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slothquisitor · 7 months

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Some Credit in Trying

New relationships are hard to navigate. Also, let's have a new first kiss *after* Moonrise. Astarion x Liv, 3.5k, fluff-adjacent?

Also on AO3.

As Moonrise Towers recedes behind them, a curse lifted and a direction found, Astarion breathes in the lighter air. There’s a hint of sea breeze, a promise of sunshine and warmth ahead of them. Nothing has gone the way he thought it would at Moonrise. They know now what the Absolute is, and who is behind this entire plot. An elder brain, The Chosen of the Dead Three. It’s like something out of the adventure stories he loves so much. It’s….a lot. He believed they were out of their depth before with all of this, but now, he knows how laughable and naive they’d been. There are gods at work. And they’re what? Supposed to steal these netherstones and save the day? It’s probably hopeless, but he feels far from it. Perhaps it’s the high of the victory at Moonrise, at the way they’d faced down Myrkul and Ketheric and won, but Cazador can’t be that far out of his reach.

He knows what the scars on his back mean now, knows all about Cazador’s little plan. He could not only snatch this ritual away from Cazador, but he could take the power for himself. How delicious would it be to not only stop the man who ruined his life, but also to take this ritual that means so much to him for himself? If he’s successful, he’ll never be at the mercy of anyone ever again. He’ll be able to walk in the sun and be the master of his own fate once they get rid of the tadpole. He will be free, and he will never have to be afraid again.

Liv wants to stop Cazador too, but there’s some hesitation whenever he mentions completing the rite himself. Nothing good can come from devils, she says. Can he really just sacrifice his siblings so callously, she asks. He’s sure that she’ll come around, sure that he’ll convince her to see the reason in this. An elder brain and Bhaal and Bane’s chosen will be nothing when he is the one who ascends. It’ll all but guarantee their victory.

It’s so close he can almost taste it.

With Baldur’s Gate just one sleep away, their growing group has set up camp in a crumbling ruin on the hillside. The city spreads out in the distance like a promise, the soft glowing lights twinkle like fireflies. After endless weeks in the wilderness, the Underdark, and the Shadowlands, the city feels like light and life and… home. It surprises him how sentimental he feels about the place, now that he’s seeing it again in freedom. He’s not the only one.

Wyll and Karlach are trading stories by the fire, reminiscing about places they love and hope to see again. Shadowheart sits near them, maybe she’s hoping something will click a forgotten memory into place. Astarion is content to drink with them, offering his own critiques or insights into if a tavern or restaurant still exists or has changed management in the years Wyll and Karlach have been away.

Eventually, Karlach glances around before leaning over to him. “Hey, where’s Liv gotten to?”

“Why are you asking me? I’m sure she’s around,” he lifts a hand to encompass their little camp, but he knows it’s the wrong response as soon as the words leave his lips.

Karlach frowns. “She slipped away after dinner and hasn’t come back. I’ll go look for her if you won’t.” Karlach’s golden eyes are awash with disapproval, and guilt settles into his stomach. Her extended absence in the evening isn’t her usual way, and he should’ve noticed. But he didn’t.

“I will of course go and see what she’s gotten up to,” he says, a note of apology entering his voice. The truth is that he’d noticed she wasn’t here, but simply hadn’t thought that much about it. But now that he looks around the camp, he sees no sign of her.

“You do that,” Karlach says. Her words are delivered with careful control, a hint of admonishment lacing them.

He’s not very good at this…whatever he and Liv are to each other business, and it’s clear Karlach has seen that. It’s not that he wouldn’t have preferred to be spending time with Liv this evening over anyone else, but he…simply hadn’t thought about finding her. And of course, Karlach would ask if he knew where she was. They’d scarcely been out of each other’s sight, and he’d taken every opportunity to be as close to her as he could at every opportunity. Their…attachment is no secret.

While their companions aren’t privy to the specific details about what is or rather what isn’t currently happening within whatever they are to each other…he’s still sure that they look at the two of them and know what he knows: that he’s invariably getting the better deal out of it. He’s not sure what he has to offer anyone beyond complications and baggage. His feelings for Liv are genuine, but somehow he still feels like he’s taking advantage of her kindness.

Perhaps he should’ve let Karlach go; she’s probably better company this evening anyway. But he does go, setting off on his own exploration of the ruin, hoping to find wherever Liv has absconded.

It takes some doing, but eventually, he finds her at the top of the highest point of the ruin. She’s sitting up against the parapet, facing the city that’s visible from her vantage point only because the opposite wall has crumbled away. She glances up at him as he approaches, and looks relieved, perhaps. He takes it as an invitation.

“It’s quite the spectacular view,” he says, sitting down beside her. They’re not quite touching, but the proximity is nice on its own. “Is everything alright?”

She looks back at the city and sighs. It’s a heavy thing, and he realizes that of their group, she’s the only one (aside from Halsin) who hasn’t seemed excited about getting to the city.

She shrugs. “Sure. Just thinking about what we’re going to find when we get to the city is all.”

“So you were brooding,” he says the words with a hint of tease, knocking her shoulder with his own, hoping for a smile or a laugh or something.

“I wasn’t brooding,” she says, shooting him a long-suffering look that is a confirmation all its own.

“Sulking, ruminating, or worrying then? I could go all night with the synonyms.” Liv is always steady, always so unflappable. Seeing her like this makes him worried. He used to think it would be entertaining to see her break, to fall apart spectacularly. Now, he wants to be the person who helps keep her together.

“Oh, I know.” She finally huffs a little laugh. “Maybe a little bit of worrying.”

He leans in closer and takes her hand in his in a gesture that has lost none of its novelty for the familiarity. Her fingers lace with his, warm and steady and sure. He loves this. “Tell me what you were worrying about, my dear.”

She shakes her head. “Nothing that matters. Truly.” She squeezes their joined hands, as if in reassurance, but he knows her too well to believe her. She’s not lying, not in the sense that she’s trying to be dishonest, but she is so very good at minimizing her own problems, worries, and concerns. Before Moonrise, he might have let her have the deflection, might not have pressed, but that’s not what this is anymore.

“It matters to me,” he says. “Talk to me.”

If thinking of himself too much is his failing, then this is hers: she never thinks enough of herself. Her world-ending tadpole problem is nothing in the face of other’s suffering. She wants to save everyone, always. Even him. He wonders sometimes if she’s ever tried to save herself if she could be that selfish for anything.

She is quiet before finally glaring out at the city as if it’s just another enemy to stand against. “It’s just my family…I don’t want to see them, and I’m afraid it’s inevitable.”

She never talks about her family. Oh, he’s pieced together a few things. He knows she has siblings, all older, but he doesn’t know their names, or what they’re like. But the fact she doesn’t want to see them is enough for him. Liv is kind and doesn’t say no enough. But if she’s decided she doesn’t want them in her life, well that’s all he needs to know. He doesn’t speak, just squeezes her hand lightly in encouragement, so she knows she can go on.

“I don’t know how to talk about them. With you,” she admits, glancing at him before looking away again. “I don’t know how to talk about them with anyone. But especially you because…you’ve experienced far worse, and I don’t know. I don’t know how to tell you without minimizing your pain.”

He doesn’t know what to say. He’s sure he’s not given the impression that he is an especially empathetic person. And it’s true, he doesn’t have a lot of practice giving a shit about other people’s problems. When he first stumbled off of the nautiloid, he wasn’t interested in solving anyone else’s problems but his own. Two centuries of captivity and he was finally free for who knew how long, and he didn’t want to waste this chance, this opportunity. He was desperate for it to mean something. The urgency has faded somewhat. They’re protected, and they’re not going to turn into mind flayers any second. And well, he knows his companions now…it’s different. Sort of. He’s finding himself moved more often these days. It’s annoying, and probably Liv’s influence. But…he cares about her problems. Always has, even when he wouldn’t allow himself to ask about them. He has no such internal rules now.

“I’m not used to being trusted with the burdens of others, but you so happily share mine. I want to do the same for you.” For so long, his life had been only about survival from moment to moment, there was no room for anyone or anything else. He keeps clawing space, trying to reclaim something more for himself, for her, for them. It’s not perfect, but she has given him precious, impossible moments of comfort. He only wants to be able to do the same for her. He’s just not sure how.

“I’m afraid of going back to Baldur’s Gate, afraid of seeing my family again because the only time I’ve ever felt like my own person was out here. I’ve never been looked at as anything or anyone that mattered much at all, but then I met all of you…and everyone just…trusted me, followed me.” Her words are stilted, like she’s still unsure about voicing any of this aloud.

“It felt good. Better than good. It felt like proving my family wrong,” she explains.

“Wrong about what?” he asks, but he’s sure he already knows the answer, or part of it anyway.

“Magical aptitude was all my parents cared about. I was reminded, often, that I would never amount to anything, and that I would certainly never measure up to my siblings. Failure to meet expectations was not treated kindly. My parents are quite adept, and would use their magic to…motivate us.”

He recognizes the careful tone, the way she says motivate like it’s a repetition of someone else’s lexicon, a word with its own painful universe contained within. He has many of those himself. He stays silent.

“They also encouraged my siblings to use their magic on each other. That’s…that’s how my sister Brelia died. She was fighting with Cressida and Percy and…my parents made sure it was ruled an accident. We were forbidden from saying anything. Not that Percy or Cressida wanted the truth out there anyway.

“Roland and I just stood there at Brelia’s graveside letting people tell us how fucking sorry they were and we couldn’t say anything about it. We couldn’t tell a single person the truth. Not with Percy and Cressida and our parents standing by, watching us the whole time.”

Her shoulders slump inward, and Astarion doesn’t know what to say. He can tell that this is important, and he wishes he was better at this. At knowing the right things to say. This is real; he doesn’t want to mess it up.

In the silence, she continues, “After Brelia died, I thought Roland would stay. Thought he’d stick around with me to try to find a way to fight back to get…justice? But he left me, went off to Candlekeep, barely even returned my letters. But I stayed…I stayed too long. I don’t know why or what I thought I was accomplishing spending every day letting them treat me like shit. And I woke up one morning about six months ago, and I…I just left.”

“They let you leave?”

She sad smile spreads across her lips. “I thought that maybe they’d come looking. I think part of me wanted them to, if only because it would prove…they cared or something. But they didn’t. I could have left at any time, and it wouldn’t have mattered. Wouldn’t have made a bit of difference. They didn’t care.” She looks at him, unshed tears gathering in her eyes.

He feels so far out of his depth. He understands now why Liv apologizes so fucking often, the words ‘I’m sorry’ are the only ones coming to mind, but they don’t feel like the wrong ones. “I’m sorry. They didn’t deserve you.”

“I’m sure they’d disagree.” She wipes at her eyes with her free hand. “I like who I am here, with all of you. I don’t want to go back to Baldur’s Gate and be reminded of them or their impossible expectations. And I’m sure that if they’ve thought there’s anything to gain in allying with Gortash, they’d do it.”

“You think they’re tangled in all this.”

She nods. “I wouldn’t be surprised. They’re very powerful and very good at following whatever way the wind seems to be blowing. They get into things just deep enough to profit. If they thought Gortash could gain them anything, I guarantee they struck some sort of a deal. We have enough problems, and I don’t want my family to be another.”

“I’d be very happy to kill them,” he says. He means it too.

With what has to be the first genuine smile he’s seen tonight, she shakes her head. “You know, not every situation should be solved with murder.”

“I don’t know, our track record of the last few weeks might suggest otherwise. Would you like the examples chronologically or alphabetically?”

She rolls her eyes. “I appreciate the offer, but I think I’d rather just leave them alone.”

He cannot fathom this. They hurt her, and she what, wants them to just go on being awful? Where is the justice in that? “To go on hurting people? To let them get away with covering up a murder? What about justice? Don’t you think they should pay? Don’t you think you deserve better?”

“People rarely get what they deserve, you don’t have to look very far even in our camp to see that,” she says.

She’s right, of course. Karlach didn’t deserve to be betrayed and handed over to Zariel, and Gale didn’t deserve his goddess telling him to die. And Wyll didn’t deserve to have to sell his soul to save Baldur’s Gate. Shadowheart didn’t deserve to lose her memories or be manipulated by Shar, and Lae’zel didn’t deserve to be cast out from her people for questioning her queen. Liv certainly didn’t deserve her upbringing, didn’t deserve parents who cared more about what she could do than who she was. Most days, he’s not sure what he deserves, but after two centuries of shit, pure shit, he thinks he deserves something better too.

“I can’t make them sorry. I can’t make them care that they hurt me. All I can do is learn how to live my life without being ruled by it.” Where is the fairness in that? Astarion doesn’t want to take any sort of high road out of this.

“I suppose that’s what you want me to do, too, isn’t it? Just forgive Cazador and move on with my life being good and kind for the rest of my days?” He knows that his words are unkind, unfair even. He cannot be good like her; is not sure he wants to be. “That…was unfair…”

There is a hard edge to her gaze when she looks at him, her words quiet. “No. It’s alright. Cazador needs to die.”

He agrees of course, but it is gratifying to hear it come from her. “Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page about that.”

“We’ll make sure that he can’t ever hurt anyone ever again. You have my word,” Liv says. He doesn’t like promises; they’re too easily broken, but with her, it’s different. But even as she promises this, he realizes that he’s somehow taken this moment, and twisted it to be about him. He doesn’t want that because wants her to feel heard too.

“For what it is worth, I think you’re rather wonderful, and that has nothing to do with your magic. You’re patient, and you’re kind. You always listen, and your first reaction to any situation is to look for a way to help.”

Her eyes narrow, but her tone isn’t accusing. “I thought you hated that I always wanted to help.”

“Because no one ever helped me. People don’t help, but you aren’t people. You’re you. And I am grateful that I met you.”

“I’m grateful to have met you too.” She’s smiling now, and he thinks that maybe he might not be completely terrible at this. “Could I…could I kiss you?”

It’s his turn to smile. He did do something right after all. She always asks for consent before touching him. It’s not a concession he ever believed he needed, would have never asked for, but he loves it. There’s a thrill in being asked what he wants, and a safety in knowing he can always say no. “There is nothing I’d like more.”

Since Moonrise, their relationship has been deliberately careful. It has been a profound relief to discover that Liv is fine simply holding his hand or hugging him goodnight and that neither of them has felt the need to ask for more. He’s wanted to kiss her, of course he has, but if he’s being honest, he’s been waiting for her to ask. He’s not sure he trusts himself to know what the normal progression of a relationship should look like anyway. But he trusts her, trusts that she’s not going to push him into anything he’s not ready for. She’s always been careful with them both, even when he wasn’t.

She cups his cheek, as she slowly leans in, eyes never leaving his. There’s a careful watchfulness in this, and he realizes that she’s looking for any sign of hesitation on his part. The slowness is deliberate, giving him an out if he needs it. Something in his chest clenches at the care, the consideration. But he’s never been a particularly patient person, and so he leans into her, enthusiastically closing the rest of the distance.

This kiss is soft, unhurried, a kiss just for the sake of a kiss. Liv keeps their fingers laced tight between them, anchoring him to this moment. He is not sure if he can ever match her gentleness. He is used to reading his partners, meeting them where they are, matching their urgency, their insistence, and ardor - forever aware of the half-life of those couplings. He worries that not only was he not made for sweetness, but that he is not capable of it. That he will always reach for her with sharpness, in a way that cuts and wounds.

But she is not afraid, so perhaps, he shouldn’t be either.

The kiss is over all too soon. Their eyes meet as she pulls away, and he wonders if this is a first kiss they might have shared, in another life, another time, another set of circumstances where their hearts were less broken.

“Mmm,” he sighs. And because she needs to hear it, and he needs to say the words aloud, he tells her, “I did rather like that, you know.” He hopes that’s a reassurance given, a permission granted for more moments like this.

And because she makes him feel brave, he releases her hand to instead drape his arm around her, pulling her closer to him. She burrows into his side, slotting into the space perfectly, and they sit together and watch the city glittering in the distance, a place that holds so much hurt and pain and potential for them both. They’ll face it together, of that much he is sure.

There is much to learn, and to unlearn, but he knows that he wants nothing more than the time to try.

Thanks for reading!

#astarion x tav #astarion x liv #baldur's gate 3 #fanfic #slothquisitorwrites #this one is chunky #and got rewritten several times #new relationships are hard #but astarion is trying his best #and we love that

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