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Astarion hadn’t slept during the night that followed the events of the Monastery. He had barely tranced, meditating while also keeping an eye on Axael, or, keeping an ear out for the sound of his breathing and heartbeat.
His short night had obviously been plagued by unpleasant memories, as usual when he tranced, but especially after the events of the last day.
The pain of a hammer breaking his knuckles, Godey's face in front of him, taunting him, Cazador's knife slicing through his back, the screams of his siblings from the kennels, hands grabbing at him, the pain in his scalp as a woman pulls his hair too hard, his back cramping up after hours spent in an awful position.
In his trance, he heard a commotion outside, Lae'zel's voice shouting, but no fight. He could hear Axael's heartbeat, steady in his chest, his breathing, still weak, but regular.
He woke up a few hours before dawn, still sore but overall feeling refreshed. He stretched slowly, and, making sure not to wake the body still asleep next to him, he positioned himself close to the tiefling, sitting close to him, and grabbed a book from his pack, hoping to distract himself from the boredom that was already taking a hold of him.
Merely five minutes later, someone came to the tent, the metallic sounds immediately betraying Shadowheart's identity. She gently raked her nails against the cloth of the tent, signaling her presence to them, in case the pieces of metal in her hair clinking together still hadn't given her away.
He put his book down, and watched as she pushed her head through the gap of the tent flap, and took in the position of the two men. “How is he doing?” She asked in a not so subtle voice, making Axael stir and groan in his sleep, and move slightly to cling to the closest thing to him; in that case: Astarion's leg.
He couldn't help the smile that took over his lips at such a display of vulnerability and trust. “He's alive and stable from what I can tell.” He answered in a much more subtle whisper as he reached over to his side to undo the knot keeping the flap closed, allowing the cleric to come into the already crowded space of the tent.
“Better than nothing, in my opinion...” She answered in her still not so quiet voice as she placed her hands above the bard, who sighed in his sleep when the healing magic rushed through him. Her brows furrowed. “He healed surprisingly quickly, I barely had to do anything this time, and he seems to be good as new.” She then turned her attention to Astarion. “How are you doing?”
To be fair, the others had suffered much worse injuries than him, but his calf still sent waves of pain through his body when he tried to move it. Besides, Shadowheart seemed to have recovered all of her magic, so she could spend a little on him, couldn't she? “My leg still hurts terribly, darling, if I didn't have to watch over him, I probably would have passed out from the pain already.” Okay, maybe he was being a little melodramatic, but he deserved to be selfish from time to time, right?
If Shadowheart had any doubt about his honesty, he didn't notice it in her expression. What he did notice, however, was the little, half aborted snort coming from the other man.
“You're not really asleep, now, are you?” Astarion asked as softly as possible.
“With the noise she makes?” The tiefling said while letting go of his leg to allow the half elf to take care of it. “Impossible.”
“How do you feel?” The healer inquired while still working on Astarion's leg, before shooting him a dirty look when she noticed he wasn't that injured.
“Way better than a few hours hours ago,” Axael answered, “thanks to you, I might add.”
“Hm, you displayed a rather impressive regenerative capacity,” she repeated, “and you survived the fall of an entire monastery; care to share what is the cause of this?”
“I'm under the protection of a deity.” He answered easily. But the thing, with sharing adventures with people, especially people connected via tadpoles, was that it was becoming increasingly easier to understand each other, and read each other's behaviors. Lying didn't exactly work as well as it used to between them.
“Bullshit.” Shadowheart and Astarion said at the same time, making Axael groan in frustration. “I would have known, if someone holy watched over you.” She added.
“Fine, you know what?” Axael sat up with a stifled noise of pain, and gestured towards where he usually put his pack. “Take as much money as you want from my things, and we'll never talk about this again, okay?”
Astarion snickered and Shadowheart looked at him with wide eyes, then silently proceeded to check their vitals a last time, before turning around to get the promised money, and fled the tent without another word.
“You’re actually willing to pay her to avoid her questions?” Astarion asked with an amused huff, moving to position himself behind Axael, coaxing him into laying down again by gently threading his fingers through his hair.
“I’m pretty sure she figured a lot of things by herself.” He replied, getting down with a grunt to lay on Astarion’s lap. “Now she knows not to say anything to anyone.” He turned around to face Astarion and buried his face into his stomach, wrapping his arms around his waist and holding him close.
Astarion got startled by the movement for a few seconds, not really knowing how to handle the casual intimacy of the gesture. “Are you still hurting?” Astarion asked, in a panic to fill the sudden empty silence, suddenly very concerned after hearing the man’s discomfort.
“Like I’ve just been crushed under a building.” The tiefling groaned, his voice muffled by the fabric of Astarion’s shirt. “Let’s just hope the others will call for a day of rest for everyone, I don’t think I will be able to move very far like that, especially in those shadow cursed lands.”
Hesitantly, he put his hand back into Axael’s hair, softly stroking it. Right after Shadowheart had offered him some of her blood, he had suggested to redo her braid, which had started falling apart during the day, just to shake off the feeling of owing her. Having his hands in someone’s hair was alarmingly quickly becoming soothing to him.
“We could all use some rest, yes.” He said softly after a few moments. “Speaking of rest, when I woke you up earlier, you were having a nightmare, correct?”
The bard hummed affirmatively against him. “What? Are you gonna make me tell you about it?” He muttered, his face still buried into Astarion’s abdomen.
“And make you believe I care about you? Nonsense.” He answered while still stroking his hair. “More seriously, I was wondering, since you told me you can control your dreams, how come you couldn’t this time?”
He seemed to consider the question for a few seconds, curling up further onto Astarion’s lap, as if seeking comfort. Eventually, when Astarion was getting convinced he wouldn’t answer at all, he let out a small sigh, and started talking.
“Dreams and nightmares have meanings, especially nightmares.” He explained. “When you have a nightmare, it’s to make you understand something. But when you avoid having nightmares, like I did for most of my life by controlling them, you disrupt that balance. And when I get too tired to control them, I can be sure to get some kind of backlash.”
“Do you think this could be applied to me?” He asked, suddenly worried as he remembered the awful night he had had. “That I could get that kind of...Backlash?”
Finally, Axael turned his head to the side, now facing the opening of the tent, but his eyes were turned towards Astarion. “You don’t dream when you trance, you remember, so, no, it’s different. If you have bad nights, it’s not because of this.” He assured him softly.
But now, Astarion was curious. So far, Axael had been honest with him, but that could change in a handful of seconds, if Astarion pried too much. Sure, he still had one question, but this one was his very last, and he wanted to ask something else with it.
“What did you ‘dream’ about?” The tiefling asked before Astarion could ask him the same question. “You were pretty agitated, and...well, I’d understand if you’re not up to sharing.”
The more he spent time with Axael, the more comfortable he was making choices. Because of the little opportunities like this one. I’d understand if you’re not up to sharing, he gave him little choices like that; the option to talk or not. The little choices that made him feel like a whole individual again.
“Oh, just about some of the time I spent under my master’s control,” he answered dismissively, as if that time had been derisive. “You know, the usual stuff.”
Axael grimaced, and fully turned around, facing the ceiling, and reached up a hand to cup his face. Astarion allowed it, and even leaned into the touch after but a second of hesitation. “Just because you’re used to it doesn’t make it insignificant.”
“How about yours?” He deflected, instead of trying to argue with him. It was far too early for that.
He watched Axael closely, looking for any hint of disappointment in his face, instead, he found compassion, and worry in his furrowed brows. “I still haven’t figured out what they all mean.” He said carefully as he let his hand drop. Astarion found himself missing the contact. “The first and last ones were pretty obvious, but I’m having a hard time with the second one.”
“I didn’t ask you if you knew what they meant, darling. I’m asking you to tell me about them.”
“I’m aware,” he replied simply, “but I’d rather not dive into that until I understand all of it.” He chewed on his lower lip for a second. “Unless you wish to use that last question of yours for that?”
“Maybe.” Astarion said with a grin. Technically, he hand’t said ‘yes’, which meant that he still would be able to ask his real question later, if Axael fell for it.
The bard sighed deeply and covered his face with an arm. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
Ah, so he had fallen for it. “Who knows, maybe, I’ll be able to help you decipher the second one.”
“Alright, then, it’s not like we have anything better to do anyway.”
And so, he told him what he remembered from his dreams, telling Astarion that he believed the first one was about being stuck in his immortality, unable to join his friends on the other side.
For now, his guess for the second one was that he was running into a bad situation without realizing it.
The third, according to him, was more simple, simply a reminiscence of the time he spent with his captor, most likely triggered by the physical agony he was in.
“Have you tried looking at it like a whole?” Astarion asked once he was done. “You know, like those big paintings in three parts.”
“A triptych, you mean?” Axael asked immediately, eyes bright with interest.
Astarion rolled his eyes, he had never been really interested in art, having always considered it an elitist thing before becoming a magistrate, and never understood the appeal of standing in a gallery for hours during his time as one. Obviously, catching the sight of paintings that weren’t just portraits of the Szarr family had been near impossible during his enslavement.
“Yes, yes, a triptych. Maybe you should focus on the whole, determine what they all had in common, and it will help reveal the details?” He supplied somewhat helpfully.
“You’re probably right, actually.” The tiefling chuckled. “Thank you, Astarion. Although, I would have ended up telling you all about it once I had figured it out by myself. Why did you use your last question to speed up the process?”
Astarion smirked. “Oh, but I didn’t use it for that, darling. I said maybe. Technically, I still have one question.”
Axael sighed deeply. If Astarion didn’t know him that well, he would have sworn he was exasperated. “You’re a pain in the ass.” He sighed.
“Oh, don’t say that yet darling, I still haven’t been inside you.” To Astarion’s defense, Axael had walked right into that one. He snickered, glad to see his friend was laughing as well. “But now that we’re at it, I have had something on my mind for a while, now.”
Axael reached up for Astarion's hand, bringing it close to his chest to get a better leverage when he started stroking up and down his arm, encouraging him. Astarion could feel the strong beats of his heart under his hand. “Yes?” He asked softly.
“Back when we were in the Underdark,” Astarion began, “you said I wasn’t looking for power, but for control. And you eluded the question when I asked you what you were looking for. So I’ll ask again: what are you looking for? What drives you?”
The tiefling stayed silent for a moment, still mindlessly stroking Astarion’s arm with his fingertips. “What drives me is fear, for now, I think.” He said after a minute. “And I guess I’m looking for peace, rest, solace...”
Death. He didn’t say. But Astarion heard it nonetheless. The tent felt cold, and silent all of a sudden. He squeezed Axael’s hand in his own.
“Rest. You can have some of that right now.” He said finally, his voice soft, and quiet, and Axael relaxed on his lap. “As for the rest, we’ll figure it out.”
Together.