As the echoes of Astarion's sobs fade into the quiet of the chamber, the rest of their party approaches, drawn by the tumultuous events that unfolded. Yet, their arrival brings with it an unexpected twist. Esme didn't merely return to the cove; she returned to get reinforcements.
The vampire spawn, still reeling from the emotional turmoil, finds himself confronted by his six other siblings, each bearing the weight of their shared existence. Lost and disoriented in their newfound freedom, they stand before him, uncertainty etched on their faces. They had known nothing but servitude, their existence defined by the whims of their master. Now, faced with the daunting prospect of carving out their own path, they look to Astarion for guidance.
Albeit hesitantly, the two elves share a silent exchange, their resolve solidifying with a shared understanding. It's only fair to offer his siblings the same chance at redemption that he was afforded.
With a solemn tone, Astarion makes them swear to uphold a newfound code: to keep their fangs to themselves and to guide the other spawn to the Underdark. Though the prospect of releasing thousands of vampire spawn into the depths of the Underdark is daunting, they recognize that the spawn are victims, ensnared in a fate they never chose. They deserve a chance to forge their own path, even if it carries risks and uncertainties.
The weight of their decision hangs heavy in the air, a testament to the complexity of morality and the burden of redemption. Yet, amidst the uncertainty, there's a glimmer of hope—a belief that even in the darkest of times, compassion and second chances can pave the way towards a brighter future.
Not long after the rest of the spawn leave, they return to camp and Astarion and Delphie find solace together amidst the serene springs of the garden within the Dragon Cove. The melodious chirping of pseudodragons and faerie dragons weaves through the air, casting a soothing spell over the atmosphere, complemented by the gentle glow of the floating orbs in various hues surrounding them. Though the spring water typically carries a chill, it now emits warmth, its surface veiled in a delicate mist, thanks to Alden's subtle magic. In this tranquil sanctuary, the two elves sit side by side, enveloped in a shared silence, each lost in their own contemplations, their surroundings a comforting refuge.
Delphie breaks the stillness as she reaches for a rag, her movements purposeful as she begins to tenderly wipe away the traces of blood and dirt from Astarion's form. His voice, heavy with melancholy, pierces the quietude. "I should probably start getting used to the shadows again," he murmurs, his gaze distant. Delphie's hand stops in its movements, her eyes lifting to meet his. "Who knows how long I have left in the sun?"
Her heart aches for him, the weight of his words settling heavily upon her. They have just emerged victorious against Cazador, yet their triumph is bittersweet. While she gains a set of wings, he is consigned to the shadows. Her gaze subtly shifts towards the wings behind her. She releases a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, her hand finding its way to his cheek, her touch gentle yet firm. "You did the right thing, dretri," she assures him, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her heart.
Astarion exhales heavily, leaning into her touch, his hand covering hers. "I know. That doesn't make it sting any less," he admits, his words heavy with resignation. "Maybe never seeing the sun again is just the price of freedom."
With a determined resolve, the wood elf moves to straddle his lap, her hands cradling his face as she gazes intently into his eyes. "Astarion," she begins, her voice unwavering, "no matter what happens, I'll be there. By your side. I hope you know that."
The vampire spawn gently rests his hands on her hips, a small smile playing across his lips. "I think I do...assuming we survive, of course. Because a horrible death is always just around the corner with you," he teases, his smile widening as a soft chuckle escapes her lips. Closing the small gap between them, he leans in to plant a tender kiss on her lips.
"We'll find another way, my love. I promise," Delphie whispers, pressing her forehead against his. Astarion nods in agreement, his hands caressing her sides reassuringly. As his touch grazes over her wing, she winces slightly.
"Did I hurt you, darling?" he asks, concern evident in his voice.
Looking up at him with wide eyes, the winged woman shakes her head. "They're just a little tender," she reassures him, a gentle smile gracing her lips, finding solace in his embrace.
"Can't say I'm surprised, considering you summoned them at death's door and then unleashed the sun's fury upon Cazador. Quite the display, I must say. And let me assure you, they do look rather lovely on you," Astarion remarks with a hint of admiration in his voice. Delphie's smile returns, a soft glimmer of amusement dancing in her eyes as she reaches for the cloth to resume washing him down.
However, Astarion gently grasps her wrist to halt her movements, his gaze tender as he locks eyes with her. "There's... something I'd like to show you, if that's alright? Something out in the city." The look she returns is one of pure love and care, a tenderness usually reserved solely for him, though it could be argued that others receive similar glances when unveiling their own vulnerabilities.
Delphie offers him a lopsided smile. "If you want to sneak off for a cuddle, you can just ask. Though I can argue we already do that every night-"
"I'll try to restrain myself if you do," he interjects with a chuckle. "Now, let's get dressed. Shall we?" Their playful banter echoes in the air, a comforting reminder of the bond they share amidst the uncertainties of their journey. With a shared smile, they emerge from the spring and get ready to sneak off into the dead of the night.
Eventually, the pale elf leads her to the Lower City cemetery, a place of solemn beauty amidst the bustling streets. Delphie glides gracefully in a gold and pink floor-length dress, reminiscent of the one she wore when they first met, while Astarion maintains his usual attire of a plain white undershirt and trousers. Despite the weight of sorrow that hangs in the air, the cemetery exudes a serene tranquility. Each tombstone is adorned with lovingly placed flowers, save for one solitary grave, ancient and barren, seemingly untouched by time.
Delphie is on the verge of making a sarcastic remark about the decorum of desecrating graves, but a sudden realization steals the words from her lips. This is where Astarion was laid to rest before he returned as a spawn. She watches in silence as he kneels before the barren tombstone, tenderly wiping away the cobwebs and dust that have accumulated over time.
As Astarion rises to his feet, he shares with Delphie the weight of his past, his words heavy with the burden of centuries. "Near two hundred years and I never came back. Not since I woke up down there," he murmurs, his voice heavy with the weight of centuries. Delphie intertwines their hands, her touch offering silent support as she leans against him, her head resting gently on his shoulder. "I had to punch a hole in the coffin and claw my way through six feet of dirt. Then, when I finally broke the surface, retching up dirt and congealed blood, Cazador was waiting." Delphie's grip tightens on him, her heart aching for the pain he endured.
"You were never his, Astarion. Everything he took... he took it by force," she reassures him, her gaze unwavering as she looks up at him with tender doe eyes.
The vampire spawn meets her gaze with a solemn intensity. "Maybe, but he did take it. There's nothing left of the person I was. Just a name on a rock," he confesses, his voice heavy with the weight of centuries. With a resigned sigh, he turns away from her, his gaze drifting into the distance. "For nearly two centuries, I stalked these streets like a ghost while the person I was lay here, dead and buried," he admits, his words tinged with sorrow.
Slowly, he cranes his neck back toward her, a soft smile gracing his features. "Now, I need to figure out who I am. What I want."
Delphie shifts her body to fully face him, her hands finding their way to his arms as she meets his gaze. "What do you want?" she asks, her voice gentle yet determined.
Their eyes lock for a moment, and then his smile grows, a spark of hope igniting within him. "You... I want you," he declares, his admission causing a faint blush to color Delphie's cheeks as she shyly averts her gaze before meeting his crimson orbs once more. "You were by my side through all of this. Through bloodlust and pain and misery. You were patient. You cared. You trusted me when that was an objectively stupid thing to do," he continues, a hint of amusement lacing his words. Delphie lets out a soft, amused scoff, her lopsided smile growing in response. "I feel safe with you. Seen. And whatever the future holds for me, I don't want to lose that."
"You won't, I promise," Delphie assures him, her voice unwavering in its conviction.
The two elves exchange a tender smile, their shared gratitude unspoken yet deeply felt. "Thank you," Astarion murmurs, his eyes reflecting the warmth of their connection. He releases an exasperated sigh, his gaze returning to his old grave. "Well, I should probably fix this," he remarks, determination evident in his tone. With one last glance shared between them, he retrieves one of his old daggers and kneels before the tombstone once more.
Carefully, he begins to chisel something new into the weathered stone: 468 DR-. As he finishes, he sits back on his heels, a small snort escaping him at Delphie's gesture of placing a night orchid on top of the grave. "Cute," he remarks with a hint of amusement. For a few moments, they sit in silence, the weight of their shared history lingering in the air.
Then, Astarion breaks the silence once more. "I've been dead in the ground for long enough. It's time to try living again," he declares, turning towards Delphie and gently taking her hands in his own. "With everything that life has to offer." Delphie offers him a fond smile, which he gratefully returns, their eyes locked in a silent vow of companionship and support.
"You know, I didn't care for you when we first met," Astarion admits, a teasing glint in his eyes.
"Oh, really?" Delphie teases back, a playful twinkle dancing in her gaze. "I can tell when people lie, dretri. Don't forget that."
"Never, darling," he whispers, leaning in to capture her lips in a tender kiss. A satisfied noise escapes from Delphie's lips as they break apart, but before she can react, he gently pushes her back, his movements fluid as he slithers over her like a snake, capturing her in another passionate kiss. Their embrace deepens, the world around them fading into oblivion as they surrender to an intoxicating dance...at least until...
"Love on a grave?" Wyll's voice resonates through the cemetery. "Very classy, Astarion."
A low growl escapes the vampire spawn's lips. "Gods, no one can get any privacy around here."
Delphie plants one final kiss on Astarion's lips before pulling away. "I mean, we are in a public cemetery, dretri," she quips, a playful glint in her eyes. Astarion rolls his eyes as he sits up, eliciting a small giggle from Delphie. As he helps her to her feet, her attention shifts to Wyll.
"Is everything okay? Why are you here?" she inquires, her voice laced with concern.
"I'm here because Astarion almost got you killed," Wyll retorts bluntly, his tone betraying a mixture of frustration and worry.
The wood elf lets out an awkward chuckle, attempting to diffuse the tension. "Sorry, Wyll, but I don't understand how-"
But the warlock cuts her off, stepping into Astarion's personal space, his expression tight with anger. "He was so hellbent on ascending that he risked all of our lives."
"Well, if I must justify myself," Astarion begins, his tone remaining cool and collected, " I didn't exactly plan on getting caught. It just... happened. You know how it goes."
"You dispelled the cloaking spell. Both of you did. We could've-" Wyll's voice rises in frustration, his words coming out in a rush.
"Wyll, you're making no sense," Delphie interjects, her own frustration simmering beneath the surface. She steps forward, her tone firm as she addresses him. "Cazador was going to find out either way when he spotted us down there." Her words hang in the air, a silent plea for understanding amidst the turmoil of their recent ordeal.
"Del, I have tried so hard to be patient with you. Astarion is bad news," Wyll's voice cuts through the tense atmosphere, his frustration evident in every word.
"Why all this effort to persuade her? Hoping to sweep her off her feet, are we?" the vampire spawn retorts with a snarl, his gaze locking with Wyll's as he confronts him. Delphie can almost see the steam erupting from the pale elf's ears as he speaks.
"I'm being a loyal friend and pointing out problems as I see them," Wyll counters, his tone defensive.
"What happens between us and what we do is none of your concern, devil," Astarion interjects, his voice laced with a mixture of irritation and defiance.
"Wyll...you need to leave," Delphie asserts, her words carrying a steely resolve as she fixes him with a stern look.
The tension in the air reaches a boiling point as Astarion and Wyll engage in a tense staring contest. In a swift motion, Wyll's blade is suddenly pressed against Astarion's throat, the sharp edge threateningly close to drawing blood. "Give me one good reason not to slice your throat and watch your blood pool at my feet," the warlock growls, his voice dripping with menace.
"Wyll, stop!" Delphie pleads, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and uncertainty as she watches the dangerous standoff unfold before her eyes.
A sinister laugh escapes Wyll's lips, his eyes glinting with malice as he pulls his rapier away from Astarion's throat, causing the vampire spawn to stumble backward and fall to the ground. The air crackles with tension as Wyll's form begins to shift and contort before their very eyes. Delphie's heart pounds in her chest as she rushes over to Astarion's side, pulling him away from the looming threat.
As the dust settles, Delphie's eyes widen in disbelief as she beholds the figure before her. Where Wyll once stood now looms a dark shadow from her past. It is not Wyll but Orin, the twisted maniac who had plagued her life before. The realization hits her like a physical blow, sending a shiver down her spine as she recoils in horror from the revelation. Orin's malevolent laughter echoes in the air, filling her with a sense of dread as she braces herself for the terrifying ordeal that lies ahead.
Delphie's grip on Astarion tightens, seeking solace in his comforting embrace as they confront the looming threat before them. "Where's Wyll, Orin?" she demands, her voice laced with desperation and anger. But Orin merely continues her maniacal laughter, the sound echoing ominously in the stillness of the air. Delphie's frustration mounts, her patience wearing thin as she repeats her question with increasing urgency. "WHERE IS HE?!"
With a chilling disregard for Delphie's pleas, Orin brazenly attempts to strike a deal, her tone dripping with malice as she lays out her sinister proposition. Kill Gortash and deliver both netherstones, and she promises to spare Wyll. In return, they will engage in a deadly battle for possession of all three netherstones. It's a diabolical bargain, but Delphie sees no other choice. With a heavy heart, she accepts, knowing that it's the only way to ensure Wyll's survival.
Unbeknownst to Orin, however, Delphie has learned a thing or two during her harrowing journey with a cunning rogue. She now knows how to play the game of deception, and she employs her newfound skills with precision, successfully concealing her true intentions from the shapeshifter. Satisfied with her answer, Orin manipulates the object on her wrist, vanishing from sight with a cruel laugh that echoes hauntingly in the air.
As the shapeshifter vanishes from sight, tears fill Delphie's eyes. Astarion can hear her muttering to herself, her words laden with self-blame and regret. His arms tighten around her, providing a steady anchor amidst the storm of emotions raging within her. He runs a gentle hand through her hair, tenderly brushing out the tangles from their earlier intimate moment. "You did nothing wrong, my sweet," he reassures her, his voice soft and comforting.
"We shouldn't have split up. We knew there could've potentially been an infiltrator in our camp, and I made the stupid decision to split us up," Delphie's words spill forth like a torrent of self-recrimination as she breaks free from Astarion's embrace and begins pacing around the graveyard. Her steps echo loudly against the solemn silence of the night, her movements fueled by a mixture of guilt and anxiety. "How long has he been gone? Are they hurting him? What if he's already dead?" Each question hangs heavily in the air, punctuating the weight of her fears.
Sensing Delphie's spiraling distress, Astarion's patience begins to wear thin with her relentless self-reproach. With a decisive motion, he seizes her arm, halting her frantic pacing in its tracks. His grip is firm, yet there's a subtle tenderness in the way he holds her, a silent reassurance amidst the chaos of her emotions. Gazing into her eyes intently, he sees the fear reflected in her gaze, a mirror to his own inner turmoil.
"Look, I... might not exactly be on the friendliest terms with Wyll, but I understand he holds a special place in your heart," Astarion begins, his voice laced with a mixture of concern and resignation. Letting out a heavy sigh, he cups her face in his hands, his touch gentle yet firm, his fingers tracing the contours of her cheek with a small smirk playing on his lips. "After all, he's the Blade of the Frontiers, isn't he? Single-handedly taking down creatures twice the size of Orin." Despite his attempt to comfort her, a glint of jealousy flickers in his eyes as he averts his gaze, releasing her face with a sigh. "One thing I'm sure of... he'll fight to survive, won't he? All for you."
"Is that why you dislike him so much?" Delphie's voice slices through the tension, breaking the momentary silence that hangs heavy between them. Astarion's expression tightens at her words, a flicker of discomfort crossing his features. He can feel the weight of her gaze upon him, the intensity of her scrutiny cutting straight to the core of his insecurities.
"Are you worried I'll run off with him?" the wood elf's question hangs in the air, charged with vulnerability and raw emotion. Astarion winces inwardly, his defenses momentarily crumbling under the weight of her probing inquiry. He tenses as she reaches out to grasp his hand, her touch sending a jolt of electricity coursing through his veins.
"Dretri, I want you to know I mean every word when I say," the ranger's voice is soft, laced with a mixture of sincerity and determination as she searches for the right words to convey her feelings. "Wyll is sweet and he's gorgeous, but he's not you."
The rogue slowly shifts his gaze toward her, his eyes locking with hers as he listens intently to her words. "Astarion, you understand me in ways that no one else here does. Wyll may seem like he does, but he doesn't. He cares for me, yes, but he doesn't hold me at night through the nightmares. He doesn't make me laugh the way you do. He doesn't make my heart flutter like you do." With each word, the wood elf pours her heart out, her voice filled with sincerity and love.
"And despite his constant boasting about his ballroom technique, he wasn't the one who taught me to dance," Delphie adds with a playful twinkle in her eyes, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. With a gentle movement, she guides the vampire spawn to twirl her as she spins effortlessly into his embrace. Looking up at him, she meets his gaze with unwavering sincerity. "What I'm trying to say is he isn't the one I love...I love you." Astarion's eyes widen in astonishment at her declaration, his breath catching in his throat at the raw honesty of her words.
"Wyll is just a friend. A good friend, and that's all. He will never be anything more to me because you are enough," Delphie concludes, laying her heart bare before him.
The pale elf lets out a small scoff in disbelief, his expression a mixture of self-deprecation and genuine surprise, yet his eyes betray a tenderness as he soaks in every one of her words. "He has so much more to offer than I do," he murmurs, his voice tinged with a hint of insecurity.
Delphie shakes her head adamantly. "No, he doesn't," she insists as she meets his gaze with sincerity.
Astarion releases her from his grasp, a playful smirk dancing on his lips as he begins listing off Wyll's supposed attributes with a teasing glint in his eyes. "Well, let's take a good look, shall we? He's got riches, being the heir of Ravengard and all. Oh, and let's not forget his ability to play the protective knight-" His words are abruptly halted by the gentle touch of Delphie's palm pressing against his lips, silencing him with a tender gesture.
"What can I do to make you believe me?" she implores, her voice laced with genuine concern and her eyes pleading with him. Astarion humorously raises a brow at her question, a playful glimmer in his eyes. "Letting him die is not an option," she adds firmly, her resolve shining through her words.
The vampire spawn playfully rolls his eyes at her statement, a smirk playing on his lips as he removes Delphie's hand from his lips. "Oh, very well... I suppose it would be a shame to let such a perfectly handsome man go to waste," he concedes, his tone tinged with amusement as he indulges in their playful banter.
A slender hand intertwines with his as Delphie gazes up at him with a soft smile, her eyes alight with a gentle warmth that melts away any lingering doubts. "How about this? Take a leap of faith with me. This is a part of living, Astarion. You of all people have actually shown me that. Strange, right?" Her words carry a sense of hopeful optimism, a reminder of the resilience they've both discovered amidst the trials of their journey together.
He gives her an amused smile, the corners of his lips quirking up in a fond expression as he leans down to plant a tender kiss on her temple. "Very," he concedes, his voice tinged with affection and a hint of playful irony.
"We should head back and warn everyone," Delphie suggests after a moment, her tone shifting to one of seriousness as she focuses on the task at hand. Astarion meets her gaze with a solemn nod, their shared understanding of the gravity of the situation anchoring them in a moment of unity amidst the uncertainty that looms ahead.