#post bg3

Untitled BG3 WIP

Valemor waited for no one.

By the time Astarion had dressed and returned to the streets, the city was already demanding pieces of him again: council reports, construction disputes, donor schedules, and a dozen conversations he scarcely remembered agreeing to have. Grief, thankfully, had to wait its turn behind a mountain of civic responsibilities. That said, he knew he wasn't at his best.

Every so often, he felt himself slipping back into autopilot and would start running through the grounding motions. Five things he could see. Four things he could—Gods, what was the point? Not here. Not when half the city seemed determined to occupy every corner of his attention at once.

He could already hear Sloan's contradictions coming back to bite him. In that moment, Astarion excused himself from a conversation about converting more of the sewage system into fertilizer for surface crops.

When he was far enough away to blend in with the inhabitants, but not so far that anyone important would come looking for him, he ventured toward the designated recreational area and leaned against an oak tree whose branches glowed with a faint blue light. His eyes lingered on it for a moment—another byproduct of one of Gale's students. He growled to himself.

Yet another reminder that he needed to thank the wizard.

"The last person I need to be thinking about right now, of all things," Astarion huffed to himself.

He crossed his arms and tilted his head back, his gaze traveling through the glowing branches and up toward the great crack that stretched across the entirety of the Grymforge Basin thousands of feet overhead. He could make out the faint outline of stars peering through the darkness and occasionally catch the scent of surface air drifting through the opening, temporarily chasing away the earthy aromas the Underdark was known for.

The sun would be rising soon, a few hours at most. Its light would spill through sections of Valemor, painting the stone in gold and amber.

Aside from being one of the basin's greatest logistical nightmares—between fortifying the crevice, preventing cave-ins, and shielding vampire citizens from stray sunlight—it was also the closest Astarion could get to the sun these days without suffering the consequences. And when the orange glow finally crested over the eastern edge of the crack, he and Sebastian had made a habit of watching it together from a safe distance.

His thoughts drifted back to the first year.

Back then, Sebastian had only recently returned to the Underdark after Cazador's defeat, replacing Leon as a member of the Hexad after the latter vanished. Astarion still believed Leon had met his end beneath the sun on his own terms. His siblings continued to debate the matter from time to time, but practicality told him there were few other explanations. There was no evidence, no body, no trace left of him that he was aware of.

His thoughts returned to Sebastian.

The two of them had walked on eggshells around each other in those days. Avoiding one another whenever possible and doing a poor job of pretending otherwise. Then one morning, they found themselves standing together near the crevice, watching sunlight spill across the basin.

Valemor had been smaller then. There were fewer buildings, and even less life, than there are nowadays, yet somehow the way those rays caught the stone and the fungal growths surrounding the settlement felt more radiant than anything that existed now. The light glimmered across the rooftops like dragon scales. And in that fleeting moment, something clicked between them. An understanding that transcended the hurt.

Mind Balming had not yet become commonplace. Halsin's clan had yet to uncover the lost texts that would eventually reshape their communities. Astarion and his siblings were still stumbling through recovery without a map, and even then, buried beneath all the misery, there had been a moment when Sebastian looked into his eyes, and Astarion thought perhaps redemption was possible. Not forgiveness, not absolution, but something close enough to keep moving forward.

The memory slipped through his fingers as he returned to the present.

Astarion released a slow breath and allowed himself to sit with the grief for a moment. He couldn't allow himself to drown in it, but a taste didn't hurt. It certainly couldn't sour his mouth more than wine did these days.

“Godsdammit.”

Astarion was muttering under his breath as he went through the icebox in his basement oasis, trying not to scream. “Find the Vampire” had been a halfway decent distraction for the children above as he waited for relief from Henri and Zevlor, but now they were hungry and tired and frankly, grinding down his last nerve. 

“Where in the hells…? Ah. There we are.” He pulled out a decently sized container that was marked “jerky.” At this point in the day, Astarion declared the snack good enough and just prayed that it wasn’t one of Henri’s “long pig” kind. She had, for the most part, kicked the cannibalism habit, a holdover from her days as Bhaal’s favorite child. But still, he couldn’t be a hundred percent sure. Maybe he could choose one of the more annoying children to give it a try first and tell him what kind of meat this was before serving it to the others. 

“Astarion! Hey, Astarion!” 

“Oh for the love of-” Astarion slammed the icebox shut and headed back over to the ladder. “Someone had better be bleeding out again up there or I swear-” 

Mattis’ head peeked over the hutch entrance. “It’s that stupid Inspector guy again. He’s knocking and asking for your girlfriend.” 

Astarion groaned, rolling his head back. Just what he needed. “Again?”

Mattis shrugged, “He seems angry.” 

“I have yet to see the man not be.” Astarion waved Mattis to stand back as he came back up the ladder, offloading the bag of jerky to him. “Tell everyone to shut up and eat this while I deal with him, alright?” 

“Are you sure you don’t want to wait for Henri?” The curly haired one Astarion couldn’t remember the name of asked. “I think he’s scared of her more than you.” 

“You’re hilarious,” Astarion deadpanned, knowing that unfortunately this child was completely correct. He peeked out of the curtain making sure that the sun did indeed go down, only to hear the annoyance at the door banging again. 

“I know you’re in there, Miss Henri, I need to speak to you.” 

Astarion sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. He glanced down at the carpet, double checking to make sure all the blood and viscera from earlier had been properly cleaned  before straightening up and opening the door. 

The new Inspector Cross who had replaced an annoyingly promoted Valeria was a grumpy tall dark haired human with a ridiculously large handlebar mustache over a small, irritating mouth. He also sported a monocle and a tightly shaved hairstyle that made his hair look like a crate. A caricature of a man , Astarion thought.

“She’s not here,” Astarion stated coolly, “She’s at some Harper event. You’ll have to call on her later. Preferably tomorrow at a decent time.” 

Inspector Cross’s brow furrowed. “Mr. Ancunín, this is not the time to play games with me. You’ve already caused enough trouble.” 

Astarion placed his hand over his unbeating heart, “My good sir, I have been a picturesque citizen and follower of the law. You’re the one who has been obsessed with everything I do.” 

The Inspector growled at him. “I had two witnesses who swore they saw you at the Crimson Palace the night it burned. Not soon after you and your “siblings” as you call them inherited the Szarr estate. Just in time for you all to collect the insurance funds.” 

Everything the Inspector was accusing Astarion of was absolutely true. Unfortunately for the patriarchs who desired Cazador's gold and palace, Astarion's now dead master had described him and his siblings in public several times as his children. Which meant, with some political maneuvering and legal footwork on Astarion’s end, he and his siblings did indeed end up with a windfall of gold. The insurance fraud bit was all his idea. Henri had joined him and after setting the place aflame, the pair had shared a bottle of wine as they watched the palace burn to the ground. 

Such sweet memories. 

“My dear Inspector, we’ve been over this already. Your witnesses were a drunk who also thought he was the god of fire and tried to run into said building and a half blind woman who couldn’t tell myself and Henri apart. She has horns and a tail, do you know how difficult of an accomplishment that is?” 

For a moment, Astarion thought he could see steam bursting from the man’s ears. “Just because the pair of you are so-called heroes doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want.” 

“No one said that, darling. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to this evening.” 

The Inspector peeked behind him, seeing the gaggle of children for once sitting and eating and not causing too much trouble. “And what is this? Kidnapping now, are we?” 

Mattis snapped his head up, “No, you idiot. He’s just watching us cause people keep trying to kill us. Why don’t you do something about that?” 

“Now, Mattis, we don’t call enforcers of the law names in front of them. We save that for after they’ve left,” Astarion gently admonished, turning back to the Inspector, “But he has a point. Didn’t I read something in the papers about your team taking credit for clearing the rest of the Bhaalist temple? And yet we still seem to have them showing up on our doorstep. Interesting, don’t you think?” 

The Inspector paused for a moment, taking in the insults and beratement. He reached behind himself and pulled out a pair of manacles. “You’re going to need to come with me, Mr. Ancunín.” 

Astarion scoffed, “On what made up charge? You have to have cause, darling, or a warrant. I haven’t been a magistrate in centuries and I remember that much.” 

His voice started coming out unreasonably high as the Inspector also pulled out of his pocket what was clearly a large flask of holy water. “Now, let’s think clearly about this, Inspector-” 

The familiar steady tones of Henri’s voice thankfully cut in through the darkness. “Handcuffs? Really? Without me?” 

Astarion perked up. “See, Inspector? Your quarry has arrived.” 

The Inspector whipped his head around and Astarion stepped to the side to see a very alive Henri flanked by Jaheira and Zevlor. 

She’s here. She’s safe. 

Upon seeing the former Chosen of Bhaal, The Inspector’s eyes widened as he hurriedly tried to stuff the flask back into his pocket and reattach the manacles to his belt. Henri walked up to the door as the Inspector dropped the manacles with a loud clunk that reverberated off the brick. Before he could turn and grab them, Henri scooped them up into her own hand. “A gift for me? You shouldn’t have. And you’re here all alone again, I see. Still can’t get any of your Fist friends to join you on your crusade?” 

“Just because everyone else is too frightened of the pair of you to bring you to justice…” 

“Ah, a martyr in our midst,” Jaheira remarked, rolling her eyes, “Couldn’t possibly be because she is a hero of the city, has worked with the Duke directly, and that he likes her more than you?”

Henri tossed the cuffs to Astarion who caught them and set them aside. “Do we really need to do this right now?” 

“Yes, we do, Miss Henri.” The Inspector cleared his throat, put the manacles back on his belt, and clicked his heels together, “I am conducting an investigation about a number of disappearances around Baldur’s Gate.”

“And are these real disappearances or did you just drum up an excuse to harass any citizen that just so happens to have horns and fangs? Because I think Duke Ravenguard would be very interested to hear if it’s the latter.”

Astaron let out a low whistle. That’s his girl.

As the Inspector sputtered out an angry backtracking reply that Henri stood back to enjoy, Astarion’s mind drifted back to that time in the shadow-cursed lands where she had convinced half of their enemies to off themselves, vaguely hoping she could pull the same trick here. 

Yugir had to be her crowning jewel. Convincing him to kill his minions, his pet, and then himself, only to then recruit him later to fight Raphael and the brain. He still kicked himself thinking back to how stupid he had been, yelling at her to just kill the damn orthon when she was in the middle of saving him from the trouble of even drawing his bow. 

Then again, he was confused about his feelings back then and it didn’t help that Henri was incredibly attractive when winding up annoying asshats.

“Besides,” The Inspector paused to clear his throat after going on what sounded like a very obnoxious rant, “I’ll have you know my brother-in-law is a tiefling.” His face was somehow now an even brighter shade of red, shining with drips of sweat, “Now, as I was saying, several disappearances have been reported in this area. Given not your nature as a tiefling, but your other nature as it were, it is natural to check in on these things, don’t you think?”

Henri raised her eyebrows, “My nature as a venerated Hero of the City, you mean? So you’re here to ask for help in investigating these disappearances? Since last time there was a series of murders around the city, I was the one who solved the case and protected those who were targeted while the previous Inspector took all the credit.”

“Well...yes. Yes. Of course. You would probably have an intimate knowledge of places people could scuttle off to undetected.” He cleared his throat, glancing behind her. “Zevlor. Good evening. You wouldn’t happen to have heard anything?” 

“Only about you, Inspector.” Zevlor looked to Henri, “He was at Cal and Dana’s earlier and I heard he gave them quite the difficult time.” 

“Oh, really now?” Henri turned back to the Inspector, her eyebrows raised and eyes wild. Astarion gleefully wondered if she was finally going to stab the man. But before she could do anything, Jaheira stepped forward. 

“If I may, we have identified a new threat today, Inspector. Another cult attacked the Harpers today. Since you did such a wonderful job clearing out the Bhaalists, your help would be… invaluable . And I do believe it is a solid lead as to the source of your disappearances.” 

Astarion suppressed a snort. But Jaheira’s patronizing tone still seemed to work for the Inspector, looking relieved as took the offer she laid out for him. “That sounds excellent, High Harper. I look forward to us working together, then.” 

“Great. Leave.” Henri said, staring daggers into his soul, “Goodnight.” 

The Inspector grumbled to himself as he left, keeping a notable wide berth of Henri as he did so.  

Astarion clicked his tongue. “Thank goodness you arrived when you did, darling. I-”

He was cut off by Henri jumping into his arms. Astarion lifted her and spun around, ignoring the sound of Mattis pointedly gagging in the background. Her lips found his own, their touch magically lifting the weight of anxiety that he hadn’t realized had been weighing him down all day. She gave his lower lip a small affectionate nip as he set her back on the floor. Remembering his audience, Astarion cleared his throat, “You missed another surprise unwelcome guest.”

One of the kids called out, “We sliced their ankle tendons!” 

“Really now?” Henri asked with a sparkle in her eye, “I’m impressed. I don’t think I’ve pulled that off myself.”

Astarion rolled his eyes, “Yes, yes, it was very impressive that they all nearly got themselves killed.” 

She raised an eyebrow at him, properly coming into the Fee with Jaheira and Zevlor behind her, “Everyone alright, then?”

“Not a scratch,” Astarion said reassuringly, threading an arm around her waist, and pulling her sideways into him so they were still facing the gaggle of children. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, right on the red flame tattoo that decorated it, sighing as he took in the smell of her, the ever present scent of campfire and amber mixed with the mouth watering metallic of her blood that steadily pumped through her veins. She was, despite these murder idiots’ best efforts, still very much alive and very much his. 

Henri leaned into him, playfully bumping his waist with her own, “Good. Would be rude for you to die now after I’ve put so much effort into keeping your undead self animated.”

“Pfft. He’s rude now,” one of the kids brooded, arms crossed, “He had us play this stupid game where we had to find him. We looked for hours . How was I supposed to know vampires can climb on the ceiling?”

To be fair, Astarion didn’t know either until about seven months ago, after Cazador and the tadpole were gone, and but he was happy to rub his newfound abilities in the face of this kid all the same.

“You kept insisting we play a game,” Astarion said with an exasperated sigh, “You never said the game should be fair.”

Jaheira came into the front door, holding a few envelopes. “These were in your mailbox out front. Hello, Astarion.”

“My dear Jaheiria, glad to see despite your advanced age, you haven’t collapsed into a pile of dust quite yet.”

“Ha. Nor you, my bastard vampire friend.” She handed Henri the pile, a deep purple envelope at the top, the handwriting in large obnoxious flourishes. It was immediately obvious to Astarion who the sender was.

“Oh gods, what does that wizard want from us now?”

“It’s cute how you still pretend you hate him,” Henri said, ripping the envelope open and scanning it, “Just says he wants to visit.”

“That man is going to drag us to Waterdeep himself, isn’t he?” Astarion whined. “Didn’t he want you to give some boring lecture at his academy?”

“You think a lecture from me would be boring?” Henri teased, “It says he hopes we come to Waterdeep soon as he wants us to meet someone very special to him.”

“No! Gale of all people? The same Gale we stomped around half of Faerun with? Someone fell for that endlessly babbling wizard?” Astarion grabbed the letter from her hand, scanning it over himself just to be sure.

“Henri is with you despite you being a vampire,” Mattis pointed out, “Though I guess being a vampire is kind of cooler than a wizard.”

“Excuse me, I would certainly hope so!” Astarion brought his hand to his chest, “The wizard didn’t teach you how to lockpick, now, did he?”

The group of children started to enthusiastically debate the matter among themselves.

“Yeah, but wizards can do big things like Walls of Fire. A wall of fire could kill like...twenty vampires.”

“Not if the vampires are fast! Astarion is pretty fast.”

“It’s more about if the vampires are stupid enough to chase you through a wall of fire,” Henri added thoughtfully, 

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Well, if Petras ever manages to clone himself…” 

The more the group of them talked, the more distracted Astarion was by Henri’s waist and beautifully framed breasts. He could feel himself start to stir down below with a need that required complete privacy and Henri’s clothing to be off. 

He turned to address the exhausted Hellrider, “Zevlor, my second favorite paladin, how are you and how quickly can you get these children home safely? As much as I adore the little munchkins, I’m afraid my evening is quite booked.” Astarion’s hand slipped behind Henri to squeeze her asscheek, her face immediately flushing a pinkish purple as she gently whacked his calf with the tip of her tail. 

“I don’t wanna go!” One of the young tieflings shouted interrupting them, “This is way more fun than home!”

Astarion rolled his eyes, “Yes, the misery of going to the warm, lovely house Henri and I bought for you. Life is tough.”

“But, what if I want to learn more about lockpicking? Or stabbing people?”

Henri, a sweet and kind soul with a much higher tolerance for children than Astarion, squatted down to the child’s level. “Well, tomorrow Dammon is supposed to teach you all about blacksmithing. You can’t stab people if you don’t have good daggers. And you can’t learn about making good daggers if you don’t sleep properly first. There will be plenty of other days you can come back and you can chase Astarion all over the ceiling. Alright?”

Astarion’s mind could not abandon the sexual shores he was currently shipwrecked on. He pulled Henri up as soon as the child joined the others. Placing his hand on her back, he trailed down her spine with his fingertips to the base of her tail. Henri shuddered, biting her lip as she suppressed making a noise. She smacked his arm and handed him the pile of letters. “ Behave, ” she hissed into his ear, “And keep these in front of you. You’re noticeable .” 

“You’ve never complained before.” 

“I’ll come with you,” Jaheira said to Zevlor, “Now that we know everyone around here is safe. I can catch you up on the day’s dealings as well. You missed quite the fight.”

“Did I, now? What a shame. You know, before the brain I thought my fighting days were through. Now it seems there’s some skirmish every few days.”

“Good. Retirement would suit you poorly.” Jaheira smiled warmly, “You still move like a young man on the battlefield. Very impressive to watch, from what I could see, when I was not killing mind flayers myself.”

“Really?” Zevlor sputtered, blinking quickly a few times, “You’re too kind.”

Henri exchanged a knowing glance with Astarion. He clocked the mischievous look in her eyes, the same when she had observed Karlach and Wyll dancing around each other.

Nope. Not tonight. Henri’s matchmaking hijinks could happen another evening when Astarion was trying to not grind on the letters he held as he made a shoo-ing motion with his free hand. “Yes, lovely, sounds like much discussion to be had out and away from here. Good night everyone, miss you terribly already!”

Henri smiled at Jaheira and Zevlor apologetically, allowing her potential next project to gather the children and file them out the door. The whole ordeal still took far too long for Astarion’s taste as he watched Henri wave at their departing young guests, “Have a good night! Thanks for keeping Astarion out of trouble.”

As soon as the little tykes were out of sight, and the door was safely closed, Astarion unceremoniously tossed the letters in the general direction of the counter, before his hands found themselves all over his beloved who was laughing. “I missed you too, gorgeous.”

“That was awful,” Astarion whined, already working to undo the buttons of her blouse so he could see her breasts, “You should never leave again.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“You should be. Such a sin should not be let off lightly.”

Astarion could hear Henri’s heartbeat thrumming under her skin, see pink flush peeking through her pale blue skin. It wasn’t often that he was this clingy, possessive, and desperate. Something about the constant roundabouts of near death experiences, the lingering scent of the blood of other dead men on his lover, and his newfound freedom to explore whatever he wanted at times turned him into the best kind of feral monster, one under his own control to indulge or deny.

To his surprise, Henri put her hands over his own, “I’ll be more than happy to beg for forgiveness, but can I please have five minutes to put my things down and settle in properly? Don’t want to stick you with a dagger by accident.” 

Astarion pouted, but released his hold on her, allowing her to pull away from him. His hands went to his own clothing as he started to undress himself, tossing his tunic carelessly aside. “We should leave soon. Baldur’s Gate, I mean.” 

Henri looked up at him as she drew her daggers out from their spot by her thighs and set them down, her hands then working on her skirt, “I hope the kids didn’t work you that hard.” 

“I could say the same to you, darling.” Astarion looked at her pointedly, “I hope you’re not actually planning on taking on even more work while we’re here. We have other plans, remember? This sunwalker ring isn’t going to waltz in here and place itself on my finger, now is it? And remember how ill you were after the brain? I certainly don’t want a repeat of that.”

“I’m fine ,” Henri insisted, “And I wasn’t planning on taking more work.” Her gaze was unfocused as she tossed her skirt to the side and started to spin the Band of the Mystic Scoundrel around her finger like she’d gotten it at a two copper store and not a dangerous land of feral dinosaurs after outplaying a cheating djinn. 

Astarion stared at her, “But…?” 

“...But between the Bhaalists still out there and now this new group of crazies...shit, you don’t know about the new group of crazies, right.”

Despite Astarion’s request to discuss this in the morning, it was obvious Henri needed to get this off her chest now. So he listened somewhat attentively as she rattled off what had happened at the Harper’s, giving an impressive level of detail about the methods of killing and arteries hit. His sweet, bloodthirsty girl. One could apparently take Bhaal out of the Bhaalspawn but apparently not the knowledge or interest in murder itself.

“If they were only threatening us, the battle hardened and capable, I’d dump it on the Harpers and Hellriders and call it a day. But they are a threat to every tiefling in the city. That’s not a problem we can trust the Fist with, no matter how much Wyll and his father insist they’ve changed. Especially if they are under that asshole Inspector. And it’s my fault these groups are attacking anyhow, so...”

Astarion felt his chest ache at her words. One of Henri’s many lovely qualities was how protective she was and how much effort she put into keeping her allies and loved ones safe. Hells, it was one of the reasons why Astarion had first pursued her. But he learned far too late into knowing her that she carried with it a deeply ingrained sense of guilt and insistence on self sacrifice that was, well...they were working on it. There were certain difficulties to helping a disowned Bhaalspawn who was once fated to kill every living thing in the world feel like it was okay to be selfish.

Fortunately, Astarion was a professional at the art.

He gently covered both her anxious hands with one of his own, his other hand cupping her jaw, turning her gaze to focus on him, “You know what I think?”

Henri nuzzled his hand, “Hmmm?”

“I think that you have had a very long day and that you need to relax for once. How about we go downstairs, get you something to eat, take a bath, and with it...” Astarion wrapped an arm around her and pulled her forward and into him, “I seem to recall you saying something about forgiveness?”

Warmth surged through him as he could hear that playfulness he adored returning to Henri’s tone, “It’s best taken kneeling.”

“Is it now?” Astarion took a step forward, slipping his leg between hers. He tutted in teasing disapproval as he pressed his thigh hard against her core, “I thought we agreed you were done working for the evening.”

“It’s not work...fuck...” She let out the sweetest little whimper as he leaned forward and sucked hard on her neck, bruising it. His fangs scraped over her skin, yet to pierce her flesh as he teased her with his bite. Henri struggled to continue, “I’ve been thinking about you...in my mouth... gods , all day... please ...”

“Were you now? What exactly did you-?”

It was his turn to let out a groan as he felt one of her hands slip between them to place her hand around his cock, short circuiting the part of his brain that came up with brilliant retorts.

So instead Astarion went with, “You know what? I suppose you did say please....”

It took less than a minute for Astarion to pull the pair of them back towards the counter, pull his leaking cock from his pants and shove it into his kneeling lover’s gloriously hot mouth.

“Such a good, sweet girl.” There was no way he was going to last long. Not with Henri looking up at him like that, glassy eyes now black and ringed with maroon, as she sucked him like she was the one of them who didn’t require air to breathe.

Astarion grasped her horns, the perfect size shape and curl for his hands. Like they were made for him to hold onto as he sloppily fucked her throat.

Gods, she was perfect. This was perfect. He was going to come in her mouth and then devour her cunt like it was his last meal...

Somewhere in the haze of being driven to orgasmic bliss, the voice of Gale Dekarios cut in.

“Hello, this is Gale Dekarios, Professor of Illusion at Blackstaff Academy. I am utilizing this magic letter to ask if Henri is available to-”

“Her mouth is busy, wizard!” Astarion’s voice was strained as he slowed his pace just enough to shout over the sound of spittle and his lover moaning around him, “Call back in the morning!”

“Oh, for the love of-”

The voice thankfully disconnected. A tear-stained, panting Henri released his cock from her mouth with a pop, a string of spittle connecting her swollen red lips to his tip.

She grinned, looking up at him through her eyelashes, “Naughty.”