Chapter Text
The day after the fall of the Netherbrain, in a Baldur’s Gate that has seen its residents lose their sleep by either partying all night or mourning their deaths, something truly peculiar happens: it starts to rain. Not the light summer drizzle that has caressed the Sword Coast in the last few months, but a true downpour more suited to the middle of fall, with the occasional rumble of thunder echoing in the distance and that heavy petrichor mixed with city grime that only blossoms in sprawling metropolises. The unexpected flood is both a blessing and a curse at the same time, a helping hand against the few smoldering ashes still left around the city and an inconvenience for all the people that have to move supplies, coffins, or messages, but every resident is silently agreeing that it’s a huge relief to see the pools of blood littered all over the city slowly disappear into the grates that lead to the sewers, to watch the streets become a maze of miniature rivers that wash away some of the suffering that the city had to bravely endure.
The sound of the storm crashing down from the skies also stirs Astarion awake from his deep, restorative meditation, his eyes blinking groggily as his cheek is dragged roughly against one of Tav’s heavy-plated pectorals. His body is completely naked under a blanket that feels way softer than usual, for some strange reason, and a little wiggle of his legs also reveals that his lover is in a similar state of undress as him, so the spawn lets out a very pleased hum as he moves his chin to the slope of the ranger’s warm neck, his unmistakable scent lulling him slowly towards a rare state of half-trance. Behind the heavy curtain that’s been drawn over the window, the rainfall continues relentlessly for what feels like a small eternity, accompanied by the squeak of poor-oiled cartwheels and the occasional shout of some impatient citizen, and the shadows in the room quiver in delight as Astarion floats aimlessly between his lover’s strong and scaly arms, and embrace that feel as warm as sun rays on his bare skin-
At least until the spawn’s eyes crack open again, adjusting slowly to the almost pitch-black darkness of the bedroom, and the half-formed shapes of the surrounding furniture bring forth the realization that he’s not laying inside his alcove at the Elfsong Tavern.
With a half-choked sound of alarm, Astarion shifts his hands on the mattress until he’s able to push himself up and raise his head from Tav’s torso, but the gesture does not bring him any additional clarity about his current predicament; the bedroom he’s in is small but tastefully decorated, with lavish upholstered seats and soft-looking carpets carefully arranged in one corner, while the other one is occupied by an empty wooden bathtub that doesn’t smell of rot or sweat like the one that one could find in a less reputable establishment, impregnated instead by the scents of the fancy tree oils from Athkatla that only the more wealthy can afford.
It takes a while before Astarion is able to connect the dots and place the few visual clues that he’s presented with, to dig inside his brain and bring to the light the memories of some of the most unusual nights of his life. Judging by the furniture and the unique paintings that are hanging from the walls, it’s almost certain that the two adventurers are currently inside the Helm and Cloak, famously known for being the most prestigious inn in all of Baldur’s Gate, and the vamp’s eyes can’t help but linger on the massive tapestry that’s hanging across the massive wooden bed where he’s currently laying, a detailed scene of a hunt with small noblemen on horses and animals of all kinds frozen in time in the middle of their escape.
Before Astarion can linger for too long on the portrayal of a poor deer with an arrow stuck inside his neck, the pieces of some more recent memories come back to him with infuriating nonchalance, each taking its sweet time to reveal their own embarrassing moment from the day before: first the humiliating wait for the departure of the sun behind a crate right there next to the pier, while the rest of his companions lent a hand to the bustling crowd that was still cleaning the docks from both debris and illithids, then the rowdy and frankly disgusting meal that the adventurers had gobbled up at the Blushing Mermaid to replenish their strength, all in the middle of a crowd of sailors that was celebrating harder than they had done in a very long time. After that, an endless night of very hard drinking had started, but at least the quality of the alcohol had raised considerably as the party continued to tavern-hop from one location to the next: from the seediest establishment in the Lower City, which included the basement of the Keexie Tavern and the outside courtyard of the Splurging Sturgeon, somehow the group had found their way to the most well-known lodgings in the Upper City, places where only the adventurers of the highest fame were welcomed to enter. Either the frenzy of the foiled invasion had scrambled several unspoken societal restrictions, or the city already knew that a brass-scaled Dragonborn and his posse of mismatched friends were the heroes of the day, but the fact is that Tav and his Clan were welcomed with open arms in every building they had set foot in, often with shouts of unbridled joy and several rounds of free drinks paid by very generous patrons and sometimes even the innkeeper themselves.
And so the night had slowly tangled in an aggregation of laughter, singing, dancing and storytelling, a chaos that has also tainted the integrity of Astarion’s recollections. There are shards of images that include Wyll and Karlach locked arm in arm and prancing in circles on top of a table, a sea of patrons shouting them on while Shadowheart and Gale looked up to them with very drunk and very starry eyes, while in others Halsin and Lae’zel are locked in an arm-wrestling match with Jaheira as the judge and Minsc as a very unhelpful commentator, a match that was concluded with a draw when the former High Druid accidentally slipped into his bear form and caused a brief bout of panic amongst the patrons of the tavern-
And then there was Tav, always by Astarion’s side, who gazed with affection at either his lover or their companions and spoke only when he had to announce that he was buying everyone another round. His arm never left the spawn’s shoulder whenever they got into a tavern, a blanket of protection that never hesitated to push aside some overly-enthusiastic tipplers if they got too close to the vamp, but Astarion doesn’t remember feeling either trapped or troubled by the mass of bodies that had surrendered he and his lover for most of the night, the bad memories of his two centuries of prowling in those very same rooms reduced to nothing more than translucent specters barely visible in the dimmest corners of the room.
Although most of it is missing from his mind, Astarion is sure that his evening was filled with warmth, joy, hilarity and good companionship, and so the spawn lets out a satisfied sigh as he turns his head around to gaze upon his still sleeping lover, his smile spreading quickly when he recalls the last moments of their evening of debauchery: how ravenous Tav’s mouth had been when the door of their current bedroom had closed behind them, how their clothes had flown on the floor as strong, greedy hands took their fill by caressing and groping every possible inch of naked flesh. Their stumble on top of the bed, their teeth clacking painfully but not enough to make them stop, the swallow bites that Astarion had left on the ranger’s neck, the tangle of their tongues that grew lazier and lazier as the minute passed until Tav had fallen asleep with his lips still puckered, much to the spawn’s charmed hilarity. The spawn’s struggle when he had to get them both under the covers, the bittersweet resignation when he went to close the curtain of the room as tightly as possible-
And now, Tav is still snoring lightly and peacefully, and Astarion gazes lovingly upon him as he lets his own happiness echo like the ring of a bell inside his chest, at least until a small, insidious thread of doubt begins to creep steadily into his mind. As his brow furrows and his stomach tightens up, despite all the celebrating that they have done and all the happy endings that they have reached, the spawn can’t push aside the fact that there’s still one last hurdle that Tav has to face, one that has been both suspiciously generous in its stillness and has been left unsaid between the lines for far too long. Truth be told, Astarion himself hadn’t given much thought to Tav’s curse ever since the group arrived in Baldur’s Gate, too caught up in the many tasks and missions that he and his companions had to bring to completion, but now it’s impossible to ignore that single speckle of dirt that still lingers on the last, pristine page of their story, the tool that has helped them the most and the wound that has brought so much pain in his lover’s life.
As he thinks of Tav’s troubled past, both the condition that has afflicted him since the nautiloid and the much more insidious circumstances of his birth, the whirlwind of panic inside Astarion quickly begins to grow out of control, until he’s almost tempted to wake his lover and find some solace inside the confused mirrors of his irises. However, the spawn’s rationality ultimately prevails over his fears, his irked instincts soothed by the regular breathing pattern of his lover’s lungs, and ultimately Astarion lets out a huff of exasperation towards himself as he goes to put his head back down on his lover’s chest, telling himself that Tav needs the rest and there’s no way he is going to wake him up just because of a silly moment of unjustified fright.
Slowly but surely, the tension inside the spawn’s muscles begins to seep out, and a rare bout of additional tiredness pulls a large yawn out of his fanged mouth. Surprised by his own body’s reaction, which is not in the habit of wandering into meditation more than one single time per day, Astarion ultimately shrugs one shoulder and prepares himself for slipping again into his race’s peculiar idea of rest, now resigned to the idea of spending some additional time piecing together the memories of the night before-
Until a sensation both alien and familiar suddenly puts a lot of weight on the spawn’s bare shoulder, and all of his senses are snapping wide awake again.
In a sluggish and brief surge of blood rush, Astarion’s throat tightens in reflexive panic and prevents him from screaming out, all while the invisible pressure on his skin extends to his back, legs, and arm. It takes him a moment more to realize why the touch feels almost nostalgic, to remember how Tav had felt when he had been nestled in that huge pale-scaled hand from his dreams, but the spawn’s eyes and mouth are closing shut of their own accord before even a whisper can leave his bloodless lips, forcing him to look upon the familiar darkness behind his eyelids-
And then, something materializes in the middle of the empty landscape of the spawn’s terrified mind, something so unusual that it puts his fright on hold for a long moment. It’s… a door, or at least a crossway of some sort, which has taken the shape of a looming archway hidden by a black and silky curtain, the surface of the cloth shimmering and fluctuating to the rhythm of an invisible wind.
Despite its apparent lightness, there’s no way to peer behind the drape and understand what’s hiding behind it, and Astarion is quick to loses the fight against his own body when he tries and fails to open his eyes again, which is all the indications he needs to know what the strange presence that has taken a hold of him wants him to do next. After debating and stalling for a moment, the spawn forces his own will to approach the door, his very thoughts quivering in confusion as the curtain slides over his metaphysical vision, only to reveal-
A dark corridor, lit up by a dim glowing orb of indigo-colored magic, which is absolutely overflowing with an incalculable amount of… hourglasses, of all things. The delicate items are all lined up against the wall or propped on top of overly ornate tables, leaving only a small path in the middle of the floor to reach a heavy-looking black door with silver ornaments, and Astarion can’t help but marvel for a moment at the different sizes and colors of the hourglasses as his mind projection floats gently towards the new gateway, admiring their iridescent shifting sands and the delicate details in their ampoules and supports-
But as soon as the door creaks open, the unmistakable glint of Tav’s beautiful scales captures the spawn’s eyes, and Astarion can’t see anything else. The straight back and strong shoulders that the vamp has followed for months are right in front of him, in the middle of an empty space that’s even more ill-lighted than the previous hallway, and Astarion runs towards them before he can find the space to feel any sort of hesitation, his vision blurring as soon as his fingertips come in contact with his lover’s body-
And suddenly, the room is flooded with light, leaving Astarion utterly petrified at the sight of the two very distinct figures that are now standing in front of the Dragonborn.
Towards the very back of the room, partially shrouded by a canopy of purple veils hanging from the ceiling, a dragon of mastodonic proportions looms silently in the shadows of a towering alcove, standing as still as a flawless marble statue on top of a bed of rusty-colored cushions. His scales have the dullest color the spawn has ever seen, something between bone white and unpolished silver, and his barely-visible eyes have the same milky hue of the ones found in rotting cadavers, unblinking and void of any interest in the scene in front of him. The membranes of his folded wings are shimmering like the hourglasses that are also filling this chamber, as kaleidoscopic as the scales of every wyrm that has ever lived, but it’s not long before Astarion’s eyes are falling and then focusing solely on the creature’s immense, clawed hands, a sight that makes his dead heart tremble with both instinctive fear and deep understanding.
To distract himself from the panic that he knows is about to rise inside of him, Astarion tears his eyes away from the white dragon to take in the second figure that’s standing to the right side of it, a black Dragonborn of much more modest dimensions dressed in clean-cut clothes of the same color as his scales. However, it’s plain to see that the stranger’s unassuming presence is merely a keen disguise, the flat line of his mouth surmounted by two green, poisonous irises that gleam with the strength of magic too ancient to be grasped by mortals, and in his face there’s a beauty so terrible that Astarion has only found while he was trapped in his coffin underground, in the absolute darkness of the final rest that Cazador had ultimately denied him.
But despite the frightening sight of the two dragonkind in front of him, Tav does not hesitate as he takes one step forward and then another, Astarion trailing closely next to him but still unable to speak or move as freely as he would like to. It’s apparent that the Dragonborn has no idea that his lover is next to him, his full attention reserved solely for the not-so-mysterious figures waiting for him, and for a moment Astarion even wonders if this might be just a dream or maybe a long-forgotten memory that his lover is somehow projecting to him, one that they are somehow sharing even without the tadpole’s powers-
But all of those conjectures fall apart when the black Dragonborn gives the spawn a pointed, long look, one that makes Astarion’s hair stand up and his lips pull back in an instinctive, visceral snarl. The figure is absolutely nonplussed by the spawn’s reaction, like his actions or presence are not even worth the bother of a blink, and Astarion has to fight the instinct to run for his life until the stranger returns his full attention to the approaching ranger and his eyes light up with something that the vamp hesitates to call fondness, but has no other word that could attempt to describe what he’s seeing.
“Tavunn Karjerbandriath… we have been waiting for you.” the black Dragonborn ultimately announces as Tav comes to a stop just a few steps away from him, his voice as creaky as the rusty hinges of a forgotten temple, and Astarion fights off a repulsed shiver at the off-putting intonation of the stranger’s voice, all while the white dragon continues to observe the scene with total, unwavering apathy.
“...Fekiikiri, Null, persvek wer adon di Chronepsis kagh Faluzure.” replies Tav at last in flawless, melodic Draconic, his back bending in the scantest diplomatic bow Astarion has ever seen him perform, and the spawn’s heart grows even wearier in front of the hesitation that the ranger is trying so hard to downplay, the barely perceptible tremble of his lips as he shapes words that his lover can’t understand. “Fekiikiri, jennu juanth iri, wer kosj ir tepohaic confn spical.”
“Ah, so you did not forget your manners.” the Dragonborn- no, Faluzure acknowledges with no trace of mirth or warmth in his voice, utterly emotionless in front of a reunion that must be years in the making, but his lips do pull up in a brief, faint smile as he notices that Tav has yet to raise his head, as if his old subject’s forced reverence is something that must be savored. “It has been a while since we heard you pay us such deep respect.”
“I have come to sever my binds, Old Ones.” Tav tonelessly replies without losing even a beat, his request carelessly pushing aside the jab that his old God has aimed at him. “The fight has been won, and I have paid my tribute.” continues the ranger with a tad more heat, finally raising his proud head again to gauge the other Dragonborn’s reaction, but there’s still no change in the behavior of either of Null’s avatars, no sign that his request will be accepted at long last.
“And such a fine job you have done with that.” replies the black Dragonborn with just the barest hint of hunger in his tone, a wicked gleam in his poison irises that endures longer than any of his previous moods. “So much death you have sown, in all those lives you have lived. You fed us plenty, sihe, like we knew you would.”
“I did not fight in your name.” shots back Tav promptly, maybe a tad too quickly, but Faluzure just nods his head like he already expected such a rebuttal.
“Spoken like the rebel you’ve always secretly been, the unsettled teen eager to climb out of the caves after the first sight of green forests and blue skies.” the undead aspect of Null recalls as Tav’s spine grows even stiffer, pregnant affirmations that make the atmosphere in the room impossibly heavier, and in the rising tension Astarion can’t help but shoot another look towards the still-impassable avatar of Chronepsis, hoping and failing to see any change in the white dragon’s demeanor. “And yet, even when you desperately spurned us, the blood in your veins still knew what had to be done: it guided you to sow death in the most beautiful way and reap its rewards afterward, to give order to what would have been a senseless bloodshed otherwise.” continues the black Dragonborn relentlessly, his wicked personality slowly breaking through his thin shell of superiority as a fully-formed smile blooms between his scaled lips, rows upon rows of white teeth as sharp as the words that stumble out from between them. “You even took an undead as your lover.”
“My binds, Old Ones. Please.” counters Tav in a tone that does not betray any panic, his hands slowly rising in the air to show his barren wrists in a demanding gesture, but Astarion’s eyes can pierce right through the ranger’s thick mask, can spot his desperate attempt to bring the attention back onto himself and prevent his lover’s name from leaving Faluzure’s lips.
“...Of course.” the undead aspect of Null finally acknowledges with a smile, an expression that’s just one step removed from becoming a menacing grin, but Tav’s posture does not become more relaxed in front of his God’s agreement, not while the black Dragonborn is still focused on reminiscing about the past. “You bore the weight of the curse that was wished upon you, but stayed true to yourself and paid the asked price. When you left your Clan, you wanted the freedom to make choices… and so we granted it to you. Choices upon choices, a journey designed to break your mind, to make you plead for mercy and run back to us, to your Clan…” the God reminisces with unmistakable longing, as if the pain caused by Tav’s curse is a fine wine he will never get to taste again, and Astarion’s blood thrums dangerously in his veins with anger as the avatar’s smile flattens in mild displeasure again. “But still, your will prevailed, bringing balance where it had been chaos and making blood flow like rivers to our doorstep. Your choices shaped the world, and brought judgment to the land...” concludes Faluzure with venomous, insidious joy, nostril flaring briefly in a twitch that looks much too mortal on such a perfect and dangerous face. “Now more than ever, you are ready to be my Chosen.”
“I will not.” replies Tav in a curt and hash manner, his revulsion pushing aside all the pretenses that he has kept up until now, and Astarion’s heart drops to the soles of his feet at the reveal of what he already suspected was the bottom of it all, the true reason why Tav was put through such a long and gruesome journey: to become the living will of Death and walk the Sword Coast with their names on his lips, to become the same thing that he had worked so hard to defeat. “You cannot make me do that.” the Dragonborn continues to reiterate while his whole body tenses up, readying himself for a fight that will surely be his last, and the sand of the hourglasses scattered all across the room seems to slow down its descent as the ranger and his God stare into each other’s eyes for a moment, Chronepsis still as immobile and hard-hearted as Death itself-
But ultimately, it’s Faluzure the one who lets out a long, dissonant hum, a rumble of displeasure that causes a noticeable shift in the flow of the hourglasses around him. The disturbance is dispersed before it can do any damage, muted by an unseen force that Astarion feels only for the faintest moment, but the spawn is still shocked to see the black Dragonborn throw a quick glance towards the immobile dragon behind his shoulders, a look that Chronepsis does not acknowledge in the slightest.
“You refuse our offer once more, and for that you should be destroyed…” Faluzure then murmurs as his gaze wanders back to Tav again, cold indifference now plastered once more all over his face as he delivers the most unexpected declaration of their entire meeting. “Yet you accomplished a great deal and you could see reason yet, so instead… your endurance shall be rewarded.”
With a flicker of the wrist, the room suddenly fills up with a long line of white-marbled pedestals, all arranged in a wide circle around the two Dragonborn and the invisible spawn. Each of them is topped by a singular object that looks completely unremarkable at first glance, tied-up scrolls and simple weapons and mundane items that could easily belong in somebody’s spare cabinet or drawer, but Tav’s eyes still grow as wide as two dinner plates when he whips his head around to rapidly take note of the podiums and their offerings, a scrutiny that is quickly cut short by Faluzure’s raspy voice.
“Before you lay twenty-six Boons, powers beyond mere mortals' imagination.” the God briefly explains to his old subject, his smile now just a thin white blade across his black visage, but Astarion doesn’t have the time to wonder what game the black Dragonborn is playing before Faluzure flickers his hand in an inviting motion, his tone booking no argument as he prompts the Dragonborn to choose. “Take your pick freely, and your curse shall be undone.”
After a long moment of tense, fierce hesitation, which is shared by both the ranger and his invisible lover, Tav’s feet ultimately shuffle forward to guide the Dragonborn towards the pedestal nearest to him, which coincidentally is also the one standing right in front of Faluzure’s placid and expectant figure. Under the gaze of those virulent irises, the ranger begins his careful scrutiny of each and every Boon that has been presented to him, a clockwise journey that the spawn follows with sharp eyes and the sound of his own thundering heart in his ears. Never once does the Dragonborn stop to admire a gift for longer than a single breath, apparently disinterested in their invisible divine power that only he can see, but Faluzure’s expression does not falter as he follows the ranger’s movements throughout the entire room, eyes gleaming more and more hungrily with each discarded Boon-
Until at last, the Dragonborn completes the whole circle, and his steps come to a stop at the pedestal that is right in front of Chronepsis’ indifferent, imposing figure.
A small hourglass, virtually identical to the ones that are standing all around the room, is the trinket that has finally been able to capture the Dragonborn’s attention. Moved by a curiosity that’s greater than his worries, Astarion wills his incorporeal form to move slightly forward so he can observe the object as well, and his jaw drops in silent surprises when he notices its most glaring and puzzling peculiarity; unlike the rest of the hourglasses in the room, which have been constantly flowing at their own pace ever since the spawn has arrived, the sands of this one are frozen and standing against the simplest laws of gravity, its iridescent grains suspended midair like they have been caught by surprise by a powerful ice spell.
It’s immediately clear the gift that this particular Boon will carry, a power so compelling and so absurd that it could only be bestowed by a God on their greatest champions, but the reality of the situation doesn’t seem to hit the spawn fully until Tav is reaching out and grasping the small hourglass in his hand, a gesture that immediately prompts Faluzure to speak again.
“What a maddening, absurd contradiction you are.” the God hisses with a tone that’s full of scorn and intrigue at the same time, the angles of his mouth turned up in their most unhinged smile so far. “You refuse to abide by our greatest honor, yet seek out one of its most prized powers.” continues the black Dragonborn as he gestures towards the trinket in the ranger’s hand, the sands still inert even after having moved from the pedestal. “The means to an immortal life… a body that would cease to age.”
“I do not choose it for my sake.” replies Tav calmly as Astarion’s throat begins to close, words that only heighten the rush of incredulity and panic that is about to hit the spawn at full force, and the ringing in his ears is almost loud enough to make him miss his lover’s next words, the proud tilt of his chin as he turns his head to face both Faluzure and Chronepsis at the same time. “I made my decision, Old Ones.”
“Then go, Tavunn Karjerbandriath, with your life restored and your gift of eternal youth…” announces the black Dragonborn as he raises a hand towards the ranger’s face, the cruel grin on his face nothing more than a blurred line of sharp teeth inside Astarion’s rapidly blurring eyesight. “But this is not the end. You will command our army of undeads, one day.”
“Vinxa, Null. Veitrelg.” replies Tav with another small bow as his body vanishes in a cloud of charcoal-tinted smoke, a fate that Astarion knows will befall him soon as well, and the spawn’s eyelids flutter rapidly as he prepares to cross the line between sleep and awakening, his gaze roaming aimlessly toward the far end of the room as his metaphysical body begins to dissipate-
But his breath stutters when he catches Chronepsis’ left eye, now inexplicably staring right at him, and the spawn can swear he sees the great dragon blink only once before his vision goes dark entirely.
***
Then, with a great gasp and a body drenched in sweat, Astarion’s eyes shoot open again as he jerks back awake in the land of the living, his fingers gripping tightly the sharp angle of his lover’s hips and his mouth open right above the slope of the Dragonborn’s neck. His head is pounding and it takes many blinks before his vision begins to clear up, the shadows in the room dancing around the bed like a suffocating circle of voyeuristic onlookers, but all danger dissipates from the spawn’s mind when his gaze meets his lover’s wide, astonished irises, their breaths hanging on the edge of a precipice until Astarion remembers how to make his tongue work again.
“...What did you do?” asks the spawn in a tight, startled voice, a redundant question that makes Tav’s eyes widen even more. “Did you truly-?”
“Wait, you saw that?!” the ranger cuts his lover off abruptly, before his expression rapidly shifts from surprise to barely repressed anger. “Gods damn it, of course Null would-”
“Tavunn...” replies Astarion very, very sternly, making the Dragonborn go comically still at the use of his full name, and the spawn silently takes note of that handy trick before he goes back to the matter at hand, his hands balling into the bedsheet below them to avoid grabbing his lover’s shoulder and shaking him like a tambourine. “...Did you truly break out of the curse that has plagued you for years, while also managing to gain eternal youth in the process?”
“I mean, I… I guess?” replies the Dragonborn with a strange, puzzled expression, like he is also not able to grasp in full the magnitude of what just happened to him-
Until Astarion throws himself forward with full abandon, crashing his mouth against his lover’s parted lips, and something between the two lovers just shatters in a million tiny, invisible pieces. Maybe it’s the weight of the absurd circumstances that have forced them to crawl on the ground and fight for their survival, or possibly the chains that have kept them bound to superior powers that were too difficult to comprehend or challenge, but in the end-
In the end, all that matters is the relief that spills from Tav’s eyes like perfect pearls, the whine that passes from between Astarion’s teeth and gets swallowed whole by his lover’s throat. It’s their greedy hands and their sweaty skin, the nails that accidentally scratch both skin and scales, the tight circle of their arms around one another and the way their bodies will not be apart, cannot be apart for even a single moment. It’s the silent elation hidden in every kiss, every caress, every breath that they take in-
The pure joy of being alive and whole, victorious and avenged, liberated and united.
***
By the time the two lovers’ urgency has transformed into sizzling, warm embers, the tempest above the city has also died down to a light, annoying drizzle. The streets are slowly coming alive again with the usual sounds that resonate around Baldur’s Gate, the conversations and shouts and whispers of a city that is still trying to stitch itself back together, and for a moment both Astarion and Tav are lying in silence on top of their bed as they listen closely to all the noises outside the window, letting their perspective of the world shift once more on its axis as they both reflect on their own on what the future ahead looks like.
“I am free of the parasite, free of Cazador… And your curse has been lifted as well.” Astarion then affirms firmly in the slope of his lover’s neck, chin digging into the firm muscle of his shoulder anytime he opens his mouth. “We will never be in someone’s power again.”
“Never.” replies Tav with the same amount of unyielding confidence, drawing small circular patterns on his lover’s back with the tip of his fingers. “From now on, every choice will be ours. Every victory, every joy, every loss, every mistake...” continues the Dragonborn as he looks to the side to spy on his lover’s hopeful expression, the tentative matching smiles that they are both wearing on their faces. “We will not get it perfect, but it will be our life.”
With a pleased hum, Astarion nods and then lets out a long, satisfied sigh, one that perfectly encapsulates the depth of his current solace. There’s a great deal of jubilance in his heart when he thinks about his hard-won freedom, the leash that Cazador had slipped over his head and has now been burned to ashes, but Tav’s victory over his own ill-suited master has amplified those feelings to a whole new level, has made him confident and proud as he opens his mouth again to prob his lover’s mind some more.
“So… what happens next?”
“Whatever you want, my love.” replies Tav in an airy tone, as easy as the rain that’s still falling outside, the solid flank of his torso pressed comfortably against the spawn’s chest. “We could go adventuring together, find a way to make you walk in the sun again. We could even just retire from the fight, open a shop in the city-”
“Or make our way in the Underdark, and help out my siblings with the horde of spawns we released.” intercedes the spawn with a knowing smirk, one that he knows Tav can perfectly feel against his skin, and the ranger hesitates for a brief moment before clearing his throat in a very tale-telling manner, and Astarion’s smile grows instantly even wider.
“Only if that’s what you want…” the Dragonborn cautiously replies, in a tone that would have fooled anybody else, but the vamp can clearly smell the excitement that’s now wafting out of him in waves, how his sweet scent is taking on a zesty and peppery note that’s not subtle at all so up close to his neck.
“You mean, if that’s what we want.” Astarion rebuffs with a slightly harder tone, unwilling to shoulder alone the weight of such a difficult decision, and Tav is quick to backtrack on his previous affirmation.
“No, of course, but-” the ranger then hesitates again, letting out a small sigh that tickles gently the spawn’s hair. “For me, waking up next to you at each sunset… it’s all I truly want in this life.” is the Dragonborn’s sweet and honest follow-up, which immediately softens Astarion’s mood and heart, but the vamp decides to ignore the swarm of butterflies that has kicked up in his stomach in favor of letting out another long, pensive hum, before smacking his lips quite loudly and donning on his most familiar and charming persona.
“Well, the spawns will need someone to lead them… Otherwise, they’ll just be a murderous, blood-sucking horde.” Astarion concedes as if he’s making a painful confession, all while being well-aware of the changes that such a huge army of thirsty undead could bring to the Underdark with the right hand to show them the way. “And at the end of the day, who beside us could be better equipped for such a thankless, demanding job?” continues the spawn in a sickly-sweet tone that he knows Tav will be able to interpret perfectly, the stale blood in his veins is already growing hotter at the thought of all that power ready for the plucking. “Between your knack for authority and my abundant charm, they’ll answer to our orders in no time at all.”
“Doubt it would be that easy, but… we got good chances, at least.” the Dragonborn ultimately agrees without the same fanfare shown by his lover, yet his eyes are alight with the same fervor that Astarion can also feel inside his soul. “United, there is nothing we can’t do.”
“Exactly.” the spawn thrills excitedly before shifting his body around rapidly, his legs sliding smoothly across his lover’s scaled body until he’s sitting right on top of his belly. “Together, we’re going to have a lot of fun…” continues Astarion as he looks down at his amazing, dear Dragonborn, eyes shining with alluring mischief as he bends down to whisper right inside his ear. “...and, if you are up for it, I think we should start right about now.”
With a wordless chuckle, Tav grabs his lover’s waist with both hands and sets out to make his request a reality, while outside their door the rest of the inn continues to trudge back to life after the long night of celebrations that its patrons have left behind. In a room just down the corridor, Shadowheart is about to wake up to find Lae’zel laying right next to her, and the discovery will send her scrambling out of bed and almost trip over Wyll and Gale, who have spent the entire night sleeping on the hard floor without even a blanket on top of them. Downstairs in the open bar, Jaheira and Minsc have already been shaken awake by a polite but stern maid, who is about to serve them a late breakfast as the two discuss loudly the events of the day before, while Halsin has already been standing in the middle of the large plaza just down the road from the tavern since dawn has broken, offering his help and his strength to whoever might have need of a burly elf to move around their supplies. Further south in the city, Karlach is walking gingerly to make her way back to Rivington as fast as possible, with the intention of checking up on the tiefling refugees after spending some time tentatively flirting with Dammon at the blacksmith’s forge, and all over the city the allies of Tav and his companions are also rearranging their lives and shuffling the cards of several decks, each one of them eager to put their own plans into motion and working towards the goal that they have set for themselves.
Under the sky of the sword coast, Baldur’s Gate still stands to greet another day, and the wheel of fate continues to spin along at its own measured, steady pace.