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slusheeduck · 1 year ago

Text

Kidnapped

Astarion's siblings succeed in getting him back to the manor--but he's stronger now. Plus he has a very, very pissed-off partner. Another canon deviation because I was NOT happy with how this scene played out in game. Warning for egregious dialogue-lifting.

One lucky shot. Just one, in the blink of an eye. That was all it took for Astarion to go down, and Leon was on him in an instant.

“I’ll take Astarion to the master. The rest of you, deal with the witnesses.”

“No!” The word came out as a snarl, and Falerin lunged at Leon. But he and Astarion were already gone, and Aurelia was able to get a lucky slash in to send him stumbling back. “Astarion!”

He slammed his glaive down, sending a Shatter through the remain vampires. From there, it was easy work making them puff away to safety. Once the last of the spawn were gone, he bolted to the door, only to get caught by several pairs of hands.

“Let me go,” he shouted to the others. “We have to get Astarion! He’s…Cazador’s going to…”

“It’s the middle of the night, Falerin,” Gale said, trying his best to be the voice of reason. “Storming a vampire’s fortress now is suicide.”

Falerin grit his teeth. “We can manage it. We’ve managed worse. If we can just go now, we—”

“We will rescue him,” Wyll said, straining to keep Falerin in place as Halsin readjusted his grip on him. “But in the morning. Otherwise Cazador will—”

“I’ll put Cazador’s head on a fucking pike myself!”

There was no getting him to see reason. With a pained look between the group, Gale quickly cast Sleep under his breath. Falerin fought it as best he could, but still, he could only do so much before the magic overtook him, going unconscious in Halsin’s arms.

The moment Astarion’s consciousness came back, he knew exactly where he was. The cold stone beneath him, the acrid smell of dried blood, the creak of bones—he was in the Kennel. He’d done something wrong again. If only he could remember what—he’d gotten fairly good at figuring out how long he’d be left to Godey’s whims based on how he’d angered Cazador.

“Nasty little runaway. But you always find your way back to Godey, hmm?”

Wait. Astarion’s eyes flew open. He wasn’t Cazador’s pet anymore, not with the tadpole. He’d been stolen. He scrambled up to his feet, breathing quickly as the skeleton looked over him.

“If I had my way, I’d saw off your legs—that’d put a stop to your wandering!” Godey spat. “But the master says no. Says he needs all your blood on the inside for the Mass.” He raised his hand, pointing at Astarion as he stepped closer. “But he needs you obedient, too. No barking, no biting, no struggling—a well-behaved little doggie.”

Astarion’s lips drew back. “I’ll never do what he tells me again,” he spat out, ready to strike. “I’d rather die.”

“Oh, you’ll do both,” Godey shot back, red light flooding his sockets. “You’ll do whatever he requires!”

With a flash of red magic, Astarion found his arms bound and raised up over his head, like they had been so many times before. A familiar fear clenched his throat shut, body already bracing for the pain. Cazador’s will probed at his mind, searching for just the right place to strike to make him his well-behaved little spawn. All Astarion had seen—the horrors, the wonders, the triumphs of battles, the comfort of the fire, a hand wrapped tightly around his—all of it was suddenly inconsequential. Only one thing mattered: Cazador. It was as if he’d never escaped him. Astarion grit his teeth, waiting for the bindings of servitude. Cazador would win. He always did. He always would.

Except…not with him.

He was his own master now. His agency, his will, his desires, all of it was stronger than anything Cazador could do. As he felt the tendrils of Cazador’s command try to take hold of him, he shrugged them off, easy as breathing, and he wrenched his hands free of Godey’s restraints.

Godey stumbled back in shock. “Impossible,” he growled out. “You’re a spawn—know your place!”

Oh, he so wanted to give some pithy little comeback to that, but this moment was two centuries in the making. He was stronger, smarter, and free, and the first thing to do with that freedom was to get rid of Cazador’s favorite dog trainer.

As red flooded Godey’s sockets again, Astarion was quick to cast mirror image—three Astarions in the kennel, and the skeleton didn’t know which one to hit. It bought him a bit of time to think—his weapons were probably locked away, and with his shirt gone, he was terribly exposed. But he had a few things he could work with.

As Godey went to strike one of the mirror images, it dissipated. Before the skeleton could whirl around, a sharp “Ignis!” sent a fireball right at his skull. As he stumbled, Astarion grabbed a rusted mace from the ground—he had no idea how to use it, but that didn’t matter. It was heavy, it was swingable, and it would hurt. He slammed it right into Godey’s ribcage, and the skeleton went to pieces on the ground.

Astarion stayed tense until he was sure the bones stayed still. Well. Godey wasn’t all that durable, was he? But then, he never had to be.

He dropped the mace, then walked over to Godey’s skull. It had rolled a few feet away from the body, sockets staring overhead. He stared down at it for a long moment, then, with a snarl of rage, he slammed his boot right onto it, shattering it. Then he stomped down again, and again. Over and over until the bone was nothing more than dust under his feet.

Astarion panted as he finally stepped back, chest heaving. That felt good. That felt so immeasurably good. He wanted to bask in it, but there was no time for that. He took a deep breath to steady himself, then went to the rest of Godey’s remains, searching through them. There, a key for the chest. That was all he really needed, but he couldn’t resist sliding off the Szarr signet ring as well. A little trophy for himself.

Now to see about getting the hells out of here. ~

Falerin had been silent as they went through the streets of the Lower City, leaving the others to ask about the whereabouts of Szarr manor. He was having a big to-do soon, apparently, so getting answers wasn’t as hard as it should have been.

“Heading to Szarr’s place?” one man had called after a woman pointed them in the right direction. “You’re just in time. He’s about to ascend, and he’ll be raising up all those with his favor.” He grinned. “I’m one of ‘em.”

“Then if I were you, I’d leave town now,” Gale said flatly.

The man scoffed. “And miss the eternal gift? Hardly.” He gave a little chuckle. “One of the whispers going ‘round is we’ll be able to get some quality time with his favorites. One of ‘em’s a prissy little elf—curly hair, smart mouth. Wouldn’t mind putting that mouth to some good—”

He didn’t get to finish his thought. As he spoke, Falerin strode right over to him, grabbing him by his shirt. Before any of the others could stop him, he slammed his head against the man’s forehead with an unpleasant crack.

The man went down, and Falerin stumbled back, hissing in pain as he cradled his head. “Ow, ow ow. Fuck, that hurt.”

“Well, what did you think would happen?” Gale said, though he wasn’t nearly as exasperated as he’d normally be. Karlach went to (gently) pat his back.

“He deserved it. Wish I’d thought to do that myself.” She gave a little smile. “Bet Fangs’ll love hearing about this.”

Falerin let out a sharp breath, then stood up straight. “Then let’s find him. We know where we’re going now.”

It was odd, and he’d never be able to explain it, but there was something almost giddy in Astarion as he let himself out of the Kennel. He smoothed down his shirt, looking around. No sign of any of his siblings, just the fanatics tending to the manor. It must be daytime, then. Good.

It wouldn’t do to stride about like he’d been doing out in the wilds. Even the servants would know that he’d gone missing—they probably lost a few from the fit Cazador had no doubt had—and so seeing him back would be noticed as well. And there was no doubt that some eager vampire-hopeful would mention that to Cazador.

But they still deferred to “the favorites”, and none of them would interact if there was nothing suspicious about him. So, as he stepped into the hall, he made a show of holding his arm awkwardly, as if he were nursing a break, keeping his chin high but eyes hollow. He’d walked just like this plenty of times before.

He just had to get out to the sun. He’d be untouchable during the daytime—and if he could get to the others, he’d be safe. They could plan their next move then. He didn’t dare try and think of anything in detail. He’d thrown off Cazador’s control, but who knew what he might glean if he tried again? Gods, if he found out about Fa—

No. No names. If he must think, he’d do it in Thieves Cant. If it worked against the Absolutists, it’d work against him.

He nearly made it to a door, but was stopped dead in his tracks by a dwarf bustling in, cleaning like her life depended on it. She looked up at him and gasped.

“O-oh! Master Astarion, you’re back!” She clapped her hands together. “Master Cazador will be so pleased.”

Shit.

He could kill her, but that’d leave a mess. Talk his way out of it? He’d been known to be cruel to the fanatics—all of them had, from time to time—but that might still get around. Wait. Oh, he was an idiot—he had a tadpole.

He fixed his eyes on hers, feeling the familiar surge of power in his head. Just a little Charm, just to get her to back off.

“I’m surprising him,” he said, voice low. “He’ll be so glad I’ve found my way back. You wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise, would you?”

The dwarf’s eyes went glassy; the charm took. Thank fuck.

“No…” she said vaguely.

“Of course you wouldn’t. That’s why you’ll forget I was here. Now, scurry along. There’s lots to do before the Mass, isn’t there?” He shooed her off, watching intently as she bowed her head and went back through the door she’d come through, muttering about how much work there was still to do to make the Mass perfect.

He waited a moment more, listening, then quickly opened the door. The bright gold of daylight greeted him, and he slipped out into the sun.

“Let us pass,” Falerin hissed at a halfling lounging against the ladder in the property’s south tower.

“All are welcome,” he said, voice sing-song with drink. Apparently Cazador’s favored had started the celebration early—everyone in the tower stank of cheap ale. It was easy to get in; it was harder getting them to register anything they were saying.

“I know I’m welcome. Let us pass,” Falerin said through his teeth.

“Mm, you’re fine right here,” he said. “All of Baldur’s Gate’s gonna get to see it. I can’t wait. Been scrubbing down this tower for nearly a decade, and it’s paying off.”

“Listen here, I am this close to…” Falerin trailed off as Karlach patted his shoulder.

“I’ve got this one, soldier,” she said. She nudged him back, then heaved up the halfling straight into the air. He didn’t seem all that bothered, even as she dropped him off to the side. The others in the tower just laughed—what great fun.

Falerin made a note to thank her later; for now, he climbed straight up the ladder. Where would Astarion be? There must be some…torture chamber or prison cell or something, but would that be beneath the castle? Or maybe a tower? Gods, what if the ritual started? What if Astarion was…?

“Falerin?”

He just barely caught the voice, but he knew that voice better than anyone else’s. His head shot up, and his eyes widened as he caught silver hair glinting in the sunlight.

“Astarion!”

He didn’t wait for the others to come up the ladder; he sprinted across the top of the wall, nearly stumbling in his haste to get to the vampire. Astarion ran to meet him, and the two collided in a hug so tight it was nearly painful. Falerin’s hand immediately went to stroke Astarion’s hair as the elf buried his face into his shoulder, clinging to him.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he whispered, voice breaking. “My gods. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” For a long moment, he simply held Astarion as tightly as he could, cradling his head and pressing his cheek to his temple. Finally, he let out a shuddering breath as he gently brought Astarion’s head up to look over his face. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Astarion shook his head. “I…I pushed back against him,” he said, giving a weak little laugh. “Cazador tried to take me back, and he failed.” He pressed his cheek against Falerin’s hand, looking up at him. “I really am free…for now, at least.”

Falerin swallowed, thumb stroking Astarion’s cheekbone. “Let’s go,” he said quietly. “Let’s just go. Get away from this. He can’t do the ceremony without you.”

Astarion looked up with soft eyes. He was considering it. But his mouth went into a straight line, and he shook his head. “No. No, we’re ending this before nightfall. Every second that cunt breathes is another chance he’ll try to do this again. We have to kill him now.”

Falerin looked over him for a moment, then pulled him in to press a long kiss to his forehead. “Okay. Let’s end this. I'll be at your side the whole way.” Casual Banter Masterpost

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #astarion #tav/astarion #astarion x tav #YOU EXPECT ME TO BELIEVE THAT TAV/FAL WOULD JUST BE LIKE hm yeah we should wait until morning #THIS IS THEIR/HIS FUTURE HUSBAND #also btw I have a long fic about these two in the works #The link will be on my pinned post soon plus you can find it on AO3 #just throwing that out there

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