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Between the cold, the endless fights, the rough terrain, and the torches that never stayed lit for more than an hour in a row, Astarion was surprised their little group was able to progress in the Shadow cursed lands at all.
The problem with the torches extinguishing every five minutes was not the lack of warmth or light, since most of the party could perceive in the dark as well as during the day. The problem was that it was their only barrier against the Shadow Curse. On a good day, if they managed to light them back to back, the effects of the curse were close to non existent, but if they let one torch extinguished for more than a minute, an intense nausea took over the person holding it, quickly followed by intense abdominal pains.
Due to this, the last week had been nothing but small, hesitant steps that all eventually led to strange shadows attacking them whenever they let their guard down for more than a second. However, they still managed to advance in the darkness, small kilometer by small kilometer, and eventually managed to reach some absolutist outpost.
And up until then, Astarion was sure nothing could surprise him again. That was, of course until he saw the drider. But what was even more intriguing than the half man, half spider creature, was the shiny, silvery lantern in its hand, providing shelter against the shadows around it. And so, the walking began again, at a much faster pace this time.
While most of the group stayed in the back of the procession, Axael was in the front, talking to their monstrous and deranged guide, as if chatting with one of Lolth’s abominations was a perfectly normal thing.
Meanwhile, Astarion watched them with a certain interest. Not because he was interested in their conversation, but because he wanted to get his hands on the drider’s shiny lantern. Aside from the fact that he was drawn to it like a moth to a flame, having such an item would benefit the party in more ways than one, given that most of the shadows shied away from the bright light, and it gave them a much better protection against the curse’s effects than their torches did.
At some point, the caravan came to a halt, and Astarion felt his tadpole connecting to Axael’s a few seconds later.
“Ambush up ahead.” he heard him say in his brain, “You’re the fastest of us, grab that fucking lantern as soon as you can, I will cover you.”
Astarion couldn’t hide the little smirk that struck his face the second he heard that. Finally , some action, and finally, he could get his hands on that damned lantern.
His elven ears barely managed to pick up the “Sorry” Axael said to the drider before the vampire bolted, grabbing the lantern from his hand the second his lover’s sleep spell took effect. As soon as he had taken this action, the area turned into a battlefield, he heard Karlach roar, Wyll fire eldritch blast after eldritch blast and Gale scream incantations.
And now what? Was he supposed to stand prettily with the lantern in hand while the others had fun? His usual fighting style usually meant sticking to the shadows and attacking from behind, but with one of his hands occupied by the big and bright lantern...Let’s just say Astarion was glad to be ambidextrous. And while the rest of the group managed to fend off most of their enemies, some of them did manage to reach him, which meant that the vampire got to join some of the fun, in the end.
Some stabbing, and a lot of shouting later, Astarion joined Axael where he was kneeling in front of the still sleeping drider while Wyll went to meet their unexpected allies. The tiefling took a dagger out of its sheath and finished off the creature, while murmuring another apology.
“Oh, so you’ve finally accepted that some monsters deserve to die?” Astarion asked with a certain amusement he didn’t bother to hide.
“Far from it.” He answered with a tinge of sadness in his voice. “We’ve already witnessed multiple times how the curse affects the people who die unprotected here. I figured it would be for the best if we put them out of their misery while in the lantern’s vicinity. Besides, this cult is dangerous.”
“And just like that, you managed to make killing boring…” Astarion sighed.
The tiefling wiped the blood from his blade on his sleeve. “Life is a precious thing, I don’t enjoy taking it. However, I can understand when it is necessary, even if it does not please me.”
“Like I said…” Astarion held his hand to help him get up, and tugged on his arm, pulling his lover into his arms. “Boring. You’re lucky it’s the only boring thing about you.”
“I’ll leave the killing for you then.” He whispered as he wrapped an around Astarion’s neck, his other hand coming up to cup his cheek.
Astarion leaned closer.
“Oh, so you’re okay with it as long as I am the one doing it? Scared to get your hands dirty?”
“Only when necessary.” He sighed. “I’m starting to think this place brings the worst out of people...”
Astarion was about to let Axael go when he heard Shadowheart make an exaggeratedly disgusted sigh, to which the bard answered by placing a leg behind Astarion and a hand behind his back. Astarion took his cue and wrapped his arm around Axael’s shoulders as he dipped him low before placing a small peck on his lips.
Astarion couldn’t remember a time where he had laughed more than after seeing Shadowheart’s face.
---
After following the harpers on long, sinuous roads, the party of adventurers finally saw the little piece of heaven that was the Last Light Inn, and despite Jaheira’s cold introduction, they were all relieved to know a steady place to rest was available for them, even if they had to set their camp on the outskirts of the Inn rather than having rooms.
At this point, any improvement was worth taking.
However, Astarion was starting to see why helping people in need could be benefitting, sometimes, as Mol, the little thief-ling from the grove convinced the old hag to let them go freely before running off.
A familiar voice was coming from the Inn by the time Karlach had finished her ranting about Jaheira. A very familiar, and unpleasant voice. But a voice that could mean answers, for Astarion.
“Calimshan rules, dear.” Raphael’s obnoxious voice said.
Astarion could see Axael’s annoyance in the way his tail quickly swung back and forth, he excused himself from Jaheira to go deal with the devil, Astarion followed, leaving the others to talk to the druid.
“That’s garbage!” The young girl exclaimed. “No matter where the knight goes, I’m gonna lose it!”
“Then make your sacrifice useful, guide your Mystra, or come for my Cyric.” The devil answered as Astarion came round the corner, revealing a game of Lanceboard.
“Look who made it!” Mol said as she saw them. “For once, I saved your butts out there, didn’t I? We’re square now, chief.”
To which Axael answered with a wink before turning a cold stare to Raphael.
“Trying to outsmart a kid, I see? But again, I shouldn’t have expected better from the likes of you.”
Astarion discretely gripped the back of Axael’s shirt, a silent plea for him to stop taunting the devil. He needed information, after all. He watched his lover’s expression soften a little at the gesture.
The bard then asked the little thief to describe the board to him, since he couldn’t distinguish the little pieces from one another, to which she happily obliged, claiming it was her first time playing.
“Put pressure on his king.” He said simply after she was done.
“I had no idea you played.” Astarion purred as he draped himself over him and watched Mol follow his advice and obliterate Raphael. A strange sense of satisfaction took over him as he saw a tinge of disappointment in Raphael’s eye.
“I am one of many talents.” He whispered back in a soft tone.
Astarion detached himself from his lover as the girl hopped down from her seat and watched with amusement how his smile dropped instantly the second she ran away. Axael sat down at Mol’s place and Raphael started reorganizing the pieces.
“What a lovely specimen she is. A blushing-”
“Stay the fuck away from this girl.” Axael interrupted. “Or any other kid in here, for that matter.”
“My, my, how feisty…” The fiend answered, unaffected by the clear warning. “But I do believe it is her choice, in the end.”
“I have a proposal for you.” Astarion blurted out to keep his friend from ruining his chances with Raphael.
His attention immediately shifted from Axael to Astarion.
“A proposal? If you’re hoping to taste my blood, little vampling, think again. It burns hotter than Wyvern Whiskey.”
“This is serious business, devil.” He snapped, his own patience wearing thin. “My old m-a long time ago, someone carved infernal runes into my back. They are fragment of a contract. I’d like to know what the full contract says.”
He had corrected himself just in time, Raphael’s deliberately slow talking had him on edge, and had almost made him make a mistake, almost spilling a little too much. The devil already knew enough.
Raphael pretended to give it a thought, the slow hum of his voice as “wondered” irritated Astarion, who stayed silent, trying his best not to fuck it up. He felt a hand squeeze his own, and he held Axael’s hand tight in return.
Astarion felt barely present throughout the rest of the exchange, the casual way the devil had thrown in the word “master” hadmade his skin crawl. He felt bare, as if the devil had made his clothes vanish for all to see, except that he was at least used to nudity, not to this. His frustration reached its boiling point as Raphael stated that he needed to think this over.
“You’ll get back to me? This is important, devil!” he almost shouted. But what else could he do in this moment, other than waiting? “When?” he asked, defeated.
“Don’t worry! I’m most motivated to help you! Scars often tell some wonderful stories-I think yours will be truly exquisite! I’ll see you soon.”
Astarion had half a mind to give him a few scars of his own, but he got interrupted by his partner squeezing his hand again and stopping the devil before he could disappear into a cloud of sulfur and ashes.
“Hold on a second. Come to think of it, I’d like to strike a deal too.” The tiefling said with a carefully neutral expression, letting go of Astarion’s hand.
Raphael sat back down. “And you would like to gamble that deal over a game of Lanceboard, I suppose?” he grinned.
“Precisely.” Axael answered coldly. “We are both very aware that I know a lot of things. And I know you’ve had your eyes on all of us for a while, but especially on me, and you also have a piece of information I would like to have.”
Astarion tensed. If he had struck a bargain with the devil, it was because it was his best option. Was Axael certain this was the right course of action? Axael had trusted Astarion with his decision, and Astarion would do the same for him. So he kept his mouth shut and allowed him to continue.
“So, here are my terms: we play a game of Lanceboard, simple, honest, fair and square, the winner can ask for a single piece of information the other has, and the loser has to give that information to the other to the full extent of his knowledge.”
Raphael laughed, a whole hearted, hideous thing that shouldn’t be called a laugh. “And why would I accept that? This is hardly fair!” He exclaimed with a pleased smile. “Like you’ve mentioned, I know quite a bit about you. I know I have no chance of winning.”
“You have the whites, and the pieces are too small for me to get their details, I’ll have to play by memory alone.” Axael shrugged, his expression carefully blank. “Isn’t that enough of a disadvantage for you?”
The fiend took his sweet time wondering, and Astarion used this time to connect his brain worm to Axael’s. Are you sure you know what you are doing? He sent towards him. He was getting better at communicating with the tadpole, now.
I am. He answered in the same way. Will you stay and make sure he doesn’t cheat? The risk is hopefully calculated, but o ne can never be too sure . Besides, I’m tempted to make a gambit that is incredibly stupid and your presence should suffice to put the urge at bay.
“I accept your terms.” The devil said eventually. “Just to make it more fair, we will both announce where we move each piece. Does that seem correct to you?”
He held out a hand above the board, and the bard shook it. “It does.”
Axael waved his hand towards Raphael, and the game started, the both of them moving pieces at different paces. While Raphael took his time and savored the moment, announcing each move with clarity, Axael moved the pieces at record speed, almost as if he knew exactly what to play to get the board to his liking.
The tiefling tutted in annoyance when his knight got taken, but Astarion knew his friend very well and noticed the small, excited flicker of his tail. He was laying a trap. Astarion got closer to the tiefling, sliding behind him to have a better view of the game. “You’re a madman.” He whispered in his ear.
“Oh, please,” he pushed one of his pieces forward, “You like it.”
Astarion watched his tail from the corner of his eye as he leaned down to kiss the top of his head, and, surely enough, it waggedup and down excitedly in response.
“You two are sickening.” Raphael muttered without looking up from the piece he was taking.
“I know.” Axael answered with a smirk. “However, if I remember where all the pieces are correctly, I can do this.” He said as he lazily grabbed his queen, pushing the piece forward to the other end of the board, where Raphael’s own queen was unguarded. “Queen takes queen.” He smiled.
Raphael blinked a few times in disbelief. “How...vicious!” He laughed eventually. “I should remember that gambit! It’s terribly unexpected!” He moved a pawn on the board, unable to defend the rest of his pieces.
“It’s more of a gamble than a gambit…” Axael smiled softly.
Astarion snorted, and connected their tadpoles again. W hat was that about my presence keeping the urge to do stupid shit at bay again?
Turns out I couldn’t resist. The bard answered in his mind.
A few moves later, Raphael’s king was cornered, and he accepted his defeat with ease, even if the uneasiness in his body language made Astarion think he wasn’t too pleased with the situation.
“Now, I do believe I owe you one piece of information. Only one, so choose carefully, little bard.”
“Oh, I know exactly what I want to ask.” He leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table. “Who is the Absolute?”
---
Raphael’s revelations had shaken Axael. A group of three people menacing to take over Baldur’s Gate (and maybe even the world, at that point), with an illithid invasion? No thanks.
The worst part had probably been the excruciating amount of details the devil had given him. Giving them the upper hand on the cult like this was a risk for him, and the devil never played with that. Either way he thought showing them how hard the fight might be would result in scaring them, and, thus, jumping on the occasion to ask him for help; or he had plans for later.
Nothing good could come out of this.
Aside from that, he had learned through Alfira that most of the tieflings had died or had been captured by the Absolute, which added a new goal to their already growing list of priorities.
The others were too loud, the inn was too loud, his thoughts were too loud, and he was exhausted.
He needed to change his mind, which was why he had gone to the outskirts of their camp with the lute the other bard had nicely lended him for the evening.
He had considered smoking a cigarette, which he only did when stressed, but he didn’t have many left and the prices her were expensive. So, with Astarion gone to trade with (and possibly threaten) a few merchants, Axael had no other choice but to isolate himself to the edge of the campsite and start playing.
He let his sore fingers dance by themselves on the strings, playing mindlessly and letting the sounds bless him with sweet relief.A few songs in, he was already feeling much better, calmer, and relaxed.
Of course Astarion had to be looking for him.
“The others want to know what happened with Rapahael.” He said as he sat down.
Axael groaned. “I don’t want to talk to anyone right now…”
“I’m not going to be a messenger pigeon for you.” Astarion snorted before sitting down next to the tiefling. It should have been irritating, having someone clearly disregard a boundary like that, but, looking back at it, all Axael could feel was fondness for the vampire’s need of companionship.
They sat together, the silence only interrupted by the gentle sounds of the lute. Axael got lost in it again, thinking of nothing but which note to play next. Astarion leaned his head on Axael’s shoulder, disrupting his movements a little, but the bard was nothing if skilled, so it ended up being more calming than anything. Astarion’s presence was grounding.
An idea popped into his mind. “Do you still want to hear me sing?” he asked quietly.
“Obviously.” Astarion answered without missing a beat.
Axael huffed a laugh and started playing soft, melancholic notes. It had been decades since he had sung to someone other than himself, but Astarion had been warned he didn’t have the most angelic voice.
He took a deep breath.
“Spare me your judgements and spare me your dreams,” he started with a shaking voice.
“Cause recently mine have been tearing my seams.
I sit alone in this winter,
Clarity which clouds my mind.”
He had been thinking about the lyrics of this one for a very long time, trying to convey as best as he could the relationship between him and the elf. The more he sung, the more his confidence grew.
“Alone in the wind and the rain she left me,
It’s getting dark, darling, too dark to see.
And I’m on my knees,
And your faith in shreds it seems.”
He marked a pause by playing a few more notes, feeling Astarion lean further against him.
“Corrupted by the simple sniff of riches blown
I know you have felt much less love than you’re showin’.
And I’m on my knees,
And the water creeps to my chest.”
Astarion silently tensed beside him at the lyrics, and Axael felt something wet land on his shoulder.
“Plant your hope with good seeds,
Don’t cover yourself in thistle and weeds.
Rain down,
Rain down on me.”
He prepared himself for the incoming chorus, trying to the best of his ability to not tense as well.
“Look at your window and be still,
The skies above y ou shoot to kill.
Rain down,
Rain down on you.”
The reference to the Nautiloid made Astarion chuckle and press his cheek more firmly against his shoulder.
“And I will hold on,
I will hold on Hope.
Oh, I will hold on,
I will hold on Hope.”
Axael took a deep breath as he started the chorus, repeating the lines a bit louder each time, until he screamed the word “Hope”, hoping himself the others wouldn’t hear them with how far they were, before murmuring it one last time.
This would be the hardest part; after the chorus filled with hope and anger and resilience, switching back to a softer tone was a hardship.
“I beg you to hear me,
You’re more than flesh and bones.
You did not deserve your death,
And to crawl out of your tomb.
Take the spade from my heart,
And fill in the holes I’ve made.”
He lowered his voice to be nothing more than a whisper, letting the last chorus fall between them like a shaking leaf.
“Plant your hope with good seeds,
Don’t cover yourself with thistle and weeds
Rain down,
Rain down on us.”
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, before Astarion discretely wiped his eyes and said: “You didn’t happen to write that for us, did you?”
Axael huffed a soft laugh. “I did.” he said in voice that was much more strained than he would have liked.
He had thought he would have been on edge after being so vulnerable with Astarion, especially about their budding relationship, but he felt strangely at peace with himself. As if he had been carrying ten owlbears on his shoulders and the weight had just been lifted.
“I don’t suppose you want to join for dinner?” Astarion asked softly.
Axael shook his head.
“I’ll bring you something then.”
Astarion got up after placing a soft kiss on his forehead, gently wiping a tear that Axael hadn’t noticed when it rolled down his cheek.
As he went to bring him some (hopefully mushroom free) food, he reveled on the feeling of warmth in his chest.
Hopefully, his own bleeding heart would not come back to bite him in the ass.