So, just before I left for Japan I finished Baldur's Gate 3 for the second time and MAN was I not prepared for the love I had for Astarion and my Warlock/Fighter Durge.
It's currently 3am and I once again cannot sleep so here I am. Thus, this drabble was born!
I hope that you enjoy, please feel free to leave constructive criticism for me. I always appreciate feedback on my writing because I don't have anyone who can edit for me.
WARNING, spoilers for Act 1 and Act 2 - Rated M for language.
Disclaimer - I don't own any characters produced by Larian or Baldur's Gate 3.
See you soon!
The night was still, silent. The moon hung low and gargantuan above their heads, speckled with a halo of twinkling stars. A slight breeze drifted through the camp, causing the large fire that Shadowheart had stoked earlier in the evening to flicker, oh so slightly. Astarion wondered if the otherworldly sky was a sick joke by one of the Gods, a physical reminder of their place in the grand scheme of things. That they were small, weak, bound to be slaves for some sort of celestial body or sick fucker in the end no matter how hard they struggled.
He shook his head harshly, a frown marring his face as he glared into the flames. No, never. He was not going to be a slave again for as long as he lived, figuratively speaking. He'd sooner throw himself on the fire. His lips curled up into a wry smile. Actually, he'd much rather escape this chaos with his precious life intact, but it was a romantic thought nonetheless. He was sat on one of the bedrolls close to the flames, a silver goblet of wine held loosely between his long fingers. One of his legs was led straight, the other bent upwards which he rested his cup-bearing arm on, his wrist relaxed with the beverage slightly tilted at the stem. The flames flickered towards the night sky and pleasantly warmed his pale skin. He raised the cup to his lips to take another sip of wine, barely tasting the beverage. He only had one goal this evening, to get as drunk as possible. To distract himself from the dangerous line of thought that his mind stubbornly insisted revisiting over and over.
How could he have let this happen?
They were camped on the outskirts of Last Light Inn, their haven only barely within the shield that Isobel had erected to protect the makeshift settlement. Himself, Lae'zel, Shadowheart, and – of course – her, had not long returned from their first delve into Moonrise Towers. Oh, what a horrid experience that had been, and now his mind was muddled. Well, more muddled than its current unwanted hitchhiker was inflicting on his precious mind. More muddled that it has been since they had saved the grove. Hence the need for copious amounts of alcohol on this fine evening.
His eyes flickered across the camp, taking in his friends as they went about their usual business. It was a strange thought, to have friends. He briefly thought of when he had first joined this merry band of supreme weirdos. They were to be convenient human shields until he had truly broken free of Cazador but now . . . he wasn't so sure and that scared him more than he was willing to admit to himself.
Lae'zel was swinging her large sword at a training dummy that she had installed close to the entrance of her tent, shouting curses in Githyanki. Karlach was stood close by shouting cheers of encouragement and asking Lae'zel to teach her more creative swears in her native tongue. Astarion let a slight laugh out as he raised his goblet to take another sip, he had a soft spot for the two women who could snap him in two without blinking. Sweet Karlach who insisted on braiding his short curls as soon as she could touch people again. Lae'zel who had a gentle heart encased in a warrior's soul.
Wyll and Halsin were currently tending to that unconscious boy, Thaniel, that they had helped pull out of the Shadowfell not too long ago. The druid gently laid a damp cloth on the boy's forehead as Wyll spoke gently to him, unlikely friends but not surprising considering they always seemed to erect their tents close together.
And the two men were insufferable do-gooders, which really grated Astarion's cheese, but it was of no consequence to him until Wyll insisted on lecturing him for his sticky fingers.
"Five finger discount darling, unless you wanted to go hungry tonight?" He remembered blowing the Warlock a sarcastic kiss and wink as Karlach held him back from hitting the pale elf. Astarion smothered another smile at the memory as he took another sip of his wine.
Gale was unusually quiet, his nose buried in a book as he brooded – rather spectacularly in Astarion's opinion. After all, Astarion was an expert in that subject and the wizard was putting him to shame lately. Gale was laid on his bedroll stowed beneath his tent, one leg bent at the knee as the other one stretched out in front of him, his purple robes flowed out around him as his eyes roved over the book held up above his face. Astarion rolled his eyes, the wizard was not his problem – he'd let his lovely little darling deal with him if she was so inclined, Astarion thought as he raised his hand to take another sip.
Astarion's hand froze a few centimetres before his lips before he lowered the goblet to its previous position atop his bent leg. What in the ever-loving fuck was that? His glare bored darkly into the flickering campfire once more. He hadn't yet decided what to do about his extremely conflicted feelings about their lovely leader and yet . . . it felt like his mind was automatically making the decision for him. Falling for her felt as easy as breathing and that scared him more than he was willing to admit. The warm feelings made his chest grow tight and warm, but the sensation was not solidarity.
Guilt. Copious amounts of guilt joined the affection. He knew why, but he had yet to gather the guts to confess anything to her.
His eyes flickered up to the object of his thoughts. She was crouched in front of Arabella, her hands on the child's shoulders to comfort her. After all, the poor little idol thief had just been told that her parents are dead. He watched as Ashera straightened up from her perch as Arabella screamed at her that it wasn't true, she's lying, and it wasn't fair. Astarion twitched slightly, fighting the urge to stalk over there and smack the child up the side of the head. Despite how fond he was of her. He pictured the way Ashera's face had twisted when she had discovered the bodies in the House of Healing.
"How are we going to tell her? She'll be crushed." She had whispered.
He had no idea how someone so twisted and violent could be so simultaneously kind. Yet, his fellow High Elf managed to do it. The stolen moments between them started to flicker through his mind and he felt his insides warm once again at the memories. Astarion was certain that Cazador had broken him too thoroughly to allow this kind of affection to bind him to another. However, here the vampire was, drinking and watching and hoping that the answers will come to him at the bottom of a bottle.
He watched as Ashera and Withers murmured a few words to the child that comforted her enough to stop screaming but her shoulders still shook with sobs. Ashera backed away slightly, leaving the little idol thief to their resident skeleton friend. She then stalked across the camp and towards the treeline on the edge of their camp, and Astarion's eyes followed her the entire way. She was a lovely thing, the most enchanting High Elf that Astarion had the pleasure of before. She was slim and tall, only slightly shorter than himself. Her skin was tanned and speckled with freckles. He took a sip of his goblet once more, he knew for a fact that those freckles were everywhere, even on her ass cheeks. Her eyes were a light silver, and Astarion loved the way they flashed unsettlingly in the moonlight. Her hair was dark, but when it caught the light, it flashed red. She had a deep scar over her left eye that parted her eyebrow and went down her cheek, but in his opinion, it only enhanced her beauty. She was a fighter, a survivor, a simultaneous harbinger of death and hope. As she continued towards the treeline, Astarion couldn't help but admire her ass that was encased in a pair of tight black silk trousers. A particularly lovely sight from her black leather armour that he so often saw her in. Although, he mused, her ass looked great in that as well. She was an excellent specimen, beautiful, chaotic, ruthless, and yet wanting to do the right thing. Despite what happened to poor Alfira.
He thought of how wide and expressive her silver eyes were. How they would darken like storm clouds on a bad day, or during battle. At those times he noticed she looked pained, that she'd be sweating with the effort to keep herself under control.
He remembered when he had first held a knife to her throat on that beach. Back then her hair was in a high ponytail, long enough to brush the small of her back. Well, yes, he also remembered wrapping a hand in that long hair and yanking her head back as he fucked her from behind during their first night together. A lecherous smile crossed his face as he reached for the wine bottle lodged in the dirt to refill his goblet. The way she offered herself to him on that night was particularly delicious. At the time, Astarion was trying to ensure his continued safety the only way that he knew how, and that was sex. He couldn't place the exact moment when things started to change with Ashera but he knew that it was making him both happy and extremely uncomfortable. He was glad that Cazador hadn't completely ruined the joys of sex for him as well. The more time he spent with these fools the more he was regaining of himself, and he loved it.
The smile fell away though as he thought of the morning after their night of passion. After they had returned to camp, she had beelined towards her things, she grabbed her short sword and took her hair out of her ponytail. It was the first and last time that Astarion saw her hair cascading around her, like a dark waterfall with hues of red. However, it was short lived as the elf immediately hacked off the long tresses to just below her shoulders.
"Woah, easy darling. What are you doing?" Astarion asked as he cautiously approached her.
She sighed as she slowly started to braid the one side of her hair, the same side of her face as her scar. "I still don't remember anything, Astarion."
"Yes, I know my sweet, what does that have to do with cutting your hair off?"
"These dark urges that compel me, what I did to Alfira . . . it's not who I am anymore. If I get my memories back at some point, I'm going to be who I want to be now. I don't care and I won't be controlled by these horrendous thoughts anymore. I've got this sinking feeling that I've been given a second chance and my hair, felt like a shackle. A relic from a life past lived" Her silver eyes bored into his own as she finished braiding the one side, leaving the rest of it to flow over her shoulders.
It started as guilt, guilt that he had been using her when their situations were eerily similar, minus the unexplainable memory loss. Astarion longed to break away from Cazador, to not be a slave, and she . . . was a slave to her unknown past and she was trying her best to blaze her own path forward from it.
For Astarion, that alone had started to change his outlook on things. He could make his own path now. Protected by the tadpole, he had the opportunity to take enough power that Cazador could never hurt him again.
He could blaze his own path forward, just like she was.
Astarion had to admit that the new hairstyle suited her a lot better. The long ponytail made her look fierce, almost a militant weapon. The new style was still fierce but it made her look more relaxed, at peace, despite the turbulent urges that he knew swirled around inside her. Astarion often had a hard time wrenching his eyes away from her in battle. The way she held herself low, one hand gripping a wicked rapier that thrummed with the power of her patron. The other gripping a short sword. The way she twirled both expertly in her hands as she effortlessly cut the throats of masses of goblins with little resistance or conflict. How calm she looked as she was covered head-to-toe in blood. He was not too proud to admit that the sight of her covered in gore stirred a primal need to fuck her into the mud. Now that he was reflecting on it, he could confidently say that he hadn't seen her look relaxed since they butchered the goblin camp. Except, maybe, when they indulged in their nightly activities with each other. Yet, the elf seemed to be becoming more tense by the day and his worry for her was slowly but steadily days where her eyes were dark and stormy were becoming more frequent than the shining silver he had grown fond of.
"You know, we had one major agreement with each other, that if there's wine on hand, we share it." A familiar voice crept up behind him.
Astarion rolled his eyes as he wordlessly held out the bottle to Shadowheart, who eagerly plopped herself on the bedroll beside him before she filled up her own goblet. They sat in companionable silence for a couple of minutes, each enjoying their own drink before she broke it.
"How are you holding up?" She asked, one hand playing with the end of her long black hair as the other held her goblet.
"Fucking fantastic," He sighed. "I love being treated like an object rather than a person by random Drow who are hard-up for vampire spawn."
She hummed in agreement. "She was a demented bitch."
"Hear, hear!" Astarion raised his goblet in a mock toast before he took another gulp of the beverage.
"You were doing it again."
He looked at Shadowheart from the corner of his eye before he took another sip, "Doing what?"
"Watching Ashera." She was staring at him intently; her green eyes blazed a hole into the side of Astarion's head. He squirmed a little under her intense gaze. "You know, she's my best friend, my one true confidant since all this bullshit started happening. She tells me things."
Astarion both loved and hated that his interest was piqued by that. "Like what?"
Shadowheart tutted and waved one finger back and forth as she returned her gaze to the roaring fire in front of them. "Now that, you'll have to find out for yourself."
He groaned and settled his goblet in the dirt before he threw himself backwards onto the bedroll, one arm covering his eyes. "Now that is just pure evil. Are you sure you're not the evil, bloodsucking, vampire spawn?"
Astarion moved his arm away from his eyes slightly to look at her as she laughed. "I don't know about evil, but you should go talk to her. It's been a hard day and she's not one to volunteer information easily." Shadowheart's gaze turned sad for a moment as she took another sip. "She worries about everyone else first, despite the demons that she's clearly battling within herself."
Astarion groaned and heaved himself into a sitting position once more, his eyes on the treeline that he saw Ashera disappear into not too long ago. "I fucking hate that you're right."
"It's a gift, and a curse." She shot him a lopsided smile. "Now go, you're a pain in my ass."
He rolled his eyes as he stood up from his comfortable position on the bedroll. He mourned the loss of his vintage as he saw Shadowheart reach for the bottle and squirrel it away by her side. He knew that the cleric would demolish the remains of the bottle before he returned. As he picked his way across the camp, he did his best to tamp down on the nervous butterflies that beat their wings within his stomach.
Thankfully, none of the other camp residents took any notice of his sudden departure, apart from Gale. The wizard looked up from his tome as he passed by, snorted with a look of distaste before returning to his reading. Astarion resisted the urge to bare his fangs at the wizard, since his and Ashera's . . . nightly activities had begun, the wizard had a stick up his ass about him. Astarion couldn't bring himself to care too much about that, the feeling of distaste being mutual for the magic-user for the time being. However, he had also noticed Ashera had been keeping her distance from Gale since the attitude had started and he briefly wondered if Gale had said something to her, he'd have to question her on that at some point.
Astarion sighed in relief as he entered the gloom of the forest on the outskirts of camp, the deep darkness embraced him like an old friend. He ran a pale hand through his white hair as he picked his way over the roots and boughs that littered the ground. As it was everywhere in the Shadow-cursed lands, the forest was dead. There were no animals nor birds, all that was left was an oppressive eerie silence that seemed to press on him from all sides. He made his way to the river that bordered the edge of the protective dome that Isobel had erected, knowing that that's where Ashera tended to retreat to when she wanted to be alone. Ahead he could see where the trees parted, his sensitive ears picking up the gentle sound of water as it bubbled through the land, he was close. The light that cascaded from the moon combined with his darkvision made the journey easy, and all too soon he was approaching outside of the treeline once more.
She was crouched by the bank of the river, one hand extended into it to watch as the water flowed over her long fingers. He watched her for a few moments, safely veiled within the darkness of the trees. Her shoulders were slumped, but tense. He couldn't see her face from this vantage point but he could picture it in his mind's eye, the way her forehead would be creased with stress, eyebrows drawn and mouth set into a hard line. By the gods . . . his lovely little murder machine.
He moved to step forward and flinched as a stick crunched under his boot, as loud as a smoke powder bomb in the dead silence of the woods. Ashera's reaction was instantaneous, she sprung to her feet, wielding the short sword that was attached to her hip in a defensive position as she pivoted on one heel to face her assailant.
"Easy there Darling, it's just me." Astarion said as he stepped into the moonlight, his hands raised in surrender.
She immediately relaxed and sheathed her sword back onto her hip. She straightened; one elegant eyebrow raised in question as she stared at the pale elf. "Hey, what are you doing out here?"
He shrugged with one shoulder as he walked closer to her, stopping a couple of feet from her. "I saw that whole ugly business with our little idol thief, are you alright?"
She shrugged in response. "I'm fine, I feel for the girl. She's lost everything and yet gained so much. She just needs a little time to digest the news. It doesn't help that I'm not good with children at the best of times."
Astarion nodded and smothered a smile at her words. Yes, he definitely agreed that she wasn't good with children. He remembered when she had awkwardly told those Tiefling kids in the grove that they were going to die. Now that was hilarious. He was pleased when he noticed her eyes were clear sparkling silver, not a patch of dark grey clouding her eyes. All too soon, the butterflies of nervousness began anew under her intense, silvered gaze. The colour so pale that they were almost blindingly white. He wrung his hands slightly and shifted from foot-to-foot before he sighed. "I also wanted to thank you."
"Oh yeah, for what?"
"For what you said earlier, to that vile Drow." He said with venom. "You could have forced me to bite her and it would've been so easy to go through with it like I've done so many times before. A moment of disgust to get myself through, and move on." He looked directly into her silver eyes, warmth blossoming in his chest once more. ". . .but you didn't, and I'm grateful."
She had the decency to look embarrassed, breaking her gaze from his own as she watched one of her booted feet play with the dirt between them. "Well," she started. "You have the right to your own choices. You can do what you want."
A sharp laugh erupted from his throat, high and almost desperate. "It's a novel idea I admit, and one that will certainly take some time to get used to. I spent 200 hundred years using my body to lure people back for my master." He spat. "I've done it hundreds of times, and it meant nothing to me – but now- "
"-Wait." She interrupted. "If that's the case. Why did you sleep with me?"
"Well, why do you think?" Astarion felt the cold fingers of guilt and dread flicker in his gut as he looked at her. He had to tell her, she deserved to know. "I . . . have a confession. I needed protection and you were certainly capable of giving me that." Her eyes snapped up from the ground to bore into his own, he felt a lump form in his throat and he forced himself to talk around it.
"I thought that may have been the case." She whispered, flashing him a slight smile with no mirth behind it. "The things you were saying. It's true that they were flattering and I enjoyed them, but your eyes." She took a breath. "The sweet words didn't quite match your eyes. You looked sad. I felt awful when I realised a the following day, like I had used you. Even unintentionally."
Astarion's eyes softened, almost glowing. "Sweetheart- "
"It's okay." She said quickly, interrupting him. "There was also familiarity in the words and I've often been wondering, if I did the same thing at one point." She frowned, crossing her arms over her chest as the thought. "I might've lured people in a similar way whilst I was . . . hunting for victims."
Astarion felt the lump in his throat grow at that confession. He had once jokingly called her a kindred spirit, how spot on he was! She was now looking at him expectantly once more, no hint of malice or hurt at his confession.
"Imagine," He swallowed thickly as he continued. "Imagine how stupid I felt when I started to genuinely . . . care for you."
Ashera usually didn't betray too much emotion. But now, her eyes were comically wide, so much so that under different circumstances Astarion would've probably been doubled over with laughter. For a beat, she didn't move, as if she had been turned to stone. She reached for him briefly before pulling her hand back to her chest, obviously uncertain as to whether her touch would be welcomed.
"Trust me," Astarion whispered. "I wasn't too pleased when I realised it myself. You were a . . . complication that I did not foresee."
"I care for you too." Ashera whispered.
"Really?" He replied quickly, eagerly. He felt the guilt flood out of his system as his shoulders relaxed.
"Which is why we can't do this." She said softly, her eyes filled with worry as she looked up at him. The moonlight gilding her face and turned her silver eyes luminous. Her dark hair fluttered slightly in the gentle breeze.
"Why not?" He demanded. "Tell me, Ash."
Ashera flinched; he only ever used her name when he was serious. "These urges, Astarion. There's something dark within me that longs to lash out. I . . ." She faltered before taking a deep breath to steady herself. ". . .I don't want to hurt you. I'd sooner die. I've already felt the call to harm Isobel, which I'm resisting. But I'm worried it'll get worse. I hurt Alfira in my sleep, and I certainly can't control what I do when I'm unconscious."
"Haven't you always said that I'm free now, that I can make my own choices? Well, I choose you, you insufferable idiot." He scoffed and turned his head to glare at the river before he looked back at her once more. "Danger be damned."
Ashera looked desperate, frozen in stone once more. He pressed his lips together and felt his palms that had begun to sweat. He resisted the urge to wipe his palms on his trousers. What if she still said no, that it was too risky? What if he'd never be able to become closer to her. What if-
"Fuck it." She whispered, so lowly that for a moment, Astarion thought he had imagined it.
Suddenly, arms wound around his waist as she stepped forward, burying her face in the hollow of his throat. He was stunned for a few moments, enjoying the warmth of her breath on the cold skin of his neck before his arms hesitantly wound around her waist in return. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply, feeling her scent calm his soul. She smelled of the incense that Halsin regularly burned, campfire smoke, and a heavy dose of blood. He was barely aware of the faint smile that graced his face, until she stepped away, looking up at him with shining eyes and a light smile upon her lips. A small part of him lamented the loss of the tender hug, but this view . . . was worth it.
"Well, you're full of surprises, aren't you?" Astarion laughed slightly. "Honestly, I have no idea what we're doing. We'll figure it out together, right?"
He held out one hand to her, his palm facing up. He still couldn't spy the ever-present darkness that seemed to linger in her silver eyes. Instead, there was just pure joy – she was almost vibrating with it. She reached up, one tanned freckled hand, to tenderly cup his face. Astarion leaned into the gentle touch, almost purring as it went further to play with the soft hair at the base of his neck.
"Of course, we will," She whispered. "I don't know what this is either, or what we're doing. I can't remember if I've ever cared for anyone before. All I know is that I want to be with you. Even after all this madness is over." Her eyes glowed with intent that sent pleasant shivers down his spine. "And, I'll kill everyone and everything that stands in our way of that."
"Oh darling," He crooned, a languid smile spread across his face. "That is one the sexiest things you have ever said. I can't wait to see who you rip apart next. As long as it's not me – of course."