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The half-drow didn’t mind the docks, they didn’t mind the dampness of the air, the dirty pavement or the loud echoes coming from the harbour. Life. Such a relieving change after the cold silence of the Shadow-Cursed Lands.
They needed this restless agitation; they needed to feel the city. Their city. How could they have forgotten it?
“Feeling contemplative, darling?”
The voice behind them had become familiar in the course of those weeks. Familiar enough to be comforting.
Standing at the edge of the pier, Ellith didn’t turn around, but they tilted their head ever so slightly. “Hm? Oh no, just breathing in the city’s atmosphere.”
“Ah yes!” Astarion laughed as he reached their side, taking a deep breath, arms wide open and eye closed. “The fantastic fishy smell of the lower city! I can’t say I missed it.”
Glancy not so subtly at the vampire spawn, the bard raised a single eyebrow while a smirk played on their lips. “Did you prefer the stale odour of Moonrise? Or the swampish air of the Reithwin?”
“Ugh, don’t mention it.” He rolled his eyes, a slight wince on his face. “What I miss is the sweet perfume of an elegant boudoir, or the delicate whiff of silk and satin.”
Ellith didn’t answer. The only smell that made them shiver was that of dead flesh and corpses, including walking ones. Even Gale’s delicious stew couldn’t rival that. Better keep that thought for themself.
Astarion folded his arms over his chest, and mimicking Ellith, he stared at the horizon looming over the sea. A comfortable silence fell above them both, which Ellith broke after a moment.
“It’s the sea…” They breathed. “It smells like unlimited possibilities.”
“… like freedom.”
Astarion’s voice was suddenly much more serious and reflective, as if he was himself considering the hopes laying beyond his old chains, the chains which still threatened to choke him.
If Ellith felt deeply for Astarion’s struggles, they did not carry the same fears, although they were determined to stick to their responsibilities as the leader of their weird little group, and to the promises they had made. Promises of assistance and protection, and more recent vows of support and care.
“So, Darling, still no remembrance of the city and its secrets?”
The bard slowly shook their head. “I’ve had a few flashbacks, but nothing tangible. Only brief images.”
“We’ve only be back in town for a day.” Astarion answered thoughtfully, scratching his chin with an absent-minded finger. “Perhaps all you need is a bigger vision of the city.”
“A bigger vision? What do you mean?”
Astarion had obviously something in mind, but he looked hesitant, as if weighing up the pros and cons.
“Darling… Would you like to try something?”
“Are you planning to dissect my brain in search for my memories?”
“Nothing so radical, dear.” Astarion chuckled, although the frown on his brow was still deeply anchored. “And your little wriggling friend is already messing enough with your brain.”
Ellith couldn’t really deny this, and an amused shrug shook their shoulders. It was apparently enough to convince Astarion since he swiftly grabbed their hand to guide them towards the nearby streets.
There was no reason to resist; Ellith had learned to trust Astarion and his insight – but they nonetheless felt odd about their intertwined fingers. They had already taken Astarion’s hand before, but only in specific situations, moments of rare vulnerabilities and distress. But here, his gesture was casual, not solemn or particularly meaningful in itself. Just two hands clasped together as if it was the most natural thing in the world. It was troubling, but not uncomfortable.
Not uncomfortable at all.
He was walking quickly, one big step after another with Ellith on his heels. As they left the camp behind, there was no doubt that Astarion knew where he was taking them. He was walking the streets as if he owned them, or as if they owned him.
His natural environment.
It was beautiful and fascinating to watch him stride through the city, that city which he knew like the back of his hand. The very city Ellith had completely forgotten.
The bard was impressed, and they followed his fast gait without a word, despite the dozens of questions running through their mind.
Trust.
They eventually reached the heart of the lower city, its incessant buzz and lively atmosphere. Sorcerous Sundries was as busy as ever, and Bonecloak's Apothecary, although much emptier, was nonetheless attracting the gaze of a few onlookers. But Astarion paid no heed to the shops, the cries and spells, or the Flaming fists standing nearby.
Fingers tightening around Ellith’s hand, he took them to a wooden door in a small alley. He glanced at the bard for the first time since they had left the camp. “Don’t worry, darling. I walked through this door countless of times. There’s no danger to expect, especially in the middle of the afternoon. In the worst-case scenario, there will be a flaming first upstairs.
“Upstairs?”
Astarion didn’t answer, opening the door instead, to reveal a staircase which seemed to lead to the rampart that overhung the lower city.
“I see…” Ellith breathed, but Astarion was already climbing, and there was no hesitation in his steps.
It took a moment before they reached the top floor, and as Ellith had expected, they soon found themselves on the upper wall.
Astarion was standing still, eyes fixed on the impressive building looming over them. “Here it is.” He whispered, bitterness imbuing his every words. “His palace.”
Ellith’s heart skipped a beat. They didn’t need explanation to understand what he was talking about. Cazador’s mansion. Astarion’s gasp on their fingers was increasingly strong, as if to anchor himself in the moment.
“It looks almost graceful in the sun…” He mused, one finger stroking his chin. “A trap in broad daylight.”
Glaring at the building with evident disgust, Ellith moved a little closer, their shoulder brushing against his arm. They could have asked him, questioned his wish to bring them here. But they didn’t – whatever his reasons, they must have been legit, even if they made sense to him only.
“We’ll get there soon, Astarion. But we have to get ready for whatever Cazador is planning before we take any move.”
The vampire spawn winced at the name of his former master, but he nodded nonetheless. “I know. I didn’t bring you here to raid the palace – not yet.” A sad smile was floating on his pursed lips. “There is something else I wish to show you.”
A flaming fist passed them by, frowned, but kept on with their round without any further ado, ignoring the distrustful glance Ellith was casting her.
As for Astarion, he was already walking toward the other edge of the rampart, the one overwatching the lower city. “This is the place.”
Carefully, Ellith joined his side to stare at the labyrinth of streets and alleys below them. The entire lower city was blooming at their feet, and the dark waters, beyond, were glistening in the sunlight. A sight worthy of a painting.
“Does anything ring a bell, dear?” Astarion eventually asked, his eyes sliding towards Ellith to survey their reaction. “Anything familiar?”
“Vaguely…” They whispered, their gaze focusing on a few specific points. “Images that seem to come from a forgotten dream… or nightmare.”
There was a bitter taste upon their tongue, rancid blood and rotten flesh. Clenching their fists, the bard swallowed back the sensation and tried to focus on the visual memories instead. Dark streets and deep shadows, sticky floors and oozing walls, dim lights and gory altars. Nothing substantial, but a familiar feeling, an oddly comforting one.
A sharp pain suddenly ran through the bard’s skull, and they pushed back the memories, if only to not collapse from the blinding soreness.
Typical.
Walking toward the lowest part of the wall, they put their hands on the stones, precisely to avoid collapsing as the blinding ache split their brain. Eyes closed, they absorbed the pain and made it their own, drinking in the buzzing headache to better control it. They were the master of their sickness, not the other way around.
“Are you alright?” Astarion asked softly as he stood beside them. “You look like you’ve just been stabbed.”
“Close enough…” The bard stuttered through the pain, swallowing back the nausea. “At least it feels like it.”
A thoughtful hum escaped his throat, and he rested his elbows on the wall as well, his gaze scanning the bard’s face. When Ellith opened their eyes, they couldn’t help but notice the first traces of worries on his fair features.
“I’ll be fine…” They mumbled, and Astarion nodded slowly.
“I know. You’re strong enough to survive this.”
Ellith blinked a couple of times, if only to get their bearings. The pain was slowly vanishing, replaced by confusion.
“Astarion… why did you bring me here?” They asked after a moment.
“To give you a bigger vision.”
“Did you think it would help me remember?”
Unsurprisingly, he shrugged dismissively, and Ellith understood it had only been an excuse for something else. Something about himself.
It would be easy to pry. But the bard had been learning about boundaries, especially Astarion’s boundaries, and they positively refused to ignore them.
They preferred to give him some room. He’d talk if and when he’d be ready for it.
Leaning against the balustrade, the bard breathed in, taking in the scent of the city, the sun warming their skin and the soft breeze blowing through their red curls. They were already feeling much better, the pounding in their skull slowly receding, along with the nauseous feeling.
pawing the ground as if something was itching his skin. Ellith wasn’t used to seeing him like that, but they had come to understand that it was part of who he was, a nervosity and tension deeply rooted but which he rarely let anyone witness.
“I used to come here, you know…” He finally whispered, his eyes on the old stones of the wall, as if he was rediscovering them. “When I had a few minutes to spare before joining the crowded taverns to find him a victim, I would come here.”
“What for?”
Another shrug, and a fathomless sadness sprawled all over the vampire’s face. “To breathe, I suppose.”
“… and hope?”
Astarion raised his head at the suggestion, recognition in his eyes, and his sad pout turned into a bitter smile. “You’re right. I don’t actually need to breathe, but hope… I had to cling to something, when I could.”
Ellith nodded slowly. For a moment, they were almost tempted to take his hand again. They didn’t. Couldn’t let it happen.
Whether Astarion noticed their hesitation or not, they couldn’t tell. But it was clear that he was feeling comfortable enough to open up.
“I don’t know what I expected…” he murmured. “There was no god to answer my prayers, no so-called hero to rid me of my chains, but this place, those few minutes of respite, it felt like a placebo of freedom.”
A pang in the bard’s chest, sudden and painful. They couldn’t even begin to fathom how deep his despair could have been. Whatever their own life used to be before the tadpole and the amnesia, Ellith felt at loss when it came to Astarion’s past.
Empathy. Another thing they had learned in the course of the past months. A harsh discovery… to connect with someone so deeply that you can taste their pain, to a certain extent.
“This place… It felt like your own, didn’t it?” They asked softly.
Astarion nodded. “It didn’t feel safe. But here I could be on my own. I could be myself. And I could look beyond my condition.”
“You could imagine another life.”
His gaze shifted to rest on the bard’s frame, and the depth of his sadness was hollowing his face. “I don’t have to imagine it anymore.”
They both knew it wasn’t entirely true. As long as Cazador existed, Astarion could still be enthralled again. And that simple thought was enough to make Ellith’s heart ache. Even though the bard had insisted on keeping their relationship friendly, the idea of losing him was excruciating. Too painful to even consider. They looked away, clinking their tongue with a wince. “Hmm… I suppose you're right.”
The vampire spawn didn’t miss the clue, and the frown between his eyebrows deepened, while his smile lost its bitterness. “I am here, standing in the sun next to you, free. And I plan to keep it that way.”
“I already gave you my word, Astarion. You will never be a slave again; I’ll make sure of that.”
He didn’t say a word, but the glint in his eyes was expressive enough, a reflection of sheer gratefulness and trust. A few seconds later, he was standing behind the bard and wrapping his arms around their shoulders, holding them in a soft embrace. Ellith’s first reaction was to freeze, unused as they were to such tender gestures. Whether Astarion had acted on an impulse or planned it all along, he seemed pretty sure of himself as he pressed his chest against their back.
“Relax, darling, I’m not going to bite you.” He whispered, a chuckle following his words and his breath tickling the bard’s sensitive ear.
“I don’t fear your fangs.”
“Why are you so tense, then? And why is your heart beating so fast?”
They had no answer to give him; all they could focus on was the gentle pressure of his arms around them, and the unfamiliar tickling in the pit of their stomach. For a moment Ellith feared they were feeling sick again, but they soon realized this sensation in their guts had nothing to do with nausea. It was something else entirely, something they couldn’t understand.
“What are you doing?” The bard asked hesitantly.
“Holding you and asking about your heart rate.”
“Let me reformulate: why are you doing this?”
Astarion’s chin was resting on Ellith’s shoulder, his curls brushing against their cheek in a funny way. “Because I like how it sounds. Your heart, I mean. Especially when I get close to you. And I know for certain it doesn’t sing like this when Karlach or Shadowheart hug you.”
“You are making this up. My heart doesn’t sing. Only my voice does.”
Astarion chuckled, his arms tightening ever so slightly around their frame, and Ellith allowed it, leaning imperceptibly into his embrace. Surrounded by Astarion’s delicate scent, they were finding a new kind of genuine comfort in his arms, but as his fingers brush against their skin, they also understood what it meant to him, to not be alone anymore. To stand here, on this wall, with someone he could trust.
And they would stand beside him, as they promised. They could become the rock on which he’d be able to anchor himself. They could help him find the safe space he needed. They wanted to see that genuine smile on his lips, to hear him laugh wholeheartedly, to watch him stride around the city with his confident swaying gait. Again, and again.
That was what made their heart sing.
Ellith shifted slightly so that they could gently wrap their fingers around the arm that was surrounding their chest. And they smiled, closing their eyes for a few seconds as they felt an army of goosebumps traveling across their skin.
“And now you’re shuddering…” Astarion teased, one hand resting against Ellith collarbone.
“It’s the wind.”
“There’s no wind.”
Despite Ellith’s efforts to repress it, the smile on their lips widened. “I have to admit, it’s a beautiful view…”
“It is…” He sighed. “It's not half as lovely at night.”
In the distance, the sails were floating above the waters, their slow rhythm challenging that of the lower clouds. A peaceful scene that could almost negate the Illithid threats and their dire situation.
A moment of respite among chaos and death.
“Thank you…”
Astarion had whispered the words so quietly that Ellith wondered if they had not imagined them. “What for?” They asked, their tone matching his.
“For following me here. For staying by my side all along.”
Hundreds of possible answers ran through the bard’s mind; from poor pragmatical justifications to openhearted words of affection. Instead, the opted for a matter-of-factly statement. “You stayed too.”
A loud laughter escaped the vampire’s lips. “Darling, I had to survive.”
The irony in his voice was more than obvious, and if Ellith knew there was a heavy layer of truth in it, they could easily detect the playful inclination of his remark.
And as always, they accepted to play along.
Turning around to face Astarion, the bard gave a smirk, purposely ignoring the closeness of their respective bodies.
“Fair enough. You’ve been a useful asset to the party as well.” They purred ostentatiously. “After all, we wouldn’t be here without your unhinged capacity to open all kind of doors.”
Raising up one hand to inspect his fingernails, Astarion tilted his head with a sharp sigh, and the glint in his eyes was unmistakably mischievous. “I’ll never tire of your compliments, dear.”
“Still yearning for shallow praises?”
“Oh, darling, no.” He rolled his eyes, an overdramatic pitch adorning the musicality of his voice. “I know you, of all people, would never indulge in shallow praises…. Unless the circumstances demand it. You surely are painfully honest, and I appreciate it.”
“Oh really?” the bard scoffed. “And what makes you think the circumstances don’t demand it right now?”
Astarion smirk turned into a satisfied grin. “Aaah, but my murderous little bard, I already told you: Your heart sings to me.”
“Enough with this…” Ellith whined dramatically, gently punching his chest in a playful manner. “It does not sing.”
He used the opportunity to grab their fist and keep it against his torso. “Deny it all you want, darling. I know what I’m hearing.”
After a short moment of wavering, during which the city itself seemed to turn eerily quiet, the bard’s gaze sank into Astarion’s irises. That teasing smile was still haunting his lips, but there was something else in his eyes; a sadness, deep and raw, but also a glint of hope floating among the crimson sparkles. And not a single trace of fear. Even here, only a few yards away from Cazador’s den.
“Whatever my heart tells you, you can trust my words when I say I’ll stand by your side.”
Their hand relaxed against Astarion’s chest, and he wrapped his other arm around them again, pulling the bard into a tight hug. It was still a new feeling, being held close like this, close and safe. And maybe Astarion was right, maybe it didn’t feel the same when Karlach or Shadowheart hugged them. Maybe it was somehow different with him.
“I know, I trust your words and your heart.”
Ellith smiled against him, fingers clinging softly onto his shirt. They could feel him toying with their hair, intertwining his fingers with their curls, and quite unexpectedly, they let him. And they liked it, even though they usually never let anyone play with their hair.
Breathing in, the bard leaned into the embrace, allowing themself a brief moment of vulnerability. “Thank you for bringing me here, Astarion. For your trust.”
A calm hum rose in his throat. “You know… it’s not only about trust, sweetheart. I wouldn’t bring anyone else here, no matter how much I trust them.”
The statement rang like a riddle in the bard’s mind. Lately, they had discovered what it meant to trust and to be trusted, and they had come to realise how precious it was, probably the most precious feeling. Precious and fragile, like a candle in the dark. What in the world could have spurred Astarion to take them to his little haven if not trust?
Although reluctant to admit their confusion, Ellith searched his eyes again, and a quiet relief infused their chest when they noticed that his sadness had been replaced by a much comforting and confident expression. “What is it about, then?”
His body wriggling delicately, Astarion let his arm slide down the bard’s back, and the simple gesture sufficed to send a long shiver down their spine. “Who knows? Perhaps I wanted to share something with you.”
“We could have shared a bottle of wine.” The bard shrugged with a playful wink, and Astarion replied with what sounded like a genuine laughter.
Keeping his fingers in their hair, he pulled them even closer, cheek to cheek. “What if I wanted something more substantial than you getting drunk and me enjoying your intoxicated babbles? Besides, we did it a dozen of times already… we both have more to offer, do we not?”
“If you say so…” Ellith hummed against his body, eyelids half closed as a sense of grounding surrounded them. Like a delicate blanket enveloping their frames, keeping the threats away and discarding the doubts that often haunted the bard’s mind. His embrace as a solace they didn’t know how to name, awakening an army of feelings so deep it almost scared them.
There was something terribly intimidating in it, in this intimacy, the kind of which Ellith had never experienced… as far as they could remember.
A quiet cough left their throat, and the bard slowly stepped away, leaving Astarion’s arms as regrets and relief mingled into a weird, uncomfortable sensation.
The silence which fell on them was not completely unfamiliar, they had both experienced it together before, together, but it was still troublesome; filled with things left unsaid and the return of Ellith’s crippling doubts.
After an awkward smile, Astarion gave a little bow, but Ellith didn’t miss the furtive disappointed pout flashing on his face. “As the bard wishes…”
“Whatever I have to offer, I…” They stopped mid-sentence, unusually at loss for words, and they bit down on their lip. There were too many indecisions and uncertainties running through their mind, and the last thing they wanted was to give him misleading hopes.
Whether he had noticed the bard’s trouble or not, Astarion spoke again with that typical smirk of his and a wave of his hand. “Please, spare me any grand declaration. We have no time for soul-binding oath and epic poetry."
His deflating statement couldn’t have been more on point, and Ellith relaxed perceptibly. “Not the kind of poetry I write anyway.”
“Thank the gods!” He grinned, rolling his shoulders in the most dismissive way. “For I much prefer your ribaldry, dear.”
“Says the vampire who was focusing on ‘the song of my heartbeat’ just a minute ago.”
Mischief sparkled in his eyes, fondness too. “A guilty pleasure of mine, I confess.”
After a subtle wink, Astarion readjusted his shirt and walked back towards the door. There was neither haste nor tension in his gait, even as he looked up at the palace once more. The sunlight was playing with his curls, iridescent nuances shining delicately in the soft breeze. Mesmerized, the bard didn’t immediately follow his steps, but he didn’t seem to notice.
They both knew they would soon come back here, fully armed and ready for bloodshed. They both knew there would be choices to be made, for better or for worse. But for now, Ellith only wanted to enjoy this moment, and to keep on cherishing one idea: Astarion took them here, to a place which had meant so much to him for so long. He took them here, and them only. The bard couldn’t quite grasp why, but the thought nonetheless triggered a new wave of tickles in their stomach.
They smiled, and this time, they didn’t try to fight the feeling, or to understand it. They accepted it.
“Come on, darling, let’s go back to camp.”
A nod, and they were calmly joining Astarion’s side. The others must have been wondering about their absence, and a drink would be more than appreciated.
Once beside him, Ellith didn’t say a word, but they could feel their own heart sing the moment they took his hand.