Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Astarion felt oddly at peace. 

The last stragglers of the evening's dinner were lingering by the fire, calm and casual chatter flowing between their makeshift-leader, Gale, and Halsin. The soft crackle of the fire, the warm night air, and the dancing fireflies gave it all a very… dreamlike feeling. He wasn't used to such quiet moments; it made him itch.

Astarion's tent was nearby, but he was pretending not to be interested in the conversation; he was mindlessly turning the pages of a book of poems, without absorbing any of it. His brow furrowed and his lips pursed in concentration, but the damned bard that led their strange little crew decided the middle of the night was the optimal time for a round of The Power.

Astarion felt his hands tighten around the book unnecessarily. His teeth were going to grind, at this rate.

"Are you alright, Astarion?"

His name snapped him out of his frustrated haze, and Astarion was legitimately shocked to see that Halsin had left the fire to check on him.

Maybe he shouldn't have been. His initial impression of Halsin was that he was naive; a well-meaning, oversized ignoramus. He was wrong, of course; Halsin was articulate, thoughtful, perceptive, and full of strange knowledge that turned out infinitely useful. They hadn't been traveling together for years, or anything, but Astarion knew by now that Halsin was always trying to help someone. He wasn't sure if it was annoying or not, yet.

"Hello, my large friend," he replied smoothly, recovering. The vampire spawn shut his book and set it aside for good, smiling at Halsin. "What can I do for you?"

"Well," Halsin briefly hesitated, clearing his throat. "It's more that I was wondering if there was something I could do for you."

"Oh?" Astarion pretended to think. "Unless you've a hot bath under that outfit, I can't think of a thing."

Briefly, Halsin glanced back at the others still loitering around the fire. He smiled to himself, then gestured off into the nearby forest.

"I believe you need someone to… show you some care," he murmured, lowering his tone, and this time the innuendo was implicit, despite his gentle words. "You seem tense."

Astarion couldn't help but sigh. He was being obvious, of course, and now Halsin was trying to be soft with him. He didn't hate it, he simply… didn't deserve it, either. He didn't like the way Halsin's pity-filled gazes made his chest hurt.

"I believe you need your head fixed," he scoffed. "But-- hold on, I was under the impression you were playing Winter's flute, for want of a better pun."

"I have indeed, many times-- and hope to again, in the very near future. We do hold each other close to heart, but that doesn't mean closing ourselves off to what others may have to offer."

Ah. Neutral as he was towards the half-elven bard that stole Halsin's big, muscled heart, Astarion liked the way Halsin looked at things; he was practical, never precious. It was hard not to respect him… and it helped, of course, that he had the body of an actual bear. It was exceedingly difficult not to appreciate all that muscle, spackled with hair, or the warm, soft-spoken man beneath it. The least Halsin could've done was have the decency to be unlikeable, in some manner, but it was apparently not his way.

"But you mistake me if you think I've come to you simply to satisfy my own desires," Halsin was quick to clarify. "I only offer, if you think it's what you need."

Astarion raised an eyebrow at that, doubtful. He knew the effect he had on people, and Halsin may have been kind, but it didn't make him an exception.

"How very generous of you," he sneered, deciding on derision as the best course of action. "As it is, all I need is some peace and quiet, so I can enjoy my book."

Halsin looked rather hurt by his tone, if not the rejection itself, and Astarion didn't like the lack of schadenfreude involved in snapping at the druid. Usually, being mean… felt better.

"Of course," Halsin sighed, and-- ugh! Didn't he just look the rejected puppy?! Astarion was disgusted by the sudden softness in the pit of his gut at the sight; it showed on his face, and Halsin turned to leave.

"I apologize for bothering you."

He couldn't keep up the game. Astarion let his shoulders drop, and he weakly reached out. "No, stop-- don't go anywhere just yet."

Halsin had the nerve to look hopeful. Astarion swiftly withdrew his hand.

"I… appreciate that you were trying to be kind. I just wanted to make it clear that-- unlike you two-- I don't want to throw my body around," he explained quickly, voice a hissed whisper. "That isn't what makes me feel better."

The relief on Halsin's face was palpable, and he looked ready to leap into Astarion's arms-- the vampire braced himself for a bear hug that never came. "Of course, as you say. Not everyone finds their comfort in the same places. But is being alone what you want?"

I don't know. "Yes."

The druid nodded politely, and left to join the others. Astarion crawled into his tent, and wormed into his bedroll in an attempt to disappear entirely.

Morning came too soon.

Days later, the scene was more chaotic, but infinitely more hopeful. They'd reached the city, and Cazador's murder was seeming more and more realistic with each passing hour. Astarion felt as if all his senses were heightened, trepidation and anxiety mixing in his stomach with the excitement of finally being home and possibly being free.

"Finally-- a bed!" Winter gleefully announced, leading everyone in a hustle to the first inn they saw with free rooms, long blonde hair a-bouncing. With so many people in the city-- and stuck there-- inn rooms were at a premium.

"It's about time. You've been dragging us all over, all day. We stood around for an hour while you played for gold." Astarion wanted to smash that fucking flute into a million pieces.

"So what? I earned enough to get us all a hot meal and a hot bath."

Winter and Astarion had one thing in common, at least: their love of civilization. While poor Halsin seemed to actively wilt the longer they were in Baldur's Gate, and Gale was concerned only with getting to the bookstore, the two native Baldurians were finally in their element.

After a good meal of hearty soup and beer, the group broke off to go to their rooms; Halsin seemed a little tipsy-- far more boisterous and affectionate than usual-- although Astarion had certainly drank more than he had, and was fine. Someone that heavy wasn't usually a lightweight.

Did he find it charming? Perhaps, but not enough to follow the druid to his room when he retired for the evening. Instead, Astarion collapsed into his room's washtub and soaked until the water went cold, his mind finally slowing down enough for rest to potentially claim him.

At some unholy hour, that same night, Astarion lay awake and aware, clothed in only his shirt and underwear, his blankets kicked off to the side. There was a cool breeze coming in through the window, and he still felt overheated. The bed, soft as it had been when he'd first laid down, suddenly felt as if it were made of rocks. He knew this feeling, and he knew it well: anxiety. Insomnia. The beginning of a long, dreadful night.

He couldn't relax in the city. What if someone had already seen him? What if Cazador already knew…?

He briefly considered sneaking into Winter's room and taking advantage of the bard's weird fetish for his bites, if only for the blood, but that seemed like too much effort. Instead, he lay there with his limbs akimbo, staring into the ceiling as if the answers to all life's riddles were etched into the surface. Perhaps, if he was stubborn, he could force himself into restful meditation just by laying still…

A knock at the door ruined all pretense of rest; perhaps forever.

Chapter Text

2.

Astarion was tempted to ignore the sound of knuckles against his door, so determined was he to be in a foul mood, and to do so alone. It wasn't until the shuffling of feet indicated the someone leaving, that Astarion leapt from the bed and pulled the door open.

Halsin was halfway down the hallway already, but he stopped at the sound. "Ah-- I didn't mean to wake you."

"I wasn't resting," Astarion sighed. "What did you want?"

"I couldn't close my eyes for long, either. I went to get some air, and I heard you moving around."

It was a reasonable explanation, and Astarion felt his shoulders relax somewhat, less concerned with Halsin's possible motivation, and more relieved to have a distraction from his thoughts. "Alright. Come inside."

"Huh?"

"Did I stutter?" Astarion opened the door wider, and stepped aside briskly. "Come. In."

Halsin ducked his obscene girth beneath the doorframe, and Astarion shut the door behind him, turning with crossed arms to look expectant.

Halsin sat on the end of the bed, staring out the tiny, square window and over the endless streets of Baldur's Gate. "I cannot seem to meditate peacefully in this place. My mind is… assaulted by the things we see, the... horrors of civilization."

Astarion was quiet for a moment. He'd expected another clumsy attempt at sex, but it would seem… Halsin was upset, and had come to him of all people for comfort. What was going on in that man's head? Why didn't he go running to his lover?

"You were born here," Halsin urged, turning where he sat to face Astarion more directly. The vampire spawn had to avert his gaze. "Please, Astarion. How do you do it?"

A beat. "Do… what?"

"Get by in this place," Halsin clarified. "This city. You've suffered just as much as any discarded orphan or-- or beaten stray, and yet you longed to return here, where it all began."

"Cazador is the reason I suffered," Astarion corrected him with a sniff. "Baldur's Gate is my home. It's alive in a way I can't explain to you-- in a way you hate."

Halsin nodded his understanding of the language, but his brow was still furrowed in confusion at their arrangement. "I see. Perhaps I'll never understand fully."

"Perhaps not." Astarion pulled one of the random bottles of wine they managed to acquire from his pack, popping the cork unceremoniously. "Let's drink about it."

"Astarion, when I indulge in wine…" Halsin's cheeks flushed deep, embarrassing memories easily-- and not so easily-- recalled the moment wine was mentioned. "Perhaps it would be best if I politely declined."

"Problem?" The vampire spawn was still pouring two mugs. Mugs. Halsin looked nervous, and Astarion felt a jolt of excitement at being able to exert such force over such a powerful man with little more than a glance and a glass.

"No," Halsin cleared his throat, accepting the drink with awkward hands. He peeked inside; Astarion had nearly filled the wide mug to the brim. "No, no, no... no problem here. Thank you, for the wine. And for being a friend… I dearly needed one."

Astarion's head snapped up, and he nearly choked on the sip he was delicately taking. Perhaps he had always regarded Halsin pleasantly, but he'd never really thought he'd hear the word friend in regards to himself. He was certain Halsin would find a vampire spawn morally off-putting, at the very least, no matter what the opinion of said druid's no-doubt-impressive loins.

"Friends, are we?" Astarion mused, recovering. "I suppose I didn't hate the sound of that."

"I'm glad to hear it. I consider you a dear companion."

"Let's not get soft on the first sip."

Hours must have passed; they talked, and most of it wasn't of any true importance. It was simply an exchange of information about who they were, and Astarion was shocked by how easy he found it to speak to someone who was, in many ways, his opposite. Perhaps it was the wine; the bottle and mugs all lay empty, forgotten and scattered across the floor, and by the time they realized they hadn't slept, the first pink blush of the sun was beginning to appear in the sky.

Astarion was loose with alcohol-induced drowsiness, and Halsin… well, Halsin was thoroughly drunk. The druid was in the midst of a ramble about the thoughts of animals, and Astarion was politely listening; the two of them lay upside-down on the bed, their bare feet upon the pillows, heads hanging over the edge of the mattress as they both dully considered the ceiling.

"-- just the same as us, really. Animals desire all the things we do, typically. Safety, food, shelter, comfort, safety, food..." He counted each off on a thick finger.

"You said safety and food twice," Astarion muttered, still pleasantly buzzing somehow. "You're drunk. Pissed. Wasted. That's enough."

Halsin could only chuckle, hands dropping to his lap. "I am drunk. I'm sorry."

"Darling. Why are you apologizing?"

"Because, I…" Halsin turned to look at him, and they locked eyes only briefly, before he lost his nerve and looked back toward the ceiling. In the brimming light, Astarion could easily see how flushed he was. "I should've said no."

"And why is that?" Astarion snorted, stretching his arms up toward the ceiling, feeling his bones pop pleasantly. "Besides the fact that we were up all night, I mean."

Halsin took a long time to answer, "It's hard enough to ignore how much I desire you from day to day, without the drink making everything worse. I do not wish to ruin everything we--"

Astarion's eyes narrowed, and his next words were pointed and sharp. "Kiss me."

"What?"

"Kiss me," Astarion said again, holding Halsin's gaze. "I won't ask a third time."

Halsin hesitated, and then… shook his head, sitting upright in the bed. Astarion was briefly dumbfounded, only to realize this was likely his own fault; wasn't he the one insisting he didn't want to be touched?

But Astarion did want to be touched, only on his own terms this time, when he felt like it, and with who he felt like. He didn't want Halsin to look at him softly, or give him some speech in the middle of things, either: he just wanted to fuck and enjoy it, in case they all ended up dead tomorrow.

He sat up, chasing Halsin, clinging to his broad shoulders to bodily turn him, using all his strength to pull him in for a kiss.

Just to see how it felt, if it felt-- and to his horror, when the other elf kissed back, when their lips parted and shared the taste of wine, it felt far more than he could have expected.

Astarion faltered; Halsin pulled away.

"Don't, don't," he sighed, fully reluctant. "I'm drunk."

"I know--"

Halsin was infuriatingly soothing. "Pause, for a moment. You're being impulsive, and that's fine, but--"

Something inside Astarion snapped, and made him cut Halsin off, "I have every right to be impulsive!"

Still, the druid refused to be anything but calm. Halsin waited a moment, as if giving Astarion time to shout at him more if he so wished, and only spoke when nothing came. 

"Of course you do," he said. "We all do. I just don't want you to hurt yourself-- and I'm sorry, but if you do choose to do so, I firmly refuse to be the tool you use to do it."

"You want to fuck me. I know you do. You said so."

"Yes."

Silence stretched between them. Astarion loosened his grip on Halsin, but no more space was put between them; he let his hands drop to his lap.

"...that was perfectly awkward," he sighed. Halsin's smile was rueful, sympathetic.

"I'm sorry," Halsin said again. "I would love nothing more than to have you…"

Astarion scoffed. "I'm sure."

"...be had by you…"

Once more, Astarion looked away. "You and everyone else."

"...or to simply spend hours exploring, learning what makes you cum, over and over, tasting you on my lips..."

That hung in the air without comment for some time. When Astarion finally dared to glance at Halsin again, the druid was perfectly serene.

Astarion had to break the silence, but couldn't think of anything clever. "But?"

"But," Halsin continued. "I'd like to be sober."

The vampire spawn took the silent moment of Halsin standing to leave to consider his response, and whether or not it would change anything in the end. 

It was whether or not Astarion cared-- about himself, about Halsin, about the strange dance they seemed to be playing-- that was the largest question he was forced to pose to himself. Did he want to know the druid as anything more than a physical distraction? Perhaps it was too late to decide; they were already dear friends, apparently.

"Fair enough," Astarion finally sighed, running a hand through his hair. There was really nothing to do but try and get some rest, before Winter awoke and got them moving again. "But perhaps you've just walked past your chance, druid."

The smirk Halsin threw over his shoulder, hand on the door, was positively radiant with mischief. "Somehow... I doubt that."

Chapter Text

Returning to Cazador's manor should have felt like the first step in an unfolding triumph, but instead, Astarion simply grew more frightened by the step.

All the drone-like servants, his fellow spawn cowering in the flophouse-- they'd all insisted that Astarion's return was expected, and that frightened him as much as the talk of ritual. And yet, he had no choice: he had to be the one to kill Cazador, to watch the bastard suffer and bleed and scream and finally die die die. Letting anyone else finish the deed in his stead was as unacceptable as it would be unsatisfying.

Along with Gale, Winter, and Halsin, Astarion wandered the dour halls under ugly portraits of enigmatic doom, candlelight just enough to light the room for their more human companions. They collected what they believed they required to open the ominous door from the steward's wing, but their search for more led them to the dormitory wing of the manor. Astarion was ashamed to have the others see how he truly lived: in a musty bunk, in a tiny room, with five other spawn. He didn't even have the privilege to call himself favored, after everything he'd suffered under Cazador's heel… not that he wanted the vampire lord's favor, but it felt like insult to injury to reveal that-- though surrounded by lavishness-- Astarion himself rarely partook of any luxuries.

Worse still were the kennels, and Godey. Boney bastard knew how to open the door, with a little prodding, although he whined and squawked as usual. Oh, Astarion would've loved to bash that skeleton to dust, but they had bigger targets. As they left the kennels, armed with everything they needed to get to Cazador, Astarion fell silent. He'd been overly chatty the entire time they'd been in the manor, but as they made their way to the ballroom, that vengeance-inspired chatter died off. As usual, Halsin took notice.

"Astarion. Do you need a moment?"

"Hm?" The vampire spawn looked up, considering Halsin curiously. "A moment to what? I've never been closer to killing Cazador; I'm not stopping now."

Gale and Winter walked on ahead, but Halsin stopped, and Astarion halted beside him.

"The kennels were… the kennels were eye-opening," Halsin said in explanation, mouth in a tight frown. "I feel I'm only now coming to understand the depths of your suffering, and for that, I apologize."

Astarion was at a bit of a loss. "It's fine. In fact, it's almost over."

Halsin nodded, and looked keen to say more, but they were being left behind; he decided to make it quick. "Know that I'm by your side. We shall not leave this place with Cazador alive."

"Fine." Astarion's response was distracted; he turned swiftly and jogged to catch up with the others.

-

The fight with the werewolves was unexpected, and it tired the group before they even reached Cazador's basement. As they descended into the strange, cold, almost ethereal corridors, any and all discussion had long died off. Bloodied and anxious, everyone had a hand on their weapon.

They were surprisingly deep in, passing ghostlike vases to stop at a golden door, before Winter spoke up to ask, "Astarion, what is this place?"

"How should I know?" the vampire spawn replied, balking not at the question, but their surroundings. "He hid this from us-- all of us."

The door slid open at the press of the Szarr family ring, and a foul stench flooded outward like a thick wave, causing the entire party to briefly recoil. Astarion assumed they'd entered the sewers, but he couldn't have been more wrong.

"You… I remember you."

Bodies, people, crammed into cells-- hundreds, thousands, more perhaps. It was surreal; they were crammed elbow to elbow in the dirty dark, each one covered in decaying rags of their former clothing, and a layer of caked blood spatter. Barely room to crouch, like an overstuffed coop. And there, amongst the crowd of strangers, was horrible realization: face after face reappeared in his memory as he spotted familiar features amongst the filth, only when he recalled them, they were clean, healthy, whole. Now, their eyes shone red with bloodlust, their skin sickly and pale; Cazador had turned them.

All of them.

The first one to speak was the most familiar of all. Oh, he hadn't been the last of his kind-- sweet, innocent, and handsome enough to make Astarion wish and hope-- but he had been the first. Then, like all the others to follow, he'd been taken away.

Taken here, to rot.

Astarion felt heavy, like an invisible gargoyle had perched upon each shoulder. He felt the silent stare of his companions like pressure on his skin.

"You're the one from the tavern." Though strained with a vampire's hunger, the youthful human's voice was clear. It was all coming back to him, piece by piece. "You smiled, and laughed, and… got me drunk."

"I thought you were dead." It was too horrible to be real, and Astarion was certain the illusion would snap at any moment, or he would simply wake up, but there was no end in sight.

"You called me so many sweet things. My name, it… sounded like a-a lyric on your tongue." The anguish in his voice twisted around in Astarion's breast, digging deep enough to break his heart again somehow.

The name came out as if he'd said it a thousand times before: "Sebastian."

That handsome face, marred by strange cuts and decades of neglect, looked up. "You remember me…"

"You were handsome," Astarion began, unable to keep the nostalgia from his tone. Gentle, sweet Sebastian. "Shy. You'd never been kissed."

"You showed me how…" Sebastian whispered, his head bowed, clutching the bars between his hands. "Then you destroyed me."

The spawn leapt at Astarion, halted only by the bars between them, his hand reaching out in a claw of rage. Instinctively, he stepped back; he'd been expecting a bitter rage, but it was something else entirely to see just how hated he was.

He felt a broad hand warm his shoulder with a gentle pat; he shrugged it off violently, turning a glare on its owner: Halsin, of course. Always where he wasn't needed. "Don't touch me."

"How long?"

Again, Astarion had to turn his gaze back to Sebastian; a large part of him wanted to leave and never look back, but there was just enough of him that wanted to see Sebastian again, too.

"How long have I been down here?" Sebastian repeated.

"Something like a hundred and seventy years," He admitted, his voice going soft in his shame. "You were… one of my first."

"A hundred and--?!" Sebastian's legs gave out beneath him, and he slid to the floor, his words little more than shuddered sobs. "My friends… my family… everyone's dead!"

"Astarion, look," Winter pointed out. "They all have markings, like the ones on your back."

I know. I have eyes. "Cazador means to use them in his ritual-- not that he'll get the chance."

From the floor, Sebastian's voice weakly cut in, "what?"

Astarion crouched down in front of the bars, eye-level with other spawn. "We're going to kill Cazador."

"Then... what becomes of us?"

Ah. That was a good question. "What do you want to happen?"

"I-I... don't know. I just… I don't want to die down here." Sebastian sounded so hollow; it was like looking down at a broken bird.

None of them deserved that. None of them had deserved well over a century of confinement and starvation, with naught to look forward to but death for relief, either. Astarion couldn't handle it on his conscience, the idea of doing anything less than righting what Cazador had done.

"We will come back for you." He turned and left for the door, and the others hurried to follow, having to rush to keep up with his sudden change in pace. Astarion didn't merely want Cazador dead and mutilated anymore.

He was going to make the bastard beg for an end.

Chapter Text

Cazador was waiting for them-- good. Astarion had quite a bit to say. 

"Fuck you, and fuck everything you've ever done to me!" 

It felt so good to finally say those words; the ones he truly meant, the ones that danced through his head every time he saw that smug, slimy smirk crawl across Cazador's face: fuck you . Whatever came next, at least Astarion had the satisfaction of knowing he had told the bastard off.

Still Cazador ran his mouth, and his cruel, belittling words rattled in Astarion's head, bringing his hatred to its boiling point. Blind with a lust for vengeance, Astarion did something stupid: he threw a punch at Cazador's face, seeking to wipe the disgusting smile from his smarmy face.

The vampire lord clacked his foul staff onto the stone floor, and red light reached out to wrap Astarion in dark, paralyzing magic.

"You truly thought you had a chance," Cazador sneered in cruel amusement. With a flick of the vampire's arm, Astarion felt his shirt tear from his body and expose the scars upon his back, before he was dragged through the air by an invisible force and locked in place over a crimson, pulsing ritual circle. 

He could do nothing but watch as his companions struggled against Cazador and his minions, and again, Astarion knew he was powerless. It had taken little more than a gesture for Cazador to cage him once again, and now, he was little more than meat to be fought over.

There were no gods to pray to that Astarion hadn't blasphemed, and there was no time to apologize for every sin; he watched, and hoped.

In the midst of the chaos-- bats and werewolves and spells and arrows and blood-- Astarion saw something so strange, he was almost certain he was hallucinating: a fluffy little white cat, scampering across the battlefield unnoticed.

The cat snuck behind Cazador's coffin and onto the platform that held Astarion captive, briefly checking its surroundings before it shifted in a blaze of golden light and the smell of fresh grass.

Halsin .

"It's alright… I'm here now," the druid assured Astarion, breaking the bright red  bindings with little more than a wave of his hand. "We have Cazador alone. I must return to the fight."

"Wait," Astarion grabbed Halsin by the wrist, which seemed to shock the larger elf. He swiftly withdrew his hand. "Toss me a dagger."

Halsin untucked his utility knife from his belt and deftly tossed it over-- it wasn't anything to sneeze at, but it was no dagger. Just the same, Astarion would make it work.

-

The most sickening part was when it was over: the monster that was Cazador Szarr refused to die.

"Oh, no. No healing sleep for you!" Astarion shoved the heavy lid from the coffin, ripping Cazador bodily from it with a yank to his shoulder. He felt carried by his hatred, consumed by it. " Wake up !"

The vampire lord was tossed to the ground, crawling briefly backwards on his hands and knees as he faced the consequences of all he wrought, in the form of one pale, elven spawn. "Get your hands off of me, worm!"

Astarion barked a laugh, leaning in with a smug, humorless smirk. "I'm not the one in the dirt."

A glint on the floor amongst the blood and gore caught his eye: Cazador's favorite dagger, The Needle, laying in the open. Astarion took it in hand, holding it in a white-knuckle grip.

This was it. It was almost over; as he stared into Cazador's eyes, he felt a thousand unwanted hands creep across his skin, felt the guilt of the thousands of lives he'd crushed under Cazador's command. He felt sick, instead of triumphant.

"One last thrust," he whispered, voice breaking as the weight of it all dropped into his stomach. "And I'll be free of you. I'll never have to fear you again."

And that night, that horrible night of a thousand cuts, what had it been worth? Why had he suffered, if there was no reward beyond this vengeance? The scent of blood made his head rush; there was another solution.

"...but if I finish the ritual you started, I'll never have to fear anyone. Ever."

Astarion heard a gasp out of Halsin behind him, but he ignored it; Cazador's bitter cackle drew his attention.

"Do you think me a fool? That I would allow anyone to usurp me, speak the words, and ascend in my place?" the vampire lord spat, spiteful amusement a venomous lace on his tongue. "The runes I carved into your flesh bind you and all seven thousand souls to the ritual. Complete it, and those bearing the scars will be sacrificed -- you included."

Astarion's eyes narrowed. He had a workaround, for that, and it was a damn good one.

"You are simply a means to an end," Cazador continued from the floor, a smile creeping across his face like a slug trail. "I made you to be consumed."

"I am so much more than what you made me!" Astarion snapped, and his decision was made: he would take this from Cazador, he would take everything from Cazador, and then he would be truly free-- of the vampire, of the curses vampirism inflicted, of all his fears and doubts. The blood in the air was so thick, it was overwhelming; his nostrils flared to take more of the scent in, as he subconsciously basked in it. He was so close, so close to his dreams…

He just needed help, one last time, and then he would never again need anything from anyone .

"I can do this," he insisted, whirling around on his companions, pleading. "But I need your help."

Winter shook his head, backing away; typical. The bard never had any stomach to begin with, so Astarion hadn't been expecting much from him. Gale balked at the idea of sending seven thousand souls to unknown doom-- again, expected. 

Halsin stepped forward-- unexpected.

"Astarion, stop and think," the druid spoke, his voice effortlessly calm. It set Astarion's teeth on edge, to be spoken to with such a soothing tone. "If any of us were to assist you in this, it would not merely mean damning seven thousand souls: it would mean damning you."

Forget the others, Astarion's survival instinct told him, fed by adrenaline and the coppery scent of blood. They died a long time ago.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Astarion hissed, but that sour tone soon righted itself into something sweeter. "If they die and I ascend, I'll be able to walk in the sun-- without a parasite. I'll be free, Halsin. Truly and completely free. Isn't that… what you want?"

Halsin didn't look so much as shaken by Astarion's pleading, let alone moved. He stood resolute and firm. "Your freedom is in your grasp. You have to make the choice to free yourself, before you become the very monster that enslaved you. If you do this, you will always look back on this day with regret-- never pride. This is your precipice, Astarion: I am begging you not to make that leap."

Astarion still hesitated, still visibly torn. Desperate, Halsin raised his voice, the booming tone echoing throughout the dungeon halls.

"This is not the freedom you seek!" he insisted, fear cracking his voice. Losing Astarion to himself would be yet another heavy tragedy to bear, and this time, he wasn't sure if his lover could patch the hole the vampire spawn would leave in his heart. "Think of Cazador's misery: the festering frustration of an endless undeath, trapped in a cycle of monstrous acts, with no end in sight. No love in sight. No joy in sight."

Astarion was shocked when he agreed, Halsin's words cutting through the fog of bloodlust and ambition to reach his heart. In truth, he couldn't take the way the man looked at him now: as if Astarion had stolen his world. Just like Sebastian. Would that be how he was remembered? Was freedom worth it, if it meant being looked upon that way by everyone he knew?

"You're right," he sighed, giving in to Halsin's pleading look and desperate words. "I can be better than him."

The druid's entire body slumped as he relaxed, too soon; as Cazador rose to his knees, arms out in futile attempt to protect himself, Astarion turned on him with The Needle poised to strike. "...but I'm not above enjoying this." 

He dove at Cazador, stabbing at him again and again and again and again. He drove the weapon in with all the force of his hatred, his pain, his frustration, his rage; when the dagger became slick with blood and threatened to slip, he flipped his grip and kept stabbing. This was what Cazador had done to his soul: mutilated it, beyond any hope of repair, and now that soul had its chance to lash out. When the vampire lord finally began to choke and gasp, his last breaths mere gurgles, he tossed the dagger aside.

Astarion stumbled back; looking down upon Cazador's dying body, he was overwhelmed by wave after wave of buried emotion. It was as if ending his captor had resurrected every agony he'd ever inflicted for a brief moment, the images flashing behind Astarion's eyes--

The Kennels. The Infernal scars. The thousands of nights spent on his back, letting strangers use him like meat for their pleasure.

And it was all, finally, over.

Astarion felt the grief bubble up like vomit; he grieved for himself, the person he'd once been, the power he could've had, and the person he would never be again. He felt all the sadness of everything Cazador had ever done all at once; Astarion felt his face wobble, and for once, he let it happen and began to sob.

He howled out his cries, because there was no longer a Cazador to punish him for shedding tears. He knelt there in the blood and screamed out just how broken he was.

Chapter Text

Did he feel better in the end? No, not really. He didn't feel much at all, and that scared Astarion almost as much as the thought of having let all those spawn loose, perhaps one day to return to Baldur's Gate.

Most of the others left him to himself that night, which he appreciated. After fielding a few platitudes from Winter, he had the peace of his own company-- or so he thought. As Astarion sat amongst his throw pillows, sipping at his mixture of pig's blood with wine and silently watching the others mingle around the campfire, he was so lost in his ennui that he didn't notice Halsin approach.

"Astarion?"

The druid's voice ripped him from his blank thoughts, and into the real world. Astarion looked up, unable to keep the question from his face: why are you here with me, and not them?

Instead of explaining himself, Halsin settled his great girth gently to the ground beside Astarion, looking up into the night sky. The druid had a soft smile, one that seemed far away from where they were.

"I'm proud of you," he said. "It takes incredible strength of heart to do what you did today."

Astarion's gaze dropped into his cup, as he silently wished he could examine his own reflection in it. "You said as much back at the manor."

"You didn't seem ready to hear it, at the time," Halsin replied, finally turning away from the stars to regard Astarion with a smile. "Whatever doubts you may have, there can be no question. That power would have changed you, made you someone unrecognizable, and I just don't know-- if we had lost you, I--"

The druid stumbled over his words, getting choked up over whatever he was about to say next. Astarion hung on the silence, studying him; it was always his instinct to look for falseness in such displays, even when he knew Halsin would never be so cruel.

"I would have mourned the man beside me," Halsin finished, eventually. He swallowed, hard enough for his throat to jump. "For a… very long time. His wit, his charm, his strength; to see those misshapen by cruelty, would be a loss I would struggle to bear."

It said far more than a confession would have, to see that grief in Halsin's eyes at the mere thought of Astarion not being the Astarion he knew anymore. Combined with the way he'd leapt to his rescue, again and again, it was solid, undeniable proof of genuine care. He didn't know why Halsin was so fond of him, really, when he had his sweet bard with the good habits, but perhaps it didn't matter; whoever Halsin saw when they shared glances, that's who Astarion wanted to be.

"Come with me," he offered, downing the rest of his cup in a gulp and extending his hand. "There's something I'd like to show you."

Halsin took his hand, rising up to full height; he seemed happy. "Of course. Lead on."

-

Admittedly, Baldur's Gate was far scummier at night than it was during the day, but they had a good reason for heading into the city at this time of night: a visit to a grave, to mourn the lost.

"A graveyard?" Halsin seemed bemused as they arrived, following curiously as Astarion scanned the headstones. "I understand if you wanted privacy for our conversation, Astarion, but this is... a bit much."

"At least you avoided the obvious joke about a vampire in a graveyard," the pale elf replied, tossing a smirk over his shoulder. He found the landmarks he was looking for-- two odd-shaped headstones, on either side of one covered in ivy-- and knelt in the middle.

Halsin watched in respectful silence as Astarion pulled the ivy away, expecting to see the name of some other elf on there, and wholly shocked when he realized whose grave they were standing upon.

"I don't understand," he said quietly, watching as Astarion rose once more. "Your family buried you?"

"I know I said Cazador took me. That wasn't the whole story." 

Astarion hadn't shared this memory with anyone, because as terrible as all the things were to come, there was no moment he dreaded returning to more than waking up in that coffin. 

"I'd begged him to save my life, and he did," he continued, staring at his name etched into the stone, worn by centuries of weather. "Then he left me there. When I came to, I was in a coffin. I had to… punch a hole in it, and claw through six feet of dirt to get out."

Astarion felt his throat close tight with anger, as if he were once again choked by mouthfuls of earth. He had to force out the rest, through grit teeth. "When I finally escaped-- retching up dirt and congealed blood-- Cazador was there. Waiting."

The anger waned; there was no vengeance left to take. "From that day on I was his. Until today."

Halsin seemed equally strangled by emotion, at first only managing to nod, empathy twisting his features into an expression of grief. "Would that I could give you back all that he's taken. I would give much more than my blood, to see it done."

"Don't go making any devil-deals now," Astarion joked, although it lacked its typical humor. He felt rather like he was at his own funeral. "All that he took, I can never get back. What remains… is a name on a rock. For two centuries, I stalked the streets like a ghost, while the person I was lay here, dead and buried."

Halsin still had that crushed look on his face; Astarion turned a small smile to him, hoping it would ease that hurt.

"Now I just need to figure out who I am," he said, the softness of his voice due to something else now, something that made his entire body feel light. "What I want."

The way Halsin's eyes snapped open in that hopeful expression he'd seen so many times before made something grow in his chest as it always did; except this time, Astarion didn't smother it. He let it flourish, spread as it willed, and it bloomed into something like a natural high.

"...what is it that you want?" Halsin's voice was trembling, but Astarion knew without asking that he was feeling that same rush, dangling on the edge of anticipation.

Time to put the man out of his misery. "You. I want you, Halsin."

The druid went red, blushing to the tips of his ears, so deeply that Astarion could make it out by moonlight. He was always so sturdy; he seemed bashful and nervous now, mouth agape as Astarion continued.

"There is no one else like you in all the world," he said, closing the distance between them with easy steps, his back to the gravestone that bore his name. "Patient, at every turn. Honest, with every word. Caring, with every act. And always, without question, trusting me to do the right thing-- even when that was an absolute idiot's move."

Halsin looked sheepish, but his smile only grew. Astarion knew everything was going right; he felt comfortable spilling his guts.

"I know I'm safe around you. I know you see this… wonderful person I could be. I sometimes see him, too. Whatever happens in the future, I don't ever want to lose that."

What happened next surprised him; Halsin pulled him into an embrace, tight about his shoulders. Astarion felt moisture on his scalp as the taller man buried his face into his hair; he returned the hug, just tightly.

"Whatever you choose from here on out, know that I am by your side," Halsin mumbled into silvery white curls. "Winter, too."

"Let's not talk about him," Astarion responded, not unkindly. He truly didn't mind the bard's existence, but they could talk about how (or if) he was involved in any of this another time. He detached from Halsin, and knelt in once more in front of the grave. Pulling a dagger, he scratched away at the faded dates, and etched in the year of new beginnings.

"There," he said with satisfaction, tucking the weapon away once more. That was enough said of the dead and gone; he was done mourning Astarion Ancunín, and was instead ready to celebrate his resurrection.

"A fitting memorial," Halsin observed, smiling. To Astarion he seemed bright, even obscured by the shadows of graveyard trees and looming buildings. "Thank you, for all that you shared with me."

"No," Astarion replied, taking the druid's hands in his own, and using the hold to guide them both to kneeling on the ground. He always expected Halsin's hands to be rougher than they were. "Thank you. I've been dead long enough, and I think it's finally time I started living again."

The pale elf leaned in closer, a coy smile on his face. "With everything that has to offer."

Halsin laughed, and it was a sound of relief, of disbelief, as if he'd been certain this moment would never come. Astarion couldn't blame him, really; things hadn't gone well, the last time they'd been interested in each other, and then so much else had seemed more important. Yet, they had a moment of silence here, a moment of peace; Astarion wanted to know what it felt like to feel a lover's touch and bask in it, instead of detaching himself from the situation entirely and waiting for it to be over. He wanted to experience the simple pleasures that made life worth remembering.

And he wanted to start with sex. Halsin picked up that he wasn't joking when Astarion failed to follow up with a punchline; the druid cleared his throat, attempting to smother a sudden grin.

"I admit, despite our surroundings, that I would like nothing more than whatever you're interested in," he replied bashfully, fidgeting with his hands like some shy teenager on his first date. Astarion found it charming, and surprising; Halsin didn't seem the shy type. 

"I'm interested in a night of passion," he said, crawling closer to the other elf, only to pause within arm's length." ...I admit I didn't think much of you, at first. You were just some big lump of a barbarian, some hick from the woods. But you showed me there is real good in the world. And I love that. I love you. And I want it all."

"And you shall have it; all that I can give."

Chapter Text

Their second kiss was almost akin to a collision, including the proverbial sparks; Astarion was thrilled to find that the warm feeling in his chest only grew when their lips finally met. Firm as it was initially-- the result of too many pent-up emotions to handle-- as their lips locked together, the kiss slowly softened. 

Astarion pushed at Halsin's chest, breaking away not for breath, but to shove the other man backwards against the grass; it earned him a surprised smile, and a distinctly come-hither look that he was happy to answer to. Astarion crawled on top, sitting daintily-- triumphantly-- across his newfound lover's hips.

"You've slept your way through Faerun, druid." Astarion wasted no time in working the fasteners open on Halsin's vest, pulling the fabric aside and running cool fingers across the other man's broad chest. He felt Halsin's pulse quicken under his hand, the druid's eyes looking him over with awe. "I'm about to make you consider monogamy."

Halsin could only laugh at that empty threat, as much as it got him excited for whatever came next. "I don't think so, but you are very welcome to try."

Astarion accepted that challenge; he unbuttoned his shirt, and made swift work on the ties of Halsin's pants, biting his lip as he peeled back the green fabric of his underwear-- and was more than pleased with what he found.

Gods below. Astarion whistled appreciatively as he pulled Halsin's length free, finding it already firm and heavy in his hands. The druid was certainly blessed by his beloved Nature in all the places it counted, thick, well-shaped and too long to grasp in one hand.

Astarion felt his mouth water as he poised it over Halsin's cock, only for the wood elf to take hold of his chin. He worried something was wrong, for a moment, but he didn't have long to feel that way.

"Sit on my face?" Halsin asked, his voice rising hopefully. He smoothed his hands across the pale skin of Astarion's stomach, the reverence never leaving his eyes. It was surreal and intoxicating to be looked at in such a way by anyone, like he was a vision of a deity, instead of the walking dead.

The answer was obvious and easy. "How could I say no?" 

They laughed like giddy young things as they stripped the rest of their clothes off, letting the trappings of life fall where they would for the moment. Halsin followed, laying back against the grass and beckoning the pale elf forward; Astarion turned away from him, and crawled backwards to straddle his face. He knew damn well he'd appreciate the view.

Halsin rubbed a cheek against Astarion's inner thigh with a strained groan, but that was the last of the preamble either man was willing to give. Astarion poised himself on his knees over the other man's face, spitting in his hand and wrapping it around the base of Halsin's shaft to stroke it in firm, swift passes of his smooth fingers. He felt warm breath against the skin of his ass as the druid gasped, felt those strong hands gently pry his cheeks wider to make room for an eager tongue. 

It may as well as been his favorite treat, dripping from the comb; Halsin's grip tightened as he traced circles around the tight pink skin, and Astarion arched his back with a subtle noise of encouragement. Sadly, the druid's superior height meant he couldn't have his mouth and suck his magnificent cock at the same time; Astarion chose to focus on his own pleasure first, his hand still keeping pace even so. 

"Stop teasing," he said, a playful lilt to his voice. "This isn't my first time."

Obligingly, Halsin's tongue went to work in earnest, lapping more firmly against his hole, tonguing against and occasionally past the tight ring of muscle, moaning happily all the while; above him, Astarion shuddered and gasped, delighted and surprised by the sudden vigor he'd inspired. His grip on Halsin went slack as his attention diverted entirely; he wasn't even trying to fight his selfish needs, placing his palms flat against the expanse of the druid's chest so he could rock his hips backwards in encouragement.

Halsin seemed to enjoy himself down there for a while, not showing any concern for his own ignored arousal. It was sweet of him, and all, but Astarion really, desperately wanted to gag on that cock.

"Let me go," he commanded, giving one of Halsin's thighs a smack; again, he felt a delighted gasp against his skin. He climbed off once the other man obeyed. "I've decided it's my turn; stand up."

"Mm," Halsin hummed in agreement, doing as he was told, his eyes widening with interest when Astarion sunk to his knees in front of him. Even so, the druid felt the need to warn him. For some reason. "This is what I was worried about… I can already feel my control fraying, and we've hardly begun. I could go into Wild Shape--"

"So?" Astarion leaned forward, lips pressed against the tip of his twitching erection. Halsin shivered a little each time he formed a word. "I'm in control now, druid. So shut your mouth, and fuck mine."

He punctuated his sentence by opening his mouth wide and gleefully descending up the other man's cock with a slurp, unable to stop from making a sound of salacious glee when he felt the corners of his mouth stretch. He was rediscovering a dozen little things that turned him on, bit by bit.

Halsin was hesitant to do as he asked, at first, but all Astarion really had to do was glance upward and meet his eyes, and the druid made a pathetic noise of relenting. 

"Forgive me if I am overzealous," he apologized in advance, carding his fingers through Astarion's hair, gripping the back of his head firmly. The vampire made another sound of approval around his mouthful, sliding his head up and down once more, hollowing his cheeks as he did so and earning a long, low groan in response. Slowly, Halsin began to pump his hips forward, pushing a little deeper and harder each time, biting his lip as his head went back. Astarion was thrilled; he let himself drool, making the movements easy and slick, relaxing his throat so he could swallow the length of him, 'til his nose bumped the druid's belly.

"You are a gift, Astarion," Halsin praised, his voice straining, fingers tightening and tugging at silky curls. "As perfect as you are-- ah--"

Astarion felt Halsin's body go warm, and the scent of fresh grass flooded his senses; he knew what was coming, and swiftly pulled free before the druid's transformation began in full.

Before his eyes, Halsin shifted to his bear form; Astarion took a step back on instinct, forever unused to how large a bear actually was when you were standing beside it. 

"Excited, are we?" he noted, amused. Halsin only looked bashful, and it was a priceless image on a godsdamned bear. Thankfully, it didn't last long; he shifted back just as quickly, left naked and shy.

"It's easy to lose myself, in moments like these," Halsin admitted, clearing his throat awkwardly. "When my desires run hot."

"I'm flattered," Astarion replied honestly, but he was done with amusements and distractions. "Now, get down on all fours, if you please; face away from me-- that's wonderful."

He stuck one long finger in his mouth, his free hand running down Halsin's back, over scars, feeling him tremble under the chill of his touch. It was intoxicating to have this much sway over a man this powerful-- in build and deed both-- and he could hardly wait to see the former Archdruid come undone.

Halsin was a veteran, alright; the first slickened digit entered with barely any resistance, and Astarion wondered to himself why he hadn't just gone with two to start with.

"Hm… Now who's teasing?"

"Oh, hush up. It's no surprise to me to find out you're eager to be fucked." Astarion shook his head in fond disbelief, spitting down onto the hand between Halsin's thighs so he could work two more fingers in; that seemed to be enough to cause a little stretch, enough to make Halsin suck in a shaking breath. He took that as his cue to continue, pushing his fingers in to the knuckle and out again, building up a rough and discordant rhythm. 

There was no attempt on the druid's end to keep his enjoyment quiet; through the silence of the graveyard echoed his litany of moans, his fists twisting in the grass. It wasn't enough, of course, and he pushed his hips back against Astarion's hand greedily, sloppily attempting to match him thrust for thrust. 

He outright whined when Astarion pulled his fingers out and away. Halsin glanced over his shoulder in time to see him doing a quick job of spreading saliva over his cock, eyes widening in eager anticipation when saw Astarion smile and take him by the hips. The fingers had done most of the work; they fit together easily, and this time Astarion was the one groaning out into the night air as he sank into Halsin inch by inch.

No more time was wasted; Astarion pressed his toes into the grass for leverage and started fucking him, letting his instincts and lust carry him, the movements rough and unsteady from their hasty preparation. The sound of smacking skin joined their voices, scaring crows from their perches; neither man noticed or cared. 

Astarion held Halsin's hips in a white-knuckle grip as he pounded into him, attempting with every thrust to pound deeper and harder. He smelled sweat prickling on the other man's skin, the heady scent of musk and sex blurring his mind into a haze of indulgence. Not long ago, all things that would have disgusted him, but now blended together into an overwhelming intoxicant.

Halsin's head dropped, his arms reaching up one by one to hold onto the top of Astarion's headstone, clinging to the cold granite to keep himself upright at the perfect angle to roll his ass back against Astarion, bucking against his thrusting hips.

"Don't stop," the druid panted, briefly cut off by another moan when the other man hit particularly deep. "--I like it rough."

"I noticed," Astarion grunted. He smacked Halsin across the ass, just to see what would happen, and he was delighted to see him arch his back and roll his hips deliciously in response. "You're an absolute freak, aren't you?"

"Mmhm," Halsin agreed with a furious nod over his shoulder, bangs plastered to his face. "Do it again...?"

Gods below, and he'd been letting Winter have all the fun. Astarion had a lot of lost time to make up for.

He gave Halsin what he wanted, slapping him again across the ass, hips jerking forward as the other man inevitably rocked back. They were building up speed like this, quickening their pace and intensity together, climbing and climbing towards a shared peak. Astarion reached one hand around Halsin's waist to wrap around his cock and stroke, quick flicks of his wrist that favored the leaking head.

He could feel the other man tightening and fluttering around him, and Astarion wasn't sure how much longer he was going last, either. Halsin was no passive recipient; he kept his hips moving steadily, giving Astarion no break from the pleasure, milking sounds from the vampire spawn he hadn't heard out of his own mouth in decades or more.

He felt Halsin hit the edge from within and without; he felt his muscles squeeze around his cock, and then felt hot, sticky liquid run over his fingers. The low shudder the wood elf made was satisfied and exhausted in equal measure, but he still didn't stop moving his blasted hips--

Astarion's orgasm took him by absolute surprise; he bent over Halsin and pushed their hips firmly together, biting down on the larger man's neck and holding there while he pumped him full in stuttered bursts. He felt blood pour over his tongue, rich and decadent, and it took everything in him not to drink. He pulled away, easing down to the grass with Halsin as the other elf's legs gave out beneath him.

"That was…" Halsin's chest heaved in gasping breaths as he rolled over in the grass, staring up at the night sky. "...just the beginning, I think."

Astarion snorted, draping himself across his lover, toying with a fraying braid in his hair. "I agree wholeheartedly."