Work Text:
Upon hearing his companion’s scream, Astarion rushed outside, only to see this absolute idiot of a man laying on a flatstone, unmoving, and with half of the population of their campsite around him.
Shadowheart was already by his side, casting a healing spell on him, while Wyll and Gale, apparently also freshly awoken were both trying to keep Lae’Zel from slicing Volo’s throat (his defensive position would have been hilarious if not for the very angry, and thus very dangerous gith who was screaming various terrible things to him). Karlach was just getting out of her tent as well, with tired, hangover eyes, which widened at the sight of their “leader” laying on the stone.
From his position, the vampire couldn’t see much of Axael, but when he got closer, he saw him lying down with an ice pick lodged deeply into his left eye socket, his right eye and his mouth wide open, and his body shaking from the shock.
Astarion’s usual cold blood heated with anger, taking advantage of Karlach’s slow reaction, he dashed past Axael and Shadowheart to lunge at Volo, pressing his dagger against his throat. He didn’t even have the time to start asking his question, that the leech that had been living at their expense for the last week began to talk by himself.
“I only wanted to help, I swear!” he raised his hands in defense, “He asked me to do it! Things got a little out of hand, but look at him, he looks alright!” Astarion attempted a gaze towards Axael, who had the ice pick extracted by Shadowheart’s expert hands, and was now slowly getting up. He didn’t seem “alright” in any way, clutching at his left eye and still shaking like a leaf.
Astarion returned to threatening the other bard. “I highly suggest that you take your things and go. Now.”
The man began to stutter over his own words, before he managed to get a small sphere out of his pocket. “For compensation.” He said as he put it into Astarion’s shirt pocket, giving it a light pat before making his escape. He dug into his pocket, retrieving the item, which was none other than…an eye. A blue prosthetic eye, infused with arcane energy.
He made his way back to Axael who was now fully sitting up. Wyll was kneeling before him, holding his hands to keep him from touching his eye while Shadowheart wrapped a bandage around his head. Lae’zel was standing behind them, watching Astarion with an approving eye. He gave her a curt nod, and sat down beside the tiefling, giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, hoping for at least a little reaction, which he never received.
“He’s in shock, he won’t answer.” Shadowheart said as she finished up the bandage. “Or that idiot hit his brain, I can’t say yet. In any case, he won’t be going anywhere, today.”
“Can’t we give him a potion?” asked Gale’s voice somewhere to his right. Axael was shaking, panting, and straining against Wyll’s hands to try to reach his eye. The left side of his face was covered in blood and the hunger within the vampire was amplifying at the sight…No, he could still manage a day or two without it.
Shadowheart rolled her eyes. “Do you think I’m that incompetent? The injury is healed, but that still must hurt like hells, the bandage is here to prevent him from touching it, he already tried to scratch it three times.”
“So, someone is going to have to watch over him while we do some exploring…someone he trusts.” Wyll muttered.
All eyes turned to Astarion. Watching over Axael wouldn’t bother him, but the rest of the group had always quite insisted on keeping him around in case they found things to unlock, or traps to disarm, so he had to pray no one would bring it up.
He shrugged. “I don’t mind staying here for the day, I’ve got plenty of things to do here, anyway.” He had, in fact a growing pile of various garments he had to mend, and that little “day off” would be perfect for a long overdue relaxing.
But obviously… “And what if the group that goes encounters a trap?” Of course Gale couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “Astarion is clearly the most talented of us for that.” In any other circumstance, the praise would have been welcome, but in that moment, Astarion wanted nothing but to eviscerate that wizard.
In the end they had agreed on a somewhat balanced team: Wyll, Shadowheart, Lae’Zel and Astarion would go east of the Grove to try to scout out a safe trail to the Mountain Pass, while the others would start packing up the camp site. Karlach had been designated as “a person Axael trusts” to watch over him while their remaining healer was gone.
Obviously, the scouting mission didn’t go as planned, to Astarion’s despair, as they had ended up saving some Balduran noble from a house fire. Counselor Florrick, some advisor to Wyll’s father that had informed them that Duke Ravengard had been taken to the Moonrise Towers, Then, they had spent their whole day stealing from thieves and getting some more smoke powder barrels (that was always useful). His fingers were aching with just how many traps he had to disarm on the way.
Somewhere, on their way back, Shadowheart and Lae’Zel started arguing, like usual.
“I am simply saying that those teeth-lings should have been able to defend themselves without our help!” hissed the githyanki.
“They are civilians. They’re not exactly fit for fighting.” Shadowheart replied in a haughty tone.
“I am not familiar with you Faerunian’s ways of living, but us githyankis are taught to kill from the moment we are hatched. It is fascinating to see how you managed to survive in this place for so long in such conditions.”
The seed of an idea sprouted in Astarion’s mind. Karlach was in camp, looking over their other tiefling. Perfect. “You know, Lae’Zel, I have a book back in camp,” he said in his most disinterested tone, “of course, it’s a little spicy, but it could familiarize you with some of the customs of this world, especially about tieflings.”
The book, Tusk Love, was about the saucy union of a wild orc and a young lady tiefling, and was, of course, a widely inaccurate and absolutely terrible smut that he had managed to take from the Grove a few nights before. If he managed to convince Lae’Zel that the inaccuracies of the book were true…
“Fine.” She said eventually. “I will read your book about the customs of your world.” Astarion grinned under the disapproving stare of his companions, but at least, Shadowheart and Lae’Zel were not at each other’s throat anymore.
When they came back to their (now mostly packed up) camp site, the night had already fallen, and Astarion was in a significantly better mood than in the morning. He even helped Lae’Zel to unload her bag of holding into their chest.
Karlach came to him as they were unloading the last of the barrels, informing him that Axael was near the river bank, and that she needed to do something else than idly keep an eye on him, insisting not so subtly that it was his turn to take care of the bard.
Astarion then left Lae’Zel and Karlach to their own devices, making his way to the river, where he soon spotted his friend, sitting with his head on his knees on a flat rock in front of the river. There was a faint smell of cigarette around him. He sat down next to the tiefling, huffing a breath as he did. “You should stop smoking, that thing will kill you.”
“I wish…I only smoke when I’m stressed.” He said in a bitter tone, muttering the next sentence. “I almost took one yesterday, too, but I was exhausted.” He sighed heavily before he talked again. “You know, in 4 000 years of living, I can’t believe this was my first lobotomy.”
“At least, you seem in better shape than this morning.” He couldn’t help but notice the faint red lines of scratching under the bandage. “How do you feel?”
“Still hurts like hells, and I feel like shit, but I’ll be fine.” He took a deep breath, sighing on the exhale. “I used to be an artist, you know?” Astarion sat straighter, listening intently. “A tattoo artist, but that doesn’t matter. Up until a few years ago, I still had one functioning eye, I could still do my life’s work. And even though, since then I haven’t been able to draw anything, up until a few hours ago, I could still see colors…” He wiped his right eye. “I know it’s silly, I was already legally blind, but…now I have nothing left of what used to be my life.”
Astarion leaned closer to him, allowing the man to drop his head on his shoulder. “It’s not silly, you just lost one of your senses, for good. Anyone would be upset over that. Which reminds me, you allowed me one question a day, right?” Axael nodded. “While the subject is still...fresh, I was wondering, how did you lose your sight in the first place. I know for the right eye, but you never told me about the left one.”
“Putting salt in the wound while it’s still fresh, aren’t we?” He sighed, but his posture relaxed a little bit. Anything to distract him from his current affliction seemed enough, even if it appeared to hurt. “Alright, I’ll humor you. I think I’ve been avoiding the subject for long enough, anyway. A few years back, I was in a...Similar predicament to yours.” He swallowed audibly. “I wasn’t enslaved, but someone, in Baldur’s Gate, found out about my immortality, and, long story short, she “studied” me.”
He took a deep breath, leaning further down on Astarion’s side, seeking comfort. He wrapped a gentle hand around his waist, in a touch he was hoping would be steadying. “I was driven mad by the pain,” he resumed, “and at some point I just couldn’t stand to see the horrors she subjected me to, so, in a fit of madness, I scratched at my remaining eye, until the iris broke.”
For a moment, Astarion just stared at him, unable to form a single word. A week before, he hadn’t thought Axael would be able to even understand a fraction of his pain, now, that certainty was replaced by a persistent doubt. “For what it’s worth,” he said, eventually, “I’m sorry. The past won’t change, obviously, but I’m sorry nonetheless.”
“You know, you make a lot of efforts to appear heartless, sometimes. I’m glad to see you’re not.” he said with a smile. “The last time she laid her hands on me was seven years ago, at least, I’m…” he paused for a second. “Well, obviously, I’m not ‘alright’, but it’s fine, I’m recovering from it, no need to dwell on that.”
He was not really convinced by this answer, but wouldn’t try to object, not wanting to cross a boundary. “If you say so. But I am curious now.” He waited for Axael to nod before actually asking his question. “Who was that person?”
“It was a woman named Nomork Westions, Astarion.” He said with a smile.
It took him a moment to get it. “No more questions, I get it. Even though, technically I didn’t have the occasion to ask you my daily question yesterday, so I think I deserve an answer anyway, don’t you?”
“It won’t work that way, I’m afraid,” the tiefling chuckled, “I don’t like talking about myself, and I’m afraid you’ve missed your chance yesterday.”
Astarion made a soft, disappointed noise, and replaced one of the curls that was starting to fall in front of his eye. While doing so, he moved his shirt pocket, displacing a small object sitting in it. “Oh right, I forgot.” Astarion dug into his pocket, retrieving the forgotten prosthetic and handed it to him. “It’s a prosthetic, in case you were wondering.”
Axael caught it with a disgusted face. “Either way you took that from a random guy today, or Volo gave it to you earlier, and either way it stayed in your pocket for a whole day…” He smiled faintly. “Thank you, but I think I will wait until it’s been thoroughly sanitized before putting that into my eye socket.” His face suddenly lit up. “Oh! I had something for you, too! Don’t tell the others, though, it may be seen as favoritism.”
“Oh, come on, they already know I’m your favorite.” Axael dug into his own pocket, retrieving a small golden necklace and handing it to Astarion. He examined it with a chuckle. “That’s the second enchanted necklace you gave me in the last twenty four hours, you magpie.”
He huffed a laugh. “It came to my attention today that the seashell could only work if you’re asleep, so, I spent my day enchanting this with the very spell I use on you, I’m not sure it will work on an elf, since it’s an enchanted item, but you’ve got one charge a day to try it.”
“And here I thought you only gave me the seashell to make me stay with you…” he said softly.
“Yeah, I understood it could have been interpreted like that way later, I’m sorry.”
Astarion replaced his arm around the musician’s waist, startling him a little, before he melted in his embrace. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. The command word is isilmë” ‘Moonlight’, in elvish, of course. They stayed quiet for a few more minutes, listening to the idle chatter of their companions and the sounds of nature.
Axael seemed hesitant to ask for something; he had opened his mouth only to close it a few times already, and his tail was shifting nervously behind him. Astarion then took the lead. “What is it? You’re dying to ask me something.”
He gave a half hearted laugh. “Yeah…It’s night already, isn’t it?” Astarion confirmed his suspicions with a hum. Axael raised his head towards the stars. “Could you...Could you describe what the sky looks like for me, please?”
Astarion’s heart melted a little at such a simple, yet important request. He spent the next twenty minutes describing the night sky, the stars, the constellations they created, the soft glow of the Moon and her Tears while Axael listened with a soft smile. He was really starting to care too much for him, wasn’t he?