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So glad you're enjoying the fic!!!

Head Full of Ghosts: Chapter 2

Pairing: Astarion x Dark Urge

Summary: Takes place during the events of Baldur's Gate 3 and explores the romance between Astarion and the Dark Urge, as well as the friendships and relationships she has with her companions. Plus, everyone gives shit to Gale about his cooking. Tags: Slow Burn, Angst, Pining, Humor, Violence, Friends to Lovers, Developing Friendships, Developing Romance, Spoilers for the Dark Urge and BG3 in general, Dark Urge as Original Female Character Rating: Mature (Will eventually be Explicit, just not there yet.) Current Chapter Count: 3/? Read on AO3 (Will post chapters to Tumblr, as well.) Current Word Count: 13,050

Author Notes: I don't just post random Astarion and BG3 nonsense to this blog, I also have an ongoing fanfic! It's currently up to three chapters, and the fourth is in progress. You can read everything that has been written so far on AO3. If it's your cup of tea, I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 2: Getting By

For all of his excitement over the revelation he was now able to survive in sunlight, Astarion would always be a nocturnal animal. 200 years of prowling moonlight-kissed streets and shadow-laden alleyways had ingratiated him to the night, and such longstanding habits were hard to break.

He’d never admit it out loud, and possibly had not even fully admitted it to himself, but he preferred the darkness of the night to the stark light of day. Daylight was a source of exposure. There was no room for secrets in the presence of radiant light, a person’s sins and perversions would be laid bare should they open them up to scrutiny during the day.

But, at night, the world was far more honest with itself. The night was indulgent and protective. Those who would chastise someone for their deviant tastes during the day often slunk off to participate in their own debauchery after dark. The night didn’t care. A person could be as hypocritical, underhanded and insidious as they pleased under the cloak of night. She wouldn’t reveal any secrets, the night was gracious in that way.

And, for that, Astarion was grateful. He would be happy to leave his sins to fester in darkness. There were so many nights he wished to forget. Countless lies whispered under the comforts of shadows, infinite promises broken, and the number of lives he destroyed beneath the cover of dark was untold.

He was a wretched thing, undeserving of the warm comforts of the sun. Wretched things were to be regulated to the night, unfit for the bright revealing light of day. His crimes were too numerous, his sins too horrific.

If he were being honest with himself, he’d admit he didn’t feel deserving of the abilities granted by the illithid tadpole. The day was no place for monsters. And that’s what he was, a monster who had committed countless monstrous deeds over the past 200 years.

So why had Eli’s little outburst bothered him so much? It wasn’t as if she’d said anything he didn’t deserve to hear. He’d been the victim of so many of Cazador’s tantrums. And those made Eli’s little hissy fit from earlier today look boringly tame. He’d endured screaming, yelling, beatings, flayings and so much worse. His mind flinched away from the darker memories, the ones that caused the familiar nausea to stir in his stomach. The nights Cazador had brought company to enjoy the services of his spawns…

He’d remind his guests the stakes and silver were off limits, but any other tools they wanted to use for their private time with the spawns were fair game.

Astarion grimaced and shook his head, as if he could shake off the unwanted images swirling in his mind. Focus. That was behind him. He would never have to grovel for that heathen ever again. He would never be used again. The days of him being passed around like a carcass for Cazador’s vultures to pick at and have their way with were over.

He was the user now. He was the manipulator. He had to be to survive.

And it had all been going well, until today. Until he went just a bit too far and destroyed all his careful planning. All of his work to get Eli to trust him, to get into her circle of protection, to make her believe they were friends with the possibility for something more…he’d fucked it all up. Because of course he did. Because, apparently at some point during his miserable existence, he’d done something to piss off whatever cosmic entity controlled the universe, and now that entity got their rocks off by constantly giving him the proverbial middle finger.

Astarion frowned darkly as he picked through the forested underbrush. The woodland was grim in the bleak night, the moon only a sliver of white light in the dark sky. What weak illumination it did provide was consumed by the forest canopy before it ever made it to the ground. This provided exceptional cover for him to hunt, and for a while his hunger was enough to focus his mind on seeking blood. The forest smelled earthy and old, and Astarion was still adjusting to the cacophony of scents and sounds that were so different from the ones in the city.

Scents of pine and moss instead of perfume and liquor. The trill of a songbird instead of the drawl of a drunken mark. It was…foreign, but nice. Far less chaotic and busy, though sometimes he didn’t mind the chaos of the city. It helped keep him distracted. And distraction was a luxury he wished he had tonight.

But, no…no, the forest tonight was just beautifully serene and enchanting and he hated all of it!

He needed to keep himself out of his head, but with nothing to keep his attention, Astarion kept sinking inward, replaying the events of today and mentally cursing himself for his stupidity. He was disgusted with himself for how he’d responded today. He’d risked everything, his freedom, his protection, his only hope of figuring out what the hell was going on with these tadpoles in their brains…he’d risked all of it because he’d been upset.

Gods below, how pathetic could he get?

How was he supposed to walk back telling Eli he’d celebrate her turning into a mind flayer? The thought of it made him shiver…all those tentacles. Bleh. Ceremorphosis sounded decidedly unpleasant, and there weren’t many people he’d honestly wish it on. There were a few, of course…but none of them were back at camp.

He wouldn’t actually be happy to see Eli turn. In truth, he’d probably be a bit devastated. She was the only one who seemed to be making any progress towards figuring out what these tadpoles could do for them. All the others had balked at the idea of exploring what other abilities their new little hitchhikers could gift them with – well, Gale hadn’t actually been disagreeable about it, but Astarion wasn’t wholly convinced of Gale’s mental soundness, so he didn’t count.

Lae’zel had looked as if she may actually try to set him on fire, sunlight be damned. Eli had to calm her down with reassurances that they were going to look for a creche, as well as a promise that Lae’zel could have the killing blow on the first goblin they crossed paths with that day.

Eli was also the one who’d convinced the rest of their mentally unstable cohort to give him a chance after his…condition came to light. Out of all the bizarre and unnatural things that had occurred over the past few weeks, that was still one of the most unexpected events to have taken place.

Astarion had fully expected Eli to drive a stake into him the night she woke up to him looming over her. He’d had every intention of biting her and drinking of her blood while she slept…perhaps even draining her, his hunger had been so painful that night. He hadn’t been thinking clearly, but even if he had the thought of asking her permission had never occurred to him. It sounded so farfetched as to be laughable. No sane person with control over all their mental faculties would ever agree to let a vampire drink from them. In the 200 years he’d had this condition, the revelation that he was a vampire only ever wrought fear in his victims.

None of them were willing after that…and their screams as he relinquished them to Cazador still haunted the recesses of his dreams and nightmares.

But she’d agreed. She’d let him. She’d put herself in an incredibly dangerous situation that held no benefit for her, and she’d done it for him. He couldn’t wrap his head around it, and he kept expecting her to bring it up as a bargaining chip, or to try and use it as a way to exact some sort of control over him. But she hadn’t, at least not yet. Which was why he’d been planning to proposition her soon with an offer of sex as a way to return the favor. He had no intention of staying in debt to her, and this was an opportunity to keep his plan in motion. If he could bed her, keep her happy and keep her attached to him, then he’d have a far better chance of surviving this insane misadventure.

Problem was, Astarion wasn’t the only person looking to cozy up with their fearless leader. Wyll drooled over Eli so much he was surprised the man didn’t walk around with a bib. There would be others, too. Eli was…

He frowned, trying to parse through the complicated stirring of thoughts that always seemed to crowd into his mind whenever she was the subject of his musings. She was interesting. Beautiful by any definition, her half-drow lineage gifting her with long silvery hair and skin soft and smooth as any he’d touched.

Astarion’s mind wandered, tongue sliding over the back of his teeth as he reminisced over the warmth of her skin against his mouth. The way she’d trembled beneath him when his fangs pierced her neck, her breath quickening against his ear. Gods, she was delicious. The taste of her was something that would be burned onto his memory for centuries, he was sure of it. Astarion wanted so much more than what he’d been given, but he’d agreed to let her be the one to extend the next offer. And after everything, he at least owed her that meager respect.

Except now, she likely never would make that offer. Hells, the next time he saw her he half expected Eli to throw him out of camp.

Astarion suddenly realized he’d been standing out in the forest, lost in his thoughts, for quite some time. He groaned, rubbing at his temple. He may just have to call it for the night, every animal for a mile would have tuned into his presence by now.

Hunt botched by his own hand, Astarion began trudging back towards camp. He was hungry, irritated and now he needed to figure out how to remedy his relationship with their wild-eyed I-will-Eldritch-Blast-you-into-oblivion leader.

Maybe she’d just forget what he’d said to her. Memory loss was kind of her thing, anyway.

“Astarion!”

The pale elf nearly jumped from the sheer amount of…excitement with which his name was called. He couldn’t recall a time when anyone had ever yelled his name with that much enthusiasm - sexual trysts aside, of course.

Astarion stood in the gloom near the edge of the stream that separated their grouping of tents from a nearby aged ruin. He had nearly made it back to camp, feet trudging over a path he had begun to know well due to his nightly prowling. His mind mused over how, only a few short weeks ago, he would not have been capable of crossing the running stream in front of him now. And then she’d called out to him, her voice echoing out from what sounded like a spot inside the battered and fallen down stone structure that had long ago been some grand building with grand purposes.

The voice was buoyant and earnest, and a twist of anxiety tightened in his chest. He recognized that voice as Eli’s, and Eli should be decidedly not excited to see him considering how their last chat went. The only excuse he could conceive of her having was that she wanted something from him. And if that was the case…then maybe the fallout from earlier wasn’t as grim as he’d thought.

He craned his neck to try and catch sight of her. The ruin wasn’t so much a building anymore as it was an ornament upon the landscape. Its walls had long since crumbled and the top of the structure now opened up to the yawning sky, roof rotted away. What little light the slivered moon reflected was hazy and weak, but his darkvision compensated as his keen eyes focused. She was standing near what appeared to be a bench towards the back of the decrepit structure, one hand raised in an over-enthused and slightly erratic wave while in her other hand she held…a bottle?

Astarion’s mouth crooked up in a sly smirk. Was their fearsome and bold leader - the woman whom he’d watched charm tieflings, decapitate harpies and reason with a grown-ass owlbear – getting drunk by herself in the middle of the night?

During his walk back to camp, Astarion had mulled over all the ways he could approach mending the tensions between them. In his mind, all of them had involved a very sober and annoyed Eli and there was a 50/50 chance that the discussion would end with her polymorphing him into a duck.

Zero of these scenarios, however, had involved her drunk, barefoot and knocking about in some rundown ruin like a restless poltergeist.

A practiced and easy smile snapped into place on his face, almost unconsciously, as Astarion made his way to Eli with all the swagger of a fox who’d found a little lost field mouse.

“Hello, my dear,” he cooed silkily, crimson eyes landing upon what appeared to be a rather handsomely embroidered red cloak that Eli had wrapped around her shoulders. He eyed the garment curiously and could not recall having seen it before, and the night was not particularly chilly.

“Now where did this lovely accoutrement come from?” Astarion asked, reaching out and rubbing the hem between his fingers.

It was extremely well made and he could sense the low and staticky undercurrent that tended to vibrate in the air around items infused with magic. This was not some cheap cape, and she certainly hadn’t purchased it from that halfwit merchant in Emerald Grove. The cloak was likely worth more than any of the junk that druid peddled to tourists.

Eli grinned, tipping the neck of the bottle she was holding towards him as he caught the faint scent of currant and cherry. “Would you believe me if I said my demon butler showed up this evening and gave it to me?” she asked cheerily, bringing the bottle to her lips for another swig.

Astarion blinked peculiarly at her, searching her face and waiting a short beat for a punchline that never came. Eli simply watched him with a quirky smile, listing slightly to the left as the alcohol continued to run its course.

“Mmhmm,” he hummed, plucking the bottle from her hand and inspecting its nearly emptied contents. “How many of these have you had this evening?”

Eli squeaked in protest as the wine was usurped from her, hastily reaching to grab it back. “Not enough to begin hallucinating, unfortunately. I didn’t even know I had a butler,” she said as Astarion raised the bottle up and out of her reach, a wily smirk on his lips. “Give it back,” she asserted, like a child who just had a toy snatched from them.

Astarion chuckled and kept the wine just out of her reach as she leaned in to him in another attempt to grab the bottle.

“No.” He met her eyes, brow furrowed in a teasing challenge and expression coyly enticing.

It was so simple to slip back into his charming and roguish persona, like a well-worn coat that fit perfectly every time he put it on. All the little rips in the fabric from past misadventures had been patched as he learned from mistakes and reenforced the farce. He had spent decades learning, testing, crafting and perfecting in order to be whatever his target wanted in that moment. And he was very, very good.

Eli sighed, putting on a show of being frustrated as she leaned back and crossed her arms. “Okay, Withers,” her lips took on a small, self-satisfied quirk as she spoke and the tiniest spark of fondness fired off somewhere deep and distant in Astarion’s brain.

“Thou hast indulged sufficiently at present,” he said in his best impersonation of their grim and ambiguous undead camp counselor. Then, with an effortless smile he added, “Darling.”

Eli short-circuited.

She broke out into unabashed laughter, doubling over as her hands went to her knees for support. Astarion felt a pang of gratification stir in his chest, strangely pleased at having been the source of her laughter.

Taking a step back, Eli sat on the nearby bench, leaning her head up against the stone wall behind it and whiping tears from her eyes.

“Whew,” she breathed out, still grinning. “I haven’t laughed like that since…” her voice trailed off as the smile slowly fell from her face, eyes fixating on the sky above with a troubled and dour sheen to them.

The realization crept up on him slowly that she was trying to recall her life from before the nautiloid and failing. That feeling of gratification now gone, Astarion chewed at his bottom lip for a moment. It was difficult for him to imagine being in the situation she was. His every waking moment was haunted by the memories of the past 200 years. He felt as if his eyes were constantly darting to the shadows whenever he entered a room, expecting to see Cazador or one of his lackeys lurking. A part of him envied her for the memories she no longer possessed, and with that the freedom she had to define her future. But another part of him wondered at the loss and the pain of not knowing one’s own self. Of having no internal sense of true north or identity. The thought of it caused an uncomfortable and tense sensation in his stomach, and suddenly the weight of the bottle in his hand felt a bit more significant.

Clearing his throat, he moved to sit beside Eli on the bench and tipped the wine bottle towards her in offering. Her eyes glanced from his face to the bottle, her expression softening as she took the wine from him.

“You know,” he said, staring at a spot on the ground in front of him with a somber and dark look. “I’d let the mind flayers put ten tadpoles in my brain if it meant ridding myself of some of the memories in my head.” His voice was quiet and held a sense of hesitancy, as if the words might flee from his lips at any moment.

“But, for all of it to be taken…” Astarion paused, collecting his thoughts, before he gave a light huff as a small smile pulled at his mouth. “Well, all things considered, getting drunk all by your lonesome in the middle of the night seems a perfectly acceptable way to cope.”

He glanced back to Eli, who was now staring at him with her head still propped up against the stone wall, light violet eyes flashing like purple fluorite in the underdark. Something was swirling in her thoughtful gaze as she considered him, and Astarion felt both curiosity and anxiety colliding inside his chest as he wondered what her eyes might be searching for.

Astarion had always known his value in the eyes of others was based on the superficial. His worth was measured in the pleasure he brought to partners, in how he made them feel while pressing sweetly whispered lies into their lips. He knew what people saw when they looked at him, always keenly aware of the wayward gazes of strangers as they lingered on his body, their fingers twitching to caress pale smooth skin.

Eli’s eyes, however, were not roaming his body and instead had settled into a calm stare he was finding it somewhat difficult to look away from. It was unnerving, in a sense, and for a moment an irrational fear rose up inside him that she would see past all his frivolity and find him lacking. See the truth behind the façade, that he was just a used up wretch looking to anchor himself to whatever barricade he could put between him and what he knew was coming for him. And then she’d cast him off, because who the hell would want to deal with that?

He didn’t allow the mask to fall, though, and held her gaze with his best come hither stare, tilting his chin down so he peered up at her through soft grey lashes.

“Like what you see, darling?” he asked, voice edged with a suggestive and gravely tone.

He needed to stay in Eli’s good graces, he needed the protection this ragtag group provided. And he’d charm the pants off of her, literally, in order to keep himself safe.

Eli, however, was apparently not on the same line of thought as he was. She blinked back at him, eyes widening and mouth forming into a small ‘O’ as if she were just remembering something. And then she was moving, popping up from the bench and darting past him, walking towards their camp as she tossed some clipped instructions over her shoulder.

“Stay here! I’ll be right back.”

Astarion stared at the empty spot on the bench where Eli had been only a moment ago, confusion and surprise knitting his eyebrows together. That…was new.

When it came to seduction, Astarion held no doubts in regards to his abilities. He was good, and as he perfected his craft it become more and more of a rarity for a mark to turn him down. In fact, in all of his centuries of manipulating targets and entrancing partners, he could not think of a single time when someone had literally fled from his presence while he was in the midst of laying his trap.

“What in the nine hells?” he muttered under his breath, before turning to call after her. “Where are you going?” His voice was a bit more shrill than he’d meant it to be, and he cleared his throat, working to collect himself and gain back some iota of control over the situation.

Eli was halfway across the fallen tree, which served as a makeshift bridge across the stream, when she turned around and threw up her arms, waving him off. “Shush! You want to wake up the whole camp?” she hissed.

And then she was moving off and out of sight, leaving Astarion to wonder how the fuck everything had gone so sideways. He was rather miffed, if he were being honest. No one just got up and walked off in the face of his adoring attention. And what in the hells did she think she was doing, telling him to just sit and wait for her to come back. Astarion didn’t wait for anyone. He wasn’t some bright-eyed eager prey to be toyed with.

Curiosity, however, was getting the better of him. So he sat, sullenly, brooding over how he should just get up and leave. Maybe she’d lied and that hadn’t been her first bottle of wine…it would certainly explain her absurd behavior.

Astarion was still sulking over how offended he was when Eli returned and sat back down next to him on the bench, a new and unopened bottle of something held out towards him. He chuckled, mood lightening as realization dawned on him. Was she trying to get him drunk?

“Aren’t you a sweetheart,” he crooned silkily. “But, I think the camp can only handle one drunken gremlin at a time.”

Eli just rolled her eyes and pushed the bottle into his hands. “You don’t have to drink it right now. I…um…” her jaw tightened for a moment, a look of consideration on her face.

Astarion frowned at her, confused, and then looked to the bottle which she had practically forced upon him. An icy and uncertain pang of surprise settled in his gut as he read the label. Barrel-Aged Callidyrran…a favorite of his. But…how had she…

“You mentioned your preference for it when we were in that apothecary cellar, while you were going off about the amount of ‘unconscionable swill’ being kept down there.” Astarion could hear Eli’s explanation, but he was having difficulty comprehending it.

Why had she remembered such an offhanded and silly comment from him? And why had she then acted on it? What was she hoping to achieve? He just continued to stare at the bottle, brows furrowing in confusion and slight frustration. He could feel her eyes on him, expectant and hopeful, but couldn’t bring himself to look up.

“So,” Eli continued. “When we got back to the Grove, I paid Mattis a few coin to find some bottles. I have no clue how he did it, that kid’s potential is highly underutilized at present, but he had two of them the next day. So, I added them to our camp supplies thinking it could be a nice surprise, but…” her voice trailed off and Astarion finally looked to her, expression guarded and hesitant.

He noticed the flush of her cheeks and could hear the quickening of her heart. He was suddenly very aware of the blood rushing just below her skin, his tongue rubbing at the back of his teeth as he recalled the phantom taste of her. If there was something she wanted from him, she didn’t need to try and bribe him with favors and trinkets. She already possessed something he dearly wanted, though he would never be so bold about blatantly saying so.

Eli held his gaze for a moment before glancing sideways and running a hand through her long silvery hair, pushing it back from her face. “Well, I noticed that you don’t seem to get into the camp supplies, which make sense because the whole vampire thing.” She shrugged to herself and then looked back to him, eyes focused with an edge of determination.

“So, I wanted to give this to you and also say that I’m really sorry for what I said to you earlier today. It wasn’t fair or right of me to go off on you like that,” Eli said, concluding her explanation and allowing a long moment of silence to pass between them.

Astarion’s mind was spinning. For one thing, it had never even occurred to him that the collection of supplies which they hoarded at camp could be used by anyone. He had simply assumed those supplies were managed by someone that was not him, and that he was not allowed access. A habit carried over from living under Cazador’s rules for so long. He had so few worldly possessions, and anything he did possess was either expressly given to him or acquired through more clandestine means. The thought that he could just take whatever he wanted from their shared stash was almost intimidating, and completely foreign.

What was even more foreign, though, was the act of being given a gift. The concept that someone had remembered something he’d said, and then cared about it enough to actually act upon that information.

His mouth had gone dry and an uncomfortable sensation was prickling between his shoulder blades. No, people didn’t just give him things without having expectations. There was always a cost, always a burden to be met. People weren’t kind just for the hell of it, and they certainly weren’t kind to him. Nor did they apologize out of the goodness of their heart.

No. Eli was playing at something and Astarion wanted to know what it was.

“What do you want?” It came out a bit more accusatory than he’d meant it, but he wasn’t going to balk.

Eli was under no obligation to apologize for what she’d said to him. If she were to cut him out of the group tomorrow, Astarion doubted anyone would miss him. Plus, with him gone the group’s odds of survival may rise given the fact that without him there was no threat of running afoul of any hunters who Cazador may have sent after him. He, on the other hand, very much needed to stay in Eli’s good graces. She had the upper hand here, so why was she acting as if she didn’t?

Eli, looking a bit taken aback by his blunt question, considered her next words for a moment before answering. “I guess…I want to make sure we’re still friends?” she asked, watching him carefully.

Astarion was not a man who often found himself without words. But in that moment, he was struck dumb. Friends? What a childish and idiotic concern. Surely, that wasn’t all there was to it?

He watched her quietly for a moment, waiting for the other shoe to drop. For her to end the charade and come clean. But she stayed quiet and simply looked back at him with a tired earnestness that wormed its way into his stomach and twisted it up in knots he wasn’t unsure how to undo. It was slowly dawning on him that, if Eli actually meant what she was saying, this would be the first gift someone had given him in over 200 years.

His eyes slid back to the bottle in his hands and his chest tightened, expression softening as something almost sad flitted across his face. His thumb traced over the deep green glass while his mind whirred and sputtered around what Eli had said. He honestly couldn’t think of the last person he’d considered a friend, and there was a small part of him that desperately wanted to reach out and cling to this offering of friendship like a man drowning.

He didn’t understand any of this. Didn’t understand why she cared. Why she’d remember his pointless offhand comments. Why she’d try to mend the rift between them when she had nothing to gain from doing so.

Why the tightness in his chest was suddenly making it hard to breathe.

He found he had to clear his throat before he was able to speak, and when he did his voice was reticent and soft, unable to mask the skepticism clawing at his thoughts.

“Of course, my dear,” was all he managed as he looked back up to her, the normally effortless and velvety tone of his words cracking ever so slightly.

His response seemed acceptable to Eli, because the relief that broke out on her face was noticeable. She smiled at him, and he could see the fatigue in the way her shoulders sagged and her eyes wavered while she held his gaze.

“I guess I owe you a thank you for this,” Astarion said, indicating the wine which he still held.

Eli stood, stretching her arms above her head as she replied. “You don’t owe me anything. But, it’s appreciated,” she said warmly as she began walking in the direction of camp. “I’m going to try to get some sleep. If that creepy butler of mine comes back, kindly tell him to fuck off.”

Astarion watched her leave and felt a small fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He quickly dismissed it and stood, feeling his own weariness beginning to take hold. As he made his way towards his tent, he kept a firm grip on the bottle of Barrel-Aged Callidyrran, carrying it as if it were something delicate and precious.

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