Chapter Text
“Maybe what you really need is a friend, not a lover.”
“I-- I would like that. I’ve held more people than I can count. An infinite parade of lovers. But a friend? I can’t think of a single one”
one year later
A
No more stalling! We’re heading out next week. I’ve worked out all the logistics. I promised you we’d find a way, and it’s time to get started. Be ready. No excuses!
Hugs,
T
Astarion sighed to himself, sinking down into his camp chair. He turned the note over in his hands, rolling his eyes up to the cavernous ceiling of the Underdark. She was right, in that annoying way that she always tended to be right. Things had finally settled, both above and below ground, after a year-long rebuilding effort.
While their compatriots had returned to their various corners of the world to sort out their own affairs, aside from himself, and her. Tavriel, Tav as she had come to be known. She led the rebuilding efforts above, while he awkwardly settled into the task of helping 7000 spawn fumble their way into their new lives-- or unlives. Haha. A terrible joke. And it had been a terrible year, by and large.
The early days had been the worst. Before they had even descended into the permanent darkness below, an untold number of spawn had broken away from the group and ran, arms open, into the sunlight. Astarion had done his best not to think about them. It was their choice, after all, and one that in some way, he understood.
Even once they had reached the heart of the Underdark, more had chosen to slip away. Some went off in search of family or friends, hoping to find the loved ones that they hadn’t seen in decades, if not centuries. Others were simply determined to try and find their own way, whatever that meant. No one tried to stop them, anymore than they tried to stop those who rushed to their death.
It had honestly made things easier, though no one admitted it openly. With their numbers nearly halved by the end of the first month, it made this thing they were trying to do, just a little easier. Which was much needed, considering Astarion didn’t want to be doing it in the first place.
He had hated the way they looked to him as some sort of leader, when he was directly responsible for a fair number of them being here in the first place. He had avoided them for as long as he could, content to let the Gur that had come to watch over their children dictate the flow of things.
They had settled just outside the Myconid Circle, an arrangement that proved to be surprisingly beneficial. The fungi people had no blood to speak of, which made them the perfect neighbors. There was no worry of the spawn being tempted between the rounds of surface wildlife the Gur hunters brought in. More than that, there was a sort of kinship between them. Fungi were a curious breed, something neither dead nor alive. It was strange company, but more company than he could have expected.
And so they settled into something… normal wasn’t, would never be the word but-- it was stable. Slowly, their tents became replaced by more permanent structures, and their… civilization, if it could be called that, extended all the way down to the beach. Astarion had carved out a space for himself above most of it, separate, but close enough to keep a reluctantly watchful eye over all the goings on.
Things had worked remarkably well after the initial chaos. The Gur were steadfast in their resolve to watch over their turned children, bringing down deer and boars to feed them. Their hunters weren’t enough to feed the entire colony, but soon adult spawn began joining their hunts, and they brought enough wildlife to keep everyone sated.
Once the flow of blood had become steady, most of the spawn were able to return to some semblance of their former selves. Astarion still spent several months keeping a wide berth of all of them. He didn’t want to be here, but then, he didn’t really want to be anywhere in the Underdark. He wanted to be on the surface, walking in the sun. But that had become nothing more than a dream, one he didn’t dare hope would be anything more than that. It was impossible, or so far flung from attainability that he couldn’t allow himself to think too long on it.
It would be easier to do if it weren’t for her. Tav, his first friend, the person who had spun its life on its axis for the better. She had changed everything about him, had convinced him that helping the spawn settle in the Underdark was a good idea in the first place. She sent him letters often, all of which were tucked away, locked tight in the chest at the foot of his bedroll. For as much as she wrote him, she visited nearly as often.
She was annoyingly persistent, the sort he would have pushed away years ago. But she was his friend now, and while he still had trouble expressing as much, he was impossibly grateful for her company. Tavriel was busy in her own right, helping the city above them rebuild, but she used whatever free time she had to come down to see him. Astarion was still wrapping his head around having a friend, but there was no denying he felt lucky to have her. Of course, he still would deny it if anyone pressed the subject, but it had never come up.
Truth told, Astarion was grateful to have a friend. Someone who he could be close to without any other expectations. There was something freeing about that, knowing that she cared for him without wanting anything else. Without needing him in a way that he hadn’t figured out how to give. Astarion had been sure he would only ever have her as a friend, that no one could ever properly accept him for what he was.
Which made it all stranger that he had somehow managed to forge a friendship with the Gur, Gandrel. Perhaps it was just the fact that they spent so much time in close proximity. In all his days, Astarion would never have imagined a friendship blooming between him and the man that once hunted him, but here he was, watching as Gandrel trudged his way up the plateaus of the Underdark, a deer slung over his shoulders.
“Astarion,” The hunter greeted as he stepped into the glow of the campfire. Astarion looked him up and down, his nostrils flaring as he let out a beleaguered sigh. He was still having difficulty accepting this friendship. It was just something he still had difficulty wrapping his head around, even now. He had doomed the Gur’s offspring, and they had no reason to forgive him for that. And yet they had. Mortals would always remain impossibly strange to him.
“Dinner is served,” Gandrel continued as he hefted the animal from his shoulders, dropping it unceremoniously at Astarion’s campfire. He stood back, wiping his hands together but not showing any signs of leaving. Of course.
“You know you don’t have to hand deliver these,” Astarion said with a roll of his eyes. It was meant to sound sarcastic, but the truth was-- he was grateful. Even a year later, he couldn’t say he was comfortable intermingling with the spawn of the Underdark. There was too much guilt tied up in it all. Things had changed over the last year, but he wasn’t sure if a century would be enough to undo it all.
“Well, I know you like to sup in private,” Gandrel returned with a shrug, still showing no intention of leaving. The comment made Astarion flinch, not because it was untrue-- quite the opposite, really. It showed that Gandrel knew something about him, however minor, and it made him feel exposed. He tried to remind himself that this was actually a good thing, that it proved that his friendship with Tavriel was not some one time accident. That he was actually likable, in some way, just as he was.
“If you really knew me, then you’d know I’d sooner prefer your own neck, Gur,” Astarion replied, as he stood to approach the deer. It was another way of deflecting, of trying to push Gandrel away, even now. He watched as the hunter’s face went solemn, his eyes narrowing. A clock tick passed between them, before Gandrel’s lips quirked upward into the facsimile of a smirk.
“One of these days you might manage to make me laugh, Astarion,” Gandrel answered as he rolled his shoulders, his expression troublingly warm. Astarion hated when he looked at him that way. It was far too familiar, too vulnerable, too much. So much like friendship that it made his heart ache. He was sure if Tav was here in this moment, she would be doing everything in her power to push Astarion closer to it. She had that way about her, using words to push him to places he would never explore of his own volition.
But she wasn’t here. Not physically, though there was no denying that her spirit seemed to settle over everything she touched. He could feel her presence even now, telling him to not shut Gandrel out, no matter how much his instincts urged him otherwise. Those same instincts had been born out of centuries of fear and torment, and that wasn’t his reality any more. Friendship was okay. Trusting people might just be okay. Astarion took a deep breath.
“I must admit, I look forward to that day,” He managed to reply, sinking to his knees beside the still twitching deer. “But I’ll admit, I’d prefer if you didn’t watch me eat.”
“I’ll be on my way,” Gandrel said after a moment, his gaze flitting to the camp chair, where Tav’s letter sat. “That’s from her, isn’t it?”
“You know I hate prying,” Astarion murmured, smoothing his hands over the fur at the deer’s neck. “But yes. It’s from her. She’ll be here next week… and then we’re leaving.”
“Leaving?” The Gur repeated, his brow arching. “For what reason?”
“I… she…” Astarion struggled to formulate his response. “She wants to search for answers,” He paused, his tongue skimming over his lower lip. “Solutions.”
Gandrel paused at that, considering the weight of Astarion’s words. ‘Solutions’ was painfully vague. Astarion met his gaze, offering a solemn nod as his only response. Yes, it’s what you think. Yes, it might be foolish. Yes, I’m going to try.
“I see,” Gandrel said solemnly, folding his arms across his chest. “Then I wish you all the best.”
Astarion swallowed hard, not liking the heavy atmosphere that settled around him. A cure for him meant a cure for the Gur children, meant giving hope when he wasn’t sure he could deliver. He didn’t like that, the expectation.
“You should go now,” Astarion finally said, with a shaky breath. He needed to feed now more than ever, needing something substantial, something real. Even if it was just a slowly dying deer corpse. This small conversation had been enough to shake him, and he hated feeling shaken. He didn’t need their hope on his shoulders.
Gandrel nodded, and made a swift exit. Astarion leaned over the deer and drank its life away.
Tav would be here in a week. He needed to be ready.