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astarionsilverbough · 7 months

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"It should've been him.

"I know - I know better than most - I know we are born to die. It is the - the natural order, the mandated law of your kingdom. All living things must one day return to the earth whence they came, yes, but -

"And I know it is the ultimate sin to seek life eternal. Mortal flesh was forged from the same magic as the earth that sustains us. But...

"Oak Father - would it be sin to seek it for someone else? Would that not be the greatest show of - of love, of devotion, of..."

Heavy silence.

"Because it should've been him. The sun dwelled inside his bones. What is the earth without sunlight?

"What is the earth - without sunlight, Oak Father? Please - what is the earth without sunlight, what - what am I without him?"

Knees crashland in the moss. Hands plant in the grass. The dew of morning has long been licked away by passing deer; tears glimmer where the blades catch them. Hold them.

"It should've been him," utters the bereaved elf, head bowed with the weight of the grief that falls from his lips; "death - should never have been allowed to touch him!"

His nostrils furl in a snarl. The beast bites at the back of his teeth.

And where were you, druid?

He breathed his last alone, afraid. They said he had over thirty wounds. Was nearly unrecognizable. Your sweet sun-star. Your Astarion.

So where were you?

Halsin grinds his teeth together until his jaw aches. A rough-hewn sob punches from him and he curls his fingers into the rich earth, packing his palms with its soft flesh.

The amulet around his neck swings like a pendulum over the wounded ground.

You let him run. You did not chase after your mate, and your inaction killed him.

Fire shoots into his throat, billowing from the mouth of the wicked demon awakening in his belly. Halsin's vision goes white with the heat of it. He can't let it out. There is no fire. It is only bile and saltwater from swallowed tears.

When he thinks of Astarion's final moments, something inside the druid Halsin threatens to combust. Try as he might, he cannot seem to force the thoughts to stop; the cruel imaginings of the way he might've looked when he was found, rigid body twisted with the agony of a wicked death.

He would've been so cold.

Was he cold when he died?

Was the last thing he saw the sheer hatred burning in his murderer's eyes?

When the roar comes, it threatens to shatter him. The beast claws at the cage of his body but it cannot break out. He remains horrificially human in the throes of a grief so powerful Halsin thinks for a moment he might actually be turning into an infernal thing, some wicked new demon that would ruin the world.

Breathe.

He cannot. The roar throttles him.

A soft breeze passes over his hair.

Breathe, darling.

Fractured shards of ruined air slice through his lungs. He chokes on the taste of blood. Another gentle breeze caresses his face, his neck, his chest.

That's it.

Breathe. Let it pass.

Come back to me, Halsin.

To what? A world without you?

Halsin.

I'm right here, darling.

The breeze becomes warm flesh. A breath of life floods Halsin's lungs, coaxed into them by the hand on his chest as his meditation finally breaks.

With a ragged sound, Halsin opens his eyes and finds himself gazing at the sun.

"There you are," Astarion hums, thumbing over the apple of Halsin's cheek with a small smile.

The vampire is propped up on his chest, sunset gaze weary but so, so tender. His soft white hair is bed-rumpled and there are little indents on his cheek from the creases in his pillow. Halsin is moving before he's even aware of it, one big hand sliding into Astarion's hair. The elf holds his gaze as he allows Halsin to roll him back into the sheets, pliant and trusting when the larger elf cages him down beneath the bulk of his body.

Astarion is alive. They're in their room in Last Light and Astarion is alive, skin gloriously sleep-warm under Halsin's hands.

Exhaling a ghost that never was, Halsin presses his brow to Astarion's. The elf reaches up to push Halsin's hair back from his face, gathering it in an idle hand as he nudges the bridge of Halsin's nose with his own.

"I'm sorry," Halsin rasps, "I didn't mean to disturb you."

Astarion chuckles and passes his fingertips over Halsin's lips. He kisses them on instinct and Astarion bites his bottom lip, smile darting close to grin territory before his concern chases it away.

"The only time you disturb me is when you apologize for suffering, darling," Astarion murmurs. "Your heartbeat was so frenzied it pulled me out of my trance - you were whimpering as if you had a paw caught in a bear trap."

Halsin lets out a faint sound. Astarion nods slightly and utters, "yes, like that," against Halsin's lips when the elf finally breaks and surges down to kiss him. The vampire melts into it immediately, eyes fluttering shut as he lets Halsin lick into his mouth.

No words come to him. That's just fine. Astarion knows him - he's borne witness to the aftermath of Halsin's strange, nightmarish meditations before. Memories, all of them; sometimes they're of the battle against the Thorms. Sometimes they're of Isobel, the way her eyes had gone big as her body registered the glaive splitting it open in the middle.

And sometimes, they're the memories of his worst moments of grief in the long between of Astarion's lifetimes.

He has no words because none would do the memories justice. He could tell Astarion how he mourned, how viciously he grieved, until he was blue in the face - it wouldn't matter. Not because Astarion wouldn't care, but because it would not unburden Halsin whatsoever.

It would only serve to cause more grief.

No - there was no healing in the confession of his dark moments between Astarion's lifetimes. Healing comes here, like this:

"Darling," and it's breathy and aching, "let yourself feel me, really feel me. Bury it here, sweet boy - let it be gentle, now."

The words ignite in Halsin's belly. Astarion slides his arms around the big elf's massive shoulders and kisses over his cheek, hairless thighs whispering against Halsin's hips. The vampire wraps himself languidly around Halsin with practiced ease, lean body blooming in an exquisite arch beneath him.

When the scent of the slick entrance beneath the jut of his long, half-hard cock hits Halsin, the entire world narrows and the tendrils of cloying agony begin to ebb away. Splaying a hand over Astarion's belly, Halsin cups the back of the elf's head in the other and noses down the line of his throat, mouth parting over the faint echo of his pulse.

"That's it," Astarion groans quietly, hips rolling instinctively as he grows even slicker between his spread thighs. He radiates a sweet, intoxicating kind of need, the kind of need that makes Halsin's head spin and his cock throb and weep dewdrops over Astarion's groin.

"I'm here," the elf exhales against Halsin's ear. "I'm right here, darling, feel me. Touch me, Halsin, please."

A clever hand slides over the one Halsin has on his belly and guides it lower. With an absolutely dulcet little moan, Astarion steers him around the hard line of his cock and down to his cunt instead, pressing Halsin's fingertips right to his slick entrance with an aching whine.

"Let it go," Astarion breathes in elvish against Halsin's mouth, beautiful red eyes flickering over his face to meet his heavy gaze. "Be here with me. Don't stray from me now, Halsin - not when we've found each other again."

An echo of the plea he'd given Astarion in the Underdark. Tears bloom along the seam of his eyelids as he kisses Astarion deep, two fingers delving gently into the wet heat of his body. He uses the slick caught between them to prepare his cock, drawing a membrane of glistening spend over the head.

Their moans collide between their mouths as Halsin sinks home. Astarion's cheeks are tinged with pink, ears burnt red; by the end, the flush will spread down his chest. Halsin thumbs over a hardened nipple and massages the nape of Astarion's neck with the hand still cradling his head.

"Halsin," Astarion groans - it's a dangerous thing, that groan, because it makes Halsin think he might be a god - "darling, oh - I feel you in my throat, you're perfect."

And this is how he heals.

It's:

"Faster," and Astarion growls it against his jaw, blunt nails digging into Halsin's back. "Faster - ah! Yes, fuck - oh, fuck, Halsin - sweet boy, oh -"

Every plea is a prayer, each cry of his name a hymn; Halsin pants like a beast in rut against Astarion's cheek, one big arm wrapped tight around his lean waist now as he drives into the tight clutch of his body. Astarion's belly is a battlefield of spunk and sweat, his pink cock still hard where it smears through the mess.

This is how he heals.

Not through broken confessions that only bring more grief, but:

"Yours," Astarion whines, and Halsin is groaning like he's been driven through with a pike as he fucks into the vampire, finally chasing his own release; "you know I'm yours, you know I've only ever been yours - come on, sweet boy. My beast. Mark me, leave yourself inside me."

And it's obscene and it's aching and Astarion is clinging to him as if Halsin is the tree the storm is trying to shake Astarion from. Blue-white heat spirals up and down Halsin's spine. His sac tightens. The golden threads of tension in his belly snap and Halsin's skin ripples with a fleeting fever as he buries himself inside Astarion, unbridled moans and whimpers pouring from his kiss-bruised mouth.

"Oooh," groans the beautiful, divine thing beneath him, body relaxing as if Halsin's seed was the medicine it needed to do so. "That was a good one, wasn't it? My sweet beast - look at me now."

Halsin does. Astarion smiles. There's a hint of smugness to his smirk and Halsin revels in the taste of it - whiskey and sunlight on his tongue.

Gold.

Everything about him is... Gold.

"There you are," Astarion murmurs, voice thick with praise. Halsin's throat tightens. He wants to die looking up at the face beneath him. There are still pillow creases on Astarion's cheek and Halsin, wrought with a far softer kind of agony now, puts his lips to them and utters a faint prayer.

"Well you're welcome," says Astarion, hands gliding absently up and down Halsin's back, "but there's really no need to thank me, darling - loving you isn't exactly a chore."

This is how he heals.

Not in the bitter confession of tormented memories, but the creation of sweeter ones.

#baldur’s gate 3 #the land of gods and monsters verse #halstarion #astarion #halsin #rambles #grief #mourning #intersex trans masculine astarion #mourning halsin #i love hurting this big stupid man #astarion is SUCH a darling when he's in love and it ruins me #he is very gentle and it makes me so emotional #nightmares #ptsd #ursa minor

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