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abigailmoment · 1 year ago

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It wasn't just bad luck that Staeve was targeted. It was a calculated attack. Halsin knew well enough how a caster could examine their enemies for tells. Halsin did it himself. Considered an opponent's tactics, and guessed at the places their mind would be most vulnerable.

You didn't have to be a gifted empath to watch how Staeve hurled himself into the thick of combat, right at the biggest bandit wielding the two-handed great sword, and think that the man might be vulnerable to a spell that exploited wisdom.

The fact that it took down Astarion too, well, perhaps that one was just bad luck.

It happened like this:

This is written about @velnna's Tav, Staeve. I was delighted to discover that they don't mind fan fiction being written about him.

I'm always cautious about writing for other people's OCs--getting voices right is so important to me. I have elegantly avoided that issue here.

Full text below.

Full Text On AO3

The fight was an incidental bit of banditry. Dangerous banditry, certainly. Bandits with great swords, supported by wizards. Halsin hung back with Gale while the two rogues dashed forward to give truth to the old adage that the best defense was killing the other fellow extremely quickly.

They cut down the man with the great sword and the woman with the mace and shield. Reinforcements were coming from around a rocky overhang. Halsin coaxed the earth to throw up entangling vines to slow them down. Gale drenched them with glimmering light that illuminated all their vulnerable points for Astarion and Staeve to shoot at.

Only the half-orc made it through the vines and the light. He was bloodied and wrathful. He was huge, but it was two against one, and the two were flanking with each other. It would have been an easy end to the combat, except that apparently there was a bandit wizard hidden somewhere in the trees who chose this moment to cast a spell.

One second Staeve was a blood spattered half-drow sprinting full-tilt, sword out, towards a fighter twice his size. And then he was gone.

Some sort of teleportation? Banishment? Gale was saying something about trajectory and scanning the treeline. Halsin was yelling, he wasn't sure what, the concern was more important than the words. He started running forward. Because two rogues against a barbarian was fine, but one rogue against a barbarian was an extremely fast way for that rogue to die.

And Astarion knew that so he should be running away. But he wasn't running away. He was darting forward and ducking low and almost getting hit by a greataxe as he snatched something off of the ground.

Then he was running, thank the Gods. There was something cradled in his arms, which meant he didn't have his rapier out as he scrambled back.

It was a cat. Halsin saw. They were ten feet away from each other when Halsin realized that Astarion was carrying a large, extremely upset tabby cat with grey-green fur.

That was when Astarion vanished. No. Not vanished. As the tabby tumbled to the ground, something small and white was already there, darting for cover.

Then the half-orc arrived. Bellowing and huge, at least when compared to cats. Not quite as huge when compared to Halsin.

Halsin decided to turn into a bear. It was amazing how many problems you could solve by turning into a bear.

"I am feeling my oversight in not preparing dispel magic today," said Gale. "Or counterspell."

"This is not a situation we could have anticipated," Halsin said.

Staeve contributed to the conversation, but because of present circumstances, it came out as a meow.

He was large for a cat. His fur was pale brown, tabby-striped with green. His stripes crisscrossed in a way that reminded Halsin of his tattoos. His scar was a fur-less groove in his face. He had the same pale green eyes as always. That color was quite appropriate in a cat.

He meowed again, more insistently this time.

"We will," Halsin assured him.

"You're speaking with him?" Gale asked.

"Not magically," Halsin said. It had been a long day and he had barely anything left to cast with. "But I think I understand him."

"Do you?"

"Think a moment and I am confident that you too will guess what he wants from us."

It did only take a moment. Gale was an intelligent man, when prompted. And they'd all seen the small white cat vanish into the woods during the bear-orc fight.

"Ah. Of course." Gale addressed the cat, voice reassuring. "Astarion should be relatively safe though. Polymorph is temporary and even if something did happen to him in the interim, he would just revert to his natural form."

Staeve's whiskers went back and his ears went flat in a thoroughly unimpressed way.

"I think it would be best to find him and make sure nothing happens," Halsin said with mellow diplomacy.

"Of course." Gale paused, then said delicately: "Given my skill in woodland matters, or lack thereof, I may best serve this cause by getting out of the way."

Halsin smiled. "It is a wise man who knows his limitations."

"I'll meet you all back at camp then?" said Gale.

"Take a potion of invisibility for the trip," Halsin suggested. "There might still be bandits about."

Staeve had gotten impatient with them, and was padding off into the forest. Halsin handed Gale the potion and hastened to follow.

Staeve scampered about the forest like he was looting the place. No hole, hollow log, wasp nest, or brown recluse spider-web was left uninvestigated. The loss of seventy five percent of his gray matter had done the man's already flagging survival instincts no favors. Halsin spent half of his attention looking for signs of a small white cat, and half of his time making sure Staeve's efforts at tracking didn't get him killed.

After being only a hairsbreadth quick enough to pull Staeve away from the entrance to a dire-badger-burrow Halsin decided that his partner was now going to be carried. Staeve made a meowling, writhing objection. He was terribly invested in the search. A compromise was reached when he was offered a perch high on Halsin's broad shoulders. Staeve proceeded to clamber from shoulder to shoulder as Halsin walked, ears always forward and alert, eyes bright, head turning this way and that as he scanned the woods.

Small cats with stealth training were not easy things to track through dense forest. Halsin did end up using his last spell slot to cast speak with animals. The local mice and voles always noticed when predators passed, even small ones. Halsin spoke to them while keeping one hand on Staeve, who watched the tiny creatures with bright, newly interested eyes.

Halsin of course spoke with Staeve as well, but it wasn't quite the same. Talking to a person who had been transformed into an animal was not the same as talking to that person. Shape changed you. How you saw things. How you thought. The mind of a cat was a fraction of the size of that of an elf or half-elf. Thinking with it was different. The change was easiest for druids. It was hardest for the cursed, who did not choose the new shape. Who were surprised by it.

He spoke to Staeve and learned things he had already known from observation. He reassured Staeve that the mice had given useful guidance.

That guidance led them north, then west, and then to a long hollow log, moss covered and broken in two places. A good hiding spot, and the sort of shelter that had a lot of escape routes. Staeve jumped off of Halsin's shoulder as the druid knelt down and they both peered inside.

In the darkness, Halsin could just make out a pair of ruby-bright eyes staring warily back at him.

Beside him, Halsin watched Staeve relax for the first time since becoming a cat. He wasn't actually as large as Halsin had first thought--it was just that his hackles had been up and his tail puffed out for the duration of the transformation.

It could be a painful thing indeed, to have one's heart so completely entwined with another's safety. A deeply worthwhile thing, but a painful thing, sometimes.

Halsin made a deferring motion to Staeve, who nodded in a rather un-catlike like way. Halsin stepped back from the log, moving slowly so as not to startle anything. He shifted a few feet away and sat close enough to watch, but far away enough that his looming size wasn't an ominous thing.

Staeve didn't go inside the hollow log. He sat at the entrance. Lay down at the entrance, body long and casual, head up on the lip of the log so he could keep looking inside. Modeling relaxation.

He started to purr. Halsin could hear him purring even from a few feet away. A loud, constant, soothing rumble. It somehow did not surprise Halsin that Staeve had a loud purr.

And then Staeve waited. Patient as anything. Waiting and watching and purring in a low buzz, as steadily as a beehive.

Halsin could not see inside the log, but he could guess at when Astarion moved because Staeve's ears would flick. Staeve had a fine poker face, but everyone had tells.

Something happened, or occurred to him, that made Staeve raise his head and sit up slightly from his sprawl on the ground. Then he stood up entirely. He gave Halsin a significant look, and trotted off into the underbrush.

Conscious that he had just been assigned new responsibility, Halsin shifted so that he had a good view of the log's entrances and everything around it. There wasn't much danger, Halsin’s presence in general kept most predators away from this space. But still.

During his vigil, Halsin saw the glimmer of red cat-eyes once. And only briefly.

Staeve came back soon. He had a dead vole in his mouth and he looked exceptionally pleased with himself. He dropped the vole at the mouth of the log, took a few pawpads back and watched expectantly.

It took another long minute, but after that minute a small white cat crept out of the darkness.

This should surprise no one, but Astarion was a beautiful cat. Slender and graceful with large eyes. His fur was pure, silvery white and just long enough to curl slightly. He moved with a cautious precision that Halsin recognized as his habit, and that deeply suited his new form.

He sniffed at the vole. He shot Staeve a judgmental look, because Gods forbid the man accept any kindness without prevaricating about it in some way. He glanced at Halsin. And then he leaned down to slide exceptionally long canines into the corpse's chest.

Staeve flopped down about a foot away and watched him with an expression of pleased devotion that would honestly be a bit more appropriate on a dog.

Astarion ate fastidiously, and without getting even a blot of blood on his snow-white fur. When he finished he licked his teeth.

When Staeve was quite sure Astarion was done eating, he sidled up slantwise, sauntering around the vole corpse as if he just casually happened to be taking a stroll in this part of the forest for no particular reason. He stopped just short of Astarion. His ears were forward. His tail flicked lightly from side to side.

Astarion regarded him levelly with his 'I know what you're doing and I know you think you're being clever about it but you're not' expression. Then, as if granting a boon, he deigned to rub his forehead gently against the underside of Staeve's chin.

Staeve took this as the invitation that it was and pressed back, much more enthusiastic and honest in his delight at the contact. Which in turn gave Astarion an excuse and space to do what he wanted and enjoy it.

They were always very dear to watch together. Whatever form they took. In about a minute they were curled over each other on the ground and Staeve was industriously grooming Astarion's head.

Halsin let this go on for as long as he could. But the shadows were lengthening, and they were very close to the Shadowlands, and he was out of spell slots, and the rogues were currently housecats.

"It is getting late, dear ones," he said softly.

Astarion twitched at the interruption, and Staeve licked him three times along the neck and chest in a soothing way. Then they disentangled from each other and padded over to Halsin.

Halsin picked up Staeve, but he knelt down and laid his arm on the ground so that Astarion could climb up and find what perch he wanted by himself. They did both end up in his arms. Staeve was tired and quite ready to be carried, and Astarion didn't want to be out of contact with him.

As Halsin walked through the woods with an armfull of cat, Staeve started to purr again. It was really the most marvelous sound. A soothing distillation of satisfaction and care. Almost enough to tempt one away from being a bear.

Astarion did not purr. Some cats didn't. Or purred only very rarely. But Astarion did, at one point, look up at Halsin and blink his bright red eyes very slowly.

And that was a precious thing.

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Other stories like this.

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#staeve #astarion #bg3 #Transformation #Fluff #Hurt/Comfort #Cuddling #A Great Deal Of Cuddling #Implied Trauma #Very Brief Peril #taking care of astarion as a group project

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amorgansgal · 4 months ago

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Between a rock and a hard place

I finally finished it! Inspired by @autistichalsin's post about Halsin seemingly enjoying a little erotica involving 'Oh no, I'm stuck under the table... whatever shall I do?' I decided to write a piece inspired by that with a druid tav x Halsin relationship.

CW: Sexual content, terrible dad humour from Halsin, maybe not one for you if you're not a fan of small, cramped, dark spaces

It had all been fun and games at first. Tav had been playing with the children, she had been a fox and they were chasing her through the surrounding meadows and forests, finally she managed to get some way ahead of them and hidden herself in a little rocky crevice. She watched them race by, doing her best to stay quiet and not laugh. The children ran down to the nearby river and out of view.

But before she had a chance to turn round and leave the crevice, she lost control of her wild shape spell and turned back to her usual self! Suddenly, the fairly sizable crevice was impossibly tight. She took a deep breath in. No need to panic, she just needed to focus and turn herself back into the fox! However much she tried though it wasn’t happening, perhaps she had exhausted her spell slots or couldn’t focus properly with a bit of the rock poking into her. Alright, well if that wasn’t working, perhaps she could wiggle out of the crevice or at least stop that bit of rock digging into her side.

She wiggled back out of the opening, managing to get her legs through the hole until her toes were just touching the dirt underneath and- Oh! She couldn’t get the rest of her waist, shoulders and arms through the hole. She tried changing her position, attempting to move onto her side or getting one arm through, but it was no good. Gods, what if the children found her like this? They would be in hysterics! And then they’d probably have to get one of their parents to help. It would be utterly embarrassing and humiliating!

Per her worst nightmares, Tav suddenly heard the heavy tread of someone walking up the hill! She tried to scrabble frantically again, but it was no good, she wasn’t budging. The footsteps came to a halt behind her and she waited with baited breath for laughter or someone questioning what the hell she was doing. Some great, noble hero of Baldur's Gate she was! Gods, it was going to be humilating once she got back to Reithwin. No doubt the children would find it hysterically funny!

‘Dear, oh dear,’ Halsin’s warm voice sent a rush of relief running through her. He did chuckle though. ‘How have you managed to get yourself into this tight spot?’

‘Ha ha ha!’ she muttered sarcastically. ‘I was playing with the children.’

‘I know, they returned to the town without you and didn’t know where you’d gone. They were planning on looking for you at the old hospital, but sadly they were distracted by snacks.’

Tav harrumphed, unbelievable! So much for her little rescuers! ‘Well, at least you’re here, please help me! Can do a shrinking spell or something?’

Halsin laughed quietly again and she jumped a little on feeling his warm, rough hand on her behind, his thumb gently stroking the cheek. ‘Hmm, I could, but then… it seems a shame to not make the most of this opportunity.’

‘Halsin!’ Tav squeaked, wiggling furiously. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me, I’m stuck in a rock and you’re thinking about that!’

‘Mm,’ Halsin rumbled and his hand stroked up her butt, coming to the waistline of her trousers. He suddenly tugged them down and Tav felt the cool air on her bare skin and Halsin’s fingers trailed round to her underwear. ‘There’s something quite delicious about you being caught between a rock and a hard place.’

‘Halsin!’ Tav growled, not at all amused, though she couldn’t help but let slip a little moan as his fingers stroked the fabric of her underwear and lightly teased her clit. Her wiggling was certainly not helping matters anymore. ‘What if the children come back?’

‘Like I said,’ he replied, sliding down her underwear till it was caught between her ankles and the cool air against her skin made her realise just how wet she was. A hot embarrassing flush ran over her body. She couldn’t really be enjoying this! She was stuck in a hole, defenceless with her lover teasing her about it and he was making the absolute most of this mess… Halsin’s fingers slid down her slit, rubbing circles over her clit and making her gasp. ‘The children are busy and you aren’t telling me to stop, though of course, if you wish for me to desist, I will-.’

‘No!’ she cried, then quickly bit her lip as Halsin gave a low chuckle. His fingers momentarily left her slit and she gave a pathetic little whine, then they returned slick with his spit and making her moan as he stroked her clit again, before dipping down and easily sliding into her.

‘My heart, you’re drenched,’ Halsin murmured and the low rumble in his voice made her shiver. ‘Perhaps in future we will have to find more tight spots you can get caught in!’

Tav whined as he sunk his fingers in deeper, slowly fucking her, stretching her so she could take him. Her feet scrabbled against the dust and dirt and she tried to roll her hips more, but it was proving difficult. Her pants and moans echoed around the small cave and she was desperate for more. ‘Halsin, please, please, we don’t have time.’

‘We have all the time in the world, my heart,’ he murmured, ‘But I will give you what you want, what you desire.’

She felt his cock press against her sopping wet entrance, he slid it back and forth along the wet seam and she closed her eyes as it hit her clit and heard Halsin’s groan. Gods, she wished he could touch her, her breasts, her neck, her waist, but all he could reach were her hips, thighs and cunt. His fingers tightened on her hips, the nails digging in and then she gasped when he pushed his cock inside her. Tav heard Halsin’s delicious low moan at the sensation. He stayed still for a moment, his hands gripping her to the point she wondered if he would leave some bruises on her hips and thighs. Finally, achingly slowly, he pulled out until just the tip was left inside her needy, clenching pussy and then he thrust back inside of her so quickly he almost pushed her further into the cave.

It was almost brutal how deep and fast Halsin was fucking her, and how this position and situation left her utterly defenceless and utterly at his mercy. Perhaps that was what he liked about it, she thought to herself, but she couldn’t do much thinking as his thighs and balls slapped against her butt and his cock hit that little sensitive spot that left her squirming. One of his arms had her lifted up under her waist, as she had almost slipped a few times when he was fucking her, and the other was messily, desperately stroking her clit.

It left Tav gasping for air and moaning at the sensations flooding through her, there was no time to think or try to get a better position as Halsin rutted into her and the only thing she could do as she was overwhelmed by a glorious, heady rush of pleasure was to grip onto a crumbly piece of rock in front of her, that shattered into pieces in her hand. Evidently, the feel of her clenching around Halsin’s cock was enough, and with a deep, low growl he came inside her. He thrust a few more times, before stilling and Tav could hear him getting his breath back, before he slipped out. She shivered as he moved away and the cool air rushed back to her warm thighs.

‘Thank you, my love,’ he said. ‘And I’m sorry I took advantage of you, but I could not pass it up, it’s been something of a fantasy of mine.’

‘As long as you get me out of this damnable hole, I think I can forgive pretty much anything!’ Tav yelled over her shoulder. Halsin chuckled, then uttered the spell and she was immediately shrinking down to almost half her size. She wiggled out the hole, glad to feel the warm sun on her skin and fresh air on her face. She tutted playfully at Halsin, but he had already picked her up easily and given her a kiss.

‘Hm, funnily enough this has been another fantasy of mine,’ he said, once the kiss was over.

‘I think we better save that one for another time!’ Tav said, they hardly needed to have round two and run the risk of being caught, though she couldn't help smiling when he kissed her again and the hot, heady look was already blazing in his eyes.

#halsin #bg3 halsin #halsin silverbough #halsin smut #halsin x tav #halsin x druid tav #tav x halsin #druid tav x halsin #druid tav

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yeetmeoutthewindowdaddy · 2 months ago

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Halsin can't catch a break

I keep thinking about how Halsin is the only one in my camp that has his shit together.

Of the Tadfools my Tav is the one who has her shit the most together, and yet she's still a fucking mess.

Halsin (partial) POV crack fic thing under the cut.

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Halsin was rescued from the goblin camp by my Tav.

He must've been in awe, this stranger took down an entire goblin camp to rescue him?

Tav has a ticking ilithid time bomb in her head, and yet she chose to help the tieflings, resuce him, and save the Grove.

Tav must be a true altruist.

And then he finds out that Tav stopped Kagha from killing a child and completing the sealing ritual. Tav has saved the tieflings and given them, and subsequently him, hope.

Tav has made the impossible, possible.

Tav has given him the perfect excuse opportunity to step down as archdruid and leave the grove.

He knows that Tav and co. can help him free Thaniel and lift the Shadow Curse.

Sure— most of Tav's party members are strange and off-putting, but he's not one to judge books by their covers. The fact that Tav can get such vastly different people to effectively work together speaks volumes about Tav's leadership skills.

He must've been so relieved. He wouldn't have to be the competent, composed, leader if he joined Tav's camp. He could solely focus on the Shadow curse and Thaniel — because Tav obviously has her shit together.

The first day of travel after the tiefling party is a bit rocky, which Halsin attributes to everyone being hung over.

And then he finds out that:

Shadowheart is a worshipper of Shar.

Lae'zel hates Shadowheart as much as Shadowheart hates her.

Lae'zel and Shadowheart have tried to kill eachother.

Lae'zel sharpens her blades whenever she can, for as long as she can. (I swear that fucking noise is what drove my durge to kill the bard.)

Gale has an unstable bomb in his chest that is no longer responding to treatment.

(He already knew Wyll had been turned into a devil by Mizora because he valiantly refused to kill Karlach. What he didn't know is that) Wyll has a concerning relationship with alcohol.

No one can touch Karlach because she'll accidentally set them on fire.

Astarion is a vampire.

To say he's a bit concerned would probably be an understatement. But Tav has done well in keeping her companions from killing eachother, so it's fine. This is fine.

And then he opens the communal camp chest.

There is a corpse in the chest.

No, there are corpses, plural, in the chest.

Humanoids, goblinoids, animals.

Are these the bodies of those Astarion has killed to feed from? Is this a Shar thing? A gith thing?

Why are they in the camp chest?

Why would they keep them!?

Why would they keep them in the camp chest!?

Halsin asks Tav about the dead bodies.

"Oh, those are my trophies." she cheerfully tells him. (Note: this wasn't a durge run, it was a "normal" Tav run.)

Halsin simultaneously realizes several things:

Everyone in this camp is insane.

These are the people he's counting on to aid him in his quest to save Thaniel and lift the Shadow curse.

None of them have their shit together. Except him.

Traveling with the Tadfools is more going to be more stressful than leading the Grove was.

Poor Halsin can't catch a break.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #halsin #halsin silverbough #the tadfools #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #bg3 headcanons #bg3 fanfiction #my tav #bg3 tav #tav #bg3 imagine #crack fic #crack fanfic #curb your enthusiasm #Frolic - Luciano Michelini

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daughter-lilith · 2 months ago

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❅In Every Life❅

Halsin x Fem!Reader | Modern AU, Parallel Universes Part 5 | Read Part 4 here Not the final part. I unintentionally lied in my last post?? I explain at the end of this update. For now, I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Another day on modern Earth as you finally wind down for the late night in your quiet home. All is as it should be. All is normal as you prepare for bed. That is, until a tall, hulking man with pointed ears shows up at your doorstep claiming to be your lost love from another time and realm. But he’s a stranger. A stranger who forever changes everything you thought you knew about your life.

Explicit 18+

CW (For whole story): Blood, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Tension, Oral, P in V, Shifting, Pain, Love, Grief, Halsin is Emotional!

Word Count: 7.5k

A downpour of emotions flooded Halsin’s heart all at once. His entire body trembled, heart pounding violently in his ears, and the bear within banged against an invisible cage, claws protruding, swiping, and slashing. The beast roared, the force so tremendous and powerful that Halsin felt it in his bones, surging through his veins like wildfire, and he tossed his head back and thundered an agonizing roar of his own. He felt his eyes burning, cheeks wet and stained with violent tears. When his screaming seized, his throat stung, and the muscles in his arms felt tight and sore as he clenched his fists so hard that the veins in his arms began to bulge. Halsin lowered his head, glaring through watery eyes at the vacant space you once occupied only moments ago.

His shoulders slumped and he finally unclenched his fists, though it only made the trembling in his arms and body worse. He nearly flinched when he felt a sudden warmth wrap itself around his frame, half aware of blue flames flickering on the side of his vision. “Oh Halsin,” the voice said. It sounded like Karlach, but he could hardly see, could hardly think. His mind was dazed, lost, the only function he was aware of was the endless tears leaking from his eyes.

Another set of warmth came around him, then something like a hand on his back. Halsin just sat there, on his knees, hair disheveled with several strands hanging in front of his eyes. Someone squeezed him tighter, sniffling near his ears. His stomach felt so unbelievably tight, his chest heavy and straining under an invisible weight. Images of your teary eyes looking up at him crowded his mind; the thin trails of blood that seeped down the side of your chin as you spoke your final words. It was a dream. No, a nightmare. It had to be.

The two of you were still back home, lying in bed, your naked bodies entangled in one another. The sun’s light was still spilling through the open windows, shimmering over your skin. You were still tracing lazy patterns over the hairs on his strong chest, blessing him with your beautiful gaze and occasional kisses. Nature was still singing just outside of your home, the sweet melodies inviting you both to enjoy the new day. Halsin would roll you on your side, settling himself behind you, feeling the bareness of your body curving so perfectly into him. He would—

“It should have been me… Vlaakith—” a familiar voice stirred Halsin away from the dream, painfully bringing him back into this nightmare.

The rocky surface of the Astral Plane flickered back into view, and he heard her speak again. It was Lae’zel— her voice was lower, faltering as she choked to get her words out. “That was my death. Mine.”

Halsin squeezed his eyes shut, his heart crumbling further. The bear within slumped on the floor, defeated, panting, and exhausted. “Do not say that,” he said, his voice dry and throat still burning. Halsin felt no rage towards Lae’zel, and he knew you wouldn’t want him to. There was only one person responsible, and Lae’zel had already laid her to waste.

He felt a gentle hand rest on his knee, tentative and almost fearful. He was more aware now, of the embrace and physical consolation around him. He could feel their sorrow, their grief, their pain both for him and themselves. No further words were said, only the sounds of quiet weeping and the eerie current of the Astral Plane. Halsin’s head swarmed with a million thoughts as his arms started to feel numb and heavy, useless. The magic that flowed through his essence felt hollow and drained like it too was drowning in the sudden loss.

Halsin thought back to the glowing, healing blue light that he desperately tried to pour into you. And yet it did nothing to heal you, nothing to sustain you long enough to get you out of the Planes. What good was it to be gifted with these powers, to wield such powerful magic that did nothing when he needed it most? They had the means to revive those lost, but there needed to be something to revive.

His heart lurched as the flat of his hands felt the cold ground. Where you should’ve been. Where he, Shadowheart, Gale, anyone could’ve brought you back. But there was nothing to bring back, for the damned Astral Plane robbed him of the chance. Stealing you away when you belonged to Faerûn, belonged to him; his greatest confidant, lover, and best friend.

Oak Father… Halsin thought to himself, desperate for aid, for another chance. He was Silvanus’ chosen, one of his most devout followers, surely he would not forsake Halsin now. But even Halsin knew divine intervention did not come lightly or often. And he knew better than anyone that Silvanus was a god of nature; of respecting its balance, the cycle of life, and sometimes the fierce unpredictability of everything nature brings. To even think of asking the Oak Father for such aid may be considered blasphemous, for he was not a god of necromancy but—

Halsin’s eyes shot open, his blood pumping with purpose. And with renewed strength, he rose higher on his knees, stirring those who embraced him.

“Halsin?” Karlach questioned, letting her arms fall away from him as Halsin now stood to his feet. “What is it?”

Halsin glanced at her, eyes frantic, heart racing. The others peered at him curiously, wiping their faces as they kept their attention on the risen druid. “Withers,” he uttered, his heart rate increasing by the second as he darted his gaze towards Gale whose eyes were red and patchy.

“When have you all seen him last?” Halsin inquired, an intense severity in his voice as his words came out rushed and eager. He quickly swept his eyes over all of his companions, waiting for one, anyone to respond first.

“It’s… it’s been years,” Shadowheart answered first, her cheeks and nose a deep rose, flushed with tears.

Wyll groaned as he moved to stand, and he swiftly used his armored wrist to wipe beneath his nose. “Not since our first reunion,” he added.

“You don’t think…” Gale pondered, eyes slowly widening with realization.

Halsin nodded firmly. “I do.” It had been two decades since they last saw and spoke to Withers. After the first reunion, the skeletal being teleported everyone to their respective homes and journeys, bidding them a very blessed farewell. They had long carried suspicions there was more to Withers than he let on. That he was more than a keeper of records or scribe, but an old, mysterious god perhaps. Still, none of them ever pressed the issue, content with the consistent aid Withers bestowed. But they needed that aid once more— Halsin needed it.

Astarion paced around the group, waving his hands hastily. “Then what’re we waiting for? Let’s go wake up the old bastard.”

Halsin strode towards Gale and Shadowheart, each step swift, his presence demanding before he even said a word. They both stared up at him with an anxious gleam in their eyes beneath the haze of sorrow. When Halsin spoke, his words came out rapidly, hands trembling. “She once told me you all found Withers in some sort of crypt only a few miles from the Grove, how- how quickly can you open a portal there?”

“Um- I- well,” Gale stammered, the wheels in his head turning.

Karlach stepped by Halsin’s side, blue flames still dancing along her skin and hair. “Would he even be willing to help us again? It’s been so long.”

“We must try,” a sharp voice responded. Halsin glanced at Lae’zel who was still kneeling on the ground, her head still bowed.

Shadowheart, frowning, closed her eyes briefly while she turned away. She exhaled a deep breath before speaking, gathering herself. “Halsin… our magic is sapped. We only have the portal we came here in. Perhaps we should rest first and then—

“No,” Halsin’s thunderous voice rumbled the ground beneath their feet. “There is no time for rest. We will merge our energies, focus on the task and make a way.” He spoke with an intense conviction, his tone low. It was not in the way one would speak to their friends, but how a leader would speak to their followers—how an Archdruid would enact their commands.

Silence followed his orders as Halsin eyed everyone in turn, taking in their wary and doubtful appearances. Only Astarion seemed just as impatient as he was, ready to follow whatever was needed. From beyond their group, he noticed Minsc’s lumbering frame posed in front of a horde of allied githyanki warriors, becoming a barrier against those who were curious over their crestfallen victors.

Halsin tightened his brows, his heart loud in his ears as the bear within huffed, displeased at the hesitance before him. “All of you,” he ordered, “reach into the Weave, and link yourselves with me.”

A tender and somewhat firm hand rested on his shoulder. Halsin turned his head to find Wyll, the scars on his face as sullen as his expression. “Brother please, let’s not be hasty. Time is different here, right? If we rest in the Planes, perhaps only a few more minutes would have passed in Faerûn.”

Halsin sneered and shoved his hand off him, marching a few steps away from the group. Fists and teeth clenched, he stared off into the ethereal Planes, a wave of anguish and rage threatening to throw him off his balance. A part of him knew his friends were right, that they needed to rest. His own magic felt faint and dull due to the many times he wild-shaped or desperately tried to heal you.

“Where are you, Withers?” he mumbled roughly, unable to ignore the heat boiling in his blood.

Behind him, Halsin could feel his friends’ silent thoughts, their concern and hesitation to approach him. If they couldn’t help, he’d have to figure it out on his own. Why did he have to bend to time’s will? No. There was always a way, and he would find it as soon as possible.

“H-Halsin?” he heard Gale ask, but Halsin only sighed internally refusing to respond. If Gale could not help him, then there was nothing more to say.

Karlach’s voice arose next, urgent. “Halsin, look.”

Just as she spoke, he felt a surge of energy consume the space around him. A great power that felt foreign to the Astral Plane. Turning, Halsin’s eyes widened at the sight of a massive, green, spherical portal hovering a short distance away from the group. A familiar gaunt figure emerged, dressed in worn dark robes as they sauntered casually into the Planes. Halsin’s stomach lurched and a rush of the most extreme sensation of hope filled his chest. It couldn’t possibly be…and so quickly…

“I have heard thine’s call.” Withers. His rumbling echo of a voice still carried a weight of eeriness and an underlying power. “Once separated by the influence of time, our paths once again merge. Does thou require my services once more?” His dark, hollow eyes passively swept over the stunned companions before deftly landing and remaining on Halsin.

Halsin took three long strides toward the undead entity, his breathing rapidly increasing. He moved like he was almost going to tackle the fragile-appearing figure until Karlach’s strong hand tugged at his forearm.

“Easy there, soldier,” Karlach urged. “Breathe first.”

Halsin swallowed, trying to steady himself while Withers observed coolly, undisturbed by Halsin’s intensity. Towering over the undead man, he took one deep breath, speaking with purpose. “You’ve aided us before- can you aid us now? A resurrection. Any price.”

Withers surveyed Halsin silently, then examined the appearance of his friends before calmly strolling in between the group. With his gaunt arms folded behind his back, he hummed to himself as though analyzing the results of an experiment. Halsin watched intensely as the undead man continued to take in his surroundings. His heart dropped as he watched Withers stop at the very spot Halsin last held you, where he lost you.

“Ah, a hero has fallen,” Withers droned. “A great loss indeed.”

Halsin moved towards him, heart hammering. “Can you bring her back? Please.”

“Please, Withers,” Karlach added, frowning as she stepped near Halsin.

Withers was still for a moment then closed his hollow eyes, extending his skeletal arm over the area you fell. A glowing, green light illuminated his arm and Halsin watched with bated breath as the bear within paced frantically.

Withers made a few humming noises, some faint mumbling as his hand glowed brighter. His hand swayed in side-to-side motions like he was brushing something away or searching through a pile. Withers twitched, and the light burst in his hand before dimming completely. Halsin’s heart dropped at the sight, a part of him sensing something was wrong. Then Withers, ever so calmly, opened his eyes.

“Alas, their spirit has not been found, for it does not linger in the realm of where my power extends.”

Halsin stumbled, his stomach twisting. “What? Then where!?” he bellowed, his thunderous voice powerful enough to shatter the rocks they stood on.

Withers answered, impassive. “I cannot answer, for I do not possess the knowledge of such an answer. Such truths are beyond even my grasp.”

“So there is nothing you can do?” Halsin raged, incredulous. His voice was caught between yelling and trying to control his erratic breaths. “There is nothing you can do? She is just lost, gone forever?”

Withers raised a hand as if to calm him. “The Astral Planes are but a single thread of existence in the great cosmos. Fear not, mortal one, for fate spins as it should. What is lost may simply be lost, not gone.”

“Tsk’va! What good is a master necromancer who cannot perform this very task!” Lae’zel was on her feet now, pointing her sharp nails in Withers’ direction. “Htak’a! Is there nothing you can do!”

“Well isn’t this just marvelous,” Astarion crooned, incredulous. “Our magic is useless, the gods are quiet, and the one oh-so-powerful undead who has helped us several times before suddenly- cannot. How wonderful.”

Halsin surveyed Withers’ decrepit face as he stood almost apathetically, his body unmoving. It was hard to tell what he was feeling within those dark, obsidian eyes—if he was feeling anything at all. Withers seemed utterly unfazed by the chorus of frustrations and the occasional insults directed his way. He had never been one to show a heightened level of emotion before, why would the undead entity begin now? After another moment, Halsin turned away, taking several steps while his mind drifted and the voices of his friends grew muffled with each passing second.

The realm around him suddenly felt so distant and veiled, like he was ambling his way through a cryptic, blurred dream. A dream where angry voices were shouting in the distance but he could not decipher what they were saying, nor did he have the means to care. Withers could not help him, which meant Halsin could not bring you back. You were not just lost to him, you were gone, even your soul was apparently nowhere to be found.

The weight of Halsin’s shoulders felt painfully burdensome, his muscles tight and sore, legs threatening to betray him. The druid was defeated, broken beyond repair. Halsin looked down, bringing the palm of his hands into view at the same time. His calloused hands were streaked with crimson, a notable tremor in both. He lowered his arms and inhaled a deep breath, feeling his heart sink as a tide of gloom and agony tore through his body, penetrating his mind. Even the bear and all his wild shapes retreated deep within his essence, burrowing into the darkest corners they could find.

Halsin lifted his gaze, noticing that Withers was standing before him again, a curious glint in his sunken eyes. His friends were out of his vision, behind him, still arguing amongst themselves about what to do next or which god to call upon. As for Halsin, he had a new goal.

“Withers,” Halsin uttered, quiet as to not alert the others. “May I request one last thing, and I will no longer seek your services.”

Withers did not respond verbally, he simply tilted his head and blinked as though he were permitting Halsin to proceed.

“May you grant me a portal to The High Forest? I wish to go alone. No followers.”

Withers seemed to consider, then very faintly bowed his head.“As thou wishes.” Withers turned, lifting his hand with his palm outward as though he was ordering someone to stop. Green orbs began to glow in the center of his hollowed eyes and in the next moment, a shimmering, emerald portal flickered to life before them.

The druid stared at the sphere of green light and mist buzzing with power, waiting to be used. Halsin, posture sullen, began to step towards the waiting portal but stopped just before entering. He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of hasty steps rushing towards him. Withers lifted a hand, and his friends were instantly repelled by an invisible barrier, splitting them from Halsin.

“Hey, what the fuck is this Withers!” Karlach shouted, the pain in her voice palpable.

“Be at ease, child of fire. For the druid has requested to journey in solitude.”

Karlach scoffed, banging once at the transparent bubble that shimmered on each contact. “Journey huh? Wherever you think you’re going, big guy, we’re coming with you!”

“No,” Halsin responded, stern. “This is a path I tread alone now.” He turned away, fully facing the portal again, unable to hold her grievous eyes any longer. “Forgive me for this dejected departure, and goodbye my friends.”

“So, that’s it then?” Astarion yelled, taking a turn to thrash at the barrier. “You’re leaving us, too?” His voice seemed to choke and a harsh hiss escaped as he breathed.

“No, brother! We should stick together,” Wyll chimed in, a faint crack in his voice, “now more than ever.”

Halsin closed his eyes, stung by the pain in their voices, the desperate need to cling close together. But his heart was drained and weak, his body dense and heavy— soul shattered. And his friends, they were too much of a reminder of what they all lost.

The shouts and cries of their pleas tormented him, hearing their aggressive pounding on the magical barrier. He heard curses at Withers, vocal incantations, and consistent calls for his name. But the elf’s mind had been set, he wanted out of this blasted Plane- alone. And they could not convince him otherwise. So without sparing another glance, Halsin, head hung a bit low, walked through the portal crafted just for him. Immediately, he was greeted by tall trees and a fading sun as the sound of a loud whoosh erupted behind him, and the portal vanished.

Two years had passed since Halsin lost you. Two years since he walked away from his friends in the Astral Plane, effectively cutting himself off from any contact. The mighty elf found himself sitting in a tavern along the northern part of the Sword Coast, in the coastal city of Neverwinter that was a few hundred miles north of Waterdeep. He was pausing for the night to restock before he headed even further north, deep into the wilderness, alone once again.

Two years since he left the Astral Plane, and two years since he returned to a life of roaming, lacking the strength to return home. After spending days mourning in The High Forest, Halsin knew he couldn’t go back to the home you and him created together. His home was solely with nature now, in every and any region he could reach. Unfortunately for him, his current path had him passing through a city at his displeasure, for it had been quite some time since Halsin was surrounded by such dense civilization that the noise of collective chatter felt foreign to him.

Just the one night, he reminded himself. One night, then he would proceed north to Icewind Dale, the furthest reach of the northwestern coast, and deep into the forests along the mountainside. Winter was coming, and the bear was craving a long rest far away from civilization.

Halsin sat in the corner of the lively tavern, next to long open windows that gave a wide view of the beach and sea beyond. He hadn’t meant to pass through such a busy place, but aimlessly found himself traveling along the coast on his way north, directly into the heart of Neverwinter. While he was there, he chose to stop to fill his belly, and perhaps stay for at least half a night to rest before he packed up and moved on.

He would occasionally scan the massive room, drawn towards the bard’s lively tune on stage and the many patrons who linked arms and danced to the joyous melody. They laughed and swirled, some still holding their jugs in hand while their feet carried them across the wooden floors. Radiant musical notes hovered around the stage with some floating above the dancing patrons, the sparkling magic leaping to the same rhythm.

Halsin noted the bliss on everyone’s faces, and he wanted to smile, to bask in the jubilant energy… but joy seemed to no longer have a home in Halsin’s heart. It had been two years since he last felt a genuine smile smooth its way onto his face. Two years since he laughed and danced, losing himself to the enthralling tunes amongst wonderful company.

He closed his eyes, jaw clenching before he took a sip of the harsh gin, hot and brutal down his throat. He used to detest the stronger liquors but found more comfort in them these days. The potent burn of the taste was but a brief discomfort, a door that opened into the calmness that followed.

Halsin’s eyes swept across the coastline from his seat, his mind partially adrift. But he wasn’t oblivious to the curious glances and hushed whispers when he first walked in, even more so once he found a place to sit down. For an elf the size of a half-orc, he was used to the wondrous stares whenever he entered new places.

Feeling an oncoming presence, Halsin turned to find two patrons sauntering towards him—a drow and a half-elf. They seemed young; the half-elf couldn’t have been over sixty, and the drow could have been anywhere between thirty and two hundred. They both wore playful smirks as they approached, eyeing Halsin keenly.

The drow stopped in front of the table. Her pink eyes, like cherry blossoms, analyzed Halsin’s face with a sparkle of excitement. “We don’t mean to intrude but… are you the Archdruid Halsin?” Her voice was smooth as silk, white hair brushed neatly down her back.

Halsin cleared his throat, leaning back, and the wooden seat creaked slightly under his weight as he moved. “Former Archdruid.”

Their eyes widened in delight and the half-elf stepped forward. “But still a master I’m sure. We’ve heard many... intriguing things about you, one being that you can turn into a bear for hours,” the half-elf exclaimed with a praising voice, his green eyes full of interest. He then gestured to the vacant seating across from Halsin. “May we?”

Halsin thought about it for a moment, torn between clinging to his solitude and not wanting to deny a potentially friendly conversation. It had been weeks since he had a proper chat with anyone, perhaps it was time to mend that. So he nodded his head and the pair eagerly slid in across.

The drow leaned forward, the descending sun emphasizing the pink in her irises, extenuated by her lilac skin. Before she spoke, her lips curved into a slight frown. “Apologies but, we couldn’t help but notice you seemed rather… downtrodden. Lonely, even.”

“A hero of Baldur’s Gate deserves company,” said the half-elf, a friendly smirk on his face.

Halsin half chuckled, darting his eyes between the pair. He analyzed their postures, how they leaned closer to the table in his direction, but also how their shoulders and arms touched naturally… familiar. Their clothing was sleek and tight fitting, save for the long thin coat the half-elf wore. They were both matching with a deep royal blue, fashioned with golden embroidery patterns, wealth seemed to be of no trouble to them.

“I rather enjoy quiet time alone,” Halsin told the pair, their smiles mildly falling. “But I will not shy away from welcoming conversation.”

The drow smirked, blinking slowly through her long lashes. “If it’s solitude you seek, you’ve chosen a rather interesting establishment.”

Halsin released a soft, quick laugh. “Interesting indeed. But I am just passing through.”

“Oh? And to where is your true destination, might we ask?” inquired the half-elf, a genuine intrigue in his tone.

“Further north, near the mountains,” Halsin told them, terse, not wanting to divulge the specifics.

“Hmm, there’s not much fun up there,” said the half-elf. “And the cold can be frigid and unforgiving I hear.”

The drow nodded in agreement. “You should stay here, basking in the gentle warmth of the city. This place is called Neverwinter for a reason, courtesy of the elemental magic warming our waters.”

Halsin sighed, taking a moment to glance out the window towards the sea. The air was strangely warm there, considering how north they were and almost at the turn of the next season. “Tempting but… my purpose remains. I am here for the night and journey onward tomorrow.”

The drow pursued her lips like she was thinking, a hint of a sulk on her dark-painted lips. She glanced briefly at her partner before locking eyes with Halsin again. She slid her nails across the table in the direction of Halsin’s mug, stopping just shy of his fingers. “Well then, former Archdruid, since we are pressed for time, allow us to be forward with you. We’ve heard more tales than just that of your bear but that you are also quite… skilled in other aspects.”

Halsin inspected them closely, humming in response with a slight tilt of his head. The faintest smirk touched his face, but he said nothing, curious to hear more of the presumably oncoming proposal.

Beside the drow, her partner spoke. “If you are interested,” he began, his green eyes bright against the contrast of his pure black hair. “We’d like to invite you to share in our bed tonight. A hero deserves to be praised, after all.”

Halsin leaned back slightly, his finger obliviously tapping against his mug. A faint feeling simmered deep within his abdomen as he surveyed the couple. The lightest stir of a change in his pulse. As he began to ponder, the drow quickly continued their request.

“You needn’t do much, master Halsin. It would be our pleasure to take care of you,” she murmured sweetly, one slender finger of hers daring to stroke along Halsin’s. “But we also wouldn’t be opposed to more… wilder sides of your druidic charms.”

“Just for the night,” the half-elf added with a sly smile. He confidently placed both hands on the table, slowly clasping them together while he awaited the druid’s answer.

Halsin gave a deep intake of breath, slow and pondering. His gaze shifted between the couple across him, their eyes watching him eagerly, a hidden flush of want and need. Halsin, in his long life, was no stranger to the attention of being desired. Many considered him to be quite exotic, awakening things within themselves when Halsin was in their sights. And it had been long since he felt the touch of another, the touch of you….

He felt himself take another deep breath as a flutter of the faintest nerves danced in his abdomen. He could not deny that the couple before him were pleasing to the eyes, and they were open and willing to invite him into their private lives for the night.

Halsin had willingly secluded himself to the bellies of nature almost entirely, like he was betrothed to it alone. But he was never promised to it. And right now that very nature was reminding him of the many gifts it offered. To deny it was to deny nature itself.

Halsin raised his mug to his lips and then downed the rest of the strong liquid once and for all. He kept his eyes on the pair as he did this and watched as the drow parted her mouth, her bottom lip seemed to quiver with an unseen gasp.

“Alright,” Halsin said, feeling a warmth pass through his torso as he agreed. “Just for the night.”

The drow clasped her hands with an excited giggle as the half-elf simply smirked and nodded his head. Halsin watched him rise, then extended his arm out to the side. “Let us lead the way, we rest our heads not far from here.”

Halsin stood from his seat and immediately towered over the couple, especially the drow. He heard a pleasing breath leave the half-elf’s mouth as his eyes swept over Halsin’s frame with unabashed praise. The druid noticed a few patrons casting curious glances at the trio as they strode through the tavern toward one of the exits.

Halsin’s long cloak swayed with him as he marched with confident strides through the streets while the pair occasionally glanced over their shoulders to ensure he was still there. But despite the confident advance in his long legs, and the even and focused expression he wore, Halsin’s stomach proceeded to twist and flip. It was not the first time he experienced such a feeling before acts of physical intimacy, but it was rare when it came to strangers. He was confident in his performance and cared not for the opinions and judgments of those he did not know, so why was a storm brewing within?

“We’re here,” the drow suddenly said, turning towards a grand, three-story home that was connected to a row of other houses and shops.

Halsin repressed his anxious thoughts and walked up the few steps into the house. Inside was warm, and the smell of pure vanilla and something unknown to him filled his nose, but it was sweet and inviting, sultry even. Halsin strolled further in, stepping on a rather expensive-looking red rug that covered dark brown flooring.

“This way, please.” The drow winked at him before strolling up a wide staircase with the half-elf on her heels.

Halsin exhaled, steadily aware of the rising beat of his heart. He followed them up the stairs, the steps croaking beneath his mighty weight. A breeze from an open window tickled his face and swayed his cloak as they reached the top of the stairs. The gentle song of windchimes rattled throughout the quiet house, save for the sounds of distant voices on the streets and the trio’s concentrated footsteps inside.

The couple led Halsin into a lavish, quiet room with several accents of reds and purples: the curtains, sheets, and various flowers adorning two massive wardrobes. There was a large bed at the center, decorated with bulky pillows and another red rug beneath the bed’s stand.

Halsin came to a stop but swayed slightly as a shift in his heartbeat caused a quick intake of breath. His stomach was beginning to tighten, much to his dismay, but he willed himself to force those sensations away. This was far from his first experience with couples— two at once was neither a challenge nor spectacle, so why was his body acting as such?

A sharp but quiet sigh drew from his lips at the feeling of the drow knowingly brushing her shoulder along Halsin’s side as she sauntered past him and toward the bed. She spun around once she reached the end of the bed, her movement slow and alluring. The half-elf gave Halsin a sultry wink as he came to stand parallel to her but with enough room in between. With a tantalizing smile, the half-elf gestured his arm towards the space between the couple, an invitation.

“Come, master druid, let us care for you,” the drow droned, a sultry purr calling out to him. Inside, the bear stirred, curious at the hint of long-dormant sensations being gradually stimulated.

Halsin half smiled, rolling his shoulders back which made him appear even taller, a powerful presence. “Remove your garments first. When there are more than one involved, it brings me pleasure to stand as a witness for a short time,” he told them with a confident pitch. However, his words were not entirely true.

While he did enjoy watching one rid themselves of the fabrics that shielded what nature blessed them with, he wasn’t one to linger on the sidelines much when other parties were involved, typically joining the affair with haste. But he felt the strangest need to give himself time, to ease the lurking monster of nerves threatening to simmer across his torso.

“Show me how you care for each other, and how you would wish to care for me,” Halsin said, the vigor of his voice deep and unintentionally commanding.

But this only seemed to entice the couple more. Obliging, the half-elf reached behind the drow’s neck and drew her in for an immediate, deep, needy kiss. A soft whine left her lips as the half-elf moved his hand to fiddle with the back of her constricting gown, loosening the ties and freeing her skin from its embrace. Halsin huffed a small pocket of hair, watching as her perky, lilac breasts bounced lightly. The half-elf groaned as her slender hands moved deftly over his buttoned trousers. With experienced speed and grace, the couple wasted no time freeing themselves from what few layers they wore.

Halsin readjusted his stance in response to a familiar twitch fueling his blood. The scent of a swelling salacity fluttered in the bedroom as the couple fondled and caressed the smooth, hairless planes of their bodies. Halsin quietly admired the curve of the drow’s body and the tight lines of muscle in the half-elf’s lithe physique. He watched her pull him into a searing, wet kiss, slowly reaching upward to thread her fingers through his short, black hair. The half-elf left her lips, gliding his tongue down her neck and chest before closing his lips over one of her violet nipples.

A satisfied sigh left her mouth as she tilted her head back, exposing her long neck. She yelped as the half-elf's other hand slipped between her thighs, and Halsin could barely make out his thumb running down the middle of her folds, disappearing within. His large chest rose and fell as he watched the pair, a low heat tingling over his skin. He could almost imagine the bear within rising on all fours, enticed to watch more.

The half-elf licked a long trail back up her chest, capturing her lips in another heated kiss. The drow chuckled lightly as she placed both of her palms flat on her lover's chest, halting him from further movements. “Patience my darling,” she murmured, nearly breathless. “We have another to pleasure tonight.”

The half-elf gave a closed-mouthed grin before releasing her. She turned away from him, her naked body facing Halsin fully, chest slick from her lover’s kisses. She was a beautiful creature, Halsin could not deny it. Nature was often incredibly talented with its canvases. Her eyes peered at him, dark with lust, cheeks already so flushed, and Halsin released an unstable breath as she sauntered towards him.

“Join us, master druid. Grant us your touch,” she purred, closing the short distance in little time. She placed a tender hand at the center of Halsin’s clothed chest. “Grant us the pleasures of your taste.”

A peculiar feeling cut across his stomach when she touched him, like a spark, but it was unlike one of sudden pleasure or pain. He couldn’t quite interpret it and cared not to, for it was fleeting, already gone the moment he started to ponder about it.

From behind the drow, Halsin caught the eye of the half-elf sitting on the bed, leaning back on his elbow, his bare legs wide open as he observed his lover and the druid. The half-elf reached for his long erection that rested on his thigh and began slowly playing with himself, as though in anticipation to watch his drow lover seduce and praise the druid.

“So thick with muscle,” the drow breathed as her hand traveled along the wide planes of Halsin’s strong chest. Her eyes roved over him appraisingly, and she leaned up towards his face, a soft gasp leaving her lips. “And such scars… a true fighter you are.” Her breath tickled his skin and a shiver ran down his back, accompanied by the same bizarre flip in his stomach. Still, Halsin felt himself swelling, breaching against the confines of his trousers.

The drow raised one hand to the side of his face and gently coaxed him to bend down towards her. Halsin caught a light floral aroma hovering over her skin as she rose on her toes, closing the distance. Her breath felt surprisingly cool as she angled her chin towards his mouth. Halsin watched her closely, her pupils so dilated with a brazen desire like she was already intoxicated from the exertion of passion before they even began.

With bated breath, he watched her eyelids close as her lips pressed softly against his own. Another flip inside his stomach, this time stronger, fiercer. A shiver rocketed over his skin but it wasn’t pleasurable, and his abdomen tightened. Halsin stood still, the wheels in his head spinning, his entire body growing rigid with each passing second. It felt bizarre, it felt wrong. The drow’s touch felt wrong, his body rejecting.

“You can kiss me, druid,” the drow murmured, smiling as she stared into his eyes after pulling away briefly. She leaned forward once more but Halsin drew back, causing her to gasp softly in surprise as her hand fell away.

“Perhaps this was a mistake,” he said, as gently as he could. All desire that was rising in his blood was rapidly waning, his heart pacing for other reasons entirely. Even the firmness of his cock began to reverse, the interest in what was to come no longer enough to awaken it.

The drow simply smiled, whining playfully. “Aww, don’t say that.” She bit her bottom lip, staring at his mouth with supreme volumes of yearning. “I can be slower if you’d like. I can ease all of the tension I know is trapped in those broad shoulders.” She reached for his face again—

“You cannot.” Halsin gripped her wrist, not enough to harm her but enough to seize her movements. The sternness in his voice sliced through the room, the aura of an Archdruid, destroying all flavor of the carnal atmosphere.

A flicker of surprise and fear flashed in her pink irises, and from the corner of his eye he noticed the half-elf take a cautious step towards them, eyes narrowed, but Halsin continued. “There is only one whose touch I crave most, and I will not find that here. May you both enjoy yourselves.” He let go of her wrist, then glanced once at the half-elf before turning his large body away from the couple and headed out of the bedroom.

The last he remembered was their dumbfounded stares as he turned to leave, having not a single care about what else they might have to say to convince him to stay. They still had each other, far more than what Halsin had, and that would have to be enough.

Halsin was already back outside, marching faster through the streets than he realized, ignoring all curious glances and stares along the way. The indecipherable noises, faces, and scents were a blur as he almost blindly strode down the stone-paved streets. His heart was hammering, his breathing coming in rapid, trembling currents. He needed to be alone again, to throw himself into the solitude that he should’ve never released in the first place.

His large legs brought him back to the lodgings adjacent to the tavern. He stormed inside, ignoring any greetings, and made his way upstairs where the volume from the streets became muffled. Halsin rushed through his door, slamming it behind him, and immediately fell forward against it. His forearm was leaning against the large door, with his head resting against the taut muscle.

He stared aimlessly at the mahogany floor, so incredibly aware of his blood rushing through his veins. “My heart,” he uttered, shakily. “I need you.” Images of your sweet face flooded his mind, the harmonious sounds of your laughter echoing in his ears, a faint memory.

Maybe two years was too soon, maybe he needed more time. He immediately buried that thought, there would never be enough time. “You are still all I want,” Halsin whispered, feeling his eyes starting to burn, naively hoping you’d somehow respond.

“Silvanus give me strength.” He closed his eyes, desperately trying to level his breathing, to calm his thundering heart.

It had been two years since he felt the true touch of another. Two years since he felt your touch. For someone of his lifespan, one would think he'd be immune to the effects of two simple years. But it was far from simple. Two years felt like two lifetimes without you by his side. Nature offered him a chance today to reap its bounties, but his heart was unmoved, his flesh disinterested.

One night. Just one night of rest, and he would gather his things and continue north to Icewind Dale. He’d trek deep into the wilderness for the next few weeks or months, alone again with nature and the memories of you. He’d spend his nights finding you in his meditations, and sometimes when he was exhausted enough, his dreams.

The thoughts alone sent a shrill up his back as he proceeded to conjure more images of you, imagining you standing right behind him, comforting him. Halsin sighed, deep, his body prickling at the visual of you running your hands up his abdomen, pressing yourself against him while you whispered alluring praises and admirations in his ears.

He could almost feel it, the ghost of your touch, an airy sensation hovering over his long body, blanketing him in love and desire. A voice tickled his ear, breathy and sweet, and he let his eyes flutter closed, bringing his other arm against the door to better support his weight. His mouth curved into a closed smile at the faint sound of his name again, from a voice he adored from the moment it graced his ears a little over twenty years ago. Your voice, a sweet tune blessed by the gods themselves.

A sensation of peace washed over him at the feel of your touch, almost swearing he could feel the pressure of it as though you were truly right behind him. His heart thumped in his ear, desire coursing through him once again. With his eyes closed, he could picture you much clearer, could feel you better. “Halsin…” He swore he could hear you whispering right along the tip of his ear. And he sighed happily, smiling wider now.

“I’m here, my heart.” His words were soft leaving his lips, falling deeper into the image of you and the surroundings he created in his mind’s eye.

“Halsin?”

This time your voice sounded much clearer, like it was a part of his realm, his space. Halsin released a deep breath, blinking rapidly a few times like he was shaking off a daze. The memory of himself leaning on the door washed away like sand being called to the ocean.

“Halsin?” you asked for a third time, tilting your head to survey his face. Halsin blinked, exhaling as his warm eyes found yours.

You smiled, running a finger teasingly down his center as you held his gaze. “I lost you for a moment… It seems like we’re both experiencing much tonight.” You stroked his cheeks tenderly, speaking so softly and he immediately weakened at your touch.

Halsin, chuckling quietly, nodded in agreement. “It would appear so.” His brief laughter waned and he shook his head, slightly frowning, surprised at how overcome with emotion he was that he let his mind drift in such a way. “I never thought I’d feel your touch again, and yet…” he trailed off, breathing deeply as took you in, his entire being teeming with pure elation. “You are here and I fear my very mind and soul can scarcely handle it.”

Your hands were solid against him, real, no longer just a spectral touch of longing memories and fantasies. And though he was larger than you by far, it was your touch that he felt so unbelievably safe in, your eyes that he trusted more than anyone. He traveled dimensions for you, and he’d do it again and again, letting no god or cosmic force get in his way.

“Then let us ground each other tonight,” you said to him. He felt your thumb swipe over his bottom lip before resting at the corner of his mouth. “I’m with you, my Halsin. Are you with me?”

Halsin leaned down, resting his forehead against yours, never breaking his gaze. “I am with you, my love. I am truly, truly with you.”

Okay, part 5 was supposed to be the final. Taking a mini trip into what Halsin went through wasn't a part of the original plan, but I had the idea come to me literally a day after posting part 4 and I couldn't shake it! Our favorite druid went through a lot! Was this part necessary? Not really, but I think it makes the reunion all the more sweeter and powerful. And lastly, I mentioned a few names in this chapter: Neverwinter, High Forest, Icewind Dale. I'm sure some are already familiar with the names, but if it helps with the visuals of where these places are, I wanted to share a link of a map this awesome person created! The places mentioned are all on the west to north-western coast of the mainland, along the Sword Coast. Baldur's Gate is far below Neverwinter, in the middle of the coast. See you soon!

#halsin x reader #halsin x you #halsin fic #halsin x tav #halsin bg3 #halsin fanfic #bg3 x you #bg3 fanfic #halsin imagine #halsin fiction #halsin x female tav #halsin x fem!reader #halsin x oc #halsin

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mistystepmoonbeam · 6 months ago

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Reborn into BG3: Chapter 11

You're reborn into BG3 with only the memory of your past life. Now you're Tav's companion on his journey, and must learn about yourself as much as your new reality.

Chapter 11: It's time to visit Auntie Ethel and thank her for helping you out with your hand. It's only polite. Hangovers, redcaps and monster hunters won't stop Tav from thanking a kind old lady!

Word count: 4.1K

A/N: The word count really got away from me on this one.

The next morning you can’t remember too many specifics about the night. You have the blurry picture of Karlach laughing, sitting by the water with Wyll, and someone laying in a pool of blood. You shiver at the incomplete memory.

Despite your hangover you’re chosen to go out with Tav, Astarion, and Wyll to go visit Auntie Ethel. No amount of protests are able to keep you at camp, because Tav assured you there was no fighting and you were just going to thank a kind old lady for her help! It’s only polite!

Halsin still had things to clear up at the grove so rather than wait around for him you were volun-told to make the trip. And since you couldn’t say what Auntie Ethel truly is, nor warn them about the Gur bounty hunter…you went along.

As you walk down the hill beside the blighted village you’re expecting to see the hag on the road with Mayrina’s brothers. But they’re not there, and neither is the basket of poison apples.

The illusion of a beautiful sunny land isn’t there, either. Instead you find yourselves in the swamp, the smell of stagnant water and algae strong, as well as blood. It would be easy to miss, you’re not sure how you can tell the scents apart yourself, but it’s there.

“Not quite what I pictured when she said to visit her teahouse,” Wyll says. He’s looking at the dilapidated bridge and debris spread around.

“Seems like a good point to turn around,” Astarion suggests. “I’d prefer not to get my boots wet.”

“It’s just water.” Tav starts moving through the deeper water that flows through the swamp before the broken bridge that leads to the island. Begrudgingly, the vampire follows.

Wyll steps into the water and offers you his hand to help you across. You take it gingerly and step forward, only to be met with solid resistance from what should be liquid. You both look down, your foot atop the water.

You put more weight on it, adding your other leg and letting go of Wyll’s hand. “I guess Gale was right about the enchanted boots.”

Walking on water seems excessive for someone from a city like Baldur’s Gate. But after a couple more careful steps and a few jumps you laughed. For a brief moment your worries and hangover are gone as you hop around on top of the little creek, fascinated by the murky gap between you and the earth. You spin in a circle then quickly steady yourself, dizzy, but also because you notice the three men you’re travelling with are grinning at you.

You clear your throat and cross your arms, heading to dry land. “Sorry, that’s just…cool.”

There’s a certain sparkle in Tav’s eyes that tells you he desperately wants to do the same. You tell him, “I’ve seen your feet, they won’t fit.”

His sparkle fades at the same time his tail dips towards the ground.

“Braaaaagh.”

The sound makes you flinch. On the little island are the redcaps, apparently still thinking they’re disguised as sheep. Two are atop the rocky hill in the middle, while a third wanders near the water. It makes another strange sound that’s supposed to be a “baaaaah”.

Tav approaches it, squats down, and with complete seriousness lets out a loud, “Baaaaah!”

Wyll hides a snicker behind one hand and that’s when you finally notice it. He has horns and a red eye.

“You have horns!” you shout thoughtlessly.

“Well, you were properly thrashed last night, weren’t you?” Astarion questions. “And even this morning? Or are you just blind?”

“I, uh, sorry Wyll…” You’re about to ask when Mizora showed up but think better of it. “What…”

“I wondered why you didn’t ask last night,” Wyll says. There’s a hint of a laugh in his voice, but the sadness over his change is still there. “I was tasked with killing Karlach, and since I haven’t, I’ve paid the price. My patron Mizora…”

You’re given a quick rundown of Mizora visiting him when he was with Lae’zel and Shadowheart.

At the end of his story you ask, “So last night you had…”

You gesture at his face, and maybe the innocence of the question is what makes him smile. “I’m afraid so.”

“I am so sorry,” you repeat. At least you had an excuse for not noticing last night, but you were so used to seeing him in game you didn’t give it a second thought this morning.

“It’s not your fault. It was my decision.”

“No, I mean—well I’m sorry for that, too—but I’m sorry I didn’t notice. I’m so selfish, I was moping over nothing while you were—are—in pain.” You bite down on your thumb nail and try to remember talking to him by the water but it’s so blurry now. Not only were you moping over imaginary problems, he went out of his way to make you feel better when he had very real, life altering things to deal with.

“I appreciate that,” Wyll tells you.

“But—“

Wyll holds up a hand. “I have seen enough to know that you truly didn’t notice. Not because you were too selfish but because you…”

“Because I…?” you ask.

Wyll shifts uncomfortably.

“Because you’re naive,” Astarion says. “And I say this with love, darling, a little—oblivious.”

“Astarion,” Wyll warns.

“I didn’t say dim this time.”

“Astarion!��

“I am not stupid!” you shout. The redcap startles, hollow eyes on you. “I just don’t…I don’t know things about…things.”

You frown. They’re talking about you when you’re not around? You hadn’t considered that. Of course they did—they talked about each other, too, so why not you?

“To clarify,” Tav adds, “only Astarion called your dim.”

“You did jump in front of a loaded crossbow for a goblin.” Astarion arches a brow at you, probably thinking how you had called yourself stupid at the time.

Your frown turns to a pout. You grumble something about moving on from the subject in hopes of never having to discuss it again. You begin to walk around the redcap with a wide gap, eyeing it warily.

“Now you’re afraid of sheep?” Astarion asks.

“No,” you reply. You look at the vampire quizzically. “But that’s clearly not a sheep.”

The men exchange confused glances. You’re very tired of getting those looks.

“It’s a redcap?” you say to them. “Isn’t it? I’m pretty sure that’s what they’re called.”

Wyll studies the redcap—or sheep as he sees it—as it moves towards you. It lets out an awkward sound between a growl and a bray, but when you don’t reply it’s sneer deepens. There’s a shift in the air, a static shock that stretches around the area in what you can only guess is magic.

“Ohhhh, a redcap,” Tav says. He takes two steps forward, pulls his right leg back then thrusts it forward to kick at the creature. His boot connects with its middle and despite the weight of the redcap it soars through the air.

It goes so far you only hear a distant splash of water. Astarion claps at the distance.

The other redcaps are not quite as entertained by Tav’s actions. They screech from the hilltop, one jumping down while the other moves its hands in the air. Roots tangle around yours and Tav’s legs, locking you in place. The one now on your level charges towards you only to be sent flying by a red bolt from Wyll—eldritch blast.

Astarion lazily throws his dagger at the one on the hill and when the blade lands in its eye socket the vines around you shrivel and die. You step out, shaking each leg of any remaining debris.

“So you saw through the illusion,” Wyll states.

You survey the area, that static ring gone. All you can offer is a shrug—you passed the perception check you guess. But you can’t tell them that.

Tav loots the bodies of a small amount of gold and alchemical ingredients while Astarion retrieves his dagger. Wyll offers theories as to how you were able to see the redcaps, but it all comes back to the enchantment on your clothes. Whatever protection they gave you from harm could be linked to the fact you haven’t had to clean them yet—they still appear pristine despite the blood and dirt you’ve lain in. In fact, you haven’t felt the need to even wash the sweat from your skin. Powerful enchantments indeed.

Tav leads the group forward to Auntie Ethel’s house, all of them a little more suspicious of the old woman now that the swamp is no longer disguised. After the elation of walking on water you’d forgotten about the Gur waiting around the corner. As you approach the bottom of the hill he’s waiting on, you grab Astarion’s sleeve between your index finger and thumb. “Maybe we should wait here.”

“What’s wrong?” Wyll asks. You don’t let go of Astarion’s sleeve even when he tries to pull away. You wet your lips, eyes darting between the vampire and the direction of the Gur. Just a few more steps and he’d be able to see you; he can probably already hear you.

You tug on the sleeve again. “Ast—you should stay here.”

He finally yanks out of your grip and smooths the sleeve where you’d been holding. “And why should I do that?”

Because there’s a hunter around the corner looking for you and he might actually recognize you. Because things are slightly different than in the video game I remember in my past life where you’re a character and not a person.

Because I don’t want you to have to remember how you died and that you can’t escape Cazador, not yet anyway.

You can’t find a reasonable answer.

Astarion huffs out a sigh. “Is this one of your weird feelings Karlach was going on about? Am I about to die if I take another step?”

You flinch back. “What? No, I just…what are you talking about?”

“You seem to know when death is coming,” Astarion explains. “The goblin, then Arka—who confessed her suicidal plan in a drunken stupor last night by the way, to her friend right outside my tent. Ugh, I had to send them away just so I could get some sleep.”

You look at Tav and Wyll, the vague image of Arka laying in a pool of blood coming to mind.

Astarion adds, “You sniff out death like a bloodhound.”

“I just have a bad feeling,” you finally mumble.

“It’s okay,” Tav says. “If anything tries to hurt Astarion I’ll take care of it.”

You smile as he gives you a thumbs up, wishing you could believe him invincible.

“Let’s go see if we get to kill something, now,” Astarion says excitedly.

“Perhaps some precaution is in order,” Wyll suggests. “Tav and I will take a look first and signal if it’s safe. Agreed?”

Astarion rolls his eyes but nods. “Don’t have all the fun without me.”

Tav and Wyll move ahead and around the corner. You hear their voices as they speak with the Gur, but can’t make out the words. Then, Tav’s head appears around a rock and he waves you over. He’s smiling at least, which probably means he wasn’t told anything about what the man is hunting.

You keep yourself a step ahead of Astarion as you follow Tav. Once at the top of the hill the Gur hunter nods to you as greeting.

“He’s a monster hunter,” Wyll says to you. Like that is going to somehow comfort you, even if you didn’t know what you know.

Astarion questions what terrible creature he’s hunting and the scene is triggered. You gulp as the Gur says he’s hunting a vampire spawn named Astarion, and you can’t help but notice the look Wyll sends you. It’s a mix of apologetic, confusion, and concern. Concern for you or Astarion, you aren’t sure.

The hunter mentions he needs Astarion alive.

“Well here he is,” Tav says, waving a hand at the vampire beside you. “This is Astarion.”

“What?” You and Astarion shout the word at the same time, gawking at Tav. You step to the left and in front of Astarion.

“What are you doing?” you question.

“Yes,” Astarion agrees, “what in the hells do you think you’re doing?”

“It can’t be…?” the Gur says.

“But he is looking for you,” Tav says innocently. “And he wants you alive.”

“That doesn’t make it better!” you shout. You grip your staff with both hands, ready to hit someone—and that someone might be Tav.

Your fury at the tiefling in that moment almost overshadows the phantom limb as it reaches out into the swamp behind you. Almost. Something…twitches. It’s not you, nor that strange feeling in your head, but something moves. You can feel it, slow at first but getting faster as feet drag through mud. You feel grimy water on your skin, the need to follow orders—your orders. It’s not you feeling this, someone else is, not unlike the connection the tadpole gave you.

The Gur pulls his crossbow from his back and tries to aim at you, or Astarion behind you, but he isn’t given the chance when something launches over your head and onto him. He screams as the creature bites his jugular, blood squirting—squirting!!—from the wound. You shout and jump back only to collide with Astarion. He sets his hands on your arms to balance you, and then pushes you out of the way as he watches the Gur get killed by—

“Didn’t we kill those little things?” Astarion asks, pointing at the redcap that tears into the hunter's body. It’s moved on from his neck, now clawing at his stomach. You watch on, eyes wide and unblinking, breath held in your chest. Another redcap, this one missing an eye, hobbles past you and joins his companion.

“We did,” Wyll confirms.

You’re holding your staff in front of you, still ready to whack someone until the Gur stops struggling. You let out the breath you were holding. When you finally blink you see that the eyes on your staff are glowing a lovely violet.

The redcaps grunt, facing you now that their task is complete. Your eyes dart between the staff and them, and back again. “Please tell me I didn’t do that.”

“I think you may have,” Wyll says. “And it seems you may be a necromancer of some sort; you didn’t even need to utter a word to bring the redcaps here and do your bidding.”

“That,” you say, pointing to the corpse, “is not my bidding.”

But you can’t deny that you feel a string of connection to the redcaps now—puppet strings. Your strings, using them like marionettes. And you can’t deny the way the redcaps watch you like they’re waiting for your next command. You want to drop the staff, but your body won’t listen. Because it has to be the staff, right? It’s cursed or enchanted to let you raise the dead! Finally you let go of the wood and let it fall to the ground with a clatter.

But the redcaps stare on.

“It’s okay.” Wyll tries to comfort you but you’re having none of it.

“No, it’s not okay!” you yell. You point at the body again. “I just killed that guy!”

“And for Astarion, no less,” Tav chimes in. His voice brings you back, somewhat grounding you from your hysteria.

“And you!” You point to the tiefling. He flinches back at your fury, having the gall to look innocent with his wide eyes and tail tucked. “Why did you tell him about Astarion?”

Tav doesn’t get to answer when one of the redcaps launches itself at him. He’s quicker to react than the Gur and grabs it before it can claw or bite out his throat, and uses the momentum to swing around and throw it about as far as he kicked the first one.

You picture a string between you and the redcaps, and then a pair of scissors snipping them away. There’s a moment of hesitation in the remaining redcap, but it soon falls over. Dead, again.

You sniffle, holding back the burning tears that begin to line your lower lashes. “He was going to hurt Astarion.”

Maybe Tav had a plan and that was why he told the truth. Or maybe he just can’t help but be honest, thinking he could bargain with the Gur into leaving Astarion alone. But you can’t wrap your head around it. And rather than focusing on the glowing eyes of the staff, that have now faded, the fact you just killed a man with two undead redcaps, you focus on your anger at Tav. It’s so much easier to be angry than sad.

You step towards him, pull back your foot, and kick him in the shins with all your might. He has leather boots on, and he’s a barbarian, so he probably doesn’t feel it much, but you kick him again.

He hops away on one foot, grabbing at his minor injury. “I’m sorry!”

“He was gonna take Astarion!” you shout. You step towards him only to feel two hands on your shoulders, keeping you in place.

“Perhaps this argument can wait,” Wyll says. He doesn’t let you go when he looks at Astarion. “Why did he want to capture you, not kill you? He said it was a sacred duty from his people—that’s no small task to be given.”

You shrug Wyll off and cross your arms, facing away from Tav. Tears slip down your cheeks as you regain control of your breathing. You rub at your face with one sleeve.

“How should I know?” Astarion asks. He’s putting on a front, you think. “He was most likely sent by my old master, Cazador, to bring me back to Baldur’s Gate.”

They discuss the possibilities—why a Gur was sent, what Cazador would want with him rather than just kill him. You keep your arms crossed, determined to hang onto the anger as fear creeps along the edge of your senses.

“Weren’t we here to thank a little old lady or something?” Astarion questions, hurriedly changing the subject. “Perhaps we should move on, before any more hunters show up?”

You are more than happy to get away from the corpse, but the closer you get to Ethel’s the more your anger ebbs away and is replaced by fear. There are so many things that contribute to that fear, so you hold onto the fury as tightly as possible and refuse to even look Tav in the eye, despite his many attempts at getting your attention. He flits around you, begging you to say anything to him, sic another redcap on him even, but you’ve quickly come to realize that the silent treatment is the best punishment.

That anger takes you all the way to Ethel’s door, where Wyll knocks before entering.

Though the tea house is a little decrepit and sitting in the middle of a swamp, it doesn’t smell like it. There’s a scent of a spicy tea in the air, and when you enter you find Ethel sitting where Mayrina is in game, sipping on a cup.

“Petal!” she says, a smile crossing her features when she sees who’s visiting. “I was worried you might not find the place.”

Ethel stands and approaches the bottom of the stairs, waving the group farther inside. “Come in, come, would you like some tea?”

You do your best to hide the fear that creeps along your spine. In the game Ethel could be a difficult battle, but that was only triggered based on the actions against Mayrina and her brothers. With none of them there you couldn’t predict how things would go.

From the corner of your eye you can see Astarion watching you. He doesn’t stray too far from the group, but he’s never more than a foot away from you. Maybe killing his hunter endeared him to you? You should have gotten a few Astarion Approves from letting him drink your blood alone.

While your eyes had wandered around the tea house Ethel and Tav had begun their conversation. He was also only a foot in front of you, and when you came back into the conversation Ethel was offering her deal.

“That sounds like a poor deal,” Tav says. He thrusts his thumb over his shoulder towards you. “Apparently they can fall out after getting hit in the head hard enough.”

“I don’t think that’s what happened,” Wyll says. He steps a little closer to you. You’re starting to feel claustrophobic with all of them keeping so close to you so you take a step back.

Ethel eyes the men and then you. There’s recognition in her features but it doesn’t feel quite the same as when Raphael had stared you down. “Your god must really love you to get rid of that little wriggler.”

You perk up, maybe too much and give away your eagerness. “My god?”

Wyll casts a warning glance in your direction. Don’t act desperate, it reads. You wet your lips. “How do you know it was my god and it didn’t just die?”

Ethel laughs. “Let’s just say you’ve got a glow about you. You all do. You Chosen.”

The air freezes. Everything slows…slows…stops.

Necromancer.

Chosen.

Control over the dead.

Necromancer-Chosen-dead three-Myrkul-

You whirl on your heel, fall to your knees, and throw up the fruit that had been forced on you earlier. You manage to get it into a nearby basket, but the purge doesn’t stop your stomach from turning. Those words—chosen, dead three, necromancer—keep swirling in your mind. You hiccup and release more into the basket.

You tremble. You’d never thrown up from fear before. Motion sickness, sure, flue, totally. But fear? The shaking doesn’t stop, nor does the urge to keep vomiting. All you can do is sit there on your knees, breathing heavily as the small dot that is your vision spins round and round and round.

Your head starts shaking. “No, I’m not—I’m nothing. Nobody! I don’t matter. I’m—”

You can’t be anyone connected to the main plot. No. You can’t be one of the dead three or a chosen, because you did have a worm in your brain for a while, and you were on the ship and—and—

“Take a breath,” Wyll says. He kneels beside you, hands out and ready to wrap around you but only hovering above your jacket.

“I’m not…”

“Just take a breath,” he repeats. “We don’t know anything for sure.”

He seems so sure, you think. So solid, just like last night at the party. How he can be so certain of anything right now is beyond you, and you know what’s coming.

You do as he instructs, your next few breaths are shaky but calming. You wipe at your mouth with your sleeve, watching as the spittle soaks into the fabric then disappears completely. “I need to—go somewhere. Not be…here.”

You stand quickly, ignoring Tav as he calls to you. You’re on the front porch when you feel something wrap around your ankle and nearly topple you forward. You come to a stop and turn. Tav’s tail is wrapped around your ankle and even when you stop it doesn’t loosen.

“Please, wait.”

You try to take a step forward but his grip is too strong. “I need to go.”

“I’ll go with you.” His tail tightens, desperate to keep you there. It pulls, trying to bring you closer to him even though it’s barely two feet between you.

“I want to be alone.”

“I’ll…I’ll be quiet.” Gods, he’s giving you that look that makes it feel like you just kicked a puppy. As much as you try to stay mad it’s fading into nothing but anxiety and fear, and a desperate desire to let him comfort you. But you need to think, somewhere without distractions and far away from a literal hag. Even if she hasn’t shown her true form.

“Tav,” you begin, pleading just as he is. You look at him. Really look at him. You take in the black scleras that surround the dark blue of his eyes, the beginnings of wrinkles around his mouth from where he’s always smiling, the slight indent of crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes. His white-gray hair shifts with the breeze, but his horns stop anything from getting into his eyes. You wish it would cover his eyes–they’re far too teary for the light-hearted man.

Wyll sets a hand on Tav’s shoulder. “Let go, Tav. It’ll be fine.”

The tieflings lips press together, his tail unmoving.

“Tav.” Wyll isn’t making a suggestion. With one last desperate look at you Tav finally releases his hold on your ankle.

You take the steps down into the dirt. “I’m just going back to camp. I’ll…see you there.”

Tav opens his mouth then thinks better of it. Whatever he was going to ask goes unspoken. Most likely another plea to get you to stay, or to allow him to follow.

You turn and start walking through the swamp.

Taglist:

@half-poison-and-half-hope @sanscas @hotmesshobbit @godoffuckedupcats @thequeen-oni @terrenuserinj @straewberrysoda @theomnipotentfox @becksynthetic @quitecontrary-to-mary @furblrwurblr @mega-trash-cringe @fandomsbookclub @dontneedbiologytoadopt @pebble-bb @v3lv3tvampir3 @mrow-kat @jeneralmischief @notsaelty @runaway-17 @aoirohi @tinswhimsy @xxgrimripp3rxx @kemonocat-blog @thetiredtoad0-0 @sleepydang @iwannabealocalcryptid

#reborn into bg3 #reborn into baldur's gate 3 with no memory and plenty of money #astarion x reader #tav x reader #auntie ethel #fanfic #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #you should really look into that other bag of yours reader

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thedomesticanthropologist · 1 year ago

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This isn't necessarily my interpretation of the situation but I do wanna say

Maybe Astarion sees Halsin as a gift to their relationship

Especially if you get the more rough side of Astarion's romance, if your Tav has never chosen him over another companion so Tav never gets the "consider yourself well and truly taken " line,

If Tav gets the Araj confession so they never get an "I love you", if Tav picked dialogue choices that get you the "I don't know what I want, I don't know what we are" (and honestly this all works even if you get the full I love you, even if the relationship is as solid as possible and Tav has gotten the softest versions of all the lines, Astarion STILL takes/needs to take a break so this does work for all scenarios)

If the relationship is as rocky as it can be, and he's *trying* but he HAS to take time for himself, he doesn't want to hurt Tav any more with manipulations but he CANNOT be Tav's support right now, not when HE needs Tav to support him so badly and he has NOTHING to offer or give at this point, he's scraping the bottom of his own barrel trying to regain his sense of self

And there is Halsin. A 350 year old free agent polyamorous wood elf with hundreds of years of experience with many kinds of partner, who knows exactly how to communicate, how to be patient and wait for appropriate moments to speak on his feelings, how to ensure that consent is at the forefront

And here is Halsin, offering ONLY what you wish to take, expressing clearly that if and when Astarion is ready, he himself is more than welcome as well. Halsin being an open door with no red flags, offering you (Tav) every ounce of loyal, safe comfort and sexual attention that Astarion can't right now.

Some people see this as a thing Asty would get jealous or possessive about and not only do I not see evidence of that in game, I kinda see the opposite. He sees Halsin as a gift HE can give to Tav, without any fear of losing them or what they have because that's just not what Halsin is offering. Halsin is asking permission to join in, with everyone's approval. Not to take anything away from Astarion.

Idk I just see Asty looking at Halsin with gratitude, thankful that someone can be there for Tav while he's sorting himself out. And then later on, if Tav and Astarion finish Asty's romance and bang on the grave and everything, he's just so much more comfortable and stable and Halsin has been nothing but a positive influence and-

I just see it going very well?? If they become a triad, it would be very organic and likely chance in dynamics over time, if they don't I see their friendships being very strong and warm and comfortable. I don't have a Tav who has romanced them both at the same time but I just don't see it going poorly in any way idk.

#halstarion #hasin x tav x astarion #baldurs gate 3 #tav x astarion #tav x halsin #astarion #astarion ancunin #halsin romance #halsin the druid

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petit-etoile · 1 year ago

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I just read your story "in the moonlight" and I am absolutely impressed and astonished on how well written it is :DD I wanted to request an astarion/tav fic, with tav being half elf and their relationship having a bit of a rocky start, sort of enemies to friends to lovers sort of thing. The two slowly developing feelings but unsure of what exactly they are. i just love the idea of how different Tav is to Astarion, they're more open to speak how they feel or be more truthful than him, and even though they didn't like each other at first (Tav finding him a bit of a creep after the first bite thing) but their development and getting to understand Astarion, made them slowly develop those feelings. Astarion being conflicted himself, as the two try to make it work despite being opposites, yet able to connect, whether it be playful banter to one another or general teasing. The two are just, almost inseparable.

give me true love & understanding

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 4761 content warnings: no in-depth descriptions, but mentions of astarion's life with cazador. could be considered hurt/comfort, but more focused on making emotional connections. no in-depth descriptions, but volo & ethel & omeluum's attempts at curing the parasite are mentioned. other tags: canon compliant, enemies to lovers, developing relationship, love confessions, getting together, astarion is bad at feelings, gender neutral & half-elf!tav archiveofourown: here. tag list: @azrielshadows1nger summary: You and Astarion find yourselves arguing nearly nose to nose in the depths of the Underdark over Barcus Wroot’s request, and while he gets so angry you think he might leave the party for good, he ventures off to hunt instead.

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You and Astarion get off to a bad start.

A terrible start if you’re feeling honest. It’s hard to genuinely forgive someone for holding a knife to your throat before accusing you of working with the creatures who are the reason you’ll turn into monsters, but for the sake of your future and for the sake of a cure, you forgive Astarion because you have to.

You bicker with him unlike anyone else you’ve ever encountered before. Before, you could have counted one hand how many times you’ve had to negotiate with your own nieces and nephews, but now it would take both of your hands and Shadowheart’s hands to count every argument you’ve had with Astarion since meeting him amongst the wreckage.

The night before you’re to venture into the goblin camp to rescue the druid Halsin, the fine lining of your temper has snapped and you and Astarion are standing in the middle of camp shouting at one another while your other companions politely try to look the other way.

With the exception of Lae’zel, almost every single one of them has agreed that finding Halsin is the best plan after Nettie’s botched attempt to help you. The Githyanki Creche is next, but for every day you’ve spent trying to find someone who could cure you of this wretched parasite, all of the signs have ended up pointing to the druid leader.

You thought you could ignore Astarion at first, but he and Lae’zel have been making snide comments all evening, and you’ve had enough. You drop the sword that you’re holding and turn on him, and the rest of whatever you’re saying becomes a blur

‘I didn’t want to help them,’ Astarion reminds you forcefully. ‘I said we should turn around and leave!’

‘We have no choice if we don’t want to turn into mindflayers,’ you snap.

‘Everyone always says oh, don’t worry, there’s another cure out there,’ Astarion mimes in a high pitched voice, hands raised to enunciate his words. ‘We visited the wood’s witch and she had no cure, and we visited the other druid — ’

‘And now we’re visiting another druid,’ you say as politely as you can manage, teeth grinding as you try to reign in your anger. ‘One with more experience. One with history in illithid parasites.’

Your voices raise higher and higher as you begin shouting at one another. Astarion offers no other suggestions or ideas to counter your decision, and while you’re desperately trying to be mindful of the fact everyone is afraid about what could happen once your time runs out, you don’t really have time for any of these selfish antics that keep you from remaining a cohesive team. Eventually Wyll steps in to alleviate the situation. It pisses Astarion off more. He marches off to his tent for the rest of the evening to sulk.

But in the morning when everyone is dragging on their armor and making sure their blades are sharpened, you watch as Astarion quietly sorts through his poisons and all of his different knives. When it’s time to begin the infiltration, he says nothing to anyone and does as requested whether it’s opening doors or chests. It’s a bloody, tough, exhausting fight and the only reprieve is the brief, strange laugh he gives after watching you entertain the Priest of Loviatar’s desires. You give him the knife you stole from Abdirak as an apology. Like all things too good to be true, it fixes nothing. You and Astarion find yourselves arguing nearly nose to nose in the depths of the Underdark over Barcus Wroot’s request, and while he gets so angry you think he might leave the party for good, he ventures off to hunt instead.

You aren’t really sure what your relationship with Astarion is. You have given him your blood and your body against all of your instincts telling you not to, and sometimes it almost feels like you’re beginning to see eye-to-eye on topics you would have fought over before. The good moments are almost so sweet they are sour — when Astarion reads you excerpts from novels you pick up or you mock an Absolute cultist who had attempted to be all-powerful and intimidating to the point where he’s doubled over in hysterical laughter. Yet, the moments where you argue are so polarizing that it can be hard to tell whether he enjoys your presence or not. It’s hard not to stress about it.

Gale had asked you once during one of your Weave lessons. You had made the prettiest of sparkles in the air and watched as they rained down, and your first thought was not of how incredible the magic was, but if Astarion would delight at the sight if you showed him.

Gale asked, without a hint or a trace of animosity, ‘Why him?’

You replied, ‘I think I’m hoping that it could be enough. If I could show him enough of the good in this world, maybe he would stop being so angry. I think we all deserve happiness.’

Gale hummed and nodded his head. He rubbed his beard for a few minutes before saying, ‘Try this.’ You learned a simple incantation that was just as flashy, but more contained. You learned to make a lotus flower made of stars in your palms, and when you brought it to your nose, it smelled faintly of stardust and divinity. Gale sent you on your way with a proud, if not slightly melancholic, smile.

You don’t even have the time to show Astarion before it all goes to shit. Something like black jealousy has brewed in Astarion’s gaze, and when the smile slowly slides from your lips, it seems as if that makes it worse. Astarion looks away from you sharply and clenches his fists. Like part of him reveled in making you just as angry as he felt. He brings up Philomeen discarding her love as though it were nothing, as if it’s your fault she is a liar.

Astarion broods and lashes out, and with the coldest realization that slides down your spine, you realize it has nothing to do with you or the decisions you’ve made. He’s hurting as if from a broken bone or a broken heart. His mouth is pressed into an angry line. His eyes snap back and forth as if he’s waiting for someone terrible to appear. Astarion is scared, and there’s nothing you can do that can help him. You offered him safety once. He refused.

‘Why are you so mad at me?’ you blurt out.

The question takes Astarion off-guard. His mouth pops open almost audibly, and he furrows his brows in such confusion you’re forced to wonder if he’s even realized he was being cruel to you.

‘Well, I — ’ he begins as if to defend himself before sputtering out, ‘It isn’t — It isn’t you.’

‘Oh, really?’ you ask, letting a little venom leak into your voice. ‘It isn’t me?’

Astarion scowls. You’ve ruined whatever argument he was trying to make. You expect him to spit out something completely acidic, to take away from what you’ve said, but instead he pivots and begins to stalk towards one of the cliffs underground.

Normally, you would let him go. You would give him time to clear his head while you sorted out your wounded pride. You’ve given him plenty of time to think about what is bothering him and it’s never worked before, so this time you follow.

‘No,’ you insist. ‘You don’t get to walk away.’

‘I want some time to think — ’

You grab his wrist as it swings back and cling to him. You feel rather silly about it and he turns around on you with wide, wild eyes. You’re almost entirely sure you’ve made a mistake.

The only thing that you can comprehend is the utter force at which Astarion crushes you against his chest. It’s as if he’s never hugged someone before. It’s uncomfortable and he’s holding you so awkwardly you can’t wrap your arms back around him. It’s like Bernard’s hug all over again. Astarion clings to you so tightly he might as well be cradling you. He pushes his face into your hair while he tries to soothe his own breathing, and you finally manage to pat him sympathetically on his lower back. It’s the only place you can reach.

Faintly, like the touch of a feather, you think he kisses the top of your head.

‘I — I’m sorry,’ he says quietly. ‘You’re right. Of course you’re right. You’re you.’

You can feel Astarion’s entire body sag with relief. You’re confused, but this is the kindest he’s been since you stepped into the Underdark, and his arms are intense and strong. I’s more comforting than the first time he grabbed you like this near the nautiloid wreckage. There’s no knife or hollow threats. You turn your head to the side and sniffle.

‘It isn’t you I’m upset with,’ Astarion confesses. ‘Not entirely, you see. I never wanted to say anything — You know that more than anyone, how closely I guard my secrets. You have to believe me.’

‘I do,’ you say. ‘All I want is to understand.’

‘For the longest time, I didn’t want to give you the honor of understanding,’ Astarion says. ‘You were chivalric like a storybook hero. The ones who always save the damsels in distress. I hate people like them.’

‘You’re mad because…I’m good?’

Astarion sighs. ‘I’m disappointed, more or less. That all the times I screamed and begged and wished someone would save me, there was no storybook hero listening to me.’

The blood in your veins turns to ice. You hiccup and your face turns hot, and no matter how hard you clench your fists to your side, you can’t stifle the awkward sob that slides right out of your mouth. Astarion only holds you closer. You try to flip it on him so that you’re the one holding him, but he doesn’t let you. At least not yet. You sniffle again, louder this time.

‘I wanted someone to help me the way you helped the tieflings,’ he says, voice strained. ‘I wanted someone to worry for me the way Laridda worried for Philomeen.’

‘I do,’ you say. Your voice sounds small even to you. ‘I worry about you like that.’

Astarion eventually releases you and you both walk further away from your allies as they sort through their gear. You sit a few feet from where you killed the mimcs and stare off into the distance at the strange temple across the chasm.

You bump your knee against his soothingly. All the fighting is a little tiring. Your throat is sore for a number of reasons, and it doesn’t help that it’s so unfortunately hot. You’re so close to the forge that the heat is sapping your energy. Astarion uses his sleeve to dab at the tears on your cheek and you let him wipe at your skin and the dirt on it just so you can feel his touch.

‘I apologize,’ Astarion says, ‘for the way I was behaving.’

‘It’s okay,’ you say. You tap the tip of your boots together. ‘I suppose it makes sense when I think about it.’

Astarion rolls his eyes. ‘Even if it “makes sense,” I was still behaving abhorrently. It was uncalled for.’

‘I get why — ’

‘Please, darling,’ Astarion says in a strained voice. ‘Just consider accepting my apology. I do not give them often, you know. You’re the only one I’ll apologize to for being this way.’

You immediately start to go into some grandiose speech about how it’s the power of forgiveness that matters most during times like this, but there’s something sincere about the way Astarion is watching you that makes the words die in the back of your throat. You smooth your chainmail nervously.

There.

A funny little feeling comes again. A silly, fleeting emotion in the bottom of your stomach. It nearly unravels you how warm it is. It spreads throughout your body from your palms to the soles of your feet to the tips of your ears and the roof of your mouth. You turn away from him as if to escape the spell he was casting on you. It doesn’t work.

It was easier to believe it was something else in the beginning. When you were falling into leaves with Astarion leaning over you, or listening to the silky smooth timbre of his voice as he seduced you jokingly. It’s not that much fun anymore now that it works. You wrap your arms around your knees and pull them to your chest. You bite the inside of your cheek. You blink ash out of your eyes.

‘Thank you,’ you say finally. ‘For telling me and for apologizing. We can make this work.’ You reach over and squeeze his knee. ‘Once Nere is dealt with.’

Despite your heart to heart with Astarion, the bickering doesn’t stop although you now understand it comes from a place of fear rather than anger. You nearly lose an eye to Volo’s enthusiasm and inexperience, and Astarion yells at the bard so loudly you almost expect him to leave in the middle of the night. Astarion doesn’t yell at you, but you do keep both eyes open that night. Volo is still there in the morning, perhaps against his better judgment.

Over the course of your exploration of the Rosymorn Monastery, you and Astarion slowly come back together. Astarion lets you hold his hand while you take the lift down to the monastery itself and kneels with you when you have to press yourself against the floor, and he helps lift you off when it’s finished and you’re almost certain your legs have turned to nothing. But Astarion pouts even when you find the room with the kobolds and looks pained when he sees your new eye.

Surely he does forgive you a little. He says nothing when you fall asleep on him later that evening. Gale used the wine from earlier for everything he cooked that evening, and your stomach was so full and warm that you couldn’t help but lean against Astarion after eating. He read a chapter from one of his novels to you to keep you entertained.

You remember everyone was sorting through the goods of the day, and Shadowheart and Lae’zel were antagonizing one another like they normally do, but it was cozy and familiar. It reminded you of when you were still a child living at home with your mother’s family. You fell asleep without intending to. The fact he was there at all, you think, is what made you happy.

You’re coaxed to consciousness by tender stroking around your eye, and when you finally manage to open them despite your grogginess, Astarion is leaning above you and studying your face. He doesn’t hide when you catch him. He looks sad, so impossibly sad, that you think something terrible has happened.

‘Is everyone — ’

‘Oh yes,’ he says quietly. ‘The rest of us are all quite fine. Thank you for asking, my dear.’ He frowns. ‘Always so concerned about others, but never really concerned for yourself, are you?’

You furrow your brows. ‘I was a bit drunk,’ you say, trying to make your tone cheerful. ‘I’m okay now!’

‘The hag,’ Astarion complains, ‘messed with your eye. Omeluum nearly killed you, as kind as he was. Volo did butcher you.’ He bites his lip. ‘What will happen when we meet the Githyanki?’

‘They’ll get rid of the parasite,’ you say.

The fight leaves you. You don’t want to argue anymore. You want to sleep and dream and think of what your next step is. Part of you wants to lash out, but there’s something in the way Astarion is looking at you that keeps you from saying something witty and biting. You flush with frustration and sit up immediately, hating that he’s turning potential salvation into an argument a half-day’s walk away from the creche.

Once, Astarion had asked for the tadpoles and you had thrown the few jars you’d collected at him in anger. The next day, they were neatly returned to your bag and no other word was said about it. It’s all so confusing! Does Astarion like you? Does Astarion hate you? For how much longer are you going to desperately seek his approval?

You press your palm against your eye and try to ignore the wiggling you can feel at the memories. You stand up quickly and stalk off in the same direction you were already looking, careful to not be too loud as you pass the tents of your sleeping companions. All you want is to clear your mind and go back to sleep without any fuss. Without any arguing.

Like you had done before in the Underdark, Astarion follows you on your walk without saying anything. You aren’t sure why you let him come without a fight, but you don’t want to snap at him to leave in case it makes matters worse. All you do is lean against the first tree that you can find, and hope and pray and wish that your wine-induced headache goes away before the yelling begins.

‘What do you want?’ you sigh.

‘You said,’ Astarion begins, ‘that we would make this work. I’m trying to be more…open with you about how I feel, but every time I try, you get mad at me.’

‘What would you have me do instead?’ you ask. ‘I’m trying to do what I think is right. To do what is expected of me. To try to keep everyone happy.’

‘Sometimes,’ he says exasperatedly, ‘I’m expecting you to be scared shitless.’

‘I don’t get to be scared shitless!’ you whine. ‘Everyone has made me a leader. I never wanted to be the leader of anything!’

‘Then don’t,’ Astarion says. ‘Let someone else do the dirty work for you.’

‘Lae’zel will be beyond furious if we don’t visit the creche,’ you argue.

‘Let her go and deal with her brethren on her own!’ Astarion says with a shrug. ‘Or assign her Shadowheart and Halsin. It’ll go pleasantly. You and I already know it won't work.’

‘We don’t, not for certain,’ you say vehemently. You dig your fingers into the bark. ‘What if it works? They’ll get the cure and we’ll get nothing.’

‘Halsin seems sure that it won’t,’ he counters. ‘Our best interest is to seek information at the Moonrise Towers where all the other tadpole bastards are gathering.’

‘What if it does work?’ you insist. ‘What if we visit this healer and they are able to remove the parasite? It spares us from having to venture into the Shadow-Cursed Lands at all. We wound’t have to face the curse Halsin spoke of. Don’t you want that?’

‘Yes,’ Astarion says as if it’s simple.

You turn and frown at him. He’s standing a little ways away from you with his arms crossed, his eyes trained on the moon overhead, his chin tilted in consideration. You slide down the tree with a groan and put your head in your hands.

‘But I know you,’ Astarion says almost sadly. ‘Even if we’re cured by the Githyanki, you’ll want to go to where the curse is thickest to help Halsin lift the shadows. You never stop at the easy decisions.’

You open your mouth to argue. There is a small, sinking feeling right in the center of your chest. Astarion is calling you out directly for it rather than getting mad and letting it slide. You’d be thankful if it weren’t for the way it felt like a punch to the gut. Astarion walks over to you carefully and joins you in the dirt, his legs on either side of yours. He watches as you wrestle with your feelings. Without saying anything, he touches your calf and squeezes it comfortingly.

‘I don’t want everyone to hate me,’ you say, your voice thick with tears. ‘I want to do what’s best. That’s why I try so hard. If there’s even a chance this is what’s best for us, then — ’

‘You are what’s best,’ Astarion interrupts.

‘You don’t understand!’

‘I could,’ he says, smoothing his hand against your leg. ‘If you would let me.’

So you explain it: You’ve never felt like you had a family. Your father was a high-elf who sired a babe on your human mother. It was never supposed to happen, and they had never intended to get together because of it. Your mother had loved you, but no one other family on her side seemed to care much for a child born out of wedlock. You spent holidays sitting away from your cousins, and when you set out to find your father, the mindflayers had swept you up. You never stood a chance.

You hated to admit it, but this was your family now. Shadowheart and her strange darkness, Lae’zel and her anger to cover up her fear, Karlach and her wonderful laughter and ambition, Wyll and his drive and focus, Gale and his knowledge and inspiration, Astarion and — Admitting it makes your throat close up, but the hand on your leg won’t stop the melodic, soothing rubbing. You force yourself to admit that you love him. You don’t say love to him directly, but it’s obvious.

Astarion listens, humming and nodding when necessary, and his hand never leaves your leg. You can feel the warmth of his palm through your sleep pants, and it makes you miss him even though he’s sitting right there. You lean forward and he leans with you until your foreheads are nestled together. You close your eyes and feel as he nuzzles his nose against yours as gentle as he can be.

It’s unlike him.

For someone who is always on the move, desperate to do the next thing, Astarion treats you carefully. You soften into the touch.

‘We are your family now,’ Astarion murmurs. ‘Let us take some of the weight for you. You might be surprised to learn you needn’t bear this cross alone. Our lives aren’t worth the cost of yours.’

You swallow your instinct to disagree, and nod, feeling his forehead scrunch against yours. ‘Alright,’ you say. It’s the only thing you can manage without crying.

‘Alright,’ he agrees, nodding with you because it’s silly to do. ‘We’ll make this work.’ ‘Do you…have a moment?’ Astarion asks you one evening. ‘I — I think we need to talk.’

You don’t know if it’s the impending sense of doom that has swept you both up or if you’re hoping for a moment of reprieve from the back to back onslaught, but you walk with Astarion. You try not to think too hard about his quiet tone. You can’t go very far like you normally do, not wanting to explain why you need to borrow a Moon Lantern, but you find a little alcove to sit in far enough away that the other companions’ conversations have quieted to nothing but a dull hum. There’s still light from the torches Wyll had helped Lae’zel set up around camp earlier.

Astarion sits a bit away from you and angles his body to face the gloom in the distance. There’s sorrow in the slump of his shoulders. In the dark circles under his eyes. He is making himself small, you realize, in case you decide to get angry. Your mouth goes dry.

It’s going to be another fight, isn’t it?

Except where all other fights led to a deeper understanding, this will be the fight that causes Astarion to leave. Your stomach rolls uncomfortably. You stare at your hands and try to imagine how his fingers felt when they slid against yours. A part of you begins demanding that you start begging to make amends, as if you can stop whatever Astarion is longing to say before he says it. You chew the skin of your lips to keep from saying anything aloud before Astarion has opened up about what’s bothering him.

You’re certain you’re going to be sick.

‘Are you…alright?’ you ask. Even to you, your voice sounds miles away. ‘You’re not hurt, are you? From the fight with Marcus?’

‘It’s nothing like that,’ Astarion says thickly. ‘I’m fine. It’s just, I haven’t felt this awful in ages.’ He drags in a deep breath. ‘But you’re always so honest, and you deserve that same kind of honesty.’

‘Have I done something wrong?’ you ask smally.

‘It’s nothing you’ve done,’ Astarion assures you. ‘I’m sure you’ve heard it before. The old, it’s not you, it’s me but this time, it actually is…me.’

You shake your head. ‘You haven’t done anything wrong.’

‘When we met, I had a plan,’ he confesses. ‘A nice, simple plan — I would seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so I would never be betrayed. It was instinctive. I was playing a part, but the more time I spent with you, the worse I felt.’

His breathing labors as he continues, and with dread, you realize that he would be weeping if he wasn’t trying so damn hard to be strong for you. It hurts your feelings to hear your fears come out of his mouth. You steel yourself so that you can listen to him finish, but in the back of your mind, you’re already thinking about what it will be like when Astarion has left empty spaces in your life. You turn to face him. He’s unable to look at you just yet, but you watch as his jaw works and he tries his hardest to finish what he’s saying without giving up and stopping.

‘It was a habit from two hundred years of doing it for him,’ he spits. ‘All you had to do was fall for it, but you didn’t, not exactly. You didn’t trust me and that was very fair of you. I wouldn’t have — even now, I would have never trusted myself if I were someone else.’

‘You did try to eat me,’ you say, trying to joke.

‘I wasn’t going to eat you,’ Astarion says despairingly. ‘Well, I suppose in some ways I have cannibalized you. You cared, so I started to care. You wept, so I wept. You wanted to save the world in a grand sweeping gesture of familial declaration and…I wanted to, too. With you. My plan changed. I wanted to become someone worthy of, well, you.’

‘To be a storybook hero,’ you whisper.

He laughs faintly. ‘When you talked about wanting a family, I thought about how Cazador gave me a one and how I tried to protect them but it was never good enough. He still hurt them when they were bad, when I couldn’t protect them. But now I have a real family, a family that would protect me too. I don’t want to lose them. I don’t want to lose you. I want to protect you and be protected in return.’ He looks at you, eyes brimming with tears.

‘You’re incredible,’ Astarion confesses, shaking his head. ‘You deserve so much better than I, but the thought of you with someone else fills me with such jealousy I can hardly stand it. I want us to be something real.’

You choke on the quietest of sobs, and Astarion reaches to take your hands into his. He doesn’t mean to, but his grip is so tight on your hands that if you try to pull them away, you think he’d topple over with you. You cling back to him. You’ll fall into eternity if you let go. He catches you as best he can.

‘I care about you,’ you say. ‘I knew it even when I didn’t want to admit it. When Gandrel found us, the night I was certain I was turning into a mindflayer — It doesn’t matter to me, Astarion. Why you did it. I will never understand the depth of what has happened to you — but I can keep it from happening again.’

‘I laughed at you the first time you suggested it.’

‘I deserved it,’ you say, ‘but I know I can do it now.’

Astarion swallows thickly. ‘I expected us to fight again. You’d be well within your right to be horrible.’

‘It hurts,’ you admit. He closes his eyes at the confession, but you squeeze his hands. ‘But it doesn’t change anything, Astarion. I would have loved you until the world ended.’

‘Luckily for you,’ Astarion says with a small laugh. ‘I know you would never let the world end.’

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x oc #from ，carcosa .#my fic #pandimoostuff #*hides my face in my hands* UHH I HOPE YOU LIKE IT

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bloodycyrano · 9 months ago

Text

I want to lore dump about my BG3 storyline and OCs so bad, but at the same time I don't want to release any information before it would come out in the future chapters of my fanfic, so to stave off the dark urge, here's.... 🥁🥁🥁

Team Tadpole doing sweet things for each other part 2!

Sometimes, when Astarion has trouble resting at night, Gale will stay up with him and play chess- They started with card games, but Astarion cheats like a fox. He still cheats at chess, but not as often.

Karlach probably notices when her comrades are in pain after battle, and will hug a sack of rocks until they heat up to make a sort of makeshift heating pad for sore muscles.- Bonus points, She'll borrow some scented oils from Halsin to add an element of aromatherapy.

Gale has 100% done talis card readings for Team tadpole when they deal with heavy emotional stuff, if only to help them find their path forward. Maybe he isn't the best at verbal comfort, but magic is one thing he knows he can use for at least some benefit.

I feel like Gale also notices when people aren't dealing well with things, and will purposefully annoy Durge so they have someone to pick on and hopefully feel a little better afterwards. They're definitely the sort of friends that pretend to hate each other, but are there when you need them. Durge definitely brings out his petty side, but its all in good fun. Usually.

While maybe they have a bit of a rocky relationship, I also believe Durge would indulge Gales special interests and let him ramble about things, because they know what it's like to have to shut up to make other people happy. I also feel like Gale would return the favor and deliberately ask about weird, macabre things so that Durge actually has an excuse to bring up topics that interest them.

Wyll has a knitting hobby. You probably wouldn't expect it, but he definitely does. And he's really really good at it, too. He uses every holiday as an excuse to gift people things like socks, scarves, mittens, etc. And I mean EVERY holiday. Earth day, valentines day, national owlbear day (Which is totally not something he made up as an excuse to give people their presents early), etc. The thing is, he notices when people complain about their socks getting worn from traveling, and gets random ideas for gifts at 3 AM, and then spends the rest of the night knitting. He has also been known to make cute little knitted outfits for the group pets in the winter, because he thought Scratch was getting cold.

Adding onto this, Lae'zel is the only person Wyll is willing to go to for a blunt and honest opinion on the gifts he makes before he gives them. Lae'zel doesn't take this lightly, either. While maybe she doesn't show it, she takes this very seriously and is somewhat honored that Wyll came to her instead of anyone else.

Shadowheart tends to replenish Wylls yarn reserve without telling him as well. She asks Lae’zel what colours he's run out of, and then sneak some extra spools into his pack. Wyll still doesn't know who's been doing it, but he's thankful nonetheless. And it's one thing the cleric and the gith can actually be somewhat peaceful about.

Durge doesn't take all of their kills lightly. When it comes to someone they actually respected, there's a ritual they perform afterward that they read about in Withers old temple. They'll grind bone and ash into ink and take time to write out the names of those they respected, and bury it with the bodies. As well as little offerings as well. It isn't a short process either.. Durge will spend the entire night locked in their caravan burning incense, praying their name to Jergal in hopes that the spirit will find rest, and doing little things in honor of the dead.- It isn't hard for team tadpole to figure out when Durge has taken the life of someone they held a genuine respect for, and will be careful not to disturb them, or leave bones or herbs/flowers on the steps of their caravan. Karlach and Astarion will occasionally come to check on them. While maybe it doesn't happen often, it does happen. Withers was particularly surprise to begin receiving prayers after all this time, but it strengthened a sort of bond between the two.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #bg3 durge #dark urge #gale dekarios #baldurs gate tav #lae'zel #shadowheart #wyll ravengard #karlach #scenarios #writing prompt #bg3 scenarios #bg3 withers #jergal

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m00nlight-ramblings · 10 months ago

Text

Evergreen: Chapter 2

Chapter 2 of "Evergreen".

The tension between you and Astarion is starting to come to a boiling point, with the first night in camp setting off what seems to be a rocky start to your relationship.

Read Chapter 1 here

Pairings: Astarion x female reader (named "Atriss", but still using "you" because the thought of Y/N makes me cringe)

Warnings: Swearing. Angst. Not proofread we post like men aka fix shit after it's been posted. The entire story is 18+ so MINORS DNI!

Word Count: 1.83K

A/N: This chapter is definitely a bit of a set-up chapter, so apologies if it is feeling a bit slow. However, things will begin to pick up...promise!

After having gotten supplies from the traders inside of the Grove, you and the other companions decided to set up camp right outside the gate - far enough away where your group could have some privacy, but close enough where you could come to their aid if goblins decided to attack them again.

"And then out of nowhere, bam! The Blade of Frontiers! With a flourish of that decadently beautiful rapier, the goblins had no idea what hit them!" Gale exclaimed, recounting the story of how Wyll came to join the group. Much to Wyll's embarrassment, Gale detailed his entrance while the other companions had stumbled upon the Grove and immediately decided to help.

"I was actually hunting Karlach, if you can believe it," Wyll said, tearing a piece of bread off from his dinner, "I was told she was a certain dangerous devil, but it obviously couldn't have been further from the truth."

"Can you believe it? Me!" Karlach laughed, "Quite the opposite, really." Thoughtfully, she took a sip of her wine from the bottle she was holding, "Unless you piss me off. Then you're fucked."

You chuckled with the rest of the companions, falling into a routine with them (from a safe distance). Unsure of how much you could actually trust all of them, you decided at least to have a good time with them while they drank and joked. Gale had made dinner - roasted pig and bread he had procured from the Grove - and Karlach had sweettalked her way into getting a few bottles of wine from a local trader inside. Now, as the night had fallen, you all shared stories around the campfire before you all headed to bed.

"First things first for tomorrow - we get up early, possibly daybreak. We need to leave at a decent hour so we can get to the Goblin camp by the latest, two days from now." Wyll said, jumping into fighting tactics and how we should go about infiltrating their base. Everyone seemed to be on the edge of their seat, excited about the thought of fighting for the Tieflings.

Everyone, except Astarion.

He was leaning against a nearby tree, swirling the wine in his glass. He had neglected a plate of dinner, and currently had a look on his face that could only be read as "annoyed".

"Do you have another plan, Astarion? A better one, perhaps?" You asked, calling him out.

Astarion's head jerked up slightly, his mind finally joining the conversation with the rest of the party. He swirled the wine again slowly and took a sip, smacking his lips once he was done for some sort of emphasis.

"I just think..." He started, walking closer to the group, "That this isn't our responsibility, so why are we even bothering?" His foppish way of speaking - with his hand flourishes, and lyrical mannerisms - were charismatic for a while. But once you realized how selfish he really was, you recognized that he truly was just starting to get on your nerves. "If it were up to me, I'd say we just try and find whomever can help us rid these parasites, and move on with our lives."

"I agree with the elf," Lae'zel spoke, causing everyone to turn our heads, "We must seek clearance of these parasites at once. We need to get ourselves to a creche before long - who knows how long it will take for us to finally turn into those disgusting mind flayers."

"And, if you remember," Gale spoke, causing everyone else to silence, "This Halsin character has said to have information against these ilithid tadpoles. So, it is in our best interest to find him in the goblin camp - and not only for us, but for the tieflings, as well."

Astarion's eyes narrowed at you, making it a point to not look away. He sipped his wine and you smirked at him, trying to assert dominance. You may be kind, but you were no fool. And you knew many men like Astarion - handsome, charismatic men who used their knowledge and charm to get their way.

And it wouldn't work on you.

"So, if that is the only problem that has arisen amongst us, I say we clear our dishes and head to bed. Who is willing to take first watch?" Gale asked, standing with his plate and goblet.

"I will." Astarion said instantly, downing the rest of his wine. You eyed him as he stood up, almost eager to be first watch. Curious.

Or suspicious.

"Great!" Gale clapped his hands and made his way to the bucket of water on the edge of camp to wash his plate. "I will take the second half, then! A little earlier-than-normal wake-up never hurt anyone!"

You watched Astarion smirk as he rest against the tree again. You didn't know why, but you knew something was up with him - why did he volunteer for first watch, during their first night at camp? Was it a defensive tactic, possibly to sus us out?

You washed your plate and brought it back to your tent, getting settled in your sleeping clothes. You were going to find out what the story was with him, one way or another.

After 30 more minutes, everyone had settled into their tents for the evening. Silently, you undid the front to your tent, ready to leave at any moment. Once you recognized Shadowheart's lantern to go out - the last light on in camp - you snuck out of your tent.

Across the camp, Astarion stayed put against the tree he had claimed earlier. As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you watched him pause a few moments before checking around the camp to ensure everyone was sleeping. Once he thought he was alone, he darted into the woods.

Immediately leaving the rest of the party at camp vulnerable to attack.

"That son of a bitch..." You breathed, stalking into the woods behind him. You moved as quietly as possible, hoping to catch the sound of his running.

Nothing but silence met your ears.

Where did he go? You thought, moving in the general direction of where he sped off to. After a few minutes, you still couldn't find him. Frustrated, you groaned quietly, resting against a rock. Nothing but crickets answered your thought, causing you to grow annoyed.

Deciding to head back to camp, you started your journey back. There was no sense in trying to make enemies on your first night. You thought, trying to subdue the nagging feeling in the back of your mind. Suddenly, a hand gripped your wrist and pulled you back.

"And where, may I ask, are you going?" Astarion purred into your ear. You gasped and turned to him, his eyes gleaming against the moonlight. The former nagging feeling in the back of your mind turned into full blown suspicion.

There goes the whole "try not to make enemies on the first night".

"I should be asking you the same thing, First Watch." You coolly replied, flaring your nostrils, "Any particular reason why you left camp almost immediately after starting your first watch?"

"My dear, were you watching me?" Astarion's voice was still light - flirty, almost - even though you recognized that he was trying to get information out of you. He smirked.

"Answer the question, Astarion. Unless you have something to hide.” You retorted, crossing your arms. Trying to send a message – you were not one to be fucked with.

Astarion’s smirk faltered only slightly – if you weren’t paying attention, you wouldn’t have even noticed. He shifted his weight on his feet, tilting his head to the side. He was studying you…trying to figure out what to say next, how to proceed. You were making him sweat a bit, it seemed.

Good.

“Come now, darling, is this really how you’d like our relationship to start off?” His smirk was plastered back on his face again, his showmanship back to the front. “Starting on a bad note instead of good one? Think of all the fun we could have,” His voice was low, husky. He was trying to charm his way out of it, “And believe me, I know a thing or two about fun.”

You rolled you eyes, “Enough, Astarion. You don’t want to tell me why you decided to leave the camp vulnerable to attack approximately 30 seconds after you started first watch? Fine, by all means, don’t tell me,” You stepped closer to him, pointing a finger in his face, “But just know that I don’t trust you. Your charming act doesn’t fool me…you’re only looking out for yourself. Don’t come crawling to me when you need something, alright?”

“Oh, the dramatics from you!” Astarion huffed, laughing loudly, “And that’s saying something coming from me.”

“With the situation we’re in right now, I have no choice but to be cautious. And so far, you’re not making a good name for yourself,” You paused, taking him in. His eyes, though guilty, were also glittering. “Our lives are in each other’s hands, and if you prove yourself to be unworthy of that, I’d rather know sooner rather than later.”

“Oh fine,” Astarion said, finally seeming to give up, “If you want to throw a temper tantrum because I heard something in the woods, and decided to investigate – you know, the whole purpose of a first watch – then so be it. I’m not in the market to convince you,” He waved his hands as if to dismiss you, “Go off. Back to camp with you. You were so hasty to leave, after all.”

You narrowed your eyes – was he really coming to the woods to investigate? Something about his alibi seemed off – something wasn’t quite right. Without another word, you marched back to camp, you heart thundering. Not only because you were second-guessing yourself, but also because you had a feeling Astarion was hiding something from you.

Not just you, but the entire party.

You finally reached your tent and started to untie the straps holding the entrance together. As you quickly did your work, you noticed out the corner of your eye that Astarion was slowly walking back into camp, his eyes watching you. Once you finally undid the flaps, you stood and looked at him, holding his gaze. After a few moments, he smirked.

He was making sure you were going back into your tent.

To make sure he could get away with whatever he was doing.

You held his gaze for a moment more before slipping into your tent, a cold sweat breaking out onto your brow. You located your dagger on the floor of your tent and quickly slipped it under the pillow on your bedroll. You sighed heavily and pulled the blanket to your chin, your mind ablaze with the conversation with Astarion. You shut your eyes and willed for sleep unsuccessfully, tossing and turning for the next few hours.

You had a feeling this was going to be a long night.

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Thank you all so much for reading! As always, reblogs, comments, and likes mean a ton to me, and helps me know if you want me to keep going with this!

#bg3 #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fanfic #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate 3 #astarion headcanon #astarion x reader #astarion x oc #astarion fan fiction #astarion fluff #astarion x tav #astarion romance #astarion imagine #astarion ancunin

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