#gale x tav slow burn

[weaveandwood]

Weave and Woods Chapter Four: One with the Weave

Gale/Named Tav | Slow Burn | Read on AO3 | Entire Work

Summary:

Gale tells all, the tieflings throw a party, and Auroria has an overactive imagination.

Auroria leaned back against the tree trunk, the warm late afternoon light filtering through the leaves from her seat several branches up. Whenever her mind was racing, she had always taken to the trees. Being above her problems helped her work through them.  Problem number one: she couldn’t stop thinking about a wizard Problem number two: said wizard slept with a goddess Problem number three: said wizard could erupt Problem number four: did she mention the goddess?

To say the tieflings were overjoyed would be an understatement. Word traveled fast. By the time the group returned to the grove, a crowd awaited them, cheering as they crested the final hill before the entrance. A familiar face found its way to the front of the throng - Zevlor. He told them that a scout had recently arrived and informed the tiefling refugees that the leadership at the goblin camp had been decimated, explaining the mood, all while attempting to hand Auroria a small patchworked bag of gold. 

“Thank you, but I can’t take this, this is too much,” she said, trying to pass the bag back to him. She heard Astarion mutter behind her that he would gladly take it and they should get a reward since they almost died. 

“No, no, you must - we took up a collection and everyone freely donated what they wanted. Do not feel guilty about taking what you have earned, though it truly isn't what you deserve. It was no doubt a tough battle against many formidable foes.” He placed his hands on both her shoulders.  “We can finally leave! No armies at our heels, we may make it to Baldur’s Gate,” the older tiefling practically beamed at the prospect of putting this grove and these druids behind him. 

“Alright then, since you insist,” Auroria smiled and placed the small bag of coins in her pack to distribute evenly across the group later. “When will you leave for the city?”

“In the next day, to get ahead of any reinforcements. But we needn’t talk about farewells now. We’d like to join you in your camp this evening, if you’ll have us, to celebrate you and all the good you have done for us since your arrival to the grove.”

Auroria nodded, “Of course! That sounds great, thank you Zevlor.”

“Perfect! We will bring everything: food, wine, and good spirits. I believe even Halsin wants to join in. We will see you there later,” he nodded and walked off, leaving the adventurers in the clearing.

“Well, what do you all say to a well-deserved night off?” She smiled brightly, turning to her group, her friends, as they all raucously cheered to what would likely be a night to remember.

The only person more overjoyed than the tieflings was Gale. This day was turning out even brighter than the cloudless blue skies overhead.

******

“I need to speak to all of you. It would remain unconscionable to remain silent on this matter. You need to know who I was. What I really am.”

“Gale, the sun’s just barely come up, what is so urgent?” Astarion whined - he preferred to stay in his tent until the sun was higher in the sky and breakfast was prepared. 

Auroria crossed her arms. “Let him talk.” A look of concern flashed across her face, Gale noticed, betraying her authoritative tone. Not 10 minutes ago, she was baring her soul to him and now he may be on the brink of losing both her and everyone else’s trust that was just so recently and fragilely won. His anxiety spiked. Still, it must be done. 

Gale told them all about his past. His connection to Mystra, from being her Chosen, to her lover, then being abandoned by her. He spoke of his studies, his deep ambition to further manipulate the Weave, his search for a book to return a missing part of magic to her, making her love him again and allowing him more access to the Weave. He looked at Auroria, whose eyes were slightly widened. She was always so expressive. 

“Let me show you.” He took her hand, holding it on his chest, directly over his heart. The tattoo glowed a faint purple. He opened his mind to her, the parasites allowing him to share his memory from his point of view - a book, opening and showing no pages, only a swirling mass of the darkest, blackest Weave. The mass clawing its way into his body. The feeling of eternal hunger.

Auroria yanked her hand away, gasping, the connection severed as her eyes darted back and forth between his. “How are you still alive?” 

He went through it all - the need for magical artefacts, the consequences of not consuming enough Weave. The explosive end he and many innocents would face if that came to pass. He looked at the group, all silent with wide eyes as they took in who - no what - they had found themselves saddled with. Insecurity washed over him and he looked at the ground, unable to make eye contact. 

“This must feel like such a betrayal. I should have told you sooner. Say the word, and we’ll part ways.”

A voice finally spoke up. One that he was finding himself always hoping  to hear.

“What? Absolutely not! You are a part of the group, Gale. A very invaluable one, and not just for your magic. You will travel on with us,” Auroria nodded her head once. She turned on her heel and walked away, not hearing or caring if anyone had anything else to say. 

Karlach walked over to the wizard and smiled as everyone started making their way back to their tents for a little more sleep before heading to the Emerald Grove. “Maybe we should start an explosive hearts club, Gale! What do you say?” 

******

Auroria leaned back against the tree trunk, the warm late afternoon light filtering through the leaves from her seat several branches up. Whenever her mind was racing, she had always taken to the trees. Being above her problems helped her work through them. 

Problem number one: she couldn’t stop thinking about a wizard Problem number two: said wizard slept with a goddess Problem number three: said wizard could erupt Problem number four: did she mention the goddess?

Times like these, she wished she had a stronger connection to the gods. It would be so nice to be able to pray and ask for clarity. Believing that they cared, that they would give guidance on how to live your life, solve your problems…how much easier would it be than to have to figure out your own shit with your own brain? 

She sighed and plucked a small acorn from the tree, twirling it between her fingers. She relied on nature to calm her thoughts, as it so often did. A flock of small birds flew by. The wind rustled in the trees surrounding her. A twig snapped, drawing her attention.

Gale.

She was going to have to train him on how to move more quietly. Still, she observed him quietly from her vantage point. He was carrying a book, as usual, but it seemed like he was also looking for something, or maybe someone. He, along with everyone else, had changed into their camp gear as there was no need for armor and weapons on a day off. His sleeves were pushed up and she could see his forearms, veins running from his hands to disappear under his sleeves at the elbows. She wanted to trace each one with her fing - stop it, she thought to herself, forcing her brain to move on.  She looked at his hair, warm brown and falling in waves to his shoulders. It looked soft. She wondered how he would react if she ran her fingers through - no, definitely not. Her eyes caught on the silver earring he always wore, the faint lines from the orb running up to his eyes. Remember. Goddess. 

He turned, this time looking up and spotting her, raising a hand in greeting. “I was wondering where you’d gone off to!” He said, raising his voice so it would reach her. 

She gave him a half smile in return and tossed the acorn to him. “You found me, though I could hear you coming from a mile away. We might need to work on that.”

He caught it, examining it between his long, elegant fingers. Stop thinking about his hands. “One doesn’t need to sneak often if they’re talented enough in spell work, and you happen to be in the presence of one of the best, remember?” he smiled up at her. 

“Oh, how could I forget?” She laughed, “You do like to remind us so often.” She started to climb down the branches when she felt a cool sensation all over her body, then the sensation of being lighter than she should be. She looked at Gale, his hand glowing faintly with the remnants of a spell. 

“Gale, did you cast feather fall on me?” She took advantage of it and dropped the 20 feet to the ground instead of navigating the trees. “You know I’ve been climbing trees for over 30 years, I think I can safely get down from a mere 20 feet.”

He looked sheepish, the tips of his ears turning pink. “No disrespect to your climbing prowess, I just thought that on a day off and so close to the tieflings’ arrival, you’d like to remain sweat and exertion free.” 

“Well, sometimes being sweaty isn’t all that bad, in the right circumstance - “ she stopped herself abruptly, not meaning to say that out loud. It was her turn for her cheeks to turn pink with mild embarrassment. She cleared her throat, nodding her head towards his book. “Well, it uh…looks like you want to be alone with your reading. I’ll leave you to it - see you at the party tonight!” She awkwardly finished, turning around and hastily making a beeline back to camp. 

What the hells was that? 

******

The camp was in a joyous mood. Wine had started to flow and everyone was mingling. The tieflings had delivered upon their promise - there was wine, food, and everyone was in a good mood. A great mood, even. No one seemed to be happier than Auroria, Gale noticed. He had taken a bottle of wine and a plate of food back to his tent, content to spend the latter half of the evening relaxing, reading, and enjoying comforts that reminded him of his home in Waterdeep. He could not help watching her though. Everyone wanted to talk to her, including him. She was magnetic. Friendly to a fault, even after suffering so much loss and experiencing so much solitude. He was certain her comment earlier today had been solely banter and innuendo between friends, to grow their camaraderie, but part of him couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to be sweaty with her in the right circumstance, as she implied. To hold her hands, feel her fingers on his skin, her full lips against his. He shook his head. No, she is just kind, and you are misreading the situation.  

Still, it had pleased him to no end when she accepted his invitation to a private lesson in magic when the party ran its course. He smiled to himself, flipping through the pages of a book. He owed her for that kindness. What would he show her this evening? He knew she didn’t like to rely on magic herself, but how much stronger would she be if she knew a few more spells to enhance her ranging ability? Could he even help her with that? The thought of spending more time alone with her sent a rush of excitement through him, causing a faint throb to emanate from his orb. 

Inhale…exhale…calm yourself. He repeated the mantra to himself.

She is kind, and you are content being her friend. 

******

Auroria was well and truly buzzed, laughing out loud at Karlach’s comment about cracking Gale’s spine like a new book. “Hells, Karlach, we need to get your engine tamed so you can get laid. That is our new top priority, forget the tadpoles!” They both laughed, wiping tears from their eyes. Maybe Shadowheart had given her too much liquid courage earlier after joking about how cozy she had been getting with Gale lately. 

She had to admit she was anticipating the magical lesson Gale had promised her earlier this evening. Certainly, knowing him, it would actually be a lesson in magic, but still…the thought of spending time alone with him was growing on her. Though if she was honest with herself, from the moment he tumbled out of the rock and landed on her, she had felt a magnetic pull to him. Something she couldn’t explain. She shook her head. Introspection and wine were never a good combination, especially with a wine as cheap as the one she was currently drinking. 

Slowly, the night grew darker and more silent as everyone started to turn in for the night. Some alone, some in pairs. Some she didn’t expect - was Wyll going with Lae’zel? Interesting. She had finished her wine ages ago, content to listen to the hum of partygoers and watch the fire crackle. When she noticed she was alone, she got up and made her way over to Gale’s tent, her stomach swarming with butterflies. She smiled to herself when she first saw him - bathed in silver light from a small conjuration of the portrait of a woman in his hands. A beautiful woman, at that. She couldn’t help but feel the slightest twinge of jealousy. 

“Pretty,” she said as she walked up behind him, trying to keep her voice cool and collected with no hint of disappointment. 

“Oh! You startled me,” he waved his hand, the illusion disappearing. “Apologies, I was miles away.” An accurate statement. He seemed sad. Distant. 

“Everything okay?”

“Of course, just, uh, just practicing an incantation.” Lies , she thought. 

“Now I don’t know much about magic, but you don’t look at a practice incantation the way you just were,” she teased. “Who was that?” She remembered his confessions from that morning. “Is that Mystra? I didn’t realize you were so devoted, still. After everything.”

He sighed. “Magic is…well it’s my life. I’ve been in touch with the Weave for as long as I can remember, maybe even longer. And Mystra, she is magic. There is nothing like the Weave - it’s music, poetry, the arts all rolled up into one and given expression through the senses. Do you want to experience it? I want to show you. To thank you, for… for everything. Your generosity with magical artefacts, your selflessness in allowing me to remain with our group, your fierceness in battle, pulling me out of that portal. Everything.”

Auroria crossed her arms, though she was touched at his sincerity. “Alright, show me what you've got, wizard,” she smirked, egging him on. “This should be interesting, since magic is so far down the list of things I am good at”

“I have been meaning to ask about that - why do you shy away from utilizing and learning more spells that would enhance your abilities?” He asked. She could feel the curiosity in his voice, as if she was another riddle for him to untangle. Not tonight . 

“That’s a story for another day. Let’s not ruin a perfectly good night of drinking with sad stories.” 

He nodded, “Well then, follow my lead.” He made a series of elegant, well-practiced movements with his arms and hands, pushing them forward at the last, a glowing purple ball erupting from it, sparkling in the dark. “Now you try.”

Auroria shook her hands, trying to ease her nerves, then repeated the movements. She definitely did not look as graceful as he did, clunky and stiff in her actions, but to her surprise, she did it. She felt around her a strange aura - like a kind word and a kind touch were wrapping around her at the same time. She was warm and comfortable. A feeling she wasn’t used to when magic was involved. She looked at Gale, who looked equally as impressed. 

“Excellent, now repeat after me.” An incantation. Lucky for her, he spoke it slowly enough that she was able to retain the syllables and repeat it as well as she could. Not as fluently of course, but a fine effort. She tasted sweetness on the back of her tongue and smelled rosewater in the air. This must be a sliver of the Weave. 

“Now, picture the concept of harmony in your mind, as true a picture as you can.” She nodded, instantly picturing a place of total peace in the middle of a forest high in the canopy. A ribbon of purple light surrounded the two of them. She felt…safe. Auroria looked at Gale, who looked like he may explode with pride. 

“You did it! You channeled the Weave! How does it feel?” He laughed, the light from the Weave bathing him in a faint purple glow.

“Effortless. You are a very good teacher, Gale.” She smiled as he nodded, agreeing with her that yes, he was a good teacher. They both stood there, watching the ribbon of light, taking in the feeling of the Weave. It felt so intimate, as if Auroria were to imagine anything, Gale would be able to see it as if they were one. She looked at him, his eyes widened in awe of what she was able to do, what he was able to teach her in one lesson. His profile illuminated. Gods, what I wouldn’t give to kiss him right now. She imagined standing in front of him and placing a kiss on his lips, tenderly at first, then with growing passion. Wait, no, stop thinking about that. Shit! 

He looked at her “I…I didn’t..think…” he stammered. Auroria realized they really were connected when she felt embarrassment, nervousness, and then…elation coming from Gale. He smiled at her. “I wasn’t expecting that, I’m sorry. But it is a pleasing image to be sure! Most pleasing. Most welcome, in fact.”  

The Weave evaporated. 

“Oh, there it goes,” he said, dejected. “How easily things slip away from us.” Was it the end of the lesson or the end of Mystra’s presence around him making him feel this way? He cleared his throat and put on a gentlemanly air. “Good night, I enjoyed sharing this moment of magic with you.” He smiled as he went back inside his tent, closing the flap.

The night felt colder than it did before she went to Gale’s tent, though whether that was from her own embarrassment or an effect of the magic leaving, she couldn’t say. She went back to her own tent, smiling as she crawled into her bedroll. Gale’s admission that the thought of kissing her was pleasant and welcome running through her mind as her buzz wore off and she fell into a peaceful sleep. 

Across camp, a wizard dreamed of kissing a ranger.

#gale of waterdeep #gale x tav #named tav #gale x auroria #auroria galanodel #bg3 fanfiction #gale fanfic #bg3 gale #bg3 oc #gale x tav slow burn #my writing #my screenshots #weave and woods #weave and woods fic

[saturdaysky]

a little morning pick-me-up

-

A morning on the way to Baldur's Gate. The party booked themselves into an inn and enjoyed real beds, hot baths, and privacy for the first time since the Nautiloid.

Gale and Mayhew shared a room, of course. They were filled with the relief of surviving the shadows and the glow of finally getting together, so their private room was probably a blessing for the whole party, honestly.

-

This was some ascended anatomy practice! Referenced some great stock from @null-entity.

#some people speed run the galemance but i played it as the world's longest slow burn #act 1 was fuuull of uneven feelings and perceived unrequited feelings and slow-building respect #mayhew was immediately down bad & suffering after the weave scene. Plus Gale's lukewarm reaction to flirting felt like people-pleasing #gale slowly emerged from his depression hole much later and only then caught real feelings - but the orb put paid to acting on them #so in my game they simply had a very loaded laden-with-unspoken-feelings friendship until near the end of act 2 #they got like one (1) week of happiness before the horrors of act 3 hit. starting with Mayhew getting unwillingly astral tadpole'd #it's tragic and i love it #also: chubby gale. tumblr do you see my vision #mayhew sees my vision #please also appreciate mayhew's bed head and the too-big-for-gnomes dishware. i chuckled about those #my art #mayhew #gale dekarios #gnome tav #gale x tav #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

[keldae]

Musings

Gale couldn't remember the last time he had slept with someone – spending his time asleep wrapped in a lover's arms had been before Mystra. He hadn't ever needed to sleep when he was with his goddess in her realm, and she would never have come to the mortal planes to spend an entire night with him. So sharing his bedroll now was… unusual.

Not a bad type of unusual, he admitted to himself. But still unusual. And it was even more unusual that he hadn't had relations with his bed partner yet – that hadn't ever been a situation he'd found himself in, during the years before Mystra.

But then, with the orb in his chest… having sex was out of the question.

Unable to shut his mind off, he propped his head up on his pillow, looking down at the half-Elf who had stolen his blankets, and was trying to steal his heart. Devi was dead to the world, squished tightly against Gale's side, coppery hair loose around her head. Gale smiled fondly down at the little half-Elf, watching as a few strands of her hair moved with every slow breath past her parted lips. 

What are you seeing in your dreams tonight, Devi? he thought, gazing down at the thief. Hopefully her dreams were pleasant tonight. He didn't think she'd had a bad nightmare since they'd started sleeping together in the Underdark – he definitely had had pleasant dreams while sharing his tent and bedroll with her. Are you in Baldur's Gate, thriving as a little thief? Or are you thinking of the halfling and the dwarves from the book we read tonight? She had seemed to enjoy the story he had read to her.

Devi shifted slightly, rolling onto her side, facing Gale. Before he was quite aware of it, he was reaching to gently brush the loose strands of hair out of her face, tucking the locks behind one delicately pointed ear. His thumb touched her lips, slowly tracing the outline of her mouth. For a moment, he felt an unspeakable yearning for the woman sleeping beside him. If her thoughts during their lesson in the Weave were any indication, she wanted to kiss Gale, despite his affliction – and gods knew he desperately wanted to give her that kiss. He wanted to know what it would feel like to press his lips against hers, to let his tongue meet her own, to taste her mouth and breathe in her exhales as he fulfilled the vision she had shared with him of a kiss…

He closed his eyes, trying to force his mind away from the dangerous thoughts of kissing the woman with him. He'd spent the last year struggling to stabilise the orb – he couldn't risk his mental discipline failing him now. If he killed them all because of letting himself think too much, too enthusiastically, of kissing a beautiful girl… He wanted to groan in frustration.

Except that would have woken Devi up. He settled for silently scolding himself instead. Get a grip, Dekarios!

Besides, Devi wouldn't – couldn't – truly love a broken man like Gale was. He was older than she was, by quite a few years – and in trying to keep up with her youthful half-Elven exuberance, he definitely felt every tenday of his age in comparison to her. And he was irreparably broken, only a shadow of the man and wizard he had been a year and a half ago. He was the reject of a goddess, damned by his own foolishness, and doomed to meet an explosive end alone. 

In comparison, Devi was young, and full of life and fire and optimism. She had had a poor start in life – any child born poor in the Lower City of Baldur's Gate had a disadvantage. But she was smart, and stubborn, and if she was given the correct support, she could exceed any expectations for a girl born as a poor urchin. Maybe, Gale thought, he could leave a note leaving his wealth to her after he met his unavoidable end? Or he could just give her the key to his tower in Waterdeep before he inevitably had to leave the party to die somewhere safer. If she could cure her tadpole, maybe she could live on, somewhere safer than Baldur's Gate. And it would be a good use for the money and wealth he had, rather than leaving it all to rot. It wasn’t like Tara would really be able to use it, after all.

But he digressed. Devi was too young for him to pursue romantically, too vibrant, too lively to tie herself to a damned man. In another life, if they had ever even crossed paths, they would never have given each other a second thought (unless Devi had identified him as a pickpocketing target… which, Gale knew she would have targeted him in a heartbeat.). Even if he hadn't been damned, they were in entirely different social circles. Imagine the scandal, if he were to return to Waterdeep with an uneducated, uncouth, younger Baldurian thief, and one who could swear like a well-educated mercenary at that, as his lover! 

Gale grinned for a moment, imagining the reactions of some of his more class-conscious peers. His amusement faded with a sigh as he looked back down at Devi. You don't deserve as grim a fate as tying yourself to me would give you, he thought. You're too alive and hopeful to bind yourself to a broken, damned man. In another life, one where he wasn't a walking explosive, he might have still taken her to bed, trying to perhaps prove that being this much older than her just meant he was more experienced with pleasing a lover. And he was pretty certain he had pleased Mystra when he was the goddess’s lover – he could have wowed Devi with his command of the Weave in bed. He had already impressed her with their magic lesson after the tiefling party, and that had been tame! What he could have done behind a sound dampening ward to blow her away and make her cry out his name in bliss, over and over again…

Speaking of blowing away, he firmly turned his thoughts away from the idea of bedding Devi, thinking about spell incantations instead. The orb rumbled in his chest, but remained calm for the moment as his heart settled back down.

With another sigh, he stroked Devi's hair back from her face again. Where will your mind take you tonight? Will you dream of me? You really shouldn't – I'm a dead man walking. You deserve better than a broken heart. Although, wasn't he bold, to think that Devi might care for him the way he did her? What could he possibly offer her besides his knowledge of the arcane? He was doomed twice over – once from the illithid tadpole, and once from his own idiocy. She at least still had a chance at a normal life once she was cured of the tadpole. 

Tomorrow, he decided, he would start trying to distance himself from her. It would hurt her in the short term, and it would be agony for him, but it was for the best. She deserved better than to develop affections for a man who had nothing before him but an explosive death. Maybe he could subtly point her in the direction of Wyll – the warlock, despite his devilish appearance, was a good man. He was certainly a better man than the wizard who had tried to advance himself beyond mortal limitations to impress a goddess – and even with Wyll’s pact to a devil, he had a hope for a future beyond a destructive death alone. And he was younger, and handsome, and full of life and vigour, and could crack a joke to make even Devi groan while she was laughing…

Gods, this was already breaking Gale's heart.

But Devi would be happy with Wyll. Or maybe Shadowheart, if Wyll didn’t strike her fancy – the two half-Elves seemed to have a close connection already. Even if Shadowheart was a Sharran, Devi didn't seem to think less of her for it. Or Karlach, as boisterous and friendly as she was, would be a good match for the feisty little thief.

None of them were a depressed middle-aged wizard who had already exceeded his potential and his usefulness to Faerûn. 

Gale sighed yet again and started to roll away from Devi onto his side, trying to get some sleep. In the morning he would talk to Devi, and see if the thief would be receptive to the idea of spending her nights apart from him. Certainly, she would be upset at first – Gale fully expected to get slapped. But she had to see the logic eventually, right? She was more than smart enough, even if she was uneducated –

At his side, Devi softly moaned in protest of his movements. Her hand reached up, grabbing his shirt and pulling him down on his back again. Before Gale could do anything, the little half-Elf wrapped her arm around his stomach and settled her head on his chest, squirming until she was comfortable. Once she was satisfied with her human pillow, she sighed and draped her leg over his before she fell fully back to sleep, peacefully lost in her dreams.

Shit. This was not doing a damn thing to help Gale reconcile himself to letting go of her. She felt so damn good beside him, warm and snuggly, tucked under his arm where she belonged. How in the Nine Hells was he supposed to separate himself from her when she did things like this to him? His heart twisted in his chest at how serenely innocent she looked. She trusted him enough to sleep with him, even with the orb in his chest that could kill them all in an instant. Hells, she was sleeping on him now, only inches from the ugly markings he bore!

And she didn't seem to be bothered by that in the slightest.

“Why do you do this to me?” Gale whispered to the woman at his side. Giving up, he wrapped his arm around her, holding her closer to him. Was it his imagination, or did a little smile flicker over her lips as she felt him embrace her? He inwardly groaned – there was no way he could force himself to let go of her, or make her let go of him, when she so effortlessly held his heart in her hands. He was dooming her, every night that he slept with her, every time he read a book for her, every time he gave her a kind word or a smile or a gentle touch.

She would never let go of him in the way she needed to, in order to save herself from him and his grim fate. And Gale knew she would only call him a “self-destructive hopeless idiot”, or something similar, and cling tighter to him if he tried to talk to her about this and make her see sense.

Was she wrong, though?

Frustrated, Gale closed his eyes again and tried to will himself to sleep. Perhaps in the morning, he could think of a way to gently turn Devi from him and to a partner who actually had a future. It would break his heart, but it was better than dragging her down with him.

But maybe he could allow himself one more night of holding Devi against his heart and wishing he could safely confess his love for her. He sighed, forcing himself to resist the urge to kiss her hair, or her forehead, or those perfect lips. If he started kissing her even innocently right now, he knew he wouldn't be able to stop, not until the orb ended him. But gods, he wished he could… He could have died happy while kissing her, but it wasn't worth the risk he posed to everyone else in a ten-mile radius. Nobody else deserved to die while he indulged himself in kissing the woman he wanted – especially not the woman in question.

He sighed, shifting as much as he dared until he was comfortable under Devi. His other hand came up to slowly card his fingers through her loose hair, a soothing motion that made her contentedly hum in her sleep. Dammit, Devi, he thought, you make it too easy for me to love you.

That thought made him blink his eyes open again. Was this…? He thought for a moment, then sighed. Yes – this was love he felt for the woman in his arms. This was adoration, and devotion, and more than a bit of strongly-denied lust. He wanted her in every way possible – emotionally, and in spirit, and yes, physically too. 

But he wanted her safe and happy, even more than he wanted her with him. If you really love her, then you have to let her go, he tried to tell himself. Doesn't she deserve better than to be with you? Wyll would make her happy.

But what if she doesn't want Wyll? What if–

He firmly shut down the little voice in his mind before it could make the suggestion that maybe the woman in his arms wanted him. Nobody with any sense would want the older, broken, damned man that he was.

Then again, just that day, Astarion had been very enthusiastic in telling Devi that she had no sense, or self-preservation instincts, whatsoever…

Shut up. He scowled, then tugged the blankets up a little higher over himself and Devi. Just go to sleep. With any luck, Devi will see the truth herself without any prodding. And if she doesn't… it will hurt, but it will save her in the long term to break from her.

He sighed, then settled in to sleep, savouring what he was determined would be his last night holding the woman he loved.

—

Only a couple of hours later, Gale awoke to the sound of a whimper. He opened his eyes, frowning into the darkness of his tent until he heard a stifled sob from the half-Elf in his arms. He mumbled the incantation for a light cantrip, looking at Devi with anxiety spiking in his chest.

She didn't appear to be hurt. But her brow was furrowed as if she was in pain, and she was shaking. “Stop…” she whispered, flinching from something only she could see. “Please…”

Worried, Gale gently shook her shoulder. “Devi,” he lowly said, softly calling her name. “You're dreaming. You need to wake up.”

Devi didn't seem to hear him. She flinched again as though she'd been struck. “No,” she begged whoever was tormenting her. “You're hurting me!”

Gale shook her again, fear making the motion a little harder. “Devi,” he spoke her name again, a little louder. “Wake up, darling. I have you – you're safe. Wake up.”

His words didn't seem to be getting through. Devi whimpered again, her fingers tightening in Gale's shirt. “Please… help me… stop!” Her next words made Gale's heart twist in his chest. “No! Not Gale! Please!”

“Shhhh.” Gale shook her again and pressed his lips to her hair. “It's all right, darling. You're safe. Wake up now.” He lowered his lips to her ear as she whimpered again. “Wake up, Devi. You're safe… you're safe. I promise. Wake up. Wake up!”

Devi's twitching and flinching finally slowed, then stopped as Gale kept kissing her hair and whispering soothing reassurances to her. He finally felt her clutch his shirt a little tighter as she turned her head up to him. “Gale?” she whispered, her voice tiny and broken.

“I'm here,” Gale murmured, relief washing through his veins. “I have you. You're safe – it was just a dream, dear one. You're perfectly safe.”

“Oh, gods.” Still shaking, Devi buried her face in the crook of Gale's neck, clinging to him. “You were… you were…”

“Shhh,” Gale whispered. “I'm here.” He took her hand, guiding it to rest over his beating heart so she could feel his pulse. “I’m here. You’re all right – and so am I. Just breathe.” He heard a little sob from the woman he was holding, and felt his heart break for her. “Shhh. Breathe with me, Devi. Can you feel me breathing?” He waited until she nodded into his neck. “That’s my girl. Breathe with me, darling.” He focused on taking slow, calming breaths to make his chest move enough for her to easily feel him. For the first few breaths, Devi couldn’t quite match his slow breathing – stifled sobs made her body jerk unevenly under his arm. But as the minutes passed, she seemed to find his rhythm with breathing, her inhales slowly coming to match his as she calmed down from her nightmare. 

“Thank you,” she finally mumbled, slowly pulling her face out of his neck. There was a suspicious wetness on her cheeks that told Gale she’d been crying into his skin; indeed, he could feel her tears on him. “I’m sorry–”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” Gale murmured, stroking his thumb over her cheekbone. He offered her a small, reassuring smile. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Devi started to shake her head, then hesitated, fidgeting with the hem of the blanket. “I… told you how my father’s a gods-damned bastard that not even the hells want?” she asked, her voice low and quiet. 

Gale nodded. “You’ve told me he’s a terrible person and you plan on dancing on his grave when he dies,” he softly answered. “Or using his grave for a latrine. Perhaps both.”

Devi made a little sound that Gale thought was trying to be a laugh, a laugh mingled with a sob. “He deserves it. He and his friends, they…” She took a shaky breath, not looking at Gale’s face. “They were hurting me, and then they… they decided to hurt you when you appeared in the dream — I think you were trying to save me? But they… gods, the things they did…” 

“Shhh.” Gale pulled Devi’s face back into the crook of his neck; she went to him willingly, clinging to him. “We’re both all right – there’s nothing to be afraid of in this tent.” Except the orb, and the tadpoles, and the threat of the Absolute, and the small-but-still-present risk that Mystra would simply spontaneously detonate the orb in Gale’s chest to kill him and everyone around him – Gale shook his head. “We’re safe here. Nobody can hurt you when I’m here to protect you.” 

“They hurt you,” Devi mumbled. “They were hurting you, and they were going to kill you, and–”

“Shhh. It was just a bad dream, darling. I’m entirely unhurt, and so are you.” Gale hesitated for a moment, then chuckled. “And you can tell your subconscious that I don’t fear a thief and his henchmen. I might be outnumbered, but I would make them regret facing me before falling.”

Devi trembled again in his arms. “You couldn’t fight,” she whispered, quiet enough that Gale almost couldn’t hear her. “You… you were trying to save me. If you had fought them… they would have hurt me more.”

Apparently Devi’s subconscious knew Gale well enough to know that this was a truth about him. If that nightmare had been reality… Gale knew he would have stopped fighting the instant it became clear that his resistance would have endangered the woman he loved. “Shhh,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “It was just a dream. Your father can’t hurt either of us here.” 

He felt Devi slowly nod, but she still clung to him, shaking like a leaf. He suspected that she was probably too scared to easily go back to sleep. With a grunt, he reached out for the book they had been reading earlier that evening – or rather, that he had been reading to her. Nudging the lights to where he could more easily see the pages, he opened the book back where they had left off. “Shall I try to get your mind back onto a more soothing subject?” he asked. At her hesitant nod, he kissed her hair again, then started quietly reading the next chapter. The halfling and dwarves had been caught by ogres, and were being argued over by said ogres who couldn’t decide how to cook them properly. It was one of Gale’s favourite scenes in the book, and Devi seemed to be entranced by the story normally. Indeed, she seemed to calm down as he read to her, shifting from having her face buried in his neck, to resting her cheek on his shoulder. 

As Gale came to the end of the chapter, he looked down to see Devi’s eyes closed and her lips slightly parted again, her breathing soft and slow. He wasn’t sure when she had fallen asleep again, but he was grateful that she had found rest. Careful to not disturb her, he replaced the bookmark in the pages, then set the book back down and extinguished the lights over their heads. Devi grunted as he slowly rested on the pillow again, then snuggled up as closely as she could to him.

Gale sighed softly, running his hand over her hair soothingly. Apparently this was the gods’ way of foiling his plan to break apart from Devi before anything could begin with them. Who else was going to cuddle the little half-Elf after her nightmares? Who else would read to her to get her mind off her fear again? Try as Gale might, he couldn’t imagine Devi snuggling up so closely to Wyll, or Shadowheart, or Karlach, or any of their other friends in the party. For some reason, she had chosen Gale, doomed and damned as he was.

Guilt and hope surged in equal amounts in his heart – guilt because he was dragging Devi down with him, and hope because maybe he wasn’t quite as broken and useless as he believed himself to be. Maybe Devi saw something in him that he couldn’t see or acknowledge himself.

It would have been easier if she didn’t see anything in him, he thought. 

He yawned and let himself cuddle Devi closely, doing his best to make sure she felt protected and safe in his arms. “No harm will come to you if I can help it,” he promised her in a whisper. “You are safe with me.” Closing his eyes, he rested his cheek on her hair and let himself fall back asleep, praying that Devi’s dreams for the rest of the night (and his, he supposed) would be peaceful.

If you dream of me again, dear one… dream of the happiness that I can’t give you in reality. Please don’t dream of either of us suffering for the other, he thought before sleep reclaimed him.

#bg3 #bg3 fic #gale x tav #tav x gale #slow burn #pining #yearning #Gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale #angst #hurt/comfort #Gale/Devi #Deviali #dreams #nightmares #definitely requited feelings #a bit of the Dramatic Oh #Gale you angst-ridden wizard #QUIT MAKING ME CRY WHILE I WRITE FIC ABOUT YOU #also I swear this was going to be a prompt answer? #but I can't find the prompt in my inbox #ugh #Gale is an angsty dork #but we love him anyway

[songbirdtales]

Keepsakes (AstarionxTav)

Author's note:

The more I'm writing the more this is turning into the slowest of burns. IDKY I'm eating up Astarion and Gale rivalry but its fueling me lol. Enjoy!

Tav sat by the fire with a ragged stuffed bear. The tattered toy had tears in several limbs and had been partially decapitated. Tav has some rags and a needle set aside as they examine the damage, mentally calculating their supplies. 

“You’ll kill your eyes like that.” Gale stood over their shoulder, his arms crossed behind his back as he surveyed the scene.

“Good thing I’ve darkvision, yeah?” They offered him a fanged smile, the levity of conversation welcomed.

“Still, if you’ve need of, you’re welcome to use my tent. I keep it well lit for late night reading.” He was doing it again, this dance they’d been at the last few days. This dance of over generosity met with deflection when Tav would probe at his intentions. Sure, perhaps it was simply friendly companionship, but the dissonance in his words and actions made Tav feel there was something Gale wasn’t telling them.

“I wouldn’t want to keep you awake, we need you fresh tomorrow.”

Gale held his hands up as if he’d been caught in a crime. “No need to worry, I’ll be sleeping by the fire tonight. It’ll be empty regardless of me.” An arm opened to gesture back towards his tent. “You’re welcome to it as you please.”

And again they went. “Thank you, Gale. I’ll keep it in mind.” He couldn’t say much to that. Tav looked to their rags, then back up to the wizard. “Gale, could you help me with something actually?”

“Of course!” He was so eager. “How can I help?” Tav almost found themself pitying him. He wanted them so bad, and although Tav couldn’t deny there was a physical attraction, they didn’t want him like that, and they respected him too much to play with his heart.

“Do you have any scrap cloth?” Tav held up the moth worn rags, some had holes in the center with very little usable fabric, it made for a rather limited stock.”I’m trying to mend this toy I found in the village we passed through.”

“The goblin infested one? I hadn’t even noticed.” That’s what he was growing to like about Tav. They were thoughtful, even if they weren’t exactly a hero. They were a chaotic neutral soul from everything he’d seen. He didn’t mind that, but he found it unfortunate how they seemed to attract the worst kinds of characters, himself included. “I think I have a few pieces I can spare.” He nodded towards his tent. “I didn’t know you liked dolls.”

“I’m not sure I do, but mending things like this is familiar, and I could use something familiar right now.” Their eyes had turned back to the toy in their hands. They grabbed their supplies and stood, ready to follow him back to his tent, which is exactly what they hadn’t wanted to do. Still, they could keep this from escalating in a direction they didn’t want. Everything was still fine.

“I understand. I’ve been grabbing every book we pass. It’s the most I’ve read in ages. It’s comforting.” Gale said as they walked side by side to his tent. His strides were longer and quicker than Tav’s, Gale actively having to alter his pace and path to keep at their side. His body language betrayed his excitement, and Tav felt nothing at the sight but anxiety. Tav paused beside his sitting cushion as Gale stepped forward, kneeling into the tent and gathering some slashed clothes. “There you are,” Gale beamed as he handed the cloth to Tav.

The cloth was good quality, heavy and strong, but it had been brutally cut up in battle to the point it wasn’t much worth repairing. The blood had been mostly washed out but the reminisce of stains lingered. All in all, there was more than enough good fabric for their bear.

“You really took a beating the other day…” Tav mused as they looked over the torn robe. They’d not really thought much about how brutal the Gnoll on the road had been.

“You should have seen the other guy.” He joked back, laughing a little until he noticed Tav wasn’t laughing back. He quickly tamped the laughter down to awkward silence.

Tav offered Gale a soft smile. “I’m glad you’re ok Gale. You’re a valued part of this party, and I don’t know how we’d fare without you. So, do try to be more careful, yeah?”

“Of course.” He said with a nod, his eyes struggling to keep contact with Tav’s demonic glow. His gaze only turned up when Tav spoke again.

“Well, I better get started if I want to get some sleep tonight.” Tav said as they switched spots with Gale, his body naturally following their movement as if they were both being pushed by opposite currents. Tav got down and crawled in, sitting in the pile of cushions Gale had amassed and formed into a reclined seat. They curled their legs up, propping their supplies on their thighs as they began to tear the gifted cloth into smaller segments.

Gale didn’t leave, sitting down on the cushion outside. He grabbed something nearby to seem as though he had a task himself, but it was truly just an excuse to watch Tav work. Tav didn’t mind, even if they saw his act for what it was. Eventually he actually did become fixated on his task, the two working silently, fueled by the other’s presence. It was peaceful, familiar, like working in a library. Gale had no idea how long they had been at this, but as he pulled himself from his work to speak to Tav, he paused.

Inside the tent Tav was passed out in his pillows. The bear had been noticeably mended in parts, but it was not yet done. Gale got up from his seat and kneeled into the tent. His hand reached for the blanket, pulling it across the tent to gently drape it over Tav. A warm smile bloomed on his lips as he let them sleep. Only then would Gale leave, heading back to the fire.

“There you are,” The annoyance in Astarion’s voice was palpable as he approached Gale at the fire. “Where have you been off to?”

Gale knew the smell of jealousy well, and Astarion was worse than he’d like at hiding it. “Just doing a little late night carving.” Gale reached in his pocket and produced a small wooden figurine. It was crudely carved, but even Astarion had to admit it vaguely resembled a cat in a cat’s most basic shape.

Astarion stared at the deformed wooden cat for a moment before looking up at Gale with the least amusement Gale had ever seen from him. “Do you know where Tav is?”

Gale had to actively resist smiling but the faintest glimmer of a triumphant grin couldn’t help but pull at his lips. He’d cross his arms over his chest. “I do.” He said simply and curt as if he had no intention of elaborating. Anger twitch to Astarion’s face, and just as he was just about to speak, Gale spoke again, cutting him off. “They’re already asleep for the night. Poor thing, utterly exhausted. I’d let them be.”

Astarion’s face had more warmth to it than Gale had ever seen, the heat of his anger barely contained. “I asked you a question. Do not make me repeat myself.” That normally beautiful face was twisted and sharp as Astarion glared daggers into the human wizard. 

The grin grew broader across Gales lips at Astarion’s posturing and he’d nod back over his shoulder. “I thought it best to leave them be.” He was so smug about it, as if he’d won some unspoken competition.

Astarion glanced over in the direction Gale had gestured quickly at first before realizing Gale had nodded to his tent. His gaze came back to Gale as a glare. “No need to make things weird, Gale. We’re all adults here.” If his tongue wasn’t so sharp, Gale might have noticed the projection in Astarion’s words, but both men were preoccupied with their egos. The condescension in his voice was cutting, leaving Gale speechless long enough for Astarion to turn sharply away and saunter off.

Gale sighed as the Elf departed, a wave of relief washed over him that his jugular was still intact. “Dramatic.” He finally scoffed.

Astarion was at Gale’s tent in a matter of strides. Still fuming, he knelt beside the opening of the tent and pulled the flap aside with his arm. The sight of Tav, fully clothed, dead asleep, with a partly repaired stuffed toy was not what Astarion had been expecting. Instantly the wind was knocked out of his anger and the fire of it died, leaving Astarion frozen. Any action he’d thought to take was now wildly dramatic if not inappropriate… for a moment he was almost aware of his jealousy, until Tav stirred.

A soft, sleepy sound came from Tav as one eye struggled to pull itself half open. Their arms were just about to start pushing themself up when Astarion reached out a hand. He didn’t touch them, but his hand hovered just overtop their back. They didn’t push up into the hand, they didn’t have the strength. They were exhausted from the near daily feeding.

“Hush, go back to sleep.” He urged in a sweet whisper as his eyes turned about the tent. Gale had this packed with all sorts of magic nonsense, but his eyes fell back to the stuffed bear. He was fascinated instantly, not because of the toy, but because of the magic radiating from it. They had pulled apart Gale’s bloodstained shirt for thread and stitched it in a way he’d seen before from the witches of Baldur's Gate, a way of hiding protections and curses in the stitch and weave of clothing. Though in this instance it was very rudimentary, Astarion couldn’t help but wonder how a tiefling bard knew such magic. 

“Are you hungry?” Even half asleep, Tav’s mind was preoccupied with the camp, making sure everyone was safe. He almost admired that about them, if only for the wrong reasons. He was impressed that someone could have the willpower to keep all of this together.

“Not tonight darling.” His hand reached for their hair, gently shifting some loose strands from their face. He’d lean over to their ear and whisper,  “Sweet dreams,” as Tav’s eye fell shut once more.

He lingered, hesitating, his eyes shifting back to the bear before deciding it was best to leave what questions it gave him till the morning. Astarion would wait until he’d gotten a few steps from the tent before letting his real thoughts catch up to him. He was hungry, but a boar would have to suffice. It would look bad on him to drink Tav’s blood while they’re passed out in another person’s tent, and he needed to keep appearances up if his very simple plan was to succeed.

The next morning Tav woke up early. Gale had aligned some objects in his tent to take the first light of dawn and amplify it and wake him, Gods did it work, Tav almost wished it hadn’t. They were groggy, vision fading in and out of focus as they crawled out into the sunlight. They sat on their knees and stared at the horizon in silent reverence for a time. Their thoughts swam with everything that had happened leading up to the blighted village; the abandoned temple, the grove. It all came back like recalling a vivid dream, surreal and fragmented, yet so clear. 

They let their eyes close as the still cool air washed over them. Tav’s breath fogged in the morning chill as they let out a deep, tired yawn. Their fangs snapped as they closed their mouth and rubbed the sleep from their eyes. As they crawled back in the tent to retrieve their craft, they noticed something shine in the morning light. A single white hair. Tav cocked a brow but gathered it with the rest of the fabric and the bear.

Everyone was still asleep as Tav ted lightly towards and past the fire. Even Astarion was still in his trance from what it seemed so Tav went towards the river. As soon as their back was turned, a sanguine eye popped open. Astarion was silent as he followed Tav towards the water. He watched as Tav washed their hands and face in the running water before settling on a rock and pulling their bear back out.

“Good morning, Darling.” He watched them closely, the breaking of the silence practically made Tav jump but they didn’t hide their work. They’d been threading their needle and paused, tucking the needle into the bear so as to not stab themself with it on accident.

“Good morning,” Tav sighed in relief, a soft smile pulling across their face before their hand twirled in a flourish towards him. “You dropped something in Gale’s tent.” They held out the single silver hair between two fingers, offering it back to him. “You should be more careful with a wizard.”

Astarion scoffed and looked between Tav and the hair. “How do you know that’s mine?” The two stared silently at each other for a long moment, Astarion set in his flimsy denial as Tav’s hair was much longer, much more yellow, and much less curly than the strand in question. He’d groan a little. “Fine, yes, it’s mine.” A hint of irritation simmered in his tone before shifting into that arrogant sarcasm. “I’m surprised you’re giving it back instead of using it in your little curse doll, make me fall in love with you.”

Tav choked on laughter, doubling over as their cheeks puffed before their lips burst open. Their hand clapped over their mouth to muffle the sound so as to not wake the others. “I don’t need magic to steal a heart.” 

They turned their hand down, ready to flick the hair away towards him but Astarion reached out to snatch it before they could. He didn’t keep it, brushing it off his hand on his trousers. Tav looked back down to the bear and held it up a little. 

“Besides, these are for protection. It’s something my mother taught me to do. When I saw this in the rubble, I thought I might give myself something familiar to do. This one’s for Gale, since it’s got his blood and all on the thread.” Those blue eyes turned up to Astarion curiously. “I can make one for you next time I find a stuffed animal.”

“Don’t expect me to give you my bloody drawers.” Astarion huffed.

“No need for that.” Tav was still chortling as they picked up their needle to resume work. “I'll be honest the blood was dramatic of him, but I’m thinking of making one for everyone. Give my hands something to do while we travel.”

“Really?” His tone shifted as he leaned just a little closer, that perfect, sly smile on his lips. Tav knew a performance when they saw one, and this was well rehearsed. “Nothing else to busy your hands with?”

Tav knew this game, bored flirtation. It was one of their favorites, and considering there was nothing else to do besides fixate on the imminent fear of death, why not play along? Their hair swayed as they tilted their head, strands still caught in their horns and loose down their back. Their hair was long, past their shoulders and with a hint of a wave. “Yet.” They hummed in response, a curious look on their face, studying his reaction.

Astarion recoiling as a very confused “What?” come from him before he’d clear his throat. He wasn’t used to someone flirting back, normally they were too intimidated. “I mean, What about your uh, violin? Or is it a Lute?”

Tav backed off, their smile growing wider at his stumbling words. “I’m fine playing classics by the fire, but I’m a bit reluctant to work on my own stuff around the fire with strangers. Besides, most of them want to sleep as soon as we get back to camp. I'm not gonna keep them up.”

“Oh come now,” He’d put the charm back on, gesturing to the camp. “I’m sure Gale would be thrilled.”

Tav’s face soured, their nose scrunching a little as their lips thinned. “Yeah…” They didn’t seem excited by the idea. “You… never heard me play in Baldur’s Gate, did you?”

Astarion laughed and found himself a seat on a nearby stone. “Darling, I have no idea who you are beyond our time together with the rest of our companions.” Tav squinted as they caught sight of a glimmer of honesty. When he didn’t care about something, he had no filter, and in that they could see just a hint of what hid behind the mask.

An easy smile grew across Tav’s lips. “What kind of music do you think I make?” They asked with pure amusement.

Astarion stared blankly at Tav for a moment, blinking a few times as the gears in his head turned. “What other kind of music do bards make besides adventure ballads?”

Tav instinctively covered their mouth as they laughed again, truly amused by his ignorance. It drew Astarion’s eye instantly. “I mostly sing about grief and death, heartbreak and vengeance. It’s not exactly the mood I want to bring to camp.”

“It can’t be that bad.” He said as he crossed his arms. “Come, let me hear some of this emotional music. It can’t be that much of a downer.”

Tav rose a brow, his challenge wordlessly accepted. They reached into their back for a small book where they worked out their lyrics. “Here’s something I’m still working on.” They cleared their throat and began reading the lines like poetry. It was an eloquent verse, and very clearly described having dreams of murdering their own father.

Astarion was thrown off in a completely new way. The longer they read for, the more his expression contorted as Astarion tried to mask his concern. They only got two lines in before Astarion held one hand out and averted his gaze. “Th-that’s enough. I get it.”

“Yeah,” Tav was holding back laughter. “I don’t need to be playing songs like that at a time like this. I’ll get my musical fix by playing their favorites by the fire, but I figure it’s better to save the heavy stuff.” Their eyes turned to the sky, the sun was just about to peek over the trees, the morning star fading as the sky lost its pastel hues. “Never gets old.” They sighed, as the sun came up and the warmth of its light washed over them both. 

Astarion flinched instinctively before letting out a deep sigh of relief. “No, it does not.”

They sat in the silence of the sunrise for a moment before Tav’s voice gently broke it. “I know everythings scary right now, but I truly believe that if we stick together, we can survive this. And if not, at least we’re free, for what it’s worth.”

“I think freedom’s worth everything.” His eyes were fixed on the water, watching the river glisten as it ran. The flashes reflected in his eyes, making them sparkle like rubies.

Tav let themself stare for longer than they should have, taking in the contours of his features, the shapes of his shadows, the lines in his skin. They didn’t care if he caught them, though he seemed too fixated on the water to notice. “So do I.” Tav’s voice melted into the sound of the river, so soft Astarion barely registered they’d said anything at all.

By the time he’d looked back to them, Tav was standing, holding the now fully mended bear in their hands. They tilted their head as they gazed at the bear, checking their work. They bit their lower lip in thought, as if trying to remember a forgotten step. Finally, they went to the river crouched beside the edge. With one finger, Tav reached to wet their nail, holding the drop in the carved point of their nail before bringing it to the forehead of the bear. The toy looked a little cleaner, Astarion could even feel the magic of it was more pure. The protection charm was complete. 

“I’ll try to find you a different animal. Maybe a goose?” They said with a joking smile.

Astarion clicked his tongue, squeezing his still folded arms as he pouted. “Take your time.” He had no desire for a hagcraft charm.

Tav shook their head as they left Astarion at the riverbank. The elf glanced back towards the fire to see Tav giving the now well awake Gale the bear. He seemed more fascinated with the magic than the bear itself and began to info dump about thread based magic.

Astarion’s face felt relatively hot as anger gathered in him. He covered his face with a hand as his mind still raced from that one word. He didn’t like this, whatever feeling this was. He didn’t recognize the feeling as it gathered in his core, this twisting in his guts, as if he’d eaten something rotten, yet still starved. Was it really hunger? He’d fed that night and this felt different. He’d already made them his mark, so why was he starting to panic?

It was then that a new thought came to Astarion, what if Tav can see through his game? How well could he really wrap them around his finger if they knew it was fake? And what did that mean for the security of his simple plan?

#baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #fanfiction #fantasy #astarion x tav #astarion bg3 #astarion #gale of waterdeep #gale bg3 #light angst #jealous astarion #rivalry #sfw fanfic #nonbinary tav #tav oc #bg3 tav #tiefling #vampire #slow burn #friendzoned gale #sorry gale i still love you

[whatacaitastrophe]

Is It Over Now?

Summary: Silence was not something Gale Dekarios had ever been able to sit with very long, so instead of asking Fallon to say something, or waiting patiently to find the words, he continued. “I hope you know that I shall never forget you. On the contrary, I imagine you’ll be on my mind every day. As a god, I can give you everything, Fallon. The moon, the stars…you name it, and it will be yours…but first I have to get there, and I need to do it on my own. I promise that as soon as I achieve what I am setting out to do, I will come back to you, and we can live among the stars for the rest of our days.”

Then, as though he were saying goodbye to an acquaintance he’d only known for a short amount of time, and not the lover he’d just promised the moon and stars to, Gale Dekarios bowed deeply to Fallon as he backed away before vanishing into thin air.

--An alternative summary: Gale leaves to seek the Crown of Karsus without even kissing Fallon (Tav) goodbye, she does not handle it well, and by the time she starts to put the pieces back together, Gale comes back and everything gets complicated.--

Rating: Explicit 18+

Pairing: Astarion x Tav (female), Past Gale x Tav (female), Shadowheart x Lae'zel (mentioned)

AO3 Link: Here

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Suicide Attempt, Drinking to Cope, Blood Drinking, Mentions of PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Panic Attacks, POV- Multiple, Toxic Relationships, Frottage, Oral Sex, MxF sex, Slow Burn, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Rough Sex, Pining, All My Homies Hate Mystra

Spotify Playlist: Here

Prologue

Chapter 1: One Year Later

Chapter 2: You're Letting Go

Chapter 3: Baby Girl, We're Gonna Be Legends

Chapter 4: There's A Limit to Everything

Chapter 5: You're Scared of Love, Well Aren't We All?

Chapter 6: I'll Bring You Heaven, If That's What You Need

Chapter 7: I Hear You're Alive. How Disappointing

Chapter 8: I've Also Survived, No Thanks to You

Chapter 9: I Guess Only The Stars Would Know The Truth

Chapter 10: Right Where You Left Me

Chapter 11: Breathing In Your Dust

Chapter 12: Call Me A Safe Bet, I'm Betting I'm Not

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 tav #female tav #astarion x tav #gale x tav #astarion x gale x tav #love triangle #angst #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 smut #astarion smut #astarion fanfic #gale fanfic #gale smut #slow burn

[scarredwithcruelintentions]

chapter 2: the hunted

Find the masterlist here!

W/C: 2,327

A/N: Have a chapter in honor of my new computer!

Astarion spent the next morning as he always did, sitting just outside his tent with a book in hand. Most of the camp was up and milling about, starting their days by breaking their fasts and groggily wishing each other ‘good morning’s. He made sure to stay away from it all, as usual, but watched the proceedings with a keen eye and a great sense of unease. His attention kept flitting back and forth between the ever growing gaggle of his awakened traveling companions and your darkened tent.

He felt a sense of dread inch its fingers up his spine, cold and unyielding, the more time passed without your lively and authoritative presence to command the group of companions. The sun’s reach expanded well over the horizon now, and it was so very unlike you to have a lie in, no matter the circumstances.

Oh gods, did I go too far last night? What if I killed her?!

Just as he prepared himself to go check on you, lest he find you dead at his hand, you popped your head out of your tent. You raised an arm against the onslaught of daylight and blinked blearily, running a hand down your face to dash the sleep from your eyes. Astarion sighed audibly in relief, until your now-focused gaze found him. Dread’s icy grip once again clutched at him, stealing his breath anew.

This is it. This is where I’ll be tossed.

You made a beeline for him, taking care to avoid drawing the attention of the other companions. Astarion slipped into his familiar guise of nonchalance, preparing himself for his inevitable departure. He made to stand when you stopped a few feet from him.

“Good morning,” he began with a coy smile, “How do you feel?”

“I feel fine, if a bit woozy,” you waved noncommittally. “And you? How do you feel?”

Astarion’s false confidence crumbled in an instant, blanching at your question.

“How… how do I feel? My dear, I’m not the one that had a leech to their throat last night!”

“That’s rather beside the point, leech,” you giggled. “Now, do you plan on answering me? Or are you simply going to stand there agape like a dead fish?”

“I suppose I feel… well. Superb, even!” he giggled back. 

“Wonderful! Any idea how long this will last?” you pointed to your head, no doubt referencing the foggy sensation clouding your thoughts.

“It’ll pass,” he flicked his hand dismissively. “Just be grateful I’m not a ‘true’ vampire. A bite from them and you might wake up as a vampire spawn, like my good self,” he leaned forward, voice hushed, “All of a vampire’s hunger, but few of their powers.”

He heaved a dejected sigh at the reminder.

You crossed your arms over your chest, a smile toying at your lips, “Oh? Any other drawbacks I should be aware of?”

“That’s the odd thing: standing in the sun, wading through rivers, wandering into homes without an invitation - they’re all perfectly mundane activities now, things I never could have done before the tadpole. Seems someone, or something, has changed the rules. If only Cazador were here so I might laugh in his face before I rip it off,” he laughed heartily - then abruptly cut himself short, a shard of terror lancing through his thoughts at having revealed too much.

You raised an inquisitive eyebrow, studying him, but did not press.

“Nonetheless, it’s a stroke of good fortune to have a vampire on our side. I meant what I said, I am excited to see you fight,” you intoned softly, dropping your arms.

“Oh yes, and now I can fight with all my weapons,” he responded with a devious smirk, fangs glinting in the bright morning sun. “If I drain a bandit dry every now and again, it isn’t as if they weren’t destined to meet their maker anyway.”

You laughed, loud and full, at his witty remark. He was surprised to find that it stirred a delightful warmth in his chest, a feeling unfamiliar to him.

“I’m just glad you’re being sensible about these… revelations. I was worried people might turn up with torches and pitchforks,” he began with a smile, though it was rapidly erased as he noticed the other companions wandering into earshot with a mixed array of expressions. 

“Although, there’s still time,” he nodded over your shoulder gravely. He watched intently as your expression hardened and you turned to face the horde.

“A vampire among us? So be it. But should I wake with so much as a drop of blood on my neck, I will end him,” Lae’zel snarled.

“I’d just better not wake in the night to find fangs at my throat,” Shadowheart scoffed with disdain.

“Of course we’re traveling with a vampire,” Gale threw his hands up in exasperation, then pointed at him menacingly, “A word of warning, Astarion: I taste absolutely awful!”

You looked at him over your shoulder, and whatever you saw on his face steeled your resolve.

“I trust him,” you said, voice hardened and posture defensive. “Besides, like it or not, we need him. And there’s no need to worry about the safety of your necks. He’s got mine.”

You turned your head and bared his bite mark to your companions. A round of hushed murmurs and surprised faces met your bold confession to his feeding. If he could blush, he would be red from the tips of his ears to his toes in mortification at what your words implied.

“Well, now that’s settled, we should be getting on our way. Karlach, Astarion, Shadowheart, you’re with me. We’re to find the witch, Ethel, today,” you finished with a nod, effectively dismissing the group.

Astarion continued to stare at the back of your head in shock, and you turned to face him again, an inquisitive look adorning the fine features of your face once more.

“I…” he began, but petered out, unsure of what to say.

You snorted and turned to stride back towards your tent, presumably to stock your bag for the day.

He reached out to stop you instinctively and grabbed at your shoulder. You flinched uncharacteristically and froze on the spot, and he ripped his hand away as though scalded.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” he mumbled as you turned toward him again. The look you regarded him with was far icier than before, the lingering warning of a threat still causing your pulse to flutter.

“S’fine,” you mutter. “Out with it.”

“I… just wanted to thank you. Again,” he finished lamely, waving his hands awkwardly at his sides.

“Don’t mention it,” you said gruffly, then finally strode away to your tent and began donning your armor.

Puzzled by your reaction, he watched you pack for a few moments too long. ______________________________________________________________

“It’s so unpleasantly muggy in these parts, and there are so many bloody bugs,” he whined, swatting at the air around him.

“Does the big, bad, bitey monster fear a taste of his own medicine?” Shadowheart mocked, deepening his scowl.

“Don’t worry, Astarion. They won’t bite you; you’re dead, remember?” you quipped with a cheeky grin.

Just as a retort reached his lips, you stopped dead in your tracks and raised an arm - a signal to await your command.

“What is it?” he whispered apprehensively.

You hushed him, scanning the sunny fields of wildflowers surrounding the group.

“Illusion magic. This isn’t real,” you murmured. As if triggered by your words, the grassy knolls give way to reveal a bog, fetid with the stench of death and decay.

“Oh lovely!” he chirped sarcastically, “I always did want to rot in a bog!”

You shot a glare at him and signaled the group to continue onward. The change in landscape was drastic; where once there were flowers, now fungi resided, drawing sustenance from the mossy trunks of felled trees. The sunlight had vanished into humid gloom, and the sheep that had been quietly grazing were revealed as redcaps, feasting on the corpses of their victims.

Karlach’s eyes almost bugged out of her skull, raising her greataxe in preparation for a fight.

“Ignore them,” you waved at her. “They think we still see sheep.”

She nodded gravely.

The group continued through the putrid haze of the bog, avoiding the redcaps and picking through half-rotted remains for loot, when they happened upon a man fletching crossbow bolts. Astarion smelled him before he saw him, and a flare of panic shot through him.

The Gur.

He watched you wrinkle your nose as you called out in greeting.

“Ah, stranger!” the man called back, noticing your sour expression. “Forgive the aroma. Powdered iron-vine, an old hunter’s trick. Most monsters will think twice before making a meal of me.”

Against his better judgment, Astarion piped up, “You’re a monster hunter? I’m surprised - I thought all Gur were vagrant cutthroats.” 

He sneered at the man in front of him, no doubt an errand boy for Cazador, meant to drag him back for judgment at his master’s mercy. What were the odds, a lone Gur hunter this far from Baldur’s Gate? It was surely a message meant for him alone.

“Pardon, but who - or what - is a Gur?” you interjected, posture defensive and coiled to spring.

“A mystical and dangerous people who travel the land, never settling in one place,” the man flourished with a twinkle of mischief in his eye. “We steal your chickens, curse your crops, seduce your daughters… your friend here has heard it all, I’m sure,” he gestured at Astarion.

Astarion fought the urge to bare his fangs.

“I wish I had half the power settled folk think my people possess. Alas, I am a simple wanderer,” the man dismissed, “A simple wanderer and monster hunter. But I am no witch doctor or cutthroat.”

“So what monster are you hunting, then?” you bit back.

It was as though Astarion couldn’t help but draw the attention back to himself despite all of the warning bells ringing in his ears, his nerves causing him to prattle on.

“Something terrifying, no doubt! Dragon? Cyclops? Kobold?”

“Nothing so dramatic,” the man scoffed, “I’m hunting for a vampire spawn.”

Astarion felt his face fall in panic and caught your subtle glance in his peripheral vision.

I knew it! Just when things were beginning to look up…

“His name is Astarion, but I think he’s gone to ground. I was hoping the hag of these lands could help me flush him out, if I can afford her blood price.”

“And when you find this ‘Astarion’? You’ll, what, kill him?” you asked, subtly lowering your stance in preparation for a fight.

“Not this time. My orders are to capture him,” the man replied, eyeing you more warily by the moment.

“Oh, and bring him where, exactly?” Astarion questioned, trying his best to keep the fear from lacing into his words.

“Baldur’s Gate. My people wait for me there.”

“A vampire spawn doesn’t seem worth the hunt. It’s not like he’s a real vampire,” you added, trying to wheedle more information from the Gur hunter.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m sure a vampire spawn could still rip out your throat if he felt like it,” Astarion snarled, unable to help himself at the slight.

Shut up! You’re going to give yourself away!

Astarion’s fingers twitched, longing to feel the familiar weight of his dagger in hand. His mind was racing, addled with the lingering sensations of dread and rage like so many unwanted hands clawing at him, his skin crawled with it.

The man, taking no apparent notice, continued talking to you.

“He is right, unfortunately. They are only weak when compared to their masters. During the day, we have the advantage! But at night, when they hunt? You will not find a more deadly quarry,” he finished, expression carrying a grave countenance.

Astarion caught your gaze, clearly calculating your next move. Whatever you saw in his face - fear, loathing, fury, he knew not what - made your mind up.

“Interesting, indeed,” you said, holding his eye. “Astarion, what do you think?”

“What? No, it isn’t possible! It’s daylight!” the man exclaimed, looking between you and Astarion.

Astarion ignored the bewildered hunter, a vicious, fanged smile contorting his face as he pulled his dagger.

“I think the hunter has become the hunted,” he growled, and then lunged at the Gur, plunging his dagger hard into the man’s throat.

Karlach gave a great shout of indignation, and Shadowheart gasped in surprise. You, however, did nothing more than cross your arms over your chest, mouth set in a grim line.

With no reaction time to reach for his crossbow, the man stumbled back, pawing weakly at the blade protruding from his neck. A bright scarlet stain spread across the front of his worn doublet, and with a final anguished gurgle, he collapsed into the muck.

“What in the Nine Hells did you do that for!” Karlach screeched at him.

He opened his mouth to reply, but the words that came were not his.

“He was a threat to our own. He had to be neutralized.”

Astarion looked up at you shrewdly, scrutinizing you for any deception, but found none. Neither did he find any betrayal of disgust or fear in your expression, only wry determination to protect your companions above all else.

“The deed’s done,” you said with an air of finality, looking down at Astarion crouched by the body of the fallen hunter wiping his dagger clean. “On we get to find Ethel, no doubt the hag the hunter spoke of.”

The rest of the group grumbled their assent and started moving, but Astarion was held firmly in place by the look in your eyes. A new kind of anxiety gnawed in the pit of his stomach.

He could read the many questions held in that one look, and he knew the time had come for further explanation once you regrouped at camp later that night.

#bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion #tav #lae'zel #shadowheart #gale of waterdeep #karlach #astarion pov #unnamed tav #no use of y/n #reader insert #afab tav #bard tav #trauma #angst #astarion needs a hug #but so does tav #soft astarion #past abuse #past torture #slow burn #au canon divergence

[justcallmefox89]

Gnome Troubles - Chapter Five (Astarion's POV)

Gale gives Astarion something to think about.

There’s something wrong with the gnome.  Astarion has suspected it since that night Wicket offered him blood, and after a tenday of traveling together he’s near certain of it.  Wicket barely sleeps, and when he does he wakes screaming.  The others pretend to not notice the wretched, soul-clenching cries and ignore the hoarseness of his voice in the mornings.  Astarion’s flesh crawls when the screams begin, reminding him of the year he spent entombed at Cazador’s orders.  He cannot imagine what terrors come to torment Wicket in his dreams, and at such moments he feels the barest flash of sympathy for the gnome. 

Wicket’s nighttime habits aren’t the only thing that trouble the vampire.  Astarion isn’t one to begrudge a person their love for fine wines, but Wicket indulges in drink far too often, as if he’s searching for oblivion.  And at times he clutches at his chest as if he’s in great pain.  Astarion would almost swear he’s seen the faintest glow beneath Wicket’s camp shirt, as if there’s something illuminating him from the inside.

Maybe all cleric are just indescribably odd.

Shadowheart is no less strange than the gnome, also choosing to remain aloof and enigmatic, only revealing bits of her past when she’s forced too.  Astarion shakes his head.

No… there is something very, very wrong with Wicket.

Attempting to push the troubling thoughts away, the elf closes his eyes and tilts his face up, allowing the rays from the early morning sun to warm his face.  The rustling of cloth announces another’s presence, and from the creaking of their joints as they sit down next to him Astarion is able to tell that it’s Gale. 

“You seem introspective this morning,” he murmurs, settling his robes about him.

“Just thinking, darling,” Astarion murmurs without opening his eyes.  “Considering all that’s happened to our little group recently.”

“Is there something in particular on your mind?  Or someone, to be more precise?”

The vampire cracks open one eyes and glances over at Gale.  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, my dear.”

Gale shrugs nonchalantly.  “It’s hard not to notice how considerate a certain cleric has been towards your particular needs.”

Astarion remains obstinately silent.  Undeniably… in his own coarse, obnoxiously high-handed way, Wicket has taken rather decent care of him.  Making sure he’s fed adequately each day, tending to his wounds with efficient, thorough care while implicitly making sure his hands don’t linger longer than strictly necessary… Astarion can grudgingly admit that Wicket has treated him with more care than he probably deserves, considering his attitude towards the other man.  But for purely practical reasons, he’s sure.  It wouldn’t do to think any differently.

“If this is your poor attempt to convince me that Wicket’s actions are merely altruistic, I will have to insist otherwise,” Astarion protests irritably.

“Kelemvor’s necrobanes are notoriously devoted to their oath,” Gale muses, stroking his beard thoughtfully.  “To have one not only deny his holy mission, but aid in the survival of the very thing he’s sworn to destroy… it makes one wonder what could cause him to defy his god.”

“Given our rather unique circumstances I am of more use to him alive than dead.  That is all.”

Gale arches one eyebrow skeptically.

 “I’ve lived long enough to know that altruism is a farce,” Astarion replies sharply.  “Whatever Wicket has done for me he will expect repayment, I’m sure.  They always do.”

“I think you may be doing him a disservice,” the wizard murmurs. 

Astarion mimics Gale’s earlier shrug, feigning disinterest in his companion’s opinion.  But some infinitesimally small part of him, a bit of him so heavily guarded and locked away he’d nearly forgotten about it, dares to hope that Gale is right.

#bg3 #bg3 tav #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate 3 #astarion romance #astarion ancunin #slow burn #baldur's gate #gale #baldurs gate #bg3 gale #wicket x astarion #wicket dirkera #wicket the gnome #bg3 gnome #gnome tav #forest gnome #gnome #tav #baldurs gate tav #tav bg3 #tav oc #my tav #bg3 fanfic #m!tav

[talesofthedm]

Silence — Escape the Nautaloid

Woo, I finally got the chapter written and proofed. If anyone is interested, I will be writing out a combination of all 7 of my concurrent playthroughs (Tav + all the companions) and it is 100% a writing exercise and not because i have brain rot its both. By virtue of having those 7 playthroughs, it means I get to write out the romances between party members.

I'll be cross posting between here (summary and chapter below the line) and on AO3 as it goes. General tags/warnings will be applied to AO3, as well as I'll be doing chapter specific warnings in the notes section. Here will just get chapter specific ones. (Summary below the line).

Word Count: 6.8k

CW for this specific chapter includes: mentions of panic attacks, alien abduction, forced experimentation, graphic depictions of gore, body horror, implied stroke, and concussion.

Excerpt:

It felt as if her arm would be torn from her socket as she fought to pull herself up. Slender fingers curled around the clubbed tentacle, sticky and slick in the worst ways imaginable. Her mind screamed with a million thoughts—not all of them her own—and six lives that forced their way in. They did not supplant will as the mindflayers, but added to its strength; unified by the single desire to survive and live. The hallucinations took hold as dream and thought and reality collided along the Astral Sea. Hands scarred and beaten and broken and healed haphazardly in service to a loveless god. The delicate hands that had known no hard labor in his life despite carrying so much. Hands thrumming with wild energy that threatened to devour his very soul. Clawed hands of a deadly warrior dedicated to futile cause. Rough hands of a hero who would make every mistake again if asked. And burning hands betrayed and cursed by a devil. Their minds lurched as one with the ship as Freya ripped the last tenuous strand of life it had apart and suddenly gravity made sense again. Her body ripped from the crashing ship along with her new companions.

Summary: Freya lost her hunting partner two years ago. And then again three months later. And another a month later. Now she's pretty sure she's cursed. And being abducted her first day back in training really isn't helping that idea. Now she's trapped, it reeks of Avernus, something burrowed its way into her head, and she has to fight a small army! Even for someone who hunts the monsters roaming Baldur's Gate, this is a little much. Hopefully she can get back home and figure out what's going on before it gets any worse.

CH 1: Escape the Nautaloid

A large crack crawled along the edges of the glass as if it itself was alive, a parasite not unlike her own. Crawling, digging, tearing its way to ruin its host. She could still feel her own. Crawling. Burrowing. Itching. Settling somewhere between her optic nerve and pituitary gland.

The illithid didn’t even disarm her, the smoothed wood of her bow the only thing grounding her from another panic attack—not that it mattered even if they did.  All she knew was that horrible clicking at the base of her skull that caused her limbs to seize. Docile as a doll, trapped within her own body. She would have preferred a bed of hot nails or a pair of fangs at her throat. Hells, she would have preferred if they simply ripped her skull open with the horrible slurping she had only read of in books. But that wasn’t the case now.

She jammed the tip of her bow through the broken seal, trying with all her might to pry it just a bit more, to open it just a touch farther. To breathe something that wasn’t so sterile and soulless—even if that meant burning lungs and acrid smoke. What she didn’t expect was the stench of Avernus; sulfur and heat and blood. So much blood.

Freya collapsed onto the floor rather pathetically. The floor was a smooth, strange metal that provided no purchase or traction despite its design that reminded her more of carapace than anything she knew. The sole of her boot slid this way and that as she fought to stand, knees knocking like a newborn deer. She refused to be such easy prey.

But the violent jostling of the nautaloid certainly wasn’t helping.

The world slid and Freya braced herself as best she could. The contents of the central vat sloshed over the edges, burning groves into the leather soles of her boots. It was a creamy sort of color, thick and viscous like porridge. A shame, really. She used to like porridge.

There were people—innocents—trapped as she was. Trapped behind tinted glass held by scaled plates made of crisscrossing membrane and kept alive by things that were more tentacle than tube. Freya doubted the raised designs were simply that. Perhaps they were like veins—carrying within it the lifeblood of the machine.

Men, women, elves, humans, gnomes… She wasn’t even sure if they were alive. What was the rising of a chest and what was the pulsing of the machine?

Even among the roar of fire and the shouts of the blood war, Freya heard the creature’s claws dig their way into the metal of the ship. Crawling, scraping, desperate and dying, towards her. Her body seized; her mind went still. Consumed entirely by a single thought that was not her own.

Feed…

The dying gasp of a desperate animal—if she could even call it that. It was all the mindflayer could think out before a chunk of plating collapsed inward, crushing its skull with a sickening squish…

Do they have skulls? Freya half wondered, gazing at its now flattened head. It had burst, a particularly nasty boil that now oozed out the sides where its brain once throbbed with life. She watched pink slime trickle its way across the rapidly warming metal.

She had to get out of here before the hells melted the entire ship around her.

Freya didn’t want to think of the door, the way it twisted and churned her stomach. The way this ship was almost a mockery of something. Not wholly alien, the designs plagiarized and stripped from nature. It would be better if it was entirely new, entirely unknown. Instead, she was walking through the literal butthole of the ship. The ridiculousness of it all made it all seem worse.

Gods, I hope they aren’t all like that.

But the next room was better. Cleaner. The smell was still stale, purified in a way no air should ever be, but also dotted with sulfur and blood; two things she should never be grateful to have. But her lungs no longer screamed, her eyes no longer burned. Best of all, she knew the bodies were dead.

A goblin laid across the table—though, she more thought of it as an altar with the care and reverence the owner had left his tools. The skull had been torn open with such delicate care; the brain cavity now void of anything she could call as such. The stem had snapped, leaving the ball of grayish-pink tissue to roll about in a pool of its own liquids. A shame, really. It would have made something so perfect…

Freya shook away the thought, refusing to believe it was her own. Instead, she took stock. Even if it was rather… pitiful. A training bow. Blunted arrows. Even her armor was no more fit for hunting than her nightclothes. It was soft, pliable. Something designed for sparring. Yet, here she was, shaking and vision blurring. Fighting for her life.

Free Us.

A distant thought called at the edges of her mind. Not her own—but not a command, either. A part of her softened at the voice. Like a parent hearing a newborn laugh.

Save Us.

Her limbs moved automatically towards the platform and before she knew it, she was standing before a control panel. At least… that’s what she thinks it was. A single, pulsing orb the color of blood. Tentacles protruding from it, reaching for her. Freya reached for it, in turn. It was warm, smooth. A gentle rhythm not unlike a heartbeat. And then the platform moved.

It deposited her only one level up, surrounded by jars and vials and tubes that did nothing but house still-living organs. Hearts and stomachs and patches of skin and brains. So many brains… Samples? Experiments? Aquariums? Terrariums? Either way, there was a primal kind of fear rising up in her at the sight. Something that she was never designed to see—no one was designed to see—and it was put on display as one would a collection of insects. To be pretty and pinned and studied and cherished.

The worst of it all was the twitching form in the chair. Shirtless, scalpless. The only things left of the elf was a blood-spattered body and an echoing voice that in no way belonged to him. Here. We are here. If Freya wasn’t so close, if she hadn’t seen the floating tentacles and the rhythmic pulsing of his exposed brain, she might have mistaken him for a lord sitting atop a throne. A dark, spiked throne of chitin and spines. His head lolled back and forth as if to say ‘no,’ the echoes of his final words still playing on repeat even though no sound came out. No no no no no no no. His mind was gone, his body a husk on autopilot.

We are trapped.

Freya approached with caution; her footsteps as soft as she could make them despite the pounding in her head.

Yes! You came to save Us from this place, from this place you’ll free Us! Please, before they return.

They return, the voice echoed across her mind, consuming all thought and supplanting it with its own.

No brain should move. No brain should twitch, quivering in excitement and anticipation. Freya could not help but study it, the squishing mass of tissue that had swollen to fill the entirety of the cranium. The edges of it were darkened, misshapen and discolored from its beating against the skull that held it. Blood vessels spread out from the center, curling and reaching through to every crevice. It reminded her of trees or vines or winding rivers on a map. It was an image of life itself, now perverted into something slopping and disgusting.

“Why do you sound so afraid?”

The enemy! So many enemies. As if to invoke pity, tears streaked down the elf’s face. A constant, steady stream that washed away the bloody stains. Or worse, there was something left of the man. Left in a silent scream of pain and agony as his very will was ripped and torn by tiny claws.

“You’re past the point of saving,” she pleaded to the man, not the brain. “I can’t—”

The voices drove into her mind like an icepick; a hundred, a thousand, a million of them. Her father, her mother, the children she would hear running between the streets at dawn and dusk, her coworkers chatting it up in the tavern… her partner. Please! We are newborn. Remove us from this body.

Freya grit her teeth against the onslaught. The idea of manipulating her—using pity and memories that in no way belonged to anyone but her—was enough to drive her over the edge. She gripped the brain, digging scarred and callused hands between the squelching tissue and smooth walls of the interior skull. Clear liquid splotched out onto the ground at her feet as her fingers dug deeper, displacing whatever remaining spinal fluid still lingered underneath.

The newborn screamed, piercing and painful. Whether it was calling for help, or begging for mercy, she did not know but it only spurred her on. It, in turn, was clawing at her mind. Digging mental claws, tearing and biting at distant memories she would better preferred stayed buried and forgotten—anything to save itself.

She dug deeper still, slipping deft fingers into the furthest recesses of the skull as she searched blindly for the spot dead center—the dull, constant thud of the heart of a dying man pulsing its way through his arteries and into a brain that was no longer his. Freya tore through the circle of veins with ease, more blood than she always thought possible slopping onto the ground.

And then it was quiet. Sweet, sweet, silence as she tuned out the raging infernos and battle cries just beyond the walls.

Something had torn into the side of the ship long before she had awoken, exposing what could only be described as open bone and straining tendons to the searing heat of the hells. A strangely sweet scent on the air—sickeningly so—as the tissue shriveled and burned and died.

Freya made her way back to the platform, and from there the floor below. She had to get out of here, had to escape. Even if it meant traversing Avernus itself; she would sooner sell her soul willingly than have it forcibly taken.

Carapace-metal turned to squishing flesh. Her boots sunk into the new terrain, a welcome adjustment from having to constantly fight the frictionless surface. Especially as the rush of air nearly knocked her over, the great beating of wings as two red dragons rushed past in a torrent of fangs and claws and fire. They weaved through the air, dodging beams of psionic energy before tearing the canons away and tossing the scraps into the valley below. Even in the hells, surrounded by an ever-burning sky and flying over a river of lava, she could feel the heat of their breath. Her skin crawled at the heat, feeling the memory of her face puckering and scarring over again. A faint waft of oil and a bad memory.

Still, this was not what had Freya on edge. That kind of sixth-sense, the one where the edges of her hair stood on end and had her taking back alleys she normally avoided crawled its way up her spine. The sense of being watched; of being hunted.

Her bow was braced and primed before the Githyanki landed, the roar of yet another dragon soaring overhead. “Abomination. This is your end.” The sword was at Freya’s chest, mere centimeters from tearing through the leather and sinking into her flesh. At the same time, she was mere seconds from releasing the string and sending the arrow flying into the Gith’s eye.

They were at a stalemate, as far as she was concerned. Either run her through and die in the process, or disarm her and give her time to run. Even blunted, arrows could do damage if they were aimed well enough.

The two were on the ground before they could realize what was happening. The pounding, throbbing pain of memories flooding both their minds. Of dragon wings and tearing fangs, of silver swords and poisoned tipped arrows. Of each other as seen through the others eyes.

One tall, one short. One lean muscle and the other strong. The copper skin of a wood elf beside the green and black streaked skin of a Githyanki. Each under prepared, taken by surprise and held and used as nothing more than an incubator.

Both hunters in their own right.

“You are no thrall—Vlaakith blesses me this day! Together we might survive.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

“First, we must exterminate the imps.” Freya looked over the Gith’s shoulder, finding the tiny creatures tearing away at the innards of a fresh carcass. “Then we find the helm and take control. We can address the matter of a cure once we reach the Material Plane.”

Lae’zel took off running before she could even respond, blade arching its way into the skull of the imp. It’s twin set of horns split, the curved bone all but shattering from the force. It gave a short cry, one no more suited for a babe, let alone a demonic creature. There was something almost… excited in her motions. A happiness Freya understood. Of not being stranded and alone in all this.

Freya stayed further back, allowing her new companion to take the brunt of the attacks for her if she was so insistent on charging into battle. The Gith had armor—she could take it. Bow in hand, the weight at least familiar if useless. She drew the string, knocking her arrow with it in one practiced, fluid motion and took aim between its ribs.

Her eyes blurred, limbs shaking, as that thing crawled around inside her. She could not aim, let alone target the weakest points of the imp as it danced around the sky. She doubted she could hit a simple target in her state… Freya shifted her attention, instead aiming for a much larger target than the tiny space between two equally tiny ribs.

The arrow pierced its leathery wing, tearing delicate veins that would leave more bruise than any deep wound. Even still, it collapsed to the ground, the force of the shot sent it tumbling off the edge and into the chasm below. No wings, no flight. And it being a million miles from the ground… The only thing she regretted was losing the arrow, making her already dismal supply even worse.

A beating of wings lost in the torrent of wind; she didn’t realize it was upon her until the blade bit into her shoulder. The curved edge of a scimitar—as long as the imp was tall—narrowly missing her ear. Freya swore, realizing the remaining flying pest was smarter than she would have liked. Her arm was useless in this state. She backed up, feet dragging against the metal so she would not trip and make her situation worse. At least, until she felt her heel teeter on the edge, nothing below but decrepit earth and endless war a million miles below.

It glided forward, beating of its wings matching Freya’s heart. Its eyes burned like fire, but held nothing but cold and pain and promises of a torturous eternity no matter if she lived or died. Closer and closer, perhaps wanting to inch her off the deck of the ship rather than sully its already blood-stained blade. Curved talons reached out, not to strike but to push her that last half-step into the chasm below.

Freya sidestepped the fiend the moment it came within reach, the creature only finding empty air. Horrible screeches of anger, one that made her ears bleed and resolve steel, left behind nothing but an empty promise as the elf drove a blunted arrow into the literal fire of its eye. The blaze turned to a single, fading cinder that could just as easily be snuffed out by a pair of fingers. Its body went slack, crumpling to the ground. If she hadn’t just killed it, she might have mistaken it for a prop or toy of some rich noble who pretended his life was worth more than it was.

“Ugh!” Lae’zel screamed, silvery blade slashing wildly through the air as the final remaining imp dodged between attacks. It taunted her, tongue out blowing raspberries and throwing rude gestures with every missed hit. The Gith was panting, seething, out of breath far sooner than she was used to.

At least Freya wasn’t the only one suffering any ill effects.

Her shoulder screamed with every motion, its tendons now nothing but thin strands trying desperately to hold her together. She knocked the arrow, drew back the string. She aimed, watching as the tip shook with each shuttering breath and the world blurred from a mixture of pain and tadpole. It—the fiend—danced and fluttered as gleefully as a child between each attack. She would never be able to hit it, not with the Gith swinging and the creature dancing… But she had to aim at something.

The arrow went loose, Freya shifting her weight and her aim at the last possible moment to account for herself and prayed to whatever god that could hear for it to miss its mark. The blunted tip veered off course almost immediately, striking the imp through the back instead of the glinting red gem of the Githyanki’s armor. It collapsed, dead.

“Tchk. Perhaps you are not as useless as I believed, after all.” Lae’zel kicked the fiend’s head, confirming its death.

Freya reached down and picked up the scimitar with her good arm, the weight of it unfamiliar and the rapidly heating metal causing blisters where it met her skin. It was another option, at least. And it would have to do—swinging wildly was a better chance to hurt something than her bow. She just had to pray it wasn’t herself.

Or Lae’zel.

The Gith took off running, leading the charge with an eagerness Freya only associated with the apprentices.

Webs of membrane spilled out over the ledges. Of course, she would have to climb in her state…

But the glowing mist of a machine beckoned her. Thousands of thin, strand-like feelers with bulbus tips, a strange blue fluid leaking from them. It smelled of fresh rain and sweet wine, brandy and herbs and the first peeling of a fresh orange. It smelled of her rest periods, the times between hunts when she had herself and silence and possibly her dad as he visited after his own work.

She stepped onto the platform, textured and shell-like and alien even compared to the rest of the ship in its organic nature. The mist surrounded her, the fluid dripping and evaporating on contact with a hiss. There was no pain, no itching, not even a numbness as her shoulder stitched itself together, layer by layer, fiber by fiber. Not even a scar, just fresh, healthy skin.

“Hurry up,” Lae’zel called from the top of the membrane rope. “The Ghaik do not wait, nor do the hells.”

The top was more chitin-metal, seemingly untouched by the heat and the blasts of devils and dragons. Another puckering door that gave way at the slightest intrusion, and beyond it a monolith of spines.

An elf and a human and a tiefling, not bound but held prisoner all the same, slept in some form of deep statis. Each one wearing the same clothes, baring the same crest that itched the back of her mind with its familiarity. A downward triangle, a front facing skull locked in a grimace, and a bloody handprint to cover it all.

Their energy was being sapped, stripped away by the altars they lied upon and fed into the monolith in the firm of twisting, red energy. The interior of it pulsed, spasmed as if it itself was living. Like a leech or vampire, feeding off of the hapless victims. Though it was not lifeblood it stole, but something equally as precious.

Freya just did not know what it was.

The control panel in front of it was comprised of more tentacles and wet tissue. Massive orbs she could only describe as tumors gave a soft glow about them, each one labeled with a strange word she could distantly remember in a book but otherwise ascribed no meaning. She was not sure what was button, what was lever, what was joystick, and what was merely design.

“You!” A panicked voice echoed behind tempered glass from across the room. “Get me out of this damn thing!” A woman with dark hair and silvered armor, bearing religious iconography across her entire being—eclipses and shadows.

“I’ll look around—there must be some way to get this damned thing open.” Freya craned her neck, looking at the pod and its construction. It was wrapped in a strange energy she had not seen before—red with flecks of a golden orange. There was no latch, no lever, not even a hinge to show it was capable of opening… she had pried hers off. Was she truly only alive because of another fluke?

“Tchk, we do not have time. We must reach the helm!”

Freya ignored her companion’s complaints. “The pod’s stuck fast. I’ll look around, there must be some way to get this thing open.”

“The contraption next to the pod! They did something to it when they sealed me in!”

The console was dormant, unlike the counterpart she had previously found. The life thrumming through it was minimal, possibly asleep or dying. Cancerous bulbs only gave a faint pulse in time with her breaths. Freya punched it, her fist digging half a foot into the fleshy gray matter-like tissue before her momentum slowed to a stop. She pulled back, a sticky strand of clear mucus trailing behind it. Ugh.

There had to be something, anything, to save someone. And then there was: an empty socket.

Now if only she knew what was supposed to go in it.

“It’s missing a piece! I’m going to look around, see if I can’t find something—”

“Please!” the woman cut her off. “Hurry!”

Perhaps the next room would have a key or a hatch or an escape. All Freya knew is she could not leave the girl with shadowy eyes. She could not save everyone, but she could save someone.

But, gods, she hated these damned doors.

She wasn’t sure what to call the chamber, a suspended platform above a cancerous mound of sticky flesh. An antechamber? An observation deck? The six thrones spoke of unequalled power and the central pod said nothing but voyeuristic torture. Even the architecture expressed only violence.

At first, Freya mistook the statues for wasps, with their long, curved thoraxes that tapered to an unsettling point. But the lack of legs, of wings, gave her pause. More larva than insect, with the piercing maw of a spider and the thousand legs of a centipede. She could feel it now, squirming and crawling and nestling deeper into her brain. The pointed stinger dragging, leaving trails of pooling blood that blurred her vision and numbed her limbs and confused her mind.

The room was a monument to all things absolute.

Absolute power.

Absolute control.

Absolute perfection.

The two of them stepped over a dead body, a human that looked stronger than either of them felt at the moment. Another escapee, another runaway. A failed one, at that. Clutched in her palm was a single key. Something she was desperate enough to die for… Freya took it, slipping it in her pocket.

Another pod stood front and center. Harsh lines, plated chitin, but it was not pulsating. The tubes that ran in and out were dead and dull, the once living prison now more like stone. The woman inside was trapped, too dazed to realize who she was, let alone the danger she was in.

But she was moving. She was moving and blinking and breathing and—“We have to find a way to open it. Get her out.”

“We will not! Our mission is the helm, not to waste our energy on every ishtik we come across.”

Freya whipped around, trying her hardest to ignore the way the world was suddenly doing summersaults. The woman was fidgeting, palms itching and shoulders pinched and teeth bared in such a way that it betrayed her thoughts. She itched to reach back, pull the gleaming longsword from its sheath and strike through Freya’s body in one swift motion.

But she didn’t.

Her palms itched not from impatience, but from beads of sweat that made Lae’zel too uncomfortable to be in her own skin. Her shoulders pinched not as an enraged animal, but as something cornered. She bared her teeth like fangs only because she had none.

She was afraid.

“One less captive, one less mindflayer. One less threat.”

Her new companion bounced impatiently. “Our mission is the helm. Not this,” she restated. But otherwise, Lae’zel made no motion to flee, or strike, or otherwise betray her.

There was another living module at the far end, riddled with cancerous tumors and sticky tentacles. Freya reached out, tentatively and sunk her hand into the very center of it. She had a vision of it—of reaching into the proverbial lion’s maw and hoping it did not bite back.

A voice, one so distant and indistinct that it could not be understood, echoed in both their minds. To be born, to perfect, to be changed…

The woman in the pod screamed. One that stole her breath and threatened to tear her throat with its intensity—but it was muffled. She beat desperately against the glass as every muscle in her body seized. Her neck strained, snapping violently to the side as her limbs jerked violently in the wrong directions. Her bones snapped, commanded by a higher will to destroy itself in order to be born anew. Violet tentacles tore their way through her throat and out her mouth, choking the last of her life away before consuming her in its entirety. A face, a brain, crawling its way outside a fleshy prison and into the light the way a hatching might break its egg. The woman’s body flipped inside out, destroying anything of her that might have been saved. And then there was a mindflayer.

Dampened behind tempered glass, the woman’s last acts of humanity had been to make sure that her “saviors” knew the pain and torment they had condemned her to. Freya wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse.

“Kaincha!” Lae’zel swore. Freya might have not been able to speak the language, but she understood all the same.

Fuck.

“We must be purified, or this may be our fate!”

“No arguments,” Freya responded. There was no fight left except that of survival.

The two ran back to the previous room as fast as they could manage and gave another cursory glance. To find explosive, acids, poisons, weapons of any kind that may help them survive the waking nightmare they were in.

The same woman from before continued to beat against the glass, desperate for escape as they were. Freya was about to leave her and save her own skin if it hadn’t been for the damned chest and Lae’zel.

The reliquary was odd in its normalcy. Something mundane, inanimate, yet resting atop a nautaloid table as if it belonged. A deep purple, obsidian or perhaps a rough amethyst, and wrapped in gold. And locked. Very very locked. The key clicked in place, turning with no resistance and revealing a meager contents. A few coins. A small gem.

An alien-looking slate.

It called to her; sang in that special way she had come to associate with everything nautaloid. Another key, this one begging to be placed back in it’s socket like the piece of a puzzle. Begging to be made whole once more.

There were no screams, thankfully, when Lae’zel pressed a hand against the button of the central control panel. The sleeping forms feeding the great machine spasmed, purple spikes of energy snapping through the air and piercing the very fabric of their minds. They collapsed in silence, died in silence, and now bleed out onto the ground in silence.

“What the hells?!”

“We dealt with ghaik your way. Now, we try mine.”

“They were not ghaik,” the word felt strange on her tongue, a series of sounds she was not used to stringing together in such an order. “They were people! They were—”

“They were nothing but tralls feeding the Grand Design. Your saving,” she spat the word. “Only invites death upon us.

Lae’zel stalked to the woman’s pod, prepared to continue her slaughter. “No! Please!”

Freya ran as fast as she could, shocking the Gith woman with her speed. She flung herself between her companion and the pod, arms out to protect from whatever attack she had planned. “No more death! No more loss!”

“Then you invite our own! A thrall cannot be shown mercy—”

“A thrall who’s begging to be let out? Afraid to become a monster?” Lae’zel stood speechless. “She is no more thrall than you or I, Lae’zel.”

“I would appreciate it if you did not debate my death while I’m standing right here!”

Freya ignored her, continuing. “She is conscious, and she is talking, and she is as much afraid as you or I.”

“Those worthy of Vlaakith do not know fear,” she spat, but otherwise did not refute the statement. The Gith leaned back on her feet. She did not concede ground but did not advance, either. Freya carefully stepped over to the dormant console, only turning her back to the Gith and the pod when she was forced to.

The slate slid in without effort, locking in place as alien muscles contracted and held it there. The same strange red and golden light emanated from the center of it, as if it had been infected by an equally alien disease. It pulsed, a dull thud that sounded in the back of her head as much as it did in front of her. It was not a mind, but a beating heart… what would happen if she killed it?

The parasite squirmed in Freya’s head as she reached towards the console. She could feel the web of veins in her brain strain and tear as the creature burrowed deeper, contented with the soft warmth of fleshy gray matter that gave way around it. Her vision blurred again, the side of her body suddenly feeling numb.

But then the sensation was gone, the discomfort fading into the dull ache of dehydration and sore muscles, and a new one flooded in. A familiarity of being held, of never quite being alone. An intimate connection that whispered power and belonging and control. Authority.

Freya clung to that feeling despite every cell in her body screaming otherwise. She was in control. Her will would supplant all others.

Even the nautaloid itself.

The pod would open.

She felt the command buzz across every synapse of the living ship at the speed of thought. Processing. Considering. Yeilding.

The pod shifted, the chitin plating parting as the glass slid away on unseen hinges. The woman stood on her own two feet, prepared to take her first steps to freedom.

Perhaps it was the sudden shift in pressure, of stale air being stolen from her lungs and flooding back in with the caustic smell of smoke and antiseptic. Perhaps it was the adrenaline crash, her body realizing that, for a brief moment, she was safe. Either way, eyes rolled back and her knees buckled. She collapsed onto the floor.

“Pathetic,” Lae’zel spat.

Freya ran over, sliding onto her knees in an instant to help the woman up.

“I—I thought that damn thing was going to be my coffin. Thank you—” both of them keeled over in pain, minds lurching into the familiar but unwelcomed dance. The barest glimpses of memory—distant and shadowed as the rest of her—and gratitude and wariness. No one helped without cause, and there was a Gith standing behind both of them.

“She’s an ally,” Freya responded to the question before it was even asked.

“We will take the helm. Escape and cure us of this infection.” As if it was a simple wound to be cleansed.

The woman nodded. “We’ll need all the help we can get. Let’s get off this thing together.” She stood on wobbly knees and took a few tentative steps before a moment of realization came over her. “One moment.” She turned, fetching a discarded pack from the floor of her pod. A red vial, a scroll, and a strange device that she seemed too keen on hiding from her new companion’s watchful gazes. “Lead the way.”

The helm had been right around the corner, a simple right instead of the straight path they had originally taken. “Follow my lead once we are inside,” Lae’zel commanded.

The door spiraled open onto a long interior, the chitin floor melted and burning under the hellish fires of Avernus. Literal devils slashed away at the tentacled freaks—mindflayers. One locked in a deadly conflict, blasts of psionic energy warping the very fabric of reality around them as the devil took stab after stab with a flaming sword. A second combatted his own further back before he was disarmed and forced to his knees.

The alien creature wrapped its tentacles around the devil’s face, forcing the moist appendages down its throat so the devil would choke. A horrible, shuttering noise came from the mindflayer, more akin to a drill bore than anything normal. Blood spirted in wide arches, decorating the alien in a veil of glory as it slurped the brain from its cavity and the devil fell down limp. Freya had never seen one feed before. And, based on her companions’ reactions, none of them had.

Imps crawled their way into the room from between cracks and open windows, like parasites themselves. One, two, three slashes across the Illithid’s body and face and arms. Its own blood intermingled with the devil’s. It did not matter what was what or whose was whose; they both collapsed beside one another in death.

A blast of psionic energy pushed the last remaining devil flat on its ass, buying the creature enough time to survey the destruction around it. The alien’s eyes met Freya’s and immediately formed a mental connection.

Thrall, connect the nerves of the transponder. We must escape. Now. Command. Authority. Pleading. Fear. Desperation. Impotence.

It could only pray she obeyed, its mind immediately dragged to more pressing matters as the Devil stood itself up and cleaved into its side.

“Heed its command,” Lae’zel said. “We will deal with the mindflayer once we are back in the material plane!”

Freya took off running without a second thought. She didn’t even notice the hellish creatures tearing through the corpses before her until the hellsboar took a swipe with its burning tusks. It gouged into her leg, cauterizing the wound the moment it was made. So, she kept running.

An imp erupted into golden flames before collapsing to the ground at a single wave of the shadowed-woman’s hands. Fuck, Freya swore to herself. How could she have forgotten? Maybe she wasn’t as useless in a fight as she thought.

Two more creatures collapsed around her as Lae’zel picked off imp after imp with her bow. Part of Freya hoped the Gith was providing proper cover and not just blindly aiming and praying that she missed enough in the right direction to be useful.

Freya left the cambion devil and the mindflayer in the dust, each step reverberating up her legs painfully with the force of pushing herself faster and farther than she was capable of in the moment.

The two struck at each other desperately, the mindflayer too dazed and weak to be useful anymore. The cambion, on the other hand, was deadlier than ever. Its ever-burning blade tearing through lilac flesh with all the diabolical grace Freya had come to associate with the Nine Hells. The battle was almost laughable—but she was more afraid in the moment of what would become of them if the ship fell before its time.

“Incante!” Freya screamed, a newly summoned hellsboar erupting in golden light before collapsing to the ground, a charred husk of an already charred husk.

She was so close. So, so, so, so, so close to the transponder. To the writhing tentacles that controlled the ship. To home.

With a final scream, the mindflayer fell; useless in death as it was in life. Freya did not have time to survey the scene, to find out who the Cambion would reach for next in its slaughter. She hardly had time to think, being so incredibly close to the end of it all.

The shadowed woman stumbled, the heavy armor she wore suddenly unfamiliar in its weight as the ship lurched. The final master now dead, the ship was dying. The Gith took an unaimed shot, desperate to distract the fiend long enough to buy time. It went wide, a mere nuisance in the way a particularly annoying fly might have been, and the cambion lifted its blade to strike a critical blow. One that would cleave the woman in two, leaving her bleeding out on the floor of the ship until the heated air dried it to flaking clots and empty breaths.

Freya gripped the tentacled arms of the transponder, delicate feelers reaching from the clubbed head. It latched on to her in turn; consuming, feeding on her very will. She grabbed a second one at random, forcing the two ends to meet in the middle. An endless loop, the ship feeding off of its own dying energy. The tentacles went taught as a string. And, like a string, she flicked it. A gentle hum reverberated throughout the ship and the surrounding air.

The ship lurched again more violently than before. The cambion lost his footing mid strike, sending him flying into a curved pane of glass, cracking it, as gravity suddenly had no reason. The blade spun through the air, having been lost in the fiend’s fall. Spinning, flipping one end over the other until it finally sunk with a final thud and though its wielder. Web-like designs crawled along the pane, cracking and breaking until, finally, it shattered and the cambion fell through to its death.

Lae’zel found herself suddenly on the ceiling and then again splayed across the floor. Her weapons scattered to the winds as her lungs protested the lack of air around her. A familiar pain, one she had grown used to in her travels between planes and across the Astral Sea. Her body willed itself to breathe, willing the very fabric of dreams to solidify into oxygen so she would not die. No, in Vlaakith’s name she would. Not. Die.

Freya clung desperately to the tentacles of the transponder, her own lungs burning and her limbs screaming with the strain of holding on in the violent tumble out of Avernus. Gravity ripped this way and that, no rhyme or reason as the ship drove at impossible speeds to worlds unknown. They had to go anywhere, anywhere, but here. Anywhere in the material plane—anywhere close to home.

It felt as if her arm would be torn from her socket as she fought to pull herself up. Slender fingers curled around the clubbed tentacle, sticky and slick in the worst ways imaginable. Her mind screamed with a million thoughts—not all of them her own—and six lives that forced their way in. They did not supplant will as the mindflayers, but added to its strength; unified by the single desire to survive and live. The hallucinations took hold as dream and thought and reality collided along the Astral Sea.

Hands scarred and beaten and broken and healed haphazardly in service to a loveless god.

The delicate hands that had known no hard labor in his life despite carrying so much.

Hands thrumming with wild energy that threatened to devour his very soul.

Clawed hands of a deadly warrior dedicated to futile cause.

Rough hands of a hero who would make every mistake again if asked.

And burning hands betrayed and cursed by a devil.

Their minds lurched as one with the ship as Freya ripped the last tenuous strand of life it had apart and suddenly gravity made sense again. Her body ripped from the crashing ship along with her new companions. She fell a hundred feet, a thousand feet, a million feet to the rapidly approaching beach below, fully conscious yet strangely calm in the face of her impending death. A searing pain in her skull as her brain collided with the interior of it.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #balders gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #astarion #karlach #bg3 gale #shadowheart #astarion x tav #gale dekarios #lae'zel #slow burn #my writing #fanfic #shadowheart x lae’zel #shadowheart x halsin #wyll ravengard #wyll x karlach #gale x lae'zel

[woodsnweaves]

Chapters: 1/?

Fandom: Baldur's Gate (Video Games)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Gale/Tav (Baldur's Gate)

Characters: Gale (Baldur's Gate), Karlach (Baldur's Gate), Wyll (Baldur's Gate), Shadowheart (Baldur's Gate), Lae'zel (Baldur's Gate), Astarion (Baldur's Gate), Tav (Baldur's Gate)

Additional Tags: Named Tav (Baldur's Gate), Female Tav (Baldur's Gate), writing my Tav's journey, meet cute, Pining, Ranger Tav (Baldur's Gate), Slow Burn, POV Alternating, Pre-Relationship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Summary:

Sitting around the campfire that night, surrounded by people, Auroria Iem Galanodel felt less alone than she had in ages. She was sore, exhausted, infected with a tadpole in her brain, and probably smelled, but after spending the last few years in relative isolation due to the nature of her profession, having six traveling companions was a nice change of pace. The firelight danced over everyone’s faces as they ate a meal made up of whatever the wizard could cobble together from their scrounging through the day. True, they were eating in relative silence, the easy camaraderie of friendship still over the horizon for this budding group, but they were eating together. A first step.

#bg3 fanfiction #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav #named tav #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #fanfic #my writing #please this is my first time writing in 10 years be kind #gale #shadowheart #lae'zel #wyll ravengard #astarion #karlach #slow burn

[a-heart-of-kyber]

Absolutely insane that the approval notifications stop if you have maxed out approval and I had to find this out after being very confused for a bit 😅

#like i was like why am i not getting any gale notifications anymore? #*gestures* #but also the slowness of the burn is driving me insane #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #baldur's gate 3 #gale x celine(tav) #for funsies

[sardoniqueen101]

I got to do Gale’s weave scene with him and I’m not capable of being normal about these two!

Saran is my first tav, a Mephistopheles Tiefling sorcerer with a silver (?) Draconic bloodline. (I should remember which dragon I picked but I forgot lmao😅)

Anyways, given her magic background, a lesson with Gale was rather unnecessary. But he’s a man who’s passionate about his craft, and Saran admires that in a person. Of course she can’t help but tease him a little, after all, he has to learn magic but for her it’s innate! 😜

About that moment in the weave…with the kiss, she meant it. And yet he didn’t kiss her, darn you Gale!🙄

#bg3 tav #gale x tav #tav x gale #gale of waterdeep #moment in the weave #baldur's gate 3 #I love slow burns

[weaveandwood]

Weave and Woods Chapter Six: Inadequacies

Gale/Tav | Slow Burn | Read on AO3 | Entire Work

Summary:

The party ventures into the Underdark. Auroria starts to learn new spells with Gale and the two poorly navigate the feelings growing between them.

“That was very inspiring,” Gale leaned over and spoke softly into her ear before the rest of the party joined them on the platform. “We should pool our minds more often.” She felt the tips of her ears getting hot, her heartbeat speeding up. Gods, just the feel of his presence near to her, his breath on her neck had her imagining the most inappropriate things involving his mouth. She looked at him, and could tell he was thinking similar thoughts the way his mouth was quirked up at the corner, the slight darkness in his eyes giving him away. She saw the faintest tint of purple glowing from his orb through his robes - he was getting worked up. Time to come back to reality. She cleared her throat, and he took a step away. The orb dimmed immediately.

“Ora.”

It felt good, saying it. The first time in over 5 years she had considered allowing anyone to call her by anything other than her full name. Karlach had been complaining over breakfast that Auroria, being four syllables, was a lot to yell out in the heat of the moment in battle, so they should give her a nickname. She had one for everyone else - Fangs, Fringe, Lae, Gale, Wyll….okay, everyone with more than one-syllable names. Although Gale was sometimes “Magic Man,” which amused Auroria to no end. 

“Everyone used to call me Ora. It was a nickname my best friend gave me almost 20 years ago. When she died, I couldn’t stand the sound of it. It was too painful, too many memories. But now, with all of you, I think I’d like to go back to being Ora,” she said. She felt a hand in hers, squeezing softly in solidarity. Gale. She tried to suppress a smile, squeezing back before they both let go. 

“Ora it is then! But wait - if you’ve only had a nickname for 20 years, did your mom really only call you by your full name?” Karlach asked.

“My mother was not keen on shortening names, something about respect for the person who named you. She didn’t even like it when I tried to call her ‘mom,’ and I think she may have contemplated abandoning me if I attempted to call her ‘mommy,’” Auroria laughed. “So no, she never called me anything besides Auroria. Elves can be weird about the smallest things,” she shrugged, “or maybe it’s just mothers.”

The journey to the Underdark would be a long one from their camp near the monastery, and they had planned to leave just as the sunrise was starting to slant over the horizon. The group knew the road well, having to backtrack to the Goblin Camp again to use an entrance they remembered sensing during their initial trip. They took care of the ogre guarding the entrance when they cleared out the entirety of the camp, knowing they would have to return once Halsin recommended entering the Shadow-Cursed Lands via the Underdark rather than the Mountain Pass. 

Since she knew the area was secure, Auroria had lingered at the edge of camp, letting Wyll and Astarion take the lead. The two were diametrically different. Wyll was a hero in every sense of the word, even if he was in a pact with a devil. Auroria sensed there was more to the story about why he entered the deal with Mizora, but even though they were friends, he hadn’t opened up to the group about that yet. In time. Astarion was the definition of a rogue - cunning and clever. He bent the rules to suit his desires. Both outlooks on life were useful, and they were a good counterbalance to each other. 

Shadowheart, Lae’zel, and Karlach were in the middle of the pack. Shadowheart was actually smiling at something Karlach had said, which was both hard to believe and completely believable - Karlach was infectious, it was impossible to be in a bad mood around her, even for Shadowheart. Lae’zel was subdued, less militant than normal due to the events at the Creche the day before, followed by the appearance of Voss in their camp as they were all attempting to sleep. The previous night had been eventful. She tried to put the memory of holding Gale’s hand for hours out of her mind, but couldn’t stop replaying it all night long. She wasn’t sure anyone was fully rested as they ventured into areas unknown to all of them. 

“Coming?” Gale turned around, tilting his head to the side. “Everything okay?”

She smiled, hoisting her pack onto her shoulders and falling into step beside him. Though she was nervous, the thought of learning a few more spells, the cohesiveness of their party, whatever was budding between the two of them…she was full of hope. 

“Absolutely.”

That optimism carried her as they figured out the puzzle to enter the Underdark. Auroria and Gale stared at the spinning disks on the floor for several minutes, passing theories back and forth to each other on what they thought the best solution was while the others looked around this previously unsearched part of the ruined temple for precious supplies. 

Finally, it clicked. “What if…what if we spin these disks so they correspond to the phases of the moon?” Auroria said as she started moving the disks in a certain pattern, so each one was arranged to show four different moon phases - full, new, and half moons. Once she started getting going, Gale took the other half of the disks, both of them working together to complete the pattern. A faint rumble shook the room as the door to the Underdark opened. Auroria smiled, her hands on her hips, content with the satisfaction of solving something difficult.

“That was very inspiring,” Gale leaned over and spoke softly into her ear before the rest of the party joined them on the platform. “We should pool our minds more often.” She felt the tips of her ears getting hot, her heartbeat speeding up. Gods, just the feel of his presence near to her, his breath on her neck had her imagining the most inappropriate things involving his mouth. She looked at him, and could tell he was thinking similar thoughts the way his mouth was quirked up at the corner, the slight darkness in his eyes giving him away. She saw the faintest tint of purple glowing from his orb through his robes - he was getting worked up. Time to come back to reality. She cleared her throat, and he took a step away. The orb dimmed immediately.

******

Contrary to what everyone thought, the Underdark was not as depressing as it sounded like it would be.  There was bioluminescence everywhere, casting everything with a pale blue glow. It was magical, almost peaceful. That feeling was short lived, however, when they almost immediately came upon a Spectator and a group of drow led by a Dhourn of House…Something-or-other. He was dead now, it didn’t matter. What did matter is that these foes proved to be much more formidable than the enemies they were used to fighting above ground, even with their more honed skills. The party ended with more cuts, stabs, and bruises than they had been dealt in quite some time, and they limped their way back to where they decided to set up camp so they could access their stash of more potent healing potions and let Shadowheart do her magic. Gale walked beside Auroria, who had a deep cut on her arm from a reanimated petrified drow, and a scowl on her face.

“How’s the arm?” He asked. She looked a million miles away, and didn’t answer him like she usually would. He waved a hand in front of her face. “Ora? You want to come back to the material plane?” He tested out the nickname. He liked it. He never wanted to call her anything else - it suited her.

“Hmm? Oh, sorry, Gale. Just thinking. That was not our best fight,” she said, slightly dejected. 

“True. I’d never seen a Spectator before in person. Horrifying creatures up close." He could tell her mind was working through all the ways the battle could have gone, both good and bad. Best to bring her back to the here and now. "How’s your arm?” He asked again, nodding at her injury.

She looked at her arm, blood soaking through the gaps of her armor from the cut. “It’ll be fine, nothing worse than what I’ve had before, especially once Shadowheart gets her spells on it. We got lucky today, but we need to train more if we’re going to be operating so close to our enemies. Thank the gods you had the foresight to stay up on the higher levels to cast, we were really taken by surprise.” 

“Yes, I agree. A wizard is best kept at a  distance for maximum spellcasting effect, though I have spent the last year working on my quarterstaff technique during my isolation. A fine workout that has proven to be rather handy should any foe get too close,” he said as Auroria nodded. Were her ears turning pink again? He smiled to himself. They only seemed to do that when she got flustered. Emboldened by her physical reaction, he leaned toward her a little as they walked. “Maybe you and I could spar, for practice?” Her ear tips deepened to a dark red. He had to admit the thought of seeing her in action, her skills directed at him, caused a shiver of excitement to run through him. His orb protested, sending a needle prick of pain through his veins. He winced slightly, then noticed Auroria’s eyes glancing at where the orb was, the faintest hint of a purple glow again. They both had their tells, apparently. 

“Speaking of training,” she changed the subject, the furrow between her brows returning. “I’d like to start working on learning new spells. I need to know more than one, especially as our enemies get more and more powerful. Do you think we could start tonight?”

“I’d be delighted,” He replied, most enthusiastically. 

******

Auroria hadn’t been this frustrated and annoyed with herself in years. She forgot just how difficult learning a new spell was. She tried to tell herself that she hadn’t done it in over 20 years, but really, how had her mother had this much patience? And good gods, how did Gale ? 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I can’t get this,” She said, pacing back and forth as Gale flipped through the book on nature spells he had found at the monastery. They had settled on learning Ensnaring Strike, borrowing Lae’zel’s practice dummy that was set up on a rocky outcrop that was not too far from the campsite and surrounded by giant mushrooms and glowing trees. The spell wasn’t too different from Hail of Thorns, and would be useful for both ranged and melee attacks, if needed. 

She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks. “You’re tense, you’re worked up from our fight this afternoon, we’re in a new environment, it’s…a lot. When I was young and found myself trying without success to untangle the Weave around a new spell, I would attempt to control my breathing, clear my mind, and focus on my connection to the Weave. Since you get your power from nature’s connection to the Weave, it’s a little different than drawing directly from it, but more or less the same concept. ‘Breathe in, breathe out, calm yourself’ was my mantra. Simple but effective. I said it many times a day when I first started at Blackstaff Academy. I still do, sometimes,” he said.

Auroria scoffed, “So, like when you were eight?”

Gale laughed, “Oh! No, when I was eight I thought I could just do whatever spell I wanted. Most of them went awry - just ask my mother about the neighbor’s incinerated rose bushes! Or the magma mephit I summoned instead of a tressym. When I was an apprentice though, I challenged myself to learn spells only the most advanced wizards used. Sometimes, after several failures, you just need to….take a break. It took a long time to get there, but I found that relaxing the tension within me would help me navigate the Weave with more control. Before that, there were a lot of explosions and portals to other planes opening,” he chuckled to himself.

Auroria groaned, dropping into a crouch with her head in her hands. “You were summoning creatures through portals at eight? You must feel like you’re in the presence of an idiot, then. I can’t even do a simple spell for, what did the book say again? Novice rangers and druids?” 

Gale crouched down in front of her. “No, what I’m saying is maybe you need a break. You’re not used to channeling magic, and you’ll burn out if you try to ignore these feelings. Believe me, I completely understand wanting to get it right away - that ambition is hard to put a damper on. But you need to pace yourself.”

“Says the celebrated boy genius wizard prodigy,” she muttered.

“It wasn’t all great, Auroria,” he said, quietly. 

She looked up, seeing hurt in his eyes. Shit, I did that. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to feeling so inadequate. Today really threw me and I’m taking my frustrations out on everyone but myself. And since you’re the only one here, you’ve become my target, not the dummy.” She reached out, taking his hand in hers. “I’m sorry, Gale.” 

She exhaled, puffing out her cheeks and looked around, eyeing a couple of the practice sticks set out by the practice dummy. “I’m tired of using my brain. I believe you mentioned sparring earlier?” She smiled as she got up, walking to the dummy and tossing him one of the lightweight staffs. “Let's see these skills you’ve honed.” 

Gale caught the staff easily in one hand, bowing to her, “As the lady wishes.” 

“Oh, I am the farthest thing from a lady, good sir, but I do wish,” she smiled as she started to circle him. 

The next hour passed easily. Gale won most of the rounds, not exaggerating his extensive training. Their match ended with Auroria on her back, Gale’s staff aimed at her chest, both of them panting, covered in sweat. She put up her hands, laughing, “I surrender!” Gale held out his hand for Auroria to take, pulling her up easily. He was stronger than she had assumed, and she lost her balance a little as she stood up faster than anticipated, crashing into his chest. 

They stared at each other, Auroria’s eyes darting from his eyes to his mouth, the bead of sweat running down the side of his temple. She could see his eyes making the same path on her own face - eyes, lips, sweat. The skin on her neck and ears burned, not just from the exertion of their practice. Gods, she wanted to kiss him so badly, to feel his lips against hers, his breath on her skin, his hands…oh hells, his hands everywhere. She wanted to hold her breath, for this moment to never end. He held her hand tightly to his chest, closing his eyes as if he wanted to freeze this moment as well. 

“Gale -”

“Ora, I -” a wince, another faint glow. He took a step backward, the glow fading again. “I can’t.” He dropped her hand and took another step back. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. 

He turned and headed back to camp.

Auroria stood alone in the training area, brow furrowed as she watched Gale retreat. She picked up her bow and an arrow and turned back to her initial task. Breathe in, breathe out, calm yourself. Breathe in, breathe out, calm yourself, she repeated mentally before firing an arrow at the base of the training dummy. She focused her energy, her sadness, her frustration into the concentration aspect of the spell. The ground rumbled, vines popping up from the ground wrapping around the figure, thorns piercing the cloth body. 

“I did it!” She gasped, then looked around beaming, laughing to herself, raising her bow overhead in celebration as she realized she cast the spell successfully. She looked around for Gale, forgetting for a moment that he had already gone back to camp and she was truly alone. Again. She dropped her bow to her side as the vines retracted back into the ground. “I did it,” she whispered. She turned and left the training area, a new determination settling over her. She refused to let hopelessness overtake her, and she wouldn’t let Gale run away from this thing they were both very obviously feeling toward each other, orb be damned. 

#gale of waterdeep #gale x tav #named tav #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #gale x tav slow burn #tav x gale #gale fanfic #gale brainrot #my writing #my screenshots #gale x auroria #auroria galanodel #weave and woods #weave and woods fic

[cheezits4lyfe]

Strings of Fate - Table of Contents

Chapter 1 ... Overture

Chapter 2 ... Interlude

Chapter 3 ... Crescendo

AO3 Link (entire work)

Last Updated: 12:14 PM PT // 11 Jan 2024

#Strings of Fate #BG3 #Baldur's Gate smut #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale #gale bg3 #gale romance #gale x tav #baldurs gate gale #oc tav #tav bg3 #slow burn #eventual smut #fluff and smut #elf tav #bard tav #tav x gale #bg3 romance #gale smut #fluff

[keldae]

19. "Your voice is so calming." for Devi/Gale please? (and thank you!)

It was all but impossible to tell when “night” was in the Underdark – the party wound up using their fatigue as an indicator of when it was time to go to bed, and when they needed to wake up. This was their third camp set up in the Underdark, and only the first since Devi had woken everyone up with her screaming at a nightmare. 

She was almost grateful for the dimness of the Underdark – it hid how she had felt like she’d been constantly blushing all day. She swore she was fiercely independent and didn’t need help from anyone, but she couldn’t deny that she’d slept much better after Gale had joined her on her bedroll last night, snuggling her while they’d slept. It had felt incredibly nice to sleep with the handsome wizard, feeling warm and protected under his arm, and totally worth the sidelong grins she’d received from the rest of the party in the morning – but she couldn’t ask Gale to sleep with her every night! Gale was too damn nice for his own good, and would probably do it if Devi asked it of him, and clearly he wasn’t concerned overmuch about propriety or appropriateness if he’d made the initiative last night to sleep with her, even if it was strictly platonic in nature, but…

Devi frowned. It was just humiliating for her to ask for help in sleeping from the wizard she had a hopeless crush on. 

As the rest of the party started to disperse to tents after sharing the evening meal together, Devi moved to fetch her bedroll, planning on rolling it out by the campfire. She wasn’t expecting Gale to come up beside her, catching her arm in his hand. “Did you sleep well last night?” he softly asked. “After I joined you?”

Feeling her cheeks heat up, Devi nodded. “I did,” she said, giving the wizard a smile. “Thank you again for that – you didn’t have to sleep with me.”

“I know,” Gale answered, “but I wanted to.” His ears went bright, even in the darkness. “Erm, not to say that I was thinking about sleeping with you before last night, but, um…” He raked his hand through his hair awkwardly as Devi giggled. “Oh, I’m botching this. Will you stay with me tonight, in my tent?”

Devi felt her eyebrows rise as she searched Gale’s eyes. “I wouldn’t have thought you would want to sleep with me again,” she said, “after having to snuggle me all night.”

Gale shrugged one shoulder, deliberately casual. “You’re pleasant to cuddle with. And truth be told, I slept better myself while holding you. Do you recall what I said last night, about how I was suffering nightmares too?”

That made Devi nod. “I remember,” she confirmed. “You said you’d been having another nightmare when I screamed and startled you out of it.”

Gale nodded. “Just so. It seems that sleeping together helps prevent nightmares for both of us.” He hesitated for a moment. “Of course, if you would rather sleep on your own tonight, I–”

Devi quickly shook her head. “No, no… I did like sleeping with you,” she said. “I’ll happily join you again. But only if you’re sure that you aren’t cutting into your own rest by snuggling me all night.”

“That’s a relief,” Gale commented, visibly relaxing. “My next recourse was to try to borrow Clive from Karlach.”

“Not happening,” Karlach called over with a grin as she flopped down on her bedroll, Clive securely tucked under her arm.

Gale chuckled, then stepped aside, escorting Devi to his tent. She curiously looked around as she slipped under the flap – this was her first time inside the wizard’s tent. It was small, but felt cosy, with the various wizarding tools he’d accumulated set up around the walls of the tent, and the piles of books in every corner. She turned to watch Gale as he entered the tent after her, closing the tent flap behind him with a wave of his hand; he sat down, then held his arm out for her to join him on his bedroll.

Feeling her heart skip a beat, Devi lowered herself down beside the wizard, snuggled up under his arm. Gale smiled and gave her a little squeeze, then pulled the blanket over them both before he reached for one of the books by his head. “I hope it doesn’t bother you that I like to read a bit before I fall asleep,” he said.

“You? Read? Who are you, and what have you done with our wizard?” Devi winked at Gale as he snorted a laugh. “No, it doesn’t bother me at all.” She yawned, then curiously looked at the book. “Will you read to me a little bit?” she asked after a moment’s hesitation.

“Gladly.” Gale smiled at her, then opened the book to the first pages. He started reading out loud in a soft voice, just loud enough for Devi to hear without bothering anyone outside the tent walls. It was a story Devi had never heard before, a tale about a selkie lord and the fisherman’s daughter who he loved. 

She yawned again and snuggled up against Gale as he continued to read. “Your voice is so calming,” she murmured when he paused for a breath.

Gale smiled again and tightened his arm around her shoulders. “I’m glad,” he softly said. “You deserve to hear something soothing. Fall asleep if you wish – I’ll just pick the story up again tomorrow night from where we left off.”

Devi didn’t want to fall asleep right now – she wanted to hear the story of the selkie lord and his maiden fair, and she wanted to hear Gale read to her of how the lovestruck couple found a way to be together without one dying for love. But she soon found herself losing the battle against sleep, Gale’s soothing voice lulling her into slumber. She yawned again and rested her head on Gale’s chest, feeling her eyelids grow heavier with every word the wizard read. 

She finally heard Gale stop talking, and felt him shift enough to set the book to the side before he carefully laid down fully, bringing her with him. His hand started to gently caress her hair as his lips touched her brow. “Good night, Devi,” he whispered, tugging the blanket up to their shoulders. 

Devi tried to bid Gale good-night in turn, but her lips refused to speak the words, half-asleep as she was. She settled instead for snuggling into his side, her hand resting on his stomach under the blanket. The last thing she was aware of before sleep claimed her was feeling his smile against her hair.

Her dreams that night were of selkies, and of the ocean, and of Gale.

#bg3 #bg3 fic #gale x tav #tav x gale #gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #Act I #slow burn #kel writes #kel answers prompts #fluff

[dancingbirdie]

Okay so on Astarion, I was reading this fic about him not knowing Tavs true intentions with him and it bothering Astarion a lot, so what if he goes to some mage or magic user and asks them to show Tavs true intentions to him, when he does the vision he sees is just... being snuggled. It's Tav on top of him and the both of you are falling asleep, his hands are under your shirt softly petting your skin as your sleepy self is contently snuggled up to him. I just start crying about him finding out that Tavs DASTARDLY and EVIL plan with him, their greatest desire from him... is to simply be held. 🥺

Hi @goblin-creatcher! Thank you so much for this BEAUTIFUL prompt. I, uhh, kind of took it and went a million miles an hour with it. This is honestly one of my favorite things I've ever written. I hope you enjoy it as well! xoxoxo

Something Imagined / Something Real

Word Count: 3.9K

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Astarion x f!Tav

Warnings/Tags: Brief but detailed description of rough consensual sex, descriptions and references to Astarion's trauma/trauma responses, minor Act 1 and Act 2 spoilers, FLUFF, angst

Suggested Song Pairing: Slow Dancing in A Burning Room (Stripped) - cover by ST LUNA

Summary: Astarion has been suspicious of Tav’s true intentions toward him. He persuades Gale to cast a spell and reveal her motivations. ANGST and FLUFF ensue. A rewriting of Astarion’s confession scene from Act 2.

The sun had just begun to set on the campsite when Astarion decided to put his plan into action. He had waited until Tav departed with some of the other party members before making his way over to the wizard. Gale was too busy reassembling the bookshelf inside his tent to notice Astarion’s approach. It wasn’t until he gave a polite cough that Gale jumped and whirled to face him. 

“No, no, no,” he began all at once, hands raised in a sort of shooing motion. Astarion stared at him in confusion. “I can respect Tav’s indulging in your need for blood, but as I’ve said before: I taste terrible.” 

Astarion scoffed. “Charming. Actually, wizard, I was coming to request your aid in a different, though somewhat related, matter.”

“Really? Care to elaborate?” Gale responded, still somewhat wary. It wasn’t often he found himself alone with the vampire. 

“Testy, I see,” Astarion crooned teasingly. His knee-jerk response to people treating him like a monster, to behave in the most false saccharine sort of way. 

But he drew up short, censoring himself before saying anything else he might regret. He knew he needed to get on the wizard’s good side if he had any chance of getting the answers he sought. 

“I was hoping you knew a spell to reveal someone’s true intentions. Their… motivations for behaving in a certain way, so to speak,” he finished more seriously. 

Gale pondered the question for a moment before answering. 

“Hmm… yes, there is magic to determine that sort of thing… Although it’s been some time since I practiced it…” He trailed off, rubbing his chin in thought. 

“Why are you asking for such a thing?” he asked suddenly. 

Astarion had been prepared for this question, of course. No one did anything for free, no questions asked. He delivered his explanation perfectly, as he’d been rehearsing in his mind.

“One might say our dear sweet Tav and I have been growing a bit… closer these days, but I can sense a master manipulator when I see one. I just simply want to ensure their intentions toward me - toward the party - are true,” he replied with mock innocence. 

“Ah, yes,” Gale nodded. “I gathered as much when the two of you slipped away from the tiefling’s party a few nights ago.” 

“But,” he continued on,”I needn’t think you should worry when it comes to Tav. She seems about as transparent as they come. I’m sure any intentions she has toward you are true.”

Yes, but the best actors always mask their motivations behind innocence and transparency, Astarion thought to himself. I should know. I’ve been doing it for centuries.

After the party’s unfortunate meeting with that Gur in the Sunlit Wetlands, Astarion realized he would have to take potential threats from Cazador even more seriously. He wasn’t about to lose his freedom, not now that he finally had some small taste of it. 

It didn’t hurt to be more suspicious of everyone he encountered, even the sweetling Tav. Anyone could be an operative sent by Cazador, and the best ones would be as skilled as he was in the art of manipulation. It was well-known at this point that the person he’d grown the closest to on their journey was their brave party leader, Tav. Unlikely as it may be that she was scheming for his master, Astarion’s paranoia wouldn’t let him indulge in interactions with her a second longer unless he knew how she truly felt. 

Given Gale’s hesitation, Astarion knew he would have to kick his acting up a notch. Press on that wizard’s heartstrings. Touch the one nerve he knew he was sensitive to.

“Gale, darling, from one literally damaged soul to another, indulge me just this once,” Astarion beseeched him. 

The wizard glared at him a moment, before finally relenting with a heavy sigh. “Fine. Fine. But I want it known that I don’t agree with this so-called solution one whit,” he grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Yes, yes, noted and formally documented, on my word as a former Baldurian magistrate,” Astarion replied cheerily. “So, let’s hop to it then, shall we?”

“What, right now?” Gale asked, shocked. “Shouldn’t we be, I don’t know, a little less conspicuous?” 

“What better time than now?” Astarion responded. “Tav’s out gathering firewood with Wyll and Karlach. They won’t be back for some time. As for Lae’zel and Shadowheart, well…” he paused, gesturing over his shoulder. 

Said two were engaged in a heated sparring session on the outskirts of the camp. Snarls and curses could be heard emanating from both warriors as they tried, and failed, to gain the upper hand against their opponent.

“That lovers’ dance could go on until morning,” Astarion finished. 

“Fair point,” Gale admitted begrudgingly, grimacing at the sound of swords clashing violently. “Very well. Let’s get started.” 

Clearing his throat, Gale began to utter a series of phrases completely foreign to Astarion. He watched as the wizard began moving his hands in a wavelike pattern, forming a circle before them. Suddenly, a mist began to form from seemingly thin air, taking shape according to the boundaries Gale’s hands were creating. The mist grew more and more opaque until it appeared before them like a clouded mirror. 

As the fogginess of the ethereal magic began to clear, the “mirror” became a confusing blur of scenes whipping by, too fast for Astarion or Gale to really comprehend. There were flashes of Tav and Astarion, together and separate, but they disappeared too quickly to ascertain their context. It was as though the spell was shuffling through the entirety of Tav’s thoughts, assessing each one at breakneck speed. 

Finally, the spell slowed to a halt, stopping on one scene in particular. Astarion was struck speechless by what began playing out in the foggy portal before them. So distracted, he didn’t even notice Gale’s tight cough, or how the wizard suddenly became intensely interested in a copse of trees nearby, rather than the revelation the spell was revealing.

Not that the scene was especially profound, objectively speaking. In fact, to anyone else, it might be viewed as the least revelatory thing possible that the spell could have shown. Boring. Inconsequential, even. But to Astarion, it was almost earth shattering. 

He saw himself - he could see his face! - with Tav, lying tangled together in some immaculate four-poster bed. 

That was the first shock that coursed through him, nearly causing his knees to buckle. He was seeing himself for the first time in over 200 years. Or at least, he was seeing himself as Tav saw him. And… the person he saw… Well, he was gorgeous. White blonde locks, curled and tousled in a devil-may-care sort of way. A strong, patrician nose that suggested good breeding. High, sharp cheekbones. Full lips, upturned in a thoughtless grin. Red eyes bordered by long, sweeping lashes. Delicately pointed elven ears. Smooth alabaster skin, without blemish or spot. 

Astarion could scarcely believe his own eyes. 

The second shock to his system was the nature of their activities. He would have been less surprised had the vision shown them fucking. Him taking her roughly from behind perhaps. His name a cry of ecstasy from her lips as he pistoned in and out of her with a feral sort of determination. 

Fantasies of lust, of total domination, now those were things he was familiar with inspiring in the minds of the victims he had taken as lovers. It was what he strove for, in all honesty. Desire like that all but ensured he would capture his prey and live to serve another day for his master. 

But nothing of the sort was occurring between vision-Tav and himself. Instead, they were just… embracing? What in sweet hells was this?

She lay halfway on top of him. Her hair was mussed, perhaps from sleep or perhaps from previous lovemaking. One hand was drawing absentminded shapes across his chest, her lips trailing behind, leaving kisses in their wake. He watched as vision-Astarion chuckled softly, as his hands slipped beneath her sleepshirt to caress her waist, as he placed an innocent kiss on the top of Tav’s head. Eventually, she reached for his hand. They both watched their fingers intertwine, blissfully content.

It was the purest, unadulterated expression of affection that Astarion had ever seen. Something in his heart quaked at the sight of it. He wanted that moment. He envied, he hated, vision-Astarion for enjoying such apparent happiness.

So absorbed in the vision and its implications, Astarion failed to notice the soft padding of feet that indicated someone’s re-entry into the camp. 

“If the two of you are quite finished poking around in my head,” an angry voice suddenly spat from behind them, “I’d appreciate you preserving what little privacy I have left and shutting that damn spell off.”

Mortified, Astarion and Gale turned to see Tav, arms crossed and visibly seething with rage. Gale quickly dispelled the magic with a flick of his wrist. A blush was slowly but surely rising up Tav’s neck to reach her cheeks. Whether from rage or embarrassment, Astarion couldn’t be certain. 

“Tav, let us explain-” Astarion started.

“It was his idea-” Gale blurted at the same time, pointing at Astarion. 

Both paused, glaring at one another. But Tav would have none of their feeble attempts at backpedaling. 

“The explanation doesn’t matter. Whose idea it was doesn’t matter. The fact is that both of you violated the privacy of my mind, which I’ll remind you, has ALREADY been violated by having a bloody tadpole forced inside of it!” Tav shouted. At their words, the camp became enveloped in a heavy silence. Even the crickets ceased their chirping.

Astarion cringed inwardly, knowing the other party members could plainly hear this altercation and had likely stopped whatever it was that they had been doing to listen in. He noted the sounds of swords clanging together had ceased. He was certain Lae’zel and Shadowheart at least were aware of what was happening. Nosy bastards, all of them.

But what disturbed him even more was the realization that Tav’s eyes were welling with tears. She was too proud to acknowledge them or wipe them away. Such was her nature. But they were there nonetheless, and the knowledge that Astarion had brought her to the point of tears was enough to spur a rush of utter self-loathing inside him.

Without another word, Tav turned on her heel and marched stiffly out of camp, toward the direction of a nearby creek they’d identified as a water source earlier in the day.

“I can’t believe I let you convince me to perform that spell,” Gale said as she disappeared between the trees. He dragged his hands down his face. 

“How could we have been so doltish, forgetting that all of our privacies have already been violated with this tadpole business?”

Astarion didn’t have an answer to that. At least, not one the wizard could possibly understand. 

The thought hadn’t occurred to Astarion, he realized, because violations of privacy had been something so intrinsic to his being for over 200 years. He didn’t even recognize it as something abnormal. Like a fish unaware that the water surrounding it is, in fact, water. 

Violations of privacy were a part of life, at least for him. So much so that his request for Gale to perform that magic hadn’t even occurred to him as an overstepping of boundaries. To Astarion, it had simply been a matter of survival. He had needed to know another potentially manipulative person’s true intentions, and so he had found a means to uncover it and maintain the upper hand. 

Belatedly, he also realized that Gale’s hesitation to cast the spell had had nothing to do with being inconvenienced for the evening, but because the wizard had known that it was improper to do to another person. If he had misread that, Astarion wondered, then what other truly benevolent behaviors had he mistaken as pragmatic manipulation?

“I need to go find her,” Astarion murmured, clenching and unclenching his fists in an uncharacteristic fit of uncertainty. 

“Yes, you do,” Gale asserted. “We both owe her a sincere apology… if she’ll even accept it.”

“I’ll see if I can convince her to come back to camp,” Astarion replied, making to leave in the direction Tav had stormed off. 

“Wait,” Gale said, a hand on his shoulder. Astarion turned to meet his gaze. 

“Look, well, I’m obviously not an expert in healthy demonstrations of affection. But I do think it’s obvious from what you saw in that spell that Tav well and truly cares about you. In perhaps the purest way possible. Treat that carefully.”

Part of Astarion wanted to laugh aloud in utter hopelessness at the wizard’s advice. Someone cared for him? Truly and purely? No hidden games, no strings attached? Oh certainly, that wouldn’t be a problem for Astarion at all. Obviously, his 200-year existence as a master-manipulator-fetch-hound for a power-hungry vampire lord had perfectly prepared him to respond to this situation in a healthy manner. Obviously.

But all that was too much to reveal to someone he barely knew and too heavy to say aloud. Rather than giving some smarmy retort, Astarion opted instead to give a stiff nod and continue walking toward the edge of camp. He had no idea how he could make things right with Tav, but at the very least he could try. 

***

He found Tav sitting on a fallen tree near the edge of the creek bed. Her legs were drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around them as she rested a cheek to her knees. In the waning twilight, she reminded Astarion of some misbegotten gargoyle perched on the roof of a temple, solitary and so very sad. 

Her ears twitched as she noted his arrival. Astarion wasn’t trying to be stealthy. On top of everything else, the last thing he needed to do was scare her. 

“Can I join you?” he asked softly, wincing to himself at the awkwardness of the question. 

The reality was that there was no way to broach this conversation without some stilted beginning, and he hated it. Navigating tricky conversations was normally something he excelled at. But as he was quickly finding, when it related to Tav, nothing in his past life had prepared him to respond to her well. 

“If you’d like,” Tav answered tonelessly. 

Knowing it was probably the best response he was going to get, Astarion swallowed thickly and moved to sit down on the log next to her. 

“I… wanted to… apologize for what you saw, back at camp,” he began.

“Apologize for doing it, or apologize for getting caught?” Tav asked as she turned her head to look at him, resting her other cheek on her knees. 

Astarion balked at the question. Her piercing gaze unnerved him. He hadn’t really thought that far. 

“Both, I suppose?” he answered honestly, although it sounded more like a question to Tav. She huffed a laugh.

“You know, part of me really wants to yell at you. Scream in your face. Tell you off proper,” she mused.

“So why don’t you?” Astarion asked, perplexed. 

Tav didn’t respond at first, just sat there studying him. As if by staring at him long enough, she could project the answer into his mind. 

Astarion didn’t interrupt her, much as he would have liked to. Part of him always bristled when people gazed at him for too long. It was unfair that they could study him, when he hadn’t been able to so much as glance at his reflection in over 200 years. 

Finally, Tav released a heavy sigh, her body curling further in on itself. She closed her eyes as she spoke.

“Because then I would be just like every other bastard in your life who’s mistreated you.”

Astarion flinched in surprise. Those had not been the sort of words he’d been expecting. The truth of them cut deeper than had she raged at him like she wanted to. It left him feeling even more vulnerable, and that in turn made him want to retreat into the comfort of viciousness.

“I don’t need you to pull any punches,” he scoffed, glaring at her. “Go ahead and say what you will.”

She straightened up at his tone, opening her eyes and returning his glare. 

“No. I don’t want to,” she said testily.

“I don’t need your pity,” he hissed. “It’s insulting.”

“Gods damn it all, Astarion!” Tav exclaimed suddenly, causing him to jump in surprise. She threw her hands up in defeat. “I’m not doing anything out of pity! I don’t want to rage at you, because I know that whatever I say right now, I won’t mean it come the morning!”

Astarion blinked. Once again he was left feeling flat footed by the turn of the conversation. Sensing his surprise, Tav continued on with her deluge of words.

“You hurt me tonight, and I’m angry at you - and at Gale, for that matter - for what you did. But you’ve shared enough of your… history… with me, that I realize your behavior is just… just a byproduct of centuries of abuse and manipulation you’ve endured! And I won’t be another abuser in your life. I won’t,” she asserted. 

Astarion continued staring at her, as if she were some otherworldly creature that had just wandered across his path. He watched as Tav inhaled a deep breath, releasing it shakily. She turned away from him to peer out into the forest, uncertain. She opened and closed her mouth several times before actually speaking. As if whatever she was about to say was more intimidating to her than anything else she’d said tonight. 

“I… care deeply for you, Astarion,” she said quietly. “You obviously saw that in the vision. I’m not playing any games. There’s no hidden motive. I’m not trying to manipulate you.”

She turned to look at him again before continuing, her breathing a bit unsteady. 

“I didn’t sleep with you that night of the tiefling party as some sort of maneuver to gain your trust. Although I understand if that was your motivation for doing so.” 

Astarion’s expression morphed into one of guilt. But Tav nodded soberly, as if she had already expected it, before continuing on. 

“It’s okay. I’m not angry. But I’m putting all my cards on the table now, so to speak. Actually, your decision tonight forced my hand, but I had been planning on telling you soon anyway. So, there you have it. The truth of my intentions. What you do with that information is up to you.”

She turned back to gaze out at their surroundings. Like she was giving him the opportunity to bolt away without her watching him. As if she expected him to flee from her confession. 

But Astarion didn’t flee. He remained seated, staring at her in complete wonderment. 

“Why?” he asked quietly.

She looked back at him again, confusion evident on her face. 

“Why what?”

“Why do you care for me? You’re so… well-adjusted. And I’m well… this,” he finished lamely, placing a hand on his chest. 

Tav pursed her lips. “It would be a mistake to misconstrue my empathy for you as me being well-adjusted. Everyone has their own demons, Astarion,” she murmured. “Mine just look different from yours.”

Astarion mulled her words over in his mind, considering them. He leaned forward to brace his forearms on his knees, his head drooping slightly. 

“I…,” he started, unsure. “That vision… what it implied… You deserve something real, Tav. You’re incredible… truly.” 

Tav closed her eyes, bracing for the fallout. Even though she would accept his decision, whatever it was, she didn’t think she could bear to watch him deny her. It would hurt too much. 

“Look. When we met, I had a plan. A nice, simple plan,” he blurted all at once. Rising swiftly to his feet, Tav watched as he began to pace before her, near to bursting with frenetic energy. 

“Seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you’d never turn on me,” he counted off, laughing half-heartedly. “It was… easy - instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in. All you had to do was fall for it. And all I had to do… was not fall for you… which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart,” he finished, stopping to stand before her. 

She held his gaze, speechless. 

“I want you,” he whispered fervently. “I want what was in that vision… I want us to be something real.”

Never in a million years had she thought he would respond to her like this. She opened her mouth to speak, but Astarion cut her off with another sudden exclamation. 

“I just don’t know what real is,” he confessed, his tone a touch hysterical. Tav knew from his body language that being this transparent was completely out of Astarion’s comfort zone. 

“Being… close to someone - any kind of intimacy - was something I performed to lure people back. For him. Even though I know things between us are different, being with someone still feels… tainted. Still brings up those feelings of disgust, and loathing. I… I don’t know how else to be with someone. No matter how much I’d like to,” he finished, staring at her with beseeching eyes, willing her to understand.

Tav rose to her feet, coming to stand before him. 

“I don’t want you for your body,” she whispered. “Or to perform any acts of intimacy. We can be together, without sleeping together, for as long as you need.”

“Really,” he asked softly, his voice pitched low, rough with emotion.

“Really,” Tav asserted, giving him a small smile. “Would it be all right if…” she paused, conflicted. He eyed her curiously.

“Could I hug you?” she whispered.

The fact that she asked before doing so caused a well of emotion to spring up inside him. Eyes watering, Astarion nodded. 

Slowly, Tav moved forward to wrap her arms around his waist. Her head nestled into the crook of his neck and shoulder. A perfect fit. He felt her exhale a deep sigh.

Tav hugging him was a sensation unlike any he had ever felt. At least, any he could remember feeling. The act of being touched, embraced, without any desire for something more. She just wanted to hold him, feel him close to her. It was incomprehensible to him, but utterly enjoyable, at the same time. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, Astarion raised his arms to return Tav’s embrace. Drawing her even closer, he bowed his head to rest his cheek against her hair. It was soft, like the finest silk. He closed his eyes as he inhaled deeply, appreciating her sweet, floral scent.   

She made to pull away after a moment, not wishing to overwhelm him. But Astarion gripped her more firmly, a silent urge for them to stay that way a little longer. 

“This… this is nice,” he whispered. 

He both felt and heard Tav hum contentedly in response. 

It wasn’t identical to the vision from Tav’s mind that he had seen, but Astarion reveled in their embrace nonetheless. It felt like the beginning of something new. And for the first time in his very, very long life, Astarion felt excited at the prospects of what would come next. 

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[whatacaitastrophe]

Is It Over Now - Chapter 2

Previous Chapter

Chapter Song Inspiration: "Don't Speak" - No Doubt

Chapter Warnings: Panic Attacks, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Blood Drinking

Spotify Playlist: Here

Chapter 2: You're Letting Go

She’s standing back on the docks again, watching quietly as the sun begins to rise over what’s left of Baldur’s Gate. All of her companions are there, and everyone is happily discussing the celebrations they intend to have. Everyone, except Gale.

This time, though, Fallon is not in her own body as the scene unfolds in front of her. Instead, she's off to the side, watching as Gale paces in small circles, talking mostly to himself about what it would mean if he succeeds in reforging the crown and wielding it for himself; watching herself slowly realize where this conversation is going.

“Say something.” Fallon tells herself, but her past remains stunned silent as Gale tells her that he’s made his choice.

“SAY SOMETHING!” She yells to herself now, but someone may as well have cast a silencing spell on Fallon, because nobody reacts to the fact that there are two Fallons, and one is pleading with the other to stop her lover from making the biggest mistake of his life.

Panic flares in her chest and bile churns in her stomach as Fallon listens to Gale promise her the moon and the stars again. The window of opportunity to stop him is closing swiftly and Fallon’s past self is still standing there. Doing nothing.

“YOU STUPID WOMAN, FUCKING SAY SOMETHING!! HE'S GOING TO LEAVE! STOP HIM!” Fallon tries to run to herself, to Gale, desperate to intervene but there’s an unknown force holding her back. She thrashes against the force to no avail, screaming at herself over and over to stop her lover from leaving. At the very moment that Gale is about to take his leave, a sharp pain jolts through Fallon’s body, and the scene drifts away.

Fallon returns to consciousness with a start. Her breathing is heavy, she’s covered in sweat, and there’s something wet trickling down her arm. Fallon looks around wildly as she tries to get her bearings, and she’s almost instantly met with Astarion’s face. It doesn’t take long after that to figure out why her arm is wet; she’s bleeding.

“Sorry,” the vampire apologizes as he wipes his mouth on his arm. “You wouldn’t wake up, and you were thrashing about. I was unsure of what else to do, and I figured I woke you up from a dead sleep when I tried to bite you once before, so maybe it would work again?”

In any other situation, Fallon would laugh at the memory of the night she found out Astarion was a vampire, but any notions of humor are dead on arrival because Fallon is too busy trying not to have a panic attack. The suite around her feels like it’s getting smaller and making sure her body receives oxygen takes all of her strength. Even then, it doesn’t feel like enough. There’s an owlbear sitting on her chest and no matter what she does, it won’t move. Fallon closes her eyes, doing her best to shut the entire world out, instinctively curling into herself with her arms wrapped around her legs and her forehead on her knees.

Fallon can hear the sound of Astarion shuffling around. Not that she blames him, she wants to get as far away from herself as possible, too. The weight shifts on the mattress and, somewhere in the recesses of her mind, Fallon realizes that Astarion hasn’t distanced himself from her at all; on the contrary, he’s moved closer so he’s sitting on his knees in front of her. “Fallon?” He speaks her name gently. The last time she can recall Astarion speaking to her with such gentleness was after she convinced him not to complete The Black Mass once Cazador was defeated. Her friend gave up the sun and true freedom in favor of what was left of his humanity, humanity that one could argue he found again after spending time with Fallon and their companions, and Fallon had never been prouder of someone before.

The irony was not lost on Fallon that when she met Astarion, he was power-hungry, revenge-focused, and those around him were objects to be used as he saw fit so long as he survived. Whereas, he was the group’s moral compass most of the time who often disapproved of Astarion’s decisions.

Now, if you were to ask Fallon which of the men she’d traveled with had more of a moral compass than the other, he wouldn’t even make the top three. Scratch was higher on the list.

“Fallon, look at me.” His words are soft, but there is still the underlying tone that this is not a request. An order only amplified by his cold hand reaching forward, tucking his fingers under her chin and forcing her to look up. Fallon does as she’s told and stares back at Astarion, his red eyes full of concern for her. “I need you to breathe for me, darling,” Another soft statement that is not a request. “Don’t focus on anything else. Look at me, and breathe.”

It takes effort, keeping eye contact with the elf in front of her as she focuses on her breathing. Even direct eye contact feels too intimate for Fallon’s liking these days. Even so, the rest of the world falls away as she stares back at Astarion, trying to regain control. The stillness he exudes can only be described as preternatural. He never removes his fingers from under her chin or really even moves at all. After several attempts to breathe in through her nose and out of her mouth, Fallon regains control of her breathing, and she can feel her heart rate slowing as her body exits flight mode.

Fallon’s shoulders relax, and Astarion only moves when she is ready to uncurl herself from the fetal position. Even then, he does not go far, only shifting so he is sitting directly next to her on the bed, their thighs and legs still touching. The silence remains between them while Fallon relaxes, and several minutes go by before Astarion speaks. “How often does that happen?”

Fallon swallows hard. For a moment, she considers lying to her friend. Fallon is not really in the mood to receive more pitying looks from Astarion, but he’s already seen her at her most vulnerable, so there’s not much of a point.

“Every night,” She admits quietly, so only quietly someone with enhanced hearing (such as Astarion and herself) could hear her. “I was back on the docks.” Fallon explains, grateful that Astarion did not need any additional context to understand. After all, he was there when her life fell apart. Fallon forces herself to look at Astarion. His jaw is clenched, and the silent anger radiates off of his body as he lets out a long breath through his nose.

“We should have let him blow himself up when we had the chance.” The vampire’s words are cold and unforgiving, and Fallon flinches. The last time he spoke so coldly about another person in her presence, they were discussing Cazador.

“I was never going to let him.” They both knew that. Falling in love with him happened as naturally as breathing. By the time Elminster showed up to deliver Mystra’s orders, the inevitable had already happened. Fallon hated thinking about the moment she fell for him now, but that stupid wizard had her at the first “Hello!” after she pulled him out of that stupid portal.

“Do you regret it now? Not letting him go through with it?”

It is yet another moment where she could lie to Astarion, but it would be pointless. “You have no idea how much I wish I could regret it.” As much as Fallon wants to be filled with hate and regret when she thinks of him, she’s not, and that’s probably the exact reason he haunts her dreams so thoroughly. She glances over to the window of her suite, and it’s still dark out. Her best guess is that it’s not quite the middle of the night, but the sun can’t be more than an hour or so from rising.

Astarion looks like he has something else to say on the matter, but Fallon can’t talk about it anymore. Her attention is drawn to the now dried blood on her arm and she lifts her arm to Astarion. “When was the last time you ate? Might as well finish what you started, yeah?” If the vampire senses her deflection, he doesn’t push her, and Fallon is grateful for that. His expression softens and he offers Fallon a small smirk. “Just like old times.” He carefully takes her arm in his hands and positions his mouth over the open wound and bites down again.

Fallon closes her eyes and embraces the pain, her mind drifting back to the moment she offered to be Astarion’s personal buffett every couple of days; back when they were little more than acquaintances, and Astarion viewed her as someone to be used to ensure his survival.

”I wondered when you would come back for more.” He smirked at her.

Fallon stared at Astarion with a puzzled look on her face.“What do you mean?”

“Your offer. I’m surprised it took you this long to suggest it.” His answer only furthered Fallon’s confusion, so she just stared at him in silence, waiting for Astarion to elaborate. “Because you liked it, didn’t you? I felt the way your pulse quickened, I heard the way your breath hitched in your throat. The little moan you tried so desperately to suppress.”

Fallon raised her eyebrow at the vampire. “I think drinking my blood might have made you a little bit delusional.” She lied. Fallon barely knew Astarion, and from what she could tell, his ego was already quite inflated. Fallon had no intention of making it worse.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, darling. I’ll come find you later tonight.”

Even now, Fallon has no plans to admit to Astarion that she enjoyed the sharp, icy pain that occurred when he bit her. There is no denying it’s an intimate gesture, willingly letting the vampire feed on her. It requires a level of trust that Fallon didn’t offer other people, and those other people were not actively partaking in an activity that could kill her if Astarion went too far. When Fallon feels herself becoming light headed, she reaches forward with her free hand and taps Astarion twice on his shoulder, just like she used to do. The vampire (thankfully) hadn’t forgotten their signal, and he pulls away from her instantly.

Astarion leans back against the headboard and offers her a sideways smile. “I’d forgotten how good you taste.”

Fallon snorts. “You don’t need to flatter me,” There’s an apple in her bedside table, she remembers, and she leans over to open the drawer to retrieve it. “I’ve already agreed to help you with whatever it is you came here for.”

“Oh yes, I’d almost forgotten in all of the…excitement,” Excitement was certainly one way to put it, Fallon thinks, and she stares at her friend expectantly. “As you know, I’ve been out traversing the Sword Coast in search of a way to get the sun back. I have a lead, but it’s not exactly local.”

Fallon sits up a little straighter. “Go on…”

“According to my sources, there’s a vampire coven in Asha, and they’re sunwalkers.”

“Asha?” Astarion nods in reply and Fallon lets out a low whistle. “You weren’t kidding when you said it’s not local.”

When Astarion said it wasn’t local, Fallon assumed he was going to drag her to Cormyr or Amn. It never even occurred to her that Astarion could be asking her to leave Faerun altogether. Asha, The City of Starlight, was located in the easternmost tip of the Faerun’s neighboring land to the northwest, Velrea. Though calling Velrea “neighboring” was a bit of a stretch, seeing as nearly a thousand miles of ocean separated Velrea from Faerun. Fallon dug through the archives of her brain to try and picture where exactly Asha was in relation to Faerun, and where the nearest port in Faerun to sale to Asha would even be. Though her highborn education was extensive, Fallon’s memory of geography was not the best. Though she did not need to be an expert in geography to know that it would take much longer than a month to get to Asha and back.

“I guess we’re not going to the Winter Solstice ball at Wyrm’s Rock then, are we?” She muses.

“Oh please, I don’t plan on leaving until after the holidays are over. You know me better than that. A full slate of soirees where people are guaranteed to worship the ground I walk on because I saved their lives? Like I’d miss that.” he laughs, and Fallon can’t help but laugh a little too because he’s right. She does know him better than that to assume he’d miss a good party.

“I remember a time when you once told me you hated being the hero.” Fallon teases, shaking her head.

“Yes, well, people can change you know,” he shrugs. “Besides, based on what I’ve observed, you my dear are in no state to depart for another adventure.”

Fallon scowls at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“What do you think it means, darling? When was the last time you went more than a day without nearly drinking yourself to death? Don’t bother lying to me either, because I do hear things from the others…I believe you referred to it as us “gossiping” about you last night.”

Fallon opens her mouth to argue, to tell him that she has absolutely gone more than a day without drinking herself into oblivion every night and their friends are wrong, too. Truth be told, she can’t give him an answer because she legitimately doesn’t remember. Fallon closes her mouth again with a huff, and Astarion smirks at her. “That’s what I thought.”

“So what do you suggest we do for the next month, then?”

“Well first of all, you need to sober up. Then I imagine we need to get you in the sparring ring with Wyll, because your sword is looking quite dusty in the corner over there.” Astarion nods in the direction of Fallon’s most prized possession: the sword she inherited from her father when he passed. Astarion was right. She hasn’t touched it since the day they saved the city. There hadn’t been a need for it. Not only has her living situation since saving the world been entirely gratis, but so has the food she ate and the alcohol she drank; and she rarely left The Elfsong unless one of her friends dragged her out. Needless to say, the pile of gold Fallon was rewarded a year ago was sitting in her vault at the bank, almost completely untouched.

“What about you? Don’t tell me that you’re battle ready, Astarion.” Fallon challenges.

“I’ve spent the last four months traveling across Faerun looking for answers, and it definitely wasn’t a walk in the park,” He counters and Fallon frowns again because, once again, Astarion is right. He’s probably seen battle much more recently than she has. “Besides, you don’t need to ask me to spar if you want me to put you on your back in a matter of seconds, darling. You only need to ask.” The wink he shoots her is gratuitous, but it makes Fallon smile nonetheless. Many things have changed since she met Astarion, but the vampire being an insufferable flirt? That was apparently forever. Fallon rolls her eyes. “Fine. Tell Wyll I’ll train with him.”

As if on cue, a sharp knock rings out against the wood of the door to her suite and Fallon nearly pulls a muscle in her neck at the speed with which she looked to the door and back at Astarion. The smirk remains on the elf’s face and Fallon just stares at him incredulously. “Did you fuckers plan this?”

“In a manner of speaking. I may have mentioned to Wyll that I was coming to see you, and I may have mentioned I had plans to get you out of this godforsaken tavern, and that it might be useful to me if you were in battle-ready shape. Wyll was all too happy to assist. You know how those hero types can be.”

“Bastards.” Fallon mutters to herself as she gets out of her bed and heads for the door, not even caring in the slightest that her legs were completely bare, or that she’d apparently slept in Astarion’s shirt. Wyll is far too cheerful when she opens the door for the hour of the morning it now is, and between the lack of sleep and her hangover, Fallon almost shuts it in his face. Still, she accepts the embrace from her friend anyway, because she missed him.

“Now Fallon, I’m not sure how much Astarion told you about why I’m here, but you will need to put on trousers before we proceed.” Wyll grins, and Fallon can’t help herself when she throws up her middle finger in Wyll and Astarion’s direction as she stomps towards her dresser to find pants.

“Nice to see our girl is still in there somewhere.” Astarion calls after her, and Fallon can’t help but smile.

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