Hi everyone,

This story is a translation of my fiction 'Le Chant du Silence' originally written in French, and recently completed. I must warn that English isn't my native language and errors are therefore to be expected. I apologize in advance for the clumsiness, despite my proofreading.

Baldur's Gate 3 worked as a therapy for me. Not only did it touch me on many personal levels, but it also made me want to write again. One of the reasons is Astarion. I must admit I was the first surprise: the handsome vampire guy isn't usually my thing. But what was my astonishment to see that - under his frivolous facade - his story was a struggle for freedom, a battle to escape sexual trauma, and a quest for moral and physical independence. We can thank his voice actor, Neil Newbon, for his incredible performance.

This fiction, although it will largely follow the events of the game, will not be a copy and paste. If I remain as faithful as possible to the scenes and characters, I also wanted to make them my own, to create a real story more than a retelling.

I will publish one chapter per week. From time to time, I will offer you a musical recommandation with certain chapters, because music is an important component of this fiction. Finally, the chapters will all be between 7 and 10 pages (with some exceptions). Notwithstanding this introduction which is shorter.

I think I have provided all the information; I leave you with the prologue as well as the first chapter, wishing you all a good reading!

Freedom tastes like ashes.

It's a flickering flame. When you think you're taking a step in its direction, you realise it's moved further away. We hope to reach the summit at the next turn, only to discover the ground is slipping beneath our feet. And as soon as our fingers brush against it, as our eyes catch a glimpse of it, the fire inside us can no longer burn: we were its fuel.

This was the conclusion reached by Sabrae after more than six months on the run in the Underdark. At that time, the ascent to the surface had sounded like a new beginning. A hope, for Durdyn and her, of living a life where their love would not be condemned. She remembered his astonished smile the day she had finally agreed to follow him. That sincere joy looked like a good omen.

Hope was not a common feeling in Menzoberranzan. The inhabitants of the Spiders City had hardly earned their reputation by showing benevolence. Lolth alone determined who deserved to live and who was destined for destruction. Which name won her favour, and which her torment. Sabrae had understood this from her earliest childhood. As the eldest daughter of the Fourth House, one of the city's highest institutions, she was destined to become a high priestess. An honour and an obligation for this matriarchal people. In due time, she was expected to take over the leadership of House Asenred, and to act for the well-being of her family.

Such was the lot of the dark elves. To live and die for Lolth, for her love, her power. The City Council never condemned mass murder, or the complete disappearance of another House, as long as it was done properly. No witnesses, no survivors: just a new favourite for the Mother of Lies. That was how Lolth nurtured ambition... and how her children climbed the ladder of their own imprisonment.

Yes, Sabrae was destined for greatness, but her heart decided otherwise. When she met Durdyn, a servant of her household, their love was obvious. Despite reason, safety and faith. In this world of darkness, he became the spark of goodness; in this society of murders, he gave her life. Alas, such an union was forbidden. It was customary for a future matriarch to satisfy her pleasure wherever and whenever she wished, but under no circumstances feelings were involved. So Durdyn and Sabrae began a hidden, secret passion. A forbidden act committed before the eyes of the Spider Queen, a snag in her web.

Until two sinners gave birth to a third. When Sabrae heard about the baby, she feared the worst. But Durdyn... Durdyn had been overjoyed. A child, their child, to prove there was no flaw in their love. A little being they had to protect, keep away from Lolth and the other drows. "But where?" she exclaimed. "In the Underdark, at the mercy of the first monster that comes along?" "Higher up," Durdyn simply replied. Sabrae had thought him mad. The surface was the territory of the Fairies, the high elves who had banished them to the world below. It was said their sun burnt the skin and melted the flesh. What redemption was there to be found ?

Yet she had surprised herself by accepting. To hope. Overnight, they had fled Menzoberranzan and climbed the stalagmites of the Underdark. They had come across some terrifying creatures; an Aboleth had failed to complete their journey on the very first day, and they had to hide from the duergars several times. But they had reached their goal. The air was less humid and the temperature warmer. After months of pantalooning, a warm, golden glow had caressed their faces. The radiance of the surface, just a few hours' walk away!

The famous flame of freedom, just beyond their reach; the spark that became the pyre. That night, the soldiers of House Asenred finally caught up with them. With a few swipes of the sword, Sabrae's hopes died with her lover. The commander pushed Durdyn's corpse aside without taking his eyes off her. He seemed upset: after all, he had just wasted his best blade on a slave.

"No one escapes Lolth" he declared.

Sabrae ran as fast as she could. Her pregnancy, the journey and her grief were slowing her down, but unlike the drows in pursuit, she was not afraid of the glow spreading upstream. She reached the crevasse, widened it and pierced it with her fingernails. An arrow shot through her leg as she climbed towards the blinding light. Drunk with pain, she felt like a drowning woman braving the waves, a stiff rising from the grave. When her pursuer grazed her ankle, all he caught was rock.

She sprang up from beneath the earth, taking a long, almost burning breath. The sun dazzled her, but she was not consumed. Sabrae remained whole in this land her people cursed.

From then on, she hobbled along in search of shelter. By the time she caught sight of the colourful marquees, her contractions had already begun. She followed the melodious sound of a flute, which was soon replaced by a scream of terror. She fainted before she could see the musician's face.

And now she was waking up, the pain radiating from her body and the taste of ash in her mouth. The taste of freedom; the fire to which she was the fuel. "Hang on!" whispered a voice close to her. "I think we're losing her," said another. Sabrae looked up at the strange sight above her; a blue-black ceiling glowing with a thousand lights. If this was Heaven, then it was immense, frightening... magnificent.

A new cramp stiffened her legs, making her groan. The hand that gripped her was as trembling as her own. Sabrae's eyes lost themselves in the glow of a candle as her body relaxed, and was released from a new life. She heard crying.

The little creature was placed on her breast: it was a girl. Her grey eyes were still blind, but already wide awake.

A child of the sun... A dark elf born on the surface and fit to live there. Durdyn had not been wrong. Gathering the last of her strength, Sabrae looked steadfastly at the presence beside her:

"Her name is Nymuë."