in both of his. 

Halsin watched him carefully. “Actually, your cooling touch may bring her some comfort, Astarion.” He looked to Shadowheart, who nodded slowly.

“She needs to cool down. I’ll fetch some cold water, but Halsin is correct. You may be exactly what she needs. But don’t let that go to your head.”

“Of course I’m exactly what she needs,” Astarion puffed his chest, “but it’s nice to hear that that’s true in more ways than one.”

Shadowheart rolled her eyes before leaving and muttering, “Why do I even bother?”

Astarion looked to Halsin. “She’ll be okay?”

Halsin smiled softly. “She’ll need water and nutrients to help fight the fever, but with you by her side, I presume she’ll be better in no time.”

“Right then, get out of here,” Astarion said, waving him away and looking slightly embarrassed. 

Halsin chuckled. “I’ll prepare some food for her.”

“Yes, go bother someone else with your sappiness.”

Halsin paused in the entrance of your tent. “Being vulnerable is not a weakness, Astarion. It’s quite clear how much you love her, and that’s incredibly-.”

“You need to leave,” Astarion snapped and dropped your hand, physically shooing a laughing Halsin out of your tent. “Be useful, why don’t you?” he called after him coolly as Halsin made his way over to where Gale was preparing tonight’s meal. The vampire closed the flaps of your tent firmly.

Love?

He shook his head. He was worried about you, yes, but that was because he… cared about you. More than he cared about anyone else at this freakish camp. And that was… fine. It was fine that he cared about you because you cared about him, too. And that was important because caring meant safety and protection.

Which is why he’d been so panicked about finding help for you! Obviously! If you weren’t around to protect him, who would? Not Gale, that’s for sure. No, Astarion was looking out for you for purely selfish reasons.

Right?

You made a tiny sound of discomfort and he was by your side instantly, holding his hand to your forehead, and then pressing both of his palms to your cheeks. He felt your body sag and watched the features of your face relax a little.

“There, now,” he cooed. “Doesn’t that feel better?”

He paused and narrowed his eyes in thought. 

That was troubling.

He refused to think any deeper on the subject. Instead, he undid all the straps and clasps of his armor, trying to be as quiet as possible as he removed it all, then placed it outside so it wouldn’t take up any of your space. Next, he rearranged some extra pillows that Wyll had brought by your tent to make a space where he could lie next to you. Once he’d done that, he removed his undershirt and laid next to you properly.

“Come here, my darling,” he said quietly, snuggling himself into your side. His body jolted reflexively at how hot your torso was, but quickly moved back into position and wrapped his arms around you as gently as he could. Your face scrunched in discomfort for a moment before settling into something akin to peace.

Astarion watched your chest rise and fall quietly, and let out a silent sigh of relief. One of his hands absently fiddled with the ends of your hair. You’d need a bath at some point. So would he, for that matter. You were both still covered in gore and filth, and some strands of your hair were bound together by enemy blood. Astarion didn’t much feel like licking it off of you or tasting their blood in any capacity, unless he could watch the life drain from their eyes as he drank them dry. But he’d hate every minute of it. He found your taste to be his favorite.

His favorite.

So, you were his favorite. Who cared! He knew it! Everyone at camp knew it! It didn’t need to be any deeper than that.

He exhaled through his nose. Being vulnerable was a weakness. Any of his siblings would tell you that. Show one shred of fragility towards anything and it would be torn away from you and exploited in any number of violent and cruel ways. He couldn’t let that happen to you.

“Can I come in?” Shadowheart’s voice was quiet, but loud enough to shake Astarion from his thoughts.

“Yes,” he answered.

She pulled back the flaps of the tent and paused, taking in the scene before her.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said slowly, entering the tent with a bucket of water and a few clean cloths. 

“Not at all, I’m simply taking advantage of this furnace,” Astarion gestured up and down your body. “The Underdark gets so chilly at night. Who knew?”

“Uh huh,” Shadowheart nodded and felt your forehead before dipping a cloth into the water, wringing it out and placing it there. “You know,” she began, “and I hate saying this-”

“Do go on, then.”

“Ugh. I really hate saying this, but… she’s lucky to have you.”

“Shadowheart!” Astarion sounded quietly flabbergasted. “Do you mean it? Truly?” He was being overly dramatic and held a hand to his chest. 

Shadowheart avoided his gaze and dipped another cloth in the water. “I just mean…” She sighed. “I just mean, you make her happy, in your own annoying way. Even before you both started-”

“Holding hands?” Astarion batted his eyelashes.

Shadowheart rolled her eyes, but continued. “I don’t need to tell you how lucky you are to have her because I think you know that, but… You make her laugh. You encourage her to fight better, you steal lutes for her… And… you get her to be selfish. Which, while I don’t agree with all of your selfish suggestions, does cause her to think of herself every once in a while. Something that’s quite hard for her, as she so competently displayed for us today when she didn’t tell us how tired she truly was.” 

“She was a lost cause before I showed up.”

“Be serious for a moment, would you?” Shadowheart placed another cloth along your neck. “That’s something you both need to work on; being serious.” She held his gaze. “We almost lost her out there today. And I don’t think you’ve thought about what that would mean for you.”

“Of course I have,” Astarion snapped. 

Shadowheart raised her eyebrows. “Our Lady of Loss teaches that-”

“Oh, don’t start with that,” Astarion said sharply. “She’s fine now. Or she will be, assuming you and the druid are correct in your assessment of her condition.”

“Pain is a part of life, Astarion.”

“Don’t say that to me,” he snapped. “You know nothing of my pain.”

Shadowheart dabbed another cold cloth across your arm that wasn’t currently cradled into Astarion’s torso. “I know that. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then what did you mean?” He was aware that he was mildly flashing his fangs in warning.

She dabbed some cold water over your shoulders. “Don’t be afraid. That's all I mean.”

“And what the hells is that supposed to mean?” Astarion narrowed his eyes. “Afraid of what?”

“You care for her.” 

“So what?” 

“You’re aware of that?”

Astarion trilled his lips in disbelief. “Of course I’m aware of that.”

“Okay,” she turned her attention to wringing a cloth of excess water.

If his arms weren’t currently wrapped around you, Astarion would have pinched the bridge of his nose. “Shadowheart, if you’re trying to tell me something, just tell me.”

“You’re allowed to love her.”

Astarion felt himself recoil away from Shadowheart, but he still held onto you. 

Shadowheart nodded calmly, searching his eyes. “We all see it. You haven’t known each other for long, but she’s changing you.”

Astarion gave her a sour expression but didn’t say anything to argue.

“She’s not what you expected, is she?”

“She-” he hesitated. “She’s not.” He looked at your slumbering face fondly. 

“I don’t think she’s what any of us expected.”

Astarion nodded, quiet for a few moments. He was too tired to pretend he was uninterested. “It’s a wonder we all found her,” he brushed a stray hair from your face. “Or, rather, clung to her. And in some cases, attacked her. Or threatened to.”

“It is,” she laughed softly. 

“Poor girl.”

Shadowheart smiled. “She saved me, up on the Nautiloid. She and Lae’zel broke me out of my pod. Though it was mostly her. Actually, it was all her.”

“That’s typical.”

Shadowheart laughed. “Very typical.” She shifted to face Astarion more directly. “We don’t know each other very well.”

“No.”

“And probably never will.”

“Fingers crossed.”

“But I know that you’re not the same person who held a knife to her throat a few weeks ago.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Well, I would.” Shadowheart gave him a piercing look. “A few weeks ago, you would have been fine letting her bleed out on that battlefield. You possibly would have laughed at the brutality of it. Or, you would have written it off as a fine dining experience. But the Astarion I’m looking at right now was ready to burn the entire world before he saw her suffer today.” 

Astarion’s grip on you tightened minutely.

Shadowheart sighed. “I don’t like letting others get too close to me either. Partly because that is the way of Lady Shar, and partly because I’m afraid of forgetting. Or remembering. I’m not sure which is worse, truthfully.”

“What does that-”

“It doesn’t matter. My point is, our leader here makes me want to remember. Remember our times together, her kindness… And how she makes me feel.” 

“Careful…” Astarion said slowly, narrowing his eyes but smiling slightly.

“She might be the only person I’ve ever considered to be a true friend. I think. But I know she’d do anything for any of us. And I want to remember that.”

“Okay, so commit it to memory?” Astarion was confused about all the talk of remembering. Surely Shadowheart’s memory wasn’t that bad.

“I’ll try,” she chuckled. Then, after a moment of quiet, she inhaled deeply. “All of this to say, Astarion,” she looked him in the eye again, “heartbreak is also a part of life. And while we’re lucky she’s still with us, you shouldn’t be afraid to love her. I think you want to live.”

~~~~~

Darkness.

All consuming and quiet.

But at least the pain had stopped. 

It was rather lonely here. Nothing to do and no one to talk to. Whenever you tried to move, the blackness that surrounded you gave little away as to whether you were actually moving or not. There’d been waves of extreme heat, bitter cold, and heavy nausea, and while none of that was particularly thrilling, it was nice to know that you could still feel something in this liminal space of sensory deprivation.

The voice would occasionally interrupt the profound silence to address you.

Come on, my sweet, eat just a little more. I know you can.

What are you dreaming about in there?

Are you going to wake up anytime soon, darling?

You didn’t know. No matter what you tried, it didn’t seem likely that you were close to leaving this place. And just when it felt like you were finally getting somewhere, the pain would overtake you again and stop you in your tracks. 

It was exhausting.

You felt someone squeeze your hand distantly.

Brought a book. 

Your head instinctively turned towards the voice.

Thought I might read to you. Since you’re doing an abhorrent job of entertaining me.

Something about the tone made you want to argue. You try… whatever this is! you wanted to say.

Thought this one might be fun. “The Curse of the Vampyre.” Maybe we’ll learn something.

Vampire… why did that word send your heart racing?

“Harken close and beware the Vampyr.” Off to a good start. “Beware its cold beauty.” True. “Beware its charm.” True. “Beware its curse.” ………True.  

Again, you had the overwhelming sensation that you knew this voice. The sense of comfort that washed over you felt all too familiar.

“How doth one protect from the beast?” When was this written? A pause, as if the voice were investigating. I’ve decided I don’t care. The voice cleared its throat. “Walk not in the blackest night, for the Vampyr loves these nights more than any other.” I was rather enjoying my time in the sun, actually. “If you must walk, do so by the light of our moon and take care.” What kind of advice is that? The moon? The moon and I get on just fine. That wouldn’t protect you, darling. “Carry the blessings and marks of your God at all times.” The voice snorted. Yes, because the Gods have cared so much about stopping my acts of debauchery in the past.

Something in the voice’s airy tone lifted an aching weight from your chest. Yes, you knew this person. You were sure of that. You could listen to them all day. Mindlessly, you drifted closer to where the voice was strongest.

“But remember, your home is your fortress, if protected well.” Hmm. “If you hear a knock in the night, be wary. Let no stranger into your home.” As if we make house calls these days. “If it be a friend, look upon them. Do you find them pallid and wan?” Rude. “See you any mark upon their neck?” Collars, darling. Though, I’ve found that most people don’t pay close enough attention anyway. Especially when you’re distracting them with- Well, you know. The voice exhaled loudly. “See you any dirt upon their clothes?” Yuck. “Unless their need is great, turn all away but the most trusted.” You trust me, don’t you, my dear?

Yes, you tried to say. Of course I trust you. 

The voice was growing louder. More clear.

Of course you do, the voice said, though you were sure it hadn’t heard you. Stupid. “And if the Beast finds a way into your home, flee.” I’d say that’s good advice, but unfortunately for you, you can’t really flee right now. And I don’t plan on leaving.

Good. You exhaled, frustrated that you couldn’t speak. 

The hand holding yours tightened mildly. 

I’m here, darling.

I know. Thank you.

It took a moment before the voice started speaking again.

“Lease love and family behind.” 

You felt an indescribable tension as the voice paused once more. Had this passage just said something important? You replayed the phrase in your head.

Family?

Love?

Love…

Oh.

The voice was quieter when it spoke again. 

“You will not save them if you fight. You will not see them again. But they will see you, pale and smiling, calling them into the night.”

Astarion. 

Of course it was Astarion. How could it be anyone else?

He was here. 

With you. 

Just out of reach.

Well, that’s a rather ominous passage, isn’t it?

Astarion! you tried to say. I’m here!

Shh shh shh, he tutted. Don’t strain yourself.

Something you had said or done had gotten through to him.

Astarion! you tried again.

Nothing. You were met with silence. 

Fuck it. Fuck the pain, fuck this freakish darkness. You pulled yourself towards his voice. 

Shall I continue reading, darling?

Yes, keep talking. You winced as a flash of pain pulsed through your middle.

I’m going to skip ahead. I hope you don’t mind.

As long as I can still hear your voice. The pain was becoming more consistent and noticeable.

Ah, this sounds rather interesting: “Vampiric Duality.” Ahem. “Now look, the thing is: your basic vampire has two instincts, right? Feed and make little vampires.” Immediately, a vastly different tone. Is this even the same book? The voice paused again, presumably to check the cover. I admit, I do love to feed, but I’m not sure how much this person knows about vampiric biology. Not that Cazador ever allowed us much research into the subject…

You felt yourself physically recoil at the mention of Cazador’s name and heard Astarion chuckle.

No, you’re right, darling, I won’t mention him again. He hummed and mumbled under his breath. Blah blah blah… “The personality of a vampire has as many facets as a schizophrenic diamond?” What? I appreciate the comparison to a diamond, obviously, but a schizophrenic one? What does that even mean?

You would have laughed if you weren’t actively fighting to get to him. The pain in your torso was almost unbearable, the closer you got to his voice. Tears pricked your eyes, and every part of you hurt like nothing you’d ever experienced before. When the torment started to become white hot and all consuming, you hit what felt like a physical wall.

Ah! Listen to this part, beautiful: “Yet who doesn't adore the darkly romantic complexity of the vampire-”

You did. You adored this vampire. Though you were hurting severely, you reached out and punched against the wall that was blocking you.

Astarion! you all but wailed.

“-the gusto of their love-”

Again, you pounded with all your might, screaming out in agony and rage as the pain physically held you back from reaching out and touching him. You still couldn’t see him, but you felt his presence. So, so close.

“-the wildness of their passion!” You heard him let out a delighted laugh. 

I’m here! you shouted, using both fists to bang against this wall of pure suffering. 

Oh, my dear, if you were awake, I’d shower you with the absolute wildness of my passion. You could practically hear his smirk. I’d demonstrate the gusto of my… well. My-

Gathering all the strength you had left, you wound back and threw your entire body against the wall. You squeezed your eyes tight as an overwhelmingly bright light spilled in and your ears began to ring.

You gasped for air, sitting up quickly, and immediately regretted it.

You heard your name said softly in disbelief and a book slamming shut.

“Ow…” you whined, clutching at your abdomen and feeling tears roll down your cheeks.

Before you could register what was happening, you felt cool palms on your cheeks and soft lips kissing all over your face. You blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of the situation. 

“I’m so mad at you,” Astarion said, still kissing your face, his voice filled with nothing but relief.

“What… happened?” you asked between hiccups of tears.

“Lie back down, precious,” he said, gently helping you back onto what seemed to be a pile of pillows and pulling a blanket over you. “You scared us, is what you did.” He wiped a few stray tears from your cheeks, but they kept flowing. You couldn’t stop. 

“Did I… die?” You turned your head to look around. It looked like you were in your tent, your things strewn about somewhat neatly and similar to how it had been at your camp by the lake. A few candles were lit. 

“Nearly,” Astarion confirmed quietly. He looked exhausted. “An undead Duergar got you with his battle axe.”

“Ah,” you said, at a loss for words. “That’s not good.”

Astarion stared at you. “‘That’s not good?’ That’s all you have to say?” He held a hand to your forehead briefly. “Your fever is gone, but it’s possible you’ve got brain damage.”

You chuckled, knowing he was kidding, but the action caused a searing pain in your stomach. You let out a pathetic whine, reaching for the hurt area, but Astarion caught your wrist. 

“Careful, darling. You’ve got a pretty severe wound there.” He released you and pulled back the blanket that was draped over you. Upon looking down, you saw that nearly your entire midsection was covered in bandages. A spot of red spread slowly, disrupting the otherwise pristine white of the cotton.

“It h-urts,” you sniffled, your voice breaking. 

Astarion’s eyes were full of sympathy. “Looks like sitting up quickly may have opened the wound again.”

“Should I go get Shadowheart?” you asked without really thinking about it.

Astarion snorted. “If you think you’re strong enough to fetch the cleric, you’re delusional.”

“Oh,” was all you could say in agreement. “Should you go get Shadowheart? Or Halsin, maybe?”

He shook his head, turning away from you to rifle through some supplies that were out of your line of sight. “Everyone’s asleep, my dear.” He sat back up straight and set out a few items next to you: fresh bandages, healing potions, a salve of some sort, and a small bowl of water. “Besides, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of you myself.”

You almost laughed. “How long was I out? What happened to you?”

He rolled his eyes. “You were out for nearly twelve hours, I’d say. It’s a little before dawn, I think. Though there’s no sun to go off of.”

You nodded, not sure how to feel about this information. Twelve hours was a long time. And yet it felt even longer. Like you’d been out for a lifetime. 

“As for what happened to me, well, someone I… care about… nearly died.” He cleared his throat. “Is it so bizarre that I want her to get better?”

You smiled. “I guess not.”

Astarion returned your smile before hooking his arms under yours and helping you sit up. Someone had stacked two chests on top of each other behind the makeshift mattress to act as a headboard, and he helped you scoot back to sit against it. 

“Careful, my sweet, the axe entered through your back. Let’s try not to lean and put pressure on it, hmm?”

You nodded, wincing when you moved incorrectly. “When did you become such a medical professional?”

He was busy prepping the new bandages. “Shadowheart showed me how to change the bandages once or twice while you were out, and Halsin provided the salves and potions.” Astarion got up onto his knees and crawled over to you, helping you scoot forward, away from the headboard. “And my sister, Dal. She was a doctor, before Cazador. She’d help the rest of us every once in a while. Especially when things got particularly brutal.”

“That’s much cooler than being a magistrate,” you teased, flinching a little in pain.

“I don’t know, magistrates can sentence people to death.” He squeezed your arm.

“No they can’t,” you laughed. Then paused. “Can they?”

Astarion shrugged. “Can’t remember, honestly.” He leaned forward to reach for where the bandage was tucked into itself on your front. “I’m going to undo this now, okay? Let me know if I hurt you at all.”

You nodded, holding his gaze.

“Oh,” he said before turning to grab a healing potion. He handed it to you. “This should help.”

You took it and downed it as Astarion began to carefully unwrap the bandages. You could feel the unpleasant sting of something having dried beneath the cloth that was now being tugged at as the bandage was unraveling. 

Astarion was nothing but complete focus as he reached his arms around you and back towards himself, carefully unwrapping you. You watched him the entire time. 

“I heard you, you know.”

He looked at you, the corner of his lips quirking up. “Heard me what?”

“When you were talking to me while I was sleeping.”

He went a little stiff at your words. “What exactly did you hear?”

You raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know. I heard you reading just now.”

His shoulders dropped in relief. “Horrid creatures, vampires.”

“The worst,” you agreed. 

Astarion pulled away the last of the bandage and you looked down, your eyes widening at the huge gash along the right side of your stomach. 

“And we’re sure I didn’t die?” you asked, cautiously poking the area around the wound. The healing potion had stopped the bleeding.

Astarion slapped your hand. “Stop that.”

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re still here with us. I would have killed Withers if that weren’t the case.”

“You can’t-”

“I know. But he would have gotten an earful at least.” Astarion crawled on his knees back over to the supply area that you previously couldn’t see. Now you could see that there were a few buckets of water with towels and cloths of various sizes. He dunked his hands into one of the buckets and lathered his hands with soap. 

“Thorough,” you commented.

“You already fought off one infection,” he explained. “Don’t want to risk another.” He finished washing and drying his hands, then made his way back over to you on his knees, careful not to touch anything on his way.

“I had an infection?” you asked, watching as he dipped a cloth in the small bowl of water next to you. 

“Yes,” he said, “or were fighting one off. Like I said earlier, you had a fever, but it’s gone now.” He brought the cloth up to your stomach. “I’m going to clean the wound now. It might hurt.”

You nodded and he began dabbing your skin lightly. He was right, it stung and pierced whenever he hit a particularly raw area and your body jerked despite attempting to stay still. Tears welled up in your eyes again.

“I’m sorry,” Astarion said, reaching up to wipe a tear away. 

“I’m the one who got cleaved,” you deflected. “It’s my own fault.”

“Which reminds me,” his face morphed from apologetic to irritated, “why didn’t you tell us you were so exhausted? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I-” you squeaked at a particularly sharp pain. “I didn’t want you all to worry.”

Astarion’s hand paused and he narrowed his eyes at you. “Fine load of good that did, dear.”

“I’m sorry,” you looked away from him. “I didn’t know how involved the fight was going to be.”

“It doesn’t matter how involved the fight was or wasn’t going to be; if you weren’t feeling your best, you should have stayed behind and let one of the others take your place.” He sniffed pompously and added, “Would have given me an excuse to relax, too.” There was a sharpness to his words, but his actions remained careful and kind. You gave him a curious look and he rolled his eyes. “Oh, like I would go out and fight when I could laze about at camp for once.” He was suddenly very focused on not looking you in the eye.

You smiled. “You liiiiike me.”

“I’d have spent the entire time on the other side of camp.”

“Liar.” 

“The point is, darling, you have to listen to yourself and what you need. I do it all the time. For myself, I mean.”

“I know you do,” you chuckled. 

Astarion set down the wet cloth he was using and got a fresh one, before moving behind you to clean the wound on your back.“Why do you even care what we think?”

“Because you’re my friends, and I value your opinions?”

“No, I mean, why aren’t we allowed to be worried about you?”

“Oh,” you winced and flinched a bit at the cloth pressing against a tender spot on your back. “I don’t know. You all have your own problems to worry about. I shouldn’t be one of them.”

Astarion tsked. “I might be new to this whole ‘caring about someone else’ thing, but even I know how absurd that is.”

You tried to stay quiet, focusing on not moving to minimize the pricklings of pain shooting through your back. Yet despite your best effort, you still let out a few weak whimpers of discomfort.

Astarion sighed and moved away from you, back to the caché of supplies at the end of your bed. He came up with a steaming bowl of stew and reached across the bed to hand it to you.

“Careful,” he warned.

“How?” you asked.

“Halsin made soup. Gale knew a spell to keep it warm. This is the result.” He handed you a spoon. “We were able to get you to eat some while you were unconscious, but Shadowheart said you should eat properly whenever you woke up. I forgot until just now.”

“Thank you,” you said gratefully, shoveling some of the stew into your mouth. It was rich and heavy; full of meat and vegetables. Delicious.

Astarion took his place behind you again and went back to cleaning, but not before sighing dramatically. “Playing nursemaid is so far beneath me. I can’t believe you’re making me do this, you wretch.”

You swallowed some broth then said, “I offered to get Shadowheart.”

“Not a chance,” he growled in your ear, leaning around to kiss your cheek. “But if I ever have to do this again-”

“You’ll kill me?”

“Without a second thought, my sweet.”

“Mmhm,” you hummed through more food. “I think you’re enjoying this, honestly.”

“Seriously? When I could be out killing something? Or drinking from that gorgeous neck of yours? Or thoroughly ruining you? Nice try.”

“Are you hungry?” you asked, suddenly feeling very guilty for not thinking of him.

“This is what I mean, darling.” He sounded annoyed.

“What?”

“You are very weak at the moment. You lost quite a bit of blood from this wound, and you’re still offering to feed me.” 

“Because I want to help you! I have something you need and I lo-like you so much.” You caught yourself, but not very smoothly. 

Astarion raised an eyebrow. “Flattered as I am, I know that drinking from you right now could be fatal. And I think you know that, too.”

You shoveled some more stew into your mouth shamefully.

“That’s all I mean, pet.” Astarion set down the cloth he’d been using to clean your back and moved around so he could look you in the eye again. “You’re incredible. You always want to help others, which, while I don’t personally understand it, is seen as very admirable to some people. But it gets you into trouble, and I don’t think you care that it does.” He took your chin in his hand to make you look at him. “But I care now. And I don’t want this to happen again.”

“I can’t help it,” you said quietly. 

Astarion pouted mildly with genuine sympathy and kissed you chastely. “Try.” He pressed his forehead to yours.

“Okay,” you whispered.

“That’s my girl,” he smiled. “Besides,” his flamboyant cadence returned to make you laugh, “I already drained some poor beastie dry earlier while Shadowheart was changing your bandages.”

“Poor beastie.”

He kissed you again, more deeply this time. “It meant nothing to me,” he teased and you laughed. “It was purely for sustenance.” He nosed along your neck to his favorite feeding spot and kissed you there.

“I may never find forgiveness in my heart for this,” you teased back.

Astarion’s eyes went noticeably soft and a small smile tugged at his lips. His hands came up to your cheeks and he kissed you once more, tugging at your bottom lip with his front teeth. You matched his rhythm, moaning softly, and unconsciously rolling your hips, which made you cry out in pain.

“Bad idea,” you groaned, tilting your head away from Astarion’s eager kisses. 

He chuckled and rested his forehead on your temple. “You know, Halsin actually warned me not to ‘give in to any carnal desires’ until you were fully healed. I told him I wouldn’t.”

“And yet you did anyway?” you raised an eyebrow with a smile. “You selfish prick.”

Astarion tsked. “I’m not the needy one rolling my hips, now am I?”

“You bit my lip!”

“Call it… a vampiric sign of affection. Nothing more than that.”

You blew out an annoyed huff, causing a strand of hair in your face to fly upwards.

“I didn’t even draw blood,” Astarion said. “You should be thanking me.”

“Oh, thank you,” you rolled your eyes.

“But of course.”

“I so badly want to strangle you right now.”

Astarion growled from the back of his throat. “Oh, how I’ve missed you,” he said, kissing you again, despite your laughing protests.

“Would you please finish with this?” you asked, pushing him back and gesturing the undressed wound on your stomach. 

He groaned loudly. “If I must.”

“I can handle the front,” you said, nodding towards a bowl of salve, but not attempting to lean forward and grab it for fear of accidentally hurting yourself further.

Astarion hesitated in giving you the bowl, but quickly gave in. “Fine.”

“I’ll be careful,” you said.

He nodded once and took his own bowl of salve to spread on your back. 

The balm was cool and caused you to jump a little when it first made contact with your skin. Astarion paused his work to make sure you were alright. 

“I’m okay,” you assured. “Just cold.”

“You get used to it,” he smirked, globbing more cold substance onto your back.

Delicately, you took your own salve and began to apply a generous amount to your stomach. 

The two of you remained silent, locked in concentration as you administered the medicine to your wounds. It stung mildly, but the cooling effect it had became comforting soon enough. 

“So…” you broke the silence after you were satisfied with your work, “what did you do while I was… out?” 

Astarion exhaled through his nose and didn’t answer right away. “Oh, nothing special. A little of this, a little of that. My world doesn’t revolve around you, you know.”

“Sad,” you pouted, “because while I was unconscious, all I could hear was your voice.”

“Could you, now?” You could hear the grin in his voice. “I was all you could hear?”

“Mmhm,” you confirmed. “Which means you must have spent a lot of time by my side.” You risked a glance over your shoulder and saw Astarion’s hand hovering just above your back, frozen in place. 

He cleared his throat and continued to apply the salve. “And so what if I did?”

“Well, it’s just that there’s so much else you could have been doing,” you chuckled. “Like killing, or maiming, or drinking, or stabbing-”

You stopped talking when you felt his forehead press against your bare shoulder. He mumbled something against your skin, but you couldn’t make it out.

“What was that, my love?”

He sighed heavily and pulled back. “I was scared.”

“You… were scared? You?”

“Of course I was scared!” he exclaimed, looking irritated and confused. “I may already be dead, but it’s not your time yet. I would never wish that on you.”

You weren’t sure how to process that. 

Astarion.

Scared, on your behalf.

You knew he cared about you, that was obvious by now, he’d told you as much, but that was a fairly recent development. In the past, he’d only cared enough to save his own skin. He’d always watched your back, sure, but there were days where you knew he’d only helped you or another companion because it had been convenient for him in some way. Although, you had to admit, since you two had become… whatever you were, he’d seemed to take extra precaution when looking out for you. Both in battle and out.

“Astarion,” you said slowly when he returned from behind you to grab the fresh bandages, “what happened when the zombies got me?”

He remained quiet, fiddling with the bandages in his hands. 

“I carried you here.”

“Where is ‘here,’ exactly?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Not too far from those horrid singing mushrooms. They were no help.”

Your eyes went wide, knowing how far the journey from the Myconid colony to the decrepit village was, and how he must have traveled further than that to get here. You shook your head, banishing the thought. “How did you get to me from your platform?”

Astarion came close and unwound the bandages in his hands again, making sure he had the right amount. “I may or may not have… gone into a blind rage, killed some dwarves, yelled at Gale… It was no big deal.”

“And then you… carried me.”

“Yes.”

“All the way here.”

“Yes.”

“And then?”

“And then I helped Halsin with healing you. Why does it matter?”

“You…” You trailed off and allowed Astarion to start wrapping the bandages around your middle. Your eyes were unfocused on something in the distance and your mind was blank; too overwhelmed with thoughts to think anything at all. You shook your head to bring yourself back into the moment with him.

His voice was quiet. “I’ve been powerless far too often in my life. Seeing you go down, and not being able to stop it, it… broke something in me.”

You watched him carefully.

“If I was powerless in that situation, and you… If I’d lost you, I don’t know what I would have done.”

“It’s a good thing you didn’t lose me then,” you said, attempting to lift the mood while focusing on his hands.

He shook his head and paused with the wrapping. “Shadowheart said I was ready to burn the world. I think she was right.”

“I’m touched,” you joked again.

“I’m serious, darling.” He picked up where he left off with the bandages.

“You were that worried about me? Even though you were also surrounded by enemies?”

“Oh, believe me, I’m not pleased about this turn of events. Normally, in a setting like that, I’d be mostly worried about myself. But lately I seem to somehow be worried about you more.” He hummed as if he were surprised to hear himself say that aloud. 

You brought a hand up to gently wrap around his forearm as he continued wrapping you up. He met your eye fondly.

“You give me something to care for. And that’s worth the peril.” He smiled at you for a moment, then pulled on the bandages to make sure they were tight enough. “Is this alright?”

Try as you might to not let him see, your eyes welled up with tears. “Fine, yes.”

“Oh gods, don’t lie, you’re crying!” He immediately began to loosen the bandages and you started laughing.

“No, no, dummy,” you wiped a tear and stopped his hands with your own. “I care about you, too.” 

“We’ve established that, darling,” but his eyes went soft. “Let me finish this, you sap,” he gestured to your bandages, still not properly secured, and you released his hands. He once again returned to wrapping the wound and pulled the bandages tighter, but not as tight as before. They were firm enough that they wouldn’t fall, and you could still breath easily, despite the mild ache that lingered in your stomach. He tucked the end into the top of the wrapping beneath your chest. “There now, my sweet. All patched up.” He brushed both hands through your hair before resting them gently on your shoulders.

You smiled at him, but something occurred to you upon hearing the affectionate nickname. “Is there a reason you haven’t called me ‘my love’ since I woke up?”

Astarion looked taken aback. “Erm…”

You were quick to explain: “It’s my favorite. That’s why I call you that, too.”

“Your favorite…” Astarion stared at you blankly for a second and his hands squeezed your shoulders absently.

You could practically see the cogs in his head turning. You brought a hand to cup his cheek. “If I did something-”

Astarion shook his head. “No, darling, you did nothing wrong. Other than almost getting yourself killed, I mean. It’s just that… I’m in the process of coming to terms with how I feel - about you.”

Oh.

Oh.

He’d thrown “love” and “my love” around so casually, practically the entire time you’d known him. Abruptly stopping their use was incredibly unlikely unless it was deliberate.

Did this mean he was starting to rethink those words? And what it meant to say them to you?

Did that mean he… loved you?

Your heart started pounding as a million jumbled thoughts entered your mind. It seemed like Astarion noticed the change in your pulse.

“If that scares you-”

“No!” You were grinning widely and tried to hide it behind your free hand. “Take all the time you need, my love.” You hoped calling him by your preferred pet name might convey how you felt, but you didn’t want to scare him off. You knew better than anyone how new this was to both of you.

“Thank you,” he said, taking your hand and kissing the inside of your wrist. “Now lie down, would you? You need more sleep.”

You handed him your now empty bowl of stew. “But… I’m not tired.”

Astarion gave you a look as if to say really?

“I’m not! I’ve been sleeping all day!”

“And for good reason, might I add.”

The two of you stared at each other, willing the other to give in. Astarion rolled his eyes.

“Fine,” he said, annoyed. He reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head.

“Carnal desires,” you reminded him in a scolding manner.

“I don’t plan on ravishing you right now, dearest,” he said, a bit of bite in his words. “If you’re not going to sleep, at least lie down with me.”

He moved the medical supplies off of the makeshift bed and blew out a few candles as he awaited your answer.

You nodded, a smile overtaking your features. “I’d like that.”

“I’ll be gentle,” he said as he got onto the pile of pillows and placed his knees on either side of your hips. He took your arms and wrapped them around his neck.

“I know,” you said, using him as an anchor to lower yourself onto your back and further into the pillows.

When he was satisfied with your position, Astarion carefully lifted himself from hovering above you and transitioned himself to curl into your side. You stayed on your back so as to not jostle your wound, but turned your head to look at him. He watched you intently, his hands palm-to-palm and resting under his cheek. You ran your hand through his hair. 

“I couldn’t reach you,” you said.

“When?” Astarion lifted his head slightly.

“When I was sleeping. I could hear you, but I couldn’t see you. And it hurt to try and get to you.”

“Oh, my darling,” he said, running a hand along your cheek. “I’m here now.”

“I know,” you repeated, warmth overtaking your chest.

“Nervous it’ll happen again if you sleep?” he asked. When you nodded, he nodded back in understanding. “Nightmares are dreadful.”

“Any tips?”

“Hmm… not really.”

“Thanks.”

Astarion laughed softly and reached for your hand. “I’ll stay awake with you for as long as you need.”

“You need your rest, too.”

He clicked his tongue. “If you think I’m going out with the others tomorrow, you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

You exhaled an amused breath and turned your head back up towards the top of your tent to sort through some of your many tangled thoughts.

While it was true that you and Astarion hadn’t known each other for very long, it floored you how much of a change you saw in him now versus when you’d first met. Back then, he was cruel, and violent, and prone to laughing at the misfortune of others. Now, he was still all of those things, but there was also this soft side of him that he continued to surprise you with. He’d actively chosen to stay by your side all day, even though he could have let the others handle your care. He probably would have opted for that option just a few weeks ago. He was also making the choice to stay at camp with you tomorrow, rather than venture out with the rest of your party to be rewarded by the Myconids for your efforts, and possibly spill more blood throughout the Underdark. Knowing how much he loved to spill blood, that was a big deal. 

He’d also shown you the most tender affection the first night you’d slept together and every heated encounter since; he was showing he cared in the ways he knew how. He was trying his best (for the most part), and that’s what mattered to you. Astarion could take all the time he needed to sort out his feelings.

But you knew how you felt.

“So other than the peril, are you enjoying the Underdark?”

Astarion groaned. “Really?”

“Yes.”

He let out a long exhale, the cool air of his breath tickling your neck. “You know, for all the time I spent lurking in the shadows, I’ve never ventured into the Underdark before.”

“So you’ve told me,” you squeezed his hand.

“Hardly a… luxurious setting, but it definitely has its upsides for a vampire.” 

You nodded, still looking up at the top of your tent. 

“Or its… undersides? Because it’s - you know what I mean.”

You snorted at his feeble attempt at a pun. “Boooo,” you teased and looked over at him.

“I’ve been awake for nearly 24 hours, need I remind you.”

“Then trance, idiot.” You poked his nose.

“I said I would stay awake with you.”

“I’ll be alright,” you insisted, “though I appreciate the offer, my love.”

Astarion blinked slowly, his eyes suddenly heavy with sleep. It was as if he were finally allowing himself to relax, now that he was able to hear your voice again. He wore a lopsided grin as his eyes drifted closed. 

“I really did miss you,” he murmured, his voice soft.

“I missed you, too.” You brought your clasped hands up to your mouth and kissed the back of his hand. “Thank you for saving me.”

He didn’t properly respond, and instead hummed out a sleepy acknowledgement. 

“You’re so heroic.”

“Mmm.”

“And handsome.”

“Mhm.” He inhaled and exhaled deeply.

“Thank you for staying by my side.”

This time he didn’t respond. He looked entirely peaceful and his lips were parted slightly.

“Maybe I spoke too soon,” you laughed quietly, brushing a loose hair out of his face. “You should sleep though,” you said more to yourself than to him. “I can’t imagine how tired you must be.”

You watched his chest rise and fall with the unnecessary breaths he still took after all these years. You couldn’t believe that mere moments ago, he’d admitted that he was beginning to care more for your safety than for his own. Much less that he might even love you.

Astarion made a small sound, like a tiny grunt from the back of his throat that you’d come to learn meant that he was likely out cold. He rarely fell asleep before you did, given how little rest elves needed, which only further showed how exhausted he truly was.

“I love that noise,” you smiled. 

You turned your head back up to the top of your tent and sighed. “I love how funny you are. And I love how even though you’re incredibly intelligent, you’re the dumbest man I’ve ever met.” You looked back at him. His slumbering expression remained unchanged. “I love your eyes, and your ears, and the annoying way you put your hand on your hip when you think you’ve gained the upper hand in something.” You squeezed his hand ever so slightly and watched to make sure his features stayed even. “I love how kind you pretend you aren’t and how fiercely you deny it when I bring it up. I love your laugh, and how gently you hold me when you feed, and how you think about me when you could so easily think of yourself instead.” 

Again, you brought his hand up to your mouth and kissed his fingers.

“I love you, Astarion.”

You couldn’t be sure, but you swore you could see the slightest smile on his face as you felt your eyes flutter closed and you drifted into your own contented sleep.

[vixstarria]

Apples

Alright, so this is actually going to be included in a future chapter of my longfic as a flashback, but the readership of that is a small fraction of that on my one-shots, and I giggled too much writing it to not show it to the masses.

Astarion x Tav, Act 1

Humour, ponderings on the topic of vampire physiology, my Tav being a gremlin

Rated M, I guess.

Approx. 600 words

Somewhere along the Risen Road

Astarion sat with a book, trying to ignore Asmodea as she perched next to him, loudly crunching on an apple. It was proving to be impossible to concentrate under her inquisitive stare. 

“Yes?” he said, sighing. 

“So does pussy taste like ash to you?” 

Astarion wrinkled his nose in distaste. 

“Must you be so crass?” 

“You’re really going to continue the ‘uptight noble’ act after last night?” she said with a smirk. “And I’m actually being considerate, not crass – it was only after, that I remembered vampire taste buds have certain quirks.” She shifted where she sat. “I wouldn’t shove your face into an ash tray,” she said, sounding almost apologetic, before biting into the apple again.  

“Very well,” Astarion said, shutting his book. “No, pussy tastes like pussy. And yours tastes like-” 

“The finest nectar, divine ambrosia, blah blah,” she interrupted him with a dismissive wave of her hand, talking with her mouth full. “But why?” 

“I... I don’t know,” he said. “I suppose it’s all similar to blood in that it’s still produced by the body. And-” he cut himself off, with a shake of his head. “Do you really want to talk about this?” 

“Just trying to understand you better, that’s all,” she said, swallowing. “Hmm,” she hummed, before leaning towards him with a grin and beckoning him with a finger.  

Astarion glanced in the direction Wyll and Karlach had walked off. The group was taking a short break. Their tryst in the night seemed to have gone unnoticed by anyone, and he didn’t want to make it known, at least not yet. Satisfied that they were alone, he pressed his lips against hers in a kiss. Her tongue cautiously sought his own, and he let it, before pulling away.  

“Did that taste like ash?” she asked. 

“No, that... tasted the way an apple smells,” he answered. 

“So it tasted like apple.” 

“No, it tasted like the smell.” 

“That’s the same thing,” she argued. “And do you like the smell of apples?” 

“No, it’s not the same thing,” he sighed. “And I suppose, but... Hells, how do I explain it? ...You enjoy the smell of roses, yes? But you wouldn’t want to eat one, now would you? And if you did – it would not taste the way it smelled anyway. ...Do you understand?” 

Astarion supposed he should have been annoyed by her questioning, but something in her earnestness placated him.  

Asmodea let out a prolonged “ahh” of comprehension, and he thought that would be the end of it, but then she extended her half-eaten apple towards him. 

“Lick it.” 

“What?” Now he was getting irritated.  

“Don’t chew it, just lick it. Have you tried regular food since getting tadpoled, anyway?” 

He had, and he had immediately regretted it, but he obliged her anyway.  

“Ugh,” he grimaced. “Now it tastes like ash.” 

“Fascinating,” she said, biting back into the apple. “Perhaps it’s the juice being mixed with human saliva that makes it palatable for you. I wonder if there is a minimum ratio of spit to plant liquid that is required...” 

He opened his book again, determined to ignore her.  

“I could feed you like a mama bird feeds her hatchlings,” she continued thoughtfully, looking off into the distance.  

Astarion snapped the book shut again.  

“I do not need to be fed apples!” he exclaimed. “And you are the most ridiculous person I have ever met.” 

“Thank you,” she smiled. 

Series master list

Tags:

@littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tragedybunny @spunky-89

@lariatbunny @whiskeyskin @asterordinary @wingsy-keeper-of-songs @spacebarbarianweird

@brabblesblog @littlejuicebox @icybluepenguin @snowfolly @ayselluna

@mj-bites @bardic-inspo

[mimsynims]

Fool For Love

part 6

~~~

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

~~~

Author's Note: Sorry it took longer than usual! The first bit I wrote was shorter than I wanted, so I kept writing - and now you'll get more than usual instead haha... (Sorry not sorry about sneaking in a bit of a side ship I have, but it fit in this part and I want Karlach to have her hot blacksmith - yay HeartForge!)

Thank you for the comments! <3

Oh, and as I think I mentioned before, this will of course stray from canon but I have and will use things that actually happen in the game too (act 1/2), just FYI.

~~~

Astarion x reader/Tav

Tags: angst, pining, pining while fucking, jealousy, minor Karlach/Dammon, eventual happy ending

Summary: You thought you knew what you were doing when you let Astarion into your bed. He doesn't have feelings for you, and vice versa. Only... now you do. And you're not handling it very well, making a rash decision you will regret. Is there a way to undo it?

~~~

It’s eerily quiet when you get back to camp. Not that you expected your friends to still be awake, but the silence feels ominous.

Or perhaps it’s just your guilt making it seem that way.

You’re not sure breaking things off was the wrong decision — the jury is still out on that — but you regret how it happened. Regret being so harsh.

Regret not waiting until morning to have the conversation.

A noise coming from the direction of Gale’s tent snaps you out of your musings. Your body tenses up, readying for battle. Scanning the area, your hand drifts down towards a weapon that isn’t there. You must have dropped it sometime during… during. It aches thinking back and you can’t bring yourself to go back. Not now, anyway. 

You spot a flash of purple and instantly relax. Gale must be awake still. 

Perhaps the gods decided to be lenient after the night you had, giving you the opportunity to stomp out at least one fire you’ve accidentally started before it becomes an uncontrollable inferno.

“Still up, Gale?”

“Tav!” He smiles. “Yes, but I was about to tuck in for the night too.”

His eyes roam over you, but if he suspects what you and Astarion were up to after he and the others left, he doesn’t mention it.

“So, Gale…” You clear your throat. “I actually came over to apologise.”

“Apologise?” He sounds genuinely surprised. “Whatever for?”

“I think I might’ve given you the impression that I’m interested in more than friendship. And that was careless of me.” And apparently, you’re too much of a coward to admit that you used him. “I’m sorry.”

Gale takes a moment before he answers. “You were careless, yes. But I think I may have an inkling as to why.”

“Ah.” Of course he does. “For the record, the circumstances surrounding that… reason, have changed, one might say.” Because you were acting without thought, yet again. “Which doesn’t affect things between us — you and me, I mean. I value our friendship dearly, but–”

“Tav.” Gale holds up a hand to stop you. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

He sounds sincere, and searching his face, you find nothing to suggest otherwise. “Thank you. For what it’s worth, I did have a really nice time tonight.”

“Good. Me too.” A half-smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I can’t pretend I wasn’t disappointed when you invited the others, but in retrospect, I think you did the right thing.”

“You’re a good man, Gale.” A hug seems inappropriate, so you place a hand on his arm instead. “I’m sure someone better and kinder than me is waiting somewhere out there for you.”

His smile turns wry. “And I’m sure you and your ‘reason’ can sort things out once you both stop being stubborn arses.”

It’s probably because you’re still a bit drunk and in need of sleep, but you can’t stop yourself from bursting out laughing. “I think we would need a miracle for that.” Gale isn’t wrong, both you and Astarion are often too stubborn for your own good.

You expect Gale to at least chuckle, but instead, his expression softens. “It seems a miracle we’re all still alive, so who’s to say we can’t have another?”

He sounds so serious you stop laughing just as abruptly as you started. The hurt from before resurfaces, because there’s a bigger obstacle than stubbornness in your way. “I think I would need more than one miracle to accomplish what you’re talking about, and I doubt that I’m that lucky.”

Because even if you would talk, he still doesn’t love you, and in your current miserable state, you doubt that he ever will. To your dismay, you feel tears threatening to spill. Perhaps you should’ve waited until tomorrow to talk to Gale, after all.

Gale comes closer and puts a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it, sympathy plain on his face. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

This conversation has taken a turn you don’t want to face right now — and with Gale, of all people — so you just nod.

“Thank you for your honesty, Tav. Now off to bed with you.” Taking a step back, Gale lets his hand drop, Gale. “We both need all the sleep we can get, I think.”

“We do, yes.” You turn to leave but not before giving him another smile. “Thank you, Gale.” You don’t elaborate, but you can tell that you don’t have to as he bows his head in understanding.

“Goodnight, Tav. Sleep well.”

“You too, goodnight.”

As you walk over to your tent to change before going to bed, you think you see movement in the corner of your eye, but when you turn your head to look, there’s nothing there.

“And now you’re imagining things,” you mutter to yourself. “No more alcohol for you until we’re somewhere safe.”

Whenever that may be.

The following days go by in a whirlwind of events, and even if you somehow would have plucked up the nerve to talk to Astarion, you never get the chance. 

First, it was Elminster showing up to talk to Gale. You’re still not convinced it was a good idea to let him into your camp — most likely not, considering the message he was here to deliver.

You know you probably should’ve waited to let Gale have the time to process, but he insisted you press on and next thing you knew, your party was in the Shadowlands, facing goblins and driders and Harpers.

And Jaheira.

Astarion has been ignoring you as much as he can since the night, but you could sense his approval when you refused to drink the wine Jaheira offered you. Perhaps you can mend things between the two of you, in time. You desperately hope so, because a part of you already misses the chats. His embrace. The connection.

Last Light Inn turns out to be a place with many familiar faces, but after the long day you’ve all had, you decide to rest before reacquainting yourself with everyone — with one exception. 

To your — and Karlach’s — delight, you find Dammon in the stables outside the inn building.

You hide a smile when Dammon lights up at the sight of the Karlach. He may be greeting all of you, but his eyes rarely leave the Tiefling, even when he talks to you and the others. It soothes your aching heart to know that things might work out for at least one of you, even if your own love life seems doomed.

Somewhere along the way, she’s become one of your best friends. She deserves nothing but happiness, and it feels like she’s one step closer when Dammon tells her that he can craft an insulating chamber for the infernal engine. It’s not a permanent solution, but it’s enough, for now, to finally allow her to touch people again.

You stand back as Karlach instals the chamber; Dammon looks at her so intently it almost feels like you’re intruding.

The chamber clicks into place.

“Go on,” Dammon says, lifting a hand. “Give us your hand.”

Circumstances aside, it’s a lovely moment, watching the two of them.

“Damn. I’m good.” Dammon laces their fingers for the briefest of moments. “And you — you’re very touchable.”

They’re both so adorable you wish you could grab the others and leave these two be. And perhaps you also wish that this could be you and a certain vampire that is currently looking everywhere but at you.

Letting go of Dammon, Karlach turns to you with the biggest smile you’ve ever seen from her yet.

“Tav! I can touch you now!”

“I’m so happy for you, Karlach! May I hug you?”

“Yes.” Her smile wavers with emotion. “Please.”

Her skin is hot against yours but it’s not unbearable, so you wrap your arms tight around her, glad to finally be able to hug your friend.

“Thank you.” She sounds close to tears. “Talk more back at camp, yeah?”

“Sure.”

“Karlach? I need to explain the bad news too.”

You can feel a hitch in her movements and when she pulls back, her smile is strained.

She listens to what Dammon has to say, but you’re not sure she fully accepts it. You decide to leave it, for now, not wanting to dim her joy more than necessary.

Back at camp, Karlach keeps touching everyone here and there — even a moody Lae’zel accepts it, albeit reluctantly — and her happiness seems to lift the spirit of the others, too.

When everything calms down for the night, you seek her out. You can feel Astarion’s eyes on you, and in a moment of bravery, you decide you’ll talk to him after you’ve spoken to Karlach.

“Karlach? May I come in?”

“Of course! You’re always welcome into my tent, Tav.” She’s ever-moving, still brimming with energy. “Everything alright?”

“I’m fine.” You decide to get right to the point. “I’m actually here to talk about you.”

“About me?”

“It was impossible not to notice the chemistry between Dammon and you today. With everything that’s happened, and considering what the future seems to hold for us… I think you should seize the moment. Go and find him. Be happy, while we still have time.”

Karlach stops to look at you, uncertain. “You think he would want that?”

“I do. He looked just as smitten as you clearly are.” 

“He did, didn’t he?” Her expression turns a bit bashful. “I didn’t just imagine it?”

“No, definitely not. And we won’t be rushing out of here just yet, so if you find yourself inclined to spend the night with him…”

“Tav!”

You shrug, holding back a grin. “I’m just saying.”

“Right.” She nods to herself. “You’re right. I should go right now, shouldn’t I?”

“Yes. Go, shoo.”

She laughs. “So eager to get rid of me. Planning to seduce someone yourself, Tav? I’ve seen your looks towards a certain someone.”

You don’t bother holding back the curse as you both leave her tent. “Am I that obvious?”

“Yeaaah. But it’s fine, and I’m rooting for you.”

You look around, searching for the man in question. “Does that mean that everyone…?”

“Think so, yeah.”

“Fuck. Double fuck.” So everyone knows. And Astarion is nowhere to be found. Again. “He’s not here.”

“Wanna tag along to the Inn? Perhaps he’s there?”

You’re not sure you’ll be able to approach him if he’s there but not alone, but then again, there’s probably no use waiting in camp either. “Yes, why not?”

You tell yourself that if he’s not there, you’ll drink one beer — because gods know you need it — and then you’ll head back. It’s been a long day, and even with everything buzzing around in your mind like a swarm of hornets, you’ll probably have no trouble falling asleep the moment your head hits your bedroll.

It turns out that Karlach is right, Astarion is there. You spot him right away, sitting on a barstool, a goblet of wine in his hand. But he’s not alone. He’s sitting very, very close to someone. You can’t see their face, but the way Astarion holds himself, the way he moves his hand to touch their shoulder…

It seems he has found someone else to spend the night with.

As is his right, but the pain is more than you can handle. You won’t stop him, but it’s impossible to stay and watch it happen. The jealousy would break you. As unluck would have it, Astarion chooses that moment to glance over his shoulder, and before you have time to react, he sees you.

Leave. You have to leave. You spin around and flee through the door, almost bumping into one of the Harpers. You’re making a fool of yourself, but you’d rather have that than seeing a smug expression on Astarion’s face.

Half-running towards camp, you decide it’s time to get over yourself. Astarion clearly has moved on — and so should you.

~~~

[myrkulitescourge]

imo karlach’s soul coin usage seems like it should have been a little more significant than it was.

she only ever really stops to consider the magnitude of burning through a person’s soul for power during an origin playthrough—otherwise she rationalizes to the player that they’re doomed anyway, and if using them gives her an edge in combat, why not use them for good instead of leaving them to be used by evil? the dialogue with lann tarv in act 2, where he tells the story of each soul he's handing over to her, tries to humanize each soul coin, and still she doesn’t really budge and disapproves pretty heavily if she's told no in regards to using them.

it just seems like something that could have caused some kind of conflict between her and wyll, given he sold his soul to a devil in dire circumstances and takes issue with the player for sleeping with mizora, because she 1) is mizora, and 2) similarly expends tormented souls during her romance scene, even if for a different purpose. but it just... never really comes up?

i love karlach. but that seems like it should have gone Somewhere, from a writing standpoint? karlach values wyll as a person but is willing to use currency forged from souls like his for the sake of a temporary power up. she knows the soul is consumed when she uses them. that whole exchange with lann tarv is there to emphasize that every soul coin she destroys was a person once. but it all kind of loses narrative purpose if this combination of factors doesn't mean anything? karlach doesn't change at all in her willingness to use soul coins, no matter what the player says or how much she cares for wyll.

idk. missed opportunity that wyll doesn't have any dialogue about this, of all things.

[alpaca-clouds]

Fixing Karlach's Companion Quest

Let me ramble a little bit, after this post venting about the 3rd Act and especially how underused Karlach is was shared quite a lot. Because believe me people, I have thoughts in regards to how one could do her companion quest.

As I said: Out of the origin companions Karlach by far has the most lackluster companion quest. In fact her companion quest has less content than the quests for Halsin and Jaheira. Because basically Karlach's companion quest has only those steps:

Find the "Paladins of Tyr" and defeat them

Go find Infernal Iron for Dammon in the grove.

Give another Infernal Iron to Dammon at the Last Light in.

Defeat Gortash (which you have to do either way, no matter whether Karlach is on your team).

Which is not a whole lot.

The only decision Karlach will have in her entire questline is always "Does she want to die or rather go back to Avernus with Wyll?" And both are most certainly bad endings for her. And while Baldur's Gate (the city) is filled with those Steel Watch soldiers, that have a working infernal engine, the player does not get a chance to somehow try and follow up on it.

So... Let me talk on how I would write her quest.

Act 1

For the most part I do think Act 1 for her is alright as it is. I would maybe bring in some more tension into the story of some folks from Avernus coming for her. That does not need to happen in Act 1, but it should be hinted at. Because when we meet her, we learn that she had been haunted for days by folks from Avernus, but then... we never see anything of that outside of the paladins and the stuff with Mizora and Wyll. And that is kinda a let down.

Just hint at some infernal creatures being seen or something. Make her a bit more anxious about it. Something like that.

Act 2

The big issue is that Karlach has basically no content at all in Act 2 right now. Like, at all. You meet Dammon early on, bring him an infernal iron that you probably already have on hand. If you romance her you can get the first sex scene with her afterwards. And yes, if you actually go around talking to all the NPCs you will find one, who has a message from Flo, a demon who was a kind of "friend" to Karlach in the hells. Which is where we get introduced to the thing that feels like it should go somewhere - but never goes: The soul coins. While we can already collect those in Act 1, this is where Karlach actually explains what the Soul Coins are. And it is pretty clear that this at some point was the set up for a corruption arc... Only that this arc never happens.

Something I would do to play from this is, that sometime during Act 2 you will encounter some devil (maybe they'll actually come to camp) that will actually challenge you on Karlach. And during the fight she would through some way or another actually use a coin (just make somehow sure she has one) and there are gonna be consequences from that.

You can talk to her about it, she probably would just act as if it was nothing. Something like that. Just build that one up.

Act 3

See, I kinda think I know why the soul coin thing goes nowhere. Because for the Soul Coins to be used you need to have Karlach on your team - and generally speaking the game does not force you to have certain characters on your team. Sure, for some events on the companion quests you get highly encouraged to take the companion in question along, but... You are not forced to do so. And for Karlach to get corrupted she would kinda need to use the Soul Coins - and implementing that would have been a bit harder? However, here is what I would do:

Once you get into the city, you will sooner or later find Dammon. Karlach will ask about him, you take her to meet him. He will tell you, that he has no idea how to fix the engine. But the player will get the ability to note that ineed the Steel Watch are running on Infernal Engines, and hence understanding them might help. Hence, this will actually also give you another reason to go to the Forge, which can then double as Karlach's "Dungeon". You will try to find some stuff here - and from there you could go different parts.

Either you really frame the entire Karlach conflict around the soul coins, or you frame it around her want for revenge. I think storywise the soul coins would work a lot better - however they would also need a lot more change in the game.

Because a Soul Coin plot would probably build around her using the Soul Coins again and again and through it losing control. Basically a addiction metaphor. And for that you would either need to talk her out of it or the engine could actually fail earlier than the finale. If you really want to be a bit evil... let her die earlier on. I mean, the game lets characters leave/die earlier, so it is fine to let that happen, right?

The revenge plot is easier to do. You go to the Forge, deal with the Gondians one way or another, you bring those plans to Dammon and he realizes he needs something (a MacGuffin, a specific bit of information, whatever) to actually fix the engine. And this is something that Gortash has.

I wrote about this before: I generally think that even in another origin playthrough or a Tav playthrough the game would be better if you could actually get Gortash to give up rather than fighting him. For one, the fight against Gortash is boring, but also it would improve the story a lot more to get to see both him and Orin with a bit more nuance.

In this case the story would go like that: You go to Gortash. Given this is past the Forge storyline there is a good chance you destroyed his Steel Watch. He is pissed. Well, works good, because so is Karlach. Of course he does not want to help you - and Karlach wants to kill him. Still, you need his help to save Karlach. So you need to convince the two of them in one way or another.

I think this is especially poiniant because one of Karlach's biggest wants is actually a regretful Gortash. And sure, she will not realistically get that anytime soon. But give it a chance?

Well, either would work: A story about the Soul Coins - or one about the entire revenge plot. In my fics I went with the second one, because only a few plot points needed to happen differently for that. But if you were to remake parts of the game, I think both would be nice solution. (For my alternate Gortash confrontation: Hurt Begets Hurt.)

[omgshiftercat]

BG3 Blogging: Could this guy be a vampire? Nah, he's just a cat.

Now that I'm playing as Karlach rather than Astarion, WOW that vampire cannot help dropping hints by the dozen about what he is. The rest of the group must be thinking, "If this guy weren't walking around in direct sunlight, I'd swear he's a vampire."

The vibe:

During my Origin Astarion run, back at the crashed nautiloid I was like, "Ooh, I have a bite attack? CHOMP!" and that triggered the reveal dialogue with Shadowheart. No waiting around.

🐇: Part of the Vampiric Drama Compulsion includes dropping hints that you are a vampire.

Though there's also this: Astarion: Have you ever heard of a vampire lord named Cazador? Wyll: Not ringing any bells. Gale: Head of the Szarr family. Nasty piece of work, if the histories are to be believed. Astarion: (quietly) They likely are.

(Note: some dialogue might not be word-perfect, since I'm often going from memory.)

Now musing on how much of that "drop broad hints that you are a bloodsucker" thing is Vampire Drama Instinct and how much might have developed as a covert attempt to alert someone, anyone, about what he is without going against the Purple Man levels of control that a master vampire has over their spawn. "No, master, I have no idea how the monster hunters figured out that I'm a spawn and therefore there must be a vampire lord in the city somewhere!"

This explains why the boar carcass is still in the middle of the road: he only has 8 strength.

My friend 🦀 explained he'd been playing a wizard Tav with the attitude of, "I've had a very bad month. Everyone gets ONE chance. Threaten me at your peril," which meant that a few key NPCs got immediately nuked by fire spells... including Astarion. (Lae'zel lived, partly due to what was almost certainly the Dream Guardian's direct interference.)

Me: Just think of him as a cat who somehow acquired elven form and passed the Baldur's Gate bar exam. 🦀: 😆👍!

...I mean. It's not just that he's so frequently drawn as a cat. Or that he approves of showing proper deference to His Majesty, and disapproves of telling Tara not to eat pigeons. As a cat owner, I can confirm that "tries very hard to seem cool and dignified, but in fact has zero chill and is prone to comical overreaction" is a frequent feline trait.

(Also, if you pass your Perception check, you don't even have to do the thing where you calm the hissy cat by not pulling away when he sticks his claws into you.)

And yeah... people (including me) go on about this, but it's worth it to treat Astarion like a half-feral cat in need of proper socialization (and the occasional spritz with a holy water bottle) because the acting and dialogue for his story is So. Damn. Amazing.

A friend who hadn't yet seen Avatar: the Last Airbender got tired of hearing all the fan-babble about Zuko.

I think a lot of us feel kind of starved for redemption stories that are actually well-written? Like, so often we get heel-face turns that just feel very sudden and unearned (looking at you, Kylo Ren). And, well, I have a lot of bad feelings about the way "forgiveness" is so often presented as 1. compulsory and 2. more important than, if not an outright replacement for, accountability.

For a long time, it looked like they were going to do one of those sudden HFTs with Catra in She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, and I was actually glad that they kept her a baddie for so long! When they finally had her change sides, she'd had to hit rock bottom, and I got the impression that her progress wasn't completely finished at the end of the series.

So much media doesn't want to address stuff like, "extended trauma may turn someone into more of a prickly asshole than a smol bean", "someone on the path to rehabilitation may sometimes backslide", and "sometimes the best you'll get from a character is 'morally grey'."

[sideshow-cellophane-blog]

Wyll's Enchanted Boots

Set somewhere in acts 1/2, once the group is more comfortable with each other. Astarion is a little sh!t prankster

"What did he do this time?"

"Enchanted Wyll's boots," Karlach snorted. "Poor guy can't get them off."

Shadowheart sneered. "He's going to give away our location if they don't keep it down."

"You want to get in the middle of their prank war, go ahead. They've been obsessed recently. But I think Gale or Tav cast something that soundproofed the camp before they left. Pretty sure we've all been making noise."

"Help! HELP! Get these things ohooooofffff! GaHA! TICKLES! IT TICKLES! Oh my GAHAHADS! HEEEEELP!" 

"No one will save you, darling fool," Astarion was watching Wyll roll on the ground struggling to remove the cursed boots. His smile was smug and satisfied - Wyll had been especially sassy and righteous during their travels that week and Astarion had had enough. He was sitting in a chair above the downed fighter swirling a wine glass with the occasional sip. "Another few minutes and that will have made up for all of those comments on my rat diet."

"Feheheathers! Th-thousands of feathers!"

"Yes dear, I'm sure it feels that way!"

Shadowheart shuddered, but she had weighed the options in her mind. "Oi! Astarion! Those were a good pair of boots. Why did you need to waste them with a curse like that?"

The vampire put a hand to his chest in false hurt. "This? A waste? I think not dear, I am more than satisfied with the results. Wyll, darling fool that he is, may have stepped into them unwillingly but now whoever wants to laugh themselves silly can do so anytime they please. It only lasts as long as you can keep them on…" He chuckled darkly.

"And will it be your turn after he manages to get them off?" She raised a brow. 

"I'd kinda like to try," Karlach shrugged. 

"Then pull them off meeeee! HaHAhahahaaa!" Wyll wailed.

"Nah, looks too intense. Or are you that sensitive?" She teased. "You walk around camp with a crop top Wyll, can't say I blame Astarion for getting ideas."

"And he has an extra pair of normal shoes lying around somewhere," Astarion waved his hand. "Unless they're enchanted too and Gale ate them...Hm. Heh. Heheh. Good luck fighting whilst laughing your arse off."

Shadowheart clicked her tongue. "It has been mere minutes, and he is crying."

"Heeeeeeelp!"

"Enough Astarion," Karlach laughed. "He's had enough."

"Alright, alright," Astarion sighed and set his glass down. "Hold still darling. Stop kicking your - hey! Stop kicking for a minute! Yes, thank you. Excellent self control. Let me pull the left off first…that's it, dear. Here you go, Karlach. You slip it on and it'll start tickling after a few moments. I'm only giving you one boot, otherwise you may get too excited and blow us up, you sweet touch-starved barbarian. Now Wyll, if you kick me again I'm leaving this one on….Alright goooood….Aaaaaand you're free!" He stood back up with a delighted smile and offered the other boot to Shadowheart. "Curious?"

"Hells no," She crossed her arms. 

"HEH! Heheheh. Haha, oh my, heheh, ohoho!" Karlach broke out into higher pitched giggles than anyone would have thought. "Hehehey! This isn't bahahad!...This is nihihice! H-how ticklish are you Wyll? Heheh!"

Wyll stayed on the ground as he watched his teammates and friends have fun. "I'm," he gasped, "I'm happy…at least one person…can enjoy that torture device…heheh…"

"Two people," Astarion reclined back on his chair like a cat. "I'll leave the pair by Halsin's tent when they come back and then we can get a proper show. You'll be thanking me."

Shadowheart looked down at the boot, up at Karlach who had taken a seat on the ground and was giggling, and sighed as she sat down beside her. "A kind gift you've given her," She said to Astarion. "But I'm curious as to why you want to see us laugh?"

"Better a smile on your face and cheer in the camp than slowly angering ourselves to murder darling, cruel pranks lead to cruel actions," Astarion set his glass down and stood. He spoke from experience with his spawn 'siblings.' "Now then. I'm going to-"

Wyll grabbed his ankle with a playful look in his eye. "Going to what?"

"Going to escape your grasp," He shook his leg, and when that didn't work he bent over to unwork Wyll's fingers around his ankle. "Going to…to just sliiiiide myself out of here while you loons have your fun…"

"Oh I think he deserves some form of payback for that," Shadowheart smirked and helped Wyll pull the vampire's legs out from under him so he landed face-first on the ground. "Us loons do want to have our fun."

Astarion yelped and tried to scramble away again, but he soon joined Karlach in a giggle fit as the pair squeezed his legs. Wyll was working on pulling off one of his shoes as Astarion did everything in his power to not actually kill the two. "H-hey now! I, heh, I thought thaHAT you'd prank me some other wahay! Gehet off yohou weirdos! AHEH! HEE! N-not the kneHEES! HEE!"

"You've been pranking us with laughter for weeks and we're the weirdos?" Shadowheart took more pleasure than she should have from making Astarion squeak. He was on the ground squeaking from their pinching and scribbling into the backs of his knees.

"It's only fair, Astarion! Stop kicking, you know you deserve to laugh just as hard as I did! C'mon Fangs," It took a few seconds, but Wyll managed to tug the enchanted boot over Astarion's one foot and sat on the pair of legs so he couldn't pull it off. "Karlach, get his other one!...Karlach?"

She appeared to be off in her own world, enjoying the teasing magic.  

Astarion's giggles became consistent and louder. Not that being pinned and forced to take their revenge helped, but he had not anticipated the boot actually tickling so much. Shadowheart was also on his waist pinching his sides from behind with her slender fingers now. Embarrassed, he hid his face in the crook of an arm and tried shooing her hand away with the other. He shot both back down when she slid them into his armpits, and they were pinned there making him cackle. He could only writhe on the ground and laugh at their mercy - yet he would take this over Cazador's punishments any day. His teammates weren't interested in hurting him when he acted out.

This was fun.

Wyll had decided to grab Astarion's free foot. Holding it by the ankle on the ground, he scratched his nails over the sole.

Not so fun. The nails were far worse than the feathers the boot tickled with.

Wyll exclaimed, "The Blade of Frontiers always finishes his fights! Give in yet, fiend?"

Astarion arched his back, raising his head high. Tears prickled the corners of his eyes and he had the largest grin only Shadowheart could see from the angle she sat at. "Yes, YEHEHES! GET OHOHAHAFF!"

And they did. 

Shadowheart patted his back when she slid off, and Wyll got off of his legs. "Need help with the boot?" 

Still giggling, the spawn pulled himself up and started to pull the enchanted item off with far more ease than Wyll had been able to. The other boot was tossed into his lap, and he saw Karlach cross-legged wiping her own eyes. 

"That was fun!" She exclaimed. "Haven't been touched like that before. Thanks, Astarion. I'll borrow those again." 

He coughed and snuck quick glances to Shadowheart, who was smirking at him on her knees, and Wyll, who was still dangerously close to his feet. When they made eye contact he wiggled his fingers in the air teasingly. "Juvenile pranks don't go unpunished, Astarion. Truce?"

They won't hurt you. They're having fun.

I'M having fun.

He pulled himself together after a second, pulling the smirk back over his face as a familiar mask. "How about well deserved pranks? You've been a brat this week Wyll, and I'm not above making you laugh as hard as you do your enemies."

"Tickling enemies is my thing!" He shot back. "You got these ideas from Gale and I!"

As they bickered, Karlach plucked the boots back from Astarion and grinned at Shadowheart. "I'll put these by Halsin's tent. It'll sure be a sight when they get back. I'm going to go sharpen my blades before these two start tickling each other again."

"I'll join you," As Shadowheart stood, Astarion indeed leaped onto Wyll and tackled him to the ground. Straddling him, he dug into the bare skin Wyll's cropped top exposed and loud laughter once again filled the camp. 

She smiled. Without realizing it, Astarion was great at team building.

[amywritesthings]

hey hey! hope u dont mind being asked 👉👈 would astarion and tav from better strategy enjoy valentine's day?

i have never done this before on my blog but it's been a minute since we've visited the better strategy so rather than headcanon -- i can write up a drabble for you?

Pairing: Cleric!Tav x Astarion (in The Better Strategy universe) Summary: Tav celebrates Valentine's Day. Astarion does not. And when Tav gives Astarion a gift, he's not convinced it's special. Or free. Tags: Set in Act 1, Valentine's shenanigans (idc if the holiday doesn't exist in this world because it does in mine!), fluff, Astarion's pov, explicit language Notes: 1K word count / dividers by @saradika-graphics

"Dearest, this is a dead flower."

Between his ivory index finger and thumb lay a beautiful red rose, shed of its thorns -- how Tav managed to find one in this deserted clearing full of spidery weeds and wilting mushrooms is a mystery the vampire may never solve.

Then again, that woman could find just about anything beautiful in a sea of rot and decay. The longer he's spent wandering the shores and hilly plains of the sunlit world, the more convinced Astarion becomes that she is not a cleric but a witch.

A witch that bewitches, truly, because if it were anyone else? Say... Shadowheart? Gale? This flower would have been tossed over his shoulder and left to the insects.

Not that Astarion is upset with receiving a flower from the Selune cleric -- the contrary, he would find this strangely endearing --

If he hadn't seen her give bloody Wyll and Karlach something just an hour or two ago when he'd appeared busy, nose in a book.

(He wasn't reading a fucking word.)

So much for that flutter of feeling special, like he's finally gotten somewhere with this woman in his not-so grand scheme.

"I don't need a participation weed," he adds in a sickeningly sweet voice as he holds the flower back to her. "If you plucked apart a bouquet to give to all of us so that we are more inclined to visit that Githyanki Creche you've yammered on about for the last few days, then I cannot--"

"It isn't!" Tav interrupts in a squeak, effectively quieting his dramatics. She holds her fists, one hand over the other, to her chest.

He can practically smell the eagerness rolling off of her in waves.

"It... well, it's a gift," she explains. "Not a bribe."

"A gift," he repeats.

"Yes. For Valentine's Day."

"Valentine's Day?" he repeats again, unconvinced.

The half-elf smiles small. "A small festivity my people celebrate. Typically met with gifts, particularly food. We're running out of rations, though, so I thought it ill of me to--"

"Gifts are meant to be special," Astarion interrupts with a clearing of his throat, narrowing his eyes.

"They are," Tav agrees softly, as if she sees nothing wrong with what she's done, and he scowls.

"So then how is it I am to find this flower special when I've watched you go about this camp offering gifts to everyone here?"

There.

He hopes she feels bad about it. Maybe he'll convince her that there are other things they can do if this holiday is so special -- something that requires merely stepping into his open tent, shutting the flap, and finally getting somewhere with this journey.

(He has yet to seal the deal, yet she provides him with gifts? Though they can't be that important -- everyone else received something from the young moon cleric, too.)

Yet Tav furrows her brow playfully, turning her chin over her shoulder. "You were watching me give gifts to others?"

As if he's been caught redhanded.

Wait.

"Well, yes -- I admit, there were other gifts." A-ha. Thwarted. "Admittedly they were quite disastrous. There's only so much I can find in the forest without something going awry. I found Karlach a ripe apple. Wyll, a quill I managed to dig off of a dead traveler."

Neither of those sound very lavish.

The vampire contorts his mouth in confusion.

"And what of Shadowheart? Gale? Lae'zel?"

"Gale... a frayed book from the goblin village," she continues. "Shadowheart, some bread, though she thought I poisoned it." The Selune versus Shar fight lives another day. "And... Lae'zel is tricky."

He knows Tav, at least enough to know that's polite-speak for Lae'zel wouldn't accept any gift that was not offered post-spar.

Which leaves... him.

With a rose.

A dead flower, yes, but it's beautiful and ripe.

"Why a flower?" Astarion asks, twirling it between his fingers. His voice is not as cutting as it was at the beginning of this conversation.

The vampire is simply curious.

He manages to glance up just in time to see how she squares her shoulders, chin lifted -- like she's embarrassed her explanation will leave him laughing in her face.

Yes, very curious.

"The color reminded me of you," Tav finally relinqushes, and Astarion cannot help but purse his lips.

"Red. Because of... blood." He tsks under his breath. "Darling, we must broad your horizons if your mere word associations arrive at colors--"

"And they're beautiful!" she adds in a rush.

The two stop for a moment to stare at one another -- Astarion, sat idly on his little cushioned chair, and Tav, holding her hands so tight to her chest she may lose circulation in her fingers.

"Roses can be quite dangerous if you don't handle them correctly. Delicately. Nicely. They're sought after by anyone who admires beauty, but no matter how many roses you see, they're always so... immaculate and breath-taking and beautiful. And so when I managed to find one that was live and well, I plucked it with my own knife and thought who better to give one to on this celebrated day than you."

Astarion can feel his throat tighten.

"And besides, roses are very sacred to the holiday, so I thought you should have it."

Sacred.

Breathtaking.

His crimson eyes study Tav's mortified face for a moment more, before tipping the petals towards his nose. The faint scent of the flower tickles his senses, and the vampire can't help but feel...

Gods, what is that feeling?

Appreciation?

No, something else. Something he doesn't quite have the word for yet.

"It is," he agrees slowly. "Beautiful."

Does Tav find him beautiful?

The cleric clears her throat and takes a step back. "If you wish to throw it away, then I will not protest. It is your gift, therefore you do as you wish with it."

When she turns on a heel to panic-run back to the fire, the vampire stands to his feet and disappears into his tent. With his back turned, he takes one more lingering inhale of the flower.

His gift.

Something he owns.

Something that is entirely his.

Beautiful.

(He'll find another way to thank her, some day.)

[nevarran-hahren]

Feast and Folly || Chapter 1

Pairing: Gale x Tav/Reader Rating: M (to be safe–it's fairly tame, just a little bit of spice in a future chapter!) Tags/warnings: Gale's Netherese orb, chronic pain, hurt/comfort

Summary: You are a wild magic sorcerer, gifted with an innate connection to the Weave, yet it has caused you nothing but immense strife all your life. Gale is a wizard, plagued by a Netherese orb that must feed on shreds of the Weave, lest the worst come to pass. Is there anything you can do to help ease his pain?

Slow burn, Act I pre-relationship, Gale x f!Tav/Reader. This is intended to be 3 chapters.

Read on Ao3

NOTE: This is written in 2nd person, but reader/Tav is my tiefling wild magic sorcerer, Tiresia. Her story is integral to the fic, so this is not really a true blank slate “reader insert,” but I don’t describe her physical appearance much beyond race-specific details (having a tail and horns and claws), story-relevant details (burn scarring, blindness in one eye), and being shorter than Karlach (as most everyone is). But there are lots of bits of backstory peppered throughout. (my drawing of the Tav in question, if you are interested!)

Chapter 1: Arcane Hunger

“So, remind me again, who are these ‘paladins' and, why are they riding your tail?” you ask, a little bit out of breath.

Your newest—and tallest—companion, Karlach, leads your small scouting party up the dusty, bush-lined path where you first met her just days ago. You try to keep up while you chat, but she has a good foot and a half on you so what amounts to a brisk walk for her is nearing a jog for you, your tail bouncing rhythmically behind you with each step. The vampire and the wizard have both fallen several strides behind now, long since having given up on keeping the larger tiefling’s pace.

You slow to a stop as the rundown toll house comes into view up on the hill, allowing a moment for your other companions to catch up.

“Zariel’s bootlickers,” she spats. “Trying to drag me back to the hells. They’re not particularly bright, but those fuckers are relentless, I’ll give them that. But between us, they won’t know what hit ‘em.”

You hum in acknowledgement, deferring to Karlach for the plan of attack. “What d’you think’s the best way for us to approach this, then?”

Karlach pauses for a moment, hellfire in her eyes, before launching into an enthusiastic pitch for how to banish the ‘paladins’ back to Avernus. You watch her animated hand-talking with bemused reverence, until her monologue is interrupted by a sharp intake of breath from somewhere behind you. Then—

An agonized groan,

followed by a heavy thump—

Something— someone— hits the ground, hard.

Time seems to slow as you spin around on your boot heel, your ears suddenly perked and alert. When you turn, you are half expecting to find yourself in the middle of an ambush—either the paladins had got the jump on you, or a roving band of goblins and Absolute cultists did.

But as the scene before you comes into focus, your eye is drawn to Gale’s cloaked form, doubled over in the dirt—his sweat-covered brow twisted up in pain, one hand clutching at the fabric of his collar, the tightness of his grip blanching the usually tanned skin of his knuckles.

Oh gods. What happened? Has he been shot?

Your mind reels, heart plummeting into your stomach at the thought. 

Not him.

Something had drawn you to Gale nearly from the moment you pulled him from the portal he’d found himself stuck in. The wizard had landed right on top of you, knocking you into the dirt, his mortified blush and spluttering apology instantly endearing him to you. You found him handsome and charming, if a bit pompous, but still, Archmage Gale of Waterdeep felt deeply out of your league as an avoidant sorcerer with barely any mastery over her wild magic. There’s no way that he would be interested in you once he learned who you are, you reasoned. So you resigned yourself to admiring from afar.

But as the days went on, he started to seek you out in the evenings as a fellow magic user, expressing a keen interest in your innate abilities and connection to the Weave. You shared a few lighthearted stories of magical mishaps—like the time that a sneeze caused your skin to turn bright blue for a week, or when you accidentally flooded a small section of the Lower City because your mother refused to take you swimming—of course leaving out the more traumatic experiences. He offered up his own stories of mishaps and mischief in kind.

He was so genuine in his curiosity that you thought maybe you had misjudged him at first. But still, you felt guilty for the selective truths and the lies of omission. Even after he had partially revealed his own magical affliction, you still hadn’t quite mustered up the courage to share your own rather strained relationship with magic openly, nor the fact that you hadn’t intentionally cast a spell in nigh on a decade. This illithid nightmare you’d been thrust into left you with little choice but to rely on your magic again, so you made the decision to grin and bear it on your own.

Then, just a few evenings ago, one of these late night conversations bled into a more intimate moment, a warm embrace entangled in the very threads of the Weave as he told you of Mystra, his goddess and mother of all magic. A strange jealousy twinged in your gut at the reverent way he spoke of her, and your thoughts had wandered to your own longing, the shared connection laying bare your every repressed desire. You imagined what it would be like if you just pressed your lips to his, the soft scratch of his beard against your cheek, your tongue tracing the rampart of his teeth. His fingers trailing the seams of your robe, hooking under your belt, eagerly pulling you in closer—

“Soldier, get down !” Karlach hisses, snapping you back to the reality before you, shaking off your moment of reverie. You can’t afford any distraction if his life is in danger.

In your peripheral, you catch a glimpse of Karlach as she yanks the greataxe from her back and braces herself, eyes scanning wildly for assailants hidden in the brush. To your left, you hear Astarion let out a low growl, his lithe form swallowed up by your blindspot.

Without another thought, you rush to the wizard’s side and drop to your knees beside him. You take him firmly but gently by the shoulders and guide him into a seated position, allowing you to examine him closer.

Your eyes flit over his chest, scanning for any wounds, but you see no errant arrows, no bloom of blood staining his purple robe, nothing that would suggest grave physical injury. Your chest swells in relief, but it’s ever so brief. Something is still very wrong.

Gale lifts his head gingerly, and his wet, brown eyes flicker to yours. There’s an intensity to his gaze, an immense anguish that makes your breath hitch, and your world narrows until it is just you and the man sitting before you. You hold his gaze, searching for an answer. As your thoughts race, you try to suppress your rising panic so you can pinpoint the source of his pain.

“Please—,” his strangled voice dies in his throat, barely a hiss escaping through gritted teeth. He reaches up again and shakily pulls on his collar so that it dips just below the bruised purple outline etched into his chest. 

Oh.

The hunger.

It isn’t the first time this arcane hunger has overtaken him since you began traveling together. You may not yet be privy to all the details of the wizard’s strange, magical affliction, but he’s told you enough for you to know more or less what is happening: his condition is worsening, yet again. The demon inside, as he had described it, had awoken to ravage him—clawing, tearing, teething from within.

He needs another magical artifact, immediately.

You start rifling through your pack, desperate to find anything you can part with—an enchanted amulet, a spare pair of boots, anything. Another pained whimper escapes Gale’s throat, and a knife twists in your own chest in sympathetic response.

You are no stranger to pain. The burn scars that pucker the left side of your face, neck, arms, and chest have caused you chronic, lingering pain for as long as you remember, ever since the day your magic ignited a fireball and set your childhood home ablaze. Though the burns have long since healed, the phantom prickles and incessant itching spells persist, and the restrictive tightness of the scar tissue itself causes you discomfort with even the simplest of movements. 

Each time you laugh at a companion’s joke, each time you lift your arms to take off your tunic at the end of the day… hells, each time you look into a mirror, you are reminded of your stinging guilt, your hollow loss, the worst day of your life.

But among your companions, you keep that pain close to your chest. It is still difficult for you to allow yourself to be vulnerable in front of them when you already feel like a liability because of your unpredictable magic. Some days are worse than others, but even on the bad days you find yourself pushing too far in order to prove yourself useful. You wonder idly if Gale has been doing the same this whole time, too.

“Come on, come on, come on, there’s got to be something in here,” you chastise yourself for hoarding so many useless baubles as your fingers graze past one too many pieces of pilfered silverware. You start tossing them on the ground next to you and they land with a metallic clatter. You make a mental note to clean out your pack later at camp—this level of clutter is clearly becoming a problem.

After another moment of digging, you produce the small golden locket that the little tiefling girl’s mother had given you after saving her from that wretched snake. You picture the looks of pure love and relief on her mother and father’s faces after being reunited with their daughter. You try to picture your own parents’ faces in your mind’s eye too, though with the passage of time, your visual memories of them have become less precise. The illuminating spell the locket is imbued with is not particularly useful to you, but still, it had been an incomprehensibly kind gesture to gift you with such an heirloom—especially when you know those tieflings had so little to their names. Their kindness will not be in vain.

You hold the locket out to Gale. He reaches for it, but recoils as another shudder wracks his body.

“Do you—” you pause, unsure of what it is you even want to ask. “Do you want me to do it?”

He nods.

The last time that Gale had to treat his worsening condition, you’d curiously observed how he held the artifact to his chest, touching it to bare skin so that the shred of Weave within could be absorbed into his body. It seemed simple enough.

You clutch the locket tight inside your palm and lean in to press it lightly to the bruised skin above Gale’s heart. Eyes closed, his hand settles on top of yours, thumb slowly rubbing back and forth across the back of your hand.

After a moment, a cool glow emanates from beneath your clawed fingertips, the outline of the strange orb on his chest now pulsing with magic. Bolts of indigo Weave crackle in the air around you and caress your entangled hands, the hairs on your arm standing on end, magic flowing from the locket and into Gale’s chest—through you.

The sensation is an altogether odd one, though certainly not unpleasant or unwelcome; it feels markedly different from the way that your wild magic usually does. You’ve tried so hard to keep the tides of chaos within you from spilling over for as long as you can remember, but it has always felt more like of a cycle of ever-building pressure, a mounting tension, rather than a pleasant ebb and flow of energy—rather like a bowstring being stretched ever more taut, yet never released, until finally it just snaps.

But this, this is something wholly different. This magic feels electric —a soft, buzzing energy, starting as a faint tingle in the tips of your fingers but radiating outward, to the crown of your head and the tip of your tail. Your nerves sing, a cold adrenaline flooding through you, and the frenetic vibrations that echo through your body push a nearly inaudible sound from your lips. You shiver. Has magic ever felt this good before?

Almost as quickly as it started, the tendrils of shimmering magic melt into the air.

The wizard groans, and you realize for the first time that your eyes had fluttered closed at some point, your lips still slightly parted. You open your eyes to find Gale gazing back at you from beneath hooded lids, closer than you remember him being—an unreadable emotion flickering across them for a fraction of a second. Your palm lingers on his chest as you relish in the soft electricity humming in your veins, his hand still resting atop yours.

Karlach’s soft cough from behind you snaps you out of it.

Suddenly hyper-aware of the intimacy of the moment you have just shared and your companions’ stares boring a hole into your back, you are the first to move away. Your cheeks grow hot, flushing a deep red. 

Your hands drop to your lap, opening your fist to observe the empty space where the little golden locket had been moments ago. You absent-mindedly fiddle with your mother’s tarnished ring on your middle finger, suddenly self-conscious and unsure of what else to do with your hands.

“You felt that too, didn’t you?” he whispers. Your eyes rise to meet his again. “It is a strange experience each time anew—like a lost soul is spelunking through the darkness that is me, only to be sacrificed on the dread altar of the heart.” You smile wide at the return of his usual grandiloquence—a sure sign that he’s feeling more himself again.

But the relief is gone in a moment. When Gale moves to stand, he winces, another deep pang ripping through his chest. You catch his elbow to steady him. His expression grows serious again, eyes darkening.

“Good gods, it’s hardly had any effect. Mystra have mercy on us all. Listen, I need to talk to you, all of you,” he finally looks past you to acknowledge Astarion and Karlach’s presence for the first time. Their expressions flicker between bewilderment and concern at what they had just witnessed.

“Tonight. I will make us supper, and we will speak then. You deserve to know the truth of who I was. Who I really am.”

You can’t imagine that anything he could say would change the way you feel about him. Not when you have your own secrets you’ve been keeping.

“Is there anything more I can do for you, Gale?” you implore him, voice barely above a whisper.

Gale shakes his head. “Oh, you do plenty for me already. More than you realize,” he pauses. “But this… this cannot be remedied. Please, I need some time to think. We will speak more tonight.”

You nod your head solemnly. “Do you want me to walk you back to camp? I’m sure it wouldn’t take much to convince Lae’zel to take your place if you need a rest.”

“Oh, I assure you, that will not be necessary, but I am grateful for your endless thoughtfulness. Let us carry on, I do believe we were about to parley with some paladins.”

[asidian]

AU where they get rid of the tadpoles in act one or two and Astarion's compulsions return.

FIVE FUN FACTS about this AU:

For all Astarion talks a big game about wanting the tadpoles gone, he gets more and more skittish as it starts to look as though they might actually succeed at getting rid of them

He makes a sabotage attempt because he's terrified, actually, just before they get rid of them for good. The other companions call him out on it because this is what they've been trying to do for ages? What gives?? Astarion is bad at owning up to feelings but someone makes an Insight roll and figures out oh, hey, probably he's terrified

They are ready with a Plan. Night travel to avoid the sun, Karlach will carry him over running water, and we won't let you go back to Cazador, we promise.

Did you know it is hard to keep a rogue from slipping ropes and disappearing in the middle of the night? It is hard to keep a rogue from slipping ropes and disappearing in the middle of the night

They catch up to him on the edge of the city, less than an hour's walk from Cazador's palace, and he is about out of his mind with terror, because he was So Sure that he was going to walk himself right back into his worst nightmare. They bundle him off somewhere and tie him up properly this time, and Karlach sits with him while he works through some ugly emotions, including but not limited to: 1) he hates being tied up, actually 2) he hates how much he has to rely on them 3) that was a hell of a near miss, and he did not in fact expect anyone to come to get him, promise or no

[tealfling]

Tiefling Spice.

A/N: I’m new to writing fanfiction, and honestly, don't know how any of this works, but I just had to because of Astarion. I think I thought of all the labels.

Summary: Amaranth muses over the taste of blood with her favorite traveling companion, Astarion.

Pairing: Astarion x F!Tav

Tags: tiefling tav, named tav, flirting, banter, somewhere between Act 1/ beginning Act 2, some innuendo

Tav: Amaranth, purple tiefling Cleric

"Hot Cinnamon."

"What?" Astarion turned to Amaranth confused. The purple tiefling had taken to reading beside him in his tent lately, but her book--some spell tome-- had laid ignored in her lap for the past serval minutes. Her white gaze fixated on nothing in the distance as a finger wrapped and looped a long curl of her silver hair. He'd noticed she usually did this when she thought, but he couldn't figure out where her mind had been to say such a thing.

Amaranth faced him with a deadpan expression, "Karlach. I bet her blood tastes like a hot cinnamon kind of spiced drink."

Astarion chuckled in the soft way he did when he was caught off guard, snapping his book shut, then setting it to the side. That conversation had been so long ago, that he was surprised she remembered. "Interesting," he drawled considerately. "She does seem like a sweet spiced burn, doesn't she?" He remarked, regaining his flirtatious air. "But Darling, I'm hurt, here you sit in my company while your mind wanders to another?" he said with mocked melancholy.

Amaranth replied, "Well, I was watching you drink, then I thought about blood, and then I remembered when you asked me what I thought the others might taste like." Astarion watched Amaranth chatter away. Silver freckles danced like starlight across purple cheeks as she hurriedly walked him down her train of thought. "...and then the campfire reminded me of toasted marshmallows, which is how Karlach kinda smells, and then I remembered you asking what the other's blood might taste like...."

The pale elf hummed, mostly watching Amaranth's expressions animate across her face as she spoke rather than listening to her words. His ruby gaze occasionally returned to her plum fingers twisting and raveling that one pearly curl section.

"HEY. Star?"

"Hmm? Yes?" Astraion responded, startled back to the moment by an intense tone and a new name she never called him before. He realized the weight of the silence settling between them. There was a question he hadn't answered and a concerned expression slowly knitting across the face before him.

"Are you okay? You didn't answer my question and I thought I lost you there for a second." Amaranth said gently while trying to hold a playful air. Her eyes were soft, but keenly watching his face for tells.

Deciding he needed to redirect this change in mood, Astarion brushed his long fingers through his bangs, setting a coy smile on his face. "Apologies, Darling, it seems I became distracted admiring those adorable freckles of yours," he thrummed, hoping to fluster his company.

Not today.

Amaranth placed both hands between them, exposed arm muscles flexing to support her as she leaned into his space, face only a few inches lower from his as he retreated a bit from the unexpected invasion. She paused, taking in his wide-eyed expression, unsure. Mirroring his earlier tone, she repeated, " I said. You still haven't told me how I tasted." Her faux sultry look surveyed his face, constantly assessing him, ready to pull back. His pupils dilated, but not much else changed. It only took a moment for his face to settle, ready to unleash a counterattack. She held up a finger, " Ah, and before you throw 'delicious' at me again, it makes for a cute compliment, but rather too vague for a proper description," she said, sitting back on her tucked legs, giving Astarion breathing room. "We both know you can do better than that," she teased. Her tail tip swayed playfully, as she crossed her arms, awaiting his response.

Being on the back foot was Aatarion's least favorite place to be, but lately, Amaranth seemed to be getting the better of him in their little game. Although vexing at times, perhaps it meant his plan was working, that she was falling for him. While it made the game more challenging, her riposte was also, admittedly, more fun. Her initial intrusion toward his person overwhelmed him, an uneasy spark flitting in his stomach. But she just, hovered there, allowing him to adjust. Her tiefling heat permeated the span between them. As she went on, talking about blood, wondering about her flavor, all the while the very thing loudly and visibly pulsed in the neck inches from his face, the scent so strong he could taste it. It irked him that he had to restrain himself from inhaling it deeply. He didn't wish for her to take the impression he might be wanting.

No, Astarion needed to restrategize. Turn this back on her. He sat up, readjusted his shirt, then rested his arm on his bent knee. "Oh, come now my Dear? Where's the fun in that?" he goaded with a flip of the wrist. "You need to guess."

"You're not going to tell me?" the tiefling asked, taken aback. Her pearl-colored brows furrowed.

The pale elf inhaled through his teeth to drawl, "It's hardly a challenge if I tell you now, isn't it Darling?"

"Seriously? How am I supposed to guess? The few times I've tasted my blood, it was either flavorless or reminded me of copper!" she huffed.

"Well," he paused considering, "maybe I'll tell you... If you beg," he ribbed with a small chuckle. Astarion watched as Amaranth bristled. He liked getting a rise out of her. For a moment, he thought he caught a glimpse of her tell when a salacious thought crossed her mind, but, alas, her pewter brow furrowed deeper instead. Amaranth pouted, sucking in the corner of her lip. He'd seen her do this in frustration before, a glimpse of the tiny ivory tip of her tiefling fang baring down on her bottom lip in annoyance. Astarion hated it when she bit her lip this way, the last few times she'd done it, he felt like he might want to bite it too.

For a bit, the only sound between them was the soft, irritated thump of Amaranth's tail on the floor. Her diamond eyes locked in a scowl toward his crimson ones. How hard was it for him to give a little? The question shouldn't be that hard. None of the others at camp were willing to give him their blood, but he'd had intelligent blood in battle before. So between those and their...schedule...by now he surely should have had a working flavor profile of comparison. He was just toying with her. Being told her blood smelled good was--novel, but no one had said why. And Amaranth had to know.

"Fine," she sighed, adopting a look of indifference.

Astarion lifted a single white brow but said nothing. Waiting. He watched as she lifted her long hair back in a stretch, noting the strategic reveal of his favorite part of her neck. The tiefling stood pretending to dust off her thick thighs.

Amaranth continued with a feigned defeated huff, " I guess I'll just go ask my other favorite monstrosity what I taste like. He also thinks I smell delicious and he has been begging for a bite." The tiefling dramatically spun on her heel to face the exit.

"What!? Who?!" Astarion jolted up in a panic.

The purple tiefling whipped around with a giggle, "The owlber cub. You silly goose." Her gentle gaze met his unsure round eyes as he cautiously approached. Damn. That look made her weak. Though, it was quickly countered by his repulsed shrill.

"THE OWLBEAR CUB?" Astarion exclaimed. "That filthy thing?"

Amaranth clicked her tongue, "Oh, now, don't be like that. I know you secretly like him."

"I do not." Astartion puffed, sticking up his nose, and crossing his arms.

"Did you forget, Star, that one of my many talents is Beast Speech?" Amaranth hummed. His ears perked, glancing at her when he heard what he supposed was a new pet name of hers. "I know you let him cuddle you while you read. Don't worry, he likes you, too." The elf rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue. A little too dramatic to be real.

"Anyway," she continued slowly, rocking on her feet, " I guess if you have nothing more to say, then I'll see you for supper." Amaranth conspicuously added, "Unless, I'm utterly devoured first. I don't know if the owlbear cub has ever eaten tiefling before."

"You'd better well not be!" snapped Astarion, playfully. "You know I don't like sharing," he quipped.

Amaranth felt her cheeks pull into an easy smile. This was her favorite type of banter. "I'll see what I can do. There's a chance I'm quite tasty." She smirked, stepping closer to Astarion. "Perhaps I'll offer him a toe? As a treat?" Amaranth made a sweeping gesture to feet. "Definitely, not the tail. I'd miss it too much." She whipped it for emphasis. Astarion chuckled taking a step closer. Amaranth made a low thoughtful hum. "What else?" She pondered, making exaggerated finger taps to her pouty bottom lip. "Ah! What's your least favorite finger?" Amaranth cheerfully beamed, wiggling her fingers beside her face.

Resting his hand on his chin, Astarion looked quite statuesque. He regarded each amethyst palm with careful consideration, before snatching her right wrist in a firm grasp, eliciting a surprised eep from her lips.

Amaranth froze.

Her eyes immediately locked on his face. Trying to read him. When did he get so close? She took careful, calculated breaths. Unsure of what he would do, she waited to see how to react.

Astarion brought her hand closer to his face. With a cool, nonchalant expression, he studied the hand more closely under a discerning red gaze. Using his free hand, he judiciously traced each of her fingers with his, leaving a trail of tingles in his wake. His eyes were observantly fixed on his task. Her eyes were glued to his every movement. He used his own fingers to splay hers more open.

Had his hands always been so much bigger?

Separating her index finger from the rest, "Not this one, Darling," he said in a luscious purr, "It's my favorite." Finally, he met her stare with a sinful gaze as he kissed the very part of her finger that touched her own lips not a short time ago.

Shit.

Amaranth tried to control the exhale that escaped her, but she could feel her nostrils flare. It was obvious between them that she had been holding her breath. She hadn't expected this. He grinned fiendishly as he worked toward the next finger.

"Actually, my Dear, I don't want to part with any of your delectable digits," he droned, brushing his lips across all her fingers. He turned her wrist up, pressing a kiss down on her pulse.

Using the new angle, Amaranth took the chance to caress his cheek with the tips of her fingers that could reach. He flinched, and she retracted her fingers.

"I didn't know you were so jealous of a baby owlbear," she mused softly.

He scoffed, "I'm not," releasing her wrist, but leaned his cheek into her hand. "You're just too important to lose your delightful hands. Could you imagine if we had to rely on only Shadowheart and -ugh- Gale for spells and healing?" He smirked, but his words sounded more sincere than he intended.

"What about Wyll?"

"Ah ha! Wyll doesn't count," he said smugly, causing the tiefling to roll her eyes.

Amaranth gingerly trailed her finger over his cheekbone, barely touching his skin. She used it to move her favorite white curl behind his ear. Enjoying the way the pointed tip flushed. For a second, she caught a glimpse of those sad, round eyes he liked to hide, the ones that made her knees weak.

"Well," she sighed, lowering her hand, "I guess I'd better go help with dinner so that everyone that actually needs food gets fed. It's not fair to make them suffer through so much of Gale's cooking when I'm right here." She joked.

Astarion shifted uneasily, running his fingers through his hair. This was something new he occasionally did, like he wanted to say something, but held back. With Astarion and Shadowheart, she knew better than to press. They needed room to open.

"And what about you?" She inquired pleasantly, "Will you be dining out or ordering room service?"

He paused as if weighing his options before replying, "That depends on what's on the menu tonight?" His rakish grin appeared on his face.

Amaranth lamented in jest, "Unfortunately, only the same old thing that's on the menu every night. However," she perked, struck with an idea, "If you want, I could try to see how many spices I can add to change the flavor?"

"Oh, please, Darling, you're salty enough already." Astarion poked, waving her off with a hand before resting it on his hip.

The tiefling gaped, pushing his shoulder back, "Fine! Garlic breath it is, saer!!" she hissed flippantly. Revolving on the balls of her feet and stomping toward the threshold.

"Wait!" Amaranth hadn't reached the drapes before Astarion's long fingers grazed her arm, stopping her in her tracks faster than a Hold spell. "I was just teasing." He purred.

That was obvious. She replied flatly, "I know," still facing the entrance, trying to hide how happy she was that he stopped her.

"So, you'll come back later?" he asked from behind. It sounded like he was trying to be indifferent.

"Maybe. I don't know. I have other monstrosities I have to feed, you know." she tossed over her shoulder, acting aloof.

She felt Astarion close in behind her. He pulled back her hair, whispering into her ear, "But, you said I'm your favorite, right my Sweet?" Feeling his long fingers caress through the hair at the base of her neck caused her core muscles to flex. Electric tingles danced down her spine. SHIT.

"Yeah," she breathed, "you're my favorite." Amaranth turned her chin up toward his words. Noticing how very close their mouths were. And how very little it would take to close the gap. She could feel the warmth crawling across her cheeks. This fucking cheat was getting the better of her. Amaranth could feel her mind already lulling, she had to do something.

If she let him win now, she'd be here all night, the others would surely come looking for her. And the ones that would come were the ones that would react the worst to finding him fangs deep in her throat...If that's how they found them...

They still had chores to do before nightfall. Before the others stopped checking in with her.

The right thing to do would be to take a pause. She needed to tap out. Before she could lose her will, the purple tiefling popped up on her toes, landing a quick peck on his lips.

"I'm still eating garlic," Amaranth piped, darting out of Astarion's tent.

[verai-marcel]

Your Hearth Is My Home (BG3 Fanfic, Astarion x Female Reader, Part 22 of 28)

Summary, Notes, Tags, & Part 1 are here.

Act I - Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12

Act II - Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | 

Act III - Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27 (18+) | Part 28 (END)

AO3 Link is here, darling.

Word Count: 4,003

—————————————

Act III, Chapter 1 - The Gate

As you entered the outskirts of the city, you, Halsin, and Karlach split off from the main group to secure your next campground, while the others started looking around for Astarion’s siblings and for Lae’zel’s contact.

You offered a small girl, Yenna, some food and a few coins, but when she asked to join your camp, you looked at the others and you all agreed it would be safer if she didn’t stay with your group. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” you said, kneeling down so you speak to her face to face. “It’s dangerous to stay with us. We have enemies, and they could hurt you.”

The little girl nodded. “All right. I understand.”

“We’ll walk with you to the temple, perhaps? Find a safe place for you there,” Karlach said.

You took her to the temple nearby, only to find it closed off.

“Murders? At the temple?” Karlach muttered.

You looked down at the girl. “Perhaps… somewhere else.”

Wandering into the refugee area, you eventually ran into some of the tieflings you had met back in the grove. They agreed to take in the human girl, feeling sorry for her having lost her mum.

“You haven’t seen Mol on your travels, have you?” one of the tiefling children asked. 

You shook your head. “No dear, I’m sorry.”

“We’ll keep an eye out for her, alright? I bet she’s alive, that li’l rascal,” Karlach assured them.

“Of course she is! She’s tough,” one of the other kids replied, as if it was obvious.

Leaving Yenna in caring hands, your trio wandered a little further and found an abandoned farmhouse off the beaten path, with a large yard and ruined buildings.

The three of you looked at each other and grinned.

“Perfect.”

***

You had set up nearly everyone’s tents, while Karlach had wandered off to let everyone know where the camp was. Halsin was setting up his own tent, while Scratch & Owly were already running around, sniffing the perimeter and chasing each other around. Owly had certainly grown bigger in the weeks since he had joined your merry little troupe, and you couldn’t let him sit in your lap anymore. He had grown too large and would probably crush your legs at this point.

But he was still lovable and huggable, so when he nearly ran past you, you leapt upon him and hugged him tight. You could hear his childish giggle in your head as you rubbed his belly.

~~More, more!~~

~Me too, me too!~ Scratch added as he joined your puppy pile.

You played with your beloved friends, not realizing that Withers had appeared. His shadow spooked you, and you turned with a gasp.

“Oh, it’s just you.”

“Hmm.”

“How… do you always find us? And why don’t you just walk with us to our next destination?”

Withers stared at you for a few moments, making you feel uncomfortable. “Thou needest not know.”

You shrugged. As per usual, his non-answer gave nothing away. “Fine.” Giving the two furballs one last pat before shooing them away to play elsewhere, you slowly walked with Withers as he claimed a spot in front of a boarded up, half-ruined building. 

“So… You once said that fate brought me here, but it was up to me to stay, right?”

He closed his eyes slowly, then just as slowly, opened them. “I believe I said the rest was up to thee.”

“The rest of what?”

He did not answer.

“You’re infuriating, you know that?”

You swore you saw a hint of a smile flicker on his dried up lips before he returned to his neutral, almost bored expression.

***

It was nightfall before the others returned, gathering around the campfire and trading stories. You overhead quite a bit, and realized that there was a lot going on. As you flitted about, you could hear fragments of conversation, discussing their next moves.

“Oh, we ran into Orin today.”

“Really? So did we!”

“Wait, who’s Orin again?” you asked, coming closer to the campfire.

They described her, a changeling woman in a red outfit, murder in her eyes and a dangerous aura.

“If you think she’s nearby, just run,” Shadowheart said. “Find one of us if you can.”

You gulped and nodded.

Gods, is it really alright for me to stay with them? If she can impersonate anyone, she could…

You shook your head. You’d just have to stay vigilant.

***

As you finished all your prepwork for the night, you found Astarion sitting by the fire, tossing the feywild bell idly as he stared into the flames. You immediately grabbed it out of the air and clutched it close to your chest.

“Careful with that!” you nearly screeched.

He looked at you. “Calm down, did you really think I would drop it?”

“I’m not taking any chances.”

He shrugged.

You suddenly had an idea. “You don’t need this feywild bell anymore, right?”

“I suppose not.” He cocked his head, an eyebrow raised. “You want it so badly?”

“I don’t want anyone else to be tempted to ask her other questions,” you replied. “It’s bad news, messing with a pixie.”

He shrugged. “All right. I guess it doesn’t serve much of a purpose now that we’re here.” He waved a hand dismissively towards you. “You can have it. Just remember that I was nice to you.”

You grinned. “How could I forget? It happens so rarely, it’s like a little treat.”

“Cheeky kitten.”

“Stingy cat.”

***

A few days passed in the relative calm in Rivington, with the others investigating their various leads and returning at night to share notes. They hadn’t gotten much further to figuring out how to get close to Gortash without basically fighting the entirety of the Flaming Fist, nor finding out where Orin was hiding. Lae’zel had been close to getting answers about her issue, but you had overheard them talking about finding another way, because she had been considering making a deal with Raphael.

“You want to sign your soul to a devil?” you had asked Lae’zel later that night.

She had looked away. “I must do what must be done. The Comet will fly free again.”

You sighed. “Don’t throw away your soul so quickly when there may be a better way, with some effort and some planning.”

To your surprise, she had listened to you, and the next day, you had overheard them talking about finding a way into Raphael’s home to steal some kind of weapon.

Okay, not quite what I had in mind, but at least her soul will stay free.

***

On the first day of autumn, the others came back during the middle of the day, to your surprise.

“We found a little place along the harbor,” Jaheira said. “I pulled some strings, so we can use it as our base of operations for now.”

You nodded. “Alright, let’s get going.”

***

Walking through Basilisk Gate and into the city, you couldn’t help the chill of anxiety running through your veins. 

The Zhentarim are here. They barely looked for me before, and I doubt they’d even remember the bounty on my head now, even if it was still available. Maybe I’m just being paranoid.

And yet despite your logic, your anxiety wouldn’t go away.

You followed the others as they led you and the floating disc full of backpacks, bedrolls, and rolled up tents to the water’s edge. As you approached what appeared to be a dilapidated archway, you didn’t bat an eye. After all, you were used to such shitty locales. However, as you walked through, your jaw dropped. The harbor site was ridiculously huge. It spanned several buildings, an abandoned chapel amongst them, with a magnificent view of the water.

“A little place, Jaheira?” you asked her as you set up the main area up within a large veranda. “This is practically a mansion compared to where we’ve been staying before.” You sidled up to her and eyed her curiously. “What kind of strings did you pull? Garrotes?”

She laughed. “Don’t underestimate the power of a few names,” she said as she took her pack from the floating disc. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to pick a good spot for myself.”

You shrugged. Ever since she had permanently joined your group, she had declined your offer to cast your cantrips on her gear, and you respected that. She seemed a relatively private person; you could relate.

Setting up the veranda as the communal area, you hummed peacefully as you worked. A shadow overhead blocked the setting sun for a moment, alerting you to some welcome visitors. You walked over to greet Isobel and Dame Aylin as they landed on the lower level, near the water.

“Do you mind if we stay in your camp for a bit while we get our bearings?”

“Not a problem, although I’m sorry to say we don’t have any spare tents. We do have a couple of extra bedrolls though.”

“They can use my tent,” Shadowheart said. “I… can find other accommodations.”

You blinked. Then you grinned like a cat that had just caught a mouse.

She glared at you.

The others politely said nothing at your silent banter, but you resisted teasing her in front of your guests. “Well, since Shadowheart is being so kind, let me prepare the tent to your preferred temperature.”

***

You entered Astarion’s tent to see him reading that creepy book again. He closed it and heaved a huge sigh.

“Did… did you finish reading it?” 

There were shadows beneath his eyes and he looked a bit weary. “Yes, finally.”

“Did you get what you needed out of it?”

He shrugged. “Yes? No? I’m not sure. It is full of terrible secrets, including Cazador’s bloody ‘Rite of Profane Ascension’, but it told me nothing new.”

Then he grinned. “Then again, it was filled with otherworldly power. Which I am more than happy to wield to my advantage.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Alright, well, as long as the price isn’t too high.”

“And what price would that be?”

“Your soul. Your freedom.”

He put the book away and patted the bedroll beside him. As you knelt down, he promptly laid his head onto your lap. You automatically began to run your hands through his hair, feeling his contentment through the soft touch of your fingers on his scalp.

If he were a cat, I bet he’d be purring right now.

“What if the price was souls other than ours?” he said slowly.

You looked down at him. “This is about ascending, isn’t it?”

“Yes, naturally.”

You blew out a breath. “I don’t think giving a devil any souls is good for anyone, even the contractor.”

Astarion frowned. “I thought you were with me on this. Besides, I’ll need something to protect me from the sun if things don’t work out with our parasite friends. This ritual could set me free.” He sat up and took your hands in his, meeting your eyes and looking a little vulnerable. “And you want what’s best for me, surely?”

You almost wished he was being manipulative, but from your touch, you could tell that he truly thought this was the best way. It would be harder to change his mind since his convictions were true. “Of course I do, but I don’t think it’ll be best for you in the long run.”

“There won’t be a long run if I die in the sunlight,” he replied harshly.

His frustration with you felt like a hot iron pan on your skin, and you flinched, pulling your hands away. He immediately softened his expression.

“I’m doing this for you, too, you know. To make sure we’re both safe. Forever, for good.”

“We can be safe if Cazador is killed. Your… colleagues… need not be sacrificed.”

“They’re not sweet innocents. They brought him just as many victims as I did.”

You frowned. Doesn’t that make them the same as you? Or even me, when I had to kill to keep my own life? “You don’t think any of them would spare you, if the situation was reversed?”

“No,” he said definitively. “No one ever looked out for me. No one ever said a kind thing to me.” He paused, taking your hand again. “You’re the first one to care. Other people don’t have a heart like you. You’re… you. No one is like that.”

“I’m not—”

“Ah, don’t sell yourself so short.” He gently caressed your cheek, a strum of possessiveness plucking its way through the tenderness of his touch. “You’re the only thing in the world I care about. And that’s all that matters to me.”

Warning bells went off in your head as that hum of covetousness grew louder with each caress. Did he just call me a ‘thing’? “Then listen to me. Don’t lose yourself just to gain power.”

He frowned. His hand, which had been gently resting on the back of your neck, suddenly tightened ever so slightly. “I’ll do whatever it takes to see you safe, even if you don’t appreciate it.”

…mine… MINE…

Your heart pounded in fear at the intensity of his emotions, though you could tell that he didn’t realize how much he was projecting. “I… I need some air.”

His anxiety peaked, but you couldn’t deal with it as your own unstable emotions began to make your heart pound. You pulled away from him and left the tent, not letting yourself look back.

Outside in the night air, you took a few calming breaths as you walked toward the edge of the water. The moon shone brightly in the sky, its reflection a silver disc shimmering on the surface of the river.

What is happening to him? Am I really the first person he’s ever cared about? Is that why he’s so focused on keeping me safe?

Staring out toward the horizon, you wondered when he began to see you as more of a possession, and no longer an independent person.

I need to set things straight.

By the time you came back into the tent, Astarion was already in a trance.

Perhaps tomorrow, then.

***

The next morning, bright and early, you awoke alone. Coming out, you noticed that your companions had already left on their adventures, having eaten some cold cuts and fruits. 

Missed my chance to talk to Astarion. Dammit. I’ll do it tonight. I hate confrontations, but… I can’t let this slide.

As you were cooking a small breakfast for yourself, you saw to your surprise that Gale had returned.

“How would you like to come with me to Sorcerous Sundries?”

“I thought you and the others already got what you needed from there.”

He shrugged. “Well, yes, but there could be more information there that might help.”

You looked at his hopeful expression for a moment. “No one else wanted to go again, hm?”

He frowned. “I just thought you might want a chance to get out of camp, that’s all.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Not even Shadowheart wanted to go?”

Gale sighed. “No, not even her.”

Laughing, you patted him on the back. “I’ll accompany you, my friend. After all, I have a few things I’d like to research.”

***

Staring up at the huge tower, you realized that calling it a bookstore was disrespectful. The place was a treasure trove of tomes, a wondrous collection of knowledge and lore that you could barely comprehend. It was hard not to wander off and get lost in all of the aisles, just reading all the titles. Gale told you he was going to have a look around and ask an employee for certain texts, and that he’d meet you at the front desk when he was done. So you wandered off to look for books about songs and the Sylvan language.

My mother may have never taught me Sylvan, but I can at least try on my own… if there is anything here.

After some searching, you managed to find a thin book that had a rudimentary translation of a Sylvan poem. It would have to do for now. 

You also found a book from the School of Song that Gale had mentioned a while back, with some introductory songs. Purchasing the two books ate into your gold pouch quite a bit, but it was worth it.

You were already working through one of the songs in your head when Gale came to the front desk.

“Oh? Found something you liked?”

You nodded. “Yes, a book from the School of Song. Hopefully I can learn some new musical spells.”

Gale took you back to the harbor before heading off to find the others. You spent the rest of the afternoon doing some chores around the camp. 

By the time the sun set over the water, you could hear some of your companions entering the campsite, sharing their stories of the day.

You realized that Gale, Shadowheart, Karlach, and Astarion hadn’t returned with them.

“Do you know where the others went?” you asked.

Wyll scratched his chin. “Shadowheart mentioned something about finding a lead while searching for her parents.”

You closed your eyes and tried to find that dark purple strand of power that you associated with Shadowheart. Now that you had subtly tried it a few times this past week, analysing the feel of each of your companions’ powers, you could quickly feel them out without having to see them. After half a minute, you gave up. She was too far away.

“I hope they’re okay,” you said. 

Wyll patted your shoulder. “They’ll be fine. Karlach is with them, after all,” he said half-jokingly.

You smiled. “You two have gotten along quite well, considering how things started.”

“And to think I was going to kill her, assuming she was a devil of the hells.” He scoffed self-deprecatingly. “She’s a breath of fresh air at the end of a long day. I…”

You watched his eyes widen before his whole expression softened oh so tenderly. “Well, I respect and admire her a great deal,” he finally said.

Gently touching his arm and squeezing it reassuringly, you confirmed your suspicions. You love her. “I’m sure she’d love to hear that from you directly, once she comes back.”

Wyll smiled and nodded. “Once she comes back,” he repeated softly.

Supper time came and went, and the others were still gone. You prepared their tents and set aside a portion of cheese and cold cuts for them in case you were asleep when they returned. As you were cleaning up after the evening meal, you felt a sharp sting to your seal, one you hadn’t felt since…

Oh no. “Wyll!”

He came to you just as Mizora appeared, rising from a hellish portal in the ground, along with two other devils. She gave him an ultimatum, and with you by his side, he stared at the contract, torn between freedom and family.

You grabbed his hand, letting his fear and dread wash over you. Fueling your seal with his emotions, you searched for the right way forward. Please, please help him, guide his path to the happiest possible ending.

“Wyll,” you finally whispered. 

He turned to look at you, conflicted.

“Save yourself.”

His eyebrows raised in surprise. “But… my father…”

“Yes, his father,” Mizora repeated with a mocking sneer, gaining a glare from Wyll.

“You can save your father without her help. But you can’t save yourself alone.” You squeezed his hand. “The others will help you find him, you know they can.”

Closing his eyes, his face in great pain, Wyll took a deep breath.

Please. Please take my advice.

He turned to the she-devil. “You wretch. Do it. Break the pact.” His face crumpled. “Father…”

Mizora grinned before reciting the words to break the pact, and stubbornly decided to stick around in camp as a mostly impartial observer. Setting herself up in a corner of the harbor near Wyll’s tent, she summoned a glass of wine and cast her eyes around with an arrogant sneer.

Gods, I hate that she won’t go away. You turned to Wyll. “Come with me, I have an idea.”

You guided him to the edge of the water. Taking out your dagger, you cut your palm, dripping five drops of your blood into the water.

“I learned this from a book,” you told him when he looked a bit surprised. Then you turned to stare into the surface of the water and began to sing.

Use my voice and my song

To guide my vision far, far beyond

Take my blood, a gift to thee

To unveil a sight unseen…

The blood swirled and suddenly an image appeared in the water. You were not familiar with the locations, nor the man being pushed into a metal container of some kind, but Wyll clearly recognized him.

“Father!”

The vision disappeared after a minute. You turned to him. “Do you know that place?”

Wyll shook his head. “No, but I can talk to the others. Perhaps they’ve seen something similar.” He pulled you into a hug. “Thank you,” he murmured. “You’ve given me another path.”

…grateful…anxious…guilt…

You hugged him in return. “You deserve to be free, Wyll. Don’t ever feel selfish for wanting that.”

His hold on you tightened, and you felt him tremble slightly before he took a deep breath and stepped back, his hands on your shoulders. Giving you a wan smile, he walked back with you to the campfire before heading back to his own tent.

You headed toward Astarion’s tent to heal the cut on your palm with some potion before going to sleep, but you heard your alarm bell chime on your belt. Hurrying to the entryway instead, you realized that it wasn’t the others.

“Who… who are you?”

A tiefling woman and a human man, their eyes glowing red, walked down the path towards you. You knew the signs now, so you could tell right away.

Vampire spawn.

You backtracked as you tried to head back to where everyone else was, but you stumbled over your feet in your panic. In a flash, they were upon you, the man’s arm wrapped around you in a chokehold, covering your mouth to prevent you from screaming. You stomped down hard on his foot and bit into his hand, which bought you a split second of freedom before the woman pinned you down, shoving your face into the dirt.

“She smells of Astarion,” she said as she leaned over, sniffing your neck.

“If we take her, he will come to us.”

“Leave him a message.”

As you struggled futilely in the tiefling’s iron grip, the man carved letters into one of the crates nearby. Helplessly, you watched as he walked up to you, raised his fist…

Then darkness.

***

It had been a hellish day and a half. Astarion didn’t expect to be playing rescuer, but here he was, helping Shadowheart bring her parents home, walking with them through the lower city to the harbor where their camp was.

Where she was. His mind wandered, imagining her smile at his return, his worried look as she fussed over him, her gentle touch as she washed and brushed his hair. He wanted to set his little witch onto his lap and languidly sip her sweet blood and fall into a lovely trance, her scent wafting around him…

As he stepped through the entryway, he immediately saw the struggle in the dirt, his witch’s footsteps, and the footprints of two others.

Oh fuck no. Nobody takes what is MINE.

“You all you better come see this,” Karlach said, standing next to a crate.

His stomach dropped as he came closer. The poorly carved message was as bright as day.

‘WE HAVE HER’

“Fuck,” he muttered. He turned to the others, scowling. “I know where she is. But we have to go in the daylight when he’s weakest.”

Shadowheart came back from settling her parents into her tent to rest. “When who is weakest?” she asked, not having caught the first part of the conversation.

“Cazador.”

----------------------------------------------------

Act III, Chapter 1 End notes: Oh no, what will happen to our dear hearth witch? We’re hurtling towards the end, six chapters to go. Let me know in the comments what you think of this turn of events!

Tag List: @numblytemporary @xalphafox @avitute @stormyjane7 @kmoon21

[sailorgundam308]

I have my views of Karlach that are darker than a lot of people in the fandom. One of them is related to the dryad you can go to in the Circus at the start of act 3, where you and your lover can “prove” you know each other.

When going with Karlach, you get approval for 2 answers for the question “what will (you and) Karlach be doing in x years”:

1. Karlach will have settled down somewhere away and have kids. (You get the most approval for this)

2. Karlach (and you) will be still be fighting and kicking ass, while fucking lots in between. (You get slightly less approval for this answer)

In my opinion, Karlach doesn’t really see herself settling down to a domestic life, or having kids - even if she had the years ahead of her to do so. But there is a reason why she responds more intensely to this answer. It is the progression of an ‘ordinary’ life. A life she can’t ever have and - as the person she’s become - a life she doesn’t want to have either. Still, this answer pulls on her desire to cut/jump into a “normal” existence, where she never crossed paths with Gortash, where she wasn’t sold off as a slave, where she didn’t have to become her. Perhaps, in another universe, where she didn’t face the series of tragedies that she did, Karlach would have grown up to live that ordinary life - indeed settling down and just doing what common folk do, and be content. This answer is just a ‘what if’ kind of sweet dream, and the fact that you gift her this impossible and bucolic image touches her. But it is, in the end, not something she can have. And, deeper still, Karlach knows that she is someone else, someone who wouldn’t really be content with a domestic life. She tries hard to ignore it, but in the end Karlach can’t pretend her past didn’t happen to her. And that it made her who she is - a person who would not be capable of living an ordinary life, and deep down doesn’t want to. She knows all this, but is still grateful you can dream that future for her.

The second “correct” option, to me, is a very realistic and in tune answer to what Karlach actually would desire. The adrenaline rush of battle, the excitement of a challenge and the pleasure, fun and fulfillment of winning - of killing… It got to her. Now, it is in her bones. It gets her blood boiling and is her area of absolute excellence. She thrives in the battlefield, she craves the satisfaction of felling a big bad opponent. No matter how much she tries to silence this part of herself, and tries to pretend she can just erase the past 15 years and just proceed as if nothing ever happened to her, she can’t. She changed - as would anyone - and she knows it. Karlach is very aware - though trying to blind herself to it - to what feels good for her, what she is insanely good at. A good fight, a challenging win, and a messy fuck? Heck yea.

I believe the Karlach we see in game can’t yet admit to herself the seriousness of what happened to her. That it all the pain and suffering became part of her, and she has to come to terms with what her life is, and who she’s become because of it - not a bad person by any means, but a much more nuanced one - and someone ambitious, a woman who’s meant to achieve extraordinary feats.