Chapter Text
It’s another sunny day in Baldur’s Gate, and Astarion’s been left behind.
“It’s not that I don’t want you there,” Falerin had said as he gathered up Wyll, Karlach, and Gale. “It’s just…”
“We need someone who’s not going to bleed the place dry,” Gale added, then paused. “No pun intended.”
Well, let them go on their do-good mission. There was still a whole city out there, and while it had been wise to stay put at camp out in the wilderness, Astarion knew every hidden alley and sneaky getaway in the city—he’d even wager he knew the area better than the Absolute. And during the day, there was no threat at all from Cazador or his siblings. So he took his chance to go out and properly explore the city he knew in the sunlight.
Which was a great idea, in theory, except that the city Astarion knew was dingy alleyways and hidden alcoves and the stinking sewers. He couldn’t even pop in for a drink alone, because he’d been banned from most places thanks to his…sparkling wit. So he ended up contenting himself with walking through the streets. It was odd, seeing the shops open and people milling about. No one even spared him a second glance—nothing unusual about an elf wandering around in the middle of the day, after all.
He had no real destination in mind, but his feet found a familiar path outside of his usual haunts. He wound through the city, the hustle and bustle slowly giving way to quieter streets and homes. He looked about, hardly even aware of where he was going, until he stepped off of cobbled stone and onto soft dirt.
Astarion blinked, looking around. Ah. The graveyard. Well, it was as good a place as any to while away the time—what happened, he wondered, if you died but already had a grave? If he didn’t make it, maybe they’d just pop him back in.
Or, well, no, they wouldn’t. Because if it got out he was a vampire, there likely wouldn’t be much of him left to bury.
He puffed out a breath, looking up overhead. Well, may as well go pay his respects. He started to wander over to a familiar tombstone, then stopped abruptly at what he saw there.
An elf woman—past the first flush of youth, but by no means old—knelt in front of a grave, humming to herself as she cleared the weeds from it. Her long white hair was piled up on top of her head, with a few errant curls escaping to wind around her ears. She wore a lovely deep blue dress, with thin leather back gloves for her work with the weeds. Astarion watched her, silent, brows furrowed.
It took a few minutes, but she finally sat back on her heels with a satisfied little breath. Shit, he should cast invisibility before she turned around. Just as he raised his hands, she stood up and turned around. She let out a startled little “oh!”, hand going to her mouth. Her eyes were a deep blue, nearly violet, and they locked on his for a moment before glancing at his hands.
“Oh, I don’t want any trouble!” she said quickly.
Astarion glanced at his hands, then let them drop. “Nor do I. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.” He cleared his throat, making a face at how…soft his voice had been. The woman waved her hand.
“Oh, you weren’t disturbing me at all,” she assured. “Just doing some tending.”
“I’m…very sorry for your loss.”
“Oh, don’t be.” The woman sighed, glancing back at the grave over her shoulder. “Brother of mine. Honestly, I don’t remember him all that well; he died when I was very young. Sad business, from what I do remember; not even a hundred.” She looked back at him and shrugged. “But our parents used to tend his grave nearly every day, so I figure I’d keep it up now that they’re out of the city.”
Something tight settled in Astarion’s throat, and it wouldn’t budge even with the hardest swallow he could manage. “I…I see. That’s very kind of you, Miss…?”
“Sadiira,” the woman said, breezy as anything. “And it’s Mrs., actually, but I quite enjoy the flattery.”
“Sadiira,” Astarion repeated. He glanced at the ground, then looked back up at her. “You know, it’s the funniest thing, you remind me of someone. Now—and stop me, of course, if this is too forward—but…what was your child name?”
Sadiira laughed, head tilting back and laugh lines etched in her cheeks. “I promise you didn’t know me back then. You’re a young thing, I can tell. Not even fifty yet, I’d guess.”
“A little older, but I get that a lot.”
“Mm. It’s those shadows around your eyes; you look like a student who’s skipped out on sleep.” Sadiira shook her head, curls fluttering. “Oh, where are my manners—I didn’t catch your name.”
“Gale,” Astarion said without hesitation.
“Ah, see, now that is a good child name,” Sadiira said. “I’ll tell you what I was stuck with—Ariadnyë. As a child!” She shook her head, clicking her tongue, then looked up, fair brows drawing together as she looked over Astarion’s face. “Oh my, are you all right?”
“What?” Astarion shook his head. “Oh. Yes. Just…” He gestured around them with a little laugh. “You know how it is. The…energy of this sort of place.”
“Don’t I know it? This is the longest I’ve spent here, I think. Not that I’m not enjoying chatting with you, Gale.” She gave a little laugh. “Still. Shouldn’t be surprising, having a child name like Ariadnyë.” She gestured to the tombstone behind her. “My poor brother was called Astarion, of all things. Dramatic sorts, us Ancuníns.”
“Really? I never would have guessed.”
They both laughed at that. It was…nice. Well, as nice as laughing in a graveyard could be. After a moment, Sadiira sighed, looking up.
“Well, I ought to be getting back home. My husband gets worried with all this…Absolute nonsense going on, and my daughter, gods. She’s twenty-five, and you know what kids are like at that age.”
Astarion smirks. “Does she have a too-long name, too? Or did that tradition die with you?”
“Oh, it very much died with me.” Sadiira smiled a bit, face softening. “Her name’s Aster. Short enough to be manageable, but…I thought it would be nice. Like a bit of my brother could still be around.” She looked up at him, narrowing her eyes a bit. “Hm. Maybe we have met. You must be familiar if I’m dumping all of this on you.”
Astarion gave her a thin smile, fighting the ever-increasing lump in his throat. “Just…one of those faces. It happens a lot.” He dipped his head. “Anyway, far be it from me to keep you.” His smile stayed up as she gave him a nod in return, though it faded as she started to walk away. “A—Sadiira?”
She paused and turned, eyebrows raising. “Yes?”
Astarion looked over her for a moment, then swallowed. “Take care of yourself. Please.”
To his surprise, Sadiira let out a trilling laugh, hand going over her heart. She sent him a grin. “Darling,” she said, “I’ve been doing that for two centuries and almost a quarter more. I’ll be just fine, I promise.” She gave him a smile of her own, lines etching themselves back into her cheeks. “You take care of yourself, too, Gale. Get some rest—I think you need it.”
With that she turned, and Astarion let her go. He leaned against one of the tombstones, letting out a soft, shaky breath. There were…a lot of emotions left to unpack, and there wasn’t nearly enough time to do so. He shut his eyes, fighting the sting that threatened them, then pushed himself to stand up straight and make his way out of the graveyard.
“…and then, Karlach decides to throw a barrel that is on fire right at him!”
“No one got hurt! Well, except the guys we were fighting, but that’s the point!”
A laugh went around the table at Elfsong, where the party—returned from their adventure for the day—were recounting all that had happened. Falerin laughed along with the rest, but he glanced up at Astarion, who was oddly…contemplative.
“You’re not mad that we didn’t bring you, right?” he asked quietly.
The vampire, who had been tracing his finger around the edge of his wine glass, suddenly glanced up. “Hm? Oh, no, just thinking.”
Falerin nearly made a joke, but opted against it. “Anything you want to talk about?”
“Gods, no, nothing like that.” His finger paused, and he looked up at Fal. His face was serious, and he started to speak, but finally he scoffed as he picked up his glass. “Don’t look at me like that. You’ve gotten all the tragic backstory I have.” He took a drink, then looked back to the others. “Did Gale manage to trip on some grease? I swear he manages it every time, even when there’s no grease for miles.”
“It was one time, thank you,” Gale said. “And I’ll not hear another word considering your missed trap almost blew up the lot of us down in Grymforge.”
Astarion clicked his tongue, leaning against Falerin. “You miss one trap after literal dozens and everyone complains…”
Falerin watched him, then shrugged and took a drink of his cider. Well, whatever it was seemed to have dissipated. Really couldn’t have been anything too important.