Archive of Our Own

Astarion isn’t sure how Mazethra ends up carrying all of the bags from their impromptu shopping trip into town. He smirks as she casually swings the three bags filled with books and hums to herself. The evening is cool but not yet chill with fall coming upon them. Their hands brush every now and then as they stride along unhurried in the deepening twilight under street lamps.

It had been a long trip to Waterdeep to reunite with a number of their old friends at Gale’s tower. Although long, it had been remarkably pleasant. They’d run afoul of a number of highway robbers, incompetent thieves, blood-thirsty mercenaries, and the occasional cultist. It offered plenty of opportunities to feed and livened up the otherwise boring road. And it’s always a delight watching Maze in battle—a terrifying destructive force of gleeful prowess.

As a treat for making it this far, Maze had suggested they take a night to themselves to explore the city and grab some needed supplies. Of course, what that really meant was Maze making a beeline for the nearest bookshop immediately followed by staring longingly at the display of instruments in another shop window. She’s always been a musical sort despite making a living as an eldritch knight. She whistled so often during their travels that he made a number of—snide at the time—remarks that perhaps she should have just been a bard. Instead of being embarrassed or dropping the constant tunes she hummed or whistled, she had surprised him the next time they were in battle. When she had started whistling, he groused about her poor timing until the song had healed the minor injuries he had received. Her sharp smile had him shocked instead of riled. A few sweeps of the blade and three dead cultists later, Maze revealed she had learned a few bardic cantrips after the “good advice” he had given her.

Now the tune she whistles is an old bar song he recognizes, having heard it a hundred times at the Elfsong Tavern. No matter what, she manages to find a trace of joy in even the most dire of circumstances. Not that their current journey has been dire by any means. Nothing really compares to taking on the Absolute and saving the country from total destruction. 

Every now and then she looks his way and smiles, if is delighted anew to look at him. A deep fondness reserved only for her swells in his chest. The next time their hands brush, he twists his palm so their fingers easily entwine together. 

There’s that smile again. Astarion smiles in return, unable to help it, and hers grows in response.

She hums a low note of approval. “What shall we do tonight? After the others turn in?”

Gale has a sort of party planned to start before long at the tower. Wyll and Karlach had returned just the other day after having successfully hunted down and killed Myzora. Gale managed somehow to get them passage out of the Hells and to Waterdeep for a bit of a victory celebration. While Lae’zel was unable to make it back from the Astral Plane, Shadowheart and Halsin had arrived just a few hours before they had. Astarion doesn’t relish in the thought of staying in Gale’s tower for an extended period of time but Maze has been bubbling with excitement ever since they had received the invitation. And he’s loath to deny her anything that makes her happy.

“I suppose we could always find some trouble to stir up,” Astarion says after an extended pause. “Surely there must be some ruffians in need of disposal.”

“Ha! You say the sweetest things.”

“Or you could tell me what you found so very interesting in the bookstore that you refused to show me.”

The blush that dusts her cheeks is positively delicious.

“I wanted to surprise you,” she says a bit meekly, very much out of character for her. She never gets embarrassed over anything. He should know. He’s tried. “It’s a gift.”

He purses his lips for a moment as an unwanted sour ache fills his gut. He’s spent a life time receiving gifts in exchange for something—Cazador’s gift demanded his life, and more often than not, his body. He knows it’s not like that with Maze. He knows it, and yet that fear, that suspicion is hard to dispel.

A muscle in his jaw twitches as he turns to his usual defense of carefree chatter and misdirection. “Oh? Then consider me truly shocked, my dear. What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion. Just… a lucky find.”

“Truly tantalizing.” His voice dips low. “I’ll be sure to thank you properly for it.”

Her shoulders hitch ever so slightly and her eyes dart to him and away. “You—it’s not—” She lets out a long, slow exhale. “I said something to upset you, didn’t I?”

His eyes flash for a moment as she manages to pierce right through his armor. Even after all this time, now and then he has to remind himself that she’s not doing it to hurt him or pry him apart to find his weaknesses. She wants to see him so she doesn’t accidentally hit those fractures and old wounds—or, gods forbid, try to heal them. He’s not fragile. He doesn’t need her to fix him.

But no. That’s not right. Maze doesn’t try to fix him. She gives her support and lends her strength so he can be weak or strong enough to fix himself. The surge of anger disappears as quickly as it had come.

“I’m just used to gifts having enough strings attached to strangle me,” he says flatly.

They walk along in silence for a moment as his words settle between them. They pass out of the brightly lit lanes into the more subdued part of town.

“I wanna dig up that bastard’s body just so I can light it on fire,” Maze says at last. It doesn’t need to be said who he is. “Then let Scratch shit in the ashes.”

Astarion nearly chokes on a laugh. Only she could make him laugh when bringing up… him. She gently squeezes his hand, then holds up the bags in her other. “Well, this gift comes string free. I made sure to cut any hiding with love.”

He shakes his head. “Darling, your way with words always manages to astound.”

“Well, I certainly don’t charm with them. Or so I’ve been told by this vampire. Maybe you know him. Stupidly handsome, white-silver hair, tolerates me for some odd reason, has a knack for… for…”

She slows to a halt, her eyes focusing on something past him. He swivels his head to spot a small boy dressed in rags curled up in the shadow of the shops. They had entered a darkened alley to take a more direct route back to the tower. Apparently, the destitute of Waterdeep call this particular space home. The more Astarion looks, the more small bodies he espies amongst the refuse. The alley is practically littered with vagrant children finding the softest bit of earth on which to sleep for the night.

But this is not Astarion’s concern as he looks back to Maze who hasn’t moved an inch. The light has dimmed in her eyes and she’s retreated deep, deep within herself. The last time this happened, Maze had locked eyes on a young boy much like this one while they were in Baldur’s Gate. He knew the look. He knew it all too well himself. Yet while he had managed to still… perform while disassociating, Maze completely locked up as if her soul had fled her body. It had taken time and maneuvering to help her out of it back then. She became withdrawn for a few days afterwards until confessing the boy had reminded her of her little brother—the very same that was butchered before her eyes while she was helpless to save him.

As much as Astarion wants to curse out the wretches that caused such pain for his beloved, helping her now in the moment is more important.

Guiding her by their conjoined hands, he tugs her along until the little boy is out of sight around a corner. They enter a wider alleyway where the street lamps still gleam but is empty save for them. As soon as he lets up on the pressure on her hand, Maze stumbles to a halt. She’s still miles away and that spark of joy he loves so much is no where to be found.

“Maze, love,” he whispers softly and uses his free hand to cup the side of her face. “You’re safe here. You’re with me. You’re with your Astarion.”

As he talks quietly to guide her back, he begins to place tender kisses on her forehead, then trailing down to her temple, to her cheek, to her jaw. Gentle touches always manage to get her attention.

“You avenged your brother,” he continues between kisses. “You found yourself a home. You saved a very tragic and handsome vampire. You even went on to save the world. You survived, love. Come back to me.”

The light slowly returns to her eyes and she blinks sluggishly. The hand still in his tightens its grip as she comes back to the world. A shiver passes through her so he presses his forehead to hers.

“There you are,” he whispers.

She takes a shuddering breath and closes her eyes. “I’m sorry, I—”

“No apologies. Not for this.”

He strokes his thumb across her cheekbone until she opens her eyes again. Though the joy from earlier has not returned, she’s here and present with him again. Relief washes through him and he restrains himself from revealing just how relieved he actually is. Fear grips him each time that he won’t be able to bring her back from whatever dark place she goes.

“How about a thank you, then?” she asks quietly.

He chuckles softly then drops his voice into a purr. “There are other ways you could thank—”

Astarion stiffens as the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. His preternatural reflexes save them both as he shoves Maze away from him, stumbling backwards, as an enormous war ax slams into the ground where they had been standing a second before. Astarion catches his footing, immediately shifting into a defensive stance as he whips about to face the attacker, a dagger in his hand in the next second. But what he assumes to be a damned cultist soon to be gutted is instead a lumbering, impossible minotaur. In the middle of Waterdeep.

“What in the Hells—” he spits out before that ax swings low for him. He slips beneath the strike and jumps backwards out of range into a more shadowed section of roadway.

Across the way, Maze is still blinking back into focus from her episode and fallen on her rump to stare dumbly up at the minotaur. The bags of books have spilled open in a heap at her feet. He hisses his frustration in a moment of indecision. She needs to move, damn it! In a split second decision, Astarion shouts “IGNIS!” and aims a minor fireball right into the minotaur’s eyes. The beast rears back and shields his sight for a moment—long enough for Astarion to mist step to Maze’s side. Before he can even try to haul her up, a lance of pain rips through his leg. Buckling to his knees, he gives a shout of pain.

Maze’s head snaps up at his cry and all distance flees in an instant. Any indication of pain from him tends to thrust her into a hyper-focused drive. It’s caused her to maim people without a moment’s hesitation with a look of dark satisfaction. It’s an intense thing, and at the moment he’s incredibly grateful for it as it thrusts her one hundred percent into the present.

“There you are,” he says through gritted teeth as he takes note of the arrow sticking out of his calf. There’s someone else in his alleyway trying to kill them.

Several things happen in quick succession in a matter of seconds. Maze grips his arm tightly and with the fastest casting of dimension door he’s ever seen, she ports them out of the light of the street lamps and in the shadow of a doorway. She also managed to pick a spot somewhat angled from where that arrow came from to give them a small form of cover. She slaps a healing potion into his hand then immediately casts invisibility on him. They both know he works better with the element of surprise.

“I’ll draw it northwards,” she says then casts blur on herself. Her shape wavers and shifts as if caught in a heat mirage. Then she takes off into the street.

Astarion stops breathing as he breaks off the arrow head sticking out of his leg before yanking the shaft out completely. Shuddering, he downs the health potion in one go and feels the odd sensation of his flesh knitting back together. It’s not completely healed but his leg is at least functional again.

“Hey, dipshit!” Maze yells as she runs at the minotaur who took a bit to pinpoint them but has now turned around with axe in hand. “Why are you so damned horny?”

Gods, her insults can be cringe worthy. Attempts to teach her a more refined and debauched class of insult haven’t improved her form. She’s taken it as a challenge to come up with more ludicrous and outlandish phrases in an attempt to bait him or inflict second hand embarrassment.

But at least her shouts lure the minotaur out of the more brightly lit area and allows him to maneuver around behind. At the same time he keeps an eye out for the second target still keeping their distance. It’d be better if he could take them out while Maze has the minotaur distracted but… it’s a minotaur. He’s dealt with enough of Maze’s near death calls to want to stay at her side for this fight. She may be a whirlwind of power but sometimes she can be a touch too reckless.

As if to prove him right, she charges at the minotaur at the same moment it charges her. Astarion dashes forward from behind with his sights on the beast’s tendons. Maze stretches a hand upwards that glows in the start of a spell. The minotaur goes lower to avoid it. She smiles as she instead summons her bonded blade—Crimson Mischief— into her other outstretched hand and cleaves upwards. The blade catches beneath the minotaur’s chin and nearly cuts his throat in her daring move. She spins on her toes and just barely misses the thing’s horns goring her.

The minotaur is slowed enough by the attack that Astarion is able to leap forward and slash his dagger across the tendons in the back of its legs. Its roar rumbles through him and he takes a quick side step to readjust his angle of attack as it lurches forward. Maze gives the thing a good chop to its arm before she keeps running, right past Astarion and the beast. He knows she’s making a beeline for the other player in this contest so he focuses on peppering the minotaur with stab wounds in his back and legs to keep it down for as long as possible. She trusts him to have her back so she’ll have his.

Behind him, there’s the sound of glass shattering, a hissing of acid, and Maze shouting “Get wrecked!” to whatever unfortunate soul she found. The minotaur continues to swing his ax and tries to pin down Astarion despite the numerous wounds bleeding on its body. It doesn’t seem to have slowed down much at all. While Astarion’s dexterity has kept him alive so far, the minotaur is getting so angry that might not be enough anymore. The force behind his swings creates a rush of air each time it goes whooshing mere inches past his head.

“Just—”

WHOOSH. Stab.

“—fucking—”

WHOOSH. Far too close there. Stab, stab, stab.

“—die!”

The sound of Maze giving a sharp cry of pain doesn’t distract him so much as make him pause for just a moment too long. The edge of the ax skims beneath his ribs and cuts his gut in a clean swing. With a gasp he stumbles backwards with a hand clutched to the agonizing wound. Forced to duck again, he slips and falls onto his back. His sluggish blood seeps between his fingers and he grits his teeth against the pain. He can handle pain. His life has been nothing but pain until recently. When the ax comes again, he rolls across the cobblestones, eliciting a soft groan, but manages to get his feet underneath him again. He holds his dagger before him but the fight is no longer to his advantage.

The minotaur’s nostrils flare wide as it gives a mighty huff before preparing to charge. Astarion braces himself, waiting for the exact moment he’ll need to leap out of the way to avoid being gored or trampled.

Before the beast takes two steps forward, Maze mist steps directly beside it—dark blood on her hands and her own streaming from three long gashes on her forehead. With a furious cry of “NOT HIM, MOTHERFUCKER!” she swings down with her blade, both hands clutching the hilt, and cuts through the beast’s flesh. His hand falls like a stone to the ground with a wet plop and the stump at the end of his arm squirts erratically.

But the move took too much force out of her and she nearly loses her balance as her blade glances off the stone beneath. The minotaur hardly makes a sound this time as it swivels on its feet and swings the ax with its other hand. Maze attempts to raise her blade to block but it’s not enough against the muscle and momentum propelling that blade.

“MAZE!” Astarion shouts as he lunges forward too late to try to intercept the attack.

The ax’s edge slices across her chest from collarbone to shoulder. She screams as her body spins sideways with the force of the blow and she crumples to the ground.

Astarion slams into the minotaur from the side, dagger plunging between the hollows of the beast’s ribs. Spitting and snarling like the beast he is, his teeth snag around the monster’s throat and he rips as hard as he can. Warm blood gushes into his mouth and runs down his chin into the front of his shirt. The minotaur gives an odd high-pitched squeal like some dying rabbit but still manages to throw Astarion off. He hits the ground hard. Gasping on reflex, he looks up at the wretched thing as it looms over him. Blood coats its front and the stump of its severed hand. His dagger still sticks out of its chest. Its eyes are wide and crazed as it lifts the ax once more as if unable to die.

Astarion scuttles backwards but his back slams into the wall of a shop behind him. Pinned.

A hoarse but angry snarl comes from the ground a few feet away. “Tormentum.”

Three forceful blasts explode from Maze’s trembling hand where she lies on the ground. One hits the minotaur square in the face, one pushes Astarion’s dagger several inches deeper into the thing’s chest, and one manages to break the ax head off the haft. The minotaur wheezes and the gush of blood has started to slow. For a second it seems like it might collapse.

Then it lunges forward to ram the splintered haft into Astarion’s chest.

The world goes black.

He’s blissfully numb from the pain and the world. The briefest thought passes through his mind in that singular instant. He’s well and truly dead this time. Not some form of undeath, but dead. For years he struggled to survive but in the darkest hours in the kennels or that gods-damned tomb, he craved death. Of course death was never so kind as to acquiesce when he most desired it. No. It decides to come when he most wants to live.

The void draws him in when the sound of whistling snaps death’s tethers from him. It feels like surging up out of a dark well and breaking the surface of the water as he gasps back into existence.

The minotaur has its head cocked as Maze whistles her bardic healing song. For a surreal moment, he’s relieved that she’s using it to heal herself. It takes several moments for it to sink in that she’s wasted it on him. A surge of anger builds, especially as the minotaur turns on her next.

Astarion tries to move but finds the shaft has him pinned. That damnable beast had shoved it right through him and lodged it into the wall behind. His one arm dangles unfeeling at his side and the other can barely get a grip on the wood. The minotaur is already looming over Maze. She gasps for breath and her hand twitches around her blade.
The minotaur stumbles forward and crashes to its knees beside her.

Die. Just die. Please, please, please, Astarion begs in his head. He tries to say the words but he chokes around his own blood in his throat. Coughing and sputtering weakly, he tries in vain to free himself.

The minotaur isn’t done yet. It knocks Maze’s blade away then, raising its remaining good hand, clenches it into a fist to pummel into her face. The sound of snapping bones and wordless cries of pain fill the night.

Mindless rage and fear tear at Astarion’s mind as he claws at the shaft holding him in place and watches, helpless to stop the brutal assault.

Over and over again the minotaur strikes until Maze is unrecognizable. The smell of blood saturates the air and Astarion is mad with it. That’s her blood pooling on the ground. Why the hells did they ever come here? Why her?

The minotaur slumps for a moment breathing hard. It looks like the blood loss has finally caught up to it. The beast sits quiet with its chest heaving as tears run down Astarion’s face and he coughs blood. Maze doesn’t move.

No, no, no, NO, NO, NO—

Madness consumes him as he stares at her limp body.

Then a barely perceptible change passes over her body. Her chest lifts ever so slightly with an deep inhale, and her fingers twitch in too precise of patterns to be anything but spell casting. Then her hand shoots upwards with what little strength she has left and Crimson Mischief summons to her hand. The minotaur blinks and lifts his head to stare. Her reach isn’t quite enough to reach it though.

“Tormentum,” she croaks.

Three powerful blasts of red energy propel her blade straight through the beast’s neck and launches it out the other side in a spray of red.

At long last, the minotaur falls to the side and doesn’t move again.

“Maze,” Astarion chokes out. He tries to cough the blood out of his throat. “Maze.”

“Star…” she whispers softly. “Action surged that bitch.”

Her body is far too broken. Blood continues to ebb from the grisly gash across her sternum. Her arm has fallen limply to the ground and she hardly stirs.

“You idiot,” he rasps. “You should have…healed yourself with…that tune.”

“It’s okay.” She coughs and blood dribbles past her lips. “Got a… healing pot right…” She pats at her side satchel and there’s a sound of crunching glass shards. Dark liquid soaks the cloth. “Oh… shit.”

With a struggling breath, she manages to incline her head to take him in. Her eyes are nearly swollen shut but they widen just a fraction.

“You…stake!”

“Oh, really?” He coughs some more. “I… didn’t notice. Darling.”

Tears well in the slits of her eyes and run into her hair.

“Don’t… don’t die on me,” she says with hardly a breath in her. The words are strained to breaking. Her eyes start to slide shut.

“Don’t!” he shouts with all he has in him. “Don’t you dare. Don’t… don’t leave me. Maze. Maze. Don’t…”

But he’s slipping back into that void. Yet if that’s where she’s going, then he will gladly follow her into the dark.

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It’s been a long time since Karlach’s felt so panicked. She’d been in hell the last year, before that battling an army controlled by a giant brain under the imminent threat of her death, and ten years in hell before then! But now she panics.

Mazethra and Astarion haven’t returned from their voyage out into the city. Under normal circumstances that would have been fine. Bless them to find some time for themselves. But these were not normal circumstances. Damn Mizora and damn every one of her pretentious followers back to hell.

She, Wyll, and the others had been enjoying a guided tower around Gale’s tower when a demon arrived to sic a number of monsters on them. As far as she could tell, it was in retribution for finally putting Mizora down once and for all. Yet Karlach and Wyll weren’t the sole targets. Halsin had returned mere moments after the fight had started, dragging in another pair of monsters with Shadowheart limping in behind. Every one of their previous entourage was being targeted to hurt Karlach and Wyll as much as possible.

They managed to secure the tower and Karlach had the pleasure of decapitating the demon in charge.

But now Mazethra and Astarion are missing.

Karlach and the others have spread out through Waterdeep trying to find them. After what feels like an eternity trying to track them down, Karlach spots a pack of vagrant children fleeing in fear down a side street.

“Oi!” she shouts after them. “What’s going on?”

The children don’t answer but keep running. Alright then. That way.

“Halsin!” she yells. The hulking elf jogs into view from another alleyway. “This way!”

Together they charge down the street, heads swiveling this way and that. It’s eerily quiet now. Karlach burns with anxiety and tightens her grip on her war ax.

When they near the end of the street, Halsin says, “I smell blood.”

Her gut clenches. His druidic senses must be more keen than hers.

They burst out the other end of the street into a broader lane before skidding to a halt. The street is carnage. A massive form with horns lies in a heap in the road. A minotaur? Here? Gods, what on—

Then she sees them. A smaller figure lies awkwardly splayed across the cobblestones next to the dead beast. Their face is obscured by bluish black hair that Karlach would recognize anywhere—Mazethra. And ten feet away, Astarion sits slumped against a shop with a pole sticking out of his chest. Neither of them move.

Karlach lets out a cry of raw pain and anger as she and Halsin sprint towards them.

“Check on Astarion!” Halsin orders as he makes for Maze’s side. While he rushes forward, he creates a moonbeam in the middle of the road as a signal for the others to find them.

Karlach does as she’s told and barrels towards Astarion. She carelessly tosses her ax to the side as she kneels beside him, hands waving fretfully over him. His eyes are nearly closed and he’s not breathing. She takes in the pole through his chest. A stake.

She takes his face in both hands to tilt it towards hers, praying desperately that the worst hasn’t come to pass, not on her watch.

“Fangs, wake up,” she says desperately. “Come on. Open your eyes. Please, Astarion. Not like this. Not after everything we all went through. We’re both supposed to live at the end of the story.”

A moment passes, then another.

Astarion slowly looks up to meet her gaze.

Her relief manifests in slightly crazed laughter. “Gods, Astarion. Look at the state of you. You’re gonna stay with me, yeah? No dying for you tonight. Maze would kick your ass if you did.”

His eyes widen and take on a bit more life at the mention of his lover’s name. His jaw tries to work but it seems every bit of energy his body has is focused on simply keeping him alive—or as alive as a vampire can be. She’s not even sure how he isn't permanently dead this time. She inspects the shaft a bit more closer and grimaces. He’s literally pinned to the wall behind him, but it seems to be slightly off the mark of actually impaling his heart. But damn is it close. Bloody finger prints and smudges line the wood. She guesses that was him trying to get free, undoubtedly to get to—

“Maze” he manages to croak out.

“Halsin’s with her. I’m sure she’s… she’s…”

She glances over her shoulder to where Halsin is bent double over Mazethra still prone on the ground. Greenish golden light shines from his hands as he uses his healing spells on her.

“Hells, she better be fine,” Karlach says.

The sound of pounding footsteps makes her tense, until she hears Gale, Shadowheart, and Wyll calling for them.

“Over here!” Karlach shouts. “Hurry!”

The trio bursts onto the street. Gale holds a fireball at the ready but lets it puff out of existence once he takes in the scene. Shadowheart charges past him, gives Halsin and Mazethra a quick look, before beelining to Astarion. She drops into a crouch next to Karlach and swears under her breath.

“Gods above, preserve us,” she says as she too inspects the wooden shaft.

“He’s still alive,” Karlach assures her. She finally lets go of Astarion’s face and backs up to give Shadowheart space to work. She murmurs and passes her glowing hands over the vampire while Gale and Wyll come to a stop behind her.

“What can we do to help?” Gale asks.

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Astarion is lost in a daze. He thinks Karlach is there but he keeps slipping back into the void. He’s right on the precipice of falling in so deep that he’ll never be able to surface again. 
But what about Maze? Where is she? What’s happening?

Warmth blossoms around him, through him. Energy surges back through his limbs and he makes a choked gasp of pain as he comes back fully to awareness. The others are here. That’s Shadowheart before him casting spell after healing spell. And beyond…

Maze lies prone on the ground with Halsin and Wyll tending to her. She’s not moving. There’s so much blood. The minotaur—the fight—

“Maze!” he gasps. His one good arm goes to the shaft again as he leans forward and tries to pull himself along to the end. He has to get to her.

“Astarion, stop!”

Shadowheart presses a hand to his chest to hold him back but he can’t focus on anything else. Maze isn’t moving. Why isn’t Shadowheart helping her? Gods, what if she’s—if she’s—

He struggles more desperately to try to reach her. If she’s gone, he can’t—can’t—

Voices of the others wash over him and more hands latch on to hold him steady. Terror in every shade seizes him. Terror for Maze. Terror at being restrained like this, held captive, forced down, dominated.

A terrible sensation of the shaft being pulled through his chest holds all of his attention as he screams. Then it’s removed, leaving a gaping hole behind.

He crumples into the arms of his friends as his body at last gives up the fight.

---------------------------------------------

Astarion’s eyes open to an expanse of crimson above his head. He blinks it into focus, not comprehending. His gaze slides wearily left, then right, and his mind slowly starts to piece it together.

He’s beneath a velvet canopy, lying smothered with blankets on a rather plush bed. One that he recognizes. He’s back in Gale’s garish tower.

The events leading up to his blackout catch up to him and he jerks upright—then lets out a pained hiss as his chest throbs with terrible pain. The blankets fall into his lap to reveal he’s shirtless but there’s a rather thick patch of bandaging over his chest that his hand reflexively goes to. He’s still alive—technically—somehow.

Shadowheart’s voice sounds to his left. “Easy there. Don’t want you undoing all the work Halsin and I did keeping you alive. Or the vampire equivalent, I suppose.”

His head swivels to where she rises from a chair at the bed’s side. There are shadows beneath her eyes but she doesn’t seem distraught. Just tired.

“Maze,” he croaks. “Where—”

She bobs her head. “Turn around.”

He does and finds Maze lying beside him. He immediately lurches towards her and cups one of her pointed ears as he intently listens and watches for breath. He doesn’t have to wait long until he sees the tell tale rise and fall of her chest. He sags as relief courses through him and he just about collapses beside her, pressing his forehead to her temple. He breathes her in and listens to the steady beat of her heart. She’s alive. His hand trails down from her ear to her cheek and inspects her face.

She’s mottled with bruises in varying stages of healing. Her nose has a stint and bandage keeping it straight where it had clearly been broken. She’s got blankets pulled up to her chin but he can make out the bulge of what must be bandages across her chest. Her eyes are closed not in a trance but in actual sleep, such is the toll on her body trying to recuperate. 

Despite not truly wanting to know, he asks, “How close was she to…”

Shadowheart huffs. “Very. You too. I don’t know if that stake was a hairsbreadth away from killing you or some god granted you a favor.”

“Not a god,” he says as he remembers Maze whistling to heal him despite the state she was in herself.

“Regardless,” she says, “when you’re up to it, Gale can summon some food for you. Just give us a ring.” She points to a bell on the nightstand near his pillows.

With that she stalks out of the room and shuts the door quietly behind her. He has a feeling she’s lingering in the hallway outside in case she’s needed though. None of them can afford to lose Maze after all. She’s too important. At least Shadowheart has enough tact to give them some privacy for a while as Astarion tries to pull himself back together after the panic and terror of almost losing his beloved.

So Astarion curls up at Maze’s side and watches over her as she sleeps. He stays that way for hours and simply soaks in the steady beat of her heart, the slow but consistent breaths. Every sign that she’s alive grounds him and pulls him ever so gently away from that brink in his mind.

It’s because of his acute attention that he notices the faintest change in her breathing, the twitch of her eyelids. The corners of her mouth turn downwards and then her eyebrows scrunch as she comes to and feels the pain of her injuries. Her eyes flutter open. She sucks in a sharp breath then breathes out a quiet, “Shit.”

Astarion can’t help but laugh quietly. He’s relieved and frustrated and angry with her all at the same time.

“Star…” she croaks and tilts her head in his direction.

“The next time you scare me like that,” he growls. “I’ll kill you myself.”

“My bad.”

“My—” He leans back somewhat so he can pinch the bridge of his nose. “Gods, Maze. What were you thinking?”

She swallows audibly with a click in her throat. He immediately rises enough to lean over her for the glass of water left there for her. He holds in his grimace as best he can before bringing the cup to her lips. She drinks eagerly and gives a satisfied sigh when it’s empty. He waits in anticipation but she doesn’t ask for more yet.

“What…” She clears her throat and grimaces. “What specifically are we angry about?”

“I am angry about you not healing yourself when you should have.”

“Oh.” She blinks a few times and her eyes finally focus fully on his face. He loves those violet eyes. Such a rare and lovely hue for a high elf. “Am I allowed to defend myself on this?”

“No,” he says stubbornly.

“In my defense,” she says anyway, “you were—were fucking impaled at the time. And I thought I had a health potion for myself. How was I supposed to know it busted during the fight?”

He squeezes his eyes shut and presses his forehead to hers. “Do you have any idea what I—if you had—”

Her fingers lightly trace the line of his jaw. “I know. And I know because it’s the same in reverse, Astarion. What would I have done with myself if you had died?”

Moved on and lived a better life without me, he thinks bitterly but doesn’t voice this to her. When he opens his eyes, she must read that sentiment in his face somehow because she frowns. Her fingers curl around his chin to hold him in place so he can’t look away.

“You mean the world to me,” she growls. “And don’t you forgot it.”

He huffs. “Why does that sound so much more like a threat than a declaration of love?”

“That’s right. I’m warning you,” she says with that same serious expression.

He can’t take her sometimes. He rolls his eyes. “That doesn’t even make sense, darling.”

Her face softens and her hand drops to the bed as if she’s too exhausted to keep it up anymore. “Love usually doesn’t, does it?”

“Explains our relationship then,” he mutters.

When she starts to stutter and cough, he reaches to refill the cup and though he does his best not to show the wave of pain, she notices.

“Astarion…” she says warily and her eyes trace the bandage on his chest. “Where are our healer friends?”

“Why, are you feeling poorly? Desperately poorly?”

She makes a face at that and he smirks.

“You are in pain and trying to hide it and I don’t like it.” Her frown returns. “How long has it been since the fight? Have you fed?”

He hesitates a moment too long coming up with a plausible lie.

“Shadowheart!” she caterwauls with a terrible dry grate to her voice. Right at his ear too. He winces.

“Honestly, Maze,” he grumbles

The door slams open and several people burst into the room at once with Shadowheart and Halsin in the lead. Gale, Wyll, and Karlach follow in close behind. The cleric rushes to Maze’s side of the bed. Astarion slumps back so he’s no longer hovering over their fearless leader and lies with a sigh next to her instead.

“What is it? What’s happened?” Shadowheart demands.

“Oh, hi,” Maze says brightly as if she hadn’t just yelled like a dying cat. “Has Astarion gotten something to eat yet? He looks peckish. I think some blood will help perk him up.”

Astarion can practically see the collective groan pass through the group even though they try to suppress it. Shadowheart, unfortunately, just gives him a sideways look.

“No. He hasn’t actually,” she says haughtily. “Despite being told to ask for it once he was up for it.”

“For the record,” Astarion says with his good arm slung across his eyes. “I hate all of you. Singularly. And with keen avidity.”

“Aw, Fangs,” Karlach says and he can hear the smile in her voice. “We love you, too.”

“Don’t worry,” Gale says. “We’ll have you up and running after bandits again in no time. One deer coming right up.”

“And you,” Shadowheart saying looking to Maze, “are getting another healing, will drink some water, eat some broth, and do whatever else I tell you to.”

Maze holds up a single finger. “Can I—”

“No.”

She sighs and sinks further into the bed. “Okay.”

Astarion smirks and places a kiss on her forehead.

“You missed,” she whispers.

“Greedy,” he purrs and kisses her gently on the lips before navigating to the other side of the bed with some difficulty.

Gale does indeed summon a deer that’s immediately put to sleep so they don’t have to deal with a panicked animal in the middle of the tower. Astarion takes his fill, strength returning to his body and the wound beginning to heal much more quickly. Halsin stands nearby with a hand held out and his eyes closed to monitor his condition. He gives a satisfied nod and hums his approval.

Meanwhile, Shadowheart checks over Maze after shooing the others out of the room to give them space and privacy. Astarion keeps stealing looks their way to see how Maze is doing. She’s bare chested as he is, except for a breast band and a mass of bandages plastered across her sternum. His gut clenches when the bandages are peeled back to reveal the gruesome wound underneath. Maze meets his eyes just then as she breathes hard through clenched teeth. Her eyes are steely with determination and she gives him a single firm nod. She’s okay.

Under the ministrations of the cleric, the wounds look remarkably better before fresh bandages are reapplied, Maze is plied with water and food, and made to drink a couple different concoctions she glowers at.

“Back to bed with you,” Halsin says, diverting his attention.

“Sorry, darling, but I’m taken,” Astarion says as he straightens to his feet feeling remarkably better.

Halsin does that deep, bear-like laugh of his. “I see you’re already more like yourself. I’ll take care of our friend here. Rest well.”

The druid slings the drained deer over his shoulder and thumps away out of the room. After Shadowheart tucks Maze back under the blankets with a stern word about not moving from that spot—“I mean it”—she leaves as well.

Astarion slips back into the bed and shimmies under the blankets until he’s flush against Maze. He hoists an arm but hesitates putting it across her.

“May I?” he asks.

She nods and gestures tiredly to her chest. “All the pain’s up here. You’re good.”

Carefully, he lays his arm across her stomach to keep her as close as possible without injuring her further. Despite the blood, he feels so very tired. He closes his eyes, content to drift into a trance right there and now.

The door slams open and Karlach storms in. “Wait, wait!”

Astarion groans into Maze’s shoulder. “For fuck’s sake—”

“You’re way too injured for that right now,” Karlach says offhand without appearing to even think about it. She’s too busy setting a cloth bag on the bed next to them. “Here. I rescued them for you.”

She tilts the bag so they can see what’s inside. It is, of course, the pile of books Maze had bought in town before they were… accosted. Maze gasps and nearly sits up too fast for her own good to start digging through it. Astarion keeps his arm around her middle and pulls her back onto the bed.

“I’d rather not have Shadowheart come back to yell at us both if you hurt yourself again so soon, love,” he says.

She huffs but makes grabby motions at the bag. Karlach laughs and holds it closer so Maze can shuffle through the contents. At last she finds what she’s looking for and holds it out to Astarion with a dazzling smile.

“Is this my gift?” he asks, then reads the title.

She passes it to him and he takes it quietly as warmth spreads through his undead heart. It’s the last Drizzt volume missing from his collection. Although he scoffs now and then at Maze’s proclivity to gravitate towards any bookshop nearby, he’s been setting aside coin to grow his Drizzt collection. He even keeps it in a separate bag of holding to keep them as pristine as possible.

“I thought maybe we could read it together,” she says uncertainly as if unsure of his reaction. “If you’d like that.”

While he stares mutely at her, Karlach sets the bag on the floor then “tip-toes” out of the room, closing the door behind her. The second she’s gone, he swiftly leans forward to kiss Maze as deeply as he dares in her current state. When he finally pulls back just enough for her to breathe, her eyes are twinkling with happiness.

“I’d like that,” he whispers against her lips.

“I love you,” she whispers back.

And he knows—truly knows it—even if he’s still learning what that really means.

“I love you, too.”

Without further ado, he adjusts his position so his arm is slung across her once more, holding the book open one-handed on her other side. She inches an arm out from under the blanket so she can lightly lay her fingers on his forearm.

“I’ll help turn the pages,” she says softly.

He smiles at that. With his cheek resting against the crown of her head, he begins to read aloud.