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Baldur’s Gate buzzed with all the activity of a healthy city, lively and unchanging throughout the ages. Astarion lounged back on the bed—finally, civilization!—and let the sounds from outside wash over him, from the merchants hawking their wares to the couple having a thunderous argument right outside the inn. How long had it been since he’d experienced this city during the day? The moment had both a sense of familiarity to it and, somehow, the tinge of a long lost memory. He stretched luxuriously, the sheets soft against his legs, the sun gentle on his skin.
In the corner of the room, Cassiopeia stood in front of a floor-length mirror and ignored all ambient noises. She was leaning forward with a look of utter concentration in her eyes, the glow of magic hovering over her raised fingertips. Her pale gaze was narrowed and ruthless, hunting for even the tiniest imperfection on her face. Her skin was flawless; no dark veins marred her flesh.
Not that Astarion knew what the truth under the surface was supposed to look like. After that fateful excursion into the Astral prism—after the ambush, the tentacle-shaped revelations, the discomfiting offer for more power—he’d only caught a brief glimpse of her face, the black alien lines already half-obscured by the night’s darkness. Cassiopeia had vanished into her tent immediately, letting no one come in, not even him, until she’d emerged the next morning fresh-faced and still decidedly elven-looking. Clearly whatever mysterious magic she’d used overnight had worked.
Still, her paranoia made sense, Astarion supposed. “Looking for any errant tentacles?” he joked.
“There are not,” Cassiopeia said, the steel in her voice implying a swift and fiery death to any appendages that had the audacity to sprout, “going to be any tentacles.”
Astarion chuckled, and rose from the bed with a graceful little jump. He went to her and hugged her from behind, his arms wrapped intimately over her belly. His cheek brushed against hers—even to the touch her skin was smooth and soft, deceptively normal. Her lone figure in the mirror looked proud and regal, as beautiful as ever. And if her eyes flashed with a bit more force than usual—if her body ran slightly hotter, like a powerful engine barely contained—well, what difference did it make?
“No regrets, then?” Astarion murmured in her ear.
Cassiopeia’s answering grin was wide and hungry, shark-sharp and happy. “I love it.” She turned in his arms to face him, her expression glowing with delight. “Astarion, I can fly! It’s amazing! I always thought I knew what powerful magic felt like, but this?” She gave a little disbelieving chuckle, her eyes bright. “It’s like nothing I could have ever imagined. I feel like I can rule the whole world with just a snap of my fingers.”
“You’re so cute when you talk about world domination,” Astarion crooned, half-teasing but mostly meaning it. He gave her a little kiss, just a quick peck on her lips. Just because he could. “I’m glad you’re enjoying your unholy, mind-shattering illithid magic.”
“Thank you,” Cassiopeia said primly, her own pleased smile curling at the corners of her mouth. She smoothed her palms down Astarion’s shirt, looking up at him from under her eyelashes. “And you’re sure you don’t want this too? I still have the Emperor’s tadpole with me, you know.”
Astarion pulled back with a grimace. “As fun as you make it all sound—yes, I’m sure. I’ve already lived through one horrible body transformation in my lifetime. I’m not risking it happening twice, not even for all that power.”
Cassiopeia gave a little sigh, but her nod was decisive. “Alright. I promise I won’t ask you again.”
Astarion could hear the truth of it in her voice. “Thank you,” he said, sincerely, and caught her hands in his. He raised them to his mouth and pressed a kiss, one on each palm, before bringing them to his chest. “I appreciate that.”
Cassiopeia’s smile was heart-meltingly sweet, so clearly Astarion had no choice but than to kiss her again. What a difference it made, to be intimate without ulterior motives, without the urgency of performing with an end goal in mind. Just warmth and comfort, their bodies gently converging like entwined saplings. He embraced her properly, and Cassiopeia sighed into his arms as he held her even tighter, kissing her even deeper. He let go only to brush his lips past her cheek, her jaw, down the slope of her throat—
Cassiopeia flinched.
“Um…?” Astarion tried to laugh, but it came out confused and nervous. That old familiar anxiety started to niggle at him—was he about to be discarded? Or worse? Even when his mind supposedly knew better his body kept the fear, hiding under his skin, impossible to shake off. “Everything okay?”
“Yes,” Cassiopeia said, her voice tight. “It’s—I’m fine. Keep going.”
“Do you—” Astarion shifted uncomfortably, then set his shoulders and soldiered on. “Would you prefer it if I stopped feeding on you?”
“No! That’s not it at all, I just—” Cassiopeia wrung her hands, unexpectedly expressive in her unhappiness, before finally wailing, “What if you don’t like my blood anymore?”
“Excuse me?”
“You know! Like with that drow in Moonrise.” Cassiopeia looked truly miserable by now, her upturned brows and pouty moue making her seem younger than she was. “You said drinking her blood would have made you retch.”
Astarion’s laugh this time was free and uninhibited, his own worry evaporating with the sound. “You still remember that? Darling, it’s fine. Nothing like that is going to happen with us. Besides, if your blood had truly changed I would have smelled it.”
“But you don’t know why her blood made you react like this. What if this is something similar? What if the illithid magic actually changed my blood’s physiology?” Cassiopeia suddenly paled, looking absurdly horrified. “What if you’ll never be able to drink my blood ever again?”
“Isn’t it a bit too late to be worrying about this?” Astarion asked dryly, though he still rubbed her arms soothingly. “Seems like the appropriate time for second thoughts is before you imbibe from the magical life-altering tadpole. You were so eager to take it even the Emperor was surprised!”
“It was a good deal,” Cassiopeia said defensively, her pout now turning stubborn. “And the Emperor was right, those powers will definitely help us in our fight. I just… if I had considered at the time what it might cost our relationship…”
“What? You would have turned them down?”
“Yes,” Cassiopeia blurted out, then stopped at her tracks, astonished at her own words. She frowned, inwardly searching her thoughts before resolution crystalized in her gaze. “Yes, I would have.”
“...Oh.” Warmth filled up Astarion’s belly, an emotion that tightened his throat and still, somehow, left him surprised. “Thank you,” he said, too affected to be anything other than honest. He hugged her closer, touching his forehead to hers. “It’s going to be alright, I promise. So why don’t we try this again, hmm?”
Astation led her to their bed, gently pulling her arm until she followed, lying down gracefully on the soft covers. Cassiopeia’s lashes fluttered as she looked up at him, searching, her silver irises an opaque mirror. Astarion took a moment to observe her, her beauty and her power and her stubborn, mystifying insistence to stay by his side. He stroked her cheek with his thumb, her skin warm and perfect against his, and dipped down to kiss her.
He kept his touches light, tender. There was a privilege in this intimacy, in learning another’s body just for the joy of exploration, secrets unmapped and treasured simply because of who they belonged to. A kiss to her lips, her cheek, the vulnerable, ticklish spot behind her ear. He hid his smile at her reaction in the crook of her neck, nuzzling, pressing his lips at her jaw, sliding them down her throat…
Cassiopeia twitched, her receding tension returning like the tide. Astarion sighed.
“You do realize you were less nervous the first time I bit you, right?” he said wryly, pulling back. “The deed is done, darling; what exactly are you afraid of?”
“I don’t know,” Cassiopeia groaned, covering her face like an embarrassed, frustrated teenager. She made a muffled, growling little sound—surprisingly adorable!—then abruptly dropped her arms, wearing a look of determination. She took a deep, calming breath, then another, the way she did when preparing for a trance. “Okay. Okay, I’m ready. Just—don’t lie to me if you don’t like it, that’s just going to make things worse.”
“Yes, yes,” Astarion said, privately deciding that he absolutely would lie if he had to, and swiftly bit her before she could react.
Blood gushed into his mouth, hot and metallic and blissfully, mundanely familiar. If her taste had changed then the difference was too subtle for Astarion to notice, and in any case there was no way he would ever stop over it. So he kept drinking her in, his body stirring into alertness like a hungering animal finally given sustenance. The entire time he kept an ear out for Cassiopeia’s sighs, paying attention to her throaty, needy exhales, to her wriggling body under his.
When it was time to stop—and how strange it still felt, to know instinctively when to stop before she started hurting—Astarion carefully unlatched and gave her neck a final kiss. “There. Delicious as always.”
Cassiopeia smiled, her blinks slow and languid. She always got into a relaxed mood after a feeding, mellow and lethargic as her heavy-limbed body replenished its energy. “Yes, fine, you were right,” she said sleepily, and stretched on her back with a little yawn. “Don’t gloat about it.”
Astarion chuckled, and fell back on his side of the bed with a satisfied grunt. He felt happy and well-fed, his senses extra sharp. The sounds of life outside were a comforting hubbub, tempting his eyes to close. Somewhere on the vast surface of the bed was Cassiopeia’s hand; he reached out sightlessly until he caught it, safe and secure in his grasp.
The seconds ticked idly by. Astarion was about to suggest they take an impromptu nap before Cassiopeia stirred, moving closer to him. She rose to her elbow, resting her chin on her fist as she looked down at him. “So, you’re refusing the Emperor’s power… but you’re still doing Cazador’s ritual, right?”
Astarion Immediately went on the defensive, his mood souring. “Yes, I’m still doing the ritual. Of course I’m still doing the ritual. Haven’t I said it a million times already that I’m going to do the ritual? I’m not letting this opportunity slip through my fingers.”
Cassiopeia, entirely unaffected by his outburst, looked down at him with that hard-to-read gaze of hers. She gave a thoughtful hum. “And you’re willing to kill your siblings over it?”
“They’re not my siblings,” Astarion protested automatically, frowning. “It’s not like we’re blood related or anything. We were just… unfortunately connected through a common plight. Like lodgers suffering under the same despotic landlord.” He bared his teeth. ”Or a bunch of pathetic rats cowering in the dark, scratching at anyone who rose to the top of the garbage heap.“
“Hmm.” Cassiopeia’s raised eyebrow was a sign of gentle chastisement in a sea of doubt. “Nice evasion. I’m still not hearing a yes or no.”
Astarion gave up and exhaled a long, tired sigh, running his hands through his hair. “Alright, fine. If I must say it out loud... I admit I don't particularly want to kill them. Obviously if I could kill someone else’s family instead I’d go do that. But I don’t have a choice.” For a moment, he allowed himself to examine the weird tangle of guilt and relief he felt every time he thought about the people he’d left behind. There had never been any love lost between him and his—ugh, fine, his siblings—before, and they’d all always been too busy being miserable to form any sort of camaraderie. At most they were just… witnesses to all that mutual suffering. Living proof that the torture they’d all endured was real, that they weren’t crazy. What an ugly bond to share.
“They’d make the exact same choice in my place,” he continued, and on that point at least his mind was firm with certainty. “Anything to be free of him. They’ll understand, even as they curse me.”
Cassiopeia blinked down at him, slow and searching. Then she shrugged with a little sigh of her own. “Okay,” she said carelessly, toying with the ruffles of his shirt. “If that’s what you want. I’ll support you no matter what you choose, you know. I just want you to be happy.”
“Thank you,” Astarion said with a pointed pout, though his dark mood was mellowing out already. “And just to be certain, you are not having any second thoughts about this either, yes? You’re not going to suddenly turn into a goody-two-shoes savior of the people on me?”
Cassiopeia actually laughed out loud, bless her, a charming tinkling sound that left her eyes bright and twinkling. “Are you kidding me? What do I care about other people?” She leaned towards him with a smile full of mischief, happy and adoring. “If it was a choice between you and the rest of the world, I’d burn down everyone else to a crisp in a heartbeat.”
“How abominably bloodthirsty of you, darling,” Astarion drawled, but he couldn’t help his fond grin. It was petty, and it probably made him an awful person, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the sentiment. It was nice, to be one’s first priority like this. To be loved like this.
He reached out for her ponytail—her tresses slipping through his fingers like water, softer than any silk—and pulled her down for a kiss.
—
The underground dungeon—temple? Ruin? It had to be an ancient structure of some sort—spread out underneath Cazador’s palace, floors and floors endlessly expanding downwards until they seemed to reach the abyss. On each floor there were cells, and in each cell there were prisoners, seven thousand worth of souls hoarded like grubby pennies in the dark. Some of them shifted, some growled, and some simply stared at nothing, their existence too desolate and dismal to warrant inhabiting their bodies. Or so Astarion assumed. He didn’t dare look into the cells; he focused instead on the floor under his feet, on the beautiful, polished marble that adorned this building.
He’d stormed off ahead of the rest of the party, but no matter how fast he walked he couldn’t outrun the heavy gazes on his back. How Karlach had yelled at him, angry and horrified in equal measure, and how Astarion’s anger had reared up just as harshly, the injustice of it all thick enough to choke him. Didn’t he deserve freedom? Hadn’t he suffered, alone, hopeless, foolish? Two hundred years of eating shit, and the only thing he’d learned from it was this: you can only ever save yourself. No one else would bother doing it for you.
But the more he walked, the more his anger turned to ash in his belly, leaving him vaguely nauseous. A bad combination, considering his jittering nerves, his stuttering heart. He wanted this whole situation to be magically dealt with and over already, but wishing was useless, and the sooner he finally killed Cazador the sooner he’d be free. So he kept striding forward, grinding his teeth, and resolutely avoided the shadowy movements at the edges of his sight.
Cassiopeia was the only one keeping pace with him, walking close enough to touch. Unlike Astarion she was actively looking into the cells, peering in with curious, if detached, interest. If she was bothered by anything—the situation, the implications, their ultimate objective—she gave zero indication of it. Her presence was as calm and confident as always, as if she was strolling through a marketplace and not the physical manifestation of one man’s greed and hubris.
“This could have been me, you know,” she mused out loud, her tone distant, almost dreamy. “If us meeting had gone differently. I was even living in Baldur’s Gate at the right time.” She nodded at a cell. “There’s a universe out there where I ended up on the other side of those bars.”
Astarion’s blood turned to ice. “Oh please, you have too much taste to have ever frequented the dives I used to haunt,” he tried to joke, the humor in his voice a discordant, false note. “Besides, you’d have been too clever to have actually followed me here.”
Cassiopeia’s teeth flashed into a grin, sharp and fey-like. “Because I’m known for making sensible decisions?” It sounded like a joke, it should have been a joke, but it fell as flat as Astarion’s own attempt. “No,” she added, shaking her head. She still wasn’t looking at him. “No, I would have followed you.”
Astarion’s hand shot out to hold hers, a blind, panicky motion. “Well. I’m glad you’re standing next to me in this universe.”
She squeezed his hand back, but her attention stayed on the cells they were passing by. “Did you love him?” Cassiopeia abruptly asked. “Sebastian?”
What a question. Astarion let out his breath slowly, trying to gather his thoughts, his memories. Back then his process hadn’t yet fallen into that loathsome, mind-numbing routine, his body and voice going through the motions automatically while his spirit traveled elsewhere. He had been capable of feeling emotions, back in the beginning. He’d been able to feel interest.
“I didn’t love him, but… I liked him. He caught my eye. I liked the way he smiled when I laughed at his jokes, and how he closed his eyes when I kissed him. I… I felt fondness for him, at the time.” Astarion swallowed past the lump in his throat, his voice getting rough. “He’s here because of me. Because I chose him. They all are.”
Cassiopeia hummed. The silence stretched. “Are you going to sacrifice them?” she asked, and there truly was no judgment in her voice, just a simple desire to know.
“Well—what else am I supposed to do?” Astarion asked in a too-high voice, uncomfortable and unable to hide it. “Just let out seven thousand spawn to roam the streets of Baldur’s Gate? They will be hungry, do you understand this? They will be ravenous, and they’ll be too far gone to be reasoned with, and they will kill every single innocent person that stumbles upon their path. It will be pure chaos. It will be carnage.”
Cassiopeia finally turned to face him, and there was something chilling about her carelessly-raised eyebrows, about the slight, cool incomprehension in her gaze. “So?”
Astarion had no answer to that.
—
The knife danced in Astarion’s hand, the hard staccato stabs a melody to the tune of his raging heartbeat. It turned out vampire flesh was just as vulnerable as the mortal kind; the skin gave way easily, generously, splattering open in a constellation of grisly crimson flowers. Cazador had stopped screaming at some point, the only sounds now offered by his body the thuds of a struck pig carcass. The blood hitting Astarion’s face was dull and tepid, bitter to the taste—but that didn’t matter. Astarion had fire enough to burn through the cosmos, his fury emanating from his veins and lungs and tendons, from his very pores. He was distantly aware of yelling.
It was coming from him. His body stuttered to a halt, animated only by the heavy heaving of his breath. He was shuddering all over, sucking in air like a man already drowning. His eyes smarted from the salt in his sweat—no, in his tears. Astarion opened his mouth to laugh, and the sounds he expelled were harsh and alien, too incomprehensible for his mind to decipher at first, until suddenly he could: they were sobs. He let them come, a helpless release he was too far gone to feel embarrassed by, an exorcism bringing the deepest parts of him out into the sweetly-aching light.
It lasted eons. It lasted a lifetime, and it lasted seconds. In the aftermath he was left a weak, trembling mess, a newborn shivering in the viscera of its rebirth. Astarion came back to himself in increments, reality returning sensation by sensation—his breathing unsteady in his lungs, the hair on his arms pebbling from the cold. He looked up, and there past the corpse in front of him and the detritus of battle stood Cassiopeia, a still, unwavering figure. Her face was a smooth mask; her cool eyes colorless, unreadable. Astarion had no idea if she disapproved or not.
He realized he didn’t care. He’d made his choice, and the only approval that mattered was his own.
Slowly, stumblingly, he rose to his feet. As if his motion broke a spell keeping her bound, Cassiopeia stirred and strode towards him, her steps determined. Once she got close enough Astarion finally identified the emotion hiding in her expression: worry. She threw her arms around him with a fierceness that rocked him to his core. Astarion returned her hug with all the energy his exhaustion permitted, letting his forehead drop to her shoulder. She was so warm, so steady. Astarion closed his eyes, soaking it all in without shame.
An endless amount of time later, the sound of shuffling steps brought him back to the present. When he lifted his head he saw his—his siblings—gathering close, hesitant and confused. Some were hunched, and some were making futile attempts to shield their nakedness from the cold, but all had the same expression Astarion felt deep in his bones. Dazed, and scared, and lost.
“Is it over?” asked Dalyria, quiet and half-way mournful. “Is he…?”
Astarion gathered himself, stepping away from Cassiopeia. Her hand stayed on his back, a small, constant show of support. “Yes,” he said, trying to exude a sense of purpose he wasn’t feeling but hopefully would, soon. “He’s gone.”
Petras stepped forward with a scowl—his fear always did manifest as anger, the hypocrite. “What does that even mean?” he demanded. “What’s going to happen to us now?”
“That’s up to you—terrifying as it is.” Astarion raised his chin, trying to make them understand. “You can keep hiding here, cowering in the shadows. Or you can be more. Something other than what he made us to be. It’s your choice to make.”
Dalyria looked more troubled than inspired. “What about the… others? The lesser spawn? Do we release them?”
“Yes,” Astarion said before he could overthink it, though a grimace of uncertainty still escaped him. “Take them to the Underdark. That’s as much of a safe place as we can hope for.”
“Oh, we should take them, huh?” Petras protested, crossing his arms. “Why should we?”
Astarion scowled back, irritation sparking all over his nerves. So much for missing these assholes. “Because it’s our fault they’re here in the first place, maybe? Really, if I can figure out this grand moral conundrum then so can you.”
“He’s right,” Dalyria said with a surprising amount of conviction, even as she rubbed her shivering arms. “Look, I just want to leave. Let’s take them and go.”
“We don’t have to go,” Leon piped up unexpectedly. “No one knows Cazador is dead but us. We could keep living in the estate.”
“Really?” Astarion exclaimed, his incredulity making his gestures sharper. “You want to stay here? In the place of all our fucking suffering?”
Leon shrugged, stubborn as a mule. “Sounds safer than the damned Underdark. At least we know what to expect here.”
“Gods, you know what? Fine,” Astarion said with an explosive, dramatic shrug. “Do whatever the fuck you want. I’m leaving.”
He turned and left them to their bickering—but not before taking Cazador’s staff and slamming it to the ground, feeling both weirdly petty and uneasily righteous. He stood, listening to the distant echo of a countless rusty doors unlocking, and suddenly he felt every ounce of fatigue rush at him all at once. He was done; he didn’t want to think about this anymore.
Cassiopeia’s hand came back to press at his back, her presence comforting and familiar. “Shall we go?” she asked quietly.
Astarion sighed in gratitude. “Please.”
They headed off towards the stairs, hand in hand. Karlach and Shadowheart had stayed to wait by the exit, and as Astarion approached they looked at him with both curiosity and worry.
“Don’t say anything,” Astarion warned.
Karlach laughed, the sound of it happy and relieved, and even Shadowheart allowed a smile to twitchingly appear. They reached out to pat his shoulder, to touch his arm, an unthinking show of camaraderie that needed no words.
Astarion allowed it, unashamed.
—
Dawn crept in like a thief, faint tendrils of light unfurling on the sky and through the window, giving shape to the darkness of the room. The city was quiet, sleeping. Astarion watched the sun’s slow accent with a tired, idle gaze. He’d had a nightmare—a nightmare that was, in truth, a memory: the claustrophobia of a closed casket; the suffocation of a burial; the earth, wet and cold, clinging cruelly under his fingernails as he clawed his way up. He’d woken up choking on air, half-feral with panic, so disoriented that the full emptiness of the silence hit him like a slap. He couldn’t make sense of his surroundings, couldn’t comprehend the lack of danger.
But bit by bit he’d calmed down, and while he couldn’t quite manage to fall asleep again the stars had made for pleasant companions, keeping vigil alongside him. He’d watched them until they blinked out one by one, and now he waited patiently for the rosy arrival of true daylight. Next to him Cassiopeia curled into his side, her breathing steady and symmetrical, a tempo to count his own breaths to.
Despite everything, he felt at peace.
He watched a ray of sun climb languorously over the bed, reaching for the wall. A shutter cluttered open somewhere outside, the inn itself stirring awake. Cassiopeia shifted, hummed. Her eyes fluttered open. She smiled at him.
“Hey.”
“Hello,” Astarion murmured, smiling back. He let his fingers fall through her hair, playing with a stray tress. “Sleep well?”
“Mmm.” Cassiopeia nuzzled at his neck, bringing her hand over his belly. For a few moments they breathed in tandem, lazy and indulgent, until she broke the silence. “So. Do you regret it?”
“No,” Astarion said, with a confidence that should have surprised him but didn’t. “It was the only way to break the cycle, I know that now. Come what may—it was the right decision, and it was what I chose.” He took in a breath, let it out slowly. “This is what it means to be free. And I am, now. I’m free.”
Cassiopeia stayed quiet, petting his torso with an absentminded, unconscious tenderness. “Then I’m happy for you.” She lifted her chin so she could look at him, her eyes silver-bright in the sunlight. “And your protection from the sun? You have one less permanent option now.”
“Ah, well. I suppose I do regret that,” Astarion said wryly. “Still, it was a worthwhile sacrifice. Living in the shadows won’t be that bad, not when I can actually lead the life I want.”
Cassiopeia kept frowning, looking adorably pouty. “I don’t accept that. I’ll find a way to make this work.”
Astarion’s lips curled up into a smile. “I’m sure you will.”
“I mean it! There must be something—some magic, or another ritual—and if there isn’t, well, I’ll invent one.”
Astarion couldn’t resist teasing her. “Provided we don’t all die horribly in the meantime, hmm?”
“We are not,” Cassiopeia said with unyielding, immeasurable certainty, “going to die. I’ll make sure of that.”
“I know you will, my love,” Astarion said, unbearably fond. “I trust you.”
He really did, he realized. If anyone could turn the universe on its head and make the impossible possible, it was her. So Astarion lay back and hugged her closer, content to let her deal with all the megalomaniac illithids and the world-ending threats. He’ll be busy enough trying to build their life.
The future, after all, was full of possibilities.