Work Text:
If Astarion could change one thing about his situation right now, it would be everything.
Two-hundred years of Cazador’s control and when he finally sees the sun again, it’s because a bloody mind-flayer tadpole is in his brain .
Well. Things could be worse. He could be Cazador’s slave and have a mind-flayer tadpole in his head. Hmph. At least then he would have psionic powers on his side to take down that monstrous prick.
For now, though, it seems he’s stuck with these weirdos , lest he leave the Prism’s protection radius. At least they’re all pleasant to look at. Especially their newest addition, Halsin .
Rescuing that damned druid nearly got them all killed, and what did they have to show for it? Absolutely nothing . Halsin didn’t have a cure. Nobody did. Not even their little dream guardian. And now they were risking their necks in Shadow Cursed Lands hunting for some Moonrise Tower where Synnir would no doubt drag them all into even more dangerous, useless rescue plots.
Still. It did feel sort of nice to be the one saving people instead of leading them to their painful deaths.
Astarion’s musings are interrupted by a quiet chuffing from the owlbear cub pressed to his side. It had grown rather attached to him, for some reason. Astarion didn’t particularly mind it. It would grow to be quite the vicious beast one day, if it’s mother was any indication. It fluffs up adorably when Astarion scratches under its chin, and he gets the overwhelming urge to squeeze it tightly and never let go. Instead of doing that , he lets it squirm its way into his lap and puts on a show of struggling against its weight for an audience of absolutely nobody.
Well, not nobody. He thinks to himself, hearing the quiet snap of a branch in the silence of the camp. If it were someone unwelcome, Scratch and the owlbear cub would have already reacted, so Astarion simply resumes his petting and stares into the warm campfire.
“You two make quite the picture like that,” Halsin greets, settling next to him without an invitation. Not so close as to intrude on Astarion’s personal bubble, but still close enough that Astarion feels the beginnings of a familiar itch under his skin. The fear of being touched followed by a cold acceptance that what he wants doesn’t matter.
The owlbear cub presses firmer against him, pressing its head to his chest. It breaks him out of whatever stupor he was about to enter, and he’s able to send Halsin a carefully crafted smirk in response.
“Come to disturb our peace, my dear druid? What, you couldn’t summon enough sheep to count to send you to sleep?” Astarion teases, and Halsin smiles sardonically at the fire.
“Something like that,” The druid replies after a beat. Something in his voice makes Astarion pause. He looks at Halsin, observes him. He’s tense, curled in on himself like he’s trying to make himself smaller. Impossible, for an elf of his size, but he’s making a valiant effort. His hands are trembling, and his eyes are distant. It’s a look Astarion can’t say he recognizes from the mirror, but he’s all too familiar with the feeling.
“If you– you want to talk about it, then, well,” Astarion gestures to the heavy owlbear cub pinning him in place. “I’m not going anywhere with this beast on me.”
“I would not burden you with my troubles, Astarion. They are miniscule in the face of everything you’re experiencing.” Halsin lets out a small bitter laugh, and it’s so unlike anything Astarion had witnessed from him up until this point. Halsin seemed so
infallible
. An immovable object against the unstoppable force of their situation. To see him tremble in the middle of the night, tears in his eyes…
It makes Astarion feel things, honestly. And he
hates
feeling things, so he needs to make it stop as soon as possible.
He gently nudges the owlbear cub until it rolls ungracefully onto its back on the bedroll. Free to move, Astarion shifts closer to Halsin until their skin is a breath apart. When he reaches out to press a comforting hand to the druid’s arm, however, he finds his wrist snatched in a grip tight enough to bruise. Were it not for the way that Halsin’s breath picks up, his eyes wide and panicked, Astarion would have stabbed him. As it is, he feels bile build in his throat from being restrained like this. He gets the sense, however, that Halsin isn’t seeing him right now.
“Halsin,” Astarion keeps his voice low, calm, even with his own building panic. He’s not prepared for this, he isn’t built for this. “It’s Astarion, Halsin. I need you to let go. Do you hear me, darling? Breath .”
It takes several long minutes of repeating similar affirmations before Halsin’s gaze finally comes back into focus all at once. Abruptly, he lets go of Astarion and scrambles to his feet.
“I am so sorry, Astarion. I meant you no harm, by the Oak Father, I swear it.” Halsin keeps backing up, flinching slightly as Astarion gets to his feet. He seems much more like a skittish rabbit than the ferocious bear Astarion knows him to be. “I will not– I am–” He shakes his head aggressively and takes in a deep, heaving breath. “I’ve inflicted myself on you enough for one night, my friend. I will not make the same mistake again–”
“Now, hold on, my dear,” Astarion cuts him off, still cradling his hurt wrist. “You’re making an awful lot of assumptions about my feelings on the situation. Come back and sit down before you faint.” When Halsin still hesitates, he adds, “I’ll tell everyone that Scratch tripped you, then we’ll have to feed him to the owlbear.”
The owlbear cub lets out such an offended chirp at the notion that even in his state, Halsin lets out a small laugh. He sinks back down by the fire, much further from Astarion this time, but it’s progress.
“Now, are you going to tell me what that was all about, or would you like me to guess?” Astarion starts, after a moment.
“I fear what my actions have caused you to think about me,” Halsin admits. “But I fear equally what you will think of me if I share this burden with you.”
“A burden shared is a burden halved, so the wizard says. It will only be half as heavy for both of us.” Astarion isn’t sure why he’s pushing Halsin so hard on this. He still feels bugs crawling under his skin from being touched, bare skin to bare skin, for so long. Something in Halsin’s eyes…
“If you’re sure.” The druid shifts, uncomfortable. He opens and closes his mouth a few times as if he can’t find the words to begin. “This is not my first time leaving the grove, as you know. It is also not the most unpleasant of times. I was…” His breath hitches in his throat.
“At your own pace, dear,” Astarion says. Halsin nods with a grateful, pained smile.
“Having an attractive body is not always a blessing.” Astarion feels something like recognition ache in his chest at the druid’s words. “It saved my life, and yet I’m still–” He cuts off again with a frustrated growl, slamming a fist into the ground.
“You’re giving me a lot of half-answers, darling.” Astarion snaps. He regrets the harshness of his tone, but he’s too desperate to hear what Halsin has to say. He’s on the precipice of being seen, not with pity but with the understanding of someone who knows , and he’s both terrified and ravenous for it. “Just start from the beginning and I’m sure you can manage.”
Halsin nods, staring into the fire once more. “I was young, foolish. I hungered for adventure, for everything the Oak Father had to offer this world. My adventures took me to the Underdark. I was invited to the home of a noble drow couple…” He lets out another bitter laugh, shaking his head. “I say invitation but, saying no was not an option. I ended up chained in their bedchamber for nigh on three years. And I was one of the lucky ones. Were it not for this body, I would have been enslaved or killed.”
Astarion feels like he’s floating away and rooted to the spot simultaneously. There’s a heavy weight in his stomach that makes its way up his throat, preventing him from speaking. He waves his hand instead, urging Halsin to continue.
“I finally escaped when a rival family attacked. In the blood and chaos, I took my chance and fled. I never learned what became of my gracious hosts .” Halsin spits the word like its dirty, and Astarion suspects it is to him. “Sometimes, the thought that they’re still out there and I could end up in their grasp again haunts me at night. I will admit, it is worse down here in the darkness. That is why I reacted so adversely to your touch.” Halsin finally looks him in the eyes, but it is too much for Astarion to bear. He turns away.
A silence falls over them, broken only by the crackling of the fire. Even the owlbear cub has fallen silent. It weighs heavy, like a damp wool coat.
“My master’s name is Cazador Szarr,” Astarion finally says, the words rough as if they had been physically dragged from his throat. “He’s searching for me, even now. For 200 years, my body has been his to control. Every action, every breath, every
thought
. It was all his to command.”
“Three years is nothing, compared. I apolo–”
“This isn’t a competition!” Astarion hisses out, nails digging into his knees where he’s pulled them to his chest. “I’m not telling you this for your pity or to- to one-up your trauma! I’m saying
I understand what it’s like
. For your body to not be your own. For what it’s worth I’m… sorry. That happened to you. You didn’t deserve it.”
“Neither did you.” Halsin says, quietly.
“No. No, neither of us did.” Astarion agrees. “I don’t have much say in my own fate. The minute Cazador lays eyes on me, he may take control again, tadpole be damned. However, I swear to you, my dear, that if we run into the drow that did that to you, I will take great pleasure in ripping their throats out with my teeth.” He bares his teeth, eyes dead serious and feral.
“I swear to the Oak Father, Astarion, that I will not let your master touch you. I fear my mind is overtaken with lifting the shadow curse, even now, but once we reach Baldur’s Gate I will not rest until he is viscera on the floor beneath my hands. Or paws.” He adds, some of his usual playfulness finally entering his tone again. Astarion feels something like relief at that. He doesn’t trust the promise, of course. That would be foolish, and would make him feel something far too close to hope. Still, it’s… nice. It’s nice to hear.
They sit in silence around the fire again. After nearly an entire hour, Wyll emerges from his tent with a loud yawn to take his turn on the watch. Astarion makes a show of being tired and annoyed at Wyll for taking so long, but Wyll merely rolls his eyes and waves the dramatics away.
Halsin stands first and, after a brief moment of hesitation, offers Astarion his hand to help him up. Astarion takes it and rises to his feet, and they walk the few short feet to Astarion’s tent connected like that. Strangely, Astarion doesn’t feel his skin crawl or burn or tingle. Just… warmth.
They stand there for a moment, just looking at each other. Astarion brings their joined hands up to his mouth but stops. He looks up at Halsin through his eyelashes, silently asking for permission. Halsin genuinely thinks about it, eyes drifting, before shaking his head.
Astarion smiles, dropping their hands without question. What a novel experience, for a rejection to have no consequences. On either side of the coin.
“Goodnight then, my dear druid,” He whispers.
“Pleasant dreams, Astarion,” Halsin returns, then steps back. Astarion watches as he retreats to his own tent, almost protective. At the entrance, Halsin stops and looks back, just a glance. Their eyes meet.
Astarion rolls his eyes and waves him off like a stubborn fly. Halsin laughs, deep and amused, before disappearing behind the drapery.
Astarion doesn’t realize he’s standing there still looking in Halsin’s direction until Wyll pointedly clears his throat.
“So are you two–” The warlock doesn’t even get a question out before Astarion is flipping him off with an annoyed huff and disappearing into his own dwellings.
He knows his trance is going to be unpleasant tonight. With such heavy topics discussed, Cazador will no doubt make an appearance in his nightmares. It doesn’t seem so difficult to lay down and close his eyes, however, when he knows he has a bear of an elf across the way that understands .
How nice.