#halstarion fic

[denimaww]

New Halstarion fic chapter out!

Chapter 6 of Desire flowers wherever it finds purchase out on AO3 now!

Summary: Astarion sets out to find ingredients to brew a healing potion for Halsin, who has a dire fever back at camp. Risking life and limb, and even worse, his pride.

Draft: “I can’t say it was an easy find, but Gale wouldn’t stop yapping about ‘great healing capacity’, so I didn't have much of a choice now, did I?” It was close enough to the truth, and far enough to save his pride.

Halsin gives him a look that makes Astarion want to melt into a puddle or bolt up and run, the intensity and warmth of it taking him wholly by surprise. It passes in a second, as Halsin tilts the flask up to drain its contents. He makes quick work of the bitter solution and exhales deeply as he pulls it away, but there’s still a bit left when he hands the flask back to Astarion.

[roguegrove]

halstarion wip

okay so i have been writing this for a little while, my first ever actual fanfic. annnnnd i have the beginning "done" and i was wondering if y'all would be so kind as to give it a little read and feedback, let me know if i am heading anywhere interesting?

ETA: i left half the fic out for like three minutes lololol sorry

astarion/halsin, pg at this juncture, definitely won't be at one point. very first draft, inspired by hozier's "first time"

summary: Canon-led look at a relationship between Astarion and Halsin, exploring further, following the arcs in the Hozier song, “First Time.”

Astarion learns about life, death, love, and freedom in his relationship with Halsin.

“Little star,” slipped from scarred lips that first time, sounding easy as a summer’s breeze. 

The words instead dunked Astarion into a frigid river, startling awake parts of him long since laid to rest. Terrifying, encompassing, heart stopping. It settled into a little shiver and something else. Oddly…refreshing? It made his skin feel like it fit funnily, worming its way underneath every dead layer and making a home within him, not unlike the tadpole, changing him irrevocably.

He, of course, was aware of the different possible meanings of his name. An old mark once waxed poetic about it to him, assuming the vampire had chosen it himself as most elves his age did. Being as it was one of the few remnants from his past, Astarion was a bit protective of his name. It was one of the only vulnerable spots he knew himself to still have. Someone, somewhere gave him that name. Someone looked at the baby he once was and deemed him sweet enough for his name and its meaning. 

Maybe at one point he was someone’s little star, something bright and twinkling in the darkness. He was out of the habit of imagining who gave him the title, though this wasn’t an unexplored dream. There was a time when he imagined the soft arms, soft eyes, soft words of his nomenclator whispering to him in a language he barely remembered, cradling him in the darkest depths of Cazador’s cruelty. He was once held with the kind of reverence reserved for a long hoped-for child, and that thought had sustained him for nearly half a century at one point, pulling his mind from the experience of his body and taking him into that parental embrace. 

Spoken so boldly, so nonchalantly in the open air of the camp left him emotionally naked where he stood. Astarion imagined the last time he heard it might’ve also been the last time he stood in the sun as he did now. Fitting, he supposed, as his current life experience felt as foreign and unreal as the memories he made up in his dissociations. It didn’t escape him that the gentle way the druid Halsin spoke his name was as close to the way it was always supposed to sound as anything he could imagine. 

Halsin’s voice sounded like the smell of campfire as it went out, like the ground shaking from thunder far away, like the way rough bark feels on a smooth palm. Practically everything he said sounded beautiful, and Astarion’s name was no different. Halsin’s lips didn’t just form the words, but cradled them, placing them lovingly into the world as if they were worthy of care. 

The sound of his name had never sounded so sweet, not after centuries of morphing into a curse. More than spoken with care, his name was treated as a command, as a tug on a leash or a noose. Cazador’s voice poisoned Astarion’s name with his venom, whether delivered within a puncture or a masked sweetness. He began regarding it as a scourge, the sound of it acting as a warning for what awful things followed. A necessary distance from his name formed, leaving it behind with his suffering body most days. At camp, he tentatively allowed ‘Astarion’ to settle back into him as his companions spoke it without malice, without inflicting pain. It was with more indifference, informality than anything else, but maybe that was the casual way most people regarded their own name when they had anything else besides it. 

Halsin turned his curse of a name back into a prayer, but his kindness was such a practiced part of him that Astarion wondered if it was even intentional. Maybe it was a druid thing or just a Halsin thing, but the natural respect and care he gave to all living creatures was difficult for the younger elf to understand. He could understand if it was a rouse, hiding an ulterior motive, sure, but he wasn’t sure Halsin even had the capacity to lie let alone manipulate him. 

A hand reached for him as the words did, Halsin’s big paw tentative as it came toward Astarion like he was some injured small creature or something. It was clear that the older man was trying to find the best way to get him to feel comfortable, and the thought stirred something in his belly. Annoyance, trepidation, butterflies? The hand came with a request, not just to offer Astarion the sweet version of his name.

"Little star,” he’d called, as if his request was simple, as if it didn’t shake Astarion to his core.

  Blinking himself out of the momentary reverie, Astarion turned on his heel to take in the scene. Halsin was seated at one corner of his little camp, on the bare ground, large legs folded beneath him. It was only then that Astarion noticed the curls of wood scattered around him, the knife in his hand, the mangled bit of twig resting on his thigh. Was he whittling? How...quaint. Feigning casual, Astarion cocked a hip and an eyebrow, drawling. 

“What was that, dear druid?” 

“I was wondering if you would do a lazy bear a favor and hand me that bit of basswood just out of reach,” Halsin answered, a chuckle below the surface of the sound. “If it’s not too much trouble, of course.”

There was a glint to his eye that made Astarion feel like he’d been caught doing something more nefarious than simply walking past. The request was innocent, if not a possible ploy to just get his attention, and yet the vampire felt like he must tread carefully. Those hazel eyes saw more than most, Astarion knew. Beyond the wizened age of the former First Druid, Halsin had the unique ability to see what many others overlooked, and Astarion’s carefully crafted masks did nothing to deter him. He often wondered if in that sweet nature hid a schemer who kept tabs as weapons; after all, that would be what he’d do, what he did do. 

With careful, graceful movements that did little to hide the truth of the disarmament he just experienced, Astarion plucked the wood from the ground and offered it to Halsin with a flick of his wrist. 

“Is this what you’re after?” 

“Ah, yes,” Halsin beamed when he got the frightened animal to eat from his palm. “Many thanks, my friend.” 

Friend? Astarion barely grasped the concept let alone considered this lumbering teddybear of a man one of his. He could scarcely bring himself to trust Halsin, so warm affection was definitely not on the table yet. 

Still, being in Halsin’s good graces could be nothing more than an asset. 

On went the charm, an enticing smile tugging at Astarion’s lips as he peered down his nose curiously at the older man’s project. 

“And what, pray tell, are you doing? Not carving stakes, I hope?” 

At that, the laugh that burst from Halsin both startled Astarion and warmed something in his bones, his smile slipping into something less practiced without his knowledge or permission.

“Gods, no,” the bear replied, holding up the wood to show how easily it would fit in his palm. “Not unless we’re going to chase down your kin in bat form.” It was Astarion’s turn to laugh, the image of the large Halsin chasing after his master as a tiny vampire bat with his hand-carved toothpick delighting him. Gesturing to the space beside him with his carving knife, Halsin invited, “come, join me if you are not busy. I’d be happy to keep your company a while longer.” 

Astarion couldn’t say why he sat down beside him, or even what they wound up talking about until Halsin left to join the rest of the omnivores in camp for supper. The sun had shifted across the sky without his noticing for the first time since he’d been able to see it again, the passage of time seeming to rush by. This, too, was a new experience. For nearly two centuries, Astarion had felt time trickle past him like molasses. His existence was pain, isolation, and forced servitude, and anything beyond that had been a rouse. Time passing quickly would have been a blessing any moment of his life except for today. Today, when he allowed himself for a moment to believe in the sweetness of another, the world moved faster around him than it ever had before. Typical. 

[williamvapespeare]

There’s a knife at his throat and a slender arm pinning him to the ground, a smaller body straddling him with a grace that might have made Halsin’s blood run hot had the entire thing not reeked of thinly veiled desperation.

Halsin follows Astarion into the woods at night. They talk.

[malacandrax]

What if vampires have terrible cold tolerance? (Elves sleep because I said so.)

[ponderosa121]

BG3. Halsin/Astarion. Based on the fic gonna make you some peace someday by @shadow-fell which has been living rent free in my head for over a week now.

[brabblesblog]

PATCH 6 next week

[bennidraws]

comm for @bloodlessbhaalbabe for their amazing halstarion fic Pleading the Fifth ❤️

(full adult version here !)

[captainneedsnosleep]

A heap of ballet dancer grace

A good portion of big and strong physical therapist

A pitcher thirst

A healthy spoonfull of emotions

Stirred by some completely deranged Gremlins. -- Pas De Deux --

@giddy-goblin lemme hug you real tight <3

[vole-mon-amour]

Astarion x Halsin is such an easy ship in a way.

Astarion: gets drunk while feasting on a bear('s blood).

Halsin: Offers to feed Astarion (for whatever reason, hehe).

Astarion: Drinks Halsin's blood once and feels very giddy and joyful.

Halsin: Doesn't mind, feeds him again and again.

Astarion: Becomes addicted.

Halsin is literally a mix of rich elf blood that probably makes Astarion feel way fuller than when drinking animal's blood and a bear's blood because his natural druid/animal form is a bear. I mean, come on. They're meant for each other.

And sure, I mean it as romance & Halsin's reason is "I like you. By Gods, I like you so much."

But also, this is kinda funny in a platonic way? "Yeah, my friend here gets drunk on my blood, but I don't mind. No animals or nature are harmed in the process. Yeah, don't mind us if you see him biting me, it's all good."

(But then there's their shared trauma and you're like, Oh. But that's another topic.)

[littlejuicebox]

Nothing wants to come out of my mind besides absolute debauchery right now. I’ve been trying to write a fluff piece for the New Year but we got this instead. Maybe now that it’s out, I can focus on that!

Straight smut below the cut, no plot line or fluff. I apologize; my brain might be broken.

Tags/Warnings: threesome, masturbation, dom Astarion, sub (kinda) Halsin, sub female reader/Tav

Pairing: Halsin x Astarion x F!Reader/Tav

“I’m beginning to think our druid is enjoying this a bit too much, don’t you think, darling? Perhaps we should slow it down just a bit.” Astarion murmurs, flashing you a devilish grin from where his chin is resting on the side of Halsin’s shoulder.

The vampire is sat behind the druid on a small stack of pillows to prop him up slightly, compensating for the other elf’s larger frame. Astarion’s rock-hard dick is prodding into the druid’s back as he observes you bobbing your mouth eagerly on the wood elf’s massive cock. Long, pale fingers release the druid’s nipples from their teasing grip and trace their way down the man’s sides, where the dexterous digits move to push a few strands of hair from your face.

You are on your stomach, lying between Halsin’s legs as you flick your gaze up to the pale elf. You hum your agreement and then release the bear’s length from your lips with a sensual pop. Strings of sticky saliva and precum cling to your tongue as you reluctantly move away from Halsin’s shaft and down towards his balls. You suck on the tender flesh with another little hum, your eyes glancing up again to watch the two elves expectantly.

Halsin is panting with exertion, droplets of sweat now beading his face. His eyes are clasped shut as he tries to regain his composure; this is the second time you two have denied him a release tonight. A soft chuckle escapes the druid’s lips as he feels Astarion wrap an arm around his large torso and slowly start stroking his cock while you continue to focus your attention on his balls.

“Silvanus help me, you two are not playing fair tonight.” Halsin groans as he unintentionally bucks forward to meet Astarion’s leisurely strokes.

The vampire tuts at this loss of control from the druid, punishing him with a tightened fist around the man’s thick shaft. This rips an uncharacteristically needy whine from Halsin’s throat that makes your sex throb in delight. Astarion’s tone is low as he holds the other man’s length in an unyielding hand. “What did I say about holding still, druid?”

You giggle, unable to hold back your shock at the scene before you. It was typically Halsin calling the shots in these situations; having Astarion take the more dominant role and seeing such desperation from Halsin had you positively aching with arousal. The vampire hears your giggle, and his scarlet eyes quickly snap to you, shooting you a warning look that nearly takes your breath away.

“Something funny, little love? Should I take that as a sign you intend to be a brat tonight?”

Your eyes widen as you release Halsin’s sack from your mouth in order to respond to your lover. His admonishment made you positively blush with embarrassment, “No, Astarion.”

“Good girl,” Astarion coos in approval, smirking as he relaxes his grip on Halsin’s prick and resumes his ministrations, “Now come over here, darling, and have a seat on our delicious druid.”

TBC, maybe?

[maharlika]

flight

a short halstarion ficlet i wrote for @kingthunder for the prompt: "halsin teaches astarion how to wildshape into a bat"

uhhh that's not quite what happens here, but i hope you enjoy this ramble anyway! this is pre-relationship also so kajdlakjsd

--

Astarion stops short right outside of Halsin’s tent, and clears his throat.

“Druid, I’d like to speak with you.”

There’s shuffling from inside the tent, and then the door flap parts and Halsin steps out. Astarion fights the reflex to take a step back––he always forgets just how much larger the other elf is. 

“Astarion,” Halsin says, inclining his head in greeting. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Astarion looks askance at the rest of the camp. Everyone seems occupied, but in such a small space, and with such insatiable gossips as Gale, Karlach and Withers, there’s no telling who might be listening in.

“Perhaps we could speak in private,” Halsin says, clearly reading Astarion’s worry. 

“Perhaps,” Astarion replies. Halsin lifts the entrance to his tent and gestures as Astarion blinks in surprise.

“Please, make yourself comfortable.”

“Oh, I––all right.”

After a brief moment of hesitation, Astarion hunches down and enters Halsin’s tent. Contrary to what he’d expected, the tent isn’t a bear’s den. Inside, it is sparse but clean, and it smells like rich soil and herbs. There’s a bedroll tucked into one corner, and green moss covers the floor like a soft blanket. 

Astarion takes a ginger cross-legged seat while Halsin rummages around in one of his packs.

“I’m sure you’d prefer something more––sanguine, but all I have is tea,” Halsin says, his back to Astarion. He’s a hulking thing in the enclosed space, and Astarion feels a zip of something that’s not-quite-apprehension slithering down his spine to be so close to something that he knows could maul him in a blink of an eye.

“I can’t remember the last time I drank tea. I don’t know if I can,” Astarion says.

“Even if you can’t, it’s a cold night out––maybe you’d like to keep your hands warm.”

With that, Halsin pours them both tea in wooden cups. Astarion rubs his thumb across the smooth grain and watches Halsin from the rim of the cup as he takes a careful sip.

“I didn’t come here for tea, you know,” Astarion says as a pocket of warmth settles somewhere in his chest. 

“I know,” Halsin says serenely, looking at Astarion with an unnervingly frank gaze. “What is it that you need?”

“I don’t know if it’s polite to ask.”

Halsin raises an eyebrow. 

“I don’t know the first thing about druids,” Astarion continues, before he can stop himself or think better of it. “Well––I do know some things. But I’d like to ask…when you’re––when you become a bear, are you still in there? Inside of––the animal?”

Halsin listens to Astarion intently, with no sign of derision or amusement. 

“You’re not the first to ask the question, and you’ll not be the last,” Halsin says, after a moment and another sip of tea. “Many druids have philosophized long and hard on this, but I shall not subject you to my people’s ramblings. It is different for every druid, but suffice it to say: yes, we are still ‘in there’. I am the beast, and the beast is me. It is only my form that changes, not my personhood. When I am in Wild Shape, though, it is true that the affairs of people seem much less…important. Other things are magnified instead. Emotions, desires, senses. It is easy to get lost in them.

And there have been…accounts, of course. Live as a beast for long enough, content yourself with the thoughts of a beast and the actions of a beast, and you may lose yourself. But for a regular druid spending short spans of time in Wild Shape, it is of no consequence.”

Astarion drinks Halsin’s words like parched ground drinking the rain. 

“Would you teach me?” he asks. “Is it possible for someone like me to learn?”

If Halsin is surprised by the question, he does not show it. He brings his tea to his mouth and takes a long swallow, closing his eyes as he ponders. 

“It is a skill like any other,” Halsin says. “I have seen you use magic, and our kind is naturally attuned to the natural world. I don’t see why not.”

“And you’re not going to ask me why?” Astarion says warily.

“Would you tell me?”

“Well, not if you don’t ask,” Astarion says, fighting and failing not to pout. “You’re ruining my aura of mystery, you know.”

“Apologies,” Halsin says with a huff of laughter. “Astarion, why would you like to learn Wild Shape?”

“I think I would make a very fetching bat,” Astarion says flippantly. “And I do tire of walking all day. Tav takes us up all these mountains and hills––it’s wretched. Why walk if I could fly? And why fly if someone could carry me?”

Halsin hums in agreement, but Astarion can see he’s not so easily fooled. Those keen eyes are upon him again, gaze unrelenting.

“It’s all right, you know,” Halsin says, “to not want to be a person sometimes.”

Astarion stiffens. 

“Rest easy,” Halsin says, “I’ll not subject you to a lecture. As for your request, I’m sure I can fulfill it. When would you like to start?”

“It’s that easy?” Astarion says, squinting in suspicion. 

“Oh, learning will not be easy. But this conversation? Yes, I’d like to think so. More tea?”

“I––” for a moment, Astarion flounders. He should go, he thinks. He’s got what he came here for, and there’s no more to discuss unless Halsin means to teach him how to Wild Shape right at this moment. 

“Do you know what it feels like?” Astarion asks, eventually. “To want everything to just stop?”

“Better than you might think,” Halsin says. 

“Oh?”

“A story for another time, perhaps.”

“Well, aren’t you full of secrets.”

“I like to cultivate an aura of mystery.”

Astarion barks out a laugh at that, which makes Halsin smile.

As Halsin pours them more tea, Astarion allows himself to imagine it: the wind beneath dark wings, his body light enough to soar. It would be so nice, he thinks, to be free for once.

[halsinsnaturepocket]

Okay but hear me out –

Priest AU Halsin

Can anyone hear me???

[roguegrove]

ballet au astarion, v1 vamp claws cause i'm nasty, v2 normal nails because i'm autistic and know he couldn't dance with claws.

fully inspired by Pas de deux by @giddy-goblin and art by @captainneedsnosleep, and i dedicate this to them <3

this was a full 35 hour labor of love. it's not perfect but i am proud of my progress. at least 10 hours of that was a first draft that is laughable by comparison. fully a trust the process piece.

posted on patreon first for free

[shadowshrike]

Silly bg3 fic idea that I will probably never write because my backlog is so long: instead of your typical magical de-aging story where a companion gets turned into a kid and everybody else protects them and/or learns how messed up their childhood was, Halsin gets de-aged and ends up only 100 or so because he's an older wood elf.

Judging by the "youthful misadventures" we know about and the implication he only became a stoic, kind Archdruid as an adult forced into leadership, Halsin would be a wild addition to the party. Trying to one-up Wyll's stories, asking a million questions about the wildlife Lae'zel knows, having wrestling matches with Minsc, being youthfully snobby to Gale about not understanding druidic magic, turning into a bear to bash heads with Karlach, getting scolded by Jaheira for his indiscretions, and hitting on both Shadowheart and Astarion. He's proudly as chaotic as the wilds his Oak Father protects.

Speaking of Astarion, there is no way a young Halsin wouldn't fall hook, line, and sinker for his seductions. Astarion would have the big bear wrapped totally around his finger, much to the party's chagrin, which Astarion then realizes is significantly less useful when Halsin doesn't have Archdruid power or wisdom yet. Though he is still surprisingly selfless, warm, and willing to regularly donate blood.

[staranon95]

lo and behold i still have more feelings about Astarion, Halsin, and hair as a measure of one's health

a continuation of this post

and also this one

“Unless he figured out how to harness the power of a tadpole, I am not interested, however—hm. Darling, there is a most peculiar thing happening with your hair. Why am I finding all these wisps? Do you have an undercoat much like your bear?” Halsin raises a hand to feel the wisps of short, fine hairs. “Oh, that?” He chuckles. “That’s merely new growth. Probably to replace what I’ve lost.” “Lost?” Halsin hums. “Early in the progression of the Shadow Curse, I stopped taking care of myself. I worked myself ill, hardly tranced for weeks at a time, and the stress manifested as losing my hair. Not all of it, mind you, but enough for it to lose its luster, its thickness.” “And it’s only growing in now?” “It’s been a long century, dear.”

[astarionsilverbough]

“Darling.”

And it’s Different, when it’s for him.

Because, you see - Astarion calls everyone ‘darling.’ Even Shadowheart (though for a while that one is a bit… cruel).

And everyone gets a different version of the word, of course - and variations of it for different circumstances and events. So far, Gale has the most variations of the term - Halsin’s kept count. They range from affectionate and fond to absolutely poisonous and sometimes dangerous. There are, by Halsin’s count, thirteen versions of ‘darling,’ for Gale (who, again, is Astarion’s best and most steadfast friend - though Astarion would wrinkle his nose at the term).

But when it comes to him?

When it comes to him, there are three. Three variations of ‘darling’ that no one else - not even Gale - gets.

1.) Utterly and absolutely… soft. Oh, but it’s so soft. Often it’s used only in private - in moments when Astarion can cup his jaw or slide into his lap and murmur it against his lips. Halsin can think of two times Astarion has used that ‘darling’ in front of everyone else: the first?

When they (‘they’ being Astarion, Gale, Shadowheart, Lae’zel and Wyll) had found Halsin broken and alone in the Underdark after he’d carved through the goblins alone.

It was the first time the two elves had seen each other in two hundred years and five months. Through the haze of drow poison and blood loss, Halsin had heard the sun.

“Halsin. Darling.”

Achingly soft and so beautiful. A calloused but gentle hand cupped his chin and Astarion - older and more magnificent than Halsin remembered - had swum into focus above him.

Oh, but how he’d fallen in love with the man all over again in that moment… The thrill of it had been just as intense as it had been the first time, when they were younger and more afraid.

That was the first time he’d ever heard the soft variation of ‘darling’. Two hundred years and five months after the last time he’d seen Astarion Ancunín, who was more magnificent than he remembered but smelled exactly the same and could outburn the sun.

The second had been -

“I have to do this alone, Astarion.”

The darkness was like ash clinging to his skin. Karlach had been throwing stones into the abyssal waters; Gale was pointedly trying not to listen while Shadowheart was watching them like a vulture about to clean a carcass.

And oh, how he’d been terrified. To wander the Shadowfell, nothing to go on but a glimmer of vengeful hope and the scent of lavender… would he ever see the sun again?

Would he forget what gold sounded like?

But then -

Astarion’s plush lips part and his brow creases, brilliant sunset eyes big and glistening. For a moment, Halsin expects - well. Nothing good, that’s for certain.

A foolish thing, to try and predict the heat of the sun.

A nimble hand slides over his chest and catches his chin. The next thing he knows, he’s being kissed with tongue and fang. Solar flares explode in his lungs and Astarion thumbs over his cheek.

“Come back to me, darling,” he says.

It is a command, gentle and easy. Soft in the way that inspires hope somewhere inside his bones.

Not a hint of worry. Trust him - he knows what the worried variant of ‘darling’ sounds like.

Speaking of which:

2.) Astarion trusts Halsin in a way he isn’t sure how to hold; he feels a bit like a child cradling a bird with a wounded wing in his palms. One wrong move and that wing could shatter and leave the little bird he seeks to protect incapable of flight.

He doesn’t use the worried variant of ‘darling’ when Halsin is about to or has already attempted something foolish or heroic (see: ‘darling’ variant no. 1).

Astarion’s concerned and slightly lilting “darling,” comes when they’re in situations and he needs Halsin to look exactly where he’s looking at that very moment. It is a precise and hard-learned code, one that Halsin is more tuned into than even the method by which nature forms the reality around them.

It starts immediately: they’re in the Underdark and Halsin is still aching from the effects of the drow poison and the blood loss, and he can feel Astarion’s presence like sunbeams on his skin.

But even as he’s so acutely focused on Astarion’s presence, he’s still aching from the effects of drow poison and the blood loss, and so when Astarion’s sharp and tense “darling,” comes, he looks around just a little too late.

The Spectator catches them by surprise. Somehow, they survive the fight.

Halsin is looking at Astarion with every snapping “darling” he utters, now.

But even as the worried variant of ‘darling’ is the command he exists by and the soft variant is the one that sends heat through his bones and burns them gold, the variant of ‘darling’ that Halsin adores the most is -

3.) Sheer, raw fury.

It has only been used with such enchantment once. So far, at least. Who knows what the rest of the eternity he intends to spend beside the moon-kissed elf will bring, but so far…

So far it’s just been -

“Be well, then, darling.”

And oh, the way it had seared across Halsin like a lash of flame! How it had made his soul twist and his heart stop, commanded still by the sheer weight of the viscerally vitriolic venom in the word.

There was to be no doubt, then. A mate he was, and a mate he would always be. Some part of Halsin was snatched away in that moment. It fused with Astarion’s shadow, and there it would stay until he was led back to the young elfling.

The compass to lead him home.

Because this variant of ‘darling’ - this horrible, wrenching barb of a thing - had been shot at Halsin after he had told a twenty-year-old Astarion that:

“I cannot give you what you seek,” after a quiet and heartbreaking:

“I love you. I’m - Halsin, I’m… in love with you.”

And he’s over a hundred and Astarion is twenty and even if he’s everything Halsin wants, it’s not time. Not yet. The seasons need more time to show Astarion what the world can offer. He needs to taste the fruits of many before he settles on his favorite.

So:

“Oh, my little star,” Halsin had said in elvish; “I cannot give you what you seek.”

It was like watching the winter freeze settle in. It was seeing the sea go black before a storm; it was the flicker of divinity in the pit of Halsin’s belly and the hunt at the height of the season. It was every perfect and horrible thing all at once and Halsin loved this creature more than the earth beneath his feet.

“You are so young - there is so much you’ve yet to witness, experience.” He’d taken one of Astarion’s hands. It had been limp, cold. He’d kissed it anyway and stepped back. “And I must go my own way for now. Don’t worry. You’ll see me again, little star.”

And it was silent then, the kind of silent that made Halsin’s skin pebble with gooseflesh.

Until:

“Be well, then, darling.”

A dismissal. Inelegant and so wrathful. A blessing lain on the path beneath his boots. The sun blazed so hot it carved itself into his soul and stole a piece of him away.

It has not rejoined him. That’s alright; he feels it whenever Astarion is near, and these days it’s rare when he isn’t. Halsin is his sword and shield, the crown on his head and the throne beneath him.

And when the word comes this time - “darling,” - it’s just for him, spoken against the shell of Halsin’s ear as a damp, fresh-from-the-bath Astarion settles over his thighs and slides his arms around Halsin’s neck. Heat lunges up Halsin’s spine and he frames Astarion’s slender waist with keeping hands. So lost in the taste of the man’s skin, Halsin barely notices he’s been talking at him until Astarion gently tugs at his hair.

“Halsin, darling.”

His ears perk up. That’s a new one - slightly exasperated, clipped and somewhat offended in a small, quiet way. A vulnerable way.

“Were you even listening to a thing I said?”

Stomach clenching, Halsin slides his keeping hands over Astarion’s flanks and scans his face. He’s pouting. This is a new face, a new variant. Halsin’s nerves align and he cups Astarion’s chin.

“Forgive me,” he says soberly. “I was lost in thought. Tell me what I missed - speak to me, lover.”

He jostles Astarion a bit and the elf’s expression softens just before he arches a brow and tips back with a shrewd, playful glare. Halsin keeps him supported with a big hand at the base of his spine and chases a hopeless kiss he doesn’t get on a whim.

“And what, pray tell, was so important it stole you away from me?” Astarion demands, fingertips guarding Halsin’s lips.

Halsin smiles against his touch. “You.”

And when Astarion’s expression changes, it makes Halsin feel like spring. Those sunset eyes go dewy and Astarion’s body melts against the strong plain of his own.

“You,” he mutters against Halsin’s lips, “are a menace, darling.”

And he’ll never tire of it - never tire of learning every cadence this man can shape. Maybe one day he’ll earn more variants than Gale - for now, he’ll settle on keeping the Different ones, the ones no one else gets to hold.

There is no greater honor.