#i might do a wyll chapter because i like him

[verbosemoth]

rev 22:20 (don't shoot the messenger) by puscifier got me in these writing times. Durge has 97 mental diseases and the reader is about to find that out

[mistystepmoonbeam]

Reborn in BG3: Chapter 15

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 15: Withers has arrived at the camp and you finally look into the second bag you've been carrying around.

Word count: 1.5K (a little shorter but packed with fun :D )

A/N: hehehe

He has to know.  No way in this universe or your own would Withers not know that you remember your past life.  The whole plot of him in the game revolves around soul counting—he’s the freaking god of the dead!  He must know. 

But…just because you remember who you were doesn’t mean that somehow changes your soul…it’s not like you’re swapping a shirt out for a different colour.

The thumb of your right hand begins to press into the palm of your left, a residual tingle from being shot with the arrow.  Tav has asked who Withers is, and he explains that he’s there to help, in his own confusing way.  He doesn’t mention the hirelings, but says that should anyone die, he’s available.  

“So if we die you’re just going to bring us back?” Shadowheart asks incredulously.  

“Should it be so desired,” Withers answers. 

Tav leans towards Withers, unperturbed by the talking skeleton.  He shifts left and right before asking, “Does your head come off?”

Withers squints at him.  “No.”

“Have you tried?”

“No.”

Wyll cuts in.  “Perhaps there’s a better line of questioning for now, Tav.”

Tav shrugs and asks about the price of resurrecting the dead, and why Withers would be willing to do so.  

It is what it is, is basically his answer.  

With that, he’s accepted into the camp.  Everyone returns to their tent, and you’ve all but forgotten about what you were doing before Withers arrived.  

Perhaps because of what you’ve done in the past they’re willing to leave you alone with the sudden visitor.  Tav is last to retreat to his tent.

“So…”  You aren’t sure how to go about this.  Like, hey I know who you really are and am I your favourite?  Instead you wiggle your index fingers between you and him and ask, “Am I your chosen?”

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it.  Nor does he answer with a simple yes or no.  “Thou is who thou needs to be.”

You frown.  “But not who I was?”

“A soul is a soul, no matter the shape.”

“Okay, but–why am I here?  Why am I me?”

Withers only watches you.  

Of course, no easy answers.  You flex your fingers, a jolt of frustration flowing through you.  In the game the gods just came out and said the chosen were their chosen.  Did this mean you weren’t his chosen, or he was just so old that he didn’t behave like the other gods?

“Did you bring me here?” you questioned.

To that, he blinks.  If he breathed or did anything human you swore he would have sighed.  “A soul can grow weary, even when on the correct path,” he says.  

Your arms cross, thinking back to how you’d felt in the tent earlier.  That hollow expanse in your chest expands until you have to rub over your heart.  

“Rebirth,” Withers says, “is necessary on occasion.”

You meet his gaze.  “So why don’t I remember anything?”

“Give and take.”

Remember who you were, forget who you are.  Or maybe it’s the other way around.  Either way, he wasn’t going to tell you the whole story.  Your head aches with the possibilities.

“Thou hast questions,” Withers says when you don’t speak.  “Perhaps thou should consider all of thou’s belongings.”

Your eyebrows rise at his words.  You’d been avoiding looking into the second bag.  At first only because you wanted to remain hopeful it would help you, but now because it might give away your connection to the dead three.  Of course, Withers has just confirmed you aren’t with them so…what’s stopping you from running to your tent and ripping open the bag?

The fact that Withers is watching you with what could only be described as sadness.  You keep his gaze as if you could will him to do what you wanted like the redcaps, but he remains silent.  For some reason you find yourself wanting to apologize to him.

Instead you  take a step back, then another, and another, until you turn and hurry into your tent.

In the dim light you find your bag and hold it with both hands.  You couldn’t put it off any longer.

With a deep breath you squeeze your eyes shut and open the bag.  Still holding that breath you peek one eye open and peek down, only to put the air out between your lips. 

Crystals.  There are five crystals in your bag, each one blue, and each one more faded than the last.  The palest is more teal than blue, and it takes a moment for you to realize what they are.

“Memory crystals,” you murmur.  You pull them out of the bag and arrange them on the floor of your tent by how deeply they’re coloured.  “Give and take.”

Maybe the past you knew what was going to happen and each one of these held a clue for you to decipher?  What Withers said…a soul can grow weary even when on the correct path.  Had you…gotten tired of your life?  You consider the gold, your expensive clothing and unusual power over the dead.  What could have been so bad that you were willing to just—go away? 

Tears well in your eyes.  You—they, the person you no longer are—wanted to die…?  Does it count as death if your memories are replaced with someone else’s?  It’s still your body, all that’s changed are the memories.  

Are you who you remember from Earth, or who you were in Faerun?  With careful hands you pick up the darkest shard.  You barely have to focus on feeling the magic before images flood your vision.

And you see Baldurs’s Gate 3.  The loading screen, to be exact.  It feels blurry, like a dream but you can feel the excitement in your body.  You look down at the controller in your hands, moving on their own as you select a new game and debate on playing an origin character or one of your own creation.  You drop the crystal, the memory lingering, along with a thought that is not yours:

I’m just a character from a story?  Not even in the story.  I’m not even there.

You choke on a sob.

Faerun you remembered Earth you.  Maybe they hadn’t gotten all your memories, but they realized they were living in a video game–one that they weren’t even a part of originally.  You remembered who you were—are—“Damn it!  This is too confusing.”

You fall back on your bedroll, hands over your eyes as you try not to cry too loudly.  You whisper, “A soul is a soul, no matter the shape.  A soul is a soul, no matter the shape.”

If that were true, then everything you’ve felt since waking up here might not be what you would normally feel.  Either version of you.  

Light interrupts your mumbling as the front of your tent opens.  You don’t bother to check who it is, you can feel him in the air around you.  A bony but warm hand lays over yours.  

“They had lived too long for a human,” Withers says, “an old soul that was lost in the right direction.”

“I did, you mean.  I lived too long.”  

Withers moves his hand and you sit up to find him kneeling beside you.  He nods.  “Thou chose to forget, and to remember.  The self remains the same.”

“I am not the same,” you hiss, anger swelling over the sadness.

Withers’s eyes fall to the palest crystal.  You follow his gaze, immediately regretful for your tone.  You reach out and touch the crystal.  Once you pull it to your chest you find yourself looking at Astarion.  It’s obviously him, by his white hair alone, but he’s so much taller than you.  His back faces you and you stumble towards him, your much smaller hand reaching out to grab onto his pants leg.

I can save him, you thought.  Yes, you wanted to help him.  Just one little warning and he’d never become a vampire slave.  Your hand pulls on his pant leg. 

The world around you both is too blurry to see where you are, but you hear string instruments and jovial laughter.  It takes a second tug on Astarion’s pants to get his attention and when he looks down at you. Silver eyes are looking at you and your little body is frozen. 

Astarion’s brows arch, the corner of his lips turn down with a bit of disgust.

“Don’t pwosecute the Guh,” you say.  God, being a child is so annoying.  Why are R’s so hard to pronounce for toddlers?

Astarion lets out a fake laugh, as does whoever he is with.

“It seems the young master wants to be a magistrate,” he says.  There’s more laughter around you as you're picked up by two arms behind you, and you’re at least eye level with the elf as you’re being taken away.

“They’ll kill you,” you shout, “dont—”

“Now, now,” a familiar voice interrupts.  It scares you silent.  “I thought we agreed there would be no spoilers?”

You’re set in a more comfortable position as a child should be held, but it’s far from the comforting hold of a parent.  Your head turns, the world beyond his dark eyes still blurry in the memory.  But he’s taking you away from the party.

“That’s not the deal, Waphael.”  The mispronunciation takes away any authority you could have had. As does the higher pitch of your voice.

The devil just laughs as he takes you away, and the memory ends.

A/N: Apologies for the slight cliff hanger, also, let's pretend the memory crystal things give more information than just flashes of images >.>

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 @troutberryspoon @betwixttheweave @the-pale-elfs-love @kindadolly @bitchyzombienacho @game-savvy @hardbarbarianfox @secr3tlover @stranger-owl @alice4wonderland2812 @donat-senpai @rainbowangel @3dragonstar @starry-crossed @grace-writes-shit

[grandmother-goblin]

Enough Time for Us - Part 1

AO3 - Masterlist

Summary: After surviving a daring rescue of several tieflings from Moonrise Towers, you realize just how short your time might be. Between the Absolute, the tadpoles, and the Shadow Curse, you don't want to waste a moment. Although Wyll had expressed his desires for an old-fashioned courtship, you're worried you won't be able to do everything you wanted with him before time runs out.

Relationships: Wyll x Female!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Word Count: 4.3k

Chapter Tags: Kissing, thigh-riding, dry-humping, a bit of navigating a new relationship.

“You should have seen them, Alfira!” Lakrissa said far too loudly. She clumsily set her empty goblet of wine down on the table you shared with her, Alfira, and Wyll. “You’re going to have to write a song about this. Maybe two. I don’t think all of their heroics could fit into just one.”

The light from the glowing hearth in the middle of Last Light Inn gave Lakrissa a mischievous glint to her eyes that told you everything you needed to know: she was trying to embarrass you.

Oh, you would get her back for this. You weren’t sure how, but you would.

Sure, you rescued Lakrissa (along with several other tieflings and some Ironhand gnomes) from the bowels of Moonrise Towers — but she didn’t need to sing your praises to everyone who would listen.

At first you thought she was just being sweet, if not overly appreciative. But now? Now you knew she was just messing with you.

Or she was just repeating herself because she was drunk. It really could have been either, considering that most certainly was not her first glass of wine.

Without taking her eyes off of Alfira, Lakrissa gestured to you grandly, like she was showing off a prized work of art. “That one there took down the Warden herself,” she said with faux reverence. “Knocked her right on her ass.”

You shook your head as heat rose to your face. 

Even though Lakrissa was just having fun, you wished she would knock it off. Or at the very least, turn her attention to someone who was equally responsible for her rescue. Like Karlach, who was chatting away with Jaheira over a mug of ale alongside Lae’zel and Astarion. Or Gale, who also played a crucial role in the escape plan, was sitting at the bar with Rolan, Cal, and Lia — presumably thrilled to have a fellow wizard to converse with.

Perhaps she could gush about Wyll’s part in the Moonrise jailbreak. Out of everyone, he was the most accustomed to receiving all sorts of praise as the Blade of Frontiers.

But for better or for worse, Lakrissa’s attention was locked on to you. There wasn’t much you could do about it, so you decided it was easiest just to indulge her. At least a little bit. 

Wyll’s slid closer to you on the bench you shared and wrapped his arm around your waist. “I’m sad that I missed that one,” he said, gently tucking you against his side. “After the way the Warden spoke to you, I wanted to get a few hits in myself.”

You hummed appreciatively, breathing in the scent of his cologne. It was something like amber and allspice, and so uniquely him that the smell alone filled you with warmth. “I still can’t believe you called her a bitch.”

Lakrissa choked down a mouthful of wine. “The Blade of Frontiers called the Warden a bitch?”

“Not to her face,” Wyll quickly corrected, holding his palm up as if to block the accusation. “Not that I wouldn’t have.”

“She still heard you,” you added.

Wyll took a drink from his mug of ale and innocently averted his gaze. “I fail to see how that’s my problem.”

A giggle bubbled in your chest, but you swallowed it down with a smile. You snuggled closer to Wyll, letting your hand rest just above his knee as you leaned your head against his shoulder.

It had been over a week since you two had officially become a couple, yet could still hardly believe it. 

Wyll Ravengard, the Blade of Frontiers, the son of a Grand Duke — all yours.

You had first kissed him at a party the tiefling refugees had thrown a few weeks ago. You would never forget the electricity that sparked between you the moment his lips brushed against yours. How your heart hammered in your chest or how his hands felt on your hips. 

How you never wanted that moment to end. 

But Wyll was a gentleman. 

He kept things chaste despite how you had wanted to throw yourself at him like a heroine on the cover of a romantic novel.

Then there was the night he had asked you to dance with him. Everything had been so proper between you two in the time between your kiss and that night that his invitation honestly caught you off guard. You weren’t even quite sure what he was wanting out of the dance — just some friendly fun or something more?

But his intentions were made clear soon enough. 

You could see the lust burning in his eye as you circled around each other. It was so intense, you could have melted under his gaze if he weren’t holding you steady. 

When he pulled you in for a kiss, that heat turned from simmering embers to an inferno. A fire that burnt through Wyll’s restraint, turning his kisses from sweet to passionate and his touch from a gentle caress to a firm embrace.

Heat built in your core when his thigh had pushed between your legs. The subtle, almost imperceptible, roll of his hips and his hands tangling in your hair was enough to drive you mad.

He wanted you. You knew, at that very moment, he wanted more than just a dance and a goodnight kiss.

Yet, he still pulled away, smothering the flame.

All he had to do was say the word, and you would have been in his bed that night. He knew that just as well as you did. But he wanted to take things slower.

He wanted to court you properly. Like heroes in those old love stories with ballroom dances and flowers and poetry. 

In ordinary circumstances, you would have let him take all the time in the world. 

Good men like Wyll were extraordinarily hard to come by. Hells, you had been dreaming of a man like Wyll for years. A man who wanted you for you — not someone who just wanted a roll in the hay. 

But your circumstances were far from ordinary.

Beneath the table, well out of view from the two tiefling women across from you, you let your hand coast further up Wyll’s thigh. Just a little bit too high to be considered decent, but not so much that you risked touching him anywhere truly inappropriate for a public setting.

If Wyll had any objections, he didn’t voice them. 

In fact, you swore you saw a smirk tug on his lips.

Wyll’s hand slipped beneath the bottom hem of your shirt, the movement smooth as silk. His thumb drew slow, tantalizing circles on your hip as he continued to chat with Lakrissa and Alfira.

Gods, it almost felt unfair. He could turn you into a pile of mush with just a sweet word and simple touch. If you didn’t know better, you might have thought he was teasing you. Tempting you with all the little touches, but never going further.

You wanted him so badly, but you didn’t want to pressure him. He wanted the fairytale romance — he wanted to wait for the perfect moment and for everything to be just right.

But you couldn’t help but worry: what if that moment never came?

What if tomorrow was the day one of you fell to the Shadow Curse? Or to the Absolute? What if the Artefact’s protection wore out or if Vlaakith’s warriors found you?

What if you and Wyll never had that chance with the each other?

Maybe it was selfish, but you wanted to be more intimate with him. Gods, you dreamed of it. There were nights when you and Wyll would share a bedroll, sleeping in one another’s arms and fully clothed, and you ached for something more.

You just weren’t sure how to broach the topic with him. Not since he expressed his own desires regarding your relationship. A fairytale romance, like those told by the bards.

You wished he had been a little more specific about what his desires entailed, if you were being completely honest. 

“Have we already finished another bottle?” Alfira’s voice pulled you from your thoughts as she picked up the empty bottle of wine from your side of the table. “Should we get another, or call it night?”

Without waiting for an answer, Lakrissa stood up and placed both hands on the table as she peered over Wyll’s horns. “Hey Mirkon,” she called toward the bar in the back of the room. “I’ll give you five silver to bring us another bottle of red.”

The small tiefling boy popped his head up over the lip of the countertop. “Just gave out the last bottle of red — gotta go to the cellar to get more. We got whiskey though!”

Lakrissa’s eyes lit up at the mention of whiskey. “Bring the bottle of whiskey then.”

“The whole bottle?” Mirkon squeaked.

“Lakrissa,” Alfira warned. “Remember what happened last time you mixed whiskey and wine.”

“I remember I had fun,” she replied and gestured for Mirkon to bring the bottle over. “Don’t need to remember much else.”

You shook your head, but you couldn’t help but smile. Lakrissa might be in for a nasty hangover the next morning, but if anyone deserved a couple of drinks, she did. Especially after everything they went through getting out of Moonrise. 

“I’m going to bring another crate up before the whole place decides to switch to hard liquor,” you said, giving Wyll’s leg an affectionate squeeze before you got to your feet.

The crates were too large for the kids to carry safely, but you could manage. Besides, it made for a good opportunity to get a breath of fresh air. The longer you sat cuddled up next to Wyll, the greater the temptation to get even closer to him was. Considering “closer” probably meant fighting the temptation to crawl into his lap and straddle him, it was probably for the best to detangle yourself before that happened. 

If you didn’t control yourself, you knew you’d be regretting it later when it came time to sleep. You’d be faced with the impossible decision of sleeping in Wyll’s arms or getting some alone time in your tent to deal with your self-inflicted sexual frustration.

Yep, a bit of space was just what you needed.

Before you could get a step away from the table, Wyll said, “I’ll come with you.”

Well, so much for that idea.

Wyll swung his legs around the side of the bench and stood beside you, slipping his arm around you once again. “Two pairs of hands are better than one, and besides — ” he leaned down, his breath warm against your ear, and whispered “ — it looks like Alfira wants a little one-on-one time with Lakrissa.”

“What was that, Mr. Blade of Frontiers?” Lakrissa asked cheekily, cupping her hand to her ear for emphasis. “You best share with the group.”

Wyll laughed and replied, “The only thing I’m sharing is another drink once we get back. I’ll look for another bottle of Esmalter Red while I’m down there.”

Lakrissa tapped her chin in mock consideration as she sat back in her seat. “I’ll accept that as a compromise, I suppose.”

“We’ll be back in a minute,” you said and started toward the front door.

As the chatter and the music faded behind you, Wyll’s hand moved from your waist to your hand, intertwining your fingers with his. When you glanced up at him, he was already smiling down at you with so much love in his gaze that made your heart pick up speed.

Gods, you loved him so much. Even if the romantic aspect of your relationship was relatively new, you knew you wanted to be at Wyll’s side for as long as he would have you. And you hadn’t felt that way about anyone else before.

There was something so special, so incredible, about him that you could hardly put it into words. In so many ways, Wyll was everything you had ever wanted — you wanted to experience the world with him but you didn’t know if that same world would give you time.

Wyll brought your hand to his lips and kissed the back of your knuckles. “This hand,” he said with a teasing grin, “was getting a bit adventurous under the table there.”

Pushing aside your thoughts, you blinked up at him innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No?” He pressed another kiss to your hand as you reached the top of the stairs at the side of the building. Without letting go of your hand, he had smoothly positioned you to the side with the railing. “Must have just been my imagination. It has been a little overactive in that regard, as of late.”

“Oh? What sorts of things have you been imagining, Wyll?” you replied knowing full well that he would be far too much of a gentleman to answer if his thoughts aligned with your own.

“You’ll find out,” he said as he helped you down the last step (although you didn’t need the help, the gesture was appreciated). “Just give it time.”

Time.

The one thing that seemed to be running out.

In the space beneath the building, the sounds of water lapping gently against docks echoed off the stone walls. Just a few hours ago, this was the location of a joyous reunion for many — people seeing loved ones they had thought lost over something completely out of their control. If not for the feeling of Wyll’s hand in yours, the whole place felt cold and yawningly empty.

Looking out over the river, you could see that thin border of light that separated you, and the people you cared about, from the Shadow Curse. It was like a singular pillar that held up an entire roof. Without it, everything would come crashing down — no matter how many other support beams were in place.

It all felt so fragile. All it would take is one thing going wrong and… you’d all be lost to the darkness.

Gods, any moment really could be the last, couldn’t it? 

Your hand tightened around Wyll’s, as if you could squeeze out a little more hypothetical time with him. That’s all you wanted. Just some time for the two of you to be together without the looming fear of death.

Was that so much to ask?

“Are you feeling alright?” Wyll asked as he opened the door leading down into the cellar and gestured for you to go ahead of him. “You’ve got a bit of a far off look to you.”

There really wasn’t any point in lying to him or in pretending things were fine. Wyll was much  better at reading you than most people, which was both a blessing and a curse. He always seemed to know just what you needed, but it also meant you could hardly keep anything from him. While he would never pressure you to talk if you didn’t want to, you didn’t like to leave him in the dark.

You took a few steps down the stairs, staring at the way your hand slid along the railing rather than look at the man above you. You could see his shadow against the wall beside you, the subtle tilt of his head and the curl of his horns. An ominous silhouette to most, but a source of comfort to you. 

“I’ve just been thinking a bit about what you said a few nights ago,” you answered, your heart beating in your throat as you slowly continued your descent. “About our relationship, and how you want things to go.”

Behind you, you heard the door gently close against the frame followed by the click of a lock. The stairs creaked under his boots as he took the wooden stairs two steps at a time until he was at your side once more. “This sounds serious.”

You laughed, hoping to ease some of the tension. “It’s nothing serious,” you reassured him. “But it’s still something I wanted to bring up with you.”

“Of course.” There was a hint of nervousness to his voice, but he tried to mask it behind his charming, prince-like smile that could make most people swoon. “I’m always happy to talk.”

When you reached the bottom of the stairs, you shuffled around to face him. The glow from a dim fireplace, one that hadn’t been tended to for a while now, glinted off of Wyll’s scarlet red eye as he gazed at you with a mixture of affection and concern.

Though the cellar was warm, you wrapped your arms around yourself as if there was a chill in the air, trying to muster up some courage. 

Gods, did you even have to bring this up? You didn’t, right? But he was looking at you expectantly and the longer you waited, the worse your anxiety got and —

“I don’t want to wait,” you blurted out before you could talk yourself out of it.

Wyll’s brow drew together. “Wait for what?”

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, looking past him rather than directly into his eye. “To be close to you,” you said, feeling heat rising to your cheeks. “To be intimate. We don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow and I — I want to share that experience with you.”

There. It was out in the open and there was no taking it back. The worst that could happen was that he would turn you down again, right?

For a moment, there was nothing but stale cellar air and the sounds of the crackling fireplace between you two. You could hear footsteps from the taproom overhead counting out the beats of silence.

You swallowed. Gods, why did you have to say anything at all? He was giving you everything you wanted, yet you still wanted more?

Then a soft smile tugged at the corner of Wyll’s lip and a sense of relief coursed through you. The back of his fingers brushed against your cheek in a featherlight touch before he tucked his thumb beneath your chin. He tilted your face up, making it impossible for you to look anywhere but at his gorgeous, mismatched, eyes.

“I want to share that experience with you too,” he said, resting one hand on your hip as he took a single step closer. “Though, I’m of the mind that we will have plenty of time, and plenty of chances, to have that experience.”

Disappointment landed light a heavy weight in your gut, and you averted your gaze. 

Well, it was worth a try.

It wasn’t like you could force Wyll to change his stance on such a thing. And it would have been wrong of you to do anything more than simply express your desires.

Still, it didn’t make the disappointment any easier.

“I hope you’re right,” you conceded with a hopeful long convincing smile, not wanting to put any pressure on him.

Wyll sighed and touched his forehead to yours. His horns were cool and hard against your skin and you closed your eyes, just breathing in his scent. 

“I still believe in the old tales of love,” he said as his hand moved to your lower back. “And I want to give you the fairytale because that’s what you deserve. But that doesn’t mean we can’t make it our own.”

You blinked and pulled back just far enough to look Wyll in the eyes. “What do you mean by that?”

A rakish grin spread across his face, sending butterflies to your stomach in a flurry. “I’m saying that if you want to be more intimate” — his hand slipped beneath your shirt, his palm warm against the small of your back — “then we can be more intimate.”

Your heart leapt in your chest as a mixture of surprise and giddiness surged through you. Out of all the things you expected him to say, it wasn’t that. 

At least, you didn’t expect him to agree so readily.

Swallowing your excitement, you laced your fingers with his. You didn’t want to pressure him, and you didn’t think you were, but you still wanted to check…. 

“You’re sure?” you asked and pressed your lips to the back of his hand. “I know you have reasons for wanting to wait, and I don’t want you to change your mind just because — ”

A little huff of laughter passed Wyll’s lips. “I’m sure,” he confirmed. “This is our relationship — we make these sorts of decisions together. I’d much rather you talk to me about things like this rather than just quietly go along with what I said.”

He brought his palm to your cheek, carefully cupping your face as if you were something precious. “Besides,” he added, “I’ll admit that part of me was hoping you’d ask me to change my mind.”

Before you could even think of how to respond, Wyll’s lips brushed over yours in a sweet, silky caress. Light and teasing, if not a little playful at first. Taking his sweet time tasting you. The hand on your cheek slipped behind your head, tangling in your hair as he slowly deepened the kiss.

You couldn’t help the soft moan in your throat as he pulled you flush against him. He coaxed your lips apart with his tongue, sending a thrill of warmth through you with each delicate stroke. Looping your arms around his neck, you held yourself steady as you melted into his touch.

Gods, when he kissed you like this, how could you not want more? How could you be expected to keep your desires in check when his lips were as sinful as they were saccharine?

Wyll guided you backward until your back pressed against the cool stone wall of the stairwell, not once breaking his lips away from yours. He cupped your face, tilting your head back as he kissed you as if he could breathe you in. 

A muscular thigh nudged between your legs, putting delicious pressure where you had long desired it. Heat rose to your face as you rolled your hips, slowly and subtly rocking against him.

Moving his hands to your hips, he pressed himself against you as he guided your movements on his leg to match his. The rhythm alone was enough to make your core clench with need. His parted lips dragged down the side of your neck as he let you grind against him. You let out a small, pleasured, gasp when he gently sucked and nipped at your skin.

Gods, he had barely begun to touch you and you were already trembling. Your body craved him like no other, and you had contented yourself with fantasies for so long. For him to actually be touching you like this? To be pulling closer instead of pulling back? 

It was indescribable.

You brought your lips to his neck, stifling a moan as you kissed the prominent ridges on his throat. His fingers dug into your hips a groan rumbled in his chest. “Those are sensitive,” he said and nibbled at your earlobe. 

You sighed as you closed your eyes. “Sensitive how?” you asked distractedly. 

Wyll raised his hips, pressing himself against you and fully pinning you to the wall. The hard outline of him prodded your lower stomach. “That kind of sensitive.”

Your cheeks burned as his mouth hungrily returned to yours. No one had ever kissed you the way Wyll did. It was reckless and restrained, passionate and patient. And you wanted nothing more than for that patience and restraint to run out.

At least, just for a little bit.

Tension coiled inside of you as you grinded against him, winding tighter and tighter as he rocked into you. You were so close. Gods, you hadn’t even taken your clothes off and you were going to come.

“Wyll,” you whined against his lips, not knowing quite what you wanted. Did you want him to stop you? Or did you want —

“Come for me,” Wyll rasped, his voice unlike you had ever heard it before. His grasping fingers slid over the curve of your breast as he took your mouth in another consuming kiss. 

Your nails dug into his shirt as your movements grew rougher and more erratic. Your breath came in panting gasps as pressure built deep in your core.

Every muscle in your body tightened. Your mouth fell open as you found your release. Your hips moved of their own accord but Wyll’s hands kept you steady as pleasure wracked your body.

“That’s it,” he soothed as you rode out your climax, his voice husky in a way that made your skin prickle. 

He removed his leg from between your thighs just as you began to catch your breath. With his hands still on your hips, he kissed the corner of your mouth and then your cheek, his breathing almost as heavy as your own.

“Tomorrow night,” Wyll said softly as pulled away. His eyes locked onto yours, his good eye dark with barely restrained lust. His hands traced your curves and you could practically see the gears turning in his head. 

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.“Give me until tomorrow night, my love,” he said resolutely. “I promise it’ll be worth the wait.”

With that tiny bit of distance between you, you could see a prominent, hard ridge in his trousers. You must have been staring, because Wyll chuckled and cleared his throat, quickly adjusting himself to hide his erection. Well, as much as he could. 

You swallowed and licked your lips. “Do you — ”

He smiled at you broadly as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “By the time we pack up these crates, I’ll be all settled down.”

Oh, right. The wine. Lakrissa and Alfira were waiting for them.

But still….

You hooked two fingers around his belt loop and stepped closer. “But what if I want to?”

Wyll cupped your face in his hands and pressed his mouth to yours, chaste and sweet. “Then you’ll have to wait until tomorrow night.”

---

Author's Note: This was meant to be like a 2k word oneshot and it turned into a whole thing. I'm still relatively new to writing in second person POV, so I'm sorry for any mistakes!

[bg-brainrot]

Hugs for a Vampire (Astarion x GN!Reader) - Chapter 18: At Withers' Party

Bonus Hug - Chapter 18: At Withers' Party

Each chapter can be read as a standalone hug.

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Rogue!Tav)

Genre: Fluffy, Filling in Canon

Rating: Teen

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, post-game, epilogue, cw: alcohol, jealousy

WC: 2.1k words, 18/18 chapters

Summary: An epilogue hug! Astarion sees Rogue!Tav giving out hugs and wants one of his own.

Author's Note: This was not part of the original fic, added on after the epilogue was released, however I chose to put my own spin on the epilogue hug.

Finally, Whether you read this fic AO3, on Tumblr, or a combo of both, thanks so much for joining the hugfest! I love this vampire man, and may he have many, many more hugs <3

Ao3 | [Hug17] | Hugs for a Vampire Masterlist

It’s been six months since your victory at Baldur’s Gate.

Six months of traveling through the Underdark with Astarion, establishing a base for the vampire spawn, and figuring out your next steps together. It was perilous and difficult work, but you wouldn’t change a single thing. 

You have missed your former companions dearly though, so when you received the invitation from Withers for a celebration, the smile that broke across your face could blind a celestial. I wouldn’t miss this for anything – not even a fresh new apocalypse, you wrote back.

So that’s how you and Astarion have found yourselves above ground once again, the familiar wilderness of the Sword Coast a welcome sight, the distinguished company an even more welcome one.

Everyone seems to be doing quite well, despite how you all left each other. Lae’zel is only able to visit through a projection, and the reprieve is rather temporary for a few of your companions– namely Wyll and Karlach– However, it’s a rare opportunity and you’re incredibly grateful to have it.

The elation must be obvious on your face, as Astarion takes one look at you and laughs. His sing-song little giggle never fails to bring a smile to your face, and right now your face is liable to crack open. “Go on, dear,” he says, sensing the eager tension in your body. “Mingle! If you need me, I shall be near the wine.”

“You can mingle too, you know,” you say, though you’ve already begun to walk away.

“Invite me again after a few bottles,” he responds. You know he loves them all in his own way, but he also finds them to be a bit too much at times. Ever the stray cat, he’ll find his way to them when he’s ready, at least you hope. So you nod to him in agreement and wander off to chat with your dearest friends.

You’re so excited to see them all again that you’re practically jogging to meet them. 

Shadowheart is the first. When you get a good look at her, you see a peace in her face that you haven’t seen in any of the months you’ve known her. Something about it brings you relief. You knew they would each find their happiness without you, but seeing it firsthand is something else. Perhaps it’s because she’s looking so much more herself than ever, but before long you find yourself asking, “Could I have a hug?” The hug is caring and welcoming and everything you knew Shadowheart has always been.

Next you make your way to Karlach. She’s alive and well, which is ten times better than the last time you saw her, and you just might cry from the sight. She tells you about Avernus and about the possibility to fix her heart and you just might cry from that as well. Again, you can’t resist, especially knowing she’s been fighting for her life for six months. “Could I have a hug?” The hug is warm and strong, just like the woman in your arms.

After that, you make your way to Wyll. He’s doing rather well in Avernus with Karlach, and, when he mentions that he’s planning to ensure Karlach finds a solution to her heart, a few tears well in your eyes. Wyll is among the best of mortal and immortal men, and you’re glad he went with Karlach when you couldn’t. The grateful feeling is more than you can put into words, so you ask, “Could I have a hug?” The hug is strong and bracing and an absolute testament to Wyll’s enduring friendship.

You find your way to Lae’zel. After learning of her diligent efforts to save her people from Vlaakith, you can’t help but be awestruck by how much she’s changed. You’re inspired by her ability to learn to fight with words and stunned by how much she truly misses you. Even though she’s not there, you can’t help yourself, “Could I have a hug?” She simply clicks her tongue at you and calls you an idiot, somehow melting your heart all the same.

Eventually, you find Gale, tucked away with the tressym Tara. He’s a teacher and no longer at risk of exploding – you can’t help laughing at that, remembering the various times he almost blew you all up without the help of an all-powerful orb. Something about the way he speaks of his new role and invites you to visit, either to teach or just to spend time, makes you realize that this is what a happy wizard looks like. You love it and ask, “Could I have a hug?” The hug is all-encompassing and lengthy, much like one of Gale’s lessons in magic.

Finally, you find Halsin, dancing the night away. When you learn more about his endeavors, you find that he’s reestablishing the settlement at Reithwin, reconnecting the land to its people. He mentions that Thaniel and Oliver are no longer lonely and that the children of the settlement bring him a fulfillment he never thought possible. After regaling him of an exaggerated tale of your and Astarion’s adventures, you assure him that the two of you will visit soon to tell more. “Could I have a hug?” The hug is surprisingly gentle and comforting, and you walk away feeling quite content.

You determine that you’ll need to ask the rest, even Withers, for hugs if they’ll all be this enjoyable. But before you do that, you decide to take a moment to yourself, to process everything.

That’s how you find your way to a quiet corner, head spinning with warm, fuzzy feelings and maybe a smidge too much wine. Just being here, surrounded by some of the best people you’ve ever had the privilege to encounter, fills you with a companionship you weren’t aware you’d been missing. Astarion fills you with so much love and happiness, but this– this is different.

As if summoned with your thoughts, the vampire walks toward you, wine glass in hand. "Are you done mingling?" Sensing your mind is elsewhere, he leans closer, inspecting your glassy, faraway gaze. His hand lands on the small of your back, jolting your attention back to the present and you turn to look at him. His eyes sparkle at you with radiant joy and a hint of something else. Could that be annoyance?

You decide to focus on the joy. "Yes, I think I've managed to get good conversations out of everyone. Did you know Gale wants me to go teach at Waterdeep?" Your voice sounds incredulous, after all, you warned him: once a rogue, always a rogue. Unless he wants his students to learn how to stab more efficiently, he would do best to seek someone else.

Astarion clearly agrees, making an exaggerated, aghast expression. "You? A teacher?" He shudders in fake-fear. "My love, I pity the poor students who would be subjected to your methods."

“Hey,” you say, shooting him a glare. “I thought you were supposed to be the supportive one!”

He laughs and shakes his head. “I can only support so much, my dear.” Then he takes a long look at you, noticing how unfocused your eyes are, the flush to your face. “And from the looks of it, I may need to support your entire body before the night is over.”

You only grin at him and say, “What did I do to deserve such a caring man?”

“Yes, yes,” he says, rubbing gentle circles along your back. “Likely whatever you did to deserve the affections of every adventurer this side of the Chionthar.” His tone is joking, but the dark look on his face says otherwise.

Pushing aside your own amusement, you pull his hand from your back and lean into him. “Okay, what's the matter, love?”

“Oh nothing. I just thought my jealous days were behind me.” He sounds sullen, and you note a sad tilt to his eyebrows.

Jealous days? You groan, recalling his concern over the fiery barbarian. “Love, really truly, if I were leaving you for Karlach, I would have gone to Avernus months ago.”

He waves his wine glass at you dismissively. “I know that, and I don’t mean Karlach, contrary to all evidence thus far.” Suddenly avoiding your gaze, he takes a sip of wine and changes the subject. “No matter, let’s go ask Withers where he found this vintage.” 

“No, no, no,” you say, tugging him back to you before he can walk off. After another six months together, getting used to each other’s idiosyncrasies outside of mortal peril (mostly out of mortal peril), you knew the escape was only a ruse. He wants to talk, but he seems too embarrassed to begin. “You’re allowed to be jealous, Astarion. But I can’t help you if you don’t tell me why.”

Astarion stops in his tracks, looking back at you with a pair of vulnerable red eyes. “Do you promise not to laugh?”

You take a beat to debate this, but ultimately honesty wins over and you shake your head. “I wish I could, but I do promise to try my best?”

A sigh escapes him, and you’re graced with a soft, reluctant smile. “Typical. You were truthful though, so I shall be too. I was rather jealous of…” He wipes a hand over his face dramatically. “I was jealous that you’ve gone and hugged everyone else. Gods, I sound like a child.”

It’s a good thing you only promised to try your best because an involuntary huff leaves your lips, which you'd firmly pressed together in preparation. "That is…" you gasp out.

"Idiotic? Pathetic?" Astarion supplies.

"Rather adorable actually," you say, finally allowing a snort out. “How do you always manage to be both adorable and sexy?”

You swear you can see the tips of his ears color pink, but that may just be the firelight or your own tipsy vision. He only says, “I’m quite talented.”

“Would a hug help you feel better?”

Astarion looks at you, eyes darting between yours. You can see a bit of hesitation in them, and you’re wondering why when he says, “Only if it’s not a pity hug.”

“Never,” you say, solemnly. “You know I only give hugs I mean.”

He clicks his tongue, annoyed again. He places his wine glass down on the ground with a flourish, as if preparing himself. “Yes, exactly. Which is why I’ve gone and become jealous. This is all your fault and I expect you to remedy it.”

You nod, accepting this burden with ease. “In that case… Could I hug you?” Astarion waves his hand at you as if to say, get on with it already, and you dive right in. 

The hug is loving, it’s understanding and supportive. It warms you, it cools you, and it makes you want to tackle this man to the ground in an aggressive affection– a feeling you only barely temper after a few glasses of wine. After experiencing so many hugs tonight, you find that the hug is so very perfectly him.

No, not just him. It’s the type of hug that the both of you make together. And it’s the hug you want to experience again and again for the rest of your life.

When you finally pull away from him, Astarion is smiling once more, jealousy evidently placated. “Well now, I have you every night, don’t I? Go on then, continue to bless them with your presence. I’ll be here when you’re ready. I’ll always be here, my love.”

You shake your head at him. “A lovely sentiment, of course, but you’re done hiding. Come on.”

“What?” he asks, brows furrowing as he tilts away from you.

“I said, you’re done hiding. No more shadows, they all keep asking about you and I’d rather you answer them yourself,” you say, all but dragging him back to the party now. “They miss you too, you know.”

“Darling, please. What if they ask me for a hug?” Astarion looks truly appalled at the thought.

You laugh, imagining him reacting like a cat forced into a bathtub. “You can say no, of course. But I promise not to get too jealous if you do.”

“What will it take for you to forget I ever said that?” he says, laughing and allowing himself to be dragged.

You quickly swipe his wine glass back up off the ground as you pull him along, and take a long drink before returning it to him. You only say, “At least two more bottles, though I suppose that depends on how wild Withers likes his parties.”

Hand-in-hand, you both walk off to enjoy the rest of the celebration. The night is young, the wine is flowing, and there are still many more hugs to be shared.

[little-paperboat]

i burned my fingers on this forbidden fire

it's been a loooong time coming, but i am very excited to share the first chapter of i burned my fingers on this forbidden fire! ❤️‍🔥 All dedicated to the Holy Rolan Empire, of course! x

Summary:

It's finally over: the Absolute has been defeated and Baldur's Gate has been saved. A month after the final battle, everyone's gone to pursue their own destinies - everyone but Tav. She might be home now but she's never felt more lost, struggling to pick up the pieces of the life she left behind. Rolan got everything he wanted: his family is safe and sound, and he is the new Master of Ramazith's Tower. He won, and all he has to do now is prove that he's up to the task. It should be easy, so easy - but then why does he feel like he's constantly failing? One night they meet again, and a proposition rekindles the spark between them. But when Tav's world crumbles around her and secrets are revealed, it's Rolan's hand she reaches for. Will he be there to catch her? (or, Tav meddles and Rolan stands his ground)

In this first chapter, Tav is doing fine. She's doing great! So good. Never better. She's the hero of Baldur's Gate, and everybody loves her. Sure, maybe she's alone because all her friends are gone, and maybe she's still staying at the Elfsong because she can't really move on, and maybe her new job makes her feel useless, but honestly, she's fine. It doesn't even matter that Rolan has been ignoring her this whole time.

I hope you'll like it! Little preview under the cut x

The Elfsong was busier than usual, noticed Tav as she turned the corner, pushing her way through the merry crowd gathered outside. Ale and wine flowed freely as if it was a perfectly ordinary evening in Baldur’s Gate, which, she supposed, it was - to some extent. 

Ordinary didn’t mean much anymore these days.

Then again, she hadn’t had an ordinary day in a long time.

In the distance, someone yelled her name and she waved blindly at the crowd, earning a few drunken cheers. That never failed to make her smile, and, slipping inside the tavern, she made her way to the bar where the owner was busy trading beers for gold.

“Hey Alan! Is there a special occasion I’m not aware of?”

Gatherings under the influence of alcohol were frequent as of late, but never to this extent. It almost felt as if the whole of the Lower City had agreed to meet at the Elfsong tonight.

Alan shrugged, undisturbed in his pouring of pints.

“They just finished rebuilding the last of the docks. Calls for a celebration, don’t you think?”  

Ah. She turned her head back to survey the crowd, now noticing the many unfamiliar faces.

“You know I never say no to a party,” she said. “No news about the Upper City though, I assume?” 

“Correct, princess. But as long as you keep that sweet gold comin’, I’ll make sure you’re treated like a real lady.” 

That made her chuckle, and she winked at the bartender. 

“Oh, Alan. I am a real lady.”

Leaving him to his work, she made her way up the stairs and to her room. The loud conversations were soon reduced to a hushed background noise, the quiet privacy unnerving as ever.

Everything was exactly as she left it this morning: a calculated mess; a neatly-kept shrine of who she was a month ago. Rationally, she couldn’t expect things to start moving on their own, but to be fair, she had witnessed stranger things. Maybe it would happen somehow: a sign of things moving on, a physical manifestation of the start of a new life. 

Her fingers lingered on the bedcovers, the last sunlight of the season peeking through the windows, bathing the place in a comforting autumn glow.

That didn’t ward off the cold inside her chest. 

Slowly, she sank to the floor, head resting against the mattress.

If she closed her eyes, she could still hear Wyll and Karlach’s laughter from the next room, and the play-fighting of Shadowheart and Lae’zel. Halsin would be quietly humming a soft song near them, and if she focused hard enough she could make up Astarion’s footsteps about to barge in her room unannounced - wallowing in self-pity, darling? Gale would softly tut, an arm around the vampire’s waist, asking her if she wanted to come to dinner. 

On the other side of the wall, there was a loud sneeze.

She sighed. The new tenants were dull, loud and annoying. She didn’t see the point in trying to be friendly - actually, she actively schemed to avoid any contact. 

She let her legs fall on the floor with a soft thump, feeling like an abandoned rag doll. 

Who’d come and pick her up, if she decided to not move anymore? Now that was a good question. For how long she could stay in her room until someone came to check on her? A few days? A whole tenday? More? Her face had been everywhere after the defeat of the Netherbrain, and even days later, still adorned some sparse street posters. Despite her battle scars, she remained easy on the eyes and people naturally sought her out when she was in public. 

Behind closed doors though… no one bothered to care.

While she enjoyed toying with the idea of playing dead for a while, she was fairly sure that someone at the Council would eventually notice her absence, if only to point out how unreliable the Hero of the Gate was.

When the light outside began to dim, she got up with a groan, finally finding some kind of resolve - anything to distract her mind. She had a golden opportunity to drink the night away and might do exactly that. 

At her mirror, she found her lipstick - the one that Shadowheart gave her because it felt too Sharran. It was a lovely shade of deep burgundy, rich and smooth, and if she focused hard enough on how the colour complimented her skin tone, she could almost ignore the wave of nostalgia that crept up on her. 

On a whim, she undid her braid, letting her loose curls fall on her shoulders. Using Astarion’s little discarded comb, she slowly untangled them. Her hair had grown back since that unfortunate episode in the Underdark, but she sometimes missed how the shorter cut made her feel. Daring. Determined. Brave.

She wasn’t this person anymore.

— Read the rest on AO3 :)

if you liked it, you also can follow the tag “series:forbidden fire” here on tumblr to not miss any updates :)

(c) divider by @/saradika

[xxnashiraxx]

With Stars to Fill My Dream (10) - Let the Dystopian Morning Light Pour In

EVERYBODY!!! 🖤🖤 We've made it to Chapter 10!! I am so happy we've gotten this far! I don't think I've ever made it this far with my writing, and I'm really proud of myself and my perseverance- I care so much about this story and its characters, and I have so much more material written with no end to my inspiration and motivation in sight! I hope this train keeps rolling full steam ahead because I've made so many friends on this journey and I wouldn't be here without them! 🖤🖤

Anyway, I'll quit my yapping so you can enjoy the chapter! Please see some bonus screenshots below!

(P.S. The screenshots are meant to be enjoyed from afar because my editing stuff is not so good. 🖤🖤)

Summary: A street-smart, musically inclined human girl with a tragic past gets abducted by a nautiloid after her painfully average shift at a retro singing diner. What's worse- putting your all into Olivia Newton-John and Travolta for lousy tips, or getting your guts ripped out by a gnoll? Or worse- getting turned into a hideous humanoid squid? Ofelia Montez will have to see if she can survive long enough to find out.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Mentions of past abuse and trauma. Canon-typical violence and gore.

Word Count: 9,053

Opening under the cut!

Their group scatters to the winds to check out stalls and mill about as Ofelia and Alfira discuss a few lessons she can learn right away. Wyll and Lae’zel join Karlach and they descend to the blacksmith’s area, Astarion hangs off to the side, not quite in the circle with the two bards but not a part of it. Gale and Shadowheart head off to the apothecary and general goods vendor for potion ingredients and food supplies and in the meantime, Ofelia learns. She learns until her fingers hurt from overuse and twilight begins to overtake the evening sky. The ache is a pleasant reminder that she’s nailed a few spells, her delight overshadowing any exhaustion.

“Can I try one on you?” Ofelia attempts an icebreaker as she walks up beside Astarion, gesturing to her lute. He’s leaning against the weathered rock with his eyes closed, pretending like he hadn’t heard her. If she can free them from whatever rut it is that they’ve been stuck in, she’d like to try.

“I learned Bardic Inspiration, it might be a good idea to practice my skills-”

“Absolutely not.” He mutters sharply, lids still closed. She frowns.

“You’ve been nothing but cold to me all day. I’m sorry about Shadowheart, but whatever this-” She waves her hand in front of him though he can’t see it. “-is, it’s got to stop. The others are starting to notice.” Her voice is like a blade, slicing through his nonchalant demeanor. His eyes snap open and he glares at her- it makes her flinch gently, and it’s clear he notices.

“Let them,” He turns, walking down the ridge and she follows, anger boiling in her blood.

“What’s going on?” She shouts, grateful to be away from her tiefling teacher as he stalks toward the hillside. “What have I done to you? I’m sorry I almost killed you- I didn’t mean to! I couldn’t control it! What happened from when you left me at the river to this morning? What did I do?” She can’t keep the hot rush of emotion from pouring over her words to coat them in betrayal. What happened? They were conversing so easily yesterday- he’d been a bit bristly about her intentions to provide him with her blood, but she thought they’d at least come to an understanding…

“Nothing!” He growls, throwing his pack down on the ground to stake a claim on the dirt he stands upon. “All you do is suffocate me with your kindness- why? Do you like taking pity on a monster? I hate being treated like a charity case.” She freezes, stiff and stung. When she takes a soft step back, he glares at her and she feels herself shrink.

What spurred this on?

If anyone should be considering themselves a monster, it’s her.

[its-jaytothemee]

Until I Met You - Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The Cure

Pairings: Halsin x Tav

Word count: 4,915

Rating: Currently M, will be Explicit in later chapters.

Read on AO3

Previous Next

Summary: The party decides what path they want to take to rid themselves of the tadpole. Introducing Withers too because I might have forgotten him earlier...... Part 5 of the slow burn fic. Halsin and Tav POVs

Tags: Slow burn, hurt/comfort, fluff, love confessions, eventual smut, light angst, implied past rape/non-con, graphic description of injuries.

A/N: The tadfools learn about the share bear. I struggled with this chapter at first, but now I'm kinda in love with how it ends.

Someone take these idiots away from me...I can't stop writing about them.

With her wounds healed, Tav could easily change back into her normal casual outfit. It took multiple passes with a comb, but she was finally able to tame her long hair back into a sleek braid. She grabbed Clive and the shirt Wyll had given her before she joined the rest of the group. When she arrived, there was already a heated argument in process.

“Our priority should be purification. We cannot afford further distractions and detours.” Lae’zel’s gruff voice cut through the air.

“Our priority should be finding the cult and ridding Faerûn of this evil for good.” Wyll countered.

“The Creche will have the means of ridding us of this tadpole. Even if we defeat this Absolute, there’s no guarantee that we will be cured.” Lae’zel had been insisting they find the Creche from the moment they met.

“And the cult has my father!” Wyll yelled back.

“You guys want to fill me in on what you found today?” Tav walked up into the center of their small camp.

All their heads turned to face her, they looked flustered and exhausted.

“Nice to see you back on your feet.” Wyll smiled lightly. She tossed the shirt she had been wearing to him.

“So…what did I miss?” Tav asked.

Everyone immediately started talking over one another, trying to explain their version of the events of the day. Out of all the yelling, she was able to piece together that a Duke from Baldur’s Gate had been captured, they killed an entire enclave of Zhentarim, and they had potentially found the location of the Creche that Lae’zel had been searching for after taking out a githyanki patrol. The recap of their activities quickly devolved into fighting about their next steps. Tav pinched the bridge of her nose trying to ward off the headache that was already forming.

“Everybody shut up!” Tav shouted to be heard over everyone. Her sudden outburst seemed to at least startle everyone into giving her their attention. “If you want to sit here and fight like children, I’ll treat you like children. Here…” Tav held Clive up for everyone to see.

“New rule – unless you’re holding Clive, you don’t get to talk.” She received plenty of glares and pursed lips, but they did remain quiet. Halsin was off to the side, fighting to hide a smile.

“I do not understand this ritual. Is this customary for your planning of battle strategies?” Lae’zel asked, obviously confused.

“It is now.” Tav decided.

Wyll held up his hand, and she tossed the stuffed bear to him.

“The path forward is clear. We must head to Moonrise towers and chase after this Absolute. Not only is there a chance we can be cured, but we can strike at the heart of the cult and rescue my father.” So, the Duke who was taken was Wyll’s father, interesting. Lae’zel snatched Clive out of Wyll’s hands.

“Our path should lead to purification. Moonrise Towers does not offer a certain cure for our affliction, the Creche does. We cannot help anyone if we turn into mind flayers ourselves.” Lae’zel countered. Tav was surprised to hear her say ‘we’ in her statement, does that mean she would want to chase down the cult even if they were cured?

Shadowheart was the next to request the bear, Lae’zel begrudgingly handed him over.

“With all due respect Lae’zel, what assurance do we have that this purification would be extended to us as well? We are not githyanki.” An understandable question. One that Tav had wondered about since Lae’zel mentioned the Creche. Shadowheart handed Clive back to Lae’zel.

“This is a very inefficient form of communication.” Lae’zel grumbled. “You will be granted purification for aiding me. It is Vlaakith’s will that her faithful be purified. I can plead your case to the Ghustil, you have proven worthy in battle against these abominations and they will not want to waste your skills.” She made a convincing argument, but Tav wasn’t sure how much they could trust the hospitality of a githyanki creche. Lae’zel had proven to be a valuable ally, but her people were not known for their generosity.

Karlach held her arms out and Lae’zel flung Clive over to her. She hugged the bear close to her chest as they all looked at her expectantly.

“What?” She looked up at all of them.

“You requested the stuffed creature. It is your turn to talk if I am not mistaken.” Lae’zel said, taking this process very seriously.

“Oh, I don’t have anything to add. I just wanted Clive back.” She tucked him under her arm, apparently not wanting to share any longer.

I’m surrounded by toddlers.

“Look…” Tav started, looking between all her companions. “Whatever we do next, we have to do it together. We don’t stand a chance if we split up or fight each other the entire way. The Underdark has already proven perilous. I will not force us to continue on down here if we cannot agree to do so.” She spared a look at Halsin, who averted his gaze towards the ground.

“We set out together to find a cure for the tadpoles. If Lae’zel can give us her word that the Creche will remove them I’m not opposed to following that lead. But we must have a majority in favor of doing so.”

They all exchanged uncertain glances, each person scared to cast the first vote.

“I vote that we take the Mountain Pass and search for this Creche. I have enough unwanted guests lurking in my body.” Gale was the first to speak up.

Lae’zel and Karlach quickly agreed with him.                                                                                                                                       

“I still think we should continue searching for the path to Moonrise. We have a duty to the people of Faerûn to purge this cult.” Wyll held his ground.

“I’m inclined to agree with Wyll.” Halsin spoke up.

“Ah yes, let’s listen to the one person here not hosting a wriggly little parasite.” Astarion snipped. Tav shot him a glare.

“He’s agreed to travel with us, Astarion. He gets a say too.” She said.

“Ugh, fine. I agree with Wyll as well. I think we have a better chance of infiltrating Moonrise if we can pose as one of their own.” He conceded.

“I want this tadpole out of my head. I have a mission of my own to complete. As much as it pains me to admit, I think Lae’zel may be right.” Shadowheart finally chimed in.

Tav would be the deciding vote. She had no idea what to do if they were evenly split. All eyes were on her, waiting for her choice to be made.

“Then it sounds like we should head to the Mountain Pass.” She decided. There were a few grumbles, but otherwise everyone simply split up to go pack up their things. Tav was about to walk away as well when a strange voice called out to her.

“Ah, thou art moving again? I had much difficulty in finding you.”

Every member of the camp whipped around at the sound, weapons drawn.

“There is no need for such measures.” The strange undead figure waved his hand nonchalantly.

“Wait…we’ve met before.” Tav slowly lowered the rock she had picked up to throw.

“And now we meet again, as predicted. I shall remain in thy camp, for whenever thou hast need of my services.” The skeletal figure, who she now remembered was introduced as Withers, said this as a statement rather than a request.

“Just when I think our little adventuring party can’t get any more bizarre.” Gale muttered.

The rest of the party seemed content to let her deal with their new visitor. Even Lunari didn’t seem concerned by him. She sat next to Tav, tail wagging lazily.

“And what services are those?” Tav stepped closer to him.

Withers launched into a long-winded explanation of his strange talents. His ability to call souls forth from the dead, allowing them to fight at their side, for a price. The low, deliberate sound of his voice started to make Tav a little tired. Blinking her eyes rapidly to stay awake, she tried to give him her full attention.

“Should thou or any of thy compatriots perish, I will cleave soul to body once more.” Useful. He seemed to be finished talking now.

“Not to be rude, but what are you?” Tav couldn’t help but ask.

“There are many answers to that question. None are important.” His tone was still calm.

“Okay, then.” The past week had been such a rush of strange revelations, why not add an undead necromancer to their camp? Withers walked away from her without another word.

“It seems your little group is growing each day.” Halsin had come to stand next to her.

“At this rate we should have an army to rival the cult’s by the time we do reach Moonrise.” She turned to smile at him, but his expression seemed sad.

“Will you still come with us to the Creche?” She asked, suddenly anxious.

“Of course. I promised you my aid and counsel, and you shall have it.” He smiled, but it looked forced.

“I’m sorry that we aren’t heading directly to Moonrise Towers. It seemed important to you that we make it there soon.” She was trying to judge his reaction and intentions.

“Do not apologize, my friend. You made a swift decision after taking careful considerations from your companions. I could scarcely ask more of a leader in your position.” Regardless of his personal feelings, Halsin seemed supportive enough of her decision.

“In fact, I should thank you. I shall have to remember that little trick with the stuffed bear for the future.” His smile shifted, becoming genuine.

“What can I say? I’m an inspiration to all.” She winked and clicked her tongue before heading off to find her things, ready to pack up and move their camp again.

***

Halsin walked towards the back of the group as they marched their way across the wilderness, enjoying the feeling of the sun on his skin again. He took the time to observe his new travelling party some more. Even after the argument this morning, everyone seemed in high enough spirits. Perhaps it was the newfound hope that they could be rid of their tadpoles sooner than they thought. As he kept pace with the adventurers, his gaze kept wandering back to Tav. He watched as she laughed along with Karlach and Gale, the three of them practically skipping along the trail together. Her new armor suited her well, it looked to be drow craft armor of some kind. The others had brought it back for her this morning after they cut her last set to pieces. Lost in his thoughts about Tav that were growing increasingly indelicate, he failed to notice that Astarion had snuck up to his side.

“Enjoying the view, druid?” He always seemed to have a sultry undertone to his voice.

“Of course, I’d be a poor druid indeed if I couldn’t enjoy a long walk on such a lovely day as this.” He smiled at the pale elf, his bouncy white curls blowing softly in the breeze. Astarion giggled softly in response.

“Oh Halsin, I’m not talking about that view.” His eyes followed Halsin’s gaze back to Tav. “Don’t get me wrong, I love your disastrous flirting with one another. I’d just hate if you did anything to lead her on though, she’s such a kind and trusting soul.” He examined his fingernails, picking at imaginary dirt there. Halsin felt a slight blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Believe me, Astarion, I have no such intentions of toying with her. Can you say the same?” He thought back to all their flirty quips.

“Ha, you’re good. Believe me when I say all our banter is perfectly harmless. Beautiful people like us can’t help but be delightful and charming together. Well, speaking for myself at least.” He patted Halsin on the arm and pranced up to Tav’s side.

He leaned into her a bit and said something in her ear that Halsin couldn’t quite make out. Whatever it was though, it caused Tav to throw her hips into his – knocking him into a nearby bush. She and Karlach doubled over laughing as she helped him back up out of the thicket, a pout now clouding his face. Their other companions stopped to see the cause of the noise causing them to laugh as well. He was unable to hide a smile at the interaction, amazed at the happiness exuding from a group of people who constantly stood on the precipice of a horrifying death.

They came across a small collection of buildings, which he believed was Waukeen’s Rest. But it was burnt almost completely to the ground. This must have been where Duke Ravengard was captured. A short walk away from Waukeen’s Rest, they found another scorched sight. Burned bodies and a collapsed bridge told him that this is where their friends had found the githyanki dragon rider.

By the time sunset had come, they were making their way towards a beautiful cliffside. The warm dusk light danced on layers of rock and trees, an incredible display of nature’s gifts. To think this was so close to him all these years, and he had never seen it.

“Now that’s not a bad view for the evening, eh soldier?” Karlach yelled at Tav.

“Seems as good a place as any to rest up. We’ll head for the Creche first thing in the morning.” Tav announced, setting her pack on the ground.

They all worked together to set up tents and build a camp. There were plenty of logs and large rocks that they could roll over to sit around the fire. Lae’zel had found a map on one of the githyanki soldiers they had fought earlier in the day, and they had determined that the Creche had likely taken up in the nearby abandoned monastery. The strange undead, Withers, had appeared once they settled in camp again.

Tonight, Halsin was able to actually share a campfire with everyone. Their first night together, he was still recovering from his time with the goblins and his decision to resign his position as Archdruid. Last night, he opted to stay with Tav, making sure she recovered from her injuries. Just as it was during the day, the mood of his new companions seemed to stay joyful. He had been surprised to find out that they had known each other for such a short time. Sitting here with them tonight he would have guessed they were old friends.

I suppose being in their predicament would speed up their friendships a bit.

One by one, everyone retired for the night eventually leaving him alone by the fire. It was hard to explain to them that he was content without a tent, even though they kept insisting that they could find more materials for one. They were kind to offer of course, but for the first time in decades, he was able to freely enjoy all that nature had to offer. Resting by a fire in the open air was his ideal night. The cool evening air helped to focus his mind after the events of the past few days, allowing him to drift easily into his nightly meditation.

When he opened his eyes a few hours later, he was surprised to see that he wasn’t alone. Tav had wandered back out to the fire.

“Hopefully I didn’t disturb you.” She said quietly, adding a few sticks to the dying fire.

“Not at all. How long have you been up?” He sat up a little straighter, stretching his arms out.

“Just a few minutes. I’m not used to having someone else up at this time in the morning. Even Astarion stays hidden away in his tent until the sun is up.” She smiled lightly, the growing flames casting playful shadows across her face.

“The curse of most elves, I suppose.” He continued stretching, shaking off the past few hours of rest.

They sat and watched the flames in silence for a while. Tav had leaned back against one of the logs, staring at the stars that still dotted the sky.

“So, you’ve had a couple of nights with our group.” She started, still stargazing. “How are you faring out here at our little camp?”

“With such stimulating company?” He chuckled to himself. “Never better.”

“I suppose stimulating is one word for it.” She laughed quietly.

“Truly, I’m just glad to be out here amidst the Oak Father’s creations.” He breathed in the scent of his surroundings, leaning his head back to look up at the stars as well.

“I never got a chance to ask you once you joined us…” She trailed off. “How will the grove fare without you? You said your absence had a greater impact than you had expected.”

“Hopefully. I chose a replacement and sent word to her in the High Forest before I left the grove. A wise druid named Francesca.” He tensed slightly, suddenly worried what Tav would think of him for this decision. Why did he care so much about what she thought? She had no knowledge of the needs of the grove outside of what little she saw before coming to his rescue.

“Who?” She asked, leaning up slightly to look at him.

“Exactly…the grove needs to move on from the mistakes of the past.” He turned his head slightly towards her. “Having a fresh set of eyes can help accomplish that. Or so I hope.”

“Very shrewd of you.” She grabbed another nearby stick and lazily poked at the fire with it.

“Contrary to popular belief, we druids can play politics when necessary.” He smiled as he leaned back to look at the night sky again.

“So, is Francesca a temporary replacement? Will you return to the grove once we’ve cured these tadpoles and saved the world?”

It was a question that had plagued his mind since he joined her. Given the harsh division that occurred under his leadership, he wasn’t sure it would be wise for him to return. Even if he was no longer Archdruid.

“I…I’m not sure.” He said quietly, not wanting to look her in the eyes. “I can’t help but feel that I failed them. To return after leaving them twice would seem a disservice to the druids there.”

Tav didn’t say anything in response, she just continued lightly prodding at the fire. He went to sit up, but his hair had gotten caught on a chunk of bark on the log behind him.

“Ow!” He hissed as his head was pulled back down by the force of it. His hands fumbled in the dark, trying to find the grooves holding him in place. Tav snickered a little and walked over to release him. Her fingers made quick work of the tangle, freeing him from the log’s grasp.

“Thank you.” He said as he reached up to fix the piece of hair that had been pulled free. The tie he had holding half of his hair had gotten twisted into a knot from the snag. Once again, his hands fumbled behind him, trying to relieve the pulling on his scalp from the tangled mess.

“Here, let me.” She laughed again as she moved to sit behind him. Carefully, she pulled pieces of his hair free from the small tie. Her fingers ran through his hair each time she pulled a new piece free, loosening any remaining snags in the strands and sending shivers down his neck. Each time her fingers would brush against his scalp, he would relax just a little more. Eventually he realized that he had leaned back against her legs.

“Could I ask you something?” He asked quietly, watching the flames dance in front of him.

“Is the question ‘can I borrow your comb?’ Because the answer is yes. I mean gods above, Halsin when was the last time you brushed this? There are actual leaves stuck in your hair my friend.” She laughed as she continued to pull small chunks of hair free from the knot on the back of his head. To prove her point, she dropped the leaves she found over his shoulder and into his lap.

“Ah yes, what was I thinking? I should have asked my goblin captors if they would provide that for me during my visit.” He teased back, causing her to laugh more. “As for the leaves, I happen to think they add another layer of authenticity to my druidic charm.” What he wouldn’t do to keep hearing that laugh.

“But no, I had something different in mind.”

“Go ahead.” She said as she smoothed another few strands on his head.

“Who is Tev?” It was a name that Halsin had heard her mutter over and over while she was unconscious.

Tav froze, her hands still tangled in his hair.

“Where did you hear that name?” She asked quietly.

“You said it a lot while you slept yesterday.” He explained.

“Tev’aron...my older brother.” Her voice was quiet.

“I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about him.” Halsin suddenly felt guilty for prying.

“It’s okay. He uh…he’s been gone for quite a while.” She resumed her work on his hair.

“What happened?” As he asked the question, he realized he already knew the answer from their past conversations.

“The shadow curse. I was there that day too, Halsin.” She whispered.

Hearing her mention it again brought his own grief bubbling to the surface, threatening to boil over. Faces of those he fought with all those years ago flashed before him. From what she had said before, he had gathered that she had at least experienced the curse. It didn't occur to him that she could have been there, fighting as an ally. His mind wandered momentarily, wondering if they had somehow crossed paths before.

“I am so sorry. I know all too well what it’s like to lose those you love to that wretched curse.” He looked down at his hands in his lap.

“It’s not something one soon forgets.”

Her voice had grown distant. He slowly turned to face her, half of his hair still knotted in an impossible pile on his head. The pull in his chest returned, he wanted so badly to tell her of his plan, to let her know there was still a chance to make things right. She gave him a puzzled look, waiting for him to say something.

Careful, Halsin. You still don’t know if that is possible. Do not give her false hope…

Astarion’s earlier words rang in his ears. He truly didn’t have any intention of toying with her emotions. It had just been so long since he had someone who understood the horror that was unleashed that day.

“I’m sorry, Tav. I didn’t mean to dampen your spirits.” He turned back around to let her continue working on his hair.

“Don’t apologize. It’s…nice to have someone else who understands.” She sighed. That was a sentiment he understood well.

“So, what will you do if you are able to seek a cure at the Creche in the morning?” Halsin tried to change the subject.

“What do you mean?” She ran her fingers through his hair again, his eyelids fluttered slightly at the touch.

“Will you all go your separate ways?”

“Huh. I suppose I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” She paused for a moment. “I can’t speak for everyone else, but even if we are able to get a cure tomorrow, I’m not sure that I can just turn my back on what we’ve learned.”

“Oh?” Halsin asked, his heart skipped a beat.

“I mean, it’s like Wyll said. We have a responsibility to help if we can, don’t we?” She was able to work a large chunk of hair out of the tangled mess, it fell over his eyes. “If you’d like, I could still accompany you to Moonrise. It wouldn’t seem right to abandon you after you left your life at the grove to help us. I’m sure at least a couple of the others will want to see this through as well.”

The combination of her words and gentle touches brought tears to his eyes. For years, the thought of facing the shadow curse alone had been a daunting and a near impossible goal. But now, the thought of Tav joining him filled him with hope.

“I’d be honored to have you.” He said before quickly adding, “Happy to have you with me, I mean.”

She giggled as she pulled the tie that had been holding his hair free.

“Here, this is broken. Give me just a moment and I’ll be back.” She handed the mangled string to him and patted his head before getting up to walk away.

Despite the fire burning in front of him, he suddenly felt cold after she left. He could feel phantom touches of her fingertips smoothing his hair down his head and neck. Not a minute later he heard her soft footsteps bringing her back to join him.

She sat back down, and he felt a comb run across his scalp. The feeling was soothing, something he couldn’t remember anyone ever doing for him. At least not since he was a child.

“I can take it from here, if you’d like.” He immediately regretted the words as soon as he said them. Truth be told, he could sit here with her hands in his hair for hours.

“Oh, of course. Sorry…force of habit.” Tav handed the comb to him over his shoulder, sounding uncomfortable. He was sure that her face was turning a deep red. She started to move out from behind him.

Damn it.

“I only meant I don’t want you to feel obligated.” The words rushed out of his mouth. “I don’t mind it at all, it’s…comforting. Especially after the week I’ve had. Plus, you’ve made short work of those knots so far…” He was starting to ramble. His heart was pounding in his chest, worried that he’d upset her.

She sat still for a moment; he couldn’t see her face to judge her reaction. He looked down, slightly embarrassed. Her hand appeared next to his head, open and waiting for him to hand her the comb. Releasing his held breath, he handed it back to her.

They sat there the rest of the time in silence. Tav quietly and carefully working the comb through the tangled web on his head. Elves don’t often sleep, but he really thought at one point he could have entered a deep slumber from how relaxed he felt under her touch. Halsin felt as an eternity had passed and yet he felt he could take another eternity more when she finally spoke again.

“Okay.” She said quietly. “All done, I think.” Her fingers ran through his hair one last time, checking for any straggling knots.

“Thank you.” He kept his voice as quiet as hers, already missing her touch.

He opened his eyes to see Tav moving back down to the ground, her hand held out next to him. Without thinking, he grabbed her hand and held it for a moment. She gave him a puzzled look and he could now feel that she had a small tie in the palm of her hand she had been offering him.

He immediately dropped her hand and felt all the blood in his body rush to his face and chest. Tav burst out laughing, covering her face to muffle the sound. The sky was just now starting to lighten, and the others in camp probably wouldn’t be awake for a couple more hours. Halsin buried his head into his hands, trying to hide the wave of embarrassment washing over him. His freshly combed hair hung down helping to cover his blushing cheeks.

“Halsin, it’s okay.” She was still laughing a little bit. “At least now we’re even.”

He thought back to when they first met a few days ago and she had done the same thing with the small flute they had used to resurrect Gale. He peeked out between the strands of hair covering his face to see her smiling fondly at him. She looked away quickly when she met his gaze.

“I uh…I think I’ll go get us some more wood for the fire. I’m sure everyone will want to eat before you head out.” He stood up slowly, his legs now feeling a little wobbly after being so relaxed. She held the small tie for his hair up in her fingers, which he gladly accepted.

“No matter what happens at the Creche, we’ll make our way back to Moonrise, Halsin.” She assured him with a smile.

He nodded his thanks and pushed the hair from his eyes as he made his way into the tree line. His heart was still racing from their time together, he couldn’t stop thinking about the feeling of her fingers running through his hair. It had been so long since someone had taken care of him in any way, let alone something as gentle as this. He took a few deep breaths, reminding himself that they still had a long way to go until Moonrise Towers. There was still much for him to do to prepare. Despite his years of waiting though, his mind lingered on Tav, already trying to figure out how he could steal more moments like this in the future.

[unreadpoppy]

down by the river - Chapter 3

Raphael x warlock!Tav

Read on AO3

chapter 2

A/N: Most of the dialogue in this chapter is taken directly from the game. Also very short chapter.

“There. Middle-of-somewhere.” 

Upon arrival at the strange place, Astarion was quick to ask “Where are we?!” to Tav. He had meant only for her to hear, but it was Raphael who replied.

“The House of Hope, where the tired come to rest  and the famish come to feed - lavishly.” The party looked around at the various red curtains adorning the room, the massive devil portrait atop the fireplace and all the different sorts of food on the table. 

Unlike the rest, Tav kept her eyes on him. “Go on. Partake. Enjoy your supper. After all…it just might be your last.” 

“Are these theatrics leading somewhere?” Tav asked. She knew he was trying to charm everyone, probably to loop the others into some deal but she needed him to get to the point quicker. 

“I remembered you having better manners than that, Tav.” He smirked. “Very well.” Flames flew around him and died down to reveal a devil, with cherry red skin and four horns. 

He put a hand on his hip and the other on his chin. “What’s better than a devil you don’t know? A devil you do.” Raphael chuckled. “Am I a friend? Potentially. An adversary? Conceivably. But a savior? That’s for certain.”

“And why would you be so compelled to help all of us.” Tav asked. She understood why he’d help her, especially considering their deal, but she had a feeling he wanted something else. Something he never told her about. 

“Because my compassion is boundless, I stride among the needy, giving comfort where I can.” Looking at the faces the others made, Raphael added. “Tav knows that is true.” Everyone turned to look at her, and she mentally groaned, thinking about the long conversation she would have back at camp. 

“You are all in dire need. One skull, two tenants, and no solution in sight. I could fix it all like that.” He snapped his finger, making flames in his hands momentarily. 

“You’re mad if you think we’ll make a deal with you.” Wyll said.

“But, o Blade of Frontiers, your dear leader already has.” Raphael smirked. “Still, I’ve a feeling you’ll change your mind. Before it is changed for you.” He turned his attention to Tav. “Now, I’m sure you all have time to discuss this over, but I need to speak with my precious warlock.” He paused and smirked. “Alone.” Snapping his fingers, all but Tav were teleported away. 

She looked around and turned to him. “Don’t worry, they are all safe, back at camp.” 

Tav huffed. “You better make this quick or I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Raphael sat in one of the dining chairs. “That tadpole of yours may have given you some new powers, but I am still your master.”He squinted his eyes. “You’ll treat me with the respect I am owed, little mouse, lest I tear apart the contract in which your name is lovely signed in.” He smirked. 

“NO!” Tav shouted as Raphael laughed. He was toying with her. 

“Good.” He motioned to a chair close to his. “Now sit. There is much we need to go over.” 

Tav sighed and did as told.

[feyascorner]

I'm curious in the beauty and the beast au would the rest of the companions be the enchanted staff at the castle?

Would Halsin or Elminister be readers dad?

Who would be Gaston?

🧃anon

ok hear me out imagine raphael as gaston

I KNOW IT SOUNDS BAD BUT MAYBE IT WOULDN'T BE RAPHAEL HIMSELF MAYBE IT'S ONE OF HIS DOUBLES LIKE HARLEEP? like imagine if raphael is the one that cursed astarion (so he's the enchantress in this case) and he doesn't want astarion breaking the curse so he tries to do everything in his power to get reader away from astarion---even if it means doing so undercover.

as for the companions i think gale, karlach, and wyll would be part of the enchanted staff. wyll as the candelabra, gale as the clock, and karlach as mrs. potts. IDK IT JUST MAKES SENSE TO ME THAT WYLL WOULD BE LUMIERE HE'S SO PRINCE-LIKE IT JUST FITS.

maybe shadowheart as chip if we're feeling generous but otherwise her and lae'zel would likely be townspeople.

and as for the dad i might need to swap him as a more of an "adoptive brother" situation because i cannot see halsin as my father ??? so he's just like...the reader's very close friend/brother or something who they care for a lot? obviously he gets kidnapped by astar but oops!

i might actually write this tbh...maybe like a chapter or two and i'll see if i rock w it and decide if i'll continue or not???? maybe???

[weaveandwood]

Weave and Woods Chapter Nine: Shadows and Clarity

Gale/Named Tav | Slow Burn NSFW 18+ | Read on AO3 | Read Entire Work

Summary:

After receiving Mystra's demand for Gale the previous day, the party finally enters the Shadow Cursed Lands. Auroria and Gale deal with realizations about their feelings after the orb is stabilized.

CN: Masturbation, NSFW

She smiled to herself.  How funny it was to be in the middle of such a desolate and cursed land and be thinking about whether or not someone loves you as much as you love them. Perhaps this was how she would show him that he is worth having around - that he is wanted, needed, and desired. Could her steadfast belief that they would find another way to defeat the Absolute break through his bleak resolve?

Auroria stood at the door that was now opened to the Shadow Cursed lands, one hand holding a torch, the other tapping on her thigh with nervous energy. 

“You okay?” Wyll placed a hand on her shoulder. “I can’t imagine the mood could be any more appropriate given the location, but you seem especially tense - which I suppose is understandable given the previous day’s circumstances."

“I’m….fine. I have a million thoughts running through my head and I’m finding it hard to focus on the task at hand,” she motioned to the door. “I also might be stalling a little. I must confess I am worried about what these lands have in store for us.”

“I am going to assume most of those thoughts are about Gale?” He leaned over to ask quietly in order to keep the conversation as private as it could be with the rest of the party behind them.

She nodded. “How can I make him see that he doesn’t have to do something the gods desire solely because they have decided it fits their agenda? How do I show him how much he is worth, how much he is wanted and needed here? Alive. With us.”

“It’s difficult for us to understand since Gale is a man of faith, unlike you and me. I sometimes appeal to Helm, when needed, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you appeal to any god before a battle.”

“And you won’t,” she replied with a scowl. “The gods have done nothing positive for this world, only unleashed evil and let it fall into ruin, hiding behind the excuse that they cannot intervene. Case in point,” she gestured to the deadened landscape that stretched on before them before taking a step out into it, instantly feeling unsettled. “And when they do decide to break their own rules and intervene, they tell a good man to go to his death. The gods are cowards.”

Wyll’s eyes widened a little at the declaration - not often heard outright, but likely thought by many. “I don’t believe hope is lost. We don’t know yet what or where the Heart of the Absolute is. Gale will see in time that it’s the faith that he holds in himself and in those who matter most to him that will lead him to reject Mystra’s demands and we will defeat the Absolute. Together.” 

“Hmm. Perhaps you’re right.” Auroria could feel Gale’s eyes on her back from his position near the rear of the line, but she couldn’t bring herself to look back at him, though they hadn’t spoken since she refused to entertain Mystra’s orders the previous day. It was hard not to be stirred by Wyll’s speech - he had a keen ability to make you believe you could do anything, no matter how impossible. Maybe they did have a small chance to change Gale’s mind. The entire party traveled onward in silence, looking for a good place to set up camp before a small party went out to do some scouting. After some time, they came across a relatively clear area with a small abandoned cabin nearby.

“Gale is lucky to have you on his side. I can only hope I find someone who loves me as much as you do him,” Wyll said before walking off to set up his tent.

Auroria froze. 

Wait. Love? 

Hells. 

*******

“All good?” Ora looked at Wyll, Shadowheart, and then finally Gale, panting as she put her bow behind her back, her forehead glistening with a slight sheen of sweat from a hard won fight allied with a small group of Harpers against several shadows.

She was resplendent. She was magnificent. She was absolutely the most arousing vision he had beheld in quite some time. 

“You know, it’s quite thrilling to fight off the grim creatures this land throws at us…Especially at your side.” Oh gods what am I saying? He thought, his brain unable to put a stop to whatever was about to fly out of his mouth as if someone had cast Zone of Truth.

“Did you get hit on the head?” Shadowheart asked, raising an eyebrow. “Do you need healing?”

He cleared his throat. “You know I once read a book…” A book? “That explained in some detail about the effects a brush with danger has on one’s desire for…other forms of stimulation.”

He heard Shadowheart and Wyll choking back laughter as Ora’s eyes widened and the tips of her ears turned pink, a faint blush spreading across her now smiling face. And yet, he couldn’t stop. 

“Have you ever read anything on that subject?” He asked, his voice awkward, halting, out of character. She paused, but then he saw a delicious smirk form on her face as she took two steps toward him, the torchlight illuminating her like a heavenly glow in this cursed environment.

She leaned in and spoke softly, her voice in his ear. “You know I’m not much of a reader, Gale. But I have seen some rather informative diagrams. Perhaps we should pool our knowledge again like we did at the puzzle entrance to the Underdark?” His heart pounded, he felt his own skin flush, but no reaction from the orb. She looked at him, her green eyes alight with amusement at her payback for his unrelenting flirting at the Goblin Camp, then looked back at the others, speaking clearly. “We should get going.”

“Yes, yes, you’re right, this is neither the time or the place for such feelings. We must be patient and push such thoughts aside. For now.” He stammered as Wyll walked by, laughing and clapping him on the shoulder as he passed.

Hours later, Gale was mortified, to put it lightly. As everyone rested for the night in the silent camp, he lay in his tent and found that sleep was unwilling to release him from his embarrassment. He ran his hand down his face, replaying the events of this afternoon (or perhaps it was evening - who could tell in this sun-starved land?) over and over. Why couldn’t I stop talking? Is the orb truly stabilized? Why did Ora delight in teasing me so? He sighed, rolling onto his back, staring up at the tent.

Ora. He smiled to himself. She was amazing fighting the shadows off. The way the light from the nearby braziers played off the copper tones in her hair, her ferocity as she aimed arrow after arrow at them, calling out to Wyll and Shadowheart to use certain skills with her brilliant strategic mind. The way her armor hugged her body as she climbed up to a higher vantage point. The flush in her cheek, the bead of sweat that slowly ran down her neck afterwards. 

He waited for the telltale pain from the orb that usually occurred when he thought of her, but nothing came. He felt…normal. Better than normal, as he no longer felt the deep empty hunger that could never be sated. He felt his desires stirring, and ignored the habit to squash them down as he had for longer than the past year. Could he act on his impulses, his want for her? He thought back to the previous morning when he had caught her stretching, her fitted camp gear showing off every curve as she arched her back. He felt himself becoming hard at the memory. Tentatively, he reached his hand down, rubbing his growing erection over his pants, testing the waters for the orb to glow, for the familiar pain to shoot through his veins like an icy needle. 

Nothing. 

He dared to go further, slipping off his pants and smallclothes, casting mage hand to make sure the flap to his tent was completely shut, leaving him in pitch darkness. The better to imagine her here with him. 

He wrapped his hand around himself, reconnecting to a part of him that had been neglected for so long - desire, lust, pleasure. Mortality. A long exhale escaped his lips as he finally started to move his hand up and down, feeling his body’s reaction to his own touch. His hips started moving in time with his strokes as his mind once again flitted back to Ora, imagining her stripping out of her armor after a battle and climbing on top of him. He spit on his palm, quickly returning to stroking himself, his grip tightening ever so slightly as his hips thrust up into it. As if she were there and it was her he was thrusting into, not his own hand.

Oh…gods.  

He continued stroking, giving in to his impulses. Giving in to his humanity that had been cast to the wayside for ethereal trysts with Mystra, for complete abstinence once his folly had been branded on both his skin and in his heart. He rediscovered himself as he ran his hand over the tip, back up and down the shaft, imagining Ora was the one doing it instead of him. He felt tension building inside and knew he was on the precipice of release. Still, he could not stop picturing her, and could feel the sensation of her warm breath on his ear as she teased him even now. His breathing quickened, letting out soft pants as he clutched at his bedroll with his free hand. Oh, how he longed to kiss her, to press his lips against hers, to roam his hands over her body. To peel off all the layers of her armor until she was pressed naked against him, bare skin against bare skin. To lay her down and finally enter her, to hear her call his name, to - 

His body tensed up and he clamped his hand over his mouth to quiet the instinctual low groan that rumbled deep within him as he gave one last thrust into his hand. He knew he would not last long during this first act of relief, and as he spilled all over himself, he was glad to be alone in this moment. 

Panting, he laughed to himself. Wizard gets cursed orb stabilized, and touches himself within hours.  

The orb was truly stabilized. He was practically giddy - he could finally, finally , let her know the real depth of his feelings. He wanted her with every fiber of his being, both emotionally and physically, though now that he could, he was torn on whether he should. Could she possibly feel the same way about him as he did about her, even with Mystra’s demand hanging over them? He knew there was a physical attraction there, something more than friendship, but he knew deep in his bones that he loved her. Love! And if she loved him back? Whether it was for a day, a week, a month, or if by some miracle they managed to change his fate, everything would have been worth it - being cast out by Mystra, the orb, the tadpole - everything. It all led him to her. He was sure of it.

He couldn’t keep it to himself anymore. Maybe this wasn’t the right time, but who knows how much longer he had? There may never be a right time. She deserved to know how he felt, and any decision she made about their future, no matter how short that future was, would be final. But he wouldn’t tell her here, in camp, not on a night like any other. He had plans to make.

He drifted off to sleep, Mystra’s orders the furthest thing from his mind for the first time since receiving them. 

******

Across camp, Auroria’s mind was racing. Love? Did she love him? She thought she had been in love once before, when she was young and a recruit for the High Forest Scouts. Looking back now and comparing her feelings in her youth to what she felt for Gale, she wasn’t so sure anymore. She rolled over onto her side, looking at Gale’s tent across from hers through her slightly opened tent flap. 

What was with him today? Did Elminster’s message fully crack his brain? She replayed his last statement through her head - “For now.” For now? Did he intend to act? Could their flirtations and sweet nothings turn into something real, something lasting?

She smiled to herself.  How funny it was to be in the middle of such a desolate and cursed land and be thinking about whether or not someone loves you as much as you love them. Perhaps this was how she would show him that he is worth having around - that he is wanted, needed, and desired. Could her steadfast belief that they would find another way to defeat the Absolute break through his bleak resolve? 

Sleep finally came to her and along with it, a quiet resolution. She would prove to him that he was more than his past, more than his folly, more than this future that would be cut short. He was Gale of Waterdeep, yes, but he was also Gale, the man she loved.

[xalygatorx]

Unbound | Chapter 20, "Oathbreaker"

Áine Ts'sambra—a wayward half-drow bard with a painful past—has her world upended when she's snatched up by a Nautiloid ship and furnished with a tadpole to the brain. In her journey to remove the infestation before it can turn her and her newfound companions illithid, she not only finds that their solution has more layers to parse through than she can count, but that a particular vampire in her party does as well.

Unbound is an ongoing generally SFW medium-burn romance based in the world of Baldur's Gate 3 between Astarion and a female OC. Any NSFW content will be marked in the Warnings section. Contains angst, fluff, explorations of trauma, spice, graphic fantasy violence, and a guaranteed happy ending.

For anything additional on what to expect (and not expect), check the preface post.

Summary: Áine explains her past connections to Moonrise Towers and Ketheric Thorm to their companions as her anxiety mounts at the prospect of returning. She’s met with pushback from Wyll, which triggers her into anger before she can stop it. Áine meets with Jaheira again privately, explaining her hesitation to face Ketheric again and how she fears that she might sabotage the mission if he somehow recognizes her. Considering making the journey alone to spare her loved ones, Áine finds herself in a conversation with Halsin as he tends to the comatose Flaming Fist. The former Archdruid offers her comfort and perspective. 

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!OC

Warnings: Angst; descriptions of feeling triggered and trauma-based anxiety; forced shared flashbacks via the tadpole connection by the illithid tadpoles (it’s an assault on the group but primarily on Áine); fragmented traumatic flashbacks that imply past violence, abuse (physical and verbal), and include grief (Áine); descriptions of pain and blood; suicidal ideation if you squint; lightly proofread

Word Count: 8.3k

Listening to: Funeral Bell - PHILDEL

A/N: The section that includes the forced flashbacks is written in a way that may be, but hopefully isn’t confusing (and if it is, I’m sorry). It’s meant to convey when Áine is fighting the connection and managing to break through while we’re experiencing the vision along with the others. She regains control toward the end of the flashback sequence, which is why the text interruptions go away. (I like to mess with the format in stuff I write, so I'm just back on my bullshit really.)

I was going to wait to post this because it's only been a couple of days since the last post, but I have a horrible headache and I could use the dopamine. That said, the next chapter will take more time since I haven't even started it yet.

Every moment between her confession to Astarion and the next time their companions roused was spent restless and uneasy. At times, even panicked. It was both too familiar and entirely new, this crushing, leaden weight in her chest.

She only noticed her heartbeat had started to pick up again when her beloved vampire stirred beside her from a light reverie he’d only just slipped into. Guilt ate into her stomach when he woke and studied her in the muted light that worked its way through the canvas draped around them. Áine met his eyes, her lashes fluttering as he brought a hand up to smooth her hair from her face and his fingertips left cool, soothing trails against her cheek.

“Sleep, darling,” Astarion murmured encouragement as he leaned in, a breath away from her lips. He brushed his nose against hers and she instinctively leaned in closer, secured in the cradle of his arms.

“I’m sorry I keep waking you,” Áine whispered back, bridging the gap to kiss him gently. “You can rest, love, I’m okay.”

“Not without you,” he grumbled, dropping his head forward and nuzzling into her neck. Áine smirked, carding her fingers through his curls and letting her hands brush the tips of his ears. A soft groan eased from Astarion’s throat, lost amidst her pearly strands. “I know what you’re doing.”

“I don’t know what you mean, little star,” Áine murmured back unconvincingly, kissing his crown as she continued her gentle ministrations through his locks.

Instead of arguing with her, he chuckled. “I do rather like that, you know,” he mumbled and she could swear she heard a bloodless blush in his tone.

Áine smiled. “The endearment or me playing with your hair?”

“Both,” Astarion admitted, a content sigh fanning across her neck. “Would you like to know what else I like, darling girl?”

“What else?” she asked.

“When you endeavor to rest those lovely eyes,” he said as he leaned his head away from the curve of her neck to peer down at her again, bending his elbow up to prop his head on his hand. “Instead of trying to lull me back into meditation so I stop fretting over you.”

The bard gave him a small frown. “I can’t sleep. There’s no reason we should both suffer for that.”

“I’m not suffering to stay up with you, Áine,” Astarion sighed. Despite his frustration, he couldn’t help but admire the little doe-eyed look she got just from hearing him say her name. “What can I do?”

“You can let me lull you back to reverie so you stop fretting over me,” Áine teased him.

“Darling, I truly don’t know how I’m supposed to do that,” he pointed out, getting a little annoyed. “You hardly touched your dinner and you aren’t—”

“Can you blame me?” Áine asked point blank. “After what I’ve told you, wouldn’t it be stranger if I slept peacefully and made merry without a care?”

Astarion’s lips thinned. “You seemed to be doing fine earlier, all things considered,” he mused, wondering if he was just not as talented at reading her as he’d thought. Then again, he hadn’t known quite what to look for earlier before he’d known what these lands meant to her. He’d had little more than her upset heartrate to read during their talk with Jaheira.

“Fighting out there came back like second nature. I didn’t have time to overthink it,” Áine said. “And this inn, these people… They’re new to me. It hadn’t sunk in yet, I guess.”

“And now?” Astarion asked.

“Now…,” she murmured, her gaze flickering down from his to consider his question before she met his eyes again. “...I’m scared.”

“You?” Astarion mused, a doubtful crease forming between his brows. “You’re the bravest person I know.”

“I don’t know that fear and bravery are mutually exclusive,” Áine said. “At least they never have been for me. Astarion, I’m… I’m terrified.”

“Of?” he urged.

Áine’s throat worked as her features pinched in a feeling he knew immediately and intimately—shame. He frowned when her eyes left his again, favoring his collarbones so she didn’t have to see whatever she was afraid to see in his stare. The vampire sighed and adjusted their blanket more snugly around her, scooping her closer until he had her nestled against his chest. Only when he felt her relax a little did he urge her again. “Talk to me, dearest.”

“You have enough on your heart without me adding to it,” she mumbled against his chest.

“What heart?” he teased her, earning a disapproving grumble from the woman he held. “How many times have you suggested I do the same—that I talk to you—while assuring me that my baggage imposes nothing on you?” 

He still didn’t quite believe her when she said that. His trauma followed him like one of the wraiths they’d fought. More nefarious than an ordinary shadow, wailing and clawing at any spark it could snuff out. Someday she would realize he wasn’t worth it, but she seemed to not have discovered that just yet. He’d enjoy it while it lasted.

“A few,” Áine relinquished in a muffled tone.

“Then afford me the same,” Astarion instructed, resting his chin atop her head.

Her warm sigh sank into his skin as she let her arm that wasn’t angled beneath her rest across his waist. “It’s not the same thing, not really,” Áine said, “but this, to me, feels like being back at Cazador’s front steps would to you.”

Astarion couldn’t help the way his body stiffened at her words, but he gently shushed her when she started to apologize for bringing it up. “No, it’s… That certainly puts it into perspective,” he said. Something in him flared just at hearing his sire’s name on her voice, at knowing how frightened she must be if that were the case. He was mulling over the logistics of just keeping her bundled up in here with him for an eternity when she spoke again.

“Do you think they’ll hate me?”

His brow bunched and his eyes flickered down toward the top of her head, but he didn’t pull back to look at her. “Who?”

“Our friends,” she replied. Her voice was small but steadier than before and completely serious. He couldn’t fathom it.

“Why would they hate you?” Astarion asked.

Áine exhaled a breath she’d been holding and it felt like her words started spilling out with it. “Because I’m not the bard they thought they met,” she said, her quiet voice cracking. “I’m not who they signed up to follow into this mess. I’m not ‘good,’ I’m not a hero, and I’ve done…terrible things.”

“You’re also a liar.” Áine tensed at his words, but the patterns he was tracing along her back didn’t cease. “You’re lying to yourself right now, for example.”

“Astarion, I’m—”

“Serious?” he finished for her, rolling to his back and pulling her with him. She lay atop him and he cupped her face in his hands. “I know you are. It baffles me.”

“What baffles you?” Áine asked.

“How you could possibly think anyone would hate you, my love,” he murmured, smoothing the pad of his thumb over her lower lip. “Have you met our friends? Everyone has something categorically wrong with them. If anything, it makes me feel a little better about tricking you into being with me to know you have a few skeletons of your own.”

She scoffed. “You didn’t trick me.” 

“Keep thinking that, darling,” he purred, pulling her down to kiss her forehead, then her nose and her cheeks. He spoke in jest, but wasn’t that what he did? Wasn’t that why this little slice of peace he’d been afforded wouldn’t last? 

“I don’t know how you don’t hate me,” Áine admitted.

Astarion snorted. He couldn’t help it. It was all he could do to not throw his head back and laugh in her beautiful face. “I’m sorry, my sweet,” he snickered when he met her eyes. She was embarrassed and exasperated that he didn’t seem to be taking her seriously again. How could he take her seriously though? It was the most absurd statement he’d ever been obligated to respond to. It was the very statement he should be presenting to her, but was too selfish to point out the obvious lest she see the light and go. 

When she tried to shift off him and escape his teasing, he hemmed her in with the frame of his legs, tightening them on either side of her hips. Astarion gave her a scolding look and nodded. “Well, go on. Why should I hate you?” he prodded.

He could see that he’d disarmed her. Áine hesitated, worrying her lower lip. “Well, I… I gave you the wrong impression, too.”

“What impression is that?” he asked.

“That the version of me you met is all there was,” Áine supposed, her brow pinched with the effort to put her anxieties into words, to make them sound remotely rational. Her wide amber eyes bore into his as she said, “I meant it when I said I’d done awful things, Astarion. I… What if I’m no better than…”

“Than?” 

“Than the people who hurt you?”

As soon as the words were out, he felt the shudder run through her frame like her body was an extension of his. Astarion sighed and tucked her against him, rubbing her back as he felt her tears dampen his shirt. “On your worst day,” he murmured, “you couldn’t come close.”

“You don’t know,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be that person again. And she feels so close here.”

“Shh, shh,” he hushed her soothingly again, content to hold her while she cried. Gods, she’d managed to soften his heart in their time together. It overwhelmed him to realize it at times. It was ever less terrifying, but unnerving all the same. When she quieted some, Astarion murmured against her hair, “Neither of us had a true choice in the end. But especially not you. You must know that.”

“Sometimes I do,” she murmured, sniffling. “But sometimes it feels like I could’ve done so much more than I did to get away.”

“You can’t punish yourself forever, darling, even if that’s true,” Astarion sighed. “I would be curled against the floor of my tent every night if I clung to every awful thing I’ve done, every mistake I’ve made, every time weakness won over.”

“It’s different for you,” Áine said, her voice kind as one of her hands came up to trace along his jaw. “You had no choice at all. You were compelled.”

“And you were a child, Áine,” Astarion said in a hard voice not meant for her, but for the world that hurt her. That hurt them both. “Children aren’t meant to know what’s ‘best’ or ‘good,’ that’s what parents are meant to teach. You’re casting judgment knowing what you know now and not considering all you didn’t know at the time.”

Áine pondered his words. “Is that how you think of yourself, too? Even if it’s different?”

“Yes,” Astarion said. “Granted, I don’t have the moral compass you do to misguide me, but anything I actually feel sorry for in that time falls into the same line. I did what I had to do to survive and so did you. They’re not our sins.”

Cautiously, Áine snaked her arms around him again, almost as if afraid he’d disappear. He could relate to that feeling, that need, that fear. He tightened his arms to try to help extinguish it. Astarion felt her breath on his neck when her lips parted, but she thought better of whatever she’d been about to say, burying her face against his shoulder instead. 

Finally, when she did speak, she said only, “Thank you.”

Astarion didn’t hate her. He forgave too much when it came to her, in her opinion, but she supposed she was the same with him. She adored him. How could she fault him for anything he’d done before just to endure the hell he’d suffered? She supposed she should just be grateful that he looked upon her with that same forgiveness. 

Áine guessed that the others wouldn’t be so understanding. She was soon to find out.

She and Astarion had stayed up when she still hadn’t found sleep, quietly talking until they heard their companions stir. That leaden feeling had returned to her gut the moment she heard them rouse and her lover had distracted her momentarily with kisses when he felt her heart start to hammer.

“And you’re wrong, by the way. You are the bard we met. This is who you’ve chosen to be, not what you were made to be. Weren’t you the one who told me something like that, darling? Afford yourself your own advice.”

The corner of her mouth quirked a little as she ran his words through her tired mind a few more times. She stared into the dancing campfire flames for a few moments more, listening to the hum of conversation around her, before she forced herself to speak. “I have something I need to clear up,” Áine said.

The crosstalk quieted and she felt eyes on her. That had been the goal, but now that they were there, she felt every burning stare. Any gusto she’d drummed up wilted like the flora outside the moon shield. It was already starting. The end of what she’d built. All because of what she’d been born into, what she’d existed within and endured for her first 45 years of life. Because of all she’d done before she’d known things could be different.

No going back now.

Áine cleared her suddenly dry throat. “Ketheric Thorm,” she said, the words poison in her mouth. “I know him.”

The silence stretched for what felt like an age. Finally, Karlach broke it. “What do you mean you ‘know’ him?” she asked.

The bard shifted through her discomfort at Karlach’s wary tone. She scraped through the nausea in her gut to find her voice again. “I was born into the covenant he keeps, that he uses,” she explained, already finding it more difficult to explain the truth of her past to all of them than it had been to explain it to Astarion down by the lake. She wasn’t surprised, but she was finding it quite tough to even get the words past her lips. “I was oathbound. Just like the rest of my family. And now I’m not. But I’m telling you this because I’m still concerned. There’s a very real chance that he may recognize me if we come face-to-face with him at Moonrise. Or at least put two and two together. Half-drow aren’t exactly common as far as I know.”

“So you were a paladin then?” Gale asked, seeming more like he was just trying to get his facts straight than that he was doubting her. She still occasionally caught him tiptoeing around her, careful not to fall into her poor favor a second time, but she didn’t think that was why he was being careful now. This just felt like Gale being Gale. When she nodded, Gale asked further, “And now you’re oathbroken? Is that where your power came from in the Underdark? That you used to defeat the spectator?”

Áine nodded again. “That’s right,” she said, appreciating the understanding look in his eyes, holding to it like a lifeline. “That’s also why we’ve had a knight hanging around camp. He’s…well, he’s sort of the authority over broken oaths. Mine reinvigorated when I used its power and brought him back to me.”

“You know that makes a lot of sense,” Gale mused, chuckling. “I’m embarrassed to not have put that together.”

“How long ago were you oathbound?” Halsin asked, his features twisted with concern.

“I left ten years ago,” she said, “and before that…well, I served for about 20 years in all.” Gale’s straightforward curiosity had reminded her that not all questions equated doubt. Of course they would have questions. That rationale helped her more quickly recognize the source of Halsin’s concern and she added, “Long after you would have fought him if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Praise Sylvanus for that,” he sighed emphatically, looking aggrieved. Relief lanced through Áine that she was correct. “Even if you’d been on the opposing side, I feel nothing but relief to know you weren’t somewhere on that battlefield.”

Áine smiled, her gaze shifting when a small, kind-looking Flaming Fist approached Halsin, asking if he’d come with her. Áine supposed it had something to do with the unconscious fellow in the inn when he excused himself to follow her. He couldn’t be too concerned or suspicious of her if he was content to leave their circle now, Áine figured.

“So the fear of being recognized is paramount?” Shadowheart asked, looking only somewhat concerned as Áine met her eyes.

Áine nodded. “I’m going to speak to Jaheira as well, I think, about that,” she said. “I’m afraid of sabotaging our infiltration if he knows my face. I want to say that it’s unlikely as I would have only been in front of him for my initiation in a group of other new blood, but there exists the possibility. It’s also possible that someone I’m related to or that I trained with could be there, too.”

“And how likely is that do you think?” Shadowheart asked.

“Given what we were used for, unlikely,” Áine speculated. “If operations are the same, he has his own separate guard for Moonrise. Or maybe he’s using cultists for that now, too.”

“There’s always a disguise spell,” Gale suggested. “Although I would be shocked if there weren’t wards around Moonrise to unravel such enchantments. Maybe if we—”

“And you are truly oathbroken?” Wyll asked, interrupting Gale’s ramble. Áine missed the edge to his voice but Astarion, lingering nearby and listening, caught onto it and bristled.

“I am,” Áine said simply and without a sliver of doubt.

“You did well to separate yourself from such an evil,” Lae’zel commended her, unbothered by Áine’s past and far more concerned with their next move. Áine cast her an appreciative look.

Wyll’s tone was not missed by the bard a second time. “I find it…hard to believe if I’m honest.”

The remaining party stilled, curious glances cast sideways at Wyll. Shaken by the sudden statement and confused by his meaning, Áine dumbly asked, “...What?”

“Hear me out,” he requested. With a gesture toward the horns protruding from his skull, Wyll said, “As we’ve all gathered by this point, I am also pacted. It’s a different situation, it’s true, but the base of it is the same. And I know how constrictive these agreements are. How hard it is to escape it, let alone find oneself again.” He rose from his seat, his hands resting against his hips as he looked down at Áine. Even if he didn’t mean to cow her, he was succeeding in her current headspace. “And I’m just not so sure that it could be possible to do that under this supposedly invincible undead entity that is General Thorm.”

“On what grounds?” Áine asked, a dangerous waver in her tone as she also stood, hurt by Wyll’s claims and unwilling to sit while he loomed over her. 

“It would have a horrific cost,” Wyll said with absolute certainty, not noticing how much he’d triggered her with his words. He gestured first at himself again and then at her. “A cost that, frankly, unlike me, you don’t appear to bear.”

Áine barked a cold, humorless laugh. “Not all of us get off as easy as a set of horns, Wyll,” she snapped, something unhinging within her. She tried to keep it hemmed in, horrified when the reciprocating spark of hurt and anger she saw flare in his good eye felt almost gratifying. “You… You would really doubt me? After everything we’ve been through?”

“Now, we’ve no need to fight amongst ourselves,” Gale imposed cautiously. His eyes darted between Wyll and Áine but also fleetingly to Astarion, who looked more prepared to intercept by the second. 

Ignoring him and the tension in their circle, Wyll pushed further. “It’s not you, I doubt, Áine. Not really. But you’re not exactly doing much in the way of convincing me otherwise, are you,” he said, his question not a question at all. “Though I hate to say it, it’s more suspicious that you—”

He was plucked from his tirade and his train of thought as a sensation akin to a hard tap thudded within his head. The disturbance sent a ripple through all their tadpoles. The only one who didn’t look confused was Áine, who instead looked shaken to her core. Wyll took in her expression and began to ask, “What’s wr—”

He couldn’t get the words out before it happened again. The next intrusion was shattering. Wyll rocked back on his heels, his hand going to his head as he steadied himself. The shockwave of the vision that bled open in his mind’s eye reached the rest of the group with lesser force. For an instant, they feared the takeover of the Absolute or an onset of ceremorphosis. However, the sights that filled their minds were somehow even less familiar. 

At least, they were at first.

The feelings came first. Unfathomable grief. Barely contained rage. Survivor’s guilt in its most basic form, sometimes an echo and sometimes a squall. Abject terror. Shame. A horrible, ever-present emptiness. All of it washed along the branches of their intertwined minds, traceable from what could’ve only been Áine’s memories, her heart, spilling over.

The bard clutched her head, her nails digging painfully into her scalp as if she could claw inside and dissuade the parasite behind her eye from its onslaught. The feelings, the memories, the panic had hit her like that gnoll back on the Risen Road, knocking the air clean out of her lungs until all she could do was scrape her breath back inside and try to keep her footing. She’d not anticipated this, hadn’t given a single thought to the damn worm, and her tadpole wriggled as if it knew, thrumming with the energy of her mind’s attack, and it had latched onto the others before she could conceive of how to stop it.

All she could do was drag back anything within her reach and augment the pieces that would hurt her most, the ones she would rarely let herself see clearly, much less the ones surrounding her, their parasites feasting on her memories as they bubbled to the surface unbidden.

Suddenly, no one present was themselves. No one save for Áine, who in that moment would have been anyone else. Behind her, as she struggled to stay standing and not sink to her knees, Astarion’s sight, too, was blanketed by memories not his and swept into this shared vision he shouldn’t have been privy to and yet couldn’t resist. Dully, he could feel Áine’s will flex against the tadpoles’, but her attempts to stop the illithid violation of her mind held all the power of a fish flopping against dry land, drowning in air.

It wasn’t Astarion alone who wanted to help her, who wanted this to stop, but none of them could move, could resist. Instead, they bore witness while their unwilling performer swallowed her screams.

Stonework underfoot studied by a bowed head. The tip of your worn boot is where your eyes focus because to raise the head is to look upon the oathsworn and it’s simply not done. You’re a worm beneath his feet and you will acknowledge the ground from which you’ve come while you swear your oath on your knees.

Your voice—her voice, younger and strained—aligns with the other initiates’ intonations in the memory. You are numb. In this war, there has never been golden propaganda or the promise of glory for a bit of your blood. This is expectation incarnate. You were born to do this, only this, to serve and die for your general. There was never a moment of ‘giving up’ because you were never provided an alternative to flee to. You’ve no notion of freedom to relinquish.

“I swear fealty to the undying general and those who faithfully follow, my life for the Thorm bloodline, my bloodline for his. 

“I will uphold the laws beset by my oathsworn master. I will be a bastion to he who would see unjust gods fall to ruin. I will suffer no charlatans, none who may interfere or prevent our cause. None who would rise against his final word. 

“No one will stand in the way of my fulfillment of my oathsworn’s will, be they beast, monster, or noble. I take responsibility for ensuring the return of Ketheric Thorm and his bloodline to its previous glory. 

“My life for the Thorm bloodline, my bloodline for his. I will bear the brunt of any chaos that this task creates. He speaks, I obey.”

The scene changes. The years blur as they wind back and fly forward in this vision. It’s the vision’s manifestation of Áine fighting her tadpole and theirs as well for control and losing. Áine’s nose started to bleed and they could all feel the warm runny trail, could smell the sickly sweet copper when it hit the cupid’s bow of her lips. Despite no sound passing her lips in the physical plane, they can all hear her scream in their minds when her tadpole burrows deeper, sinks its teeth, and twists. 

Battles rage wherever you go. Big and small. Ceaseless. Between your allies scraping for respect or with your ordained enemies fighting for their lives. Selûnites. Sharrans. Any who have wronged the general are at your disposal. You are at his disposal. Your life is forfeit if you refuse. You have grown up under the unnegotiable teachings that to break your oath is to die, slow and horribly and in dishonor. No gods will claim you. You will be a far-flung soul to be plucked from painful purgatory by hungry, greedy devils bound for Avernus. You will suffer. Better to live and suffer and have some semblance of control over your agony. 

The doubt begins to sink in much sooner than the resolve to flee. Oathbound, the underbelly of your family’s dealings is no longer hidden from you if it ever was at all. It’s not as if you ever had a choice in your “decision” to swear fealty. It becomes clearer as you age why you were born, half-elf cannon fodder for a selfish cause that traces back to one man who refuses to stay buried. Who refuses to let his family rest. Who rallies against every deity that refuses his twisted, blasphemous demands and purges their acolytes in retaliation.

Something shifts when you turn 45. The specifics are clawed back, leaving notable gaps, but you’ve been in service for 20 years and something finally snaps. You must leave. There’s no other option. You know that you will die trying—your oath will kill you when it breaks if your family or even Thorm himself doesn’t kill you first. But you must.

You can hear your breaths loudly in your ears in the quiet of the field you run through. The scenery is blurred but you can see the skyline of Baldur’s Gate in your periphery. The sky is milky with dawn. It’s a far cry from the cursed lands you just left behind. You might just make it past the outskirts before your oath’s bonds begin to be tested. You’re doubtful you’ll make it much further, but it ultimately doesn’t matter.

You hear the arrow before you see it, but it takes that long to realize what it is. There’s someone with you for just a second, but the bearer of the memories uses her depleting strength to rip them away. The arrow sinks into the ground where they would have been running. You keep running, hoping it’s a staggering shot and no more, but you know the truth. It was meant for you and it missed—it wasn’t meant for you, it never missed—and you keep running. The pounding of your heels is a lone staccato now. It always was. 

You feel your oath begin to shudder. It feels as though your ribcage is being hinged apart. You slow, hearing a shout, hearing threats. You’re not worried about yourself. There’s not much point now anyway. It’s over. You feel yourself give up like you’re a visitor in your own body.

You turn to look back. It’s a mistake. The figure of a hulking drow male stands at a distance, another smaller male that could be one of his brothers near him. The larger of the pair holds the bow, another arrow already knocked into place. It’s aimed at you. He calls you back like a wayward animal. 

Your eyes fall to the ground near him. A human woman sits in the grass, something nothing slung in her arms no no no no no no no 

You steel yourself to return if it means he won’t hurt her. She looks so unbearably small. Heavy streams of tears fall down her face and splash onto what she’s holding. You refuse to study it because, if you don’t acknowledge it, it won’t be true there’s nothing there, STOP STARING AT IT!

She looks up at you. You anticipate blame. It’s your fault that he’s dead gods he’s dead she’s going to die too why can’t you save her you tried to run, knowing what would happen. And you still went. 

Her lips part on a scream. It’s a scream that haunts every nightmare you have. That haunted you when your broken oath reached out to you through the Weave when you were practicing magic with Gale. Sometimes it comes to you while awake, sudden and sharp and senseless and spurred by nothing.

“ÁINE, RUN!”

You don’t turn away before the archer commands the other drow to slam his sword through her back. But the instant you see it, the instant you hear it, you run. Faster than you ever have. It’s a miracle you can even move, that you have the clarity to follow her instruction. Your pace is breakneck and would result in injury if you misstep even once. You don’t care. You’d rather die than be placed back in formation now. There’s no going back. You have nothing to return to. Death is preferable. You’d realize it always has been if you were ever honest with yourself, but you’ve been too scared, always too scared. You had something to lose back then. The fear dissipates with your worldly attachments, the only ones that have ever mattered.

The first arrow finds its home in your shoulder. The second hits closer to your heart and almost sends you to your knees. You do double over, but your legs don’t lose the pace you’ve set. Your built momentum keeps them loping forward until you regain enough of your focus to start surging them forward on your own again. 

Your shoulder is broken, there’s no doubt. The muscles are shredded around the carved flint heads. They’ve skewered through your flesh and are protruding out your front. You clutch your useless, injured arm and keep it drawn against your side so it doesn’t slow you down. Adrenaline postpones some of the pain, but not all of it. You feel like you’re burning alive.

You have the frame of mind to duck down and change position and it’s only because of that that the third arrow misses. You fell into old battle maneuvers without thinking, perhaps triggered by your injury, and you’re surprised it works against the drow hunting you. The arrow impales the ground where you would have been otherwise. That one may have been the one to kill you. 

Instead, you think your oath might do that.

You buckle your knees and skid down a slope that descends into a curve that goes past the treeline. You curl into the dirt as you fall, briars scraping the back of your neck and your scalp as you disappear beneath them. You’ll hide there until you’re sure they no longer pursue you. Or you’ll be found and dragged back. Your shoulder screams when you fall on it and you almost bite through your tongue to remain silent. You’ve stomached worse pain before but not many times, not like this.

Your oathbreaking is a different pain. It’s a wretched, angry thing that held heavy in your chest for the past two decades and now comes undone like a lightburned wraith. It rages in your bones, ravaging your insides and making your mind feel as if it’s melting from your ears. Distantly, you hear the male drows’ voices bark more threats and then a quieter exchange. They’re fading. They’ve lost you in the thicket or they assume you’ll die there, wherever you’ve ended up. If you survive your injuries and your oath, perhaps you’ll survive it all. But for what purpose now? 

You shimmy out from under the bracken an indeterminable amount of time later, your teeth grinding as you can’t help but snag the arrows on the roots, against the soil. You ache to get them out of where they’ve torn you asunder, but logic and years of training remind you that you need to wait until you can staunch the blood flow. Right now, the arrows are all that keep you from bleeding out and you need to appreciate that they’re of use to you for the time being, no matter how much they hurt.

The twisting agony still rages in your chest and you stagger to your knees when it finally reaches its peak. Just as swiftly as it riled and ruptured in your chest, it dissolves like splintering ice. Not just broken, not quite, but almost melting. Collecting. Reforming into something new.

“You have broken your oath, paladin.”

The gravelly voice startles you. Your first thought is the drow, but you’ve never heard a voice like this before. Your eyes lift by an increment to find blackened pewter boots decadently laced with gold patina and travel upward into the incandescent stare of something far beyond your understanding. It’s a knight, you think. But it’s unlike any knight you’ve ever seen.

He inclines his head to you, fire blazing within metal. “We have much to discuss.”

The vision shattered as Áine finally wrenched herself from the connection, breaking its center with her hard-fought departure. Freed as well, her companions each in turn shook their heads as if the vision could be cleared more quickly that way. Eyes instinctively wandered back to the half-drow near the fire who was staring into nothing as silent trickling streams of tears and blood grew stale on her face.

The first to push through their daze and act was Wyll. “Gods, Áine, are you—”

“Leave me alone,” the bard whimpered hollowly, blood under her nails as she finally withdrew them from her hair and quickly stumbled to separate herself from them. 

When she hurried past where Astarion stood, rooted to the spot, he instinctively reached out to catch her in his arm. She dodged around him without a second’s hesitation, her gait quickening as she disappeared past the inn.

“Leave her be, she’lak,” Lae’zel hissed to Wyll when he tried again to call Áine back. The pain she’d felt through Áine’s memories still lingered like a specter in her chest and repeatedly triggered a vicious “fight” instinct that she was trying to stamp back into submission. “She will return when she is ready.”

“Lae’zel is right,” Shadowheart decreed despite looking desperate to follow the bard, herself. Her eyes shone with grief-born pain, an interesting expression for a true Sharran to wear. “Did you… Did any of us cause that?”

“No,” Wyll said with complete certainty, heads shaking to echo the same sentiment around him. “I don’t even think she did it. It almost felt like she was fighting it the entire time.”

“Then the tadpoles just…did it on their own?” Karlach asked, her brows creasing at their middle.

“So much for having a ‘guardian’,” Gale remarked. It held the air of a quip, but genuine suspicion sharpened his tone into something that bordered an accusation. 

Their aforementioned guardian remained uncharacteristically silent.

The icy water off the shore of Last Light was all that pulled Áine back inside herself. She’d undergone a lot in her life, most of it physical, but that had been a new level of the Hells she’d experienced. She felt turned inside out and violated, like she’d had hands all over her and inside her, too, pulling out whatever they could the moment they’d smelt blood. 

Áine let herself sink just enough below the lapping tides’ surface to unleash the scream she’d felt building in her for the better part of an hour now. It ricocheted in her ears, muffled, and expelled where no one else could hear or be perturbed. For the briefest moment, she considered not resurfacing. Even so, she’d hardly finished that dark thought before she was swimming back up.

Her head broke the surface and she cupped the water to clean her face, idly wedging the dried blood and skin from her scalp from under her nails as she walked back up the shore. She’d just reached up to wring the water from her hair when she spotted just the person she’d earlier intended to speak to.  

“Jaheira?” Áine called, getting the High Harper’s attention. “Do you have a moment?”

Jaheira regarded her with curiosity as she approached, taking in her soaked appearance but also the look in the younger woman’s eyes and the defensive hunch of her shoulders. “You should ask instead if I have a towel,” she quipped before raising her hand. With a small flourish, the moisture left Áine’s clothes, leaving them perfectly dry and her hair just a little damp. Áine murmured her thanks and Jaheira inclined her head. “I assume though that wasn’t what you needed?”

“Not exactly,” Áine said, winding her wet locks into a haphazard bun at her nape.

“Then I have more than a moment. Some even say I have a few moments,” Jaheira said with an edge of humor, nodding for Áine to walk with her. They made their way inside the inn, found stools at the nearly vacant bar, and sat down. The building was filled with the hum of several conversations punctuated by the strum of Alfira’s lute. “What’s on your mind?”

Áine did her best to summarize everything she’d just told the others, from the covenant sworn under Ketheric to her former station in it and then to her concerns about how it would affect their infiltration of Moonrise Towers. Jaheira remained silent throughout, nodding occasionally to indicate that she understood what Áine was saying and she was listening as intently as she seemed to be. Jaheira had known about the covenant, but she had not known that it was part of—but not all of—what fed into his life force.

“Surely it must be more than the covenant,” Jaheira suggested as Áine paused to take a drink of the water she’d been served by one of the tiefling children playing bartender for kicks and the occasional coin. “Your bloodline is many but their binding would not create the power that I saw at the gate.”

“It wouldn’t,” Áine agreed. “There were whispers of some sort of relic that he kept. That it was the primary source of his immortality, maybe the healing you saw too. But we were never privy to what it was or where it was. That was always handled far away from any of our dealings.”

“I see,” Jaheira said, her mind already flying through possibilities. Coming up short, she turned her attention back to Áine and her predicament. “Well, you are right to be concerned,” Jaheira reasoned. Áine felt palpable relief that she was hearing her and hadn’t jumped to any conclusions. If anything, it made their newly established alliance feel less tenuous after their talk the day before. “However, it may not be such a bad thing.”

“No?” Áine inquired, encouraging her to continue.

“You have that parasite in your head, after all,” Jaheira said. “By all accounts, you should be under the Absolute’s control. Perhaps his ego would be his undoing. Picture—in the instance he does recognize you, he rests on his laurels thinking that someone who disobeyed him, who broke the oath they took to his cause, has been dragged back by a worm. It may disarm him even further than we anticipated.” 

Áine had to admit that she hadn’t thought of it like that, but she was right. It was certainly a possibility. Jaheira smirked. “Tread carefully, of course, but I will be most interested to hear how he reacts,” the druid said. “Or better yet, what he accidentally gives away.”

“I understand,” Áine said, absently nodding as she pondered Jaheira’s points. She gave a more certain nod when she went to stand back up. “Thank you, Jaheira.”

“Thank you,” Jaheira said, inclining her head to Áine before taking their half-pint bartender up on his second-time-offered tankard of mead.

Áine retreated from the bar, not quite ready to return to camp but needing to come to terms with what her next steps would be. Jaheira was right—it almost behooved them if Ketheric recognized her, if he was smug over his regained control over one of his oathbroken. Perhaps his only oathbroken. She wasn’t sure if anyone else had done the same before or after her. But it did make their arrival to Moonrise that much more dangerous as well.

In truth, she remained terrified. Of being back where her darkest memories originated, in Ketheric’s shadow, and also for the safety of her newly chosen family. Then again, maybe the unexpected way her parasite had regurgitated her trauma into their brains would have dissuaded them from carrying on with her. The thought was irrational, but it did pick firmly at her brain from the moment of its inception. Áine’s eyes wandered into the side room as she passed it en route to the entrance of the inn, wondering if Halsin was there. The lure of a friendly face who hadn’t just seen some lightly edited replays of her worst memories unfold was more than enough to alter her path.

He was indeed still there, seated by the unconscious man from the Shadowfell and leaning in close as if to hear something the man was speaking in his sleep. Áine wandered into the room and to Halsin’s side. 

“How is he?” she asked as she drew near, not wanting to startle the druid.

“He simply won’t wake,” Halsin sighed. “It’s a miracle from the Oak Father Himself that he’s even alive. That he’s coherent.” He looked up at Áine, but only slightly—seated, he was nearly eye-level with her. “There must be a way to wake him. He dreams of Thaniel, the very spirit and heart of this land. He may know what’s happened to him if we can find a way to rouse him.”

“Do you have any leads?” Áine asked, glancing between Halsin and the lingering Fist who’d come to fetch him from their circle earlier.

“Only what was on his person when we found him wandering the wilds,” the Fist said, “which wasn’t very much, I’m afraid.” The man began mumbling again and his barely discernable words almost sounded like a poem. Áine’s brows creased at the middle with pity. 

“Would you mind if I looked through it?” Áine asked. The Fist presented her with a tattered rucksack and a couple of bits and pieces she had to assume were in his pockets. As she parsed through it all, she found a faded missive that she had to study hard to make out. She saw a name—Art McCullough—and something else. “...Where is the ‘House of Healing’ relative to here?”

The Fist pulled out her map and carefully spread it out on the end of the bed. Áine passed the missive to Halsin for him to read while the Fist showed her where they were and then where the House of Healing was. Áine committed the route she showed her to memory. She’d add it to her own map once she retrieved it with her rucksack before she set out.

Halsin’s hope looked rejuvenated by her findings and Áine felt apprehensive of this turning out to be a dead end. It was the only lead she could find, but she hated the idea of disappointing him. 

“It’s on the path to Moonrise, so there’s no reason not to take a look one of the times we’re en route,” she said, scratching the back of her neck as she retrieved the missive from his outstretched hand and pocketed it. 

“Thank you, my friend,” Halsin emphasized. “You have the whole of my gratitude and my aid if you should need it. You and our companions, both, but that goes without saying.”

Áine’s lips pursed and her eyes found the floorboards when they began to burn at the corners. How could she possibly have more tears left? “I… Well, I might be going to Moonrise alone,” she said. “Regardless, I will try to find something to bring back if I can nail down where these orders took him.”

A deep fissure formed between Halsin’s scarred brows and Áine nearly lost her composure when his first instinct was to take her hand and pat it. His huge palms engulfed hers and she, not for the first time, was awed at what a feeling of safety he emitted without even trying. “Why would you need to do that?” he asked. The Fist stepped away to give them some privacy as Áine’s eyes threatened to spill over. She couldn’t look him in the eyes. 

Áine finally sighed, some of the moisture falling from her eyes and, to her embarrassment, hitting the back of Halsin’s hand. “I… I got into a bit of a row with Wyll over what I told you all earlier and something happened with the tadpoles. I don’t think I did it and, if I did, I didn’t mean to, but…,” she mumbled, sniffling against her free hand, which had come up to shield her shame. “It was never to be a safe venture to find the source of these things, I know that, but this… These circumstances make it even less so and I can’t have that on my head.”

Halsin listened patiently, absently patting her hand and measuring her grief. “It was likely a lot to handle, and more is soon to be handled. But handle it, we will,” he reassured her. “That is what friends do.”

“I made them see my memories, Halsin,” Áine insisted, his sympathy painful to her guilty heart. “It wasn’t me at first, it was the parasites, but they were still my memories, and toward the end, when I regained control… I didn’t stop it.”

“You must have needed to show someone then,” Halsin reasoned, offering her a kind smile when she finally found it in herself to meet his eyes. He was right in a way. She’d wanted them to feel her oath break since they were already there in her timeline. She’d wanted them to understand. “Which is nothing short of understandable, given that you’re being made to face it all again. By the worms and by being here. We both have tremendous agony attached to these lands, you and I. This time, neither of us need face it alone.”

Áine was at war with herself. She knew in her heart that she wouldn’t want Halsin to face any of this alone. She’d just agreed to help him try to heal the nature here, after all, by helping Art. Yet she couldn’t find it in herself to afford herself the same generosity. And she certainly couldn’t put her friends and her partner at the heart of something she already knew with horrible intimacy to be a sanctuary for pure evil. Just the prospect of it made her eyes well again and she parted her lips to argue only to have her voice crack on a stifled sob before she could get a word out.

Halsin squeezed her hand, holding her trembling fingers in a much surer grip. “Do not make an outcast of yourself, Áine. You’re in pain and you’re clutching your wounds. The instinct is to run away, but you mustn’t. Trust me,” he told her gently. His words brought back her recently revisited memory of actually running and clutching her broken shoulder. The phantom pain between her scars flared almost in answer. Her gut twisted. It twisted further when she finally accepted that he was right. “You needn’t hide from those who would help you heal.”

Áine sniffled softly and swallowed hard. “Would you come with us?” she asked in a quiet voice, his offered comfort a needed tether in her vulnerability. If they even stay, a dark voice reminded her, that inner voice harsh against the ache in her chest. And why should they?

Halsin smiled and shook his head. “I’m needed here. Just for now,” he told her. His eyes shifted briefly over her head before they returned to her flushed, tear-streaked face. “But you have me. That didn’t end with the Grove. It won’t end here either. You will be alright.”

“Don’t worry, Halsin,” came Shadowheart’s voice from behind Áine, startling her. “We’ll take care of her.”

“You’re godsdamn right,” Karlach agreed, appearing in Áine’s line of sight as she stopped near Halsin’s chair. She was almost embarrassed to be caught in such a teary state in front of the rough-and-tumble tiefling warrior, but the embarrassment was short-lived as Karlach gave her the most affectionate “Mama K” smile she’d yet seen. 

Áine swallowed against the lingering lump in her throat as a familiar pair of cool, strong arms slipped around her shoulders. Astarion kissed her blotchy cheek as he drew her back against his chest. 

“I’d like to see you try to leave me behind,” he whispered like a challenge near her ear.

Next chapter: Chapter 21, "Her Nightmare Revisited"

[medra-gonbites]

Roll Initiative - Chapter 3

I can't with these stupid boys <3

Chapter 3 of Roll initiative (started for @bloodweaveweek)

Word Count: 3,381

Pairing: Astarion/Gale (Bloodweave)

SFW - Unrequited Love, Will they - Won't they

“Ah! You actually came!” He said with a little bit too much gusto. Astarion smirked at the sound of his betrayed excitement and ran a hand in his perfectly coiffed hair. He pushed past him to get inside. his cologne reached Gale’s nose. Heat pooled in his abdomen as the smell alone was already triggering something primal in him. Astarion walked in like he owned the place and headed to the kitchen. He grabbed a beer in the fridge and shrugged. “Something fell through. I might as well have.” He brushed off. Rude. Gale frowned at these words; big man who thinks himself better than this but still shows up to drink his beers. Still, Astarion’s scent lingered in his nose and he felt so very happy to have him stand in his home again. It all made it difficult to remain upset with him, but Gale would try very hard.

Read the rest on AO3 or under the cut

That evening, Astarion had almost bailed again. Almost.

When his phone had rang the week before his heart had nearly leaped out of his throat. He played it cool; being his usual aloof and unbothered self to the man he thought would not bother pursuing him after his teasing and dismissal. But Gale had and wasn’t it nice to feel wanted. Astarion had promised him he’d come. Part of him wanted to break his promise and stand them up once more.

He considered it for a while. Pondering the pros and cons. 

Cons: He needed to commit, a concept he avoided like the plague. Commit to a game that required time, regularity, dedication and concentration. Commit to a group of people whom,  beside Wyll, he didn’t know and who would eventually depend on him to keep on playing. He potentially might need to commit to Gale. He did not seem the type to do one night stands despite his eagerness the evening they met and Astarion was not the type to date. He barely did “friendship” already. But he certainly did not do “relationship”. 

Pros: The game was fun. As much as he hqd to admit it, it really was. It was nerdy and tedious but also very creative, enticing and he hated how much he loved it. The prospect of having a group of people he could hang out with was also tempting: Wyll was a stand up guy and he didn't’ doubt his friends would be great too. 

And finally, there was Gale. Gale was handsome and smart and playful and he had no right to be as sexy as he was. Astarion could not stop thinking about that damn nerd! And that scared him… 

In the end he had finally decided to go. To be braver than he had been the week before and actually show up. He knocked on Gale’s door. He was early. He had arrived before everyone else hoping to clear the air before the start of the game. If he would manage to; sincerity was not really his strong suit, but he really wanted to try.

Alas, when Gale opened the door, Astarion could not help but put his mask back on.

----------------------------------------------------------

Gale expected to see anyone but Astarion. 

At this time, he suspected that these early visitors were Jenevelle and Lae’zel. They usually were the first to arrive (and the first to leave because, as Lae’zel would put it: “we are busy women, be glad we came alltogether”). 

Besides, as excited and hopeful as he was to see the man, he had tempered his expectation and was fully aware there was a 75% chance Astarion would reiterate his little trick from last time and not deign to join at all.

When he saw those pretty curls, the piercing eyes and that charming smile Gale felt a surge of electricity run through his chest. He had to fight the urge to jump and wrap his arms around Astarion’s pretty form. He kept his enthusiasm to a minimum but failed to conceal the smile of relief that was etched on his face.

“Ah! You actually came!” He said with a little bit too much gusto.

Astarion smirked at the sound of his betrayed excitement and ran a hand in his perfectly coiffed hair. He pushed past him to get inside. his cologne reached Gale’s nose. Heat pooled in his abdomen as the smell alone was already triggering something primal in him. Astarion walked in like he owned the place and headed to the kitchen. He grabbed a beer in the fridge and shrugged.

“Something fell through. I might as well have.” He brushed off.

Rude. 

Gale frowned at these words; big man who thinks himself better than this but still shows up to drink his beers. Still, Astarion’s scent lingered in his nose and he felt so very happy to have him stand in his home again. It all made it difficult to remain upset with him, but Gale would try very hard.

“You’re the first to get here. Care to help me set up?” He asked.

“Not really; just do your thing.” The young man declined.

Gale swallowed his refusal and started to prepare the table for the game by himself all the while Astarion watched him, a mischievous grin stretching his lips. Gale thought he saw a hint of lust in his eyes but tried very hard to ignore it. As much as he was flattered to be gawked at this way, he was also very annoyed to play host for such a boorish guest. Astarion stood in the middle of the room, not budging, clearly on purpose so that Gale had to constantly pass him as he came and went. 

“Astarion, if you aren’t going to help, at least move away!” He eventually snapped.

Astarion chuckled, obviously relishing in pushing Gale’s buttons. Gale was really not in the mood for his little games. He did not want to talk about… whatever was there. Not at all; not before the game anyways. But presented with Astarion’s infuriating behaviour he could not refrain from addressing it.

“What’s the deal with you? You seduce me, kiss me, almost take me on my own dinner table, then you blow me off without a reason. Now you’re here, acting all haughty! Frankly, I don’t get it. I thought…”

Gale stopped himself before he would say something stupid. Or pathetic. 

“Nevermind… Just sit and wait; the others will come soon.”

Astarion froze for a moment. He seemed taken aback by the sudden rebellious strike of Gale’s temper. He opened his mouth to answer, and for an instant Gale thought he saw a flash of regret in his eyes. But before the other man could speak the door slammed open and Karlach barged in.

“Sup’ mofos!” She exclaimed. She stopped to take in the sight of the room before smiling wide upon seeing Astarion. “Hi there! You must be Wyll’s friend? I’m Karlach!” 

Astarion waved mildly at her, confused by her sudden and loud entrance.

“Nice to meet you, darling.” He answered.

“Aw darling.” She mewled, her cheeks blushing.

She skidded to the kitchen, giggling like a schoolgirl. Gale smiled. He was happy to get some company, other than Astarion anyways. He handed Karlach a drink. She whispered in his ear, her eyes still locked on Astarion’s silhouette in the living room.

“What a hottie!” 

Gale scoffed. Karlach jerked towards him. Interpreting his annoyed reaction to be directed at her, she immediately added.

“Do you have dibs? I feel like you have dibs.”

“What makes you say that?” He enquired, his brow furrowed.

“The tension was insane when I came in.” She opened her eyes, wide like saucers, seemingly realising something, “I’m sorry if I interrupted anything by the way! I can be such a cock blocker sometimes!”

Gale let out a dry laugh. 

“I can assure you nothing is going on whatsoever.” He retorted, the bitter taste of frustration rising in his throat.

Back in the other room, Astarion was lost in thoughts. There was no telling what was happening in that little head of his and Gale was done trying to solve this puzzle. He had another kind of game to think about right now.

----------------------------------------------------------

It wasn't before long that Lae’zel and Jenevelle arrived, closely followed by Wyll. The young man tasked himself to introduce Astarion to the rest of them as Gale was not inclined to do so. Astarion noticed the irritation in the game master’s demeanor; he did not act as his usual graceful host. Not to Astarion anyways, and he knew very well why. He pretended not to mind. Even if he was reluctant to, he could be a social butterfly and mingle among this new group. He had certainly been outgoing enough when he had first met Gale…

The game started promptly. Gale had planned a little coincidental interaction in their current point of the campaign to allow Astarion’s character to join the party relatively smoothly. As he was contextualizing the scenario, Astarion could not help but marvel at him. 

The way he was focused and detail oriented into the story. The immersive world building he was creating from scratch. How his voice resonated and took a grave timber when giving ominous clues. How his hands and fingers danced as he described the surroundings and NPCs the party encountered. How his lips and tongue moved as he pronounced words and names in elven or primordial.

Astarion was lost in this vision, enthralled by the story teller in front of him and hanging at his every word. 

“And there in the clearing you hear a twig snap. You turn around and you see…” Gale narrated before gesturing to Astarion.

Astarion flinched at his cue to enter the game. He hastily took out a fully filled character sheet from his bag, trying to hide his flustered self. 

Gale raised an eyebrow at the document. All the sections were dutifully completed in a neat handwriting. There was even a little portrait hastily drawn in the top left corner of the paper, next to the name. It was a rudimentary doodle, not very detailed (or good for that matter), but it clearly showed pointy ears and vampire teeth. Astarion suddenly felt self-conscious by the dungeon master’s gaze upon his work.

“Well that’s an exhaustive profile if I’ve ever seen one.” Gale mocked with a warm grin.

His comment drew the attention and curiosity of the other party members. Astarion blushed and covered his sheet ever so slightly when the four pairs of eyes lingered on it. 

“Well, I understood we needed it to play.” He mumbled trying to keep a detached voice.

“Oh, you gave him a back story and everything!” Wyll exclaimed, bending over to check the section of the sheet, “That’s very thorough of you, I can’t wait to get to know…” He faltered as he read the name, “Count Victor Vamp?” 

The group stifled a collective laughter at the name of the character. Astarion crossed his arm on his chest and let out a defensive puff of air.

“Yeah, I’m not good at names, so what! Victor is probably cooler than all of your guys!”

He slumped slightly, an embarrassed look on his face. Why did he even care about all this to begin with?

“Don’t worry Astarion!” Jenevelle encouraged, “I’m sure he'll fit right in!”

Astarion rolled his eyes to highlight his annoyance, but secretly he hoped that the young woman was right. He liked Victor much more than he thought he would and could hardly wait to live the adventures that were going to befall him.

----------------------------------------------------------

The game went on for about two hours without a hitch as the players made their way through the hoops of the quest that Gale masterfully orchestrated for them. 

He kept an interested eye on Astarion, watching expectantly as the man was getting carried away in the game. He could see the detached facade crumbling little by little as the excitement of the game did not leave much room for him to be self-aware. It was endearing to witness. His usually poised self was slowly letting spontaneity dictate his moves and his reactions. The jokes he made and his interactions with the others, without feeling the need to feign disinterest. His riveted attention to the scenario and the many forks he could choose from to advance it. 

Gale was elated when, as he explained the story or the dilemmas, he would catch Astarion’s big eyes on him, drinking his words like he was a prophet. How bad he wished he could keep this kind of energy alive at all times.  

As the party made its way in the great outdoors they reached the Cliffside Crawl as Gale planned; a narrow path on the rocky and windy flank of a cliff above a treacherous sea. A tricky place no doubt, but given their current level, nothing the adventurers couldn’t overcome. Astarion’s confidence had built through the last hour and he enthusiastically leaned forward. 

“There is only one way to go, right? Let’s just go!”

“We might want to check the surroundings first, no?” Wyll cautiously suggested, “The path is narrow, and Gale described ridges and caves alongside the walls. As a ranger, maybe I should do a perception check?”

Astarion ignored him and turned to Gale.

“I approach the path.”

Gale raised an eyebrow and glanced at Wyll for confirmation. The latter gave a resigned wave, giving in to the new players enthusiasm. 

“Alright. Roll random encounter.”

Astarion seized Gale’s die. He still had not bought his own, despite his claim a few weeks ago, but as an accommodating DM Gale did not mind lending him his, even if it was his favourite set. He smirked as the man shook the precious purple icosahedron; another reminder of the former experience they had shared after their previous game. Astarion noticed Gale’s gaze, a cocky grin spread on his lips, that had Gale’s neck turn pink.

He dropped the die on the table. 3.

Gale hissed. Manticore.

A menacing and imposing creature with the body of a lion, the wings of a dragon and with a spiky tail capable of impaling its enemy at an impressive range. Might be a tough battle for a group of their level but if they’d play it smart, not impossible… Unfortunately, they did not play it smart. After an inelegant and brutish fight and a couple of pretty bad die rolls, the party was in a tough position; all of them barely having any hit points or spell slots left.

“Bloody die again!” Astarion fussed.

“Come on now, don’t blame it on the die! You are the one who recklessly ran into danger without a second thought” Wyll snarled, annoyed.

Gale hesitated; He was grinding his mental gears, thinking of a way to facilitate their victory without downright cheating. He would rather refrain from pulling a deus ex machina but he also did not want to let his friends down. He had a few ideas but they had to initiate them.

“Guys, come on, you can turn this around” He tried to cheer.

Astarion’s brow bent into a pleading arch as he turned to Gale. He blinked his perfectly performative puppy-eyes at him, his lips pouting, slightly glistening in the light of the overhead lamp above their map.

“Can’t you just help us out here?” He said, giving him a coquettish look, “Come on, for me.” 

Gale flinched, frowning and blushing at the same time. Was Astarion really trying to flirt his way out of a fight during D&D campaign? As a respectable DM, Gale was insulted by the man's attempt to bribe him and spoil his integrity by using his charm. But beyond that he hated that it was kind of working. His impartiality wavering, faced with Astarion’s pursed lips, enticing, intoxicating in a way that made him want to let them win.

The two men kept devouring each other with their eyes, forgetting the rest of the world around them. The rest of the world, however, was not inclined to forget about them. Jenevelle placed her hands on the table with a confused look. 

“Pause the game for five minutes! Is there something going on between you two?”

“Yeah! I’ve been saying!” Karlach added.

“Have you sorted things out?” Wyll asks, enthusiastically at the idea of his friend’s budding romance.

Gale sheepishly looked over his screen in embarrassment. He was about to correct them but was interrupted by Astarion’s loud scoff.

“No no no no! There is nothing there! I’m just using my vampire charm on our dear DM!”

That stung. More than Gale would have liked to admit. 

He glanced over at the man and was met with a defiant smirk. He did not know if he was playing or not. Frankly he was done with his careless attitude, in game or otherwise. He had bruised his ego and his heart enough in so little time. Looking over at the book of random encounters, the game master sought an opportunity for payback. A way to erase that entitled grin from his face somehow. Scanning over the manticore’s page he finally found it. 

“The manticore’s wings have been damaged by Jenevelle’s previous spell; maybe there is something you could do? Given that you are on the edge of a cliff?”

“Oh right!” Astarion cooed, taking the bait “I push him off.”

Gale’s lips stretched into a calculating grin, as he locked eyes with Astarion, his expression dead serious. 

“You push the beast off the cliff, but his tail swirls around your ankle… Roll a dexterity saving throw.”

Apprehension crossed Astarion’s face, his smile fading from his lips and Gale felt in control once more. A sadistic satisfaction at his worried expression, that he didn’t know he could feel or enjoy. The die rolled on the table, the players holding their breath. The resin gem, tethering on one of its edges, was a small push away from its final call, hanging between an 18 and a 2. 

Fuelled by pettiness, Gale obeyed his impulse to intervene. He feigned to shift onto his seat, his knees stealthily hitting the table from underneath, giving the last jolt for the die to fall on its side. 2 it was.

“The manticore takes Count Victor Vamp with him over the edge cliff and they both tumble to their doom. The echoes of their scream reverberates through the mountain before a dreadful silence resumes in the valley”.

The group gasped in response to the fall of their comrade. Count Victor Vamp was gone. Astarion jaws slacked, in shock. He stuttered incredulously before pointing an accusatory finger toward Gale.

“You knocked the table! I felt it!” He protested.

“I did no such thing!” Gale denied.

“Somebody did!”

“Don’t be a sore loser Astarion,” Lae’zel sighed “We will make a new character for you next week.”

Astarion huffed in indignation. He rushed to pack his stuff hastily in his bag. 

“I don’t care about this game, I'm not a child. But I won't play with cheaters! Thanks for nothing!”

He glared daggers at Gale and the dungeon master felt a wave of guilt churning in his stomach. The young man stormed out, leaving the party speechless.

“Thanks for Count Victor Vamp’s service…” Karlach remarked sternly, “Can my bard sing a eulogy for him?”

Gale rubbed his forehead, a futile attempt to ward off the headache that was already throbbing behind his eyes.

“Roll for performance…”

----------------------------------------------------------

After Count Victor Vamp’s demise and Astarion’s premature departure the group decided to end the session for the night. An awkward silence settled as they were gathering their respective files and antics, only broken by Gale’s sudden realization. His die 20 was missing. 

“Nobody moves.” He blurted anxiously.

The others lifted their heads with an intrigued expression on their faces. 

“Empty your dice pouches!”

Irritated groans accompanied the player’s compliance, but it became clear quickly that none of them had inadvertently bagged Gale’s precious die. As his friends departed one after the other, Gale was consumed by his search for his missing die. He checked his dice box six times. Lifted every piece of furniture he owed. He had even rummaged through the trash on the off (and unlikely) chance it had been mistaken for a pistachio shell.

“It’s karma, Gale! You should have been nicer to Astarion!” Snickered Karlach as she was leaving last.

The lightbulb lit up. Of course Astarion. Who else would have reason and be petty enough to steal from him. The rogue. How ironic.

He reached for his phone and composed a text.

“I know you have my die!”

His phone buzzed in response almost immediately.

“And I’m keeping it you ass!”

“Can you please be mature about this…”

“Lol! Kettle!”

Gale tutted disapprovingly but before he could text back, Astarion seemed to have a change of heart.

“I’m on my way. You better apologize when I get there.”

For some reason that statement sent a jolt of heat through Gale’s core. He tried to brush it off. Astarion was coming back. He was going to give his die back, he would apologize to him and hopefully they could deal with this like adults.

Adults who play games.

Read the last part in chapter 4!

[mistystepmoonbeam]

Reborn into BG3: Part 17

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 17: Gee, I sure hope nobody raises the Spectator from the dead, that wouldn't be great...unless...?

Word count: ~950

A/N: Another shorter chapter because I think the next one is gonna be much longer 😳

Your first thought is you hadn’t heard anything approach you. No woosh or vibration in the air when the Spectator moved, just as it didn’t make any noise now.

Neither you nor Wyll moved, but he tensed up beside you. Each of you waited for the Spectator to move, but it just floats there, eyes on you and maw agape.

“Please tell me that’s your work,” Wyll whispers.

You want to respond, shrug, murmur, anything but your body doesn’t obey. You’re tapped in its gaze, mind blank except for that little tingle in your head. Except it’s not in the back of your head now, it’s in your left temple, like a little bit of static is settled on your skin.

“Why isn’t it moving?” you whisper to Wyll.

“I think,” Wyll says slowly, “you’re controlling it.”

“I beg to differ.” You try to cut the cord, the connection you just barely feel to it but nothing happens. The creature still stares at you and you at it. Two large thumps are heard behind you and you catch the Spectator’s eyes flick to the two tieflings you know landed behind you. It soon looks back to you.

Wyll sticks his arm in front of you and slowly starts to push you back, ensuring he’s between you and the aberration.

“Minutus!” a voice calls.

The Spectator flinches and a purple light surrounds it. Wyll gives you another small push back but rather than attaching the creature shrinks. It gets smaller and smaller until it’s the size of a large rat, blinking up at you and flexing its jaws.

You and Wyll peer down at it, quickly joined by Tav and Karlach.

“It’s so cute,” Tav says. His eyes sparkle down at the thing he killed just last night.

You hate to admit it, but he’s right. Now that it isn’t the size of a small school bus it’s not quite as scary, and the fact that its eyes take up most of its head makes it look like a Disney animal companion.

“That should take care of that.” You all turn to find Gale approaching, Shadowheart at his side. He looks at you. “Perhaps we should start those lessons sooner rather than later.”

You nod. You can feel the Spectator watching you but now that it’s smaller it seems to look around more. Its eyes roll towards the tieflings, then to Gale as if knowing he was the one that cast the spell.

“I can’t cut the thread,” you say.

“Thread?” Tav asks.

“When I…raise something,” you explain, “it feels like a thread between them and me. But with this—“ you gesture to the Spectator, “—I can’t cut it like I did with the redcaps.”

“Perhaps it’s a familiar now,” Wyll suggests. He crouches down to poke at the Spectator and when it gives a small snap at him he pulls back and stands. “When I could summon creatures from the Hells I could feel where they were, I suppose you might consider it like a thread.”

You nod again, unable to do anything else.

“Congratulations,” Shadowheart says, “you now have a familiar the size of a large potato.”

She laughs at her own joke and you scratch your nose to hide a smile. It really is the size of a large potato. The Spectator floats towards your ankles and circles you, then rubs against your boot as a cat would.

“Aww,” Karlach says, “it’s kinda cute, the little ‘tator-tot.”

“Tator,” you mumble. The Spectator looks up at you.

“I think it likes the name,” Wyll tells you. It might be a joke, but you crouch down all the same.

“Can it talk?” you ask. Shovel could talk, as could all animals given the right spell or potion.

“Perhaps, given the proper training for you both,” Gale says.

You’re not sure if you want to hear what a Spectator has to say, but there is something endearing about the way it gazes up at you. You ask, “Can you understand me?”

The creature wavers over the ground, maybe saying it does.

“Do you want to be my familiar?”

The Spectator appears to startle at the question before hurrying to circle your ankles three times. You watch it go, as do the others until it settles in front of you and opens its jaws wide, releasing a yawning screech.

“Master!” it says. Not with its mouth, but you hear the words all the same in your head.

“I don’t think you need its permission,” Wyll tells you, “but it seems to be agreeable.”

“Let’s just hope the spell doesn’t wear off in the middle of the night,” Shadowheart adds.

Gale makes a huff of indignation. “It most certainly will not!”

“Even if it did, it’s a familiar now,” Tav says. He crouches before the Spectator, ready to poke it when it moves swiftly behind your legs. You turn and reach down, carefully taking it into your arms and holding it not unlike a baby. The eyes in its tentacles close and smooth back as it relaxes into your arms. It can’t weigh more than ten pounds as it settles, all eyes closing now.

“I think it may be best to stay at camp,” Gale says. “We can go over some of the basics of controlling the weave, among other things.”

“Yeah,” you relent. At least if Gale was teaching you magic Astarion wouldn’t be hanging around. The pale elf is probably more than willing to get out of camp and stab something, and you’d prefer to avoid the myconids, at least until you have your necromancy under control.

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 @troutberryspoon @betwixttheweave @the-pale-elfs-love @kindadolly @bitchyzombienacho @game-savvy @hardbarbarianfox @secr3tlover @stranger-owl @alice4wonderland2812 @donat-senpai @rainbowangel @3dragonstar @starry-crossed @grace-writes-shit

[ghost-proofbaby]

“By all means, sharpen your axe, dear,” his voice has dropped to a hush, and she feels a shiver run up her spine once she realizes just how close he is now. She hadn’t even noticed his hand creeping up between them until his fingertips were just barely brushing her throat. A hovering grasp, a mere breath away from wrapping around her, “And I’ll ready my hands.”

summary: aruna and astarion begin to have a few interesting conversations, but she can't seem to shake that part of her that craves to keep him close. the part of her desperate to convince her that she knows him.

wc: 5.1k+

warnings: continued memory loss, spoilers for the game (specifically for a conversation that you can have with astarion that isn't triggered by a cut scene or exclamation point lol), talk of hypothetical murder as flirting

a/n: possibly one of my favorite rewrites of a canon scene thus far. will always be mad we couldn't say 'strangulation' as how we want to go. but i digress. also to anyone who is unfamiliar with the game this might seem fast paced, but to anyone who has played the game, this is probably dragging. my bad. anyways, please enjoy <;3 and peep my nod of homage to the way i keep making bard tavs only to abandon them

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

The tiefling, Zevlor, had proven to be an interesting conversation. 

He wants something in return for a favor. Of course he does. Aruna doesn’t even glance Astarion’s way, because she’s not in the mood to be told I told you so once it’s all said and done. She’d heard every huff and sigh from him as she’d talked to Zevlor, and she already knew he was less than impressed with how the conversation had gone. 

The grove is closing itself off. The refugees are at risk of being sent to their certain death. Zevlor wants them to speak to the druids. There’s a healer named Nettie who may be able to help them. 

There’s a healer named Nettie who may be able to help them.  

Aruna is an optimist, and chooses to focus on that bit rather than the performance she had put on back there. There’s hope yet – they just have to take the scenic route to get to their final destination. 

The group explores the grove a little bit, perusing several small booths that have been set up amongst the large caves. They all keep their distance, not yet deciding to approach any vendors, but Aruna still keeps a list in case they need resources: there’s a corner with a frail elderly lady who’s surrounded by tables littered with what Gale can identify as healing potions, beside her is a tiefling stirring some giant cauldron of what must be food as it smells delectable, and across from her is some sort of blacksmith who has a small shop set up with a depleted source of weapons and armor. All people who might be useful to speak to at some point.

But that’s for another day. The elderly lady piques Aruna’s interest for a moment, but Zevlor had said that Nettie could be found in the druid’s grove, and this was decidedly not the actual grove. 

Aruna watches Astarion like a hawk through all of it. And he knows that she’s watching him closely, because at some point he even teases her about it. 

“Say, shall I just creep over there and snatch one of those healing potions for myself, dear leader? I doubt the woman would notice it missing. I do have quite skilled hands.”

She’d nearly smacked him for the suggestion of theft, and he’d only cackled when she’d started to look around for any signs of guards that might have overheard his words. 

Just before they leave back to their camp for the day, for Aruna to mark this place on their map and begin to formulate some sort of plan for finding this Nettie come tomorrow, they find Wyll. Wyll, the human who had joined in the fight at the gate, tearing down goblins easily with eldritch blasts and the flourish of his rapier. 

He’s kind enough. Astarion is rolling his eyes when through that tadpole connection (which is once again, not as painful as it had been with the pale elf), a new quest is presented to them. Hunting a Devil with Wyll. Securing his companionship, increasing their numbers. It’s a small cost, Aruna decides, and she invites him back to camp without hesitation, fully agreeing they’d help him track down this Devil soon after speaking to this Nettie. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a bleeding heart?” 

Despite an additional body now joining them on their trek back to camp, Astarion still clings to Aruna’s side as she leads the group. 

“It’s not a bleeding heart,” she quips back, giving a quick glance to the map in her hands. Less for finding her way to camp, and more for engraving what she needs to draw out once they get back. “He has a tadpole. He needs us as much as we need him – the Devil will just be something to keep in mind.” 

“It’s a side quest, and side quests will sidetrack us,” Astarion points out as Aruna finally veers between trees, beginning to stumble into heavier bramble that they have to navigate in order to arrive at their clearing, “It’s going to take years for us rid ourselves of our little problems at this rate.”

Aruna rolls her eyes before stepping widely over a fallen log, “You’re being dramatic.” 

“Never denied having a love for the theater, darling,” Gods, his tongue is fast. Always equipped with a new comeback, always readied with a new nickname to make heat flash through her body. “My point is, we don’t have years. Time isn’t exactly on our side, if I’ve been listening to that wizard correctly.”

“Gale,” she corrects him absentmindedly, stopping for a second to gather their surroundings as well as allow the other three to catch up a little bit, “His name is Gale, and… and he’s right, I think. We should be weary of ceremorphosis.” 

Astarion waves off the reminder of Gale’s name as if he has no use of it. Which, at the rate in which he only seems keen on speaking to her, he might not. “We haven’t sprouted any tentacles yet. And our flesh has yet to melt off our faces, so to speak. However, I am curious as to what your plan is if any of that does start happening to one of us.” 

She starts to head west. Or at least, the direction she thinks is west.

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean that at the first sign of change, I’d have to stop that pretty little bleeding heart of yours.”

Aruna nearly trips over her own feet. 

Is he seriously threatening me right now? 

When she turns to look at him, though, he doesn’t look one bit as frightening as she had expected. His hands are far from his daggers, and she swears there’s a smile playing on the corners of his lips. 

“I am open to suggestions,” he presses on, meeting her gaze and leaning forward, the face of playfulness, “Knives, poison, strangulation – whatever you’d prefer.” 

He’s not going to kill her. There’s absolutely no way that there’s any weight to his words. If someone were going to choose to kill someone, they would not be indulging in this type of conversation with them, would they? 

She stares at him for a few moments, completely still and silent as she blinks slowly before finally saying, “You are odd.” 

It makes him laugh. A scoff that echoes through the trees around them as she starts to quicken her pace. Camp is near, the rest of their group isn’t far behind – he’s not going to kill her. She’s not worried about that, but she is worried for his sanity by thinking that this was small talk. 

“Humor me,” he calls after her. Even as her strides turn longer, he doesn’t struggle to keep up, “I deserve it after being on my best behavior at the grove.” 

She’d argue that he hadn’t been on his best behavior, but the more she gets to know him, the more she’s thinking that the way he had restrained himself today was him attempting to follow her rules. 

“I’m not sure,” she sighs, “How would you like to go?” 

Even in her peripherals, she can see him light up as he realizes she is actually humoring him. 

“I don’t think that poison is for me. Nor stabbing, come to think of it. I always felt decapitation was a fine choice. One good swing and then – nothing,” Gods, he’s thought about this quite sincerely, hasn’t he?  “But we were talking about you. What’ll it be?” 

Through the breaks in the trees ahead, she can see the camp. She could choose to ignore him, dart ahead and leave him behind without an answer. But for some reason, she found herself almost enjoying the conversation. There was something in his cadence, in the hand gestures she was only catching the tail end of. If she were going to question his sanity, she might as well also question her own, because she was actually entertaining what he was suggesting. 

“You said strangulation was an option?” she stops and turns to him, catching sight of just far ahead they’d gotten from the others. Probably for the best, given their current exchange. 

His grin widens. His eyes sparkle in the warmth of the setting sun. He’s beautiful enough to take her breath away if she’d let him. Literally, given what she’d just said to him. 

“Strangulation?” he parrots back. She’s taken him off guard, returning the favor of setting him off his kilter, “Can’t say that was the option I’d imagine you’d choose. It’s the least messy, of course, but you did strike me as someone who might prefer a classic knife.” 

“Or a goblin bow,” she says before she can even think of it. It rolls off the tongue easily, and the moment the words hang between them, they’re both smiling. She’s almost laughing, even.

Just hours before, she had almost met her very real and very timely death by the exact object of her joking. It hadn’t been a joke then – it had been a real fear, staring her right in the eyes as she had helplessly reached for daggers that she severely needed to grow more skilled with. 

And he had helped her. Saved her life, even. The exact opposite of the hypothetical they were posing to one another now. 

“Or… that,” he’s so close to being at a loss for words, she’s nearly proud of herself, “But this is all hypothetical, of course. I’m sure tomorrow we’ll find this Nettie and there will be no need for any gore.”

“Or we won’t,” she can hear the footsteps of the others now, not far off, but she’s in too deep to not finish Astarion at his own game, “And I’ll just have to sharpen my axe.” 

He takes a step closer to her, lips still curled. She’s glad she’s humored him – glad she can make him smile, make him laugh, even with such morbid conversations. They deserve a little bit of that joy, even if it comes by odd means. 

“By all means, sharpen your axe, dear,” his voice has dropped to a hush, and she feels a shiver run up her spine once she realizes just how close he is now. She hadn’t even noticed his hand creeping up between them until his fingertips were just barely brushing her throat. A hovering grasp, a mere breath away from wrapping around her, “And I’ll ready my hands.” 

Something inside of her sparks. Yearns, weeps, lashes out as his hand drops just before the other three join them. It wasn’t just his velvet voice or the brush of his breath against her cheek, it wasn’t just the alarming temperature of his hand and the way her body reacted to the mere thought of him putting it on her – it was a strange need for closeness. As if he had belonged there, pressed right against her, staring right into her eyes until she’d grown nervous that he could see straight to all the memories she couldn’t unlock quite yet. 

“Interrupting something?” Gale asks, oblivious, once the rest of the group has caught up to the pair. Astarion had moved away at just the right moment; just close enough for them to see they’d been talking about something, but not to catch that innocent movement of his hand that had sent Aruna into a tailspin. 

It had felt right. 

For a moment, his skin had been on hers, and everything fell into place. As if she didn’t have a brain riddled with holes. As if she hadn’t had to learn her name from some letter. As if she’d known Astarion for two hundred years, not a petty two days. The buzz of the frustration she has battled with since waking on that beach had simply quieted by her space being invaded by him.

She wants him close again. She wants to feel it again. 

Instead, she only lies to Gale, shakes her head and pretends like there had never been anything to interrupt. Acts as if her whole mind and soul are there with the rest of them, not lingering on that blip of a moment, stuck in a capsule of time in which Astarion had somehow made her feel whole again. She hadn’t even remembered a damn thing from her past – not a single vision, not a single thought of something as trivial as to what her favorite color might have been before the tadpole – but none of that mattered with the distraction of his presence. 

They carry on into camp. She knows she has an endless list of simple tasks to complete before she can fully rest for the night: she needs to speak with Lae’zel, she needs to help Gale ration out their supplies for dinner for the next few nights, she needs to update the map, she needs to curate a plan for the next day. 

She does none of the above. 

Some pathetic excuse is mumbled out between her lips in a voice she can’t even recognize as her own, claiming she’ll go gather some mushrooms or pick some berries for Gale to utilize for tonight’s feast. And no one stops her as she departs from camp, not even the pale elf who hovers by the fire Wyll begins to build, eyes locked on her in curiosity she doesn’t witness. 

He was right. Her heart is bleeding, a gaping wound in the center of it that gushes with every beating of her pulse. But for which it bleeds, she isn’t so sure.

Not quite the tieflings they met today and offered to help. Not quite the companions she’s offered to embark on personal journeys with. 

No, Aruna’s heart is bleeding, and she’s starting to suspect that it all begins and ends with the garnet eyes she feels on her long after she’s departed back into the trees.

—

“And I thought I was going to be the broody one of the camp.” 

Astarion’s voice should startle her, especially considering it comes from behind her in the woods rather than him approaching her from the rocks leading up to her perch, but it doesn’t. No surprise, no annoyance, no irritation – all she really feels is a deepening of a gaping hole inside of her that hasn’t subsided since her tadpole first connected with his. 

Upon her arrival back to camp, she’d handed over a pitiful handful of berries and a small bouquet of mushrooms to Gale, and had immediately retreated. She wasn’t in a talkative mood; she’d glanced around for somewhere to hideaway, and had landed on the small lookout atop a stone cliff not far from where Lae’zel had set up a tent. 

Most of her companions had set up tents. Where they’d gotten them from, she has no idea. But each one has found a corner to call their own in the camp, creating almost homey environments, except her. 

Her, and Astarion. 

She tilts her head ever so slightly as she shakes it, a small tsk falling from her lips, “Nope. I’m afraid that title has already been taken, my friend.” 

His footsteps are light as he approaches her side, hesitating before he awkwardly lowers himself onto the ground beside her. She’d offer up space on her rock, but her body was heavier than even the stone below her, and she couldn’t find it in herself to make any movement. 

They’re just out of sight from the rest of the camp. A thinner grouping of trees offers minimal coverage, a large boulder her current seat. She could easily walk out onto the stone ledge and expose herself, but she was already feeling a little too seen for the night. 

Has anyone ever told you that you have a bleeding heart?

She wonders if someone had, before all this mess, from a time she can’t recall. 

“Friend,”  he echoes her. His tone isn’t condescending, but rather curious, “I’m not sure I’ve ever-”

And then he cuts himself off, as though he’s caught himself in the act of opening up. He looks as if he hadn’t been in control for a few moments.

That draws in her curiosity well enough. She thought she had been burnt out for the day, beyond the capability to hold conversation, but he’s drawing her into it easily. Like a moth to his flame, like a moon stuck in his orbit. 

“Well? Don’t hold out on me now. I’m absolutely on the edge of my seat,” she only sinks into a more comfortable position to add humor to her words, “Let me guess. You never would have called someone such as myself a friend before all this. I understand if that’s the case-”

“I’ve never called someone a friend, period,” he interrupts. He says it all in one breath, and when she looks down at his face, nearly hidden by the shadows, it looks absolutely petrified. As if he can’t believe he’s just said that outloud. As if his mouth had moved without permission in order to spill the words out for her. 

The soft ‘oh’ that leaves her is completely involuntary. She isn’t sure how to respond to that – that level of vulnerability, the kind that is making him shrink under her gaze and curl his lips in disgust at himself. It’s not the kind of thing you’d reveal to a stranger. 

But Astarion feels like anything but a stranger, fight it as she might try. 

“If it would make you more comfortable,” she starts, and his head whips up to look at her in alarm, “I could always refer to you as an enemy instead.” 

When he laughs, it’s a symphony. She wishes she were lying, but the music of his joy fills her with an indescribable light, as though she might have just swallowed the sun whole. It warms every joint, every crevice, every shadow she has within her. For just a moment, all the monsters within her are quiet once again, content to sit and simply listen to him with a smile. 

It makes her want to run. It makes her breath catch, and a certain resentment begins to build against the way he can have this effect on her so effortlessly. It’s the same gut reaction as she’d had on the beach when Gale had also laughed for her, but more. 

It’s better than hearing Gale laugh. So, so much better.

Would it be better to not fight this wonderful blanket of deja vu? If she just loosened her fists, unclenched her jaw, she could let it anchor her easily in an almost comforting manner. Even after the echoes of his amusement had long faded, it whispers to her in the dark. 

She’s terrified of the way it feels; it feels as though she’s spent countless nights listening to that laugh. By a campfire, in dark tents, in shared beds. She’s heard it withheld with constraint, free without care, hushed for the sake of others – for a moment, she swears, she knows Astarion’s laugh like the back of her hand. And that, that indescribable feeling, is what stokes all her fear. 

“You know, perhaps you’re a bard,” he jokes once he’s calmed down, waving a hand through the air without purpose. 

“Ah,” her smile she hadn’t even noticed finally falters, remembering what had happened outside of the Grove. She needed to speak with Gale, as well. She’d just add it to the list. After another moment, she swears to herself that she’ll see to doing all that she must before retiring for the night, “So I see you’ve heard of my little identity crisis.” 

He tilts his head back to look at her fully, and she’s moments away from genuinely offering to share her boulder as a seat.

As if to stop herself, she makes another bad joke. Maybe he’ll laugh, and she’ll have no room to say something stupid, like offering him a seat next to her. Letting him close to her again. “Gale is a terrible keeper of secrets – noted.” 

There’s still ghosts of giggles on his lips as he sighs, pressing two hands into the dirt behind him and leaning his body into a reclined position. 

“Not entirely. Less that he’s terrible at keeping secrets, and more that I’m particularly skilled at learning them. Ask anyone the right questions, and their pretty tongues will always sing.” 

He rolls his ‘r’ when he says pretty, and that gaping hole nearly enlarges itself enough to swallow her up.  

This surely isn’t how their nights are supposed to go. They’re strangers. Surely, surely, they should be more guarded. Less jokes, more awkward silences. Less revealing of who they really are, and more false pretenses to cover up the truth.

The quiet is nice. It’s exactly what she had been seeking out when she’d sulked away from the others for a moment to herself, and Astarion neither adds nor takes away from the tranquility. He’s just there. If she tilts her head just right, leans back to an even more horizontal angle, he’d leave her line of sight entirely. 

She doesn’t. She keeps him there, safe in her peripherals, no longer trying to unknot all her emotions that draw her to him. She knows the letter still waits for her in her pack, and there are conversations to be had, responsibilities for her to shoulder. But for a brief moment, it’s just them – it’s just Aruna, and it’s just Astarion. Two unfortunate souls stuck with tadpoles in their brain, and now each other. No more, no less.

The moment passes eventually. 

“Do you truly believe I’m a bard?”

She isn’t sure why she asks that. But she’s handed over her trust to him freely thus far, a few more inches can’t hurt. 

“Hm?” he hums, rolling his head on his shoulders, a tension under the surface she only sees glimpses of in the moonlight, “Oh, who’s to say? I’m not all that well-versed in magic, being a-”

“Wait, don’t tell me,” she stops him quickly, scooting to the edge of her boulder, ankles now swinging dangerously close to him.

He peers up at her curiously, brow furrowed, “Don’t tell you… what? That I’m a-”

“Let me guess,” she nearly begs. 

The last three days have felt anything but normal. Tadpoles, mysterious letters, lost memories. Guessing someone’s class just felt normal. She needed normal, if only for a moment. 

“By all means,” he lifts a hand, flourishing it in invitation, “Be my guest.”

She presses her elbows into the tops of her thighs, studying him intensely as her fists squish her cheeks. And he lets her – he even tilts his head back to the sky, clearly putting on a show as her eyes scan him intensely. He’s used to it. He’s used to being the center of attention, of being something pretty to gawk at. He slips into the role far too easily to not be accustomed to such. 

The longer she looks at him, the more she notices. 

The surface level is what she drinks in first. Soft, white curls that nearly glow under streams from the moon. Lashes so long that they brush the porcelain skin of his under eyes. Perfectly pointed ears. And a perfectly sloped nose, albeit a little crooked if she were to scrutinize it too long from the side. Somewhere along the ridge, it’s almost as though he’s experienced a break that never quite healed right. Laugh lines that dig in deeply to his cheeks, but that almost fade from existence when his face goes as slack as it is currently. He’s not a young boy, not by any means, but there’s a certain youth to him in this state that could break her heart if she tried to contort it into a perfect metaphor. He’s a devastatingly beautiful stranger. His confidence is well earned.

But his confidence is only the surface of it all. Once she scratches past the way he doesn’t seem to falter under her careful observation, the layers practically reveal themselves. He appears relaxed, she’s been under the assumption that he’s been relaxed this entire conversation, but as she lets her eyes fall to his shoulders, she sees a tenseness that she hadn’t noticed before. One that can’t be brushed off by his current position or the weight his palms are balancing. His neck rolls with it, and she gets the smallest glimpse of his neck beneath the high-neck of his collared shirt – a scar. It flashes for only a second, giving her no time to know exactly the shape nor circumstance, but it’s there. An imperfection. A spanse of skin on him that holds a story she certainly won’t get out of him tonight, not when his shoulders still nearly tremble with that tenseness. 

He’s not a damsel in distress. She doesn’t know why the letter insists that she save him. 

“Well,” his voice finally startles her, breaking her from her trance, “Are you going to gawk all night at my ethereal beauty, or are you going to guess my class, young bard?” 

She’s decidedly not a bard. She knows it the moment he properly refers to her as such. Really, she has no idea what a bard is, but she almost wishes she was if only to let him be right. 

“I only know the few classes that Gale has mentioned in passing,” she admits into the night quietly, her voice a whisper. 

His eyes flutter open at that. Gorgeous, piercing red.

“And which ones are those?” 

She knows now that he’s wearing a mask. Maybe not a heavy one, maybe not a thick one, but he’s wearing one all the same. If she were more clever, she’d put on one herself. Simply for protection. A shield for whatever game the two of them were playing at. 

And yet, she can’t seem to find the mind to dig through her arsenal and mirror him in defenses. 

Instead, she prattles off the list Gale had rambled on about to her. Sorcerers, wizards, warlocks, druids, clerics. He’d mentioned paladins in passing, but never elaborated. Really, he hadn’t properly elaborated on any of them. He’d simply reassured her again that he had books for her to read back at camp. 

None of those books were in her hands, at the time being. All she had right now was Astarion. And surprisingly, he appeared to be feeling particularly helpful. 

“I see,” he nods, looking out over the camp. Gale begins cooking for all of them, Wyll rests by the fire, and the other two women of the camp are nowhere to be seen. In their tents, presumably, “Well, I can tell you that I am none of those. I don’t wield quite as much magic as those who are.”

“Quite as much?” she mimics back, a smile creeping up on her lips, “Are you insinuating that you do hold some?”

He chuckles in response, “Of course I do. You aren’t this beautiful and intriguing without having a little bit of magic, dear.” 

Something flashes in his eyes when he takes on that tone with her. A faint taunting, a gentle flirtation. But when she looks in his eyes, they’ve lost some of their glimmer. His words are playful enough, but the feeling doesn’t extend beyond his voice. 

She wants to poke and prod, pry till her fingers bleed and he’s cursing her name. Because she knows he would. If his little slip ups just in this conversation and his reactions to them are any indicator, Astarion hates nothing more than to offer up any vulnerability. And yet, for her, he already had. 

He’s admitted that he’s never had a friend before. It’s a small detail, petty in nature, but it is a stepping stone nonetheless. 

Tonight’s not the night. There will be other nights to spill the blood of honesty. 

“Oh, of course. My mistake,” she plays along, feeds into his act. The insatiable animal inside of her prefers his company, after all. His simple presence is a soothing balm she can’t quite place, and she’ll do anything to drag out their time, “I’ll keep that in mind during my studies with Gale.”

Speaking of the wizard, she catches the tail end of a cautionary glance from him, his head whipping away from the direction of herself and Astarion. Whatever he’s managed to scrounge for dinner is done, plated to the best of his abilities as Shadowheart crosses camp to join him.

They’ll have to join them soon enough. 

As soon as she realizes this, she has another realization, looking down to find Astarion watching a nearby tree with vexed interest, “We’re going to act like this conversation never happened come morning, aren’t we?” 

We’re going to pretend like you never opened up for a fraction of a second. Like I didn’t let my guard down as well. Like we didn’t sit in the forest like two well-acquainted souls, protected by the moonlight as we shared laughter and a kinship forgotten. 

We’re going to pretend like the thing ripping apart my chest doesn’t know you, somehow, someway. 

“I suppose so.” 

She hops down from the boulder, keeping her balance easily as she turns to offer him a hand. But he’s already standing back up, completely ignoring her offer as he brushes away the dirt on his legs and palms. 

She swallows hard, nods slowly. “That’s fair, I suppose.” 

It was nice while it lasted. 

Even after the dust has long since been discarded off his body, he makes no move to walk down the slope of the miniature cliff and rejoin the other companions. He’s waiting – waiting for her to take the lead. Just as the others had during their travels thus far. 

She’s selfish. So, so ardently selfish. But before they leave this space, before they abandon the serene moment they’d been granted, she has to learn one last thing about him. If nothing else, she’d like to say she knows the very basics of who he is. 

His name, the fact that he’s never been privy to friendship before, that he is a very guarded individual with a superior skill at hiding that mask, and whatever his class is. 

And that she has to ‘save him’. Apparently. Allegedly. 

“What is your class?” she asks, voice steady and head held high as she only looks at him. She doesn’t care if Gale spares them any more side glances. 

His head tilts curiously towards her, “What? Giving up so quickly?” 

“Well, if we’re to pretend this conversation never happened, then-”

“I’ll tell you what… bard,” he starts, but when she shakes her head, he’s quick to correct himself, “Or… not bard? Regardless. Once you’ve figured out your own class, see if you can then figure out my class, hm? Read those dreadful books our camp cook has assigned to you, and then get back to me.” 

She knows what that is.

It’s more than playful banter. More than him hiding away secrets.

They won’t be pretending that this night never happened – not even close.

taglist:

@emmaisgonnacry @writinginthetwilight @moonmunson

[m3rricat]

wip wednesday (eve)

me: so I know all the plot bits I need to hit in this chapter before *redacted*, but I need the boys to have a moment--

wyll and astarion: yeah so we've decided we're going to be doing laundry and have A Moment that you won't have thought about until you literally start writing it.

me: effervescent

It was Astarion who took the lead, showing Wyll how to use a washboard as they hunched over a tub in the little brown courtyard, surrounded by fellow tenants doing the same. “I forgot you were this old,” Wyll said as he wrung out one of his shirts. Astarion snorted. “Thank you ever so much for that observation.” “You’re offended!” “And you don’t seem to care much,” Astarion retorted, though he failed to completely wrestle the grin off his face. “Because I know you can take it,” said Wyll, smiling back in his infuriatingly bright way. “Sounds like something a child would say.” “Child? I’m thirty-four!” “Adolescent, then,” said Astarion, elbowing Wyll playfully aside to make room at the edge of the tub. Wyll fell silent as something occurred to him. The sounds of laundry day labor filled the air. Astarion looked at him sidelong. “What’s wrong?” “Oh, just…" Wyll paused. Hearing it out loud made it sound even stranger. "I’m wondering how long I’ll live now, if I stay stuck in this body. It must change things." “Oh. That’s a good question,” said Astarion after a moment. Their hands stilled in the murky water. “I’d guess if anything, it would probably make my life longer? Huh.” Wyll frowned. “That’s weird to think about.” Astarion glanced back down at the pair of soaked trousers in his grip. “It is a weird thing to consider when that sort of thing changes. You have a… firm concept of your timeline. But then it’s ripped away. I might have expected to live several hundred years. But eternity is still far different from that.” A muscle worked in his jaw. “Especially the kind of eternity that I had to look forward to, for a long time.” Wyll looked at Astarion, into those red eyes that still held a trace of their old fear. “Not anymore. Your life is yours again.” Astarion’s expression wavered. Then he barked a laugh. “Well, until a devil skewers us, or some of you-know-who’s thugs do first.” Wyll smiled grimly. He couldn’t deny it: their lives were still very much on the line until some unknown point in the hazy future. “Though, you know,” Astarion said suddenly, voice quiet. “I know you’re not… overly fond of that body. But, if it will give you more years, then I like it all the more.” He glanced up at Wyll through work-loosened curls, a nervous twitch of a smile on his lips. “Apologies. You know how selfish I am.” Wyll gazed back, Hellish eyes soft. “Wyll?” His name sounded almost alien on Astarion’s tongue. In Astarion’s language he was ‘darling’—like so many others, but not. Because he was also ‘dear.’ ‘Dearest.’ It meant something. But not as much as ‘Wyll,’ whispered with the slightest crack.

[verai-marcel]

Your Hearth Is My Home (BG3 Fanfic, Astarion x Female Reader, Part 25 of 28)

Summary, Notes, Tags, & Part 1 are here.

Act I - Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12

Act II - Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | 

Act III - Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27 (18+) | Part 28 (END)

AO3 Link is here, my sweet.

Word Count: 4,798

------------------------------

Act III, Chapter 4 - The Twist

Astarion watched his witch sleep comfortably in his arms, her deep breaths coming slow and steady. Compared to how agitated she had been before, he was glad to see her so calm. Extricating himself carefully, he left their bed to go hunt. But he had only taken a few steps when he heard her whimper. Turning back to her, he saw her curl up into a fetal position and start trembling, a slight keen coming from her throat as she began to hyperventilate.

Immediately he returned, touching her forehead. She began to calm, but her brow was still sweating from whatever was afflicting her.

“Fuck,” he muttered. Crawling back under the sheets, he pulled her into his arms again. Her shaking died down to a slight tremor and her breathing calmed. He could feel her muscles relax and her body naturally curled around him, seeking comfort.

I would kill Orin all over again for what she did to you.

He gently tucked hair behind her ear before he leaned down and kissed her forehead.

I’ll be here, my sweet.

***

The next few days were a blur for you as the others came in and out, seeking allies in the fight ahead. You overheard something about a prison break, fighting an undead dragon, and another prison break, but underwater. You saw Wyll’s father weakly entering the Elfsong, and staying with everyone while he healed.

You heard that Gale had gone to talk with Mystra, and after a long talk with Shadowheart, he had decided to give the crown to the goddess in exchange for getting the orb out of his chest. 

So many plans were coming to fruition, alliances sought and won all across the city, and the pile of loot was ever growing. At least it kept you busy. You were physically healthy, but… 

Sometimes your mind would scream, and you fought down the madness with all your might, despite your urge to scream along with it. 

To your surprise, Astarion stayed with you the entire time, touching you whenever he could. The madness that Orin had inflicted upon you still lingered in the back of your mind, but you managed to force it down, even though you sometimes had to stop and fight the echoes in your head. It was at those moments that Astarion would pull you into his arms, touching your skin, his cheek pressed against yours, telling you to take deep breaths, and that he was here with you.

You recognized the looks some of the others gave Astarion, as if he was being too protective and overbearing, but you knew that it was because they didn’t know the extent of the damage you had taken, and he had not shared with them your empathic abilities.

“Should I tell them?” you asked one night when the two of you were alone.

“It’s up to you,” he replied. “I wouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “It’ll invite more questions. And it’s not like you’ve used it to do any harm. No need to mention it.”

For the time being, you decided not to tell them.

On the fourth night, when the others came up to Astarion, asking if he’d fed recently, even volunteering to watch over you while he went out to hunt, he refused. You realized that it had been days since he had fed. He refused to feed from you while you were healing, and he hadn’t left your side. Your attacks during the day had gotten less intense, so you figured you could handle Astarion being gone for a few hours.

“It’s alright, go hunt,” you told him.

“Excuse us a moment,” he said hastily to the others before pulling you outside, up to the roof.

“What are you doing?” he demanded once he confirmed that no one else was around.

“You haven’t eaten in days.”

“I can handle it,” he said. “You, on the other hand, can’t handle being without me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, growing irate.

“Something might happen while I’m gone,” he replied.

You realized that you had been kidnapped twice in just as many weeks while Astarion had been away. “Let one of the others watch over me while you’re out hunting,” you replied. “Surely I won’t be kidnapped again with everyone on guard.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, stepping closer to you. “I meant your… attacks. Whatever Orin did to you, it’s lingering.”

You shrugged. “It’s getting better. I can handle it.”

When he looked at you quietly for a little bit too long, you had a hunch. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

He held out a hand to you. You took it and felt his anxiety, thrumming like the vibrations of a lute’s strings. “If I don’t hold you at night, you start to shake and”—he stopped himself, shrugging helplessly with a sad look on his face—“I can’t leave your side, knowing that you’re fighting something like that inside of your head.”

You blinked. “Is that why you haven’t left?”

He nodded.

You let out a sigh. “So it’s worse at night, when I’m sleeping and unable to mentally protect myself,” you muttered. Looking up at him, you tapped his chest lightly with the back of your hand. “So go hunt during the day. You’re not going to be able to take care of me if you’re weakened.”

He tipped his head as he stared at you, contemplating your reasoning. “You have a good point,” he finally conceded. “But if you feel so much as a slight shortness of breath, you had better tell me.”

“I never pictured you as a worrywort. You’re starting to sound like Gale,” you teased.

Astarion’s face wrinkled with disgust. “Ugh. Alright. You’ve convinced me. I’ll go hunt in the morning.”

Returning to the others, you sat down in the main area and accepted the dinner plate that Gale handed to you. 

Should I tell them about my ability? 

You pondered while you ate, listening to the conversation around you. It sounded like they were going to storm Gortash’s base tomorrow and get the last netherstone. After that… would be the Netherbrain. They were almost there. Save the city, save themselves.

No. They don’t need to know. They have enough on their minds.

The rest of the night passed with battle plans and an early rest.

***

“Go.”

“Are you sure—”

“They’ll need all the help they can get,” you insisted. “Seriously. I can handle it. I promise.”

Astarion stared at you for a few moments more before finally nodding. “Fine. You had better keep your word.”

You grinned. “When have I not?”

He raised an eyebrow at you, but then he gave you a seductive little smirk before leaning in and whispering in your ear. “If you don’t, I’ll have to punish you, darling.”

“Astarion!” you said, feigning offense.

Giving you a knowing smirk, he left with the others, but not without one last look at you, his eyes clearly scanning you for any symptoms. You shooed him off, and as the door closed, you went back to the bed and curled into a ball, breathing heavily and deeply.

“Fuck, I hate lying.”

You weren’t entirely lying. It was getting better with each day. But you still had those attacks, and one had just happened to occur right as everyone was leaving. You had managed to hold it in just long enough to get them all out the door, but now that they were gone, and while the camp guests were still resting, you could hide in your bed and just breathe.

After about ten minutes, you rolled out of bed, mostly good as new, just sweaty from your mental battle with the remnants of Orin’s insanity.

You spent the day sorting through the pile of loot and the pouches of alchemical supplies that the others had brought back while you were recovering. The potion supply had run low, so you also began to make potions.

It was mid-afternoon when Karlach returned all alone. She paced in front of the fireplace, muttering and wringing her hands. You quietly stayed out of the way, making sure she didn’t burn anything by accident, until she finally slumped down to her knees and put her face in her hands. You heard tremulous breaths, followed by a lot of deep, slow sighs. When even those quieted down, you slowly approached.

“It’s not fair,” she muttered as she turned to face you, a melancholy expression on her face. “I thought I’d feel better, after killing Gortash.” She stared down at her hands. “But in the end, I’m just going to die anyway.”

Your heart clenched. Hesitantly, you reached out and touched her arm, prepared for her emotions. At least, you thought you were. The despair hit you hard, bringing tears to your eyes. How could she stand it?

But you looked at your friend, who had begun to smile. “But would you believe it?” she asked in a hushed voice. “Being here, right now, alive… I’m actually happy?”

You could feel a fluttering of hope in her heart, like the soft beats of a butterfly’s wings. “I believe you,” you said softly, sharing her smile. “Despite everything, you’re here now. And we’ll be here with you for as long as possible.”

She opened her arms. “Hug?”

“Of course,” you said, hugging her tightly. You could feel the heat beneath her skin, pulsing more hotly than ever before. She was still touchable, but just barely. Closing your eyes, you felt for the lines of power around her engine.

Odd. It’s almost as if there’s a line missing…

Pulling away from her, you nodded towards her chest. “Can I try something… on your heart?”

Karlach nodded and gave you access.

You imagined a wet towel, cold and refreshing in the summer heat. Singing a song similar to what you used for her tent, you weaved a light blue web and wrapped it around her engine, hoping that it would bring at least a little bit of relief. You finished the spell and the lines of the spell sank into the metal.

“Oh?” Karlach touched her chest and took a deep breath. “I feel… a bit better!”

“Thank goodness,” you breathed. “I was afraid I would accidentally freeze it too much.”

“No, no, this is great! I… I feel like I can go on!”

In her excitement, you could feel the strands of your spell snapping under the pressure. “Wait, wait, calm down, Karlach. This is only a temporary relief. The spell is already starting to snap apart.”

She nodded and took another deep breath. “All right. Got it.” Then she smiled at you. “Thank you for trying.”

You hugged her again and felt her emotions in full force: her despair that she was desperately pushing down and her determination to live out whatever time she had with no regrets. 

“My strong, sweet friend,” you whispered.

She told you everything that happened on the way to fighting Gortash, and wrapped up her story just as the others returned.

“Feeling better?” Wyll asked as he immediately headed for Karlach, touching her shoulder.

She nodded, and the two of them smiled so softly at each other that you quietly snuck away to look for Astarion. You were surprised to see him looking a little down. He held out his hand to you.

Delicately placing your hand in his, you felt a somber emotion, humming quietly in his heart. You gently cupped his cheek, watching him close his eyes and lean into your touch. 

“I’m still thinking about Karlach. About what she said,” he murmured. When you tipped your head in confusion, he paraphrased for you. At the end, he frowned. “Gods. There really is no justice in the world.”

You could feel his sympathy, and it aligned with yours. “There has to be a way to find a cure.”

He shrugged. “I hope so. For her sake.” Then he blinked and looked at you. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you replied truthfully. 

Astarion nodded, taking your hand from his cheek and moving it to the inside of his elbow, escorting you back to the others. “I believe you, even though you lied to me this morning.”

Your jaw dropped. “How did you know?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You seriously think I can’t tell when you lie? You were sweating and your cute little pulse was practically jumping out of your neck.”

You sighed. Of course he could tell. “Good to know,” you muttered.

***

One last night together. They had all three netherstones. They had gathered their allies. Tomorrow, your friends would go off to face off with the Netherbrain. It was all or nothing.

After a nourishing dinner that you personally cooked, adding herbs that would increase their strength and energy, the others prepared their weapons and got ready for bed. You finished helping to mend everyone’s armor and clothing and finally called it a night, crawling behind Astarion as he sat at the edge of the bed, cleaning his daggers.

You wrapped your arms around him and lay your head on his shoulder.

He turned his head toward you. “Are you alright?”

“I… I want to go with you.”

You heard him set down his dagger and rag. Then he turned his whole body towards you.

“No.”

“But—”

“You must stay here.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but behind his vehement glare was something else. You touched his hand.

…fear…

“Why are you afraid?” you whispered.

His frown changed to a sad, helpless expression. “I… I can’t fight to my fullest if I’m distracted by… by what could happen to you.” He held your hands in his and brought them to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “I just want you safe.”

“You do realize that if you lose, nowhere is safe.”

“Yes, yes, it will be all tentacles and blood.”

“So let me help.”

He still shook his head. “You don’t have the battle experience,” he argued. “Look, I know you want to help, but you have to trust us. Trust me.”

You closed your eyes. Should I go anyway? No, let's be real. I can't fight. I can barely defend myself. Opening your eyes, you met his gaze. “All right. I won’t join you. But you better return.”

“Of course, darling.” He brought you in for a soft kiss on your forehead. “We still haven’t consummated our relationship, after all.”

“Astarion!”

He chuckled before gazing at you with adoring eyes. “My heart.”

Damn him and his charm. You couldn’t resist. You pressed your forehead against his. “My star.”

“You’ll be here when I return, right?” His voice sounded confident, but you could feel apprehension in your touch.

“Of course. I’d never leave you alone.”

He smiled and let out a small sigh of relief, nearly imperceivable if you weren’t also sensing it. “I’ll hold you to that,” he whispered.

***

While he was loath to leave his lovely witch, Astarion had to test her mental state. Once she was sleeping soundly, he pulled away from her, keeping a bit of distance as he watched her sleep. 

She frowned and shuddered, but she didn't curl into a ball. Her body tensed for a few moments, but then relaxed again. 

She wasn't entirely lying, I suppose. 

He lay back down next to her and watched her breathing for a little while longer before he went back to his trance state. 

***

Your companions left, armed to the teeth, ready to face their destiny. They told you to lock the room and hide along with Shadowheart’s parents. You nodded, told them you’d defend them if push came to shove, and sent them on their way.

The sounds of the battle raged around the city, but you stayed inside as they told you, your dagger on your belt. Arnell stayed alert, watching for any intruders, while Emmeline rested quietly.

Your seal suddenly began to pulse hard as you were kneeling in front of the fireplace, mending a pile of clothes. Heading to a window, you peered outside. The mind flayers were being pushed back, felled by anyone with a weapon. In the distance, out above the upper city, you saw the Netherbrain shudder and begin to veer toward the river. 

You closed your eyes and focused on its trajectory. 

Where are my friends? 

In your mind's eyes, you could see a spectrum of colored strands leading towards the docks.

You quickly grabbed your pack and stuffed it full of healing potions. Telling Shadowheart’s parents that you were headed out, you ran outside, dodging all the chaos and mayhem. When you finally reached the docks, you could see your friends standing at the end of one of them, the impact from the Netherbrain causing impressive waves. 

You started to call out to them, but stopped when you saw a mind flayer with them. Quietly, you walked up to them to listen. By context, you figured out that the mind flayer was, in fact, Prince Orpheus! You heard Lae’zel take on the duties of leading the rebellion, heard the prince argue for his own death by her hand.

“...Give me my freedom from this form, release my soul to the Astral Seas while I still have one to call my own.”

Lae'zel held Orpheus’ dagger, her expression sad, yet determined. 

“Wait!” you cried out, surprising the group with your presence. “There has to be another way.”

“I won’t become ghaik!” Orpheus declared emphatically.

 Lae’zel turned her gaze at you, her emotions complicated.

You came closer to him and gently reached out to touch his hand. The screaming inside of his mind was piercing, making your temples pound. How was he withstanding this? And yet…

Through the screaming, you could hear a pattern. You hummed a simple tune, countering the high pitched wails with a low harmony that balanced the sound.

Orpheus stared at you. “How are you doing that?”

“What is she doing?” Lae’zel asked.

“The screams… are quieter,” he said in astonishment.

“You may not be able to return to your people,” you said carefully. “But don’t you want to see this to the end? Don’t you want to witness their return?” You came close and knelt down to look Orpheus in the eyes. “Don’t you want to be there to provide guidance if they ask for it?”

He closed his eyes and bowed his head, deep in thought. 

“I can teach you this song, to subdue the screams,” you added. You hummed it again, a simple set of notes that he easily followed.

After a few minutes, he quietly spoke. “Perhaps you are right. I may not be the one to lead my people, but I can still bear witness to their glory.” He stood. “I shall find a place for myself in a corner of these realms, for even in darkness, the stars of Tu’narath will shine upon me.”

Prince Orpheus turned to leave, but he looked back at everyone. “You have all been worthy allies.” He nodded his head at you specifically. “I will take your words and your song with me.”

You watched him walk away, hoping that he would eventually find a path forward that would lead him back to his people. Lae'zel called for the red dragons, and as she mounted one of them, she looked at everyone in turn, her eyes finally resting on you. 

“I will not forget our time together. I have learned much, and will use our experience in the future.” She was silently pensive for a moment before she continued. “I am grateful. And I will miss all of you.”

She flew away, a new mission, a new journey across the planes. Your seal tingled in time with the beat of the dragon's wings. 

We'll see each other again, surely. 

As you turned back to the others, you noticed that Karlach had backed away from the group, and was now kneeling at the end of the docks, staring out into the water, clutching a hand to her heart. She was clearly in pain, and the flames around her were growing bigger with each passing moment.

“Karlach!”

You ran to her, touching her arm. The infernal fire was burning hotter and hotter, and you pulled your hand away from her skin with a hiss of pain.

“I can’t… I can’t go back…”

“But you’ll die!” Wyll said, who had joined you, kneeling beside her.

The smile she gave absolutely broke your heart. “I’d rather die free than be trapped in Avernus again.”

No! You reached out and placed your hand over her heart. “I can’t… I can’t let you die!” you cried out desperately.

Taking a deep breath, you sang. Cages of metal, chains of mithril, lining of ice, shields of cold, you sang and sang as your magic reinforced the insulating chamber that Dammon had made, becoming a self-cooling object, powered by the very infernal heat it produced. Closing the loop on the magic rune, you finished the song with hardly a breath left in your lungs.

“It… it worked!” Karlach looked at you in awe. “I think you fixed it!”

You shook your head. “Only for now. The rune will have to be renewed at some point, but I poured a lot of energy into it, and it feeds off itself to some extent.” On shaky legs, you slowly stood. “You’ll have to find something more permanent some day.”

“Still, that’s better than—” she stopped. “You don't look good.”

Your heart was beating fast, and you felt faint. Taking a few steps back, you bumped into Astarion, who stepped around you so he could look at your face.

“Darling?”

“I’m fine—” 

Your seal burned hotter than it ever had before. You fell to your hands and knees and screamed in pain. You reached for your back and tore at your shirt, exposing your seal to the cool air. It didn’t help much.

Astarion tried to touch your back, but he pulled his hand away quickly, his skin smoking.

“What… what is happening?” you cried. You felt as if your skin was being sloughed off, the burning sensation spreading from your seal to the rest of your body.

“Your seal is cracking,” he said. Astarion tried once again to touch you, but his hand burned with the effort.

“Don’t touch me!” you yelled. “You’ll only hurt yourself!”

He pulled away, fear in his eyes. Fear for you. Then he frowned and turned to the others. “Help her, dammit!”

Everyone else had gathered, trying to figure out how to help. Shadowheart tried all kinds of healing spells, but none of them worked.

Finally, finally, the pain began to wane and you could breathe again. You slowly stood up, and everyone stared at you in awe.

You looked down at yourself. Your clothes were burned at the fringes, your skin the same golden hue as when you had transformed. Your hair had burned away the ribbon that had held up your loose bun, so it flowed around you like flickering flames, the color of the setting sun.

“Are my eyes glowing?” you asked, and you were shocked to hear the sound of your own voice. It was as if it was inherently more melodic, like three layers of your voice coalescing to one.

You felt… powerful. You looked out at the horizon, the sun beginning to set, and felt like a new beginning was in store for you. The seal was gone, that tingle that used to be only on your back was now coursing throughout your entire body. The power…

Wait. The sun.

You quickly turned to Astarion and grabbed his face.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his eyes wide in surprise.

“I… I can protect you from the sun.” You began to sing, almost desperately, the words coming to your mind quicker than you could get them out of your mouth.

A silver web began to form around Astarion, and slowly, each section of the web filled in with a bluish-silver film. Each lyric filled in another section, but there were so many, so very many…

A loud thunderclap went off near you, but you didn’t look. You were so focused on weaving your spell that you didn’t realize anything was happening until you were yanked away from him, as if an invisible hand had grabbed you and flung you out toward the sea.

***

It all happened like a flash of lightning. She was here. She was just here. And then she was torn away from him, thrown over the dock, over everyone’s heads, and into the sea. But there was no splash. Only a strange portal closing so suddenly that there was no chance of anyone following.

Everyone else was calling out her name, as if she would re-appear, just like that, and tell them all, just kidding, it was a joke.

Astarion fell to his knees. He felt so, so numb.

Somewhere, far away, he could hear people yelling at him to get up, to get away from the dock. He felt Karlach picking him up and dragging him away, felt Shadowheart healing his wounds (I’m wounded?), saw Gale cast Darkness above him as they took him inside the closest building to hide him from the damned sun.

But it all seemed so far, far away.

***

“He’s in shock.”

“No shit.”

“I don’t blame him. I can’t believe she just… disappeared.”

“Astarion. Astarion!”

A slap to his face didn’t seem to work. A second one did. He stared at Shadowheart, who had grabbed him by the collar, her hand raised to slap him once more. 

He pushed her away. “Enough!”

Shadowheart stepped back gracefully, and glared down at him. “Are you back?”

Letting out a tired breath, Astarion nodded before leaning his head against the wall. He looked at the others from his seated position and realized that they had taken him somewhere dark, with no windows. “...Thank you.”

Gale patted his shoulder, and while he’d normally be annoyed, he didn’t have the energy. He even felt… a bit appreciative? 

Gods, she’s gone.

A wave of despair crashed over him, but he pushed it aside. Hope was not yet lost. “So how do we find her?”

Everyone was deep in thought.

Jaheira and Halsin looked at each other for a moment, and Astarion immediately caught their glances. “What is it?”

“We need to go back outside to make sure. We’ll be back,” Jaheira said before she and Halsin walked away.

Minutes felt like hours, but they returned soon enough.

“We think we know where she is,” Halsin said. He paused, glancing at Jaheira.

Astarion stood straighter. “Well? Spit it out.”

He sighed. “She's probably in the Feywild.”

No one said a word for a few moments as they chewed on the theory.

“Most fey crossroads malfunctioned after the Spellplague,” Gale muttered. “How was there one here in a major city, unbroken?”

Jaheira shrugged. “Sometimes one will appear and reappear in relation to some kind of cycle. This crossroad was probably one of those. Probably.”

“Probably?” Astarion asked incredulously. 

Halsin nodded. “Given that we don’t know how to access it nor where it leads, we should wait for her to return.”

“Or we can search for another fey crossing somewhere and look for her,” Karlach said.

Both druids shook their heads.

“That is not a good idea,” Halsin replied. “It is easy to lose your way and never return. And time works differently there. You could enter for only a few minutes and come out a year later. Or worse.”

“You could miss each other by weeks, or decades,” Jaheira added. “I agree with Halsin. Better that one party stays in a stable location instead of two parties trying to circle around the Feywild looking for each other.”

Astarion could hear the logic in their words, see the reason in their conclusion. But he felt lost.

Shadowheart patted his shoulder. “She’ll find her way back. After all, she still needs to feed you.”

He looked at her. “So am I supposed to just sit around and wait for her?”

“Pretty much, yes.”

Hanging his head between his knees, he shut his eyes and willed himself not to panic. Who knows when she’ll be back. If she’ll be back.

“There’ll be plenty to do around the Gate,” Wyll said. “And those spawn you released may need some guidance.”

“He’s right. Do something nice, impress her when she returns,” Karlach said, giving him a light punch.

“Don’t you believe in her?” Shadowheart asked, daring him to say otherwise.

A small smile tugged on the corner of his lips. Of course she’ll come back. She wouldn’t leave me alone. She promised. Through the despair, he felt a glimmer of hope. 

Perhaps I could do something while I wait.

----------------------------------------

Act III, Chapter 4 End notes: Oh snap, did any of you expect that? Did I surprise any of you with that twist? Or did you see it coming a mile away? Let me know in the comments what you think happened to her!

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