Chapter Text
Astarion absentmindedly flips through a battered necromancy text at the Castle Waterdeep library, holding his thumb between his teeth. He bristles with frustration, bouncing one leg under the table. Nearly midnight, the moonlight filters through the skylight above.
This has now become a regular occurrence for him.
After the defeat of the Netherbrain and subsequent loss of the tadpole that had granted him immunity to the sun, Astarion had been lodging in Gale Dekarios’ tower, growing accustomed to spending his nights in Waterdeep lurking about the Docks Ward for the past several weeks.
In the beginning, he observed the nightlife from a corner of the Blushing Nymph, a festhall brimming with debauchery. He had hoped to bury his boredom, and perhaps himself, in the company of a stranger, but none of the locals particularly caught his eye.
He’d never admit it to Gale, but a few nights ago, he took the wizard’s recommendation to peruse Castle Waterdeep’s private library. Astarion had heard whispers in Cazador’s palace of an arcane ring that could allow a vampire to walk in the sun, and if he was going to waste his time playing roommate with Gale and his other companions, he might as well make the most of his spare time. In his search through the stacks, he’d come up empty, thus far, instead finding himself intrigued by something - someone - else entirely.
Tonight, she immerses herself in a tome, her long, ashen hair cascading down her back, intermingling with darker shades of blonde. Her hand rests on her sharp chin as she furrows her brow, jaw clenched, a hint of frustration clear in her focused expression. He’s first noticed her several nights ago and, with nothing better to do, returned to old instincts, watching her from afar, as if stalking prey. His intentions were only slightly questionable. Mostly, he was curious.
His interest in her hadn’t gone unnoticed. Celestria caught on to the library’s new regular almost immediately. She had spent years with little nighttime company, and his wasn’t a face one soon forgets. Tonight, however, he’d been difficult to ignore. Her concentration wavered under the weight of his intense stare.
“Can I help you?” she asks, annoyed, not looking up from her book. The vampire clears his throat and glances to the side, shaking off a bit of embarrassment from the way she addresses him. Despite his efforts to uphold his charm, he feels unsettled.
“What are you reading? It looks like it has your undivided attention.” He says in a casually flirtatious tone.
“You know,” she says, still not looking at him, “people typically seek silence, not conversation, in a library.”
Astarion suppresses a twinge of annoyance at her sarcastic remark. Her aura of indifference may be genuine, or perhaps a carefully crafted facade. Regardless, he’s determined to figure her out, unsure if his own curiosity stems from intrigue or a more self-serving motive.
“Are you studying?” he persists, attempting to get through her haughty demeanor.
“No.” Although she’s not outright rude, her lack of interest in engaging with him is apparent.
Unfortunately for her, Astarion loves to insert himself where he’s not wanted, as long as it’s entertaining.
“Awful late to be lingering in a private library.” Standing up, he makes his way towards her table, hovering over her. She sighs dramatically and slams her book shut.
“Yet you’re in here, several nights a week, and never during daylight. I’ve seen you around. If you’re trying at all to conceal your nature, you’re doing a piss-poor job of it, vampire .” She gives him a pointed look.
So she has noticed him.
His curiosity gets the best of him. “Really? ” He bends down, extending an arm to lean on the table.
“Your reading choices aren’t hiding your secret well, either.” She adds, gesturing to his book. Astarion raises an eyebrow and flips it over in his hands before stowing it away behind his back.
Her deduction doesn’t alarm him, particularly because she doesn’t seem to mind his vampirism, just his personality at the moment.
“I’m a spawn…if we’re being specific.”
She ignores his correction. “How did you even get a pass? There’s no way you’re sneaking past the guards every night.” Astarion grins.
“I used to be a magistrate back in Baldur’s Gate. I still know how to pull some strings. If anyone asks though, I’m here on behalf of Gale Dekarios’ pass,” he says in a low voice. Her face flashes with recognition and her body language relaxes, but only slightly.
“Gale? Were you part of that lot that saved Baldur’s Gate with him? Big hero sort?” She doesn’t sound unimpressed, but she’s not in awe of him either, which is a relief.
“It would be quite a stretch to call me a hero, my dear.” Astarion replies, “It was a tad self-serving as well, if I’m being honest.”
“Oh?” She shows intrigue for the first time in their conversation, rising from her chair and reaching for the tome behind his back. He releases it with a slight scowl and she reshelves it before leaning against a bookcase.
“I wouldn’t say I’m particularly villainous, but I’m far from a paragon of virtue.” Astarion’s eyes rove over her body as he speaks. She searches his face for a moment before extending her hand.
“Celestria Delios, but Celeste is fine. I’m an archivist here.” Astarion shakes her hand, his lips curling into a sly grin. Her grip is elusive, carefully placed to avoid her hand being squeezed too hard or to allow him to gain any leverage over her. It was a trick he’d used from time to time as well, and it only made her more interesting.
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Celeste. Astarion.”
“No last name?”
“Not one you need to concern yourself with.” He answers coolly before changing the subject. “So what’s with the…eyes, if you don’t mind my asking? You don’t quite appear…typical.”
Now that he’s closer, he can see the features of her face - there’s certainly something ethereal about them. Her hair frames the peak of her cheekbones in delicate waves, a strand brushing against the soft cleft of her chin. Her eyes aren’t atypical for a moon elf, a deep, green-blue hue, but the outside edges of her irises have an almost lunar glow to them.
Celeste gives him an apprehensive look and arches her eyebrow. “I’d love to hear your thoughts.”
“I have several guesses,” his voice takes on a playful tone. “Not a fiend or cambion…” he muses, mischeviously making a show of checking her out, as if looking for a tail. She narrows her eyes and pivots.
He pauses for a few moments, watching her intently. “Are you of the Upper Planes?” he continues to gaze at her, trying to gauge any additional clues.
She hesitates. “My mother was, in a sense. I’m…second generation.” Astarion’s eyebrows raise in genuine surprise.
“And your father?”
“Moon elf.”
“Curious,” he murmurs, pushing himself from his leaning position on the table and reaching forward to tuck a strand of her hair aside to observe the soft point of her ears. She flinches a bit but has nowhere to back away.
She tilts her head to the side. “Excuse you.”
“Apologies.” he retracts his hand with an appeasing smile, raising his palms defensively. “Still adjusting to civilization.” He adds innocently. “Is there a reason you’re being so vague, my dear?”
“For my own good.” She grabs a stack of books off a nearby table, beginning to sort and shelve them. Astarion follows her, keeping the conversation going as she works.
“Is there danger in being open about your origins?” He lowers his voice and his lips curl upwards flirtatiously. “Are you something controversial?”
“Nothing like that. Just…” she sighs, considering whether she can trust this strange vampire. She knows enough about Gale Dekarios and the company he keeps, however, to deduce Astarion likely poses no immediate danger to her.
“If people knew everything about me, they may seek to exploit my nature. Or hand me over to others who do.”
“So now you hide out in this library? Are you an archivist because you want to avoid interacting with people? Or to hide that… inner light of yours?”
“Perhaps I just like keeping late hours.” She says with a soft grin. Astarion smiles back at her, enjoying the progress he’s making against her tough exterior.
“Well my dear, whoever these people are that have driven you to hiding in the shadows, I assure you..” he begins, leaning closer to catch her eye once more and softens his voice, “I would never seek to harm or control you.”
“So what do you want?” Annoyance resurfaces on her face. “My blood? Sex?”
Astarion responds with a snort of laughter.
“Even if that were true, rest assured, you would survive the experience.” A smirk forms on his lips, his eyes still exploring her figure.
Celeste’s jaw tenses. “What a relief.”
He resists the urge to touch her cheek, opting instead to lean closer and murmur almost hypnotically in her ear. “Oh, I would be very gentle with you…” he begins, “the only manipulation you have to fear from me is the kind that would drive you mad with desire…” he purrs. A slight tingle ripples across her skin. She composes herself and brushes it off.
“Cute, but no thanks.”
“Is that so?” Astarion leans in and boldly scans her face as if to challenge her. She squints at him.
“Work on your flirting. It’s a bit… desperate.”
He scowls.
She opens a book, checking a few pages before making space on the shelf for it. “What’s your angle here?”
“Come now, why such mistrust? The offer is tempting, isn’t it? You know, I recently encountered a drow alchemist who practically begged for me to drink her blood. Unfortunately…” his voice trails off, nose wrinkling at the memory, “she wasn’t my type.”
“In that case, you’re looking in the wrong place. Archivists are more interested in studying fascinating subjects than experimenting with them.” She says to him dryly. “Who do you feed on, anyway? I haven’t noticed any mysterious disappearances in Waterdeep lately. Well, any more than the norm.”
“Animals, mostly. Kobolds, bears…” he says, his voice fading away in thought. “There was a time when I was occasionally gifted a foul rat, but now I have a greater selection to choose from. I have to admit that animals have been my primary source of sustenance since I escaped my former master. I’ve had a generous enemy, now and then. And Gale, once. What?”
“Gale? ”
“I don’t recommend it.” Astarion says. “Bad side effects.” Celeste lets out a noise that could almost be mistaken as a suppressed laugh.
“If you’re a spawn, where is your master? I don’t see him lurking about.”
Astarion’s face becomes rigid. “Cazador Szarr,” he begins gruffly. “is dead. Right before that battle in Baldur’s Gate, Gale and some of my… friends,” he pauses, considering the word, not quite used to it, “... helped me kill him before he could kill me. I’m free of him now, to live as I wish.”
“How terrible. I’m sorry.” Celeste feels a moment of sympathy for him, as if the revelation explains his behavior. She’d sensed all the grandiosity and flirtation was a front to conceal something deeper.
Astarion shrugs, his face once again displaying its usual glamour. “Let’s not dwell on it.”
“Perhaps we have more in common than I thought.” She suggests. Astarion’s expression turns curious once more.
“In what ways are we similar?”
“Well, for starters,” she bends and picks up her things from the table. “We both seem to be nocturnal.” Winking at him, she saunters off.
Astarion can’t help smiling to himself.
As she walks under the skylight, the moon’s glow illuminates her hair until she disappears into the library’s basement. After considering what she said, he leaves the library and wanders back to Gale’s tower through the Dock Ward. It’s late, but Gale would still be up.
The Dock Ward was notoriously raucous and its stench of rotting fish isn’t particularly appealing to Astarion, but Gale lived close enough to the edge of the Castle Ward that Astarion had to only tolerate the walk there. The immediate vicinity of the tower itself was more pleasant, only a few blocks from the estate of one of the richest men in Waterdeep.
Moreover, Astarion frequently held the privilege of often being the most dangerous thing lurking in the darkness, anyway.
Gale’s description of his home as a tower had felt like an exaggeration once Astarion had seen it. It wasn’t a small dwelling, but it certainly wasn’t some grand castle-like structure, either. Though Astarion would never reveal it, he found it quite comfortable. His sunlight aversion and insistence on being alone during the day led to his seclusion in the windowless attic. Regardless, he was grateful he didn’t have to make arrangements on his own elsewhere.
His and Gale’s fellow traveling companions occupied the other guest rooms. After defeating the Absolute, Astarion and Shadowheart returned to Waterdeep with Gale, having nowhere else to go. Minthara and Karlach had gone to Avernus in search of a way to fix Karlach’s infernal engine, a hellish machine that kept her alive but threatened to make her combust on the mortal plane. When they’d come to Waterdeep, triumphant, the two were quite happy to share a room, a development that none of their party found surprising by the way Minthara doted on Karlach during their travels. Shadowheart had the unfortunate fate of sharing a wall with the two of them, but didn’t complain too often.
Their other companions had moved on, embarking on fresh beginnings. Last Astarion heard, Wyll was in Baldur’s Gate, helping his father, Duke Ravengard, protect and rebuild the city. Lae’zel was gods know where, but seemed fulfilled carrying out her duties amongst the Githyanki. Jaheira and Minsc stayed behind as well, surrounded by Jaheira’s family and her remaining Harpers. Halsin had taken their animal companions, Scratch and an owlbear cub, back to the Grove, happy to escape the city. Gale’s home had effectively become an orphanage for dysfunctional vagabonds.
Engrossed in a book by the fire, Gale sits with his tressym, Tara, perched beside him as Astarion enters the den. A pang of envy at his friend’s idyllic, quiet life tugs at Astarion as he lingers in the doorway - something he feels he will never quite have, but all the same, isn’t sure he’d enjoy so much. He frequently finds himself restless in Waterdeep, but doesn’t have a clue where else he could go right now. His newfound freedom still overwhelms him.
He settles in the chair opposite Gale, gracefully crossing one leg over the other. “I believe I met an acquaintance of yours this evening at the library.”
Gale looks up at him. “Oh?” Astarion nods.
“Her name was Celeste.” A look crosses Gale’s features that Astarion can’t quite identify. “What?” He inquires with a raised eyebrow.
“I knew her. Long ago. Archivist, yes? Weird eyes?” Gale gestures in a circular motion around his face as he asks the question. Astarion dips his chin.
“That’s the one.”
“Oh, a lovely girl she was,” Tara says dotingly, leaping to the floor and resettling near the fireplace to groom her paws.
“Your cat has met her? How well did you know her?”
“Tressym, dear.” Tara warns.
“We ran in similar circles as teenagers.” He says, clearing his throat and averting his gaze. Astarion notices his discomfort but doesn’t comment on it.
“She was quite elusive with the details of her life.”
As Gale stands up, “Well, she’s quite cautious. I’m only privy to the deeper details of her… heritage because of my relationship with Mystra.” He peruses a nearby shelf as he speaks. He pulls an old book out and dusts it off, handing it to Astarion, who glances at the spine, looking for its title: The Lost Children of the Moon.
“She’s a Moonborn.” Gale says, “History’s all there. Are you familiar?” With a flick, Astarion turns a few more pages.
“I thought her kind were just stories, honestly.” Astarion responds, reading a paragraph:
It is said that the Moonborn originated from Selûne during her conflicts with her sister Shar, the mistress of the night. Selûne crafted the Moonborn from her shimmering shards and silver essence, fashioning them into celestial servants of the moon. These beings were bestowed with humanoid forms and tasked with safeguarding life and illuminating the darkness.
The book shows a map of Faerûn, illustrating the potential places of Moonborn settlements, one in Waterdeep near the House of the Moon temple, another near Snowdown. There are a few potential locations marked, loosely cited.
“Who writes these kinds of volumes?” Astarion asks. “This seems like a rare text.”
Gale grins. “It is. I’m guessing a Moonborn themselves wrote it long ago. It came into my possession during my time with Mystra, entrusted in my care,” he says proudly.
“ Fucking Mystra, again. ” Astarion mutters. Though the goddess had removed the threat of the orb from Gale’s chest that made him a walking time bomb, and Gale had disengaged with her, he still reminisced with a distant fondness, no doubt proud he’d once convened with a goddess.
“Celeste was part of the settlement of Moonborn here in Waterdeep.” Gale muses. “Just over a decade ago, when she was a teenager, the Moonborn suffered a devastating attack by the Sharrans. Her entire family died, and as she tells it, she nearly perished with them, but Selûne intervened. How, I’m not sure.”
“So she’s just been wandering her whole life since then, alone?” Astarion asks.
“Not wandering.” Gale responds. “Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure Jaheira and the Harpers took her in for a little while when Celeste was turned away from an orphanage in Baldur’s Gate because of her age. Either way, she ended up back here. She’s been at the library for years. I don’t think she likes her quiet existence, just rather she’s forced into it. Hard to make friends when you have a big secret to keep. Surely you know something about that.”
Astarion listens to Gale but doesn’t engage, distracted by the book in his hands. “She said she’s nocturnal. Can her kind not live in the sunlight?”
“They can.” Gale answers. “My understanding is that it’s just not preferable. She always found the daytime draining, as I recall. I’ve only ever seen her in the evening or early morning hours.”
“Is she immortal then, too?” Astarion asks.
Gale shrugs. “I’m not sure. Both Moonborn and moon elves have long lifespans, and Moonborn stop aging around 28 years. It’s rare to come across even immortal beings who don’t meet their demise within a few centuries.”
“You seem to know…quite a lot about her.” Astarion comments, closing the book and leaning forward. A hint of blush appears on Gale’s cheeks.
“Like I said, we… knew one another.”
“Oh?” Amusement tinges Astarion’s voice.
“Yes.” Gale says, looking at the fire. “We, ah...” his voice tapers off. “Before Mystra, Celeste…was my first.”
“She took your virginity? ” Astarion lets out a bark of laughter and Gale shoots him a disapproving look.
“It wasn’t anything special . I had no clue what I was doing. She was…nice about it. We were young. I’d rather not dwell on that detail. I’m sure she’s eager to forget about it herself. Mystra had my entire attention soon after.”
Gale walks to the stove and puts on a kettle of hot water. “Perhaps Celeste and Shadowheart would have something to chat about.” He muses.
“So she’s a survivor of tragedy, a chosen of Selûne,” Astarion grins, “and a crush of yours.”
Gale scoffs. “I think I’ve had my lifetime’s fill of immortal and nearly-immortal women. But what’s this about, Astarion? I’ve never known you to be so intrigued by anyone during our travels together.” Gale regards him suspiciously. “Rather, what’s in this for you? ”
“Curiosity.” Astarion waves his hand dismissively.
As Gale retreats to his room, Astarion reverts his attention back to the book.
Throughout history, the Moonborn have dedicated themselves to combating nocturnal evils, including deranged lycanthropes and vampires, striving to uphold the sanctity of light and life.
“Well…fuck.” He mumbles to himself.
When the morning sun appears on the horizon over Waterdeep, beginning to cascade through the curtains, Astarion wearily climbs the stairs to the attic. He eases into a trance, eager for night to fall once again.