Chapter 13 : Get A Little Closer, So To Speak

Chapter 13 : Get a Little Closer, so to speak

Previously: Prologue Tumblr Link for Prologue, Chapter One; Chapter Two, Chapter 3, Interlude Chapter 4 Chapter 5, Chapter 6 Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Interlude 2 Chapter 11 Chapter 12

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, flashbacks to sexual violence, discussions of sexual violence, dubious boundaries, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,

Word count: 95K total WARNING: SMUTT this Chapter

Status: Ongoing

Chapter 14: Sept 18th 2024

Song of the Hour: Body - Sinead Harnett

NEW SMUTTY ART: @emperor-ofthe-sun (fully on AO3) edited after the cut

Entire Story Link on AO3 Spotify Playlist AO3

After the Jump!

Chapter 13 : Get a Little Closer, so to speak

The room was a symphony of shadows, the low fire casting flickering shapes on the walls that seemed to sway with the rhythm of their breath. Astarion leaned back in his seat, his crimson eyes gleaming with a sly intensity as he contemplated his next words. Firelight danced on the walls, casting serpentine shadows that coiled and stretched with each flicker. His voice, smooth as velvet, rolled through the air like a caress wrapped in a challenge. “Now, let us discuss another form of loyalty. One that might be a bit... unconventional for you,” he purred, his gaze lingering on Sima, his expression caught between a tease and a dare. “It requires a different kind of openness. A willingness to bare yourself to me, fully and without reservation.”

Sima, still seated in the oversized burgundy reading chair by the fire, met his gaze with a smirk tugging at her lips. Her skin seemed to glow in the fire’s warmth, her dark curls spilling over her shoulders like a waterfall of ink. She leaned in slightly, her voice teasing, with a hint of challenge beneath. “Softness? Vulnerability? Is that what you’re after now, Astarion? What’s this ‘test’ you speak of?”

“Ah, it’s quite simple, my sweet,” Astarion replied, his tone deceptively calm, each word threaded with an almost hypnotic cadence. “It’s about letting go—completely. Exposing every inch of your skin, your secrets, your fears. To give me everything, both mind and body.” His words flowed like a spell, designed to lure and entrap, his smile sharp and his eyes unyielding. “I want you to remove that nightdress and show me the full beauty that you are. I want you to know that nothing—absolutely nothing—could ever change my desire for you. Wouldn't that speak volumes, my darling?”

Sima chuckled softly, her eyes dropping to her midnight blue nightdress, fingers tracing the hem with a languid, almost mocking grace. “Astarion, are you seriously asking me to strip for you?” she asked, a playful lilt coloring her words, a challenge glinting in her gaze.

“Precisely that,” he answered, his eyebrow arching as his lips curled into a wicked smile that mirrored hers. But in his eyes, a darker intention simmered beneath, a hunger that could not be masked by his charm.

Sima laughed, a soft, sultry sound that seemed to vibrate through the room. “If you wanted to play, you could have just said so. But perhaps a touch of politeness is in order. Maybe... ‘please’?” Her tone was light, teasing, but there was no mistaking the underlying challenge.

His voice dipped lower, like molten honey laced with command, threaded with that dangerous charm that never failed to ensnare. “Please, my deliciously difficult minx. For me. Let me see every inch of you.”

Still seated in her chair, Sima’s fingers began a slow, deliberate journey along her thighs, making a show of the movement. Her hands moved languidly, almost tauntingly, as she lifted the hem of her dress higher, past her hips, over her full, deep brown breasts, and finally tugged it off over her head, sending a cascade of black ringlets tumbling around her face. She flipped her hair back with a confident toss, her posture relaxed and utterly self-assured.

Astarion hadn’t expected such swiftness from her; he had envisioned her drawing it out—turning it into a game. But the boldness of her action struck him like a spark to tinder, igniting a primal hunger within him. His eyes roved over her, unabashedly drinking in every curve, every shadow. “Very good,” he murmured, his grin widening, his gaze darkening with unspoken promises. “But I’m afraid that’s only the beginning... I want all of it, pet.”

Sima leaned back further into the chair, draping her legs over one of the arms, her body arching in a languid stretch that was as provocative as it was defiant. Her hair spilled down one side, her back curving elegantly against the chair’s cushion. “Oh... I suppose you mean this last, inconvenient scrap of lace.” She gestured to the thin black thong at her hips, a teasing smile curling her lips. “I might take it off... perhaps. Or maybe,” she purred, eyes locking onto his with a tantalizing glint, “you should come over here and use those pretty teeth of yours.”

Astarion’s grin twisted into something darker, almost wicked, his tongue tracing his fangs as if savoring the idea. He leaned forward, his fingers trailing down her thigh with a deliberate slowness, his touch feather-light but brimming with intention. “That is an enticing suggestion, my love,” he whispered. “But I think I prefer to savor the anticipation a bit longer. Besides, wouldn't it be far more thrilling if you let me do the honors... the old-fashioned way? Don't you trust me to handle such delicate fabric?”

Sima’s eyes half-closed, her voice dropping to a sultry murmur, her tone a mix of mockery and seduction. “Isn’t that what this little game is all about, Astarion? Trust? So, yes... I do.”

“Then lie back for me,” he commanded, his fingers trailing higher along the inside of her thigh, grazing the delicate lace that stood as the final barrier between his hand and her heated skin. His voice was a low, rumbling purr, a velvet promise that sent a shiver through her. “Relax. Let your arms fall to your sides.”

Sima’s breath hitched at the touch, her pulse quickening. She could feel the dampness between her legs, the lace clinging to her skin, a thin veil hiding the heat of her arousal. Her gaze met his, a flicker of defiance in her eyes, but the tension winding low in her belly betrayed her need. Slowly, she let her hands slip to her sides, fingers curling into the fabric of the chair. She felt exposed, but also a surge of excitement at the vulnerability, a dangerous thrill coursing through her veins.

Astarion’s hand hovered just above her skin, his breath catching. His eyes roamed over her body, taking in the rise and fall of her chest, the parted lips that struggled for air, the subtle tremor in her thighs. His expression was somewhere between reverence and hunger, and she found herself caught in his gaze. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, his fingers slipped beneath the lace, the fabric giving way to his touch. Sima’s breath left her in a rush as his fingertips made contact, gliding over the slickness gathered there, a soft, involuntary moan escaping her lips.

Astarion’s fingers found her clit, his movements unhurried, savoring every reaction he coaxed from her. The slow, circular motion was maddening, sending ripples of pleasure radiating outward, her body tightening with every stroke. “Shh... don't worry, sweet darling,” he whispered, his voice dark and rich, sliding through her mind like smoke. “I won’t rush. I want you to savor every moment, feel every breath, every stroke.”

Her hips moved on their own, arching up to meet his hand, chasing the friction, a soft gasp spilling from her lips. She could feel the heat spreading through her, her skin tingling as if every nerve ending was being brought to life. The fire crackled nearby, its warmth mingling with the heat radiating from her body. Her eyes fluttered, caught between wanting to watch his every move and the sheer pleasure pulling her under. She felt her cheeks flush, her breasts rising and falling with each shallow breath, her nipples tightening in the cool air and his gaze. His eyes drank them in, those crimson eyes focused as he licked his lips. She saw the intent there just before he lowered his mouth, his teeth catching one pert peak.

The sharp edge of pain shot through her, mingling with a wave of pleasure that made her clench around nothing and writhe beneath him. She couldn’t stop the soft cry that escaped, her back arching as if offering more of herself to him. His tongue soothed over the ache he'd created, a low, satisfied sound rumbling in his chest. The sensation of his fingers pressing more firmly now drew her deeper into the growing storm of her desire.

She could see him watching her, his gaze intense, tracking every shiver, every twitch of her lips, the way her expression shifted from challenge to surrender. She didn’t want to give in, to let him have this power over her, but gods, the way he touched her—each circle of his thumb, each press of his fingers, and the tantalizing scrape of his teeth—had her unraveling. She could feel the need building, her body craving more, demanding it.

His thumb circled her clit with a firmer, more insistent pressure, a delicious torment that had her toes curling. She felt his fingers slip lower, teasing her entrance. She moaned, her body instinctively pushing forward, seeking more of him. She wanted him inside, needed it like air. When he finally thrust two fingers deep into her, a cry tore from her lips. She clenched around him, her inner muscles pulsing as his fingers curled, finding that sensitive spot that sent a shockwave of pleasure coursing through her.

Sima’s breath came faster now, her moans a symphony of need as she ground her hips against his hand, desperate for the rhythm he set. The delicious friction sent shivers down her spine, every touch sending electric sparks shooting through her veins. She could barely think, could barely breathe; all she knew was the sensation of his fingers inside her, curling and stroking, his thumb working her clit with agonizing precision. Her body was caught in a dance between tension and release, her mind lost in the haze of pleasure.

She could feel his breath hot against her neck, the brush of his lips hovering just close enough to leave her skin tingling. His voice, roughened with desire, murmured against her ear, "You'll... always feel... this." She could feel his teeth, just grazing her earlobe, a dangerous tease that made her breath hitch. "Whenever... you touch me," he continued, his tone like a dark spell wrapping around her. She shivered as his bite deepened, her gaze meeting his, his crimson eyes burning with a possessive fire. "Whenever... you touch yourself too."

His words sent a new wave of heat surging through her, her body tightening around his fingers, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She could feel the wetness spreading, her arousal coating his hand as she pulled him closer, her fingers digging into his back. Each thrust of his fingers was deliberate, relentless, a constant rhythm that drove her higher. She felt his lips brushing against her ear with every whispered breath, his voice low and growling, a command and a plea tangled together.

The sensations were becoming too much, her body trembling on the edge, her mind slipping away from her control. She could feel it building inside her, a pressure, a heat that curled in her belly and spread outward, winding tighter and tighter. She tried to hold on, to prolong the pleasure, but he knew exactly how to unravel her. His fingers quickened, his thumb pressing harder against her clit, and she felt the tension snap, her body convulsing around his hand. A cry ripped from her throat, her body arching, every muscle clenching as her orgasm tore through her like a storm.

Astarion watched her intently, his gaze dark and hungry, a wicked smile curling his lips as he felt her come apart beneath his touch. "Look at me, darling," he whispered, his voice like a silken snare tightening around her. "I want to see those beautiful eyes when you fall apart."

Her eyes snapped open, locking onto his, her pupils blown wide, her expression a mix of defiance and surrender. She hated how he still had this power over her, but she couldn’t deny the electric pull between them, the way he could draw out every last bit of her will with just a look. As her release crashed over her, her back arched, her body pressing into his hand as she cried out, her voice raw and unrestrained. The climax hit her like a wave breaking against the shore—overwhelming, drowning her in sensation. She felt her muscles pulse and tighten around his fingers, her wetness spilling over his hand, and Astarion groaned softly, his own body reacting to the intoxicating feel of her surrender.

But he didn’t let up. His fingers kept moving inside her, his thumb maintaining its relentless rhythm over her clit. "That's it, my love," he murmured, his lips grazing her neck with every breath. "Give it to me. Let me see you come undone, give me one more."

Sima’s moans filled the room, a crescendo of need and release, and she reached up, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. Her lips met his in a desperate, hungry kiss, teeth grazing, tongues clashing, a frantic exchange of breath and want. Astarion responded in kind, his lips devouring hers, his fangs scraping her bottom lip, the sting sending another surge of heat through her.

His fingers moved faster now, curling and stroking deep inside her, finding that sensitive spot with ruthless precision. Her body tightened again, her climax building rapidly, an urgent wave ready to crash. She cried out, her voice breaking, her body trembling as she shattered around his fingers once more, her slick heat coating his hand, her cries echoing through the room.

When they finally pulled apart, both were breathing heavily, their bodies pressed close, the air thick with the mingling of sweat and desire. Astarion’s eyes bore into hers, dark and hungry, his crimson gaze smoldering with barely restrained hunger. "You see?" he purred, his voice a dark, silky snare. “This is what happens when you give in, when you let yourself be mine.”

Sima's breath was ragged, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her climax, but her spirit wasn’t subdued—far from it. She matched his gaze, her lips curling into a sly, defiant smile. "Mine?" she echoed, voice drenched in challenge. "Don’t mistake this for surrender, Astarion. This is merely... an appetizer."

Astarion’s grin widened, a flicker of wicked amusement dancing in his eyes. “Ah, you naughty minx,” he teased, his fingers still tracing lazy, tantalizing patterns over her damp skin, keeping her on the knife’s edge between satisfaction and yearning. “Always wanting more. But tell me, love, what exactly do you hunger for next?”

She shifted in her seat, deliberately brushing her body against his, igniting a fresh wave of heat between them. “You mentioned something about vulnerability,” she murmured, voice low and sultry. “Perhaps it’s time you showed me yours.” Her eyes sparkled with a dangerous glint, a dare woven into every word.

Astarion's laughter was low, a deep rumble that vibrated through the space between them. "Vulnerable?" he repeated, his head tilting as if he were considering her request, his grin sharpening. “Oh, my darling, I’m always vulnerable to you... in the most deliciously dangerous ways.” He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear, his voice a seductive whisper. "And that’s why this game never gets old."

His lips were a mere breath away from hers, eyes locking with a gaze that promised both pleasure and peril. "But if it’s vulnerability you’re after," he continued, his hand sliding up to cup her jaw, thumb brushing over her lips with a teasing touch, “you’ll have to earn it.”

Sima's smile widened, her fingers curling around his collar, pulling him close until their lips were barely an inch apart. “You always think you’re the only one moving the pieces on the board,” she breathed, her tone both a taunt and an invitation. “But I’ve learned a trick or two myself.”

Astarion chuckled, the sound low and dark, threading through her veins like a promise. "Oh, I don’t doubt that for a second,” he replied, his lips grazing hers in a feather-light touch, teasing, tempting. “But remember, my sweet—every inch I give is a leash I hold. And I do so love to see you tug against it.”

Her hand slipped to his chest, fingers sliding down the fabric, feeling the tension coiled beneath. “And what happens when I pull too hard?” she whispered back, a wicked edge to her voice.

His eyes darkened, a dangerous smile playing on his lips. “Then, darling,” he whispered, his lips curling wickedly, “we’ll see which one of us breaks first.”

Sima sighed, rolling her eyes with exaggerated drama. "I was just being playful. But who knows? I might surprise even you with my scheming. The thing is... it's always better when we’re plotting together."

Astarion chuckled, the sound rich and almost affectionate. “Now that's a proposition I can sink my fangs into.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead, lingering longer than necessary, his lips cool against her heated skin. “You really are the most intriguing creature, my love. It’s a breath of fresh air to find someone who doesn’t want to cage me, but rather... revel in the chaos with me.”

Sima looked up at him, her smile soft but edged with a knowing glint. “Partners in crime, yet, eh?”

Astarion’s smile deepened, a genuine warmth seeping into his expression, an echo of old sentiments resurfacing. "Partners in crime, always,” he murmured. But his eyes held a dangerous gleam, a promise of what was yet to come. “But don’t think I’m loosening my grip just yet,” he added, his voice dropping lower, more intense. “I’ll let you feel that rush of freedom, Sima, that thrill of power... just to see how long it takes before you beg me to take it back. And tomorrow, I’ll begin showing you what that really means, to wield that power by my side.”

Sima’s smile was coy, her eyes narrowing with challenge. “We’ll see who’s begging who, won’t we?”

Astarion’s laughter was a low, sultry purr, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Oh, indeed we will, my sweet. Indeed we will.”

And as they stood there, tension crackling between them, they both knew that this was far from the end. It was merely another twist in their dangerous game, each of them wielding their desire like a blade, neither willing to back down. And for now, that was enough.

Chapter 9: Ready or not...

Previously: Prologue Tumblr Link for Prologue, Chapter One; Chapter Two, Chapter 3, Interlude Chapter 4 Chapter 5, Chapter 6 Chapter 7 , Chapter 8

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, flashbacks to sexual violence, discussions of sexual violence, dubious boundaries, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,

Word count: 63K total

Status: Ongoing

Note: Sorry for the delay this week! I had a few medical issues to take care of but Im back in top form!

(Chapter 10: Aug 14th)

Song for this Chapter: Bad Moon Rising: Creedence Clearwater

A03 Entire Story Link on AO3 Spotify Playlist

After the Jump!

Chapter 9: Ready or not...

Sima stumbled through the bustling streets of Waterdeep, her body a tapestry of aches and exhaustion. The Recall spell had transported her, but the relentless spellcasting had drained her completely, leaving her disoriented and vulnerable. The City of Splendors loomed around her, an overwhelming maze of towering spires, flickering lanterns, and shadowed alleys that felt both familiar and alien. Her heart pounded like a war drum in her chest, each beat a painful reminder of her escape.

Each step felt like wading through thick fog. Cobblestones, slick with rain, seemed to shift beneath her feet, threatening to send her sprawling. The cacophony of the city—vendors shouting, horses clattering, distant laughter—blurred into a disorienting symphony. The mingled smells of wet stone, sea salt, and sweet street food assaulted her senses, deepening her confusion.

How could he change so much? The Astarion she once loved had flickered and wilted, replaced by a monstrous shadow. His eyes, once filled with a complex mix of emotion, now burned with an unrecognizable fury. The realization hit her like a tidal wave, a fresh surge of pain and anger intertwining with fear. Shadowheart had prepared her for this, setting up a failsafe in case the ship to Amn had failed. Now, she was in Waterdeep, the final refuge meticulously planned with her wizard friend, Gale.

With a trembling breath, Sima steadied herself and cast a desperate Message to Gale, her voice quivering with urgency. "Gale, it's Sima. I've arrived in Waterdeep. Astarion... he's changed, and I need your help. Please, come find me. I don't know how much longer I can hold out."

Seconds stretched into an eternity. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs, the chaotic din of the city closing in around her. Each face in the crowd felt like a potential threat. Then, through the haze of fear and exhaustion, she spotted a familiar figure—Gale. Relief washed over her as he reached her side, his expression a blend of concern and determination.

"Sima, you're safe now," Gale said, his voice a soothing balm as he guided her through the throng to a quieter part of the city. "Let's get you to my tower. We have much to discuss."

***

Later that night,

Sima stood on the balcony of Gale’s tower, overlooking the bustling port of Waterdeep. The moon cast a silvery glow over the water, reflecting the myriad lights of the city. The distant sound of waves crashing against the docks was a stark contrast to the chaos inside her mind.

Her thoughts drifted back to Baldur's Gate, the city that had once been her home. The vibrant markets, the familiar faces, and the sense of belonging felt like distant memories. Now, she was a stranger, lost in a sea of uncertainty and fear.

How did it come to this? The flashbacks came unbidden—the relentless chase through the Upper City, Astarion’s wolves and bats nipping at her heels, the desperate fight at the docks. Cold, damp air. Terror gnawing at her, knowing he was so close. The burning need to escape.

She leaned against the balcony railing, her fingers gripping the cold metal as if it could anchor her to the present. I loved him once. I still do, despite everything. The thought of Astarion, the man he used to be, brought a pang of sorrow and longing. But the monster he had become filled her with dread.

Power changes people, she mused, thinking of the allure of strength and control. Becoming powerful enough to stand beside Astarion, to counterbalance his darkness—it was tempting. A seductive whisper in the back of her mind, promising safety and the chance to make a difference.

But at what cost? Her resolve wavered, thoughts a tangled mess of fear, hope, and ambition. Depression and anxiety gnawed at her, constant reminders of her precarious situation. Defiant, yet exhausted and afraid. Hiding, running—antithetical to everything she believed in.

I need to be strong, she told herself, her jaw setting in determination. I need to understand this power, to see if it can be used for good. If I can retain who I am, maybe... maybe I can save him.

***

Over the next thirty days,

Sima and Gale embarked on a relentless quest to locate Van Richten's Guide to Vampires. Their journey through the labyrinthine streets and towering spires of Waterdeep was fraught with challenges. They encountered dead ends, faced off with rival scholars, and navigated the treacherous underbelly of the city. The toll of their search was evident in their weary expressions and the cuts and bruises marking their bodies. Yet, their determination never wavered.

Gale had carefully plotted their course, ensuring they avoided the lackeys of Artor Morlin, the Vampire Lord of Waterdeep. He pulled strings with the contacts he had among the Masked Lords, leveraging favors and alliances. Sima noticed the growing stress etched into his face, the lines deepening and the salt and pepper in his brown hair becoming more pronounced.

"Are you sure about this, Gale?" Sima asked one night, her voice tinged with worry as they navigated a particularly treacherous alley. "What if we’re caught? What if something happens to you because of me?"

Gale gave her a reassuring smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "I’m sure, Sima. You’re my friend, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t help you. Besides, we’re close. I can feel it."

Finally, after weeks of tireless searching, they secured the elusive guide. Exhausted but victorious, they returned to Gale's tower, their prize clutched tightly in Sima's hands. The guide was a treasure trove of information, detailing the nature, behaviors, and weaknesses of vampires. Sima's eyes widened in shock as she learned about vampire brides and the inevitability of a vampire's transformation into an evil entity. Yet, amidst these grim revelations, she clung to a sliver of hope.

"Vampires do change," she muttered to herself, her voice barely audible over the crackling fireplace. "But Astarion... he seems different. He has emotions, conflicts. He isn't just evil incarnate."

Gale, ever the objective scholar, supported her obsession with understanding this anomaly. "Power is a complex force, Sima," he said, his tone calm and measured as he turned the pages of the ancient tome. "Astarion's struggle mirrors my own with the Netherese Orb. We must explore every angle, every possibility."

Their research sessions were intense, filled with late-night discussions and the flickering light of candles casting long shadows on the walls. Sima clung to the hope that the Astarion she knew was not entirely lost. His restraint during their last confrontation, his refusal to forcibly turn her, was a lifeline she held onto desperately.

Night after night, Sima drove herself harder, poring over the guide with a fervent intensity. The desire to find the elusive piece of knowledge that could help her understand her predicament consumed her. Her eyes grew red from lack of sleep, her fingers trembling as she turned each fragile page.

"There has to be something," she whispered, her voice tinged with desperation. "A way to understand this... to survive it."

Gale watched her with a mix of concern and admiration. "Sima, you need to rest," he urged gently, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "We won't find the answers we need if you drive yourself to exhaustion."

Sima shook her head, determination burning in her eyes. "I can't stop, Gale. Not until I understand. I need to know what Astarion is going through. I need to know if there's a way to survive this, for both of us."

Gale sighed, recognizing the stubborn resolve in her expression. "Alright," he said softly. "But remember, power comes with a price. Be careful not to lose yourself in the pursuit of it."

Sima nodded, her gaze fixed on the pages before her. "I just want to know," she murmured, more to herself than to Gale, ”if there's a way to navigate this without losing who I am."

As the days turned into weeks, the city of Waterdeep became the backdrop for their intense research. Each step they took, each piece of information they uncovered, brought them closer to the answers Sima urgently sought. With Gale by her side, she felt a renewed sense of purpose. Together, they delved deeper into the arcane mysteries, uncovering secrets that seemed to raise more questions than answers.

One evening, as the moonlight filtered through the tower’s windows, casting eerie shadows, Gale closed the guide and looked at Sima with a thoughtful expression. "There’s one more thing we need to do," he said, his voice calm and scholarly. "To truly understand what you're facing, you need to see the reality of a vampire spawn's existence. It’s time for your lesson."

A chill ran down Sima’s spine at his words. The weight of what lay ahead settled heavily in the room, the flickering candlelight casting long, ominous shadows. She steeled herself, knowing that the next step in their journey would test her resolve and perhaps reveal the truths she sought about Astarion—and herself.

***

Gale's tower in Waterdeep stood as a testament to his mastery over the arcane. The structure, an elegant blend of ancient and modern architecture, rose high above the city, its silhouette framed against the deepening twilight. As evening descended, the tower's many windows glowed with a warm, inviting light, casting a magical luminescence over the surroundings. Inside, the air buzzed with residual enchantments, and the walls were adorned with intricate tapestries depicting scenes of arcane mastery and historical battles. The ambiance was serene, yet charged with the promise of untold magical secrets, making it the perfect setting for an evening of deep, introspective learning.

Gale stood near a large table covered in tomes and scrolls—some old enough that the ink had faded, their leather covers wrinkled with age. An oil lamp rested on the table next to a few neatly stacked chairs. He was dressed in his usual robes, though tonight it seemed the gold embroidering on his sleeves was shining a bit brighter than usual.

"Ah, come in, come in!" he called when he saw Sima approach, waving her inside. The doors shut behind her with a soft click as he gestured to a chair near the table. "Please, sit."

Sima raised her brow and shook her head. "You are far too jovial for a man harboring a former kidnapping victim, Gale. Need I remind you why I'm here?" She crossed the room with an air of practiced defiance, her guard up after weeks of relentless fear and cautious hiding. The invisible shield she’d built around herself was almost palpable.

Gale's cheerful expression faded into a more serious look, and he took a seat in one of the other chairs. His fingers traced random shapes on the table, his expression focused but troubled. "I know, I know, the situation is... dire. But I assure you, you're quite safe here. Even Astarion would have trouble getting past the wards I've placed on this tower."

Sima lightly flipped through the pages of the dozens of books that littered her best friend's desk—a cacophony of noise she had to sort through to understand myth from legend, hearsay from stupidity. And now Gale, it seemed, had much to tell her, though her own doubts about her security lingered. "You say that like he's an errant puppy. You didn't see how he hunted me through the streets, Gale. So, how about we dig in before we push our luck?"

Gale chuckled softly, though the gravity of their situation was not lost on him. "Fair enough, fair enough. I'll get to the point."

He picked up one of the tomes on the table carefully, opening it to a page in the middle. "Now, let me ask you something. What do you know about the differences between true vampires and vampire spawn?"

"Autonomy. Freedom after a sort, and, well, I assumed all vampire spawn were sentient. Like Astarion is." The last bit was said with a bit of trepidation. She would be a fool not to admit that she had, in part, assumed a great deal about the general nature of spawn given what Astarion once was. But the gleam in Gale's eye belied his itch to get out information she knew too well.

"Ah, I'm glad you're with me so far." Gale put the tome back down carefully and gave her a sly smile. "I suppose that's as good a place to start as any. Most vampire spawn are mindless slaves, driven solely by their master’s will. Astarion, however, retained his personality and emotions. He’s an anomaly, possessing both the instincts of a vampire and the autonomy of a true vampire."

"What are you talking about, Gale? All of Cazador's... elder children, his siblings, all had their wits about them. Are you telling me spawn are usually… what? Feral?" Sima leaned in, her brow furrowing as she tried to grasp the implications of Gale's words.

Gale closed the book and looked her firmly in the eye. "Yes. That's exactly what I'm saying. Most spawn are mindless servants—slaves without even the free will to feed themselves. They only exist to obey their master's orders."

He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "I've only ever encountered a handful of spawn like Astarion, with some measure of independent thought. But I can count them on one hand. He is truly one of a kind, as far as I can tell."

Sima felt a chill run down her spine. "So, his emotions, his personality—all of it just"—she snapped her fingers—"are unique to him? And now that he's ascended, is he…. what? Bereft of emotion? Is that the great mystery? Is that why he has become this... thing?" Her voice trembled, fear and anger intertwining as she tried to reconcile the man she loved with the monster he had become.

Gale leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady. "It's complicated. For the most part, true vampires are just... more intense versions of themselves when they were still mortal. Their emotions are heightened, their desires greater, their ambition... unlimited. If I were to guess, I'd say that Astarion is just... more of what he was before."

He paused, his eyes drifting off to one side. "And given what I know of him, that's not a good thing."

"Gale, that makes absolutely no sense. The change in their nature of true vampires, based on nearly a month's worth of research, tells us they become evil incarnate. Lawful, driven, but evil. Astarion is still capable of love. What are you trying to say to me here? That his... uniqueness as a spawn somehow was... amplified? His ability to feel despite his nature?" Sima stood up at this and began pacing in Gale's study, the view of Waterdeep's night sky in the window beyond.

Gale's gaze followed her as she moved erratically about the room. "What I'm trying to say, Sima, is that Astarion's different. From spawn, from true vampires. He was already quite the rascal in terms of his ability to charm and manipulate people. Hells, even to just... enjoy their emotions. And now—"

Gale leaned forward in his chair, eyes intense, his voice dropping. "And now, he has an almost endless amount of power with which to do it."

Sima pursed her lips, her mind racing. She was no stranger to the temptation of power. Neither was Gale. They had both danced on the edge of that particular temptation more than once, which is why he had agreed to help her. Not Shadowheart, who seemed horrified that Sima was even considering turning. Not Karlach, who wanted to end Astarion. Just Gale, only him. "He let me go. It was brief, but it was real. And I cannot... I will not forget that, Gale."

Gale's expression softened slightly, a knowing look in his eyes as he sat up straighter in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. "I never said he was incapable of love or even friendship, dear girl. But power, and the desire for more of it... that can corrupt even the best of us."

He paused for a beat, his gaze drifting off into an empty corner of the room as he seemed to be lost in thought for a few moments. "After all, look what happened to me."

Sima looked at him softly. "You let the orb go. You returned the crown of Karsus. You found your way back, despite it all. You are the only person I have told the true reason for this research... to see if I was to turn... if I could remain myself. And what you are telling me... is there is a chance." Her voice cracked slightly, vulnerability seeping through her determined façade. She walked over to her friend, placing a firm hand on his shoulder.

Gale's mouth remained a thin line, his shoulders rigid under her touch. "Yes," he said quietly. "There is a... chance... that you could keep your soul. But you must understand, the change... it's more than just physical. It changes how you feel, what you want, what you're willing to do to get it."

Gale's gaze flicked up to meet hers, searching her expression. "Are you prepared for that? For what you may lose of yourself?"

Sima swallowed hard, her mind a whirlwind of fear and determination. "Nothing worth doing comes without risk, Gale. And if I was his equal? Who is to say I couldn't... counterbalance whatever this thing is that keeps him dangling between his nature and who he truly is. He was never a saint, but neither am I, and you know that. You know what I did for that Wish spell. There's blood on my hands, too. I just... need to know if I can reach him." Her voice wavered, the weight of her past actions pressing down on her.

Gale then walked over and looked towards a reinforced door. His footsteps echoed as he crossed the room, his long, flowing robe sweeping behind him like a cloak of shadows as he came to a stop before the reinforced door. He placed a hand on the thick, metal barrier, his expression grave and pensive.

"I don't doubt you can reach him," he said quietly, his gaze fixed on the door, not looking back to meet her eyes. "But whether he lets you in... that's a very different story entirely."

Sima looked at Gale and then at the door before she heard it—the thrashing, the roar, the raging of something behind it. "The Hells..." she said quietly, taking up position behind him. "Another lesson of yours?" she asked sharply.

A grim look passed over Gale's features, his hand still resting on the reinforced wooden door. Guttural noises came from the other side, like a wild animal trying to break free of a cage. "Yes, yet another lesson, if you will," he said, looking at her with a mixture of caution and determination in his eyes. "This is a controlled environment. There are spells in place to keep it contained. You need not worry about your safety, so long as you stay back."

As Gale opened the door, the horror came into view. The vampire spawn thrashed within the spell-bound cage, its eyes burning with a predatory hunger. Emaciated yet fearsome, its muscles tensed and rippled under pale, taut skin as it tested the magical barriers. Chains rattled against the cold stone floor, the creature's growls echoing through the chamber. Every movement exuded a menacing, feral energy, a testament to its barely restrained bloodlust. The air around it crackled with suppressed power, making the controlled environment feel both charged and perilous.

Gale took a few steps backward from the door as the spawn's furious, animalistic snarls filled the room. He kept his eyes trained on it, his expression wary but composed. A subtle magic hummed around the edges of the reinforced cage, a constant reminder of the spells that contained the creature.

"Sima, I'd strongly advise against standing too close. Even with these enchantments, this spawn is still powerful and dangerous. It will attack if provoked, and it will most certainly do you harm, if not worse."

Sima observed the creature with narrowed eyes, noting the differences. Gaunt skin greeted her, eyes blown out in hunger, the pupil lost to the blackness, though a thin line of red lined it. The body, almost emaciated but strong, muscular. Teeth that were sharp and feral. Her heart pounded, her breath quickened, and she felt her hands trembling slightly. "This... is what an actual spawn... is?" she whispered.

Gale's expression was grim as he nodded in agreement. "Yes, that is what a spawn is. All power and instinct, a twisted shadow of what it was as a mortal. Barely sentient, barely able to control itself. They are driven by bloodlust and a singular purpose to serve their master."

He paused, crossing his arms over his chest. "Astarion is different."

"Defying nature itself. That's my beloved," Sima whispered, almost to herself as she crouched, watching the thing that roared and rattled the magically enforced cage. It lunged suddenly, making Sima barely flinch as she observed it in almost studious detail. As she did, Gale made his way to a blood store, bringing out a jar of blood. "Gods below, I think it can smell it," she commented as the creature whipped its head to look at Gale.

Gale's fingers tightened around the jar as the spawn's head whipped toward him, its nostrils flaring in anticipation. It prowled the edges of its cage, eyes fixed on the blood as if it were a beacon, its entire being focused on the promise of a meal.

"It can smell that the blood is nearby. It's all it can think about—the hunger, the need for blood, the compulsion to feed. See how it moves..."

The spawn moved with a primal grace even within the confines of its cage, its eyes fixed on the jar of blood in Gale's hands. Its body coiled and tensed like a spring, ready to pounce. Every muscle in its body seemed to twitch and vibrate with an unearthly anticipation.

"It's driven by pure instinct. Nothing else matters except the blood. It will do anything, say anything, promise anything, if it means it can have what it craves."

"This is how Cazador controlled him, made him desperate enough to eat rats," Sima said, a rage rolling through her. She had never been more grateful to the memory of seeing Cazador consumed in the infernal fires that allowed Astarion to ascend. "So this is proof that Astarion retained himself, despite the transformation. Though, the explanation of why remains... elusive?"

Gale's expression was solemn as he looked back at Sima, his eyes focused. "Astarion didn't just retain himself. He transformed, in every sense of the word. He is more... himself than he's ever been. His mind, his powers, they're all still his, more acute and more powerful than ever before."

He paused, his gaze drifting back to the spawn. "But his hunger, his drive, they're more intense too. They're the same desires, the same wants. Only now, they're amplified."

"So what is the lesson, Gale? I know you, there is some sort of moralistic quandary gripped around this lecture with you. There always is. What? Should I be ashamed that I see the power here? That, despite the worst of his traits being more powerful, he is still in there somewhere? You give me hope and then condemn me for it." Sima turned to him, her eyes relentless and stubborn.

Gale looked at her with a pained expression. "Sima, you and I are two of the most power-hungry people I know. It's not a criticism by any means, but I also can't pretend we don't both know it's a dangerous combination. Power is... addicting. Seductive. It's all well and good to say you're going to be careful, that you're going to exercise restraint, but those are the words of a person who hasn't tasted it yet."

He sat carefully in the chair beside her and leaned closer as Sima bit out the next words. "Don't you dare patronize me. I want it. There, look upon me and be horrified. But the chance, the singular chance to do something good with this? Immortality? A chance to undo the harm I have done in a year. I have killed, I have murdered, I have burned lives down to ash in a blink of an eye to get what I needed to change him back. And I failed. If this is the chance to reach him, to join him... am I so terrible?" Sima looked at Gale, the hope and strategy mingling with her need for the person she once loved.

Gale gently took her chin in hand, forcing her to meet his gaze. "I'm not telling you to abandon your hopes, Sima. I just... I don't want you to lose sight of that hope. It would be all too easy for Astarion to let his darkest nature win, and in his new state, that dark nature would have incredible power. So, power isn't the answer on its own. Not for you, and especially not for him. You need to have something more... significant than that to hold on to."

"We have each other. We have always had each other. I will not give up on him. That is my dirty little secret. I can't trust him, I can't turn my back on him, I can't underestimate him, but I will not abandon him to his fate. I will take this power, and I will not lose myself even if it's a war on both fronts. I know I can reach him, Gale, keep him from the edge." Sima gazed into Gale's brown eyes with her own, and the conviction was breathtaking.

For a moment, Gale was silent, his expression stoic as his fingers held her chin. Then, gradually, his stern exterior cracked slightly, a smile coming begrudgingly to his lips at her earnest tone and her determination. "Gods almighty... you truly are a stubborn one, aren't you? Once you've set your mind to doing a thing, you do it, regardless of the odds."

He let go of her face and took a small step back, shaking his head faintly, almost in awe. Sima then gave him a shade of her devil-may-care smile, the one that often got them into trouble and out of it during their adventures. "A trait I share with most of our friends, if not the man I love. I still love him, Gale, despite it all," Sima confessed quietly, her eyes uncharacteristically soft all of a sudden.

Gale's expression softened more, and he reached out to rest a hand gently on her shoulder. "I know you do." He sighed, rubbing his forehead with the other hand as he looked off to the side, his eyes distant as he thought for a moment. "I've seen what power can do to people. How it can... twist them, change them."

He met her gaze again, his expression solemn once more. "But... I understand. You want to try. I just hope you know what you're getting into."

Sima took his shoulder in turn as he led them away from the feral spawn and back into his study. "Do you believe in me, Gale? You always trusted me, even to get us to the Absolute, to bring down the Brain. I need to know you'll stand by me. Can't do it without the best wizard in Toril. Don't tell Elminster I said that, alright?" Sima again gave Gale a rare weary smile. A rare one indeed, since she had been staying with him for almost a month, in hiding.

Gale chuckled softly at her small joke, a shadow of a smile on his face, but the worry still present in his eyes. "Trust you? Hells, you practically forced me to keep trusting you. You're stubborn and reckless, and the worst part is... you're usually right."

He paused, taking a breath, his expression growing more serious once more. He placed both of his hands on her shoulders now, looking right into her eyes with a deep affection and concern. "And yes. I believe in you, Sima. Always."

Sima felt a surge of warmth at his words, a rare moment of genuine connection amidst the chaos and darkness. "Thank you, Gale," she whispered, squeezing his hand gently. "I won't let you down. I promise."

Gale nodded, a trace of a smile lingering on his lips. "I know you won't. Just remember, we're in this together. You don't have to face it alone."

Sima gave him a determined nod, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. She glanced back at the door where the vampire spawn thrashed, a grim reminder of the path ahead. But with Gale by her side, she felt stronger, more resolute in her mission.

"Let's get back to work," she said, her voice steady. "There's still so much to learn, and we need to be ready for whatever comes next."

Gale released her shoulders and led her back to the table covered in tomes and scrolls. The candlelight flickered, casting long shadows on the walls as they resumed their study, their minds focused on the task at hand.

Sima's thoughts drifted as she pored over the ancient texts, her fingers tracing the faded ink. The image of the vampire spawn lingered in her mind, a stark contrast to the Astarion she once knew. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was still hope, that somewhere beneath the darkness, the man she loved still existed.

Power may have changed him, but it hadn't erased him. She clung to that belief, letting it fuel her determination. As the hours passed, she absorbed every detail, every piece of knowledge that might help her understand and perhaps save Astarion from the abyss.

The night stretched on, the air thick with the scent of parchment and candle wax. Sima's eyes grew heavy, but she refused to give in to exhaustion. She had to be strong, for herself, for Gale, and for Astarion. Her resolve hardened with each passing moment, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

She glanced at Gale, who was deeply engrossed in a particularly ancient tome. His brow furrowed in concentration, his fingers turning the delicate pages with care. She admired his dedication, his unwavering support. He was a true friend, one she could always count on.

A pang of guilt tugged at her heart as she thought of the blood on her hands, the lives she had taken in her quest for power. But she couldn't dwell on the past. She had to focus on the future, on the possibility of redemption. If there was a chance to make things right, she had to take it, no matter the cost.

I need to be strong. I need to find a way to reach him. Sima's thoughts echoed in her mind, a mantra of determination and hope. She couldn't afford to fail. Not now, not when the stakes were so high.

Sima then heard Tara downstairs beckon them for supper. "I want this, but I won't go into this blind. Thanks to you, Gale. I'll show you your trust isn’t misplaced once... if I transform and accept Astarion's offer. And it will be on my terms. I'll still be your friend, always." Sima squeezed his hand. "Now come on, your tressym will Fireball us if we are late to dinner again."

Gale chuckled, shaking his head. "Don't remind me. The last time I was late, she put thorns in my bed for a week. I'm never going to hear the end of it." He gave her hand another squeeze before letting go. "And I do trust you, you know that. You're one of the most dependable people I know. I just—" He stopped himself, sighing softly as the two of them began walking to the door. "I just worry about you, is all."

"Stop, or you'll get more wrinkles. Tara already says you've aged a year with me staying with you." Sima flicked the salt-and-pepper streaks of hair that seemed to have grown around Gale's beard and brown hair. "Come on, let's go have a bite of supper."

Gale chuckled as she playfully flicked his hair, his eyes crinkling with humor. "Maybe you're right." He took her hand firmly. "Let's go before we make Tara any more irritated."

Despite his lighthearted tone, Gale's expression darkened for a moment as he looked at her, his voice dropping. "Just... be careful. Please."

Sima looked back at him and smirked, her brown eyes a little bit more shadowed than he remembered from their adventures. The lines of stress were there but fading. But that elusive fire was still there, burning fiercely. "I will, I promise."

In that moment, Gale almost believed her, or at least let himself do so as he watched his friend descend the stairs of his wizard tower, and followed along with her.

As they made their way to the dining area, the scent of a home-cooked meal greeted them. Tara, Gale’s tressym familiar, eyed them with a mix of impatience and amusement from her perch. The little winged cat had a knack for knowing when supper was ready and would tolerate no delays.

They took their seats, the meal spread out before them. For a moment, it almost felt like the old days, a simple gathering of friends around a table, sharing food and conversation. Sima allowed herself a small smile, feeling a semblance of normalcy for the first time in weeks.

Gale poured them each a glass of wine, his demeanor relaxed but his eyes still watchful. "To new beginnings," he said, raising his glass. "And to the old friends who make them possible."

Sima clinked her glass with his, the warmth of the wine spreading through her as she took a sip. "To new beginnings," she echoed. They began to eat, the conversation turning to lighter topics—old adventures, shared memories, the peculiarities of Waterdeep.

Just as the tension began to ease, a sudden, jarring sound shattered the tranquility. The alarm of the tower blared to life, its shrill cry echoing through the walls and sending a surge of adrenaline through them. Tara hissed, her fur standing on end as she leaped to the floor, ready to defend her territory.

Gale’s eyes widened, his expression immediately shifting from relaxed to alert. "What in the Nine Hells...?"

Sima's heart raced, her hand instinctively moving to the hilt of her dagger. She exchanged a glance with Gale, her mind already piecing together the only likely explanation for such an intrusion.

"It's him," Sima whispered, her voice tinged with a mix of fear and resolve. "Astarion."

The tower's alarm continued to wail, the sound a stark reminder that their brief moment of peace had been shattered. The reality of their situation came crashing back with a vengeance, leaving them no choice but to prepare for the confrontation that loomed ahead.

As the echoes of the alarm faded into the background, the oppressive silence that followed was filled with an undeniable tension. Sima and Gale stood, readying themselves for the inevitable.

"Stay close," Gale instructed, his voice steady despite the urgency of the situation. "We have to face this together."

Gale began chanting under his breath, his hands weaving intricate patterns in the air. "I've activated a ward to prevent your forcible removal from the tower," he said, glancing at Sima. "As long as I'm conscious—or, you know, not devoured by your charming paramour—it should hold. Let’s try to avoid testing its limits, shall we?"

Sima raised an eyebrow, a hint of dark humor in her voice. "Comforting thought, Gale. Let’s hope Astarion doesn't try too hard to change that."

Gale managed a grim smile. "Well, as long as your erstwhile paramour doesn’t knock me out or eat me, you should be fine. But let’s not give him the chance, eh?"

With weapons drawn and spells at the ready, they prepared to confront the threat that had come knocking at their door, the weight of their choices and the stakes of their mission hanging heavy in the air.

And just like that, the fragile hope they had clung to was put to the test, as the past came crashing into the present, demanding to be reckoned with.

Ruins

Chapter 1: The Old Apartment

Rating: E

Category: F/M, M/M

Tags: Astarion / F! Tav, Original Characters, AU - Modern w/ Magic, AU - Academia, Main Character Death (Off Screen), Grief / Mourning, Spawn Astarion, Astarion Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Dream Sex, PiV Sex, Post-Game: Baldur's Gate 3

Read on Ao3

Word Count: ~ 5k

---- Summary ----

In an ironic twist of fate, two years after the defeat of the Netherbrain, Baldur's Gate is destroyed by a natural disaster. A thousand years after the loss of his city and his beloved Tav, Dr. Astarion Ancunin leads the archaeological team excavating the ruins of Baldur's Gate. The inevitable rediscovery of the remains of his former home and life launch him and those he loves into fresh danger.

---- Notes ----

Warning: The following contains descriptions of grief, the loss of a loved one and sex. Please protect your heart and slide on by if any of this sounds like it's not going to be good for you.

The tiny window air conditioner rattled in its aluminum housing, struggling to keep the interior of the field laboratory trailer at an almost-comfortable seventy-eight degrees. Compared to the desert-like 101 degrees outside with an almost evenly matched dew point, the little machine was putting in a valiant effort. 

Even so, Dr. Astarion Ancunin found himself wiping sweat off his face with his forearm. There was something that was equal parts soothing and nerve-wracking about patiently extracting artifacts of a bygone life from their individual prisons of rock and ash. Of course, there were techs and interns aplenty to handle things like this. Astarion liked it, though. The repetition of gently scraping away mineral deposits from the surface of something like the porcelain teacup he held in his hands activated the same part of his brain as washing dishes or folding laundry. It was a lower brain function task that allowed his mind to wander to other problems. But he never allowed it to wander too far. The knowledge that this thousand-year-old teacup in his hands could be crushed to powder, any value it had evaporating with a misplaced stroke of his dental probe, was the terrifying part that kept his mind sharply focused on the task at hand. 

“Dr. Ancunin? Dr. Ancunin!” called a voice from outside the makeshift field lab where Astarion sat. It was one of the plethora of faceless student interns that scurried around the dig site like little ants on a hill. He’d been on possibly hundreds of dig sites over the years. Each season brought an endless parade of eager students, all hoping to grow up into big, strong archaeologists someday. He had long since stopped trying to learn names. Mostly, they responded to a snap of the fingers or a withering glare and let him work in peace. 

The door to the lab banged open, letting in a shaft of hot, dusty sunlight, speckled with motes that danced in the currents and eddies of the breeze to settle on any surface flat enough to keep them. Astarion’s lip curled back with a roll of his eyes. The student that followed that gust of heat and light was portlier than the others, with hair so red it was almost cruel. Astarion thought his name was James. Or John. He didn’t care to remember. The intern, not much more than a boy really, screeched to a halt beside Astarion’s worktable, panting. 

“What is it, James?” He asked, not taking his red eyes from the fragment of a porcelain he held in his hands under a magnifying light.

“It’s David, sir,” squeaked the intern. Astarion pulled a fine bristle brush from the little cup of tools sitting next to him on the desk and swiped it gently over the faded cobalt blue pattern still clinging to the cup’s bone-white surface. Normally, he enjoyed keeping the interns waiting, hearing their heartbeats race as the terror built while they awaited one of the renowned archaeologist’s famous tongue lashings for interrupting his work. Today, the student was almost vibrating.

David shifted from foot to foot, like he needed to use the restroom. Before Astarion could torment him longer, David spewed, “Doctor, I’m sorry to interrupt, but you should come see this.”

Astarion dropped his paintbrush with the exact amount of annoyance that made most of the interns jump and cower. David, on the other hand, was too worked up, too engrossed in his mission to be the unwary participant in Dr. Ancunin’s power game. Good for him, Astarion thought.

“What is it, David?” 

“We found something, sir,” David huffed, motioning toward the door. 

“David, darling, it’s a dig site. I’d be disappointed if you didn’t find something.” Astarion peered over the tops of his round, wire-framed glasses, fixing David in his signature withering stare.

“It’s a room, sir. It looks intact.”

Astarion sat up, looking his intern up and down. “What kind of room?” 

“Come see,” is all David could manage before rushing to the trailer door.

With a frustrated sigh, Astarion slapped his straw fedora over his wilting white curls and unrolled the sleeves of his white button-down shirt. Even with the Ring of Daywalking he wore, such bright, hot sun still burned vampires faster than it did other humanoids. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his dusty, battered khaki pants and followed David out of the trailer.  

Outside, the site was a beehive of activity. Students, researchers, assistants, workmen, and who knows how many countless others were engaged in all kinds of excavation. From crawling on hands and knees with garden spades and wire-mesh sieves to hefting great loads of ruble with roaring diesel-powered earthmovers, it seemed everywhere you turned, someone was digging. 

Beneath the rays of the midday sun, the remains of the now ancient city of Baldur’s Gate were slowly being unearthed. Astarion was struck by something, and not for the first time. This feeling was not precisely déjà vu, or something so cloying as nostalgia. As he walked the remains of city streets that he once called home, the space in his chest tightened, suggesting something darker, more sinister. Like dread. 

Astarion has tried, oh how he’s tried, to keep some emotional distance from these ruins. Behind his round black sunglasses, his red eyes try so hard not to recognize the remains of a balustrade here, the crumbled front entry of a shop there. It’s easier if they’re just non-descript chunks of rock. But the muscles, especially the heart, even a cold, dead one, remember much longer than the mind does, and soon, he recognized the street David led him to. 

Astarion prayed to gods he had long-since stopped believing in that David would take a turn somewhere, jog another street over, go up a hill or down the remains of an alley, but he didn’t. That over-eager student led Astarion straight to the last place in this dead city he ever wanted to see again. 

It was a humble doorframe. He knew it had once been hung with a robin’s egg blue door; a door that has long since crumbled to fragments. Astarion rested his hand on the stone doorframe, stroking it with his fingertips. “Has…” he paused, swallowing hard. “Has anyone been inside?” His voice is barely above a whisper. 

“No,” David answered. “We didn’t want to disturb anything, so I ran and got you.” Astarion looked up to see that young David had collected quite a crowd of interns and researchers. He smiled, perhaps a little too warmly, when he saw his own research assistant and PhD candidate, Kerrigan Timberfell. He knew it was careless. Kerrigan, Kerry for short, is his student, and if anything of their social relationship came to light, well, it would mean scandal and ruin. Astarion didn’t care for scandal. Gods knew he’d incited enough of it over his long years. But he did care for Kerry. The tanned and burly Tiefling with tawny hair and eyes so green they were almost luminous in the dark was, possibly, the first person Astarion had truly cared for in more years than he could count. If scandal did find them, Astarion would be fine. Kerry would be ruined, and he could not abide hurting him. 

Even so, the fact remained that staring at Kerry was a far more appealing prospect, even with the social danger it held for them, than going into that dark room he knew so well. His stomach felt like it was trying to force its way out through his mouth. There was a time when that feeling, that anxiety, was all he knew. Though it had been well over a thousand years since he had felt that grip, like iron bands around his chest, the sensation still surprised him with how familiar it was. The last time he’d felt it, he’d been walking into his former Master’s home with murder on his mind. Death was stalking nearby then, too, but this was somehow worse. The death that possibly waited in that room was old, a millennia old. But Astarion knew it could still shatter him.

“I’ll go first,” he says, forcing more strength into his voice than he really feels. “Make sure it’s safe.”

The light from his phone’s flashlight was a meager thing, but Astarion found he was grateful for its limitations. If he could see all of that room at once, it would almost certainly be too much for him. The air in the room was stale, though not unpleasant. It smelled like earth and time. For reasons he could not explain, he was reminded of video footage, taken by divers as they explored a sunken ship. 

He shone the narrow cone of sterile white light around the room that was once the multi-purpose kitchen, dining and living area of his own apartment, the one he shared with… with her. Looking behind him, he was amused to see that his boots left footprints in the thick layer of dust that coated the stone floors. It was all so much the same. The kitchen table that joined the Ancunin household when it was already old enough to have grooves worn into its surface from years of elbows being propped on it still stood with a plate and mug set out on it. One of their pair of chairs that matched the blue paint on the door lay on its side. The other, her chair, was neatly pushed into the table as if she had just stood up to get something from their bedroom and would be back to finish her breakfast at any moment. 

The curtain that once hung in the doorway that separated their bedroom from the main room had long since fallen from its rings into a pile of dust and decaying fibers on the floor. The rings still dangled from the rod, as if waiting for some loving hand to hang a new curtain and give them back their purpose. Astarion wasn’t sure if it would be better for that doorway to still be covered or not. If the curtain still hung, he’d have to move it. He’d have no choice. He’d have to see what was in their bedroom. 

From where he stood in the main room, he felt momentarily safe. He’d always assumed Tav had died there. He’d never allowed himself any large space of time to think about how. If he had, it would have broken him, and he would have walked into the sun as quickly as he could. If she was there, in their bedroom, centuries of mystery and misery would be resolved. If she wasn’t, the mystery would go on. It would mean she got out. But if she got out, did she make it out of the city? If she made it out of the city, why didn’t she come look for him? The possible answers to these questions seemed worse to Astarion, somehow. 

If he stayed put, and didn’t go into that bedroom, nothing changed. She would still be Schrödinger’s beloved – both there and not there. 

The mad thought of pulling the Ring of Daywalking off his finger and stepping out into the sun’s conflagration seized him. If he did that, he wouldn’t have to go into the bedroom, look at the bed he once shared with Tav and find her skeleton, sprawled across the mattress in her final agony. At the same time, he knew that even if he did turn around and end his long life without seeing what was in that bedroom, those few steps from the main room to the front door would be the worst torture he would ever have endured. To go to his death without knowing if what he thought all these years was true or not would be just as bad as knowing it. 

With a resolution he did not feel in his heart, his feet carried him forward into their long-ago bedroom. The dust in there was just as thick as it was in the main room, just as undisturbed. Slowly, like a man avoiding a bee sting, he dragged his gaze from the foot of the bed up. The quilt was still neatly straightened over the mattress. And the bed was empty. She wasn’t there. 

Astarion swept his light around the room impatiently, searching for any clue, any sign of where she might have gone. But, perhaps thankfully, there was nothing. No sign of a mad rush to get out. No disturbing pile of rags and bones slumped against a wall. Nothing. Once again, she was just gone. 

It’s not fair, Astarion thought. He always knew that one day he would have to say goodbye to Tav. She was mortal. But he never thought it would be so soon, and that wasn’t fair. The night after the Netherbrain fell and they stood in the gathering dusk as the city put itself back together, Astarion was almost giddy at the possibility of a real, genuine life with the brave, cunning, beautiful woman he loved beside him. Even though he knew that life would end one day, he always thought that day would be far into the future. She had even made him swear to her that when that day eventually came, he wouldn’t do anything stupid, like following her into death, no matter how much it hurt. He had a life to reclaim, with or without her. 

Astarion sniffled, remembering the night she had made him promise to go on after she was gone. It had been a year after the fervor that followed their victory died down, not long after they had settled into their little apartment near the Basilisk Gate. They had made slow, lazy love to one another. They did that often in those days - simply enjoying the freedom to explore and worship each other without the threat of impending doom hanging over them. Tav lay naked against his chest, the fingers of one hand stroking his curls. She suddenly looked up at him and was so insistent that he should promise her to go on living after she was gone. In retrospect, it made him wonder if she had known what was coming. If for no other reason than to soothe the anxiety in her eyes as she looked up at him, he swore to her that he would live. For her. 

Then, a year later, she was gone. Despite the hell he fell into in the wake of her death, Astarion kept his promise to somehow go on living. Now, standing in the stillness of their empty apartment, it was like losing her all over again. It wasn’t fair the first time and it wasn’t fair now.

He choked down the sour taste of emotion threatening to swallow him, knowing the crowd of people outside were expecting something from him.  They wanted some kind of pronouncement, exclamation, an astonished gasp. Something. But just for a moment, Astarion wanted, no, needed to be in this space alone.  

“Dr. Ancunin?” Kerry called out to him.

Astarion corked his fist into his mouth and bit down on it hard to choke off the sob that wanted to tear free from his throat. 

“Dr. Ancunin? Astarion?” Kerry called again. “What do you see?” Kerry’s voice was getting closer. Astarion could tell he was only a few seconds away from bolting through the apartment’s door to see what was wrong. He shook his head and cleared his throat, 

“Wonderful things,” Astarion finally answered. 

---

The rest of the day was a whirlwind of activity. Everything already in-progress halted in favor of the new discovery. Astarion decided, for now, that it would be best to keep his familiarity with the apartment to himself. The doorway was sealed up again until a structural engineer could get on-site to make sure the roof wasn’t going to cave in on them while they worked. Even with the entrance blocked, there was so much to do – documentation of the exterior, notifying the board, notifying the labs back at the university to expect new artifacts, calling in specialists and making arrangements and planning the excavation surrounding the building. Astarion, Kerry, and the rest of the dig site leadership worked well into the night preparing for the next phases of excavating Astarion’s former life. 

Astarion thought he’d still be wide awake for hours after things broke up for the night, but it turned out that even for vampires, physical exhaustion trumped emotional turmoil. He had just enough energy to kiss Kerry good night before his head hit the pillow and he fell into a true sleep. 

In his dreams, he was in another bed so long ago that his waking mind couldn’t remember the feel of rough spun linen sheets over a straw-stuffed mattress. But asleep or waking, the body of the woman straddling his hips in the eye of his memory is one he’ll never forget as long as he lives. His hands remember every dimple, every slope and angle of her. Each scar and freckle are treasured memories. He dreams of the last time he had sex with her, his Tav. In that dream, she kneels over him, one leg to either side of his hips. She leans back, arching her spine as she steadies herself with a hand on each of her ankles. She’s contorted like this for him, of course. He loves seeing her body stretched, tracing the new and interesting lines the shapes of her with his eyes, seeing his cock disappear into her warm, silken wet cunt, taking all of him as he thrusts up into her. He knows how to angle his own thrusts to rub against the right places within her, to set her nerves on fire in a way that turns his sharp, articulate love into a wanton, sloppy mess. 

She’s moaning his name as she rolls forward, planting her hands on the mattress to cage his head in with her forearms. Her breasts hang just low enough to make her shiver each time her stiff little nipples graze over his chest.  His hands easily find her hips and hold them tightly, locking her sex against his. They undulate together in sync, bodies meeting with each upward and downward thrust to keep them tight against one another. In his dream and his memory, Astarion growls with the need to be planted as deeply within her as he can, the incoherent gibberish thoughts of sex urging him to merge her body with his. He flips her onto her back so he can hoist her legs up and press her knees against her chest. Her hands reach for him, searching for purchase on any part of him they can find. He’s sweating and swearing while her moans, increasing in pitch each time the head of his cock presses against her cervix, drive him closer and closer to release until finally, they both let out savage screams of ecstasy. Every muscle of her body tenses around him as he pours his seed into her. 

When his eyes opened, he could still feel the phantom sensation of her sweat-slick skin under his fingertips. His muscles ached like he had pushed them too far. With no small amount of embarrassment, he saw the orgasm of his dream had manifested in the waking world as well. 

Somehow, Kerry slept soundly through the moans and grunts of Astarion’s sex dream. The tanned, taught muscles of Kerry’s bare chest rose and fell rhythmically. Astarion studied him, envied him the blissful abandon of dreamless sleep. Kerry, as with everything he does, sleeps with his whole being. He’s like a six-and-a-half-foot tall golden retriever with surprisingly diminutive horns that corkscrew back over his head.  In a lot of ways, Kerry resembles her, his Tav. His love, lost long ago to the wrath of irony and the birth of a new mountain that rained down fire and ash enough to bury an entire city for a thousand years. Kerry has the same fire in the belly that Tav had, the same spirit. If Kerry had been there a thousand years ago, when Astarion and Tav had fought the Illithid menace, he and Tav would have gotten on like a house on fire. They shared the same proclivity for goodhearted mischief, the same annoying need to help others and do what’s right, and the same love for him, which still amazed Astarion, even after a thousand years of trying to wrangle his demons and convince himself that he wasn’t, in fact, unlovable. To have found one person in the world who loved him felt like a gods damned miracle to Astarion. To have found another in Kerry was something Astarion’s mind could not wrap itself around, though he was nowhere near ready to say any of this out loud.

 In spite of the gloom that gripped Astarion’s heart, he couldn’t help smiling at his big Tiefling friend (boyfriend? Was that the right word?) asleep in the bed they had been sharing since the start of the season. He ghosted a palm along Kerry’s thigh affectionately before leaving him to his rest. 

Astarion wasn’t entirely sure what he meant to do, so he prepared for anything. Into his pockets went an assortment of tools of the trade – a stronger flashlight, a few fine paintbrushes, a hooked dental probe, hammer and chisel, his camera, and a pair of soft cotton gloves. Though the sun would still be down for hours, he slipped the Ring of Daywalking onto his left hand’s ring finger and kissed it, just like he had done every morning since Tav first placed it there so many centuries ago. 

The night air was cool and calm in contrast to the heat of the day. A gentle breeze tugged playfully at his silver curls, which had grown a little too long for his liking. Without prompting from his mind, Astarion’s feet carried him through what used to be the Basilisk Gate, the main entry point of the Lower City. 

It was a cruel irony that Baldur’s Gate was destroyed so soon after barely surviving annihilation by the Illithids. In forty-eight short hours, the long-dormant Fields of the Dead churned and boiled, finally releasing a new volcano that would become Mount Chionthar, named after the river that had been destroyed in its formation. With the birth of the mountain, lava, rock, ash, and toxic gas spewed miles high into the air, only to rain down on the city, covering the majority of it like a blanket of death. The people of Baldur’s Gate had no warning. Tav had no warning. 

By some stroke of luck, or a cruel twist of fate, Astarion had been away in Waterdeep when it happened. He’d been visiting their friend, the illustrious Professor Gale Dekarios, trying to find a more permanent solution to the weaknesses of his vampirism when the volcano was violently thrust up through the crust of the land. It had taken the news two full days to travel from Baldur’s Gate to Waterdeep, and by then, it was too late. The city was gone, and so was his love.

For the second time in twelve hours, Astarion found himself confronted with a doorway he knew and loved and hated all at the same time. With barely a thought, he wrenched the heavy sheet metal from the temporary frame that had been installed to protect and preserve the find. 

At first, he was careful to match his footsteps to the ones he had already made in the little drifts of dust and ash on the floor. But soon, his curiosity overcame him, and he started wandering freely through the rooms he used to share with Tav. 

In the bedroom, he found little scraps of her wherever his light settled. The kohl she used to line her eyes still sat on her little makeup table next to her hand mirror. A rose, long dead, still nodded in a clay bud vase. A little pile of decaying green and golf fibers lay on the floor, colors he recognized as a pair of her panties, no doubt dropped from her laundry basket on the way to the wash tub. 

She was everywhere and nowhere at once.  

The drawer of her bedside table groaned and threatened to break apart in his grip when he tried to open it. The historian in him winced, but he shoved that annoying little voice that was shouting the word “PRESERVE!!!” at him aside. If what he was after was in that drawer, it would be worth destroying a cheaply made, common end table to get it. At last, the drawer slid open, and the sight that greeted him stopped his unnecessary breath. 

The book, among the other detritus of a woman’s life, gleamed dully up at him. Its brown leather cover was still shiny from years of where her hands held it, burnishing it smooth.  He held his breath as he lifted it out, fully aware that it could fall apart in his hands at any second, but it didn’t. In fact, it felt somehow sturdier than anything else he looked at in their home. Holding it felt like he was holding her, somehow. 

He settled himself on the floor, not caring that the dirt and dust would ruin his pants, and cradled Tav’s journal in his lap like a newborn babe. Though every second of his years of training in handling ancient documents and artifacts screamed at him not to, he couldn’t resist lifting the cover of that book. It gave a soft, familiar creak, a noise he heard probably a thousand times over the course of the two-and-a-half years they spent together. He’d opened this book only once before. It was during their travels, when they were still trying to piece together the mysteries of the Illithids and the cult of the Absolute. He loved her then too, but he wasn’t willing to admit it yet. 

Then, he’d been trying to tease her. He’d seen her scribbling her thoughts down and thought it would be good fun to steal her journal and torment her with it. He’d been so much like a young boy then – so unaware of what this little cruelty would do to her that he was shocked to his core to see the deep, genuine hurt on her face. He had been so surprised at how knowing he had hurt her made him feel that he never even opened her journal again.

He paged slowly through the book, trying to be as gentle with it as he could. The pages had a supple, almost oily feel to them, one he knew well from Professor Dekarios’ library, where all of the books were enchanted to stave off the ravages of time and the elements. Astarion had to smile at the thought of their old friend enchanting Tav’s journal for her to protect it. He grimaced, seeing his own face drawn over and over in fine, sketchy lines on the early pages of the journal, back before she had admitted to him that she loved him, too. Scraps of lyrics and poems interspersed the drawings, and he could almost hear her singing the ones that had grown into songs she would perform on her violin whenever their pockets hung just a little too empty. He caught the tears sliding down his face before they could drip onto the pages of her journal. 

One of the last entries in the book was a snippet of a poem. 

In the morning,

Dawn’s gentle fingers tease the edges of night

As if she begs her lover to stay

Just a little longer, 

So to do you depart from my bed too quickly

And leave me bare in the harsh light of day.

Tav would never be mistaken for a great poet, but the earnestness of her effort tugged at Astarion’s heart.

“Thought I’d find you here,” came a smooth, familiar voice from the bedroom doorway. Kerry stood silhouetted against the light of Astarion’s flashlight for a moment before he picked his way carefully across the bedroom floor to sit down next to his lover and mentor. “I also thought we weren’t supposed to be in here until the engineers had the chance to check it out.”

“I’m in charge of the dig, darling,” Astarion said with just a hint of petulance. “I can do what I want.”

Kerry’s smile was broad and genuine. He took Astarion’s hand from his knee. “Do you think it’s safe to be all lovey-dovey?” he asked, nudging Astarion's shoulder with his own. 

“It’s never safe, love,” Astarion grumbles. “But I don’t think we’ll get caught, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

The two men sat in silence for a moment. 

“How did you know I was here?” Astarion asked.

“For as much as you like to try to convince the kids that you’re a heartless bastard, you really do wear your emotions on your sleeve,” Kerry said. 

“Saw right through me, did you?”

“Mmhm,” Kerry continued. “When you quote other archeologists, I know something’s wrong.”

Astarion let out a high-pitched giggle. “You know,” he said, musing as he dropped his head onto Kerry’s shoulder, “I used to be very good at hiding things.” 

“I don’t believe it for a second,” Kerry responded, kissing the top of Astarion’s head. “This place was important to you.”

Astarion’s lips drew into a tight, strained line and he found he couldn’t answer aloud. Instead, he nodded, trying to keep the way his throat is working against silent sobs under control.

“You lived here with someone. Someone important. A partner.” Kerry ventured, still stroking Astarion’s hand.

Astarion nodded. 

Kerry brushed his thumb over the Ring of Daywalking on Astarion’s ring finger. “The partner who gave you this?”

Astarion nodded again. 

“She was the love of my life,” Astarion whispered.

Kerry’s arm slipped around Astarion’s shoulders as he finally allowed himself to burst into tears. 

---

Notes:

Thanks for sticking with me! Chapter 2 is in the works!

"He looked like a dandy, polished and pale as a bone, in a black suit and with a winking scarlet ruby. His slender fingers plucked the strings of a lute, filling the dark with a devilish melody."

Coming Thursday!

Blog Updates!

Hello lovelies! Just sending out an update! 1. What Could Have Been Chapter 10: Is slated for release tomorrow. Given some personal life stuff that came up this week the editing is taking a bit longer. <3 2. Three Little Things: Coming Aug 28th! That's right, the editing and re-release of my Spawn specific fanfic will be releasing on tumblr and reuploading to A03 as of Aug 28th! Thank you all for your patience as I navigate the highs and lows of life and trying to get these chapters to you! Weekly posting can be tough so I appreciate everyone's grace! Bella

With the last drops of breath, he sighed the last lines of his diabolical ballad "I am the answer. The soul is only an investment for something that will coming"