Chapter Text
He never once thought to himself that he would be going back to rats. It's temporary, he tells himself. Here, safely tucked far away from the sun's gaze, the dark has become his friend now. At least there are choices now. The Drow are usually not fond of being fed on. Nor are they friendly. Astarion tries to focus a little bit more on consent nowadays. Unfortunately, that often means he can be met with a resounding no. He makes himself scarce. He misses having friends, he must admit. Or at least companions. He had come across several other spawn in the Underdark every few years. But they never had much to say to each other. It hurts too much to recall that time. It's better that they all have gone their separate ways.
He steels himself and drinks the viscous liquid from his cup. He finds it slightly more agreeable to drain the rats into cups before drinking. It was preferable to a mouthful of fur. There's a small part of him that can't believe he is reduced to such a thing again. There's another part of him that reverts to it as some kind of sick comfort. Perhaps to solidify that fact that this is all he can allow himself to deserve.
He wonders what the others have gotten up to by now. Surely, they have led successful, purposeful lives out there in the daylight. If they're still alive, that is. He tries not to think of it too often, but there isn't much else to fill his head now.
He's made a new home for himself here. There are many long-abandoned settlements, and settling down was simple with all the supplies that he had hoarded over time. It's lonely. But it's better than enslavement in a lavish mansion. It's better than being burned alive. At times, if he tries his hardest, he can think of nothing at all. It's better that way, to have no thoughts. But he can't always accomplish it. He briefly wonders how long he can go on like this. Hollowed out, scraping by. He's more resourceful than he's ever been and has no reason to use any of it. He's nothing but a recluse, living in the shadows of a life that once was worth it.
He was so happy for a time. Well- as happy as he possibly could be, given the circumstances. He thinks a change of scenery is in order. There's only so many options. It must be abandoned. There must not be any cities too close. There must be low foot traffic. Tucked away so that it would be too difficult for anyone to track him back to his dwelling. He's become quite paranoid. He's free now. Free of Cazador. Free of the contract. Free of the Illithids. Even so, there will always be something that can be taken away from him.
Ironically, freeing himself of the Illithids only enclosed more bars around him. Trading one prison for another. Mental autonomy was not the worst tradeoff for a walk amongst the living, he thinks in jest. It seems appropriate to laugh. After all, what else could his existence be now but comical?
He packs up as much as he can. He's leaving this place. He could feel this place losing its light. The bioluminescence was growing dim here. The creatures of the dark had long fled this region. He's almost prepared to leave when he spots his journal on the bedside table, where the sheets have long worn out and the floorboards creek under his feet. He grabs it tiredly, feeling the fatigue settling in his bones from not having a decent drink in so long. He flips through to where he keeps track of the days. 100 Years of this underground prison. Time escapes him down here where there are no cycles of the living world. There is only decay as an extant form of life. Time is a luxury. One he might choose to forgo quite soon. He can feel himself dimming too. He will not die here. Perhaps he will have to walk into the light of his own free will.
He shakes the horrid thought as soon as it enters his mind. He can't give his enemies, past or future ones the satisfaction. The hells can wait a bit longer for his arrival for now.
He gathers the last of his belongings and sets of, prepared for quite the trek. This journey could be his longest yet. He finds himself stupidly hoping that another sentient creature will cross paths with him. Even if it's a brief meeting, it would be a nice reprieve from the silence. He does like to talk. He misses it. And he will not be reduced to talking to himself. But it's so very difficult when you have so many things to say and no one to say them to.
He feels stiff as he walks along what may or may not have been a path at one point. His body aches slightly, but he pushes on, clearing his mind. It must be the rat blood. It's not enough. There was one Drow several years ago who he had spent brief time with in Callidae. It was the most pleasant place he had ever come across in the Underdark, even with its occasional unsavory happenings. He appreciated the mix of culture and the reprieve from the intensity of the Lolth-sworn. It reminded him of home occasionally. But Darker. Colder.
The Drow he had met was generous enough to let Astarion drink from him once they had become acquainted. It was not the best he had ever tasted, but it made him strong. He kept it fairly transactional. The boy got some kind of sexual satisfaction out of it. Astarion never questioned it, as he was in short supply of volunteers. In addition, he supposed it was not a completely abnormal reaction. He was no stranger to it. However, it did feel strange to share the brief intimacy with the Drow. Mostly because it was Astarion's choice . Having domain over his own body- it still feels strange. Almost like he can't handle the weight of it. Can't trust himself.
One day he disappeared without a trace. Astarion was much too apathetic to even find out what had happened to him. Perhaps it was simple. He had just grown tired of Astarion. And if so, he could not blame him. He turns to other thoughts.
He walks for what may have been an entire day. It's hard to tell. Something starts to look familiar. He doesn't want to backtrack into territory he's already treaded, but there is something pulling him closer. He feels unwilling, almost like he can't help it. His feet carry him back to familiar places, tragically hoping to cross paths with anything capable of speech.
He makes camp, hopeful that nothing will disturb him in the isolated clearing that he's chosen. He's sure that he is westmost now as he recognizes the terrain. The spot he's chosen is perfectly housed by a forest of fungi just tall enough to conceal his presence. There are some strange looking fungi in the surrounding area. He has never seen this kind before and is unfamiliar with the way that they glow. He lays his head down with the hope they are not overactive or poisonous.
He makes a fire but not because he needs one. Just for old times' sake. Odd how such a brief time has made him so nostalgic. The old him would sneer at such sentiment. But perhaps he never really was that bitter deep down. Perhaps he has become so dreadfully honest because there is simply no one around to lie to.
He wakes from his trance gradually. The sound of careful footsteps becomes very clear to him. He starts to rouse. He jumps up fluidly, careful not to make a sound. He unsheathes his knife silently with ease, preparing himself for any kind of foe. He curses himself for traveling when he's so weak. No matter, he can best anyone in a fight. He's proved that time and time again.
His hands shake a little as he swiftly moves to hide behind a thick stalk. The luminescence is weaker here. They won't spot him; he can approach with enough finesse to catch them completely off guard. He holds the dagger as steady as he can, willing his breath to even out. He closes his eyes for a moment. He has this. He hears them approaching, almost a hair's breadth away. He takes his opening, body moving on its own. He tackles the stranger to the ground with practiced ease, blade threatening their throat. It was a hard impact, just taking down the sheer bulk of this person.
Astarion's eyes flash over their face, not quite understanding what he's seeing, heart still beating rapidly, unable to let his guard down. It doesn't seem real. It must be a trick.
" Astarion ?"
It's no trick. It couldn't be. But why would he be here after all this time? Down here in the Underdark? Astarion draws back, carefully withdrawing his blade. His hands shake a little as he gives him space.
" Halsin ?"
"Oak Father preserve me, it really is you." He laughs heartily, stepping forward.
Astarion steps back in turn. He cannot welcome him so easily. Even though he would like to, it has been too long. He doesn't know anything about him now. It's been a century. His trust cannot be given away so freely.
Halsin's shoulders relax, and he does not press on, seeming to respect the space that Astarion requires.
Despite the tenseness of the moment, Astarion is happy to see him.
"I'm so relieved. I've been in desperate need of a friendly face down here."
"What are you doing down here?" He's not sure why he thinks he has the right to ask.
"In search of rare mushrooms. And I've found them. Right where you've made your camp." He answers easily.
Ah, so he's found what he came for then. He'll be leaving soon. Astarion's heart sinks a little. He feels foolish for getting his hopes up in the first place. After all, what did he expect? Did he think he would stay? Halsin belongs to the light.
Astarion sheathes his dagger, unsure of what to say. He can't run on anything but instinct, so unused to conversing now. He curses his own awkwardness, his mistrust.
"Well-" He clears his throat, trying his best to reacclimate, "It is rather nice to see you. I suppose."
Halsin offers a genuine smile.
"Would you be willing to share your camp with a tired old druid?"
Astarion is too shocked and delighted to ever say no. He wished for this, didn't he? How rare it is that he should receive something he asked for.
"My camp is your camp," he says diplomatically, trying not to reveal too much in his tone. "Like old times, isn't it?"
Halsin settles down by the fire. He looks different somehow. He has not aged a bit according to Astarion's memory. But he dresses differently now, and his hair is so much longer. He still wears the armor of a traditional druid, but in much darker colors, the green of his leather cuirass is almost black. He also sports shoulder pads that are worn down and well used. Two scimitars rest at his waist. He made sure to remove them from his belt before getting comfortable. He eventually begins to unravel a thin bedroll from the pack he carries.
"Is something the matter?" Halsin asks him. Astarion's head snaps up. He hadn't realized that he'd been staring this entire time.
"No, of course not."
They settle into a brief silence as Halsin warms himself by the fire.
"So, tell me Astarion, what have you been up to this last century?"
Astarion wonders if this is a truly honest inquiry? Surely Halsin must know. He knows of his condition. There is no way he's forgotten. Honesty is usually not his forte, but he's out of practice as far as small talk.
"Surviving."
Halsin frowns a little. Perhaps he remembers now that Astarion is cursed. That he is wretched. Maybe now he will leave him now.
"You are still afflicted."
He always was perceptive.
"Yes." He tries his best not to seem irritated. Of course he still is. There is nothing to be done about it.
"So, you've made a home here in the Underdark?"
"Not exactly. I've become quite nomadic."
Halsin hums thoughtfully at this. Astarion does not want pity. Anything but that. He would rather die. He turns to other topics.
"And yourself? What does an arch-druid get himself up to nowadays?" He presses. Enough about himself. He would rather hear Halsin ramble all night than have to utter another word about himself.
"Many things. I've been a nomad myself. In search of rare relics. Helping and healing whenever I can. Wherever the Oak-Father has called me."
Astarion has never fully understood his faith. It's always perplexed him. Though he does rather admire it, he would never admit it. Astarion could never display such faith in any deity. Though he could be partial to Silvanus if he wasn't so utterly shunned by nature itself. It would be laughable. Silvanus wants nothing to do with him, nor any gods for that matter. They've all made that perfectly clear.
"Well then, nothing has changed. Same old Druid."
"But much has changed."
"Like what?"
"You have."
"How so?" Astarion scoffs. He's exactly the same. Ageless. Unchanging.
"I'm not entirely sure. But you have."
Somehow Astarion knows what he means but can say nothing. He can't afford to be transparent. It's a luxury that is much like time. Halsin's eyes are staring through him. His eyes are so clear, the fire dancing in them, reflecting like tiny sparks of hope. He is the closest Astarion will possibly get to the light ever again. He is living, breathing, both sun and starlight. He smells of balsam and honey even from this distance. Astarion was never this enthralled by him. He always thought he was rather annoying back then. When they all traveled together, Astarion thought he was foolish and hopeful. Ranting on and on about Nature and love and freedom endlessly.
Looking at him now, Astarion can only feel as if he is rotting away in his presence.
He still says nothing. He can't. It will come out wrong and ugly. He will ruin this. So, he does not speak. Halsin respectfully does not press. He wordlessly returns to his reverie, hoping that Halsin will still remain when he rises.
Astarion thankfully rises to Halsin preparing a small meal for himself. He has yet to tie his hair up and lets it hang freely. It suits him. It's a welcome sight. And even though he's sure there is still much to say, he's grateful for the silence for the time being. He doesn't quite feel like himself enough to speak. He begins to wrap up his bedroll, unsure of where they go from here. Astarion has no destination. Halsin has already gathered the mushrooms he needs judging by how sparse they are in the clearing now. This is the end of the road already, it seems. It was so short, but it was better than not having had it at all.
He certainly can't go with Halsin. That would never work. He can't even entertain it. Not even in his dreams. He's snapped out of his thoughts when one of the bedrolls ties catches on his ring.
Strange, considering the fact that he does not wear jewelry. He holds up his hand to survey the ring. Its Iron band is not too thick, but slightly heavy on his finger. A red ruby is set artfully in the center, ray-like patterns surrounding the sparkling gem. Where did this come from? It doesn’t belong to him.
Perhaps it belongs to Halsin. He doesn't want to ask. Why would it be on his finger if it were Halsin's? Maybe he is truly going mad here.
"Is this your ring?" He blurts out against his better judgement.
Halsin perks up, food already eaten. He's putting out the last of the dying fire.
"It is. I thought it would be of better use to you . Keep it if you wish."
Astarion is puzzled by this. Why on earth would Halsin give him this?
"Be plain, druid. Why ? And why place it on my finger in my rest? What are you playing at?" Astarion is in no mood for games, he will strike if there is trickery.
"If you'd like to travel together, this will help," Halsin explains.
Astarion has no words. He is offering Astarion to accompany him? It's impossible. It will never work. Is this some kind of cruel joke? It's unlike Halsin to poke fun like this. It's- It's hurtful. It fills Astarion with rage.
"I won't be fooled. If you mean to kill me, just say so ." He reaches for the ring, grasping it firmly ready to tear it from his finger. Something stops him. He hesitates. He longs for companionship to be a reality again.
" Astarion - no. No, I-" Halsin seems frantic suddenly, eyes wide, begging Astarion for a moment to hear him out. "This is no trick. I've been saving it for the right time. It will aid you."
"Aid me in what ?"
"To walk in the sun."
Astarion's breath quickens, his thoughts running rampant. This doesn't make any sense. How could halsin Have such a relic? How could this be possible? He can't let himself believe this. He can't have hope just for his heart to shatter all over again.
"You lie ." He almost sobs as the words leave him.
"I do not," He explains, "I earned this relic as a reward for aiding a plagued village. The lord of the land was very grateful and gifted it to me. He gave it to me for its worth in gold, but once I learned of its properties, I had to keep such a rare gift."
"What use would you ever have for something like this?" Astarion scoffs, still very much in disbelief.
"I held onto it considering that we might cross paths again one day."
"Why would you- why would you do that?"
Surely Halsin did not hang onto it for all this time on the off chance that he would meet Astarion again. That is too considerate for Astarion to fathom. No one is that kind. No one is that good.
Halsin's brow furrows in confusion. "Why wouldn't I?"
Astarion still feels like he's being tricked. What does Halsin want from him? Surely not his company. Maybe he would have wanted it back then. But surely not now. Not while he is a shell of his former self. Why would he think of him now, after all this time? He is no hero of Faerûn. Any good deed Astarion may have done to aid this land is long forgotten. He is no healer, or monk, or anyone worthy of note.
"We all went our separate ways. There is no reason-" He stops himself before he reveals how desperate he really is to believe what Halsin says.
"Should that mean I no longer care?" Halsin interjects. "Nature has brought me here. Right to you. What kind of druid would I be to let you perish in the shadows when the key to your freedom lies casually in my pocket?"
He must want something .
"Surely you are not just giving it to me."
"I am. Please do not be skeptical. This is a gift. You are not obligated to travel with me, of course. Though it would be advantageous for both of us. And I must admit, I've missed your company."
Astarion does not know how to respond to this. Things do not just work out for him. And no one certainly ever misses him. It is so tempting to just accept this.
"I- I don't believe you." He chokes out.
Halsin seems deeply saddened by this. His eyes tell all. Tells more than Astarion bargained for. But there is something else there. Patience, perhaps. Understanding. Astarion does not deserve it.
"Very well," he stands up straighter, pulling his pack over his shoulder, "Then you will have to see for yourself, won't you?"
He extends a hand to Astarion where he still sits on the cold, stone floor. Astarion stares for a moment, contemplating the gravity of taking his hand. Out of all the people that Astarion has trusted in his life, Halsin is the worthiest by far. He can't quite trust him yet, but he can at least give him the benefit of the doubt.
He takes it. Halsin's hand encloses around his completely, strong and sure. He pulls Astarion up easily and then takes a step back to give him the space he requires.
"I have terrible luck, you know," Astarion mentions as an afterthought. "This relic likely won't even work on me."
"Luck can change. Mine changes every century." He chuckles.
He still feels unsure. But he can't deny that even through his skepticism, Halsin has been a comfort from the moment he appeared.
"Lead on, druid."
Astarion cannot pretend that he is not fearful when they approach the light. He sees it in the distance, streams of sun filtering in through the caverns opening as they climb upwards. He hesitates, his anxiety palpable in the air they breathe. Halsin turns back to him when he realizes that Astarion has fallen several steps behind him. His expression softens. He holds out his hand again.
Astarion does not know how to do this. He doesn't remember. The shadows are all he knows now. He's- He's nervous.
"There is nothing to fear," Halsin says carefully. "The light has missed you."
Astarion wants to cry in bitterness at the sentiment. What a silly notion. He takes Halsin's hand once more, trying to ignore just how much he desperately needs reassurance. They slowly tread forward.
The moment he feels the warmth of the day on his skin, his first instinct is to flinch away. It only takes a short moment to realize that he is not going to burn. He opens his eyes slowly, blinking often to adjust to the light.
They're in the woods somewhere. Everything is just bright. There is so much color, so much life. Nothing in his memory will ever compare to this. He hears the flow of water nearby; he hears the constant chirping of birds. It's so much.
Halsin cannot possibly understand the gift that he has given him. He eyes Astarion patiently, waiting for him to move, to speak, waiting for anything. Astarion doesn't want to break down here in front of him. But he's just so happy. His eyes become wet, but the tears do not spill over, thankfully. He breathes deeply. The air is so full and endless here. He realizes that Halsin still has his hand. The feeling is so strange because he wants to wretch his hand away from him, yet he doesn't move.
"Thank you," Astarion says sincerely, throat tightening with every word. "Thank you, Halsin."
Halsin smiles softly at him, and some kind of strange understanding passes between them. The moment of silence serves them well.
Astarion catches himself, scolding himself internally. Their hands fall and the moment breaks.
It's much easier to make a proper camp out on the surface. Astarion forgot the joys of making camp when he could see the sun start to go down. There's a certain order to it that just makes sense. He missed the sunset.
Halsin tells him about all his travels over the last century. They have a long night of scarce supplies but much to discuss. He never took Halsin for much of a reader, but he has many books to tell Astarion about that he's read over the years. He's learned all kinds of new magic, surpassing anything that he ever imagined for himself.
"What will you do now?" Halsin asks him after a pause passes.
Astarion feels a little lost as the question. He fiddles with the ring, twirling it around his finger, admiring it. The thing still doesn’t feel real. None of this does.
"I don’t know." He admits. "I never thought I would leave the Underdark. I never thought it would be this simple."
"I know something about what that's like. The opportunity to be free comes when you least expect it."
Astarion hums in acknowledgement. He doesn’t really trust Halsin as much as he'd like to still. But he won't say that. It feels like it might ruin something that could be true one day.
"What do you know? About what it's like?" He tests.
"A tale for another time," Halsin smirks, laughing lightly with his secrets. "Well then, shall we get some rest?"
Astarion thinks it will be difficult for him to rest. His brain is too active, it will be too difficult to enter that meditative state that he longs for. His back aches too much to lie straight. His shoulders are stiff. He never thought much about the strain in his body while he was in the Underdark. He had many other things to worry about. But now he suddenly feels that pain a little more intensely. It's not unbearable. But it is nagging him, keeping him from that peaceful place.
They've set up tents, but Astarion does not get up to retire to his. Halsin makes his way to his own tent and hesitates just before pinning it shut. He throws a look back a Astarion, riddled with a little bit of worry if Astarion is not mistaken.
"Are you not going to rest?" He asks.
"I will. Soon enough," He lies. He will not be resting tonight. Even with the happiness he had felt earlier, some things cannot be relieved by a magic ring.
Halsin is out of sight for the rest of the night. Astarion does not move a muscle, still tense and aching as he watches the embers of the fire slowly die out.
He has eternity to rest. It will not greet him tonight.