Chapter Text
The wine was shit.
The wine was shit and the night was shit and, frankly, the whole fucking situation was shit. Astarion wouldn’t have delighted in the death of the entire grove or danced on their graves by any means, but it was an irritating diversion when they were trying to avoid growing tentacles.
And the dancing was atrocious.
“Still not having fun?” Tav asked, doing the rounds. He looked pleased with himself, tips of his ears flushed pink with alcohol and general merriment. Disgusting.
“Of course not. I told you—” Astarion took another embittered swig of his shitty wine. “This hero business isn’t my angle.”
“I think it’s very becoming of you,” Tav said, and winked. He was as flirty as Astarion himself sometimes, but he actually meant it. Even if it wasn’t going somewhere, when Tav paid someone a compliment, he wasn’t lying.
But he’d turned Astarion down, not thirty minutes before. It still stung, just a bit.
“Do you want something?” Astarion asked. “Because I’m not in the business of putting second offers on the table.”
“Nah.” Tav looked out at the party. “You just seemed more miserable than before. Figured I’d make sure you weren’t going to abandon us for having good intentions.”
Astarion rolled his eyes. “I may not agree with your methods, but I can’t deny their effectiveness. You win,” he added. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”
Tav frowned. “No,” he said. “Not at all.” He took a step back. “Cheers, Astarion.” He lifted his bottle. “I hope you find a sliver of enjoyment this evening.” He gave him a wink and slipped off towards Gale.
Which was…interesting, to say the least.
Astarion sighed and shook his bottle. Empty, and he couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or terribly depressing. He’d caught one of the younger tieflings pilfering bottles earlier when no one was looking. Maybe he’d teach her a few tricks of his own.
“If you’re looking for Mol, she’s already managed to sell most of her wares.” Halsin was sitting at the little spot he’d set up since making himself comfortable at their camp a few days before. At first glance, Astarion thought he was slicing a piece of fruit with a knife, but he wasn’t —
He was whittling.
“Has she now?” Astarion said, instead of commenting on…that. “Well, I suppose that’s for the best then. It tastes wretched anyway. Unless you’ve got a bottle of something, ah, squirreled away.”
Halsin looked up and grinned. “That was funny,” he said. “You’re funny.”
“I have my moments.”
“I’m sure you do.” He set his project down. “I don’t drink,” he said. “It’s not good for anyone, least of all me.”
“Oh, come now, not even a bit to wet your whistle?”
Halsin shook his head. “I gave up the vice some years ago. But if you’re looking for a spare vintage, I think Zevlor abandoned his own a while ago.”
Astarion sighed, glancing at the tiefling, who’d settled into some sort of deep melancholy, despite the festivities.
“Seems like he needs it more than I do.”
Halsin chuckled. “Perhaps.” He glanced up at Astarion. “You’re welcome to sit, if you’re not enjoying the party.”
“With you?” Halsin nodded. “...No,” Astarion said. “I’m sorry, I can’t help but ask, what are you doing?”
“Whittling,” Halsin said.
“Yes, I see that. I should have been more specific. What are you whittling and why?”
Halsin paused, glancing over his work. “I intended for it to be a dog, for one of the children. They like your new companion.”
“Pest, more like,” Astarion muttered.
“Do you have hobbies?” Halsin asked. “Besides drinking.”
From anyone else, that might have been a slight, but Halsin was already focused on his project again. The question seemed genuine.
“Certainly,” Astarion said.
“Such as?”
Astarion shrugged. “Sex, naturally.”
Halsin paused. Then continued. “An interesting choice.”
“Is it? I suppose it isn’t spoon collecting, but it has its charms.” He glanced down. Halsin was…handsome, in a way. Well, a very specific way, Astarion supposed, if arms that looked strong enough to break him in half was your thing. His auburn hair was lightly streaked with silver that stood out in the flickering light of the fire, and his hands were…big. Big and weathered. Astarion suppressed a shiver. What he’d give for those hands to spread him apart, for those fingers to work him open, drive him mad.
“Astarion?”
“Hm?”
“You’re staring.”
Astarion blinked. Halsin was looking up at him with a strange little half-smile on his face. He seemed amused.
“I was,” he admitted. “You’re quite handsome, you know. I don’t suppose I could convince you to indulge my little hobby this evening, could I?”
Halsin watched him, his bright eyes scrutinizing under the glow of the moon. He set down his project and pushed himself up to his feet. The full height of him was startling, and Astarion had to stop himself from taking a step back.
“I don’t think that’s what you want,” Halsin said.
“Of course it is,” Astarion snapped. “But if you’re not interested that’s all you have to say.” He took a step back now, to at least get out of Halsin’s towering shadow. As he turned to leave, he felt Halsin follow.
“Astarion.”
Astarion sighed. “What?”
“I am not uninterested. You are…striking. Tenacious. If it takes a fool to deny you, then I am one. But there is no denying your beauty.”
Astarion scowled. “Oh for the gods’ sake, I asked if you wanted to fuck me. I don’t need a pep talk.”
Halsin remained steadfast, which was irritating. He even laughed again, lifting his hands in surrender. “I understand,” he said. “Perhaps, when you know better what you do want, we may come together under the moon. I would delight in your body some day, if you’d allow it.”
He must have thought the matter settled, because he sat back down and picked up the block of wood again.
Astarion stood for a moment, unsure of what to say. He decided on, “Enjoy your whittling,” which sounded ridiculous even to his own ears.
“I certainly will,” Halsin said.
“I hate it down here,” Astarion muttered. He didn’t want to be underground. He wanted to be above it, in the sun of the days he felt were far too short. Night would come, and he was miserable about it.
“In fairness,” Shadowheart said, “you hate it everywhere.”
“I don’t,” he insisted. “I just prefer when the plant life isn’t trying to kill us. One thing at a time, please.”
Tav chuckled. “Not up for a bit of mushroom foraging then? Halsin said there were traders on the surface who’d pay good coin for some of these.”
“I’m sure he did,” Astarion said, and slipped into an even fouler mood.
Ever since that night at the party, he had been avoiding Halsin like the plague — unfortunately, however, they were camped quite close together, and Astarion couldn’t move without causing a scene. To his credit, Halsin didn’t bother him, nor did he try to strike up conversation. He had only spoken to Astarion a handful of times since, which was fine, as far as Astarion was concerned. He didn’t have anything to say to the druid anyway.
When they did return to the surface, stumbling into camp well after midnight, Halsin wasn’t there. Gale informed them helpfully that he had returned to the grove to help settle in the new archdruid, and would be back at the end of the tenday. Sure enough, Halsin returned as Gale said, laden down with supplies.
“I wanted to express how much I appreciate you letting me stay here. I promise, once we are in the Shadowlands and we deal with the curse, I will be able to join you. If that’s what you wish,” he added.
“Certainly!” Tav beamed and sorted through some of the baskets Halsin had returned with. “Oh, look. Astarion, I think this one’s for you.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Baldurian vintage. And take a look at that date.” Tav peered at the label and grinned.
“Indeed,” Halsin said. “I recall you were unsatisfied with the wine at the party. Perhaps you can save that one for another special occasion.”
Astarion took the bottle, looking it over. It was an impressive vintage, and from one of the better wineries in the city. A bit low brow for his master, but then, most things were.
“Typically you say thank you, when people give you gifts,” Tav said.
“Hm?”
Halsin chuckled. “It is hardly necessary. A trader passed through the grove with it, and I thought of you.”
“He’s thought of all of us, it seems.” Gale held up a scroll to the light. “I can certainly make use of this.”
Astarion glanced down at his bottle, no longer unique in its intention. He went over to his camp and tossed it in with his things, hoping it might break. It didn’t, but no matter. He’d smash it against the rocks some other night. Halsin continued passing out supplies as Gale settled in to make dinner. He’d started saving Astarion the blood, which made feeding himself much less awkward. He sipped sullenly from his bowl as everyone ate and drank, in a rather foul mood for no reason that he could really explain. Halsin didn’t even look at him, which was a pity, because Astarion was very certain his expression could wither vines.
It was Tav who finally came to bother him, sitting down as Astarion was getting ready for bed.
“Alright. What’s crawled up your ass and died, hm?”
“What?”
“You heard me. You’ve been more of a shithead than usual. What’s up?”
Astarion scowled. “I don’t know if you’re trying to endear me to you, but last I checked insulting someone was not the way to do it.”
“Right, like you’re so good at making friends.”
“My dear—” Astarion leaned forward. “I am far better at it than you might think.”
Tav frowned. “Is this…does this have anything to do with Cazador?”
Astarion froze. They’d spoken about him briefly, but Tav wasn’t nosy by nature, and he was hopelessly kind, never prying where he felt he shouldn’t, always letting Astarion take the lead in their conversations. Now that they were…companions, he supposed, Tav felt inclined to tease him. It was very different from the way his friendships usually went. Astarion had never really been allowed to have friends Cazador couldn’t have a taste of. He had eyes everywhere. Anyone Astarion got remotely close to needed to be brought back to the mansion, no exceptions.
He tried to imagine Tav slumped over in Cazador’s arms, just another blood bag to toss on the pile. It was a gruesome visage.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “If I’m being unpleasant, I apologize. I’ll…do better,” he said.
Tav raised a brow. “Is this because of the wine?”
“What? What wine?”
“From Halsin. It was just a gift.”
Astarion scowled. “No. I don’t care about that.”
“You seem to. You got rid of it awful fast.”
“Can I not have a single moment of privacy?”
“No,” Wyll said, as he walked past.
Astarion sighed. “I hate it here. And I hate all of you. I’m going to bed, please go away.”
Tav shrugged. “Alright then,” he said. “See if I ever get you anything though.”
“I don’t need things. I need to be left alone.” He laid down in his bedroll. “Good night.”
Tav sighed and turned away. “Good night, Astarion.”
The nightmares never ceased — Astarion had only gotten better at waking up silently. He wasn’t quite used to their new camp in the mountains, and it was a bit too open for him, but everyone was sleeping, and the stars were bright and numerous. He went to the edge of their camp and sat down, closing his eyes against the chill of the night air.
“Can’t sleep?”
Astarion turned, and Halsin’s hulking form lumbered behind him. He scowled and turned back. “I’m fine,” he said.
“Rest eludes me as well,” Halsin admitted. There was room enough for him to sit beside Astarion, but he didn’t move any closer. “The nearer we draw to the Shadowlands, the more I find myself plagued by memories. Nightmares.”
Astarion frowned. “Do you not meditate?”
“I do. But even in those moments I am…followed by the past.” He still remained where he was.
Astarion made a noise. He knew that feeling all too well. “You’re quite connected to that place, aren’t you?”
Halsin nodded. “I knew it before it was cast into Shadow. I know the nature spirit that inhabits it quite well. I fought to keep it safe, and I failed.”
Astarion finally angled himself to see Halsin better, and was surprised at how melancholy he looked. He opened his mouth to say something, but Halsin suddenly smiled and took a step back.
“Forgive me,” he said. “You came here for peace and quiet, not to listen to an old elf reminisce. I will leave you to it.” He turned to leave.
Oh, damn it all. “Wait,” Astarion called to him, before he could stop himself. “You…can sit. If you’d like.”
Halsin raised a brow. “You don’t have to do this,” he said softly. “I am in no need of comfort, or pity.”
“Lucky for you I’m all out of both.” Astarion turned back to look out at the mountains. “Do what you’d like,” he said. “It makes no difference to me.” He leaned forward, focusing on a point far in the distance, listening for Halsin to walk back to his tent.
He didn’t, though. Instead, he came and sat down beside Astarion, keeping a few feet between them.
“Thank you,” he said. “I must admit, I’d rather not be alone.”
“Well, lucky for you I don’t really care.”
Halsin laughed again. “You certainly put a lot of effort into making sure everyone thinks that, don’t you?”
Astarion opened his mouth to argue, but he was too drained. Halsin was right. He didn’t want anyone to think he cared. When they thought you cared, they wanted to care with you. And Astarion didn’t need that. He didn’t need anyone.
“People make things complicated,” he muttered. “Once you care about what happens to them.” He’d given that up a long time ago. Cazador made sure of it.
To his surprise, Halsin made a noise of agreement. “It certainly complicates things. Would if I could devote myself entirely to nature, but it’s a lonely life.”
“Yes, I suppose having an entire grove of druids makes one feel so isolated.”
“Hm. Quite the opposite, actually.” Halsin leaned forward, his gaze fixed on an unknowable point in the distance. “I know I shouldn’t, but the further we travel from the grove, the more…relieved I feel. Even when the future is so uncertain.”
Astarion followed Halsin’s gaze. He couldn’t see what he saw, but…he could feel what Halsin was feeling. It rolled off of him in waves, a sadness that Astarion knew he could have tasted if Halsin dared to let him try.
He thought about Cazador, and he thought about freedom.
“I’ve bothered you enough,” Halsin finally said, and pushed himself to his feet, taking the considerable warmth of his body with him.
Astarion looked up. “You’re not,” he said. “Bothering me.”
“We are both in need of rest, Astarion. Enjoy the stars a little while longer, then try to meditate, at least a little while.” Halsin turned and walked back up the hill to his tent, leaving Astarion alone with his thoughts.
A dangerous thing, indeed.
There was something cold about the Shadow-Cursed Lands. Something that rooted deep inside him, curling like a snake around Astarion’s bones and twisting. His mouth felt all the time like it was filled with blood, but not in a way that soothed the hunger he felt rising inside him. Tav had offered once more, but Astarion didn’t want to indulge in too much of a good thing, even if his blood had been delightful.
Raphael was there, amidst Astarion’s hunger, the sulfur in his devil blood singing sweet promises.
“Why ask Raphael about the scars?” Tav asked, when they’d gone back to camp. Astarion hated this one more than the last. Everything here was damp.
“It was a theory,” Astarion admitted. “Whatever Cazador did to me, it was more than his usual brand of sadism. It had meaning, I could sense it.”
Tav folded his arms over his chest and lifted a brow. “Raphael is dangerous. I don’t like dealing with him, you know that.”
“Yes, well, he’s also my best chance of figuring this out.” Astarion was sharpening a new dagger. He ran a thumb along the edge, not hard enough to slice, but enough to test his handiwork. Perfect.
Tav sighed. “Alright. But I’m here for you, you understand that?”
Astarion looked at him. Gods, he was handsome. Handsome and sweet — exactly the sort of creature he’d have taken back to Cazador, kissed in a dark alleyway like his life depended on it. He could imagine those soft curls in between his fingers, the fantasies that would have drifted past his lips, whispered in Tav’s ear.
“I know,” he said, softer than he meant. “And I appreciate that.”
Tav grinned. “Sincerity? From my Astarion?”
“Oh, piss off,” Astarion snapped. “Gods forbid we have a moment.”
“We were having a moment,” Tav said. “I had no idea.” He gave Astarion’s arm a generous pat. “We’ll figure this out, don’t you worry.”
Astarion nodded, glancing about the camp. They’d only just gotten here and things were already a mess. Harpers and cultists, shadow and loss. Everyone seemed to be on edge, like there was something about this place. On the far end of the camp, Halsin was unpacking his things, glancing past the safety of their torches at the ever growing shadows. Astarion could still feel Halsin’s pain, tinged now with anxiety, closer than anything to fear. Astarion straightened, put on a face, and walked towards him.
“Settling in alright?” he asked. “Need a hand?”
Halsin looked up, any hint of anxiety gone. He smiled. “I think I’m fine, but I appreciate the offer.” He stood to his full height. “Did I hear right? About you and the devil?”
Astarion scowled. “Perhaps.”
Halsin quickly lifted his hands. “You’ll receive no judgment from me. I only wondered if you’d be willing to let me see the scars in question.”
Astarion lifted a brow. “Do you read Infernal?”
“I don’t.”
“I do!” Wyll offered, as his tent collapsed for a third time. Astarion ignored him. Instead, he stepped closer, undoing the ties at the front of his shirt and tugging it over his head. He moved to turn and face Halsin, but the druid held up his hand, and moved to the other side, blocking the rest of camp from seeing.
“I’ve no intention of causing a spectacle,” he murmured. “I must admit, I caught sight of these briefly, some days ago.”
Astarion stiffened, prepared to feel Halsin’s hands on his skin, but the touch never came.
“You believe it’s a contract?”
“Part of one. I…Cazador sired six other spawn. My…siblings, I suppose. He liked to insist we were all one big happy family, even while he was carving scars into our backs.”
Halsin made a noise. “Your fellow spawn, they carry these scars as well?” Astarion nodded, suppressing a shiver. This camp was cold, colder than the mountain camp. “Forgive me,” Halsin said. “There’s a chill tonight, what a fool I am.” He sighed as Astarion turned back to face him. “Again, my apologies. I let curiosity get the best of me.”
“It’s fine,” Astarion said. “Thank you for asking, I suppose.” He moved to head back to his tent.
Halsin’s expression softened as he stepped aside. “I wouldn’t think of doing otherwise.”
Astarion paused to look at him, but Halsin had gone back to unpacking.
“I could use a hand,” Wyll said. “If you’re offering.”
Astarion sighed. “Fine,” he muttered, and held up one side of Wyll’s tent as he began to secure it.
“Looking to ride the bear are you?”
Astarion choked. “What?!”
Wyll jerked his head over his shoulder. “You and Halsin. I’ve seen you talking, he seems quite keen on you.”
“That is—that is not what that was! Or what any of it is! And—and furthermore, I don’t see how it’s any of your business!”
Wyll shrugged. “It’s a small camp, and Halsin’s a decent sort. You could do far worse. I like you, Astarion. I think you make a big show of pretending you don’t care about any of us, but—” He finally got the last knot on his tent secured. “I’d trust you with my life. I have already, on several occasions.”
Astarion blinked. “I…I don’t know what to say.”
“You could say I’m right.”
“You’re not,” he insisted. “But I suppose I’d trust you with my own life as well.”
Wyll smiled. “I’m not going to bet against the two of you just yet, my fanged friend. Thank you,” he added. “For your help. I promise not to tell anyone.”
Astarion scowled. “Yes, see that you don’t.”
Naturally, by the end of day, he’d helped nearly everyone else with their tents, too. But he couldn’t get what Wyll had said out of his mind. He lay there, staving off sleep, thinking about…hands, mostly. And the feeling of them running down his back, tracing and mapping his scars. Whatever they meant, whatever they were for, he didn’t want to think about. But to be touched, without agenda…
Well. That sounded…nice.
Gods, he’d spent too long away from home. He was getting soft, all these blasted heroics. With a scowl he rolled over and blocked it all out. Meditate, he thought. Just meditate. Push it all aside, push—
Hands. Hands, hands, hands. If Astarion still believed there was a god who’d listen to him, he’d pray for it all to stop. The worst part was it didn’t even make him hard. He hadn’t gotten off in days, but there was nothing that made him feel especially aroused. Halsin should have — he was handsome, and large. Astarion wasn’t stupid, he knew what was hiding under those tight druid leathers, but all he felt when he thought of Halsin was —
Warmth, in his chest, thoughts slow, mind at ease, like the tadpole wasn’t squirming under his skull. Stillness, and peace, for the first time in years. He wanted Halsin to fuck him, in some distant part of his mind that remembered what he’d been made for, what the point of him was, according to Cazador — but he was also…relieved. Relieved that no one had asked anything of him he didn’t want to give. Astarion, for the first time in two centuries, could make choices. There were possibilities instead of punishments.
The relief of it all was enough to push him toward sleep, and he woke feeling better than he had in days, rather in spite of their situation.
Astarion had to hand it to their oh-so-fearless leader — when Tav put his mind to something, he bloody well finished it. Halsin asked for their help, and Tav intended to deliver. Even if delivering meant sending Halsin into the Shadowfell.
“Thaniel is trapped in the Shadowfell, but thanks to you all, I know where to find him. I must go there, alone.”
Astarion felt a jolt go through him. “Alone? Are you mad?”
“Quite possibly,” Halsin said, because of course he could make jokes at a time like this. “But this has been a hundred years in the making. I need to do this on my own.” He sighed. “It took a hundred years of study and prayer to get here. To learn what I needed to know to part the veil.”
“You’re opening a portal,” Shadowheart said. “Into the Shadowfell.”
“Yes. It will take all the strength I have. You have a part to play in all this, and I know you will play it well. You must defend the portal, at all costs. The shadows will descend like vultures, and they will try and kill you, and destroy the portal.” He looked at Astarion. “You can do this,” he said. “I’m counting on you.”
Astarion swallowed thickly, felt something cold run down his spine. He nodded.
Halsin nodded back. “Pray this works,” he said, and Astarion nearly did. “Oak Father, hear me. Aid me. Force open the jaws of Darkness. Make passage for your vessel of Light.”
Astarion turned away. He could feel the shadows moving closer, feeding on Halsin’s light, his magic. He readied his blade.
Possibilities. Not punishments.
Maybe he wasn’t a hero. Or maybe he was — hells, what did it matter now? But he’d guard this portal. He’d guard Halsin. It struck Astarion, just as the portal opened and the first of the shadows moved towards them — he’d do anything for Halsin. Anything he asked. Anything he wanted. Whether that was good or bad, he didn’t know yet. There were shadows to kill.
Halsin wasn’t kidding. Opening the portal had very nearly drained him. He was sitting when they all returned to camp that evening, covering Thaniel with a blanket. He’d explained in a rush that Thaniel wasn’t whole, they needed to find whatever part of him was missing. When they returned, he’d tried getting to his feet, but Tav urged him back.
“You’re in no state to go anywhere, and neither are we. Gale took a bit of a beating.”
Gale waved from his tent, where he was face down in his bedroll. “I’m fine!” he called.
Tav sighed. “Point is, we’ll have to finish this later.”
Halsin looked frustrated, but he nodded, glancing back at Thaniel. Tav went over to Gale and sat beside him, stroking the top of his head. Astarion looked down at Halsin.
“...Are you alright?” he asked.
Halsin made a noise. Astarion sat down across from him.
“Did you want anything? I could…” No, he thought. You couldn’t. You don’t know how to help, not like this. Astarion closed his mouth. Halsin was still silent. “...I’ll go,” he said.
“No.” Halsin reached out as Astarion pushed himself to his feet. A hand — a rough, warm, beautiful hand, curled around Astarion’s wrist.
He froze. How many times had Cazador pinned him by his wrists? How many times had he been held down? How long had a Gur’s rope burned and scarred his skin?
And yet —
And yet.
Halsin’s grip was gentle, and he released his hold immediately. “I’d like you to stay. It would be a comfort to me.”
Astarion hesitated, then nodded. “Alright.” He sat down again and looked at Thaniel. “This was the nature spirit you knew as a boy.”
Halsin nodded. “Yes. He came to me when I was young. We played together, and he taught me how to harness the raw magic and power of nature. But I grew older, and he never did. When I buried the last of my family in the High Forest, he was with me, and that was the last time I saw him whole. I knew the curse had wounded him, but I didn’t know it was like this.” Halsin put a gentle hand on Thaniel’s head. “Forgive me,” he murmured.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Astarion said. “It’s not like you caused any of this.”
“Perhaps not. But there are so few who remember those days.”
“And so you have to be the one to feel guilty about it?” Astarion sighed. “You realize how ridiculous that sounds.”
Halsin gave a small laugh. “I suppose it does. Still, it’s a small comfort, in the grand scheme of things. It will not purify the land entirely, but making sure Thaniel is whole again will begin that process.” He looked at Astarion. “You were brave today. Heroic.”
“Stop.”
“I know you don’t think the label suits you, but it is the lot in life you seem to have chosen, traveling with our friend over there.” He nodded towards Tav, who was making the rounds, checking on everyone after the fight.
Astarion rolled his eyes. “He’s a hopelessly decent man, isn’t he?”
Halsin shook his head. “You have such a way with words, Astarion.” Between them, Thaniel stirred slightly, then went still. Halsin sighed. “I lost my master in these lands. The arch druid of the grove who came before me.”
“How?”
“Taken by the shadows. I hardly felt ready to take on his role, but we do not always get to choose the circumstances under which we perform. I wanted to learn how to handle the grove in due time. Instead I had it thrust upon me.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Oak Father preserve me, I’m babbling at you and you didn’t even ask.”
“I don’t mind.”
“No, we should leave it here for the night. Get some rest, Astarion. You more than deserve it.”
Astarion nodded. “Alright. So long as you do the same, I suppose.”
“I will. Take care, little star. And good night.”
Astarion stood. “Good night,” he said, and headed across camp.
He was still covered in Yurgir’s blood when Raphael paid them a visit, and was bitterly trying to clean it from his shirt after in one of the pools just above camp. It seemed the more things he learned, the less he truly wanted to know. Secrets were nice that way, when you didn’t know them. You could just…exist. Ignorant of the truth, and be none the wiser.
You are the final piece he requires to complete the ritual. Your scars bind you to it.
“Fuck you,” he muttered, “for ever laying your filthy fucking hands on me. And fuck you for every lie and fuck you for every beating and fuck you for—”
“Astarion—”
“Fuck!” Astarion whirled around — and fell right into the water. Two great hands immediately yanked him out, setting him on the ground. He coughed and sputtered, pushing back his hair and looking into Halsin’s concerned eyes. “What are you doing?”
“I wanted to speak with you, after the devil left. But you—”
“But I left alone, didn’t I? If I’d wanted company I would have fucking asked for it.”
Halsin took a step back. “Of course,” he said. “Forgive me.”
Astarion scowled. “Forget it.” He looked down at his shirt — he’d ripped it trying to get out some of the blood. “Well that’s just perfect,” he muttered.
Halsin stepped closer again, holding out his hands. “May I?”
Astarion hesitated, then nodded. He passed the shirt to Halsin who took it, turning it over and hovering one hand above the tear. It glowed a soft yellow, stitching itself back together. He passed his hand over it once more, and the blood disappeared.
“Here.”
Astarion took it back. Cleared his throat. “Well. Bravo, I suppose. You’re a regular Gale.”
Halsin chuckled. “I have known many wizards in my time. They may have taught me a thing or two.”
Astarion nodded, getting to his feet and folding the shirt over his arm. “Thank you,” he said. “Though I’m sure I could have bullied our actual Gale into doing it for me at some point.”
“I’m sure he would have done it willingly.” Halsin smiled. “Forgive me, for startling you.”
“It’s fine. I’m just…”
“I know. The air still smells of that devil. I do not trust nor like him, but I overheard his revelations. Are you alright?”
“Oh, I’m peachy,” Astarion said. “My former master is trying to become some sort of vampiric god and I’m the only thing standing in the way of it. And we’re planning to head straight for him when we’ve finished solving everyone else’s problems. I’m sure he won’t be able to find me when we get to Baldur’s Gate.”
Halsin sighed. “I see.”
“If you don’t like my pithy answers, then don’t ask stupid questions.” Astarion moved past him and climbed down the rocks to head for his tent. Halsin was still standing by the pool, leaning down to wash his hands. After a few moments, he turned and went to the other side of camp, snuffing out his candles and sitting down to meditate.
“He’s just trying to help,” Karlach said gently, sticking her head out of her tent.
Astarion scowled at her. “Why is everyone in this group so bloody nosy?”
“Small camp,” she said, echoing Wyll. “And I want you to be happy, love. You don’t see the big elf fixing my clothes. Come to think of it, though, don’t think I’d want him to. Tell you what, if he asks, make sure he knows I like ‘em the way they are.”
Astarion sighed and crawled into his tent. “I’ll try to remember,” he muttered, and closed his eyes.
In the morning, they left camp to finally go looking for Thaniel’s missing half. Astarion felt the fool, trailing behind the group, trying to look anywhere but at Halsin.
The whole thing was a messy process. Astarion knew he wasn’t a fan of the outdoors, but he didn’t know nature could be so damn complicated. Halsin’s relief was palpable, when Oliver agreed to find Thaniel. He walked back to camp with a lighter step, chatting with Tav.
“My hope is they will be able to remain with one another as a pair. It will be good for Thaniel to not be alone.”
“You’re planning to stay with us then?”
“I am,” Halsin said. “If you’ll have me.”
Tav looked over his shoulder and grinned. “What do you say, Astarion? Can we keep him?”
Astarion scowled. “Fuck off,” he muttered.
“That means yes,” Tav said. “Welcome to the family.”
It didn’t feel quite real, walking out of the Shadowlands and down the road to Baldur’s Gate. Astarion could still hear the rattle of bones and smell the sour stink of dead flesh and rotting brains. No matter how much he scrubbed his hands, his arms, his hair, it wouldn’t leave him. But as they turned away from the Shadowlands, there was a sense of…growth, coming up behind them. Roots and leaves unrolling in the place of darkness and rubble. The sun, shining between the clouds that parted as they headed down the road.
Halsin took a deep breath. “It is finally as it should be.”
Tav looked at him. “Think you’ll be back?”
“I hope so, Oak Father willing.”
“Is the Oak Father willing to cut us a fucking break any time soon?” Astarion muttered. They’d just fought yet another pack of githyanki. It was starting to get old.
Baldur’s Gate was growing closer. For all that Astarion had wanted to see his city again, its outline loomed heavy in his mind. He couldn’t rest, couldn’t think. Cazador was there, waiting to reclaim him.
He had always feared his master — but never like this.
When they finally reached the outskirts of the city, it was some comfort. This was home, afterall. The place he was born — the place he died. He knew these streets better than anyone.
“Nothing like it, huh?” Karlach came to stand beside him, leaning against the wall around their temporary camp.
“No, I suppose there isn’t.”
She nudged him. “I know you’re scared, Astarion—”
“I’m not,” he snapped.
“But we’re here for you. Cazador isn’t going to fucking touch you, not while I’m around.”
Astarion huffed. “Then I suppose you shouldn’t go anywhere.”
“You asking me to snuggle?” she teased.
He gave her a gentle shove with his shoulder. “Absolutely not,” he muttered, smiling in spite of himself.
“You know,” Astarion said, breathless and bleeding, “everything in the world seems to happen to you.” The portal to the Astral Prism had just closed behind them.
Tav laughed. “It’s funny, because nothing used to happen to me at all.” He straightened and looked around camp. “Hells, can’t even get a decent rest, can we?” He groaned and stretched. “Let’s try again everyone. We’ll head into the city in the morning.”
Astarion shivered. Right, he thought. No problem.
He lay there for some time, staring at the stars, thinking about the ritual. It could be him, he supposed, if he was clever enough. Fast enough to put Cazador in his place — whatever that might entail. He didn’t think Tav would go for it, it all sounded so unpleasant. But the power. The ability to simply…be. To not hunger, to walk in the sun without the tadpole’s influence. He wanted that, he wanted that very much.
By the time they finally made it into the Lower City, Astarion was no more sure about it than he had been a few days before. He still felt uneasy, being this close to Cazador, and seeing Dalyra and Petras hadn’t made anything any better. He could talk and bluster all he wanted, but the truth was there, in his trembling hands and sleepless nights.
He climbed to the roof of the Elfsong Tavern and looked out across the city, to the mansion on top of the hill, hoping the answer would come to him.
It didn’t, but behind him, someone was coming up the ladder. Astarion turned and wasn’t especially surprised to see Halsin there, though he looked a bit surprised to see Astarion.
“Oh—” He paused. “I…forgive me. I didn’t realize—”
“You can join me,” Astarion said, looking back at the house. “I don’t mind.”
“If you need to be alone—”
“I don’t,” he said. “In truth, I’d rather not be. I suppose it’s just instinct, at this point.”
Halsin climbed onto the roof and came to sit beside him, keeping a foot or so space between them. “While I appreciate the amenities of the tavern, I do prefer to sleep under the stars.”
“Hm. It does have its charms, doesn’t it?”
Halsin chuckled. “Almost as many as you.”
Astarion didn’t blush, but he imagined if he could, he’d look the fool right about now. He ducked his head, turning to look across the bay.
Halsin sighed. “Astarion—”
“Look, whatever you’re going to say, just—don’t waste your breath, alright?”
“It isn’t a breath wasted, not when it’s you—”
Astarion groaned. “Stop that! Stop…saying these things! You have no idea how hard this is for me, do you?” He angled himself toward Halsin. “I don’t know what you think you’re going to get from me, or what it is you think you want, but I assure you, it isn’t this.”
“...And if it is?”
“It isn’t,” Astarion spat.
Halsin sighed. “Astarion…I care for you. I care for you deeply.”
“You don’t know me,” Astarion insisted.
“Then let me.” Halsin slowly, carefully, reached for Astarion’s hands. Astarion let him. “Speak. One word from you, and I will leave you be.”
“I don’t…I don’t want you to leave me be.”
“Then what do you want, Astarion? Tell me, and I’ll do everything in my power to make it yours.”
Astarion looked at him, looked into those eyes that reflected the moon and saw the only thing he needed to see — the truth.
“I want…I want to make my own choices. I want to be free to do as I please. I want to live this life.” He took a trembling breath. “I want something real,” he said. “And I think…I think I want it with you.”
They were close, close enough that when Astarion moved, their foreheads touched, and they stayed like that for a long, long while. Halsin’s thumbs slid across Astarion’s knuckles, feeling each pale, sharp bump.
“You will always be free with me,” he said. “I will never ask you to give me anything you cannot, and nothing that you are unwilling to give.”
“Swear it,” Astarion said.
“I swear it.”
Astarion nodded. “Alright.” He drew back and smiled. “Alright.” Halsin smiled, too, reaching up to cup Astarion’s cheek in his hand. “Is this…I can’t give you more than I have, right now. But I don’t want to disappoint you—”
“You could never.”
Now, Astarion laughed. “Oh, darling, trust me. I can.”
Halsin sighed. “You will learn very quickly, I don’t like that sort of talk. But I do like you setting boundaries with me. I want nothing more than this, and would be happy with it for the rest of my days.”
“There can be more,” Astarion insisted. “I swear—”
“Don’t,” Halsin said. “Don’t promise what you don’t want to promise. That isn’t why I came up here, that isn’t why I made my interest in you known. I want you, as you are, as you are willing and ready to be for me. That is all.”
Astarion felt relief wash over him, a tidal wave of affection following. “You’re…incredible,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting you. Not even a little.”
Halsin laughed again. “You’ll find I’m quite full of surprises, little star.” He reclined against the angle of the roof, encouraging Astarion to do the same. He let Halsin’s warmth envelope him, closing his eyes and listening to the steady sound of his breathing. The heady, consistent beat of his heart.
“You know what the worst part of this is?”
“...The worst?”
“Yes.” Astarion craned his neck to look up. “Everyone’s going to be utterly insufferable about it.”
Halsin began to laugh, a rich and hearty thing, and Astarion couldn’t help but smile, burying his face against the druid’s side with a groan.
But he didn’t regret it. Not even for a moment.