In Sunshine or Shadows
I haven't posted to tumblr in forever, but that dock scene for romanced Astarion especially... I just couldn't let it go. I wrote this as the idea wouldn't leave me alone and thought someone else might enjoy it. Set between Karlach's ending and the morning chat with Astarion.
Astarion x Female!Durge (half-drow named Greyafae) Fluff, hurt/comfort, dancing and the tiniest mention of implied smut. Slight spoilers for the dark urge storyline
AO3 Link
With one final burst of flame, the portal to Avernus disappears with Karlach and Wyll inside. It leaves behind a warm kiss against Greyafae’s cheeks that’s quickly stolen by the breeze, and a ringing in her ears that fades as she stumbles to her feet.
She turns toward the others and feels Shadowheart’s eyes follow her as she nears. She spares her a glance and sees the quirk of the cleric’s lips as she says, “I shouldn’t be surprised Wyll volunteered to go with Karlach, I’m just glad she agreed to go back to Avernus after resisting for so long.”
Greyafae doesn’t respond as she marches past, trying to keep from tripping over her feet as each step quickens with every thud of her boots against the dock. The faces of her friends fall into frowns and raised brows that no doubt come to stare at her retreating back as she passes. But, as she brushes past Jaheira, a tight grip on her wrist grounds her to the spot. “Slow down cub, no use falling and breaking your neck now the day has been well and truly saved”.
There was a time such interference would be met by a quick blade to the throat, or some other deadly display of irritation. But her murderous urge had been killed and usurped by another desire, one centred around a certain vampire spawn who had just disappeared in a puff of smoke. Greyafae looked down at the offending hand then up to the druid's face. “I need to find Astarion”.
Jaheria’s grasp doesn’t relent and neither does her glare. She narrows hazel eyes as though something well-hidden lays just out of view and squeezes a little tighter. Then she huffs, and as a herb-scented breath hits Greyafae's lips she realises how close their faces have gotten. “Go then, far be it from me to come between true love. Just be sure to tell him there’s a bottle of wine waiting for him at The Elfsong. I know complaining about the flavour is his favourite pastime.”
Jaheira frees Greyafae’s wrist with a nod as Gale adds, “That’s assuming The Elfsong Tavern still stands after the havoc that’s been reaped upon the city.”
“Ever the optimist”, Shadowheart teases, but whatever reply comes after is lost to the distance Greyafae puts between them as she dashes toward a part of the wharf that has been mostly untouched by falling debris. Enough unloaded cargo stands unshattered with an offer of shelter that hope begins to blossom where fear had taken root. She calls to Astarion, but the screams of seabirds stifles her cry and so she tries again, louder, trying to push past the tightness of her throat and the urge to cast a few scorching rays toward the sky. The taste of bitter ash coats her tongue as she calls once more. No doubt the cinders of a burning house in the distance. But for one second too long, enough time to plant a seed of doubt, she wonders if it’s the last taste of her lover she’ll ever have again.
“Astarion!” The crack in her voice makes her wince as she descends upon the last row of crates.
Empty.
An unfilled barrel bears the brunt of a sharp kick. Rather than face the same fate, those stacked on top tumble over the edge of the dock and into the river. Bitter droplets splash against Greyafae’s cheek as she darts ruby eyes along the view ahead and sighs, knocking the base of her palm against her skull in time with her self-inflicted scolding. “I should have been with you, I should have been with you, I should have been with you. Where are you, first in my heart?”
A slight movement catches her eye in an area of the dock she’s missed, where a few piled crates are hidden away by a mess of tangled fishing nets which now shift in such little motions a poorly timed blink would miss them. “I- I’m over here, darling.”
He is only a few feet away, but sounds so small his voice could be mistaken for a trick of the wind. She runs, skidding on the wet wood beneath her but keeping her balance long enough to fall freely to her knees before him as though in prayer to the one God who ever loved her back. Astarion huddles in an empty space between stacked wine crates, his knees held to his chest in a tight embrace like a scolded child. His head hangs low, his white curls limp after their group descent into the Chionthar river. His skin has lost the deathly grey, no longer flakes off and flutters in the wind, but is still somewhat ashen and fractured in places. It reminds her of the golden veins streaked across Dame Aylin’s divine face. Though, heaven's touch was nowhere to be seen in the cold, blue cracks on her lover’s skin.
“You're a sight for sore eyes.” She doesn’t mean for it to sound like a joke. He would know by the way her shoulders sit hunched about her ears if he weren’t so fascinated with the floor. At his silence she adds, “I shouldn’t have let you run off alone.”
He still doesn’t spare her a glance, but does shake his head as he confesses in a gentle tone, “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”
Greyafae clenches her jaw until her teeth start to ache, then asks, “Do you want me to go?”
Astarion looks at her then, eyes glassy and so impossibly round. “No. It’s just, I can’t stop myself from feeling this shame. This was supposed to be our glorious victory. Yet here I am, banished to the shadows once again. I’m the only one to have lost.”
She reaches out a hand that quickly falls to rest atop her thigh instead. “It feels like that now. But at sunset, you and I can walk hand in hand through the city that we saved, to meet the friends who fought by our side, then we’ll fall asleep in each other’s arms and wake up to a world without any hold over us. I don't know about you, but that sounds like something close to victory to me.”
Astarion opens his mouth to speak but then seems to think better of it. “That was nearly poetic, I didn’t know you had it in you,” he teases with a rasp to his voice after a few heartbeats pass.
“You’re a good influence on me.”
He barks a sharp laugh, the kind that has his fangs on full display, and the butterflies in Greyafae’s stomach flutter about all the way up to her heart. “Not too good I hope.” His smile softens but lingers enough to deepen the lines around his eyes. “You couldn’t just leave me to sulk, could you?”
She shakes her head and her shoulders loosen, making it easier to offer a smile in earnest. “I want it all too. In sunshine or shadows.”
His unyielding, narrowed, sanguine gaze holds her still then flicks across her freckled face before falling to his feet. She sees, more than hears, his gentle sigh before he meets her eyes once more and asks, “So, do you actually have a plan to get me out of here, or are we destined to linger amongst barrels of rotting fish until the sun goes down?”
A deep hum resonates in Greyafae’s chest, a grunt falling from full lips as she stands up into the sun's embrace once more. It feels like mockery to be bathed in golden rays before him and guilt eats away at her core like flies on rotting fruit. The urge to squint against the sun builds as she scans the horizon, but the sting feels like a pitiful punishment in comparison to what Astarion suffered by its light, and so she peers on unblinking. A crumbling warehouse, torn apart by a toppled building from the street above which has destroyed half the roof and far-side wall sits on the opposite side of the dock. Though, the windows sit up high and enough of the walls stand intact to embrace them both in shadow.
Crouching down once more she tells him, “I can transport us somewhere with a little more leg room.” Then adds with a smirk, “It’s lucky for us you’re almost as good at killing as me. It means I get to save all my useful spells for when it really matters.”
With a tut, Astarion wrinkles his nose as if smelling something awful, but doesn’t bite at the bait. “Ugh, you couldn’t come up with a plan that doesn’t involve dimension door? It’s like you're actively trying to make my day even worse.”
She snorts at the memory of their last encounter with the spell though it isn’t particularly funny. Maybe it’s finally having memories to look back on once again that brings her so much joy. “Perhaps you’d like me to fetch you a parasol instead?”
His pale brows knit together and the half-drow’s grin turns upside down. “I’m glad my abject misery brings you so much pleasure.”
It stings her right in the centre of her chest, no doubt he'd consider that a bullseye. “You know better than that.”
Astarion relents as soon as the words leave her mouth, his face smoothing back into its mournful pout. “I know.”
“Shall we?”
He breathes in a steadying breath through his fangs before tipping his head toward her. “Whenever you’re ready.”
The incantation takes just a moment to breathe into life. An ancient, draconic heat wraps around them as her magic whisks them away to the ruined building. They land with a stumble, and Astarion uses the momentum to run toward the shaded half where the only threat of sunlight beams through windows far overhead.
As hard as her fingers twitch in their desire to reach for him, to tangle in his hair and tease the tips of his pointed ears and trace the fading cracks on his cheeks until all her love pours into them, she knows better. He stands still, glaring at one particular piece of debris by his feet as he drifts away somewhere she can’t follow. It isn’t until he turns her way and catches her looking she realises she’d been doing the same.
“You do realise you’re staring?” It is an accusation rather than a question. One asked by a wounded bird who fears the fox will see his broken wing if it looks too long.
Several quick blinks bring her out of the daze. She straightens her tilted head as her neck begins to protest and tucks a strand of white hair behind the subtle point of her ear. “It’s strange for you to be so quiet.”
He leans forward and gestures a hand toward her. “And what would you have me say?”
“You needn’t say a thing. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
She can see the creases form on his brow despite the distance between them. “Well, we’re all having to deal with things we don’t like, Grey.” Throwing his hands into the air as he scolds her, he adds, “Apologies I haven’t the desire for a witty repartee,” then folds his arms against his chest.
Perhaps it’s the fire in her blood that always makes the sparks that fly from Astarion’s tongue fail to ignite her meagre fuse. Or maybe they fly over her head because she knows he doesn’t mean for them to burn her. So she asks him a question she’d asked once before, after his night of rebirth spent tangled together in the dirt of his grave. “Having regrets?”
Astarion’s shoulders rise and fall with a sigh before he slouches forward like a puppet with snapped strings. “Still no. It does sting more than I’d hoped though. I truly thought for a moment the change was permanent. That I’d be able to walk in the sun for good.”
“I thought so too, seeing you standing there. It was a cruel carrot to dangle in front of you.”
He scoffs, a sneer making a singular fang poke out. “Compared to the carrots offered by Cazador, and the veritable banquet of sticks that followed, this one I can tolerate. I just need a little time to…adjust.”
A smile rounds Greyafae’s cheeks, yet despite its sincerity she can feel it doesn't quite reach her eyes. “Take as long as you need. I’ll be here, whenever you need me.”
“Thank you.” He closes his eyes, inhales a breath he doesn't need and stands a little taller. “I’m grateful I don’t have to wander back into the darkness alone, and that I get to be here with you.” He turns before he can see her swallow past the lump in her throat and strides toward a piece of broken concrete, large enough to sit on. He sweeps a hand across the top before he does so, wafting away the rising dust before he takes a seat and drifts away into thought once more.
She watches him until a shiver crawls up her spin, a chill settling deep inside her bones. The cling of her damp clothes has loosened enough to be comfortable, still she takes off her boots and sodden socks so she doesn’t have to hear them squelch as she gathers up scattered pieces of broken, wooden beams. It’s quick work to bundle them into a pile, something close to how Wyll would when building a campfire hot enough for Gale to sweat over as he prepares an evening meal. She rubs her hands together as the last piece of jagged wood is placed, a feeling almost like pride making her grin. Resting on a knee, she takes off her bulging pack and rummages through the trove of wonders. Spare daggers, alchemical ingredients and a random selection of potions spill out as she unties the cord. Beneath them all are a collection of crumpled scrolls, simple spells she had meant to sell. Though now, as she shivers again and sees Astarion do the same, a better purpose comes to mind. While some are too damp to be useful, the rest she tears into smaller pieces and tucks into the woodpile. As she grabs a final fistfull of scrolls, a little wooden box beneath them catches her eye. There’s nothing else like it amongst her hoard and no memory comes to mind of why the little trinket was special enough to warrant keeping. For now, however, she focuses on warmth, a simple cantrip setting the wood ablaze.
“Bloody hells,” Astarion curses with a start at the sound of bursting flame and crackling wood.
“Sorry, I meant to warn you.” She means the apology, despite how far away she sounds, but the mysterious box has her mind wandering. Reaching deep into the bag once more, she pulls out her prize and lifts it high into the air as though it were a first-place trophy. A sweep of her tongue wets her lips as she brings the box closer to her frowning face. She turns it over, opens the lid, then leaps to her feet with a gasp as a sweet melody begins to play. “I can’t believe I forgot about this.” A music box, stolen from a decrepit hospital in a cursed land. She floats over to where Astarion watches her and places it next to him on his makeshift seat. Her shadow dances in the firelight as she begins to sway along to the tune, then she offers her lover a hand. “May I have this dance?”
He recoils a touch, no doubt if he had recently fed the tips of his ears would be a pale shade of red. “Don’t be silly, now is hardly the time.” Despite his objection, his wide-eyed stare falls to her presented hand.
Her eyes drift to a close as she continues to move, basking in the flames that warm the golden scales curved around her temples. “Pretend we’re at a masquerade, there’s a room full of faceless people with very deep pockets. Or pretend it’s just the two of us in a cottage somewhere, with a crackling hearth and moonlight creeping through the window.”
She hears him inhale through his nose, then breathe out a gentle sigh. “You paint quite the picture.”
She opens her eyes as his long, nimble fingers slide against her own. He pins her with his stare as he stands and brings his free hand to press against her lower back, pulling her into his embrace until their bodies collide. Her own touch falls to the back of his neck to caress small circles against his cool skin as her arm rests lazily across his shoulder. They lose themselves in each other's eyes for a while, her chin pressed against his chest as she peers up through long, dark lashes. Astarion regards her through a half-lidded gaze, soft as Cormyr silk. If looks could kill, he’d have a road paved with indignant corpses as long as the Chionthar trailing behind him. But if a look overflowing with love and safety and gratitude could melt, he'd reduce her to a giant puddle on the floor. Eventually he blinks and she remembers to breathe, chuckling at the ease with which he is able to take her breath away. Rising onto tip-toes, she presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth and he tugs her tighter in response. She lingers until the spread of his smile brushes against her lips and then, with a satisfied sigh, lays her head against his shoulder. Astarion’s cheekbone comes to rest atop her crown and, not for the first time, she wonders if in another life she’d feel his heart beating as fast as hers where their bodies melt together.
Their dance doesn’t last for long before the song begins to wind down with its final notes. Her heart clenches at the thought of it. But a sorcerer's gifts needn’t always be saved for flinging fireballs into enemy crowds. A subtle flick of Greyafae’s wrist and a whispered incantation has a transparent, blue hand manifest just out of reach. She extends the spell to last more than its usual minute and feels the last of her most potent sorcery ebb for the day. The hand floats over to the music box with nothing more than a thought, large fingers poised on the lever to ensure the song remains unending. Astarion shifts his cheek against her like an affectionate cat and, for a moment that makes her tense, lifts his hand from her back. Though he stills again as his touch returns, a little lower than before, she brings a hand up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck to smooth what feels like teetering peace. But a sudden waft of something like dying embers has her peek over his shoulder once more at the campfire, though it burns as bright as it had a moment ago. Astarion’s questioning eyes fall upon her at the disturbance and she leans in to press a kiss against his temple in apology. As her nose presses close to his curls, however, the smell overwhelms her. The smell, she realises, of Astarion’s burnt skin and scalp clinging to his hair. The sick, heavy punch that lands in her gut has her bury her face deeper into his shoulder again before mumbling, “You can feed on me, if it’ll help?”
“Hmm?” He answers, voice thick like he’s just woken from a slumber.
“If it will help you to heal faster then you’re welcome to feed on me.”
Astarion’s grip leaves her briefly once more before he replies, “I seem to be back to my usual, unburnt self. As far as I can tell?”
She pulls back to look at him, prodding a finger against his chest to emphasise her point. “If there’s one thing we’ve learnt by now, it’s that skin-deep scars are the quickest to heal.”
He grins, and even in these circumstances it somehow looks so wicked. “In that case, I’ll never say no to a free feed darling. Certainly not from your delicious self.”
With a shake of her head and a poorly-hidden smirk, she stands on tip toes and wraps her arms around his shoulders in a loose embrace. Astarion presses one, two, three kisses against her neck but lingers on the last one. She feels the scrape of his fangs a breath before he sinks them in with a quick thrust, one hand pressing against her still while the other cradles the back of her head, his skilled fingers caressing her hair like the delicate strings of a harp. The scar from the last time they’d shared a moment like this had faded long ago. A stark contrast to the deep bite carved out of Astarion’s neck, the first scar Cazador ever engraved onto his flesh and perhaps the only one Astarion isn’t even aware of. Despite their off balance hold, they still manage a subtle sway, their bodies moving as one. The press of his lips against her wound lets her know when he’s had his fill, followed by the soft flick of his tongue to capture rogue blood drops which threaten to trickle down her throat. She considers it an honour to be such a rare treat, one relished for succour over sustenance. A thought that makes her stifle a laugh; a bhaalspawn-shaped comfort blanket for a fearsome creature of the night.
They stay wrapped up in each other even though silence is their lone accompaniment, the mage hand floating forgotten by the fire which has long since turned to cinders. Greyafae pulls back to see Astarion’s lashes flutter open like he's been pulled from a deep dream. His curls have come back to life from time and warmth and billow about his head, fluffier than any cloud she’d ever seen. She places a hand against his cheek and rubs a thumb against a spot of dried blood as he leans into the touch. “Thank you for the dance.”
He laughs softly and takes a small bow as they part. “The pleasure’s all mine.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner. Karlach’s engine finally burnt out and, well, I wanted to keep my promise.”
He frowns for a moment and taps a finger against his chin, then spreads his arms out wide. “At least she managed to survive long enough to rid herself of the parasite. Still, it is a pity.”
“She went back to Avernus in the end, and Wyll went along with her.”
Pale brows shoot up toward his hairline. “Really? So she chose survival after all. Funny, isn’t it? How little we know what we truly want until we hear those midnight chimes.”
“Fear does strange things to people.”
He dips his head in a deep, slow nod. “That it does, darling.”
Craning her neck upward, Greyafae sees the traitorous sun has sneaked away from the windows to drown their exit in its light. “There’s still some time to kill yet.”
Astarion averts his rounded gaze for a moment, lifting it to look up at the ruined ceiling. “I’d like some time to myself, if that’s alright? You go ahead and meet up with the others. I’ll come and find you when it’s safe to do so.”
She swallows hard, lips pursing for a brief moment as her stomach twists into knots. “If you’re sure?”
“I am.” He tilts his chin forward, nose rising into the air. On anyone else it would look like pride, but his shoulders stoop in a way that roots her feet to the ground and makes her want to fall on scarred knees and beg him not to make her go.
Instead, she takes his hand and squeezes until he returns the gesture and says, “We’ll be at The Elfsong, or whatever's left of it. I’ll see you whenever you’re ready”.
He brings his right hand to rest on top of hers where their left ones are joined. It takes her back a month or so, to the bottom of Moonrise towers, where he’d left his unbeating heart in her bloody hands and trusted her to help bring it back to life. She can tell by the way his lips fall into a smile, so similar to the one he’d worn back then, the memory echoes in his mind as well. “Thank you, my love.”
True to his word he finds her not long after the sun has set. Their friends cheer for him as he nears their table, deep into their fourth round of drinks, and he scoffs at their inability to hold their liquor with dignity. But Greyafae sees his bottom lip tremble, sees how unafraid he is to bare his fangs in a wide grin as Jaheira pulls out the promised bottle of red wine for him to critique. As the group settles into their cups again, Astarion slips a hand around Greyafae’s waist and whispers a wish against her ear that they hide away from the others for the night, far from the noise and the drunks and the embellished stories. They sneak away up the stairs like forbidden young lovers and retire to the only room with a lone bed. He kisses her first like it’s a question, then again like it’s a demand, and last like a pleading request from a starving man. She answers with a brush of her lips against each cheek, then his forehead, and pretends not to notice how his tears cool the skin on her cheeks. He makes love to her as though their eternity is guaranteed, stopping every so often to kiss her with such a hungry craving it takes her to the cusp of drowning before she has to break away and gasp for air. Afterwards, he falls into a trance with his head on her chest. Though, it's the weight of every win, every loss and sacrifice they’d endured this far which pins her against the bed and has her weep herself a lullaby before falling into a slumber.
When she wakes it's to an empty bed. Astarion stands just beyond an open window, pulling back a rich, red drape to peer down at the dawn-lit streets from a shadowy corner of the room. Though she isn’t quiet, he doesn’t notice as she slips out of bed and pulls on yesterday’s clothes.
“Good morning,” she says with a yawn as she comes to stand in the morning light.
Astarion drops the heavy drape with a start and turns to her, stepping forward into the spot where the sun had just shone. Something about him feels different, there’s a softness to his stare but a tension that has him standing just a touch too stiff. She can feel an unspoken question haunting the room, but she just offers him time and a warm smile as he returns her greeting. “Hello, Darling.”
Thank you so much for taking the time to read my little fic <3
