#astarion snarling at mizora

[wheretheresawyll]

*Wyll/Astarion*

*Wyll/Astarion but it's about Astarion's trauma and Astarion's healing and Astarion's fairytale romance and Astarion being treated right and Wyll is barely acknowledged in the slightest despite being literally half of the pairing*

[gribbo]

Wyll's new companions come from near and far: the spires of Waterdeep, the shires of Reaching, the ever-wheeling stars. And, he thinks with a pang, a dearer place.

"It's been years since I last saw the city," he says—and if he leaves out a pertinent detail, no one's parasite squirms in protest. "How fares the Gate?"

"The city's a rathole," says Astarion, making a fanged face. "Public health ordinances never pass. I should know."

"It's the same as ever," says Shadowheart, elusive. "I don't miss the smell."

Wyll misses the smell. Balduran's bones, he misses the smell—sausage pasties sizzling in the Wide, patriars' wafting perfume, the salt and sweat and tar on the westering wind. The green, tender bouquet of Portyr's hothouse garden. The grease that Father rubbed into his coat of mail. The stinking streets of Heapside that he'd played tag in as a boy, splashing through puddles beyond description, arriving home filthy to the knees and full of thorns from climbing the trellis. It's no wonder, after everything the Pride of the Gate got up to, that his father believed he could do worse mischief still.

(But his father, the blacksmith's son, had always scolded him with a smile—)

Poor, abandoned pup, croons a voice like poisoned treacle in his ear. No one else looks up. On his neck wafts a breath of sulfurous perfume. No use scratching at that door, you know.

He tries not to talk to invisible fiends in others' hearing. It's simple enough to slip from their company, in the bustle of the tieflings' shanty-camp, and walk—then, when he's out of sight, stalk—behind an outcrop of greening stone. "I'm not a dog."

Of course you aren't. The treacle all but oozes down his neck. You're a Blade—my Blade, the voice adds, sticky-smug, in case you've forgotten.

"How could I?" The old anger rises stiffly, like some beast frail with age; he stays its snarling with the old patience. When he taps the sending-stone, his whole face smarts. "Even when I sleep, this bauble rolls around in my head like a—"

How am I to know when you're asleep? whines the voice, feigning petulance. Then it sweetens again. I only peek through your poor eye every now and then—to make sure that my valiant Wyll is well. Two spectral fingers walk up his arm to pinch his cheek. Hard. You know I worry so.

Either she's in a good mood, or a very bad one. The difference is not always clear. Wyll touches his sword-hilt, for all the good it will do him. "Tell me what you want."

I want the head of Karlach Demonsbane, the voice snaps like molasses in the pan. Flame-roasted, à la carte. And it's been so very long since I ordered. The wait times, these days! Tut-tut.

Four long, lacquered nails trace the scars that mar his cheek. He hadn't flinched at seventeen; he doesn't flinch now. "No one says tut-tut, Mizora."

He's never seen a cambion lose her composure—but no cambion, he thinks, has ever seen him lose his. He watches his shadow stretch across the grass—

An insubstantial chin rests on his pauldron. From his shadow, like an omen or a growth, unfolds the vast shadow of a wing.

I wouldn't tarry long, if I were you, murmurs the devil on his shoulder. He doesn't flinch. Her nails, long enough to reach out of Baator, prick his throat like points of fire. Remember what you signed.

* * *

They rest that night in the tieflings' camp, in cloaks and wagon-beds, full of Okta's gruel. Gale grumbles and rubs his knee. Lae'zel, with brusque affection, tends her sword. The refugees murmur and cast bright, shy looks at the Blade of Frontiers.

The Demonsbane, he thinks, is a danger to them, too. He flicks a fleck of dust from his rapier's tip.

"Is it sharp?" asks a small voice at his shoulder.

He smiles. "As a dragon's fang."

Lae'zel raises a scarred eyebrow, but says nothing. Wyll settles the sword in his lap as the boy—one of the orphan-thieves, thin as a pauper, his horns buried in a mop of curls—steals around him to peek at his face.

"Mol, um—she says you'll help us," the child mumbles, abashed, toeing a line in the dirt. His eyes flick to his feet, then up again. "You and your friends. Will you, really?"

Exile looks at exile.

"I am your Blade," says Wyll, and touches a solemn fist to his heart.

[astarionancuninslittlelove]

BG3 Companions as The Tortured Poets Department Songs:

Wyll•Gale•Astarion•Karlach•Lae’zel•

Shadowheart Headcanon

Wyll 🗡️: "Fresh Out the Slammer"

"Years of labor, locks, and ceilings/

In the shade of how he was feeling/

But it's gonna be alright./

I did my time.

Now pretty baby I'm runnin back home to you"

I am not sure why this just reminds me of Wyll getting out of Mizora's pact and out from under the disapproving eyes of his father and being free. From there, he is free to do as he pleases. Also, I think Wyll to be a certified lover boy, so once he is free of all of this, he is free to really get into it with Tav.

Gale 🔮: "The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived"

"And I don't even want you back/

I just want to know/

If rusting my sparkling summer was the goal/

And I don't miss what we had/

But could someone give/

A message to the smallest man who ever lived"

~

"And you'll confess why you did it/

And I'll say, "Good riddance"/

Cause it wasn't sexy once it wasn't forbidden/

I would've died for your sins/

Instead I just died inside/

And you deserve prison,/

But you won't get time."

Immediately reminded me of Gale and Mystra. The whole time, Gale didn't know that what she was doing was so wrong, and once he came to that realization after she essentially cast him out to die, he realized. As the loyal king that he is, I really believe he would have done anything for her. And Mystra, when I find you Mystra...you do deserve prison!!!!

Astarion 🦇: "I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)"

"They shake their heads/

Saying, "God help her," when I/

Tell 'em he's my man/

But your good Lord doesn't need to lift a finger

I can fix him/

No, really I can.

This reminded me more of Tav x Astarion's relationship rather than Astarion himself. In the beginning when you pair up with Astarion, it is almost like the air is thick with some sort of confusion or disapproval with the companions at camp (not confirmed, just vibes) because (good aligned) Tav and Astarion is such an unlikely pair. They eventually learn to love it.

Karlach 🔥: "Florida!!!"

"And my friends all smell like weed or little babies/

And the city reeks of driving myself crazy"

~

"Your home's really a town/

You're just a guest in"

The first part reminded me of how after Gortash's death, Karlach has dialogue with Tav about how they get to go about living their lives meanwhile she has a death sentence. The second part reminds me of how much she loves Baldur's Gate, but she cannot be there as much as she would want to--She must return to Avernus otherwise her heart will go into overdrive. Also in the epilogue she mentions to Tav how she is going to come back to Baldur's Gate eventually; she PROMISES in fact. She is going to find a way.

Lae'zel ⚔️: "Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?"

"I just want to snarl and show you/

Just how disturbed this has made me/

You wouldn't last an hour/

In the asylum where they raised me"

~

"I was tame, I was gentle/

Til the circus life made me mean/

Don't you worry folks, we took out all her teeth"

This song got me thinking about how her entire upbringing, she was told to worship Vlaakith and how she would do anything in her name. Upon finding out of Vlaakith's ulterior motives, she is stripped of everything that she knew her entire life.

Shadowheart 🖤: "I Hate It Here"

"You see I was a debutant in another life but/

Now I seem to be scared to go outside/

If comfort is a construct/

I don't believe in good luck/

Now that I know what's what.

~

"I hate it here so I will go to/

Secret gardens in my mind/

People need a key to get to/

The only one is mine/

I read about it in a book when I was a precocious child/

No mid-sized city hopes and small town fears/

I'm there most of the year/

Cause I hate it here"

I had a harder time finding a song that fit her, but this one stuck out the most because there are parts of her that she doesn't remember, and throughout the beginning of the game, she is incredibly secretive as a self-preservation tactic.

[wellthebardsdead]

Raphael: *kicking and squirming helplessly in his fathers grasp, his one working wing slapping at his hand as he tries desperately to get free* NEPHEW! NEPHEW PLEASE!!! WAKE UP!!!WAKE UP-

Mephistopheles: *opens his maw wider to devour him* “You had your chance. Now Die!”

Falûne: *consumed by his fiendish powers after the seal containing them finally broke, transforming him into a cambion permanently, laughing as he watches his uncle thrash helplessly, only for his pleas to reach his ears… and then his heart, bringing him out of his mania* uncle?… *blinks finally coming back to his senses right as Mephistopheles drops him into his mouth* NO!!!

*meanwhile*

Astarion: okay let’s not panic! The portals broken but we can find a way in to save him surely-

Hope: There’s no way into the palace of Cania without one of his servants and Haarlep already took off running!

Yurgir: I can smash through the wall then!

Karlach: you got your ass beat by a tiny blue tiefling you’ll stand no chance against his grandfathers guards!

Shadowheart: well we can’t just stand around doing nothing!

Wyll: Gods damn it, I’ll summon mizora and renew my contract then if I mu-

Everyone: *shuts up as a circle of flames erupts before them, and Raphael limps through, bloodied, battered and holding a now unconscious Falûne in his arms*

Raphael: *glares at them all before snarling with a low growl* you’re all so very lucky he saved my life… you may leave here with the hammer… *hands him over to Karlach* on the condition you fucking listen to me next time on anything involving him or his powers.

Karlach: *looks around at the rubble that was most of the house of hope* if that was only a small part of the carnage moonpie is capable of, gladly…

Raphael: good, now get out… *looks to the door as his guards drag Haarlep back in by his tail kicking and screaming* I have business to attend to. *grabs a dessert spoon off of the table and stalks towards him*

Astarion: what the devil is he going to do with that?

Hope: you don’t want to know, come on this way let’s get you back to your realm… *looks at Falûne as the unconscious cambion lay in Karlachs arms* …Take care of him… he’s a good devil…

[bluerose5]

The Price of Freedom (Part 2 of 4)

READ HERE ON AO3.

Word Count: 4,953

Author's note: One of my fics turning out longer than I expected? More likely than you think. Either way, hope you enjoy Chapter 2! 💙

Fic Summary:

After Wyll breaks his pact with Mizora, she ensures that both he and Astarion suffer the consequences of that choice.

Never did Astarion expect that to mean that Wyll would end up in Cazador's clutches.

...

Unfortunately, their mad rush around the city didn't turn up anything. Not a single clue.

Together, Astarion and Karlach searched every nook and cranny they came across within the time they were given. No rock was left unturned. No corner went unsearched.

They cast light into the shadows.

They called out for Wyll until their voices grew hoarse.

After a while, Astarion decided to call it quits.

Enough was enough.

They were doing nothing but wasting time at this rate.

When he suggested they return to Elfsong, Karlach reluctantly agreed. 

He pitied her in that moment, her optimistic nature. 

While Karlach wasn't naive by any means, Astarion knew that she truly wanted to believe that they could still find Wyll, banged up and bloodied perhaps, but relatively unscathed. She was fooling herself, and they both knew it.

Because she couldn't bear to consider the alternative.

Astarion, on the other hand, couldn't afford to entertain such thoughts at all. All he could focus on was finding Wyll, and since their current plan wasn't working, they needed to start coming up with other ideas while they still could.

They were the first ones to return to Elfsong Tavern, entering their shared quarters in silence.

Only for that silence to shatter the instant they noticed a figure perched atop Wyll's and Astarion's bed.

Astarion whipped out his blade in a flash.

Dropping low into a crouch, he bared his teeth at her with a hiss.

“Oh, brother,” Karlach grumbled. Then, louder, with her arms spread out in challenge, she asked, “What the fuck are you doing here, Mizora?” She pointed a finger at her. “And where in the Hells is Wyll?”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Mizora simply hummed in delight when Karlach readied her greataxe for a fight, crossing her legs while she flipped through the pages of a book.

“Hold on. One moment,” she instructed, a lone finger raised in their direction, not once looking up from the story. “I do love this part.” She chuckled. “Young Wylliam always did have such exquisite tastes, didn't he? Well…” She spared Astarion a brief once-over before returning her attention to the book. “Mostly.”

She had to be kidding him.

The audacity of that devil.

She came into their room, she made herself at home on their bed, and she took it upon herself to touch Wyll's possessions. Did she really think that she could get away with insulting Astarion on top of all that?

Oh, no.

Actually, not just no, but fuck no.

Astarion was having none of it.

He saw red, and that was it.

Nothing was holding him back anymore, especially not that godsforsaken contract.

Mizora was fair game now.

Astarion spewed venom into his every word.

“You scheming, rancid, cold-hearted bitch!” he yelled.

Without warning, he pounced, his blade raised.

Before he could even so much as blink, Mizora disappeared into a misty puff of smoke, the smell of sulfur lingering in the air.

Astarion crashed against the headboard of his bed with a grunt, but he was quick to recover, rolling over so that he could drop down onto the floor, crouched and ready to lunge yet again. His pupils were blown, his expression dark, his fangs openly set on display while a growl built in his chest.

Mizora —or at least, the illusion of her— sat across from him on Karlach's bed with a smug smirk.

“Now, now, kitten,” she scolded. “Put your claws away, and let's talk like civilized adults, shall we?”

As if to add insult to injury, she raked her own claws over Clive's head and down his back, petting the stuffed bear while she spoke.

Karlach burned hot in her rage.

“Fuck that!” she snarled.

With a swing of her axe, it cut straight through Mizora's duplicate, its sharp edge embedded into the wall behind her.

Once more, the illusion disappeared when it was attacked. This time, when Mizora's image solidified again, it materialized upon a nearby trunk.

She crossed her legs and gave her wings an indignant flutter.

“Seriously?” She stared down her nose at them with a curl of her lip, unimpressed. “If that didn't work the first time when the spawn did it, then what made you think that it would work any better the second time around?”

“Wishful thinking. Plus, I was making my intentions crystal fucking clear to you.” Grunting, Karlach ripped her axe out of the wall, then pointed it at Mizora. “No one touches Clive without my say-so, and no one hurts Wyll without answering to me!” She jabbed her thumb into her chest. “Make me ask ‘Where is he?’ one more time, and I swear, I will hunt you down to the deepest, darkest pits of the Hells and rip your damn spine out, Mizora!”

“Promises, promises.” She folded her hands upon her lap, leveling both of them with a searching look. “Besides, who said anything about me harming our beloved Wyll?” Mizora set a hand atop her chest. “I came here out of the kindness of my own heart to inform you of his whereabouts, and this is the thanks that I get? Figures.”

She sniffed in disdain.

“Damn, you got us there,” Karlach deadpanned, “I mean, you're such a shining beacon of selflessness. Why in all the realms would we expect any ill intent from you?”

“Enough. We're wasting time,” Astarion intervened, making his way to Karlach's side. Together, they stared Mizora down. “Tell us now. What is it that you want, devil?”

“Me? Want something? Ha! Don't be ridiculous. I offer this information free of charge. Surely, it would be no great hassle to share what I already know. After all, I do keep a…” She tapped a perfectly-manicured claw against her right temple. “Close eye on the pup, now don't I? Worry not, though.” She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “I already got everything I wanted out of this situation, and so much more.”

“So you did have a hand in this whole mess?” Astarion snapped.

“Of course I did,” Mizora confessed, as if they were the ones acting irrational. “You see, I do love it when families get a chance to reconcile, so what was a lady to do when I spotted a couple of vampire spawn wandering around last night in search of their brother? What were their names again?” She tapped a finger upon her chin with a thoughtful hum. “Their names. Their names… Ah, yes, that's right. Leon and Aurelia, wasn't it?”

For a moment, no one made a sound.

It was so silent, one could hear a pin drop.

Astarion stared at her with growing horror, no longer breathing.

As realization dawned on him, he stood there, petrified and unable to move, little more than a statue frozen in place.

All while his world came crashing down around him.

Then, quietly, Karlach asked, “Mizora, what did you do?”

In response, Mizora laughed.

Karlach took a menacing step forward and roared out, “What did you do?!”

“So eager to confirm your worst nightmares. All I did was tell them the truth,” Mizora answered. “I told them that, if they found Wyll, then they would most certainly find you.” She pointed at Astarion, grinning when he winced. “His darling, pale elf.” Her words did more damage than any wooden stake ever could, plunged deep within his chest, but that wasn't enough for Mizora's tastes. She simply had to give it a nice twist for good measure. “How was I to know that, the one time he needed you most, you wouldn't be there?”

Mizora shrugged, completely unfazed.

“Ah, well, at least he put up a good fight while he still could, but I have to say, your master does work fast, doesn't he?”

The sinking feeling in Astarion's chest tore open into a large, gaping hole.

Karlach glanced over at him, but he couldn't look away from Mizora.

His insides were being ripped to shreds, large chunks of him carved out until there was nothing left.

Hollow.

He felt hollow.

Because if Wyll was in Cazador’s clutches, then they were already too late.

Who knew what damage had already been inflicted upon him?

In a deathly calm voice, Astarion asked, “What has Cazador done to him?”

“Now, why would I go and ruin the surprise?” Mizora smirked. “It's all part of the fun, isn't it? And I do appreciate a good twist.”

“Stop toying with us, damn it!” Karlach yelled, but somehow Astarion's soft, quiet response spoke volumes above hers.

His statement rang out with a note of finality.

“I will kill you,” he promised Mizora.

One way or another, it would be done.

It might not happen at that exact moment or the next day or even the day after that, but her death was an inevitability.

She would die, if not by Wyll's hand, then by Astarion's.

Her mistake would be in underestimating him.

Mizora scoffed.

“I would love to see you try,” she purred, perking up from her perch. “Tick-tock now!” She wagged a finger at them both. “Wyll is already at your home, spawn. He met the family. Now, they are all eagerly awaiting your return, and you don't want to keep your master waiting, do you? Who knows what else he will do to our poor pup in the meantime?” She cast Astarion a knowing look. “He gets bored so easily, doesn't he? Then again, he always finds a way to keep himself entertained.”

Astarion clenched his jaw, his white-knuckled grip tightening around his dagger's hilt.

He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of reacting.

Not that she still didn't get a kick out of it anyways.

“Well, as much as I would love to continue going back and forth with you two all day, I really must be going,” Mizora announced. “While this has been endlessly entertaining on my end, I have more important matters to attend to. Ta-ta.”

With a wave of her fingers, her illusion vanished into thin air, and that was that.

Once she was gone, there was a haze that dissipated, a layer of fog that peeled back from their minds to reveal clarity underneath.

Reality rushed back to them, and it hit as a sudden onslaught against their senses.

They had been drowning without even realizing it, but now they had resurfaced.

All at once, everything came back into focus.

A muffled shout sounded nearby before someone came bursting through the doors to their rooms.

The doors flew off their hinges and crashed to the floor in a broken, splintered mess.

Lae'zel stormed over the wreckage without hesitation, making a beeline to where Astarion and Karlach were standing, the others left behind at the entrance.

Astarion yelped when Lae'zel immediately grabbed him and hauled him up into the air, pulling him in just close enough that their noses nearly touched, her teeth bared in warning.

The heat of her glare could put that of the Fourth Hell, Phlegethos, to shame.

“What do you two think you're doing?” she snarled, shaking him a bit. “We try to help, yet you two return and bar us from entering? That was not the plan.”

Karlach grabbed her by the arm, only to be forcibly shrugged off.

“Lae—”

“Don't.” She spared Karlach a sideways glance. “We heard you two talking in here while we called out for you, yet our voices must have fallen on deaf ears. Whatever you were discussing must have been important enough to ignore the rest of us. So, care to fill us in?”

“It was Mizora,” Karlach said. “She—”

“We don't have time for details,” Astarion interrupted. Peering down at Lae'zel, his feet dangled above the ground, hands wrapped tightly around her wrists. “Cazador has Wyll!”

Everyone was struck speechless, several of them gaping at the revelation.

As Mizora put it, this was only confirmation of their worst nightmares.

Lae'zel searched Astarion's expression for any sign of deceit.

When she found none, she released him with a rough shove away from her. He stumbled backwards and righted himself, brushing off his clothes.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Lae'zel asked. “We have our target, so now it's time to hunt.”

She turned on her heel, rushing over to rummage through their collection of armor, weapons, and supplies.

The others followed suit, barking out orders back and forth until they were ready to set out, preparing for any possible outcome.

Or so they thought.

Of course, it was at the moment when they were trying to leave that Halsin realized, “Wait, where's Yenna?”

Astarion, his patience worn as thin as a thread, could honestly care less where the little brat was. They had done enough by letting her stay with them in the first place. Now, they had bigger, more important matters to attend to.

“She has probably run off to play with the other strays in the streets,” Astarion said, ignoring Halsin's scowl.

“I instructed her not to leave the Elfsong Tavern while we were gone. She wouldn't have—”

“How many times does it have to be repeated? We don't have time for this!” Astarion exploded, snapping his teeth at him with a challenging growl. “Let me make myself perfectly clear. Nothing matters to me right now besides getting Wyll back and making sure Cazador suffers for taking him in the first place. If that's a problem for you, then go. Just stay out of my way, damn it!”

“What Astarion means to say,” Karlach interjected with a slight edge to her voice, “is that you should go search for Yenna.” She patted Halsin on the shoulder. “Don't worry. The rest of us can handle that big, bad vampire lord, but be careful. Plenty of other threats are still out there.”

Halsin nodded to her.

“Will do.”

“I'll accompany him to find the little one,” Jaheira announced, stepping forward to volunteer. “I still don't like the idea of any of us going off on our own. There is too much at stake.”

“On that, we can agree, and I would be more than happy to have the company,” Halsin said, gesturing towards the broken doors. “Shall we?”

Without sparing Astarion so much as a backwards glance, Halsin departed, and Jaheira followed.

Everyone else wasn't far behind, setting out into the Lower City, and what a sight they must have made.

It wasn't often that the full might of their group was seen together, armed to the teeth. They attracted many stares, all of which knew not to linger for too long.

No questions were asked.

No one tried to stop them.

They were on a mission, and it was clear that getting in their way would be a risk to one's health.

Astarion led the charge and soon enough, they arrived at the Lower City’s central watchtower. From there, they climbed the stairs to the ramparts, where Astarion guided them along to the Szarr palace's southernmost tower.

“Follow my lead,” he instructed everyone. “I should be able to get us through.”

“What kind of security should we expect?” Lae'zel questioned.

“Nothing too tight,” Astarion answered. “A few charmed innocents, perhaps.”

“Try not to sound too broken up about it,” Shadowheart taunted.

Instead of responding, Astarion simply entered, the others following close behind when he encountered the charmed guards in question.

The woman who addressed him seemed familiar enough, one of the latest who Cazador rotated through for that position, but Astarion couldn't place a name to the face.

Not that it mattered. 

He might not have remembered her, but she recognized him for sure.

“Master Astarion?” she asked, hopeful about his return. “Is it truly you?”

“Yes,” Astarion sighed. “Here I am.” He gestured towards himself. “In the flesh.”

“Greetings. It is so good to see you, sir!” She nodded at him amicably. “We were told to expect your arrival. The master will be pleased to know that you have made it. Now, the ritual can resume as planned.”

“Yes, yes. ‘As planned,’ of course,” Astarion agreed. “In that case, let's not keep him waiting.”

The guard nodded, and they all stepped aside.

Huh.

Come to think of it, this was all going a little too easy.

Not that Astarion was one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but there was nothing wrong with having a healthy dose of suspicion either.

He stared at the guard, eyes narrowed.

“Not going to ask me about my friends?” he wondered, jabbing his thumb in their direction.

The guard blinked slowly at him until she was able to register his words.

“The master ordered us to let you through, no matter what,” she said, “and it is not my place to question the master. He is aware that you are not alone, and he is not concerned.”

“He should be,” Karlach mumbled.

Thankfully, the thralls didn't hear her.

At the sight of Astarion's warning glare, she pretended to lock her lips and throw away the key.

After that, Astarion followed the familiar path to the palace entrance, the party trailing at his heels.

He didn't even get a chance to raise his hand up to the door —or pull out his lockpicks for that matter— when the lock clicked open.

They all exchanged wary looks.

“Well, that isn't foreboding at all,” Gale joked, waving Astarion onwards. “Go on. After you.”

Grumbling, Astarion pushed open the door and entered.

He didn't get far inside before he stopped short in his tracks, overwhelmed by so many conflicting emotions bombarding him at once. He didn't even know how to put what he was feeling into words.

Catching on to his internal conflict, Karlach nudged him with her elbow.

“How's it feel to be back?” she asked, but he only continued to look around.

Eventually, he managed to say, “Strange,” but wasn't that the understatement of the century?

He shook his head, shrugging off the cloak of haziness to clear his mind for the fight yet to come.

“It's not exactly the homecoming that I expected. If anything, it's a warmer welcome than I believed possible from Cazador. Yet for some reason, it—” He looked around, really soaking it all in. “It's all the same. Same fading carpet. Same tasteless art.” He grimaced, motioning with his hand towards those ahead. “Same drooling fanatics tripping over themselves to earn Cazador’s favor. Nothing's changed, but gods, everything feels different.”

Astarion had tasted freedom, yet here he was, marching right back into the lion's den of his own free will.

Marching right back into his prison.

“That's because, for you, everything is different,” Karlach reminded him, “and trust me when I say that we're not leaving this place without you and Wyll. No one gets left behind.”

Before he could respond, a voice called out, loud and boisterous.

“Ah, little one!” he greeted, that stinking pile of bones strolling up to their party with all the confidence in the world. “I was informed that you had finally returned home. I had to see it for myself to believe it.”

“Cut the shit, Godey,” Astarion snapped. “You know why I'm here, and it's taking everything I have not to grind your rotten carcass to dust.”

“Aw, you're here for the boy? So Leon and Aurelia were telling the truth then. Why am I not surprised that, as soon as you've scampered off, you've gone soft?” The skeleton cocked his head to the side, empty eye sockets directed towards the others. “And what's this? You've brought Godey new pets to play with? You shouldn't have.”

“If you dare lay even a single one of those brittle bones on either me or my companions,” Lae'zel threatened, “then I'll crush your skull beneath my heel, skeleton.”

Godey chuckled darkly.

“Not very nice of you!” he exclaimed. “Not very friendly.” His raspy voice rattled in a hiss. “No worries, though. Godey likes a challenge. Take that boy of yours for example.” Everyone tensed. “Where did you find that one, huh? He showed great fortitude, I'll give him that. Refused to break. Granted, his screams were nowhere near as sweet as yours, little one, but oh did he scream for Godey…”

When his voice trailed off in pleasure, Karlach stepped forward in a burst of molten heat, a snarl building up in her chest, fire raging in her eyes.

As much as he despised to do so, Astarion threw out his hand, and Karlach stopped in her tracks before she could burn it off in its entirety.

She glowered, but Astarion locked eyes with her, refusing to stand down.

When his mind brushed against hers, Karlach started to resist at first before she thought twice about it, allowing him in as their tadpoles communed.

“Karlach—”

“You heard what he said,” she instantly thought. “He hurt Wyll. He tortured him.”

“I know.”

“I'll kill him. He has to pay for what he's done. To Wyll and to you.”

“And he will,” Astarion promised. “But now is not the time. Godey is here for a reason. If Cazador trusted anyone to know where the entrance to this ‘defiled chapel’ is and how to enter it, then it's him. If we kill him without getting that information first, then we could spend hours figuring out how to access the ritual site on our own.”

“Which are hours we don't have.” Karlach severed the connection in resignation. “Damn it.”

“What are you doing?” Godey asked, pointing his finger at them in a sweeping motion, back and forth between the two. “Why are you staring at each other like that?”

“What?” Gale answered for them. “Have you never stared at someone so beautiful that you can't help but to get lost in their eyes? Well, I guess not because, you know.”

He waved a hand towards Godey's empty skull.

“Nevermind that,” Astarion said. “Why are you out of the kennels, Godey? It's not like you to play the part of the welcoming committee, after all.”

“I play whatever part that is required of me. You would do well to learn from such an example, child.”

“So Cazador sent you then?”

“The master,” Godey corrected, “instructed me to escort you to the ritual site, so in answer to your question, yes. He wanted to come collect you himself. As a matter of fact, he wanted to drag you back with him, kicking and screaming like the ungrateful brat that you are; but unfortunately, he is much too busy. He is making his final preparations as we speak.”

“Might I suggest you start doing your job then?” Astarion retorted. With a bitter smirk, he spread his arms out at his sides, proudly putting himself on display. “In spite of everything, I'm here, aren't I? And I will go with you willingly if my companions here can continue to tag along as well.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he watched Godey closely. “To ensure Wyll's safety, if nothing else.”

Godey gave nothing away. He didn't even so much as twitch in response to Wyll's name.

Rotten bastard.

“But of course,” he crooned. He gave Astarion a mocking bow. “If you so desperately wish to send your friends to their deaths, then by all means, don't let me stop you. The master can handle the likes of you and them.”

Without warning, Godey turned on his heel and walked away, leaving the others no choice but to chase after him.

“Come along now,” he barked, each step quick and purposeful. “Keep up! You are the last piece of the puzzle that's missing, boy.”

Behind him, Astarion could hear Lae'zel mutter, “That skeleton is trying my patience.”

“I think that he is trying everyone's patience at this rate,” Shadowheart said. Her tadpole reached out, and everyone tuned into her mind. “On your signal, Astarion.”

There was a tremor of agreement that reverberated along their connection before it ended. Like the subtle vibrations of a string plucked upon a lute.

As they approached the ballroom's entrance, Cazador’s fanatics gathered around to watch them enter, unable to contain their excitement.

“Master Astarion!”

“He's back!”

“Oh, the master will be so glad.”

“His Ascension will be glorious!”

Their incessant ramblings were maddening.

They made Astarion's skin crawl.

Godey seemed to catch on to this, taking his sweet time with opening the doors.

When he pulled out a Szarr family ring, Astarion's eyes immediately fixated on it.

He watched Godey press it into the slot embedded into the doors. From there, Godey read the appropriate inscriptions aloud in a foreign tongue, causing a burst of magic to break the doors’ seal.

By means of intense scrutiny, Astarion managed to catch a glimpse of Godey sliding the ring back into place. 

Right hand. Third finger.

The doors swung open, and Godey let them file in ahead of him while he had to all but beat back Cazador's devotees to keep them from following.

Once they were inside, Astarion winced when he was hit by an unexpected stench.

Beasts gathered, filling up the ballroom from one end to the other. Rats scurried about underfoot, and bats circled overhead towards the ceiling, screeching and squeaking their delight. A whole pack of wolves and werewolves alike crowded into the space, several of which snapped their heads in their direction when the doors opened.

“Well, that's new,” Astarion mumbled.

It wasn't like Cazador to leave a bunch of mangy mutts skulking about, filling the role of guard dogs for the palace.

At the sound of his voice, one of the werewolves snapped their teeth at him, spittle flying everywhere as they spoke.

“The runaway spawn,” they snarled. WhiIe Godey sealed the doors again, the dog sniffed at the air around them. “You smell of the master, but you reek of the horned one's scent.”

Astarion gritted his teeth, but another werewolf chimed in, stepping over a corpse to creep in their direction.

“We bring you to him,” they grunted. “We bring you to the master, then we gain his favor.”

The air thickened in response, and Astarion bristled, unable to ignore that all-too-familiar sensation.

Cazador’s will washed over them in a torrent of power as Godey stepped forward, his master's influence extended through him. A red aura emanated around both of Godey's hands, two glowing points visible in the seemingly endless darkness of his eye sockets.

And when he spoke, there was a slight hint of Cazador's voice underlying his command.

“Stand down,” he ordered, and the beasts shrank away in a chorus of whines. “I need the boy intact. If I have need of you, then I shall call on you.”

Even though the words weren't directed at him, Astarion still struggled on the periphery. The urge to surrender to Cazador’s commands was strong, a gravitational force that threatened to drag him in regardless of the tadpole's power.

Astarion steeled his resolve against the compulsions.

It didn't take a genius to figure out the warning for what it was.

Continue to cooperate, or Cazador will make him.

The closer they got to his location, the harder it was to resist, but Astarion would fight tooth and nail to remain free of his influence.

Thankfully, he didn't need the tadpoles to convey his rising sense of urgency to the others.

As much as he hated to admit it, they couldn't afford to fight at that point, not with so much already on the line.

They needed to save all of their strength for Cazador.

When Godey turned to stare at him, Astarion stared right back into that deep, red glow, his head held high in defiance.

After a moment, the light dimmed, and Godey hummed in amusement.

“Time to make haste,” he said, directing their group into the hall nearby that led to Cazador’s office. “The master grows impatient. He is most eager to welcome you back, little one, and to meet your… special guests.”

“I'm sure he is,” Astarion said, sarcasm dripping like blood from his fangs.

Godey veered off to the right into an empty room before they could even step foot into the office itself. He made his way onto a large, metal platform, its surface covered in scratches and scuff marks, appearing functional overall yet worn from the passage of time.

Astarion hesitated, caught off guard by the sight.

“What in the Hells? Has this been here this entire time?” Although he already knew the answer, he still couldn't help but to ask. “It's been here, right under our noses?”

“What? Did you think that you were privy to all of the master's secrets?” Godey mocked. “Don't be ridiculous! Now, come on. You must go to him. You will help him achieve his destiny.”

“Wait, hold on.” Karlach spoke up. “Before we go anywhere with you, you miserable sack of shit, tell us, is Wyll safe?”

Cocking his head to the side, Godey eventually nodded.

“He is.” He paused. “For now. Then again, that's if you can take dear, old Godey at his word. Ahaha!”

Sneering, Karlach slowly stepped out onto the dais, and one by one, everyone else followed, hesitant as they were to do so.

Astarion watched them go until he was the last one standing apart from the group.

This was it.

There was no more running, no more hiding.

It was time he turned and faced the tiger.

I'm coming to get you, Wyll, Astarion vowed. Whatever he did to you, just hold on a little longer. Please.

Taking a deep breath, he braced himself and joined his companions —his friends— out on the platform.

Once they were all in place, Godey pulled a lever, and the elevator came to life with a jolt.

Together, they descended into the darkness below.

[thedragonagelesbian]

The One Who Endures

His body does what Bhaal designed it to do: it dies.

But other deaths, Cyrus has chosen. Letting Astarion drain him dry. Baiting Dror Ragzlin into breaking him. Blocking the door to Kith’rak Therezzyn’s office as arrows riddled him. Spending his blood to bring Wyll back from the verge of death moments before the orthon’s grenades ripped through him. Each price paid willingly, eagerly, if it meant no one else had to make the sacrifice.

There is no free will here. A divine hand around his spine, body lifting, head lolling, wings unfurling beneath him. The splintered metal of the Dread Lord’s bloodletters are arranged as serrated feathers slicing down his back each and every time they extend— exaction and extraction on the battlefield to wound his enemies deeper than he wounds himself, built to bleed in his friends’ service.

Father’s service.

The full length of his wings plunge into him. Chest, torso, legs, punctured, pierced, the last breath he will ever take leaving him with the gasp of his own cold caress.

The pain is more than anything he has ever experienced. He is so very good at being hurt, rage and resilience and devotion to soften each and every blow, but there is no escaping his own body. Adamantine. Nemean.

It is more than his mind can handle. He cannot hear Astarion unlocking Minthara’s chains, dragging the disoriented paladin from the altar, snarling fix him, damn it, fix him! He cannot see Wyll, hands and jaw clenched, looking around as if Mizora might once again swoop in with one last bargain for a loved one’s life. He does not feel Halsin touch him. To hold him, to heal him, only for his palms to slice open. A body that will not allow itself to be unbroken.

But Cyrus does feel a different pair of hands. These, spectral, mangled, bone-white, cross over his sternum. His wings cut this skin too. Steel carving tributaries into the arms embracing him, and he remembers the vision that took him in the Hells. Fighting Raphael in one moment and in the next looking at the woman whose guise the Emperor had plucked from the depths of his cratered memories. No Astral gauze this time, but a house and a small boy and a mother who kept hugging him, even as the blades sprouted from his shoulders and shredded through her flesh.

Watching rivulets of blood run above him, Cyrus tries to muster enough control of himself to protest. This agony is his to bear, and yet it leeches from him. He is no longer screaming, sobbing. Where this other body touches his own radiates a warmth, soothing sweet and suckling at his pain.

“You have suffered enough.”

The crimson threads tighten, solidifying into cords that wrap around this being’s wrists.

Another memory comes to mind. On his knees in the Stormshore Tabernacle, the scraps of writings he stole from the Open Hand Temple weighing heavy where he clutched them to his chest as he stumbled through his first prayer of his new life. The posture was familiar, supplication learned long ago under Bhaal’s gaze, but the words were alien. He had no right to pray for forgiveness— for Isobel, for Karlach, for Alfira, for every person killed because of a plan he set into motion and for every person before that slaughtered in his worship. So he asked for strength instead, that he might endure long enough to destroy the Absolute.

Father answered with a hand around his heart. To remind Cyrus who he belonged to.

But when his heart stops this time, he is not afraid. 

He glimpses the figure that has enveloped him. A kind face, tears spilling from it as freely as its blood. They wash over Cyrus not as healing but as cleansing. Washing his body before his funeral shroud.

He tries again to speak. To pray. But Ilmater shushes him.

“Your pain is mine now. Be at peace.”

And Cyrus, knowing so little of himself other than his pain, lets go.

[dwarfsized]

leetleblue fanfiction masterlist

hi! you might also know me as leetleblue over on ao3

thought it was time to collect all the links in one place, so ta-da! find my fic below the read more! as i update this i'll only indicate if something isn't bg3 because at this point it's all bg3 babey.

series:

the transformed tiefling (astarion/kira)

true colors shine in darkness and in secrecy (ongoing), the more straight-forward longfic, the game-events-rewrite except we get very involved in druid politics

Astarion grabs a fistful of her robes and hauls her closer, the full brunt of his terror and rage slamming back into the front of her mind. He demands, snarling, “Why didn’t you let me kill him? What have you done to me?”

eldath's mercy (ongoing), AU: different first meeting, Astarion stuck in a druid's grove

Astarion did have a plan to flee his Master. He'd take some gold and run for a merchant city and make a new, luxurious life for himself. Despite that, he ends up at the Circle of Calm Waters, surrounded by druids.

that's the kind of love ive been dreaming of (ongoing), dubcon, inappropriate use of the tadpole, dream sex.

At first Astarion was stuck in his trance, but Kira pulls him into a dream, instead.

astringent (oneshot, 2795 words) Post-Canon, Kira's sister comes to visit the Grove and YIKES.

In Astarion's opinion, there was nothing to recommend having siblings the first time around and—though he would never say this to his lover's face—there's precious little benefit to it when the siblings are Kira's.

ephemera (ongoing), AU: Kira is a ghost in the Crimson Palace.

Astarion assumes, when he sees the tiefling appear in the corner of the study, that he’s imagining her.

waltz with five eyes, two hearts (karlach/shadowheart/wyll)

ease (oneshot, 2189 words) Wyll-centric character study, pre-relationship, examining how isolated Wyll has been because of the Mizora of it all before the tadpoles

Wyll has gotten so good at small talk that when Karlach says, “Copper for your thoughts?” He ought to comment on how lovely the sunset is shaping up to be this evening or grin and ask if Karlach thinks Gale will put any vegetables in their dinner tonight. What he does say is, “Mizora.”

new steps (oneshot, 5277 words) Wyll considering his history with his father as they get ready to enter Baldur's Gate, with some early relationship stuff in there also for the triad.

Wyll had believed, in the deepest and most secret parts of himself that he’d dared not even think about for the last seven years, that he might get to return home hailed a hero.

other fic:

troubled thoughts and the self-esteem to match (ongoing), Modern AU, Astarion/Auri/Kira

Auri expects the Ironhand Warehouse gig to change her life, at least a little bit. The vampire is a surprise.

innatism (explicit, no ships, 1996 words) Second Person POV, You are the Dark Urge and you are giving someone a Very Bad Night.

When Minthara said she would meet you to burn the Grove, you wanted to tell her yes and bathe in the blood of all those wet-eyed fools you’d promised to save. The word had formed on your tongue and swallowing it down had been bitter.

[shewhowas39]

Astarion is such a supportive friend....

(snippet from upcoming chapter in Juniper & Starlight)

***

“Oh, and Wyll,” Mizora says, voice almost sickeningly sweet before it turns cold and hard once more. “Our pact still stands. Ta ta.” 

And then, as suddenly as she had arrived, she disappears again in the same burst of hellfire. 

“Well,” Astarion says, arms folded over his chest. “That certainly made for an interesting lunch break.”

“Gods damn her straight back to the hells!” Wyll snarls. “I was supposed to be killing demons and devils and monsters. Not innocent tieflings. Not Zariel’s victims. I did the right thing!”

“Oh, darling, doing the right thing never pays off in the end,” Astarion says. “I could have told you that.”

[shimmerbeasts]

There were plenty of reasons why Minthara wouldn't want to be back here. Back at the place where she had lost everything. This place, after all, was where she had initially arrived to have a meal with Ketheric, a meeting which she was supposed to be the honored guest. Of course, she should have expected to betrayal, then. Should have expected everything she had been put through that night. Only she had been forced not long after to let it go after she had become Orin's puppet. Had lost all control what she said and did, all thanks to worm she put there, and that Ketheric allowed her to do. Now that she was free from its control, even if it was at the cost of reallying on a small artifact, she was full of rage. That rage was all encompassing, and now that she was back at moonrise she found herself both dreading it and wanting to rip Ketheric limb from limb. Only he would have her killed before she could lift a finger. That was why she was afraid of coming back, and now that she had a target on her back, just coming here was almost a death sentence if she was caught. However, she refused to show this fear, not for anyone. "Please, you think I would be scared of that pathetic excuse of man?" Minthara snarled at the assumption, hiding what she really felt behind cold, detached eyes as they waited for the lock to click. "Without his immorality, Ketheric Thorm, would be nothing and I looked forward to the day when I finally get to see his unmoving corpse underneath my feet." Minthara rolled her eyes at Wyll's silent encouragement. In fact she had barely paid it any mind as she was quick to climb up to the vines with ease. "You know, playing the role of a concerned hero won't get you anywhere, Blade. All that emotion and morality is a weakness, and they will use it against you. Just like I would have if I were still under their control." She said as she glanced down at him as they climbed. The boy was certainly wasn't too different from his father, it would seem. "Why are we even coming here, if not to kill everyone here?"

"He was trying to be nice!", Shadowheart snarled, "No need to throw a hissy fit. Besides, his whole concerned hero gig is the reason, you are alive right now. Ever thought about that?"

Wyll sighed as he followed Minthara on the climb. He said: "Shadowheart, please don't start a fight here. She has got a point." He could not help but chuckle in bemusement. "You sound like ... someone, I know." The fang clinked against his rapier's blade during the climb. Mizora would never grow tired of warning Wyll that misplaced kindness could get him killed.

Things felt weird right now when it came to her. Ever since they had entered the Shadowfell, something about his connection with the Cambion had not seemed to work as it usually would. Normally, even without her visiting, he could always feel her almost enveloping him like a second skin. Her whispers would flit through his skull when she was excited by something, her claws would dig into his shoulder, and her wings would brush over his side. No matter how alone he was, somehow he never felt truly alone. Thus right now, in a twisted sense of irony, he felt almost naked.

As they carefully swung themselves over the sims of the balcony and landed on the floor, everybody almost immediately dropped into a crouch in hopes of not revealing their presence here. Wyll explained with a whisper: "Minthara, right now, Ketheric is immortal and has an entire army on his side. We cannot kill him just yet. What we can do, is try to figure out why he is immortal, and while we are at it, thin down his forces in Moonrise as much as possible."

Shadowheart and Astarion exchanged surprised glances. Astarion whispered to no one in particular: "Who are you and what have you done with Mister Goody-Two-Shoes over there?"

Wyll shot his friends a look and the high elf and half elf chuckled softly. His lips quivered as he suppressed a bemused raspberry. "We are gonna need another pair of eyes." Wyll raised a hand and gestured at a free space before them. "Expectura", he called under his breath. Under a gleam of green light and some smoke vapours, a small, familiar quasit appeared before them. Shovel looked around in excitement, however, she then turned towards Wyll.

The warlock hissed: "Crouch, go invisible and scout ahead."

Shovel gave a weird noise, somewhere between a chirp and a growl before she obliged and turned mostly invisible. Wyll could, if he focussed hard enough, dimly make out her outline. As the quasit rounded a corner, they could suddenly hear an aggressive growl and chirp, almost as if she had run into something unexpected.

Astarion raised a hand and hissed: "Wait here." The high-elf swiftly tiptoed along the path and poked his head around the corner of the room. Astarion furrowed his brows in confusion and disbelief before he looked back at the others and hissed: "There is a dog here!"

@faerunscursed

[iron-hearts-ablaze]

Gods. Hearing his voice muttering so close to her, his lips grazing against her ear slightly sent a shiver down her spine. Her stomach twisted violently in the anticipation and arousal of it all. But she took a deep breath and tried to ignore it. As difficult as that was for her after so long - she had to keep forcing the reminder that he was indeed drunk, and possibly not thinking with his right mind. She had to be the better one... Just in case.

Instead, she tried to chuckle, to focus on his words and not the manner he was speaking them. "Nine, eh? Pfft, I'll believe it when I see it, mate." She teased a little more. A natural response for her at this point.

She froze, however, when he continued. Gods he was making this incredibly difficult. She helped lower him to his bedroll, tail twitching slightly with tension and uncertainty. A large part of her really wanted to lay beside him, keep the cold of the shadow curse away from his tent for the night - and whatever internal clouds were casting themselves over him. But a small part wondered how much of this was the truth.

His last words caused her breath to catch in her throat. If this was under different circumstances, she would have declared how much she needed him as well. His humour, his generosity, his affections...his flicker of a bad side that he showed her from time to time.

"What you need, is some sleep." Karlach scoffed, trying to cover up how she felt. Thankfully he looked half asleep already... Perhaps she could sneak away in time. "Fine, I'll sit with you for a bit. Want a bedtime story, soldier?" Karlach joked, lowering herself down next to him, arms behind her head. "Get some sleep, Wyll... We'll talk about this more in the morning, yeah?" She muttered, her tone more serious. She hesitated for a moment, before quickly leaning over and kissing him on the forehead, between his horns. Just in case this was her only chance.

Karlach stayed beside him for a while. Thinking over everything that Wyll had said and how this would impact everything - if it were true. Mizora wouldn't allow it, surely... But at the same time, if it pissed her off, that was a plus in Karlach's mind. But the impact upon Wyll would be huge...

Once she was certain he was sound asleep, she quietly left the tent and made her way to her own lodgings. Snarling a warning at Astarion who witnessed the whole thing to not breathe a word of how promiscuous it looked. Nothing had happened...no matter how much Karlach had wanted it too. She had a rather rough nights sleep...the engine not helping in the matter. Her mind less so... She had no idea what she was going to say to Wyll come morn. She concluded it would all depend on how much he seemed to remember...

The tieflings words didn’t go without notice, and as she openly admitted to him behind right, it only made his grin widen. Wyll always had a knack for theee things, for reading into people. And Karlach was one of the few who rarely hid how she felt regardless. Perfectly in tune with her emotions and proud to display who she was. At least around him. Of course it had taken all this time for this to come to pass.

“See, I know you Karlach,” Wyll murmured against her cheek before he found that she had put her hands on his shoulders. He moved his head back just enough for their eyes to meet once more, even if he could barely focus. “God you have a strong grip, careful, if you let me go I might fall on my ass.”

At the questioning of how much he had drank, Wyll giggled once more and pressed his mouth to her ear as he let her guide him to his tent. “Ah, I lost count I think, but probably more like 9. Couldn’t help when I saw Lae’zel chug chugging away.” He hummed softly, his steps become more uneven. Had Karlach not had a good grip on him, he knew without a doubt he would fall.

“Karlach….. I don’t want to sleep alone.” His tone took more serious tone suddenly as they arrived the short distance to his tent. Almost immediately he squeezed her hand tightly, as clinging to her. “It’s been so cold and when I’m around you, everything feels so warm. Not just because you happen to be all fire-y, either.”

Wyll carefully positioned himself in his bedroll, though nearly slipped as his foot went in the air for a moment. The movement was so fast he could feel bile almost come out, but he held it back. “Will you at least stay until I fall asleep? Plenty of room for the two of us.” He knew he wouldn’t be getting much of a restful sleep, if Mizora had anything to say about it, but at least he could have this. “I need you, Karlach.”

[shimmerbeasts]

Her red eyes glittered as Astarion performed his little flourish of a bow. It was hard to say whether or not, she felt insulted by his dramatiques or was entertained by them. However, one detail in Astarion's mocking monologue stuck out to her. And like a fox catching a mouse under thick layers of snow without even seeing it, the Cambion pounced upon the presented opportunity.

Mizora clicked her nails against each other, deliberately letting the light illuminate them and allowing Astarion to make them out for the claws, they were. She said: "Gory details is what you wish to see? You want proof of my openness? Well, I cannot fault you for it, Astarion. So, how about we do something together? Just the two of us?"

The Cambion gave Astarion a wolfish grin and for a few seconds, it seemed even the wind carried the growls and snarls of something with itself. Mizora stepped beside Astarion and planted one of her hands upon his shoulder, turning him around so they both had to stare ahead towards the thicket of the bushes and the large trees of the forest looming ahead of them. Even now with daylight as bright as ever, you could hear the bustle and rustle of animals in the undergrowth and the chirping of birds in the trees.

Mizora suggested with a sultry purr: "I know, you need to hunt animals to get the blood you need to be able to fight. So, how about this night we hunt together? Then you can see all the gory details, you crave so much, Astarion."

Astarion didn't actually intend to seek out Karlach right away although he certainly planned to when he felt the time was right. For now, he'd rather leave the implication of what he might learn from the Tiefling open and simmering. Just as he was leaving that bottle of blood still full and in plain view. He wanted to see how long it would be before she mentioned it.

When Mizora smiled like that, he had to control his expression not to frown. He hated that expression. It never meant anything good. As she leaned close he became even more still than he already had been. He didn't move away but he watched and he listened closely.

Her words sparked a blaze of fury inside him. Because in some ways she was right. His current freedom was overwhelming and he was still adjusting to being free of the restrictions that had bound him for so long. He had been terrified upon waking up in the sun and had just barely kept himself from sprinting for the nearest shade. He still nearly flinched each time he stepped from shadow to sunlight. He wasn't going to let her know any of that however.

"I haven't drank your little gift now have I? Nor drained anyone at camp." Astarion replied softly while giving her his own knowing smile and allowing his tone to turn flippant. "I'm honestly finding this all quite invigorating. Really, I haven't felt this alive since I actually was."

"I must decline. Have no interest in 'letting loose around you'." He said with a mocking bow. "I've already had far more entertaining offers. As for my reluctance to share my vampirism, did you ever consider that I might simply be a private person? After all, not even you are all that free with the gory details of your life despite your claims of being the most open one here."

[skellingtondrac]

#let wyll get some love and healing!! let wyll get swept off his feet!#astarion snarling at mizora#astarion spending an entire night scrutinizing wylls contract#astarion secretly embroidering wylls clothes!#wyll feeling safe!#wyll having a hero!#wyll getting swept into dances!!!#theyre such an interesting pair STOP IGNORING HALF OF IT

OP's tags= a++

*Wyll/Astarion*

*Wyll/Astarion but it's about Astarion's trauma and Astarion's healing and Astarion's fairytale romance and Astarion being treated right and Wyll is barely acknowledged in the slightest despite being literally half of the pairing*