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hellcatalex1 · 4 months ago

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Part 3- Together (Unbinding the Curse)

Astarion x Female Elf Durge

Post game, One year after the fall of the nether-brain, Spawn Astarion.

Triggers: blood, adult language, adult themes, nightmare, trauma.

Gale nods and steps aside, allowing you and Astarion to approach the pedestal. The box seems to pulse with a quiet energy, as if it were alive and aware of your presence. Astarion’s hand hovers above it, his fingers trembling slightly, betraying the emotions he’s trying to keep in check.

You place your hand on his, grounding him. “Whatever happens, we face it together, remember?”

He looks at you, his eyes searching yours for reassurance. Finally, he nods, and together, you lift the lid of the box. Inside, nestled in a bed of velvet, is a small, crystalline vial. The liquid within shimmers with an ethereal light, shifting between shades of silver and violet. It’s beautiful, but there’s something about it that makes your skin prickle with unease.

Gale leans in, his eyes wide with awe. “This is it. A phylactery of ancient Netherese origin. It’s said to contain the essence of a long-dead archmage, one who sought to transcend mortality itself.”

Astarion’s breath hitches. “And you think… it could do the opposite for me?”

Gale hesitates, choosing his words carefully. “The Netherese were obsessed with bending immortality and mortality. Their magic was unparalleled. If this phylactery holds even a fraction of that power… then yes, it could cure your vampirism, or at the very least, alter it.”

You feel a surge of hope, but it’s tempered by caution. “What are the risks?” You ask.

Gale’s expression darkens. “The magic within is volatile. The phylactery was designed to bind a soul to it, preserving the owner’s essence. If Astarion uses it, it could merge with him in unpredictable ways. There’s no guarantee of what he’ll become… or if he’ll survive the process.”

Astarion’s gaze locks onto the vial, the conflict evident in his eyes. The chance for a life free from the curse of vampirism that has haunted him for centuries, but at what cost? He could be free… or he could lose everything, including himself.

You tighten your grip on his hand. “Astarion, you don’t have to do this. We can find another way.”

He shakes his head, a sad smile on his lips. “How long have I waited for this moment? The chance to be free, to walk in the sun again, to live without the constant hunger gnawing at my soul? I can’t just walk away from it now. But…” He pauses, his voice softening. “I promise I won’t rush into this decision."

The room is thick with tension as Astarion weighs his options. Finally, he looks to you, his expression resolute. “What do you think? Should we take this chance?”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you consider his question. You think back to everything you’ve been through together, the battles, the close calls, the quiet moments of tenderness..... and then Cazador. You’ve always been stronger together, but this… this is different. This is a risk that could change everything.

“I think…” you begin, choosing your words carefully. “I think this is a decision that can’t be rushed. We need to understand exactly what we’re dealing with. If there’s even a chance this could help you without destroying who you are, then we should explore it. But we do it cautiously, step by step, with all the knowledge we can gather.”

Astarion nods, relief washing over his features. “You’re right. We’ve faced too much to throw it all away on a whim.”

Gale looks between the two of you, then gestures toward the phylactery. “There may be a way to learn more before we decide. The phylactery is linked to the spirit within. I could attempt to communicate with it, to see if it’s willing to share any knowledge. It’s a delicate process, though, and there’s no telling how the spirit will react.”

“Then let’s do it,” Astarion says, his voice firm. “We’ll gather every piece of information we can before making a decision.”

Gale nods and begins to prepare for the ritual, drawing intricate runes around the pedestal and muttering incantations under his breath. As he works, you and Astarion step back, watching him with a mix of anticipation and anxiety.

Shadowheart, who has been silent until now, finally speaks up. “This is dangerous, but I understand why you’re doing it. Just know that whatever happens, you have my support.”

Astarion glances at her, surprised by her words. “Thank you, Shadowheart. That means… more than you know.”

She gives him a small, genuine smile before returning to her usual stoic expression. “Just don’t do anything reckless, alright?”

“No promises,” Astarion replies with a wink, though there’s a seriousness in his tone that you don’t miss.

Gale finishes his preparations and takes a deep breath, turning to face the three of you. “I’m ready. This will take all of my concentration, so I’ll need complete silence. If anything goes wrong… well, let’s just hope it doesn’t.”

You and Astarion exchange a glance, then step back to give Gale space. The air in the room grows thick with tension as Gale begins the ritual, his voice rising and falling in a strange, melodic chant. The runes around the pedestal glow with a soft, golden light, and the phylactery begins to pulse in time with Gale’s words.

As the ritual continues, the light from the phylactery intensifies, filling the room with an otherworldly glow. You can feel the magic crackling in the air, and a sense of dread creeps into your chest. This is no ordinary magic, this is power beyond comprehension, and it’s dangerous.

Suddenly, the light from the phylactery flares, and a ghostly figure begins to materialize above it. The figure is translucent, its features shifting and indistinct, but you can make out the shape of a humanoid man, tall and regal, with eyes that burn like twin stars.

Gale’s voice falters for a moment, but he quickly regains his composure. “Great spirit,” he intones, his voice steady. “We seek your knowledge. Tell us, what is the purpose of this phylactery? What power does it hold?”

The spirit’s eyes flicker, and when it speaks, its voice is like the whisper of a thousand souls. “This vessel holds the essence of my life, the culmination of all my power. It was crafted to preserve my soul, to grant me eternity beyond death. But in the hands of another… it can do more. It can transform, it can enhance, it can elevate… or it can destroy.”

Astarion steps forward, his gaze locked on the spirit. “And if I were to use it? What would happen to me?”

The spirit’s eyes narrow, its form shifting ominously. “You seek to escape your curse, to walk in the light once more. The phylactery can grant you that, but it comes at a cost. The power within is too great for any mortal to wield without consequence. You would be changed… perhaps beyond recognition. Or you may be consumed entirely.”

The room falls silent as the weight of the spirit’s words sinks in. The choice before you and Astarion is clearer now, but no less daunting. The power to be free from the curse is within reach, but it could come at the ultimate price.

Gale finally breaks the silence, his voice subdued. “We have our answer. The risk is great, but so is the potential reward. Astarion… the decision is yours.”

Astarion looks down at the phylactery, his expression unreadable. Finally, he turns to you, his eyes searching yours for guidance. “What do you think, love? Do we take the chance, or do we walk away?”

Your heart aches with the enormity of the decision. You think of the life you’ve built together, the love you share, and the future that could be waiting for you. But you also think of the risk, the possibility of losing Astarion, of him losing himself.

After a long, agonizing moment, you take a deep breath and speak the words that have been weighing on your heart. “I can’t make this choice for you, Astarion. But whatever you decide, know that I’m with you. Always.”

Astarion’s eyes soften, and he pulls you into a tight embrace. “Thank you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m grateful every day that you’re by my side.”

Astarion holds you for a long moment, his breath warm against your ear, before finally stepping back. He gazes at the phylactery with a mixture of longing and trepidation, as if the weight of centuries is pressing down on him all at once.

“This could be the end of everything,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Or the beginning of something new.”

You reach out, gently touching his arm. “Whatever happens, you won’t face it alone.”

Astarion nods, his resolve hardening. He turns back to Gale, who is watching with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “I’ve made my decision,” Astarion says, his voice steady. “But I need to know more. How do we use the phylactery safely? How do we ensure it doesn’t destroy me?”

Gale frowns, clearly thinking through the possibilities. “The ritual would be complex. We’d need to draw on the phylactery’s power carefully, channeling it into you in a controlled manner. If we’re not careful, the energy could overwhelm you, or even shatter your soul.”

“Then we need to be careful,” Astarion replies, his eyes glinting with determination. “We’ve faced worse, haven’t we?”

Shadowheart steps forward, her gaze serious. “If you’re going to do this, we’ll need to make preparations. We can’t just rush into it without knowing the risks. We should seek out more knowledge, find someone who understands the Netherese magic better than we do.”

Gale nods in agreement. “There is a sage in Waterdeep who specialize in ancient magic. We could consult them, gather all the information we can before we attempt anything. It’s not a decision to take lightly.”

You look at Astarion, feeling a pang of relief that he’s willing to approach this with caution. The thought of losing him to this ancient magic is too much to bear.

“What do you think?” you ask, searching his eyes. “Should we find these sages and learn more?”

Astarion considers this for a moment before nodding. “Yes, it’s the wise thing to do. We’ve come this far, we can afford to wait a little longer. If there’s any chance of doing this safely, we need to take it.”

Gale claps his hands together, clearly relieved. “Excellent! I’ll make inquiries right away. We should have some answers within a day or two. In the meantime, we can rest and prepare ourselves for what’s to come, you are all welcome to stay here in my tower."

Shadowheart crosses her arms, her gaze lingering on the phylactery. “This is a dangerous path we’re walking. But if it means giving Astarion a chance at a better life, it’s worth the risk.”

The four of you agree to set out the next day to seek the counsel of the sage. For now, there’s nothing more to be done but wait. You retreat to your shared quarters in Gale’s tower, the weight of the decision still heavy on your mind.

Inside the room, the atmosphere is different, more charged with the unknown. Astarion seems restless, pacing the length of the small space. You watch him for a moment before standing and placing a hand on his shoulder.

“We’ll find the answers we need,” you say softly.

Astarion stops pacing and looks at you, his eyes reflecting a thousand unspoken thoughts. “You’re right,” he says finally, his voice tinged with both hope and fear. “I just, this is the closest I’ve ever been to truly being free. And yet, it’s terrifying. What if we can’t control it? What if I become something monstrous?”

You step closer, cupping his face in your hands. “You won’t,” you say firmly. “You’re stronger than you know, Astarion. We’ll take every precaution. We’ll make sure you come out of this whole.”

He leans into your touch, closing his eyes as if drawing strength from your presence. “I trust you,” he whispers, his voice almost breaking. “I trust you more than anyone.”

You pull him into a tender kiss, letting the connection between you speak the words that neither of you can fully express. When you finally pull back, Astarion seems calmer, more grounded.

“Let’s get some rest,” you suggest, guiding him toward the bed. “Tomorrow will be a long day.”

He nods, allowing you to lead him. As you lie down together, he wraps his arms around you, spooning you from behind. The chill of his body against yours is comforting, a coldness you have gotten used to, something that was unique to him.

But sleep doesn’t come easily. The weight of the decision hangs over you like a storm cloud, the potential for both great reward and terrible loss swirling in your mind. Every time you close your eyes, you see the phylactery, glowing with that strange, ethereal light, and Astarion, standing on the precipice of a future that could be either wondrous or disastrous.

Eventually, exhaustion takes over, and you drift into a fitful sleep, your dreams filled with visions of ancient magic, swirling shadows, and Astarion’s face, torn between hope and fear.

Click here for part 4

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