The small camp they had set up in the early evening had long since settled into a comfortable silence.
The fire had burned down to glowing embers, casting lazy orange light over bedrolls and sleeping companions.
Beyond the circle of warmth, the night stretched cool and endless, carrying the scent of damp petrichor and summer grass.
Everyone else seemed capable of finding peace.
Astarion envied them. He envied the ability to fall into a deep sleep and the methods of which they used to facilitate it. It was common practice in their camp to drink whatever pig swill they happened to find on their travels to ease themselves into a blissful state of unawareness.
Unfortunately for Astarion, much like his inability to eat and sleep, he stopped feeling the effects of alcohol two centuries ago, no matter the quality. Sometimes it was a blessing, considering the state of whatever edible substances they found. Other times, much like tonight, it was just as much of a curse as his affliction.
Feeling more and more frustrated as the seconds passed by, his eyes snapped open for what felt like the hundredth time.
He stared at the roof of his tent, listening.
The whistling of the wind blowing through the trees.
Someone, most likely Karlach, softly snoring.
The metal tag on Scratches collar jingling around as he groomed himself.
The crackle of a dying fire.
Nothing that should have kept him from entering a peaceful trance.
Yet peace refused to come.
Every time he closed his eyes he saw corridors of cherry stained wood draped in red and dripping with candlelight.
He felt the shackles of chains around his wrists and ankles, keeping him restrained to the floor atop a disgusting brown stained mattress, fetid with the scent of stale blood and despair.
He felt cold, dead fingers beneath his chin.
“Smile, boy. Lest you want another visit to Godey. I hear he’s got some new tools he’s just itching to try.”
The haughty voice wasn’t real.
It hadn’t been for months.
Still, it lingered inside his head with perfect clarity.
Astarion sat upright with a quiet sigh, dragging both hands through silver curls. Staying inside the tent wasn’t helping. If anything, the stifling confined space only made the memories louder.
Careful not to wake anyone, he slipped outside. The air was wonderfully cool. He inhaled deeply, trying to chase away the phantom scent of Pontifectal incense and stale blood that still clung to him.
The camp overlooked the sprawling city of Baldur’s Gate. Even at this hour it glowed. Thousands of lanterns shimmered like scattered embers below, the harbour reflecting moonlight across calm water. If Astarion wasn’t privy to the sordid goings on within the city, he would almost consider it a place of great beauty. From this distance the city seemed peaceful.
Astarion wandered beyond the tents and up an incline until he reached the grassy rise overlooking the view. He lowered himself into the soft grass, hugging one knee to his chest.
Brilliant against velvet darkness.
Unlike so many things in his life, they never demanded anything from him.
He tilted his head back until the stars were the only things he could see. For a little while, the memories became quieter.
He had stopped trying an hour ago.
His mind kept circling unfinished thoughts until he’d finally admitted defeat and stepped outside for fresh air.
The camp looked strangely peaceful.
Karlach’s snoring was loud enough to frighten the local wildlife.
Gale’s tent glowed faintly with the remnants of magical light.
One bedroll, however, sat empty.
His eyes followed footprints through the grass.
He found Astarion sitting alone beneath an open sky.
The vampire didn’t look around.
“I wondered how long it would take before someone noticed.”
“I noticed your bedroll was empty.”
“I was hoping everyone would assume I’d wandered off to commit dramatic acts of villainy.”
“You and I both know you’d announce it first.”
Astarion grinned, his fangs glinting in the moonlight. “Oh, absolutely.”
Damocles chuckled quietly before lowering himself beside him.
For several minutes they simply watched the city.
Eventually Damocles broke the silence.
Astarion gave an almost imperceptible nod.
Didn’t offer empty reassurances.
He simply sat beside him.
Sometimes that was enough.
“I hate nights like this,” Astarion admitted eventually. “It’s ridiculous, really.”
“I know he can’t hurt me anymore.”
“But my memory is dreadfully stubborn.”
Damocles looked toward the stars. “My mother used to tell me memories were like old scars.”
“Mm. They stop hurting most days.” He shrugged. “But every so often the weather changes and the feeling comes back,”
Astarion considered his words.
“…I like that. Although I wish I didn’t understand it quite so well.”
Another comfortable silence settled between them.
Damocles lay backwards. The hill was surprisingly comfortable. He folded his hands behind his head.
“You know,” he said, “the stars are clearer away from the city.”
Astarion looked down at him.
“You plan on stargazing?”
“I couldn’t sleep anyway.”
After a moment’s hesitation…
He stretched out beside Damocles.
The grass brushed gently against his sleeves.
Above them the sky seemed impossibly vast.
Without trees blocking the view, it felt as though they could fall upward forever.
Neither of them spoke for nearly five minutes.
There was something sacred about a comfortable shared silence.
Eventually Damocles lifted one hand.
“That one.” He pointed toward a particularly bright star.
“The Hunter.” Astarion responded, following his finger. “I always thought it looked more like an angry goose.”
Damocles barked a laugh. “Now I can’t unsee it.”
Damocles pointed to a small jagged cluster of stairs elsewhere. “What about those?”
“The Crown.” Astarion traced the outline of a crown in the sky.
“You know your constellations.”
Damocles turned his head. “Really?”
Astarion’s smile softened into something surprisingly genuine.
“When you’ve lived as long as I have…”
“…You notice everything the universe has to offer.”
His crimson eyes drifted upward once more.
“They’re one of the few things that never changed.”
Astarions voice became quieter. “When I belonged to Cazador…”
The words still sounded strange.
“…There were nights he’d send me out into the city.”
Damocles remained silent.
“I’d always return just before dawn. For obvious reasons, but also because of the curfew he imposed on me.”
“Sometimes I’d finish… whatever awful task he’d given me…”
He closed his eyes briefly and a small shudder wracked through his body.
“…And I’d end up alone on a rooftop enjoying the last things the night had to offer.”
“The manner of things that beast had me do, it didn’t matter. The stars were always there.”
A small smile touched his lips. “I wasn’t allowed freedom. But no one could stop me from just looking up.”
Damocles listened carefully.
“They reminded me there was a world beyond him.”
A breeze stirred silver hair across Astarion’s forehead.
“I think…” He laughed quietly at himself. “I think they kept some small part of me alive.”
Damocles looked at the vampire instead of the sky.
“How could you? I’ve never told anyone.”
“You’ve never told me a lot of things.”
“No.” Astarion smiled. “But I’m getting better.”
Damocles pointed upward again.
“Really? I definitely see a duck.”
Astarion shook his head. “You are determined to ruin astronomy for me, aren’t you darling?”
“What can I say? I have a gift.”
Damocles grinned. “There.”
Astarion squinted dramatically.
“My eyesight is positively dreadful.”
Damocles scoffed. “You can see in perfect darkness.”
He nudged Astarion's shoulder “Liar.”
Astarion nudged him back. “Insufferable.”
Their laughter drifted quietly across the hill.
For a little while neither of them remembered nightmares.
The city lights glittered beneath them.
Astarion spoke without taking his eyes from the heavens.
His voice carried no performance.
No carefully crafted wit.
“They don’t ask what you’ve done. Who you are. They don’t judge.”
Damocles turned to watch him instead of the constellations.
Moonlight painted silver across alabaster skin, two faint, symmetrical puncture scars were the only blemish on perfect skin.
There was something almost peaceful about him.
Something rare. Something no one else got to see.
“I could spend hours watching them.”
Astarion smiled softly. “Sometimes I have, often when I wanted proof the world was larger than my prison.” His eyes reflected countless tiny lights.
“I suppose… They’ve always felt like old friends.”
He laughed under his breath.
Damocles’ expression warmed.
“I’ve never heard you sound this… content.”
“I’m not usually allowed to be. There’s always some reason or another why I can’t be. Especially these days, with all these cultists around.”
Astarion glanced sideways. “Am I?” He doubted himself.
“You survived, Astarion. You won. You get to decide what peace looks like now.”
The words settled gently between them and Astarion lived his gaze upward once more.
“I think…” His smile grew just a little. “…Perhaps this is what peace looks like.”
Damocles pointed toward another constellation.
“You’ve managed one constellation across the entire night sky.”
Damocles groaned dramatically. “I was feeling proud.”
Minutes blurred into hours.
Of myths each had heard growing up.
Damocles described a sailor’s tale claiming every star was the lantern of someone guiding lost travellers home.
Astarion countered with an old Baldurian legend that insisted constellations shifted whenever lovers confessed beneath them.
“Utter nonsense,” he said.
“Romantic nonsense.” Damocles corrected
“You secretly like romantic nonsense.”
Damocles smiled knowingly. “You absolutely do.”
Astarion sighed theatrically. “I have cultivated an image, my dear.”
“And you’re dismantling it rather efficiently.”
Damocles laughed, “I’ll apologise.”
“No, I really won’t.” His cheeks were starting to ache from the smiling.
Eventually Damocles noticed something. “You aren’t tense anymore.”
He realised his companion was right.
His shoulders no longer ached.
His breathing had slowed.
The memories still existed.
He hadn’t thought about Cazador for nearly two hours. Instead, he’d been debating whether a constellation resembled a goose.
Astarion breathed out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.. “I suppose you’ve distracted me.”
“I’ll accept that as a compliment.”
He scoffed at Damocles. “You shouldn’t.”
“Too late.” Damocles grinned at the vampire. “You can’t take it back.”
The first hint of dawn remained only hours away.
The stars still blazed overhead.
Neither man seemed eager to move.
Damocles folded his hands behind his head again.
“If either of us falls asleep or into a trance here…”
“We’ll wake damp and miserable.”
Astarion turned his head slightly.
“For not trying to fix me.”
Damocles looked surprised. “You don’t need someone to fix you, Astarion.”
A gentle smile spread across Astarion’s face. “That’s why it helped.”
Damocles sat back up and reached across the grass until their hands rested side by side.
Astarion didn’t pull away, not even when Damocles’s little finger overlapped his own.
Instead, after a moment’s hesitation, he turned his hand over so their fingers loosely linked.
Above them, countless stars shimmered over Baldur’s Gate. Ancient, indifferent and impossibly beautiful.
For the first time in many nights, Astarion looked at them without seeing the shadows of his past.
Only the promise that tomorrow would come.
And beside him, beneath a universe full of light, he found something he had once believed forever beyond his reach.
