#but astarion needs convincing that he has anything worth loving | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

avocado-writing · 3 months

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I love love love your bg3 writing so much. I'm so glad i found your blog.

if you're comfortable writing about marriage, could you write the companions (minus lae'zel) reactions to a githyanki Tav proposing? like, Tav has done research into material plane customs and what marriage entails and has decided they want that with their love.

thank you if you do!! ♡♡♡

Astarion

A little baffled when he sees you get down to one knee so sincerely, thinking you can’t possibly be about to propose. That’s not a thing githyanki do is it? Gods, he should have asked Lae’zel…

Eyes widen when you produce the ring. Dead heart skips.

Is utterly bowled over that this is happening. That anyone would think he was worth proposing to, especially wonderful you.

You start a spiel about why you think you’d be a spouse he should consider, usual githyanki directness, and he cuts you off - “you don’t need to convince me, my sweet. The answer is yes. It’s always yes.”

You slide a ring onto his finger and he watches the way it sparkles.

You must have saved up for ages. He never thought he’d be deserving of something like this, but is going to try and see himself through your eyes from now on.

Gale

As you drop to a knee, he’s sorting through every piece of information in his head that he knows about githyanki, because you can’t possibly be about to —

Just stares for a moment when you bring out a ring. He sees your brow furrow.

“you are displeased.” Him, quickly, “no, no! Far from it! I’m just… surprised.”

”why would you be surprised, Gale? You are the most treasured thing in my life, and I believe this is how people in Faerûn seal that bond.”

He’s reduced to speechlessness at your sincerity. All he can do is nod and put on the ring, allowing you to scoop him up in your arms and kiss him over and over ❤️

Karlach

The second you drop to a knee she says yes.

“Karlach I believe I am meant to ask the question first—” “sorry, I got overexcited! do it properly then.”

”… will you marry m—“ “YES”

She grabs you and pulls you into her embrace, holding you in a bridal carry and kissing you deeply.

“Would you like to see the ring?” “There’s a ring too?!”

She’s so happy, man. You’re certain you’ve never made a better decision in your life.

“I researched into what gem would be preferred in a ring, and measured your gloves to get the size correct.” “You did all this for me? 🥹” “Karlach, you are worth moving the stars for.”

She goes around the camp showing off her ring. She can’t stop smiling all day ❤️

Shadowheart

Raised eyebrows when you kneel.

“Hmm, I wasn’t aware that githyanki knew of marriage.” “I didn’t. I read up about it. But I suppose if you’re against it—“ “no no, I didnt say that…”

Smiles when you drop to a knee again, pretends to be coy in her answer, but she knows she’d never say anything but yes.

You lay there with her that evening as she discusses all of the intricacies of planning a wedding, her hand tangled in yours, going into great detail about what she wants. Her face hurts by the time she falls asleep because she’s been grinning all day.

Wyll

He is so utterly surprised when you propose — but not for any untoward reason.

“Wait right there!” his face is so excited when he runs back into his tent, and when he re-emerges he has a ring box in his hand too.

“oh… is it custom for us both to have a ring when proposing?” “No, my darling. It’s just fortuitous luck that I was going to propose to you, too.”

“I see. So is your answer yes, then?” “Of course my love. A thousand times.”

You smile widely, and the two of you exchange rings, before he reaches over and kisses you sweetly.

Halsin

Is happy, but also wants you to know you don’t have to do this. That proposal might be a custom of this plane but if you aren’t certain, it isn’t something you have to do.

“I want this, Halsin. I have done my research thoroughly. I can think of nothing more joyous than being married to you. I do not enter into the lightly, and I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

He smiles so widely it threatens to crack his face in two. Lifts you in his arms and gives you a passionate kiss, assuring you that he will make you happy for the rest of his days.

Can’t stop looking at the ring on his finger. He’s an old elf, but he’s never felt more treasured in his life.

Minthara

Smirks. She knew this was coming.

Doesn’t say much, but confirms “you made the right choice. Yes. I will marry you.”

She scrutinises the ring as you slide it on your finger, but seems content. She keeps glancing down to how it reflects the light.

Proves just how pleased she is later that night in bed 😏

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bg-brainrot · 2 months

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WHaBFHtLA - Astarion x GN!Reader - Chapter 8: Who You Have Become

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Elf!Tav)

Genre: Reincarnation, Angst, Mystery, Slow burn

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Canon-Typical Violence, angry Astarion, threats

WC: 2.8k words, 8/?? chapters

Summary: You try to learn more of who Astarion's become, while also trying to convince him of who you were.

A/N: Tav is trying their best in an unprecedented situation, but I’m afraid there’s no manual for “convincing your past-live’s lover that you’re who you say you are and also that you maybe possibly love him?”

Ao3 | [Ch7][Ch9] | WHaBFHtLA Masterlist

That night in Astarion’s mansion, in your former room, your reverie comes and goes more than usual. You dream of a life in which you were a blacksmith– this life always feels like one you received in moments requiring patience, when your mind needs a reset and a chance to temper itself. The majority of these memories were at the forge, your entire body hot, your emotions placid as you continued the repetitive motions. It’s meant to soothe you, but your night is tumultuous regardless.

You keep being jostled out of the memory, clutching at the blankets next to you, reaching out to nothing. You suspect your memories of the Hero's Life and this room are as deeply intertwined as that journal entry you read last night suggested. After more than four hours of horrendous rest, you wonder if staying in this room was perhaps meant to be a punishment.

When you finally give up on your reverie, you find that you have some of the calm required to think. You come to two conclusions. One, despite not recognizing the majority of it, you clearly lived in this house in your previous life. Two, this room’s decor, unlike the rest of the house, seems entirely untouched in the 150 years since your last life ended.

The room has some distinct features you recognize. You inspect the marred headboard, scratches from moments of passion etched into its surface. Then you note the wide window sill, big enough to sit both your past self and Astarion on its ledge– an ample reading nook. Recalling another, softer memory, you move toward the worn patch in the rug, where you and Astarion would sit in front of the fire and discuss the day’s events.

It’s a veritable treasure trove of your past together. And one that Astarion likely doesn’t use anymore. That thought leaves an ache in your chest, one that is quickly replaced by anxiety once you realize that he let you, someone whom he considers a complete stranger, into the room. It either means he’s verifying your claim or the room means so little to him that you’re just one of many, many guests here.

The idea that someone else has shared this bed with him makes you shudder a bit, but you shove the thought down. It’s been almost a century and a half since you died. Of course, he’d had to have other lovers, even if it meant using the most normal looking room in this ridiculous mansion, the only one with mortal comforts.

Considering that fact, it strikes you that you haven’t seen a single servant or any other soul in the house. You leave the room, only vaguely considering Astarion’s warning about trying anything, and begin searching.

You find an empty kitchen. An empty lavatory. An empty servant’s quarters. Finally, you find a distinctly not-empty library– Astarion, looking as immaculate as the night before, is reclining in an elegant chaise lounge, a large book in his hands.

He takes a moment to peer at you from above the book before turning back to it, as if deciding you’re not worth the effort of putting it down. You want to bristle at that, but, then again, to him you’re probably not. It’s odd, that thought. That you don’t matter to him any more than any other stranger who may have appeared on his doorstep over the past dozen or so decades. You’re just another in the possible parade of lovers and fanatics.

At least currently, he seems to be alone in this massive house. You wonder if you should ask about this when Astarion speaks, not looking up from his book. “I don’t have staff if that’s what you’re wondering. No need for cooking and the occasional help comes by to clean. If you’re in need of… a living person’s necessities before you leave, I'm afraid you’ll have to fend for yourself.”

You’re surprised to hear his voice has returned to its original, unamused annoyance from when you first showed up on his doorstep. Surprised, but not displeased. So you decide to ask him a question, “Why don’t you have housekeepers?”

His answer is short and simple, “I used to. It wasn’t worth it.”

Even though his tone is more civil, his words are still guarded and distant. You know you'll need to dig deeper to make any progress, so you prod a little bit more. “Were they too expensive for even a man of your means? You seem to be quite wealthy.”

“Oh I am,” he says with a bark of a laugh that holds no humor. Then he finally places the book closed on his lap and looks at you, eyes burning with that anger you saw the day prior, one you thought was rare on him. “I just don’t see the purpose in entrusting any part of myself to someone else.”

You’re not sure if the words are meant for you or your soul, but you sense that it’s a warning to you: Even if you are who you say you are, I’m not interested. As if he’s been burned too many times to try playing with fire again.

Unfortunately for him, your new self loves playing with fire. “I see. Well, since I entrusted my well-being to you, I’d like to thank you for the excellent lodging. I recognize that room, from my reveries,” you say, calmly. “It was our– your room together.”

Astarion nods with a small, wicked smile. “Right you are. What gave it away? The silly little mortal bits around the place?”

You’d prepared for this, whatever this was. “No, the fact that I recognized the marks on the headboard. The night you two created those together, well, let’s just say it was quite an exhilarating dream.”

Nothing of his facade cracks. He only tilts his head and continues to smile at you as he says, “Fascinating. I do wonder how you’re doing that.”

“Is it really that much easier to continue to ignore me than simply believe I am who I say I am?” You ask, unsure how much clearer you can be. How is it that offering him more specific memories only seems to make him more suspicious of you?

“Easier?” He scoffs. “Darling, this is anything but easy. At this point there’s not a chance in the nine hells that someone didn’t put you up to this. My question is: what is their purpose? And why send… you of all people?”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at yet another jab. “I don’t know what kind of people have shown up here after my previous life’s death, but I can let you know that they sound like a miserable sort.”

“I’m afraid you’re not looking any less miserable, my dear,” he says, tilting his nose up in an unsubtle dig at your current state. You do have a bit of yesterday’s travel wearing down on you, especially next to his flawless appearance.

So you just smile at him, with what you hope is a winning smile. “Duly noted. In that case, do you mind if I take a bath before I go?”

He stares at you with apprehension, as if not expecting you to actually leave once you’re done. “Very well, but don’t dally too long. Down the hall to the left.”

You nod, already aware of where the room is from your snooping. “Thank you.”

You bathe in peace, regrouping and contemplating your next course of action now that your memories of the room have proven fruitless. He said no magic, you think, a bit annoyed. You’d pulled out a few dream journals last night, but you have the sneaking suspicion that he may just light them on fire before so much as glancing their way. It’s almost like he’s afraid of me.

Why should he be afraid of me? A more rational part of you asks. He could kill me a dozen different ways before I even think of hurting him.

The emotional side of you understands what your rational side doesn’t. He’s not afraid of you killing him. He’s afraid of you hurting him. He may be afraid of even acknowledging who you are for fear of being hurt again.

You nod to yourself as you scrub. Yes, that makes sense. So how can I assuage his fears?

Every thought goes silent at that question, a true conundrum.

Sinking past the surface of the water, you hold your breath, fully submerge yourself and think.

When you next encounter him, it’s in what appears to be a study– a neat row of papers are stacked on a desk, quill and ink placed neatly above a writing area. You wonder if he’s corresponded a lot with any of your surviving companions or whether he has an entirely new life to worry about. You wonder who may even be alive to correspond with, other than Halsin.

Astarion seems deep in thought, sitting at the desk and reading a piece of parchment before he looks up at you, the intruder in his space.

“And?” he begins. “Are you here to bid me farewell? You really didn’t have to.”

“No,” you say. “You were right, I’m not very well behaved.”

He gives a genuine laugh, and you’re surprised to find your heart begin pounding in your chest. Oh his laugh is dangerous, you think. “I expected as much, whoever the hells you are. Well, it has been an interesting time having you. I can’t say that anyone has gone quite so far as you have. But the welcome? I’m afraid it’s been worn.”

You are enjoying this lighthearted humor much more than his anger or his apathy. However you’re not here to enjoy this, you’re set on figuring him out. “So have you had a lot of people show up at your doorstep, looking for something?”

His red eyes regard you for a moment, verifying the integrity of your question. Perhaps he’s already gotten used to you, because he answers you only a moment later. “Oh yes, at least once a week. The myth of the sad, reformed vampire with a horde of gold is too tantalizing to resist.” Astarion adopts a mocking tone as he continues, “All he needs is a loving hand, and he shall be all better– As if I wasn’t doing just fine on my own.”

“Are you on your own often?” you ask, a small bite of jealousy gnawing at you, urging you to ask the question.

“Certainly not as often as the rumors would lead you to believe,” he answers with a fanged grin, watching your face carefully. “Though I’m afraid I remain uninterested in anything you have to offer, even after your bath.”

You try not to let that sting. “I see,” you say, feeling your own forced smile wavering. “I suppose it works out for you then? Never in need of companionship or blood at that rate.”

“Quite right. I benefit, they benefit, and we all walk away happy.” The grin never leaves his face.

“How are you not more well known?” you ask, recalling your journey to get here.

His smile shifts a bit, as his brows furrow and finally his lips shut. “I suppose it’s because they think they still have a chance to be the one. The one who finally breaks through to the solitary vampire, and they would rather have less competition.” He laughs now, much more hollow than his laugh earlier. “And I suppose you believe that too, don’t you? Or at least whoever supplied you with information believes that. What do you think now that you’ve stayed the night?”

“I think Halsin was being a bit too kind when he called you eccentric,” you say, honestly. You’d seen memories with Astarion, felt the love he’d shared. Your heart breaks to think that that may not have mattered to him in the end.

Astarion seems to get annoyed at this though. “Halsin said I was eccentric? Tch. That’s rich coming from him. He’s just saying that because I refuse to go live with him in some rundown settlement. He can’t imagine someone would rather live alone in a life of luxury than surrounded by bodies in a hovel.”

Having seen the difference between both places, you feel the need to defend the settlement, “It was actually a really lovely place, certainly more welcoming than an empty manor.”

His red eyes narrow at you and you can all but see his hackles raise. He stands from his chair angrily. “In that case,” he says, words clipped. “Why don’t you leave already?”

“Maybe because I do think I’m the one,” you say, looking away from his burning gaze. The jealousy that’s been eating at you takes hold as you grumble the next part, “I certainly don’t plan on being another one of your revolving guests.”

Slowly, like a predator, he walks around the desk, and you look back to see him standing before you. “You act as if you know anything about me or my business,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “Even if you are who you claim to be, you know nothing about who I am now.”

He stalks out of the room, leaving you hurt and alone.

Once you’ve pulled yourself back together, you decide that your next attempt will be stronger. Less questions and more action. You can do this if you just stand your ground. So you wait a few hours for him to calm down, take notes on what you’ve learned so far, and muster all of your remaining courage for when you run into him again.

In order to facilitate that, you decide to just stand in his main hallway, like a spider waiting for its prey. It doesn’t take long to hear his soft, padded footsteps.

“You’re still here?” he asks, rolling his eyes as he strides down the hallway toward you.

“I am,” you say, walking right up to him, stopping him in his tracks. “I have to try again, so I apologize for my insistence. But I was your lover. I care.”

Astarion openly scoffs at this and the sneer that he gives you makes your muscles clench as if bracing yourself. “As if you could be my lover. They were a survivor, what are you? A pampered scholar, deigning to leave your little tower for a night of entertainment?”

That’s when you realize it, really and truly. No amount of convincing will make him see that you are the same person. Because you’re not. You’ve experienced countless memories, but you are an entirely different elf entirely now. You’re surprised by how little that bothers you– because despite it all, you still care, regardless of who you are. How then, can you make him see that a large part of you, perhaps all of you, cares for him beyond all reason?

“I’m not the same person,” you acknowledge, perhaps for the very first time in your life. “But I can’t help that they’ve shaped me into who I am today. And that they left me with this… impulse to come to you.”

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned about impulses, darling,” he says, walking into your personal space with a cold confidence. You find yourself taking a step back instinctively, against the wall of the hallway. “You can ignore them.”

“What if I’m tired of ignoring them?” you say, chin tilted up defiantly. You won’t let him frighten you, no matter how badly he wants to instill that fear. “What if I have spent the last century dreaming of you, and all I want,” you lift a hand up, approaching his face slowly but never quite touching. “Is to see if what links us is nothing more than a dream or if it’s something set in reality?”

In the blink of an eye, he grabs your wrist, pulling your arm above your head and pinning you to the wall. “ENOUGH,” he growls, fangs just inches away from your face. Your heart is pounding in your chest and the proximity of the man sends your brain incredibly confusing signals. Astarion must see the emotions flit through your face, because he bites out one last demand as his nostrils flare, “I’ve entertained your presence long enough. Leave.”

You’re surprised that despite the anger in his face, the underlying sadness is all that you can see.

“No.” You respond, resolute. You may not be able to convince him of who you are, but you know hope isn’t lost. You’ve seen them, the cracks in his facade. He’s not the big, bad vampire man he’s trying to make himself out to be, and you refuse to let him push you away.

Unfortunately, you don’t account for the fact that he doesn’t need to push you away. Astarion chooses to simply walk away himself. “Fine then. I will leave.” He releases his vice grip on your wrist and turns heel, stalking down the hall and out of your sight.

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whatacaitastrophe · 3 months

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Is It Over Now - Chapter 5

Previous Chapter

Chapter Song Inspiration: "Vertigo" - Griff

Chapter Warnings: none!

Spotify Playlist: Here

Chapter Notes: if you have read this fic, liked it, reblogged it, or left comments THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart. keep the comments coming bc i love hearing your feedback (and like tinkerbell, i need applause to live).

Chapter 5: You're Scared of Love, Well Aren't We All?

After well over two hundred years of living (so to speak), Astarion didn’t think it was possible for him to be surprised by anything anymore. He felt as though he’d seen it, done it, heard it, read it, written the book, and adapted the stage play. Perhaps his attitude towards the world makes him jaded, but who wouldn’t be after what Astarion has been through?

Though nothing, truly nothing, could have prepared him for the feeling of Fallon’s soft lips pressed against his. Once his shock subsides, Astarion gives into the kiss and presses his mouth back on hers with only a little bit of urgency. Like if he pushes her too far she might break. His hands move from Fallon’s shoulders to her hips, and Astarion pulls her body closer to his. Fallon’s fingers move into his curls, and the feeling of someone running their hands through his hair again sends a shiver down his spine. Gods, Astarion cannot even begin to remember how many times he’s imagined a moment like this with her.

Astarion isn’t the only person in this room who couldn’t help but flirt with everyone he encountered. Their friendship has always been a touch flirty, because that’s just how they both were. It was a game they’ve played since they met. They’d flirt, exchange playful smirks, and then Fallon would repeatedly deny her physical attraction to him. Of course, Astarion could tell from her body language and the way her heart picked up every time he bit her that it was a lie, but a physical attraction did not mean he ever had her heart.

No, her heart always belonged to Gale; and prior to the wizard’s shocking display of selfishness that day on the docks, Astarion always assumed that in order for Fallon to give someone her body, they had to lay claim to her heart as well. That theory was sufficiently debunked as soon as Fallon began drinking herself to death, fucking anyone and everyone she deemed the slightest bit worthy.

It’s this little reminder in his brain that brings the moment to a screeching halt, and any desire he feels for the woman in front of him is suppressed by Astarion’s own insecurities. “Fallon,” He pulls away from her, pushing Fallon back gently to put some space between them. “We can’t. I– I can’t.”

Astarion hates the look on her face when he denies her; the mixture of hurt and confusion only confirms his decision to put a stop to it before they go too far. “Why not?”

“Because you just nearly had a panic attack after hearing the name of another man.” he tries to explain it to her gently, but saying the words out loud also sends a surge of hurt and anger of his own through his body; both with Fallon for trying to use him in this way, and with himself for falling for it. “I know what you’re doing, because I’ve done it, and I have enough self-respect to not be reduced to the level of a nameless drow you’ll let take you in a damned alleyway.”

Self-respect that Astarion has now, largely in part to having met Fallon two years ago. She had been the one who showed him he was worth more than what Cazador forced him to do, who Cazador turned him into. Fallon was the one who single-handedly convinced Astarion not to complete the Black Mass, because she believed Astarion was stronger than that. That he deserved a better life, and he could be a better person. The words fall off of his tongue, and they’re much more bitter than he wanted them to be. How easy it still was for people to forget he does have a heart, even if it doesn’t beat anymore, and Astarion can’t help but resent Fallon a little bit in this moment for that, too.

Thankfully, he does not need to explain himself further, and Fallon takes another step away from him. She bites her lip, and Astarion hates that he’s the reason there are now tears forming in the corners of her eyes. It’s almost enough for him to give in and kiss her again, just to make those go away; but if he’s learned anything since meeting the elf in front of him, it’s that giving in won’t do either of them any good. Not when Astarion is pretty sure that sex with Fallon will mean much more to him than it will to her.

“You’re right. I’m– I’m sorry, Astarion. You don’t deserve that, especially after everything you’ve done for me.” Fallon breathes and her eyes begin desperately looking around the sitting room, eyes flitting to a new spot every few seconds as she tries to avoid looking at Astarion altogether. “I think I’m going to take a walk. Maybe I’ll go find Shadowheart and let her apologize.” Fallon brushes past Astarion, and guilt settles in his chest. “What? No, you don’t have to go. I’ll go. You’re the one who actually lives here.”

Fallon turns around as she walks and she finally looks Astarion in the eyes again. “It’s the middle of the day, Astarion. Where are you going to go?” She points out sadly, because he is indeed trapped here until the sun sets. Fallon turns back around, but when she gets to the door, she pauses again. Fallon looks over her shoulder at Astarion. “I hope you know that you do mean more to me than some nameless drow I fucked in an alleyway. As a person, as a friend, as anything else. I’m sorry if my actions made you think otherwise.

With that, she exits the suite and Astarion lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He goes over to the couch, sinking down onto it with a heavy sigh. He runs his hands over his face and through his hair. “Shit.”

~*~

The streets of Baldur’s Gate are bustling with people finishing their shopping for the Winter Solstice. In another lifetime, the Winter Solstice used to be Fallon’s favorite holiday. The decorations, the way mages and clerics across the city used their combined powers to make it seem as though the trees and buildings twinkled. Even during the years she spent Winter Solstice on her own, the general atmosphere was enough to lift her spirits. The last Winter Solstice hadn’t gone as she expected, having assumed she would be spending it in Waterdeep– not getting outrageously drunk with Rolan, Lia, and Cal at The Elfsong and then crying herself to sleep. She supposes this year won’t be much different other than the fact that she now has to attend a damn ball; and instead of getting outrageously drunk with the tieflings, it will be with Astarion.

Assuming Astarion doesn’t abandon her after the way she treated him just now. If he does, or if he decides that he no longer wants Fallon to join him on his journey to Asha, Fallon wouldn’t blame him at all.

Finding Shadowheart is rather easy, because if there is one thing Fallon knows about her friend, it’s that they both have a ball to attend in the coming days, and the silver-haired cleric likes to shop. The Facemaker’s Boutique is as busy as expected for this time of year, and Fallon is certain that Figaro and his staff are working overtime to fill all of the orders they’re receiving. Fallon offers the clerk at the main desk a small wave before walking deeper into the shop, where she finds Shadowheart being doted on by none other than Figaro himself. Presently, he has Shadowheart in a green, floor-length gown with long sleeves and an open back. The sleeves are sheer lace, and Fallon takes notice of the intricate details of moons and stars woven into the lace. The color compliments her hair and eyes, and Fallon doesn’t think there’s another word to describe her friend other than “radiant."

“Lae’zel is going to lose her mind when she sees you in that dress.” Fallon comments, announcing her presence to the room. Shadowheart looks up at her through the mirror’s reflection, and she looks incredibly relieved. Figaro turns to face her and makes an enthusiastic noise.

“Lady Fallon, dearest! It has been far too long since I’ve seen your face in my shop. You look malnourished. Are you eating? Lady Shadowheart, are you feeding her?” Hearing someone use the titles they all inherited after The Netherbrain was defeated is still strange to Fallon, mostly because the people she’s surrounded herself with as of late always forgo the formalities. The first time a staff member at The Elfsong called her “Lady Fallon,” she’d laughed and demanded they never use the title again.

“Malnourished is a bit dramatic, don’t you think, Figaro?” Fallon laughs lightly. The dwarf only rolls his eyes.

“Unfortunately, I’ve been out of the city for quite some time, so the responsibility of keeping Fallon fed and watered has fallen to other people.” Shadowheart’s eyes don’t leave Fallon’s, shining apologetically. Likely both for being gone, and for what she’d said earlier. “Figaro, sweetheart, could you give the two of us a moment? Fallon is also in need of a dress for this ball. Perhaps you already have something that’s gone unused that can be easily tailored? She’s been quite busy as of late, so I expect placing an advance order likely slipped her mind.”

“Yes, yes of course, Lady Shadowheart! In fact, I do. I started working on something a month or so ago at the request of Lord Astarion. I assumed you’d be in at some point this week to retrieve it. I’ll be back shortly.”

Fallon tries to push down the emotions that fill her at Figaro’s confession, but her reflection in the mirror suggests she’s doing a terrible job. The dwarf is barely out of the fitting room before Shadowheart is picking up her skirts and dashing towards Fallon and embracing her tightly. “I’m so sorry.” she apologies into Fallon’s hair before pulling back to look at her. “I’m so stupid, I shouldn’t have assumed you were doing well. You just seemed to be in such good spirits, so I thought– I’m so sorry. Did I say I’m sorry?”

“Yes, you said sorry,” Fallon chuckles and releases herself from Shadowheart’s embrace. “Besides, I forgave you the moment you were kicked out.”

Shadowheart rolls her eyes as she disappears behind the privacy wall in the room to change back into her regular clothes. “Yes, I’d planned to ask you what the hells that was about? Since when has Astarionion become so… protective?”

“Probably the moment he found me drunker than a kobold in a wine barrel, bent over a stack of crates in The Elfsong’s alleyway, being fucked by someone whom I couldn’t tell you what he looked like, even if he were stood in this room.”

Her friend snorts with laughter. “Well I suppose that’s one way to cope. Maybe not the recommended way, but…to each their own,” To each their own, indeed. “Is that the real reason he’s moved in with you as well?”

“Probably, even if he’d never admit it,” Fallon sighs. “Though, now that I’ve gone and done the most idiotic thing I could have possibly done, I imagine he’ll be moving out this evening.”

Shadowheart emerges from behind the divider with a puzzled expression. “What on earth did you do? Agree with me and tell him that he’s acting like your guard dog?”

Before Fallon can answer, Figaro returns with a gown of deep burgundy gown shimmering on his arm. She doesn’t need to try it on to know it’s beautiful. She exchanges looks with Shadowheart. There’s a softness in her friend’s eyes she usually reserves for Lae’zel, but a gesture that one could only describe as “romantic” was apparently an exception. All it does is make Fallon feel worse.

Fallon thanks Figaro as she takes the gown from him to try on. Once behind the divider Fallon truly takes a moment to observe the dress before taking it off the hanger, and she finds herself a little speechless. Beautiful seems too dull of a word to describe it and she sighs. “Oh, Astarion.” she mutters. Gods, what a mess she’s made. Carefully she removes the dress from the hanger and slips it on, grateful that Figaro handed it to her with the clasps already unfastened. When she emerges from behind the divider, Figaro and Shadowheart gasp. “A lot of things can be said about Astarion, but not one person can ever say he doesn’t have taste.” Shadowheart muses, awestruck.

Fallon steps onto the pedestal in front of the mirror, and a small gasp leaves her mouth once she properly observes herself in the mirror. The gown is entirely chiffon, and the skirts ripple down the floor with movement that one could only describe as liquid. Intricate lace flowers cover the bodice with a plunging v-neck that apexes just beneath her sternum, accentuating her full breasts. The sleeves are not actually sleeves at all, but a willowy cape that flows to the ground, wrapping Fallon in gossamer fabric. Figaro allows Shadowheart to fasten the back on his behalf, and when Fallon does a small turn to see it in the mirror, it just might be her favorite feature. The fabric is sheer, giving the illusion of an open back, but fastenings are covered by brilliant gemstones (Diamonds? They look like diamonds. Gods, she’s going to kill Astarion if they’re real diamonds) that run down her spine until just above her tailbone.

Fallon turns to fully face the mirror again and even she can’t help but stare in awe. Fallon doesn’t just look beautiful, she looks regal. Astarion doesn’t do anything unintentionally, and the statement this gown makes is loud enough that Fallon is certain everyone at the ball will hear it. Figaro moves past Shadowheart with pins in his hand and begins to scrutinize the dress more closely, looking for errors and pinning the places that need to be taken in and hemmed. “Well, I must say, I’m quite impressed. Lord Astarion mentioned he didn’t know your measurements so it was likely adjustments would be needed, but he managed to get pretty damned close,” Figaro muses. “I didn’t realize the two of you were involved.”

Fallon’s eyes fill with sadness and she looks at Shadowheart via the mirror. “We’re not.” Fallon knows it’s not enough of an explanation for her friend to figure out the “idiotic thing” Fallon had done, but Fallon hopes it gives her an idea. “My deepest apologies, Lady Fallon. In that case, you have a very good friend…and forgive me for saying so because it’s certainly not my place, but perhaps you should be romantically involved,” Figaro finishes pinning the bottom of the gown and stands up. “Alright, dearest, go ahead and change. I’ll have both of your dresses ready for you in two day’s time.”

Figaro bows deeply and exits the fitting room, and Shadowheart moves to unfasten the back of Fallon’s gown. “It really is gorgeous,'' she muses. “I’m honestly a little nervous touching these fastenings out of fear of ripping something…I think they might actually be diamonds.” Fallon shakes her head, she really might kill the vampire.

Fallon steps off the pedestal and walks carefully to the divider, not wanting to trip or accidentally unpin Figaro’s alterations. “Now, are you going to tell me what idiotic thing you’ve done or shall I be left to guess?” Shadowheart calls from the other side. Once she’s out of the gown, Fallon dresses again quickly.

“I kissed him.”

The silence in the fitting room is palpable, and when she emerges again to face Shadowheart, her friend is completely stunned. “I’m sorry, you did what?” Fallon shoots her a pleading look, silently begging her friend to not repeat her folly.

Shadowheart blows out a breath. “You know, Wyll told me he thought something might be going on, and after witnessing the two of you banter this morning I was inclined to agree…but now you’re telling me you kissed him, and you think he’s going to leave?”

“He rejected me, Shadowheart. He rejected me, and accused me of trying to use him for sex as a coping mechanism, because all I’ve done lately is use other people for just that.”

Shadowheart stares at her thoughtfully for a moment. “Well, were you?”

“Of course not. I don’t think so, anyway. He told me he was saying no because right before I kissed him I was fighting off a panic attack after hearing an ex’s name…but I wanted him.”

“Okay, well, as reasons go that’s actually pretty logical,” Shadowheart concedes. “But if you want him, then maybe you should just tell him so.”

Fallon gaze falls to the floor. “What if he doesn’t believe me?”

“Then he’s as stupid as your ex-boyfriend,” Shadowheart laughs. She’s never been one to mince words, and being with Lae’zel seems to have only made her more brutally honest. “I know what you’re going through isn’t exactly the same as what I experienced on our adventures, but it is possible to feel multiple feelings at once. You can have feelings for Astarion while also healing from what happened to you. You forget that Lae’zel and I didn’t bond until after we’d both been betrayed by people we loved. Sure, ours were goddesses, but yours left you to chase godhood. Having her by my side while I worked through it…well, it expedited my healing quite immensely.”

Logically these were all things Fallon knew, but her fears and anxieties tended to overrule her logic lately. Hearing someone else say it to her out loud, well, it made a difference. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re incredibly wise? You should be a cleric,” Fallon jokes, a smile blooming on her face. She pulls Shadowheart into a tight hug. “Thank you.”

Shadowheart kisses her on the cheek and pushes her towards the door. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. Now go home and tell that silly vampire how you feel.”

Fallon bids Figaro goodbye, thanks him for her gown, and exits the shop, desperately hoping that Astarion hasn’t left her yet.

~*~

When Gale enters his study, he does not expect to see Mystra sitting at his desk, nor does he expect to see a projection of Shadowheart and Fallon in an orb atop it. His heart skips a beat when he sees Fallon’s face. She looks weary, and there’s a dullness in her eyes he’s never seen before. Concern sparks through him immediately. “Mystra, what is this?”

“Just because you are a god now does not mean you can hide things from me so easily. After all, I gave you that power. I know you pine for her, your mortal ex-lover. I know you dream of her. That you often think of her when we make love,” Mystra muses darkly, her eyes daring Gale to disagree with her. “I have something I need to show you, Gale of Waterdeep. Something you must see.”

Gale watches in stunned silence as the orb in front of him plays back. Shadowheart and Fallon are discussing someone. Someone Fallon has romantic feelings for, and Shadowheart reassures her that she can have feelings for someone else and still be hurt by what Gale did to her. Gale frowns at that part. It’s not that he didn’t expect his choice to hurt Fallon in the moment, but he’d thought she would understand and come to accept it. Gale watches as Fallon embraces Shadowheart, and his entire body goes rigid when the cleric speaks again.

”Now go home and tell that silly vampire how you feel.”

Astarion.

“You see, Gale of Waterdeep? Your mortal lover has moved on. She is in the arms of another now, and there is no reason for you to pine for her any longer.” Mystra declares.

Gale’s blood boils. Gale hadn’t expected Fallon to wait for him, but he’d certainly hoped…but of all of the people Fallon could have moved on with, she chose fucking Astarion?

“You’re angry. Explain.” Mystra demands.

“Forgive me, Mystra, but I need to go to her. The vampire in question…he’s not who he claims. Fallon is yet another means to an end for him, and while I don’t relish in the fact that I broke her heart, I cannot sit idly by while he does the same.”

Mystra considers his request. “Part of being a god is letting the mortals make mistakes, Gale of Waterdeep. We cannot intervene at every turn. However…your happiness means a great deal to me. If intervening here will bring you happiness, and will bring your heart and devotion back to me, then so be it.”

He breathes a sigh of relief, and rushes forward to kiss his goddess deeply. It’s the most sincere kiss he’s given her since he ascended to godhood. “Thank you, Mystra, thank you.”

Gale swiftly departs from his study and returns to their bedroom. There’s an invitation he hadn’t noticed before, sitting on his bedside table. It’s an invitation to a ball, dated for two days from now. Tara must have delivered it last time she came to visit, and Gale scowls as he realizes Mystra must have withheld this from him. No matter. He had it now, and for the first time in six months, he’s allowed to leave Elysium.

“I’m coming for you, my love.” He whispers quietly.

Chapter List

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