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Game:Â Baldurâs Gate 3
Characters:Â Astarion and (Female) Tav
Synopsis:Â For a few moments she struggled to disentangle herself, to remember which traumas were her own and which belonged to the man to whom she had offered her heart, to recall where Dâahtlana stopped and Astarion began. Yet even as she gathered up the pieces of her scattered mind, the screams that had echoed through the now severed connection persisted...
A trap discovered too late results in the Reithwin Mason's Guild being razed to the ground, entombing a certain vampire spawn in the rubble.
WARNING for claustrophobia and canon typical Astarion trauma
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Once, in some war she could not remember the cause of (neither what had started it nor for what reason it was being fought), back when she had simply been one young soldier among many, before she had sworn the Oath that had made her the Paladin she was today, Dâahtlana had fallen in battle. Not in the sense that she had died, but exhaustion from nearly two hours of carnage, combined with a blow to the head from some mounted foe, had her feeling the impact of her body hitting the ground before her mind succumbed to darkness.
When she awoke, the first thing Dâahtlana had been aware of was the stench - the rot of death, the sweat of battle, and the overwhelming tang of blood. Next was the weight of something pressing down on her, effectively leaving her pinned in an awkward position, her body twisted and her limbs barely able to move. Finally was the⊠lack of sight, or rather the incomprehensibleness of what she was seeing. At first Dâahtlana had thought that perhaps she had been captured by the enemy and blindfolded, or perhaps she was trapped in some Darkness cast by an enemy mage, as it seemed that her darkvision could not pierce through whatever darkness was surrounding her. A few shifts of her head, however, and she caught glimpses of limbs, of ragged clothing, of faces twisted and frozen in grotesque expression.
She was surrounded by bodies, she finally realised. A whole pile of them. And she was amongst those left at the bottom.
Dâahtlana could recall the growing panic in her chest as she began to thrash and struggle. The hoarse cries for help as she clawed and pushed at the bodies of those she would come to realise later had once been her comrades. The retching and coughing as the stench of those she had been mistaken to be counted amongst filled her throat and lungs. Dâahtlana could recall the sheer terror filling her very soul as her struggles seemed to get her nowhere, her cries begot no aid, and the bodies just seemed to weigh down even heavier, entombing her, as though determined that she be counted amongst them one way or another.
Even now, Dâahtlana could recall that terror, that hopelessness, in such vivid detail. Even now she could practically feel herself clawing and scratching, retching as sobs built up in her throat, her nails and fingertips being scraped away against the stoneâ
Wait, stone? No, it had been fetid flesh, yet to have been left cold by the departed souls, that she had dug her claws into, her fingertips stained with the blood of the fallenâ
Yet it was stone she was recalling at this moment in such vivid detail, stone that met her frantic struggles on all sides, stone that left him entombed like the corpse he was.
âAn empty tomb demands a corpse,â his master had crooned, as though he were merely giving a gentle lecture, as though his eyes were not filled with a fury that left his spawn cowering on his knees with no commandments necessary, as though his fingers were not nearly twisting his spawnâs curls right out of his scalp. âAnd a corpse that refuses to obey the one who so generously granted it life beyond death is no better than those corpses that lay dormant in such tombs.
âSo this I ask you, boy: what reason have you not to grant this empty tomb its purpose, seeing as you have proven yourself worthy of nothing less?â
No amount of begging and pleading, no amount of desperate promises and wretched propositions, could save him from this. What little blood the master had granted to him was already streaked across the inside of the tomb in frantic lines of screaming despair. His stomach and veins were a void, aching with an emptiness that would have welcomed the most putrid rat corpse his master would grant. His fingernails were gone and his fingertips shorn away nearly to the bone. Yet still he screamed and clawed and thrashed.
He begged for forgiveness. He sobbed and wailed for someone, anyone - for his master, for the kennel keeper, for even his âsisterâ - to let him out. He promised to be good, to do everything right next time, to never disobey again, if only he could be let out.
Yet nothing met his cries. Only cold stone, darkness, and unrelenting, all-consuming hunger.
Please, please, please, he was sorry! Gods, Hells, he was so sorry! Let him out, please! Let him out! Let him out!
âLet me out!â
Dâahtlana gasped for air as the connection between the Illithid tadpole residing in her head and the one residing in the head of her lover finally ceased. For a few moments she struggled to disentangle herself, to remember which traumas were her own and which belonged to the man to whom she had offered her heart, to recall where Dâahtlana stopped and Astarion began. Yet even as she gathered up the pieces of her scattered mind, the screams that had echoed through the now severed connection persisted, albeit muffled.
âHelp! Dâahtlana! Shadowheart! Someone, please! Let me out!â
âAstarionâŠâ Dâahtlana staggered to her feet, steadying herself against the slabs of rubble she had been attempting to shift before the force of the sudden psionic connection had brought her to her knees.
A search for the inner sanctum of the old Reithwin Masonâs Guild had led to the discovery of a trapdoor that turned out to be more trap than door. By the time Astarion had picked open the lock, by the time Dâahtlana could practically see his hackles rise in time with her own when they both heard the subtle click upon him lifting open the hatch, by the time Astarion had hissed out a quiet but emphatic âshit,â it was too late.
Dâahtlana, along with Laeâzel and Shadowheart, had been blown back by the blast. It was by fortuneâs grace that the latter two women had managed to maintain enough of their senses to drag the far more dazed Dâahtlana out of harmâs way before the rest of the Masonâs Guild, its centuries old stonework rattled by the force of the explosives, collapsed in on itself. By the time Dâahtlana had managed to regain her own senses, the building was reduced to little more than finely crafted stonework piled up in large slabs of rubble.
Astarion had been nowhere to be seen.
He was there, somewhere beneath all that stone. The three women had called out his name, and when they heard no response, Dâahtlana had called upon her Oath to grant her a minute of divine sense. To her immense relief, she immediately detected the presence of a single undead within the rubble - unless a Shadow or some Shadow-Cursed corpse had somehow found its way into the Masonâs Guild moments before its collapse, there was only one undead that could possibly be. He was alive - or, well, what counted as âaliveâ for Astarion - but more than likely unconscious.
Dâahtlana had sent Laeâzel and Shadowheart back to camp for help - as strong as all three of them were in either body or divine power, Dâahtlana had little hope that they would be able to dig through the rubble in a timely manner. She remained behind to do what she could on her own and to ensure that Astarion would not be alone should he regain consciousness.
âLet me out! Please! Please!â
Apparently he had regained consciousness.
Even though the connection between her tadpole and Astarionâs had ceased, Dâahtlana could still sense the frantic psionic energy radiating outward from within the rubble, as though the tadpole were sending out a distress signal, laden with the terrible, terrible distress of its host. With every wave of psionic energy that her own tadpole intercepted, Dâahtlana felt as though she were starving. She felt as though she wanted to cry. She felt as though she wanted to die.
âAstarion,â Dâahtlana rasped out again. She resumed the laborious process of attempting to shift aside at least some of the rubble, grimacing as a despair that was not her own made her entire body ache. âAstarion!â
âDâahtlana?â
Her name came out sounding breathless and filled with a desperation that was palpable, even as the psionic distress signal finally abated. In its place, Dâahtlana could finally hear roughly from where in the rubble Astarionâs voice was coming from, as well as the faint and futile scratching of nails against stone.
âIâm here, AstarionâŠ!â Dâahtlana called out, as loud as she dared without adding to the manâs obvious panic.
The faint scratching sounds increased in both pace and franticness. âGet me out of here! Get me out! Get me out!â
âAstarionâŠ!â Dâahtlana paused - she had been about to tell him to breathe, but Astarion did not need to breathe.
Yet she could hear the breathlessness in his words, the high pitched gasps in between the scratches and animal-like growls. Astarion may not have needed to breathe, but clearly two hundred years had not rid his bodyâs response to sheer, bloody panic.
âAstarion, my love.â She tried to keep her voice calm and gentle, yet still loud enough to pierce through the rubble and Astarionâs own voice. âI need you to calm down.â
âIâll calm down as soon as you let me out!â Astarion snapped, though any venom he may have wanted to inject into his voice was almost entirely diluted by the fear in it.
âIâm doing my best,â Dâahtlana responded with a continued effort of calm and gentleness. âThe others are coming to help soon, but until then, I need you to calm yourself.â
The response she received was some combination of a snarl and whimper, accompanied by more frenetic scratching. âJust let me out! PleaseâŠ!â
Dâahtlana picked up the pace of her efforts to shift the rubble. She held no illusions that she would be able to dig out Astarion all on her own, but perhaps she could at least get some line of sight on him until the others arrived. After about a minute of heaving and pushing a few of the comparatively smaller pieces of rubble to the side, a minute of listening to Astarionâs gasping and scrabbling and occasional, barely audible pleas, Dâahtlanaâs efforts paid off. She uncovered a small hole in the pile of rubble.
No sooner had she done so, a pale hand burst out from the opening. Dâahtlana immediately grasped onto it.
âDâahtlana,â Astarion gasped out. His fingers dug into the leather of Dâahtlanaâs gauntlet, staining it with old blood that seeped from torn fingertips. âMy love, my sweet, my dearest, my goddess, one whose loveliness and radiance is second only to the sunâŠ!â
âAstarionâŠâ Dâahtlana tried to cut in. His words were fast and his voice high-pitched, but she recognised the tone he was at least attempting to go for - the over-the-top and flamboyantly flirtatious one, the one he had realised could make her smile and even occasionally laugh - though it was marred terribly by clear desperation.
âYou must get me out of here, my sweet,â Astarion insisted before Dâahtlana could get another word in. âPlease, you must!â
âHelp is coming, my love,â Dâahtlana murmured, clasping his hand between both of her own. âIf you would just wait awhileââ
âWhy wait? Why wait? You have the power to free me, Dâahtlana, I know this. My dearest, my mighty Paladinââ
âAstarion.â
âJust let me out. Please.â
His words were slow, soft. Yet the descriptor of âcalmâ was entirely belied by the tremor in the very back of his voice, by the creaking of leather beneath his fingers. The man knew how to put on a mask just as well as he knew how to embody it, but ever since that tender night in which he had bared his heart to her rather than his body, and she responded by assuring him of her care, Dâahtlana had gotten better at seeing through those masks. Either that or he was in far too much of a state to embody this particular mask properly.
âI will,â she assured him softly. âWe just need to wait until the others come back to help.â
Pale fingers dug deeper into the leather of her gauntlet.
âYou donât need them, surely,â Astarion huffed. âA few hundred pounds of rubble. Tch, what is that to the fairest and most strapping Paladin in all of FaerĂ»n? And imagine the rewards, my dear.â
With her left hand still being held tight by Astarion, Dâahtlana withdrew her right hand from the back of his and began unbuckling her gauntlet with her teeth.
âItâs been so long since weâve gotten to, well, know each other. You have been such a sweetheart, waiting so very patiently, but surely the frustration⊠Gods, Iâve been feeling it too.â Astarionâs voice strained just so, husky, beguiling, and practiced. âYour touch is like no other. Tender, yet vigorous. With every kiss weâve shared this past tenday, Iâve found myself hungering for more.â
Once the straps were undone, Dâahtlana pulled her gauntlet off, leaving her hand bare.
âThis barrier between us has only hastened my longing for you, my sweet,â Astarion groaned. âI realise that now. Iâm ready, ready for our bodies to be joined once again.â
âYou donât mean that, Astarion,â Dâahtlana replied, not unkindly, but with a sorrow she was unable to hide as she placed her bare hand over the back of his own once again.
âI doâŠ!â Astarionâs grip tightened as Dâahtlana pulled her right hand away, her strength easily overcoming even his panic. Pale fingers clawed and searched the air frantically until they clasped around Dâahtlanaâs bare hand. Dâahtlana went to work on undoing the straps of her right gauntlet, trying to ignore the taste of old blood.
âI do, I do, I swear on all the gods from Lathander to Bhaal I do! I mean every word!â Astarion exclaimed, cracks breaking his silken words. âCome now, Dâahtlana, my love, my dearest light⊠Let me prove myself to you. Let me out of this tomb so that we might finally know each other again.
âIt will be something out of a dream. A knight in shining armour, noble heart moved to rescue a beautiful thing from the darkest dungeons, for which the beautiful being, moved by thankfulness and devotion, will have no other recourse but to present a⊠token of its appreciation.â
Dâahtlana pulled off her right hand gauntlet.
âIs that not a fantasy you are willing to indulge, my fair knight? Gods, it is a fantasy I had thought lost a century ago. Yet here you can make it come trueâŠ!â
âAstarion...â Dâahtlana once again clasped her loverâs hand between both of her own, the warmth of her palms combating the chill inherent to his nature. âDo you trust me?â
âOf course I do, my love.â The words somehow rang both true and false, wrapped in fear and disguised by charm.
Dâahtlana leant her head down, brushing her lips ever so gently over torn knuckles as her Oath poured a well of divine healing through her hands. Torn skin stitched back together, shorn fingertips reformed, mangled fingernails regrew. Underneath the rubble, Dâahtlana heard Astarion let out a sigh. For the very briefest of moments, his fingers, slender, perfect, and manicured once again, relaxed. Dâahtlana kept his hand clasped even as her well of divine healing was depleted and pressed another kiss against his knuckles.
âThen trust,â she murmured against cold skin, âthat I will rescue you as soon as I am able. And trust that I will not ask anything of you in return. No rewards, no tokens, not your trinkets, nor your body. Nothing at all, nothing that you are not truly ready to give. I care about you, Astarion. Remember?â
Only the eerie wind and distant moans of the Shadow-Cursed Lands responded to Dâahtlanaâs query, before she heard the familiar scratch of fingernails against stone from beneath the rubble and felt Astarionâs hand tighten around her own.
âGodsâŠâ The sound of flesh against stone, as though Astarion had slammed his free hand against the underside of the rubble entombing him. âDamn!â
His fingers curled, fingernails digging into the back of Dâahtlanaâs hand. She did not flinch.
âThis is hell, Dâahtlana,â Astarion snarled, his voice breaking over her name. âI cannot stay in here!â
âI know, my love, I know.â Dâahtlana kept her lips pressed against his hand. âI understandââ
âNo, you donât! You cannot possibly understand!â
Astarion let out a guttural scream, accompanied by the sound of his boots scraping against stone and the sound of his palm slamming against the underside of the rubble again, and again, and again. His nails dug deeper into Dâahtlanaâs skin as he let out another cry.
âWhat is a few hours to a year?â he rasped. âA decade to two centuries? Fear of death to craving it?â
Another cry, strangled and anguished. All of Astarionâs weight seemed to be behind the grip he had on Dâahtlanaâs hand, and though he was not an especially heavy man, he felt somehow heavier, like the dead weight of a corpse. Dâahtlana took a deep breath.
âI understand you are afraid, Astarion,â she said. âAnd I am so sorry this happened to you⊠I would never wish this torment on you, my love, and that you are suffering it now pains me. If I did indeed have the strength to single-handedly pull you out of this hell, I would.
âThe others are coming though, and they will help me. They will help you. You will be free again, Astarion, I promise you.â
Dâahtlana breathed in and out, slowly, audibly, allowing each breath to brushed over Astarionâs knuckles as she caressed the back of his hand with calloused thumbs.
âThis is my touch you are feeling, Astarion. My voice youâre hearing. You are with me. And I will get you out of there as soon as I am able.â
Slowly, ever so slowly, Astarionâs fingers began to uncurl. His nails disembedded themselves from Dâahtlanaâs skin. A slender thumb began to caress the back of her hand.
âYou do have such a way with words, my dear,â Astarion crooned. âA surprising trait for one so stoic, but certainly not an unpleasant one. Quite the opposite, in fact. I do love hearing you speak so articulately.â
The flirtatious tone was followed quickly by a soft sigh and an equally soft utterance of, â...Stay with me, wonât you? I would⊠prefer not to be alone while we wait.â
âOf course, my love.â
With one eye on the surrounding shadows, Dâahtlana remained with Astarion. Her hands remained around his, and she occasionally hummed just to assure him she was indeed still there, trying to keep him grounded in the present hour. Unlike the nightmares of the past, here there was comfort and companionship and a true promise of something better.
It was barely five minutes of this before Dâahtlana heard the sound of many bodies approaching and many voices breaking up the eerie ambiance of the Shadow-Cursed Lands.
âDo you hear that, Astarion? The others will be here any moment now.â Dâahtlana squeezed his hand gently. âDo you want me to stay with you, my love? Or do you want me to help the others pull you out?â
âAh, best help the others,â Astarion replied airily. âGods knows they are all helpless without you.â
âAll right.â Dâahtlana pressed one last kiss against his knuckles. âIâm going to let go of your hand now. But Iâm still here.â
âOf course you are.â
Dâahtlana slowly withdrew her hands and stood upright, picking her gauntlets up from the ground. She turned her gaze towards the direction of the voices and saw fast approaching silhouettes, some of whom were wielding torches.
âDâahtlana!â one of the silhouettes called out.
âKarlach!â Dâahtlana called back. âWeâre over here!â


















