Adrift, through omission

BG3 Astarion/Halsin, mature, 10k words

As Astarion trekked through the woodlands with his new traveling companions, he had, for once, plenty of time to think. Most days it was difficult to plan much further than making it to camp safely. Some days were so confusing he wasn’t sure he was actually awake at all. His life had taken a turn to the absurd in more ways than one. There were new twists and turns every day, and it didn’t seem like they were getting any closer to solving their tadpole problem.

Only one thing remained certain: Cazador didn’t have his claws in Astarion’s mind anymore, and he was never going to, ever again.

To make sure of it, Astarion had a plan. Of course he did. He had at least six. He was well aware that all of them were mostly built on wishful thinking and baseless assumptions, but they were plans, and he had them.

The problem was, Astarion simply didn’t have enough information. Assuming he, improbably, would manage to avoid turning into a mind flayer or being fed to the Absolute gnolls, he needed to find out what Cazador had planned for him.

The scars on his back itched every time he thought about it.

He had already once missed his chance to find out more. When the devil Raphael had first appeared, Astarion had been caught off guard, and he had not even thought to make a deal. But the second time they would meet Raphael, he’d be ready. He had a whole speech prepared. He had thought about strategy, about how to get the best deal possible. The devil would tell him all he could about Cazador and the scars, and in return Astarion would… well. He had ideas about what he could offer, but ultimately he couldn’t predict what the devil would demand of him. No doubt something unpleasant. He would be forced to pay a heavy price for a virtually trivial favor from the devil. Astarion was very familiar with the concept.

He could handle it.

And if the deal would cause a conflict of interest with the rest of his party, that was another bridge to cross when they got to it. Astarion hadn’t sworn any oaths of loyalty, after all.

His thoughts were interrupted by a rude squelching sound. He had stepped into a muddy puddle, and the muck was seeping into his shoe. Fucking marvelous.

“Look sharp, soldier,” Karlach called out cheerfully, as she stepped past him.

“These marshlands are treacherous,” Halsin noted, as if imparting some divine druidic wisdom. “Best to pay attention.”

“Very insightful, thank you ever so much,” Astarion said.

He couldn’t bloody wait to get back to the city.

The devil did, in fact, reappear not long after, in the improbable but aptly named Last Light Inn, in the middle of the cursed forest.

When the others noticed the devil trying to lure in one of the thiefling children, it caused a whole scene. Karlach decided to stand up for the ungrateful little menace, placing her bulk between the devil and the child.

”You try to sign a deal with the kid, I’ll chop your fucking hand off,” Karlach told the devil, snarling. “You know who I am. Try me.”

The infernal flames flaring up under her skin had Astarion taking a step back.

”Oh, let us remain civil,” the devil Raphael sighed, without looking in Karlach’s direction. “I do intend to maintain friendly relations with you all, and it is definitely in your best interest to do the same. I’ll forgive you your little outburst, runaway, but the child is free to do business with whoever she chooses. Not today, though, for I am thoroughly tired of dealing with you lot.”

This was Astarion’s moment to speak up.

”If I may. I have a proposition for you,” he opened his mouth to say. The words would not come.

Only a soft hiss left his lips, and no-one even turned to look at him.

Karlach bristled some more at the devil, the devil left with annoyed airs, and that was that. Astarion sat down, and stared at the empty spot where the devil had stood. His whole throat tingled with the words still stuck in there. Nobody paid him any mind.

That evening, upset with his own incompetence, Astarion kept to himself. He found a shady corner to sit in. He had a half-empty mug of stale ale in front of him for appearances sake, but most people in the inn didn’t even glance in his direction. Eventually he got fed up with being invisible, and wandered off to possibly find some drunken fool to play cards with, and to win a few pieces of gold from. To his annoyance, most people he saw were either already too drunk to play, or very seriously performing their watch duties. He walked to the lakeshore, and found the druid Halsin sitting there, staring at the water. The spell light protecting the Inn made the night unnaturally bright, and caused the usually warm tones of Halsin's hair and clothes seem grayish and washed out. Still, the man wasn’t by any means bad to look at.

Halsin seemed to be deep in thought, and Astarion got quite close before he noticed him approaching.

“Ah, Astarion,” he said and smiled to hide his surprise. “I’d offer you a drink, but if I’m not mistaken, you don’t partake.”

Halsin held up his flask. It smelled sort of bitter, and not very appealing.

“I appreciate the thought,” Astarion said, and found that it was true. “I find myself bored. Do you play cards, by any chance?”

Halsin thought about this with undue seriousness.

“I’m afraid it’s been a long time since I’ve played cards, and even then only games best suited for children.”

“Well, that won’t do. Someone will eventually lure your drunk self into playing anyhow. You’ll be susceptible to all sorts of charlatans, if you don’t at least know the basics. I’ll teach you.”

“Alright,” Halsin said, amused. “I assume you’re a skilled player yourself?”

“Oh, of course. I’m a magistrate. I love rules, the more complicated the better. Right. Let’s start with a simple game. This one is called The Cobbler’s Curse.”

Astarion dealt the cards, and they played using a tree stump as their table. Halsin was, frankly, appallingly bad at cards. So much so that in the end, Astarion gave up on trying to teach him how to secure a win, and instead taught him how to spot the most common cheating attempts. If Halsin couldn’t win, he should at least know when to threaten violence against his opponents.

To Halsin’s credit, he was a graceful loser.

“I’m really bad at this, aren’t I?” he said after another spectacular loss, with an almost cheerful smile. “Though I’m sure I’m having more fun learning than you are watching me fail.”

“No, no,” Astarion said and waved his hand loftily, “I assure you, watching you fail is quite fun for me as well.”

“Ha! Glad to hear it. I’m not gifted at this, but you’re a good teacher,” Halsin noted. “I really feel like I owe you a drink.”

“I mean, you could provide. I’m sure that weird liquor you’ve been drinking would taste better from your jugular than from the flask,” Astarion leered, and then rolled his eyes when Halsin suddenly looked serious.

“It was a joke. A joke. Right, let’s play one more time. This time, do try to pay attention to my game. You keep just staring at your own hand.”

“I’m focusing on playing a good game with the cards I have,” Halsin said.

“And you keep losing. Focus instead on making me lose.”

Halsin frowned, but tried. It didn’t help.

Well, wanting to bite Halsin had mostly been a joke.

It wasn't that he didn't want to bite Halsin. He wanted to bite most everybody, and Halsin was, in fact, particularly appealing. Astarion was sure he would taste magnificent, and the earthy magic coursing through his veins would definitely improve the flavor further. A man built like that wouldn't run out too soon, either. There was so much of him.

Halsin would also be unlikely to object. Quite the opposite. Halsin had figured out his… condition pretty much instantly, and had been annoyingly accepting about the realities of traveling with a vampire.

"We all must live according to our nature, as we try to live according to our heart," Halsin had said, the big fool. "As companions on this journey, we need to look after one another. If you ever need to drink to feel well, do not hesitate to ask."

It could not have been more simple. An ideal situation, really.

It was just, well. Drinking someone's blood was somewhat intimate, in more than the obvious physical ways.

The… donor got into your head a bit. You saw yourself through their eyes. Usually it was no big deal. If you bit someone in a fight, if they even had seen you coming at all, the adrenaline overpowered what little insight they might have had.

And in a more intimate situation, well, usually it was just "oh yes, huh, he is so pretty, I am so lucky, what, oh". Your pleasure mingled with theirs and then it was done. Not much to it. It wasn't as if they knew you.

With Halsin, however, there were things to consider. Astarion had to keep traveling with the man, for one, and there was no need to complicate things.

As it was, traveling with Halsin was pleasant enough. He was good company, easy to make camp with, and even better to fight alongside of. The others weren’t so bad either. Astarion had a good thing going, all things considered, and he couldn’t risk anything fucking it up.

Also, the more he got to know the man, the less he wanted to drink from him.

The main problem was, the druid stuff ran deep.

Halsin said things like, "Look. The fungus has all but invaded this tree. You rarely see an infection this advanced while the tree still lives and grows. The pattern is quite beautiful."

Once, he had picked up a bird that had broken something in its wing, studied it for a moment between his big hands, and then with a kindly smile, had snapped the birds neck, like a favor for a friend.

Halsin, as a habit, crouched down to talk to rats.

Astarion didn't have any real need to accept Halsin's offer, in any case. There were plenty of cultists and garden variety violent assholes for him to prey on. The others weren’t even excessively weird about it.

On the road to Baldur’s Gate, Astarion was in fact so well fed, that he began to wonder if it was starting to have some long term effects unrelated to the tadpole. He found himself more relaxed. He even had more patience for the inane stories of the strangers they met on the road. He enjoyed the warm smells of food and wood smoke while in camp, and was less inclined to flee from company.

More often than not, he stood outside at dawn to watch the sun rise. Some mornings it still took him a few moments before he could convince himself to stop hiding his face from the light, but as the days went on, he found himself flinching from it less and less. Whenever he had the chance, he spent long hours staring at sunlight flickering on water.

So, despite all the danger and existential terror of their situation, life was offering him good things for once, and he was having his fill.

One thing he wasn’t indulging in was sex. Not for lack of opportunity. Since being freed from Cazador, he had crossed paths with many interesting, and interested, people. He had grown skilled at seduction, and it was a habit he wasn't especially trying to break. But now the whole thing was more… recreational. It was good fun to make someone want him, of course it was. It was also surprisingly fun not having to go through with it. It felt almost decadent, to leave someone wanting. So Astarion was content to flirt with whoever happened to be close by.

Often that someone was Halsin.

Halsin responded to Astarion's less than subtle innuendo with good cheer, and gave as good as he got. Despite the solemn druid stuff he wasn’t even all that stuck up, and he certainly was no prude. Halsin was a man of uncomplicated pleasures, and he had no reason to deny he found Astarion intriguing. He also didn't make their playful banter into something it wasn't. Sometimes Astarion enjoyed the  advances of other people, but there was no pining and no weird possessive frowning.

As a reward, Astarion tried to tolerate Halsin's need to run around helping random strangers. Especially after the curse over the lands surrounding Moonrise towers had been lifted, Halsin seemed to be filled with new vigor. He was always irrationally happy to delay their progress to go find a stranger’s long lost second cousin or whoever. And afterwards, when the kittens were rescued from trees and the husbands back in their spouses' arms, Halsin practically growled with contentment. Astarion, for his part, discreetly handled the finances, so that the encounters didn’t leave them worse off. The balance of nature and all that was probably all well and good, but Astarion rather thought someone should balance the books as well. It worked out well enough.

At night time, he was often the last one out and about. Astarion took to finding a comfortable spot facing away from the campfire, and sat in solitude while the others settled down for their rest.

He tried to make best use of this quiet thinking time. They now had more information about the Absolute, if not about Cazador, and Astarion was desperately trying to arrange it all into actionable plans. Unfortunately, their situation kept getting more complicated as time went on, the stakes got higher and higher, and Astarion's plans unraveled almost as soon as they were made. His brain felt like it was full off buzzing insects.

One thing remained: whatever happened, Astarion wasn’t going back into the dark.

One warm night, when Astarion wasn’t really getting anywhere with his thoughts anyway, Halsin came to sit with him.

"The firelight is sometimes too much when the surrounding night is so dark," Halsin said. "The bear finds the flickering distracting. Your eyesight is far keener than most. Is it the same for you?"

"Yes," Astarion admitted. "Though I do enjoy the warmth of the fire."

Halsin said nothing for a long while. He was silent for so long, Astarion started to get annoyed.

"The night is beautiful, and you and I do well in the dark," Halsin finally said. "But in the morning we will watch the sunlight arrive through the leaves, and I at least will not miss the nighttime then.”

The druid paused again, apparently for dramatic effect. Astarion didn’t know if he was supposed to reply, but then Halsin continued.

“For long years, you weren't able to sit in the sun. I was also kept in the dark for a time, but I always knew that the sunlight would welcome me, were I to find my way back to it. It was not like that for you.”

Astarion suppressed the first three responses that came to him and simply said, "Yes, well. Unlike bears, us vermin and parasites must be content to crawl in the dark."

Halsin flinched.

"I seem to have offended you. It was not my meaning. I apologize. I was, in my clumsy way, trying to understand your experiences."

"No worries, my dear. I realize I am ever so mysterious and fascinating."

"You are," Halsin said, with such earnestness that Astarion had to get up and go to his tent, to keep from hissing at the druid. Like a rat.

Not long after that, Astarion and Halsin went hunting together.

Three beasts, cursed or possessed or whatever, were terrorizing a small group of refugees on the road to Baldur’s Gate.

Astarion wasn't opposed to taking the creatures out, since they were likely to come after anyone traveling through the woods, Astarion included.

It was agreed that the others should stay behind to protect the wretched refugee entourage, while Halsin and Astarion would do the hunting. So the two of them headed for the treeline. Astarion was no ranger, but even he could tell that the forest was unnaturally quiet. He hadn’t even seen a bird the whole day.

"These beasts do not belong here, and do not follow the rhythms of this forest. I do not know what to expect," Halsin warned quietly.

"Well, neither do they. I am very good at improvising."

Halsin grinned at him, with his canines growing longer, and shimmered into his bear form. Astarion pulled on his gloves, and then they stepped into the woods together.

The first beast was a kind of stoat, if a stoat was the size of an ox and spit acid. It was fast, and moved like a blur among the trees, but it was stupid. When it got a hit on Halsin, Halsin settled down
on the ground on his side, in the middle of a clearing, pretending to be badly wounded. It didn't take long for the creature to get bored of stalking him from the shadows, and it slithered into the open. Astarion, crouched in a tree, got three arrows into its side and one into its throat. It fell before it even reached Halsin.

The smell of the first beast’s blood lured the second one in within the hour. It looked like a badly drawn tiger with a scorpion stinger for a tail. It was pretty funny, actually. Halsin stepped on the stinger and tore the beast's belly open with one powerful sweep of his claws. Its guts spilled all over the corpse of the first creature. Astarion didn’t even have to draw his bow. Disappointing, but Astarion did give the bear a smile of approval, when he looked up at him with gore dripping from his fur. Yes, yes, very impressive. He’d rather stay in the tree, thank you very much.

The third beast was different. It was neither stupid nor impatient.

Halsin and Astarion followed it for hours, trying to keep themselves between the beast and the refugees. It was cunning. It hid in a bog and then traced its steps backwards. It lured them to a roaring rapid, and the noise of the water hid the creature’s footsteps when it ran past Halsin and Astarion. Many times it was moments away from getting a jump on either of them. They smelled it, sometimes heard it, but never really saw it clearly. Chasing it was, frankly, the most fun Astarion could remember ever having outside the walls of a city. They couldn’t really talk while Halsin was in his bear form, but it was clear that Halsin was enjoying himself as well.

An hour before sunrise, Halsin managed to herd the beast towards Astarion, who waited hidden high up on a cliff-side with his bowstring taut. As the beast came closer, he got in a hit, then another, but then the creature turned around and tried to escape into the shrub. Halsin wasn't far away, but he wasn't fast enough to keep up with the creature. If they lost it now, they might not catch it again before it reached the camp.

Astarion let his bow drop and leaped for a nearby tree, then the next, and then the beast was below him. As he jumped, his knife was already in his hand, and he sank it deep into the coarse fur, and
through the thick skin with a wet crunch. Using his blade as a handle, he managed to hold on as the beast turned its head towards him. Astarion dived under its jaw, and felt the blood spray hot onto his face. Then an impact shook him, and the beast fell down as Halsin crashed into its side.

It didn't take long for it to bleed out and die.

The bear stood back, and so did Astarion. They stared at the carcass for a while.

"Eugh," Astarion said, and wiped uselessly at the blood that was drying on his face. "It tasted like old socks."

The bear looked at him with his head tilted to the side, and Astarion was sure he was laughing at him. He sort of felt like laughing as well. The blood tasted vile, but it was rather potent.

"Right, let's get back to the scared humans. I'm sure they're eager to welcome a blood soaked vampire and bear into their camp. Wipe your paw. You have… something stuck between your claws."

The next night, Halsin sought Astarion out. Astarion's bloody clothes were still soaking in a salt water bath, and he was reduced to wearing some drab shirt Karlach had found somewhere. There were probably still pine needles in his hair. Halsin and his gear weren't any worse for wear, since he had been a bear the whole time. Quite unfair.

To make matters even more delightful, the refugees were avoiding looking at him. They weren't looking at Halsin, either, since he had in fact walked back into camp as a gore-dripping bear. Karlach had welcomed them back cheerfully, as valiant and radiant as ever. Astarion had to wonder, if not for their companions, would the refugees let him and Halsin back to their camp at all?

"The forest seems more peaceful now," Halsin said. "The unnatural beasts had upset the balance, but the prey will repopulate and the wolves and the other true predators of the forest will soon return. The
people were grateful, but I feel the service you did for the land was more important still."

"Oh? More important than the human lives we saved? Don't let Karlach and Wyll hear you say that."

Halsin opened his mouth as if to defend himself, but then though better of it.

"I won't. Karlach is an exceptional warrior, but this was a matter for predators, not soldiers."

Astarion thought about that for a while. He probably should have been offended somehow, but he found that he wasn't. He didn't have anything to add to this weird conversation, either, so he and Halsin sat together in silence.

After their entourage parted ways with the refugee group, Astarion and Halsin soon fell into a sort of nighttime routine. As the others retreated into their tents, Halsin sought Astarion out. They sat and talked for a while. Halsin talked about the insects flying in the firelight, or Astarion taught Halsin a better way to wrap the grip of his bow. Sometimes Halsin even wanted to play cards, as painful as it was for Astarion to watch. Then around midnight Halsin said good night, went to his bedroll, and within minutes was dead to the world.

When he was the only one awake, Astarion fixed the fire and then went to his tent, where he sat wrapped in his blanket. His need for rest was minimal, if he was well fed and not injured, but he appreciated the quiet. Often he read until dawn, or amused himself by picking his practice locks. When he got bored of that, he thought about sex, and let the heat build lazily in his belly, but didn't do anything about it. The wait was more fun.

He was fairly sure he was waiting for something, now.

He was proven right soon enough. It took Halsin maybe a week of nightly conversations, before one night he looked at Astarion intently and simply said:

"I find myself restless tonight."

Astarion, who knew his lines and how to hit the right notes, had several witty responses in mind, but in the end he discarded them all.

"I see," he said, arched his eyebrow, and stood up, supporting himself needlessly on Halsin's substantial shoulder. He didn't look back as he made his way to his tent. No need.

He had just finished freshening up as Halsin tentatively moved aside the fabric that was pretending to be a door to Astarion's tent. The druid didn't say anything, just tilted his head in the way of asking permission.

Astarion smiled at him in invitation, and suddenly his tent was very crowded, as Halsin made his way inside.

Sex with Halsin was uncomplicated. Halsin was big, and intense, but also very attuned to Astarion’s instructions. Astarion commanded Halsin to put his enthusiasm to good use, and the man cheerfully obliged. To be fair, Halsin didn’t need that much instructing. He knew how to use his bulk to their mutual advantage. Astarion quickly stopped giving orders, and allowed the heavier man push him into the bedroll and use his big hands like he saw fit.

At one point during the night, as Astarion had his face buried in his pillow, and Halsin had his face buried somewhere else, the growls Halsin was making started to sound a little too deep.

"Don't you dare go feral on me and tear up my tent. The canvas is not bear proof," Astarion hissed, and then whined, as Halsin's laughter vibrated against his skin.

"You're right, there's not enough space," Halsin answered, almost wistfully, the fiend.

Astarion reached back, got hold of the druid's hair, and made him focus on the task at hand.

Afterwards Astarion lay half buried under Halsin's bulk. He felt fantastically warm and relaxed. He also didn't have any motivation to move. It was almost morning, anyway. He wondered lazily who would be the first to notice Halsin hadn't spent the night in his own tent. Withers, probably. What a disturbing thought.

They kept at it every now and again. If they weren't too filthy, too exhausted or too disturbed by some horrible encounter or another, Halsin and Astarion would trade a discreet look over the campfire, and later Halsin would make his way into Astarion's tent. He would crawl in softly, with his presence filling the cramped space completely. There wasn't too much need for talking. Astarion gave as good as he got, naturally, but he did enjoy it most when he was being crushed under Halsin, as the man smiled and growled and had his way with him. It was grounding. Fixed a persistent kink in his back, too.

The sex also helped him keep his mind off other things. Namely, Cazador. They were getting closer to Baldur’s Gate. Astarion knew what he was going to do once there. It was very simple. He was going to find Cazador, squeeze every last drop of information out of him, and then kill him. How he was going to do it, and what he would do after, well, he would figure it out. Astarion was the one who could walk in the sunshine, after all.

And walk in the sunshine they did. For miles and miles, along the highways filled with refugees or, like today, on paths winding through the festering bogs.

"Ugh, can we go fight a rowing band of murderers or something? I'm starving in this wasteland. I haven't eaten anybody in days," Astarion whined while they trekked through the distinctly murderer
free marshland.

"Oh?" quipped Shadowheart, bless the girl, "I thought you've been bear hunting lately."

"Did you? Maybe I just miss the sour taste of the desperate and unsalvageable. I can't wait to get back to the city."

"Gross," Shadowheart noted cheerfully. The next day, they even found a cultist scout for him to snack on, so that was alright.

But the next time Astarion had Halsin in his tent, and was luxuriously dragging himself along the druid's meaty hip, Halsin said, "You should not go hungry. If you have need of blood, you know I would happily share."

Astarion sighed.

"Don't be so dramatic about it. I'm fine, and not actually starving. I'm more than happy to have you in other ways. Getting your blood drained would take it’s toll on you unnecessarily, and I need you fighting fit. Or, as it happens, fit enough to fuck."

Halsin grunted, but he seemed happy enough to be had in several delightful ways, and the issue didn’t come up again.

They did eventually make their way into the city. Baldur’s Gate was just the same as it had been, and also very different. Experiencing it again in sunlight after so long was, well. It was something. Astarion was happy to spend his days just wandering around the familiar streets, now that he could freely walk among people going about their daily business. The threat of Cazador kept him on his toes, but in the daylight, and in the company of others, he felt reasonably secure exploring the city.

Halsin and Lae’zel weren’t as keen to spend time downtown. Halsin took some sort of ideological issue with the city, and the smells of civilization were too much for his delicate nose. The Gith weren’t terribly welcome much anywhere, but if Lae’zel noticed or cared, Astarion couldn’t tell. She simply didn’t have any interest in leaving their camp unnecessarily. It was none of Astarion’s business, and it was convenient to have them stay back and guard their possessions while the others ran errands.

Besides, Astarion had other options for company. Karlach in particular was more than happy to accompany Astarion around town just for the hell of it, since she was also delighted to be back and to just exist among people.

One unremarkable day Astarion was sitting on a bench in the market district, waiting for Wyll and Karlach finish their business with a haggard-looking vegetable vendor. The sun was warm on his back and the people bustling around him paid him no mind. Except for one.

"What's that you have in your hand, mister?"

Astarion looked up to see a little kid of undetermined age and gender peering at him. He opened his hand to show the small lock mechanism he was fiddling with. It had a combination of symbols instead of a keyhole, and was very well made. It still took Astarion more than a minute to open it without looking, several minutes if he did it one-handed.

"It's just a lock,” he said.

"Oh. But why's it in your hand? It's not keeping anything locked when it's in your hand."

"Astute."

"Did you lose your key?"

Astarion looked at the kid's round, earnest face. The sun was at Astarion's back, making the child's brown eyes shine and obscuring his red ones. Here they were. Just two Baldurians out in the sunshine.

"It doesn't have a key. You have to know the right order of symbols. Or, you have to be really, really clever with your hands."

"Ohhh. Are you a thief, mister?"

"A thief! I am the favored nephew of an esteemed lord from the gorgeous city of Berdusk! I have way too much money and time, so took on locksmithing as a hobby. Then I founded very successful locksmithing company. It was an accident. You know how it is with money," Astarion answered.

The child stared at him wide-eyed, then frowned.

"I don't believe you," the child finally decided.

"Then there's hope for you yet."

Wyll and Karlach walked up to him just then.

"Who's your friend?" Karlach asked and smiled down at the frowning child.

"Just an admirer. A bit young to be a locksmith's apprentice, I'm afraid."

"Are you a lord or a locksmith?" the child demanded.

Wyll laughed, startling the child.

"Run along now, kid. Best not to meddle in the business of strangers. Here, have an apple."

Wyll tossed an apple at the child, who managed to catch it just barely, and then sprinted away.

"Not even a thank you," Astarion sighed.

"The kids today," Karlach said cheerfully, and started tossing her apple from one hand to another.

Then she tensed. That was all the warning Astarion got, but it was enough. He dodged, and the arrow that came whistling from a rooftop only grazed at his side, instead of hitting him in the belly where it had been aimed.

"Fuck," Karlach said.

"Run," Wyll said, so that was what they did. A reasonable call, since they had no idea who had attacked them or how badly outnumbered they were. They made it down into the sewers, and a decent way towards their encampment, before the poison took effect.

"Oh," Astarion said, and stumbled, as his vision went dark.

When he woke up, he was laying down in his own tent. He figured Karlach must have carried him there, because as it was, he was barely strong enough to sit up.

He felt weak and nauseous, but managed to lift his shirt. The arrow wound was neatly bandaged with a poultice that smelled like herbs and alcohol. Absolutely unnecessary, since the little cut had probably already healed over. Little injuries like that didn’t tend to bother him for long.

Astarion parted the door curtain with a shaky hand. The camp was quiet and dark. It was already nighttime. That meant he had been unconscious for hours.

Halsin was sitting outside the tent, keeping watch.

"Who do you think it was? A jealous lover? A cheated merchant?" Astarion said.

Halsin turned around immediately.

"You're awake!"

"I am. How novel, to have someone sit around waiting for me to wake up for once."

The druid crawled into the tent, and touched a hand to Astarion’s face.

"You feel cold. Do you want to go sit by the fire?"

Astarion looked up at Halsin's worried face.

"I'm always cold. You see, I have this condition where I’m not alive. I don't know if you've noticed."

Halsin frowned.

"You are usually warm to the touch."

"Oh."

Astarion thought about that. It was probably true, these days. His head felt muddy, and he decided to lay back down.

Halsin came to sit next to him.

"Let me look at the wound again."

Astarion waved his hand dismissively, sure, why not.

Halsin pulled the bandages aside with his warm fingers. Astarion peered down at the wound. Huh. The cut wasn't big, but it was definitely still there. It even ached a little.

Astarion felt suddenly dizzy, and terribly hungry. Halsin slathered some more grass-looking paste
onto the cut, and covered it up again.

"Normally I'd brew you a tea, and make you eat something," he said. "I've never had a vampire as a patient before, so I'm afraid I'm not as useful as I'd like."

"Oh, you're doing fine," Astarion muttered and hated how weak his voice sounded. He was pretty sure what Halsin would say next, and he didn’t like that either.

"Would it help you to drink? I will go find you an animal if you wish, but I would prefer you drink from me, to get your strength back properly."

And here they were, with Astarion bedridden and pathetic, and Halsin all noble and generous, ready to let Astarion feed on him. He wouldn't judge Astarion any more than he'd judge a tick. He would take pity on him, a little wounded vermin.

Astarion was so damn hungry though, and so damn weak. The faster he'd feed, the faster he'd be out of this situation. Halsin was sitting so close, and it was difficult not to think about all that warm blood just within reach.

"Fine. Just stop me before you start to feel dizzy."

Halsin nodded, seriously. Then he laid himself down next to Astarion, and pushed his hair away from his neck. No hesitation. Stupid.

Astarion pulled Halsin in, and let his body do what it wanted. His fangs pierced Halsin’s skin easily, and then he was drinking.

The first thing he felt was the warmth. A steady, comforting heat promising him that everything was going to be alright.

The second thing was the magic. A deep taste of power, textured and wild. It was trying to take purchase inside Astarion, to map him onto it's web of checks and balances, order and forceful harmony. Trying and mostly failing. Astarion was having none of it. He couldn’t use Halsin's magic, so it certainly wasn’t going to take a hold on him.

And then, as he kept drinking, he saw himself, filtered through Halsin’s vision.

He saw Halsin looking at him in the moonlight, Astarion’s hair shining silvery pale and framing his beautiful face. Astarion moving under Halsin, lithe and clever and inviting. Halsin as the bear, catching Astarion’s scent, something dangerous and new. Unpredictable. Enticing.

And then, Halsin looking at Astarion when Astarion had thought he was alone, and seeing private emotions moving across his face. Gods, when had Astarion looked so sad? When had Halsin seen it? He looked so young, and so old, at the same time.

And there was the pity, as expected. Astarion had been braced for it. But it wasn’t the pity he had been expecting, the sort a man might feel for a trapped rat, poor little thing, enduring a wretched existence according to its nature. No. It was the pity for a young wolf, who had been forced to serve a cruel master.

Halsin thought that Astarion still sometimes behaved like a mistreated dog, ready to attack at any perceived provocation. No wonder, after all he’d been through. Astarion would sort himself out in time. Halsin trusted him.

It made Astarion mad. Righteous, naive bastard, what did he know? Who was he to call him a dog? Who was he to presume what he would and wouldn't do?

Astarion kept drinking, feeling still hungry and more vicious, looking for a reason to keep going, to make it hurt.

He didn’t find any.

More than anything, Halsin recognized Astarion as a fellow predator, who was as beautiful as he was dangerous. A worthy companion with whom to share pray and a bed. Someone to respect.

Astarion also felt Halsin’s worry and shock, as Astarion had been carried into camp, looking for all the world like a corpse, and Halsin’s relief, as he had started to come to.

Astarion held onto that as he drank.

It took a while for Astarion to notice that Halsin had taken hold of his face, and was firmly pushing him back down onto the bedroll. Astarion gasped, but let Halsin move him. He watched silently as
Halsin pressed a cloth against his neck. It was barely necessary. The wounds would close in just a few moments.

Halsin seemed to realize this also. He wiped his neck clean, then laid down next to Astarion.

"Well," he said hoarsely, voice a little uncertain, "I've never had an experience quite like that before."

Astarion hummed. He didn't feel like talking. He licked his lips, and luxuriated in the warmth and the clarity that was returning to him. The poison was losing the fight.

"A moment," Halsin said, then got up and left. Astarion disliked the loss of body heat, but otherwise didn't pay him much mind.

A short while later Halsin returned. He was carrying a bowl full of steaming broth. He sat down on the edge of Astarion's bedroll and started drinking carefully. A meaty, herbal smell filled the tent.

"Did it help?" Halsin asked.

"Yes. Yes it did. I think the wound is already healing over. Your blood is very invigorating."

"I'm glad to hear it."

Astarion stared at the big man crouched at the foot of his bed. He was paler than usual, but the bite marks were already fading. He was focusing on his bowl, and not looking at Astarion.

Astarion closed his eyes, and pretended to rest.

They didn’t really have time to look into the assassination attempt, because the next admirers of Astarion decided to visit camp just a few days later. They attacked in the middle of the night.

Astarion didn’t know what the two spawn had thought would happen when they sneaked in, but after they had been subdued and secured, they neatly solved Astarion’s problem of not having enough information.

These were new spawn, not familiar to Astarion. The fevered, dull look in their eyes was sickeningly familiar. They were stupidly devoted to Cazador, of course, and quite beyond any understanding of their situation.

It was easy enough to get them to talk. In fact, they wouldn’t stop.

”Come home, Astarion,” they pleaded feverishly. “Our Master needs you. You are the missing piece to the ritual.”

”What ritual, exactly?”

”The ritual of his Ascension. Our Master will be magnificent. He will rule the night and he will rule the day, in this city and all others, and we will walk in the sun with him. The scars you bear, they mark you as special. Important. No-one else will do. When we bring you home to him, we will be rewarded generously.”

”People will keep coming for you. Do not let them capture you and drag you home in ropes and muddled with poisons. Come with us, return with your head held up high. You will be forgiven. You will be rewarded. You will rise up alongside him. He needs you. You are the key. You are the favored son.”

This was all, of course, such incredible bullshit, that after Astarion had gotten all the information he wanted, he tore their throats out. A mercy, really.

Lae’zel helped him sweep their remains into the water, and didn’t even give him any disapproving looks. A nice pragmatic girl, that Lae’zel.

After that, everyone suddenly wanted to talk about how they were going to kill Cazador. Astarion didn’t mind, as that was his favorite subject. He understood it was rather inconvenient for everyone to have vampire spawn stalking him at night, and various mercenaries hunting him during the day, so it was no wonder everyone wanted to get the situation resolved.

What was peculiar, though, was that no-one suggested Astarion pack up his things and go. He even tried to suggest it, not seriously, but to test the waters.

”No. We are here to save this city, and if that now includes taking down a nest of vampires, then that’s what we’ll do,” Wyll said.

Gale took his sweet time explaining why abandoning Astarion would be not only unconscionable, but also bad strategy, because alone he would be far more vulnerable to kidnapping, and therefore having Astarion stay with them was the best way to ensure Cazador’s ritual could not proceed.

”Yeah no way,” Karlach said,” We’ll find the fucker and kill him and that’s that.”

Lae’zel spat out something that might have been a curse, and looked at Karlach approvingly.

Astarion was reasonably sure that nobody would attempt to resolve the situation in the most logical and frugal way: by staking him when he wasn’t looking. So he supposed he now had his own pack of warriors ready to take down his enemy. How lovely.

What Astarion didn’t talk to anyone about, was the ritual. But he thought about it. If Cazador really had found a way to make himself nearly invulnerable, how much more powerful could Astarion become? He didn’t believe for a moment that Cazador was going to give an ounce of power to anyone else, no matter what he had told the bleating spawn. No. They were probably going to be burned up as batteries, and who knew how many others besides. Something like this was not attempted without obscene amounts of resources and years of preparations. Centuries. Otherwise every vampire with a little bit of accumulated wealth would be doing it.

Astarion didn’t know what exactly the ritual would involve, but thinking about it turned his stomach in any case.

No. Whatever Cazador wanted, Cazador would not get. Astarion, however, could possibly get a whole lot more. He kept thinking about it.

Things settled into normalcy, or whatever passed for normalcy in their situation. They kept a bit tighter watch than usual. Astarion didn’t go anywhere alone. Halsin had a word with the local crows and magpies who apparently promised to scout for them in exchange for easy meals. They returned to camp a little earlier at night.

One night they were all sitting around the campfire, sharing hunting stories. Lae’zel had some truly inspired ones.

”Hey, remember those three beasts that were eating refugees? On the road some time after Moonrise?” Karlach asked.

”Yes. It was a great hunt. Astarion felled the first one like a thunderstorm,” Halsin answered, pleased to be reminded.

”But what were they, really? Why were they like that?”

Halsin said, a little uncertainly, “I assume they were regular animals that had been feeding on shadow cursed creatures. Some life still remained near the edges of that land. A rabbit eats a plant that grows in tainted soil. A fox eats the rabbit, and then a few rabbits more. The fox starts to go wrong. Other animals flee the area, so the tainted ones start to eat each other. When we arrived, only the three were left.”

”Oh!” Karlach said. “That’s pretty cool. Terrible, yeah, but sort of cool. I don’t know anything about things like that. I’m a city girl, me.”

”I wonder if there’s a point of no return,” Shadowheart said. “I mean, how many tainted rabbits is too many? There must be a few foxes who aren’t really foxes anymore, but who can still keep living in the forest without disturbing its balance too badly.”

Halsin shrugged.

“I would suppose so. Maybe it takes years for things to reach a point of no return. It’s not wrong for a thing to change, and then force change around itself. That is how nature works. But this was unnatural.”

“You two looked fucking horrible when you got back,” Karlach laughed. “Fox gore dripping everywhere. I think one guy fainted. It was awesome.”

”I think the first beast was a stoat,” Halsin said.

“Well, who knows with these evil unnatural creatures,” Astarion said, a bit sharply.

In the end, things happened too quickly.

It was a regular afternoon, when a crow landed on Halsin’s arm. It told him that there was a cat down at the docks who had important business with him. Halsin fed the bird a piece of dried meat, before it led them into the harbor. They asked for an audience with the cat, like one does, if one leads a life as normal as Astarion’s.

The cat was a regal looking creature, who observed them loftily from its throne of old crates and straw. It informed Halsin that it knew of a window, way up high, where one could sit and look down into a shimmering courtyard. The courtyard tried hard to not be there, but the cat could see it, because the cat liked to look at the shimmering. Most mornings, just before dawn, a man who was not a man, walked across the yard. He was the color of old bone, and his eyes shone in the dark like burning coals. Sometimes, but not always, he had someone with him, dazed like a mouse that had been played with for a long time. That man then made a door appear, and disappeared down somewhere, but where, the cat didn’t know.

Halsin gifted the animal with more dried meats, and many sincere compliments on the shade of its eyes and the shine of its fur. Astarion said nothing.

After that, the evening was suddenly full of swift action. There was no point in waiting for another attack. They had a way to reach Cazador, and they needed to act now. A plan was formed while they gathered their supplies. They wanted to be in position by nightfall, so they bribed the cat with more meat, and then followed it cat all the way through town to the high, deserted watchtower across from Cazador’s palace. They found the window that looked straight down onto the palace, and more specifically, onto a courtyard that by rights should not have been there. A magical shimmer obscured the edges of the yard, possibly a spell of confusion that would make everyone turn around before reaching the place.

”I’ve never seen that yard before,” Astarion whispered. Before, when he had been under Cazador’s power, it had never occurred to him to wonder where the vampire spent his days. Questions like that had not been his to ask, not even in the privacy of his own mind. But now he knew.

Lae’zel, Shadowheart, Halsin and Astarion settled down into the small room. Night fell, and they observed in silence as people, drunk and cheerful, started to move around the Szarr estate. Astarion could faintly hear the guests laughing, many for the last time. It was all too familiar to him.

They waited. Astarion contemplated.

Though everything had happened quickly, Astarion had made his own plans, and was prepared. He had a vial of sleeping potion hidden in his quiver. It would be trivial to drug the others with it. He would do it just before dawn. While the others were out of his way, Astarion would make his way down to the enshrouded courtyard. Now that he knew what to look for, he was sure he could follow Cazador down through the hidden entrance.

He would go down there, and discover whatever preparations Cazador had been making.

He would figure out how to complete the ritual.

Cazador himself would be there, as well, hiding from the sun. Astarion would find him, surprised and vulnerable. He would drag him out, out into the bright morning light, and make him beg for forgiveness.

Astarion would have his revenge. He would become everything Cazador had ever wanted to be, and even more still. Astarion would ascend, and Cazador would watch as Astarion bled him dry of everything.

Cazador would die with Astarion’s name on his lips, a final, futile prayer.

The thought was so sweet, Astarion shuddered and lick his lips. It wouldn’t be long, now.

Halsin’s hand gripped his shoulder then. Astarion turned to look at him. The man looked back steadily. Astarion didn’t know what Halsin was thinking, what Halsin thought he saw on Astarion’s face. Astarion smiled at him. It didn’t matter.

In the end, none of it mattered.

Eventually, the streets quieted down. The night was almost over. Astarion knew it was time to put his plan in motion. Cazador would surely soon abandon whatever horrific activities he had been busy with, and seek his secret shelter. Just a few minutes more, perhaps. He’d count down from one hundred, to center himself, and then he’d take out the vial.

He made it down to thirty, when Cazador walked out into the courtyard.

Astarion was the first to see him, and he had a good few seconds before anyone else noticed. He sucked in a sharp breath. He thought of the potion, and could almost hear Cazador’s laughter echoing off the cold stone walls. He started to reach for the vial, but his hand found the arrow first.

Then it was too late. The others had now noticed Cazador as well, and they saw Astarion grab his arrow. The plan was in motion and there was nothing to be done about it.

Shadowheart wasted no time. She cast her spell, and the whole yard lit up into brilliant sunlight.

Lae’zel and Astarion let their arrows fly. The arrows carried oil and runepowder, and they combined in the air with Halsin’s enforcing magic. The resulting blast took out all the windows, and a few of the columns holding up the courtyard balconies.

The explosion was so catastrophic, it killed all sound.

And it killed Cazador Szarr.

There was nothing left but smoke and silence.

Cazador Szarr died without feeling pain or defeat, without knowing who killed him.

Astarion dropped his bow and screamed his loss into the deaf morning air.

The aftermath was… the aftermath was confusing. They had returned to camp quickly and quietly, and let the dust settle for a few days.

Some of the others had eventually ventured down, into the secret chambers, without telling him. By the time Astarion learned of the army of spawn kept in the dungeons, the spawn had already been released into the Underdark, to fend for themselves as best as they could.

Astarion supposed the others thought it a mercy. Astarion supposed it didn’t really bloody matter what he supposed anymore, but he had to make his feelings on the matter known.

Halsin, who lacked all common sense, didn’t run away when he saw Astarion approaching, so he was the one Astarion stormed in on.

”Should I not have been down there? I took them there, so many of them. It was me. I should have gone down with them. Or kill them, I don’t know!”

Halsin looked at Astarion with that absolutely enraging stoicism of his. Fucker.

”I don’t know. But I think there are a lot of cruelties that cannot be avoided. This one could at least be mitigated. I’m glad you did not have to see them. I don’t think anything good would have come of it.”

”Yes, indeed, good of you lot to spare them the revulsion of having to look at my vile face,” Astarion said. He wasn’t sure if he was shouting. Probably.

”Yes,” Halsin said, plainly. That stopped Astarion in his tracks. He gaped at Halsin. Though Halsin's gaze didn’t waver, Astarion could see there were tears in his eyes. How dare he. This was not his to cry over.

”Though your hand was forced, the deed was still yours. You are the only one left who they can blame, fairly or not. I would not wish them to have that to focus on. I would shield you from it. And they need things other than revenge, now.”

”Oh really? What the fuck do you think they’re going to do? Invade the Underdark, feed on every living thing there and evolve to live on sentient mushroom sap after that? What does your precious balance say about that?”

Halsin seemed to consider the matter seriously, like the pretentious asshole that he was.

”Astarion, you know the Underdark is vast and well-defended. It will claim some who enter it, while others will find their place. My friend. I don’t think there could have been a course of action that could undo the harm done, but this was the road of least harm.”

”Well that’s alright then! I’m glad you have all the answers. How fortunate are we to have such a sage with us on this journey where everything involving me is so incredibly, absurdly vile!”

After that Astarion turned on his heel and walked away. He kept walking, until the quiet of their camp gave way to the harsh sounds of the harbor. He walked until the wooden walkways of the waterside changed into the cobblestones of the market district, and then he walked some more. He stopped to sit for a minute, or an hour, before he continued on, because why not. He kept at it, walking through public gardens and private residential districts. He saw beggars everywhere. Drunks, as well. It would have been very easy to find a nice meal. There was no-one there to disapprove of him. Sometimes the sun was in his eyes, sometimes low behind him, throwing his shadow in front of him. He kept walking.

When someone eventually fell in step with him, it wasn’t Halsin. It was Lae’zel.

”Stop,” she said. “Come back to camp. There is now a way to disable the Steel Watch, and we must proceed quickly. We’re going after the two Netherstones. We can’t waste more time looking for you.”

”Then stop wasting it.”

”You are the one wasting it, elf. Where are you going? You have been gone for days, and you have not even left the city.”

”Oh? Has it been so long? I’m having a stroll. Can’t a man have a stroll in the beautiful evening light, without being accosted by strange and spiteful women?”

”Stupid istik. If you are intent on leaving, at least choose a direction.”

Astarion laughed joylessly.

”Oh yes, I shall. Out of all the wonderful roads available to me, I think I’ll choose... this one.” He turned a sharp corner and made his way into a dank little alleyway.

The high stone walls made the alley almost dark. The air was cool and damp, and there was mold and algae growing in the cracks. Someone had lovingly carved the word cocksucker into a rotting wooden beam, accompanied with a demonstrative drawing.

Lae’zel followed him blindly into the dark, and promptly stepped into a puddle of piss. Astarion couldn’t help but bark out a laugh.

”I hate this city,” Lae’zel spat. “How can you people care for it so?”

”I don’t know,” Astarion said, and stopped walking. “But I do. I really do.”

When they got back to camp, he’d been prepared for all sorts of awkwardness. Luckily it was late, and everyone else had already retreated into their tents for the night.

What he hadn’t been prepared for, was Halsin rushing up to meet him, and hauling him into a tight embrace.

“Good. It’s your turn,” Lae’zel said, and headed for her own tent.

“The crows kept seeing you, but we could never catch up to you,” Halsin said into Astarion’s hair. “I’m so glad to have you back. Are you unharmed?”

“Oh. I mean, yes, quite.”

Halsin squeezed him tighter.

“You smell like a bear,” Astarion complained.

“Then we must bathe.”

“What?”

“We must bathe. You smell like the city.”

Astarion laughed, baffled, but let Halsin lead him to the sandy shore, next to the broken down pier. They took their clothes off and stepped into the dark water. The cold didn’t bother Astarion, and if it bothered Halsin, he didn’t mention it. Astarion had to admit it felt great to be rid of his shoes for the first time in days.

“Did you know that vampires are unable to cross running water? I tried to step into the river once, before. It didn’t hurt me, as such, but I just could not do it, no more than I could have walked into a burning pyre. Now that it’s no longer an issue, it’s hard to remember exactly what it felt like.”

“No, I didn’t know that,” Halsin said softly. “Let me wash your hair.”

It was a peculiar thing, to sit on a still sun-warm rock and let himself be washed like a child. Well, maybe not quite like a child, as Halsin did take some liberties with the soap. Astarion didn’t have complaints.

When they both smelled more like autumncrocus than anything else, Astarion simply abandoned his clothes on the pier, and made his way through the camp, and into his tent. Halsin followed.

They got under the covers, and Halsin once again pulled Astarion close. It felt wonderful to be clean, and the blankets and Halsin’s luxuriously warm skin kept him warm against the cool night air. Astarion pressed himself closer and bit Halsin’s ear hard, but not quite hard enough to draw blood.

In response, Halsin rocked his hips against Astarion, and asked, “What can I give you?”

“You should know what I enjoy by now,” Astarion replied.

“I like to hear you say it. Make your demands, and I will oblige.”

“Impossible beast. In that case, I want you to take me into your mouth, and make me hard. Then, I want you to hold me up with those ridiculous arms of yours, and fuck me until one of us comes. If that someone should be you, you will continue to get me off with your tongue.”

Halsin licked at his neck approvingly. His arms were warm around Astarion. Soon he would move, and begin to make a gloriously exhausted mess of them both. They’d probably need to bathe again.

“Actually, fuck that,” Astarion said, surprising himself. “Let’s just. Let us just be here for a little while. We can do all that later.”

“Alright,” Halsin acquiesced, but had the good sense to sound a little disappointed, at least.

So they just laid there, with Astarion's head resting over Halsin's breast.

He listened to Halsin’s heartbeat, steady and strong, until the stillness got to be too much for him and he said, “We’re really going after the remaining Netherstones, then. And the Brain.”

“Yes. I don’t think much of our chances, but we must try.”

“And what if we beat the odds? What if we win?” The possibility seemed utterly removed from reality, but once again, Halsin considered the question seriously.

“I assume that then, the hard work of healing the city must begin. I confess, if I am to survive to see it, I am not planning to take that work on.”

Astarion huffed.

“Oh, agreed. We should leave all that to someone else. Possibly Wyll.”

“And what will you do? Would you like to remain in Baldur’s Gate, now that you have defeated your enemy?”

Now that he had defeated his enemy. It sounded so simple and clean. Not his abductor, not his torturer. Certainly not his master. His enemy. Who he had defeated.

“Well. That depends on what will be left of me, if the tadpole goes. Baldur’s Gate is all but surrounded by water. It’s quite possible that leaving the city would require quite the detour, after the Chionthar no longer lets me cross. And I would need to travel at night.”

Halsin squeezed him tighter.

“My own course is not set. If that would come to pass, and you should need a companion who does not mind traveling by moonlight, you only need to ask.”

Astarion didn’t say anything to that. He was quiet for a long moment. He thought about the Netherstones. About the Brain. About the devil Raphael and all the other devils he could turn to. So many possibilities. He’d gotten unlucky with Cazador’s ritual, but that hadn’t been his only hope. He’d find a way to control the tadpole, maybe even the Brain. He could still come out on top. He would feed each and every Baldurian to the Brain if he had to. He would tear out the throats of anyone who dared to stand against him, anyone at all, and he would never, ever, go back to living in the dark.

Then he thought about the city in the sunlight. The people bustling about, the birds yelling in the trees and cats and chickens squabbling over trash in the streets. The hot cobblestones. The river, wild and golden and beautiful, cold but welcoming as he stepped into it to cool himself after a long summer afternoon. All the unruly children who would be playing in the same waters, for centuries to come.

“It’s alright,” Halsin whispered. “You’re safe. It will be alright.”

What, Astarion thought, confused. He opened his mouth to ask why Halsin was talking like that, but all that came out was a wet, undignified sob. It took him a moment to realize that Halsin was comforting him because he was crying, and had been for a long while.

Eventually he felt composed enough to speak. He wasn’t sure what he meant to say, but what came out of his mouth was, “I want to stay in the sun.”

Halsin ran his hand soothingly through Astarion’s hair. It was humiliating. Astarion pressed himself closer.

“I pray that you may. I don’t know what will become of any of us, but I do know that these nights have not seemed so dark, when I have shared them with you.”

“Oh shut up, druid,” Astarion muttered.

He could feel all his plans, and all his envisioned futures, draining out of him. He imagined them falling into the river, and being carried away by the uncaring currents. He wanted to be angry, and he was, but it was no use. Was this what freedom was like? It didn’t seem fair.

He turned to his side to wipe his face into the corner of his blanket. Halsin turned with him, and placed his hand over Astarion’s heart. Astarion covered Halsin's hand with his own, and held it there.

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