Chapter Text
Astarion was dragged from sleep by the sound of a roar, and a blinding flash of light. He sat up in a panic, a little yelp escaping his throat as Tara went flying off him. He looked around wildly, his brain still fuzzy from sleep, and cried out in fear as he saw a giant portal opening up in the middle of Gale’s library.
”It’s alright, Astarion!” Gale was beside him, bracing him with his hands as a harsh wind from the portal sent papers scattering all over the room. Astarion watched with wide eyes as a lean figure stepped through the portal, and then Lae’zel stood in the middle of Gale’s library as she always had — looking as if she were poised for battle.
”Chk!” She jeered as she looked around at Gale’s library. “This place is just as frivolous as your other tower. There is not nearly enough space to train.” The portal closed behind her and Gale stood, walking over to embrace her. She patted his back awkwardly, stepping forward to look down at Astarion.
”Um…hello,” he said, surreptitiously trying to push the stuffed owlbear behind his back.
”So it is true,” she said, her face unreadable. “When Gale told me what had happened, I thought it was a poor attempt at a jest.”
”As much as I’d like that to be the case, it’s very unfortunately true,” Astarion sighed, wishing he wasn’t wearing the ridiculous cat onesie. It wasn’t as if he liked it or anything, but it was just so damn warm that it just seemed to be the most sensible choice for the cold winter nights.
”This is the first time I have seen a hatchling of your kind.” She reached out and touched a surprisingly gentle finger to his cheek. “Chk! Soft!”
Astarion pressed a hand to his cheek, glaring up at her. “Excuse me! I prefer ‘cherubic’, thank you very much.”
”At least your nose is almost an appropriate size.” She nodded approvingly at this, and Astarion had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. He had somehow managed to forget how terrifyingly blunt Lae’zel was.
”How long are you staying, Lae’zel? Can I offer you some tea?” Gale asked, already holding up a hand to summon something, but Lae’zel shook her head.
”I cannot stay. I came only to see that Astarion did not require my aid,” she said. “But it seems my blade will not be of use here.”
Astarion felt a twinge of sadness at the idea that she would leave so soon after arriving. ”No, there’s nothing to stab, unfortunately. I’m sure you have dragons to ride or whatever other Githyanki nonsense you’re up to these days.”
Lae’zel did not pick up on his sarcasm. “Yes, I am honored to ride on the back of a red dragon. Our resistance is strong, and Vlaakith cowers before us.”
Astarion clenched his jaw. ”Wonderful. I’m happy for you.” Yes, how wonderful it was that yet another one of his friends had found their true calling and was living their dreams while he languished around in pajamas with cat ears on them.
Lae’zel frowned at that, before stepping forward and grasping the back of the cat onesie, lifting him up and wrapping an arm around his middle. With a wave of her hand, the portal she had walked through re-opened, and he looked up at her in a panic.
”Wh-what—“ The breath was stolen from his mouth as Lae’zel leapt into the portal, the wind whipping around them in a roar. They were falling through the air, with Lae’zel’s grip around his waist the only thing between him and a long, long fall to certain death.
Before he could even catch his breath, a massive red dragon glided into view beneath them. Laezel angled their fall towards its back, pulling herself into the saddle in a practiced movement. As soon as they settled into the saddle, the roar of the air quieted a little bit, and Astarion could hear his breath coming hard and fast.
He looked around in wonder. They were in the Astral Plane, and Astarion had forgotten the beauty of it. An endless expanse of stars and ethereal colorful clouds stretched before their view, with distant islands of rock and earth hanging like uncut gems in their midst.
”You are unhappy,” Lae’zel said, and Astarion tilted his head back to look at her. She was looking down at him, her usually stern face showing something almost like concern. He bit his lip and looked down at where his hands gripped the dragon’s saddle.
”Of course I’m unhappy. I’m weak like this! You of all people should understand why I wouldn’t be thrilled about that.”
Lae’zel nodded. “Strength is important, yes. But there is more to it than strength in battle.”
Astarion felt his mouth drop open in shock. “I’m sorry? Who are you and what have you done with Lae’zel?”
She ignored his attempt at levity, continuing on in her customary low growl. “I fought unquestioningly for Vlaakith for my entire life. The strength of my blade was dulled by the weakness of my mind.”
”What’s the point of mental strength if you can’t even hold a dagger, much less swing a sword?” Astarion remembered the bitter disappointment of not being able to draw the bow at the carnival, and he had to clench his jaw to stop it from trembling.
”The point,” she said, “is that strength comes in many forms. A sword in the hand of an ally is just as valuable as the dagger in your own. Did you not learn that during our travels together?”
The anger rose in Astarion’s chest like bile. “So, what? I throw myself at the mercy of the others? I’m just supposed to trust that they won’t feed me to the wolves?” Bitter tears gathered in the corners of his eyes and were blown away before they could fall. He could feel the ghost of Zeydra’s hands on his arm, still taste the bitter copper of her blood in his mouth. Having allies hadn’t saved him any of that pain.
Because you didn’t let them.
”Yes, Astarion.” Lae’zel’s voice was unusually quiet. “You trust them. That takes the greatest strength of all.”
Astarion had no reply to that. Karlach's words from the carnival came to him unbidden. It'd make us all happy if you relied on us a little more, and Halsin's from when he healed the scar. Anything for you, my heart. He remembered Wyll promising his support, and the hundred other small kindnesses that the others had shown him.
Lae’zel seemed to sense he was thinking, and they flew in silence for a long while. The strange weightless silence of the Astral Plane coupled with the rhythmic thrum of the dragon’s wings was meditative, and Astarion could not help but let his mind wander. He had convinced himself so thoroughly that his friends would see him as nothing but a troublesome burden if he stayed as he was. But as their words and actions over the last months replayed in his mind, it was harder and harder to convince himself of their willingness to wash their hands of him.
“What would you do, if you were in my position?” Astarion asked suddenly. Lae’zel was quiet for a long moment before answering.
“I do not know. I am not an elf, nor was I a spawn. Githyanki hatchlings are not so helpless and weak as your kind,” she continued before Astarion could retort. “Becoming ghaik was my worst fear. It would have driven me to my death, either by the Zaith’isk or at my own hand. A decision made in fear will always be a poor one.”
Astarion had to swallow the urge to deflect, to brush her off and deny any fear, but it was a lie he couldn’t even bear to tell himself. “I don’t want to be afraid anymore,” he said softly.
Lae’zel clicked her tongue. “That is not possible. Fear is an instinct, and our instincts are what allow us to survive. But it is unwise to allow it free reign.”
Astarion’s hands tightened on the saddle. “Then how am I supposed to make a decision? I am afraid! I would be safer as a spawn, at least.”
Lae’zel let out a low laugh at that, and Astarion turned in the saddle to glare at her. “I witnessed your skin burn like old parchment in the rays of the sun. In that way, you are already stronger than you were as a spawn.”
“It’s easy enough to avoid the sun. At least I could defend myself as a spawn,” he said it half-heartedly.
Lae’zel scoffed. “And yet even then you did not travel alone,” she observed, and Astarion had no reply to that. She wasn’t wrong. He had sought out the others as soon as he had woken up on that beach. He tried to tell himself that it had been different. Cazador was still alive then, and the tadpole had interfered with some of his spawn powers. But he knew the truth deep down.
He had been just as afraid after the defeat of the Netherbrain, and there had been no Cazador, no tadpole, and no child body to blame. He had been afraid of the sunlight, and of running water. He had been afraid of the dark, and of the other spawn. He had been afraid of hypothetical monster hunters and their stakes, and he had even been afraid of himself.
Against his will, he thought of Tav on the dock, following Karlach to Avernus with only a single look over her shoulder. She had walked out of his life so easily after promising to stay by his side. His stomach twisted with grief and he took in a shuddering breath.
“I would have gone with her, if she had asked,” he whispered. “She didn’t want me.” If Lae’zel was confused by his words, she did not show it.
“She was a fool.” Lae’zel’s words were harsh in his ear and he blinked in surprise. “Her skill in battle was impressive, but she often acted and spoke without thinking.”
Lae’zel’s blunt assessment of Tav gave him pause. He had seen Tav as their leader, as the one who had saved the day. But perhaps his adoration of her had blinded him to the truth. He thought back on their journey together, and remembered the cautious suggestions from Gale or Wyll that Tav had immediately adopted, or the way Lae’zel would quite literally butt heads with her over certain decisions. He thought of Tav, looking to Karlach or Halsin before agreeing or disagreeing with someone, or the way a snide remark from Shadowheart would have her backtracking whatever she had just said.
He had thought of Tav as special, and had wondered at her kindness and her selflessness. He had always imagined that the group had merely tolerated him because of her influence, but it seemed he had misread the situation completely. She wasn’t especially kind or especially selfless, and he was realizing she was not the shining hero he had painted her to be. She was just as flawed as everyone else.
With a start, he realized he was punishing all the others for her betrayal. She had been the one to deny him the chance to confront Cazador, and she had been the one who had broken her promise to stay by his side. Even if she had a good reason for walking through that portal without him, Astarion wasn’t sure he could ever forgive her for it, because she had again taken away his ability to make the choice himself. None of the others had made him any such promises, and none of the others had broken their word to him.
He thought he was being rational by expecting betrayal, but he saw now that he was just using it as an excuse to protect himself from the fear of being abandoned again. After all, no one could abandon him if he decided to leave first, which he of course couldn’t do in his current form. He was hiding behind the excuse of ‘weakness’ to avoid the responsibility of making the choice for himself.
If he was mad at Tav for denying him the right to make his own choices, then he had to face the choice in front of him right now. No more excuses, and no more giving in to fear.
He swallowed as he he looked out over the vast stillness of the Astral Plane. He had a decision to make.
---
Lae’zel returned Astarion to a frantic Gale several hours later, and Astarion felt mildly touched at seeing the worry lines creased in his forehead when they stepped back through the portal. Gale gathered Astarion into his arms, pulling him in tight.
”Gods, a little warning next time, Lae’zel! Are you alright, Astarion?” He pulled back, his eyes roaming over Astarion as if checking for injuries.
Lae’zel clicked her tongue in annoyance. “You worry like a dragon brooding over her eggs. Astarion is unharmed.” Lae’zel caught Astarion’s eye, and she fixed him with a meaningful stare, before stepping back through the portal.
Astarion and Gale stared at the space the portal had been for several seconds, before Gale looked down at Astarion with a frown.
”What was that all about? What did she talk to you about?”
Astarion huffed in amusement. “Why? Worried she poisoned my impressionable young mind?”
Gale rolled his eyes and walked over to the couch, dropping him back onto the cushions. “Forget I asked,” he muttered, shuffling back over to his desk and flopping into his chair.
Astarion did not move from where Gale dropped him, and stared up at the library ceiling. He traced the wooden beams with his eyes as he turned Lae’zel’s words over in his head, mingled with his own resolve to face the choice in front of him.
Trust. Even the word made his stomach flip. He wasn’t any stranger to relying on others for protection — Hells, that was how he had found himself among all the others to begin with — but it had always been very transactional for him. There was no real trust there. Only the assurance of a tit-for-tat, I scratch your back you scratch mine sort of arrangement.
He had even been unconsciously keeping something of a mental tally in his head of all he would have to repay once he returned to his adult body. He couldn’t understand how he was supposed to just ask them to look after him for nothing in return. He had no wealth, no skills…he had nothing.
Even after his decision to face the choice in front of him, every bit of his self-preservation instinct screaming at him to find a way out. He dug at it, metaphorical teeth tearing at the neverending alarm in his head that screamed ‘danger!’
What are you so afraid of? The thought rang in his head like cathedral bells as he tore at the dark corner of his mind that he had spent so long running away from.
Skeletal hands tearing at his skin. Grave dirt under his fingernails. The white-hot pain of Cazador’s fangs sinking into his neck. Tav disappearing into the portal to Avernus.
He had to take a shaky breath to steady himself as memories of pain and betrayal flashed in front of his eyes. At the center of them all was the oppressive silence and endless dark of the tomb.
I don’t want to be alone.
He bit his lip so hard he winced in pain, and he turned and buried his face in the owlbear to stifle his ragged breathing.
Why chase a lonely eternity over a lifetime filled with happiness? Dalyria’s words echoed in his head, and he squeezed the owlbear tighter.
Why, indeed.