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Halsin and Solace make the walk around the Elfsong look like a marathon. Both injured people breathe heavily and take careful steps, leaning on their canes and taking their time finding their balances. Halsin is surrounded on both sides by the vampire and Wyll, neither man touching the druid unless he asks. Solace is more steady than Halsin, but is equally exhausted. Gale keeps near them at their request, a gentle magic floating at his fingertips in case of a stumble.
The city is full of life and crumbled buildings. People are lighting lanterns and torches as the rebuilding efforts continue into the night hours. He sees a number of people with wrapped wounds and splinted bones, but he sees that people are smiling. Happy. They survived the end of the world. Why wouldn’t they be happy?
But Astarion is no fool. He knows that for every happy go lucky fool with fewer worries than two days ago; there are people like him who know how to capitalize on the yet downtrodden. He licks his lips as he watches a flaming fist soldier drag a visibly scared young elf woman into a back alley and tower over her.
“Wyll, Halsin, I will be right back. I have a wrong to right and a meal to partake in.” He inclines his head to the alley, Halsin’s eyes sparking with anger as he watches a woman try to extricate herself from the grasp of someone who did not want to let her go. Wyll cannot see how the guard’s gauntlet has split the woman’s skin around her wrist, but Astarion can smell it.
“Astarion,” Wyll requests, an open hand on his arm as he begins to take off. The vampire turns with a raised eyebrow.
“Try not to kill them. Fewer bodies in the streets, the better. And no Fist will mention a vampire attacking them if they can’t be certain it was a vampire.” Wyll gives him a significant look and Astarion nods. Choke the bad soldier unconscious before feasting it is.
“I don’t understand why you care about a soldier who is intimidating a woman, but I will leave that to you to puzzle out.” He slides into the shadows and slips his arm around the soldier’s neck before anyone is sure he’s there. The elf woman startles but wisely keeps her eyes on the ground before whispering her thanks and stiffly walking away.
“Is this one after a payment or just intimidating you?” He asks, easily keeping his prey from wriggling free. This is so much easier than even three days ago. He can feel a person whom he would normally have to cajole into trusting him struggle in his grasp and he isn’t even straining to keep them still.
“They’re an ex. Don’t date guards. They’re all rotten.” The woman spits and stalks off, head down and cradling her bruised and bleeding wrist. Astarion watches her go and throws the guard into a wall, cracking the bastard’s nose and pressing them into the stone; his lips by their ear. His voice is low; the growl of a leashed predator.
“You’re very lucky that I have been asked to spare your rotten self. You’ll wake up after this and feel like death would be preferable. Make no mistake in this; I am not given to mercy and I have a very good memory. If you remain a guard, I will come back and finish the job.”
Astarion grips the back of the soon to be ex-guard and slams their face into the wall until they crumble in his hold. He then, just to be sure no one even considers it was a vampire, cuts a non-lethal slit in their wrist and drinks until he hears their heart slow to a concerning level. He then tears off a strip of fabric and wraps the wrist so they don’t bleed to death.
“Sweet dreams.” He straightens his clothes and feels his mouth and lips for any left over blood. He wipes his mouth on a handkerchief just to be sure. The bloody and beaten soldier sits in a pile of trash, and while Astarion never felt the call to art; he feels that he’s done a passable job at something approaching commentary.
The vampire skulks back to his friends and assures Wyll that he can go check on the abusive ex partner if he really wanted to. Wyll’s interest in the soldier’s survival diminishes rather quickly after that. He claps the man on his shoulder, happy that he’s started to realize some people are really not worth helping.
The rest of the walk is uneventful. Halsin steps on a loose cobblestone and wavers; laughing in pride as he manages to catch himself without aid. He braces himself on his cane and focuses; staying calm as Astarion and Wyll prepare to support him. Solace places their hand between Gale’s hands and has him clap for them; making the paladin giggle; the charm of the moment bringing mirthful tears to Halsin and Wyll’s eyes. Astarion just smiles and shakes his head; witnessing a six foot tall tiefling lean over a shorter man and have him sandwich their hand to support their partner.
The small group makes their way around the inn, splitting up a little to get through the crowd of merry makers to circle around to the side door to the room. People generally make room for the hobbling elf, but a few of the drunker patrons do not, and Wyll politely asks and guides them out of the path so Halsin need not alter his course. Astarion makes himself stay calm and bite his tongue; focusing on Halsin and not those who bustle around a crippled man like he is an obstacle and not a person.
“Let me sit a moment, Astarion. The stairs are a daunting prospect.” Halsin chuckles warmly, gesturing to be guided to one of the tables. The vampire guides the elf to the table and sits him down; squeezing his shoulder and pressing a kiss to his sweaty brow.
“Hooo, busy night, isn’t it?” Solace chuckles, as close to arm-in-arm as they can be with Gale, left hand using the cane to steady their gait. They come to sit next to the druid, head resting on his shoulder. Wyll joins up soon after, having smoothed things over with a drunkard he had apparently offended.
“Do any of you want drinks? I’ll play waiter.”
“Oh yes please. Some rosé would be delightful.” Solace requests, grabbing an abandoned goblet and magically cleaning it, going to fill it with water before Gale sees what they’re doing and not letting that happen.
“You have no idea what was in that goblet, Solace. Prestidigitation cannot account for everything. Please don’t tempt fate anymore than you need to. On behalf of Astarion, Halsin, and myself; I beg you to wait for a new vessel.” The wizard sets the goblet in the nearest receptacle and turns to Wyll.
“A decent red wine, please. And water for these two especially.” He gestures to the playfully pouting tiefling and warmly grinning druid.
“Honey mead, please.” Halsin requests, running his fingers through Solace’s hair. The paladin sighs and leans into the touch, eyes sliding to study the crowd.
“Astarion? Anything from the bar?”
“Oh… something full bodied and heady.” The human man rolls his eyes playfully and goes to the bar. Astarion sits across from Solace and Halsin, happy to enjoy the tavern atmosphere.
Gale speaks of the progress that Rolan has made in rebuilding Sorcerous Sundries, going into detail of how the library was defended by the books themselves.
“Those tomes are as capricious as a stray cat, but if you threaten their home, they apparently know how to incinerate an illithid at two hundred paces. The librarian also opened a tome that she had never seen on the shelf before and a portal to High Hall’s archive appeared under her feet. It seemed that a few scrolls had gotten tired of being ignored.”
Halsin is enraptured by the wizard’s tales while Solace peacefully watches the crowd; head on Halsin’s shoulder. Their eyes drift from patron to patron, never lingering very long. They answer a few questions from the wizard and ask the druid if they would have all the typical limbs of an animal if they were to learn to wildshape. Halsin looks delighted at the idea that Solace wanted to learn what druids were able to do.
“I believe so! My animal forms are possessed of all their limbs, so I cannot imagine yours would not be the same. Are you interested in studying druidic magic?”
Solace is about to respond when their eyes settle on something Astarion has to turn around to see. The tiefling’s expression is stricken; pinched. They look confused and a little concerned. When Astarion turns to follow their gaze, all he sees is a visibly pregnant masculine person walking arm in arm with who Astarion would assume was their partner. The pregnant person laughs loud and bright at something their partner said; the couple passing by the tavern without sparing a glance at the lively nature of the gathering. The two people turn down a residential street and disappear from sight.
“Sorry,” Solace apologizes, sounding like they didn’t understand why they had fixated on the couple.
“What did you ask me? Oh! Yes, I’d love to study. If I can, I want to be a cat. I think I’d be adorable.”
“And a menace, I’m sure.” Astarion supplies, lightening the suddenly tense mood. The instinct to be careful with Solace’s former urges and fixations is still present; and to a certain degree, Astarion understands. It had been what, barely a tenday since Solace had been brought back? The instinct to keep the tiefling from trying to slake their bloodlust on innocent people was well honed over the last few months.
“I would be an utter delight as a kitty cat and you know it.” Solace asserts, gesturing with their left hand somewhat awkwardly. They blush slightly darker as they nearly elbow Wyll’s tray with their unpracticed movements.
“I think you’d be a delight in any form, personally.” Wyll seamlessly agrees, setting down everyone’s orders.
“Oh for certain. I’m sure I made a very cute murder beast. Spikes and teeth and all.”
“Like I said,” The man agrees, raising his mug of Dragon Dew and clinking it against Solace’s wine. “A delight in any form. Even a terrifying six limbed monster from whatever red wasteland you’re now free from.”
“You’re flirting already? Did you have a shot or two while we were waiting for you?” Gale playfully chides, gazing at Wyll with nothing short of adoration.
“May have. I promise I’ll be helpful getting Halsin up the stairs.”
The next few hours are warm and pleasant. Dozens of people coming to dull their worries with alcohol or company or both. For a short while, five people who had saved not only the city but the world sit at a table and get lost in the crowd.
Eventually, as the night wears on and the party atmosphere wanes into more solemn tones and conversations; the other allies and friends from the best and worst time of Astarion’s undeath come to join the table. First is Karlach and Dammon, the two tieflings with arms around each other and the energy of two people who are immensely comfortable with the other. They sit down at a neighboring table before thinking better of it and dragging it closer. Lae’zel and Shadowheart join the double table soon after; both immensely satisfied and looking prepared for a tense goodbye. They order drinks and join the conversation just as Minsc and Jaheira arrive; both with fresh bruises and appearing as though they won a very fun fight.
The party continues past closing hours simply because what guard is going to demand the bar close after the near end of the world? Solace and Halsin imbibe drinks slowly at the request of the druid himself; warning that alcohol will not aid balance or healing in general.
“We do still need to get up those damn stairs.” Halsin burbles, showing that he was not kidding in the least about his lightweight nature. His face is a ruddy red as he fawns over the tiefling and Astarion; boisterous in how loved he feels for being taken care of and respected.
“Well,” Solace sighs, eyes lidded and pleasantly buzzed. The paladin presses their cheek against Astarion’s chest; their skin very very warm from their drinks. They give a small hiccup and Halsin looks utterly charmed.
“We have several very strong people in our little group now. I think we can ask one of them to carry us upstairs so we don’t hurt ourselves. Maybe stopping for a drink when one of us is literally finding their feet anew wasn’t the greatest plan. But fuck it, I’m having fun.” The paladin sways and burrows into their vampire’s touch even further; seeking reprieve in his cold skin.
It is Jaheira who signals the end of the party; her matronly tones demanding that those who can walk but not carry anyone else should stumble to bed after drinking some water. A series of petulant groans replies to her but she tuts and shoos the wastrels away. Gale and Wyll steady the other as they go up to bed; laughing about something Astarion wasn’t listening to. He was looking at the sky. He was seeing the shift to early dawn blues and purples.
“Minsc! You next, you flea ridden beast. And you love birds,” Jaheira orders, swatting at the githyanki and cleric currently lip-locked without a care in the world.
“Pick whichever one of you is going to carry the wounded. Or bargain with Karlach.” The druid ignores the cleric preparing to argue with her and turns directly to Astarion.
“Which of your partners do you wish to carry, vampire? I understand your strength rivals the paladin now?” She is smiling, but her eyes are watching the sun starting to bathe the clouds with light. Her lips press into a thin line.
“Take Halsin.” Solace coos, face still buried in his chest and giving no sign they wished to be separated. He runs his fingers through their hair and receives a satisfied sigh.
“I think his feet fell off a bit ago. Get him to bed. Mom can help me.”
Jaheira’s face cracks into a soft, entirely loving expression as she hears Solace call her their mom for the first time.
“I will get them upstairs, Astarion. If you wish me to.”
Gods he hates her. Her stupid, all seeing, all too pleasant wisdom and care. He sighs and gently extricates himself from Solace’s embrace and helps Halsin into his arms; witnessing that yes, Halsin’s prosthetics had indeed fallen or been kicked off. The tipsy druid giggles and curls into the vampire while Astarion tells the rest of the party to get the limbs before coming up stairs.
“‘Wait, I forgot my legs.’” Halsin jokes, clinging to Astarion’s neck and smiling.
“There are a great many jokes to be made in the future about forgetting one’s own limbs. Or items costing an arm and a leg. Solace might actually get sick of them if we try hard enough.”
“I don’t imagine it’ll take all that long to find the daily limit of limb puns they can… hand-le?” Astarion hears himself quip before he can understand what he’s joining in on.
Halsin guffaws like only a drunk man can; loud and joyful and mildly frightening. Astarion sets the druid down on the bed all three of them had shared earlier; not certain if they should all climb into bed or not. Or if there is enough room for all of them to actually rest. Astarion had been awake while they rested earlier, and it had been a tight fit.
“You’re a lot funnier than you think you are, beloved.” Halsin breathes, eyes slipping closed as the druid nearly immediately drifts into his meditation the second his head hits the pillow.
“I’ll have you know I am aware I’m hilarious.”
“Oi, Fangs, where should I put them?” Karlach asks, carrying Solace in her arms while Jaheira trails behind and insists Shadowheart and Lae’zel keep their voices down. The druid carries the misplaced prosthetics and sets them beside Halsin's bed before dragging the ladies into a quiet corner.
“On their own bed this time, I think. Halsin is already meditating.” Karlach nods and gently sets the nearly asleep paladin down, helping them escape their shirt when they try to do so themself and struggle. The red tiefling kisses their forehead and leaves them in his care; squeezing his shoulder as she goes.
“Star, will you hold me until I'm asleep?” A tired, slurred voice asks, accompanied by two bleary eyes squinting at him. Again he is struck by what he never could have asked for and never predicted. Someone wants him in their bed without him seducing them, and furthermore, he wants to be with them.
Two hundred years of being used for his pretty face and little else. Unable to even wish for death with his own tongue. Sent out night after night for whatever target might break him further.
A half drunk tiefling holds out their hand for him to hold and knows he will not harm them at their most vulnerable.
“Oh course, my love. Slide over.”
Solace had asked to be held. What they actually wanted was to crawl on top of him and encircle him as much as possible.
“It's a good thing you don't need to breathe, eh?” Jaheira whispers from across the room, so soft that only the vampire can hear her. He doesn't reply; only wrapping his arms around his partner and pulling them closer to his unbeating chest. He doesn't need to reply to the half elf. Her opinion and judgment doesn't matter. He has never been this happy before and he isn't going to focus on what anyone else thinks about it.
“I love you.” The vampire spawn tells the paladin. A holy warrior drunkenly slumbers on his chest and does not reply.