#also we all know how hot Astarion sounds when he whispers!!!+ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

justporo · 7 months

Text

"You always meet twice in life!"

A few weeks ago I got a request for writing something with Tav being the scary, protective one of Astarion in a established relationship by @nyxiethesimp .

And I absolutely love the thought.

So have Tav losing it to protect Astarion when they Araj Oblodra, Astarion being like "hot damn" and enjoying his scary dog privileges. Also this will become a two part story with Astarion and Tav taking a muuuuch needed break after this.

Pairing: Astarion/GN!Tav

Warnings: Lots of swearing, graphic descriptions of violence, heavy spoilers

Wordcount: 2,6k

~~~

You had finally made it to the Lower City of Baldur’s Gate. It had only been a handful of days since you had made it to the city but those had already been filled with way more events than you could possibly process in this short time span.

Your encounter with Astarion’s “siblings” had especially rattled you. Already you had been worried about entering the domain of Cazador. But seeing them, hearing about what it was that the vampire lord had planned from their mouths and Astarion hesitantly opening up about more atrocities he had suffered by the hand of Cazador Szarr had you on edge to say the least.

You were always hyper-vigilant – even more so than since all this had begun. You were barely getting any rest, always wanting to be on the lookout for Astarion. All you wanted was for him to be safe and sound and happy – tugged in with a nice blanket a teddy bear and a big smooch on the forehead.

Basically, if it had been possible, you would have shrunk him down and stuck him in your pocket, so he was always safe with you.

But since that sadly wasn’t an option, you had settled for taking every safety precaution possible, being on high-alert all the time and volunteering as his teddy bear: snuggling up close with him every night in your room at Elfsong Tavern and telling him how much you loved him.

It was safe to say, you both didn’t get a lot of sleep since fear and worries (not only about him but all your friends) kept you up most of all nights but at least you had each other.

Closing in on the lion’s den was only making it worse; also the fact that it actually was more than one den and more than one lion.

Today you felt that your fuse was especially short. Already you had barked at Shadowheart when she had been taking too long to get ready in the morning. And it must’ve been bad today because even Astarion had looked worried when he had softly touched your hand after you had thrown the door to Shadowheart’s room so violently the floorboards had shuddered.

“My love, as much as I love how strong and intimidating you can be”, he had said and softly taken your face in both his hands. “I don’t think screaming at the cleric will help us with any of our tasks. We don’t actually need more enemies against us. And I fear Shadowheart would make a formidable and very terrifying enemy.” Astarion’s brows had been deeply furrowed as he had angled his head and kept looking at you.

“I’m sorry, Astarion, I just-“

“No need to apologise to me, my love, I know how it burdens you to keep everyone safe.” Then he had softly and sweetly kissed you.

“You especially”, you had whispered between the kisses and made doe eyes at him. All of a sudden, the sleep deprivation and anxious feelings had you almost tear up – you were so exhausted.

“Oh my sweetheart”, Astarion had purred and tried to cheer you up with a smile but it hadn’t worked. “I hope you won’t forget to keep yourself safe, my heart.”

“You know I kind of suck at that, Astarion.”

“Good thing you have me to look out for you in turn then.”

A smile had crept back onto your face then and you had leaned in for another deep kiss when the door you had smashed only a short time ago opened up again and Shadowheart strode out.

“So, first you scream at me and then you make out just outside my room. Tav, as much as I appreciate you, you really need to get your hormones in check”, the cleric had declared while crossing her arms over her chest. Then she had went past without a word more but a sassy flip of her braid.

Then the party had started to make its way through the city: today’s mission was to scout out the Upper City, so you walked different streets today. Some of them were even new to you but Astarion certainly knew almost all of them.

Still in the Lower City you passed an inconspicuous looking house that became very suspicious once you heard a very loud explosion coming from it and a familiar drow came running out on the porch – Araj Oblodra.

Your eyes immediately narrowed, remembering how the last time had went, when you had had the absolute displeasure of dealing with her. Not only had her attitude been incredibly rude and teeth-grindingly arrogant in general, but the way she had treated Astarion was still making your blood boil. As if he was merely a thing to do her bidding, as if he had no own will or freedom.

Of course, what had come of that encounter had been sweet and lifechanging for you and Astarion, but you frankly could have done very well without it. Back then you had sworn to yourself that if you ever came to meet her again – or any other person who tried to hurt or simply disrespect your soulmate – you would make her pay if she hadn’t learnt her lesson.

And just seeing that arrogant face again made you want to claw her eyes out. Your face became an expression of disgust.

And sure as all Nine Hells: she spotted you and your group and a sort of malicious grin entered her face.

“Ah, what a coincidence, it is you, traveller. I was just experimenting with your blood – it is quite volatile and has allowed for many interesting experiments already.” She looked quite proud of herself – you wanted to retch.

“Why don’t you come in and let me show you what I’ve been working on. I could offer you more potions. If you were to offer me more of your blood of course.” Her grin grew and you could feel your stomach turn.

You threw your companion asking looks because you frankly had a very bad feeling, but… “I guess we could use everything we can get in the fight against the Absolute.” Gale who was standing behind you on the right voiced your thoughts exactly.

Astarion to your left growled at the wizard, making your head swing to him. He still had his teeth bared at Gale, but his gaze snapped to yours: “It’s your call, my love, I don’t want to see you hurt.”

His red eyes softened when he said that, and you were sure you could hear a quiet disgusted noise coming from Shadowheart.

You looked at him a moment longer. But Gale was right: you couldn’t actually pass up an opportunity that might present you with something useful for your task.

You sighed and turned around to the drow and slowly made your way up to her. She was grinning knowingly. Already you wished for nothing more than to wipe that smug look off her damned face.

You all followed her inside where she started to explain condescendingly what she had been doing with your blood as you stood there, arms crossed and your patience running thin.

Araj’s eyes kept wandering to your left where Astarion was standing. So you took a step back and casually grabbed his hand, lacing your fingers with his – clearly stating that she had to deal with the both of you.

When the drow saw your gesture, her face formed into a sneer and she interrupter her sentence: “Ah, I see you might’ve taken my wish and idea to get closer with your vampiric beau and made it your own. How thrilling!” You squeezed Astarion’s hand as you positioned yourself more squarely in front of the drow. The vampire tensed a little as the drow kept talking.

“The heart-stopping bloodsucker. I hope you’ve changed your mind – I mean since you’re obviously fond of the one neck already. My neck is yours, any time”, she finished and gave Astarion a look that would rather be meant for someone you wanted to get inside your bedroom and not someone you wanted to bite you. And it struck flaming hot jealousy into you.

“And I will be refusing until the end of time”, Astarion replied in a mocking high-pitched tone “I’m done bowing to the whims of others.” His tone deepened then, a growl almost laced with the words he let out through gritted teeth.

“Astarion, we can leave if you don’t want to be around her”, you offered him with a quick glance. His eyes darted from the drow to you and answering with a slight, quick smile. You could see that all others of your party also seemed more than displeased and tensed.

But before the vampire could answer you, Araj scoffed. “Pathetic weakling spawn – do you need your guard dog to protect you now?” Her lip was curled into a mean smile.

Something inside you snapped – the remaining string of patience that had been tense and worn thin for days if not weeks suddenly non-existing.

With lightning-quick reflexes you let go of Astarion’s hand and bolted towards the drow. Grabbing her by the collar and pulling her towards you until she was almost nose to nose with you.

“How many more times until you get it in your fucking head?”, you screamed at her and shook her violently. “He does NOT WANT TO BITE YOU AND HE NEVER WILL, YOU DAMNED BITCH!”

Your teeth were gritted and bared as you stared in the drow’s eyes wide with shock. You were absolutely feral, searing hot anger made your heart race as you clawed at Araj’s collar. It slowly cut off her air ways – you couldn’t care less.

No one was going to threaten or insult Astarion as long as you had a say in it – and certainly not this bitch. You dragged her in even closer and bared your teeth at her as she tried to get away from you. But you had the advantage of righteous and pent-up fury.

But a soft touch on your shoulder distracted you a bit, your hands loosened a little on the drow. “Don’t waste your breath on her, darling, she’s not worth it”, Astarion said directly behind you. “Let’s just leave, my love.”

Astarion, who usually delighted in people getting the sharp edge of your knife or an arrow to the eye from your bow, seemed a bit distraught by your sudden outbreak of violence. This was not exactly a behaviour he knew from you or expected from you.

“If I ever meet you again, I will fucking kill you”, you hissed at Araj and then slowly let go of her. You opened and closed your hands a few times to loosen your fingers again as you turned around and grabbed Astarion’s hand again who still looked – if not shocked, at least a bit surprised. He wasn’t used to people so aggressively taking his side and protecting him, although it had already been the second time you and him had denied the drow.

You heard Araj cough behind you from you almost strangling her.

The whole party had turned their backs to walk out the door again, when the drow spoke with a hoarse voice: “Pathetic low-life surface elves. Next time I’ll see you, I’ll bury a fucking stake in your vampire fuckboy’s HEART!” She screamed the last word.

That was it. You completely lost it. You whirled around and sucker-punched her with possibly the mightiest right swing you’d ever landed. The fluidity and acceleration of your graceful turn and motion towards the drow gave you the power you lacked in pure strength.

Your fist connected with Araj’s face who had absolutely no time nor means to avoid the hit. You struck her squarely on her nose and lips and you could hear her nose crack as her lip split and you probably knocked out a few teeth as well. The drow’s head was rocked back and connected with the wall she had been standing in front of. She was immediately knocked out and toppled to the ground as you groaned at the jolt of pain that had shot from your hand through your whole arm and upper body.

“You always meet twice in life, don’t fucking make it three times, you bitch”, you said as you shook her blood from your knuckles. The drow was alive but wouldn’t get up anytime soon.

Your friends were all stock-still and quite openly shocked at your display of violence. Even Astarion’s eyes had widened and he stared at you.

“I’m fucking done here”, you exclaimed and rushed outside while shaking your hurting hand. You threw Astarion a glance in passing and then stormed outside to cool your anger.

And as you threw the door close behind you, you were pretty sure, you heard Astarion mutter under his breath: “Well, mark me down as horny and scared.” And was that Gale agreeing with a shocked “hm-hm”?

You stood around aimlessly on the porch and carefully looked at your hand – your knuckles had split and were bleeding. Astarion strode outside after you – alone.

You looked from your hand to him. All your anger had disappeared now and had left you powerless and exhausted. Tears started streaming down your face.

“I’m sorry, I only wanted to protec-“, you started as you thought about the mess you had just created. But Astarion cupped your already wet face and kissed you with open lips.

That’s how you stood for quite some while. Astarion’s thumbs softly brushing away the tears from your eyes until they had dried up. After, when he had softly broken the kiss but kept holding your face he said: “There’s absolutely nothing to apologise for, my love. In fact, I cannot tell you how grateful I am for you to not only take my side but… uh… rather aggressively defending it.” His arms glowed with admiration and love and then he leaned in again to kiss you. You simply sniffled.

“Besides”, he said a few moments later when his lips left yours again and you had almost forgotten you were not alone in the world, “I mean it’s usually two men fighting to defend the honour of a woman, but I feel absolutely flattered that you’re out here knocking people out on my behalf. I would now definitely offer you my handkerchief with my initials embroidered into them as a token of my affection. And it was kind of – hot. Even the wizard thought so.” A huge grin split the vampire’s face and made you break out into a giggle.

As you moved to wipe away the last of your tears with the back of your hand, Astarion gasped a little. He quickly grabbed your injured hand and inspected it.

His thumb gently wandered over your knuckles as his brows kneaded together in worry and you hissed from the pain – looked like you’d hurt yourself more than you realised at first.

“Speaking of handkerchief – I’d really like to have one on my person right now to clean up your poor hand, my love, but I’m currently out.”

You simply replied with a soft mocking “aww” and made a face as Astarion kept carefully turning your hand over.

Then his head snapped up again and he watched you with a mischievous grin on his face: “That’s it, my love. I’m stealing you away for a day of rest and relaxation.” You immediately wanted to protest.

“Ah ah ah, my sweet, I won’t take no for an answer. You desperately need a break and I will get you this embroidered handkerchief as you are now my chosen champion to defend my delicate and precious honour”, Astarion said with a wink and a smile.

And then he kissed you again.

#astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #astarion x reader #astarion x mc #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x oc #astarion x you #fanfic #fanfiction #astarion ancunin #bg3 spoilers #tav #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #shadowheart

1K notes · View notes

ficbrish · 26 days

Text

Part of my Flufftober Spring one shot collection

"The Pale Elves"

cw: Sickness, teasing, cptsd

Tav Vistri, Shadow-Cursed Lands, near the end of Act II

“You look a little pale.”

“Rich. Coming from you,” Vistri chortled.

It was true, Astarion’s skin was a colorless white. It used to shine with the kiss of the sun, but then he died, and in rising again, kept death’s pallor. Vistri didn’t have much room to talk though. She had a lavender, periwinkle sort of tone, which was rather light for a drow.

But even more so tonight. Her coloring was different, more silver than purple.

Which, in turn, colored his response. Usually he’d play along, tease her for being just as pale as he was. Instead, Astarion fretted over her with a surprising amount of concern. He didn’t consider himself to be a particularly empathetic person, and yet here he was, hurting at even the prospect of her discomfort. Worrying like a mother hen! It was wrong. All of this was wrong.

“No, I mean it,” he said, “Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m fine,” she insisted.

No more than a second later, she sneezed.

There was a handkerchief dangling in her face when Vistri opened her eyes; a frowning Astarion at the other end. Grudgingly, she snatched it out his hands, furious at her sinuses for their poorly-timed betrayal.

No one ever passed her silk scarves from their pockets when she needed one. His thoughtfulness landed in her heart like a burn on frozen skin. He also wasn’t allowed to be right. They were in the midst of the Shadow Curse Lands, hot on the tail of those Absolute cultists. Of course, she’d rather stay at camp and rest! Her muscles ached to the bone, and the power of the curse this close to Moonrise made her head pound. Grumbling, she blew her nose with an unfortunate honk.

“What in the hells was that?!” Astarion asked, laughing.

Come to think of it, he’d never seen Vistri blow her nose before. Such a normal thing. He wasn’t prepared for her to do it so abnormally.

“What?” she asked, genuinely confused, having lived with that sound her whole life.

“It’s like a…” his laughter cut off his words, “Like a fucking foghorn! What is that?”

Offended, she answered, “I’m blowing my nose!”

Astarion fell back, laughing, into his bedroll. He tried to right himself, but this newly discovered quality of hers kept him too weak to sit up.

“It’s not funny!” she pouted.

“Yes!” he was struggling to speak normally, “Yes, it is!”

He was lucky his uncontrollable laughter was so precious to Vistri. It made it almost not matter that it was at her expense. Almost. Her pride still prickled, hardening the casing of her chest. But he broke it so easily. The sound of his beloved laugh lifted her heart, like a hearth roaring on a snowy night.

She tried her best to sound serious, “Keep that up and maybe I’ll start feeling less generous.”

“You don’t mean that!” he chuckled warmly, crawling his way back to a sitting position.

“Yes,” she crossed her arms, “I do!”

“No, please!”

Even the affectation of anxiety and regret in Astarion’s voice tugged painfully at her heart. She leaned in and kissed the side of his head, whispering, “You know I could never deny you.”

His remaining giggles stilled into a soft, happy smirk.

“You couldn’t?”

“Never, ever.”

“Well…” He paused, stopping himself from admitting something painfully sincere. Then continued with a teasing brow, his tone changed, “I’ll have to remember to take advantage of that, won’t I?”

Vistri leveled her brow with his, “I thought we were learning how not to take advantage of each other.”

“Ugh! You’re quite right,” he pouted, then cheekily bent his frown into a warm smile.

They joked around about it, but theirs was a sacred promise. An experiment.

Is love real?

Are they worthy of it?

Wrapping her arms around Astarion’s neck, she purred, “That doesn’t mean you have to keep your hands off me.”

He chuckled softly and drew her in closer, holding her tighter. Caressing her nose with his, he savored the lightness in his head at her proximity. His nose flicked hers aside, tilting her head up to align her lips with his, leaning forward to gently meet them.

This was the new world they were exploring. One where they kissed for the sake of a kiss.

She felt his hands cradle the back of her neck. Everything in her relaxed. Tensions she didn’t know she held suddenly let go into his embrace.

“Lucky us,” he spoke against her ear.

#vistarion #tav x astarion #astarion x tav #wip wednesday #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #BrishFics #astarion #astarion ancunin #fluff

19 notes · View notes

elisende · 3 years

Text

Songs in the Night (3/?)

Characters: Halsin/OMC, Astarion, Wyll, Gale

Rating: M

Words: 1627

Summary: Halsin and Langoth fight for their lives--and souls--on the fugue plane while in the Underdark Gale struggles to complete the ritual to bring them back to life.

They had only to persevere long enough for revival. To clasp hands at the precise moment the last words were spoken on the material plane.

But in the shadow of the dragon’s enormous form, blasted by the heat that radiated from its black sides as though from a blazing furnace, that seemed nigh impossible.

“Behind me,” Halsin said to the ranger, grimacing against the dragon’s roar. Instead, Langoth stood beside him, drawing his bow. Although his longsword and dagger had not survived the fatal journey between planes, his ironwood bow was imbued with deep magic and a brother’s love and had traveled with the soul of its owner to this purgatory. Seeing it in his hands gave him heart.

Langoth loosed an arrow at the ancient styx dragon’s neck; it merely plinked off its armored scales.

The dragon seemed to chuckle, exhaling plumes of flame with its laughter. Your spirits will make a meager meal but there is rich entertainment in watching you struggle, at least, said the dragon. It raised one clawed foot, blotting out the grey sky and Halsin dove, a line of white hot fire screaming across the back of his leg where the dragon’s spur caught his flesh. He yelled as its poison sank into muscle--his soul, in fact, for in this plane, body and soul were one.

The pain was vivid. Halsin opened himself to it, allowed it to sharpen his focus and turned back to the dragon. There was no weakness he could perceive, no gap in the undulant ranks of its black scales. But every dragon was tender around the muzzle and this one had foolishly lowered his, the better to watch him suffer. Halsin screamed again for effect, clutching his leg and the dragon sank even lower, its face in striking range. Marshaling all of his strength, Halsin drew the club from his back and threw it like a javelin into the dragon’s nose. It struck true, showering him a waterfall of hot, black blood, like tar.

The creature’s tortured shriek was terrible as it echoed across their minds. Halsin staggered over to Langoth, both his wound and his head on fire.

“When the time comes--whatever else should happen,” Halsin said, “You must take my hand.”

Before Langoth could reply, the dragon was upon them again. It was no longer toying with them: now it was out for blood. Only luck saved Halsin from being cut in two as he dove away--this time the dragon’s claws sliced through empty air.

How much longer? Langoth asked. He wove and tumbled around the dragon’s legs, avoiding its swiping claws with limber grace that might be a dance but for the raging dragon above them.

The monster busy with Langoth, Halsin ignored the throbbing pain in his leg and closed his eyes for a moment to test the link he’d left to the plane where their bodies lay, lifeless.

...was a mad idea, what if they don’t come back at all? Across the planes, Astarion’s voice was watery and hollow, as though he were speaking from the other end of a very long sea cave.

Master Halsin’s nearly past the point of no return, looks like, Wyll said. Hells, what’s that on his leg?

Gale’s voice echoed more forcefully in Halsin’s mind. Less commentary, if you please, this does require a bit of focus, you know--Halsin, is that you? Is it time?

Almost, he thought, Be ready. He felt the wizard’s assent and turned back to the fray. Langoth had sunk an ice arrow into the dragon’s nostril and it was trying to scratch it away, howling from its sting.

Halsin dashed over to the ranger, avoiding the sweep of the dragon’s tail as it staggered and bellowed in blind rage. They would just have to hope the distraction lasted long enough to complete the ritual. Langoth looked shaken but unhurt, his keen eyes watchful. Even as the dragon roared above them, Halsin felt a surge of love, of humility in the face of its enormity: greater than any ancient guardian of the Fugue Plane, greater even than death. “It’s time,” he said. Their hands joined and he reached across the void again, to Gale.

What if it’s too late? Langoth said. He sensed the ranger’s despair.

“Just don’t let go. No matter what happens.”

In answer, Langoth interlaced his fingers and squeezed them tight. The druid shut his eyes and perceived, worlds away, Gale whispering the incantations that would bring their souls back.

Halsin, Langoth’s voice rang in his mind, sharp with fear.

He opened his eyes to see the dragon bearing down on them, its mouth open, throat welling with blue fire.

“Don’t let go,” Halsin said, even as every instinct screamed at him to break away, to dive to safety. Langoth gripped his hand so hard he feared his bones would bruise.

The styx dragon bore down on them, a gout of flame shooting from its maw. Halsin closed his eyes again. The ritual was nearly complete--a few words away, if Gale did not stumble.

I need to tell you something, Langoth said. While there’s time. I--

But before he could finish, darkness took them both.

“...breathing, that has to be a good sign, surely?”

Dim, green light danced around him. Langoth moaned and shut his eyes again. Cold, he was so cold. Everything from his waist up was agony: pain that throbbed, ached, stung, burned, and stabbed. From the waist down, all was numb.

“Langoth,” Wyll said. He heard the warlock approach but couldn’t bear to open his eyes again. His voice sounded distant. “Hells, he’s properly torn up. Here, give us that potion.”

A hand cradled his head, tipped it back, and another held a phial of healing potion to his bloodied lips. It slid down his throat and he sighed as it took effect, restoring life to his stiff limbs. A sickening crunch as his spine reknit itself and sensation rushed back to his legs. He shivered. It felt as though he’d never be warm again.

“Halsin,” he said, remembering. The fugue plane, the dragon, the blue flames--he struggled to his hands and knees and collapsed with a groan.

“It’s alright, mate. Halsin is just there, look.” Wyll pointed to the other corner of the courtyard, where the druid was staggering to his feet, shaking his thick mane of hair and rubbing his face. Langoth sank back down in relief. They had made it, somehow.

“I’m fine too,” Astarion said. “If you were wondering. I also nearly died, on your behalf. Again.”

“Thank the gods,” Langoth rasped with a smile. He shut his eyes and breathed deeply--real air, again. Even though it was centuries stale and stank of fungus and dead minotaur, there was no sweeter smell.

“Actually, thank Gale,” the wizard said, approaching with Halsin by his side. “It was a very near thing, indeed. Suppose I owed you for all the times you’ve pulled me back from death’s door.”

The druid leaned over him and took Langoth’s icy hands between his own. “Thank you,” Langoth whispered.

Halsin laid a hand on his chest. “Don’t speak. You need food. Your soul has been too long in Kelemvor’s kingdom and needs to be fully restored.”

“And nothing better for that than a nice warming mug of soup,” Gale said. “I would know. I shall see to it.”

An arm around Halsin’s waist, Langoth limped past the minotaur corpses laid out on blood slick flagstones to sit in the fort’s cozy refectory by the fire that Gale had set roaring with a cantrip.

“Rest here,” Halsin said, helping into a dusty leather chair which was surprisingly comfortable, considering its age. “But don’t sleep yet. Your soul’s connection to your body is still too tenuous.”

“Stay with me?” he asked. Their eyes met and warmth spread through him; heat not just from the roaring fire. Gale busied himself nearby with the cooking, humming tunefully as he banged pots and spoons and asking Astarion if he might use his dagger to mince the garlic.

Halsin eased down beside Langoth on a rickety bench, favoring one leg.

“The dragon?” It still hurt to speak.

Halsin nodded, wincing as he settled onto the bench. “It will mend, in time.”

“Did I hear the word dragon?” Wyll said. “I think that might be next on my list, having taken down a minotaur single handedly.”

Astarion shot him an acid look from across the room.

“Well, almost single handedly. Alright, you lot all helped.”

“Your magnanimity, Wyll, is as ever, inspirational,” Gale said, magicking a stream of hot water into the cookpot.

Langoth laughed, and felt a little warmer still. It was good, he reflected, to be alive. The heady scent of garlic and onions sizzling over the fire reached his nose and his stomach growled.

“Well, our foray into the Underdark is off to a wonderful start,” Astarion said from the shadows. “I just can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings. Perhaps decapitation?” He met Langoth’s eye.

“Stop sulking in the corner, Astarion,” Langoth said. “We survived, didn’t we?”

The vampire spawn scoffed but he approached and even sat on the bench with Halsin. At the opposite end, but it was a start.

“Mad idea, coming down here,” Astarion said, looking moodily into the fire. He turned to Langoth and with unexpected emotion said, “We almost lost you.”

“Well, you didn’t,” Langoth said. “And we will make it to Moonrise Towers.”

He did not fail to observe the expression of foreboding on Halsin’s weathered features. He’d never seen the druid look so tired. Again, he perceived there was something he was holding back, some unspoken burden he carried. Langoth took his hand but he only patted it absently, staring into the dark.

#halsin #bg3 halsin #fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 fanfic #halsin/omc #langoth #baldur's gate gale #wyll #astarion

6 notes · View notes

elisende · 3 years

Text

Dark Gift

Characters: Halsin/OMC, Halsin/Ketheric, Wyll, Shadowheart, Volo Rating: E Words: 3404

After a night of passion, Halsin and Langoth return to camp to find their companions have also made the most of the night's revelry.

But something is bothering the ranger and finally, he asks his lover Halsin about his past with the enigmatic Ketheric Thorm. There is always more to the story...

“Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.”

Mary Oliver, The Uses of Sorrow

They did not sleep that night, the night that forever afterward Halsin would call their wedding night, only half-joking. In silence as deep as the sky’s blackness, they watched the stars wheel and fade. Held each other tightly on the stone table as the celebration in camp raged and then dwindled. Listened to the small sounds of rustling animals and the first sweet notes of dawn’s chorus.

“My favorite time of day,” he told Langoth. “There’s no match for the dawnsong of high summer. The finest symphony ever composed.”

The ranger smiled, distantly. “It reminds me of the first time,” he said, his voice so soft it was nearly below hearing. “I had never experienced anything like it--like you.”

The morning light caught Langoth’s long, chestnut hair, gilding it, bathing his face in a warm golden glow. Halsin’s breath caught in his throat. He had been awestruck by the youth’s beauty that first night in the High Forest. Just as he was now.

“Nor I you,” he said. He took Langoth’s face in his hands and whispered roughly, uncouthly, “I want you again.”

The elf leaned into his embrace, breath hot on Halsin’s neck. “Then take me.”

Halsin growled and straddled him, looming above the slighter man, his broad shoulders blocking the rising sun. They were both still bare from the waist up and he raked his fingers down the ranger’s chest as he bent to kiss him ravenously. Langoth gasped at the mingled sensation of Halsin’s rough hands and plunging kiss; his hips rose to brush the front of the druid’s pants, finding him already hard. He ground up against him in slow, firm strokes, provoking a groan from deep in Halsin’s throat.

“You don’t realize what you do to me,” Halsin gasped. “Gods.”

The youth just smiled as though he knew precisely his effect on the druid and pulled Halsin’s muscled ass closer to him and thrusting faster, harder.

The feeling of Langoth’s own desire pressing and stroking against his own was nearly enough to finish him. But before that could happen, Halsin grabbed him around the waist and flipped him onto his belly, jerking down his leather breeches as the elf moaned beneath him. The birdsong around them was in full throated climax as he plunged into him, feeling the elf’s sublime tightness barely giving way to his thick cock. Langoth exclaimed, in both pain and pleasure, as Halsin thrust mercilessly, driven by blind need.

“Langoth,” he murmured; he knew how his lover enjoyed hearing his own name on Halsin’s lips. The ranger cried out in response and Halsin pulled him closer, wrapping his muscled arm around his chest. In contrast to last night, his peak was building slowly, inexorably, like a wall rising stone by stone.

The rising sun struck the table, bathing them both in an orange glow. His lover was beautiful beneath him, his strong back rippling in the soft dawning light. Halsin tracked the muscles with his hand and then slid it down below to stroke his member. The ranger gasped, thrusting eagerly against his touch, and they moved as one.

Langoth’s breath quickened, shoulders faltered. As he felt his lover come, Halsin himself lost control; with one thrust, and then another, he finished, gasping, on the elf’s back.

The chorus had abated and the sun’s rays had mellowed. Langoth sat up beside him, leaning close. “We should get back before the others wake,” he said.

“I do hope Astarion hasn’t waited up for you,” Halsin said. He didn’t even try to suppress his laughter, though he knew it was unkind.

Langoth was more circumspect but a ghost of a smile played on his lips as he said, “I’m certain he had no shortage of other entertainments last night.”

No one stirred at the camp when they returned--no one, except--

“The hero returns! Ah, and the wise and mighty king of druids, Master Halsin! I’ve a new stanza to celebrate your victory, good sirs, only I struggle to find a word that rhymes with ‘muscular,’ and I feel I would be derelict in my sacred commission as bard and poet if I failed to mention Master Halsin’s particular, ah, physical qualities… and allusion simply doesn’t suffice, I don’t think, when it comes to his spectacular form!”

He thought he heard Langoth mutter, “It’s far too early for this.” But it might have only been his imagination.

“Druids do not have kings,” Halsin explained to Volo, for at least the third time since they had met last week. “And you needn’t talk about my, er, form. Though I am flattered.”

“Of course you and I know druids don’t have kings,” Volo said, as though Halsin were being quite stupid. “But we need to remember our audience doesn’t have the sophistication required to understand the ‘first amongst equals’ principle espoused by the druids, et cetera. Oh! It’s so obvious. ‘Muscle,’ singular--rhymes with ‘tussle.’ Perfection!” Volo strummed a chord on his lute with a fervor that was frankly alarming and Halsin instinctively looked around for an exit.

“Right, I need to wash,” he said, heading for the river. “Goodbye.”

“I also need to see to a--personal matter. Gods keep you, Volo,” Langoth called behind his shoulder. “I will remember how you left me out in the cold just now,” he added under his breath, even as the corner of his lips twitched. Halsin’s heart lurched pleasantly and he turned his gaze back toward the rushing water of the Chionthar, already slipping out of his tunic.

“I would aid you against any enemy in the deepest dungeon of the Underdark,” Halsin said. “But you’re on your own with the bard.”

They bathed together in the rushing stream, Langoth capering on the rocks and diving into the deep pool under a cataract as Halsin watched. The water was cold and bracing and Halsin couldn’t resist enjoying it in his bear form; there was simply no comparison to experiencing the icy rush of the river running through his thick fur. He changed back once he emerged, dripping, onto the shore, Langoth close behind in his smallclothes.

“Someone was up late,” a smooth voice teased. The Blade of the Frontiers emerged from his tent, wearing a lopsided grin and little else. He had a bowl of streaky, grayish gruel that looked distinctly unappetizing. But then, a human would eat nearly anything.

“Ah. Did you... enjoy the celebration?” Langoth asked, color rising to his cheeks. But then, from behind Wyll, the haughty cleric called Shadowheart emerged from the tent, cheeks even redder than Langoth’s, if it were possible. Her lips were still stained purple from last night’s cheap wine. Halsin’s head nearly throbbed in sympathy.

“Evidently so,” Halsin remarked. The young people were so obviously uncomfortable that he almost laughed. But then he remembered his own tenderness and shame in his youth and his heart softened for them. “Gods, but we’ve earned some respite, have we not? And much still lies ahead.”

The others eagerly seized on this line of discussion and a profusion of enthusiastic, if stilted, comments followed about battles fought, foes defeated, and speculation of those still to come. Halsin enjoyed seeing Langoth with his companions, his earnest expressions, the innocence of his words. Finally, the young people extricated themselves from their rhetorical bondage and all sauntered off in different directions, Langoth grabbing his elbow as they went.

The youth didn’t want to let him out of his sight and this, too, was touching. He had all the hours of the day for his lover, whose face was a song of which he could never tire. In contrast to Volo’s forced rhymes.

They laid their clothes to dry in a sunny spot by the river and Halsin rested beneath a friendly looking ash tree and closed his eyes. He asked its name with a minute scratch of his thumb against the bark and it answered; a name that sounded like the rustling of acorns against one another in the mellowness of autumn. A lovely name, one he committed to memory. Halsin sighed, the sun warming his chest, grateful to be alive on such a day.

“Are you just going to meditate now?” Langoth’s voice came from leagues away. Halsin opened his eyes. “Only… I had a question.”

He regarded Langoth, ready for nearly anything.

“You said before that you had defeated Ketheric but it seemed as though perhaps you knew him, once. Do you--is there...?”

“‘Is there more to the story?’ you mean?”

Langoth bit the inside of his cheek, mustering his nerve. “Well, is there?”

Halsin leaned back against the ash who was named after a sound of acorns rustling, feeling every year of his five centuries. “There is always more to the story,” he said.

“Tell me,” Langoth said softly, looking at his hands. He sensed the story was troubling, and he was not wrong. Halsin thought Langoth was probably rarely wrong when it came to troubling things. They whispered to the secret wound he carried in his breast, like calling to like. Halsin sighed.

“Of course I shall tell you if you wish to know,” he said. And yet, even as he spoke the words, he was unsure if he should. “It all began in Waterdeep,” he began.

Have you been? Magic runs through that city, and I feel it in my marrow whenever I cross into its wards. The city was built on a mountain of mithral, on the ashes of a forgotten citadel of Illefarn. Ancient seams of blood and magic run beneath it. You can hear it, like a ringing in your ears.

There was some reason for me to be there, but I barely recall it. All I now remember is him. And what came after, of course.

I spurned the inn, as I always do. Too much comfort has always seemed suspicious to me, as have affections exchanged for coin. Yet there is precious little nature left in Waterdeep, so I took my repose in a graveyard, under the open sky. The only place in the city where one could find a tree.

They were sad and lonely, those trees: a weeping willow, a scrawny, leafless box, and a twisted old yew. The yew had gone mad from loneliness--yews are prone to madness in any case, but this one was particularly ill. Perhaps that is why the priests of Shar claimed this particular graveyard for their rituals. The yew had seeped its poison into the very ground and it was a dark and morbid place. Full of shadows. Now I wonder if the sick yew wasn’t in some indirect way the genesis of all that’s happened since.

I watched them under the cover of a glamour so that I seemed to their eyes like a stone gargoyle warding a tomb. They were initiating a half-elf and his terror carried on the wind. I could smell it. He was barely grown, undernourished. His voice was strong though, and surprisingly deep, like the low roll of the tide coming in from the sea’s depths.

I’ve been alive long enough to learn not to cast easy judgments. Shar and her dark worship--what were such things to me? Was it so different to swear oneself to the Dark One as it was to the Lady of Pain? Or the Lord of the Dead? But something in this ritual chilled me.

It felt as though… this dark ritual had meaning beyond its meaning. My mother had the gift of foresight and some little of it passed to me. I cannot see the future as though I were watching a play, as she did. But I can often sense danger, or tidings of happiness to come. It’s kept me alive, more times than I can count, this gift. And now, it filled me with dread. The dread of a hundred kingdoms falling. A dread worse than mere death or danger. The dread of a coming apocalypse.

The half-elf turned and even in the gloom of the moonless night, I recognized his face. For my mother had shown me this face when I was a boy, in the final moments of her life. She met a violent end--but that, I will speak of another time. I had believed she showed his face to me because he was my destiny. But perhaps she showed me because he would be my doom.

In my shock, the glamour slipped. Only the half-elf saw me. And I recovered so that when he turned back I was once again disguised as senseless stone.

Perhaps that would have been the end of all if I had left it alone. But destiny carves a path before itself, one we mortals are incapable of altering. Such I have come to believe, though perhaps only as means to absolve myself.

They completed their ritual by draining the youth of his blood, to the point of death. And many do die. But the half-elf did not, and Shar claimed another acolyte to her worship. How peaceful he looked in that moment, on the precipice between life and death. They bore him off on their shoulders into the night, leaving me with mad yew and my own dark thoughts.

The very next day I sought the Temple of Shar. It’s no simple place to find, even in permissive Waterdeep. Her worship is outlawed and her followers jailed when discovered.

You may well ask why I troubled myself. Why I could not leave well enough alone, as the humans are wont to say. I was compelled by both curiosity and dread.

It is a strange thing to say aloud, but the image of the half-elf’s face was all I had left of my mother and even as it repelled me, I also felt closer again to her somehow in finding him. I had to know the meaning behind it, to recover even this small remnant of her memory. If you have lost someone, perhaps you understand my meaning.

It took some days and many false turns but in the end, I located their temple. Simple chance finally led me to the right direction--or destiny carving its path before me, take your pick.

If I was worried about what I might say to the half-elf when I met him, I needn’t have, for he recognized me immediately.

“The gargoyle of a druid I saw,” he said, by way of greeting. “So you weren’t a vision from my Dark Lady, after all.”

He always spoke like that.

I answered that I had seen the ritual, and feared for his life. I asked how he had come into the service of the Dark Goddess and he told me his story. It was a brutal, tragic tale, and he told it without remorse or sentimentality. When again I pressed him--why did he devote himself to Shar? He answered that none other had claimed him, only the Lady of Loss. As though his life were simply a ripe apple falling senseless from a tree.

In my pride, I thought that by removing this youth from Shar’s faithful would heal him, that I could restore the balance to his soul. That I could heal him.

I took him to the Emerald Grove. The power of that place is ancient, its healing magic is more powerful than you ken. Not just Silvanus’s power, though that resides there too. I believed the grove would restore him and would avert the darkness that lay ahead.

In how many legends to mortals hasten along the very events they sought to prevent? Well, here is another.

For a time, I believed that Ketheric was healed. The light returned to his eyes, the blood to his flesh. By day, he walked the forest with me and I taught him such that I know: more than most will learn, but still precious little compared with the forest’s immensity. Every tree is a world unto itself.

And I loved him. Desired him. Claimed him. It blinded me to the truth. For Shar would not be so easily forsaken. She was jealous of her supplicants and for Ketheric she had great designs.

I believed he had left Shar behind in distant Waterdeep. In Ketheric, I thought I saw my destiny to bring him back into the light.

Only arrogance and perhaps lovesickness can explain why it took me so long to realize why the forest grew darker over those seasons. Parasites thrived and the trees fought silent battles within the buried paths beneath the earth. Plants that once were allies became bitterest enemies and starved each other out, poisoning one another’s roots. Pestilential insects devoured the warring plants. Even the water was tainted, sickening creatures and the druids in my grove.

Kagha saw the truth first. And if perhaps you wondered why I allowed her to stay, here is the reason. Because Kagha’s heart may be as hard as ironwood, but she is unflinching in the face of the truth and I--well, now I know that I cannot always trust my own judgment.

She unmasked Ketheric, finally made me see, but by then it was too late. He had seen the power of the grove, and he desired it for himself. For his Dark Lady. Ketheric escaped my judgment and Kagha’s wrath but I knew he would return.

Three years passed and in that time, Ketheric became a force. More than a mere man. He was a legend and followers flocked to him, drawn to his power. More than power; his absence of fear. For since that night that Shar had taken him, I had never once witnessed him frightened of anything. That was the source of his terrible charisma, I believe, why people followed him into madness and marched to their deaths on his order, with happy hearts. That they, too, could be so fearless.

He took the Temple of Selune first. The priests there fought hard and long but Ketheric would not be thwarted and his forces seemed limitless. The stories are still told of the terrible butchery committed in the Shattered Sanctum, and I will not repeat them.

They rode out from the Shattered Sanctum to terrorize the country. That is when we first spoke of the Rite of Thorns, for there was no question of protecting the surrounding land from Ketheric’s army. Then the Harpers came.

I could tell you all manner of stories about the long history of the Harpers and the Emerald Grove, but those romances only imply the true foundation of that ancient alliance: one born of dire necessity against unassailable darkness. Which is all to say, the Harpers and the Druids have joined when all seemed lost.

So it seemed to us then. With the power of the Shattered Sanctum and an army of faithful, Ketheric completed a dark ritual, one that required a fountain of blood sacrifice. The Shadow Curse. A plague on the land and all that lived there, committing their souls into bondage to Shar.

He completed the ritual and cast the land into darkness before I could finally end him. I held him as he died, and he looked just as he did on the night in the Waterdeep graveyard. At peace, finally, in the arms of his Goddess. The only one he ever truly loved, I still believe.

That fight nearly took my life. As for the others, I marched them to their graves. Of all the druids and Harpers who fought on that day none survived. A handful of Ketheric’s dark justiciars escaped, scattered. Of those, all have fallen to madness or early deaths.

Only I now remain witness to the horrors of that long night.

Halsin found it hard to hold his lover’s gaze for shame. Now he knew of his failure, his blindness. He would scorn him, as Kagha had: weak, arrogant, feckless.

Instead, Langoth took his hand in his own, kissing his rough knuckles. Forgiveness so sublime, so unexpected that his eyes pricked with unshed tears.

“You did what you could. And we will end the curse when we reach Moonrise Towers. That I promise you.”

Halsin closed his eyes. “Thank you.” In the wood a thrush sang, as though to remind him of something he had long forgotten. Something like hope.

#halsin #bg 3 #baldur's gate 3 #fanfic #halsin/omc #bg 3 halsin #wyll #shadowheart #langoth

4 notes · View notes