#i'm going to be adding chapter one as a separate reblog to keep things tidy

[inaconstantstateofchange]

finirà bene - an Astarion/Dark Urge/Halsin time travel redux

Summary: At the very moment of the Absolute's defeat, Astarion opens his eyes to find himself amidst familiar burning wreckage, face-to-face with a Shadowheart who has no knowledge of their companion, the dragonborn Kelis. Stuck in this familiar-unfamiliar situation, Astarion will have to reforge alliances alone as he seeks to make his way out of this nightmare, and find his missing partner(s).

Pairing: endgame Astarion/Dark Urge/Halsin, with a primary in-fic focus on Astarion/Halsin (as Kelis is busy haunting the narrative).

Reposting because I'm very proud of the new banner - Kelis artwork done by @somespareserotonin-please - and because I haven't had a proper masterpost up yet.

Prologue and Chapter 1 are up on AO3, and I'll put them here for anyone who prefers to read that way. Chapter 2 is finished - 5k words! - and in the process of final editing and formatting to post here and on AO3, probably tomorrow at the latest.

I'd love to hear your thoughts, and hope you enjoy the journey as much as I do! ^^

Prologue: alone in the world

The din of battle fades out in patches, his ears ringing as the world swims before his eyes, dizzying colors erupting and obscuring the pitted surface of the nautiloid around him. Staggering to the side, he focuses on catching his balance, running his gloved hand along the gaps in his armor, looking for any puncture wounds carrying poison he didn’t notice.

Not now, not like this. The thought whispers through his mind like the frenzied beat of a drum. After everything they have battled through to reach this point, to survive it together, surely this cannot be the end, not when their true enemy is so close to defeat.

Through the spots encroaching further into his vision, and the strangely warped perspective the world around him is taking on, he casts about for Kelis, separated from him by the tide of battle for some time now.

At last, he sees them, far too close to the Brain for any comfort, near death though it is beginning to seem. Perhaps that is only wishful thinking, but — surely, surely it must be nearly defeated.

Their owlbear form seems somehow larger than he’s ever seen it, magnificent and ferocious. With a resonant shriek that builds from their chest and erupts into the air around them, they jump up toward the stormy sky above, body tilting down gracefully at the apex of their leap in preparation to bring the full force of gravity down with them on the target of their final strike — that wretched, hateful Crown.

He bares his teeth in wild, bloodsoaked joy, ready for this months-long nightmare to be over, but the world will not allow him more than this moment. As Kelis’s claws make contact with the sickening glow of the Crown’s gems, the warping that had faded into the background, holding its breath like everyone else in the battle, rushes to life with redoubled intent, now eating through not only his vision, but seemingly the world itself.

The last image he has before all is overtaken by crackling brilliance is Kelis blinking out of existence — present one moment, and gone without a single discernible trace of a spell’s effect the next.

His unbeating heart twists in his chest, nausea filling his entire body.

Not now, not like this.

“Kelis! Ke-”

His words disappear in the space between breaths, and he himself follows suit.

For a moment, an empty crown glints in the waning sunlight, before it too fractures, cracks, and splinters away.

Across a starlit sky, a burning nautiloid hurtles toward the ground, its trajectory cut short by its impact with the riverbank.

Numerous eyes track its passage, and a multitude of forces and individuals set to devising their responses to this unexpected incursion.

On a grassy outcropping, one pod is ejected at a sharp angle, its surface breaking open and its captive launched forward against the grass.

A white-haired elf lies still among the rocks and silt, unbreathing, as the sun’s rays climb over the horizon, inching closer and closer to his unresponsive form.

“-lis! Kelis?” The world filters back in in discordant jumps and starts — but something isn’t right. Blinking his unaccountably heavy eyelids open against the blinding sun, many somethings are not right.

Behind him lies the burning wreckage of an all-too-recognizable nautiloid, flames still crackling hungrily amidst the ruins.

Dumbly, he springs to his feet and spins around as quickly as the vertigo wracking his body will allow, knowing what he is searching for even as a horrible certainty grows in him that he will not find it.

To the left: the sharp drop to the Chionthar, its brilliant blue water belying the nightmare he must be inhabiting.

To the right: more wreckage, an extremely distressed boar, and — a familiar figure, albeit with a hair color he is no longer used to. His mind catches on this detail for a moment before abandoning it for more pressing matters.

“Shadowheart! What things have come to that the sight of your dour visage brings me relief, of all things. Will wonders never cease!” His voice is overly cheery, perhaps a touch manic, but no one who truly matters is around to mention it, so he’ll grant himself a temporary allowance.

“Now, is this an illusion spell of some form? Do you know of any way to break it? As patient as I would love to be, time is very much of the essence, so a bit of alacrity would be greatly appreciated!”

Alright, perhaps a slightly less temporary allowance.

Unexpectedly, the cleric’s response is to take a sharp step backward, expression growing even more wary.

“How do you know my name? We have certainly not yet been introduced, to my knowledge.” Her voice is icy and biting, without even the edge of begrudging fondness that had begun growing there in the past weeks.

His face slackens for a moment, thoughts whirring through his mind almost faster than he can note them. Something is far more awry here even than he originally considered.

As quickly as he can, he runs through what he knows of spells that could achieve an effect as encompassing as this appears to be. There are not a great many, but of course a creature as unprecedented as the Nether Brain could have access to a multitude of unknown magics.

None of his senses are telling him that anything around him is untrue or fabricated, despite his mind screaming very much the opposite. The wind coming from the water carries with it the expected smells, and the creaks and groans of organic machinery breaking down into the flames is as he remembers from his first day of freedom.

Most damningly of all — everything about Shadowheart is exactly as he recalls from their first meeting, down to the very smell of her, in his experience the most difficult sense for any illusion spell to accurately replicate.

He switches tacks as smoothly as he can, pushing as far down as it will go the part of him that wants to start screaming, and perhaps never stop.

Pasting on the smile that charmed hundreds of Baldur’s Gate’s finest to their deaths, he draws himself up into a less alarming pose, that perhaps screams an iota less ‘I am about to break down and begin stabbing every thing in sight.’

“My deepest apologies; I have had some… dealings, shall we say, with your cohort in Baldur’s Gate before, and was pleased to encounter a familiar face in an area this… desolate.” The sneer on his face as he peers around theatrically is not at all difficult to manufacture.

“I had no idea you were on one of your Lady’s more sensitive missions. Rest assured I will abide by all due secrecy in the future.”

He closes his speech – marvelously tailored under so short a time constraint, as far as he is concerned – with a hand flourish and a tip of his head, telegraphing foppish carelessness with all his might, but in truth desperate for the opportunity to hide his face away, even for a moment. The battle to keep that part of him that wants to break down – in tears or in murder, it is impossible to say – in check is becoming more difficult by the moment.

After an artful pause, he casts his eyes up through his fringe, checking for the success of his fabrication.

Shadowheart’s frown deepens visibly for a moment, discomfited by something about his statement, before the tension lines in her face smooth out and she shifts into a more neutral, although still readied, position.

“Apology accepted, although you would certainly benefit from greater discretion in the future —particularly if you intend to continue your dealings. The Mother Superior does not tolerate failure, as you must know.”

He inclines his head once more before returning upright, smile coming much more naturally now as he submerges himself in his role.

“Of course! My deepest thanks for your helpful reminder and concern for my person.”

A dismissive scoff is her only response as she turns to survey the wreckage herself.

Seeing an opportunity, he ventures a question. “I saw you on the ship, I’m fairly certain. However did you escape from those wretched pods?”

“There was someone else up there, who helped free m-,” Her answer comes without hesitation at first, only to cut off abruptly as her brow furrows.

With furious and feral hope clawing its way up his chest, he interjects as intently as he dares, “There was someone else loose up there? Who? What did they look like?!”

After a moment, he tacks on a weak justification, attempting to play off his intensity, “They must have been impressive indeed, to free you from such a fate.”

She doesn’t pay his inconsistency any mind, eyes clouded as she continues looking over the wreckage, seemingly in search of something in particular.

After another long moment, she turns away with a firm shake of her head. “No… no, there was no one. My pod broke when the ship crashed, just as yours did, I presume.”

He barely keeps himself from pressing her, biting back the words trying to escape him as he marshals the increasing urge to grab her shoulders and shake her, demanding to know if she had seen a red Dragonborn with bottomless black eyes.

At this point in his ongoing nightmare, he is becoming sickly certain that hearing her answer would be even worse than the creeping dread that is slowly overtaking him.

“Well, all’s well that ends well, I suppose!” With a false laugh and a bright grin he doesn’t feel even a fraction of, he commits to the course he’s set for himself.

Stay alive.

Don’t drive off one of your least useless comrades, in the event that this ends up not being some illusory nightmare realm.

Find a camp or similarly secluded place of respite.

Have a breakdown that will rank in at least the top ten of your very long life.

Make a plan.

Find Kelis.