Chapter Text
Willow
The last time she saw him was after the defeat of the Netherbrain. There on the docks, he, the greatest love she’s ever had, cursed her stupidity for not taking advantage of the power of the brain and told her one last time that she would regret her decision to leave him, before he turned into a bat and disappeared from her life. Like a fucking freak.
Willow went on to spend a month in the Hells with Karlach and Wyll, until she realized that Avernus wasn’t where she belonged. She loves Karlach and Wyll, but she never wanted to be a hero or a fighter; at least, not for every second of her life. Instead, she thought, she might be destined to help rebuild the town of Reithwin with Halsin.
She spent another month there in the budding little town, exploring the budding little relationship she had with the Druid. Willow slept with Halsin after breaking up with the aforementioned greatest love she’s ever had, and she thought she might see where things could go with him.
Halsin was sweet and so wonderful with the children in his care in Reithwin that Willow assumed he would have no qualms about giving her the family that she dreamed of, but she never thought to ask before she left. There was something missing with him, making her feel out of place just as she did in Avernus. And Willow was trying not to think about what that something was.
With reluctance, Willow ultimately decided to move back to Baldur’s Gate by herself — the city she had traveled to on a whim only a short few months before the abduction by the nautiloid. The decision to not cling to one of her companions was a hard one, but she found her way to the Elfsong and made a deal with the owner to perform as the Bravest Bard in Baldur’s Gate!; allowing the tavern to profit off of her performing as one of the saviors of the city, and allowing her to stay for free and keep her tips.
Now, Willow is the happiest she’s been since before breaking up with Astarion.
Performing has always been her greatest passion, long before she learned to fight with it. Stomping around the Elfsong in a skirt with her arms high and steady, screaming out notes on her flute while the patrons cheer and try to get her to visit them at their table or the bar has given her more joy than the Hells or Reithwin ever could. She can see herself staying here for some time.
Tonight, the boy at the bar that Willow has been entertaining on her lonelier nights in the Elfsong has requested a specific dress for her performance; a little black thing she picked up in the lower city, short enough that it would be inappropriate for more regal company but fits in perfectly in the tavern. She chooses to oblige him because it’s a fun garment to dance in, and because she already suspects that tonight will be one of those nights that she’ll take him up on his offer to join her in her room after work.
Though Willow is the happiest she’s been since her breakup with Astarion, she would be lying if she said she didn’t think of him at all — which is something she has lied about on more than one occasion, when trying to prove it to Alfira or Shadowheart. The Vampire Ascendant creeps into her mind most days, but some days it almost feels like Willow is being possessed by the memory of him: the gentle touches they once shared; the omissions of guilt from him and love from her; the fight for each other, and for Faerûn. Until it was all over.
“Willow!” Felix calls from the bar as Willow appears at the bottom of the steps, making her debut in the tavern tonight. “Look at you in that dress I like.” He follows his exclamation with a low whistle, and though Willow feels like she should be blushing, she simply rolls her eyes and waves a dismissive hand at him.
“Pour me one before I’ve got to get up there?” She asks, gently setting her flute on the counter.
“You know you don’t ‘ave to ask,” Felix simpers, slapping an already-poured mug of mead on the counter. He watches with bright eyes as Willow chugs the liquid down in big gulps, as if he’s mesmerized by the sight of her. “Can’t believe you can drink like that an’ not tip over while you’re dancing.”
Willow finishes the mug and wipes her mouth, laughing as she remembers that she should be flirting with Felix. The gestures she offers him are performative, but they come naturally to Willow, as tainted with guilt as they are.
“Sometimes all I had for dinner on the road was some beer and half-eaten apples,” Willow says with a sigh, knowing it will impress him to talk about her time as one of the tadpoled heroes, “I got a lot of practice.”
Felix is a bit older than Willow, but he looks at her with the adoration of his most favorite schoolteacher, or a goddess. Felix stares at her, eyes sparkling and smitten, before turning back to the other patrons gathering around the bar. Felix is handsome enough; he has soft, brown curls and a gentle, rounded face that makes him look boyish despite the hints of age beginning to show around his eyes.
When the tavern owner calls for Willow’s performance to begin, a sizable crowd has grown around the room. The Elfsong keeps her performance schedule posted on the door for patrons to come and see the Bravest Bard in Baldur’s Gate!, the only savior of the city who has reduced herself to dancing around for a place to live.
The performing is excellent, the crowd is usually well-behaved, and the money is enough to keep Willow comfortable. The only part of the arrangement she doesn’t like is the commodity of her.
“That’s right, folks, the bard savior of the city!” She calls out to the room as she stands up from her place at the bar, taking her flute back into her hands. Despite her feelings about being a hero, Willow leans into her title while performing because she knows it’s what the crowd wants. “And don’t you fucking forget it when you’re deciding how much to tip,” she sneers playfully, pointing a finger around the room. Her comment earns a round of laughter from the bodies that fill the tavern, and Willow smiles as she begins the first notes of her favorite opening song.
It’s an upbeat little tune that leaves her with enough breath to dance around the room, twirling her skirt and stomping her feet against the floor to excite the room. The best part of being known for defeating the Absolute is that it seems to prevent the most drunken patrons from becoming too handsy, as Willow has seen them get with other female performers. Occasionally, one will still reach out a hand and receive a quick kick in return, delighting the rest of the crowd at the expense of one angry patron.
On the final round of the song, Willow pulls out one of her fan-favorite moves: twirling around in fast circles and kicking one of her feet up like a ballet dancer in the middle of the room. It’s difficult to balance, and it takes all of the breath control that she has to manage it, but it makes the crowd cheer and toss their tips at her like nothing else.
With each twirl, Willow glances around the room, inspecting the crowd for any familiar patrons. The dowdy cleric who always tosses her a gold piece; the angelic patriar’s daughter who sits in the back and giggles with her friends; and a flash of curly, silver-white hair flashes across her vision, making her heart skip within her chest. Willow squeezes her eyes shut and decides not to look in that direction again until she finishes her song. If it is him — which it couldn’t be — the worst thing to do would be to allow him to ruin her performance.
Willow spins until her song comes to an end, and she holds up her hands in celebration as the tavern crowd, now flowing into the street outside, sings her praises. “Baldurians, I love you so!” She cheers, moving to stand next to the bar and survey the crowd. “Who’s going to buy me a drink before my next one?”
A cacophony of volunteers, mostly men, call out with offers, but Willow laughs and waves her hand as she leans against the bar. “That was incredible,” Felix says with a smile, and now a sheen of sweat across his face from the increasing number of people demanding drinks. “May even be one of your—“
Felix stops mid-sentence as his gaze shifts beyond Willow, and while his expression at first seems confused, it quickly transforms into delight. “Wills,” he says, his eyes lighting up, “it’s one of your friends!”
All of the heat that built up in Willow’s face during her performance drains at the sound of his words, knowing exactly who Felix means. She feels a familiar presence behind her as the man stares in awe, and then sees a familiar hand slapping coins onto the bar in front of her.
“A goblet of your finest wine for the bard,” Astarion’s voice purrs to Felix, with the confidence of someone who can see the adoration in the poor man’s eyes. “For an excellent performance,” he adds, brushing his arm against Willow’s.
Willow doesn’t waste any time swinging around to face him, and the muscles in her neck remember exactly how to tilt her head up just enough so that she looks into his eyes and not the buttons of his coat. “I know,” she responds coolly, before she can fully process the sight in front of her. Before he can catch the sound of her banging, hurting heartbeat.
Astarion looks as beautiful as he ever has. He wears a tailored suit that fits him perfectly, with a stiff collar high enough to cover the violent bite scar Willow knows still remains on his pale neck. Harsh red lines decorate the hems, just enough to highlight the crimson of his eyes, but the rest of his outfit is a rich black. Astarion’s expression is calm and still as stone as he gazes downward into Willow’s eyes, with only a flicker of a smile crossing his red lips.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” She seethes as soon as Felix turns to tend to other patrons at the bar. Willow tries to keep her voice low enough that no one else will hear her, including their shared adoring fan.
Astarion pouts, forcing his lip to quiver. “What a horrible way to greet your lover.”
Willow rolls her eyes, but doesn’t respond to his use of the word lover as Felix appears in front of them with two tall goblets of wine. She snatches one of them from his hand and takes a big gulp, not looking away from Astarion.
“What brings you back to the Elfsong, little love?” Astarion asks her as he pointedly inspects Felix and the goblet of wine. “Last I heard, you were sharing a bed with the druid back in wretched little Reithwin.”
“I told you not to call me that anymore,” Willow hisses, recalling the conversation they had in this very tavern, after their tumultuous relationship finally met its end. It had been her favorite pet name, for a time, when she had truly believed that he loved her. “And Reithwin just wasn’t for me,” she adds, mindful of the curious glance from Felix, “I missed the city.” Willow ignores the part about sharing a bed with Halsin.
“I will admit, I was delighted to hear about your return, and about this charming little gig,” Astarion says, gesturing around the tavern. “Though I was hoping you would come to see me before I had to make my own way here.”
“You just had to see me? How sweet,” Willow counters, taking Astarion’s comment about her gig as an insult. She takes another large sip of her wine, and her head spins despite how deceptively non-alcoholic it tastes.
Astarion scoffs at her unabashed chugging of the alcohol, watching with a disgusted curiosity. “I had to see if you had any thoughts about the mistake you made in this very building,” he says with a shrug, not taking his eyes off of her.
“Not a mistake,” Willow says with a forced smile. She takes one last drink from her goblet before setting it back down onto the bar and straightening out her dress around her hips. “Now, you may as well stay and watch the rest,” she whispers, only loud enough for Astarion to hear, “so you have something to think about later.”
His statuesque expression doesn’t flinch at her teasing, but Willow doesn’t expect him to. The Vampire Ascendant can’t take a joke with her as much as he could before; he can only stare in insulted silence.
Willow had a different song planned for the second part of her performance, but she shifts at the last second for her admirer at the bar. He developed a hatred for one of the songs Volo taught her at camp, simply because he had to hear it nearly every night while they worked on it, waiting for Willow to join him in bed. It’s a bit slower, but it still lends itself to traveling around the tavern while she plays.
Astarion stays and watches Willow with hooded eyes from the bar, a familiar gaze that would have made her melt only a few months before. Now, it doesn’t immediately make her weak, but it does make her heart squeeze with pain — a pain she had hoped was on its way out, now slicing into her once again.
Dealbreaker Act I Spotify Playlist — if you want it