Mercurial

BG3 Astarion/Halsin, explicit, 4.5k words

Halsin isn’t quite sure how long the goblins have kept him imprisoned in the pens. Days, but surely not weeks. He’s injured, and it’s hard to keep track of time.

These goblins are unlike any he’s seen before. Usually goblins travel in small family packs, forming only temporary alliances that fall apart violently at the first disagreement. These ones play at being soldiers, and at worshiping a god Halsin knows nothing about.

He’s overheard enough conversations to know the goblins are somehow being controlled by outsiders, which explains some of their behavior. Halsin figures that any day now, one of the three leaders will visit him to see if he’s yet sufficiently weak to reveal the location of the Grove. That’s when the real pain will start. For now, there has only been the casual cruelty and neglect one might expect creatures like these to inflict on someone helpless.

Today, it has been juvenile goblins, prodding at him with sticks and throwing stones at him. The pain is tedious and enraging. He has stopped reacting. He just endures, and waits for something to change. And eventually, something does.

The first thing Halsin notices is the scent. In this rotten, diseased place, there's suddenly something different in the air. The goblin whelps keep throwing their stones, and don't notice the draft that carries the new scent. Something metallic, like blood, but sharp and clean and magical. It reminds him a little of the drow, but also of moonlit nights, cold and clear. And… perfume? Maybe he's finally going mad. Being underground has already dulled his senses, and his magic. His mind is surely the next to go.

Another stone strikes him in the head, and the young goblins cheer.

But then there's a loud crash, as something shatters onto the stone floor, and the new scent disappears under the overpowering, noxious smell of gas.

The goblin whelps shriek and scatter, but they don't get far. The gas cloud reaches them quicker than they can run.

They fall down coughing, and then fall silent. Halsin tries to back away from the cloud, but there isn't anywhere to get to in the damned pen. To his relief, the gas seems to dissipate as quickly as it spread, and if it has had time to poison him, he can’t tell from the nausea he’d already been feeling.

He’s crouching in the furthest corner of the cell when the goblin beastmaster, his jailer, enters the room, yelling at the pups to stop making a ruckus when he’s trying to sleep. He stops in his tracks when he sees the little bodies lying on the floor. He turns to look at Halsin, still securely in his cage. Halsin meets his look of confusion.

”What the…” the goblin starts to say, and then his eyes widen. Halsin watches as suddenly something sprouts from the goblin’s throat. An arrow, piercing clean through his neck, releasing a spray of blood in its wake. The goblin lifts his hands to his throat and tries to move his mouth. The second arrow hits him in the back of the neck, and the goblin is dead before his body hits the ground.

Halsin waits quietly in his cell, and focuses on breathing evenly. There's not much else to do. He tries to look around, but can't locate the archer. The smell of the gas is already gone, and the new smells of fresh death take over. Halsin keeps still.

Then, finally, a shape moves quietly out from the shadows. It goes for the jailer first. A dagger slides cleanly through the flesh of the neck, releasing the arrows and confirming the kill. The arrows are collected, and the goblin's pockets emptied. The body is dragged unceremoniously into a dark corner.

The shape moves to the small bodies next. Halsin watches quietly as the arteries on their necks are punctured one by one, cleanly and without hesitation. Only one of them makes a sound, but Halsin thinks there was no life left in it, only remnants of air finding a way out of dead lungs.

Halsin wonders if he will be next. Would it be better to not attract attention? Surely the assassin wouldn't bother with a caged bear, whatever their business here is. But they might have collected the key to his pen from the goblin. If Halsin could lure them closer…

The shape stands up straight. It pushes back its hood as it steps forward, and suddenly the shadows surrounding it give way, and it's as if moonlight had entered the dungeon.

"Halsin, I presume," the assassin says, and looks him straight in the eye.

Startled, Halsin can only stare back. The man has silvery hair, silvery pale skin, and eyes that reflect red in the dim light. He is the source of the metallic scent.

"I suppose you are the strong and silent type, but really, I do need some sort of confirmation before I step in clawing distance of a cave bear," he says, and his voice, mocking and crisp, rings in the space like a bell.

Halsin takes a shuddering breath. He calls for his magic, so difficult to reach down here, and lets go of his bear form.

The transformation is always uncomfortable, but now, hungry and hurt and afraid, the bear does nothing to ease the way. Halsin struggles, fights to find his own form, digs it out from inside the bear, and then whimpers as his skin settles around him again. It takes all he has to stay conscious after.

"Well that's unsettling," the silvery voice says, but then the key is turning in the lock, and the door creaks as it opens.

Halsin wants to leap for the door, to run, to make his way outside into the fresh air as fast as possible. He can barely lift his head. The cold seeps into him from the stone floor, now that the fur and the fat of the bear no longer protects him. He's cold, injured, and on his own. Except for the assassin.

"Oh, hells, you're hurt, aren't you. Bear or not, there's no way I'm carrying you out of here."

The peculiar smell grows stronger as the stranger steps into the pen. If he were to stab Halsin now, there wouldn't be much he could do about it. His words are friendly enough, but an assassin would know what to say to get close to their victim without resistance.

"There, drink up. There isn’t any more where that came from, so make it count, all right."

Halsin forces his eyes open. The man is holding a small bottle to Halsin's face, and as he realizes Halsin isn't going to reach for it, he sighs and opens the cork himself.

"Smell that? It's just to get your magic up and running."

Halsin does smell the potion, and recognizes it. He doesn't object as the glass touches his lips, and tries to get every drop as the man pours the liquid into his mouth. It’s a common enough mixture, meant to help a magic user utilize their powers better. In his state, he only has scraps of magic to draw from, but the potion does make it easier to reach them. He focuses on his breathing, says a silent prayer, and guides the healing magic to run through him. It takes a while, but slowly he starts to feel a little better. His wrist, that had been bent and swollen, is still aching, but the pain isn’t acute anymore. The cuts and bruises from the stones burn as they start to heal. But most importantly, it’s easier to think. Halsin guesses he must have been badly concussed.

”Well? Are you well enough to walk?” the stranger asks. ”Well enough to speak, maybe?”

”I…” Halsin tries, and the words feel so strange on his tongue. ”Yes. I can speak. I’ll try to get up.”

The stranger crouches next to him.

”I’ve barred the door. We’ll hear if someone tries to get in. We do need to leave soon, but if you fall over and fuck up your ankle or something, I’ll be very annoyed. So take it slow.”

He takes hold of Halsin and helps him up. He’s lithe and can by no means support Halsin’s whole weight, but he knows how to position himself, and together they manage to get Halsin off the ground. His head swims and he needs to take a moment. He leans against the disgusting, slimy wall.

”Who are you?” Halsin asks.

”Your grove sent me. They said they want their Archdruid back. Can’t blame them, really. The one they have now is very annoying. But now’s not the time for all that. We’re going to sneak out.”

”I need to stay. The goblins will attack the grove. I can’t leave while their leaders still live.”

”How noble and idiotic. You can barely stand. What are you planning to do, fall on them?”

”If that is all I am able to do,” Halsin says defiantly. He knows he’s not being reasonable, but there’s no help for it.

”Look, druid. We’re going to leave. Then, you’re going to fix yourself up. After that, you can come back with whoever you can persuade to help you, and kill whoever you feel like killing. Right now, you look like you’re about to puke.”

”There’s no time. It will take days to reach the Grove. There’s no-one to turn to. Please. It’s too difficult to use healing magic here in the dark, but, get me… get me a plant. A tree branch. Anything living. I can try to do a ritual and heal myself so I’m good to fight.”

The stranger rolls his eyes.

”Fine, fine, alright. But I can’t leave you here while I go hunting around for twigs and weeds. How about this: We’ll sneak outside, where there’s green things and birds and all that, so you can do your thing and fix yourself up. Then we’ll make a plan, and do all the murder you want. I don’t actually want a goblin army on my tail either.”

Halsin, overwhelmingly relieved, can only nod.

They make their way out of the dungeon slowly and carefully, with the stranger’s sure, clever hands supporting him and pushing him into dark corners when necessary. Sometimes they encounter goblins or other creatures, but odd shadows seemed to form around the stranger, hiding him and Halsin from view.

The stranger leads them through a narrow, crumbling passageway, and then, finally, they are outside. The stranger helps him sit down. He leans against a tree and takes in the world.

The evening sun is low in the sky, and it hits Halsin in the eye, blinding him for a moment. It’s wonderful. The fresh, cool air moves on his skin. There are birds singing nearby. He can hear the crude sounds of the goblins from inside the temple walls, but they don’t mean anything to him now. He buries his fingers into the soil, as if trying to hold on.

Eventually he notices the stranger is staring at him with a raised eyebrow.

”How long were you down there for?” he asks Halsin, curious.

”I don’t know. Some days, but it felt longer than that. I don’t do well with being underground, or being trapped, for that matter.”

”Oh, I can empathize,” the stranger says airily. ”Well, you’re out now. How about you give that magic another go?”

Halsin nods, and focuses. It takes longer than usual, and he tries hard to be patient. Eventually he can feel the magic coalesce around him. The golden sunlight flows into him, warming him first from the fingertips to the heart, then from the inside out. The soil holds him, with all its small life-giving beings. He breathes the world in, and lets it heal himself.

When he surfaces, the stranger is sitting opposite him, cross-legged and staring openly again.

”I’ve never seen druidic magic before,” he notes.

”It’s not as showy as some other kinds,” Halsin says.

”No. More a soft glow than a light show. Effective though, I hope?”

”Yes. I feel well again, well enough to fight. I’m open to any suggestions you might have concerning our strategy. And, if I didn’t already say so, I am very grateful for your help.”

The stranger shrugs.

”Let’s wait for nightfall. The goblins have been drinking all day, they’re all but useless and definitely not marching towards the grove anytime soon. Picking them off one by one will be trivial once they fall asleep. With any luck, we’ll get the leaders in their beds as well.”

It’s distasteful, but there’s nothing for it.

The stranger takes off his thin leather gloves. He runs his pale fingers through his silvery hair. His hands look too soft and delicate for a killer, but then again, Halsin’s big and calloused hands are not really the hands of a healer, either.

”What can I call you?” Halsin asks.

The stranger looks at him again. In the sunlight his eyes are unmistakably red.

”My name is Astarion.”

”Astarion. You have my thanks. I will find a way to repay you.”

”Oh, I’m sure. For now, let’s just focus on killing some goblins. Here, have a dagger.”

As it turns out, they do get lucky. When they sneak back inside, and past the temple courtyard, most of the goblin warriors are passed out on the ground. Some are lying in their path, and Astarion slits their throats effortlessly, like butchering a chicken, and holds a hand over their face while they trash and die.

”Gods, they’re more a tripping hazard than anything,” Astarion whispers, and Halsin bites back a mean, shocked laugh.

Deeper in the temple, it seems nobody has yet noticed the empty pen. Or the dead goblin children. Night guards patrol the corridors, more or less sober, but Astarion makes quick work of them.

They crawl slowly along a roof beam into one of the better rooms, and find a drow woman sitting on the ground, deep in a trance. She dies cleanly without her bodyguards even noticing. The gas that fills the room makes sure they don’t have enough breath to scream as Astarion’s arrows pick them off one by one.

Suddenly Astarion stills, as if listening for something.

”Wait here. Just a moment,” he says, as he jumps down from the rafters. He lands among the bodies softly like a cat. He goes through their gear, and then crouches over the leader’s body. Halsin can’t quite make out what he does with the dead drow’s face, but it involves a knife. Halsin decides he can ask questions later.

The rest of the leaders go down in much the same way. Halsin barely has a drop of blood on him by the time they’re done.

In other circumstances Halsin would be appalled by the murder of unsuspecting victims. Now, the smell of the pens still clinging to him and his Grove in danger, he can only admire Astarion’s deadly effectiveness. As they finally leave the temple, and disappear into the waiting woods, Halsin feels good. He feels good.

”Well, that was invigorating,” Astarion says as he cleans his dagger with a rag. ”I can’t wait to bathe.”

”I know a good campsite. It’s well hidden, about two hours walk from here in daylight. Do you think we can risk lighting a torch? These woods can be tricky to navigate in the dark.”

Astarion shrugs.

”You tell me. I’m not really the outdoorsy type. But if you can manage without a torch, so can I.”

They decide not to risk it. The night is dark even for elves, but true to his word, Astarion doesn’t seem to have any trouble keeping up with Halsin, even though the paths are unfamiliar to him.

They walk in silence, carrying the supplies they had stolen from the encampment. Halsin chows down apples and dried meats. Gods, he hadn’t realized how hungry he was.

”I’d imagine the bear must have quite the appetite,” Astarion says.

”It does,” Halsin agrees. ”If I spend a lot of time transformed, I must eat accordingly.”

”Fascinating. Any cravings for raw fish? Honey straight from the hive?”

Halsin laughs. ”Yes, in fact. The bear wants what it wants. My people are used to it. We bake a lot of honey cakes, us druid types.”

Astarion laughs, delighted.

Halsin smiles. The smile feels good on his face. He is out. He is free. The clouds part, letting the moonlight through, and for the rest of the way, it’s easy to stay on the right path.

The campsite is nestled onto a hillside. There’s a sheltered, sandy crevice among the rocks, where two bedrolls fit nicely. A small tributary of the Chionthar runs just below the ridge. This time of the year it’s not really even a river, and the wide sandy banks are revealed and left bare from where the currents have eroded the soil away during the spring floods. Halsin doesn’t expect the remaining goblins to find them, or even go after them, but he sets simple wards anyway.

”I wasn’t joking about the bathing,” Astarion says as he considers the lazily moving water. He takes off his protective leathers, and sets them aside. Then he unlaces his shirt.

”Do not comment on what you see,” he says.

Halsin frowns, baffled, but then Astarion is taking off his shirt, revealing a curious formation of scars on his back. Halsin opens his mouth, and closes it again. Right. He’d rather look than speak, in any case. Astarion could have sought shelter behind a rock or a shrub, but he’s standing out in the open, unlacing his boots and pulling down his trousers, so Halsin feels comfortable watching him undress.

He’s beautiful in the moonlight. Not soft, exactly, but the gentle curves of him are even less suited for an assassin than his delicate hands are. The metallic, clear scent is strong in the night air again, revealed from underneath the stench of gore emanating from the leathers. Astarion shakes out his shirt before folding it neatly, and there’s the smell of perfume as well. What kind of an assassin is he, wearing perfumes and killing ruthlessly with his unmarred hands? As Astarion makes his way towards the water, he’s stepping so lightly that Halsin half expects him to not leave footprints in the sand.

”Well,” Astarion calls. ”Aren’t you coming? I can’t imagine you wish to smell like goblin guts any more than I do.”

Halsin shudders. He does not. He quickly shrugs out of his own stained and appalling clothes, bundles them up, and follows Astarion to the water. The upfront cold of the river is different from the damp coldness of the dungeon. As Halsin washes away the accumulated grime, he can feel his blood flowing. He scrubs his clothes against a rock the best he can, and squeezes most of the water out of them. It’s not perfect, but he’ll be able to wear them in the morning without them feeling too foul on his skin.

Astarion, for all his efficiency earlier, is taking his sweet time in the water. He’s turned towards Halsin as he bathes, without any attempt at modesty, but he doesn’t pay attention to him either. As he stands in the water, his face is open and expressive. He keeps running his hand along the surface, watching as the moonlit water laps at his skin. His hair is wet, and standing ever which way. A droplet of water runs down his face, and as it reaches his lips, his tongue darts out to catch it, unselfconscious. Halsin finds himself mesmerized.

”You’re beautiful,” he says, before he has time to think better of it.

Astarion snaps out of his thoughts, and focuses his eyes on Halsin.

Halsin can see Astarion’s posture change. The unguarded, expressive face hardens into something friendly, but calculated. He swipes at his hair, arranging it neatly again. A sly smile appears on his face. It looks like armor. Halsin dislikes it instantly.

”No,” he says. ”Please don’t do that.”

”What, darling? I’m hardly doing anything. Except distracting you with my beauty, apparently,” Astarion drawls. He stands with one hand on his hip, and looks at Halsin with cool interest.

Halsin has seen that look before, on people with too little options. He hadn’t expected to see it on this assassin.

”I’m sorry,” Halsin says. ”You told me not to comment on what I see. I should have listened.”

With that, Halsin turns away and finishes his bath. He steps out of the water and gathers his clothes, before turning to look at Astarion apologetically. Astarion looks back, his face calm and unreadable. Halsin walks up to the hill, and hangs up his clothes near their small campfire.

Astarion doesn’t take too long to follow. His clothes aren’t an appalling mess, so he pulls on his trousers and his shirt, while Halsin sits naked on a log by the fire, feeling foolish if not terribly self-conscious.

”My dear druid, I must admit I’m confused,” Astarion says. The horrible, smooth drawl from before is thankfully gone, but there’s a slight edge to his voice that wasn’t there before. ”Were you coming on to me or not? I hear it’s hardly surprising to find oneself in the mood after emerging victorious from a battle.”

”You were the one who handled all the battle,” Halsin says. ”I was only there to slow you down.”

”Come, now, you did also carry most of our supplies,” Astarion says. ”Answer the question.”

”I confess, I wasn’t thinking that far ahead. I only spoke my thoughts, as they came to me.”

”Charming,” Astarion mutters, and looks down at his hands.

”You saved my life, Astarion. And the lives of my people. The last thing I would want is to upset you. And yet it seems I have.”

”I am not a child, I don’t crumble into dust from the mere notion of sex,” Astarion says, and Halsin has the thought that he’s not talking to him, not entirely at least. So he doesn’t reply.

Astarion is quiet for a while. He hasn’t even eaten anything, Halsin thinks to himself.

”Alright,” Astarion suddenly says. ”What if I were to say I find you agreeable as well. What if I told you to sit there while I stand over you, and you show me exactly how beautiful you find me?”

Halsin tilts his head and considers.

”That is something I would enjoy. But I feel sex should always be a thing of joy. It would be for me. Would it be for you?”

Astarion makes a frustrated sound.

”Well, that would certainly be ideal. What I feel is my business, however. I think we should try it and see how it goes. What do you say?”

Despite himself, Halsin feels his body responding. He thinks about Astarion in the cold stream, looking at the water playing on his skin as if it was something new and precious to him. There is something here that Halsin doesn’t quite understand, but also something that he does.

”I will not presume to know your thoughts, but I would also not cause you harm. Will you promise me to only do what feels right for you?” he asks. He knows he’s being presumptuous, and braces himself for Astarion’s response.

But Astarion only draws a breath, then says, tightly, ”Yes. I suppose that is fair enough. You druid types can certainly be obnoxious.”

Halsin smiles.

”We can.”

”Well, I’ll make you make up for it,” Astarion says, and shrugs off his shirt again. He steps in close, and touches a hand to the back of Halsin’s head. Halsin lets himself be pulled in, and buries his face to Astarion’s strangely hairless stomach. He stays there for a while, while Astarion’s cool fingers tangle in his hair, stroking and pulling in turn. He places his hands on Astarion’s hips, not too tentatively, but firmly like he wants to, and then touches his lips next to his navel. Astarion shudders a little, so he does it again. He keeps nuzzling at Astarion, and can feel him stirring against his cheek.

”Are you always this slow?” Astarion says, and it sounds more like a question than reproof.

”I like taking my time. And I like your smell.”

Astarion jerks against him, gently. His hands cover Halsin’s, and they push Astarion’s trousers down together. Astarion’s cock is as lovely as the rest of him, and fully hard. Halsin rests it against his cheek and looks up. Astarion’s eyes are huge, and he bites at his lip as he looks down at Halsin. Halsin’s hips jerk in response.

”Gods,” Astarion says, staring. ”I really hope…”

Then he’s grabbing Halsin’s hair again, and guiding his head. Halsin’s lips find the head of his cock, and he mouths at it, pleased and excited. Astarion whimpers, and Halsin smiles.

Astarion tastes like he smells, sharp and clean like iron. His cock is oddly cool against Halsin’s lips, but it warms up quickly in his mouth. Astarion bucks and shudders as Halsin sucks gently, trying to find a steady rhythm. It’s been a while since Halsin has done this, and he’s glad Astarion isn’t too large.

It doesn’t take long for Astarion to reach his peak.

”Oh gods,” he says, and spills in Halsin’s mouth without further warning. Halsin groans, and swallows what he can. The taste is a little different from what he remembers. His own cock is wet and wanting, and he has to fight to keep from bringing himself off then and there. He lets Astarion pull out of his mouth, and runs his hands over Astarion’s hips and ass. Astarion takes his hands away from his hair, and lifts his chin up instead. They look at each other. Astarion looks a little wild-eyed, but he smiles and wipes his finger over Halsin’s lip, pushes his thumb into his mouth. Halsin sucks and nibbles at Astarion’s fingers, and his own need is suddenly acute again.

”I want to…” he starts to say.

”I want to watch,” Astarion says at the same time, and Halsin groans.

Astarion crouches down, and places a hand on Halsin’s leg. Halsin takes himself in hand. Astarion looks at him, face open and pleased.

”Hells, you’re very large, aren’t you,” he says as he watches Halsin stroke his own cock. ”I’m sure I could manage, but I’d need to work for it.”

Halsin makes an undignified sound at that, and comes all over his hand. With a sharp motion, Astarion leans in close, and kisses his lips fiercely, licking into his mouth and no doubt tasting himself there. Halsin kisses back, shuddering through the last of his release.

They keep kissing for a while. Halsin fights the mischievous urge to push his wet fingers into Astarion’s hair and make a mess of him.

Eventually they let go of each other, and start settling down for the night. It won’t be long until morning. Halsin eats another apple. The walk through the woods, the food and the sex have replenished his magic, and he feels like himself again. He’s also very, very tired.

The space where they have set their bedrolls is cramped. Halsin lays down first, and starts preparing for his trance. Taking turns would be safer, but he is exhausted, and he’s not about to ask Astarion to take first watch. It will be alright. His wards will alert him to intruders.

Halsin had assumed they would endure the lack of personal space politely pretending to not notice it, but Astarion pushes his bedroll close, and settles down against Halsin’s side, a little abruptly. Halsin makes a pleased sound, and Astarion relaxes against him.

”I want to thank you again,” Halsin says. ”For my life. I had almost lost hope.”

”Oh, it’s quite alright,” Astarion says. ”I also thought I’d lost something. Apparently not.”

”I’m glad,” Halsin says, and slips under, with images of freely flowing water guiding him into his trance.

”Me too,” Astarion whispers into the night. ”Me too.”

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