Chapter Text
Astarion ran, his skin on fire.
Unbearable heat gathered behind his eyeballs, his world a blur of red and pain. The sun was setting on the Chionthar. Not fast enough to protect him, though.
The tadpole was gone, that much he could feel in the midst of his agony. And alongside the speed and the strength that came with his curse, his propensity to burn under the sun had returned.
He had burned before, many times, whenever Cazador had deemed it funny to make him stand in front of an open window while comfortably sipping a dark red in the shadows. He'd said the smell of burnt flesh made the blood taste even better. Once or twice, Astarion had thought his master would actually let him die there, and had cried from the relief. Before the order to retreat came, and hope was destroyed.
As it ever was.
Finally, after an age that had lasted only half a minute, he sought shelter in the darkest shadow he could find along the docks. A storage area? His eyes were too damaged for him to be certain. He slumped against the wooden crates pilling up under a large awning, a small stone building protecting him from the setting sun, and let his head rest on the planks at his back.
Tav had won. The Netherbrain was no more. Everyone would celebrate. And he would stay in the shadows. He had known this to be the most likely outcome of their little adventure, of course. It still hurt terribly.
The last months had given him hope, a thing that he had lost long ago, discarded as something that was of no use to him. When hope is the very thing being used to break you, it is better to let go of it entirely.
Weak, boy. You are weak.
Tav would come for him, he knew. Storm would come as well, of course. But how could he face his lover, or Tav, or the rest of his friends, when he had just lost everything in their moment of victory?
Would Storm follow him in the shadows? Into a life of darkness and uncertainty? Would Tav still call him friend, when he could not longer follow wherever they went? Would Shadowheart still laugh and gossip with him, or would pity be the only thing in her eyes? Would Jaheira shy away from her sharp comments, now, out of a desire to spare his feelings?
He wasn't sure he wanted the answer to any of those questions. They might be more painful than the fire that still made his skin itch.
There was very little he could do to stop the tears that came, then. The salt burned at the ruined skin of his face, his body too tired to heal properly, even with most of his vampiric perks returned.
He wanted the shelter of Storm's strong embrace. His lover's face floated in his mind, half smiling, inviting. Light glinting off of the quite frankly absurd amount of rings looped in his pointed ears, silver on dark grey skin.
But when footsteps finally came, they weren't accompanied by the familiar heartbeat of his lover.
"This way, I think," Tav's voice sounded from somewhere close.
Sure enough, Tav appeared, as he had thought they would. They stood in front of him in the shadows, dark red curls tumbling just past their shoulders, elven ears adorned with gold and poking through the mess of hair. But at their back, it wasn't a tall tiefling man that stood there. Only Shadowheart, her long white braid almost as dishevelled as Tav's hair.
His blood froze, cold spreading in his chest even as the fire still ravaged his skin.
There was only one thing that would keep Storm from coming after him.
This victory was starting to taste less and less like a victory by the minute.
He didn't ask. If no one said anything, then it wasn't real. Not yet. Tav knelt beside him, and reached out slowly. He flinched when their fingers brushed the tender skin of his hand, still feeling ablaze, but he didn't pull away. The burning pain receded slightly while Tav used the last of their power to heal his scorched skin, sylvan words dancing on their lips to fuel the magic. It shouldn't have worked. He was truly undead, now, it shouldn't have worked. Maybe all of the tadpole benefits hadn't faded yet. The magic ran out before it had a chance to heal his face.
He averted his face, not wanting them to see. "Don't look at me."
Tav's laugh was strangled, somewhat. "Love, I don't care what you look like."
As usual, Tav met his shame with nothing but kindness. And he was too tired to be angry about it, feeling too numb to care. He felt more than he saw Shadowheart kneel behind them to try and heal the rest of him. Her power, just like Tav's, fluttered out before it could do much good. Or maybe it just failed to take hold, he couldn't be sure.
"I think you might loose your title of 'best hair in camp', after this," said Shadowheart, a slight quaver in her voice. She'd been crying. And he could guess why, but he didn't ask. Asking would make it real.
His hand went to his hair. Had the sun truly damaged his curls? It wouldn't grow back, he knew that. Any damage would have to be hidden, somehow. But his fingers found nothing but familiar softness.
"Sorry. Too early for jokes."
He tried to smile at her, wasn't sure how successful his attempt was. "A tad."
A sob came from her then, and she turned away from him when she failed to control her tears. Tav laid a hand on her shoulder.
"It's alright, love, you can go. Find Halsin. I'll stay here till dark comes."
Shadowheart nodded, and hugged Tav before getting up and leaving, offering Astarion a smile through her tears on the way.
Tav, too, had been crying. He caught a glimpse of their light pink eyes when he looked back at them, rimmed red.
Pink.
Not bottomless pits of darkness, as they had been since the Astral Tadpole had been forced upon them. And noticeably no sign of the dark maze of black veins that had ruined their face for the past couple of months. Instead, the intricate fine lines of the tattoo inked white on their left cheeks were finally visible again, spreading down their neck and disappearing under the layers of their clothes. He'd almost forgotten how elegant the markings where, rows of tiny letters he couldn't read, coiling on their tanned skin.
"Tav, your face."
"What about it?" Tav's hand went to their cheeks. "Oh. Well at least some things went right, today."
New tears welled in their eyes as they settled at his side, shoulders barely touching.
"Tav. Where is he?" he asked when he couldn't bear the uncertainty anymore.
Tav didn't answer, only shook their head and let the tears roll down their cheeks, lips trembling.
"Where is he?"
"Astarion, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
He let his head fall back on the wooden planks behind him. He had known this moment was coming. He had known, he had known. He could not let this hurt him this much. He had known. They all had. But he'd thought somehow they would have time to rest before. Time to live a little, first.
Foolish boy. You will never learn, will you?
Storm had lost to Orin, and now Storm was paying the price. As was Astarion. And Tav. And everyone else who had dared to care for the child of Murder.
He waited for the sadness to come, or the anger, but neither did. In its stead, only a cold and growing emptiness inside of him that felt all too familiar.
"How?" was his only question. He had to know if Storm's wishes had been respected.
"He's—" The tears choked their words. "Fuck." Tav wrenched their sobs under control before answering him. "He's not dead. Not yet."
"What? Then..."
"He wanted— He asked to be taken to jail. He said… He said he wanted to see you, before. It had to be you, was what he said. He insisted."
Of course.
They had talked about it before, he and Storm. Astarion would be the one to drive the blade to his chest, when the time came. But in Astarion's mind, it had always happened some time in a distant future, when Bhaal would get bored of occasionally torturing his child and finally take over entirely. It would have happened somewhere nice, under the sun, and they would have been laughing about all the life they had managed to steal away.
In his mind, it would have felt like winning.
"Can I… see him?"
"Of course you can, love. Do you want to?"
His head snapped to look at them in disbelief. Why would he not? But then he remember what he'd said, that day when Storm had lost his duel and been condemned to madness by Bhaal himself. I don't think I'll be able to look at you.
Would he? He could see Storm's face, looking at him with that half-smile of his, right before they all went tumbling down in the river. And then the absolute dread in the tiefling's eyes when Astarion had been forced to run. Maybe he had known the sun was robbing them of their goodbye. No. This couldn't be the last glimpse he would keep of his lover.
"I have to try."
Tav's eyes scanned his face before they nodded. The sun had disappeared, finally, leaving behind the barest echoes of light over the Chionthar. When Tav got up and extended their hand to him, he took it. And didn't let go.
Tav led him through the ruins of the Lower City as the emptiness kept growing within him. He fought it as best he could. Defiance he knew. Defiance he could cling to. But he wasn't sure for how long.
Seeing the scars the battle had left everywhere was a shock. It had been so easy to forget exactly what had been at stake once they'd started fighting atop the Netherbrain. But the destruction hadn't been confined to High Hall and the Upper City, even if that was where most of the damage had initially been done.
Here, on the outskirts of the fight, mindflayers had claimed the streets for a few hours. Many people had died, by the looks of it. But many more still stood. Illithid corpses were everywhere, and people were already starting to celebrate, in true Baldurian fashion.
For most of them, grief and pain would wait another day. But he wasn't most of them, and his pain was very much immediate.
Tav held his hand as they went through the central square. The Sorcerous Sundries' building had been partially destroyed, but it looked like many injured people had still found refuge inside. There was blood everywhere, and he clenched Tav's fingers in his as if it would help stave off his hunger. Tav kept walking in silence, their eyes empty and jaws tight. He didn't dare try and break his hand free. For their sake, of course, nothing to do with the meagre comfort he was drawing from their intertwined fingers.
A few streets further, the Elfsong's front wall had burned, and part of the roof had caved in. At least the flames seemed to have been under control for a while. The famous tavern would stand. Here too, many people lay on the floor, dead or injured, at the mercy of pickpockets. Astarion distantly hoped that most their own belongings weren't currently being scavenged by opportunists.
Finally, they reached the City Watch barracks near Basilisk's Gate. Tav had said this was where Jaheira, Minsc and Halsin had taken Storm. The courtyard was empty, most of the Flaming Fists undoubtedly busy in the streets. Blood smears here and there, only to remind him of the hunger gnawing at him. The fighting, the exhaustion and the heartbreak were taking their toll.
Inside, Jaheira spared one glance for the ruined skin of his face before greeting them both grimly. "He's downstairs. Halsin and I both tried to clear his head, but no magic is getting through to him. You have to prepare yourself to let go, cub."
Tav simply nodded, their tanned skin unusually pale. "Thank you, Jaheira." They turned to look at him and squeezed his hand. "Ready?"
Astarion said nothing. His skin felt tight, and he fought against the urge to run back outside. Only the weight of Tav's hand in his was keeping him steady. He nodded and followed them past the door and down a dark staircase.
He stopped abruptly upon hearing the rattling of chains, the noise too familiar. Tav's hand broke free of his as they kept walking down a few steps. They turned back to look up at him. "Love?"
Torchlight was dancing on the bare stone walls behind them, coming from the corridor at the bottom of the stairs. But something else came from the hallway. Savage growling, not even forming words, as if coming from a ravenous beast. Astarion was drawn back to another night, where Storm had lost his mind and spent hours tied on his bedroll, trying to wrestle free of Bhaal's control. Then too, the tiefling had snarled at him like a starved animal, craving blood and flesh. But that night Astarion had been able to see his lover through the madness. What he heard in this moment sounded nothing like the man he loved.
"I can't."
"Astarion, you don't—"
"I can't do this," he snarled at them. "It's too much."
Finally, the emptiness receded. Finally, the anger came. They had won. They had fucking won, and what did he get for all his hard work and sacrifices? The shadows and a mad lover. Well if he was going to suffer, he would make sure he wasn't alone in there.
He sneered at Tav, one step below him on the stairs. The anger had to go somewhere. "You should have killed him."
Tav took a step back as if he had slapped them. He didn't care.
"You knew as well as I that it was what he wanted. Not this. Never this. Was it too much to ask to give it to him? Was it??"
"Astarion…" Tav was crying again, but the tears only teased his anger. He didn't care. The chains clanked in the distance, the noise poking at the scared beast that was living in him.
"That's what he wanted, and you know it. He wanted to die. You should have killed him!" he repeated. "But noo, of course you would help people, but only so long as you don't have to get your hands dirty. Would it be so hard, to get a little blood on them, for once?"
Through their tears, he could see some of his anger reflected at him in Tav's eyes, in the crease of their brows, the set of their jaws. "I told you he asked for this. He wanted you to be there, when it happened. He wanted you to drive the blade home. He wanted a goodbye," they spat at him. "What about that? Would you deny it to him?"
"I. Wasn't. THERE!" A distant roar down the corridor echoed his yelling and he flinched, desperate to escape. "What kind of goodbye are we going to get now? He's as good as gone already!" He was breathing hard and fast, even though he didn't need the air. His head was spinning. "You should have killed him."
He climbed back the stairs as fast as he could, not looking back to check whether Tav was following him, or going to see Storm. He didn't care. He didn't care.
Storm wasn't there. Storm was gone.
He was gone.
Astarion rushed past Jaheira without a word, and ran back into the familiar embrace of the night.