Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Darling, this place is a mess,” Astarion sing-songed as he stepped over yet another dusty pile of parchment almost as high as his knees. “I never expected to find your home to be a hoarder's den. Your bags and trunk are always so meticulously organized.”

Lilthae shrugged. “It’s been almost a year since anyone has been in this place,” she reminded him, her voice roughened by the musty air of her months-long abandoned house. Checking again that the sun had truly set, she began pulling back the heavy curtains in the kitchen to open the windows to the cool night air. At least until dawn, they could enjoy the crisp breeze and clear out some of the oppressive atmosphere.  Astarion had recently lost his ability to walk in the sun, due to the defeat of the Netherbrain and subsequently the loss of the powers granted by the tadpoles in their heads. While Lilthae felt relief, knowing she (nor any of their friends) wouldn't be turned illithid, she felt a pang of sorrow that her vampiric lover would have to sacrifice his day-walking until they found another solution. He seemed to be taking everything in stride, but she knew he was struggling with his decision to stop the ascension ritual that would have given him immense power (at most probably the sacrifice of his soul). It was the right decision, Lilthae had no doubt, but as with killing the 7000 spawn (save for his six brothers and sisters), she knew the two of them would wrestle with the morality versus the practicality of both decisions. Their journey from the Nautiloid to Baldur’s Gate had forged love and friendships, but it had also involved agonizing decisions that were going to have emotional consequences that none of their party had really had time to think about, much less learn to accept. In the week since they had saved Baldur’s Gate, Lilthae had been dreading going back to something resembling normal for this reason alone. As she and Astarion walked to her modest townhouse between the Eastway and Brampton districts of the city, Lilthae almost felt as if she were jumping out of her skin with unease. It wasn’t the thought of sharing a home with him that made her nervous, but the recent and previous versions of themselves they would have to navigate together. She doubted anyone in the group was completely devoid of secrets no matter how much they had shared.

Once the battle was over, the party members that remained in the city had made their way back to the Elfsong Tavern to celebrate their victory, lick their wounds, and decide how much of the fallout from the events of the last several months were going to impact not only themselves, but their families and the Sword Coast as a whole. The chaos surrounding the deaths of Archduke Gortash, Duke Ravengard, and several Peers was most certain to cause a power vacuum, but Wyll was hopeful that he could use his father’s influence and his own good reputation to secure his father’s seat in the Parliament of Peers and eventually a place on the Council of Four. The losses of his father and his magic were the cost of breaking his contract with Mizora, but Lilthae could see that even though his sorrow was great, Wyll Ravengard was going to make Baldur’s Gate a shining example of perseverance. She, Astarion (though reluctantly), and those that had stayed behind with them had all promised to use their newfound fame and fortune to aid him with that task. Of course fame was fleeting and fortune was a bit of an overstatement, but for now public sentiment was with them and Lilthae hoped to use as much of that goodwill as possible to help those affected by the war with the Absolute. Even Lae’Zel had promised to return from her crusade (in Orpheus's name against Vlaakith) if the need arose. There were many refugees still seeking shelter, missing and dead citizens, and destroyed homes, businesses, and buildings to keep them all busy for months. Halsin had led a band of orphans (some from the war and some not) that he’d rounded up over the last week to the now curse-free Reithwin Town in order to bring some sort of normalcy to their lives. A few families and citizens looking for a new beginning  went along with him to try to restore and  resettle the area. Astarion had made a quip wondering if Halsin was actually starting a nudist colony, but the druid only smiled and assured the rogue that everyone would be appropriately clothed, when company visited anyway. Jaheira and Minsc had returned to her home in the city, the two of them working to repair the damage to the Harpers and root out the rest of the Zhentarim, who most certainly had more strongholds and hidey-holes than just Baldur’s Gate. Citing the need to check on his mother, Gale had left almost immediately for Waterdeep, but he’d promised to return within a fortnight. Tolna, the prickly curator of rare tomes at Sorcerous Sundries, had been so grateful for the help with Lorroakan (and saving the city, of course) that she’d invited Gale to pursue any book he wanted in her collection. Rolan had also offered the wizard a chance to look over Ramazith’s tower and to help him complete his training. While Gale had said he’d be staying with Wyll when he returned, Lilthae suspected he wouldn’t be leaving the tower long enough to eat or rest. She made a mental note to invite him over for a meal once in a while. Shadowheart seemed to be contemplating her next steps. The cleric had been through many changes over the last year, finding her parents and then losing them again, rejecting Shar, and accepting Selûne. Lilthae was amazed she was still functioning and seemed content, but what were their group of adventurers if not survivors? Shadowheart had spoken of looking for a small cottage near the city in the future, but for now, she had an open invitation from everyone to their homes. Currently, she was staying with Wyll in the Upper City. Astarion thought there was more going on than friendship. Lilthae, however, was certain that wasn’t the case, as she had seen Wyll’s face when it became clear Karlach was going to allow herself to combust instead of face Avernus again. It would be good for the two of them to support each other in their grief and new beginnings. And Karlach… Well, Lilthae couldn’t think about Karlach right now.

“I thought you’d have more instruments,” Astarion said, pulling Lilthae out of her thoughts. At some point he’d wandered upstairs. She followed the sound of his voice to the smaller, extra room that had become storage, though there was a small guest bed shoved in the corner under a window.

“I’ve told you, I’m an actress, not a bard,” she laughed, knowing he was feigning ignorance about the two just to tease her. Moving to open the two windows in the room, Lilthae’s foot hit a frame that was propped facing the wall and a large painting noisily hit the floor, sending dust and papers across it. “Shit,” she muttered, ignoring the mess for the moment, to pull back the curtains and get air flowing on the upper storey. Before she could stop him, Astarion was already turning the frame over to have a look.

The portrait was masterfully done, she had to admit, even if she had never wanted to see it again. Throwing it out had seemed like a slight to the artist and a waste of the coin that had been spent on the commission. Maybe hundreds of years from now, she’d be forgotten and it would just be some novelty in a junk shop. Or, Lilthae thought, she could donate it to the theater. Authentic props were always welcome and this portrait had been completely authentic at the time… to her anyway. Lilthae moved to stand next to Astarion and silently took in the details of the painting.

The gilt frame was ornately carved with vines and lilies. The portrait itself showed a slightly younger (or less careworn, at least) Lilthae dressed formally. She looked at the viewer in 3/4th profile wearing a simple, but lovely, underdress of cream and gold brocade. The overdress of cyan velvet that complemented her eyes almost perfectly had a high collar embroidered with delicate pink lilies. They matched the flowers in her upbraided silvery-white hair. It wasn’t a full length portrait, the depiction ended just below her waist where she clutched a book in her hand, a lily matching the ones in her hair used as a place marker. A small smile just tinged one corner of her closed mouth. That smile was now forever marred with a scar from a rapier-welding goblin during their journey. It wouldn’t show on stage, with the distance and make-up, but Lilthae was still getting used to the idea of having real battle scars instead of just stage effects. She actually had to blink, not quite recognizing this half-drow in the portrait as herself. She’d been told she was beautiful, her pale silvery-blue skin a subtle compliment to her pale hair and cyan eyes, but she rarely felt it. After all, half-elves were not unknown, but being a half-drow and not fully part of the human or elf experience always made her feel other .  It was the best word she had to describe it. Other . There were times, though, when she thought about what others saw and she hoped her true self captured just a bit of the delicacy and wit this artist had bestowed on her. Astarion exhaled in appreciation and then raised his hand to his chin as if looking over the portrait with a critic’s eye.

The ache of the woman she wasn’t any longer dissipated as Lilthae laughed and rolled her eyes. “Well?” She asked, inviting her lover’s appraisal. “I know it isn’t an Oskar Fevras original to delight the Patriars, but I think it’s a good likeness. Or it was.”

With a hum, Astarion leaned the painting back against the wall, facing outward this time, to continue his assessment. “Fevras is an idiot, and only marginally talented,” the rogue said, but added mischievously, “though it seems this painter may be just as foolish.”

“Why do you say that?” Lilthae asked, genuinely confused. 

“My sweetheart, he had the chance to chronicle that wonderfully bountiful bosom of yours for all eternity, and he chose to hide it under a collar that goes all the way up to your pretty ears. I’m positively offended,” he sniffed in disappointment. 

She knocked her shoulder into his arm playfully, biting her lip around a smile and rolling her eyes dramatically. “It was my wedding day,” Lilthae protested, laughing. “Despite the prevailing stereotypes about actresses, I was well-bred enough not to show my assets to everyone in the middle of the Temple of Ilmater!” With an exaggerated sigh of disappointment, Astarion left the room and walked across the hallway toward the larger, master bedroom.

He knew that Lilthae had been married… and now she wasn’t. She hadn’t offered the party much more than that. Or if she had, Astarion hadn’t been privy to the conversation. He wouldn’t say he wasn’t terribly curious, but most things tended to come out eventually and Lilthae had been very understanding about the secrets others kept during their journey. Most likely she and her former spouse had simply separated.  As a matter of fact, during his hunting nights over the most recent years, he had seen Lilthae and her husband (also an actor) both on stage. The man had been handsome, a human, Astarion recalled vaguely, although seeming a tad full of himself.  What had been the man’s name? Eddard? Aegon? Actors in Baldur’s Gate seemed to accept work around the city as roles demanded, and Astarion didn’t particularly follow their careers. But he had recognized a few of the regular performers across the different taverns, inns, and theaters from which he’d lured Cazador’s victims. There had even been a performer or two among the 7000, he was certain. The transient lifestyle of the actor or bard made them desirable targets. Flopping down on a dusty chaise in the master bedroom, Astarion tried not to think about the possibility of Lilthae having been one of Cazador’s spawns, either by his own or his siblings’ machinations. It did no good to speculate in this way and the rogue had decided doing so would only hinder any healing on his part.  He had enough guilt as it was without adding things he hadn’t done on top of it.

Lilthae entered the room and began to open curtains and windows. She sneezed as the cross-breeze from the spare room disturbed the dust on the bed hangings. “I think I have some clean sheets for the bed,” she said, “But, I think hiring someone to clean thoroughly might be my priority tomorrow. One of the girls at the theater might like the extra coin.” It wasn’t that she didn’t think she and Astarion wouldn’t be able to make the months-vacant house comfortable, but it was more about expedience and perhaps not wanting to confront the life she’d been pulled away from so suddenly when the Nautiloid literally abducted her from the street. They had done enough for the well-being of others  in the last few months. Surely hiring someone to dust and tidy wasn’t an indulgence. Lilthae sneezed again and gave Astarion a small smile as she flopped on the chaise beside him with a huff.  “I never thought I’d see this place again,” she said as she snuggled into his chest, snaking her arms around his torso. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders with a squeeze. A small kiss was pressed to her ear in sympathy, but Lilthae didn’t look up at him. Staring into the ashes of the fireplace in front of them, she wondered if there was anything that could be used for wood until some could be purchased in the morning. Anything left in the pile outside of the kitchen door was certainly unsuitable after a year in the elements. Astarion’s voice once again pulled her from her thoughts.

“Well, it's a good thing we were victorious, then, darling,” he said lightly, trying to read her mood. Finding the effort to be mostly without success, Astarion lapsed into silence, the sound of rustling leaves on the masonry outside and heavy drapery sliding along the bedposts inside was rather calming. Lilthae, too, said nothing and a few moments passed where Astarion was dangerously close to imagining what her life had been like before him as he took in the bedroom around them. It would be a bright room if all of the curtains were opened during the daytime, not that he could enjoy it. The large fireplace along one wall surely kept things cozy in the winter, an ideal place to read if one stretched out on the chaise that faced it. The bed was large, if currently dusty, with bottle-green hangings that matched the bed covering. The headboard  was placed against the wall that separated this townhouse from the next. Lilthae’s home was on the end of the row, thankfully, so it only shared one wall with neighbors.  Across the room, next to the fireplace, was a door to the small outside balcony that looked over Talanker’s Lane and afforded a view of the Blade and Stars Inn. At least if he ever got bored, there would be entertainment available from the comings and goings at the inn. For a moment, Astarion thought Lilthae had fallen asleep, until she adjusted to look up at him.

“I should find clean bedding and some wood for the fire,” she sighed. Though she intended to adjust her schedule to his nocturnal one, she could feel herself growing tired. Thankfully, if she went back to acting, Astarion’s need to trance and stay indoors during daylight should complement her schedule well. At least until they found a way to give him back the only gift from the tadpoles that had been truly missed. Thanks to their adventuring, Lilthae knew that she’d never have to worry for funds again and would only perform if she wanted to. This would afford her and Astarion all the time they needed to search for something to either cure him, or make the effects of being a vampire more manageable. She felt she owed him this. Cazador Szarr hadn’t left anything behind to mitigate Astarion’s condition and not for the first time Lilthae thought how objectively stupid it was for the vampire lord to place 200 years of hopes into one ritual that required so many moving pieces. After everything she’d been through, she knew that though the man was dead, it didn’t mean that the hurt he’d caused just stopped. Astarion deserved something good for the selfless decisions he’d made. Lilthae felt partially responsible for him not going through with the ritual himself. She couldn’t feel regret for stopping him, but it didn’t mean she wanted Astarion to never see the sun again.

“I can find something to burn,” Astarion offered as they stood from the chaise. “You certainly have enough paper laying around.”

“Scripts,” she clarified. “And let’s not burn those until I decide what I want to keep. There may be some dry wood in the kitchen by the door.” Lilthae briefly had an image of Astarion knocking on the neighbors’ door to borrow kindling as if he were asking for a cup of flour and it made her smile. She was about to tell him this when the sound of three loud, precise raps traveled up the stairs from the front door.  Lilthae glanced at Astarion and raised her eyebrows questioningly. Lips pressed together in a small frown, he shook his head to indicate he wasn’t expecting anyone. It wasn’t extremely late, though the sun had set some time ago. “Maybe Gale made it back early?” Lilthae offered over her shoulder as she descended the stairs, Astarion a few steps behind. If it was the wizard, his timing was characteristic as always. Couldn’t they have one night without someone needing something from them?

“Tell him to come back tomorrow,” Astarion said loudly as Lilthae opened the door, knowing that if it was Gale he’d not mistake the irritation in the rogue’s voice. He’d opened his mouth to add something about an inn being right across the street, but the quip died on his lips when he saw their visitor.

“Gauntlet Fountainhead,” Lilthae said, her intonation a statement more than a question. She heard the odd cadence of her own voice “Um…. won’t you come in?” Gesturing into the front room, she shifted aside for the Flaming Fist to pass and made brief eye contact with Astarion, who seemed surprised as well. 

“Devella, please,” the constable insisted with a smile as she stepped into the room with an acknowledging nod to Astarion who still stood on the stairs. 

“Won’t you sit?” Lilthae asked. Her voice came out higher than she expected. Gesturing to the sofa and chairs that took up most of the front room of her home, Lilthae closed the door behind Devella and sat in the chair closest to the door. 

Astarion was on alert instantly. He could hear the sudden change in Lilthae’s heart-rate, and felt the palpable change in the atmosphere.  Something about Devella had sent her into a panic.  Sitting on the side of the sofa that was closest to where Lilthae was perched, Astarion tried to meet her diverted eyes.  She was nervous.  Why? For her part, Devella smiled and seemed oblivious to Lilthae’s distress. He had no opinion on the woman one way or another. She was competent at her job (which couldn’t be said for most of The Flaming Fist), and when their party had worked with her to catch that nasty dwarf murderer, Astarion thought he’d detected a mutual respect in Lilthae and Devella. Maybe even the beginnings of a friendship.  What had caused the change in Lilthae, he wondered?

“Oh, no thank you,” Devella replied pleasantly to the offer of a seat. Her demeanor was definitely more relaxed than Lilthae’s and she seemed oblivious to the anxiety she was causing. “I only have a moment. I wanted to give you a little time before I brought you this news. I went to the Elfsong and they told me you’d returned to your home just this evening.”

Lilthae nodded shakily, and forced a smile. Her eyes flicked briefly to Devella, but she made a point not to look at Astarion whose gaze she could feel boring into her from where he sat, attentive to her every reaction. He had to know she was hanging on by a thread. There was only a moment of awkward silence before Devella continued.

“I have an update on your husband’s murder,” the constable said, quickly adding,  “we don’t think his death was part of the Bhaal cultist murders after all.”

Chapter Text

“I have an update on your husband’s murder,” the constable said, quickly adding,  “we don’t think his death was part of the Bhaal cultist murders after all.”

Lilthae swallowed thickly, but tried to keep her face passive. She wasn’t going to reply, but Devella’s silence made it impossible, lest the visit be dragged out any longer.  A weak “Oh?” finally made it through her lips. Her right hand thumb began a rhythmic circle on the palm of her left hand.

Apparently the acknowledgement was enough for Devella to continue. “Yes. Since Master Casimir’s murder was several months before the cult killings, Valeria and I had thought perhaps his death was just a… um, practice-run… so to speak.” Astarion winced, keeping his eyes trained on Lilthae. Devella went on, “but until we took care of Dolor and the Bhaalists’ plot unraveled, it wasn’t something The Fist had the inclination or resources to seriously question. Thanks to your intervention with the Absolute, we can now clear some of the back-log.” The constable delivered this news matter-of-factly, but not unkindly, something Astarion could appreciate, if only he could get a better read on Lilthae. The wind outside was practically howling through the opened windows and blowing papers and dust into the air. She still wouldn’t look at him.

“So, um, you’re coming to tell me it’s going to be out in the open again? That you need my permission or something?” Lilthae asked, looking around the front room at the trinkets and scripts piled on almost every surface. Looking everywhere but at Astarion. When they’d returned to the city, she’d definitely heard about Edmund’s death. She had friends and associates in Baldur’s Gate that she’d seen when they were dealing with Bane, Bhaal, and the Absolute. Her own absence hadn’t gone unnoticed, of course, and many people had been eager to fill her in, which included her husband’s gruesome end. Most were kind about it, but her circle of friends often traded in gossip and she knew her reaction was going to fuel backstage tattle and after-party whispers for weeks to come.  That The Fist had thought Edmund’s killing to be part of the other murders didn’t surprise her. She had been told as much and honestly she hadn’t looked too far into it herself,  besides one or two glances at the Baldur’s Mouth archives when they had wandered into the newspaper’s basement. Too much had changed since she’d escaped the Nautiloid and she’d had a lot on her mind. Apparently her disappearance around the same time as Edmund’s murder had been suspicious, until the rest of the killings had started. Lilthae’s return with the rest of her party had given her an alibi for her absence and no one seemed to challenge that explanation. “Do you need to question me or something? Look around the house?” She asked.

Shaking her head, Devella gave Lilthae a reassuring smile. “No, we searched pretty thoroughly after he was found,” she said. “Not much helpful here a year later, and the crime scene was the alley behind The Celestial Rose Theater. Not much use in tearing your home apart again.  Especially when you’ve just made it back.” Seeing the half-drow visibly relax, Devella went on. “I don’t think we’ll need to question you. Unless you know differently, Master Casimir’s death happened after you were picked up by those bloody Mind Flayers.” 

“Yes, I didn’t even know about it until we returned to the city a few weeks ago,” Lilthae confirmed, letting her eyes flick toward Astarion’s for the first time since Devella had arrived. He didn’t betray anything, however. His top priority suddenly became getting the dogged constable out of the house. It was time his pretty, little love spilled her pretty, little secrets. Clapping his hands together in a gesture of finality, Astarion stood and went towards the door.

“Well, we appreciate the update, darling,” he said brusquely to Devella, leaving no room for protest as he ushered the constable onto the front stoop. A gust of wind whipped through the room disturbing a pile of papers on the writing desk next to the stairs. “We will wait with baited breath until you can put this whole nasty business to rest,” he said.  If she felt odd about the rushed exit, Devella didn’t show it. 

“Of course,” Devella said, “I’ll keep you updated. Enjoy your evening.” Astarion watched her step into the cobbled street and heard her sword rattling against her armor as she disappeared into the wind and fog. He’d spent enough time with Lilthae to know that the sudden changes in the weather were a testament to how rattled she was. Perhaps she needed some training with Gale along with Rolan. Now wasn’t the time to broach that, however. It took a bit of effort to get the front door closed against the storm. He shot the bolt and appraised Lilthae with his arms crossed, his head tilted. 

“Now, listen here, darling, it seems we need to have a little chat,” he said, noticing the unshed tears in Lilthae’s lovely eyes. She nodded jerkily, looking up at him, but made no move from the chair. Astarion sighed and pushed off from the door, “I’ll be right back, don’t move.”

Lilthae watched him walk decisively towards the back of the house. The sound of his boots became sharper as he left the wood floor of the front room and moved across the slate tiles of the kitchen. Clinking glass, the opening of drawers, and the pop of a cork registered dully in her head. She stayed put, but wondered if he was going to toss a bottle of wine at her and then high-tail it back to the Elfsong Tavern. Certainly Astarion didn’t need to have the Flaming Fist paying close attention to him, no matter how well-regarded he was at the moment. He was still a vampire, after all, and vampires needed to feed. How long would the authorities overlook drained livestock or criminals when they were practically in her back garden?

Returning to the front room, he held a glass tumbler in his hand almost full with a bubbly, dark purple liquid. “You hate Plum Prosecco,” Lilthae said flatly in observation, almost not realizing she vocalized the thought.

Astarion chuckled darkly as he crouched in front of her chair. “It’s a good thing this isn’t for me, then,” He said, pressing the glass into her hands and moving it towards her lips. “Your wine collection is woefully unsophisticated, my dear. I’ll have to remedy that before anything in there graces my delicate palate.” While Lilthae drank deeply, he could feel the charge in the atmosphere start to dissipate, and the gusty breezes lost some of their force. Good.

Drinking most of the wine in one go, Lilthae licked her bottom lip to catch the sticky plum liquid that had dribbled slightly before she lowered the tumbler to her lap and rolled it delicately between her palms. Astarion took the mostly-drained glass from her and sat it on the floor next to him before catching her hands in between his own. Usually her hands were soft and warm, but he unexpectedly felt as if he was the source of heat between them at the moment. “I suppose you want to hear about Edmund,” Lilthae said in a rasp, flicking her eyes toward him.

“If this little display of storm magic is any indication,” Astarion said, circling a finger in the air, implying the unsettled atmosphere, “I’m starting to think Edmund may have gotten what he deserved.” It was true that Lilthae’s magic could be unpredictable, and it was most definitely tied to her emotions. He didn’t think Gauntlet Fountainhead’s visit alone was the cause of her unease. And that left Edmund as the reason. Astarion had never thought of himself as a jealous man, though to be fair he’d had 200 years of one-night stands with no opportunity to be jealous in an emotional capacity. He’d spent those years longing and angry, but for freedom, not for love. How was it that he was now worried he might have to compete with a dead man?  Hell, he was practically a dead man himself. Maybe Lilthae had a fetish? That darkly funny thought was pushed aside, however, as he realized laughing right now might not get him very far with the distressed woman in front of him. 

Exhaling, Lilthae slumped in the chair and rested her head against the back cushion. She closed her eyes in an attempt to organize her thoughts. Astarion shifted to a more comfortable position, still on the floor in front of her. One of his thumbs rubbed her knuckles in soothing, rhythmic motion.

“We were married for ten years,” Lilthae began, encouraged by the fact that Astarion seemed to be attentive to her distress. “It wasn’t anything like what you endured with Cazador—”

“Don’t do that,” interrupted Astarion, his voice tense. “We can compare battle scars all day long, my sweetheart. As a matter of fact, the star shaped one above your hip is rather enchanting… but I won’t have you trivializing your pain because it doesn’t resemble my own. Suffering is relative to what one is accustomed to.” Lilthae had ever been supportive and understandable to everyone’s dark pasts, probably objectively stupid on her part. Gale could have exploded them all at any second, not to mention Wyll’s cambion, or the owlbear that happily slept next to Shadowheart most evenings.  Astarion wasn’t going to fail his brave, reckless lover by allowing her to deflect for his sake. That wasn’t what he wanted for her… for them .

Nodding decisively, Lilthae continued, “Anyway, it was really, really good for the first year or so.” She licked her lips and pulled her legs underneath her in the chair, hand still clasped with Astarion’s. “Not perfect, by any means, but we performed well together, on and off the stage. When the cracks began to show, I blamed myself. And he let me. Encouraged the guilt, even. I didn’t see the manipulation for what it was until it was too late. And by that point, I believed I was lucky to have him. If I’d taken some time to myself, to really think about it, I would have seen that I had everything and he had nothing. I had brought everything to the marriage and he’d been more than happy to use me for money, stability, and an ego boost when needed. All he had to do was throw a scrap of praise and a gift my way when I became fed up and I was instantly back on the hook. Reeled back in like the stupidest fish in the Chionthar.” Her head was starting to feel deliciously hazy, a consequence of consuming so much Plum Prosecco on very little food. Everything felt looser, easier. 

“It’s not like I was wealthy or anything before we met, but I supported myself, which was rather extraordinary for a half-drow from practically the middle of nowhere. I had worked hard for what I wanted. I made it here to Baldur’s Gate and had enough natural talent, I guess, to eventually make a name for myself in the theatre. Maybe I was too young and stupid to know that people of my background didn’t get where I had, so I just kept pushing until I got what I wanted with no second thoughts. I was comfortable, had few debts, and was finally learning to deconstruct my insecurities and upbringing when Edmund gave me the things I didn’t have: affection, attention, attraction. I had friends of course, and admirers, but fixation on a carefully crafted stage character isn’t really a connection. My father was dead and my mother was dead, though the relationship with her had been strained for years. Edmund seemed to want all of the things I did. He wooed me, went out of his way to write poetry, to send flowers, to spend time with me . It was like a fairytale, as if Ilmater had brought us together. At least I thought so back then, when I worshiped Ilmater.”

Squeezing her hand, Astarion stayed silent. Yes, he definitely had no regret that this prick’s life had been snuffed out. He’d have to think about what her trust of himself suggested, though, after what she’d been through. This explanation was certainly only a simple accounting of a complicated relationship. Kissing her knuckles, Astarion hoped that was encouragement enough to continue. He couldn’t let his guilt over his manipulation of the beginning of their relationship overshadow how far they’d come since then. Whatever sins Edmund Casimir had committed, Lilthae was a grown woman and Astarion had confessed his plan eventually. The rogue intended to have something real with her. It seemed her former spouse had not. “You don’t have to tell me any more,” he said quickly as a tear finally freed itself and streaked down her cheek.

Swiping her palm under her eye to catch the tear before it dripped down her neck, Lilthae shook her head. “Oh believe me, there’s so much more. Things I’ve probably forgotten. But I have to tell you this much,” she insisted, not adding that she felt she owed it to him. She didn’t think Astarion would like that term. The truth was, however, that she did feel that she owed it to him. He’d been astonishingly vulnerable with her since Cazador and their confessions of love a few weeks ago. It wasn’t fair to either of them to start off with walls around her past. Lilthae wasn’t afraid of facing the anger she had at Edmund… or at herself for not leaving, for allowing him to continue to hurt her. Besides, with Devella’s news, Astarion deserved to make his own decision about how much he was willing to endure for her.

“So anyway, I spent the last ten years with a man who manipulated me and manipulated those around me to make it seem like I was a problem. Anything I confronted him with, he had an excuse for and I’m too…” she tried to find the word. Naive didn’t feel right, and she certainly didn’t think of herself as good or just . She settled on, “...fair, I guess? In my mind unless I could prove his misdeeds then I was wrong. And I would get so angry, and confused when I thought I’d caught him in a lie… or an affair… or any number of other things he did, that I’d immediately confront him and he always had a plausible explanation. And on top of that, he had whittled away at my confidence, my friends, everything. I was a shell of myself. I was emotional, and tense, and jealous, always. Edmund could then tell people I was the problem, and to an outsider it looked as if I was. He made sure that everyone was an outsider to me. I’d always felt other , so it wasn’t hard for me to accept that once again, I was the problem.” Lilthae sniffled again and rubbed her face on her sleeve, more tears mingling with snot as she didn’t even try to hold them back.

“It was like I was playing draughts and he was playing lanceboard. There was a knot in my stomach for ten years that I didn’t even notice, until it was gone.” Lilthae licked her lips and pulled her hand from Astarion’s.  She wrapped her arms around her knees, making herself as small as possible in the chair, her back digging painfully into the wooden arm. “That knot was gone the moment I woke up on the Nautaloid,” she continued, “right after I murdered Edmund behind the theater.”

Chapter Text

“That knot was gone the moment I woke up on the Nautaloid,” she continued, “right after I murdered Edmund behind the theater.”

‘Without words’ wasn’t a characteristic Astarion had ever really applied to himself. Charming? Yes. Handsome? Naturally. But speechless? Rarely. It wasn’t even that the confession surprised him. He’d suspected Lilthae had been the cause of her former husband’s demise right about the time she had told Devella she’d only found out about Edmund’s death when their party had returned to Baldur’s Gate. She most definitely had been unattached during their journey, and while it was possible Lilthae had simply been separated from Edmund, Astarion was astute and the pieces had clicked into place quickly.   What he hadn’t expected was that she’d just outright tell him. His little love was certainly agitated by The Flaming Fist looking into the matter, and remembering her time with her former spouse had upset her, but she didn’t seem to be remorseful at killing the prick. When had he decided the man was a prick? 

After traveling together for almost a year, Astarion knew Lilthae had one of the softest touches and kindest hearts he’d ever seen. She was so trusting at times, that he was torn between disbelief at her naivete and frustration that she seemed to have no self-preservation, especially if she thought she was being of service to others. No wonder a man like Edmund Casimir had taken advantage of her empathetic nature. Hells, hadn’t he done the same? Instead of protecting herself, though, Lilthae had willingly allowed him to seduce her and certainly could have been hurt again had Astarion not come to his senses and recognized what a rare treasure he’d found in her. Godsdamnit, it barely countenanced thinking of. A year ago he wouldn’t have cared, but now? Astarion held his tongue and resisted the urge to chastise her for being too reckless with her trust. He knew well that traumatized people didn’t always make sound decisions, but Lilthae was also an adult and had agency. It didn’t lessen the guilt he felt at the moment, but he wouldn’t infantilize her choice to become entangled with him. He didn’t think she would allow him to make excuses for her at any rate. At least the regret for how their relationship had started could be assuaged because he knew now that he loved her. Truly. If nothing else, Astarion vowed to never intentionally hurt or deceive her. 

“Are you going to leave me?” Lilthae asked, still wiping at her cheeks with her sleeve, her legs pulled up to her chest. She hated how pathetic her voice sounded. Over the last year, she’d told herself she’d never put herself in the position of begging another person to love her and isn’t that just what she sounded like now?

Astarion snorted, causing Lilthae to blink at him. Oh Gods, was she in earnest? “For mariticide?” He asked. “Hardly. For that woeful wine collection? Maybe.” He gave her a sardonic smile causing Lilthae to react with a surprised laugh. Astarion felt more of the tension ease in the air. 

Relaxing just a fraction, Lilthae unfolded herself from the chair, planting her feet back on the floor. She leaned forward, allowing Astarion to wipe her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs before he took both of her hands in his own.  Their foreheads were almost touching, but neither made a move for closer intimacy. She should have known that he wouldn’t be shocked or repulsed by her confession. After all, he had more or less committed patricide in front of her, even if the title father was a mockery as it related to Cazador. He had also once assuaged her guilt by reminding her that (though it was coerced) he’d led thousands of people back to what he’d believed at the time to be their deaths. “I need to tell you what happened that night, at least,” Lilthae said.

“It can wait, if you’re not up for it,” Astarion replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead and rising to return the glass to the kitchen. He had to admit, he was going to miss the room service at the Elfsong. When Gale did return, he was going to see what the wizard-of-some-renown could do to update the townhouse with a few magic conveniences. At least there was a pump in the sink, to save them from having to fill a bucket of water in the begrimed alleys of Baldur’s Gate. Surprisingly the water looked relatively clear as he started to rinse out the glass. He could hear Lilthae to his left as she padded into the kitchen after him and sat at the sturdy oak dining table. 

Crossing her arms and resting her cheek on top of them, Lilthae started talking. Her tone was matter-of-fact and only a bit of the rasp from her earlier crying was still evident. Now that she knew he was going to at least hear her out, she felt more confident that she could get through the story and that Astarion would still be on her side. Of course, there shouldn’t have been any question, Lilthae reminded herself again.  Edmund had gotten what was coming to him and if anyone would understand, it would be Astarion. It wasn’t that she had no shame about what she’d done, but Lilthae knew if she’d been transported back to the moment she’d stabbed Edmund Casamir in the back alley of The Celestial Rose Theater, she would do it again.

“I know ten years of hell doesn’t compare with 200 years of pure shit—” she started, but bit her lip and changed her method when Astarion turned to face her with a frown, using a rag to dry the glass tumbler. Lilthae sighed and continued, “What I mean is, I can’t convey how fucked up my head was for most of those ten years. Repeating what I went through now makes it sound like I was weak, or stupid, or—” she faltered, sighing in frustration as she tried to think of an appropriate way to describe how mentally broken she’d become from Edmund’s manipulations. “What I was, was loyal. Trusting. Once the novelty of having me wore off, I was a plaything. Having a talented wife was good for his ego. Having a wife at all made him seem non-threatening to others. It allowed him to get closer to almost anybody because they trusted him… the handsome, successful, charismatic, family man who lived to serve his community and Ilmater. Using my low self image and compassion to control me, meant that he could essentially do what he wanted as long as I was subservient enough.”

She tried to think of some examples, to illustrate how bad things had gotten. “If he spent all of our money in some scheme or fraud, then he knew the “little wife” at home would be sure to figure out how to keep the rent paid.  I had to. It was all in my name anyway. If he was flirting, he said obviously he had no intentions to take things further, he was married and devout. If I found suspicious gifts or letters, he'd say they had been meant for me and he’d get upset that I’d ruined the surprise. If he rejected me sexually, then somehow it was my fault: I was no longer attractive, or I was a nag, or I had rejected him seven years ago or it was crass or any number of reasons that were my fault. If I brought up promises he’d made, he said I was “misremembering”. He even insisted that I was so convincing when he spoke to me in bed, that often he had told me of something, but I’d actually been sleep-talking. So when he was caught in a lie… it was my fault that I dream vividly and didn’t remember he had an appointment that evening and wouldn’t be back until dawn. He would joke about how cute it was that I held conversations while dreaming, but then weaponized it against me. And of course he'd never even really told me anything.”

Astarion quirked a small, sad smile at that. She did talk in her sleep. The prick apparently put enough truth in his fabrications to keep them believable. The mark of a true bastard. Returning the, now clean, glass to the shelf above the sink, Astarion pulled out the chair next to Lilthae and entwined their hands. She didn’t seem like she was about to start crying again. The atmosphere was also relatively calm, indicating she had control of her emotions for the moment. It seemed she was struggling just to put into words how isolation and mental anguish could simply wear one down. By Gods, did he know something about that. He raised their entwined hands to his lips and pressed an encouraging kiss to the back of hers.

Looking away from Astarion, but keeping their hands clasped, Lilthae told him about the thing that probably hurt the most. It was a topic she and Astarion hadn’t discussed at all, and she hoped it wouldn’t open the door to another difficult conversation between the two of them. It would certainly come up eventually, but she hoped not tonight.  “When I said that we had the same goals for our lives, what I really meant was that we both wanted children.  We discussed it. He would joke that once we were married, we’d be needing a cradle soon. Things like that. Edmund was very clear about the fact that he wanted a family with me. We spoke of it often in the early days. Not long after we were married, I was shocked when he admitted he “didn’t know” what he wanted. He started setting conditions for having children. If I only kept the house cleaner. If only we had more money. If only I was more devout. If only he felt he could trust my outspokenness around his family. If only I was more devout in my praying. If only… if only… ” She spit the last if only out venomously, and took a breath before continuing.

“Eventually he pretended that it was a subject we’d never agreed on at all. By that time, I was already married to him and he’d convinced me I was so unstable and forgetful and sinful that I didn’t think I’d make a good mother. That I wasn’t worthy of it. Then ten years had gone by and he’d stolen all that time from me. He had taken the choice from me. I thought I was being a horrible wife by questioning him, and mismanaging the finances, and begging for attention, and being suspicious and making every one of our friends exhausted of me. Where was the proof to anyone but myself that he wasn’t a handsome, successful, charismatic, devoted, devout husband? Appearances were everything, and he was the master of manipulating every outward impression of himself, and by extension me. Once he broke me, there was no one to contradict him. In the beginning, if I’d not craved validation and love so badly, I could have left. But he’d put a lot of time into making himself into what I wanted. Or at least into making himself seem like he was everything I wanted. In reality, he would become a mirror of any person he was trying to manipulate. He collected all of those traits, and jokes, and hobbies into the outward appearance of a person. Once things started going badly, I thought he certainly wouldn’t have put in all that work to woo me if he hadn’t loved me. I thought no one could be such a master at manipulation that they were attentive and perfect for almost a year before the mask slipped. It was something you read about in lurid books. Not something that happens in real life. It was something that played out on the stage or in the newspaper, not in one’s home. So the problem must be me. That one year of work putting stars in my eyes, gave him ten years of my subservience. It was enough to sustain me, to string me along with very little effort while he lied, cheated, and adulterated.  By the end, I was so broken and— hurt— I didn’t know which way was up and I felt so alone. I thought I had gone mad. I thought I was lucky that handsome, successful, charismatic, devout man still chose to stay with me, after everything I had done to him.” 

Taking another breath, Lilthae finally looked back at Astarion. His face was impassive, but his hand still in hers signaled that he was with her. Supportive. She continued, “and even after all that, it isn’t why I killed him. At that point he could have thrown me into the gutter and I’d still have begged him to let me back in… to my own home.” Lilthae felt great shame that she hadn’t left Edmund. That she’d allowed herself to become so pathetic. The last year had brought her great accolades from her friends and the Sword Coast elite, but all she could think of was how weak she was to stay with a man who couldn’t love. Even as her strength was being praised, she felt like a fraud. “He tried to hurt one of the girls at the theater,” she said, then decided that euphemism would do no good to convey how disgusted and shocked she had been. “He tried to rape one of the girls at the theater. My dresser, Mithrissa. She was fourteen.”

Chapter Text

 “He tried to hurt one of the girls at the theater,” she said, then decided that euphemism would do no good to convey how disgusted and shocked she had been. “He tried to rape one of the girls at the theater. My dresser, Mithrissa. She was fourteen.”

Lilthae could feel Astarion’s hand tense in hers… or maybe she had tightened her own grip. She had gone over and over the ten years that had led up to the confrontation with Edmund in the alley. Mithrissa was now part of that story, and she hated that for the girl, though it was possible Mithrissa didn’t know she figured into Edmund’s death at all. Tomorrow Lilthe had resolved to see if the tiefling was still at The Celestial Rose and to ask if she’d be interested in coming to help thoroughly clean the townhouse.  Lilthae hadn’t seen her since the night she had been abducted by the mind flayers. For all she knew, Mithrissa didn’t want to talk to her.

“I feel like I failed her,” Lilthae admitted. “And I’m worried about all the ones I might have failed before her. I don’t know if there were other younger girls, but I know there were other women. Did he try to hurt them physically? Did I miss something else I could have done by being willfully ignorant?”

Astarion had been trying hard to not interrupt her, but she’d already castigated herself enough. “Darling, I know that we have a lot to work through here, but you just spent several minutes telling me how he hurt and broke you.” He refrained from adding ‘one of the strongest women I know’, even though he’d thought it. “I think you had enough on your mind to not also be the keeper of some prick who couldn’t control himself. Give yourself some grace, my sweetheart.”

Not agreeing, not really, Lilthae decided to finish her story without also exploring the guilt that she hadn’t had a chance to seriously dissect. She’d had bigger problems with parasites, homicidal Gods, and curses before she’d even really processed what she’d done to Edmund, much less the years of manipulation he’d put her through. As with so many things over the last year (the last decade, really), Lilthae decided she’d pack away the feelings and deal with them later. Once everything was cleared up with The Fists’ investigation, then she could take some time to reflect.

“Mithrissa was my dresser, like I said. She was employed by The Celestial Rose Theater where I mostly worked, so she was usually assigned to me, more like a little assistant than helping with my wardrobe. In the five years I’ve known her, sometimes I’d pay the theater her wages to allow her to accompany me when I performed at The Oasis or  The Fool’s Stage. Like much of the crew, she’s an orphan who’d found herself in the city alone at a young age. She must have been eight or nine when she first showed up at The Rose. Many orphans are given room and board at the theater and then apprenticed to someone in one of the stagecraft trades. Not each theater can afford to do it, but The Celestial Rose is profitable enough to keep a fully employed crew.” The perks of being in the Upper City she supposed. 

The young tiefling hadn’t remembered much about how she’d gotten to the city. She’d been mostly mute when she had shown up at the stagedoor of The Rose, no taller than Lilthae’s hip. The girl still (at least as of a year ago) didn’t speak about her parents, and it was unclear if she didn’t know how they had died or if it was still too traumatic for her even after all of this time. One evening, some of the actors had been loitering in the alley outside of The Celestial Rose during the intermission of a show and had heard the faint strains of an out-of-tune lute. Upon investigation of the sound, Mithrissa had been discovered covered in grime and little else, clutching a shabby lute and sobbing by the corner of the building. It hadn’t taken much to convince her to come inside where it was warm. Lilthae had taken to her instantly, not surprisingly as desperate as she’d been to share the abundance of love she had with someone. She knew Edmund would never allow her to bring the child into their home, but at least the girl was safe at The Rose. There were times, if she had accompanied Lilthae to another theater, that Mithrissa would sleep in the little extra room upstairs in the townhouse. The girl had still been a quiet thing five years after they found her, but she’d grown healthy. Her pink skin and indigo hair had become a lovely contrast with her green eyes (rare among the other tieflings Lilthae had known, even after meeting Zevlor’s group). Her horns almost formed a little heart above her head and it made Lilthae smile just thinking about it. Edmund and Mithrissa had eventually even seemed to form a sweet, teasing relationship between them, that in hindsight turned her blood cold.

Lilthae continued, “I found part of a letter Edmund had been writing. It was obviously some kind of seduction. But even knowing that he’d find some way to manipulate the situation, I barged right in with accusations. If I had ever kept my mouth shut and learned to analyze his behavior, I might have accepted the truth.” She sighed, no point in castigating herself over that now. “Anyway, he told me he was working on composing something for me.  He had done in the past, written me some lovely poetry and prose. Of course, that had been years previous, but I was so starved for his affection…” Shrugging, she shook her head to focus back on the important part of the story. “I couldn’t prove it wasn’t true, so I didn’t press the issue.  Edmund used it as another thing to punish me. He blamed me that he could never surprise me with anything. Looking back, since it wasn’t for me in the first place, he could continue to write whatever lurid dreck he wanted to whatever woman he was trying to sleep with and I would just think he never gave me any of those sweet verses because I was too untrusting.” Not to mention Lilthae had been a busy woman. It wasn’t as if she was at home pining for Edmund at all times. She had a job, responsibilities.

“Prick shouldn’t have left them out,” Astarion muttered reasonably, earning him a smile from Lilthae. He was right, of course.  Sometimes she wondered if Edmund wanted to get caught out.  Or maybe the fun of his schemes was seeing how much he could do right under her nose and still convince her he was honest and faithful.

Living with him was like playing detective. She had actually left him once when she'd found proof of his infidelity with one woman, but he'd wormed back into her good graces by telling her he was compelled to have sex and he was going to do his best to be better. Lilthae was too honest and soft-hearted to accuse him with something she couldn’t prove definitively and too hot-headed to not confront him right away, allowing him to wiggle out of the accusations with reasonable explanations. After she'd 'forgiven' him, Edmund could then say she didn't support him and that she always threw his 'sickness' in his face. At that point, he could frame her as the nagging wife who didn’t appreciate what she had and was unreasonably suspicious. Lilthae took everything at face value, because she didn’t think any person would waste so much energy on lying and deceiving. If he didn't love her, why not just leave? It made no sense to her, and that’s what had locked her into ten years with Edmund. Now, though, she pushed the what-ifs aside again. Examination of why she’d stayed was not the purpose of this conversation.

“One night in my dressing room, I found that letter Edmund had been writing on the floor next to my vanity table. This time it wasn’t a fragment though. It was several pages long. I knew his handwriting and recognized the part I had seen before. At first I thought… for the first time in a decade… he’d been telling the truth. But as I shuffled back to the first page, I could see it was a letter to Mithrissa. She must have dropped it. He was attempting to seduce her.” Again Lilthae corrected herself, “to rape her. Her consent would have meant nothing, she was too young.  Though I’m sure it’s how Edmund justified it to himself… if he tried to justify it. The things he’d written were obscene even for a married man to say to another grown woman without the factor of Mithrissa’s age. It seemed like he hadn’t gotten extremely far into his plans for her. I don’t know what her response to all of this was, but she must have been somewhat receptive if the tone of his writing was any indication. She was a child, though, thirteen or fourteen. And she trusted him.”  Just like I had trusted him, Lilthae thought. Just like we all had. 

 “I don’t blame Mithrissa for whatever girlish fantasies she might have held for him. It’s normal at that age to have a crush on an attractive older person that pays you attention.” Lilthae didn’t have to add that it wasn’t normal for the man to reciprocate or encourage such feelings. Her guilt flared again as she wondered if there had been others Mithrissa’s age or younger that Edmund had succeeded with. Had she ignored or missed anything? There had been SO many manipulations of everything in their lives. She could see clearly now (after a year away from the situation) that there were definitely other women. Again, it was something she’d have to analyze later when she was in a better state of mind to work through it. Not for the first time, she wondered if it was selfish of her to continue in this relationship with Astarion when she was so broken. However, when he rubbed their clasped hands against his cheek and pressed another kiss to her knuckles, Lilthae pushed that thought aside, too. Maybe she was damn selfish, but she was going to cling to him with everything she had.  It was encouragement enough to finish telling him the rest.

“Edmund’s letter had asked Mithrissa to meet him behind the theater after the show. I don’t know what he’d planned after that, but it was only a few blocks to the Three Old Kegs Inn or the Helm and Cloak. The rest of us were headed to the Elfsong for the closing night party. With so much activity, I’m sure Edmund knew they wouldn’t be missed. I had mostly stopped questioning where he was when he disappeared.” Lilthae licked her lips, suddenly wishing she’d just finished the whole bottle of Plum Prosecco. She had to admit her muscles felt much more relaxed after she’d downed the glass-full Astarion had brought her.

“Mithrissa was busy cleaning up before the cast party and I slipped out of the stage door. I was so angry. This girl that had lost everything and had found a family and acceptance was being preyed on by someone who pretended to love her. Someone who, if not a father figure, she at least craved the approval of. Someone who was using me as a shield when any questions of impropriety arose... well me and his devotion to Ilmater."

"Edmund was standing in the alley behind the theater, obviously looking for something or someone. He had a bottle of wine in his hand. It shattered on the ground before I even realized I had started stabbing him. I had a dagger in my bag… for protection. Walking the streets alone at night could be dangerous.  Is dangerous. I’m not sure he even knew it was me. I caught him from behind.”

Lilthae, could feel the pent up anger building inside of her again, but she clamped her teeth together against the magic that threatened to collect in the atmosphere. After a few moments, once she was sure she wasn’t going to cry she continued, “He fell on to the cobblestone, face down. There was glass everywhere. He… he was trying to get up, but I just kept…” Her sentences were fragmented now, as if each one was a puncture wound she’d left on Edmund Casimir in the dirty alley behind The Celestial Rose Theater. “I’d never stabbed anyone before. Blood and wine and glass on the cobblestones. On my boots. Slick and sticky at the same time. He never screamed. Just kind of gurgled. Then… it all stopped. He wasn’t moving. I didn’t think he was breathing. The Upper City is fairly well lit. Soon everyone would be heading to the Elfsong. Coming out the stage door and seeing... I… I ran.  I ran through the Heap Gate, trying to get back here. Then, I was just… on the Nautiloid. Right from the street, they'd nabbed me. I had the dagger in my hand. The Illithids didn’t even take it from me. It was still covered in Edmund’s blood when I landed on the beach. You know the rest.” 

Astarion stared at her for a moment, not blinking and let the details sink in before putting his hands on either side of her face and pressing kisses everywhere but her mouth. Each kiss punctuated with a small, "I'm sorry." Lilthae embraced him tightly, pressing herself into his chest awkwardly as they were still sitting in separate dining chairs at the table. 

“This may not be the right time to ask, sweetheart,” Astarion said, pulling her in close and resting his chin on top of her head. “But do you mean to tell me that when we were fighting our way through the Emerald Grove and that godsforsaken temple, you’d only ever defended yourself once?” He felt her shoulders contract slightly, from a laugh or a sob he wasn’t sure.

“I had stage combat lessons,” Lilthae offered pathetically, the sound muffled by his shirt. “And my magic. The rest I learned along the way.”

Chapter Text

The laugh that escaped from Astarion almost reduced him to tears. He actually had to take a moment before responding. Lilthae sat up in surprise and blinked at him silently. Until the Timmask spores in the Underdark, she wasn’t even sure Astarion could genuinely laugh. Usually he’d only allow a manic chuckle if he was being condescending. The deep, natural chortle coming from him at the moment, even caused the wrinkles next to his eyes to bunch up and become noticeable. She wanted to press a kiss to those lines, though the probability of him being offended if she hinted that he even had one wrinkle, kept her from ever mentioning it. Maybe in a quiet moment she could tell him how much she adored his ‘laugh lines’.

Once he finally pulled himself together, Astarion gave her an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry, darling. I wasn’t laughing at you.”  He corrected himself, “I mean I was , but not how you think. You are too adorable.” Shaking his head he pressed a chaste kiss to her mouth. Lilthae smiled into the light touch of his lips. “Only you would have assumed the mantle of leader so confidently yet have had no idea what you were doing.” He chuckled again, “ Stage combat, Lilthae. Gods below, how did you make it off the ship?!”

She was actually happy he was teasing her. Not only was it Astarion’s way of easing the tension, his joking subtly let her know he wasn’t going anywhere. His point was valid, of course. Lilthae had become the de facto leader of their little group, though she’d like to think it was because of her common sense and ability to make a decisive judgment. Lilthae feigned offense at Astarion’s disbelief.

“Well, I’ll have you know that Lae’Zel, Shadowheart, and I did just fine getting off of the Nautiloid. Where were you boys? Napping in a pod?” Not giving Astarion enough time to remind her that the three of them had crashed the ship and only survived because of the Emperor, she continued quickly. He certainly wouldn’t have let the observation pass had Lilthae given him time enough to interject. “Once we made it to the beach, I eventually found a rapier. It was close enough to what we fought with onstage. Now, I just didn’t have to hold back. The pointy end goes in one’s opponent,” she reminded him reasonably, whispering the last as if she were imparting secret knowledge to him.

Desperation could force you to accomplish a lot of things of which you didn’t think yourself capable, Lilithe thought. Almost a year on the road had allowed her to mimic the other, more experienced fighters and to learn a thing or two from Gale about focusing her magic. Even if she couldn’t always control it and she was clumsy in her technique at times, her storm magic was powerful. Though Gale acted annoyingly superior when she messed up and he had advice to impart about ‘the weave’. The thought of his lectures made her think of him fondly now, but usually in the moment she had to restrain her temper. The worst part was that he was usually right in his advice, Lilthae just didn’t like to be told she was wrong.

She’d be the first to admit she liked a cuddle, and Astarion’s protective attentiveness now and then, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t toughen up when she had to. Edmund’s in attentiveness and indifference had taught her to fend for herself for a decade. Hells, her childhood had been almost feral. Lilthae’s mother had been wrapped up in herself and her service to Ilmater to pay too much attention to what her daughter was doing. As long as Lilthae wasn’t bringing shame to herself or their family, she’d had more than enough time to just roam around their small village. That kind of freedom (Lilthae couldn’t bear to call it neglect) brought with it a certain education of how to care for oneself, to not rely on others. That freedom in childhood and then isolation in her marriage made her stubbornly independent, Lilthae knew. But she was trying to work on that. She wanted to be the type of soul that gave herself as much grace as she often gave others.

“You should get some rest,” Astarion said sympathetically. She had her head settled on her arm atop the table, her eyes drowsy with fatigue and the Plum Prosecco obviously catching up to her. “Come on, sweetheart, I’ll carry you if you want.” That earned him a snort, and he smiled at the little crease in her nose. 

“You— you don’t want to talk about what I told you?” She asked, pulling in a deep breath, and feeling the knot just beneath her ribcage ease. It had been there since Devella had arrived, but exhaustion and relief at telling Astarion the truth had abated it substantially. The sensation of that knot was a constant companion when she had been married to Edmund.  Lilthae had only really noticed it when she no longer felt its presence.  How odd it had been to realize she  was more at peace with a tadpole in her head, on an unknown path with a group of strangers, than she had been with the man who was supposed to honor and love her.

“No,” Astarion replied, not prepared to elaborate, but the look on her face made him huff and slightly roll his eyes. “Darling, I, of anyone, have no right to criticize or condemn what you did. And if you feel justified in your actions, then what is there to talk about? I’m only sorry I couldn’t skewer the prick myself.” Lilthae opened her mouth to reply, but he pressed a finger to her lips and continued. “I spent a year learning to trust your judgment… to trust you . That is not going to just evaporate. I don’t care why you did it, but now that it’s done, I’m with you. We’ll figure the rest out as it comes at us, like we always have.” Tears welled again in her lovely eyes and Astarion cupped her face with one hand, the pad of his thumb wiping away a stray drop as it streaked down her cheek. This certainly wasn’t the evening he’d anticipated, but knowing her, Lilthae would have let this fester until it caused a literal storm. It was probably best for them that everything was out in the open now. At least he assumed it was everything. Although compared to some of the things he’d done, what was a little spousal-stabbing between friends?

“You won’t tell the others, right?” Lilthae asked, sniffling. She was starting to get a headache. If the stress of the last few months and the alcohol consumption on an empty stomach hadn’t caused her to be physically drained this evening, the crying and emotional upheaval would have.

Astarion was a little hurt that she would even ask such a thing, but he didn’t press the issue. Instead,he schooled his expression to conceal the emotion. Both of them had trust issues and right now he wasn’t going to shame her for asking the question. Not right after she’d trusted him enough with her confession, no matter how necessary it had been. Right now he’d reassure her, and they would move past it tonight. Lilthae expected him to trust her and going forward he was going to require the same, but for the time being that conversation would have to wait.

 “Cross my unbeating heart and hope to die… again,” Astarion playfully replied, using his index finger to draw an invisible ‘X’ where the faintly pulsing organ sat in his chest. Lilthae gave a wet chuckle and snuffled into her cuff again to wipe away tears and snot. He made a mental note that some lovely embroidered handkerchiefs wouldn’t go amiss as a gift.

Standing, and holding out a hand for her to take, Astarion pulled Lilthae to her feet. As he led her through the front room and towards the stairs, she tugged his hand and came to a stop . “I’m trying to adjust my schedule,” she reminded him. “If I go to sleep now, it will mess everything up.” The small mantle clock had barely struck 9 p.m. the last she’d taken notice and that couldn’t have been more than an hour ago, if that.

“And who’s to say I wasn’t intending to have my wicked way with you?” He asked seductively, leaning close and pitching his voice low. Her eyebrows rose, and Astarion smiled at her challenging expression. 

Sexual intimacy was still a fragile thing between them, and it was obvious from Lilthae’s scoff that she had taken his quip as he intended it– as just a quip. A few weeks ago, after he’d taken her to see his grave, he and Lilthae had started letting their hands and lips wander a little more, but they hadn’t engaged in full sexual intercourse since before arriving at Moonrise Towers. Sometime between meeting that horrible drow alchemist and Raphael telling him about Cazador’s ‘contract’, they had agreed it would be better for him to focus on healing his trauma around physical intimacy. At the time, Astarion had been relieved that Lilthae had made the suggestion. Abstaining was what he had wanted since he’d started having feelings for her, but he had been afraid it would drive her away. Worried that if he asked, she’d no longer bestow on him the gentle sweetness with which the half-drow had treated him. It turned out, one could explore intimacy with another person without fucking them senseless. Who knew?  Still sharing a bed most nights, they still hadn’t resumed actual intercourse. Astarion was certain that they would eventually, but when it did happen, he wanted Lilthae to feel his love for her and not just his physical desire. It was going to be the difference between fucking and lovemaking, he’d make sure of it. Not that there was anything wrong with carnal lust either. They would have plenty of time in the future for both, he hoped.

Lilthae sighed with mock exasperation, which was contradicted by the fond look she gave him. She stumbled slightly as she moved past Astarion to ascend the stairs. He stopped her by slipping his hand back into hers and admonished her with a very serious, “Sweetheart.” This time, Lilthae’s sigh was of resignation as he joined her on the stairs and pressed himself against her, backing her against the stairway wall. “Please?” Astarion pleaded, huskily in her ear, pressing a kiss to her jaw and nuzzling against her neck with his nose.

“Fine,” Lilthae agreed, annoyed. She couldn’t pretend she wasn’t exhausted and she would probably end up falling asleep on her feet anyway. “I need to change the bedding first.” She took a moment to breathe in Astarion’s scent before heading up the stairs to the small storage space next to the spare room. Once she found the trunk with the extra bedding, she passed it off to Astarion. Lilthae entered the bedroom behind him and removed her boots while he started shaking out the linens. “I’ll need to clean the hangings, but probably best to wait until one evening when you might not burst into flames.” She wrinkled her nose at the dusty green damask and velvet bed curtains that would completely block out the sun while Astarion tranced during the day.

“Yes, I’d rather not wake up as a pile of ashes, darling,” he joked dryly and tossed the dusty sheets and counterpane on the floor in a pile to be laundered. Lilthae was digging through the bags they hadn’t yet unpacked. He added her clothing to the heap when she found a nightgown and tossed her shirt and pants at him with an impish laugh. Once Astarion had disentangled himself from her clothing, she had already slipped the simple gown over her head and was padding toward the bed. Pity. Just because they weren’t currently having sex didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy looking at her. Her breasts really were magnificent, he mused.

“Are you going to hunt tonight?” Lilthae asked as she turned down the bedding and slid between the sheets.

“That was my plan,” Astarion replied, lounging on top of the covers, back against the headboard. “If nothing else, I need to get my bearings in the neighborhood.”  Lilthae nodded and turned to face him, her head on the pillow. Even the clean pillowcase had a bit of a musty odor, having been locked in a closed chest for so long.

“A nice, simple plan,” she murmured with a drowsy smile, remembering how well Astarion’s last ‘nice, simple plan’ had gone. Lilthae was glad that plan had failed. “Be sure to close the windows and the curtains when you get back,” she reminded him drowsily, as if he didn’t value his life enough to figure that out on his own. Now that she was cozily wrapped in the blankets, Lilthae could feel her head pleasantly swimming from alcohol and exhaustion. She felt the mattress shift and heard Astarion pulling the bed curtains closed on the two sides that faced the bedroom windows.

Lilthae was asleep before Astarion even managed to tie the bed hangings closed at the end of the bed. He’d leave the side facing the wall and the door open for when he returned, hopefully in time to join her for a few hours before she woke. He had forgotten how precarious his situation was without the tadpole to protect him from the sun. A pain in the ass, really, more than a tragedy. At least he was free (and alive, more or less). Lilthae’s townhouse, conveniently had very heavy curtains at each window, but it didn’t alleviate the yearning for sunlight, just the potential damage it could cause him. Maybe Gale would find some leads for them to follow in the tomes at Sorcerous Sundries. He pressed a kiss to Lilthae’s temple and quietly crossed the room to pull his daggers from his pack. 

What a fucking night, Astarion thought to himself as he stepped out of the kitchen side door and into the familiar darkness of the Lower City. He didn’t intend to hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it, but he was disappointed that Edmund Casimir was too dead for him to hunt down this evening. Knowing his luck, the prick’s blood would taste like shit, though. 

Chapter Text

He didn’t intend to hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it, but he was disappointed that Edmund Casimir was too dead for him to hunt down this evening. Knowing his luck, the prick’s blood would taste like shit, though. 

Lilthae had woken up with a sharp pounding behind one eyebrow and what felt like sandpaper abrading her eyes. Could one have a hangover from crying? She supposed not. The room was dark, but she could hear the bustling of the Lower City outside and knew that it had to be at least mid-morning. Taking a moment to rub her eyes with the heels of her palms, Lilthae stared at the canopy of the bed above her and went over in her head everything she hoped to get done today. Maybe if she took a nap this afternoon, she’d be able to adjust more to Astarion’s nocturnal schedule. While she had never kept his latest hours, she had often crawled into bed just before the sun rose, simply due to the nature of performing in the theatre. She hoped a job would come along to distract her and to allow her to ignore her anxieties over the investigation into Edmund’s murder until they absolutely had to be faced. Astarion knew the truth, now, and that was all that mattered at present.

He was trancing next to her, and because he was always on alert and never at rest too deeply she tried to make her exit from the curtain enshrouded bed as gracefully as possible. She could tell by the absence of any sunlight through the hangings, that the window curtains were closed and doing a fine job of keeping out the sun. However, Lilthae didn’t want to take the chance of any surprises and knew she’d have to climb over Astarion to exit the bed on the side that faced the wall and not the windows where he was sleeping.

Crawling ever so slowly to the foot of the mattress, Lilthae began to inch towards the right side, her back to the trancing elf. She reached out for the bedpost to steady herself as she pulled up on her knees to cross over his calves to the edge of the mattress. She thought she could probably slip under the bed drapery and not even have to untie them. The toe of Lilthae’s right leg had almost touched the floor when she felt a firm *whack* on her backside. With a startled jump, the self-satisfied smile at her assumed stealthy victory fell into a smirk of exasperation, but she didn’t turn to look at him. The sole of Astarion’s foot was now rubbing a playful circle up her lower back. 

“You know, if you’d settled on the other side, this wouldn’t have been an issue,” she teased, looking slightly over her shoulder, both hands gripped on the bedpost to keep herself steady.

“Darling, if I’d been on the other side— which you claimed before I even had an opportunity to object, by the way— the odds were I would have ended up pushed out of bed and onto the floor into the wretched morning sun. You do wriggle an awful lot, you know. I’ve never been happier that I don’t have to sleep.” He had known other half-elves like her that slept instead of trancing, though it was rare. Many nights Lilthae seemed to be living a whole other life in her mind while asleep. Astarion wasn’t sure if he envied her vivid dreams or not. If they were bad, it seemed like she didn’t get any rest at all. Thankfully, as far as he knew, whatever emotions she experienced in her dreams had never manifested themselves with her magic while she was unconscious.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Lilthae said sincerely, fully sitting on the edge of the mattress now, as she untied the bed curtains to start her day.  She almost added that living with another person again was going to take some getting used to, but reminding her lover about her former husband (no matter how much she now hated Edmund) didn’t seem productive. Mentally working through the end of that part of her life was already going to be difficult. Being back in the home she’d shared with Edmund would naturally dredge up the past, Lilthae knew. It made her angry that the man still had even a small hold on her mind. She supposed that was the nature of any abruptly-ended relationship, but through all his charm and bluster, Astarion was insecure. Whatever lingering ripples her marriage had left on her, Lilthae didn’t want to invoke the ghost of Edmund into this relationship with Astarion. She knew she loved him and that even if her former spouse wasn’t dead, she’d still choose Astarion. But invoking the idea that she had been married and had lived here married was something she didn’t think needed to be brought up unless strictly necessary. Lilthae would have to work through the shreds of her old life alone.

She hoped Astarion didn’t mind a few weeks, or months, of domestic bliss to allow them to find their footing as a couple. Hopefully, Gale would secure some leads on a way for the vampire to walk in the sun and they’d be off again in a few months. Before she’d been abducted by the Nautiloid, Lilthae had never imagined that adventuring would be for her, but the last few months had surprised her. She’d found a family on the road, and she knew she would be up for whatever any of them had in mind in the future. Lilthae had suddenly felt like a valuable member of a team. That feeling, that purpose of working together for a goal, was part of what had  drawn her to the stage in the first place. The curtains untied, she slipped out of bed and turned to face Astarion, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Get some rest, my love,” she cooed against the smirk he gave her. “I should be back by the time you’re done.”

As a full elf, Astarion didn’t have to trance as long as Lilthae had to sleep, so he’d probably be up and about before the sun went down. However, as long as the light was kept out of the townhouse, being out of bed shouldn’t present a problem. “I’ll be here,” he joked as she gave him a sweet smile and tied the bed hangings closed again. He heard her pad across the floor and rifle through her pack and trunk as he drifted back off into his trance. 

******************

Lilthae dressed simply for the day in a soft teal blouse, left untied at the neck, and high waisted brown leather pants. She carried her boots downstairs with her, but set them by the door, preferring to stay barefoot until she was ready to go out. Her thick silvery, white hair was pulled up in its usual ponytail, a few wisps already hanging loosely around her face. It had always been a chore to keep the strands contained and Lilthae had stopped trying. 

She was sipping quietly at a cup of decidedly stale tea and looking through a stack of old scripts when a firm but energetic knock came at the front door. Lilthae willed her muscles to relax when she felt them tighten involuntarily.  There was no way Devella had put the pieces of Edmund’s murder together overnight. It had to be someone else. 

Setting the tea on the small writing desk by the stairs, Lilthae padded quickly to the door. It didn’t sound like the knocking had roused Astarion. After last night, she was worried he would forgo his rest if he thought she might need him. While the thought made her decidedly warm inside, she didn’t want to become someone who couldn’t handle her own problems without the intervention of a partner. That had been the paradox of her marriage. She had been delusional enough to think Edmund had provided some type of emotional support, but she really had done it all herself anyway. And now that she knew Astarion would go out of his way to coddle her if she’d let him, she both craved and recoiled at the thought. How could someone feel strong and weak at the same time? The moroseness of that thought was immediately pushed aside when she opened the door and saw Wyll and Shadowheart standing on her small front step. Shadowheart’s hand was poised to knock again and the two women burst into laughter at the ridiculous timing.

“Come in! Come in!” Lilthae insisted, moving to the side for her friends to enter. Wyll had to duck slightly to cross the threshold. His horns nearly touched the doorframe. “I’m sorry for the mess, I was actually on my way to The Rose to see if one of the girls wanted to earn some coin and help clean up.” She waved her hand vaguely to the stacks of dusty papers littered about. “Do you want to sit?” If nothing else, the sofa and chairs were free of dust as of this morning.

Lilthae saw a look between Shadowheart and Wyll that made her slightly nervous, but she said nothing. If she kept thinking someone was waiting around every corner to arrest her, she wouldn’t be able to function at all. Reminding herself again that no matter what happened, Edmund had deserved what he’d gotten, she glanced between them expectantly.

“Well that’s fortuitous,” Wyll said, rubbing his palms together. “What I wanted to discuss involves The Rose, actually.  Mind some company on your walk?” He gave her that disarming smile, bestowed so easily when he was in a good mood. Even the intimidating horns he still sported from refusing to kill Karlach couldn’t make him frightening when he grinned so charmingly. Lilthae wondered if there was anything Gale or one of the others could do to rid Wyll of the horns, but it had only been a week since he was completely free of his infernal contract and far be it from her to mention it. The Ravengard family was well connected, even with Duke Ravengard dead, and if Wyll wanted the large protrusions gone, he’d certainly be able to find a way without her interference.

“I’d love some,” Lilthae agreed, picking up her boots and moving to sit on the sofa to lace them. While she had been surprised to see Shadowheart and Wyll at the door, she was glad she had given everyone her address. It had been sad to think that once they parted, they would all drift apart eventually. While some distance would certainly occur, Lilthae had to admit it made her happy to think they were all going to be bonded as friends… as family… for the rest of their lives. Astarion would roll his eyes at the thought, but she knew he secretly cared for them all, too. “Astarion’s trancing,” she explained, though neither had asked. “I’m sure he’d love to see you if you’ll come back with me after we’re done.” From Shadowheart’s snort it was quite clear that she thought love was a strong descriptor of what the elf’s feelings would be. Though they all knew that under any grumbling, he wouldn’t be dis pleased.

Once they were out the door and headed toward the Upper City and The Celestial Rose Theater, Shadowheart spoke up. “It’s a cute house,” she observed and Lilthae assumed the cleric meant the townhouse. 

“I mean, I’m sure it’s nothing to the Ravengard Mansion you’re whiling away the hours in,” Lilthae teased, noticing a small blush creep onto Wyll’s face. “But, yes, it's always been cozy and just the right size for me.” She didn’t mention that it held memories that were either joyful or miserable depending on if they were before or after Edmund came into her life. Or that she’d almost lost it due to one of his gambling debts. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure if owning a home was a responsibility she wanted anymore. Maybe once she and Astarion found their footing, they could just keep long-term rooms at the Elfsong when in the city and not have to worry about maintaining property while they were gone. Maybe she’d outgrown the little home she’d made. That wasn’t a bad thing, though it was something she’d have to think on and talk over with Astarion. He may not even want to consider Baldur’s Gate as their home once they had a choice. Lilthae hadn’t grown up here, but she liked feeling as if she had a home , even if, in the future, they might only return sporadically.

Wyll cleared his throat, obviously a little flustered that Lilthae had pointed out the difference in the size of their homes. He knew she was just teasing, but he was still uncomfortable that he was now the owner of the Ravengard estate and stepping into his father’s shoes politically. His boyishness was still present, even after all he’d been through as he walked backwards before Lilthae and Shadowheart, his face animated. “I mean, it’s hardly the nicest manor on the block,” Wyll protested. 

Shadowheart replied with an exaggerated whisper to Lilthae. “The formal dining room is larger than our rooms at the Elfsong.” The two women giggled, knowing that not only was that exaggerated, but Wyll could do with a little ribbing. He was going to be engaging in what were sure to be very weighty responsibilities once the Parliament of Peers was reconvened. A reminder that the dynamic of his relationship in their friend group wouldn’t change, even with his elevated status, felt to Lilthae like an essential nicety for the young man. They had all lost so much, but with the sacrifices of his father, Karlach, and his magic– it felt like Wyll had suffered more than most of them. He deserved to know he was valued for himself and not just what he could do for Baldur's Gate or the Patriars.

Lilthae changed the subject, not wanting to make Wyll feel too self conscious about his status in the city. It had been obvious, once his whole story had come out to their group, that he’d lived in his father’s shadow. She had no doubt that Wyll would make his own name within the Parliament of Peers, but still, it couldn’t be easy to feel like you had an almost mythic narrative to live up to. Thankfully, Wyll had just saved the city from, possibly, its biggest threat ever and The Blade of Frontiers had become his standard moniker in the papers – even though his magic was gone. It seemed as if the image of himself he wanted to project was going to continue. He was still a talented and dashing swordsman after all. Yes, Wyll’s future was bright.

“You said you had business at The Rose,” Lilthae prodded. “Is it something secret or can you tell me?”

Wyll grinned, “It is something that involves you, actually. Or I hope it will, anyway.” Lilthae again felt a pit in her stomach, but pushed away the thoughts of what she’d done in the alley behind the theater. The demeanor of Wyll and Shadowheart didn’t indicate they had even an inkling about that. Besides, she thought, her friends would talk to her privately if they found out what she had done. She hoped.

Wyll continued when he saw the confusion on her face, “Well, I had an idea for a benefit performance to support the rebuilding of Baldur’s Gate. Or maybe to go directly to those displaced from their homes… or… well, anyway, I thought maybe if the Masters Weldon were approached by both of us, they may agree to the use of The Celestial Rose for the event. And if one, or more,  of the Heroes of Baldur’s Gate were to be involved, it would draw a sell out crowd and generate a lot of funds.”  Lilthae could tell by the way Wyll started almost babbling his plans, that he wasn’t sure it was something anyone would go for.  She thought it was a brilliant idea, though, and she hoped he could see her enthusiasm.

Lilthae had known Dagfynn Weldon, the Artistic Director, of The Celestial Rose Theater for years, long before he and his husband Kassio had made a success in the Upper City by refurbishing and cultivating the old shrine to Lathander into Baldur’s Gate’s premier destination for stage entertainment. Dagfynn was a brilliant man. She had never known anyone so uniquely creative and enthusiastic in that creativity in her life. He’d started simply, performing in any space that would allow him and his friends (of whom Lilthae counted herself) to throw together a show. The company had spent many hours in the woods, taprooms, streets, and parks bringing their unique retellings of the classics (and new works) to the masses. The masses apparently liked it and over the last twenty years or so Dagfynn (and later Kassio once they were married) built up an entertainment empire that made the Upper City patriars think they were seeing something unique.  It was ironic that the whole company had come from all over Faerȗn and not one had been born into the privilege of the people to which they now catered. It made Lilthae laugh and roll her eyes at the same time. Performers were well accustomed to being paraded about as a unique and special talent, and then being treated as if they owed their art to anyone who asked (or even that they owed their bodies to them, in the case of many actresses). The wealthy had a way of making you feel supremely respected and degraded at the same time if you were an artist.

Grinning widely, Lilthae’s mind began to swirl with possibilities. She had said she would help however she could in rebuilding Baldur’s Gate and bringing peace to her neighbors affected by the battle they had waged. Truthfully, she hadn’t been sure what she could do, but this was a perfect suggestion . Her talent was one thing that she’d never questioned.  Her ability to find a character and weave a story had always been natural to her and helping in this way would be a pleasure. “I can’t make any promises of course, but I’ve known Dagfynn for years. I’m sure he’ll agree. Kassio may take a little work to convince, but I think he’ll come around. I’d be honored to do this with you, Wyll.”

The spires of the sun bathed Celestial Rose Theater were visible ahead as they made their way through the Heap Gate and into the Upper City. The beautiful rose colored glass windows gave a blushing hue to the stone casements on which the beams of light reflected. Lilthae may have been back in Baldur’s Gate for weeks and her townhouse for a night, but now… now she was home.

Chapter Text

Lilthae may have been back in Baldur’s Gate for weeks and her townhouse for a night, but now… now she was home.

Dagfynn Weldon wasn’t someone who left an impression based on physical looks. He was attractive, but his curly brown hair couldn’t be described as ‘chestnut’ or ‘chocolate’, though it was thick and suited him fine. There were distinguishing strands of grey starting to show at his temples and thread through his neatly trimmed beard. If a person saw him in a portrait, they might notice his broad chest and muscular arms, but his eyes were a muddy type of hazel and didn’t inspire bards or poets. Lilthae knew, however, that anyone who saw the very human Dagfynn and judged him on looks alone was a fool. For once anybody spoke with him at length and he had engaged them with whatever project he was working on, excitement and genuine wonder pouring forth as ideas and schemes, no one could ever forget him. Every show that he designed and directed (even back in the days when they used the stumps of trees in the forest for a stage) was his ‘favorite’. Whatever he was currently working on was ‘the best, most exciting project’. And it was true, Lilthae thought with a smile. Whatever he was dreaming up at that moment was the best, most beautiful, creative endeavor. Lilthae loved Dagfynn for that. She was always in awe that such a man was in the world and that he was her friend. Their friendship transcended whatever they had both been through over the years. Dagfynn Weldon gathered people around him like the alpha wolf of a pack. After one particular heartbreak, Lilthae had confessed her love for him, which Dagfynn pretended not to remember. He hadn’t yet met Kassio (nor she Edmund), but even then, he’d known there was love between them, but not in the way she had, briefly, hoped. As lovers and relationships changed, Lilthae was forever grateful that Dagfynn was her friend and always would be. 

Lilthae’s relationship with Kassio was different. It had taken him some time to be accepted into their ‘pack’ when Dagfynn had started bringing the high elf around. At first he was introduced as a new friend , but eventually Kassio became a fellow performer and sometime playwright. When her friend had ambitiously set his sights on the Upper City former shrine of Lathander as a permanent performance space (now The Celestial Rose Theater), Kassio had also become the company’s business manager. He was almost the complete opposite of Dagfynn in looks and personality. A tall, sandy-haired, golden-skinned high elf with the bearing of an emperor (but not The Emperor, thank goodness). Kassio was not afraid to keep Dagfynn’s big ideas rooted in reality. Though, Lilthae had to admit he was a talented writer (scribing and revising several of the scripts for recent shows) and a gifted comedic actor with a fine singing voice. If she didn’t know how hard he worked to keep the business part of the theater running, she would have almost thought he was using Dagfynn for the success he’d found. But it hadn’t taken long for her and their friends to realize that their human friend and the sun-kissed high elf were more than colleagues. Their wedding four years ago had been one of the most joyful occasions Lilthae had ever attended. Edmund had made some excuse not to attend, and she was happy that the memory of their union wasn’t tainted by his presence. Anyone who saw Kassio looking at Dagfynn when he wasn’t aware, would have no doubt that the sarcastic, practical elf was absolutely besotted by the earnest, daydreaming human. That love and care for her dear friend had cemented her loyalty to Kassio. It’s true they weren’t as close as she and Dagfynn, but Lilthae had befriended him little by little.  She suspected they both had walls that were hard to let others overcome. Edmund had cajoled, lied, and tricked his way past hers, slowly destroying her defenses. Dagfynn had used consistency and love to find the key to the door past Kassio’s walls. Lilthae had to admit she was envious of the bond they shared, but she loved seeing her friends so happy, it wasn’t something on which she ever dwelt for long.

As if validating Lilthae’s earlier assessment, Dagfynn had agreed wholeheartedly with holding a fundraising gala at The Celestial Rose. His enthusiasm was infectious, as always, and he practically had stars in his eyes but, Kassio was ever the voice of reason. Lilthae could tell by the questions the elf asked, that they would probably come to an agreement, but she didn’t blame the man for his caution. He was what kept Dagfynn steady and the bills paid. After all, one couldn’t stage wonderful, magical productions if you owed coin to every financier in the city. It was the difference between performing as traveling vagabonds and having a comfortable space to really work. The constraints were disappointing sometimes artistically, but from those constraints often came creative work-arounds that proved even better in the end.

“I’m not sure we have any open space to accommodate your rehearsals” Kassio began, ticking off other potential issues on his fingers. “Who is going to cover the upfront costs of such an event? I want to be sure that any funds raised are going to go exactly where they are needed. If our name is attached I don’t want any of our Lower City friends and patrons to think this is self-flagellation for the Patriars.” Lilthae didn’t mention that many of those same Patriars had lost much in the destruction of the Upper City. Though, it was true that any rebuilding there would most likely be faster and more focused than for the middle or lower classes of Baldur’s Gate.

Kassio continued. “We have a couple of dark nights between shows that we could allow you use of the theater, three weeks hence. But we have to load in for The Tragedy of Ollatar after Highharvestide, so any set, costumes, and props will have to be struck by the morning of 1 Marpenoth. We could give you the evening of 28 Eleint to dress the set and rehearse, then all day on the 29th with a performance on 30 Eleint.” As always Kassio was efficient and straightforward.

Lilthae could see Wyll deflating, overwhelmed. This was going to be quite an undertaking, but nothing she didn’t think they couldn’t handle. As a matter of fact, every potential obstacle Kassio had laid out for them was easily overcome. Just as the former warlock gave a defeated sigh, Lilthae put a hand on his bicep and stepped forward to take control of the conversation.

“Rehearsals should be no problem. Wyll has a large home and I’m sure we could move a few tables and chairs to make room.” She looked toward her friend with raised eyebrows silently asking for agreement. Wyll nodded in readily;  hope began to return to his features. Lilthae continued, “I think it would be easy to choose a specific group to benefit.” She paused, thinking. “Maybe specifically those in the Lower City who have been displaced either due to their homes being destroyed or the breadwinner of the family no longer able to support them? I’m sure someone better versed in charity than me can work out the specifics.” There was nothing the Patriars loved more than throwing around money to appear benevolent to widows and orphans.

“I can cover any upfront costs,” Wyll piped up. “Though we haven’t discussed specifics of the show, any out-of-pocket coin at all should be low except to pay performers. I want this to be as beneficial to those we’re purporting to help as possible.” If he was sincere, and Lilthae thought he was, Wyll Ravengard as one of the new members of the Parliament of Peers was going to be the best thing to happen to the citizens of the Lower City in… well, maybe ever.

Kassio nodded in approval and Lilthae knew then that they’d be able to perform at The Rose. She added, “We can give you an outline of what we’d like to do by tomorrow if that works? I’m hopeful that having at least two of the Heroes of Baldur’s Gate involved and visible will be enough to fill the house, no matter what we do. We’ll put something together and Dagfynn can polish it up for us.” Lilthae smiled at her friend, knowing that he could turn the smallest idea into a spectacle with a few well placed effects and creative direction. She could see Dagfynn’s mind already whirling with possibilities.

“Well, get us an outline tomorrow and we’ll start to promote,” Kassio agreed, reaching a hand out to shake Wyll’s. “Advertising can be the contribution of The Celestial Rose, in addition to our space, no payment necessary. And you’re welcome to any costumes and set pieces we have, of course. Lilthae knows what’s available.” For all of his shrewd business acumen, Lilthae really was grateful that Kassio also had a giving heart for his community. It was the exact reason so many orphans now worked at The Rose and went to bed at night with warm blankets and full bellies. This altruism was something she’d never considered that Dagfynn and Kassio had in common, but now it was crystal clear to her and Lilthae wondered if she’d given Kassio too little credit in his relationship with Dagfynn.

Moving to embrace both friends and giving Dagfynn and extra peck on the cheek, Lilthae told them that she intended to ask Mithrissa to help her around the townhouse if they thought they could spare her for a few days. They both agreed, with Kassio noting that it would do the girl good to get out. Concerningly, Dagfynn added that Mithrissa had been more withdrawn since the night Lilthae had disappeared. It wasn’t apparent if the murder of Edmund or Lilthae’s absence had caused the girl to regress and go practically mute for the last few months. As far as she knew, unless Mithrissa had told them, no one else knew of Edmund’s advances toward her. Though, the violent death of a (supposed) friend and colleague would certainly be enough to explain any odd behavior on the part of anyone involved with The Rose.  Before she left the office and headed downstairs to find the girl, Dagfynn grabbed her arm and pulled her into another hug.

“I’m sorry about Edmund,” he said sincerely and Lilthae couldn’t meet his eyes. Dagfynn had been her friend long before she’d met Edmund. He’d brought the other man into their fold willingly, simply because Edmund had become important to her. At the time, she’d appreciated the loving heart of her friend. Though there was some guilt that she’d introduced the man into the close-knit family that eventually became a hunting ground for her husband’s debauchery. Though when she finally met his gaze, Dagfynn was looking at her with a concerned expression. It wasn’t sadness, exactly. She thought he wanted to say more, but he didn’t. They would have to speak privately soon.

“Thank you,” Lilthae offered sincerely, giving her friend a tight smile. “I’ll be right back,” she told Wyll and Shadowheart as she headed out of the small office and across the stage to the stairway that would take her downstairs to the dressing and work rooms. As the door closed behind her, Lilthae heard Dagfynn offer to give her friends a tour of the theater while they waited for her to return. She smiled to herself. It looked like The Celestial Rose ‘pack’ was going to get a little larger in the coming weeks.

Chapter Text

She smiled to herself. It looked like The Celestial Rose ‘pack’ was going to get a little larger in the coming weeks.

The Celestial Rose Theater’s backstage was just how Lilthae remembered it. Well, actually, the ‘understage’ because it was located in the basement of the building. She had been gone for a little less than a year, but so much had happened since then, it surprised her when she found some things just as they’d been when she was abducted. There wasn’t much in Baldur’s Gate untouched after the fight with the Netherbrain, but the theater was relatively intact and people were certainly looking for distraction while mitigating the destruction around them. Incense seemed to always linger in the corridors down here. Most likely a leftover from the years the building spent as a shrine to Lathander. Mixing with that spicy, heady scent, the smell of freshly-cut wood, paste, and wax assailed her as she passed the Scene Shop. Several carpenters and decorators were working on the sets for the next production. Lilthae waved happily and saw surprised looks on a few faces, but kept walking. Later she could stop to chat, right now she needed to find Mithrissa. 

Most likely the girl would be in the Costume Shop or nearby. When she wasn’t specifically helping an actress for a show, the young tiefling would be mending and cleaning costumes. Theater was a sweaty endeavour, even if you weren’t sword fighting or jumping around the stage. Actors in sanitized costumes each night were better performers and generally more agreeable over-all. Lilthae typically ‘ran cold’, but a night under the limelight and candles even caused her to be drenched at the end of most shows. While a costume couldn’t be completely cleaned everyday a refresh was generally welcome.

Walking past her usual dressing room almost directly across from the Scene Shop, Lilthae turned right and headed to where she could hear more voices coming from an open doorway at the end of the hall. The Costume Shop was a fire hazard, packed wall to wall with fabrics, costumes, and notions. Every visible surface was covered with a work in progress, something being cleaned, or storage. Truthfully during a performance the whole theater was in danger of catching aflame if people weren’t careful. One good thing about The Rose was that it was a stone building, even though the interior was mostly wooden. Many theaters never recovered if a fire took place due to the flammable nature of their wood walls and thatched roofing. At least a shell would remain if anything caught fire here and a shell was what Dagfynn and Kassio had started with in the first place.

Poking her head around the Costume Shop door, Lilthae scanned the room for Mithrissa. She didn’t immediately see the girl, but she found the source of the voices and laughter she’d heard from down the hall. Mayleigh Willowcreek, the halfling supervisor of the Costume Shop, was holding court in a sewing circle of mostly younger apprentices. Her smoke tinged voice was rough and low, but comforting as she corrected a stitch or a thread color and then continued to gossip with those around her. When Mayleigh looked up, Lilthae caught her eyes and gave her a bashful smile at the look of surprise on the halfling’s pale face. Dropping whatever costume she was working on, Mayleigh made her way over to the door and Lilthae bent down to embrace her friend. 

“I’d heard you were back,” Mayleigh said, pushing an errant strawberry blond tendril out of her face. “After Edmund… we all thought…” Whatever she was going to say next died on her lips as she pulled Lilthae into another tight hug. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” Lilthae apologized. Certainly Mayleigh was going to say something like: ‘we all thought you were dead’ or ‘we all thought you murdered your husband and ran’. Lilthae didn’t want to know which outcome her friends had decided on while she had been gone. “But I got caught up in a little something… you know, defeating a Netherbrain and all that–”

Mayleigh chuckled. “Are you here for a fitting?” she asked, and explained further when Lilthae tilted her head in confusion. “Dagfynn mentioned he might pay you a visit now that you were back to see if you wanted to play the part of  Emmeline in The Tragedy of Ollatar .” Lilthae smiled at the idea of her friend thinking of her for the part. Dagfynn knew it was one of her favorites.

She shook her head. “He hasn’t asked, but if he mentions it again you can tell him I’m definitely interested.” Lilthae smiled genuinely. Going back on the stage almost immediately hadn’t been her plan, but to play Emmeline again, she would.  Perhaps over the next few weeks, Dagfynn might offer the role to her, if he had not already cast someone else. They would be seeing a lot of each other. The thought of collaborating with Wyll on the fundraiser raised her spirits significantly, but the idea of stepping into this part, especially now that she was more seasoned than before, excited her. She hoped the opportunity would come to fruition, but for now, she had to focus on other things.

“I’m looking for Mithrissa,” Lilthae said, scanning the little circle of Costume Shop employees. A few of them recognized her and waved, but none of them were the indigo-haired tiefling girl. Mayleigh’s face fell a little and for a moment, Lilthae was worried something had happened to the girl or that she was not at the theater anymore. Surely Dagfynn and Kassio would have said something if that were the case.

“She’s– she’s probably in the apprentice room. She works in there most days,” Mayleigh said sadly. The apprentices, those that had been given room and board at The Rose, had a shared living space with two dormitory style rooms attached on either end. Beds lined both rooms and each child had a small space they could decorate as their own. The fact that Mithrissa was still getting work done was an encouraging sign to Lilthae, but that she was doing it isolated wasn’t as reassuring. The girl had never been a chatterbox, but she wasn’t reclusive. Giving Mayleigh another quick hug and a kiss on the cheek, Lilthae waved at the other apprentices in the sewing circle and continued down the hallway towards the girls’ dormitory.

As she made her way into the central shared communal space, Lilthae heard the faint plucking of a lute. A small, sad smile formed on her lips. Though Mithrissa had never had any formal training, playing the lute was one thing in which she delighted. The broken, out-of-tune instrument she’d been found with in The Rose’s alleyway had long since been replaced and Lilthae could hear that even over the last few months the girl’s playing had improved. 

Lilthae stood in the doorway for a moment just observing Mithrissa. The tiefling was sitting on her bed, different colored fabrics draped across the counterpane and her lap. She had taken a break, it seemed, from whatever she was mending and was now facing the simple iron headboard of the single bed. It was pushed against the wall, like the others in the room and Mithrissa’s back was to the door. Lilthae couldn’t make out what song she was attempting to play, but it was slowly plucked with a repeating melody. Every fourth or fifth note would be wrong, and the girl huffed before correcting her fingering and continuing on. Mithrissa’s rosy-pink hands strummed through the tune three or four times before Lilthae knocked on the doorframe and said her name quietly.

Before she turned, the tips of Mithrissa’s ears actually twitched toward Lilthae’s voice. If it wasn’t so heartbreaking to see the girl this way, Lilthae might have laughed at how adorable the instinctive movement was. Her indigo hair was dull and lank. As she was, hunched over the lute, Lilthae could see the individual bones of her spinal column through the dirty shirt that hung on her frame too loosely. Mithrissa’s tail hung limply over the side of the mattress, and didn’t so much as shift when the girl finally turned her face towards the door and Lilthae.

“Mithrissa?” Lilthae said again, taking a few steps into the room. The child just blinked at her, green eyes sunken and without luster. If she hadn’t seen the horns that formed a vague heart shape above her head, Lilthae would have thought this wasn’t Mithrissa at all. The young tiefling held the lute in her hands, after her black thumbnail produced a final twang on one string. The room was completely silent now, except for the distant voices from the Costume Shop. Lilthae’s heart hammered inside her chest so rapidly, she wouldn’t be surprised if Astarion could detect it all the way back home. The silence was unbearable and the only response from Mithrissa was to stare, face morose. Was she even looking at her, Lilthae wondered?

Talking slowly, to fill the silence and maybe to ascertain what the girl could be thinking, Lilthae said, “It’s been a while, I know. I was… I was abducted… and I know it was probably very confusing and scary for you for a while.” She wasn’t going to mention Edmund. If he was ever to come up between them, Mithrissa would need to broach the subject. She continued, moving a few more steps into the room, “I– I met some people who were abducted, too, and we had to spend a long time trying to get back to the city. And then when we got here there was so much… wrong… but it’s better now and I’m okay and you’re okay…” Talking about the last months out of context almost made her sound like a crazy person, but Lilthae didn’t doubt that everyone knew what had happened to her and the others. It was surreal to see every tidbit of their journey on the front pages of The Baldur’s Mouth Gazette . Anyone they had any passing acquaintance with told their stories to the newspaper and in broadsheets pasted to walls and littering the streets. Even Alfira had cheekily performed a ballad at the Elfsong on one of their last nights that detailed the entire fight with the Harpies. She said it was ‘part four of twenty seven’. Lilthae had been mortified, but Astarion preened for the crowd when they were recognized as the Heroes of Baldur’s Gate and the subjects of the song. Two days ago she’d seen a broadsheet about them with an interview of someone named Bunt Chugley, speaking as if they were close friends. Lilthae didn’t even know who the hells that was !

“Anyway, I’m back now.  And I missed you… alot.  And I wondered if—” She didn’t get to finish the thought before Mithrissa let out a sound that would have made an owlbear retreat in fear. The girl launched herself off of the bed and quickly darted toward Lilthae, dodging the trunks and clothing of the other girls at an astounding rate. Her lovely pink face was contorted, the screeching continued and Lilthae was afraid she may have to defend herself seriously against the tiefling. If Mithrissa meant to injure her, Lilthae couldn’t blame her, but her preservation instincts were too honed now to let it happen without protecting herself.  

Before she could even put up her hands, however, the too skinny, too short, tiefling had grabbed Lilthae by the waist in a crushing hug. The sobs came out desperately. Mithrissa’s tears streaked down her cheeks and into Lilthae’s shoulder. Wrapping her arms around the girl instantly, Lilthae pulled her in tightly, concerned with the bones poking into her hands from the young tiefling’s back. Mithrissa had always been delicate, even now she came just to Lilthae’s shoulder when many other tieflings her age would be just as tall or taller than the half-drow. The feeling of this wasted creature clinging to her made Lilthae’s breathing go ragged as tears began stinging in her eyes.

Mithrissa didn’t seem to notice or care when Mayleigh and a few of the others appeared in the doorway, looks of concern and shock on their faces, drawn down the hall by the guttural screaming from just a few moments before and the wracking sobs currently emanating from the tiefling. Lilthae repeatedly crooned “It’s alright, we’re ok,” to the girl who was shaking and weeping as she clung to her. Though she was speaking to Mithrissa, Lilthae turned her head to the others, indicating that all was (or would be) well and the small group headed back down the hall. Mayleigh gave her a final nod, and an expression that looked like relief crossed her features as she turned to go back to the Costume Shop.

******************

It took very little coaxing for Mithrissa to agree to come stay with Lilthae for a few days to help her clean up the townhouse. The girl still wasn’t speaking, which was worrying, but she was paying attention to everything that Wyll, Lilthae, and Shadowheart said as they leisurely made their way back from the Upper City to the Eastway District and home. 

“Your friends enjoy the wolf motif,” Shadowheart said. “Dagfynn called your troupe ‘the pack’ and backstage ‘the den’.” While the cleric had now embraced Selȗne, almost fanatically so, a lifetime of fearing wolves didn’t just disappear in a few weeks. Lilthae wished she could feel so definitive about any sort of worship. While she wasn’t completely devoid of spirituality, dedicating her life to one god alone had soured after her marriage. In her opinion fanaticism was not a good thing, even if Shadowheart was now on the right side, so to speak. Ilmater had been the right side for Lilthae’s whole life and that certainly had been corrupted. The clergy might say it was people and not Ilmater himself that brought that deceit. She wouldn’t argue with that, but what was a church if not its people?

“Yes, Dagfynn would have made a very fine druid,” Lilthae said with a smile. “His troupe started as a bunch of us performing on the edges of civilized society, literally in the forest. While he’d never see himself as an alpha or anything so masculinely dominant, he has collected quite the group of ragtags,” she admitted, throwing a smile at Mithrissa, who grinned back.

Shadowheart smiled at that, no doubt thinking of the assemblage of their own party over the last few months. “Well, I can’t say I’m fond of the imagery, but I can appreciate the companionship.” For the first time, Lilthae suddenly saw that Shadowheart clinging onto another religion so soon after denouncing Shar probably had more to do with needing to feel as if she were part of something larger, and while it wasn’t Lilthae’s preferred method of fellowship, she understood it.

Mithrissa eyed Wyll curiously. She could tell the girl was trying to decide if he was a tiefling or not. There was only inquisitiveness in her expression, though, and Lilthae hoped that boded well for introducing her to Astarion later on. Thankfully, that was something the theatre and the arts sowed into one so young: there are all types of people. It was a sort of dramatic irony, that the person who had been the most predatory in their pack was the conventionally handsome, charming, human man who had presented himself as a paragon of virtue and domesticity. After the trauma of Edmund, Lilthae would choose the vampire any day.

Chapter Text

It was a sort of dramatic irony, that the person who had been the most predatory in their pack was the conventionally handsome, charming, human man who had presented himself as a paragon of virtue and domesticity. After the trauma of Edmund, Lilthae would choose the vampire any day.

Astarion heard them coming before the front door ever opened. Shadowheart’s laughter was unmistakable, and he rolled his eyes at the sound. Couldn’t their little group of weirdos give him and Lilthae one godsdamned moment of peace? They hadn’t been out of each other's company for more than 72 hours. How in the realms had Shadowheart ambushed Lilthae in the time she’d been gone from the house to run errands?

He was lounging on the chaise in the bedroom, reading some ridiculous script he had found discarded on the floor. It was a silly musical about Balduran’s early life, which evolved into an absolute mess of a theory about the hero’s disappearance. Astarion had not made it to the end yet,  but after skimming the lyrics to some of the songs, it seemed the playwright posited that Balduran met his fate after being killed in a duel with a jealous rival in another city. Very romantic stuff, but definitely fewer tentacles than the truth. If he was not able to leave the house, he would have to start finding ways to occupy himself in the time between reverie and dusk. The thought of having to be entertained like a child was annoying, but there was little to be done about that at the moment. Astarion knew he had the potential to be a proper bastard about the situation if he was not careful, and he did not want to misdirect any anger at Lilthae. She had enough to worry her at the moment. Pouting, however, he decided, was perfectly acceptable.

Downstairs, the door opened and he heard Lilthae say something about keeping their voices low in case he was still resting. That was when Astarion realized not only was their little moon-cleric paying a visit, but the Blade of Frontiers as well. Hells, were they trying to piss him off? He very seriously thought about climbing down the balcony to find somewhere to hide until they left, but it was not completely dark yet, damn it all. At least he had made himself presentable, knowing that Lilthae was likely to return with the girl from the theater this evening. He did not hear a fourth voice, though.

Slipping on a soft pair of loafers (an indulgence he had purchased after they had reached the Elfsong), Astarion put the script aside to finish later. He padded out to the small upper vestibule at the top of the stairs, and startled when Lilthae’s head popped around the wall. He had been so focused on a hypothetical escape plan, he had not even heard her coming up. Very few people could approach him unnoticed, meaning he must have been very distracted indeed. As much as Astarion was entranced by her, Lilthae was not exactly stealthy (even when trying).  There was always something, a shuffled foot, a crackling joint, clothes shifting, her heartbeat, or her scent that tipped him off. Astarion hoped the squeak he made at her sudden appearance didn’t sound too undignified. Thinking of scents, now he realized he definitely picked up on someone downstairs that was not Wyll or Shadowheart. The girl must have accompanied them after all.

“So,” he drawled smoothly as if he had not just almost clawed his way to the ceiling like a staggered cat. “Guests for dinner, darling? I thought we’d have more of a honeymoon before the neighborhood riff raff came to call.”

“I know you’re displeased,” Lilthae appeased, managing the last stair and wrapping her arms around his waist. He reciprocated by linking his hands together behind her back. Tilting her head up, she tried to give Astarion her best ‘puppy dog eyes’ expression. It always worked on her , she thought. “But Wyll has a project he needs my help with and—”

He cut her off with playfully narrowed eyes, “Don’t try that look with me, sweetheart, I taught it to you. I’m the best at it. I invented it. I’m immune.”

Lilthae raised her eyebrows, silently challenging the assertion that he was ‘immune’ to her. They both knew it was not true, only playful teasing. She loved the times when they were not facing down imminent death or dismemberment and could just be joyful . The moments had been few and far between since they had met, but not completely absent. And hopefully when everything was cleared up with the Flaming Fist, there would be more joy than anxiety in their future.

“ I’m immune to your charms , darling ” Lilthae parroted his words back to him, embellishing and imitating his laconic dialect. “How charming. I’m sure you say that to all the girls.”

“And the boys, too,” Astarion purred back at her, lowering his tone.

“Good thing I’m a woman, full-grown, then,” she retorted, pushing lightly at his chest and stepping out of his arms. “Now, come downstairs and pretend to be happy to see Wyll and Shadowheart. Wyll has some news that I know you’ll enjoy provoking him about.”

“Oh? And does it have to do with the waif you’ve brought home?  Really, I thought picking up strays would end when you lured me in with dry clothes and a warm bed.”

Lilthae knew he was mostly joking, but it occurred to her for the first time that perhaps she should have asked Astarion if he minded having Mithrissa stay for a few days instead of telling him that it was happening. That was something she’d have to work on, she knew. Consent for physical contact they hadn’t agreed to was almost second nature to her now, but she also needed to remember Astarion craved the ability to make choices for himself and those choices did not always relate to sex. The combination of living in her home and spending months making decisions in camp had given Lilthae blinders about what it meant to invite him into her life. Astarion should have a say in who inhabits his space, she thought. She would apologize when next they were alone, but for now they had guests.

“Mithrissa is… fragile,” Lilthae explained, “but she’s a good kid and apparently hasn’t been talking since I’ve been gone.” Again, she wondered if that was because of Edmund’s murder, her disappearance, or some combination of both… or neither. Getting the young tiefling to open up might be slow-going, but Lilthae was not going to push her.  The girl had been happy to see her, Lilthae reminded herself and she had been animated and curious on their way back from the theater, if silent. “It’s up to you how much you want to tell her about… everything,” she continued, carefully. “I haven’t told her, well, much of anything except that I have another friend staying with me.” Of course, Astarion was much more than just a friend, but the word ‘partner’ sounded too detached and ‘boyfriend’ felt too juvenile. Their bond was strong, and felt solid, but the details were still being navigated. Lilthae was actually excited by not having words for what he was to her beyond the fact that she loved him. They were building something together without any expectation beyond that they were together and in love.

Astarion shrugged one shoulder, knowing that ‘everything’ really meant his vampirism. “I’ve no need to tell the child unless it becomes an issue. As long as Wyll and Shadowheart haven’t scared her with monster stories while you’ve been up here, best to not mention it at all.” He knew it might take a little more deflection than just ‘not mentioning it’, but Astarion was not comfortable letting everyone in on his little secret, even if the one in question was currently mute. Lilthae nodded in agreement. She had not voiced it yet, but it occurred to her that perhaps there was another way to keep him fed, without stalking the streets and back alleys every few days. It was not in her nature to allow herself to become his personal blood supply, except in an emergency. Another thing to ask Gale about when he returned. Or perhaps she would bring it up to Wyll over the next few weeks. The procurement of such a solution would have to be delicately broached with Wyll, but he had unique experience as The Blade of Frontiers that might prove valuable. Astarion would probably rather be staked than owe anything to anyone, but if she asked, perhaps it would not be a favor he would feel obligated to repay. Lilthae raised on her toes and silently pressed a kiss to Astarion’s cheek. She poured all of her hope into the gesture that he would someday accept that not all kindness was a debt. 

******************

Once they had cleared a path in the spare room to allow Mithrissa to reach the small bed in the corner, Lilthae headed back downstairs, Astarion on her heels. She could hear Wyll and Shadowheart’s voices coming from the kitchen, and that is where they found all three of them. Shadowheart was stoking the kitchen hearth. On the way back from the theater, Lilthae had  stopped to arrange for a delivery of wood and it had apparently been dropped off while she was upstairs. She gave a thankful smile to the cleric and sat next to Mithrissa at the large, sturdy dining table. It took up most of the space in the room, but Lilthae always felt more cozy here with friends than in the front parlor. The smell of the fire and the heat that was now spreading over the kitchen made her think of spiced cider and cozy taverns.

“So, Astarion, you made it more than twenty-four hours before she kicked you out,” Shadowheart teased when Astarion appeared in the archway between the front room and the kitchen. She stood and slid her hands together removing most of the cinders from her palms. The rest she rubbed on her pants, unconcerned with the small, ashy streaks left behind. “I think my bet was ten minutes after you left the Elfsong.”

“Charming,” Astarion replied languidly. “Tell me, darling, does Selȗne approve of gambling? I was under the impression that sort of thing was frowned upon.”

“Not at all,” Shadowheart said, nonplussed by his needling. “She encourages women to be successful in all things.”

“Well, I suppose you’ll just have to keep trying, dear. Eventually you’ll realize that betting against me isn’t going to do you any favors in that respect.” He examined his nails, casually leaning one shoulder against the frame of the archway.

“If you two are finished acting like spoiled siblings–” Lilthae said after clearing her throat to get everyone’s attention. “Mithrissa, this is our friend, Astarion. He’s living here with me now, like I told you.” She looked down at the girl, who seemed to be trying to make herself smaller, her thin pink arms wrapped around Lilthae’s bicep tightly. Mithrissa had warmed up quickly to Wyll and Shadowheart on their trek back from the theater and Lilthae had no doubt she would come out of her shell for Astarion, too. The half-drow carried a bit of guilt that she had not paid more attention to Edmund’s grooming of the young tiefling. She hoped she could convey to Mithrissa that Astarion was different from the man who had hurt so many in their circle. She indicated Astarion with a wave of her hand. “He’s– well, he’s not nice , but he’ll be nice to you,” she said with a pointed look at the pale elf and a smile to Mithrissa. 

The girl nodded, her cheek rubbing against Lilthae’s sleeve, but she kept her wide green eyes on Astarion. Lilthae was happy to see that Mithrissa seemed to be assessing everything and everyone around her, and was not as detached and fatigued as she had seemed earlier. 

“Don’t listen to them, dear,” Astarion said to Mithrissa, in an exaggerated whisper. “I am exceedingly nice. I arise every day with an ache in my face from smiling so much.  Why just in the last year, I’ve adopted a dog, an owlbear, and at least two orphans when these wretches wanted to let them all starve.” He smiled at the girl, closed-lipped to conceal his fangs, more pleased at the snort that came from Shadowheart than the tension  that seemed to ease from the girl.

Lilthae could feel Mithrissa giggling silently beside her and the girl relaxed her grip. Well, that was easy, she thought. Hopefully, Mithrissa wouldn’t think too much about the new nocturnal hours she was keeping and the drawn curtains. She had no doubt the girl would adjust to whatever reality she found herself in (vampire or no), but Lilthae wanted her to feel safe . She wanted them all to feel safe.

Even though they hadn’t discussed Edmund’s behavior, Lilthae worried that Mithrissa would be apprehensive of any new people in Lilthae’s life. When she and Astarion had embarked on ‘something real’, as he had called it, Lilthae had probed directly into his mind through their tadpoles and had no doubt that his feelings were genuine. Even if Astarion didn’t think he was a good person, Lilthae knew Mithrissa would have nothing to worry about. Astarion had done many terrible things to survive. Some under compulsion from Cazador, and some not, but she’d seen nothing in their many months together to indicate Edmund’s level of depravity was what her lover truly wanted for himself. Her former husband had gleefully manipulated and destroyed everything and everyone in his path. The only compulsion that ever held sway over Edmund Casimir was his own depravity.  However, Lilthae still wanted to spare the girl from the fear of distress without making things more complicated for Astarion and herself. She supposed the silly part of their personalities would go a long way towards putting Mithrissa at ease.

Turning her attention back to their guests, Lilthae apologized for having nothing in the house to serve for dinner. “I was going to go across the street to The Blade and Stars and get something to take out… if that’s okay,” she said. Astarion didn’t respond, but the other three nodded and indicated their agreement. Wyll offered to pay, and Lilthae wasn’t going to turn him down. It was not as if she and Astarion were impoverished. Their little adventure (and Astarion’s nimble fingers) would ensure they never would be, but if Wyll wanted to be generous, she was going to allow him.

Shadowheart offered to go to the inn and place the order, since the purpose of the visit was to work on a proposal to give Kassio for the fundraiser. She had made clear on their walk that she did not intend to take part herself, so skipping out on the details of Lilthae and Wyll’s planning was not going to inconvenience anyone.

Astarion gave Shadowheart a few gold coins and begged her to pick up some bottles of wine that were better than the Plum Prosecco Lilthae had in abundance. It would save him a trip later, he explained. While he wasn’t overfed, last evening had set him up for a couple of days, at least, and he didn’t intend to go hunting tonight. He’d found a woman on the docks, a captain it seemed, that was negotiating a deal to smuggle in tools for the owner of a mine using slave labor. Not wishing to get caught up in that particular issue (at least not at the moment), Astarion took great pride in draining the captain dry and pocketing the coin she was paid for the deal. He had no intention of becoming an avenger for the downtrodden, but taking out a link in the chain of enslavement was a dual pleasure if it got him fed. Besides, if he could do away with those whose deaths would perhaps benefit the city more than it harmed, all the better for himself and Lilthae. Before Wyll left, Astarion decided he would give their friend the information he had overheard, though he was not  sure if it would be enough to identify any particular Patriar. There were dozens of mining operations in the areas around Baldur’s Gate. 

As she went to the writing desk in the front room to retrieve quill, ink, and paper, Lilthae filled Astarion in on Wyll’s idea of a fundraising event at the theater and their intention to put together a loose proposal of an evening for The Celestial Rose’s management.  “We thought it could benefit those in the lower city who have lost their homes due to direct or indirect destruction from The Netherbrain,” she explained, noting that the presence of some of the Saviors of Baldur’s Gate would be sure to draw a crowd and encourage donations. 

They started with a list of people who might be willing to speak or perform at such an event. Perhaps they could use the theater’s lobby for cocktails before the benefit and then the crowd would move into the theater for the actual performance, showcasing people connected to the city’s rich culture of the arts. Slowly a list of potential performers took shape. 

“I think Alfira’s taking on some music students at the Elfsong,” Lilthae said, adding the bard’s name neatly in her looping handwriting. “Perhaps she could play and accompany a few people. I’m sure she and Lakrissa have some other musician friends. It would be mutually beneficial.”  

As they had been talking, Mithrissa moved to the front room sofa and was paging through a book, seemingly oblivious to what the adults were discussing. However, at the mention of ‘music students’, out of the corner of her eye Lilthae caught Mithrissa’s head turning slightly. It occurred to her that perhaps the girl would enjoy taking lessons herself. She had never been formally trained, as far as Lilthae knew. It would be something she would gladly pay for out of pocket. It was the least she could do for the girl. Mithrissia might also benefit from meeting another tiefling with her interests. She had not even considered until now that it was possible some of Zevlor’s group may have even known Mithrissa’s parents. Likely, they had lived in Elturel before heading to the Gate. Lilthae made a mental note to at least introduce the girl to Alfira and Lakrissa when the opportunity arose.

“We’ll have to move quickly tomorrow if we want to get Dagfynn and Kassio’s approval and then ask people to participate,” Lilthae said to Wyll. “If we only have two weeks to put this together, we’ll want to start any rehearsals right away.”

Astarion had made it clear that he had no intention of appearing on the playbill for the evening, but that he would most certainly cut a dashing figure at Lilthae’s side during the event. Now, as he leaned over her chair and scanned the notes she had made, he said, “You know, sweetheart, there are quite a few people in this city that owe us particular favors. People who could help in other ways that don’t include stepping on a stage.”  She turned her head to look at him expectantly, and he continued. “The group we saved from that nasty Bhaalist include a wine aficionado, a chef, and a tailor, all of whom should jump at the chance to help us. Or could be persuaded to do so.” Lilthae smiled at his use of ‘us’, but said nothing.

“Not to mention Lady Janneth and her husband .” Astarion said the word ‘husband’ as if he were talking about worm guts on his shoe. “Many others could also do with a reminder that much of the coin they have at the moment is due to vigorous trading with the Saviors of Baldur’s Gate during the Absolute Crisis.”

Lilthae gave a look to Wyll who raised his eyebrows in surprise. They hadn’t even considered that there were others who could be enlisted to fill out the rest of the details for the evening and not just performers. She could feel the pleased aura Astarion was radiating that his suggestion was being received as a good one. “We accept,” she said, grabbing the hand that rested on the back of her chair and pressing a kiss into his wrist. He gave her a confused look.

“Well, there’s no way Wyll and I are going to be able to plan the rest of the logistics if we’re going to ask for favors from vendors as well,” she explained, smiling cheerfully and ignoring the narrowing of Astarion’s eyebrows as he began to realize where her logic was headed. “So, I think between you and Shadowheart calling in favors, we can expect the mingling and cocktails part of the evening to be breathtaking.” Trying her puppy-dog look one more time, Lilthae raised her eyes to his expectantly. “That is what you were suggesting, wasn’t it? To help?”

As it turned out, Astarion was not immune to Lilthae’s requests, when deployed earnestly. He expected that Shadowheart might take some convincing, or threatening coercion, but Astarion knew, even before he agreed (with a kiss to Lilthae’s temple) that there was most certainly no potion of resistance or blessing that would keep him from throwing the most opulent gala the Patriars had ever seen.