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Summary
“I was expecting visitors,” Astarion's voice echoed, suspended in the empty hall. Harlow did not reach for it. “I was not expecting you.”
Harlow swallowed. “Why are you here?”
Astarion laughed, gesturing to the hall. “This is my home.”
“You've been gone,” Harlow’s words smacked his out of the air.
“And you are in my window.”
With that, after five decades, time decided to trap them in the same moment so that they were forced to travel together once again, and the idea of fifty feet collapsed into a very tangible distance.
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Fifty years after it all, Harlow sits in the frame of the window they shattered to break into the Crimson Palace. They didn't know Astarion came back. Astarion didn't expect the Guild to send Harlow.