Work Text:
Wyll wants to be angry.
He wants to snap, to yell, to just scream into the night sky. It isn’t fair. He’s given everything, everything, to this city and the Sword Coast, and none of it mattered. He saved dozens of people. He’s slain devils and bandits and monsters and goblins preying on refugees. He knows now that Mizora had aimed his blade at innocents and survivors but not every time. He sold his soul to save his home when he was too young to be defending it alone. He understood why his father cast him out - how could he know the truth when Wyll’s throat closed like a bear trap whenever he tried to explain? He tried to understand. He wanted to.
It’s never enough. It has never been enough.
“I still think we should just kill her,” Astarion says casually, smothering a patch of burning grass under his boot. “Nasty little twit.”
“Astarion,” Elissa admonishes quietly.
“You don’t agree? Sh- ow! You’re still in your armor-”
Elissa moves to stand beside him. She doesn’t say anything and doesn’t look at him, just glares down at the ring of burnt ground he has been staring at for the past several minutes. He appreciates Astarion trying to lighten the mood - any other time it would have worked, and he knows Astarion handles fear with humor. He couldn’t exactly argue against the heart of the comment, either. He just feels... stuck.
“I’m sorry,” Elissa murmurs. “I know that doesn’t change things or fix this, but... I am sorry.”
Wyll shakes his head. “This isn’t on you. I should have known she wouldn’t let me go so easily.”
“It isn’t on you, either.”
He takes a deep breath to settle himself back into his skin.
“I cannot put the responsibility on anyone but myself. I made the pact, I knew the consequences.”
“You were a child.”
“I was old enough to know better,” he snaps. He doesn’t want to yell, not at her. He wants to be angry but never at her, never at Astarion. “I should have ended this damned pact years ago. I never should have made it in the first place. And now, my father- my-”
His jaw locks up and his fingers clench and unclench. There’s a weight in his chest and it’s swallowing him whole.
His father is going to die.
Elissa reaches over and takes his hand between both of hers. She always runs cool, a sweet middle ground between his hellish hot blood and Astarion’s undead chill. They rarely all shared a tent on the road - it simply wasn’t practical - but the first time they did, Elissa had curled up between them and joked about always having the perfect temperature. If she was too cold, she could leech the heat from him, and if she was too warm, she could latch onto Astarion to cool down. Astarion let out an offended squawk and lamented being used as an ice pack, but still let her wrap one leg around his and refused to let go of Wyll’s hand the entire night. It was the first time Wyll felt... normal, in this new body. At peace.
“She said he will die by his enemy’s hand, but she made no mention of harming him herself, and said nothing of when it will happen,” Elissa says calmly. “We’ll find him. We saw him this morning - they can’t have taken him far.”
“He could be anywhere in the city!”
“I swear to you we will find him and bring him home no matter how many contacts and bridges we have to burn to do it, I will not let-”
She cuts herself off and closes her eyes. Her magic lingers on the edge of his senses, a chill barely brushing against his face.
“I will not let you suffer that, not if I can prevent it,” she finishes in a whisper.
He knows she means it. She rarely speaks of her parents, but the loss has never dulled. She doesn't want him to feel that same grief and pain of losing a father. She has been distant and quiet the past few days, but Wyll can see some of that fire return to her. The same fire he saw when she swore on her oath to find a way out of his pact, and to defeat the Absolute without sacrificing Gale, and to kill Cazador before he could touch Astarion.
Elissa keeps her promises. And she loves him, far more than he deserves.
"I trust you," he whispers.
Astarion doesn't say anything, simply walks up and kisses him, one hand touching the scar along his jaw. It's his own way of agreeing and showing mercy - if he doesn't speak, he won't make a crass joke instinctively, and won't upset Wyll further. It's a sweet gesture and Wyll doesn't actually know if Astarion does it on purpose but he appreciates it more than he can say.
"We should rest so we can get an early start," Elissa murmurs. The poor rug in front of the fireplace is singed and she tries to smooth it out with her shoe. "I have a few ideas to look into."
"Thank you, my loves," he says genuinely. "My sun and my moon, lighting up even the darkest corners of my mind."
Astarion smirks and leans in for another chaste kiss. "Once you're free of that wretch for good, you must train as a bard. You already have the poetry down."
He smiles despite himself. "Gods, no - I can promise it is in everyone's best interests that I avoid any musical instruments."
"Perhaps a paladin then, with all your speeches on fighting evil and such," he teases. "Elissa could teach you all of those fancy little tricks she throws about."
Elissa doesn't join in the laughter. She smiles but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. Astarion's smirk drops into a worried frown, and Wyll knows he must look the same.
"Are you alright, love?" Wyll asks softly.
She nods, seeming to gather herself. "Of course. I'm just tired. I'll be in a better mood come morning."
Speaking of her father is taxing. He can't quite understand the loss, not yet, even if their chances are slim - but he knows the wound aches. He takes her hand and squeezes gently, careful of his claws. She pulls him towards their bed - two bunks together so they actually fit properly - and he allows her to steer him.
Astarion is the first out after they settle in, quietly fading into a meditative trance. He hadn't slept the first few nights after ripping back his freedom but he relaxes more when it's the three of them. He used to be the last awake every night in the entire camp. It makes him feel warm to know the vampire trusts them all enough now that they’ll at least warn him before he’s attacked in a trance.
Wyll is almost asleep, tucked between his partners, when he hears quiet tears.
He's asleep before he can consider who made them.
The mission is going about as smoothly as Wyll expected.
They start the day at the temple for Umberlee, gathering information about a machine in the harbor that had killed a priestess. Strange machines in places they shouldn’t be killing indiscriminately does sound like Gortash, he must admit. Karlach remembers just enough details of a warehouse Gortash owned that wasn’t in his name that he visited every so often for them to pin down which building it is - right on the docks. Elissa is intimidating enough with her massive armor and larger sword to convince the owner of Gortash’s personal submersible to sell out his boss and offer them a ride down to a secret underwater prison. Only Elissa, Astarion, and Wyll venture down; it’s just a scouting trip. If there are prisoners to rescue, they can return to the surface for backup.
It sounds fake, too good to be true, and Wyll is certain there’s a catch. They have never been so lucky. They can be in the prison to rescue anyone Gortash has imprisoned and be back on the surface before the Steel Watch can receive the orders to capture them.
That is the end of their good fortune.
“Aren’t you the intrepid little adventurer, digging and diving where you don’t belong,” Gortash sneers through the scrying panel. “And I thought we were friends.”
“Fuck you,” Elissa snaps back.
A laugh bursts out of Astarion before he reels himself back in.
Gortash just smirks. “You’ve been spending too much time with young Karlach - it’s affecting your manners.”
“What do you want?”
“I’ve been treating the hostages quite well. They aren’t much use to me while damaged, after all. Your presence here is a threat to their survival. If you proceed with all these... heroics, I will destroy the Iron Throne.”
Elissa looks ready to strangle the man through the panel. That fire is set hard in her eyes. She really means to do this, he realizes with horror. She’ll let Gortash destroy the prison just for the chance to free its inhabitants, with no plan, no strategy, barely a third of their company.
Wyll steps forward, touching the elbow joint of her armor. “Perhaps we should-”
“We’re docking at the Iron Throne.”
Gortash’s mask drops as he scowls, but draws it back up into a sick grin. “That was a mistake. When the corpses start to wash up on the shore, remember - you could have stopped this.”
The panel goes dark. The submersible’s captain grips the handles of his controls so hard the leather of his gloves nearly cracks. For the first time since entering that basement, Wyll realizes just how deep in the harbor they are and how easy it would be to snap them out of existence before anyone would know to rescue them.
“You better have a plan, darling,” Astarion snaps.
Elissa just nods, staring out the window of the vessel.
The machine jolts as it docks with the prison and the pressure shifts. The captain grunts as he lifts the bottom panel and drops the ladder.
“Make it quick,” he growls. “I ain’t dying down here for some adventurers with more weapons than brains.”
Elissa is down the ladder before he even finishes speaking, and they scramble down behind her. Four hallways already flooded and hissing as the machinery holding them together breaks apart. Elissa rushes forward and pulls the lever at the first cell, containing two Gondian women who immediately rush out.
“Where are all the hostages being held?” she asks quickly.
One of the women waves the other to the ladder, and she takes off without looking back. “There’s some down that hall, a couple down there in the smaller cells, a few more straight forward. The guards mentioned a duke or something down that way, and I saw ‘em bring down a squid.”
He meets Elissa’s eyes, and she nods.
“Astarion, you’re the fastest, see if you can get the ones on that end. I’ll get this hallway.” She hands a rolled up scroll to Wyll. “Dimension Door. Get your father out, we’ll take care of the rest. We need to get as many people as we can into the submersible.”
“I’ll get everyone up the ladder,” the other woman offers.
“Good. Watch for any explosives - we don’t know how long we have. Make sure you get yourself out too-”
She looks at the woman for a long moment before the woman blinks and steps forward. “Obelia. Obelia Toobin.”
“Make sure you get yourself out too, Obelia,” Elissa repeats.
Wyll takes off to the left in a sprint without looking back at his partners. He has to assume they can take care of themselves. He’s barely able to slide to a stop as dripping, slimy creatures slide into view as they approach the cell doors. There’s a woman screaming and a child crying, and- and-
His father, standing in the middle of a prison cell, head hanging to his chest.
“Dolor!”
The fish-like creatures screech as the blast knocks them into the metal wall and lays them out on the floor. Wyll goes for the woman and child first. If they have to defend themselves, he knows he can hand his father a sword and he’ll wield it. He can’t be sure of strangers, certainly not a child.
“Go, there’s a ladder at the end of the hall, you’ll be safe,” he whispers to the woman.
She nods and grabs the boy’s hand, walking as fast as she can so he can keep up. One of the creatures starts to rise and Wyll spins around to pierce the center of its abdomen, where a heart would be on a person. The other gets a sharp kick and a sharp bolt of ice to the forehead. His father still isn’t speaking.
Wyll pulls the other lever and the door swings open, pushing the corpses of the fish creature out of the way. The noise finally draws his father’s attention up, his eyes wide and shocked in a way Wyll never wanted to see again. Thousands of things to say roll through his mind. I’m sorry. I condemned you to this. This is my fault. I needed you. I love you. I hate you and I hate myself for it.
“We need to get out of here,” Wyll says instead.
His father nods and marches to one of the crates in the room, grabbing a chipped longsword that he doesn’t recognize.
Wyll curses as he smells sulfur.
“Wyll, my pet, I was hoping you’d bound along,” Mizora sings with a smirk on her lips. “A bargain’s a bargain, and I’ve come to see it through.”
“Get out of my way,” he snarls.
She tuts like she’s scolding an unruly child. “Stand back and enjoy the show. I certainly will.”
He lunges at her but she’s already gone in a circle of flames. Of course she wouldn’t let him go. He was free of her but she just couldn’t leave well enough alone. He barely has time to process the spiders she summoned as she fled before he’s grabbing his father’s arm with one hand and unfurling the scroll from Elissa with the other.
The spell sends his vision spinning and he stumbles to catch his balance without taking them both down to the floor. Obelia ushers them forward and he pushes his father ahead of him.
“Did the others make it through?” he asks her as he holds onto the rung to catch himself.
She looks around the hallways. “Almost everyone, I think! Um, your pale friend somehow got back to the ship without passing me? He went back out for the other one, the woman, she sent everyone ahead but didn’t follow them.”
“What do you m-”
“Up the ladder, now!”
He turns at Astarion’s shout. “Go,” he says to Obelia.
She nods and scrambles up the ladder. He can’t see the hallway through all the smoke, but he can hear Astarion’s voice still, strained and panicked. Then, he’s suddenly there, right in front of Wyll, practically dragging Elissa with him. Her head hangs low and there’s blood all over her. Wyll rushes to help Astarion take her weight with her arm over his shoulder.
“Elissa, can you climb?” he asks quickly.
She tenses but nods, eyes shut tight.
“I’ll go first to grab her,” Astarion murmurs quickly.
He nods. As they approach the ladder, Astarion climbs to the first landing and spins around to kneel at the opening. Elissa grunts as she grabs the rungs, breathing heavily as she tries to follow him up. The prison is creaking and Wyll can hear more of the fish creatures approaching as well as the spiders he left behind, and he tries to push her forward.
It feels like hours until Elissa is close enough that Astarion can pull her the rest of the way up, and Wyll tries not to flinch at the cry she lets out. The second ladder is blessedly shorter and she’s able to collapse as soon as she enters the submersible with the help of some of the people she just rescued. As soon as Wyll is through, he yanks the door shut and waves at the captain, who throws the ship into action without question.
He stands and scans the small space. A dozen Gondians holding each other and sobbing in relief as they escape. The vessel shakes as a final explosion rocks the prison. His father sits in one of the seats with his head in his hands. There’s a mindflayer, and Wyll does not have the capacity to question that just now.
Astarion is kneeling beside Elissa, gingerly turning her onto her back. “Hush darling, your objectively stupid plan worked, you’re safe now.”
Wyll kneels on her other side, fumbling quietly with the buckles of her chestplate. He lifts it and raises it over her head as she gasps at the air hitting her wound - three massive punctures to her chest.
“Those damned things had tridents,” Astarion mumbles, already peeling her shirt out of his way. “She ripped it out herself, beautiful fool.”
Elissa is pale, even paler than Astarion, her skin nearly grey as she whimpers. Astarion hushes her again and tears his glove off to brush her hair from her forehead.
“Alright darling, time to heal yourself,” he says gently. “Fresh out of potions, I’m afraid. It’s just enough to get you back home.”
She sobs and writhes on the floor. “I can’t.”
“It’s alright my love, you can do this,” Wyll whispers.
He takes her hand and holds it over her wound. All she has to do is press into it and think of her oath. She’s done it dozens of times for all of them. It hurts for a brief moment, but she barely has to think about it. It comes as easily to her as breathing. Her hand twitches in his grip and gasps as she accidentally brushes against the torn skin.
“I can’t, I can’t,” she sobs, “I can’t heal anymore...”
His blood turns to ice in his veins. “Love, what do you-”
“They took it, I can’t-”
“Alright, hush now,” Astarion interrupts. “We’re almost there now, once we’re on land we’ll find you a potion to hold you over. Fear is my least favorite look on you, sweetheart.”
Astarion is right, Wyll realizes. There’s nothing to be done until they reach the surface. They just have to keep her alive long enough to get her to any of the healers they have recruited in the past months. They have to keep her safe, calm, and alive.
Obelia stands at Elissa’s feet, fidgeting in place. “Thank you for helping us. Almost all of us made it out, I didn’t think it was possible. As soon as we get out of here we’ll get help for her, I promise. We need to find our families at the factory, but I can run and find someone.”
Wyll forces a smile he doesn’t feel. “Thank you. We have friends at the Elfsong, they’ll know what to do.”
“Elfsong, then.”
The wait is the longest and most painful hour he has ever suffered through. The Gondians all climb out of the vessel. Elissa is in no shape to climb another ladder, so the captain allows them to remain, either out of kindness or acceptance that they’ll be remaining regardless. With help from his father they were able to stem the bleeding during the journey, but she is still barely conscious. Astarion tasks himself with keeping her occupied with jokes and old stories that they all know are only half true. Wyll listens as well, holding Elissa’s hand in his lap, allowing their lover’s soothing voice to wash over him.
His father stays with them, but doesn’t speak. Wyll doesn’t speak to him either. The chasm between them feels impossible to address, especially with one of the loves of his life bleeding out in front of him.
The mindflayer - Omeluum, he’s reminded - offers to attempt to find healing potions, but with the city as it is, it feels unwise. It’s just as likely to be attacked as to be successful, and the markets are far from the docks. Astarion waves it off, back to its husband, and if mindflayers could blush, Omeluum would surely be bright crimson.
“Blurg and I are merely colleagues,” it argues.
“Yes, yes, whatever. Just go back to him before he sends out another search party, hm?”
Omeluum stares at them. “Another?”
Astarion opens his mouth, likely for another barb, so Wyll interrupts him, “We didn’t expect to find you down there friend, but he did ask for our help finding you. He’s been quite worried.”
There is another long pause. “I will go to him. Find us when you are able.”
“We will.”
“Gods below,” the captain mutters as Omeluum floats up and out of the ship.
Elissa lets out a choked, pained noise, her hand twitching in Wyll’s grasp. Wyll rests his palm on her forehead, gently brushing his thumb across her temple. Her skin is hot and feverish. She may not be losing any more blood, but she’s far too weak. She still can’t heal herself, and she’s too delirious to tell them why.
“You’ll be alright my love,” he says softly. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”
The lid to the ship screeches as someone tries to turn the lid. All of the tension in his body melts as he hears Shadowheart above. “Blasted thing, how did you even get in here?”
The lid finally opens and the woman slides down the ladder, landing gracefully and barely pausing before she’s charging over to them. Wyll moves out of her way by instinct and winces at the flash of regret that he has nothing to hold onto now.
His father’s hand is heavy on his shoulder.
Shadowheart isn’t able to fully heal Elissa, but it’s enough that she can move again. She still leans heavily on Astarion as they make their way back to the tavern. She puts her armor back on to hide the worst of the wound and Wyll hates how much the weight of her chestplate in his hands grounded him.
No one bothers them when they reach the tavern. They bring Elissa to one of the extra beds, practically carrying her again as her strength wanes, and work on removing her full kit. She sways, squeezing her eyes shut, until Wyll gently guides her head to his shoulder.
“Rest now, love,” he says softly in her ear.
She inhales sharply as Astarion has to lift her shirt again and it sticks to the drying blood on her skin. “It hurts...”
“I know. I’ve got you. We’ll get the rest of that taken care of and see what we can do for the pain. I promise.”
He realizes he’s rambling when Astarion elbows him with a sharp look. He winces and returns his attention to her. With one hand on her head and the other tugging at the tie, he lets her hair down. He runs his fingers through it, gently combing through tangles and dried blood. She hiccups and grasps the front of his robes with trembling fingers. They have to sit her back up for a moment to remove the shirt entirely and both of their healers can examine the wound. Halsin conjures a wisp of the weave to wave across her torso as Shadowheart explains what she was able to take care of in the dirty warehouse basement.
“The most dangerous wounds have been healed,” the druid murmurs. “It may be best if this is allowed to heal on its own, once it is cleaned. Magical healing would leave the area weak and hide any infection before we could find it.”
“Just tell us if she’s alright,” Astarion snaps. Wyll winces.
Halsin takes it all in stride, as he always does. “Elissa will be just fine. Perhaps in two or three days she will be well enough for her body to accept healing. For now, we can help with the pain.”
Elissa is so exhausted she doesn’t ask after any of the people she rushed in to valiantly rescue. Her silence is jarring and uncomfortable as her head grows heavier on his shoulder. Her only sounds are whimpers and sobs as Astarion slowly, gently, softer than Wyll has ever seen him, cleans her wounds and dresses them in bandages.
“I’m not quite as good at this as you are,” he murmurs, “but hopefully they’ll suffice.”
He tries to shake off the memory of doing the same for Astarion less than a tenday ago as he trembled half-nude under Elissa’s careful hands. The way he shuddered as she kissed the back of his neck above his scars and whispered her oath into his skin. The far away look in his eyes as they helped him dress. His silence as they tried to guide him to his bed, ended suddenly as he broke down in tears again and nearly collapsed, and Elissa carried him like he would shatter in her arms. Wyll felt helpless the whole night. He had nothing left to give them - all he could do was hold Astarion to his chest and hope it was enough.
It hurt then and it hurts now. Wyll doesn’t know how much more he can take, watching the world take so much from them, from everyone in their strange new family. All he can do is shift Elissa to lie horizontal so Halsin can cast a small restoration spell, and hold Astarion’s hand so tight his claws nearly start to dig into the vampire’s flesh.
Wyll looks over his shoulder. Gale has very kindly pulled Wyll’s father’s attention. Wyll can hear him explaining what has happened in the past months, filling in the gaps the cult left in his memory.
He still feels his father’s eyes on him, burning a hole in his back.