Chapter Text
When they return to the circus, they’re short two people they left with. No one expected that Raphael would be with them, of course, but Auri feels their eyes: Where’s Karlach? they each ask, and then, with the same look, Did you succeed?
Rhys is the first person she sees when she walks into camp, and maybe it’s just now really sinking in how imminent this all is, but when he waves at her and it isn’t hostile, a dam bursts. When the tears start to fall Auri can’t stop them, and when she collapses into Rhys, arms gripping him tight, he only stumbles a few steps backward before awkwardly reciprocating.
“I’m sorry for everything,” Auri whispers. “You’d be right to never forgive me. But I still want you to know that I’m sorry.”
It’s barely midday when they return, but when Astarion says she should rest for a bit, Auri doesn’t argue. He and Wyll can answer questions about where Karlach went. She’s earned hiding for a bit. Probably.
That doesn’t mean she can sleep, though. It doesn’t mean her racing heart will stop thudding against her ribcage. Normally Astarion would come running at the sound, but he seemed hesitant to leave Wyll’s side earlier—for good reason.
Viv always happens upon her at the best time anyway. As Auri stares blankly into the fabric that makes up one wall of the tent, the flap opens and Viv lets herself in. She lies in the spot where Astarion usually does and exhales. “Tough day, huh?”
Auri barks out a cynical laugh and nods, flopping down on her back next to Viv. “You heard, I assume.”
“Wyll was giving a measured, unbiased retelling. Astarion’s version of things painted you in a flattering light. You’re a winner on both counts.”
She’s trying to be lighthearted, but Auri doesn’t have it in her. She rolls onto her side and Viv mirrors her so that they’re face-to-face.
“I knew she’d be mad,” Auri whispers. “I knew she’d be furious. I even thought she’d threaten to leave.” She lets her eyes flutter shut. “I didn’t think she’d actually go.”
Viv tucks a lock of Auri’s hair behind her ear. Auri tries not to hide. Viv does her the courtesy of avoiding the scars. “You did what you had to. She’ll recognize that or she won’t—especially tomorrow when all this is said and done.”
“Yeah,” Auri snorts. “When her engine explodes.”
Viv frowns. “That has nothing to do with you either way. She’s with that smith if she’s with the tieflings. Her killing Gortash wasn’t going to help with that.”
Viv’s right. She’s always right.
“How’re Dal and Halsin?” Auri asks. Her eyes are heavy.
Viv almost moans, eyebrows in her hairline. “The sex is unreal. You wouldn’t believe what a vampire and an archdruid can—”
Viv strokes her hair. Auri sleeps.
When Auri wakes, Viv’s still there. She’s asleep, too, her arm slung over Auri’s chest. It’s been a long time since it was just them, but it isn’t now, either.
Do you want some time? Auri asks.
Polly hesitates.
It’s not a trick, Auri assures her.
I didn’t think it was.
They both go silent because they both know why Auri’s offering. Tomorrow this ends and there’s still no real plan for what happens to Polly (unless Polly’s got something in the works she hasn’t let Auri in on).
Polly will get to drive tomorrow, no doubt, but this is her last chance to enjoy this body. Auri’s body.
And, likely, the only body that Polly will ever know.
Auri extricates herself from Viv but not before pressing a kiss to Viv’s forehead. Polly pushes forward in time with Auri opening the tent flap and greeting the sun. It’s only been an hour or two if Auri had to guess.
Polly can have until nightfall.
It’s rare that you get free rein and rarer still that it happens off the battlefield and rarer yet that you get to do so without Auri in the background. Auri slides away until she’s fully absent this time, though, at least for now.
You didn’t know anything before you infected Auri, but the circus is an amazement even now. There are so many colors and always something new to see. You can see them when Auri’s in charge, too, but it’s different when you can feel the breeze and smell the incense yourself.
Arabella shouts, “Auri!” and there’s no reason to correct her. You turn at the call and smile gently as Arabella takes your hand. She blinks. “Oh, sorry. You’re not Auri. You’re—I don’t actually think I know your name.”
You swallow hard and look furtively side to side, but Arabella shakes her head. “It’s not bad. What should I call you?”
“Polly, I guess.”
“Polly.” Arabella grins wide. “What you did to that necromancer was amazing.”
It’s the last thing you expect to hear, so you bark out a laugh. “Sorry?”
“When we were in that temple. You pulled out that necromancer’s brain. It was amazing.” Arabella hasn’t dropped your hand, and she’s talking to you. There’s no case of mistaken identity. “Do you want to play with me and Yenna for a little bit? I wanted to check on Auri, but she must be fine if you’re here.”
Tears prick at your eyes and your stomach twists. “I’d love to. Are you sure?”
Arabella laughs and doesn’t answer. She breaks into a run and tugs you with her, and when you hear, Have fun, it isn’t Auri. It’s Astarion, just across the way, a bemused smile on his face as Arabella tugs you towards Yenna.
You play with Arabella and Yenna; Shadowheart asks how you’re holding up with a tone that makes it clear she’s asking you. You look for Wyll but you can’t find him anywhere, and later you hear that the Fist are planning a funeral service. Karlach’s absence is noticeable. There are whispers of it everywhere.
You don’t hear from Auri until the sun has started to set. You should try the lyre.
You jump at the sound of her voice, and Auri chuckles. You say, I don’t know how to play it.
No, I know. But you have my fingers. And you had my song for a long time. I’d be surprised if some of it didn’t stick.
You’ve played the lyre in battle, but this is different. This is human. The lyre is a weapon to you, not an instrument, but when you pull it from your hip, it’s still instinctual. When your nails catch on the strings, your breath catches, too.
Auri’s smile permeates your brain matter, but she says nothing more. And she was right; the song is there in you. It stutters and shakes, no one near as smooth as when Auri assists, but it’s yours. Just for today, it’s yours.
Tomorrow, well—
Tomorrow—
Your fingers come to a halt and your cheeks are wet and someone else’s hand rests lightly on your wrist. “You’re not bad. You don’t have to stop.”
Amar’s voice is velvet. You reach up to wipe your eyes. “I’m not her,” you say, and Amar exhales a laugh.
“Oh, I know. You play differently.”
“Worse?”
“Untrained. But I meant sadder. You play with hopelessness.” When you wince, Amar pulls you into his side. The camp is quiet, and to observers, Amar holding Auri wouldn’t be something worth paying attention to anyway. “Bug’s told me a lot, but I’d be a fool to think I know everything.”
“Is there something you want to know?” This doesn’t feel like an interrogation, but it would make sense if it was.
Amar shrugs. “No. It’s a thank you.” His eyes are kind, but your body goes stiff. Amar continues still. “There is no other creature on Toril like you. You have saved my daughter a hundred times over and you continue do so even when it damns yourself. You have no obligation to do so, and you do anyway.”
He’s wrong, of course. You have every obligation. You’d still be in the vat if not in an eye, and were you in any other eye, you’d be a thrall by now. If not for Auri, you’d never have lived at all, no matter how brief the living has been.
But it’d be a lie to say you don’t resent its brevity. “I don’t want to go,” you whisper. It’s a toothless lament, not a hint of a threat.
When Amar says, “Put down the lyre,” you do, and his arms wrap around you, and your face was made to bury in his shoulder and weep. If life was fair, this could have been you, but Amar places his hands on either side of your face and kisses your forehead before pulling you back into the embrace. “You’re my child, too, for how you’ve saved Aurora. You might have been anyway, but that’s how you came to me. And if you ever come back to me in any form, I’ll be in your debt until the day that I die.”
You’ve never sobbed like you’ve seen Auri do, but you do now. Snot smears Amar’s jacket but he only pulls you in tighter, and your fingers bunch in the fabric. He strokes your hair and soothes you and for just an hour (or two, or three), you might be human.
How beautiful it is.
When Polly falls asleep in Amar’s arms, he carries her back to the tent that Auri shares with Astarion, and when Auri is satisfied that Polly’s had a sufficient chance to claim control again if she wanted it, she emerges once more. Astarion is still out there somewhere, likely still with Wyll, but he’ll be back. He always comes back.
In the meantime, Auri spreads the Netherstones before her on her bedroll. They might sparkle in moonlight, but they look dull in the tent. There’s a smattering of blood still on the one that belonged to Ketheric, and Auri tries to avoid looking at the one that she knows Astarion plucked from Orin’s dagger. And she has Raphael to thank for the third.
Auri died getting the first, and she can’t take the credit for the other two at all. Some things about incompetence never change.
She exhales, stilling her quivering body. It’s almost over, for better or worse. This time tomorrow, they’ll have won or she’ll be a mind flayer and Baldur’s Gate will be lost.
The light breeze that rattles the tent flap is welcome. It cools the light sweat on Auri’s brow, but she feels more hopeful than she thought she would on the night before the battle that will change everything. She’d feel better if Karlach hadn’t left, but the alternative would have been having it out with Raphael, and—
There’s no point in playing out hypotheticals. What’s done is done. There’s nothing more they can do to prepare; the dawn just has to come.
What Auri thought was a breeze wasn’t one. Astarion brushes a kiss across the crown of her head. Auri manages to only startle a little. “How’s Wyll doing?”
“Mm.” Astarion makes a noncommittal noise before peeling his shirt over his head and finding a place behind her, Auri’s back to his chest. “He’ll manage.”
Auri wrinkles her nose. “I wish he didn’t have to.”
“Mm.” When Astarion repeats himself, he kisses the forever-wound he’s given her before resting his cheek in the crook of her neck.
Auri chuckles despite the anxiety. “I feel like you’re not listening to me.”
“I’m listening.” His breath vibrates the hair on her neck. “But you can’t do anything tonight. And you’ve done plenty today. Put the stones away and lie here with me.”
It might be the last time.
The last words hang unspoken. Instead of answering with words, Auri packs the Netherstones into her pack and kicks off her leggings. Astarion welcomes her into the bedroll and he kisses her before saying, “You let Polly have the day.”
“Was there a question there?” There’s no more judgment than usual in Astarion’s voice, but Auri snaps to the defensive anyway.
He raises an eyebrow and chuckles. “Claws away, darling. I just was going to ask why. It’s not as if I was going to torture it from you.”
Auri deflates. “Sorry.” She pinches the bridge of her nose and tries to relax some of the tension from her shoulders. “I just—it doesn’t matter if we win or lose tomorrow. If we win, I get to keep being me. But for Polly—”
She can’t make herself say it. Auri doesn’t even want to look at Astarion while she thinks it. When she starts to roll away from him, he pulls her tight again in the same way they’d sat, her back tight against her chest.
“It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it,” he murmurs, “but I don’t think hiding from it is doing your little worm that could any great service.” There are tears in Auri’s eyes. Sune’s warmth within her is pale and cold faced with an imminent, inevitable loss. Astarion sighs. “I saw her out there. With Arabella and Yenna. With Shadowheart. With the lyre. With Amar. She was happy.”
Auri’s heart aches. “Is this supposed to make me feel better?”
“Let me finish,” Astarion says gently. “She would have never known what happy was without you. A lot of us wouldn’t. It’s not your fault that she—that both of you—are in this situation. Just try to remember that.”
“It’s not fair,” Auri whispers.
“No. It’s not.” Astarion pulls the cover up tighter around her. “Things never are at the end.”