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ghost-proofbaby · 7 months

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She knows him. She doesn’t know how or why. But she swears it on her life, she knows this pale elf. She can’t explain the echoing hollow ache that rings out at the up-close sight of him any other way. She knows him, knew him, and had somehow lost him.

summary: aruna meets gale. aruna meets shadowheart. but, somehow, none it matters - they're not astarion, and she's beginning to think this astarion doesn't exist.

wc: 5.3k+

warnings: continued memory loss, more canon violence/gore. a lot of gameplay recount. spoilers for the game below (act 1, ravaged beach).

a/n: anyone else fail that perception check when meeting astarion? just me? that's cool. i can't even be mad when a pretty boy holds a knife to my throat. also, if some of this isn't 100% game accurate/lore accurate, do not come for me. we're here for a good time! not an accurate time!

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Aruna and Astarion. Astarion and Aruna. Aruna – Astarion.

She echoes the two names in her mind an impossible amount of times. The one name, her name, clicks right into place for her. It makes sense. Her name is Aruna, there’s not a single doubt within her regarding that. And even if there had been, she’s already laid claim to it – she’s already introduced herself to the two strangers she’d managed to stumble upon on the beach as such.

Shadowheart and Gale. Kind souls, a bit guarded but fair given the circumstances. They share a common affliction, one that Aruna hadn’t even noticed in the daze of her awakening on the beach – a worm in their heads. Literally.

And she should be pondering more about how odd that is, all the squirming in her brain that she can feel, the way that she managed to connect telepathically with both of these strangers upon running into them, but she isn’t.

Because, apparently, according to this mysterious letter addressed to her, she’s supposed to save Astarion. And neither of them are Astarion.

Who the hell is Astarion?

Maybe it could be one of her new companions; either of them could have lied regarding their name easily. But she had seen into their minds, and they had proven trustworthy so far. Hell, Gale was even offering to cook some sort of dinner for all of them in their current makeshift campsite they had chosen. A clearing in the edge of the woods, not too far from the beach, but certainly not wandering any further than necessary into the unfamiliar grounds they’ve found themselves crashed onto. They’d snagged some bedrolls out of random chests discarded by the crash (they had all doubted the previous owners were even still alive), made a makeshift fire pit in the center of the clearing, and declared it home – for now.

It didn’t feel like home. Felt the furthest from home Aruna could have possibly been, and she didn’t even remember where her home was. Or if she had one before all of this.

“What have you got there?” Gale asks casually from where he stands over the dinner he was scrounging together, pulling Aruna away from all her stubborn thoughts.

They had turned one of the fallen trees into a bench of sorts. Waist level and the perfect place for him to carefully cut up mushrooms they had found along their way with a stolen knife they’d secured. It was the beginnings of a home, gut feelings aside.

“Hm?” Aruna hums, looking up from her palm, closing it on instinct, “What?”

Gale stops all movement, eyes narrowing in her further at her closed fist, “The stone you’re holding. Did you find it during our travels?”

Ah. The stone. One of two items she had found in the mysterious pouch on her body. She’d been mindlessly flipping it between her hands, fingers sliding over the smooth surface as she had studied it. Her investigation had proven half useful when she’d realized there was a carving on the flattest surface of the stone – a crescent moon, just like one of her daggers.

She could be honest. But for some reason, she feels protective over the stone. Especially after noticing that carving, “Oh, yeah. Saw it on the side of the road and it looked pretty unique. I’ll probably toss it away when we start back up on the road tomorrow.”

Like Hells will I be letting it out of my sight.

She doesn’t know much, frustratingly so, but she knows that this unusual stone is not the kind you would stumble upon on the road. Gale clearly knows as much as well, looking entirely unconvinced as they suddenly stare each other down in silence.

He’s giving her an opportunity to be honest. As if she owes him the truth.

“It’d be a shame to get rid of such an… unique stone.”

It would be. And he clearly believes it’s far more than a stone. But it only makes her fingers curl far more tightly around the opal, feeling the rough edge of the moon pressing into her skin.

“Maybe I’ll sell it,” she shrugs, trying to put up an act of indifference, “It looks pretty enough to earn a decent amount of gold, right?”

As if to prove her point, to further sell this careless act, she lets her hand fall back open. The moon carving is safe against her palm and out of sight, and the stone glimmers in the moonlight.

“Looks like it would be worth more than just a bit of gold,” Gale says, taking a few steps closer to get a better look. On instinct, Aruna nearly bristles. “That- Are you aware of what that is-”

“Is dinner done?” Shadowheart interrupts with perfect timing. Her distraction lets Aruna quickly move to shove the stone away back into her pouch, having no interest in some sort of lecture from Gale.

She doesn’t know what it is. But it’s hers, and his hungry eyes on the small artifact are enough to tell her to keep it far away from him.

“Pardon me?” Gale blinks a few times, taking longer than a normal person might to register Shadowheart’s questions. He’s still focused on Aruna’s hand that now rests emptily against her lap. “Oh! Oh, no. Not quite. Sorry, my hungry friends. Just a few more minutes. It won’t be much but, it’ll be something. Excellent fuel to continue our search for a healer tomorrow, I assure you.”

Shadowheart says something more as she takes a seat on another makeshift bench they’d set up, and Gale responds with ease this time, but Aruna has tuned them both out.

He’s probably right. Tomorrow, they need to find a healer. She needs to worry more about the worm in her head. She needs to reassess her priorities.

But it’s awfully hard when not only that stone, but that letter burns a hole in her pack, and she’s dreadfully aware that as kind and oddly trusting these people have been given their current situation, neither of them are Astarion.

And the letter said to save Astarion. Not Shadowheart, not Gale, not even herself. But Astarion.

—

“So, what were your lives like before this entire mess and impending doom of ceremorphosis?”

Gale is a chatty traveling companion. Aruna learns this quickly when they wake the next morning and gather their packs, and she’d even had half the mind to begin a map of sorts so she can mark their camp and the surrounding areas they’ve already explored on it. All her sketches, trees and scribbles to depict the Nautiloid crash, are abysmal at best. But it’s something. If they can just be smart, if they can just be aware of their surroundings, they might be able to continue to call their perfect clearing home.

Besides, none of them really wanted to continue to carry every single thing they had gathered thus far in their packs.

Whatever they left surely is at risk of being found by others wandering, and they could be robbed blind of any supplies left behind, but Aruna is just glad for the lack of an ache in her back as she adjusts her pack.

Shadowheart nearly trips over her steps, as if not expecting the question and clearly panicking over what to say, but Aruna decides to speak up first.

“I can’t remember,” she says plainly, monotonous as she continues to confidently stride forward. They’re nearly back to the main path they had discovered, and something is tugging her back in the direction of that damned beach.

Shadowheart trips again, and this time, Aruna truly can’t tell if it’s due to shock or simply not watching where she was going in her effort to keep up.

“What?” Gale chuckles under his breath, as though Aruna’s told a joke. He’s keeping pace with her fairly impressively, “I know this entire journey thus far has been fairly startling, but a symptom of ceremorphosis is not memory loss. Surely, you remember at least where you’re from.”

“I don’t,” Aruna finally slows, letting Shadowheart fall into place on her right as she faces Gale, “I… I have no memories from before the ship. I must have just hit my head exceptionally hard, or maybe that worm is digging around in places in my brain that it isn’t in yours.”

It’s a bold show of trust. She should feel more resistance towards laying out her troublesome internal quarrel so plainly to Gale, but she doesn’t. It’s almost as easy as fiddling with her daggers by the campfire, or mindlessly flipping around that stone in her pack.

She should trust him, shouldn’t she?

Yes, something screams inside of her. The thing she felt locked up inside of her finally finds its voice, it seems, as it calls to her, you should trust him. Trust him with all that you have.

The issue, of course, is that Aruna doesn’t have much. Material-wise nor of internal self.

She has daggers. She has a pretty stone. She has a tarnished ring. She has a name. She has instructions to save Astarion, whoever that elusive bastard may be.

She doesn’t have much to offer. To trust with.

“How very interesting,” Gale murmurs as he looks at her with nothing but unbridled curiosity, “Well, as I said, it’s not a symptom of ceremorphosis. As far as I’ve read, at least.”

Aruna eyes him wearily, instinct to trust be damned, “Yes, you seem to do a lot of that.”

He throws his head back in a laugh and- why does it pull on her heartstrings like something of recognition? Why does something about this very moment all feel so familiar?

The deja vu nearly makes Aruna sick, Gale completely unaware as he says, “Reading? Why, yes, I do. A hungry mind is crucial to surviving this world, I’ve found.”

Why is his laughter so familiar? Why does it spark a flicker of warmth in her chest, as though he’s some old friend she’s shared endless laughs with while gathered around a fire?

It terrifies her.

It was different, inanimate objects holding that flame of warmth and unlocking pieces of her. Daggers carved with nighttime symbols and a stone to match don’t scare Aruna; real people that she might have real history with do.

“I’m sure your hungry mind is very happy, then, having been fed a worm worthy of a feast,” she tries to say it snappily, but it still all comes out a bit flat.

And Gale only laughs more – Gods, she wishes he would stop, so that the waves of a memory she can’t catch will finally recede – and it’s clear he’s not affected by her defenses.

He finally tilts his eyes back forward, trained on her, a ghost of a smile still lingering, “Ah, well, not quite. I prefer feasts of words, of knowled-”

“You know what else is crucial to surviving this world?” Shadowheart interrupts, shifting her weight from one foot to the other in a clear sign of her losing patience, “Finding a healer, and getting rid of the worm. Shall we carry on?”

Aruna shares a final glance with Gale, and can’t help but also find the corners of her mouth twitching up, a mirror to his own. For the first time in several days, it almost feels as though she might have a friend. The exact opposite result of what she had intended by trying to be particularly sharp and even a bit sarcastic, but she doesn’t fight it.

Instead, she nods to Shadowheart, and Gale motions for her to take the front as he bows, “Lead on, as you were.”

Gale is not Astarion. She has no instructions to save him. And yet, she can’t help but feel her defenses are too weak, given the way he’s beginning to crack them with so few prods. Maybe his inquiry regarding her stone had been in genuine curiosity, a hungry mind as he had put it. Maybe he’s just trying to be friendly. Maybe he has good intentions after all.

Maybe she does know him, and maybe her letter had just forgotten to add another crucial reminder.

Maybe she’ll add it when she gets back to camp.

She can see it now, as if the words have already been solidified by pen to paper: P.S.S DO NOT FORGET TO FIND A FRIEND IN GALE.

—

Shadowheart is far from amused when Aruna leads them back to the beach. Yet, to be fair, it’s hers and Gale’s fault for following her so blindly.

She knows there’s no healer on the beach. But something is calling her back to it.

“The-” Shadowheart starts the moment the sand comes back into view. Trailings of sand mingle with the dirt below their feet, “We’re back on the beach? Haven’t we already established that there’s no healer on this ravished thing?”

“Good name for it,” Aruna whispers more for herself than her companions, considering adding that to her map when they retire for the night. She turns to face Shadowheart and forces a smile. A kind, disarming type of look in hopes that the girl will just trust her, “Call it a gut feeling. I just feel like we missed something here.”

“A gut feeling? We’ve already looted all the corpses. What more could there possibly be?”

“We only checked one side of the beach.”

“Yes, because to get to the other side, we’ll have to go through the damn crash rubble. Filled with those- those brain things.”

“There’s three of us. I have faith.”

“I-”

Gale’s head turns back and forth, bouncing between the arguing girls. He seems perfectly content to add any commentary, almost at ease with the current argument, until Aruna’s hand moves to her hip.

Aruna is quick to pull a dagger from one of her sheaths. Immediately, all relaxed state of being drains from Gale, him paling and stepping forward to finally insert himself between them, “Woah, now! I don’t think there’s any need to-”

“I’m not going to stab her, Gale,” Aruna huffs. Shadowheart doesn’t look very convinced as Aruna focuses on her once more, dagger still hovering up in their line of sight, “I was trying to make a point – we have weapons. Gale has magic. And you’ve said you’re a cleric, which means you can heal. I doubt those ‘brain things’ – devourers, by the way, is the correct term – will even lay a claw on us between all our varying skill sets. If you don’t want to go to the other side of the beach, then don’t. I can’t force you. But you’ve both put your faith in me this far, what harm can a little more do?”

The speech works. She doesn’t expect it to. She expects them to laugh at her, or walk away from her, or for Shadowheart to even start a proper fight.

They don’t.

They follow her right into danger, no hesitation. The wizard she’d saved from a portal in some cliff-side rock and the cleric she’d awoken on the beach when she’d stumbled upon her, faithful to her to a damaging fault. Even when the intellect devourers do attack, just as Shadowheart had worried they would, neither utter a single word so much as sounding like the well-deserved ‘I told you so’.

They just use their skill sets. The very ones Aruna had pointed out. Her daggers, Shadowheart��s cleric artillery, Gale’s infallible spells – they use them for all they’re worth, until each of those brains are unrecognizable on the ground.

And best (or possibly worst) of all, Aruna discovers something new about herself.

Her magic.

She hadn’t even been sure if she held any useful skills beyond being decently good with her daggers thus far, but as one of those brains had trampled towards her, she had felt it. A warm hum beneath her skin, erratic and wild as can be, begging for release.

Release it, she did. The final brain falls from the power of the fire bolt that flies from her fingertips, not even leaving her so much as marked.

Gale notices immediately, Shadowheart still scoping out the area for any more enemies.

“A fellow magic wielder, it seems,” he grins, motioning vaguely to her hands, “Now, if only we knew what kind.”

What kind?

“If you have no memory of your life before the ship, I’m correct to assume you aren’t very knowledgeable in the boundaries of your magic, yes?” She hadn’t even realized she had said the thought out loud until Gale is in front of her, still rambling, a light of intrigue in his eyes, “There’s wizards such as yours truly,” he pauses, and motions over himself in flourish, “As well as warlocks. Those, however, usually answer to a patron. So unless you’ve had any strange callings to any great deities over the last few nights… well, it’s off the table, I suppose.”

“I haven’t,” she croaks, still looking down at her fingertips in shock. Magic. She still feels it now. Probably could have felt it this entire time, had she not been so distracted by the tadpole, the headaches, the memory loss. It’s fluid and tangible, something bursting through her veins for her taking, “I- What would that even feel like?”

“You’d know,” Gale says most assuredly, “Trust me. Besides, your patron probably would have already found you by now.”

“So, I’m a wizard?”

Gale is quick to shake his head as Shadowheart walks back over to them, “Not necessarily. It’s certainly an option, and would make you a magic wielder who learned their knowledge of the Weave through studies. But there’s also other possibilities – sorcerers, paladins, clerics. They all have the ability to wield some magic. Druids, too, although theirs are usually more of the healing nature. And, well… the nature variety in general.”

All words that make little sense to Aruna. She gives it a moment, waits to see if her muddled brain might catch up and offer her a little help in understanding, but it’s all in vain.

“I should know these things,” she whispers, so quietly that both Gale and Shadowheart have to lean in to hear her small tone. It’s the first time she’s openly shown such emotion with them – something like devastation, laced with frustration. The inability to remember, to know, as they do. “Even if my memories of my life before this evade me, I should know these things.”

Shadowheart speaks up in a tone unlike any other she had used on their journey, “They might still return to you yet, or there might be a greater reason for it all. Don’t give up hope.”

“And if they don’t return to you,” Gale interjects, the air of casualty returning to him as he gives a lopsided grin, “Well, I can always teach you about it all. I have books back at camp.”

“You have books?” Out of all the things just said, it was probably the most odd for Aruna to latch onto, but she still looks at him befuddled, “Where in the Hells did you just get… books on all this? Did you loot them off of-”

“Bag of holding,” he answers as though it was obvious.

Great. Awesome. A bag of holding. Because Aruna totally knew what that was.

“Let’s just keep moving,” she moves on, letting it go. Maybe she’ll take him up on his offer, maybe she won’t. If anything else, she’ll just inquire more about whatever the Hells a bag of holding is later on, back at camp, “I can see the other side of the beach over there.”

It’s Shadowheart and Gale’s turn to exchange a look, and slowly but surely, it’s feeling as though more than just the tadpoles in their mind are connecting them. Threads are being spun, small connections that are painfully mundane yet easily connecting these three strangers. They could all be friends, if they really wanted to. It might even make their survival a little bit easier. It might make their travels a little lighter.

Aruna can worry about friendship once she’s found Astarion, though. The faceless stranger mentioned in passing on a letter, the one person she’s been tasked with saving.

She doesn’t even know who he, or she, or they are. This mysterious name – it really means nothing to her. All she has to reasonably cling to it is that ridiculous letter. If she were to confide in her two companions about it, she’d probably get an earful, and truly be abandoned. They wanted to seek out a cure to the imminent danger within their heads, and she was sending them on a wild goose chase for Astarion.

Does this Astarion even have a tadpole as well? Is that how she’s meant to save them? And if they don’t, does that mean that they’ll help her with her issue first, and then she saves them?

Does she have to save them in order to rid herself of the tadpole?

It’s all giving her a headache by the time their group of three is slowly walking up the slope of the sliver of beach they’ve discovered, taking small yet sturdy steps along the side of the crashed ship. Gale, thankfully, has stopped his nervous rambling (because, Aruna realized, that’s what it was. His nerves, controlling his tongue endlessly, trying to fill the dreadful silence for even the smallest bit of comfort. It almost makes her feel bad for being grateful for the quiet).

She must have been thinking about her questions hard enough for some mysterious power out in the Universe to hear her, however. Because they’d hardly been walking for a few minutes, she’d hardly been left to all her confusion and cursing of the damn name for such little time, when she sees him.

Him. Decent height, pure white hair, pale skin that is nearly blinding in the harsh sunlight.

Him. With eyes so red, she can see them from this distance. They almost match the shades of crimson that haunt her nightmares.

Him. Who is currently, pathetically, calling out for help.

“What the-” Shadowheart begins. And Aruna doesn’t notice it, but she starts to reach out to grab the elf by her elbow before she’s beginning to dart up the hill, falling right into the trap.

Both of her companions, Shadowheart in her guarded glory and Gale in his perpetual state of anxiety, can’t even stop her. Neither dare to breathe out a word as she approaches the pale elf, but she can feel their disapproval as she comes up beside him.

“You,” he breathes out, half crouched, eyes darting towards the bushes, “Hurry. I’ve got one of those brain things cornered,” he turns and points towards the bushes, assuming where the said brain thing has been lured, “There, in the grass. You can kill it, can’t you? Like you killed the others.”

She should have been smarter. She should have been more perceptive. She should have heard Gale’s deep breath as he prepared to warn her against getting any closer.

But she wasn’t.

She’s a damned fool, a lamb to the slaughter, as she nods and whispers out an immediate, “Of course.”

There’s no brain thing that has been cornered. The only thing that has been lured is Aruna; one moment, she’s leaning in to get a closer look into the bushes, and the next, a wild boar is skittering out.

That’s not what catches her off guard.

The blade to her throat is what does it. Quickly, with unsettling ease, before she feels the elf’s arms wrapping around her and bringing them both down to the ground.

Oh, fuck me.

He has her trapped. She knows it, he knows it, and both her companions know it. She was an idiot and got exactly what was coming for her.

All her survival instincts kick in immediately, causing her to trash in his arms, a painful whine coming out as she can feel the cold metal digging deeper into the delicate skin of her neck.

And all the pale elf does is shush her gently, “Sh, sh, sh, sh. Not a sound. Not if you want to keep that darling neck of yours.”

His words do little to deter her. He starts to argue with her companions who have finally come to their senses, keeping a safe distance all while spilling out carefully calculated threats to the stranger, but she can’t hear them over the blood rushing in her ears. One hand feebly grabs onto his that is wrapped around the hilt of the dagger, the other reaching for his elbow. She tries to tug the weapon away from her, but he’s strong. It’s a fruitless battle.

Aruna swears she hears Shadowheart insist she needs her alive. Gale saying something regarding the way he’ll make the elf regret it if he brings Aruna any harm. She can’t be sure.

The longer his steady grip on her shoulder lingers, the more familiar it begins to become. His leg, trapping both of hers so that she can’t kick out of his grasp, is also familiar. Familiar, familiar, familiar.

His lips are moving as he stares up at her companions, but it’s only once his eyes narrow back on Aruna that her heart slows and she can hear him properly once more.

“Now,” he nearly purrs, voice low, dangerous, “I saw you on the ship, didn’t I?”

She presses her lips together tightly, still trying to maintain her struggle to get out of his grasp. Her teeth grit from the effort, arms shaking violently.

“Nod,” he commands, nearly condescendingly, and synapses fire off in the darkest corners of her brain.

I know that voice.

She almost feels as though she has no control over her body as her head nods on instinct, blade dropping from her neck to her chest now.

“Splendid. And now, you’re going to tell me what you and those tentacled freaks did to me.”

I know that voice.

The same thing deep within her chest that had unfurled at the sight of Gale’s laughter, that had called her to the beach, that had lit up with recognition at the sight of her daggers – it’s wide awake now. Staring through her eyes at his own rubies, tracing every outline of every wrinkle, every curve, every imperfection. She knows his voice. She knows him.

It weeps at the sight of him, and she has no idea why. The same strings that clench when she reads over her letter, when she let her eyes trace over the words ‘My dearest Aruna’ and the heavily underlined name of Astarion, are now pulled taut.

She knows him. She doesn’t know how or why. But she swears it on her life, she knows this pale elf.

She can’t explain the echoing hollow ache that rings out at the up-close sight of him any other way. She knows him, knew him, and had somehow lost him.

Her lack of an answer clearly irritates him, but he’s cut off by whatever quip he had perched on his tongue by the sudden connection. She doesn’t understand it, whether it be due to the new rolling thunder of the most intense deja vu she’s experienced yet or if it were a simple side effect of the tadpole, but each connection via the tadpole has become more painful. More intense.

She’d first noticed the difference between it happening with Shadowheart versus Gale.

And now, she notices it an impossible amount with this stranger.

It’s nauseating as their minds connect, sharp and quick as if their two brains had been laying in wait for this very moment. It feels as though it goes beyond the tadpoles, beyond their shared affliction and terrible predicament.

She sees bustling taverns and lively night streets, yes, but there’s something more there. Something missing. She’d felt it with Gale as well, an emptiness neither of them could seemingly unlock. But with this one, it’s far more intense than it had been previously. Like gaping wounds being presented to her, interspersed with the exchange of both his memories and… well, the lack of hers beyond the Nautiloid ship, she sees gaps. Spaces to be filled. Questions to be answered.��

I know that voice, the thing in her whimpers, I know this man.

She doesn’t even care to hold onto the memory. She lets it slip away, wishing the pain would, too.

But it lingers.

Not just for her, but for him as well. His grip entirely loosens on her as he winces, a soft gasp falling from his lips as he begins to question, “What was that-”

She doesn’t care to listen to his question. In an instant, she’s pulled away, rolling out of his reach before standing steady on both feet. The pain leftover from the connection fuels her as she holds a hand out, and her magic thrums steadily with her heart as electricity crackles in the palm.

Neither Gale nor Shadowheart make a single move as she holds out that palm, watching the elf’s every moment as he also rises to meet her. But he’s no longer hostile, hand holding his dagger now limp as he lets it rest at his side.

“You’re… not one of them,” he says slowly, shame briefly flickering over his features before being replaced with something more despairing, “They took you. Just the same as me.”

Her fingers shake in front of her as blue bolts continue to flicker amongst them, forming spasming webs between her knuckles. She could obliterate him, if she wanted. Right here, right now, she finally has the upper-hand.

But she doesn’t. And in her hesitation, she can see him still reeling just as she was from their connection. She swears she can hear the pounding in his head syncing to hers, perfectly in time with one another.

The thing inside her claims to know him, but she doesn’t even know his name.

I know him. Don’t hurt him.

She sort of hates that internal dialogue. That true monster inside of her that had been the reason she hadn’t hesitated in her running to his rescue. It was the reason that she’d ended up with a knife against her throat, and she’s praying it’s not the reason for her death as she listens and closes her hand into a soft fist, releasing the hold on her magic momentarily.

He watches her do it. His face relaxes, a charming smile gracing it now instead.

“And to think, I was ready to decorate the ground with your innards. My sincerest apologies.”

She highly doubts just how sincere that apology is, but she’s unphased all the same.

“Apology accepted,” she sighs, swiping her palm on the side of her now dirty pants. Somewhere beneath the dust she’s now covered in, there’s blood from the intellect devourers, but that’s a problem for tonight. Not now, “I would have done the same thing.”

No, I wouldn’t have. From the very first moment I saw you, all I wanted to do was help. Every instinct in me screamed to help you.

She’s lying, but she really doesn’t care that she’s lying. He has a tadpole. He can join them. She doesn’t care.

Back in the forefront of her mind, even ahead of the damned tadpole and the need for a healer, the need to keep them all alive, her brain is back to whispering of this Astarion. The quicker she carries out this predictable conversation, the quicker they can get back on the road. And the quicker she can find whoever Astarion is-

“I’m out of wine and flowers, so I hope an introduction will suffice,” his blood-red eyes meet hers, and something in her gut twists. As if she already knows. As if she’s just realized that she’s missed the obvious. “My name is Astarion. I was in Balder’s Gate when-”

Astarion. Save Astarion. Astarion.

All the breath leaves her lungs as she interrupts, “You’re Astarion?”

#if it's out of character choose to look away man idk what to tell you #my writing #ghost's stories #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #astarion romance #astarion fanfic #it is what it is #they've met but at what cost #the moon will sing #it'll get better as we dig into the plot scout's honor #(i was never a boy scout)

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