Smut excerpt from my fic Forms of Imprisonment. Read full fic on AO3 or Tumblr. Posting as a standalone, can be read as a one-shot (maybe with some limiting context) if you're not a longfic reader.
With his mouth near her ear and his fingers softly encircling her throat, Astarion leans down. “What’s tormenting that pretty head of yours, Celeste?” He strengthens his grip, more an assurance than a threat. “No more secrets, remember?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, Astarion, my waking life is full of horrors. It shouldn’t surprise you that my dreams are too.”
“You know what I find interesting?” He asks, his hand falling away. “There are very few things that seem to truly bother you. You are remarkably unflappable. And yet, this is what you decide to be stubborn about.”
“I’ll tell you about my nightmares when you tell me why you’ve been treating me like a porcelain doll as of late.”
Astarion stiffens and retreats, eyeing her warily. He leans back against the ledge of the pool. “Care to elaborate on that?”
“You’ve been subsisting on leftover, cold animal blood since you’ve returned, refusing to drink from me even when I offer.”
He’s silent for a moment, watching her, his eyes narrow as he evaluates. “Why do you think I do it?”
She grazes his bottom lip with her thumb, revealing a hint of a fang. “Guilt.”
A flicker of irritation flashing across his face and he looks away with a scoff.
“Do not mistake self-control for self-loathing, darling.” Astarion sneers.
“Self control?“ She releases a bitter laugh. “You really expect me to believe that you’re suddenly interested in exhibiting self-restraint?”
Irritated, he runs his hand through his hair and lets out a huff. “I wanted to give you time… I didn’t want to take more from you than necessary…”
“You lost a lot of blood tonight.” She says, “now isn’t the time to practice moderation.”
With a forceful motion, he pulls her through the water, trapping her against the ledge with his hands on either side. She braces her palms behind her, shivering as her spine touches the icy chill of the marble against her back.
His eyes rake over her face, then down her naked body in a predatory fashion, somehow both unnerving and alluring.
“Is this what you’d prefer?” He grips her waist and chuckles softly. “I’m trying to be better ,” he says, pressing his lips to her shoulder, “for you, as difficult as it’s proving to be.”
He holds her in place by her arms and drags his tongue up her neck, delighting in the reactions it evokes - the racing of her pulse, the arching of her hips as she seeks contact.
“I won’t argue.” His voice is low and dangerous. “Say the word, and I’ll stop.”
Her fingernails dig into his back and Astarion relents, smirking at her stifled gasp as he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of her shoulder. Each space between heartbeats is a fight against his thirst as he forces himself to drink with caution.
“Wicked thing.” He growls between pulls of her blood, “you enjoy this, don’t you?”
His hand dips beneath the water’s surface to the apex of her thighs, drawing a finger across her center. Celeste’s pulse thrums in her veins.
With each stroke, her moans intensify, and her legs tremble. He holds her tightly with his free arm encircling her as he feeds.
As the flow of blood slows, he laps at the wound on her neck before examining her with a brooding intensity.
“Look at you, falling apart already,” he purrs, his thumb and index finger positioned just under her jaw so that he has complete control of her face. His hands tighten around her throat, but there is an affectionate hesitance in his touch as he tilts his head to the side, a sly smile spreading across his lips.
His hands move to her legs, effortlessly lifting her out of the bath, and she wraps them around his waist, her arms securing themselves behind his neck as he carries her out of the pool. She nips at his shoulder the moment they leave the pool, teeth scraping against his skin. Astarion laughs, gripping her thighs to hold her against him.
“Careful, darling. I’ll bite back if you keep that up.”
Forgoing the bloodied mattress, he eases her to her feet on a plush rug in front of the fireplace.
“Lie back.”
He gives her a gentle push towards the floor and sinks to his knees, crawling over her as she reclines backwards. His hands rest at her sides as he hovers above her, eyes roaming over every inch of her body.
“Is this alright?”
She nods, her wet hair sticking to her skin.
With a feather-light touch, he traces circles on the sensitive spot just below her ribs, noticing the uneven rise and fall of her breath against his thumb. She moans, a soft, breathless gasp of his name, as her hands clench the fibers of the rug. His mouth travels the unmarked side of her neck.
“Have you missed me inside of you, darling?” He murmurs against her skin.
She tries to summon a response, but her mind is a hazy mess of overstimulation, her own body writhing and squirming under his. One hand holds her in place as he shifts above her, nudging her legs further apart with his knee. He slides the other hand between her thighs, teasing her arousal that’s formed there for him.
“This is where you’d hoped we’d end up when you offered me your blood, isn’t it?” his fingers glide against her, coaxing a confession. “ Admit it. ”
He pushes two inside of her, and his fangs graze her skin, the threat of a bite.
“Well?”
His thumb brushes her clit, and the sound that escapes her is sinful. A broken gasp leaves her as her hips buck against his hand, her nails digging into his shoulder blades. He watches her intently, his ruby eyes hooded with desire.
“You’d do anything to finish, wouldn’t you?” He taunts. She lets out a frustrated whine, her plea echoing through the room.
“Go on then.” His free hand comes up to grip her hip, holding her still as his fingers continue to play with her, crooking and twisting, driving her closer to her peak. “I want to feel you.”
Every inch of Celeste reverberates with release as her legs wrap around his middle. Her body arches towards the ceiling, then falls against the rug, her fingers twitching against his ribcage. Astarion wrings the last of her orgasm from her with his fingers, gently toying with her as she comes down, the aftershocks causing her to shudder against him. He hums in approval and slides his fingers between her lips, still slick with her climax.
“That’s my girl.”
She whimpers as he touches her tongue, tasting herself, and looking up at him with glassy, bliss-filled eyes. There’s no mistaking his own arousal throbs against her thigh, hard and wanting.
He withdraws his fingers from, taking a few moments to admire the scene below him. Her hair is nearly dry from the heat of the fire, splayed across the rug, her half-lidded eyes glazed over.
“Still with me, darling?”
“Yes,” she pants, her cheeks flushed.
“Good.”
Astarion captures her lips in a demanding, possessive kiss, his tongue chasing hers, licking into her mouth as he moans. She whines and her hands move to his biceps, gripping the muscle there for support as his hips grind against her in a languid motion.
“As enticing as this is…“ he murmurs, his breath catching in his throat, “I’d rather not finish like this.”
“Then don’t,” she says in a challenging tone.
He considers her, pinning her beneath him.
“Is this really what you want? Right here on the floor?” He taunts, his hips rolling against her in a slow, measured movement, the sensation intensifying with each deliberate thrust. “Hardly befitting of a goddess’ prodigy.”
“I don’t care ,” she hisses.
“Just can’t get enough, can you?” His grin widens and in one swift motion he reaches for her hips, flipping her onto her hands and knees. He bends over her, his chest pressed to her back, and positions his aching length at her entrance, nipping at her ear.
“As you wish.”
She tenses only for a moment as he eases himself inside, stretching her just on the fine line of pain and pleasure. He gives her time to adjust to him, his hands gripping her hips as he holds her close. When her body’s tension dissipates, he rocks against her, a strangled noise escaping him as he throws his head back.
“Fuck,” he shudders, “I almost forgot how good you feel.”
Her hands curl into fists as he rewards her with another long stroke. Her name spills from his lips as he sinks deeper into her, the wetness of her arousal gliding against his length. He desperately tries to slow the mounting pressure in his stomach as she squeezes him inside of her.
“I’m not going to last long,” he whispers against her, his grip on her hips almost bruising as his fingers dig into her skin. “You’re too damn beautiful , darling, I need-“ his words fade into a choked-off litany of gasps and curses as he thrusts into her.
“Come for me, Astarion.” She says, the words coming out as a taunt.
As she tries to make him move faster, he grabs her chin and inhales sharply through his teeth. “Gods below,” he mutters, his voice strained as he releases her, “just a little longer, pet. Let me at least try to be a gentleman-”
“I don’t fuck you because you’re a gentleman.” With a wicked grin, she relishes in the knowledge that her words will send him over the edge.
Astarion drives into her harder, eliciting a small gasp of surprise when the angle evokes an unexpected spark of pleasure.
“Fine,” he pants out, setting a far more brutal pace now, “have it your way, darling.”
He palms one of her breasts, his other hand fisting in her hair as he fucks her.
“Still feel like a porcelain doll, or is this rough enough for you?” He snarls in her ear.
Consumed by need and the overwhelming sensation of him, she can’t think of a clever response. She shatters, and his thrusts become sloppy and disjointed as he chases his own orgasm, spilling with a ragged moan. He lets himself collapse on top of her, their bodies sweaty and spent as he presses his face into the crook of her neck and shudders with a giddy laugh. Reluctantly lifting his head, he slowly pulls out and collapses to the floor, slumping on his side. Dazed and wrecked, he draws her against his chest. Behind her, the fireplace glows, its crackling audible now that they’ve fallen silent.
Time seemed to stand still as they lay in silence beside each other, Astarion keenly aware of the gentle cadence of her breathing returning to its natural rhythm. He rolls on his back, staring at the ceiling.
“I won’t press you further on your nightmares.” He says, “Just know I’m here if you want to talk about them.”
She exhales. “It’s a reoccurring dream. An…amalgamation of memories, some from the night my parents died, some from when Gale and I slept together when we were younger.”
Astarion’s brow furrows as he listens to her.
“I pushed myself into something with him I wasn’t sure about because I just wanted to erase the awful things that had been done to me. As if I could undo the touch of someone so sinister by lying with someone so kind.” She blinks. “I used him.”
“I appreciate the candor.” He says, idly tracing shapes on her arm with his fingertips. “But in all seriousness, my dear, I think Mystra did far more damage to Gale’s ego than you ever could.”
“Does it bother you?”
“Mystra? Yes. Your history with Gale?” He snorts. “No.” He tips her chin towards him. “Gale’s a big boy. He can handle himself.” His lips curl into a mischievous grin. “Now that I think about it, though, I actually don’t know. Is he…?”
“-You’re such a letch.”
“This is the first I’ve heard you complain about it.” He reaches down, gently pulling one of her legs over his hip, enjoying the scowl she gives him.
“It’s no wonder he and Shadowheart get on so well.” He muses, “They’ve both been burned by their former goddesses.”
He frowns. “And then there’s you, of course.”
Her eyelids grow heavy and she lays her head on his chest, staring into the embers of the dying fire as his arms snake around her.
“Gods and monsters masquerading as saviors.” She sighs, and slips into a dreamless sleep.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Chapter 52: Dogma-Stained Love
Astarion flexes his hands at his sides, Artor’s false ring adoring his index finger. With his vampirism gone, the once-useless trinket serves as his only visual aid in the dim light of the crumbling tunnels of the Undermountain, and the cold metal digs into his skin as he rotates it with his thumb. His steps match Celeste’s, rounding another turn between wall-mounted torches, purple flames licking at the cave walls surrounding them. Stalactites hang from the ceiling, and Celeste moves around them slowly in the dark as her ears become attuned to the sounds of bats screeching and flapping their wings in the distance.
“Feeling alright?” he spares a glance in her direction out of the corner of his eye. Celeste flinches, startled even by his soft tone.
“I’m not sure how to answer that.” She squints back over her shoulder at the rest of the party trailing behind them.
“Just up ahead.” Gale calls out, letting go of Shadowheart’s hand to point.
“No heroics, okay?” Celeste asks in a low voice.
“Don’t threaten my reputation with talks of altruism, darling.” Astarion speaks with the feigned confidence that comes to him so instinctively. An old force of habit. A survival mechanism. The facade fades, his smile faltering, and he stops in his tracks, grabbing her by the wrist and resting his palms on her shoulders.
“Just…come back to me, alright?” He strokes her hair, holding her head from behind so she meets his gaze.
“Always.”
His chest tightens, and he takes her face in his hands, pulling her into a brief, but deep, kiss. As the others catch up, he draws away, giving her a gentle shove in their direction.
“Go on, then. Knock them dead.”
Full Chapter on AO3
Warnings: 18+, mdni. Blood, violence, death, religious trauma. See AO3 for tags and other chapter-specific warnings
A/N: This one took about a week longer than I wanted to get it to you, on the bright (I hope) side, this one is LONG (6k). I just couldn't split it up. I had a fun quip about Dragon Age Veilguard delaying me, but the biggest delay came in the form of grief. I'm giving these final chapters as much justice as I can, because this fic has been so special to me. I hope you enjoy them, and I hope they wrap this story up in a satisfactory way for you. Your support, reading, and comments really get me through the day sometimes. There's a strange sense of relief and bittersweetness as I write these final chapters. Thank you for being here for my silly little story.
Smut chapter from ongoing fic Forms of Imprisonment. Full chapter/story on AO3.
Pairing: Spawn Astarion (post-tadpole) x OFC
Word count: ~1.7k
Warnings: 18+!!!, smut, piv, oral, blood drinking, dirty talk, cumplay, slight fluff, preexisting relationship, part of a series (but readable without context)
A/n: a very specific part/scene was inspired by this post from @looneylolita and they deserve credit!
—
“You know, darling, I could do this all night, but it would be more fun if you were paying attention while I did it.”
Astarion rises from his position between her legs, where he’s been watching her stare and sigh at the ceiling as he’s worked his mouth against her for the past twenty minutes.
Celeste snaps to attention and blushes. “Sorry.” She squeaks.
His tongue gives a few final lazy strokes against her cunt before he wipes his mouth, glistening with her arousal, against the back of his wrist. The vampire kisses his way up her torso until he’s hovering over her, hands bracketing her on the bed.
“I know that look. I invented it. You’re a million dimensions away.” He cocks his head. “What’s troubling you, my dear?”
Celeste turns her gaze towards the balcony. “My thoughts are so demanding,” she exhales slowly. “I want to be here. I’m trying…I just can’t find a moment of quiet in my head.”
“Only you could overthink yourself into oblivion far enough to only casually enjoy my talents.” His words are mocking, but there’s a gentleness to his demeanor as he speaks to her. “If you’d like me to stop, darling, you only need to ask.”
“I don’t want to stop,” she says, frustrated tears brimming her eyes, “It’s just…everything is so horrible and I can’t focus, can’t relax,” she lets out a sound of agitation, “I can’t come.” She says and flushes with embarrassment.
“Oh, little love,” he says, kissing her jaw, “I’m acquainted with that feeling better than anyone. Just let yourself enjoy something for once. That pesky guilt of yours is getting in the way,” He reaches down for his trousers and unlaces them with one hand, pumping himself against her thigh. “And getting on my nerves.” He adds with a growl. She whines as the tip of his erection weeps precum against her skin.
Astarion sits up on his knees, baring every inch of his chiseled torso to her as he continues stroking himself. “Are you sure about this?” He asks with a raised eyebrow.
She nods and he removes the rest of his clothes, returning to his former position over her, catching her lips with his own.
“That’s okay, you don’t have to say a word.” He whispers against her upper lip, releasing it from between his teeth. Her throat feels dry and all she can do is whimper in response, eliciting a smirk from Astarion.
He teases the tip of himself against her entrance. “But I will need you to look at me so I know you won’t wander off again.” He purrs the words into her ear and grips her face, the tips of his fingers pulling at her skin as he enters her. A gasp of surprise escapes Celeste and Astarion offers her a roguish smile.
“Is this what you wanted?” He feigns a pout as he works in agonizingly slow, yet powerful movements that rattle her with every push, eyes locked on hers with a dominating intensity. She arches her back in response and rakes her nails down his shoulder blades, causing him to tense.
“That’s my wicked girl.” He says with a snarl that turns into a kiss, bringing his mouth against hers as he thrusts.
Astarion had fucked hundreds of people before her, but it was kissing that had always left him hesitant, not the sex. The vulnerability of baring yourself in that way to someone. He could flip a lover over, turn away to escape as he did nothing more than service them, but the meeting of lips, the exploring of tongues in mouths and hands tugging and pulling and grasping…it was hard to fake that kind of intimacy. Not impossible, especially for him, but it took more out of him. More care, more energy. With her, it made his chest ache, his throat tighten with want. Need.
Astarion’s hands squeeze her upper thighs apart as he drives himself into her, while his thumbs trace circles and lines, feather light, before they roughly dig into her skin. Her moans become sobs of pleasure against his shoulder, hands desperately grasping at his scarred back as she draws herself closer, as if she could merge with him, dissolve into his very being.
“Celeste?” He asks apprehensively, a pang of concern in the pit of his stomach as her cries become more and more tortured. He pulls away, tilting her chin towards him so he can search her face for signs of genuine distress. Her breath comes in pants as her lips crash into his, answering with a demanding buck of her hips.
Astarion wraps her legs around his waist and pulls her closer by the small of her back. He lifts her with him as he leans back on his ankles, situating her in his lap between his knees. She takes over his rhythm, riding him as he peppers her neck and chest with kisses. Her fingers weave through his curls as she straddles him, lowering herself so he’s buried deeper within her.
He lets out a groan as she grinds into him with her entire body, controlling her own pleasure, tightening around him every time he bottoms out inside of her. Celeste pulls away, hands grasping his shoulders as she watches him. Astarion meets her stare reverently, as if worshiping her from the mattress. He finds one of her breasts and sucks at its peak, languidly flicking his tongue against her nipple, looking at her underneath lowered eyelids.
She melts in his arms as she feels a warmth at her core, her cunt clenching and dripping more of her own desire onto the base of his cock. Astarion releases his mouth from her skin and closes his eyes, appreciating the sensation. His deft fingers crawl down her stomach, a thumb finding her slickened clit and tracing delicate, then firm circles. She bites down on his shoulder, muffling a guttural scream.
“Now, now, darling, if you get to bite, then I do too.” He teases as he kisses the base of her throat. She bends to nip at his ear.
“Do it.” She rasps, and he throws her onto the pillows without warning, realigning himself and rutting into her with rugged precision. His fangs brush her neck, waiting for permission.
“Are you sure?” He breathes, fingers twisting themselves her hair, tugging her attention towards him as he searches her face for hesitation. She bites her lip and nods. Astarion shakes his head and pulls back and looks at her. “I need your words, Celeste.”
“Yes.” She squeezes her thighs against his hips as he drives into her.
Astarion hums in approval and leaves one hand knotted in her hair while the other returns to her center, teasing at her while he fucks her.
“I think you’re close, Celeste. Let’s help each other.” Astarion grins before his fangs find her again, piercing her skin without warning. Her breath hitches and her chest buckles as he sups at her neck. The mounting pleasure nearly sends him over the edge and he tries to keep from spilling himself as her walls tighten around his erection. When she clenches again, he knows she’s doing it on purpose.
“Fucking hells, Celeste,” he murmurs between pulls at her vein. Blood trickles past his bottom lip and his tongue drags a sloppy line up her neck to catch it. “That’s going to make me come, and I’d rather not do it alone,” he grumbles as he reaches her ear.
She cries out and he licks away the rest of the blood as he pounds into her. Her throat bobs, as if stifling a scream, and his lips cover hers to capture it before it escapes.
“What was that earlier about you not being able to come?” He pants. The vampire listens to the racing of her heart and the blood furiously rushing through her veins, sensing her orgasm approaching. She squirms underneath him, a whimpering mess as her climax finds her. Astarion finally allows himself release, groaning her name like a prayer, his forehead pressed to her shoulder as she mewls in his ear. They stay intertwined for several long moments before he pulls back to assess her.
Her cheeks are flushed as she gazes back at him. A smattering of blood on her neck where she’d bled more while he’d been fucking her catches his attention and he sucks his teeth and smiles.
“Oh dear, I’ve gotten sloppy.”
Her brow furrows, and her fingers fly to the wound. She stares as they come away slick with blood, glancing at him with concern. Astarion takes her fingers in his mouth and cleans the blood from them before rolling her on top of him, his hands eagerly gripping her waist as he draws the flat of his tongue over her neck, moaning at the taste of her. She grasps his curls with both hands and presses herself to him, her breasts flattening against his torso. Astarion’s hand ventures over her ass and back between her legs, encountering the wetness of his own spend seeping from her cunt. He slides his middle finger inside, teasing more cum from her as he laps at her throat.
Satisfied, he eases her back onto the mattress, a sly smile playing on his lips. “Are you still with me?”
“Mmm,” she sighs contentedly. There’s a tug at his heart as he takes her in. She’s stunning, all mussed hair and flushed skin, like a painting against the white sheets.
“I love you, Celeste,” he croaks, the words catching in his throat. His chest tightens with icy dread as he anticipates her response. They’d been skirting around those three words for days, repeatedly prompting arguments and slammed doors.
Her fingers reach up, wrapping themselves around his throat, exerting a slight pressure as she pulls him down until his lips hover above hers. Astarion swallows nervously, surprised by the shift in control. What’s left of his erection pulses against her thigh and he hopes she doesn’t notice his revived arousal.
“Getting sentimental on me?” she teases, a sinful smirk gracing her lips as she kisses him passionately. Sensing his trepidation, she breaks away, holding his gaze as she whispers back, a mix of understanding and desire in her voice.
“I love you too.”
—
Thanks for reading! Please like/reblog/kudos/follow/interact on AO3/whatever if you did? It helps so much!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Chapter 50: Hope in Half Desire
“I dreamt about you while you were away.”
“People dream of me all the time, darling. You’ll have to be more specific.”
Chapter from ongoing fic Forms of Imprisonment. Full story on AO3
Pairing: Spawn Astarion (post-tadpole) x OFC
Word Count: 1.9k
Warnings: 18+, mdni. Brief allusion to history of SA, forced restraint See AO3 for other chapter-specific warnings
Around nightfall, Gale and the others had returned with a handful of Noblestalk from Halaster. Shadowheart hastily brewed it into a concentrate, and Astarion carried it to Celeste’s room with a grimace. After centuries without eating, he wasn’t sure if he had a natural aversion to mushrooms, or if it truly was that awful.
When he looks in on her, Celeste is curled atop the sheets with her father’s journal, the displacer cub sleeping in a ball at her side. He knocks softly upon the doorframe to warn her of his presence. Noticing him, she shoves the book aside and sits up.
“Hi.” She breathes. There was something in her eyes that hadn’t been there before, like she was actually…happy to see him.
Astarion gives her a small smile as he steps inside. “How’s the reading?” he asks, sitting at the edge of the mattress.
“Strange.” She glances at the journal, “My father wrote about abandoning the Dark Lady, the falsehoods of her teachings...” she hesitates, carefully choosing her words, “It still feels…sacrilege, but I’m trying to give it the benefit of the doubt. ”
“And what finally convinced your father to abandon Shar? Perhaps it would work on you.”
Celeste swallows. “My mother. Their relationship began as a sinister plan, but…he grew to love her more than his goddess.”
Astarion hums to himself, pursing his lips. Uncomfortable with certain parallels and eager to change the subject, he holds up the swirling, deep indigo vial of Noblestalk.
“How about we retrieve your memories and get this over with?”
She cradles it between her palms, wrinkling her nose and abandoning it on the nightstand.
“Gods below, it’s worse than earlier.”
“Shadowheart’s been tinkering with the potency. I was hoping you’d take it willingly this time.” Astarion says, “But if you’d prefer to be pinned down again, that could be arranged.” A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“Oh?” Celeste tilts her head to the side, as if calling his bluff.
His smirk fades. He’d been expecting a biting retort. Not for her to be coy and play along.
Before he can respond, she uncrosses her legs and leans forward.
“I dreamt about you while you were away.”
“People dream of me all the time, darling. You’ll have to be more specific.” The flirtation comes to him instinctively, like a familiar knife. This was the woman he loved, the body he was comfortable with, attracted to. But something about her advances was so foreign. So…wrong.
“I think it was a memory.” She says. “You used to feed from me when you were a vampire. On several occasions, it seems…”
“You were an enthusiastic volunteer.” The playful air is gone from his voice.
“It does seem I enjoyed it. A shame I can’t sustain you that way anymore.” As she crawls towards him, the displacer cub abruptly leaps from the bed and paws at the cracked door, letting itself out.
“But there are others ways I could… sustain you.”
Astarion stares in disbelief, searching her face for any sign that she’s manipulating him again, or perhaps joking.
“Come now, darling, we’ve made so much progress. You’re not relapsing into Sharran pain and suffering fantasies, are you?”
“It seems I enjoyed a bit of pain all along.” She says, her hand sliding towards his thigh.
Astarion bites back the groan building in his throat and grabs her wrists, holding them in place as he leans down over her.
“I’m not sure we should do this.” he shakes his head. “And I don’t think you want to either.”
She arches her back, pressing her body to his, as she slips a wrist out of his grasp and traces the line of his jaw.
“I’ve never wanted to remember something so badly…” she whispers. “You could make me forget my goddess…”
Astarion closes his eyes. Despite his resistance to her advances, he can’t help from leaning into her touch, pressing his face into her hand. Desire throbs at his core. Gods, he wants her.
“How can I trust you? That this isn’t another ruse?”
“How’s this for trust?” She murmurs, hooking her fingers around the back of his neck and pulling him in. Her lips crush against his, her tongue slipping into his mouth as she deepens the kiss. Their last kiss had been a lie, but this…this was genuine. If not a little too desperate.
But it still wasn’t all of her. Just echoes.
She tugs off her shirt, lying half-bare underneath him, and he tenses. Her eyes pour into his - she knows what she’s doing. Or this version of her does. Without her memories, Celeste is less reserved, and far more seductive than he’d expect her to be. She isn’t seeking escape or control. No, she just wants him .
But at her core, there was a reason his Celeste was hesitant about these things.
And that was the heartbreaking part of it all. That in making her remember, she’d experience all that pain again. Perhaps they should allow her to remain oblivious. He could make love to her here and pretend everything was normal. Let her fall for him all over again, let those feelings turn her from Shar. Forge a new life, one where her past is only a shadowed memory…
“Stop.” he growls, more at himself than her, and gently pushes her off.
As he throws his legs over the side of the bed, she hastily pulls her shirt on, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
“I’m sorry-“
“You don’t know what you’re asking of me.” He says, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not- this isn’t you.”
“You can’t tell me who I am! It isn’t fair. This is all I have. The only thing I know about myself is that I loved you. Or she did…Does. That…other version of me.”
There was a hint of jealousy in her voice. As little sense as it made, she was jealous of herself.
“Celeste, listen to me. I want this. Gods, trust me, I want this.” He takes her chin with his free hand and turns her head, looking into her eyes with desperation. “But I need all of you, darling. Not just scraps and fragments and a body acting on familiar desire.”
Astarion smiles in an attempt to placate her humiliation, resting his forehead against hers, and closing his eyes. Gods, this is painful.
He grants her one kiss. Innocent, tender, comforting. She returns it hungrily, and he pulls away, his thumb resting on her lower lip as she blinks at him in surprise.
“Come now,” he says, taking the Noblestalk suspension from the bedside table, “I know seducing me is an appealing path, but I’m afraid this is far more effective.”
He takes her silence as her answer, and uncaps the bottle, raising the rim and parting her lips with it.
“Drink.”
She holds his gaze, looking at him under lowered eyelids, but allows him to tilt her head back. She stops to cough, wincing at the taste, before taking the rest from him and finishing it in one swallow. As she pushes the empty glass back into his hands, she rises to her feet, wiping her wrist across her mouth.
“It burns…” she whimpers, running her fingers through her hair as she stares at the rafters.
Astarion sets the vial on the nightstand as he watches her pace frantically. When she becomes more distraught, he crosses the room to stand in her path.
“Come, Sit.” he pulls lightly on her arm and she sways in place.
“No, you don’t understand, it-“ she looks at him wide eyed. “Something’s wrong.”
“Look at me.” he wraps his hand behind her neck and studies her. The flush of her skin had vanished, and her pupils were dilated.
“What...did you...?” She slurs with a look of betrayal before her head lolls back and she faints.
“Shadowheart! ”
He calls for the cleric in a worried tone as he catches Celeste around the waist. Lowering her gently to the floor, he checks her pulse, taking a relieved breath when her heartbeat flutters beneath her skin.
The stairs creak under his companions’ footsteps as they enter the room. Shadowheart rushes to Celeste’s side, pressing her hand to her forehead.
“Did it work?”
Astarion scowls. “Did it work ? How am I supposed to know? That Noblestalk put her in a bloody coma!”
“Don’t be dramatic. It’s not a coma,” she says, opening each of Celeste’s eyelids to check her pupils.
“Did you plan this?” he asks, incredulous, “What possible reason could you have-”
“One bad memory sent her into a fit. What do you think remembering a lifetime all at once will do?” Shadowheart snaps at him. “I mixed in a draught of angelic reprieve so they can come to her in dreams, slowly. Being conscious is the last thing she needs. If it works, she’ll wake as if nothing happened.”
“It’s rather brilliant, actually.” Gale murmurs admirably from behind her.
“And why,” Astarion asks through gritted teeth, “are you just now telling me this?”
“Your head isn’t straight when it comes to her, soldier.” Karlach says. “We had to keep you in the dark until she drank the Noblestalk.”
“We couldn’t risk you changing the plan.” Wyll adds.”which you are apt to do, when you assume you know better…”
“Unbelievable. So because I have her best interest in mind, I suddenly can’t think clearly?” Astarion lets out a bark of laughter, scrubbing his hands over his face before he turns on the wizard.
“I spent the last two centuries being controlled like a puppet on a string.” He seethes, “Pardon me if I don’t want Celeste to not bear the same-“
“Spare us the centuries of torture speech and be grateful they didn’t knock you unconscious as well, faerie.” Minthara growls. “That was my plan.”
He makes an irritated sound and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine.”
Crouching beside Celeste’s unconscious form, he brushes hair out of her face with his fingertips. They linger at her temple, and he frowns.
“Will it work?” he rasps, barely audible.
“We have no reason to believe it wouldn’t.” Gale says. “But there is one more thing.”
Astarion slips a hand under Celeste’s knees and the other under her back, lifting her from the ground and carrying her to the mattress. His movements are stiff and controlled as he eases her down gently, before glancing over his shoulder at the Gale with narrowed eyes.
“What? ” He asks, a command, rather than a question.
“Halaster had some insight into what happened. The Noblestalk will help but…the only way to truly break Shar’s hold is to destroy the connection to Nightfall. Otherwise, we risk her recasting the spell, putting us right back at the beginning.” Gale says.
“Which means we need her to remember enough not only to turn from Shar, but to want to help us kill Keresta and Nightfall as well.” Shadowheart says.
“She’ll help.” Astarion says, staring down at her unconscious face. He sighs and leans against the wall, rubbing his temples.
“So. What’s next in this clandestine little strategy of yours?”
Shadowheart takes a seat at Astarion’s desk, crossing one leg over the other.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Chapter 46: Abnormally Attracted to Sin
A/N: Celeste/Astarion commission is here! Thanks to @nikoadmeliora for helping them come to lif
Chapter from ongoing fic Forms of Imprisonment. Full story on AO3
Pairing: Spawn Astarion (post-tadpole) x OFC
Word Count: 3.7k
Warnings: 18+, mdni. Smut, oral, piv, church sex, a little Astarion-related trauma talk. See AO3 for other chapter-specific warnings.
Condensation clings to the arched windows lining the narrow, winding stairwell, offering a diluted glimpse of predawn’s blue glow. Light and shadows dance between Celeste’s fingertips as she drags them against the stone walls, climbing towards the roof. Astarion follows, hands hanging at his sides, aching to reach for her.
He’d follow her anywhere.
She throws open a pair of oak doors and the wind rushes in, whipping strands of her hair across her face as she steals a glance at him with an inviting grin. Inhaling deeply, the crisp morning air is somehow different than he remembers, and a sense of longing envelopes him.
There was a common misconception about vampirism heightening the senses. Perhaps it did, but he had always filtered out the subtleties, with bloodlust paramount to everything else. After all, why bother appreciating anything when it would last forever? It was the fleeting nature of things that made them precious. If food turned to ash on his tongue, if his heart couldn’t beat even when filled with desire, if he could bleed and feel the blood coursing through his veins but never experience its warmth on his skin, what set him apart from a common ghoul? Many times, he questioned whether he possessed a soul.
Celeste settles on the rooftop, dangling her feet over the edge. Astarion braces a hand against the shingles with a grunt and joins her as she leans forward to look over Waterdeep, sprawling underneath them. It’s enough to cause a sharp stab of fear gripping his stomach, and despite knowing she’s not likely in any real danger, he snatches her by the waist and tugs her back.
“Careful, love.” He murmurs. “I have a beating heart now, and it seems to be prone to palpitations.”
She smiles, inching backwards to placate him. He keeps his arms wrapped around her middle, searching a treeline on the edge of the horizon for the first rays of sunlight.
“What did you think of your reflection?” She asks him as they wait.
“I…haven’t looked yet.”
“Shying away from petty vanity?” she teases, her words laced with affection. “What has happened to you?”
He snorts. “I always have time for petty vanity.”
“What are you afraid of? That you won’t like it?”
“I’m not afraid.” His lip curls before his expression fades into something more contemplative. “Tell me, Celeste, what do you see when you look at me?”
She traces the curve of his cheek. “Piercing eyes, a jawline carved by the gods…”
“Mmm.” He leans into her touch, eyes falling half-lidded. “Flattery will get you many places, darling.”
“If you’re wondering, you…haven’t changed. Since the ritual. By all appearances, you still look like a vampire, with the exception of a little blush on your skin now.”
He lets out a bitter huff. “Well, at least I can see the face that’s charmed so many unlucky souls.”
“Are you disappointed?”
“Are you?”
“As one of those unlucky charmed souls, I couldn’t be further from disappointed.” She lays her head against his chest. “Somehow, if your eyes were different, or your sharp grin became dull, or the ridges of your scars became smooth…you wouldn’t be you, in a way. I could learn to love your body in any form it takes, but this one…this is the one I know.”
Astarion remains quiet. She’s confirmed what he already suspected, and he runs his tongue over the tips of his fangs. His skin had prickled at Cazador’s infernal contract, still carved upon his back after the ritual. It was the first thing he noticed when they reached the balcony. As the breeze had dried his damp shirt, it clung against his skin, the familiar, uncomfortable tingling where numb tissue met nerves. He finds himself surprisingly indifferent to the realization that his mortal transformation won’t erase the scars of undeath.
They are silent for several long moments as he holds her against him, fingers curled around her arm. Daylight spills into the sky above, casting a gentle glow over distant fields. Hues of pink and orange filters through the clouds, and the fog on the temple’s lawn below dissipates, revealing the world in all its clarity.
“Ha!” Astarion throws his head back, a bark of a laugh that lifts the weight from his shoulders. “I guess I didn’t burst into flames after all.”
As he takes hold of Celeste’s chin, he tilts her face toward the sunrise, appreciating in the golden light that accentuates every fine feature.
“I like seeing you this way.” His hand combs through her hair. Gods, her hair, the ashen and silver strands of it warming under the sun...
Unable to resist his longing any longer, his mouth crushes against hers in an ardent, desperate kiss. His fingers find her hip, pressing against the velvet of her dress to pull her over and into his lap. Back facing the roof’s edge, she straddles him, clinging to his shoulders.
“Slow down,” she pants, her words breaking through the haze of his mind. His lips hover a breath from her skin, the ruby hue of his irises gleaming.
“Apologies, I’m getting ahead of myself, but it’s just…hells, I feel like I’m starving-”
She rolls off of him.
“Astarion, have you eaten yet?”
He grimaces, the burning growl of his stomach becoming more prominent, the nausea of a hunger he hasn’t experienced in years.
“If I say I have, can we continue?”
She laughs, offering her hand.
“I don’t think it’s sex you need.”
-------------------------------------------
She drags him downstairs to the banquet hall, the aroma of freshly served breakfast wafting through the air. Several clergy members file out, watching them as they walk by. Their companions are together under a far window, the morning sun illuminating their cheerful expressions as they pass food around the table. Celeste pulls Astarion away from prying eyes, the murmurs of conversation fading into the background, and takes a seat next to Shadowheart.
“Astarion!” Karlach greets him with a mouthful of food. “You have to try the eggs.” She slides two clean plates towards them, gesturing to the spread at the center of the table. He sits, eyeing loaves of bread, goodberry jam, porridge, bacon and goose eggs with uncertainty as his companions eat around him.
“...gods, how do I even begin?”
“Perhaps slowly…the bread’s a safe start.” Gale offers, dropping a roll onto his plate. Astarion takes a knife, spreading jam across its surface and nibbles at it, chewing thoughtfully. It’s not the sensation of ecstasy, of drinking blood, the intimacy of his teeth in Celeste’s neck, her life between his fingertips, but it’s…adequate.
“Did you see the sunrise?” Shadowheart asks, interrupting his thoughts.
Astarion nods, finding himself more interested in eating than conversation, and scoops a spoonful of eggs onto his plate. The texture is bizarre to him, but the taste is pleasant enough, if a bit lacking in flavor.
Celeste watches him push food around his tray and changes the subject.
“We should leave tonight. I don’t want to overstay our welcome here, and I think we’ve accomplished all we can at the temple.”
“I’m inclined to agree.” Gale chimes in. “There’s been a response to my recent sending spell…”
“Sending spell?” Shadowheart’s look of surprise indicates that he hasn’t discussed anything with her.
“I requested a…visit with an old friend.” Gale reveals tentatively, meeting Astarion’s gaze. Celeste raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “A...colleague with far-reaching influence in the Undermountain. Halaster Blackcloak.”
“Your pet sitter?” Shadowheart asks.
Wyll chokes, grasping for his water and drinking frantically.
“The mad mage?” he coughs, attempting to clear his throat. “What in the nine hells do we need him for?”
“He’s well connected. He could help us ambush the Sharrans, and it’s crucial that we have every advantage-“
“Well, with a moniker like that, I’m sure he’ll have our best interests in mind.” Astarion glances down at his breakfast and shoves his mostly full plate away with a frustrated sigh. “I think that’s as much as I can do for now.”
“Halaster has his moments of…clarity.” Gale continues, eyes flickering with concern to his friend’s largely untouched meal.
“How did you become tangled up with him?” Wyll asks.
“It’s a long story.” The wizard mutters.
Astarion leans forward. “So this…mad mage. Are we talking Volo strange, or is this more of an unpredictable and homicidal kind of situation?”
Although he is taking nothing seriously, Celeste is encouraged to see bits of his eccentricities edging their way back into his personality.
“The latter, unfortunately.” Gale says, “I was in a…rebellious streak when I met Halaster. “
“Ah, right. Of course. What was your colossal blunder nicknamed, Gale’s folly?” Astarion sneers.
Gale’s face contorts with an uncomfortable grimace as he scrutinizes his hands.
“Yes, well… my point being, Halaster would be a valuable ally. He holds no alliances…and a tempting enough offer can persuade anyone.”
“I can’t believe you would entrust your Tressym to a lunatic,” Minthara taunts.
“For the last bloody time, I don’t own Tara, and she can fend for herself quite well, mind you-”
To ease her friend’s agitation, Celeste lays her palm flat on the table in a reassuring gesture.
“If you think it will help, Gale, I trust your judgment.”
“Thank you.” Gale returns with a nod, lifting a curious eyebrow as Astarion pushes himself to his feet.
“Well, I, for one, can’t wait to meet this Halaster. We’ve seen more than enough temples and fanatics these past few weeks.”
Nocturne looks up from picking at her food. “Where are you off to?”
Astarion motions towards the exit.
“I thought I might try out sunbathing.”
-----------------------------------------------
Wherever Astarion went after breakfast didn’t include a request for company, so Celeste returns to their room to pack, tucking away several of the finest garments in the wardrobe as souvenirs. It would be a waste for them to go unworn here.
Changing into a flowing blue silk gown that cascades over her body like rippling water, she spends the rest of the afternoon in the temple’s library, reveling in the House of the Moon’s extensive collection. Strange, how much more enjoyable a hobby is when it’s not a profession. She wonders just how terribly Anders is faring without her at the Castle Waterdeep library, and a mischievous smile played on her lips.
Still no sign of Astarion come evening, Celeste wanders the halls in search of her companions. Instead, she finds herself in one of the smaller chapels of the temple. The pews are vacant, and a few candles flicker around the room. Turquoise and purple glow against the frosted glass as the sun sets outside. The doors shut behind her with a resounding slam and Celeste approaches the altar, taking an incense stick and twirling it between her fingers. With a steady focus, she wills it to burn and, to her surprise, it ignites effortlessly in her hand.
She lights several candles, considering not only her new power, but the control she’s gained over it purely from acquiring more. Seated in the front pew, she doesn’t ask for the moonmaiden’s guidance, simply watches the flames dance in the fading light. Maybe this is what draws people to faith. An excuse to be still in such a demanding world.
Suddenly, the chapel doors creak on their hinges, breaking her moment of serenity. Footsteps draw nearer, steady and confident, and Astarion pauses beside her, drawing one finger along the smooth wood of the pew as he approaches the altar. He plucks a fresh stick of incense from a basket and raises it to his nose, breathing in its scent, before bringing it to the edge of a candle, setting it aflame.
“Copper for your thoughts?”
He doesn’t turn around when he speaks to her, shaking the incense to snuff out its flame. The remaining ember swells before settling into a calm orange glow and Astarion sets it aside on an ash covered abalone.
“How are you doing?” Celeste chooses her words carefully, unable to read his expression.
He faces her, leaning casually against the altar, attention drifting around the chapel, taking in the scenery.
“Let’s see. Yesterday, I was a vampire, and now I’m…” his voice trails off and his eyes flicker down at himself, then back to her. “Not quite like you, am I? But close enough.”
“Teu-guenhwyvar.” she says. The grit beneath her sandals crackles, her soles dragging on the stone floor as she rises from the pew.
“Elvish. How charming.” Astarion glances off towards the window and scoffs, amused.
“I saw my reflection.” He adds a few seconds later.
“Devastating, I’m sure.”
The levity of her response earns an appreciative grin from him. “No complaints. After all, you seem to enjoy it enough.”
“Your appearance isn’t of consequence to me.”
“An admirable thing for you to say, but let’s not pretend you aren’t a little relieved I’m still this enticing.”
Astarion pushes off the altar and tilts his head to the side. He had lost none of his graceful reflexes to the ritual. Perhaps the Tear’s magic filled the gaps vampirism had left behind.
Or perhaps he’d become something even more powerful than either of them had yet discovered.
“You’re worried about me.” He observes, caressing her face with his knuckles. “I assure you, Celeste, I’m fine. You can stop treating me like a porcelain doll. I seem to recall you disliking it yourself.” He sinks down onto the pew and leans back.
“Sorry.”
Astarion snorts, “No need for apologies. I rather enjoy being fussed over. It’s sweet that you’re worried.” His voice is dripping with far too much sensuality for a holy temple as he plays with the fabric of her gown, drawing her closer. Silk bunches in his fist as he slides it up her legs, pressing a kiss to her thigh.
“They always have you in such lovely dresses here….”
“We should go-“
“I have stood in the sun, eaten, looked in the mirror, all the things you’ve insisted I partake in today.” He brings her dress to her hip and draws his tongue up the front of her undergarments, wetting the silk. “I’m going to have to insist you indulge me with a rather…simple request.”
“Astarion-”
He growls, fingertips digging into her thighs as she protests, bringing her closer and balancing the back of her knee on the bend of his elbow. She steadies herself with a foot on the pew next to him while his mouth and tongue work against her through her panties. He hooks a finger under the fabric, pulling it to the side and lapping eagerly at her sex.
She whines as she watches, one hand squeezing his curls between her fingers to encourage him, the other guiding his face deeper and deeper between her thighs.
The dress falls back into place as Astarion comes up for air, looking around at the stained glass windows and empty pews.
“Why is it that the most pure of spaces are always the most fit for a bit of debauchery?”
Celeste swallows, her body aching for where his mouth had just been, wet and hot with anticipation.
“Well, if it’s blasphemy you’re after, then I suppose we should see to it properly.” He turns her around and situates her into his lap, pushing her legs open and gliding his fingers against the slick of her, his other arm wrapped around her body, holding her chin so she can watch herself.
“That’s my girl,” He encourages her, pushing his middle and ring fingers inside of her, curling them upwards until she jerks at the sensation. His thumb encircles her swollen clit, watching the arousal seep from her, around his fingers, dripping onto the pew beneath them, “let it all out, love…”
She clenches around him and arcs forward, wrapping her arms behind herself around his neck, moaning as a burn spreads from her belly and between her legs.
“Tell me how it feels.” He purrs, his mouth against her ear.
“Profane.”
“Let’s see if you can take another.” He says and inserts a third digit. Her walls constrict, hot and wet as her cheeks flush bright red.
His words push her to the brink, and with a whine, she reaches her climax while he keeps pleasuring her until she shivers in his embrace. With an amused smile, he removes them, drenched in her arousal. Muffling her whimpering, he pushes them between her lips, eliciting a soft, strangled noise before she suckles on the taste of herself.
Astarion grins, removing his fingers and taking a fistful of her hair in his fist.
“Get on your knees.”
Celeste slides from his lap to the floor obediently, guided by his grip on her, the hunger in his eyes deepening when she turns to face him, looking up with a devotion that drives him mad. His thumbs come to stroke her temples.
“Is this alright?” He whispers, waiting for her nod of approval. When she complies, he offers a smile, kissing her as he unravels the laces of his trousers with one hand, freeing himself as he strokes the tip of his weeping cock.
Celeste draws down his waistband until his pants fall to his ankles and holds him at his base, teasing him between her lips with a maddening lack of urgency. She grins around him as he lets out an impatient moan, carefully guiding himself deeper into her mouth. Her tongue curves around the underside of his cock, moaning and pushing him further back, her mouth becoming wetter for him as she gags herself.
“Keep going, just like that-“ he chokes out.
He’s gentle, letting Celeste lead and control the pace as his entire body burns for her. She pumps him in a coaxing motion, head bobbing in rhythm with her movements. Sweat trickles down his forehead as he focuses on the sensation, and there’s something almost reverent in the way he’s staring at her.
Her lips make a quiet pop as she releases him from her mouth, continuing to stroke him.
“Is this what you like?”
He whimpers and nods emphatically, breathless.
She flashes a self-satisfied smirk, enjoying his reaction as it becomes clear this is likely the first time he’sreceived oral on his own terms. It encourages her, and she takes him deep in her mouth enthusiastically until he bottoms out in the back of her throat.
“Exactly like that-“ he manages to choke out, and pulls her head back, stopping himself from climaxing.
“I’m not through with you yet.” Astarion cradles her face in his hands as he hoists her to her feet. He kisses her deeply, and when he pulls away, there’s a wicked gleam in his eyes.
“I’m going to ruin you right here, darling.”
And then he’s tearing her dress off over her head, exposing her breasts to the cold air, and pulling her panties to her knees. He presses his mouth to hers, seeking entry, his tongue inquiring against her lips before she parts them. The kiss turns brutal, possessive as he guides her body onto the front pew, skillfully unbuttoning his shirt with one hand.
“Please,” she pants, rolling her hips up against his. With a sense of urgency, she helps him remove his shirt, the fabric slipping from his shoulders and landing soundlessly on the floor. He’s balanced precariously over her, one knee between her hip and the pew and his other leg anchored on solid ground. Celeste arches her back, the surface cold against her skin, ridges of wood grain caressing the mark of Selûne on her shoulder, a stark reminder of the sacred space they’re defiling.
Ungrateful, wanton, twisted…
“I’d forgotten what it was like to have a pulse.” His lips move frantically over her body between words, words intermingled with kisses and breathless gasps, “to desire someone so strongly that your skin flushes for them, breathing stops for them-”
With a shuddering moan, he grips the back of the bench and aligns himself with her entrance, before thrusting himself inside of her. Their foreheads meet, and she loses herself in the overwhelming pleasure, pushing away any thoughts of guilt or consequence.
“Fuck,” he grunts, adjusting to the feeling of her around him. As she claws at his spine, he silences his own moan by mouthing at her neck. “You had me so close with your mouth, I’m afraid I-”
His head falls back, and he groans through gritted teeth just as she squeezes around him with a high-pitched whine that turns into a series of helpless whimpers. Astarion’s body becomes rigid over hers as he finds his release. Propping himself up with one arm, he pants, his mouth agape, a soft laughter of surprise escaping him.
The strain of holding himself up causes his limb to shake, and he brings his other palm down to steady himself. Slumping to the floor, he rests his back against the pew, and Celeste nestles against him, her head finding solace on his chest, her ear attuned to the rhythm of his racing heartbeat.
“Mortal stamina aside…” He laughs, a breathy sound with a hint of apology. “That was…incredible.”
“I can’t believe-”
Astarion clicks his tongue. “As I recall, you were a more than willing participant, darling.”
The doors open behind them, and Celeste scrambles for her dress, covering herself as the noise echoes against the walls.
“A church?” Gale says, standing in horror, though not entirely surprised.
Astarion nonchalantly gazes in Gale’s direction, unapologetic, his hands suspended in the air where he’s let go of Celeste. As he stands, he tucks his half-erect member back into his trousers, the fabric sliding over his hips, lacing them as he speaks without looking at the wizard.
“This is the second time you’ve interrupted us today. Are you feeling left out, Gale? Or just enjoying the show?”
“At least I gave the courtesy of letting you finish.”
“Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods.” Celeste whispers, looking over her shoulder and fixing her gaze on the window as she her cheeks turn a bright crimson.
“Get up and get dressed.” Gale pinches the bridge of his nose and looks up at the ceiling. “It’s time to go.”
He turns and leaves, muttering something without glancing back.
Reluctantly, Astarion retrieves his discarded shirt from the floor with a resigned sigh and offers Celeste a crooked grin.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Chapter 49: Strain Your Memory
Chapter from ongoing fic Forms of Imprisonment. Full story on AO3
Pairing: Spawn Astarion (post-tadpole) x OFC
Word Count: 4k
Warnings: 18+, mdni. Brief allusion to history of SA, forced restraint See AO3 for other chapter-specific warnings.
“Astarion…hey.”
Wyll is nudging his shoulder when he wakes from his trance, still slumped against the wall by the stairs. Gale lingers on the top step, holding a tray full of breakfast, presumably for Celeste.
“I didn’t even think, Astarion,” the wizard says sympathetically, “You would have been more than welcome on the couch or...”
He shakes his head and pushes himself to his feet. He feels weary, hollow.
“I’ve tranced in worse places. How is she?”
“I’m about to find out.” Gale says.
“Do try to keep your hands and mouths to yourselves,” Astarion grumbles. “Without her memories, she seems to have resorted to seduction.”
“So let me get this straight, because the Sharrans seem to only have tampered with recent history in her mind, she still remembers you from when you were younger?” Wyll asks Gale.
“Lucky, isn’t he?” Astarion doesn’t hate Gale for it, not really, but Celeste’s hostility towards him the previous evening had taken its toll. He crosses his arms and leans back against the banister.
“We’ll get her back.” Gale assures him, before disappearing inside the room.
Astarion purses his lips and nods, the wizard’s hope barely penetrating in his pessimism.
“This must be hard for you…” Wyll begins.
“I’ll manage.” Astarion snaps, before pressing his ear to the bedroom door, listening for snippets of conversation, but it’s difficult to make anything out without vampiric hearing.
“Gale! Praise the gods. Please, let me out.”
“Celeste.” Gale’s voice is stern but gentle. “I can’t do that.”
“I won’t hurt you - I won’t hurt any of you. Just let me go. Let me return to Lady Shar in peace.”
“There’s a lot you don’t remember.” Gale says. “And even more memories Shar has altered..what do you remember of your parents?”
“They were killed by rogue Sharrans, because my father betrayed our goddess.” She says. “It was terrible, but he should have known better…”
“And you blame him for what happened?”
“Of course. If he’d never turned his back on the Dark Lady, but…I think he was sick. Selûne poisoned him against Shar. And my mother…perhaps if my father had more time to convince her of Shar’s wisdom…”
Astarion’s nose wrinkles in disgust. This isn’t her. He can hear it in her voice, the cold, fanatic devotion that he knows is not her own.
“You have Selûnite blood.” Gale says. “Why are you so quick to claim Shar as your goddess?”
Thank the gods for his endless patience, Astarion thinks to himself.
Celeste pauses, seemingly deep in thought.
“She saved me. When the Harper’s abandoned me, Keresta and the Sharrans gave me a place to stay. Helped me go to university, kept me hidden from Selûnites…” she wrinkles her nose “until Selûne sent that vampire to test my faith.”
Astarion frowns, and Wyll joins him to eavesdrop.
Gale laughs. “He wasn’t sent by Selûne, Celeste. I promise you. If you had your memories, you’d realize how preposterous that statement is.”
“He turned on Keresta, you know. He came to us and I believed him and he turned on her!” Celeste says. “I won’t make that mistake again.
Astarion winces on the other side of the door, not liking where this is going.
“Celeste, he went to Keresta to save you. How can you think Astarion had bad intentions? Keresta tied you in a cellar! He freed you.”
“Is that any different from what you’re doing to me now?” She asks, “Gale, you could free me. I know you’re with that cleric, but…maybe we can convince her to reject Selûne, too. Return to the Dark Lady. That tiefling too…”
“I need you to drink this, Celeste. It will inhibit your powers for some time, but I’ll at least be able to untie you so you can be more comfortable.” Gale says, effectively silencing her fanatical ranting.
“If it will earn me freedom from this chair...” she consents. “You will release me from this room eventually, right?”
“Yes.” Astarion can hear the lie in Gale’s voice.
There’s a brief sound of shuffling and cutting of rope. Astarion presses his ear closer to the door, trying to hear anything else, as Gale pulls it open, his eyebrows raised in surprise as Astarion and Wyll pitch forward into him. Behind the wizard, Celeste rubs her wrists, still seated in the chair, giving Astarion a nasty glare.
Gale shuts the door behind him and places an arcane lock over it.
“I take it you’ve heard?” He asks Astarion and Wyll with a grim look.
Astarion’s jaw sets in annoyance.
“Every word.” He mumbles. “How long will that stuff last?”
“A day. Enough time for me to brew another. In the meantime, we need to find some Noblestalk - more than what Shadowheart has leftover. She already tried to remove any curse set on Celeste, but it appears that’s not the root of her…condition.”
“Do you have any connections?” Astarion says, pushing himself off the wall.
“I may have to meet with Halaster again. I should probably tell him about Shovel as well…”
Astarion recalls the grisly sight of the quasit’s head rolling across the ground. Wyll had dug a shallow hole in the yard and buried the creature while they took Celeste inside, and he almost felt a pang of sympathy for it.
“Is it safe to venture into the Undermountain again?” Wyll asks.
“Halaster showed me paths on that map no one knows about. But we’ll take everyone to be safe in numbers. Astarion, Shadowheart and Nocturne can stay behind.” Gale says, gazing at him, “Between you three, hopefully you can get through to her…”
Astarion looks at the shut door across the hall. “I’ll…try.”
His musings are interrupted by the sound of a crash from the den, the front door sounding as if it had been ripped off the hinges all together. The three men exchange panicked looks before hurriedly descending the stairs.
“What have you done!?” Aylin’s voice bellows through the house.
“You told her?” Astarion asks Gale, sliding his palm across his face with a groan.
“Sending spell. She needed to know. We were supposed to ambush the Sharrans today.”
The doors to their companions’ rooms creak open in time for everyone to stumble out, joining them to greet the aasimar, all in various states of undress and bleary-eyed.
Astarion pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a frustrated sigh. “This isn’t the best time. We have a…situation to deal with.”
“I am well aware. So fix it, Shadow. Did my mother not bestow her gifts upon you? Did she not task you with protecting her granddaughter from harm?”
Astarion clenches his jaw, irritated by the accusation.
“She ran out there prepared for a fight. We tried to stop her!”
“And you failed.” Aylin says.
“Aylin…” Isobel cautions, “he’s grieving.”
“You think I like this?” Astarion demands. “I don’t. I loathe seeing her this way, hearing her spout Shar’s dogmatic shit all day!”
“Easy there, soldier…” Karlach says, placing a hand on Astarion’s shoulder.
Aylin schools her expression into one of more sympathetic determination. “Do you have a plan?”
Astarion lets out a slow breath, bringing his volume back down.
“Noblestalk.”
“It’s the best shot we have, at present,” Shadowheart says.
“A good start.” Isobel says encouragingly. “Selûne’s magic can’t touch her in this state. Whatever they’ve done, we can’t help her until she’s willing to allow the Moonmaiden in again.”
“And what if we can’t reverse this?” Astarion’s voice is uncharacteristically vulnerable. “What if she’s trapped in the Shar’s grasp? What if we can’t…save her?”
“Astarion, it took immense effort to keep me under Shar’s influence.” Shadowheart assures him. “They manipulated her mind once. She’ll come back. Thank the gods they didn’t force her before a Mirror of Loss…”
“There’s no guarantee we’ll get all of her memories,” Nocturne says, “but she’s still her. You two have centuries to aid her in finding herself again.”
Astarion recoils at the suggestion.
“Let’s get this mushroom, then.” Minthara says, “it’s our only lead.”
“We will check at the Selûnite temple for solutions. Convene with the Moonmaiden. Perhaps there’s something we’re missing..” Isobel says.
Astarion nods. It’s not a solution yet, but it’s a plan, and it’s something for him to hold on to.
“Be safe.” Shadowheart says to Isobel and Aylin, as they turn to leave, abandoning the door the aasimar wrecked on her way in.
Gale hands Shadowheart a bundle of scrolls and a potion.
“Use these for removing and reinstating the arcane lock. There’s a permanent ward on the window to keep her in, and a few scrolls of hold person should things come to it.”
“I hope we won’t need these.” She murmurs, looking nervously up the stairs.
“Astarion, you should go speak with her first.” Nocturne says, “see if you can make any progress.”
“Because that went so well last time.” He says under his breath and climbs the stairs begrudgingly.
“Just don’t let her near any black hair dye while we’re gone!” Shadowheart calls after him. “Took a divine intervention to get it out of my hair…” he hears the cleric mutter to herself.
———————————————————————
Celeste is lying on the bed, her breakfast untouched on the nightstand. The displacer beast cub curled up with Tara at her feet, Gale seemingly sending in his Tressym to keep her company.
Astarion slowly approaches, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. He watches her silently, then reaches out towards her arm.
“Celeste?”
She cracks open an eye.
“You.”
Astarion flinches almost imperceptibly at the tone in her voice as she throws herself forward.
“Yes, me.” He forces himself to speak evenly. “Can we talk?”
She gestures in front of herself.
“Talk all you want. It’s not as if I can go anywhere.”
He bristles, but bites down on any sort of argument. At the bottom of the mattress, Tara stirs and gives them a contemplative look before leaping through the open window, taking flight. Now alone, the displacer kitten stirs and moves into Celeste’s lap. She looks down curiously before scratching between its ears.
“Celeste…” Astarion begins. He lets her name linger in the air before continuing. “I know you can’t remember this, but you’ll need to trust what I’m going to tell you.”
“Trust you? You’re holding me against my will.”
Against her will. The words make Astarion’s head spin.
“Darling…you couldn’t be more wrong. Trust me, I know you.”
“Then why don’t you tell me?” She says, “it’s clear none of you think I’m sane. Perhaps the Celeste you knew might have just been brainwashed by Selûnites? Perhaps this is who I am.”
He snorts. “Brainwashed by Selûne. Are you so desperate to prove me wrong?”
“My mistress saved me…”
“No, I bloody saved you!” Astarion shouts.
Celeste flinches when he raises his voice, but quickly recovers her mask of indifference.
“Saved me from what, exactly? Is that what we are to each other in your world? I’m some damsel that needs you?”
Astarion steadies himself, trying to calm his emotions.
“We were friends. Allies. Partners.” He says, “We loved each other. You may not remember, but I do.”
“As you’ve mentioned several times..” she tilts her head, “would you like to fuck me Astarion, is that it? I could oblige you. Come back to Vanrakdoom with me. Perhaps we can work something out...”
He swallows. The thought of her trading herself for freedom made him sick, shameful. But every instinct in his mind tells him it could work. Freeing her, letting her run to Keresta’s side. What would it matter which goddess she served, so long as she loved him? He’d never allied with one, truly, but it was Selûne’s gift that’s given him back the sun. It was Selûne’s that saved her, once.
The cool, detached calculation in her eyes makes him feel nauseated.
“No.” He says firmly, “I could never do that.”
She scoffs. “Noble of you.”
“Don’t pretend to be surprised.” Astarion says, a slight edge coming into his voice. “And don’t mock me. I know you’re desperate to be cruel right now, but let’s not act as if you aren’t perfectly aware I would never lay a hand on you. Not like this.”
She assesses him through narrowed eyes. “Why not, though? Why are you so insistent? If we’re lovers, you should have no problem...”
“Because this isn’t you.” Astarion sighs, a sound that’s almost a growl of its own. “You may not remember this about me, but I spent two centuries playing the rake. I wouldn’t inflict it on anyone else. Sex doesn’t matter to me like that.”
Celeste studies him for a short time.
“Humor me, then. What is this terrible history of yours?”
His lip curls.
“I was a slave, darling dearest, for centuries. I was forced to serve a cruel master, forced to live my life at the edge of his whim, to lure people back for him...” His words are clipped and even. “Is that sufficient, or do you desire the particulars?”
She keeps her cool demeanor, but he notices she begins to wring her hands in her lap.
“And that’s it? You were a slave?”
Astarion gestures wildly. “What do you mean, that’s it? You want me to tell you about the torture? Want me to regale you about the starvation and the mutilation and the use of my body for his own gain?”
“Shar could help you transcend your sorrows, erase the memories of what was done to you...”
“I begged for every god, including Shar. None saved me. None listened.”
She bites her lip, but seems engrossed in his story.
“So your master…you escaped?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Astarion says, his voice soft and cold. “And then I returned to kill him.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Impressive.”
“Yes, well…” He tries to smirk, knowing it probably looks more like a grimace. “I had friends. It was not so simple a task.”
“Friends…like Gale?”
“Yes.” Astarion replies. “Shadowheart, Karlach, Minthara, Wyll... We traveled together, for a time.”
“How did you meet?”
“We were abducted by mindflayers, believe it or not. It’s a long story, really.”
Celeste leans back, settling against the plush pillows, her gaze fixed on him.
“We have time.”
And so he tells her, vividly recounting their adventures through the untamed wilderness and the eerie, shadow-cursed lands. Defeating an Apostle of Myrkul, fighting Raphael in the Hells, killing Cazador, turning down Ascension. He told her everything. Orin shapeshifting into Gale and kidnapping him, how they had to kill Gortash - much to Karlach’s delight - to convince the Bhaalspawn to spare the wizard’s life. The insufferable Emperor that they turned against before their victory against the Netherbrain, and Gale’s invitation for Astarion to return to Waterdeep when it was all over.
“You know, I’ve told you this entire thing before.” He remarks after he finishes.
“You did?”
“Indeed.” Astarion mutters bitterly. “I thought it might make you remember something, but it didn’t seem to do any good.”
She shrugs. “It passed time.”
“I’m glad I’m entertaining.” Astarion’s tone drips with sarcasm.
“I remember nothing from the past two months, you know.” She confesses suddenly. “Everything before that is…hazy.”
Astarion hums in acknowledgement, squinting at her.
“And that doesn’t give you pause? You don’t think your memory has been tampered with, rather than restored?”
She glances down at the displacer kitten purring in lap and pets it, not giving him a response.
“Does this creature belong to me?”
“It’s a shared pet. You’ll have to fight the cleric for it if you want to leave with it. The cub was gifted to you by a mad wizard only a couple of days ago.”
“Displacer beasts are well aligned with Shar’s intentions…” Celeste begins.
“Well, here’s hoping Gale’s Tressym is a good influence.” As Astarion looks down at his hands, a sense of desperation seeps into his voice.
“This isn’t you. Trust me. I know you.”
“How can I trust anyone when I can’t even trust myself?”
“You think it’s better to be a mindless puppet?” Astarion counters. “An obedient little zealot?”
There’s a soft knock as Nocturne peeks in.
“Everything alright? I brought tea.” The tiefling offers Celeste a steaming mug, and she accepts it, but eyes it suspiciously before passing it to Astarion.
“You first. Maybe you can earn some of my trust.”
“No one would poison you here, darling.”
Celeste doesn’t blink.
“Fine.” He mutters and sips at the tea with reluctance.
For a moment he feels nothing, then, a slight memory, one long forgotten. A flash of something, hanging on to his mother’s skirts as a child, hiding from the busy streets of Baldur’s Gate as they walked to the market, her hand reaching for his, the comfort in her smile…
He dismisses the thought and returns the mug to her.
“It’s just tea,” He says flatly. He hates lying to her, but the Noblestalk is the only chance to get her back.
“Just tea,” she mutters as she lifts the cup’s rim to her lips. She drinks, holding Astarion’s gaze. Nocturne takes a step back, and he sees Shadowheart lingering in the cracked doorway, watching. Astarion ignores them, watching as Celeste swallows the liquid.
She sets the mug down, still half full, and stares at the quilt. She winces, touching her temple.
“What did you do…” she growls.
“You remembered something, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I remembered the worst day of my life.” She glowers at them from under her tear-drenched lashes. “This is how you earn my trust? By lying to me?”
Astarion feels a stab of guilt.
“You just recalled a painful memory.” Shadowheart interrupts them. “Keep drinking. There are good ones to recover as well.”
“I don’t want to see more!” Celeste knocks the tea from the nightstand and Nocturne jumps forward, catching it before it hits the ground. A bit sloshes out of the side, but she saves the rest.
Astarion moves before he has a moment to think about it.
“Stop it!” He reaches out and holds Celeste by her shoulders. “You remembered something! That’s progress. If you just stopped resisting-”
“I don’t want to remember that.” She sniffs. “The Lady of Loss must have taken the memory to provide relief…”
“What did you see?” Nocturne asks gently.
“My parents dying. In perfect clarity. What those monsters did to me afterwards...” she says through gritted teeth.
Astarion hadn’t considered that the memories that returned would also be some of her most traumatic.
“Noblestalk is an indiscriminate herb, unfortunately.” Shadowheart says. “I’m sorry what you saw was unpleasant, but your memories can’t lie to you. If you drink more, you’ll find joyous ones returning as well…”
Astarion tightens his grip on Celeste’s arms, giving her a pleading look. “Those monsters are the same Sharrans poisoning you against us now. Please. Just take the Noblestalk. You’re just making yourself suffer by refusing...”
“My whole life has been suffering, has it not!? From what memories I have, it’s been miserable! What good is there to remember?”
“We don’t have time for dramatics.” Shadowheart says, snatching the tea from Nocturne. She forces Celeste backwards, pinning her to the bed.
Astarion reaches out to stop her, but the cleric gives him a threatening look over her shoulder when she feels him shift forward. As Celeste thrashes under her hold, screaming in protest, Nocturne pushes the mug back against Celeste’s closed lips with surprising force, tea dripping out the sides as she resists.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” The tiefling says to her as Astarion watches helplessly.
Celeste attempts to spit out the Noblestalk, but Shadowheart puts a hand over her mouth, forcing her to swallow. When the cleric eases off her, Celeste jolts forward, coughing and gasping for air.
Astarion moves quickly, pulling her against him. She clutches at his shirt, tears staining its collar.
“I apologize.” Shadowheart says, “but you need to remember Celeste. Before Shar takes a stronger hold,” she turns to Astarion, “that’s all I have leftover from the shop in Baldur’s Gate. When Gale returns later, we’ll have more. If we can restore even one good memory of hers..” the cleric’s voice trails off, sympathy passing across her face as Celeste weeps into Astarion’s shirt.
“We’ll leave you.” She says and departs with Nocturne, shutting the door behind them.
Astarion doesn’t speak as they leave, waiting for Celeste’s sobs to quiet into sniffs before he tips her chin up, searching for a sign of the woman he loves.
“Are you alright?”
“No, I’m not alright!” She pushes him off of her, as if surprised she’d sought solace in his arms in the first place.
Astarion lets her push him away, staring at her stonily.
“What did you remember this time?”
“Keresta bit me.” She whispers. “I had to crawl out of a grave - your grave - and you found me in that alley...”
Astarion’s hands reach out, clasping hers between them.
“Keep going.” He says. “Please. Just keep talking. Just talk, darling.”
“When I was recovering. You came and told me how you’d been lying to me…about Keresta’s offer.” She closes her eyes as if trying to remember, “I forgave you. And the next day we…confronted…someone..”
Astarion’s gaze doesn’t leave hers as she recounts the memories.
“Daniel. Your ex.” He doesn’t mention she killed him. Best not venture into that territory yet. “He’s the one who led the Sharrans to you.”
She nods. “You walked me back to the tavern after. I was struggling…with the two goddesses’ claim to me. The moon and the dark, the compulsion to be good. You…comforted me that evening.”
She blushes, undoubtedly recalling the lengths at which they “comforted” one another.
Astarion can’t help the tiny, almost painful grin that crosses his face at her statement.
“Keep going. Please. What else?”
“We got in a fight after. Because you implied you loved me and I was so…taken aback by it.”
He winces as guilt washes over him, remembering how much of a dick he had been to her.
“I was devastated when you left.” she looks up at him. “Did we..make up? Apologize?”
“Yes.” He clears his throat. “We did.”
“That’s all I have. but I…” She shakes her head. “I know I love you. I felt it in that memory. I cared for you then.”
Celeste stands, pacing the room.
“If you say Shar and Keresta are lying…I’ll try to hear you out. After what they did to me before your intervention...you must be right about something.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Is this another one of your tricks?”
She lets out an annoyed huff.
“Your friend, Shadowheart, that’s her name, yes? She said I’ll get back more memories if I keep taking the Noblestalk. So if it will help me get back to…whoever I was, I’ll do it.”
Astarion stands abruptly and strides purposefully to the wardrobe, rummaging through it.
“What are you doing?” Celeste asks as he brushes past her.
“Looking for something.” He replies, retrieving a book and pressing it into her hands.
“This is your father’s diary. He turned from Shar, once. Perhaps his words can help you find the strength, too…” He snatches a stuffed owlbear and tosses it onto the bed, “and this is apparently a childhood memento of yours. I found it in the remnants of your house fire. See if it jogs your memory at all.”
He steps around her, placing his hand on the doorknob.
“I’ll leave you with your thoughts for a while. Come find me when you’re ready to talk again.”
Celeste stands in the center of the room, clutching her father’s journal to her chest.
“You’re not locking me in?”
Their eyes meet, and he holds onto the moment. Perhaps she’s not herself, but she once gave him that same look after he kissed her for the first time.
“A gesture of good faith.” He dares to smile as he slips into the hall.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Chapter 47: Unrepentant Vagabonds
Chapter from ongoing fic Forms of Imprisonment. Full story on AO3
Pairing: Spawn Astarion (post-tadpole) x OFC
Word Count: 2.8k
Warnings: 18+, mdni. See AO3 for other chapter-specific warnings.
a/n: The gang runs into an old friend, meets the Mad Mage, acquires a new pet, and plays a game of poker. This chapter was me trying my hand at some more campy/fun interactions. ALSO I got sidetracked and started a Gale fic, because the pipeline is real. You can read it here.
———————————————————————
The Undermountain is just as unsettling as Celeste remembers.
Halaster’s lair, according to Gale, was nestled far within a network of hidden passageways and tunnels. To Celeste’s dismay, they entered through the alley of the Yawning Portal again, Astarion reaching for her hand tentatively as they descended through the hatch. Thankfully, they took a left before continuing down the same path Astarion had brought her down weeks ago, and soon were deep enough underground that Celeste was confident Vanrakdoom was too far to be of concern anymore.
For most of the trek, Celeste kept her eyes to the gray granite floor, taking extra care when they’d descend the railless staircases, Astarion’s palm on the small of her back to reassure her. The lower they went, the colder the atmosphere became, and the familiar scent of damp earth filled her nostrils. Throughout their journey, their companions stayed silent, aware that one misplaced step or a too-loud word could result in certain death.
Finally, Gale presses a hand to a wall in a dark corridor and disappears through, the rest of them following through the illusion apprehensively. Illuminated by a series of acid green torches, the hall glows faintly as Gale approaches a bolted shut door, and raps his knuckles against the wood three times.
“Master Blackcloak is not accepting solicitors!” A small voice snarls as the door cracks open. A quasit stands in the frame, looking up, assessing.
“Hello, Shovel.” Gale’s arms are folded as he looks down at the creature.
“Is that really you, Meaty? You fleshbags all look the same to Shovel!”
“Shovel?” Celeste whispers to Astarion, raising an eyebrow.
“A quasit.” Astarion answers in a low voice. “Demons trapped in service to whoever summons them. This one’s called Shovel.”
“Yes, but why Shovel?”
“She came with the name. Felt wrong to change it.” He responds with a shrug.
The demon continues on in a shrill tone. “And you brought Fangy!” She springs forward, wrapping her claws around Astarion’s calf.
“Oh, for the love of-get off!”
“Seems quite taken with you.” Celeste observes.
“Astarion let her eat his camp portions.” Karlach reveals, “he’s more softhearted than he lets on.”
“Let’s not get carried away, my fiery friend. After all, stale bread was wasted on me,” Astarion says as he struggles with Shovel, who appears to be having fun biting at his leg, hanging from his pant leg as he shakes his ankle wildly.
“He made a mess, lying on his cot and tossing food about like he was feeding the pigeons.” Minthara says disapprovingly.
“Can you all shut up?” Astarion snaps, finally dislodging the quasit.
“Gale, why does Halaster have Shovel?” Shadowheart asks.
“Well, we…arranged a trade. Halaster is a collector of creatures, Shovel needed a home, and I…” he pauses, bringing a fist to his mouth as he clears his throat, “was in need of night orchids.”
“Cuuuuttteee.” Karlach elbows Gale in the ribs as his cheeks begin to turn pink.
Shovel guides them through the door, scurrying down the hall.
“Come, Meaty, master Halaster is eager to see you.”
They follow the quasit inside and Celeste’s gaze drifts to the walls, lined with displays of various oddities, skeletons, and jars of mysterious substances.
“A little unnerving…you don’t think he’ll add us to the display?” Astarion murmurs, taking in the surroundings. “Gale, how did you get tied up with an archmage of such an ominous reputation?”
“Believe it or not, Elminster introduced us.”
“Elminster?” Astarion asks, surprised. “I would have thought the wizard too much of a do-gooder to associate with someone in the Undermountain.”
“Only proves how little you know about Elminster, then.” Gale says as they reach a vast, circular room, filled with mechanical contraptions, piles of books, and large aquariums of strange-looking fish. At the far end, a man with long white hair and a frumpy wizard’s hat bends over a terrarium, dropping in a beetle for a fat, purple toad waiting with an open mouth at the bottom. When he notices them, he leaps forward, rushing toward Gale and engaging him in a vigorous handshake. The mage’s wrinkled face contorts into a pleasant expression, his gray eyes gleaming.
“Mystra’s Chosen returns!” He exclaims. “Your tressym has made herself quite at home here, once again, in your absence.”
“I appreciate the favor, Halaster, but we’ve discussed this. I’m not Mystra’s Chosen anymore.”
“Right, well. You’re still my chosen insurance policy.” Halaster waves dismissively.
Shadowheart’s head jerks up. “What is he talking about, Gale?”
“In the case of Halaster’s untimely death, the magic of the Undermountain would destabilize. That alone should deter anyone from challenging him, but just in case…Mystra’s Chosen has the power and knowledge to set the…security system back into place.”
“But you’re not her chosen.”
“Tell that to him.” Gale points a thumb at the mad mage.
“What makes you so confident the wizard wouldn’t kill you and take the Undermountain for himself?” Minthara asks Halaster curiously.
Halaster’s attention settles on Gale with a chilling expression.
“He won’t.”
The two exchange a warning look, silently communicating thousands of words, and Celeste looks away uncomfortably.
“Sounds like a nasty contingency plan…for both of you.” Wyll says.
“Who have you brought for me, boy?” Halaster asks, tiring of the conversation as he peeks around Gale, gaze lingering on Celeste and Astarion.
“These are my friends. We need your help to gain access to Vanrakdoom so we can permanently put an end to Shar’s operations here.”
“I would like nothing more than to evict the Lady of Sorrows’ followers from my dwelling.” Halaster strides over, hands clasped behind his back as he circles the group like a carrion bird. “Did you know Shar enthralled me and tried to convince me to steal Mystra’s silver fire a century ago? Things got very messy. Had to go to the Hells to rescue Elminster to make up for the ordeal.” He says to Gale.
“I’m well aware of your history, Halistar-”
“I’m not.” Nocturne cuts him off. “You rescued Elminster from Avernus?”
The more Celeste came to know the tiefling, the more she admired her thirst for lore, collecting stories like one would collect precious gems.
“I tried, but Alassra Silverhand beat me to it, bastard. Still, Mystra forgave me and cured me.”
“Cured you? Of what?”
“Of my insanity, of course.”
“Right...” Wyll says under his breath, pulling Nocturne closer with a subtle touch on her belt.
The Mad Mage pauses in front of Celeste and Astarion, his eyes narrowing.
“You two reek of the heavens.” He lifts a wrinkled hand to lift up Celeste’s chin, and she stiffens, trying to remain composed as his gnarled fingernails come dangerously close to grazing her skin. He releases his hold on her and turns to Astarion. “And a fresh blood oath. Intriguing.”
“He can smell magic?” Celeste hears Karlach whisper to Gale behind her.
“Our lives are bound.” Celeste explains before more intrusive questions might be asked, “In order to free me from an oath my father made to Shar before my birth.”
“Broke Fangy, she did!” Shovel squeals, pointing an accusatory claw in Celeste’s direction. “Used to stink of blood and sweet undeath, now just rotting fleshbag like the rest!”
“A free vampire spawn?” Halaster muses, somehow gleaming the information from the quasit’s lamenting. Perhaps in their madness, he and Shovel had formed their own language. “And cured, at that. Rare, indeed.”
“More or less.” Astarion mutters, avoiding eye contact.
“How?”
“I’m Selûne’s granddaughter, in a sense, I’m Moonborn. It was the moonmaiden’s promise, in exchange for freeing me from Shar’s claim.”
“I doubt he needed much convincing to be bound to such an alluring anomaly of magic...” He muses, before addressing Gale. “I’d love to add them to my collection.”
“Excuse me, we’re not cattle to be bought and sold!” Astarion snarls.
“He’s right, Halaster. I brought them as a courtesy, so you might witness the way the weave has affected them, but I believe you’ve misunderstood my intentions…”
“Fine, fine.” The archmage grumbles, “Though the last of her kind and the first vampire spawn to walk in the sun in millennia, you’ll have to excuse my enthusiasm.”
“As long as my head doesn’t end up stuffed on your wall of horrors.” Astarion says in disgust.
“Come,” Halaster ushers them into an adjoining room, “I have maps.”
On a spacious table, a replica of the Undermountain is on display, hidden tunnels and passageways carved into its surface. Dependent on the angle of viewing, fragments disappear to reveal more detail. Beside lies a hand-drawn map, notes scrawled in the margins. Underneath the table, Tara naps in a wicker basket, her wings wrapped around a small, black mass of fur naps, its back rising and falling with its breath. The creature’s three tails hang over the side of the basket, appearing almost like tentacles.
“Is that a…displacer beast?” Wyll inquires with some disbelief.
“What? Oh, yes.” Halaster says, disinterested. “An orphaned cub. I traded a Wish spell to a Warlock for it. Seems to have taken to the tressym quite nicely, but despises me.”
“Her mothering nature does usually get the best of her…” Gale muses. Tara yawns and stretches before blinking at him expectantly, and he stoops and scratches behind her ears.
As if summoned, the kitten - roughly the same size as Tara herself - jumps out of its bed and sniffs at the air before weaving between Celeste’s ankles.
“Seems to prefer the company of women.” Halaster grumbles.
“Nasty kitty.” Shovel growls with displeasure. The displacer beast turns on her, tackling her to the ground and chewing on her leg.
“Master!” the quasit shrieks in dismay, before Halaster plucks the small creature off by the scruff and shoves it towards Celeste.
“Take it.” The archmage says, “They’re expensive to feed.”
“I-” Celeste is interrupted by the creature being forced into her open arms. She squeaks in surprise, adjusting her grip as the cub squirms.
“A fine gift.” Minthara says, “A formidable ally, given the right training.”
“Absolutely not!” Astarion cries, taking a step back when it swats at his curls from Celeste’s arms.
“Astarion, it’s just a baby.” Karlach says, suppressing a smile as he struggles to keep himself out of its reach.
“That will grow into a full sized, uncontrollable beast!” He seethes, ducking as the cub gives his hair a pull. “A bloody abomination is what it is.”
“Oh come now, it’s the size of your head. What’s it going to do, nibble your ankles to death?” Wyll mocks him, assessing the small creature.
“I will not be hunted in my own home.”
“Well, it’s my home, so I suppose that settles it.” Gale announces, giving Shadowheart a wink. She beams in response and holds out her hands towards Celeste, requesting a turn with the cub.
“Fine. Can we be done with the godsdamned petting zoo? I thought we came here for information.” Astarion mutters, eyeing the animal with a scowl.
“Yes, quite right. Down to business.” Gale agrees, joining Halaster at the table. He leans over the map as the archmage traces a route with his finger.
“If you take this passageway, you’ll gain covert entry to Vanrakdoom. I’ve installed several traps planted along the passage, but you should have no trouble…”
———————————————————————
After their meeting with Halaster, he granted them a quick portal back to Gale’s Tower. Although the amenities of the attic paled - and paled was hardly a strong enough word - compared to the lavish offerings of the House of the Moon. When Celeste dropped her bag on the bed, she somehow felt at home.
With a frown, Astarion walks over to the boarded windows, splintering planks of wood as he pries them backwards. The nails that held them in place separate from the frame, with sharp cracks, leaving behind tattered and peeled wallpaper in their wake. He discards the wreckage in the corner and continues his demolition, lip jutting out in determination. The moon filters through what could only classify as a gaping, square hole in the wall, and Astarion smiles at his work.
Celeste pinches the bridge of her nose.
“We’re going to get all sorts of pests in here.”
———————————————————————
Upon discovering Astarion missing following a much-needed nap, Celeste makes her way downstairs to find him sitting at the kitchen table with their companions, engaged in an unfamiliar game of cards. Tara and the displacer cub are tucked away beneath the table, dozing atop Gale’s feet as he appraises Astarion with a disgruntled expression.
“Darling, come, join us. You can watch me decimate our friends at Azoun’s Hold ‘Em.”
Astarion fans his cards in one hand and holds out the other to invite her into his lap. She takes a seat, crossing her legs, and he secures her to him with an arm wrapped around her middle, showing her his draw.
She examines the game laid out before her. “I’ve never played.”
“Funny, Astarion said the same thing when we started an hour ago, and somehow he’s won every hand.” Gale says irritably, not looking up from his cards.
“You were a fool to believe a vampire who spent nearly two centuries haunting the taverns of Baldur’s Gate would not know how to gamble.” Minthara’s glare shifts towards Astarion as she speaks.
“Ah, ah! Former vampire.” Astarion drawls, sipping at his wine and returning his attention to Celeste. “Lucky for you, it’s a simple game.” He hands his cards over to her so she can see what he’s holding, then drops the arm at her waist a bit lower to rest his hand on her hip. “All you have to know is that I’m going to win.”
Wyll snorts, drawing a card from the top of the deck and laying it face up on the table. “Alright, show ‘em.”
“Watch this.” Astarion purrs in Celeste’s ear, before tossing three nines out. He grins as Gale drags a palm across his face and slams his head against the table, slapping down a pair of twos and a seven.
“Bullshit!“ Karlach roars, rising from her chair. “That’s your third time with pocket triples.”
“Easy, Karlach.” Shadowheart says with an amused smirk, leaning behind Gale with her arms encircling his neck as she observes the game. “You’ll get him next round.”
“Dishonest wretch.” Wyll mumbles.
“Is it so hard to believe I’m just lucky?” Astarion asks with feigned offense, gold scraping against the surface of the table as he rakes in his winnings. “Honestly, you all take this so seriously. It’s like you hate fun.”
“Easy to say when you’re winning.” Karlach grumbles. “Sleep with one eye open tonight.”
“Oh darling, I don’t sleep at all.” Astarion chuckles. Under the table, he parts the slit of Celeste’s dress and slips a card into the waistband of her underwear, snagging its corners on the lace. The edges scrape against her skin and his fingertips trace circles on her thigh, a quiet request for her discretion before he draws his next hand.
“I never agreed to helping you cheat,” Celeste hisses in his ear.
“But you agreed to be bound to me for a lifetime. Surely you considered the consequences.” He counters in a hushed tone, nipping at her earlobe. “Be a good girl and I’ll split the pot with you, hmm?”
She scowls as he deftly exchanges a ten from his hand with the queen at her hip to complete his royal straight.
“Oi, lovebirds! No private conversations. Let’s keep things moving.” Karlach gripes, pulling a cigar from her pocket and trimming it. “Someone get me a light, please. I can’t do these myself anymore.” She says, holding it out. Before Gale can utter a spell, Celeste reaches forward, ignoring Astarion’s grunt of surprise as she shifts in his lap, and takes it from the tiefling. As she flicks her wrist, it ignites with a pop, and a cherry burns at the end. A trail of smoke drifts trails behind as she hands it back.
“Impressive.” Karlach examines it before puffing at it satisfactorily. “New trick?”
“What else have you learned?” Gale interjects, leaning forward, eager to abandon the game in favor of discussion.
“I haven’t done a lot of experimenting.”
“Fascinating, nonetheless. I would surmise that after the ritual, your abilities may rival Aylin’s. If you were limited to enhanced skill with a blade and illusionary magic before, the expanse into even the simplest of evocation magic could indicate much further reaching-”
“Can’t this all wait?” Astarion whines.
“Jealous, all that power used to bring you back from the dead burned out before you could perform a few spells, too?” Shadowheart sneers.
Astarion scowls, and his grip on Celeste’s waist tightens.
“On second thought, perhaps I’ll collect my winnings and turn in for the night.” He says, snatching his bag of gold and hoisting Celeste over his shoulder. “After all, we have a day full of Sharran slaying ahead of us tomorrow. Best get some rest where we can.”
“What in the hells!” Celeste pounds at his back with her fist as she hangs upside down, the card in her waistband slipping loose and fluttering to the floor. Karlach stands, chair flying back against the stove, and points.
“I knew it!” She calls out, “You owe me fifty coppers, fucker!”
Astarion smirks and continues up the stairs.———————————————————————
a/n: I just finished my honor mode run and earned my golden dice and somehow, Shovel did not die during my playthrough? Our little quasit friend had so few lines (presumably because their health was so low, it probably isn't intended for them to withstand so much of the game?) that I found myself making up headcannon about her.
August was a long month, and I think we could all use a little levity (particularly since the next chapter may or may not be heavy. Don't say I didn't warn you.)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Chapter 35: The Way the Moon's in Love with the Dark
“Allow me to remind you of the benefits of warming my bed, darling.”
Chapter from ongoing fic Forms of Imprisonment. Full story on AO3.
Pairing: Spawn Astarion (post-tadpole) x OFC
Word Count: 3k
Warnings: 18+. Smut, violence, blood, trauma, oral sex, facesitting, orgasm denial (if you squint), fluff, protective Astarion, Gale in peril, preexisting relationship/storyline.
--------------------------------------------
“Stay.”
Astarion catches her bottom lip and kisses her sloppily, greedily. His hands wander her body as if he can’t be close enough to her, consumed by an unrelenting craving for her, as if she could physically scrub away the shame that permeated his being. Every touch was a plea, a question. Celeste yields, her hips arching against his, eliciting a whine from Astarion that would have brought her to her knees if she weren’t already underneath him. Sparks form from her core to her throat and she hums with desire.
“Maybe we should take things slow. Besides, Gale and Shadowheart are probably wondering-” Celeste protests against his mouth.
“They’re fucking, dear. They’re not wondering a damn thing.” Astarion pulls away and props himself on an elbow. “I can hear it through the floorboards,” he taps a pointed ear, “vampire.”
Celeste settles on the pillow next to him, resting her cheek on her arm. “Oh?"
Astarion mocks a pout. “So desperate to warm someone else’s bed.” With a firm grasp on her hips, he tugs her into his lap. “You wound me, Celeste.” He says, kissing a trail down her neck.
“It was never like that.”
“I know,” he grumbles, guiding her arms above his head on the mattress. “But you can hardly blame me for a bit of shock finding you there.”
Tentatively, she holds onto his wrists, keeping him in place. With a sensual amusement, his gaze drifts down her body, taking in her wrinkled nightgown, its black lace trim grazing her skin as it bunches around her waist, silk red underwear peeking from the apex of her thighs. She narrows her eyes at him.
“I like the view from here.” He says with a sultry grin, leaning up and brushing his lips against her ear as he mumbles. “But if you insist on taking things slow.” He lets out a performative sigh of reluctance.
Celeste presses him back down into the sheets before palming him through his trousers, feeling his eagerness against her hand. Astarion’s breath hitches, staring at her in surprise.
“That’s not slow.” He purrs, “What is it you truly want, Celeste? Consequences be damned.”
“To forget any of this ever happened.”
“Then allow me to remind you of the benefits of warming my bed, darling.”
Astarion settles one hand on her lower back, the other squeezing her thigh for leverage and pulls her onto his face. She yelps in surprise, catching herself on the wall as she pitches forward, and he smirks, assessing her arousal.
“So you did miss me. Good.” He drags a knuckle against her core, causing pleasure to ripple up her spine. He delicately draws the fabric of her panties aside and takes the silk of her nightgown in one fist, holding it against her stomach.
His tongue glides against her with a moan that reverberates through center and she rises to her knees, palms flat against the cool, rough brick as Astarion’s ministrations intensify.
“Gods, I missed you,” she sighs, her gaze fixed on the ceiling above as she moves her hips in rhythm with his mouth.
Astarion answers with a hum of approval, two of his fingers penetrating her and coaxing her towards release. Celeste squirms as he pumps them inside of her, his tongue drawing circles until it finds the most sensitive part of her clit, provoking a telltale whimper from her that encourages him to keep his focus there.
“Astarion, that’s going to make me-”
“Mmm. Not just yet - patience.”
Time loses meaning as she remains in place, desperately holding back her impending orgasm. His hand abandons her thigh to cup one of her breasts, lifting her nightgown higher to expose her to the brisk air of the attic. She gasps, her fingers grasping his silver curls as she rides his face to her climax. She spasms and pulses against his mouth, a moan catching in her throat, reduced to a squeak of pleasure.
“Fuck, you’re messy,” he remarks, his words dripping with satisfaction.
Astarion opts against making her frantic with overstimulation and presses his lips to her teasingly, his tongue delivering one last pleasurable stroke, savoring the slickness of her. Gradually, he eases her writhing body onto the sheets.
“Come here, darling,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm. Celeste nuzzles into his neck, whimpering as his fingers dance across her lower back.
“Shhh…” he strokes her hair and holds her tightly, “I’ve got you.” She tremors against him, the aftershocks of her release still reverberating throughout her. The orgasm that crashed upon her seemed to carry a wave of pent up emotion with it, something akin to relief, mixed with simmered rage and fear.
“It seems I’ve finally rendered the highly opinionated Celestria Delios speechless. Gods above, you are even more beautiful when you’re a simpering mess for me.”
The corner of her mouth curves upwards at his teasing and she lies down and embraces him tightly around his cord, laying her head on his chest.
“Thank you,” he says after a few beats of silence, his tone suddenly serious, “for what you said earlier.”
“I meant it.”
“I know. I…I think I needed to hear you say it.” His fingers gently comb through her hair and her eyes flutter shut, allowing the sensation to soothe her.
“You should let me-”
“No,” he declines, his voice muffled as he speaks against the crown of her head, “I’d rather just enjoy this.”
For the first time, she consciously notices the absence of his heartbeat, wondering, with a pang of sadness, if she’d ever be able to get him back even a fraction of what he’d lost.
“I love you.” Astarion adds quietly, and it echoes through her unconscious mind as she drifts off to sleep.
She dreams of ruby irises gleaming in the sun.
--------------------------------------------
Celeste wakes in the same position, the muscles of Astarion’s abdomen working slightly as he tosses her stuffed owlbear at the ceiling with one hand, catching it over and over, absentmindedly, bored. As she stirs, he assesses her out of the corner of his eye.
“You’re up.” He observes dryly, shaking her childhood memento so its worn limbs flop about. “I found this under your pillow. You really did miss me. Cute."
Celeste makes a face and snatches it from his grasp, tossing it on the nightstand behind her.
“How long have I been asleep?”
“The rest of the night and half the day.”
“I should check in with the others.” She sits up, and Astarion doesn’t hide the disappointment or envy in his expression.
“Go on. I’m sure you can fill me in come nightfall.”
“Astarion-”
“Go,” He nudges her towards the edge of the mattress. “Don’t let me keep you locked up here all day.”
“Meet me downstairs at dusk?” Celeste pulls her nightgown over her head. She rummages through her bag near the wardrobe for a change of clothes. Astarion’s pupils track her every movement as she shimmies into a pair of tight trousers and laces on a leather corset.
“Mhm.” He stares distantly, gives her an affirmative nod.
She tosses her hair over her shoulder with her fingertips, the strands cascading loosely down her back, and winks at him before slipping out the door and down the stairs.
“Welcome back, you leech!” Karlach greets Astarion as he takes a seat next at the kitchen table. He scans the room for signs of the others. A cauldron of leftovers from dinner remains simmering on the stove.
“I presume everyone else already filled you in?”
“We heard your return last night, but yes, the wizard provided the rest of the details,” Minthara replies dully, sipping at her stew.
“Apologies. There was an…altercation upon my arrival.”
“It was mostly the fucking we heard.” The drow grumbles.
Karlach chokes on her porridge as she stifles a cackle. Astarion blinks in annoyance.
“Where is everyone else?” he asks impatiently.
“Outside, training.” Karlach says, inclining her head to the window. Astarion glimpses Shadowheart’s braided hair as she spars with Wyll.
“If you’re looking for the Moonborn, she’s with the wizard near the treeline.” Minthara says pointedly.
“Thank you,” Astarion mutters, pushing himself up from the table, not bothering to excuse himself. He strides towards the den, a sense of familiarity washing over him. It’s the closest thing he’s ever felt to... home.
“Hey, ‘Star,” Karlach calls after him. He pivots to face her.
“Yes?”
“Good to have you back, soldier,” she says, her voice filled with warmth. Astarion gives his friend a soft smile before pushing out the front door.
“Good to be back,” he says, the breeze weaving through his curls as he steps outside.
--------------------------------------------
“It’s a useless parlor trick, Gale.”
“Illusions can be some of the most complicated magic there is! It just means you’re capable of truly strong spellcasting, Celeste. Don’t chalk it up to luck or theatrics.”
Sitting side by side on a fallen tree in the dense woods, Gale watches intently as Celeste invokes her magic, conjuring ethereal threads of stardust that cascade down like delicate ash. Some of them shimmer and fade, while others smolder and sizzle upon touching the leaf-strewn ground.
“It’s a shame, Gale. She conjured an entire galaxy for me last night.”
Astarion leans nonchalantly against a nearby tree with crossed arms and a smug smile playing on his lips.
“So I heard,” Gale responds, rising from his seat and pacing along the treeline. He examines the edges of the protective wards he had meticulously established. An owl hoots in the distant woods.
“Apparently everyone heard-”
“Oh no, no, please don’t.” Celeste interjects, glaring at Astarion. He raises his palms in defense and saunters towards her, offering her his hand.
“What are you two doing out here at dusk, anyway?” Astarion asks, his voice sultry and laced with intrigue as he looks at Celeste under lowered eyelids. She accepts his help standing up, and he pulls her close against him. “You never know what terrible creatures are lurking out here.”
“You shouldn’t speak about yourself that way,” she teases, giving him a swift, affectionate peck on the cheek.
“We were discussing Celeste’s capabilities,” Gale grumbles, crouching and prodding the invisible barrier with his index finger. Sparks of weave magic respond to his touch, creating tiny flickers of light that seem to sizzle in front of him. “It’s perfectly safe on that side of the wards.”
“Then perhaps you should have stayed inside of them.”
A sudden, violent force propels Gale across the clearing, his head colliding with a sizable boulder. He groans, feeling the warmth of blood trickling down from his temple. As he pulls a hand from his face, fingers covered in crimson, and tries to rise, the firm heel of Keresta’s boot presses against the back of his neck, pinning him mercilessly to the ground.
Celeste reacts instantly, rushing toward her injured friend. Astarion swiftly seizes her arm, holding her close against his body, preventing her from intervening.
“She’s baiting you to get you past the wards,” He growls in her ear, not taking his attention from Keresta. “Don’t fall for it.”
“Very good!” Keresta coos, clapping sarcastically, her applause echoing mockingly in the clearing. Gale winces beneath her foot, pain searing through his body, but he remains trapped.
“We can’t just let her-” Celeste chokes.
“We won’t.” Astarion says in a low voice before addressing Keresta directly.
“This is between you and me. Gale has nothing to do with this.”
“We’re past negotiations, spawn. You had your chance. I warned you of the consequences.”
“Gale!” Shadowheart cries, running into view, trailed closely by Wyll and Nocturne.
“Shadowheart, wait!” Astarion barks. Catching the warning, Wyll swiftly pulls her back from crossing the ward line. The cleric struggles against him as he restrains her.
“What are you doing?” she hisses.
“We’ll get him back.” Wyll reassures her, casting a worried glance at Astarion, who dips his chin in response.
“Gods, is it always like this?” Keresta peers down at Gale condescendingly, as if seeking confirmation. “So much drama. How tiring.”
Astarion scowls. “Stop dragging this out, Keresta. What do you want?”
The vampiress examines her fingernails before looking up with a sinister smile at Celeste. “Just a little girl talk.”
“Then talk.” Celeste says through gritted teeth. As she steps closer, Astarion eases his hold on her, but doesn’t let go completely.
“I think it’s time for you to realize the lie you’ve been living.”
“What lie?”
“Haven’t you wondered how Shar gets in your head? How she can punish you despite Selûne’s claim to you?”
Celeste remains motionless as Astarion’s hand tightens around hers.
“You were promised to Shar before you were even conceived.”
“That’s impossible. My parents both served Selûne.”
Keresta clicks her tongue and in a singsong voice, answers, “Not always.”
“Are you implying one of her parents was Sharran?” Wyll presses.
“Her father.” Nocturne interjects, stepping forward. The usually reserved companion suddenly found everyone watching her intently.
“Nocturne, what are you saying?” Wyll urges.
“Finally. Someone puts it together. Go on, little defector.” Keresta says.
“There were whispers, pieces of the story, but didn’t have the context until now,” the tiefling continues, giving Celeste a guilty look. “Your father was recruited to serve Shar by Vanrak Moonstar, a former Selûnite-turned-Sharran death knight.”
“Vanrak,” Astarion mutters, his eyes sliding suspiciously to Keresta, “as in your dead lover?”
“The very same,” Keresta says. A flicker of grief passes over her face. “Vanrak killed and freed me from my vampire lord, reclaiming his lair for Lady Shar in the Undermountain, Vanrakdoom, as you know it.” She glances between Celeste and Astarion. “I was his lieutenant and lover for over one hundred years. I knew your father well, Celeste…once. When Vanrak was manipulated by Selune and repented -” she spits the words with a disgusted expression, “he persuaded your father to do the same with the moon goddess’ poisoned words.”
“That’s-no…” Celeste’s throat catches and Astarion looks on helplessly.
“Continue, tiefling. Indulge us with a bit more context.” Keresta coaxes.
Nocturne swallows. “Your father is known as a betrayer amongst Sharrans because he was supposed to be a double agent - to seduce one of Selûne’s children so she might bear his child - a child of Selûne’s power with dark allegiance, that he blood-promised to Lady Shar… you, Celeste.”
“But he can’t-he couldn’t-”
“He did.” Keresta interrupts, “What your father hadn’t expected was to fall in love. He swore himself back to Selûne and repented, along with Vanrak. But your mother was already pregnant, and the blood promise remained. And so Shar and Selûne both have a claim over you.”
“Withers, at the party-” Celeste says, giving Astarion a panicked look, “He said Shar had marked me, that I was… am a living dichotomy of Shar and Selûne.”
“Whatever one sister is promised, the other has equal claim to.” Shadowheart echoes distantly. “It’s an old Sharran saying.”
“Your parents and the Moonborn tried to conceal you from Shar,” Keresta gestures towards the moonstone pendant resting at the base of Celeste’s neck, “That necklace bore a concealment enchantment against Shar, it’s what made it so difficult for us to find you all these years. We had no idea what you looked like once you were grown, only a description from a rather zealous Sharran pervert who disobeyed orders and preferred to track you himself. I believe you immolated him.” Celeste’s stomach turns at the thought of Tohkis.
Keresta continues with contempt. “But when we eventually had a hunch, I planted a spelled Sharran journal in your archives that broke the enchantment, confirming my suspicions.”
“The pain…” Celeste recalls being burned by the book, the night Astarion brought her to the tower for Shadowheart’s help. “But my mother wore this necklace-”
“Different necklace, same magic. As she died, she changed the enchantment on hers to work in the opposite manner, drawing any attempt to track you back to her dead body. Giving you time to run, live concealed when the Harpers took you in, to lead your semblance of a normal life all these years. When you put on that second necklace in Baldur’s Gate, though, I had to enlist some help from your former lover to find you.”
“But the power I invoked at the House of Grief-”
“The moonstone holds the power to conceal. , Nothing more, nothing less. Your power lives in your veins, as I believe your wizard friend has taught you by now.” Keresta grabs Gale by the collar, dragging him to his feet. “Story time’s over. Come with me, Celeste, answer for your father’s blood promise, or I’ll find another way to convince you.”
“She’s not going anywhere,” Astarion snarls, stepping forward and guiding Celeste behind him. Keresta shrugs in response.
“Alright then, let’s try something else. No wizard, no wards.”
The vampire lordess’ fangs sink into Gale’s neck, driving into his carotid artery as he struggles against her.
Celeste’s piercing scream echoes through the night, accompanied by a blinding stream of radiant light tunneling towards Keresta. The blast sears her cheek, and she shrieks, involuntarily releasing her grip on Gale just long enough for Astarion to dart across the wards and yank his friend back to safety. Gale’s hand instinctively presses to his neck, trying to stem the flow of blood from the bite. Shadowheart falls to her knees at his side as she tries to heal him.
“The next time I see you, Moonborn, you’re dead! ” Keresta roars, the skin of her face festering where Celeste burned her. “Shar’s promised or not.” She disappears in a flash of shadow, a bat flickering away through the woods from where she stood.
Gale hisses in pain as Shadowheart fusses over him. He winces up at Astarion. “Please tell me I’m not going to become a bloody vampire now.”
“I’m afraid you didn’t complete the process. You’ll have to try harder next time.” Astarion responds flatly, his expression neutral, but internally reeling.
“Oh, Gale.” Celeste sobs, throwing her arms around his shoulders as Shadowheart closes the wound. Gale entwines his fingers through Shadowheart’s with a feeble smile as Celeste’s forearm momentarily cuts off his air supply. He pats at it as he gasps for air and she swears apologetically, releasing him.
Footsteps pound against the ground as Karlach and Minthara reach them, Karlach bending over to catch her breath.
“What did we miss?”
I hope you enjoyed this installment! If you feel so inclined, ANy interaction/kudos on AO3 or Tumblr means the world to me! If this is where you first found the story, you can go back and find the full fic on AO3 here! Thank you so much! x
