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geekusfemme · 6 months ago

Text

Reflections

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Full story on AO3 — Wattpad 100k+

Astarion x Female OC

Rating: Mature

Summary: What if Astarion was betrayed by the Dark Urge and handed over to the Gur Hunter? And what if another kind of hunter saved him and set his life on a new course, one that would ultimately lead him to cross paths with those who had abandoned him? This story aims to give Astarion his own hero's journey separate to the main party, and will run parallel to the canon story in which Durge will be an antagonist.

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Chapter Eleven: Astarion and Ashara have taken refuge in a cave after her shocking transformation and attack on the bandits. Onyx searches for them...

—◆—

The storm raged on, a relentless symphony of rain and thunder that soaked the earth and churned the grass into a soggy quagmire. Onyx loped through the drenched grassland, his paws squelching in the saturated ground.

Lightning split the sky above, illuminating the dark world for brief, flickering moments. His fur clung to his body, heavy with water, and his breath misted in the frigid air as he pressed forward.

Ashara's scent was faint, almost swallowed by the storm, but it lingered like a fragile thread, guiding him through the chaos. His keen nose twitched as he tracked her, his instincts humming with unease. He followed her trail to the remnants of a ruined fort, its crumbling stone walls looming like jagged teeth in the distance.

The scent of blood hit him first, thick and cloying, undercut by the sharp tang of fear. His hackles rose as he entered the area, his senses overwhelmed by the unmistakable stench of death. Ashara's wolf form had been here. Her scent was layered with feral intensity, mingling with traces of terror and violence. Another scent threaded through the chaos - Astarion.

Onyx's ears flicked forward, his nose lowering to the ground as he sniffed at the churned earth. He tracked their overlapping scents to a small hollow in the grassland, pausing to examine the scattered tracks. His claws flexed into the mud, tension coiling in his muscles as the story revealed itself.

Alarm spiked through him, sharpening his focus. He pushed onward, his pace quickening, the wet grass whipping against his legs. The trail led him into the forest, where the rain softened under the canopy but still dripped in a persistent rhythm. Lightning flashed again, briefly illuminating the mouth of a cave nestled among the trees.

Onyx froze, his nose wrinkling as a new smell reached him. Piles of regurgitated flesh lay scattered just outside the entrance, the remnants of a gruesome purge. His heart thudded heavily in his chest, dread curling like a shadow in his mind.

He padded forward, his body low to the ground as he slipped into the cave and shook the water from his fur. The faint warmth of a dying fire greeted him, the embers glowing faintly against the darkness. His golden eyes adjusted quickly, scanning the space until they landed on a sight that made him halt.

Two figures lay entwined on the ground, wrapped in a shared cloak. Ashara was curled on her side, her breathing soft and steady, and behind her, Astarion lay pressed against her, one arm draped loosely over her waist. Onyx's sharp eyes picked up every detail - the serene rise and fall of their chests, the warmth of their shared body heat - and the faint, maddening scent of arousal hanging in the air.

A deep growl rumbled in his chest, low and guttural. His lips curled back, exposing sharp teeth as his muscles coiled with the urge to rip Astarion away from Ashara. He stalked forward, his gaze locked onto the vampire's face, rage simmering just below the surface. The closer he got, the more the urge to snap his neck surged, nearly irresistible.

Astarion stirred, his eyes fluttering open. The moment they met Onyx's, they widened in alarm. For a moment, he looked as though he might pull back, but his gaze flicked down to Ashara, then back to the towering wolf. He swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper.

"This isn't what it looks like, I swear."

Onyx's growl deepened, his voice low and dangerous as he stepped closer. "It had better not be."

Astarion's throat bobbed as he glanced at Ashara again, still asleep against his chest, then back to Onyx. "She was cold," he said, his words measured, trying to keep his tone calm. "And - as ironic as this is coming from a vampire - I was just helping her stay warm."

Onyx's paw shifted forward, his claws scratching against the stone as he loomed closer. "And how exactly did you help her stay warm...?"

"Exactly the way you see now," Astarion shot back, irritation creeping into his voice. "Nothing more."

Onyx's lips peeled back in a snarl, his voice laced with suspicion. "I can smell your desire for her. You reek of it."

Astarion's eyes flickered with annoyance, his voice rising slightly. "Well, I'm clearly not acting on it, am I?"

Ashara stirred against him, her body shifting unconsciously to press closer. Astarion froze, his eyes widening again before he cleared his throat awkwardly, offering Onyx a weak smile. "Well... not consciously, anyway."

Onyx's snarl deepened, his muscles tensing as he stepped even closer. Astarion leaned back instinctively, trying to put distance between himself and the wolf without disturbing Ashara.

"I can't help it if my body reacts in a way I don't want it to!" Astarion hissed, his voice defensive, tinged with a flicker of panic.

Onyx paused, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied the vampire. The tension hung thick in the air, the fire's faint embers barely flickering as if afraid to move. He watched Astarion closely, the subtle shifts in his expression, the way he remained carefully still, not wanting to startle Ashara awake.

Finally, Onyx huffed, his growl subsiding into a low rumble. "For your sake," he said, his voice still laced with warning, "that had better be true."

Astarion sighed, running a free hand through his hair in fustration. "Look, my life has been an endless parade of lovers, practically every night I'd be bedding someone new—"

Onyx's hackles rose again instantly, a low rumble escaping his throat. Astarion hastily clarified, raising his hand as if to ward off an invisible blow. "Not by choice!" he whispered urgently. "It was just the easiest way to convince people to trust me, to lure them back to Cazador." His tone shifted then, his eyes lowering, shame pooling in the lines of his face. "Or the quickest way to earn money for him."

Onyx's ears flicked forward, the weight of the confession catching him off guard. Slowly, he sat down, his muscles taut beneath his wet fur. "If this is meant to reassure me, you're doing a dismal job."

Astarion glared at him but quickly checked his irritation as Ashara murmured in her sleep again. Once she stilled, he continued in a low, strained voice. "The point is, I've rarely— if ever—lain beside someone just to do that and nothing else. For the first time in centuries, I can hold someone without Cazador's voice in my head." He glanced down at Ashara's peaceful face, a flicker of something fragile crossing his features. "But while my mind is free, my body still seems to think it's under his orders."

The tension in Onyx's shoulders eased slightly, his fur settling back into place as he lay down, his massive paws crossed in front of him. "I understand," he said finally. "However, you should have considered this before you chose to lay beside her."

Astarion's face fell, guilt flashing across his features. "I... didn't think it would be an issue."

Onyx raised a dark brow, his disbelief evident. Astarion flushed faintly, muttering, "I did try to put a little distance between us when I realized that, er... things were happening." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and gestured to Ashara. "But she's rather clingy. Then she rolled onto my arm, and now I can't move it."

Onyx huffed, a short sound that might have been amusement or exasperation. His gaze softened slightly as he looked at Ashara. "She has always been like that."

He stood, his large frame moving with surprising gentleness as he nudged Ashara with his nose, carefully sliding her off Astarion's arm. She murmured something incoherent but didn't wake, her body curling slightly as she adjusted to the change.

Astarion sat up, rubbing his arm with a grimace. "I think I've lost all feeling in it," he muttered.

Onyx glanced at him, his lips curling into something that could almost be a smirk. "Do you want me to bite it to find out?"

Astarion forced a cheery tone, flexing his fingers. "No, no. That's quite all right. The pins and needles have just started, so no need for alarm."

Shaking his head, Onyx settled down beside Ashara, curling protectively around her as he watched Astarion from the corner of his eye. "Consider yourself lucky, vampire, that I am far more tolerant than my originator."

Astarion smirked faintly, leaning back against the cave wall. "You mean her father would have me beheaded if he caught us together like this?"

The air shifted.

Onyx froze, his muscles going taut as dread pooled in his stomach. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his head, his gaze locking onto Astarion's. His voice was low and deliberate, every word laced with warning. "I'm sure he would have, if he were still alive."

Astarion tilted his head, his expression almost playful despite the tension radiating from Onyx. "I'm talking about her real father. She's Fenrir's daughter, isn't she?"

The words hung in the air like a thunderclap, and Onyx felt a chill creep up his spine. His instincts screamed to silence the vampire, but Astarion continued, oblivious to the storm brewing in the wolf's chest.

"Honestly, it wasn't all that hard to figure out," Astarion said with a casual wave of his hand. "Her wolf form's resemblance to Fenrir, the fact she was mysteriously abandoned as a baby, the powers she wields without any connection to the Weave, and, of course, you. A fierce warrior with hundreds of years of experience, playing babysitter."

Onyx stood, his muscles coiling as rage surged through him. He barely heard the vampire's next words.

"Oh, don't worry, your secret is safe with—"

Onyx didn't let him finish. With a snarl, he launched himself at Astarion, his teeth sinking into the leather of his jerkin, lifting him effortlessly off the ground.

Astarion yelped in shock, his hands scrambling for purchase as Onyx sprinted out of the cave, the storm's fury swallowing the sounds of struggle. Rain lashed at them as he pounded through the soaked forest, the mud sucking at his paws.

Reaching a clearing, Onyx hurled Astarion to the ground. The vampire landed hard, sliding in the mud as he tried to scramble upright. Onyx was on him in an instant, a massive paw planting firmly on his chest, pinning him down. Lightning illuminated the scene, the flash revealing the raw fury in Onyx's eyes.

Astarion struggled, his hands slick with mud as he tried to push the paw away. "What the hells are you—!"

Onyx's roar drowned out his words, the sound like thunder itself. "If you ever speak of this to anyone, I will tear you apart!"

Astarion froze beneath him, his chest heaving as terror widened his eyes. His lips trembled, and his voice came out as a stuttering whisper. "I w-won't. I swear."

The storm's fury raged on, the wind shrieking through the trees and rain pounding relentlessly against the earth. Onyx leaned closer, his snarling teeth inches from Astarion's face, rain dripping from his muzzle.

Astarion closed his eyes, his body trembling violently. His voice was a hoarse, frantic whisper that repeated. "I swear. I swear. I swear..."

The mantra was so soft at first that Onyx almost didn't hear it, but it grew louder, more desperate, until the trembling turned to shaking. Onyx's conscience stirred uneasily. His snarl faltered, and his piercing amber eyes narrowed as the tremor in Astarion's voice became too raw to ignore.

He stepped back, lifting his paw from the vampire's chest, though his hackles remained raised. "Astarion?" he called cautiously, his deep voice cutting through the storm.

Astarion's eyes snapped open, wide and frantic, but the terror in them was directed somewhere far away. "I swear, I won't disobey you, master!"

The single word froze Onyx in place, a shard of icy realisation lodging deep in his chest. His ears flattened against his skull as he stared at the vampire, his thoughts racing. Master.

A glance at a puddle nearby revealed his reflection: fur slicked back with rain, fangs bared, and eyes glowing an ominous red as a flash of lightning illuminated them. For a moment, he saw what Astarion must have seen - Cazador, a looming predator from a past filled with horror and subjugation. Shame struck him like a physical blow, and his heart sank under the weight of his actions.

When he turned back, Astarion had scrambled to his feet, retreating to the base of a tree. He crouched there, his arms wrapped around himself, his gaze fixed on the muddy ground. Every muscle in his body screamed fear, his frame hunched like a cornered animal waiting for the next strike.

Onyx took a tentative step forward, but the vampire flinched, pressing himself further into the tree trunk as if trying to merge with the bark. Onyx stopped immediately, his tail tucking between his legs and his ears drooping in visible distress. "Astarion..." he began, his voice quieter, almost hesitant. "I'm sorry."

Astarion gave no sign of hearing him, his eyes darting around frantically, his breathing shallow and rapid. Onyx's throat tightened as guilt clawed at him. Closing his eyes briefly, Onyx took a steadying breath. He had to fix this.

Without another word, he lowered his head and savagely bit into his own foreleg, his sharp teeth tearing through flesh. Blood welled immediately, its metallic scent cutting through the damp air. He let it drip into the mud before stepping forward, making sure Astarion could see it. The vampire's gaze locked onto the wound, his nostrils flaring as hunger overtook fear, his crimson eyes glowing faintly.

Onyx moved slowly, his posture low and unthreatening as he walked closer. He raised his head, exposing his throat deliberately, the ultimate gesture of trust. Astarion's muscles tensed like coiled springs before he launched himself forward with a guttural snarl. His arms wrapped around Onyx's thick neck, his fangs sinking deep into the wolf's throat.

Onyx remained perfectly still, his massive body unmoving as the rain washed streaks of blood down his fur. He waited, enduring the pull of his lifeblood as Astarion drank with desperate urgency. Only when he felt the vampire's grip loosen slightly did he lower his head, resting it over Astarion's shoulder like a protective mantle.

His deep voice rumbled softly, almost a whisper, heavy with regret. "I should not have lost my temper at you like that. It was an unforgivable response, and one unworthy of a Fenris Guard."

Astarion stiffened at his words, his hands clenching and unclenching in Onyx's fur. The wolf adjusted his head slightly, giving him more room, but his voice remained steady and soothing.

"You have to understand," Onyx continued, "it is my solemn duty to protect Ashara. There are beings in this world that crave the power she holds within her blood. Beings that will stop at nothing to attain it. Now that you know the secret of her birthright, her life could very well depend on your silence."

Astarion's drinking slowed, and he finally pulled away, though he stayed beneath Onyx's lowered head. His voice was subdued, weary. "Does she know?"

Relief flickered in Onyx's chest. At least Astarion was speaking again. "No," he said, shaking his head. "And I'd like to keep it that way for as long as possible." A thought struck him, and he asked cautiously, "You haven't said anything to her, have you?"

Astarion tensed again, his breath hitching slightly. Onyx didn't miss the way his heartbeat quickened. He sighed internally, his tone softening. "I won't be angry if you have. It would help to know, though."

Astarion hesitated before finally muttering, "I didn't tell her anything she hadn't already guessed."

Onyx let out a low rumble of acknowledgment. "Ah... I see."

Astarion stepped away, standing shakily before the wolf. His fear seemed to ebb slightly as he found his footing, his voice steadier now. "She's not stupid. All she has to do is see her reflection to realize she looks just like him."

Onyx said nothing, but his heart twisted at the truth in his words. Rain streamed down his face, dripping from his muzzle as he fixed Astarion with an unreadable stare. The vampire's crimson eyes burned with anger, his drenched hair plastered against his pale face as he crossed his arms tightly.

"And you didn't have to threaten me," Astarion snapped, his voice sharp as broken glass. "I had no intention of revealing what she is to anyone."

Onyx lowered his head slightly, guilt tightening his chest as Astarion's anger spilled over. But before he could respond, the vampire's tone shifted, turning sly, almost playful.

"If I did," Astarion continued, a smirk curling his lips, "I'd lose the element of surprise - and the delicious look of shock on people's faces when she goes all demi-god on them."

Onyx's lip curled into a reluctant grin despite himself, the mental image amusing him. But the grin faded quickly, replaced by a sober, more reflective expression. He lowered his head slightly, his ears twitching back. "I know my actions—though guided by fear for Ashara—are unforgivable. But is there a way I can atone for my mistake?"

Astarion's gaze flicked away, his posture stiff. He swiped at his eyes, brushing away the rain, and for a moment Onyx thought he wouldn't answer. Then a devious grin spread across his face, sharp and predatory. He straightened, crossing his arms and adopting a haughty, commanding posture.

Onyx felt the stirrings of dread in his chest. He already suspected what was coming, and he cringed internally as he waited for the inevitable.

Astarion's voice was light, but there was steel beneath it. "Roll over."

Onyx's ears flattened against his skull, a heavy sigh escaping him. His pride howled in protest, but he pushed it aside. "As you command," he rumbled, his voice tinged with resignation as his tail flicked in irritation.

With a low groan, Onyx lowered himself into the mud with a wet splash. He rolled onto his back, his massive frame awkwardly sprawled as he let his tongue loll out in exaggerated submission. The rain pelted his exposed belly, the indignity of the act made worse by the cold, sticky earth pressing against his fur. He regarded Astarion with a deadpan expression, his golden eyes now upside down.

Astarion leaned over him, his grin widening to something almost gleeful. "Comfortable?" he asked, his voice dripping with mock sweetness.

"Perfectly humiliated, thank you," Onyx replied, his tone dry.

"Good." Astarion's smile vanished, his voice hardening with cold anger as he leaned closer. "Don't ever do that to me again."

Onyx nodded - or as close to a nod as he could manage in his current position. "You have my word."

With a grunt, he rolled back onto his feet and shook violently, sending flecks of muck flying in every direction. Astarion stepped back with an indignant glare, narrowly avoiding the spray.

"Will that be all?" Onyx asked, his tone exasperated.

Astarion smirked, brushing at a stray splatter of mud on his sleeve. "You can carry me back to the cave, too."

Onyx arched an eyebrow - or rather, the lupine equivalent - and tilted his head. "The same way I carried you here? Or would you prefer to ride?"

Astarion's eyes narrowed. "I think you know the answer to that."

"Right," Onyx replied, his voice laden with faux cheer. "By the scruff it is, then."

He lunged forward playfully, jaws parting as if to grab Astarion by the collar. The vampire dodged backward, his movements quick and graceful. "Don't you dare!" he hissed, his tone a mixture of irritation and genuine alarm.

Onyx huffed a laugh, the sound low and rumbling, before lowering himself onto his haunches, his massive frame crouched to allow Astarion to climb onto his back. The vampire eyed him warily but finally relented, stepping forward and settling onto the wolf's broad shoulders with a grumble.

As Onyx began the trek back toward the cave, Astarion leaned slightly forward, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "How exactly do we explain to Ashara why the two of us look like we've been wallowing in a pigpen?"

Onyx paused mid-step, glancing upward at the rain-soaked canopy above them. His ears flicked as he considered. "Attacked by a group of wandering mud mephits?" he suggested, his tone utterly serious.

Astarion's lips curved into a grin, the sharpness of his earlier anger softening. "Hmm... I suppose I could spin that story. Of course, I heroically saved you from being smothered in their earthen embrace."

Onyx snorted, his breath steaming in the chill air. "Naturally."

As the cave entrance loomed closer, Ashara's silhouette stood framed by the faint light of the fire within. The rain cast her in a shroud of silver, her figure motionless yet watchful. Onyx slowed his steps, his paws sinking slightly into the soaked earth, his breath steady but heavier with the weight of what was to come.

He could feel Astarion shift slightly on his back, adjusting his grip. Onyx's voice was low, almost hesitant as he spoke. "I think you should tell her the truth. That I attacked you."

A moment of silence followed, broken only by the patter of rain. Onyx's ears twitched, straining for a response. Finally, Astarion replied, his tone dry and laced with his usual sardonic humor. "Won't that bring up rather a few awkward questions?"

"Yes," Onyx admitted, his voice steady but resigned. "And it will anger her too. But I can't hide the truth of what she is any longer."

He felt a shift in Astarion's weight as the vampire leaned back slightly, no doubt pondering the wolf's words. When Astarion finally answered, his voice was light, almost flippant, but carried an edge of tension that didn't escape Onyx's keen ears. "Well... this should be fun."

The wolf huffed softly, a puff of steam rising from his flared nostrils as he approached the cave.

"Indeed."

Like what you're reading so far? Check out the full chapter in the link below.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60457534/chapters/156111694

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geekusfemme · 6 months ago

Text

The Wolf

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Full story is on AO3 — Wattpad 100k+

Astarion x Female OC

Rating: Mature

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Chapter Ten: After Astarion and Ashara investigated the ruined Fort below Giant's Hollow, they found themselves in a spot of bother...

—★—

The stone dungeon was swathed in darkness, the faintest orange torchlight casting a feeble glow across damp walls. A sickly, rotting stench permeated the air and assaulted Astarion's nostrils as he slowly regained consciousness.

He immediately became aware of an intense pain in his arms and the feel of coarse rope biting into his wrists. Looking up, he saw he was suspended from a metal hook in the ceiling, forcing him to stretch on his tiptoes, his heels hovering above the slick floor.

His body still felt stiff and sore from the cockatrice venom, and he was dismayed - but unsurprised - to see that his weapons and armour were missing. Clearly, whoever had used the antidote on him had also helped themselves to his gear.

Spinning himself round, Astarion was relieved to see Ashara alive and well, slowly shaking off the lingering effects of petrification. He was less thrilled to see her chained to the wall, arms splayed, her wrists cuffed high and tight against the clammy stone.

His muscles screamed with the effort of holding himself steady, but Astarion masked his discomfort with an arch of his brow and a biting tone. "Well..." he drawled, his voice a blend of sarcasm and irritation, "that could have gone better."

Ashara gave him a pained look. Her face, streaked with grime, betrayed a flicker of guilt. "How was I to know they had a cockatrice kept down here?"

Astarion let out a theatrical sigh, his crimson eyes rolling toward the ceiling. "Oh, I don't know," he said, his words dripping with condescension. "Maybe the highly detailed statues dotted around the place might have been a bit of a clue?"

Ashara shot him a sidelong glance, her expression hovering between sheepishness and defiance. "I just thought they had weird taste in art."

A short, harsh snort escaped him. "If you genuinely think an orc berserker in frozen battle stance qualifies as art, I must seriously question your judgment."

"I've never been to an art exhibition," Ashara retorted. "So I wouldn't know."

Astarion smirked, the gesture a touch strained by the discomfort pulling at his shoulders. "Yet another thing to add to the list of experiences I need to introduce you to."

"Let's focus on getting out of here first, shall we?" Ashara grunted, her shoulders straining against the iron manacles.

"What a splendid idea." Astarion's smirk turned sharper, his voice laced with mock enthusiasm. "And here I was quite content to just hang around."

Her withering look could have pierced steel, but she soon grew somber, her gaze dropping to the damp floor. "There were never any refugees here, were there..."

Astarion tilted his head, a dry laugh escaping him. "Only just figuring that out now, are you? Bravo."

"Then why did the barkeep tell you there were tieflings staying here?"

Before Astarion could respond, a voice echoed from the shadows, smooth and mocking. "Because you asked about them."

Cassius stepped into the torchlight, his face half-obscured by the wavering glow. His gaze slid over the pair like a butcher sizing up his next cut. "If you were looking for a priceless artifact or even a lost cat, he'd tell you to visit the fort."

Astarion scoffed, tilting his head with a disbelieving smirk. "Well, that's just plain dishonest. And after I tipped him too. Honestly, no honor among scoundrels these days."

Ashara leaned forward as much as her restraints allowed. "Why?"

Cassius took another step forward, his movements unhurried, deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. His gaze flitted briefly to Astarion, a smirk forming on his face. "She really is a dumb one, isn't she?"

"Hey!" Ashara's protest echoed in the chamber.

Astarion arched a brow. "No, he has a point. How can you not see that this was a setup?"

Her glare swung to him. "I was asking why he set us up, you jerk."

Cassius chuckled low in his throat, a sound that made Astarion's skin prickle with distaste. "Same reason a pickpocket works a crowd," he said, his tone maddeningly casual. "Opportunity. But in our case, my bandit crew and I barely ever have to leave this fort. Everything we need walks right through our doors - including entertainment."

His gaze slid over Ashara in a way that made Astarion's stomach churn, bile rising in his throat. Every fiber of his being screamed to act, but the restraints mocked him, rendering him helpless.

"You should have taken me up on my offer, girl." Cassius's voice dipped, sickeningly smooth. "You could have had a night to remember. Now I'm afraid your experience will be far less... pleasurable."

Ashara stiffened, her jaw clenching as the meaning behind his words clicked into place.

"Listen," Ashara said, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes. "We don't need to be your enemies. Let us go, and I swear we won't speak a word about your operation here. Trust me, I never break a promise."

Cassius tilted his head, considering her words with a mocking pout. "That's real sweet. But I'm afraid you're not going anywhere." His smile turned razor-sharp. "And since you like directness, let me explain things in a way your dense little brain can understand."

He moved with a speed that startled even Astarion. In a single, brutal motion, Cassius grabbed Ashara by the collar, yanking her forward and crushing his mouth against hers.

The sound of the kiss was grotesque in the silence. Ashara's eyes widened, her body jerking in resistance, but the chains held her fast. When he pulled back, a dark chuckle rumbling from his chest, she spat, her eyes burning with a fury hotter than any flame.

"Do that again, and I'll kill you," she snarled.

Astarion's voice was cold as ice, his crimson eyes gleaming with murderous intent. "Not if I gut him first."

Cassius spared him only a glance, his smirk firmly in place. "You'll get your turn soon enough." His tone was as dismissive as it was taunting. "I've a few on my crew who will be very pleased to see you, pretty boy."

Astarion's lip curled, a flash of fangs just visible as he struggled against his restraints, feeling the strain on his wrists intensify. His mind was racing, heart pounding with a grim resolve.

Cassius's gaze slithered back to Ashara, his fingers curling around her shirt collar once more, his eyes gleaming with a twisted glee. "Of course, while we all share what we loot," he said, tightening his grip, "as leader, I always get first pick of everything."

Astarion saw the way Ashara's body stiffened, a tremor running through her as the mans fingers began to tug at the laces of her shirt. Her eyes flashed up, meeting Astarion's with a silent, raw plea. The sight was like a spark to dry tinder. Astarion writhed against his restraints, his muscles coiling like a spring wound too tight.

"Get your hands off her!" he spat, seething with barely contained rage.

Cassius ignored him, grunting as he exposed the leather bandeau beneath Ashara's shirt. His expression twisted with irritation, and he yanked a small, jagged knife from his belt, bringing it toward her chest.

Astarion looked up, measuring the hook above him, and took a deep breath to brace himself. Gathering every ounce of strength left in his battered body, he swung his legs up, wrapping them around the hook.

For a moment, he was suspended upside down, blood rushing to his head as he strained against the searing pain in his shoulders. His bound wrists slipped from the hook, and with nimble precision, he transferred his grip to the hook, unwrapping his legs and lowering himself, silently, back to the floor.

Cassius's blade was poised against the leather strip across Ashara's chest, his lips curling with dark intent, when Astarion struck. He moved without thought, his instincts raw and honed, throwing his bound arms around the man's throat, locking him in a vice-like chokehold. In the same breath, he bared his fangs and drove them deep into the humans neck, tasting the hot rush of blood as he bit down savagely.

Cassius let out a strangled cry, thrashing, trying to slam Astarion against the wall to shake him off. His back hit stone with a sharp impact that sent a jolt of pain through Astarion's spine, but he held firm, tightening his grip, the taste of blood flooding his senses, drowning out everything else. He drank deeply, feeling the man's struggles weaken, the once-violent thrashing reduced to feeble gasps until the human's body sagged in his grasp and finally collapsed to the ground.

Astarion's gaze was distant for a moment, savoring the lingering taste on his lips, the rush of power from the kill still hot in his veins. He glanced down, catching the glint of Cassius's knife, and sliced through the rope binding his wrists. Tucking the knife into his waistband, he knelt and searched the body until his fingers closed around a cold, heavy key.

When he turned back to Ashara, the thrill of victory dimmed, fading as he saw her expression. She was slumped as low as her restraints would allow, her head bowed, gaze fixed on the ground. Her face was pale and her eyes looked hollow, as if she'd retreated somewhere unreachable, lost in a place he couldn't see.

"Ashara?" Astarion murmured, taking a cautious step toward her. "It's alright now. The bastard's dead."

She didn't respond, her gaze still fixed somewhere far away. Her silence, her stillness, unsettled him more than he wanted to admit. Slowly, he lifted the key and started unlocking her manacles.

The moment Ashara's wrists were free, a fierce, raw energy snapped back into her like a fire reigniting. She lunged at him with a guttural cry, knocking him off balance and driving him to the floor.

Astarion barely had time to raise his hands to protect himself as she rained punches on him, her fists connecting with frantic, unrestrained force. Pain radiated through him with each hit, her knuckles hard and merciless. Her eyes blazed, wild and unfocused, each strike driven by a primal, seething rage.

"Ashara!" he cried, wincing as her fist collided with his shoulder. "Stop it! It's me - Astarion!"

His voice finally broke through, and she froze, her fist suspended mid-air. Her eyes snapped into focus, and she blinked down at him, her expression shifting from rage to dismay as she registered his face. She glanced at her own trembling hand, horror dawning in her gaze, and she scrambled back, pulling away from him.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!" Her voice was small, almost broken, as she hugged her knees to her chest, as though she could fold herself into nothingness.

Astarion sat up slowly, wincing as he rubbed at the fresh bruises forming on his arms. "I should bloody well hope not," he grumbled. "That hurt, you know."

Ashara's gaze dropped, guilt heavy in her expression. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, looking smaller than he'd ever seen her. "I thought... I thought you were still him."

He relaxed, the sting of pain fading as he looked at her. He offered her a dry, half-smile, softening his tone. "An understandable reaction. Though, I am a little offended that you'd confuse me with that hideous brute. Surely I'm far more... refined."

A tiny, reluctant smile tugged at her lips, and Ashara looked up at him, a faint light breaking through the shadow in her eyes. "No," she murmured. "You're nothing like him at all."

A faint twinge of shame pierced Astarion as an accusatory thought crept into his mind. That's not entirely true now is it...

He rose, dusting himself off with an exaggerated flourish before extending a hand to her. "Glad to hear it." Tilting his head toward the door, a wry smile curled on his lips. "Now, shall we see about finding a way out of this wretched place?"

Ashara looked at his outstretched hand for a heartbeat, and then, with a small, resolute nod, she slipped her fingers into his and allowed him to help her rise to her feet.

The moment they stepped outside the cell, the damp silence of the dungeon gave way to the low, murmuring echo of voices - likely more bandits - down the dim corridor.

Shadows twisted under torchlight, flickering along the jagged stone walls like dark, restless spirits. Astarion's gaze shifted forward, his every instinct urging haste, but the snatches of conversation that floated down the hall stopped him cold.

One of the bandits was laughing, his voice rough and eager. "Hope the boss hurries up. Can't wait to get my hands on those two. You know how much the brothels charge for an elf? Daylight robbery. And we get not one, but two for free tonight."

Another replied calculatingly, "The silver-haired one looks like he would fetch a pretty penny in the flesh markets."

Astarion swallowed, bile rising as the meaning behind the words twisted like a knife in his stomach. He shot a look at Ashara, who had frozen beside him, her face drawn tight, muscles taut. Her shoulders trembled, her breaths shallow.

His mind raced, cursing the timing, wondering if she'd be able to hold herself together enough to fight. But before he could even reach out to steady her, she gripped his arm with a surprising strength, her fingers digging into his skin.

"Astarion..." Her voice trembled, her eyes wild and haunted. "I need you to promise me something. Whatever happens next, whatever you're about to see... Do not run from me."

Her gaze was desperate, pleading, her words a broken whisper that unsettled him, twisting knots of dread in his stomach.

Astarion forced a dark smile, keeping his tone steady. "Darling, something tells me there won't be much running from either of us. But I'm not about to just lay on my back without a fight, and neither are you."

Ashara's grip tightened, her eyes wide and brimming with an unspoken fear. She shook her head frantically, her breaths growing uneven, her voice barely a gasp. "No, you don't understand. Don't run. If you run... I might kill you. Please, promise me, don't run."

Alarmed, he recoiled slightly, discomfort prickling beneath her grip. He tried shrugging her hands off, irritation flashing in his eyes. "What are you talking about? Let go of me."

Her grip held firm, and her voice was a ragged whisper. "Promise me."

Astarion's frustration simmered, but he relented, sighing sharply. "Yes, yes, alright. I promise. Now get off me!"

For a brief moment, relief softened her face, but it was fleeting, and a shadow of sadness replaced it as she whispered, "I'm sorry."

Before he could question her, she twisted, shoving him backward with surprising force. He stumbled, the world spinning for a brief moment before the door to the cell slammed shut in his face, and the cold sound of the key turning sent a jolt of shock through him.

A flash of anger surged through him, mixing with a sickening wave of panic. He threw his shoulder into the door, feeling the solid resistance beneath him. "What are you doing?! Open this door at once!"

Astarion heard her voice from the other side, faint and fractured. "Stay... safer in there. Remember."

Memories crashed over him, dark and suffocating. The flash of betrayal, the feeling of being locked away, helpless. He remembered Durge's heartless gaze, the binding chains, and the unforgiving face of Gandrel looming over him. Fury and fear churned in him, flooding his voice.

"No, don't you dare leave me here!" He slammed his fist against the door, voice rough, desperate. "You said we were in this together!"

His cries were met with silence, and he sank his forehead against the door, the cold wood pressing against his skin. Then, suddenly, a high-pitched - though distinctly masculine - scream echoed through the corridor outside.

Astarion's heart jolted as the scream cut off sharply, leaving a chilling silence in its wake.

Muffled shouts, chaos, and more cries soon followed, echoing through the passage. With a sense of dark foreboding, he pressed his ear to the door, straining to make sense of the carnage unfolding.

Then came a sound that chilled his blood: a howl, deep and terrifying, reverberating through the walls. His pulse quickened, and a cold suspicion began to crawl up his spine.

Without another thought, he dropped to his knees, examining the lock. The key was still there, and his gaze shifted to the gap beneath the door. Tearing a strip of cloth from Cassius's tunic, he slid it under the door and poked the key out with the tip of his knife.

Hearing the satisfying dull thunk as it landed, Astarion drew the key under the door and into his grasp with bated breath. With a quick, frantic motion, he unlocked the door and slipped into the corridor beyond.

The silence felt oppressive, broken only by his own careful footsteps. As he rounded a corner, he froze, his eyes widening at the sight before him. Two bandits lay torn in half, their bodies shredded, limbs and viscera scattered as though they'd been snapped apart like brittle branches. Blood pooled beneath them, spreading like spilled ink over the cracked stone.

Astarion stared the massive paw prints trailing from the gore, each one nearly the width of his own chest. He swallowed, his throat dry as a desert, memories of the skull-headed wolf that had torn through the orc raiders that had captured him, flashing through his mind.

Shaking himself, he bent down, stripping weapons from the mangled bodies - a sword, a dagger - anything that might offer a chance of survival. As he straightened, a fresh wave of screams echoed from deeper within the fortress, the desperate cries resonating in the dark, twisted halls.

The further he went, the more the corridors resembled a nightmare. Torn limbs, shattered armor, blood splatters stretching across the walls. The air was thick with the coppery scent of death and the lingering tang of fear. Each scene was worse than the last, a tapestry of violence that left little to the imagination. The bandits had been utterly decimated, their bodies twisted and broken, expressions frozen in a mixture of terror and agony.

Finally, he found a small room, barely more than a closet, lined with chests. He opened one, the sight of his leather jerkin and familiar weapons almost a relief. He quickly donned his gear, fastening the shortsword at his hip and slinging the bow and quiver over his shoulder. He packed the remaining items - including Ashara's armor and weapons - into a canvas sack, slinging it across his back as he continued through the winding corridors.

Rounding another corner, Astarion stopped short, eyes narrowing at the sight of a bloodied dwarf crawling on his belly through a doorway. His fingers clawed desperately against the floor as he dragged himself forward, leaving a thick, red smear in his wake.

The dwarf looked up, eyes wild with terror, his hand reaching out, pleading. "Help me!" His voice was choked, raw, the desperation in it a twisted plea that made Astarion's heart skip a beat.

But before Astarion could react, the dwarf was jerked backward with brutal speed, his scream cut short by a sickening crunch that echoed down the stone corridor.

Astarion felt his body tense as he took an instinctive step back, and then he saw it - a shadow darkening the doorway, expanding, coalescing into something monstrous. A massive, hulking form crouched as it moved forward, ducking through the doorway with terrible, fluid grace, holding the upper half of the unfortunate dwarf in its pale, skeletal jaws.

It was a wolf, but not of any kind he had ever seen. It's sheer size made Onyx—who was the size of a warhorse—look like a puppy in comparison. The creature's coat was an abyss of pitch black, glistening as though dipped in shadow, each movement sending a dark shimmer over its colossal form. The skull-like head was both beautiful and terrifying, pale bone meeting dark fur at it's upper forehead, its eye sockets blazing with icy blue light that felt cold enough to burn.

The wolf's bulk filled the corridor, its ears brushing the ceiling. It's head was turned away from him initially, its attention fixed farther down the passage. Blood dripped from its jaws, trailing down its thick, muscular chest in rivulets that pooled on the floor. But as Astarion took another cautious step back, his heart skidded to a halt as those piercing, glacial eyes swiveled to him.

The remains of the corpse slid from its mouth with a dull, sickening thud, landing in a crumpled heap at its feet. The wolf's ears flattened, and a deep, rumbling growl reverberated through the floor and the walls, sending a cold shiver down Astarion's spine. He watched, frozen in place, as it took a step forward, each movement calculated, stalking towards him with deadly intent.

Astarion's mind screamed at him to turn and run, to flee from this nightmare, but he found himself paralyzed, trapped beneath the creature's unwavering gaze. Ashara's voice echoed in his memory, faint but insistent. "Don't run from me."

The pieces clicked into place, horror dawning over him.

Trembling, Astarion forced himself to stay rooted, his breaths shallow and rapid. The wolf loomed directly over him now, the heat of its breath washing over his face, each exhale thick with the stench of blood.

Its jaws opened to reveal needle sharp fangs the size of daggers. Blood from its last victim dripped onto him, sliding down his face, and he shut his eyes, every muscle locked in fear as he choked out, "Ashara... please don't eat me."

For a tense moment, there was only silence, his own ragged breathing filling the empty space between them. Then, with a heavy click, the jaws snapped shut inches from his head.

He opened his eyes to find the creature's nose hovering close, nostrils flaring as it drew in his scent. A hot gust of breath followed, an exhalation that sent a ripple of gooseflesh across his skin as the wolf slowly stepped back, its gaze still locked on his.

They stared at each other, an understanding dawning between them, and Astarion found himself in silent awe. "What... are you?" he breathed, the words barely more than a whisper.

The creature's ears twitched, and it jerked its head around, glancing back down the passage as if hearing something distant. A low growl bubbled up from its throat, and with a snarl, it turned and bounded down the corridor, its massive paws thudding against the stone as it disappeared into the shadows.

As the silence settled, Astarion's knees nearly gave out. He pressed a hand to the cold stone wall, steadying himself as his legs wobbled beneath him. His heart hammered, each beat a painful reminder that he was still, somehow, alive.

"What in all the nine hells have I allied with?" he muttered under his breath, trying to shake off the lingering tremors.

Like what your reading? Check out the full chapter in the link below.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60457534/chapters/156021355

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geekusfemme · 6 months ago

Text

Rumours

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Full story on AO3 — Wattpad 100k+

Astarion x Female OC

Rating: Mature

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Chapter Nine: While Onyx and Halsin oversee removing Karlach's tadpole, Astarion and Ashara visit the small mining town of Giant's Hollow to resupply and look for information on any survivors of the grove massacre...

—★—

"Do you think Karlach will be okay?" Ashara's voice was subdued as they walked down the road that ran through the center of Giant's Hollow.

Astarion scanned the street ahead, his gaze catching on a swinging wooden sign - The Raven's Roost. He inclined his head toward it and steered Ashara in its direction. "I don't think Onyx would let his favorite hot-water bottle get hurt. And if this Halsin fellow is as capable as he claims, then I suspect that by the time we return, Karlach will be lounging by the fire, chugging ale, and showing off a stuffed tadpole like a trophy."

Ashara's lips twitched with a faint smile. "I hope so. If it works... we might have a viable cure to help the other infected too."

Astarion pushed open the tavern door, its hinges creaking in protest, and ushered her inside. The air within was thick with the scent of smoke and stale ale, the dim light casting long shadows across the rough-hewn walls. He guided her to a table near the corner, his voice softening as he replied, "Those who want a cure, at least."

Ashara's brow furrowed as she settled into the seat opposite him. "Who wouldn't?"

He leaned back, one arm draped casually over the chair, his grin sardonic. "Oh, I don't know. Perhaps those who find the prospect of power enticing? Those who might relish the chance to bend others to their will? Myself included, naturally."

Her eyes narrowed. "You want a parasite squirming in your skull?"

He shrugged, the motion deceptively elegant. "Not particularly. But it's a preferable alternative to crawling back into the shadows and enduring Cazador's leash again."

Her expression darkened, the tension in her shoulders returning. "That won't happen," she said firmly. "The shadows, maybe, but not him. I won't let it."

A flicker of warmth ignited in his chest at her conviction, but he smothered it quickly. "How noble of you," he drawled, though the edge in his tone lacked its usual sharpness. "All I'm saying is if there's a way to have both freedom and daylight, I'll take it."

Ashara hesitated, her discomfort evident, but Astarion ignored it, focusing instead on the barkeeper's wary glances cast their way. There were questions to ask, and supplies to gather. Whatever Ashara's thoughts on his motives, they could wait. For now, he had a role to play.

"I'm going to have a chat with the barkeep," he said, his voice low and measured, his eyes still roving over the crowd for potential threats. "See if anyone has heard rumors of any tiefling refugees from the Emerald Grove. While I'm gone, remember - head up, chest out... actually, no." His gaze flicked over her slender frame, and he smirked. "Best skip that one in your case. Just... try not to look edible, all right? And scowl. Act mean if anyone talks to you."

Ashara's mouth quirked into a lopsided frown. "Wouldn't being nice to them be more effective?"

He turned fully to her now, raising a brow. "In a backwater town like this? No. Kindness is a sign of weakness, one they'll exploit the moment they see it. Trust me, darling, I know these places."

Ashara frowned but nodded, her expression a mix of skepticism and begrudging acceptance. "Personally, I think your outlook is too pessimistic," she muttered. "But you have more experience in these matters than I do, so... I'll let you take the lead."

Astarion's brows arched in mock offense. "That sounds suspiciously like you're just hiding behind me... again. I thought I was the one needing protection?"

Her eyes sparkled with reluctant humor, and she shrugged, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "If we're attacked by another rampaging bear, I'll happily throw myself in front of you and take charge. Until that happens - yes, I'm hiding behind you."

He couldn't help the smirk that curled his lips. "Try not to trip on my skirts, darling."

Ashara blinked, her brows knitting in confusion. "Huh?"

Rolling his eyes dramatically, Astarion turned and strode toward the bar, leaving her to her confusion.

As he leaned casually against the counter, his posture the picture of nonchalance, Astarion couldn't help but wish Onyx were here. The image of the massive direwolf by his side, radiating an aura of barely restrained violence, would certainly have made things simpler. A being like Onyx didn't need words to command respect.

However, Onyx was back at camp, overseeing Karlach's procedure with Halsin, while Zevlor kept an eye on Mirkon and Vaarl. It had been Onyx, of all beings, who had suggested this excursion, insisting they gather information and supplies for their growing group.

Astarion's lips twitched in a faint smile as he recalled the direwolf taking him aside before their departure. Onyx's amber eyes had locked onto him with an intensity that Astarion was sure they would burn right through his skull, though the wolf's words had been unexpectedly soft. "Watch over her, she can be anxious without me," the wolf had growled.

The memory stirred a mix of emotions - gratification at the trust being placed in him, and a flicker of unease. He wasn't fully sure he was up to the challenge of shepherding someone as guileless as Ashara.

He glanced over his shoulder at her, noting how awkwardly she sat at the table, her posture stiff and uncertain. Astarion felt an unexpected pang of protectiveness. This time alone with her was an opportunity he hadn't expected, a chance to deepen their bond without the others' constant interference. And he intended to make the most of it.

The barkeep, a burly man with a perpetually sour expression, looked up from polishing a glass. "What'll it be?"

Astarion rested an elbow on the bar, his tone breezy. "A pint of your finest... whatever it is you serve here. And perhaps a bit of conversation, if you're in the mood."

The barkeep raised an eyebrow, his thick fingers stilling on the glass. "Information costs coin, same as the ale."

"Oh, I've no doubt it does," Astarion replied, his voice dropping to a silky purr. "But one likes to know what one is paying for first."

The barkeep's mouth twisted into a humorless grin. "What do you want to know?"

"I've heard whispers of tiefling refugees passing through these parts." Astarion gestured vaguely, as if discussing the weather. "Acquaintances of mine, you see. I'm rather keen to know if they've been spotted."

The man leaned against the counter, his expression as impenetrable as stone. "Might've seen them. Might not've. Hard to remember."

Astarion sighed, pulling a coin pouch from his belt and letting it fall onto the bar with a satisfying thunk. He flashed a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I know how this goes. I jog your memory with coin, you tell me things are still a little fuzzy, I offer more, and you miraculously recall everything. So, how about we skip the foreplay and get straight to the perfect recall?"

The barkeep narrowed his eyes, his face betraying nothing but a faint glimmer of greed. "Start putting coin down, and I'll let you know when to stop."

Groaning theatrically, Astarion began plunking coins onto the bar one by one. He took his time, letting the clink of metal draw out for maximum irritation. The barkeep didn't flinch, his hand darting out to sweep up the pile as soon as it was deemed sufficient. He pocketed the money with practiced ease and began pouring a pale amber liquid into a glass.

"Tiefs ain't welcome in this town," he said gruffly, not bothering to look at Astarion. "Which is why, when a bunch of 'em came through, they were told to seek shelter at the fort instead."

Astarion's gaze flicked toward the door, his mind already calculating. "You mean that dismal-looking ruin in the valley below?"

The barkeep grunted in affirmation, his gaze sliding toward the doorway as though ensuring no one was eavesdropping. "The very same. Don't know if they're still there. Don't much care. But if it's tiefs you're after, that's your best bet."

Astarion tilted his glass in a mockery of a toast, the gleam of firelight dancing along its surface. "How thoughtful of you to provide such... charming accommodations. Do let me know if that remarkable memory of yours recalls anything else."

He set the glass down, untouched, his smile fading as soon as the barkeep turned his attention to another patron. Internally, he cursed the oversight of not checking the ruins on their way into town. The coin spent here could have bought them an extra bundle of provisions - or at least a decent bottle of wine.

Astarion turned, ready to share his information with Ashara, only to pause mid-step. She wasn't alone.

A human man sat a little to one side of her, the picture of a self-styled rogue. Broad-shouldered and muscular, he wore a leather doublet polished to an almost unnatural sheen, though its frayed edges betrayed its age. Vanity, not practicality, had clearly dictated his choice of attire.

The serpent-shaped silver pin holding back his blonde hair glinted in the dim light, a detail that struck Astarion as both ostentatious and overcompensatory. The rapier at his side hung low, more a peacock's feather than a weapon meant for true combat. Men like him preferred their prey to be lulled by words, not steel. And judging by the smug curve of his lips, he thought himself quite the predator.

Astarion's gaze flicked to Ashara. Her posture was rigid, her arms folded tightly over her chest as though shielding herself. A faint crease had formed between her brows, and her lips parted slightly, as if she were on the verge of speaking but unsure of what to say. The tension in her stance sent a pang of alarm through Astarion's chest, but he quelled it quickly, taking a step closer to eavesdrop.

"You know," the man was saying, his tone a low purr meant to disarm, "it's rare to find someone as... captivating as you in a place like this. I'd wager you're not from around here, are you?"

Ashara shook her head, her voice steady but wary. "No. My friend and I are just passing through. We're here for supplies."

"Ah, travelers," the man murmured, leaning in as though sharing a secret. "That explains the wildness in you. Untamed, unspoiled." His gaze swept over her appraisingly, and Astarion's jaw clenched at the unabashed leer. "I imagine you've turned a few heads in your time."

Ashara blinked, her expression blank but genuine. "I haven't seen anyone turning their heads. Though I suppose people do glance at me occasionally..."

The man chuckled, the sound a little too polished, a little too rehearsed. "And why wouldn't they? The attention you draw. It's... magnetic."

"Magnetic?" she repeated. "I don't think so. Most people have been avoiding me."

"They're intimidated, no doubt," the man said smoothly, his voice taking on a coaxing quality. "A strong, striking woman like you - most men don't know how to handle that. But me? I know exactly what to do with a challenge."

Ashara tilted her head, her expression a blend of puzzlement and polite curiosity. "I'm not sure I understand. Are you saying you're... good at fighting strong women?"

The man's confident veneer cracked, and a shadow of irritation crept into his smile. "Not fighting, darling. More like... taming. I've a talent for making even the wildest creatures... purr."

Astarion felt his fists curl involuntarily at the overt implication, his nails biting into his palms. The man's oily confidence grated against his nerves like sandpaper. He took a step forward, ready to intervene, but before he could speak, Ashara's expression brightened with sudden excitement.

"Purr? Oh, you must mean cats!" Her voice lifted with genuine interest, her eyes alight. "Have you ever tamed a panther? They're beautiful, but I suppose they wouldn't be very useful in a place like this. Do you work with animals often?"

The man's smirk froze in place, his expression rapidly shifting from suave to utterly baffled. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again like a fish out of water, clearly struggling to recalibrate.

Astarion bit back a laugh, his irritation melting into something far more satisfying - amusement. He leaned against the bar, crossing his arms as he watched the exchange unfold, the corners of his mouth twitching with barely contained mirth. Ashara's clueless response had thrown the man entirely off balance, his calculated flirtation crumbling under the weight of her earnest misunderstanding.

He rallied quickly, though, leaning in as if to close the distance between them might lend weight to his words.

"Animals? No, not quite." His voice dropped to what he clearly thought was a seductive lilt. "I was referring to you. I imagine someone as fiery as you has... needs. Needs only a man of certain talents can fulfill."

Astarion felt a sharp pang of disgust coil in his chest. The line was too familiar, dredging up memories of similar words he had whispered to unsuspecting targets, back when charm was his weapon and his survival depended on its sharpness. Hearing it now, from the other side, left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Ashara, meanwhile, pursed her lips into a thin line, her expression thoughtful. "Needs? If you're talking about food or supplies, then I've already got enough. I do need to find a good shortbow for my new friend, though. Would you be able to help me with that?"

The man chuckled, clearly mistaking her obliviousness for coyness. "Not exactly. Though I can show you something that would make your trip worthwhile." He reached out, letting his fingers brush lightly against her arm. "I'm quite the hunter myself, you see. And once I've caught what I'm after, I'm known to be... very thorough."

Ashara glanced down at his hand with mild irritation, casually sliding her arm out of reach. Her movement was small but deliberate, her patience clearly wearing thin. The man either didn't notice or didn't care, his grin widening as he pressed on.

"You know," he continued, his voice taking on a silkier, more dangerous edge, "if you're not busy, I could show you some of my hunting techniques. One-on-one. Somewhere a little more... private."

"I'm not really planning on staying here long," Ashara replied, her tone polite but firm. "I can't go anywhere with you - I have to get back to my companions soon. Besides, I don't even know your name."

Astarion bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing outright. The man's confident facade was starting to crack, and Ashara - completely unaware of the innuendo - was effortlessly unraveling him. The man, however, wasn't deterred. If anything, his frustration seemed to harden into something darker.

"Cassius," he said, his grin stiffening into something colder, more forced. "That's the name people call me around here. And I can promise you, darling, by the end of the night, you'll be screaming it."

Ashara tilted her head again, her confusion deepening. "Why would I do that?"

Cassius's face darkened, his cheeks flushing an angry red as he reached for her arm. "Now listen here, you little wench-"

Astarion's lip curled. That was enough.

He moved before he even realized he had decided to act. In two fluid strides, Astarion closed the distance, standing between Ashara and Cassius.

The man's gaze snapped to him, his expression darkening, but Astarion met it with a lazy, predatory grin that spoke volumes.

"Do carry on," Astarion said smoothly, his voice laced with mock encouragement. "I'd hate to interrupt such a fascinating display of verbal gymnastics."

Cassius scowled, his irritation now fully directed at Astarion. "And who the hell are you?"

"An interested party," Astarion replied. "Please, continue. I'm simply dying to see how you intend to explain yourself."

Cassius sneered, but when he turned back to Ashara, his tone had lost its practiced charm, replaced by something sharper, uglier. "Don't play coy, sweetheart - it doesn't suit you."

Ashara's eyes narrowed, a flicker of steel in her voice as she said, "I don't appreciate being called 'sweetheart.' I suggest you explain yourself clearly or move along."

The man's mask slipped entirely, his voice dropping to a low growl. "Fine. I'm saying I can give you pleasure like you've never experienced before - the kind only a real man knows how to give, unlike this lanky fairy."

The insult barely registered before Astarion's lips curved into dangerous smile. "Well," he drawled, "this 'lanky fairy' is currently debating whether you're worth the effort of killing." His voice was light, almost conversational, but his gaze was as cold as frostbite. He stepped forward with blinding speed, one arm draping over Cassius's shoulder in a mock-friendly gesture that masked the movement of his other hand.

A blade pressed lightly against Cassius's neck, the pressure just enough to let him feel its bite. "And I must say," Astarion murmured, his voice low and intimate, "you're making a very compelling argument for it."

"You see," Astarion continued, "this fine young woman happens to be under my protection. And you, my dear, are about two sentences away from having that rapier shoved somewhere profoundly inconvenient."

Cassius's skin turned ashen, the blood draining from his face as the implications of Astarion's words - and the cold kiss of the blade at his throat - sank in. His bravado crumbled, replaced by a mixture of fear and fury.

"You've got no idea who you're dealing with, elf," he spat, though the quaver in his voice betrayed him.

"Oh, I know exactly who I'm dealing with," Astarion said, his smile never wavering. "A petty predator dressed up in cheap charm and borrowed manners. Now, I suggest you slink back to whatever hole you crawled out of before this becomes... messy."

The human's eyes darted around the room, gauging the growing interest of the tavern patrons. Their murmurs filled the smoky air, a low hum of curiosity tinged with unease. His lip curled in disdain as he spat out, "Bitch isn't worth the trouble."

Astarion's chuckle was low and mocking as he eased the dagger away from the man's neck with deliberate slowness, the faint whisper of steel against leather underscoring his reply. "Oh, I assure you, she's worth more than you could ever afford."

Cassius surged to his feet, his hand twitching toward the hilt of his rapier. Astarion tilted his head, his smile deepening into something sharper, more predatory, and let his fangs glint ever so slightly in the dim light. "Go on," he whispered, the words a silken dare, "I'm just itching for a decent bloodbath."

The tension crackled like a bowstring pulled taut, but after a moment, Cassius's bravado faltered. His mouth twisted into a snarl, and he spat, "You haven't heard the last of me." He turned on his heel, shoving past a few curious onlookers on his way to the door.

Astarion sheathed his dagger with a flick of his wrist and turned to Ashara, who stood watching the man's retreat with a calm but thoughtful expression. She tapped a finger against her lips, her brows knitting slightly.

"He was... odd," she said at last. "He was using a lot of metaphors, but I couldn't figure out what he wanted."

Astarion arched an elegant brow, his grin tugging wider. "Oh, sweet Ashara," he drawled, his tone caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation. "You're either more innocent than I thought or far cleverer than you let on. Either way, that was utterly delightful."

She frowned, clearly unsure whether to take his words as a compliment, but before she could reply, he gestured toward the door with a flourish. "Come now, darling. Let's not linger. I'm sure your admirer will be sulking in some alleyway, plotting his next attempt at mediocrity."

Ashara allowed herself to be ushered outside, the tavern's warm, smoky air giving way to the crisp bite of an overcast afternoon. The cobblestones were warm underfoot, and the faint breeze carried with it the scent of baking pies and the metallic tang of the nearby forges. Children darted between stalls, their laughter mingling with the clamor of bartering voices.

Ashara glanced sideways at Astarion, her arms still loosely crossed as she mulled over the encounter. "Why do people talk around things like that?" she asked suddenly, her tone carrying a trace of irritation. "Why not just say what they want?"

Astarion slid his hands into his pockets, his crimson eyes scanning the crowd with practiced ease. "Some people," he said lightly, "rely on ambiguity because it allows them to slither away when things don't go their way. Like that one just did. A vague proposition is easier to deny than a direct one."

Ashara exhaled slowly, the corners of her mouth pulling into a faint frown. "Let's just take what we have and leave," she muttered. "I don't want to deal with any more... misunderstandings."

Astarion chuckled, the sound rich and warm. His crimson eyes gleamed with mischief as he replied, "Darling, with you, misunderstandings are half the fun."

Hands up anyone who's had to deal with a creep like Cassius? If you want to read more of this chapter, then check out the link below.

#baldurs #baldursgate3 #dnd #dungeonsanddragons #astarion #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 #astarion fanfiction #astarion x oc #astarion bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion fanfic #bg3 oc #bg3

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geekusfemme · 6 months ago

Text

The Druid

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Full story on AO3 — Wattpad

Astarion x Female OC

Rating: Mature

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Chapter Eight: After a disappointing visit to the now-destroyed monastery, the party is camping in the mountain pass...

—★—

The moon hung low, its pale light spilling across the jagged peaks of the mountain pass like a silvery quilt. Astarion moved through the rocky terrain with the quiet grace of a shadow, his steps careful but confident as he followed the faint tracks winding between the stones. The mountain goats had been a lucky find - a delicate scatter of hoofprints in the dirt leading deeper into the valley. His senses sharpened as he went, every shift of wind and rustle of leaves drawing his attention.

He'd taken these nocturnal hunts as an opportunity to test himself. Listening to Ashara's lessons with Mirkon had proven unexpectedly fruitful, her tips on tracking prey lodged firmly in his mind. While the boy asked endless questions, Astarion had absorbed the knowledge in silence, weaving it into his own instinctual understanding of predators and prey. Tonight, he intended to put that knowledge to use.

The tracks led him to a small valley nestled between towering cliffs. The air was still here, the scent of wild grasses mingling with the faint musk of animals. In the cover of some low, dense bushes, a small herd of mountain goats lay curled together, their forms blending into the shadows. Astarion's lips parted in a quiet exhale of anticipation, his muscles coiling like a spring as he prepared to pounce. He imagined the thrill of the chase, the satisfying rush of warm blood on his tongue.

Then, the silence shattered.

A blur of motion lunged from the shadows, and a deafening bleat of distress erupted as a massive form snatched one of the goats. The rest of the herd sprang to life, scattering in a chaotic flurry of hooves and terrified cries, disappearing into the rocky wilderness like smoke in the wind.

Astarion froze mid-step, his body tense as his eyes locked on the predator before him. It took him only a second to recognize the hulking figure tearing into the goat. Relief surged through him, immediately followed by irritation.

"Are you following me?" he demanded, his voice cutting through the stillness.

A low chuckle echoed from behind a nearby rock, followed by a familiar voice. "Not unless you're a goat."

Ashara stepped into the moonlight, her silhouette framed by the pale glow. She held her bow loosely in one hand, her sapphire eyes catching the light as she approached. Astarion's annoyance deepened as she stopped beside Onyx, who was now thoroughly dismantling the unfortunate goat, his powerful jaws crunching through flesh and bone with ease.

Astarion's skin prickled at the sound, and he folded his arms, glaring at the wolf. "You could've at least let me feed before you wasted all that blood."

Onyx raised his muzzle, dark and dripping with gore, and regarded Astarion with a calm that bordered on infuriating. "Wouldn't you prefer to drink from a well-fed wolf?"

Astarion scoffed, though he couldn't entirely deny the logic. "I would... but I still want to experience the thrill of a hunt every now and then. I don't want to grow complacent."

Ashara walked up to him, her expression neutral but her lips twitching with suppressed amusement as she shrugged. "Next goat we find, I promise it's yours."

Astarion gestured toward the empty valley with an exaggerated sweep of his hand. "Any prey will be half a mile away now, thanks to all that racket."

Onyx returned to his meal, the sound of bones crunching filling the air as he devoured every last scrap. When he finished, he licked his chops and padded over to them. "Then we travel half a mile to find it," he said simply.

Astarion groaned, the dramatic sound echoing faintly off the cliffs. "Have fun with that. I've been out here nearly all night and now have nothing to show for it. I'm heading back to camp - and to bed."

He turned sharply on his heel, his boots scraping against the stones as he stalked away. The uneven terrain tugged at his legs, the strain of the night beginning to wear on him.

Astarion so focused on his own irritation that it took him several moments to notice the soft thud of paws alongside him. Glancing around, he found Onyx walking beside him, his massive form moving with deceptive silence.

His sharp gaze traveled upward, and he saw Ashara perched atop the wolf's broad back, looking down at him with a faint smile.

"You'll get there quicker on wolfback," she remarked, the challenge in her tone unmistakable.

Astarion halted, his irritation warring with exhaustion. Part of him bristled at the idea of accepting their help after they'd ruined his hunt, but another part - his aching feet, specifically - reminded him of the rocky ground he still had to navigate. Onyx seemed to sense his hesitation and crouched low, his golden eyes watching Astarion expectantly.

With a reluctant sigh, Astarion muttered, "Fine," and swung himself onto Onyx's back as the wolf rose and set off at an easy lope.

The ride back to camp was quieter than Astarion would have liked. The rhythmic thud of Onyx's paws against the rocky ground echoed in his ears, a dull counterpoint to the thoughts churning in his mind. The stars above blinked coldly, indifferent to his turmoil, and the chill of the mountain air only deepened the unease coiled in his chest.

He had been more on edge with each day that passed. Memories from the recent past kept bubbling to the surface - memories of the last time he'd traveled with a group. He kept holding his breath, waiting for the inevitable moment when everything fell apart. When he was cast out. Betrayed.

No matter how genuine or sincere Ashara seemed, Astarion couldn't shake the fear that her trust in him was fragile. The others could influence her, convince her that he had no worth, no value. He could see it in the way she listened so attentively to Zevlor's Hellrider tales or how she leaned in with fascination as Vaarl spun intricate stories of Githyanki culture and his precious Prince Orpheus. Even Karlach, despite her rough edges, commanded respect with her indomitable spirit and easy laughter.

And then there was him. What could he possibly offer her that the others couldn't? His charm? His wit? Those felt like thin veneers that would crack under scrutiny. He'd spent so long surviving through manipulation that the idea of being truly needed seemed laughable.

His stomach churned as a familiar idea crept unbidden into his mind, one that left a bitter taste in his mouth. There was still one thing he could offer her that none of the others could - his body. The thought sent a wave of nausea crashing through him, but the fear of abandonment was more potent than his disgust. Better to sacrifice himself than face rejection again.

A flicker of light broke through the trees ahead, mercifully dragging him from his dark musings. The campfire. Relief mingled with a simmering frustration; the others were there, waiting to remind him of how little he belonged. But before he could descend further into his spiraling thoughts, a deafening roar shattered the quiet, followed by Karlach's unmistakable bellow - a battle cry that tore through the night like a thunderclap.

Astarion instinctively clung to Ashara as Onyx surged forward, his powerful form weaving through the uneven terrain with alarming speed. The camp came into view in a flash of firelight and chaos.

The flames of Karlach's infernal engine bathed the scene in a hellish glow, her massive axe carving arcs through the air as she faced down an enormous cave bear. Its fur bristled with rage, and its claws raked the ground as it charged. Zevlor and Vaarl stood to one side, shielding a wide-eyed Mirkon, their crossbows loosing bolts that thudded into the bear's dense hide with little effect.

Ashara and Astarion leapt off Onyx the moment the wolf skidded to a halt. Astarion's eyes darted around, taking in the scene with a growing sense of alarm. He saw Karlach leap forward, only for the bear's massive paw to strike her mid-charge. She flew through the air, a streak of fire, and hit the ground hard with a grunt of pain.

Onyx snarled, his body a grey blur as he lunged at the bear, the two colossal predators colliding in a violent tangle of claws and fangs. Astarion's sharp eyes caught the glint of blood spraying across the firelit camp as the two creatures tore into each other with primal ferocity.

Ashara sprinted to Karlach, ignoring the searing heat of her engine as she hauled the Tiefling to her feet. Astarion saw her wince, her skin blistering where it met Karlach's molten flesh, but she didn't falter. She dragged Karlach back toward the group, depositing her beside Zevlor and Vaarl before turning to assess the chaos.

Astarion, still trying to process everything, shouted, "What in the sweet hells is going on here?!"

Karlach wiped blood from her mouth and shot him a glare. "What's it bloody look like, mate? This damned bear just up and attacked us out of nowhere!"

Astarion turned his gaze to the clash of predators, watching as Onyx and the bear fought like demons for supremacy. Onyx was taking a beating, but the bear was faltering, its movements sluggish as crimson streaks matted its fur.

In a burst of speed, Onyx finally lunged underneath the bears head, clamping his jaws around the it's throat, and shook violently. A sickening crack echoed through the camp, and the beast's massive body collapsed, lifeless.

Onyx released the corpse and backed away, his flanks heaving with each labored breath. One of his ears hung ragged, blood trickling down its length.

Astarion opened his mouth to comment, but his words caught in his throat as a strange light swirled around the bear's corpse. Green and gold tendrils of energy wrapped around the body, distorting its form. The massive shape shimmered, shrinking and reforming before their eyes.

An elf emerged from the glow, tall and muscular, clad in druidic armor adorned with leaves and engraved bark. His scarred face was twisted with fury, his piercing eyes blazing as he clutched at his wounds. "Look at you," he spat, his voice like thunder. "Camping amidst the Oak Father's creations, as if you hadn't just defiled his most sacred ground."

Ashara stepped forward, her posture calm but wary. "Who are you? Why did you attack us?"

The druid drew himself to his full and impressive height, his presence commanding despite his injuries. "I am Halsin, First Druid of the Emerald Grove - a place that stood for generations. It was our link to Silvanus. Now it's nothing but blood and ashes, thanks to you. I am here to visit nature's fury upon you."

Ashara's brow furrowed, her confusion evident. "I thought Silvanus would be happy I avenged the grove."

Astarion's mind raced, pieces clicking into place. "I think he may be confusing us with someone else," he called out, his tone sharp. "Specifically, a back-stabbing dragonborn someone else."

Ashara stepped closer, her hands raised in a gesture of peace. "We had nothing to do with the attack on the grove."

"Lies!" Halsin bellowed, pointing an accusatory finger at Karlach. "This one was there, with the others who found me imprisoned in the goblin camp and promised to aid me." His voice grew bitter as he addressed her directly. "When I met you, I thought we were destined to be allies. But you made that impossible."

Karlach stared at him, shock and anger flashing in her eyes. Astarion glanced between them, his mind already piecing together the implications. This confrontation was far from over.

The druid began to chant, his voice weaving ancient words of power. Thorny vines erupted from the ground around his feet, twisting and writhing as they shot toward Ashara like a nest of vipers. Their jagged thorns gleamed wickedly in the campfire's flickering glow. Astarion barely had time to react before Onyx roared and leapt into their path, shielding Ashara with his massive body.

The vines coiled around the wolf's legs and torso, their barbs slicing into his flesh with a sickening sound. Onyx snarled in pain, his golden eyes blazing as the thorns pierced deep, crimson staining his fur.

Ashara's scream pierced the air, raw and desperate. "Onyx!" She dropped to her knees, her fingers digging into the soil. Her face was a mask of determination, her eyes burning with resolve. The earth beneath Astarion's feet shuddered, and he gasped as a pulse of energy rippled outward, surging through the ground like an invisible tide.

The terrain responded to her touch. Rocks burst upward, jagged and sharp, as though the mountain itself were springing to her defense. Halsin's chanting faltered as he was forced to leap aside, rolling across the dirt to avoid being impaled. His expression was a mixture of shock and fury, his hands glowing with emerald light as he prepared another spell.

Astarion, heart pounding, stepped forward, his voice sharp and desperate. "Look, will you just calm down for a moment and let us explain?!"

Halsin's glare was the only answer he received before the druid unleashed another attack, a barrage of needle-sharp thorns that streaked through the air like a deadly hailstorm. Astarion yelped and threw himself behind the nearest rock, the sharp projectiles embedding themselves in the stone with alarming force.

He crouched low, his breath coming in quick gasps. "All right," he muttered to himself, brushing dirt from his jerkin, "so much for diplomacy."

Peering around the edge of his cover, Astarion's eyes widened at the sight of Onyx. The vines wrapped around the wolf were beginning to shimmer, an icy frost spreading along their lengths. With a guttural roar, Onyx flexed his massive frame and shattered the vines into a storm of frozen shards. The fragments sprayed outward, glinting like glass in the firelight. Astarion ducked just in time to avoid being hit, the sharp edges whistling past his ears.

The wolf wasted no time, bounding toward Halsin with terrifying speed. The druid turned, his hands already moving to cast another spell, but Onyx was faster. The wolf barreled into him, his sheer weight and momentum knocking Halsin off his feet and slamming him into the ground.

Pinned beneath Onyx's immense weight, Halsin thrashed wildly, but the wolf's massive paws pressed down on his arms, pinning them in place. Onyx's snarls filled the gorge, his fangs bared just inches from the druid's face.

"No!" Ashara's voice rang out, firm and commanding. She stepped forward, her hands still glowing faintly from the energy she had channeled into the earth. "Don't kill him!"

Onyx didn't move, his golden eyes locked on Halsin's, blazing with unspoken warning. "I wasn't planning to," the wolf growled, his voice low and resonant. "But I needed to restrain him."

Halsin continued to struggle, his movements frantic but ultimately futile. Without the use of his hands, he was unable to summon the power for anything beyond minor spells. His eyes burned with fury, though there was a flicker of fear beneath the surface.

Astarion stepped out from behind his cover, brushing fragments of ice from his shoulder with exaggerated care. "Well, this has been quite the spectacle," he remarked dryly, his sharp gaze flicking between Onyx and the pinned druid. "Now that we've reached a stalemate, might we consider having an actual conversation?"

Halsin's jaw clenched, his hazel eyes blazing with fury, but he didn't respond. Astarion couldn't tell whether it was anger, fear, or pride that held his tongue, but he suspected it was a toxic mixture of all three.

Ashara approached cautiously, her palms outstretched in a gesture of peace. Her voice softened, though it trembled with urgency. "Halsin, we don't want to hurt you. We're not your enemies. Let us explain what's really happening."

Halsin's struggle slowed, his gaze shifting from Onyx's snarling face to Ashara's imploring one. His breathing was labored, and the anger in his expression dimmed, replaced by wariness. The tension in the air was palpable, a taut thread ready to snap, but Ashara's calm presence seemed to hold it together.

"Please," she said softly, "just listen."

Halsin's body eased, the tension in his shoulders softening as the rigid lines of his face melted into something less severe. His piercing gaze moved from one member of the group to the next before he nodded, his voice a low rumble. "Very well."

Karlach stepped forward, the flames of her engine dimming to a low ember as she faced the druid. Her expression was steady, but her voice carried the weight of bitterness and regret. "It's true, I was there with the others. I genuinely thought we were there to rescue you, but I guess Durge decided you were useless when he found out you couldn't cure us."

Her jaw tightened, and she took another step closer, her boots crunching against the rocky ground. "He made a deal with the drow leader. Told me he was just stringing her along to lure her to the grove where we'd have the upper hand. And like a wet-eared kid, I believed him. Right up until the moment he opened the gate and let the goblins swarm over the grove like rats."

Karlach's fist clenched at her sides, her flames flickering faintly before she quelled them. She took another step closer, her eyes locking with Halsin's. "I fought tooth and nail to protect the people in the grove and wound up with this for my trouble." She raised her prosthetic arm, the spike glinting in the firelight.

Halsin's eyes flicked to the metallic limb, his gaze softening as understanding dawned. When Karlach added, "Most weren't as lucky," his expression darkened with the weight of shared loss.

Halsin's lips parted as though to speak, but Zevlor stepped forward, his presence calm and commanding. "You know me, Master Halsin," he began, inclining his head respectfully. "You offered your grove as a sanctuary for my people, something I will be forever grateful for. Karlach speaks the truth. She turned against those who betrayed you - betrayed us. And these two here" - he gestured to Ashara and Astarion - "rescued the child and I from the goblin's clutches. They avenged the destruction of the grove and its people by wiping out the invaders."

Halsin's body seemed to deflate entirely as he took in their words, the rage in his features melting into something softer, tinged with grief and shame. His eyes lingered on Karlach, and he inclined his head. "I have been on the dragonborn's trail for days now, but I lost his party somewhere in this pass. When I came across your camp and saw you, I allowed my grief and rage to overwhelm me. Please, forgive me."

Karlach shrugged, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "It's all good. I'd have reacted the same way."

A voice piped up from the back, cutting through the gravity of the exchange. "Are we still fighting him, or is that it?" Vaarl's tone was laced with confusion, his expression a mixture of caution and curiosity.

Ashara turned her head slightly, a hint of amusement in her voice. "That's up to him, I guess."

Halsin's attention shifted to Ashara, who stood with her hand resting lightly on Onyx's flank. "You can tell your beast to release me," he said evenly. "I no longer mean you any harm."

Ashara gave Onyx a subtle nod, and the wolf huffed, stepping back and freeing Halsin's arms. The druid rose slowly, brushing dirt from his armor before bowing deeply. "Allow me to make amends for my rash actions."

He approached Onyx, his movements slow and deliberate as he raised a hand toward the wolf's torn ear. Onyx growled low in his throat but stayed still, his golden eyes fixed on the druid. Halsin murmured, "Te Curo." A gentle green light enveloped the torn flesh, knitting it back together with an almost imperceptible hum.

Onyx flicked his ear, testing it, and grumbled in what Astarion could only interpret as approval.

Halsin turned to Karlach next, his gaze falling on the claw marks raking across her shoulder. "May I?" he asked, gesturing to the injury.

Karlach hesitated for only a moment before nodding, rolling her shoulder toward him. Halsin hovered his hands over the wound, his voice low as he chanted another healing incantation. The claw marks began to close, the raw skin smoothing until it was as though the injury had never existed.

Once finished, Halsin placed a hand over his own chest and closed his eyes. A faint green glow radiated outward as he mended his wounds. When the light faded, he looked at them once more, his tone grave but sincere.

"You would have been well within your rights to kill me after I attacked you without cause," he said solemnly. "I am grateful for your restraint, and will forever be in your debt."

He bowed deeply, the gesture one of genuine contrition. When he straightened, his voice was steady but resolute. "Now, I must continue on my way."

Astarion tilted his head, a bemused smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Don't tell me you're still going after the bastard," he drawled, his voice laced with incredulity. "I would think nearly being mauled to death by a wolf might give you pause."

Halsin turned to him, his expression unreadable but resolute. "I am. He must answer for his crimes."

Astarion clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Well, that's a rather noble death wish, isn't it? I've seen his party fight. Alone, you'll be ripped to shreds faster than Onyx can tear through a goat."

The tension hung in the air, taut as a bowstring. Ashara stepped forward. "If Durge came through here, then it's a safe bet we're all heading in the same direction: Moonrise Towers. You are welcome to join us if you want."

Astarion felt a prickle of alarm skitter down his spine at her words, sharp as the thorns that had nearly skewered him earlier. He stepped forward, his expression incredulous. "Now hold on a minute. He was ready to tear us to pieces less than five minutes ago, and now you're offering him a seat by the fire? Your survival instincts truly leave a lot to be desired."

His voice carried a sharp edge of mockery, but underneath it was an undercurrent of genuine unease. The group had grown too large already for his liking, and the thought of another noble crusader joining their ranks made his stomach churn.

Ashara's gaze flicked to him, her brow lifting in mild amusement, but it was Onyx who turned to address him. The wolf's golden eyes gleamed, his deep voice cutting through Astarion's protest like a blade. "You are currently enjoying our protection because of her 'survival instincts', Astarion. You held a dagger to her throat, and yet here you are, alive and well."

Astarion opened his mouth to respond but faltered, his usual sharp retorts drying up under Onyx's unwavering stare. The truth of the wolf's words stung more than he cared to admit. He clicked his tongue and fell silent, his arms crossing defensively as he cast his gaze toward the ground.

Halsin's voice, calm and unassuming, filled the void. "I do not wish to be a burden to you," he said, his tone laced with quiet sincerity. "My quest for vengeance is my own. However, if Moonrise Towers is your destination, then allow me to pass on what knowledge I have of that place."

Ashara gestured toward the campfire. "Then come join us by the fire," she said, her eyes flicking to Astarion in a silent challenge.

As Halsin moved toward the fire, Onyx's voice rumbled behind him. "There is one more thing you can do for us, Halsin."

The druid turned, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "What is it?"

Onyx's gaze was steady. "You have a reputation as an experienced healer. Would you be willing to assist me in removing an Illithid tadpole from a flaming tiefling?"

For a moment, silence reigned, broken only by the crackling of the fire. Halsin stared, his expression shifting from surprise to intrigue.

"You are no druid, and yet you are also not a beast, are you?" he asked, his voice tinged with wonder.

Onyx's lips pulled back in what might have been a grin - or a warning. "No."

Halsin's thoughtful expression softened further as he addressed Onyx. "I will not be able to help you until after I have rested. Come morning, though, I would be curious to see what you have in mind. I have been researching ways to cure this infection and would be glad to aid you in any way I can."

Before anyone else could respond, Karlach's eyes lit up with excitement. "Does this mean surgery's back on the table?" she asked, her voice a mixture of hope and anticipation.

Onyx turned to her, his golden gaze steady, his voice deadpan. "We don't have a table. You'll have to settle for a flat rock."

Karlach barked a laugh and grabbed the wolf's massive head, her broad hand ruffling the thick fur between his ears with mock exasperation. "You know what I mean, furball," she retorted, her grin wide and infectious.

Onyx huffed, shaking his head free from her grasp, though there was an unmistakable glimmer of amusement in his eyes. The exchange seemed to lighten the tension lingering in the camp, the oppressive weight of earlier conflict finally giving way to a tentative truce.

Full chapter today, as it's a short one.

6 notes · View notes

geekusfemme · 6 months ago

Text

Hope

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Read the full story on AO3 — Wattpad

Astarion x Female OC

Rating: Mature

*******************************************

Chapter Seven: The 'pack' travel to Rosymorn Monastery after Onyx reveals he can remove the tadpoles with the help of a skilled healer...

—★—

The air carried the chill of the mountains, crisp and thin, biting at the exposed skin of Astarion's neck as the group approached the edge of a wide valley the following morning.

Below them, the dawn rays painted the tableau in soft hues, the golden beams illuminating the sprawling ruins of Rosymorn Monastery nestled in the shadows of jagged peaks. The monastery's once-pristine rooftops shimmered faintly in the distance, catching the light like tarnished mirrors, but even from afar, the scars of destruction were evident.

Astarion narrowed his eyes, the sharp contrast of beauty and ruin unsettling him. He folded his arms as he tilted his head in mock contemplation. "I'm no expert," he drawled, his sharp tone cutting through the morning stillness, "but aren't monasteries usually a little more... intact?"

Onyx, walking ahead, stopped and sniffed the air, his amber eyes scanning the horizon. "I fear some recent tragedy has befallen it," he rumbled gravely.

Karlach squinted down at the ruins, her jaw tightening. "Well, there goes my doctor's appointment." She glanced at Onyx, her voice laced with suspicion. "What are you betting Durge and his cronies had something to do with it?"

Onyx shook his great head, his fur rippling like dark waves. "I think perhaps the culprits may be Githyanki on this occasion. I noticed evidence of their script carved into some rocks a little further back. And the ground around here is scorched with dragonfire."

Ashara stepped forward, her brow furrowed as she studied the crumbling remains ahead. "Shall we go and see if there are any survivors?"

Astarion arched a skeptical brow, gesturing vaguely at the ruins. "And can I safely come along without incurring any divine wrath?"

Onyx's glance back at him held the barest trace of humor. "Probably."

"Reassuring," Astarion muttered, but he followed nonetheless, his fingers twitching instinctively toward the hilt of his dagger.

As they neared the monastery, the scale of the destruction became horrifyingly clear. What had once been a proud sanctuary was now a wasteland of splintered beams, crumbled stone, and twisted metal. The air smelled of soot and something acrid, sharp enough to sting his nostrils. Broken statues of Lathander lay scattered, their marble faces shattered and gazing blankly at the sky.

Karlach let out a low whistle, her tail flicking behind her. "Gods... It looks like the whole place was smashed with a giant hammer."

Ashara ran her fingers along a piece of jagged stone, her expression grave. "What kind of power or weapon could do this?"

Astarion said nothing, though unease churned in his stomach. The sheer scale of the devastation unsettled him more than he cared to admit, and he fervently hoped that whatever - or whoever - had done this was long gone.

Much to his dismay, Ashara still insisted they search the rubble for survivors. With an exaggerated sigh, Astarion joined the effort, though his focus strayed more toward anything valuable that might have survived the carnage. He poked aimlessly through debris, plucking up a tarnished necklace here, a carved trinket there. His fingers brushed against an ornate goblet half-buried in dust and stone, its intricate design glinting faintly. He crouched, tugging at it with little success.

Just as he managed to loosen it, a pale, thin arm shot out from the rubble, seizing his wrist. Astarion flinched, his instincts taking over. He wrenched his arm free with an angry hiss, his dagger flashing into his hand in a single fluid motion.

The hoarse rasp of a voice stopped him mid-strike. "Help me... I beg you, please."

Astarion narrowed his eyes, warily peering through the crack in the stones. What met his gaze was not another feral beast or monster, but the face of a young Githyanki, barely more than a teenager. The youths mottled, yellow skin was marred with dirt and streaks of dried blood, and his wide, desperate eyes locked onto Astarion's with a silent plea.

"Why should I?" Astarion asked, his voice cool and detached, though he didn't sheathe his dagger.

The gith's lips trembled, his voice cracking as he spoke. "They left me here to die. They said I was weak... useless. Please, I don't want to die."

Astarion's gaze drifted to the bloodied claw marks on the stones, evidence of frantic attempts to dig free. He looked at the gith's hands, their fingertips raw and torn. Something about the scene stirred an unwelcome memory - a tombs suffocating embrace, his own nails clawing at stone as his voice grew hoarse from screaming.

A wave of dizziness struck him, memories rushing unbidden like water through a shattered dam. The year he'd spent entombed alive for defying Cazador played out in jagged flashes behind his eyes.

Astarion quickly closed his eyes, willing the wave of nausea to pass. When he opened them again, the young gith's terrified face came back into focus. Resolve settled over him like a cold flame.

"What's your name?" he asked, his voice quieter, the edge softening.

"Vaarl," the gith whispered, his words trembling. "I'm... was, a trainee for crèche Y'llek."

Astarion smirked faintly, though it lacked his usual mockery. "Well, then consider yourself the luckiest gith in what's left of crèche Y'llek."

Vaarl gave a miserable, hollow laugh. "I don't feel very lucky right now."

"You will soon," Astarion replied, standing and calling out to the others. "Over here! I found a survivor."

As the group hurried toward him, Astarion glanced down at the gith once more. For the briefest moment, their eyes met, and Astarion felt something strange - an echo of his own survival, fragile yet defiant, mirrored in the boy's desperate gaze.

Onyx wasted no time, his massive claws tore into the earth with relentless efficiency, sending sprays of dirt and debris flying with each powerful swipe. His focus was singular, the muscles in his shoulders rippling as he carved away at the rubble trapping Vaarl. Beside him, Karlach, Ashara, and Zevlor worked with grim determination, hauling away stone after stone to widen the gap. Even Mirkon pitched in, his small hands clutching at the lighter rocks, his face pinched with concentration.

Astarion, standing slightly apart, observed the scene with sharp, calculating eyes. His gaze traced the angles and weight of the rubble, mentally piecing together its fragility like an intricate puzzle. "Use those stones," he said, pointing to a cluster of larger, sturdier rocks. His voice carried an uncharacteristic authority, cutting through the grunts and scraping sounds of labor. "Prop up these sections of rubble, or they'll collapse on him the moment Onyx creates a space."

The others glanced at him briefly, then followed his direction without question. Karlach grunted as she shifted one of the heavier stones into place, the heat from her infernal core causing faint wisps of steam to rise from the damp earth beneath her hands. The reinforced structure held, allowing Onyx to carve out a wide enough gap for the trapped gith to crawl free.

Ashara was the first to reach into the space, her hands steady as she grasped Vaarl's trembling arms and pulled him the rest of the way out. The young gith's body was a tapestry of bruises and small wounds, his thin frame covered in dirt and dried blood. He lay still on the ground, his chest heaving as though he couldn't believe he was breathing open air again.

Zevlor knelt beside him, offering a canteen of water. Vaarl grabbed it with trembling hands, lifting it to his parched lips. He drank greedily until Ashara's firm voice cut in. "Slowly," she cautioned, her tone gentle but insistent. "Small sips, or you'll make yourself sick."

The gith froze for a moment, then nodded, forcing himself to take measured sips. His voice, though hoarse, was filled with gratitude as he looked at them. "Thank you. I thought I'd never get out of there."

Astarion folded his arms, leaning casually against a nearby stone. "Feeling luckier now?" he asked, arching a brow.

Vaarl managed a weak grin, his lips cracked but genuine. "Very."

Ashara's expression shifted, her concern hardening into purpose. "What happened here? How long have you been trapped?"

Vaarl's shoulders sagged as he exhaled shakily. "I don't know. I think it's been three days. One minute I was being beaten by my sa'varsh for refusing to fight another student to the death. The next, there was this blinding light, a deafening roar, and everything started to shake. We ran to escape the debris, but I tripped. I don't remember much after that... until I heard the survivors evacuating."

He looked down at his bruised hands, his expression one of shame and sorrow. "Some of the other trainees found me and told me the sa'varsh was dead. They laughed at me for getting myself trapped and left me here to join the other warriors. Everyone was setting out to hunt the hshar'lak and the istiks who defied Vlaakith and stole something important."

His head snapped up suddenly, his eyes wide with alarm. "You're not the same istiks, are you?"

Ashara tilted her head. "Depends... What's an istik?"

Onyx, still shaking dirt from his fur, rumbled an answer. "It roughly means outsider. A slightly derogatory term for anyone who isn't Githyanki."

Astarion raised an eyebrow, his tone laced with dry amusement. "You speak Githyanki? - Wait, never mind. Of course you do. Because you 'know much about many things,' don't you?"

The wolf's muzzle curved into a toothy grin. "You're learning fast."

Vaarl glanced in surprise at Onyx and a look of awe flickered across his face. "Is that wolf... talking? I didn't know they could do that here."

Ashara's voice drew Vaarl's attention back. "We've only just arrived. We didn't even know the Githyanki had taken this place over."

Karlach, her tail flicking in annoyance, shot Vaarl a hard look. "We were hoping to have spoken to the original occupants, but I guess your people slaughtered them all."

Vaarl winced, his expression clouded with shame. "They probably did... but I wasn't here then." He hesitated, his hands curling into fists. "I... don't know what to do now. My crèche abandoned me, and I have no idea how to find another." He looked up nervously, his gaze darting toward Astarion. "Can I maybe join you? I promise I won't get in the way."

Astarion and Ashara responded in unison.

"No," Astarion said sharply.

"Of course," Ashara said at the same time.

Vaarl looked between them, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and hope. "Which is it?"

Astarion turned sharply to Ashara. "May I have a word?" Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed her arm and led her a short distance away, his movements as sharp as his tone. Once out of earshot, he whirled on her, his expression a mask of exasperation. "We are not picking up any more strays."

Ashara crossed her arms, meeting his glare head-on. "Says who? I don't remember putting you in charge today."

"I'm in charge when common sense is required," Astarion retorted, his voice low but heated. "Trust me, the last thing we need is a gith trailing along with us."

Ashara raised an eyebrow, her tone turning cool. "He's practically a kid. Seems harmless enough to me."

"Ha!" Astarion barked, his laugh devoid of humor. "I'm fairly certain the word harmless has never been applied to Githyanki. They're born with a sword in their hand and taught to hate everyone who isn't one of them. Unless you're keen on waking up in the night with your throat slit, I say we give him some supplies and send him on his merry way."

Ashara's gaze narrowed. "I half-expected you to suggest we kill him here and now."

Astarion's lips twisted into a dry smirk. "That was my first thought, but I'm feeling generous today for some reason."

"What a coincidence," Ashara said with a bright smile. "So am I."

Without waiting for his reply, she turned and began walking back to the group. Astarion reached out in frustration, his fingers brushing her arm as he hissed, "Ashara, no -gods dammit!"

Vaarl looked up at Ashara with a hopeful gleam in his eyes as she approached. "You're welcome to travel with us," she said, her voice steady but warm. "At least until we reach another settlement. If you want to search for your people after that, it's entirely up to you."

Vaarl blinked, momentarily stunned. Then his battered face lit up as though she'd handed him the moon itself. He reached out, his thin fingers curling around Ashara's hand in a gesture of pure gratitude. "Oh, thank you! I didn't think I'd find someone else who showed compassion and kindness like... Orpheus."

Karlach, who had been adjusting the straps on her prosthetic, straightened. "Who's Orpheus?"

Vaarl's eyes widened with enthusiasm, his previous exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "He's the true prince. We're forbidden to talk about him. They say Vlaakith knows if you even think his name, but I found his book... Part of it, anyway. I read it all the time. He's unbelievable. He's so strong, and - and wise. And he rides a comet. A comet!"

Ashara blinked, slightly bemused. "That sounds... like a difficult thing to do."

"Not for Prince Orpheus," Vaarl said with utter conviction, as though speaking of a divine truth.

Astarion sighed dramatically, his pale hand gesturing lazily to the ruins around them. "Wonderful. We've picked up a delusional hero worshiper. This day just keeps getting better."

Zevlor, choosing to ignore Astarion's remark, stepped forward and clapped Vaarl gently on the shoulder. "Come on, lad. Let's get you on your feet and fill your belly with a good hot meal."

Vaarl nodded, but when he tried to stand, his legs wobbled beneath him. Zevlor and Ashara moved quickly, each supporting him on one side. Together, they guided him toward Onyx, whose massive frame waited patiently near the path.

Ashara placed a hand on Vaarl's back as they walked. "Onyx may not be a comet or a dragon," she said with a faint smile, "but he's still a worthy mount for someone as resilient as you."

Vaarl reached out to stroke Onyx's thick fur, his fingers trembling but steady enough to feel the warmth of the wolf's coat. "He looks more comfortable to ride than a dragon."

Astarion muttered, just loud enough to be heard, "My arse says otherwise."

Without missing a beat, Onyx's tail flicked around and smacked him lightly over the head. Astarion stumbled forward a step, his glare sharp enough to cut stone. "Really?" he snapped indignantly at the wolf.

Onyx simply grinned, his golden eyes glinting with amusement.

Ashara helped Vaarl climb onto Onyx's broad back, steadying him as the young gith settled himself into place. The group began their descent from the ruins, Ashara giving Mirkon a piggyback ride as the child clung to her shoulders, giggling at the sight of Astarion still rubbing his head.

Karlach broke the momentary quiet. "Now what? Is there anywhere else nearby that might have a healer? I'd really like to get this thing out of my head sooner rather than later."

Onyx nodded, his voice thoughtful. "There's a small trading town in one of the valleys near here. It's set back a little from the main path, but used to be a popular rest stop for travelers taking the mountain pass to Baldur's Gate. At least it was the last time I traveled this road."

Astarion turned his gaze on Onyx, skepticism painted across his face. "And when, exactly, was the last time you traveled this road?"

Onyx tilted his head slightly, as if recalling a distant memory. "About a hundred years ago."

Astarion blinked. "A hundred years? You've been alive that long?"

Onyx's golden eyes sparkled with quiet amusement. "No. I've been alive for eight hundred years."

Astarion froze, his jaw dropping. "You've what?!"

Karlach let out a low whistle. "Holy shit..."

Ashara, walking ahead without breaking stride, shrugged lightly. "I don't know why you're so surprised."

Zevlor chuckled, adjusting the sword at his side. "I assumed he was older. Stories of the Fenris Guard date back thousands of years."

Onyx nodded solemnly. "I am the most recent soulshard to be created."

Vaarl, perched atop Onyx's back, tilted his head in confusion. "Um, I don't mean to be rude, but... what's a soulshard?"

Astarion glanced up at him, his voice tinged with wry amusement. "You're riding on the back of a god's soul."

Onyx corrected smoothly, "Part of a god's soul."

Vaarl's mouth fell open slightly, his astonishment palpable. Then, after a beat, a grin spread across his face. "Cool."

Onyx rumbled a deep laugh, his amusement rippling through the air as the group pressed onward, while the shadows of loss and destruction faded away behind them, swallowed by the vast, rugged landscape of the mountain pass.

Like what you're reading? Check out the full chapter in the link below.

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geekusfemme · 6 months ago

Text

Fever

*******************************************

Read the full story in AO3 — Wattpad 100k+

Astarion x Female OC

Rating: Mature

*******************************************

Chapter Six: The gang are resting in the blacksmiths workshop in the blighted village...

—♠︎—

Ashara descended the crumbling stone steps to the lower levels of the ruined blacksmith's shop, each footfall echoing in the quiet space. The firewood bundle in her arms was unwieldy, its rough bark biting into her fingers, leaving them numb and tingling. Her shoulders ached from the weight, but she pressed on, her mind half-focused on the task and half-wandering back to the earlier events.

Onyx padded just behind her, his steps soft and deliberate, a steady presence at her back. Ashara glanced over her shoulder, her curiosity simmering beneath her fatigue. She wondered what Fenrir had said to him after she and Astarion had been dismissed.

Onyx had been tight-lipped since their reunion, his amber eyes giving nothing away. He would speak when he was ready - he always did - but that didn't stop the questions from bubbling in her mind. She couldn't shake the suspicion it had something to do with Astarion. Her lips quirked into a small smile at the thought of the vampire's brazen defiance before Fenrir.

The audacity of it still amazed her. Even now, hours later, she found herself torn between mortification and admiration. She hadn't known many people - her sheltered life ensured that - but she couldn't recall ever meeting someone quite like him. There was an unpredictability to Astarion, a sharp-edged humor that danced on the edge of danger. For someone like her, who had lived a life of cautious restraint, his reckless charm was exhilarating.

The first of the lower levels opened before her, the faint light from above casting the sleeping forms of her companions in soft relief. Karlach lay curled on the stone floor, the fiery core in her chest casting a warm, golden glow that flickered faintly, painting her scarred features in light. It gave her an almost celestial appearance, despite the rough bedroll tangled around her legs.

Nearby, Mirkon was bundled tightly in his own bedroll, his small frame trembling slightly even in sleep. Ashara's chest tightened at the sight of him, his face still streaked with the tears he had shed after she and Zevlor had gently broken the news of Mol's death.

Zevlor lay closest to the hearth, his face pale and lined with exhaustion. His treatment at the hands of the goblins had left him battered, and though the worst of his wounds had been tended, he still carried the weight of his ordeal. The hearth fire flickered, its embers casting soft shadows that danced along the cracked stone walls. Though morning light filtered weakly through the cracks above, the room remained dim, a haven of quiet amid the chaos of the past night.

Descending to the lowest level, Ashara stepped into the forge room. The air here was cooler but carried the dry, comforting scent of stone and soot. A massive forge loomed at one end, its brick sides darkened by years of use. Setting down the firewood with a soft thud, she began stacking the logs into the forge's maw, her movements methodical. She retrieved a flint and steel from the nearby workbench and coaxed a spark into life, feeding it carefully until the coals began to glow. The warmth spread slowly, curling around her like a gentle embrace.

Onyx settled beside the forge, his massive frame curling against the warm bricks. He exhaled a contented sigh, his golden eyes half-lidded as he watched her work. The rhythmic crackling of the fire filled the silence as Ashara retrieved cuts of meat from a bundle she had prepared earlier, laying them on metal sheets she had scavenged from the workbenches. The sizzle of meat hitting hot metal was a welcome sound, one that began to ease the tension knotted in her shoulders.

Her gaze drifted toward the far corner of the room, where Astarion's tent was pitched against the stone wall. Even though they were indoors, he had insisted on his own space, his social energy tempered by a quiet need for control over his surroundings.

Despite only knowing him for a day, Ashara had come to expect his curious presence whenever she worked, his sharp eyes watching her with a guarded interest. Yet the tent remained still, its flap closed, and no sardonic quip or teasing comment emerged to break the quiet.

She frowned slightly, the prickle of unease creeping up her spine. While it was likely he was simply sleeping, Ashara couldn't ignore the feeling coiling in her chest. Her instincts rarely led her astray, and currently they were whispering that something was not quite right with the energy around her.

Her eyes drifted toward his tent again, its fabric hanging ominously still. She hesitated, her hands faltering in their work. "Astarion?" she called out softly, almost apologetically. "Are you still awake?"

No response.

Her unease sharpened and she rose, dusting her hands on her thighs, and crossed the short distance to his tent. She paused outside, her hand brushing against the edge of the canvas. "Astarion?" Her voice was louder this time, but still gentle, a thread of concern weaving through the syllables.

Ashara frowned, lingering for a moment longer, her hands unconsciously clenching into fists at her sides. She was about to turn away when a faint, pitiful sound reached her ears - a whimper. Her heart jolted.

Her ear pressed against the fabric, and she strained to listen. Heavy, labored breaths, interspersed with gasps of pain, made her stomach knot.

"Astarion, I'm coming in - please don't be mad at me." Her words tumbled out in a rush as she pushed open the flap.

The scene inside struck her like a physical blow. Astarion was on the ground, his pale hands clutching his head, his body curled in on itself. Sweat dripped from his brow, glistening in the dim light as he shivered violently.

His head snapped up at the intrusion, panic flashing in his crimson eyes. In an instant, a dagger materialized in his hand, trembling but still aimed directly at her. He pressed himself back against the tent wall, his voice a venomous snarl. "Stay back!"

"Astarion..." Her voice faltered at the raw fear in his eyes. She stepped forward, hands raised in a calming gesture, but he flinched, the blade jerking in her direction.

"You're not killing me - not yet," he rasped, his voice trembling but edged with defiance. "There's still time... there has to be."

He doubled over suddenly, a violent cough racking his body. Ashara stepped forward instinctively, but the blade in his hand jerked toward her, a feeble threat. Flecks of blood spattered the ground, and when Astarion pulled his hand from his lips, his crimson eyes fixated on the smear of red staining his pale fingers.

"No," he whispered, his voice breaking. "This can't be happening. Not again... not now."

Ashara's breath caught, the sight of his terror sparking off her own fears. "Astarion, please - what's happening?"

He coughed again, his strength faltering, though he still clutched the dagger. His hand trembled violently as he jabbed it toward her once more. "I said stay back!" he hissed. "I'm not... I'm not letting this happen. I'll bargain, beg, sell my soul if I must - but I won't let this thing take me."

His outburst collapsed into another fit of coughing, the weapon slipping from his grip. Ashara moved instinctively, snatching the dagger before he could recover. Astarion reached for it with a desperate lunge, but his strength failed him, and he crumpled back against the tent wall.

"Go on, then," he spat bitterly, his voice laced with despair. "Get it over with."

Ashara tucked the dagger into the waistband of her trousers and knelt cautiously, her hands open and unthreatening. "I'm not going to hurt you. Just tell me what's happening. Let me help."

Astarion let out a hollow laugh, the sound sharp and cutting. "Help? What do you think you can do? Isn't it obvious? I'm turning." His voice cracked, and his gaze flickered away, as if admitting the truth was more painful than the affliction itself. "This happened before... it was stopped. But unless you've got another Githyanki artifact hidden away, you'll shortly be sharing this tent with a mindflayer."

Ashara's stomach twisted. She turned sharply and yelled out of the tent, her voice cutting through the stillness. "Onyx! Get over here now!"

A shuffle of movement, a low growl, and Onyx's massive frame filled the entrance. His sharp gaze swept over the scene, settling on Astarion's crumpled figure. The vampire shrank back even further, his breaths ragged.

"The transformation is starting!" Ashara's voice cracked with desperation as she turned to Onyx. "Please, we have to help him."

Onyx growled low in his throat. "Ashara, step away from him."

"No," she snapped, defiance hardening her tone. "There has to be a way to stop this."

Onyx's piercing eyes locked onto Astarion, who clutched his head and groaned, another tremor wracking his body. The wolf's ears flicked forward, and he closed his eyes, his expression twisting with concentration.

"The tadpole..." Onyx rumbled after a moment, his voice resonant with grim authority. "It's responding to a telepathic command from something ancient. Powerful. It's trying to trigger ceremorphosis."

Ashara's breath caught, her chest tightening as she glanced between the two. "Can you stop it?"

Onyx's eyes opened slowly, gleaming with resolve. "I might be able to block the voice."

A faint spark of hope flickered in Astarion's eyes as he stood, but before the words could fully leave his lips, another violent coughing fit overtook him. He doubled over, clutching his chest, and gasped for air. The sound was raw, each breath scraping like broken glass in his throat.

"Whatever you plan to do, now might be a good ti—" His voice broke mid-sentence, and his eyes rolled back as his body went slack, crumpling forward with all the grace of a marionette whose strings had been severed.

Ashara lunged, catching him just before he hit the ground. The unexpected weight sent her stumbling back a step, her arms tightening instinctively around his limp form. The heat radiating from his fevered skin and the slight tremors shaking his frame sent a wave of dread coursing through her.

Her gaze darted to Onyx. "Did you do that?"

Onyx nodded, his golden eyes half-lidded as though in deep concentration. "Yes. He's agitated and fear makes him talk too much. I need to focus, and his body needs rest."

Ashara frowned, shifting Astarion's limp form. "You could've warned me," she muttered under her breath as she half-lifted, half-dragged him toward the bedroll shoved against the tent wall. His shivering made the task harder, his body trembling like a leaf caught in a storm. With care, she lowered him onto the thin mattress, adjusting his arms and smoothing the fabric of his shirt where it clung to his damp skin.

For a moment, she knelt over him, watching the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Sweat gleamed on his brow, catching the faint light like dew on a fragile web.

A knot of worry tightened in her chest. Despite only knowing him for such a short amount of time - and despite his barbed remarks, his maddening self-assuredness - she had already grown to like this strange vampire.

Shaking herself free of her thoughts, Ashara rose and slipped outside, her movements brisk and purposeful as she grabbed a bowl of warm water and a clean cloth. When she returned, she settled on the edge of the bedroll and carefully began dabbing at the sweat beading on his forehead.

His damp curls clung stubbornly to his face, and as she smoothed them back, her gaze fell to the puncture marks on his neck - twin crescents etched deep into his skin, faintly puckered. The savagery of them twisted her stomach. She could almost hear the snap of teeth breaking flesh, the guttural snarl of hunger, and Astarion's cry of pain. Her fingers brushed against the marks, unthinking, and she flinched at the thought of what he must have endured.

The thought of him being forced into such a transformation - violently reshaped into something unnatural - sent a wave of sorrow coursing through her. No wonder he feared the mindflayer tadpole's grasp. He had already lost his humanity once.

A rustle drew her attention, and Ashara glanced up to find Onyx watching her intently. His eyes, fierce yet filled with an uncanny understanding, locked onto hers.

"Why did he think I wanted to kill him?" she asked quietly, her voice tinged with frustration and sadness. "After the kindness we've shown him, why is he still so.. scared?"

Onyx shifted closer, his massive form crouching to fit within the tent. He settled beside her, his muzzle brushing her shoulder in a gentle nuzzle. "Do you remember that fox we found trapped in a snare a few winters back?"

Ashara's lips curved in a faint smile. "I remember it bit me after I freed it."

Onyx huffed, a sound that was part laugh, part sigh. "And that proves my point. Your intention was to help it, but it was so blinded by pain and fear that it couldn't see you as anything other than a threat."

She shook her head, recalling the fox's wild eyes and its trembling body. "It was snapping at me in one breath and screaming in terror in the next. Every time I tried to soothe it, it acted like I was trying to murder it. Even when I used magic to speak to it, it took ages for it to trust me."

Onyx tilted his head toward Astarion, his gaze thoughtful. "Remind you of anyone?"

Ashara let out a soft laugh, tinged with melancholy. "As a matter of fact, it does."

Her expression sobered as she glanced back at Onyx "But he's not an animal. I thought people were supposed to be more intelligent and reasonable than beasts."

Onyx huffed another quiet laugh. "That is somewhat debatable, but generally speaking they usually are. However, certain circumstances can strip a person down to their rawest self. Pain and fear don't leave room for logic or trust. They replace it with survival. And if someone's instincts have been shaped by cruelty, then fear becomes their foundation, driving every thought, every action."

Ashara sighed, her fingers stilling for a moment on the cloth. "People are complicated."

"Indeed they are." Onyx's tone held both amusement and weariness.

His expression turned serious, his voice taking on a weighty cadence. "Astarion is no longer in immediate danger. I've managed to create a barrier around his mind, shielding it from the voice that was commanding the tadpole. For now, he is safe."

Ashara let out a shaky breath of relief but caught the somber edge to his tone. "What is it?" she pressed.

Onyx hesitated, then spoke. "The tadpole... it's unusual. There are traces of arcane tampering, enhancements beyond its normal purpose of ceremorphosis. It's been altered to serve a greater purpose."

Ashara frowned. "Do you think this has to do with the Moonrise Towers that the goblins mentioned?"

"It's a possibility," Onyx admitted. His gaze darkened, thoughtful. "I suspect there's a far greater scheme at play here - something more intricate than just another cult."

Ashara's jaw tightened. "Then we'll need to uncover what's going on. For Astarion's sake... and everyone else's."

Her gaze drifted back to Astarion's face, the sharp edges of his features now softened by the stillness of unconsciousness. Despite the tension hanging thick in the tent, a wave of tender concern washed over her. She reached out almost without thinking, and began stroking his head, her fingers brushing through his curls, untangling them gently.

"Ashara, stop that." Onyx's voice cut through the moment, sharp and commanding.

She flinched, her hand retreating as if burned. "Sorry!" she stammered, her cheeks flushing with guilt. "I just wanted to—"

"I know you mean well," he interrupted, his voice softer but still firm. "But there is a line between actions that are necessary to care for him, and those that are not. It is not your place to act in a way he would not welcome if he were awake."

Ashara swallowed hard, glancing back down at Astarion's pale face. The tender gesture that had felt so natural now seemed misplaced, invasive even. "You're right," she murmured, her tone tinged with regret. "I wasn't thinking."

"I know," Onyx said, his gaze steady. "But trust is fragile, especially with someone like him. Do not break it by crossing his boundaries."

Just then, Astarion stirred, his movements sluggish, as though surfacing from the depths of a murky pool. His eyelids fluttered open, and for a moment, his crimson eyes darted between Ashara and Onyx. Fear ignited in his gaze, sharp and immediate. His hands flew to his face, feeling for something unseen.

Relief softened his features when he found nothing amiss, but confusion quickly replaced it, knitting his brow. "What happened?" His voice was hoarse, trembling with residual fear. "How am I still...?"

"Onyx put up a mental barrier around you," Ashara explained gently. "Whatever was trying to command your parasite can't reach you anymore."

Astarion's brows furrowed, his gaze flicking to Onyx. "He can do that?" There was incredulity in his tone, the sharp edge of disbelief cutting through his words.

Onyx inclined his head with measured calm. "I can, though the barrier will need to be reinforced periodically."

Astarion's eyes flicked to the bowl of water and the damp cloth in Ashara's hands. His face twisted into a smirk, laced with mischief. "Mopping my fevered brow, were you? How perfectly romantic."

Ashara blinked, her brow scrunching in genuine puzzlement. "How is wiping sweat off your head romantic?"

Astarion opened his mouth, clearly ready to elaborate, but stopped himself mid-thought. He snapped his mouth shut and let out a theatrical sigh. "Never mind. I forgot who I was talking to."

Ashara's gaze flicked to Onyx, who had turned his head and was now scratching furiously at an imaginary itch near his ear. Her eyes darted between the two, suspicion prickling at the edges of her thoughts. She felt a strange sense of self-consciousness, as if there was a joke she'd missed entirely. Brushing it off, she rolled her eyes and pressed on.

"It wouldn't kill you to thank Onyx for saving your life you know."

Astarion tilted his head, a sly grin curling at the corners of his lips. "It might," he quipped. "I've no idea what else he's capable of, and I'm not sure I want to take the risk."

Without thinking, Ashara reached out and dropped the damp cloth onto his face. A muffled chuckle escaped from beneath the fabric as he pulled it off and sat up, his movements slower than usual, but more stable. He turned to Onyx with a half-smile that somehow managed to look both contrite and insincere.

"I am, of course, eternally grateful that you took the initiative to protect yourself from a potential mindflayer."

Ashara frowned, her lips pressing into a thin line. "That's not why we helped you," she said, her tone carrying an edge of irritation.

Astarion arched an elegant brow, the corners of his lips twitching upward. "Oh, isn't it? So, you're telling me the prospect of coming face to tentacle with a soulless monster played absolutely no part in your decision?"

She leaned closer, her gaze locking onto his with unyielding intensity. "No."

The honesty in her tone startled him. For a heartbeat, his smirk faltered, replaced by a flicker of something unreadable. But it was gone as quickly as it had come, and he leaned back, letting mockery coat his words like armor.

"Then you're an even bigger fool than I thought," he said, his voice laced with scorn. "Honestly, how have you survived this long with such poor self-preservation instincts?"

Ashara's face reddened, the warmth of anger rising like a tide. She stood abruptly, her movements jerky with frustration, and glared down at him.

"Stupid fox," she muttered under her breath as she turned on her heel and stormed out of the tent, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

All hail the powerful plot device that is Onyx!

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3 notes · View notes

geekusfemme · 6 months ago

Text

Fenrir

Full story on Ao3 — Wattpad 100k+

Astarion x Female OC

Rating: Mature

*******************************************

Chapter Six: After the battle in the grove, Ashara is returning the power granted to her by Fenrir...

—★—

The forest clearing was bathed in the eerie luminescence of pre-dawn, when Astarion, Ashara and Onyx returned to the ritual site, five spectral wolves trailing behind them.

A faint mist curled around their ankles like restless spirits as Ashara dropped to one knee, her head bowed low, her ebony hair spilling over her shoulders like a cascade of black silk. Her voice, steady but reverent, carried through the silence. "Lord Fenrir, the hunt is complete. I return thy power and thank thee for thy favor."

The runes around the carved circle began to glow, and once again Fenrir's haunting visage appeared in the centre, wreathed in smoke and a cold flickering light as his voice echoed through the air.

"Thou hast done well. Vengeance has been wrought and souls laid to rest."

One by one, the spectral wolves stepped into the swirling smoke pouring from the rockface, their translucent forms dissipating like mist under the morning sun. Their departure was elegant and final, a wordless goodbye. Astarion's crimson eyes tracked them, captivated. The pull was primal, a nagging desire he couldn't quite suppress.

Before he could think better of it, he stepped forward, his boots crunching softly on the leaf-strewn ground. He raised a hand, his pale fingers trembling slightly as he asked loudly, "I don't suppose you'd consider letting one or two of those stick around, would you?"

The air froze, as if the forest itself had taken a sharp breath. Fenrir's glowing eyes snapped to him, their intensity like twin suns bearing down on his head. Astarion swallowed hard, his instinct to flee warring with his determination to stand his ground.

In front of him, Ashara stood and twisted her head to hiss, "What are you doing?"

Ignoring her, Astarion took another step forward. His movements were measured, calculated to appear confident despite the fluttering in his stomach. He offered Fenrir his most charming smile, the one that had gotten him out of trouble - and into worse trouble - countless times. "It's just that they're quite handy in a fight," he said, gesturing vaguely toward the departing wolves, "and I have a rather powerful individual on my tail that I need protection from."

Onyx, standing silently beside him, tilted his head, his golden eyes narrowing. "We have already promised you protection."

"Yes, yes, I know," Astarion replied, waving a hand dismissively. "But it never hurts to have a backup plan. Besides, I can't stay in your shadows forever, relying on you two like some coddled fledgling."

His crimson eyes flicked back to Fenrir, who hadn't moved but somehow radiated an increasing intensity. "So, Fenrir... do you mind if I call you Fenrir? 'My Lord' has always left a rather bitter taste in my mouth." He tilted his head, his tone sliding into a disarming casualness. "How does one go about earning your favor - specifically, the spectral hounds-of-death variety?"

The clearing fell silent, save for the soft rustling of leaves above. Fenrir's skull tilted slightly, the smoke around it swirling in lazy circles as if it were considering him. Ashara groaned quietly and covered her face with one hand, her shoulders slumping in mortification.

Finally, Fenrir spoke, his voice a guttural rumble that seemed to come from the depths of the earth. "Onyx..."

Onyx flattened his ears against his head and gave Astarion a look of pure reproach that seemed to say 'now you've done it', before turning to face Fenrir.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Who is this upstart pup?"

Astarion made an indignant sound in his throat, but Onyx's response came quickly, measured and deliberate. "Astarion of Baldur's Gate. He is... a vampire spawn newly escaped from his sire. Ashara offered him temporary sanctuary within our pack."

Astarion noted the slight pause before Onyx admitted what he was, and his brows furrowed in irritation. So even here, the truth of his nature warranted caution. Fenrir's gaze returned to him, and though the skull lacked flesh, Astarion swore it narrowed its non-existent eyelids.

"I see..." Fenrir said, his tone inscrutable.

Astarion's lip curled, his irritation surfacing before he could stop it, mingling with the sting of old wounds. "Let me guess. Being a vampire automatically disqualifies me from earning your so-called favor, doesn't it?" His voice was bitter now, his mask slipping just enough to reveal the cracks beneath. "Stupid of me to think you'd be any different from any of the other gods I've begged for help."

Ashara's hand dropped, her sharp gaze flicking to him with an odd mix of curiosity and sympathy. Astarion cursed himself silently for revealing more than he intended.

Fenrir's reply, when it came, was unexpected. "It is not thy nature that precludes thee, vampire. Rather, thy impudence."

Astarion blinked, surprised. "Oh," he said, then tilted his head and offered a sly, disarming smile. "So... you're saying I have a shot at being one of your 'faithful few' if I'm a good boy then?"

Ashara's palm slapped against her face with a sound so loud it echoed. Onyx exhaled slowly, his eyes closing as though praying for patience.

The weight of Fenrir's gaze didn't waver, and the silence stretched for an agonizing moment before the wolf god spoke again, his tone heavy with skepticism. "While not impossible... thou wouldst be the first of thy kind to gain my favor."

Astarion's grin widened, reckless. "Well... I'm always up for a challenge."

Onyx opened his eyes and sighed, his voice heavy with resignation. "Astarion... now would be a good time to stop talking."

Before Astarion could reply, Ashara grabbed his arm, her fingers digging into his sleeve. "That's enough," she whispered, her voice urgent. "We need to go. Now."

He resisted, turning his head to glance at her with a raised brow. "I'm not done yet."

"Yes, you are," she snapped, heaving at his arm. "The message runes have a time limit."

"Do they?"

Her grip tightened, her voice rising in frustration. "Honestly, I have no idea. I've never spoken to him this long before."

As she hauled him backward, he twisted to shout one last time to Fenrir. "We'll talk later, darling. Can't wait to discuss terms and conditions!"

Ashara squeaked, horrified. "You can't just call an all-powerful wolf god 'darling'!"

He leaned closer to her as they retreated, his grin positively wicked. "I don't see any lightning bolts coming to smite me, so I'd say he probably liked it."

Fenrir's voice rumbled one last time, sending a shiver through the clearing. "Onyx... remain here. I desire to have words with thee."

Astarion raised a brow, feigning innocence. "Oh dear... Do you think he's in trouble for letting riff-raff into the pack?"

Ashara paused and frowned, perplexed. "What are riff-raff?"

Astarion rolled his eyes, his tone dripping condescension. "It's another word for people who are disreputable or undesirable, darling. The lowest in society."

Her brow furrowed, genuine confusion evident. "Then why are you calling yourself that?"

For a moment, her earnestness struck him silent. He blinked, his heart skipping uncomfortably. Quickly, he masked it with a haughty smile. "Sorry, I forgot sarcasm was lost on you. If anything, I've improved the quality of your pack substantially."

Ashara's irritation returned in full force as she resumed pulling him away. "Whatever. Onyx can handle himself. Let's go."

Astarion relented, chuckling softly to himself as she dragged him into the forest shadows.

—◇—

Onyx stood motionless, his amber eyes fixed on the spot where Ashara and Astarion had disappeared into the dark embrace of the forest. The faint rustle of leaves marked their fading presence, and with it, Onyx felt the weight of his solitude grow heavier. He resisted the urge to follow, knowing that duty demanded his presence here.

They had left him to face Fenrir's ire, and he couldn't help but envy the vampire's carefree attitude as he had been dragged away.

He let out a slow breath, his chest rising and falling as he turned to face the glowing skull. The smoke swirling around it seemed thicker now, charged with a menacing energy that made the fur along his back prickle. His ears flattened instinctively as he lowered his gaze in deference.

Fenrir's voice rumbled, low and foreboding, like an earthquake building beneath the surface. "Onyx, my faithful servant. My most trusted soulshard and defender of all I hold dear..."

The words, though ostensibly kind, struck Onyx with the weight of a predator circling its prey. He winced internally, recognizing the ominous prelude. Fenrir's praises often foreshadowed a reckoning.

The silence stretched, heavy and deliberate. Onyx's ears flicked back nervously, and his tail instinctively tucked between his legs. The glowing skull flared, its ethereal light carving stark shadows across the clearing. When Fenrir spoke again, his voice was thunderous, shaking the very air around them.

"WHY, IN ALL THE BLOODY NINE HELLS, IS MY DAUGHTER RUNNING AROUND WITH A GODS-DAMNED VAMPIRE SPAWN?!"

The reverberation of Fenrir's outrage rattled Onyx's teeth and he swallowed hard, carefully lowering himself into a seated position. He curled his tail neatly around his paws, presenting an appearance of calm he did not feel.

Clearing his throat, he spoke with measured tones. "She demonstrated a compassionate impulse and rescued Astarion from a cruel fate. He sought her protection and has been traveling with us ever since. The vampire has proved himself a useful - if somewhat disruptive - companion."

"I don't care." Fenrir's growl cut through the air like a blade. "Get rid of him."

Onyx hesitated, his mind racing for a tactful response. "Ashara seems to have taken a liking to him..."

"She's not having a vampire as a companion!" Fenrir snapped, his tone edged with incredulity. "Get her a hook horror or something else less... less...whatever that was back there."

Onyx's muzzle twitched, but he quickly suppressed the smile. "She has made her choice, my lord."

A sharp, pointed glare burned through the glowing orbs of Fenrir's skull. "He hasn't bitten her, has he?"

"No," Onyx replied quickly. "He has only fed on me so far."

"Good. Keep it that way."

Onyx dipped his head in acknowledgment. "Understood, my lord. But I do not believe Astarion poses any danger to Ashara. He seems... content to simply aid us in exchange for safety."

Fenrir scoffed, the mist swirling violently in response. "Maybe not a physical danger, but vampires are cruel, selfish, power-hungry opportunists. If he ever finds out what she is, or figures out her connection to me—"

"He won't," Onyx interjected firmly. "She doesn't even know herself. The secret of her birth is still only known to the Fenris Guard."

Fenrir's presence seemed to still, the oppressive weight of his gaze easing fractionally. "Still... I don't want my daughter being corrupted by a creature like that."

Onyx hesitated before speaking, his voice thoughtful. "My intuition tells me that this vampire has the potential to evolve beyond his nature, given the right environment. It may be that Ashara will influence him far more than he will her."

The massive skull tilted slightly, as if considering his words. "Hmm... the possibility is intriguing. And I suppose, even if he turns around and stabs her in the back, at least she will have had a valuable lesson on the duplicity of mortals and the sting of betrayal."

Onyx's jaw tightened at the callous remark, but he kept his expression neutral.

"So..." he ventured cautiously, "Astarion can stay?"

Fenrir huffed, the sound reverberating like a distant avalanche. "Yes, yes, fine. She can keep the spawn. But I want regular updates on the situation. And if he bites her even once, he goes. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," Onyx replied with a nod.

A long silence followed, and Onyx's fur prickled with unease. He wasn't sure if more was expected of him. Fenrir finally broke the quiet, his tone thoughtful. "Onyx. Do you think the archaic syntax and having people address me as 'my lord' these days is a bit... much?"

Onyx's ears flicked forward in surprise, and he blinked rapidly, scrambling for an appropriate response. "Lord is a title of respect that even mortals use among nobility. However, the common tongue has... shifted somewhat in the last thousand or so years."

Fenrir's spectral glow dimmed slightly as he seemed to ponder the observation. "Hmmm..."

Onyx tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. "Why do you ask?"

Fenrir's voice grew abrupt, almost curt. "No reason. From now on, you can occasionally address me as sir."

Onyx's jaw opened, then closed, his thoughts a jumble of disbelief and bemusement. Finally, he settled for a cautious, "As you wish... sir."

The god gave an approving grunt before dismissing him with a flicker of light. Onyx stood slowly, the tension in his muscles easing as the oppressive presence began to fade, replaced with an almost anticlimactic silence. With a shake of his fur and a resigned sigh, he turned toward the forest, wondering - not for the first time - how he could have been born from the essence of a being so... erratic.

Like what you're reading so far? Check out the full chapter in the link below.

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geekusfemme · 6 months ago

Text

Name Thy Prey

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Full story on AO3 — Wattpad

Astarion x Female OC

Rating: Mature

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Chapter Five: Astarion and the gang have wiped out the goblin invaders and avenged the destruction of the grove. Astarion has learned that Onyx was created from the soul of an ancient, forgotten wolf god named Fenrir.

—★—

Astarion leaned casually against the splintered remains of a broken cart, the wood creaking faintly under his weight. The night was heavy with the smell of blood and charred flesh, a macabre perfume clinging to the grove. He took his time cleaning his blade, each slow pass of the cloth leaving behind a gleaming surface that reflected the muted torchlight. His eyes, however, were fixed on the slack-jawed visage of Dror Ragzlin's severed head sitting on the battered table beside him.

"You know," he began conversationally, tilting his head as if expecting an answer, "it's never a good idea to turn your back on a very large and very angry direwolf in the middle of a battle."

The head, of course, said nothing. Its lifeless eyes stared blankly into the void.

Astarion sighed dramatically, as though disappointed, flicking a speck of dried blood from his sword. "I mean really, what were you thinking?"

Ashara walked by, brushing her hands on her leather armor, her gaze flicking to him with mild exasperation. "Astarion, stop talking to a severed head and help us shift this pile of stones."

He arched an elegant brow, gesturing theatrically. "But we're having such a lively discourse."

Karlach, kneeling beside a mound of rubble piled against the cliffside, paused to glance up, her lips quirking into an amused grimace. "You've got issues, mate."

Astarion smirked back, unrepentant. "I have an abundance of issues, darling, which is precisely why I take whatever fun I can get."

He nudged the head with the tip of his sword, watching as it tipped and rolled off the edge of the table. With a sudden burst of inspiration he called out, "Here, boy, fetch!" before kicking the head with all his might.

It sailed through the air and landed a few yards away. A worg lounging nearby perked up, its ears twitching. With a guttural growl, it bounded after the grisly object, tail wagging like an overeager dog.

Onyx, lying nearby and licking at a wound on his foreleg, lifted his head and let out a low growl of disapproval. "We're not keeping them," he muttered, "It takes too much energy convincing them not to attack you."

Astarion pulled a face, wrinkling his nose. "Gods, who'd want them anyway? Foul creatures."

Onyx huffed, his tail thumping lazily against the ground. "Useful, though."

Astarion's lips curled into a sly smile. "Not nearly as useful as a soul fragment from a forgotten god..."

Onyx froze mid-lick, his eyes narrowing in clear annoyance. After a moment, he gave what could only be described as a wolfish shrug and returned to tending his wound. "True."

Irritated by the wolf's calm dismissal, Astarion pushed off the cart and sauntered over to Karlach and Ashara. Both were hard at work pulling stones from the rubble, their faces streaked with dirt and determination. He tilted his head, eyeing their progress with detached interest.

"There had better be treasure buried behind this mess," he drawled.

Karlach didn't look up. "Of a sort," she said, her voice tinged with effort. "Wyll hid some kids in a cave beyond this tunnel right before the battle. I'm just hoping the gobbos didn't find another way in."

A flicker of unease rippled through Astarion, but he buried it beneath a layer of practiced indifference. Folding his arms, he leaned against a nearby rock and said lightly, "Unless they had access to water, they're probably dead of dehydration by now."

Karlach's head snapped up, her expression thunderous. "You gonna help, or just stand there pissing me off?"

The raw anger in her eyes gave him pause. With a theatrical sigh, he knelt down beside her and Ashara, his long fingers prying at the stones. "Fine, fine. You didn't have to ask so nicely."

Together, they worked in tense silence, the occasional grunt of effort breaking the quiet. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they unearthed a narrow tunnel leading into the cliffside. The opening was barely wide enough for a grown adult to squeeze through.

Karlach straightened, placing her hands on her hips as she surveyed the opening. "I'm too big for that. But you two scrawny elves should manage just fine."

Astarion bristled, drawing himself up. "Scrawny!"

Ashara, indignant, added, "Elves!"

Both Astarion and Karlach turned to stare at her. Astarion raised a bemused brow. "You do know you're a moon elf like me, don't you?"

Ashara flushed, the tips of her ears reddening as she looked away. "Sorry, I forgot."

Karlach tilted her head, intrigued. "Pretty important detail to forget..."

Ashara fidgeted, her fingers picking nervously at the dirt. "I was raised as a human. I didn't know I was an elf until after my adoptive father d-died. Later, I met some wood elves who were... condescending when they found out I didn't know anything about my heritage."

Astarion scoffed, his tone dry. "I'm sure they were."

Ashara's voice tightened, her discomfort clear. "I didn't like them much, so I decided I didn't care to be thought of as an elf."

Without another word, she dropped to her knees and began wriggling through the narrow tunnel. The darkness swallowed her quickly, her voice drifting back faintly. "I'll check it out."

Karlach whistled low, her gaze following Ashara's retreating form. "Wow..."

Astarion shrugged, brushing dust from his hands. "Unsurprising. Wood elves can be arrogant pricks at times."

Karlach smirked. "Probably why I thought you were one at first."

Astarion opened his mouth to retort, but a sharp cry from within the tunnel froze him in place.

"Astarion! Get in here, quick!" Ashara's voice was sharp with urgency.

Without hesitation, Astarion dropped to his knees and slid into the tunnel, the cold stone pressing against his ribs as he edged forward.

Each breath echoed faintly, the sound bouncing back in hollow whispers that gnawed at his nerves. When the passage finally opened into a cavern, he paused, squinting against the weak moonlight filtering through cracks in the rock.

The air was damp, heavy with the scent of moss and decay. Water trickled down the walls, carving jagged paths through the stone. Crates and boxes lay scattered, some smashed open, their contents spilling out like abandoned secrets. But what drew his attention most were the bodies. Goblins lay sprawled across the cavern floor, their weapons discarded and their lifeless eyes staring into nothing.

Astarion closed his eyes, his hand tightening on the hilt of his dagger. He steeled himself for what he was sure would come next. Dead children. It was inevitable, a brutal truth in this world. He'd seen countless bodies over the centuries, their stillness no longer disturbing him as it once had. But no matter how detached he became from death, a child's lifeless body always unsettled him. A weakness he had never been able to cast off entirely.

Drawing in a measured breath, he opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was Ashara kneeling beside a body. The tiefling woman wore bright, colorful clothing now darkened with a bloodstain across her chest. Astarion recognized her instantly: Alfira, the bard who had sung so sweetly after Wyll helped her with her composition.

But something struck him as odd. Unlike the goblins, whose corpses were left carelessly where they fell, Alfira had been carefully arranged. She lay on her back, hands folded over her lute, as though in quiet prayer. Moss dotted with tiny flowers framed her head like a delicate green halo, a tender tribute that seemed almost out of place in this blood-soaked cavern.

Ashara reached out tentatively, her fingers hovering near Alfira's arm. Before she could touch her, a blur of motion launched from the shadows, slamming into her with surprising force and a shrill cry.

"Don't touch her! Leave her alone!"

Astarion reacted instinctively, his dagger flashing in his hand as he sprang forward. He froze mid-step, however, when the "attacker" came into view - a small, dark-haired tiefling boy, fists clenched and pounding against Ashara's arm with all the fury his tiny frame could muster.

Ashara stared down at the child, her expression a mix of surprise and confusion. She grasped his shoulders firmly but gently, pushing him back just enough to stop the assault. "Hey! Stop that, I need that arm for later."

The boy glared up at her, his tear-filled eyes a volatile blend of fear and defiance. "She's resting! Mol says we need to let her be at rest!"

Astarion relaxed his grip on the dagger, arching a brow. "Mol's still alive? Why am I not surprised."

The boy froze, his gaze snapping to Astarion. Recognition flickered across his face, softening his expression. "You were one of the nice people who saved me from the harpies."

Astarion tilted his head, lips quirking into a faint sneer. "Oh... that was you, was it? I vaguely recall a child surviving the chaos that day. What was your name again?"

"Mirkon," the boy replied, his voice wavering.

Ashara's tone softened as she met his gaze. "Are there any more children down here, Mirkon?"

Mirkon sniffed, his small hands balling into fists. "Just me and Mol. Goblins got in through the other tunnel. We buried the others near the stream - where it's soft." His voice cracked, and his gaze drifted to Alfira. "The bard lady was too big. We couldn't move her from the rock."

Astarion caught the way Ashara's eyes shimmered, tears threatening to spill as she released Mirkon's shoulders. The boy turned back to Alfira, adjusting a patch of disturbed moss near her neck with a reverence far beyond his years.

Intrigued despite himself, Astarion crouched beside Ashara, watching the boy's careful movements. "Did you make this for her?" he asked softly, surprising himself with the gentleness in his tone.

Mirkon nodded, his small fingers trembling. "I couldn't find any proper flowers. Mol says it's too dangerous to go outside and get some." He glanced up at Astarion, his expression solemn. "But graves are supposed to have flowers, aren't they?"

Astarion's throat tightened. He nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Yes... they are."

Ashara placed a hand on Mirkon's shoulder, her voice warm with encouragement. "But this looks just as nice. You did a good job, Mirkon."

The boy smiled shyly at her, pride flickering through his tear-streaked face. Then he turned back to Astarion, his expression shifting to something brighter, hopeful. "Have you come to save us again?"

Astarion's heart clenched at the innocent trust shining in the boy's eyes. He glanced at Ashara, who was watching him intently, her expression unreadable.

"Well..." Astarion began, his tone breezy despite the unease in his chest. "We killed all the invaders, so I suppose we've already saved you, in a manner of speaking."

Mirkon's eyes widened, his face lighting up with a mix of awe and relief. "All the goblins are gone now? It's safe to go out?"

Astarion leaned back slightly, keeping his expression light. "Safe might be a bit of a stretch, but you don't have to worry about goblins or bugbears anymore, at least."

The boy stared at him for a moment, tears brimming once more. Before Astarion could react, Mirkon threw his arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. The unexpected embrace froze him in place, his hands hovering awkwardly in the air as if they didn't belong to him. His mind scrambled for a response, but none came.

"Ashara," he said, his voice strained and almost panicked as he closed his eyes. "There's a small child hugging me."

"I can see that."

His eyes snapped open, glaring at her. "Get it off me. Now."

Ashara reached out and tapped Mirkon lightly on the shoulder. "Mirkon, I don't think Astarion likes being hugged."

The boy pulled back reluctantly, his red-rimmed eyes wide with curiosity as he sniffled. "Why don't you like hugs? Are you like Donni?"

Astarion avoided the boy's gaze, focusing instead on smoothing the creases in his jerkin with meticulous care. "I have no idea who Donni is," he said, his tone arch, "but I'm quite certain Ashara here adores hugs."

Mirkon's gaze swung to Ashara, who gave him a soft, encouraging smile and opened her arms wide. "I love them," she said warmly.

Without hesitation, Mirkon threw himself into her embrace, wrapping his small arms tightly around her neck. Ashara's arms encircled him, pulling him close as his quiet sobs broke the heavy silence. Astarion watched the scene, a faint prickling of something uncomfortably close to guilt brushing against his conscience. He pushed the feeling aside with a practiced ease, straightening and brushing dust from his knees.

"I'm going to see if I can find Mol," he announced, already turning away.

Ashara glanced up briefly, her arms still wrapped protectively around Mirkon, and gave him a slight nod. He turned and strode deeper into the cavern, his footsteps echoing faintly in the oppressive stillness.

The flickering light from a torch illuminated a patch of freshly turned soil. Small clumps of moss and fragile flowers were arranged in careful patterns, marking what were unmistakably graves. Astarion froze, staring at them blankly. A cold wave of unease surged through him, twisting his stomach, but he forced the sensation down, locking it away with the rest of the emotions he had no use for.

At the far end of the cavern, a makeshift shelter caught his eye, cobbled together from broken boards and strips of tattered canvas. Scattered around it were the remnants of past meals - gnawed bones, empty jars, and the faintest trace of smoke where a fire might once have burned. Despite the signs of habitation, an eerie silence hung over the place, oppressive and thick. Astarion's steps slowed, his chest tightening with a sense of foreboding.

As he reached the shelter, he hesitated. A sinking dread coiled in his gut, clawing at his resolve. Steeling himself, he pushed back a flap of canvas, and the sight within made him draw a sharp breath.

Mol lay on a makeshift bed of fur and straw, her small body still beneath a tattered blanket. One of her eyes was covered by a haphazard bandage, while the other stared hollowly at the dark ceiling above. She was frozen in a lifeless gaze, the spark of cunning and resilience that had once defined her snuffed out.

Astarion knelt beside her, his movements slow and deliberate. He reached out, his fingers brushing against her cheek. Her skin was cold, the chill seeping into his fingertips. He sighed, a sound heavy with resignation, and pulled back the blanket covering her. The yellowed bandages wrapped around her chest told a grim story, the putrid stench of infection confirming it. She had been dead for at least a day, maybe longer.

Gently, Astarion brushed his hand over her face, closing her unseeing eye. The action, simple as it was, made a wave of sadness crash over him, unbidden and unrelenting. This time, he didn't fight it. He sat on the ground beside her makeshift bed, running a hand over his face as if to wipe away the weight of his emotions. But they lingered, heavy and suffocating.

"Damnit..." he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. There was no one here to see him falter, no one to witness the cracks in his carefully crafted facade. For a brief moment, he let himself feel it all - the grief, the anger, the crushing guilt.

His mind conjured the image of the children cowering in this dark, damp cave, hearing the echoes of battle above. He imagined their terror when the goblins found them, the screams that must have rung out. The thought of their final moments brought a sickening wave of nausea, and with it came another memory, one he tried so hard to bury. The terrified cries of two Gur children as he dragged them from their beds under Cazador's orders. Their fear, their pleas, their tears - it all came rushing back, hitting him like a blade to the chest.

Rage flared, molten and consuming, directed not at the goblins, but at Cazador. At Durge. At every monstrous figure who had perpetuated the cycle of cruelty and death that now seemed so endless. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms as he stared down at Mol's lifeless form.

"I'll make him pay for this," he whispered, his voice trembling with the force of his anger. "I'll make them all pay. I promise."

Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself to his feet, forcing the anger and sadness back down, burying it deep. He straightened his posture and wiped a hand over his face, erasing any trace of emotion. His mask was firmly back in place as he turned and made his way back to Ashara.

When he returned, she was still cradling Mirkon, the boy's small face buried against her shoulder. She glanced up at him over the top of the boy's dark curls, her expression questioning. He met her gaze and shook his head slowly, the meaning clear in his eyes.

Ashara's face fell, her shoulders sagging as she rested her cheek against Mirkon's head. She held the boy tighter, her sorrow reflected in the way she closed her eyes, as though willing herself to hold it together.

After a while, Ashara rose, her hand still resting lightly on Mirkon's shoulder. The boy clung to her fingers as though they were the only tether keeping him steady in the world. Astarion cleared his throat, drawing their attention. "We should go," he said, his voice quieter than usual.

Ashara smiled gently at Mirkon. "Come on, Mirkon. Let's go see our friends. They'll be happy to meet you."

The boy hesitated, his small face scrunching in thought. "What about Mol? She said she wanted to spend the day in bed and didn't want me to disturb her, but I don't think she'll be mad if I tell her we can leave."

Astarion exhaled slowly, a breath that felt heavier than the moment called for. His gaze darted to Ashara, who met his eyes with a silent shake of her head. He forced a tight smile, though it felt brittle at the edges.

"Mol is..." His words faltered, but he quickly recovered. "She's still not feeling well, but she told me to take you out for some fresh air and a proper meal. She'll join us later."

Mirkon seemed to accept this, nodding slowly. "Okay. But can we bring her some food too? She hasn't eaten much..."

Ashara's hand tightened on the boy's shoulder. "Of course. Now, let's get moving, little one." She stood and guided him toward the tunnel, kneeling to crawl through first. Mirkon followed closely, casting a hesitant glance back at the shelter before disappearing into the passage.

Astarion lingered for one last look at the dismal cavern. His gaze flicked to the patch of graves, to the makeshift shelter, then back to the tunnel. His fists clenched again before he ducked into the narrow space, following the others.

When he emerged on the other side, the fresher air carried a welcome sense of escape, though his relief was short-lived. Mirkon had stopped abruptly, cowering behind Ashara's legs. His wide eyes were fixed on Onyx, who approached with deliberate, measured steps, his golden gaze locked on the boy.

Astarion leaned casually against the rocky wall, brushing dirt from his jerkin. Folding his arms, he watched with detached curiosity, wondering how Ashara would handle the situation.

The massive wolf stopped a few feet away, his head lowering as he studied the trembling boy. Mirkon clutched Ashara's hand tightly, his small body pressed against her for protection.

"It's okay, Mirkon," Ashara said, her voice steady and soothing. "Onyx is a friend."

What happened next left even Astarion momentarily stunned. Onyx, the embodiment of primal ferocity and lethal grace, dropped to his belly and rolled onto his back, paws flailing in the air. His tail thumped enthusiastically against the ground, and his tongue lolled out of his mouth as he panted like a playful puppy.

Karlach let out a delighted laugh, dropping to her knees beside the wolf. "Oh, who's a good boy, then?" she cooed, rubbing his chest with exaggerated enthusiasm.

Onyx's panting tongue flopped out further, and Astarion resisted the urge to snicker at the absurd display. But it worked - Mirkon let out a small, tentative giggle, his fear melting into cautious curiosity. He peeked out from behind Ashara's legs and took a tentative step forward, his small hand outstretched.

Onyx rolled back to his feet slowly, lowering his head and stretching his nose toward Mirkon's hand. The boy flinched at first but then, emboldened by Ashara's quiet encouragement, placed his hand on the wolf's snout. His small fingers traced the fur along Onyx's head, his touch growing more confident with each stroke. The wolf leaned into the touch, his eyes half-closing in contentment.

Ashara beamed at the boy. "See? He's just a big old softy."

Mirkon's grin stretched across his face, his earlier sadness momentarily forgotten. Ashara climbed onto Onyx's back with practiced ease, then reached down to offer Mirkon her hand. "Here, let's get you up."

The boy hesitated, then took her hand. He gasped as she lifted him onto the wolf's back, settling him in front of her. She wrapped her arms securely around him, steadying his small frame.

Astarion pushed off the wall, brushing the dust from his sleeves as he fell into step beside them. Karlach joined on the other side, her axe resting across her shoulder. Together, they began the slow walk out of the grove.

The carnage was mercifully obscured in the dim torchlight, the bodies reduced to vague, indistinct shapes that didn't seem to trouble Mirkon as he clung to Onyx.

Sidling closer to Onyx's head, Astarion smirked, his voice light as he drawled, "That was a beautiful sight. Truly, a shining example of a ruthless and dignified warrior in his prime."

Onyx huffed, his eyes flicking toward Astarion before returning to the path ahead. "Dignity is a small price to pay to see a scared child laugh."

Astarion's grin widened, the sharp edge of his humor returning. "Would you do that for me sometime? Preferably when I have paint and a canvas handy."

Onyx's ears flicked as if to dismiss the comment. "You're an artist?"

"No," Astarion admitted, a faint chuckle slipping through his otherwise sardonic tone. "But to immortalize that ridiculous display, I'd happily pay for lessons."

Onyx let out another huff, clearly unimpressed, and turned his attention back to the path ahead.

Astarion's grin lingered as they continued walking, his mood lighter despite the lingering shadows of grief trailing behind them. For now, at least, there was something resembling peace.

Like what's you're reading so far? Check out the full chapter in the link below.

#baldurs #baldursgate3 #dnd #dungeonsanddragons #astarion #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 #astarion fanfiction #astarion x oc

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geekusfemme · 6 months ago

Text

The Grove

*******************************************

Full story on AO3 — Wattpad 100k+

Astarion x Female OC

Rating: Mature

*******************************************

Chapter Four: Astarion, Ashara and Onyx visited the goblin-occupied druid's grove after Durge betrayed it. There, they manage to save Zevlor from being thrown into the Worg pit and are pretending to be taking him in chains to Moonrise for Minthara...

—★—

Astarion froze at the sight of Zevlor holding the chain taut against Ashara's neck. His eyes narrowed, and his hand instinctively moved to the hilt of his blade. Beside him, Onyx growled low and menacing, his hackles bristling like a sea of steel quills. Yet, the wolf's voice was calm and steady, directed not at the aggressor but at the victim.

"Stay calm, Ashara," Onyx said, his tone like a heavy stone settling. "He is acting out of fear and desperation."

Ashara's struggles ceased. Her hands fell away from the chain, though her breaths came fast and shallow. Her composure held, but Astarion could see the strain in her tense shoulders.

"I said release me!" Zevlor's voice cracked, fear clawing at its edges.

Astarion cocked his head, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "I'd love to, believe me. However, the goblins, in their infinite wisdom, seemed to have neglected to provide me with the key to your restraints. I can only assume they expected I wouldn't need to free you until we reached our destination."

Zevlor's frantic gaze darted around, his mind clearly racing for options. Astarion didn't miss the way his grip on the chain tightened momentarily before his shoulders sagged with the weight of growing despair. Still, there was a grim resolve in his eyes.

"Then she comes with me until I find something to get these chains off me," Zevlor snapped, his grip tightening around the chain.

"Good idea," Astarion replied breezily. "Or... you could let her go, and we all pay a visit to the blacksmith's workshop in Moonhaven. It's just further up the road. Lovely little place, probably still crawling with goblin scouts. You'll find all the tools you need there to free yourself. Although..." He let the word hang, savoring the moment. "Walking in with my companion as your prisoner might raise a few eyebrows. Or weapons."

Zevlor's eyes narrowed. "You could order them to stand down."

Astarion feigned a thoughtful pause, his fingers drumming lightly against the hilt of his sword. "True... but then I'd have to explain how a half-dead wretch like you managed to get the drop on a True Soul. It would be a little embarrassing, don't you think? I'd hate for the goblins to lose confidence in my authority."

The tiefling's grip faltered slightly, and Astarion saw the hesitation creeping into his expression. Yet, desperation flared again, and Zevlor yanked the chain harder, forcing Ashara to stumble slightly.

"Enough!" Zevlor barked. "Take me to Moonhaven now."

"Absolutely," Astarion said without missing a beat, his tone saccharine sweet. "Just as soon as you let go of the girl."

Ashara shot him a glare, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Girl?" she hissed under her breath, clearly irritated.

Astarion sighed theatrically. "Look, Zevlor," he said, his voice adopting a sharper edge, "as astonishing as this may sound, we're actually trying to help you - or at least she is." He gestured vaguely at Ashara. "Frankly, I couldn't care less what happens to you."

"Liar!" Zevlor spat. "Why would I believe you after what you and your companions did to us? After you helped those goblins slaughter my people?"

The accusation hit Astarion like a physical blow, and his carefully maintained mask cracked. His voice rose, sharp and raw. "I had nothing to do with any of that!"

Onyx's deep voice cut through the tension, smooth and cautious. "Take a deep breath and calm yourself, Astarion. Zevlor needs a reason to trust you beyond words."

Astarion inhaled sharply, his chest rising as he tried to stamp down the anger threatening to consume him. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, tinged with a sincerity that felt foreign on his tongue. "My former companions and I split ways some time ago," he said, the words slow and deliberate. "Being sold to a wandering monster hunter rather soured the relationship."

Zevlor's grip loosened slightly, his brow furrowing as he studied him. Encouraged, Astarion pressed on. "They betrayed me too, Zevlor. I don't know why, any more than I know why they chose to side with those vermin in the grove against your people. I'd probably be dead by now if these two hadn't found and... rescued me." He hesitated briefly, the weight of his words settling in his mind. Rescued. He hated how much truth that single word carried.

Astarion pushed the thought aside and met Zevlor's gaze directly, his tone softening. "You're currently threatening the one person who was willing to risk her life for you. Take it from someone who already made the mistake of doing that - it works out so much better if you trust her."

Zevlor glanced at Ashara, the tension in his face slowly melting into weariness. His shoulders slumped, and the chain slackened in his hands. His head bowed, his voice heavy with defeat. "What more do I have to lose? Those monsters already took everything from me."

The chain fell from his hands, clattering softly to the ground. Ashara stepped back, rubbing her neck where the metal had bitten into her skin. Zevlor stood frozen, his head hung low. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

Ashara reached out, placing a hand gently on his arm. "It's okay," she said softly. A flicker of warmth touched her voice. "Astarion held a dagger to my throat after I saved him. At least you apologized. I'm still waiting on one from him."

She turned, raising an eyebrow at Astarion, her expression wry.

He smirked, his usual self-assurance sliding back into place. "Must have slipped my mind," he said offhandedly.

Ashara huffed indignantly, her hand flying to her hip. "Oh, and girl?" she repeated, her tone sharp.

Astarion gave her an exaggerated shrug, his grin widening. "I was hoping to pass you off as a child for the sympathy vote."

Zevlor suddenly stumbled, his knees buckling as if the weight of the world had finally crushed him. Astarion watched as Ashara darted forward, catching the tiefling just before he collapsed entirely. Zevlor's breaths were ragged, each inhale a visible struggle. His hand clutched his stomach, fingers stained with blood seeping through torn fabric. Pain etched deep lines across his face, his eyes dulled by exhaustion.

"You're in pretty bad shape," Ashara said softly, her brow knitted with concern.

Zevlor's lips quirked in a faint, wry smile, his tone tinged with both resignation and irony. "I must confess, I've had better days."

Onyx stepped forward, his massive form casting a long shadow over the group. His deep voice carried a calm authority. "Help him onto my back."

Astarion hesitated only a moment before moving to assist. Together with Ashara, they guided Zevlor onto Onyx's broad back, settling him amidst the bags and bundles. It was a delicate task, but between the two of them, they managed to hoist him into position without causing him too much discomfort.

"Thank you," Zevlor murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He glanced between Ashara and Astarion, regret shadowing his features. "I admit that I have misjudged you both greatly."

Astarion waved off the sentiment with a dismissive flick of his hand. "No harm done. Happens all the time."

Zevlor brushed a hand along Onyx's fur, his fingers tracing idle patterns as he murmured, "I would have given much to have a mount like this back in Elturel."

Onyx's ears swiveled back slightly, and he replied with a gentle rumble. "It would have been an honor to bear a Hellrider such as you into battle."

Zevlor's head snapped up, his eyes widening in surprise. "Forgive me," he said hurriedly, his voice tinged with awe. "I did not know I was addressing a druid."

"I am no druid," Onyx corrected gently. "I am Onyx of the Fenris Guard."

The reaction was immediate. Zevlor stiffened, awe and apprehension mingling in his expression. "Then I must ask your forgiveness once more," he insisted. "Please, let me get down. One such as you should not be treated as a common garron for a broken soldier like me."

Onyx huffed, the sound half-amusement, half-dismissal. "Nonsense. I choose to carry you willingly."

Curiosity ignited within Astarion like a spark catching dry tinder. The deference Zevlor had given the wolf bordered on reverent. "What in the hells is a Fenris Guard?" he asked, unable to keep the question contained.

Onyx began walking, his stride careful to avoid jostling Zevlor. "A guard of Fenrir," he said simply, his tone making it clear he would elaborate no further.

Astarion's mind raced, searching for any recollection of the name Fenrir, but his memory came up frustratingly blank. He quickened his pace, catching up to the wolf. "Oh no, you don't," he said, his voice a mix of exasperation and determination. "You're not walking off and being cryptic again."

He turned to Ashara, who was grinning mischievously at his growing frustration. "What is he?" he demanded.

She shrugged, her grin widening. "If Onyx wants to tell you more about himself, he'll do it in his own sweet time. Took me a week before he even told me his name."

Onyx glanced back, a glimmer of amusement in his golden eyes. "I was unconscious for most of that week, if you recall..."

Ashara stuck her tongue out at him, her voice teasing. "It takes less than five seconds to say it."

Without missing a beat, Onyx's massive tail swung around, slapping her lightly over the head. Ashara giggled, the sound light and incongruous against the tension in the air.

Astarion sighed dramatically, throwing his hands up. "I thought we were supposed to trust one another in this 'pack.'"

Onyx met his gaze evenly. "Why? Are you ready to divulge every part of your own history to people you only met a day ago?"

Astarion narrowed his eyes, a smile forming despite himself. "Touché," he conceded.

They walked on in a contemplative silence. Onyx moved with deliberate care, ensuring Zevlor was jostled as little as possible. The forest around them was gradually darkening, shadows stretching long under the fading light. Astarion couldn't shake an uneasy feeling gnawing at him. The scent of blood hung heavy in the air - Zevlor's blood. It stirred a mixture of hunger and dread within him, a reminder of both his nature and the tiefling's dire condition.

He sidled closer to Ashara, his voice low. "Do you have any healing potions or know any spells that can help him?"

Ashara glanced at Zevlor, worry flickering in her eyes. "As soon as we're a safe distance away, I'll—"

Her words were abruptly cut off by a roar that shattered the quiet. From the dense foliage burst a towering figure - a red-skinned tiefling with a broken horn and an arm severed at the elbow. Flames licked across her body, casting her in a fierce, otherworldly light. She swung a massive battle axe with her remaining hand, the blade slicing through the air toward them.

"Down!" Astarion shouted, instinctively grabbing Ashara and pulling her aside. They tumbled to the ground as the axe slammed into the spot where they'd just stood, the impact sending a tremor through the earth and a spray of dirt and rocks into the air.

Heart pounding, Astarion scrambled to his feet. Recognition hit him like a cold wave. "Oh, for the love of - why did it have to be her?" he muttered under his breath.

Ashara, panting as she pushed herself upright, shot him a look. "You know that devil?"

"She's not a devil," he snapped, casting a wary glance at their assailant. "But yes. Her name is Karlach, and I think it's best if we run."

Karlach's eyes blazed hotter than the flames engulfing her. "Let Zevlor go!" she bellowed, her voice reverberating through the trees.

From atop Onyx, Zevlor leaned forward urgently. "Karlach, wait! They are not your enemy."

Astarion raised his hands defensively as Karlach advanced, her axe poised for another strike. "Yes, what he said!" he echoed, forcing a strained smile.

She froze mid-swing, her fiery gaze narrowing as if only now registering him. Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Astarion? How are you here?"

He threw up his hands in exasperation. "Long story, so here's the short version: Sold to Gur, captured by orcs, freed by a wild woman and her pet wolf, infiltrated goblin camp, saved Zevlor, reunited with crazy axe-wielding flaming tiefling. That about sums it up, don't you think?"

For a moment, Karlach's lips twitched as though fighting a smile. The flames surrounding her dimmed slightly, though her expression twisted in pain. She glanced up at Zevlor. "Why is he still in chains then?"

Astarion's voice was dry as he quipped, "Would you believe I lost the key down the back of the couch, darling?"

Karlach sighed, her expression a mix of irritation and weary amusement. Before she could respond, Ashara stepped forward, hands raised in a calming gesture. "We needed a credible way to get him out of the grove," she explained quickly. "The goblins didn't give us a way to remove the shackles. We're heading to the blacksmith's in Moonhaven. You can join us if you want?"

Karlach studied Ashara for a long moment, the fiery glow in her eyes softening. She leaned heavily on her axe, the weapon sinking slightly into the soil. The flames around her extinguished completely, leaving only the faint scent of smoke. "Fine," she muttered, her voice gruff. "But if you're lying..."

"We're not," Ashara assured her, her tone earnest. "You have my word."

Karlach's words were sharp-edged, her voice carrying the weight of old wounds. "Yeah, well, the last people I trusted turned out to be shitheads. Should've known that Dragonborn was a crook the moment he hung you out to dry, Astarion."

Astarion's tone was no less cutting, his irritation bubbling to the surface. "I didn't see you making any objections at the time."

The tiefling's shoulders stiffened, and she glanced away, guilt flickering across her face. "It didn't sit right with me, handing you over to the hunter like that," she admitted, her voice quieter now, laced with regret. "But I was too caught up in the whole 'you hid the fact you were a vampire from us' thing. I get now why you did, though."

From atop Onyx, Zevlor stirred, his gaze sharpening with unease. "You're a vampire?" His words carried both surprise and apprehension.

Astarion rolled his eyes, irritated. "Yes, and you're bleeding, but I'm not going feral over it. So it's safe to say I'm not a threat to you."

Onyx interjected smoothly, his deep voice calm. "He also fed on me recently, if that helps to reassure you."

Zevlor blinked, clearly taken aback, and his expression shifted to one of slight embarrassment. "I... apologize. I should know better than to judge someone based on their perceived nature."

Astarion's lips curled into a sardonic smile. "Oh, don't worry. You're perfectly within your rights to fear and distrust a vampire. On the whole, we're vicious, power-hungry monsters. I'm just... slightly less so."

Zevlor tilted his head, his voice unexpectedly warm. "And yet you helped rescue me and have the trust of a Fenris Guard. I think perhaps you give yourself too little credit."

The kindness in the tiefling's tone threw Astarion off balance. For a fleeting moment, he found himself at a loss for words, the familiar reflex of a snarky retort faltering. Before he could recover, Karlach drew in a sharp breath, her hand clutching at her severed arm.

Ashara was at her side in an instant, her voice filled with concern. "Are you okay?"

"Not really, soldier," Karlach replied weakly, her tone strained. "Stump's giving me hell. These flames of mine may have cauterized the wound quick enough, but it still hurts like the day it was lopped off."

Astarion hesitated, his curiosity edging past his usual aloofness. "How... how did that happen? I never thought I'd see you of all people in this state."

Karlach's laugh was hollow, bitter. "That makes two of us. Funny, all those years I spent in Avernus, I never once had a wound like this. I finally escape, and it takes all of a week before I'm out of action. Guess that's what happens when you're fighting for something you actually care about."

Zevlor straightened slightly, his voice steady despite his pain. "Your courage was remarkable, Karlach. I cannot thank you enough for choosing to fight for us."

Her expression crumpled, the weight of failure bearing down on her. "Didn't do much good in the end, though, did it?"

"You did enough," Zevlor insisted. "You and Wyll gave us a fighting chance. If it hadn't been for that damn drow and her spiders, we could have made it to the forest."

Karlach's face twisted in anguish at the mention of Wyll. "Gods... Wyll." Her voice cracked, and her fiery eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "He fought so hard to protect the kids... and they... they..."

The words broke into a sob, her grief spilling out in waves. Astarion felt a twist of sympathy, an ache in his chest that surprised him. As much as Wyll's self-righteousness had irritated him, the man had been a fierce fighter. His decision to spare Karlach's life and accept the consequences of angering his patron had impressed Astarion - a little.

Onyx stepped closer, his massive frame radiating calm. His head dipped slightly toward Karlach, the gesture deliberate yet unhurried. Astarion's eyes narrowed in concern.

"Careful!" he cautioned, his voice sharper than intended. "She'll singe your fur, Onyx."

The direwolf ignored him, pressing his head gently against Karlach's side. She recoiled instinctively, her flames flickering brighter.

"Watch out, pup," she warned, her voice thick with tears. "I'll bur—"

Her words died on her lips as Onyx leaned further into her, his fur untouched by the flames licking at her skin. Her wide eyes met his golden gaze, disbelief etched across her face. Slowly, her hand reached out, trembling as it found purchase in his thick mane. When the flames didn't consume him, the tension in her shoulders melted, replaced by a look of overwhelmed relief.

Astarion watched, his mouth slightly agape, as Karlach buried her face into Onyx's fur. Her sobs grew louder, but they carried a different tone now - less despair, more catharsis. She gripped the wolf tightly, stroking him with almost frantic desperation, as if afraid this fragile, impossible moment might slip away.

The group waited in silence, the tension easing only slightly as Karlach's sobs subsided. Astarion shifted his weight impatiently but refrained from speaking, his usual acerbic remarks tempered by the rawness of the moment. Beside him, Ashara stood quietly, her gaze resting on Karlach with a mix of sympathy and patience. Onyx remained still as a stone, allowing Karlach to cling to him until she was ready to let go.

Finally, Karlach pulled back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffing loudly. "Gods... look at me," she muttered, her voice thick but steady. "Blubbering like a little kid."

Onyx tilted his head, his deep voice gentle but firm. "Crying is not just for children. Brave souls sometimes need a release too, especially after loss."

Karlach opened her mouth to respond, but Onyx cut her off with a faintly sardonic tone. "And before you ask: no, I am not a druid."

The tiefling blinked, then let out a rough laugh, her voice scratchy but genuine. "Alright, just a normal talking wolf then. Gotcha."

Onyx's golden eyes glinted as he lifted his head and looked toward Ashara. "I like her."

Like what you're reading? Check out the full chapter in the link below.

#baldurs #baldursgate3 #dnd #dungeonsanddragons #astarion #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 #astarion fanfiction #astarion x oc #astarion fanfic #astarion bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 oc #bg3 astarion #bg3

15 notes · View notes

geekusfemme · 6 months ago

Text

Reassurance

*******************************************************

Full story on AO3 — Wattpad 100k+

Astarion x Female OC

Rating: Mature

*******************************************************

Chapter Three: Astarion has been travelling with Ashara and Onyx on their way to the Emerald Grove. They stop off for a rest and Ashara decides to dig out some new clothes and weapons for Astarion....

—★—

Astarion's attention shifted back to Ashara, who had knelt on the ground, hands digging into the soil as she murmured something in a language he didn't recognize. Her words were soft, lilting, and the air around them seemed to hum in response. A faint glow began to spread from the earth beneath her hands, threads of green light snaking up through the soil.

To his astonishment, the earth parted, revealing a small portal, a pool of otherworldly energy that pulsed gently, like the heartbeat of some ancient being. He watched, entranced, as she plunged her arm in up to her shoulder, her expression focused and calm.

One by one, she pulled items from the portal: bags, pouches, and loose objects which she examined with a discerning eye before either setting them aside or dropping them back into the mysterious opening. Astarion's eyes widened as she continued to produce items from the depths, muttering to herself in half-whispered fragments as she went.

"Where on earth did I put that leather jerkin?" she murmured, her brow furrowed in mild frustration.

A moment later, she tossed a pair of trousers and a thick belt toward him. He caught them, pleased to see they were at least clean - more rustic than he was used to, but serviceable. The sudden clink of metal made him glance down, where a shortsword and dagger now lay in the grass beside him. He picked up the sword, testing its weight and balance. As he reached for the dagger, he felt a faint, tingling energy thrumming through its handle, unmistakably enchanted - and expensive.

He glanced up at Ashara, his brows raised in surprise, but she was still rummaging through her belongings, muttering to herself. "I really need to have a clear out and label this stuff properly..."

Glancing up, she registered the look on his face. "What's wrong?" she asked, her eyes flicking to meet his. "Don't you like them?"

He hesitated, the words catching in his throat as he tried to wrap his mind around her generosity. "It's not that... you just handed weapons a vampire who held you at knife point not more than five hours ago."

She tilted her head, her expression shifting to something unreadable. "And?"

Astarion's fingers tightened around the dagger. "You don't see any problem in that?"

She studied him, her gaze lingering thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing slightly as if assessing him. "Why... are you planning on using them to hurt me?"

The question was so direct it almost threw him off balance. He blinked, momentarily disarmed. "Well... no. But the point is I could."

Her mouth curved into a soft smile, a subtle challenge dancing in her eyes. "I think you're smart enough to realize that would be a bad idea."

He let out a short laugh, tinged with a hint of incredulity. "And what if I wasn't?"

With a careless shrug, Ashara returned to rummaging through her supplies. "Then you'd have a very large and very pissed-off direwolf hunting you for all eternity." She threw another bag at him, spilling an array of colorful fabrics at his feet. "Here, try on a few of these."

Astarion ran his fingers over the materials, marveling at the textures. Silks mingled with coarser linen and cotton, and his breath caught as his fingers lingered on a deep blue shirt trimmed with silver. He held it up, admiring the way the fabric shimmered.

"Where did you get all this?" he asked, still holding the shirt as if it were some relic.

Ashara looked almost sheepish, rubbing the back of her neck. "I'm a bit of a... loot goblin. You wouldn't believe the things Onyx and I find on our adventures. Some of it's from grateful people, but most... is scavenged from ruins and, well... corpses."

He chuckled, fingering the silver embroidery, which on closer examination appeared to be tiny, star-shaped flowers. "Corpses have excellent taste."

Ashara shrugged and nodded towards the shirt with a smile. "Not exactly practical, but you can have it if you want. I prefer purple."

She returned to the portal, her hand reaching in and then freezing in frustration. "Now, if I could just find that blasted jerkin..." With an exasperated huff, she bent forward, her entire upper body disappearing into the ground. Muffled curses floated back to him, punctuated by the occasional thump as she shuffled things around.

Astarion watched, momentarily transfixed, until his eyes landed on her - half in, half out of the portal, her backside angled toward him as she searched.

"Dear lords... save me from temptation," he murmured, smirking to himself as he quickly looked away when she straightened, triumphantly holding a black leather jerkin.

"Found it!" she crowed, brandishing it aloft. "It was tucked away behind the minotaur skull."

She caught his sly grin as he avoided her gaze, her eyes narrowing in playful suspicion. "Surprised you didn't kick me in."

He matched her smile, shrugging. "The thought did cross my mind."

She laughed, a light, genuine sound that echoed through the trees, before turning her gaze to the scattered bags and objects around the portal. She groaned, opening her arms and scooping everything up, dumping it all unceremoniously back into the glowing pool. She whispered a soft word, sealing the earth with a shimmer, and brushed her hands off with a satisfied nod. "I'll sort that lot out another time."

"I'll give you some privacy to change while I go set up camp further back," she added, slinging a large canvas roll over her shoulder and heading off without another word.

He watched her disappear among the trees before looking back at the items in his hands. He stroked the silk shirt again, feeling the weight of it, the promise of comfort and warmth.

The dagger's enchanted hum thrummed in his hand, a reminder of how little anyone had ever willingly offered him. Durge had always kept the finest spoils, and Cazador... well, Cazador had only ever given him orders and pain. The casual generosity of Ashara was as baffling as it was unsettling.

For a moment, he wondered, uncertain. He didn't believe for one second that all of these gifts came without a price. The question was... what would that price be?

Astarion barely suppressed a shiver when he felt it- a prickle of awareness, a sense of eyes on him. He turned, already half on edge, and nearly leapt out of his skin to find Onyx sitting beside him, staring with an unervingly calm expression. The wolf's scrutiny sent a strange chill down Astarion's spine, making him feel as if every secret he held was exposed under that steady, knowing stare.

He pressed a hand to his chest, glaring as he attempted to steady his breathing. "Don't do that to me!"

Onyx's lips pulled back in what could only be described as a grin. "It was funny."

Astarion narrowed his eyes, but there was something oddly playful in the wolf's unblinking gaze. Before he could come up with a retort, a thought struck him, and his gaze sharpened. "Were you watching us the whole time?"

"Yes," Onyx replied, his tone devoid of apology. "Ashara may be quick to trust, but I am not."

Astarion shifted, uneasy under the weight of Onyx's presence as the wolf rose and circled him, positioning himself so that Astarion had no choice but to look up. Onyx's bulk was formidable, his dark fur blending into the forest shadows, his eyes unwavering. Astarion felt small, as if he were a rabbit caught beneath the watchful eye of a hawk.

He raised his hands, trying for a diplomatic tone. "I have no intention of—"

"While at times Ashara displays a wisdom beyond her age, she is still very young," Onyx interrupted him with a deep sigh. "Much of her life has been spent isolated from others of her kind, so she does not always behave the way an adult is expected to."

Astarion forced a smile, an attempt at deflection. "Let me guess, she was raised by wolves."

Onyx's expression remained as blank as stone before he responded, deadpan. "No. She was raised by a human after he found her abandoned in the forest as a newborn."

There was a long pause. Astarion felt an odd prickle of discomfort in the silence, a tension that only lessened when Onyx's mouth curled in a strange, canine smile. "He was the one raised by wolves."

A slow smile crept over Astarion's face despite himself. Against his better judgment, he was beginning to like this creature's strange sense of humor. "Ah... I take it she's not had much in the way of socialising then?"

Onyx's head dipped in agreement, his golden eyes glimmering with a faint sadness. "Unfortunately, no. She was taught how to survive in the wilds by a recluse who was pure-hearted and loyal, but who shunned his own kind," the wolf revealed. "When he died, not more than three years ago, Ashara was left to navigate this world alone, unprepared for how harsh it can be. I have done my best to protect her, but she is still too inexperienced. She treats strangers with caution and suspicion, but those she likes enough to call friend are trusted unconditionally."

The wolf's gaze sharpened, drilling into Astarion, his unspoken judgment hanging in the silence. "Many would take advantage of this. I think, perhaps, you also intend to."

Astarion flinched at the accusation, feeling heat rise under his collar as he struggled to meet Onyx's eyes. He hated that the wolf could see through him so clearly, his intentions laid bare. Guilt prickled at him, mingling with irritation at the audacity of being confronted by a creature who barely knew him.

He lifted his head, forcing himself to meet the wolf's eyes with a defiant tilt to his chin. "I have no intention of harming Ashara, but if she wants to show generosity toward me, I don't see why I can't... take advantage of that."

Silence settled between them, thick and heavy. Onyx's gaze remained unreadable as Astarion's heart thudded in his chest, a relentless beat that seemed to echo in his ears. Finally, the wolf lay down, folding his massive paws beneath him. His head was now level with Astarion's, close enough that he could see the individual shades of amber swirling in those keen eyes.

"Taking advantage of her generosity is not what I am concerned about," Onyx said, his tone laced with a quiet authority. "She has far too many possessions in my opinion - I should never have taught her that 'Hidden Earth' spell. She hoards trinkets like a magpie."

Astarion's lips twitched at the wolf's disgruntled tone. He could almost picture Onyx sighing in exasperation.

"No," Onyx continued, his voice taking on a grave weight. "I am speaking of something deeper. Now that you are a member of her pack, she will defend you with her life. Do not take this for granted, and do not deliberately place her in a position where she must choose between protecting you and doing what is right."

Astarion felt a flash of irritation prickling under his skin, his chest tightening with defiance. "I'm not exactly eager to go looking for trouble. Believe me, I'd rather stay comfortably in the shadows and let you and Ashara make all the grand decisions."

His words, meant to be calm, came out sharper, more clipped. The tension was rising, a restless energy that made it impossible to stay still. He pushed to his feet, pacing with a quick, agitated stride, his emotions bubbling to the surface in spite of himself. "Maybe I could rob you both blind and disappear into the night, but what good would that do me? I have no idea how much time I have left before this... thing inside my head decides to turn me into a mind flayer. I'm out of allies, out of ideas, and desperate. So, yes, I'm only joining you to survive, to find some hope that I might escape this fate, but you can be damn sure I won't be doing anything to jeopardize this... alliance."

Astarion spun on his heel, his glare sharp as a blade, every nerve within him thrumming with anger and a frantic need to prove himself. "Does that satisfy you?" His voice was barely steady, the words trembling with unspoken fear. "Or are you still planning to drop me in the middle of nowhere, like you originally intended?"

His breath came in shallow, unsteady gasps, each one a struggle against the tightness squeezing his chest. He clawed at his shirt as though he could physically wrench the panic out, but it only grew, thick and suffocating. His vision wavered, and his fingers sought out the solidity of a nearby rock, gripping it until his knuckles turned white. His heart drummed in his chest, fast and erratic, a frantic beat that he couldn't control.

"What's happening to me?" he managed, voice a thin thread barely holding steady.

Onyx stood, padding over to him with a measured calmness, the wolf's gaze piercing with both concern and quiet understanding. "You appear to be having a panic attack."

Astarion scowled, the observation feeling like a slap. "What? No... don't be ridiculous. I haven't had one of those in centuries. It must be the tadpole."

But the thought of that parasite, burrowed in his skull and slowly gnawing away at his very sense of self, only made his breathing worse. His vision clouded with dread, his mind latching onto the horrifying image of himself as a mind flayer, his own body twisted into something grotesque and alien. The edges of his vision darkened, closing in as he spiraled deeper into the fear.

Then, cutting through the haze, a soft, steady voice spoke up. "Onyx is right." Astarion's gaze snapped to the side, where Ashara stood, her expression sympathetic. "I get these all the time, so he knows what they look like."

Astarion's stomach sank, the mortification settling over him like a cold mist. He felt exposed, raw, stripped of the cool composure he usually wore so well. "I'm fine," he stammered, the betrayal of his voice stinging even as he tried to control it. "I j-just... n-need t-to rest."

The words felt weak, hollow, mocking him in his own voice. His mind lashed out at him, a cruel whisper: Stop being so weak and pathetic!

Ashara took a step forward, determination hardening her gaze. "Sit down here, on the ground, just for a moment."

Suspicion flickered in his eyes as he took a step back, resisting. "Why?"

"Just trust me, okay?"

Astarion hesitated, every instinct screaming at him to flee, to find some semblance of control on his own terms. The world felt too close, too stifling. He prepared to bolt when he felt a solid nudge at the backs of his legs, Onyx pressing him forward with an insistent force that left him stumbling and abruptly landing on the ground. Before he could even protest, the wolf's massive paws settled on either side of him, boxing him in. His broad head lowered over Astarion's shoulder to pin him gently but firmly in place.

"What are you doing?!" Astarion's eyes darted, wild and full of panic, his instincts recoiling at the physical restraint. He struggled, twisting and pummelling his fists into Onyx's head, but the wolf's weight was immovable.

Ashara's voice reached him again, smooth and soft, soothing as a lullaby. "Listen to his heartbeat, Astarion. Feel the rise and fall of his chest, and try to match your breathing to his."

"Stop this! I don't need your—"

The heat from Onyx's body began to seep into Astarion, the rich scent of pine and fresh-cut grass filling his senses. The warmth, unexpected and primal, touched something deep inside of him, breaking through the icy panic gnawing at his mind. He stilled, his protest dying on his lips.

Slowly, the rhythm of Onyx's steady heartbeat resonated through his body, a quiet lull that eroded away at his fear. Without realizing, Astarion allowed himself to sink back, his rigid form softening as he let the wolf's warmth envelop him. He reached out, his fingers stroking the thick fur along Onyx's leg, feeling the softness, grounding himself in that small, repetitive motion. With each inhale, he worked to match the steady, even rise and fall of the wolf's chest, forcing his breath to find that same tempo.

Gradually, the storm of panic ebbed, the tightness in his chest loosening as his body surrendered to the calm that radiated from Onyx's presence. It was almost foreign, this sense of being anchored, held by something solid and sure. A faint, reluctant smile tugged at his lips, and he mumbled, "Actually... this is rather nice."

"You fear being alone in this," Onyx murmured, his words not judgmental but rather an observation, a truth spoken softly. "That when the time comes, you will have to face it without aid."

Astarion's jaw clenched, the instinct to deny flaring up, but he said nothing, unwilling to expose that raw, aching wound. Onyx seemed to sense the silence, not pressing further, letting the moment speak for itself.

When Onyx finally continued, his tone was softer, devoid of the sharp edge that had haunted their earlier exchange. "Do not take my previous words as a threat, Astarion. I only wish you to understand the nature of those with whom you have chosen to ally. We are not like this Durge who abandoned and betrayed you. We will not bully, manipulate or control you as your former master did. All we ask is that you contribute in your own way, whether that's standing beside us in battle..."

Onyx raised his head to look at Ashara, a grin forming on his muzzle. "Or by simply helping this little magpie tidy up her pocket dimension."

A soft laugh escaped from Ashara, and Astarion let out a reluctant chuckle of his own, caught off-guard by the dry humor in the wolf's voice. He found himself smirking, almost in spite of himself. "Oh no, I'm not nearly brave enough to take on that mess," he quipped, his tone dry as he shot Ashara a quick look. "I'll stick to fighting, if it's all the same to you."

Onyx huffed, his warm breath ruffling Astarion's hair. "Wise choice."

Becoming more aware of the strange position he was in, Astarion shifted, squirming under the wolf's weight. "You can stop... hugging me now," he muttered, a note of exasperation creeping into his voice.

Onyx lifted his head and slowly rose, stepping back but remaining close, his golden eyes reflecting an unexpected softness. As Astarion regained his footing, he felt a strange mixture of embarrassment and... relief. He didn't want to admit it, but for the first time in ages, he felt a flicker of safety, even if it was conditional, even if it was fragile.

He cleared his throat, his voice reasserting a touch of haughtiness. "Ahem... now that's out of the way - if you'll excuse me, I have some clothes to try on." His attempt at casualness rang with faint note of self-consciousness as he stiffly strode over to the bundle of clothing, lifting it with a deliberate sort of dignity before slipping behind a nearby rock to change.

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geekusfemme · 6 months ago

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Truce

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Full story on AO3 — Wattpad 100k+

Astarion x Female OC

Rating: Mature

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Chapter Two: Astarion has just been rescued from a band of Orc raiders—hired by Cazador—who attacked Gandrel and took him prisoner. During the battle for freedom, Astarion ended up trapped in his cage in the river...

—♠︎—

Ashara stared down at the drenched, unconscious vampire sprawled out on the riverbank in front of her, his pale skin gleaming under the moonlight like washed-out porcelain. Beside her, Onyx sniffed at Astarion with a slow, deliberate inhale, his ears twitching back with curiosity.

"He isn't breathing," Onyx observed, his voice a low rumble in her mind.

Ashara raised an eyebrow, casting a sidelong glance at her wolf companion. "Isn't that normal for undead?"

Onyx shook his head, his golden eyes fixed on her. "Vampires are different. They can and still do breathe. While they don't need air to live, it keeps them conscious. He won't die, but if you want him to wake sooner, he'll need air from your lungs."

Ashara's face twisted with reluctance. "Can't we just... wait?"

Onyx huffed. "We could, but if we're to reach the Emerald Grove by noon, we'd best leave now."

She glanced down, her lips pressed thin. "Can you do it?"

Onyx let out a wry, gruff sound that might have been a laugh. "I'm afraid my mouth is the wrong shape for this task."

With a resigned sigh, she knelt beside Astarion, pinching his nose as she took a deep breath. Her mouth covered his, and she exhaled, feeling his chest rise faintly beneath her hand. She paused, bracing herself before taking another breath, and as she breathed into him a second time, she felt him stir. Ashara pulled back as he jerked, rolling onto his side with a shuddering cough, water pouring from his mouth.

"Just breathe," she murmured softly, resting a hand on his back as he gasped and trembled, his chest heaving as he purged the river water.

He coughed, the last of the water spilling free, but before Ashara could react, Astarion twisted around, moving with a speed that stunned her. In an instant, he had her dagger - pulled from her own belt - pressed to her throat, and she found herself pushed against the earth, the cold blade biting against her neck. Astarion's eyes were wide, wild with fear and pain, his hand trembling as he snarled down at her.

"Don't touch me!"

Ashara froze, shock tightening her throat as she stared up at him. Onyx responded with a menacing snarl, his hackles raised, every muscle in his body coiled to spring. Astarion's eyes flicked up at him, the dagger pressing closer to Ashara's neck.

"Call off your dog. Now," he demanded, voice edged with desperation.

Ashara's gaze hardened, her voice laced with both indignation and defiance. "He's not a dog, you ungrateful, stinking bullywug!"

Something flickered in Astarion's eyes, and the pressure on her neck slackened just slightly. His mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly. "Did you just call me... a bullywug?"

Ashara noticed the wild panic in his eyes begin to ebb, softening into something more bemused than hostile. She took a gamble, letting humor edge her voice, hoping to dispel the remnants of his fear. "Yes. Because only a bullywug would threaten someone who just saved their life. I must've made a mistake - clearly, you're not the vampire who begged for my help." She jerked her head toward the river. "I'll just put you back where you belong, then, shall I?"

Astarion blinked, visibly thrown, and finally lowered the dagger. He looked away, seemingly ashamed, and cast a quick, wary glance at Onyx, who remained tense. With a frustrated sigh, he tossed the dagger onto the ground and moved a few steps away, collapsing into a dejected heap on the gravel.

"What's the point?" he muttered, voice laced with exhaustion. "If I kill you, the wolf will tear me to shreds. And after threatening you, you'll probably just end up wanting to kill me yourself."

Ashara sat up, brushing the damp soil from her sleeves as she regarded him. "Can I suggest a third option?"

Astarion looked up, his expression hollow. "If you're about to suggest I join you on some grand quest to cure yourself of an Illithid tadpole... don't bother. I already tried that once. It didn't end well."

He hugged his knees to his chest, bitterness darkening his eyes. "Gods... I can't believe I trusted them."

Ashara tilted her head, curiosity piqued. "Tadpole?"

Astarion snorted, a sound devoid of humor. "Oh, wonderful. You're not even infected. Nice of the universe to rub salt in the wound."

Ashara gave him a perplexed look. "You're not making much sense."

He sighed, the sound heavy with an old, unshakeable weight. "Am I not? Perhaps it's because I don't care anymore. I finally escape Cazador's grasp, only to find that nothing has changed. I'm still just something to be bought, sold, and used."

Ashara's gaze softened as she watched him shiver, his form visibly trembling in the night air. Quietly, she reached into her bag of holding, feeling around its enchanted depths until her fingers brushed a soft rabbit-fur cloak. She pulled it free and approached him, draping it carefully over his shoulders. He flinched at the touch, his eyes snapping up to her, wary and defensive. She quickly stepped back, raising her hands.

"I didn't touch you," she said calmly. "I just thought you might want that."

Astarion blinked, his eyes widening slightly as he glanced down at the cloak now wrapped around him. He hesitated, then muttered, "I... I wasn't actually cold."

She shrugged, reaching out as if to take it back, but he gripped it, pulling it around himself with a determined gesture. "It is a bit chilly though, and I am soaked to the bone..."

Ashara paused, watching him settle into the cloak with something like a fragile relief. "Need it or don't need it - it's yours now."

Astarion stiffened, his gaze sharpening with suspicion. "Why? What do you want from me?"

Ashara's confusion was genuine as she looked back at Onyx, who had settled beside her, his eyes never leaving the vampire.

"Does a gift have to have a reason?"

Astarion's eyes narrowed, distrust plain as day. "In my experience... yes."

Onyx tilted his head, his golden eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he observed the vampire. "He thinks you're trying to buy some kind of service from him in exchange for kindness."

Ashara's eyes widened, a pang of sadness tightening her chest as she looked at Astarion. "Has no one ever given you a gift before?"

A faint, bitter smile ghosted across his lips. "Oh, I've been given plenty of gifts," he replied, his voice a sarcastic murmur. "But they were usually only given after I'd earned them."

Ashara's hand moved gently over Onyx's thick fur as she regarded Astarion with a mixture of sympathy and frustration. "So... you've never had someone just do something nice for you, without expecting anything in return?"

He averted his gaze, his shoulders tightening beneath the cloak as he looked out toward the river. "No."

Ashara exhaled, a low whistle of disbelief escaping her lips. "Wow... your life sounds depressing."

Astarion let out a dry chuckle, his mouth curling into a wry, humorless smile. "Depressing doesn't even begin to cover it, darling."

A low, dangerous growl rumbled through the air as Onyx glared at Astarion, inching closer, his golden eyes narrowed with unmistakable warning. The vampire tensed, edging back slightly, his gaze flickering with alarm.

"Why is he looking at me like that?" he muttered, his voice carrying a wary edge.

Onyx's growl deepened, turning into a low snarl. "He should not use such a familiar term with you."

Ashara's lips quirked as she interpreted. "I don't think he liked you calling me 'darling.'"

Astarion raised his hands defensively, caught off guard. "Wait... he can understand me? Is he a druid?"

Ashara chuckled, shaking her head. "No. He's just... really clever."

Astarion glanced at Onyx, skepticism mingling with intrigue, but he wisely held his tongue. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the bubbling river sounds and the quiet rustle of leaves overhead.

Then Ashara took a breath, turning her gaze back to Astarion. "What did you mean earlier about an Illithid tadpole?"

Astarion's expression shifted, a look of disbelief mingling with faint irritation. "Have you been living under a rock for the past few weeks?"

She shrugged casually. "No. In the woods."

To her surprise, a faint smile ghosted across his face, a momentary softening in his guarded gaze. "You sound like a Githyanki I once knew."

As quickly as it appeared, the softness faded as he continued."Mindflayers have been snatching people all over Faerûn, infecting them with parasites that, if left unchecked, turn the host into one of them. I'm—" His words caught, his face paling further as realization struck.

"Oh shit..." He dropped his head into his hands, gripping his hair, as his eyes widened with a flash of fear. "I forgot. It was the artifact that was keeping me from transforming."

A choked laugh escaped him, strained and bitter. "You probably should have just left me in the river... I'm liable to start sprouting tentacles any moment."

Ashara's brow furrowed, her arms crossing as she regarded him intently. "Alright. I'm going to need an explanation for that sentence."

He threw her a frustrated glance, his patience visibly fraying. "I'm infected. So was the group I was originally traveling with. They have an artifact - some sort of relic that holds a being capable of shielding us from the process. Now that I'm no longer with them... I'm probably out of its range."

Ashara's gaze sharpened as she took in his words. "Why aren't you still travelling with them?"

Astarion's expression darkened, his features hardening with barely concealed rage. "Because the Dragonborn bastard leading them is a piece of shit. He knew I was a vampire from the start, even promised to keep it quiet - but then he put on this performance, all righteous and wounded, and handed me over to that Gur, pretending it was for the 'good of the team.' To protect them from a 'monster.'" Astarion's fist struck the ground, sending a small spray of dirt scattering.

"The only monster around was him," he hissed, his voice thick with anger. "I could almost pity the fools following him if they hadn't just stood by, watching, while he betrayed me."

A low, simmering growl erupted from Onyx, his golden eyes flashing with rare, ferocious anger. "To abandon a pack member like that is shameful. This Dragonborn is not a true leader."

Astarion's head jerked up, frowning. "Now what did I say?"

Ashara sank down beside him, crossing her legs and letting her hands rest on her knees. "He doesn't like how you were treated. Wolves don't betray each other. They look out for one another and only travel as fast as their slowest pack member."

Astarion scoffed, indignant. "I wasn't the slowest one."

She rolled her eyes. "You're missing the point. Strong, weak, clever, dumb - it doesn't matter in a wolf pack. Every member is valued. Onyx and I are a pack, and we would never betray each other, no matter what."

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geekusfemme · 6 months ago

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What if?

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Full story on AO3 — Wattpad 100k+

Astarion x Female OC

Rating: Mature

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The forest lay quiet, bathed in golden light filtering through dense canopies that arched like ancient cathedrals over the narrow dirt road. The clip-clop of Gandrel's pony disturbed an otherwise tranquil woodland, his cart rolling steadily as he adjusted his reins, his attention largely on the road ahead. Behind him, in the cart's shadow, lay a large cage cloaked in heavy canvas, edges bound tightly with rope. Gandrel's eyes flicked occasionally to the side, cautious, as if sensing something amiss in the quiet.

In his periphery, a dark shape loomed, slinking from the undergrowth. A giant direwolf, fur like tarnished steel, padded up beside the cart, its massive paws silent on the earth. Astride the beast sat a young elven woman with raven-black hair, braided and woven with feathers. Her ice-blue eyes held him in a gaze as unwavering as her mount's. She wore a mix of leather and fur armor, each piece worn and shaped by use, the rough sinew of her life in the wilds. In her hand, a bow rested, almost lazily, but her body remained taut, poised as if she could spring from her seat at any moment.

Gandrel steadied his voice, though his grip on the reins tightened. "Greetings, friend - if friend you may be," he called out, keeping his tone cautious yet amiable. "I am Gandrel. May I know your business with me?"

The woman inclined her head slightly. Her expression gave nothing away, yet something about her presence prickled at his instincts. "Greetings, Gandrel. I am Ashara. My business with you will depend on what is contained within that cage of yours."

Gandrel glanced back to the covered cage, feeling a sudden surge of unease. Though he masked it, a shiver crept up his spine. Guiding his pony to the side, he stopped, watching her with wary eyes. She made no move to approach, but the direwolf's amber gaze was fixed upon him.

"It holds no beasts of the forest, if that is your concern," Gandrel replied, choosing his words carefully. "Only a prisoner, one I am taking to Baldur's Gate."

Ashara's expression didn't shift, but her posture did, almost imperceptibly; her bow was suddenly, dangerously, taut, the arrow aimed directly at him. "People are disappearing up and down the Sword Coast," she said, her tone sharp as flint. "I've been hired to investigate. You will show me this prisoner. Now."

Gandrel forced a placating smile, raising his hands slowly. "Please, do not mistake my intent. The prisoner I carry isn't one of your missing innocents. He is vampire spawn - a creature my tribe tasked me with capturing and delivering to Baldur's Gate."

Ashara's gaze never wavered, the bowstring taut in her grip. "Nevertheless, I require you to show me this prisoner."

Reluctantly, Gandrel clambered down from the cart, moving slowly to avoid provoking her further. He reached for the ropes holding the thick canvas in place, fingers steady but betraying a flicker of resignation. With a swift motion, he pulled the covering free, revealing the cage's occupant.

—♤—

Ashara's gaze sharpened as she took in the unusual features of the elven man in front of her: red eyes like garnets gleaming beneath the tangle of his silver curls, pale skin sunlit, but without the burns that would afflict a vampire. He was on his knees with his hands bound behind his back, a strip of twisted cloth silencing any cries he might have given. A rope wound tightly around his neck, the other end of which was passed through the bars of his prison and tied to a metal ring in the bed of the cart.

As he caught sight of her, the elf strained against his bindings, muffled sounds slipping past the gag as he glanced between her and Gandrel with urgent desperation.

Gandrel held up a hand, intercepting her questions before she could voice them. "I understand the confusion," he said, his voice calm yet resolute. "I was also taken aback to find a vampire walking freely in sunlight. But make no mistake - his immunity only serves his deceit. He used it to win the trust of a band of adventurers."

Inside the cage, the elf shook his head furiously, his eyes flashing with fierce protest. In a desperate effort, he scraped his gag against the bars until he managed to free his mouth. Though Ashara searched for telltale fangs, he kept his lips firmly pressed - a gesture that did not escape her notice. She hesitated, her gaze sharp with suspicion, yet unwilling to accept Gandrel's explanation outright.

"Please, listen," the elf gasped, his voice smooth yet strained, an accent polished with nobility. "This Gur is lying through his teeth! My name is Astarion, and I'm a magistrate from Baldur's Gate. I was kidnapped by this thug, who most likely intends to ransom me. Free me, and I'll see you richly rewarded."

Ashara studied him, noting the regal, carefully groomed air about him, the elegance of his speech, his clothing - though dirtied - was finely made. She looked back at Gandrel, suspicion flickering in her gaze. "Proof," she said quietly, her tone brooking no argument. "Show me proof of his nature beyond mere words."

Gandrel's expression flickered as if with hesitation, but he nodded in resigned acceptance. Climbing up onto the cart, he took hold of the rope tied to the elf's neck and pulled it taut, dragging him toward the back of the cage despite his furious writhing. Tying it off, he produced a key and moved to the cage's door, opening it and stepping inside.

Ashara watched, a prickling unease creeping up her spine as he seized the man by the hair, forcing his head back with a relentless grip.

Astarion snarled, his voice venomous. "Unhand me, you filthy bastard! What are you - no!"

Gandrel ignored his protests, gripping Astarion's lower jaw with his other hand, forcing his mouth open to reveal sharp, glinting canines, gleaming in the sunlight like a predator's trap laid bare.

"See?" Gandrel murmured, his voice low, yet something in his eyes seemed troubled as he looked back at Ashara.

All pretense vanished from Astarion's face, twisting his elegant features into something feral as he jerked his head, his fangs flashing as he snapped at Gandrel's hands. The hunter barely flinched, releasing Astarion with an eerie calm, stepping back as if accustomed to such wild resistance.

Gandrel's voice was devoid of sympathy. "I take no pleasure in this, spawn. It would have served you better to be truthful."

Astarion strained against his bonds, spitting like a wild cat. "Go to the hells! I'll tear you to pieces for this, Gur."

Ashara felt a chill crawl up her spine at Astarion's abrupt, vicious change. He'd gone from a desperate prisoner to something far more dangerous, a predator wounded and cornered. Still, her voice was steady when she spoke to Gandrel, watching him as he locked up the cage and loosened the rope tether, giving Astarion just enough freedom to slump back onto his knees.

"What will happen to this vampire once you've delivered him to your people?" she asked, her gaze flicking to Astarion, now panting heavily, his eyes wild with fury.

"What do you think? They'll kill me!" Astarion cut in before Gandrel could answer. The fear in his gaze stirred something reluctant in her, as he pleaded, "Look, I'm sorry for lying, but I haven't done anything wrong. I wasn't going to hurt anyone, I swear."

Gandrel's expression hardened, his voice now cool, a wall built from old wounds and memories. "That may be so these past few days, but you're wanted for more than just being a vampire. You helped steal away the children of my tribe. My own included."

The words fell like stones, each one a blow that left Astarion frozen. He flicked a nervous glance at Ashara, his composure wavering. She caught the tension in his shoulders, the flicker of shame in his eyes, so brief it could've been a trick of the light. But when he looked up, anger masked his face once more.

"I didn't have a choice!" Astarion's voice rose, a bitter edge cutting through it. "Cazador ordered me to take them, and I had to obey. All his spawn have to obey - you know that damn well, Gur!"

Gandrel's face hardened, but a flicker of pain crossed his eyes, so brief Ashara almost missed it. "Willingly or not, it makes no difference. You know what happened to those children, and you will tell us."

Astarion looked away, jaw clenched. "You want to know what happened? They're probably dead by now." His voice was low, resignation tainted with anger. "Nothing I say can change that, and I won't apologize for something I couldn't control."

The weight of Gandrel's sorrow settled heavily in the silence between them, and his jaw tightened, a haunted glint in his eye. "Then my people will have their vengeance... one way or another."

Astarion scoffed, a hollow, bitter laugh escaping his lips. "Killing me won't change a damn thing."

Gandrel turned to Ashara, his eyes weary but resolute. "Now that you've seen my prisoner, am I free to continue on my way?"

She glanced back at Astarion, who had slumped back against the bars, head bowed as though each breath was an effort. A faint sense of guilt stirred within her, but she forced herself to nod, her voice quiet. "Yes... your business with this man is your own."

Astarion's head jerked up, his eyes ablaze with fury and betrayal. "Damn you!" His voice cracked, the anger veiling something more fragile. Then he fell silent, a hollow figure against the iron bars.

Ashara straightened, stroking her wolf's thick fur as she gave Gandrel a respectful nod. "Onyx and I apologize for detaining you, Gandrel of the Gur. May your journey be swift and your burden light."

A weary smile ghosted across Gandrel's face as he climbed back onto the cart, his eyes softening as he inclined his head. "And so too may yours be, Ashara."

She nudged Onyx to step aside as Gandrel took up the reins, his cart lumbering forward along the winding path. But as they passed, her gaze fell back to the figure in the cage. Astarion was watching her, and in his eyes, she caught a shimmer - a trace of something unguarded, unfeigned. A plea that was all the more startling for its sincerity.

"Please..." he whispered, his voice a fragile thread, breaking under the weight of despair. "Help me."

She tore her gaze away, her chest tightening as a pang of guilt twisted within her. Beneath her, Onyx sensed her discomfort, and gave a low rumbling growl of reassurance as they slipped back into the forest.

Beneath the cover of trees, she dismounted, letting her thoughts drift as she resumed the task she'd abandoned earlier - skinning the deer she'd taken down just before Gandrel had passed by.

Onyx settled beside her, his watchful eyes fixed on her with a calm assurance as his voice echoed in her mind.

"You feel guilt over the vampire. Waste not your sympathy. His kind are known for cruelty and deception. His fate is one he surely deserves."

Ashara paused, turning to run her hand over the thick fur along Onyx's neck. "I know. But something about seeing him caged like that - so desperate for freedom - it reminded me of you. People said you were a monster too." She gave a half-smile, her eyes softening. "And I'm glad I didn't believe them."

Onyx's muzzle curled into a canine grin, his teeth glinting. "As am I, my friend."

She sighed, tracing the line of her blade over the deer's pelt. "I know I shouldn't get involved-"

"Then don't." Onyx's voice was calm, grounded in a wisdom that often tempered her impulsive nature.

"But maybe we could free him and let him go somewhere remote and far away from people?" she argued, more to herself than to him. "Like that owlbear we rescued from hunters?"

Onyx scratched an ear, tilting his head thoughtfully. "A vampire is not an owlbear, Ashara. If he is freed, he will remember every slight, every indignity. And he will eventually return to civilization, hungrier and more cunning than before. Do you truly wish the blood of the next innocent traveller he meets to be on your conscience?"

Ashara felt the weight of his words and lowered her gaze, her resolve weakening. "No... you're right."

Onyx's voice softened as he leaned his head against her arm. "If you choose to free him, his fate is your responsibility. You would have to ensure he never harms another innocent soul. And that would mean keeping him close and watching over him."

She glanced up, startled. "What... like a pet?"

A rare bark of laughter escaped Onyx, a sharp huff that made her smile despite herself. "No, not quite. I do not think he would take kindly to that title."

Ashara grinned, feeling slightly foolish at her assumption. Then, a spark of curiosity glinted in her eyes as she remembered. "Oh, how did I do back there by the way?"

Onyx nuzzled her cheek affectionately. "You handled yourself well. You were confident, respectful."

"I wasn't too aggressive?"

"For a man who captured a vampire? I think you showed just the right amount." His amber eyes gleamed approvingly.

Ashara gave a small, proud smile, her hands resuming their work. But even as she focused on the deer, her thoughts drifted back to the prisoner. Those crimson eyes, filled with anguish, haunted her. And as the forest wrapped around her, she wondered if she could truly let that plea go unanswered.

Like what you're reading? Check out the full chapter in the link below.

#baldurs #baldursgate3 #dnd #dungeonsanddragons #astarion #baldurs gate fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate durge #bg3 au #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fanfiction #astarion x oc

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geekusfemme · 6 months ago

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New Fanfic!!

Sorry I've been inactive for.... oooooodles of days. Life kept throwing truckloads of lemons at me and I was struggling to make enough lemonade.

Anyhow, while I'm still writing my other fanfic, I decide to try something different with Astarion. So here is Wild Blood.

The premise: What if Astarion was betrayed by the Dark Urge and handed over to the Gur Hunter? And what if another kind of hunter saved him and set his life on a new course, one that would ultimately lead him to cross paths with those who had abandoned him? Follow the story of Astarion and Ashara, a young naive ranger with an interesting secret of her own as they team up to discover the source of the Illithid scourge

This will be more Astarion centric, and focus on his journey to becoming a hero in his own right, seperated from the main storyline, while running parallel to it. It will get dark. Beloved characters will die or be irrevocably changed forever. Durge will be embracing evil and serve as an antagonist to Astarion and his new team.

#baldursgate3 #astarion #baldurs gate fanfiction #dnd #dungeonsanddragons #baldurs gate durge #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs #baldurs gate 3 #astarion fanfiction #astarion ancunin #astarion x oc #bg3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 au

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geekusfemme · 11 months ago

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Kindred Spirits

As Ishta and Alfira caught up, Astarion's gaze wandered around the cave, taking note of the surroundings. His attention landed on a lone figure standing apart from the rest - Mol, the young leader of the Tiefling thieves. Her posture was guarded and tense, as if constantly on alert for danger. Astarion's curiosity was piqued, and he silently excused himself from the conversation with Ishta.

Mol didn't acknowledge his presence at first, seemingly lost in thought as she watched the others with a mix of disdain and protectiveness. But as Astarion approached her, he could hear her muttering under her breath. "Some dumb fairy tale is all we have left..."

Astarion leaned casually against a wooden post, his posture relaxed as he observed her with interest. His eyes caught sight of the bandage covering her left eye, and he couldn't help but wonder how she had received such an injury. The girl finally looked up at him, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. Her gaze was sharp and assessing.

"You're a little old for story-time," she remarked, a hint of challenge in her voice. "Looking for a place to hide when the end comes?"

Astarion raised an eyebrow, his expression cool and unbothered. "You look a little old for this yourself."

Mol rolled her eye in exasperation, clearly used to hearing this kind of comment. "Take it up with Zevlor," she retorted, her frustration evident in her tone. "Apparently, I'm 'too young' to fight on the wall."

Astarion's attention drifted to the pair of small throwing knives tucked into Mol's belt, piquing his interest even further. "Are you any good with those knives?"

In response, Mol's hand moved with lightning speed, one of the knives leaving her grip and whizzing past Astarion's ear so quickly that he barely had time to react. The blade embedded itself in the wooden post behind him, pinning a moth in place with deadly precision.

Astarion blinked in surprise, momentarily stunned by her skill and quick reflexes. But he quickly regained his composure, his expression remaining neutral as he looked at the knife then back at Mol, who was watching him with a self-satisfied grin.

"A simple yes would have sufficed..." he commented dryly.

Mol's grin widened, her one good eye gleaming with pride. "Wouldn't have been as impressive though, would it?"

Astarion nodded appreciatively, recognizing a kindred spirit in Mol. He gestured towards Ishta, who was beginning to take notice of their exchange. "You remind me of someone else I know. Use those skills of yours to protect the kids in here," he advised, his tone serious. "If any goblins pop their heads through that hole, aim for the eyes."

Mol's smirk slowly faded, replaced by a glimmer of recognition in her eyes. "You're the one who rescued Mirkon, aren't you?"

Astarion brushed off the question with a careless shrug, his voice dripping with nonchalance. "I might have. It's hard to remember."

Mol's gaze narrowed and her tone became accusatory. "And you're also the one who stole from Mattis."

Astarion's smirk returned, sly and unapologetic as he leaned in closer, his voice now a cunning whisper. "Ah... yes. That does ring a bell."

Mol's eyes sparkled with a mixture of admiration and mischief as she retorted, "You should be ashamed of yourself, stealing from a kid like that."

Astarion scoffed lightly, flicking his hand dismissively. "He tried to swindle me while his accomplice attempted to pick my pocket. I have nothing to feel guilty about."

Mol glanced over at Ishta, who was making her way towards them with a curious and slightly suspicious expression on her face.

A crafty smile spread across Mol's lips as she tilted her head knowingly at Astarion. "Bet she wouldn't approve, though... she seems like the more upstanding type."

Astarion snorted derisively, though he could feel the weight of Ishta's gaze boring into him. "You would think so, but I'm not so sure anymore," he mused aloud before turning back to face Mol. "Alright, fine. Here." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pouch of coins, tossing it to Mol with a resigned sigh. "There's more in there than what I took from the lad. Consider it an investment. I may need your skills in Baldur's Gate."

Mol caught the pouch effortlessly, her eyes lighting up with surprise and delight. She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper as Ishta finally joined them. "You're off the hook... for now."

Astarion gave her a mock bow, his smirk still playing on his lips as he replied, "It was a pleasure doing business with you."

Mol quickly vanished back into the shadows with practiced ease, leaving Astarion and Ishta alone. Ishta watched her go, then turned her gaze to Astarion, one eyebrow raised in question.

"What was all that about?"

Astarion waved a dismissive hand, his tone light and breezy under her scrutiny. "Just some Rogue business."

Ishta studied him for a moment longer, then nodded slowly as if accepting his answer, though she could tell there was more to the story than what he was letting on. "I see... Anyway, some of the children mentioned seeing Donni heading down into the lower grove. Halsin probably found him by now, so let's leave these kids to their storytelling."

As Ishta gazed sadly at the group of children, Astarion couldn't help but ask, "Do you think they will be safe down here?"

Ishta's expression hardened and her voice took on a fierce determination. "It's our job to make sure they are."

#baldurs #baldursgate3 #dnd #dungeonsanddragons #astarion #astarionancunin #astarionfanfic #astarionromance #astarionxtav #friendstolovers #slow burn #reluctant hero

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geekusfemme · 11 months ago

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Reflections

Astarion's keen eyes flicked toward the Broodmother, its monstrous form just barely visible in the distance as it tore into the body of one of its slain kin. The sickening sound of its mandibles ravaging through chitin echoed faintly through the cave, sending a slight shiver down his spine. He quickly dismissed it, forcing himself to look away, unwilling to dwell on the gruesome display. Instead, he turned his attention to Ishta, convincing himself that things weren't as dire as they seemed.

He had always admired her boldness, the way she fearlessly charged into perilous situations with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. But now, seeing her slumped against the rough cave wall, her skin growing paler by the second, stirred something unsettling within him. Astarion pushed it aside, telling himself it was just frustration at their predicament, nothing more.

Astarion wanted to believe in Ishta's confidence in her Drow blood, her belief that it would protect her from the worst effects of the venom. But as he watched the color slowly drain from her face, a flicker of doubt crossed his mind.

His mind wandered back to the chaotic moments that led them here. Ishta had been determined to retrieve the gem for the Thayan tome, unwavering in her resolve despite his attempts to dissuade her. He understood why - given what he now knew about her people's history with the Thayans.

Astarion could still picture her graceful movements, dark and silent like a predator in the shadows. He had stayed behind watching from above, heart pounding as she approached the gem. When she plucked it free and tucked it into her pouch, its eerie glow had felt like a promise that they might escape unscathed.

But that fragile hope shattered when an Ettercap - hunched, grey-purplish humanoids with spider-like faces and distended white underbellies - spotted Ishta. The memory of its screech still lingered, a warning that summoned every spider in the vicinity.

What followed was a frantic battle for survival. Astarion had perched himself on higher ground, firing arrows with deadly precision as Ishta danced through the swarm, her scimitars flashing like silver lightning. Together, they fought with brutal efficiency, their retreat more controlled than panicked as they struggled to fend off the horde.

But the Broodmother changed everything. It had been watching, waiting, and Astarion hadn't realized they were outmaneuvered until Ishta shoved him aside, taking the strike meant for him.

The memory of her ensnared in webbing, her body jerking violently as she was cocooned, was still fresh. They had fought desperately to free her, every second counting as the Broodmother drew closer. It was a blur of frantic movements - cutting through webs, fending off the monstrous spider, and knowing time was running out.

They had barely escaped, but not before the Broodmother had buried its fang in Ishta's leg. The sight of the venom spreading through her veins had sparked something unsettling in him.

Now, in the suffocating silence of the Drow scholar's cave, that feeling began to take root. The only sound was Ishta's labored breathing, a sound that felt too loud, too final in the stillness.

"It looks like she's distracted with feeding on one of the smaller ones we killed. It would appear that spiders aren't the sentimental kind," Astarion remarked, the words coming out more brittle than he intended. His hand drifted toward his blade, an unconscious habit, though he knew it would do little against the creature. "We can make it to the well rope if we're quick."

But Ishta remained still, not even glancing at the rope he indicated. She was focused on tending to her wounds, seemingly resigned to their current predicament. Her calm, almost detached expression as she cast a healing spell on her leg only deepened the unease twisting in Astarion's gut.

"It's too risky," she murmured, her voice steady in a way that made his fingers curl into a fist. "That thing will be on us before we can even reach the rope. It's best to wait until she returns to her nest."

Frustration flared, the cave walls seeming to close in on him. He forced himself to breathe evenly, the idea of waiting gnawing at his already frayed nerves. "That could take hours," he snapped, irritation masking the tightness in his chest. "I say we take our chances now."

Ishta's lips twitched in a faint smile, though it held little of its usual warmth. She leaned her head against the stone wall, finally meeting his gaze. "You can leave if you want," she said quietly, still with that unsettling calm. "But I'm staying here."

Astarion dropped to a crouch in front of her, his eyes narrowing as he tried to read her expression. Why wasn't she moving? Why was she so calm? His heart began to beat a little faster. "Why? The rope is right there, we can-"

"Because I can't feel my legs, Astarion..."

The words stopped him cold. He stared at her, the meaning sinking in, dragging a leaden weight down his spine. Panic clawed at the edges of his mind, but he fought it off, replacing it with a sharp edge to his tone. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Ishta looked away, tension in her shoulders. After a moment, she turned back to him, a tired smile tugging at her lips, but it was a shadow of its usual self. "You think you're the only one afraid to show weakness? To hide behind a mask of confidence?" Her words were laced with irony, but there was also a reluctant admission that twisted painfully in Astarion's chest.

He scoffed, trying to dismiss her accusation, but it rang hollow. Standing, he turned his attention back to the distant spider. "I don't need to hide behind anything." The words felt empty, even to him.

Ishta's soft laugh was almost a sigh. "Good for you," she said, a faint note of sarcasm in her voice. She closed her eyes for a moment, then forced them open again. "Then use that confidence to get the hells out of here."

The thought of leaving her had crossed Astarion's mind more than once, but with each passing second, the idea left a bitter taste.

"And leave you behind?" he tried to inject some levity, but it came out strained. "Tempting, but I think I'd rather face the Broodmother in hand-to-hand combat than risk Shadowheart's wrath when she finds out I abandoned you to your fate."

Ishta's laughter bubbled up, the sound almost incongruous in the dim, tense cave. "Don't you mean hand to leg leg leg leg-" she started, her grin wide despite the situation.

"I get the idea," he interrupted, managing a small, strained smile despite himself. He watched as she continued to giggle uncontrollably, her body shaking with mirth, and for the first time, he felt a cold, gnawing dread settling in his gut. "Is the venom making you delirious?" he asked, the alarm in his voice now barely concealed.

Ishta blinked up at him, her gaze unfocused, her smile fading. "I have no idea," she admitted, her head tilting slightly as if she were trying to bring him into focus. "Though I am seeing two of you right now..."

Astarion forced a smile, but it felt brittle, as if it could shatter at any moment. "Both fabulous, I hope?" he joked, but inside, the anxiety that had been simmering beneath the surface was beginning to boil over.

"Dunno," Ishta grunted, squeezing her eyes shut as if trying to clear her vision. "Too blurry to tell."

He crouched down beside her again, his breath catching as he noticed the subtle tremors running through her body. His hand hovered near her shoulder, unsure whether to reach out or not. "How bad is this really?" The words slipped out, rough and tinged with the concern that was now impossible to deny.

Ishta didn't answer right away. Her gaze drifted upward, studying the ceiling as if it held some hidden answer. "From what I can remember from last time... The paralysis will continue creeping up my body until it reaches my lungs." Her voice was quiet, almost detached, as if she were talking about someone else. "Then I'll have to hold my breath for about 30 minutes until the venom is filtered through my liver."

Astarion heart skipped a beat as he leaned in, struggling to keep his voice steady. "What's the catch?"

"My personal best is 27," Ishta murmured weakly. Her hand twitched, as if she were trying to reach out to him, before falling back limply by her side.

He stared at her, the weight of her words sinking in, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe himself.

The rational part of him screamed to get out, to save himself, but he couldn't move, couldn't think. "You're telling me a race of genetically perfected warriors can only hold their breath for less than half a bloody hour?" Astarion asked incredulously, trying to inject some humor into the situation despite his shaking voice.

Ishta's lips curved into a faint smile. "I'm one-quarter Sun-elf," she explained softly. "My father is only half Xindite. I guess the sea-elf genes skipped a generation."

Astarion forced a chuckle, though it felt like it might crack under the strain. "Well, that explains a lot," he muttered, his mind scrambling for a plan, any plan.

"The point is," Ishta continued, her voice barely a whisper now, "I'm going to lose consciousness soon, and my heart will stop. If it doesn't start beating again after about 3 minutes, I'll need you to kick it awake."

Astarion's throat tightened. He could feel the fear rising in earnest now, threatening to break through his facade. "How do I do that?" he asked, hating how small his voice sounded.

Ishta's hand fumbled weakly at her side as she reached for her belt pouch. Her fingers were shaky and uncoordinated, but she managed to pull out a small square of parchment. She gazed at it for a moment before speaking again, "There's a scroll of Shocking Grasp here... well, more like a folded note really. Not quite as impressive sounding though, is it?"

Astarion couldn't help but let out a strained, shaky laugh at the absurdity of it all. "Retrieve the ancient folded note of wisdom from the tomb of the lost king..." he said theatrically, stroking his chin in mock-contemplation. "No, it doesn't quite have the same ring to it."

Ishta's faint laughter echoed in the cave, but it was cut off by a sharp gasp as her body spasmed. She lay back, taking a deep breath before closing her eyes, her entire body seizing up and becoming as still as death.

Astarion's heart pounded, and for the first time in a long while, he felt completely out of his depth. He was in a situation he couldn't charm, fight, or talk his way out of - he was helpless, and the weight of that realization settled over him like a shroud.

-¤-

Ishta's awareness crept back gradually, like the slow unfurling of wings. The darkness and paralysis that had held her in a suffocating grip began to lift, leaving behind a heavy numbness in her limbs. She blinked, and the dim light of the cave seeped into her vision, casting long, jagged shadows across the rough stone walls. Her body felt sluggish, unfamiliar, but the simple fact that she could feel anything at all brought a quiet relief.

She tried to sit up, but a dull ache pulsed through her muscles, forcing her back down. Each breath was shallow, each movement a reminder of how close she had come to slipping away into that endless dark. A shape in the corner of her vision caught her attention - Astarion, sitting with his back to her, his posture rigid as he kept watch at the cave entrance. His shoulders were slightly hunched, neck stiff, the tension in his body palpable even from where she lay.

Ishta's gaze shifted to his hands, tightly gripping an ornate hand mirror, the cracked surface still reflecting enough for him to keep an eye on her without turning around. The faint, fractured image of herself stared back at her, and for a moment, she simply watched him, piecing together the fragments of her memory. She vaguely remembered him reaching into her bag while she was paralyzed, her heart racing with the fear that he might take the Thayan Tome and gem and leave her to die. But he hadn't. He had stayed by her side and protected her.

"You stayed," she rasped, her voice rough as though she had been swallowing sand.

Astarion didn't turn, but his posture shifted, a subtle response to her words. "Surprised?" he replied, his tone carefully even, though something unspoken rippled beneath it.

She attempted a smile, but it felt unfamiliar, as if her face had forgotten the motion. "A little. I thought you were smarter."

He shrugged, the gesture as dismissive as his tone, yet his gaze remained fixed on the mirror, fingers tracing the cracks as if seeking answers within them. The weight on him seemed almost tangible, pressing down with a force that made even his usual nonchalance seem strained.

Ishta's eyes followed his hand as it moved across the mirror's surface. "Good thinking, using the mirror like that," she said softly.

Astarion turned his head just enough for her to catch the wry twist of his lips, though it lacked the usual sharpness. "The only use I have for a mirror these days," he said, bitterness curling at the edges of his words.

"Do you miss it?" Ishta asked, her curiosity more tentative than prying. She shifted again, propping herself up just enough to meet his eyes. "Seeing your reflection, I mean."

For a moment, Astarion was silent, the question hovering between them like a fragile thread. When he finally turned to face her, the look in his eyes made her heart clench. His usual sardonic humor was there, but it barely masked the cracks - and the raw, unguarded pain beneath.

"Preening in the looking glass? Petty vanity? Of course I miss it." His tone was scornful, but his shoulders slumped slightly, as if the admission weighed him down. He pulled his knees to his chest, folding his arms around them and resting his chin on top. The movement was almost childlike, a stark contrast to the confident figure she was used to seeing.

"I've never even seen this face," he murmured, the anger in his voice softened by something more vulnerable. "Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red."

Ishta's chest tightened with empathy as she watched him, momentarily forgetting her own pain. His brow furrowed, his jaw clenched, tension visible in every line of his body as if he were holding himself together by sheer will. His fingers dug into his arms, clutching at the one thing he could still control.

"What color were they before?" she asked, her voice gentle, as if handling something delicate.

Astarion frowned, searching for a memory that had long since faded. His mouth opened to offer a sharp retort, but the words died on his lips. He really looked at her then, and she could see realization wash over him - a wave of distress that softened his features into something almost unrecognizable.

"I...I don't know," he stammered, the admission slipping out before he could stop it. "I can't remember," he added with a thick sadness that seemed to reverberate through the cave. "My face is just a dark shape in my past - another thing I've lost."

Ishta's heart ached at the sight of him unraveling. Before she could offer comfort, his expression twisted with sudden anger. He hurled the mirror to the ground with a burst of violence, the fragile glass shattering against the stone floor. The sound of breaking glass echoed through the cave, pulling her back to the stark reality of their situation.

She watched as Astarion's chest heaved, his breath ragged, fists clenched tightly over his knees. His usually composed features were now a storm of turmoil - pain and anger radiating from him. His gaze fixed on the shattered remnants of the mirror, as if the broken pieces held answers just out of reach.

"You never once had a portrait or drawing done of yourself in the last 200 years?" she asked softly, trying to pull him out of the dark spiral he seemed to be caught in.

A bitter, hollow laugh escaped his lips, sharp and jarring. Restlessly, he ran a hand through his hair, his movements betraying the storm inside. "Unfortunately, among the types of people I... encountered, there weren't many artists," he replied with heavy sarcasm, his fingers fidgeting with agitation. "And when there were, I was too busy luring them back to Cazador's clutches. Not much time to ask for a quick sketch before they met their end."

He paused, his gaze distant, lost in the darkness of his past. His hands clenched and unclenched, each movement revealing more of the tension simmering beneath the surface. "And I certainly couldn't afford to pay for one. I had to resort to thievery just to keep myself clothed and warm most days. Cazador took all my earnings from working as a—"

Astarion stopped abruptly, the words dying on his lips, and Ishta could see the way his expression shifted, his eyes widening slightly in a moment of realization. He turned his head sharply away from her gaze and his entire body tensed, as if recoiling in shame from the truth he nearly revealed.

For a moment, Ishta watched him in silence, her own heart heavy with the weight of his unspoken pain. She knew she had to tread carefully with him, but she couldn't let him drown in his own self-loathing.

"Look at me," she said gently, her voice soft but insistent.

Astarion's body stiffened even more, his neck muscles visibly tightening as if resisting the urge to comply. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he turned his gaze back to her. His expression was guarded, wary, as if bracing himself for her judgment. The uncertainty and vulnerability in his usually self-assured gaze were stark, a reminder of the fragile person beneath the mask.

"What?" he asked hesitantly, almost fearfully, as if dreading what she might say.

"You can use me as a mirror," Ishta offered, her tone sincere, free of any judgment. "What do you want to know?"

For a moment, Astarion just stared at her, searching her face for any hidden motives. She could see the turmoil in his gaze - the fear, the longing, the desperate need for something he couldn't quite articulate. And when he finally spoke, his voice was stripped of all pretense, raw and honest in a way she had never heard before.

"I want to know what the world sees when it looks at me," he confessed with a tinge of sadness. "What you see."

The weight of his words settled heavily in the space between them. He wasn't asking just for a mere description; he was searching for a piece of himself, something to anchor him in a world that had changed beyond recognition. Ishta felt the gravity of what he was asking, and she knew her answer had to be more than skin deep.

"What does the world see when it looks at you?" she asked softly, trying to piece together her thoughts. "It sees whatever you choose to show it..."

Astarion's expression shifted, disappointment fleeting in his eyes as he turned away, resting his chin on his arms once more. The vulnerability he had briefly let slip seemed to retreat, replaced by an icy distance. But Ishta wasn't finished yet, refusing to let him retreat behind his walls again.

"As for what I see," she spoke up again, her words confident and unwavering, breaking through the heavy silence between them. "I see a survivor. I see someone who has clawed their way out of the pit that the world tried so desperately to bury them in. I see a fighter, with the strength and skill to chart their own path forward. I see someone who has proven themselves worthy of my trust and respect time and time again. But I also see a man who has forgotten more about himself than just the color of his eyes."

-☆-

Astarion's breath caught in his throat as Ishta's words tumbled over and over in his mind, each one settling in his thoughts like stones dropped into deep water, sending ripples he wasn't ready to confront.

His head lifted slowly, eyes narrowing as he searched hers, hunting for any sign of deception, any hint that she was merely playing with him as so many had before. But there was nothing - no mockery hidden behind a smile, no agenda lurking in her gaze - just a sincerity that left him feeling stripped bare. Her eyes sparkled with a light that seemed almost out of place in the grim cave, a light that carried a belief in him he could hardly fathom.

The tightness in his chest grew unbearable, a constricting force that wrapped around his ribs like iron bands, threatening to crush him from the inside. As Ishta's voice lingered in his mind, it mingled with another - a voice cold and harsh, a whisper that crawled over his thoughts like a swarm of biting insects, stinging and relentless.

"Useless boy."

"Worthless spawn."

"Your only value lies in your body."

"You failed me."

"No one will ever care for you as I have."

"You will never be worthy of the gifts I bestow."

"You are nothing without me."

Each word rose like a twisted corpse from the depths of his memory, the voice of Cazador entwined with that cruel smile that haunted his nights. Astarion shivered, feeling the phantom touch of his former master's presence, the weight of those words pressing down like shackles.

Yet Ishta's words were different. They carried a warmth, a kindness that felt almost alien in his world of shadows. But even as they offered something gentler, Cazador's venomous whispers refused to relent, insisting that she was lying, that she was just another actor in the same cruel play.

His hand twitched at his side, fingers curling into a fist as he battled to silence those thoughts. Slowly, he forced out words, though they scraped against his throat, tinged with a pain he couldn't entirely hide. "You're as shit as a Gith at giving compliments," he said, the attempt at humor falling flat even as it left his lips.

He grasped at the jest, trying to deflect, to keep himself from being pulled under by the darkness. "I was hoping for a more physical description which included references to my perfect hair and outstanding beauty, among other things."

Ishta sighed softly, the sound carrying a blend of exasperation and something almost like affection. Astarion glanced at her, noticing the way her lips curved into a faint smile, the corners lifting despite the weight of their situation. "And you are just as shit at accepting them."

He wanted to brush it off, to toss out another quip that would keep the conversation light and distant, but before he could, she spoke again.

"Alright, fine," she said, her tone shifting to something resigned, tinged with playful frustration that made the corners of his mouth twitch despite himself. "If shallow praise is all you want: Your silver hair is curled to perfection - even if it is brighter than a deer's backside. Your eyes are strong and piercing - with such deadly accuracy you make me feel insecure enough to practice my archery more. And you have a dangerous smile that somehow gets you out of trouble as much as it gets you in it."

Astarion blinked, momentarily thrown by the sudden shift from depth to levity. It was such a small thing, her playful twist on his deflection, yet it was enough to halt the spiral his thoughts had been taking. He found himself blinking rapidly, trying to process her words. Cazador's voice still lingered, a faint echo in the recesses of his mind, but her warmth dulled its edge, like sunlight chasing away a shadow.

He inhaled slowly, feeling the tightness in his chest begin to ease, as if her words had started to loosen the invisible bands constricting him. "Those were the most backhanded compliments I have ever received... but I suppose I'll take what I can get," he said, his tone lighter, almost playful. He tilted his head slightly, giving her a sly smile. "Now just tell me I'm beautiful and we can call it a day."

Ishta groaned playfully, rolling her eyes as she leaned back against the cave wall, her expression tinged with amused disbelief. "Gods... you never quit, do you?"

Astarion's grin widened, a flicker of genuine amusement breaking through the tension that had been building. "No," he replied simply, a hint of mischief coloring his voice.

Before he could react, Ishta suddenly sprang to her feet, the sudden burst of energy startling him. His eyes widened slightly as he watched her, any trace of the venom's lingering effects seemingly gone. The sight of her standing so confidently, as if the pain and fear of the last few moments had never happened, filled him with a strange mix of relief and surprise.

She looked down at him, her smile bright and genuine, and for a moment, he felt his breath catch again, but this time for an entirely different reason. "If it gets me out of this conversation, fine." She neatly crossed her hands in front of her and nodded solemnly. "You are beautiful."

A small, startled laugh escaped Astarion before he could stop it and Ishta reached down, grasping his hand and pulling him to his feet. The warmth of her touch lingered on his skin as she patted him on the shoulder good-naturedly, her smile never wavering.

"But next time I'll just draw you a picture," she added with a resigned sigh, her eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

Astarion shook his head, a rueful smile tugging at his lips as he looked at her, standing so close, so full of life and light that it made something deep inside him ache. He couldn't remember the last time someone had looked at him like this, with no fear, no malice - just... acceptance. It was both comforting and terrifying, and he wasn't sure which emotion was stronger.

As they sprinted toward the well rope, Ishta's words echoed in his mind, an insistent rhythm he couldn't shake. "Proved worthy of my trust and respect." The phrase clung to him, warm and unfamiliar, even as they navigated the treacherous escape.

When they finally emerged into the cool morning air, the light filtering through the canopy like a balm, Ishta's words lingered. As they made their way back to camp, her voice stayed with him, a soft but persistent refrain that refused to fade.

Trust? Respect?

He had never imagined those words could apply to him. Yet here he was, walking beside someone who saw him as more than a tool, more than a monster - someone who had risked her life for his, who had called him worthy.

Astarion couldn't help but breathe deeply, feeling the tightness in his chest slowly loosen as he accepted the truth of Ishta's words. A slow, determined smile spread across his face as he contemplated the challenges that lay ahead for them in the coming days. The battle against the Goblin horde may be a daunting prospect, but Astarion's eyes gleamed with savage anticipation as one certainty settled in his mind:

With Ishta by his side - the enemy didn't stand a chance.

Well... if he didn't have feelings for her before this, he certainly does now. And yes, the Vampires in my stories can and do breathe (but don't need air to survive) and have a heartbeat (albeit an extremely slow one) It's too fustrating as a writer to describe the emotions of a character without involving breath and heartbeat as indicators.

#baldurs #baldursgate3 #dnd #dungeonsanddragons #astarion #astarionancunin #astarionfanfic #astarionromance #astarionxtav #friendstolovers #slow burn #partnersincrime #spawn astarion #vampires

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geekusfemme · 11 months ago

Text

Conscience

The cool night air enveloped Ishta like a soothing embrace, but it was only temporary. Her steps were unsteady and she felt as if she were walking on shifting sand. The night was quiet except for the distant sounds of Goblins preparing for battle and the crackling of the campfire.

She wiped the sweat from her forehead, but it returned almost instantly, stinging her eyes and making her feel like she was drowning in her own body.

And then she heard it - a wet, rattling cough that sent a shiver down her spine. Turning towards the treeline, she saw Astarion hunched over, his body wracked with convulsions. Even in the darkness, she could see dark stains of blood on his pale hands and spatters on the ground with each heave.

She froze for a moment, her heart clenching at the sight of him in such a state, before silently making her way over to him. When Astarion finally noticed her presence, his eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and fear that made her hesitate. He tried to straighten up, but the effort left him trembling, his usually poised form now shaky and unsteady.

"Leave... me the hells... alone!" he managed to rasp out, each word punctuated by another cough that racked his body.

Ignoring his words, Ishta took a step closer, her gaze never leaving his face. "Talk to me, Astarion," she urged softly, trying to keep her own unease at bay. "Let me help you."

Astarion's breath came in ragged gasps as he struggled to hold himself upright. "I feel awful," he muttered, one hand pressed against his forehead as if trying to hold his skull together. "My head is pounding, my teeth are loose, and I can barely see straight."

The unfiltered honesty in his words hung heavy in the air. Ishta nodded slowly, her own throat tight with fear. "Me too," she whispered, barely audible.

Astarion's gaze held hers, filled with dread and desperation. "This is it, isn't it?" he said, voice trembling. "The beginning of the end."

Ishta watched Astarion's already pale face turn even whiter, his breath hitching and his body doubling over in another violent coughing fit. She could see the strain on his face, one hand clutching at his chest while the other gripped onto a nearby tree for support. Blood flecked his lips, the sight of it stark against his ashen skin. When the fit finally subsided, he looked up at Ishta with wide, pleading eyes.

In that moment, Ishta saw a raw vulnerability in him, a desperate need for her to have all the answers and make sense of the chaos unraveling within them. The weight of his unspoken plea settled heavily on her shoulders, and she found herself wishing she could give him the reassurance he sought.

Straightening as much as he could manage, Astarion asked the question that neither of them had an answer for: "What are we going to do?"

Ishta's shoulders slumped and she shook her head. She couldn't find the words to offer any reassurance because she had none to give. "I don't know," she admitted with a dry mouth, her resolve wavering. "I've faced many monsters before, but this... this is one I can't slay with a bow or sword."

A bitter laugh escaped Astarion's lips before it was cut short by another fit of coughing. He pressed a hand to his chest, wincing in pain as he struggled to catch his breath. "I won't lie...I'm almost ready to take Raphael up on his offer," he gasped, dark humor lacing his words. "The problem is... I have no idea how to contact him. How does one summon a devil exactly? Do I need candles? Entrails?" Despite his attempt at covering up his fear with angry sarcasm, his voice betrayed him with its shaking panic.

As if in response, a sudden coughing fit ripped through Ishta's body, sending her crashing to her knees. The world seemed to tilt dangerously as she struggled for breath, her vision swimming. When she brought her hand to her mouth, she felt warm and wetness on her fingers. Looking down, she saw the smear of blood on her palm, her stomach lurching at the sight.

Astarion's eyes widened in alarm, his anger dissipating as he rushed to her side. He knelt beside her, his hand hovering uncertainly before finally settling on her shoulder. "Ishta," he whispered softly, the edge in his voice replaced by genuine concern that was almost painful to hear.

She looked up at him with weary eyes, her breath coming in shallow and ragged bursts. "You are free to do what you want, Astarion," she said, her voice trembling with exhaustion and resignation. "But please, you promised to do something for me first."

Her hand fumbled at her belt, fingers grasping for the cold metal of her dagger. With a swift, practiced motion, she pulled it free, the blade glinting in the dim light like a sliver of ice. Astarion's eyes widened with understanding as he realized her intentions, instinctively pulling his hand back as if the sharp edge might bite him.

"I'd love to, darling, but my head is spinning," he said, his voice faltering as he struggled to maintain his usual facade. "I wouldn't know which of you three to stab. Find someone else to kill you."

"Please," Ishta whispered urgently, desperation clawing at her insides. "I don't have the strength to do it myself."

With trembling hands, she guided Astarion's fingers around the hilt of the dagger, positioning it over her chest. The sharp point pressed lightly against her skin, a cold contrast to the raging fever burning through her body. Their eyes met in a moment of shared understanding and pain. "One good thrust to the heart, remember?" Ishta reminded him, her voice barely audible.

Astarion's breath hitched, his grip on the dagger unsteady. His face twisted in anguish, the mask he always wore now fully shattered. "You can't be seriously asking me to do this," he choked out, his voice breaking, the words filled with a sorrow that cut deeper than any blade.

"Please," Ishta begged, her voice barely audible, her strength waning fast. "I don't want to become a monster again."

Astarion's entire body tensed, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps as he tried to summon the will to do what she asked. His fingers tightened around the dagger's hilt, his knuckles turning white with the effort. He began to mutter under his breath, a desperate litany of words meant to convince himself. "It's easy, I've done this plenty of times. I can even do this in my sleep."

But as he stared at the shaking blade, his eyes flicked up to meet Ishta's with a look of confusion etched into his features. "Why can't I do this?" he asked, his voice filled with frustration and bewilderment.

Despite the direness of their situation, Ishta couldn't help but let out a soft groan that turned into a weak smile. "Of all the times for a Vampire to develop a conscience, you had to pick now."

Astarion's lips twitched slightly, a wry smile forming on his face as he, too, recognized the irony of their predicament.

For just a fleeting moment, their shared amusement was a glimmer of something almost like normalcy amidst the chaos. But before they could fully savor it, both of them suddenly clutched their heads, and a searing pain ripped through Ishta's skull.

It was blinding, overwhelming, and before either could react, they collapsed to the ground, darkness swallowing them whole in its merciless embrace as the dagger slipped from Astarion's grasp.

Mr Squidface Emperor, you have impeccable timing sir. That was a close one...

I really wish Larian had kept this EA interaction in the game.

#baldurs #baldursgate3 #dnd #dungeonsanddragons #astarion #astarionancunin #astarionfanfic #astarionromance #astarionxtav #friendstolovers

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