Chapter Text
The snow crunched under Astarion's feet as the winter chill bit at his fingers. His eyes darted through the barren branches of the forest, searching for their quarry. Something massive and brutal had ravaged a local village, leaving dozens of half eaten corpses in its wake.
There wasn't much to be gleaned from the remnants, the few survivors too shaken from shock to reveal much to Wyll about whatever this beast was. They'd done what they could, the way they always did now.
Finding massacres had become routine with this new life they'd found themselves in since returning from Avernus half a year ago. Well, new for him.
To Wyll, this was the same work he'd always done. Being a hero, saving people, hunting monsters. The only difference for him was doing it solely by night and learning to fight by the weaving of those stories he always clung to rather than the infernal gifts that had cost him so much.
It was fun, rewarding even. He'd seen enough gore in his time that it didn't phase him as much as it did most new adventurers and being with Wyll was the best reward of all.
It was just the two of them now. The band of heroes that destroyed the absolute now scattered to the wind. Meeting regularly but no longer fighting side by side in their day to day. Karlach had taken a much needed break after her engine was fixed, staying in Baldur's Gate with Shadowheart for the time being; though she admitted that the thrill of battle would probably have her join them again soon enough.
As they moved through the woods a sound made itself clearer. A grisly voracious tearing of flesh. That had to be it.
He gestured to Wyll in its direction receiving a silent but clear nod as they crept closer. A gigantic figure made itself known as it crowded among ancient oaks. The incredible stature, paired with the vibrant yet sickly green skin and goblinoid features that marked it as a troll were by far the least noticeable thing about it. A troll was easy, this, this was much more complicated.
The creature sported numerous heads, one clearly in control. The others wailed in the familiar manner of unending agony, though their lack of neck ment their cries were silent. Astarion was all too familiar with how difficult it was to make sound without being able to breathe.
The creature's extra arms had no such disadvantage, tearing with brutal yet frantic efficiency into what was once a reindeer, its abdomen torn open, leaking blood as its intestines trailed to the creature’s primary mouth as it slurped them up into its gullet. Its kidney flew, landing over the animal’s still head and splattering red across its nose. Astarion suddenly felt less like the monster he was when he hunted such game himself. At least vampires weren't quite so messy and undignified.
Astarion's eyes were torn from the grisly display by a single snap of a twig beneath Wyll's foot. He barely had the time to recognise that his fiance wasn't normally so careless before the troll’s thunderous steps began barreling towards them.
He ducked behind a tree, out of sight as he knocked an arrow and lined up a clear shot right into the creature’s eye. It pierced straight through and even as it cried out in agony it didn't falter in making its way straight to Wyll. Wyll winked at him, as a rally and then held up his hand magic circling around him as he started to utter a powerful command.
“S-stop,” he stammered his teeth catching on his word and causing the magic to dissipate around him. Something was wrong, he'd never seen that before. Wyll had never failed to get a spell off like that. Astarion’s mind raced, but whatever was wrong, he couldn't ask now and risk exposing his position. It could wait until this thing was dealt with.
The creature closed the gap and barreled in on Wyll, its arms moving in a blur as its claws tore over and over into the flesh of Wyll's arms. Astarion couldn't quite make out the injuries, only aware of them from the grunts of pain that rang out but one thing was clear.
He should have dodged that.
Why didn't he dodge?
Its distraction was good enough for Astarion to line up his second shot, hitting its other eye and lodging straight into its skull. He’d hoped this would at least blind it, but from the way the creature shifted its body, it looked as though its useless heads still worked fine in terms of sight. Wonderful. Exactly what he needed.
Wyll managed to duck away from the troll just enough for Astarion to see the damage it had done. His arms were torn open, blood seeping out of dozens of wounds that exposed bone and ligaments. Flayed skin hung onto his body by a thread.
Wyll stumbled back, his eyes blinking closed a second too long, like he was trying to find his bearings before determination solidified on his face. He grabbed his sword arm. Healing magic radiated from his hand and closed his wounds. It was the bare minimum to keep going but it was something at least. The Blade drew his sword and forced a cloud of necrotic energy over the creature to weaken it to future strikes.
The creature’s eye started to reform in its skull. Apparently whatever horrific thing that had warped the monster into something unfathomable didn’t stop the infuriating habit trolls had of regeneration. Not that Astarion really had a leg to stand on in calling that unfair.
Its arms descended again on Wyll, this time targeting his head. Tearing into his handsome face and leaving dozens of deep bloody gashes in his cheek. They'd scar in all likelihood.
Wyll was stumbling now, his consciousness waning a little. Astarion raced towards it, stowing his bow and grabbing his daggers. He was best at a distance but maybe if he was a viable target he could distract the troll long enough for Wyll to get a few strikes in.
He charged in, jumping up and carving a deep gash straight through in the beast’s back and using his second dagger to stab near into its exposed heart as it screamed. Blood spurted out, covering his armour and the creature finally started to falter. As he did, Wyll's rapier struck once through its stomach but the second swipe just didn't have enough force to pierce its skin. The Troll took the opportunity to force its jaws down against Wyll's neck, blood pouring from the wound as he let out an awful gurgling scream.
Astarion felt his stomach drop. This was bad, this was very bad. Not to mention there was only one person allowed to bite Wyll’s neck and that was him.
He raced round the creature as its arms swiped twice more. Wyll fell to the ground with a hollow thump. The creature got one more swipe at Wyll's exposed body before Astarion dived in front of the last one. Its blunt claws tugged at his flesh as it ripped open his leg but he paid it no mind. He was used to pain. If it stopped the creature killing Wyll it was worth it.
He grabbed his best healing potion from his belt and knelt beside Wyll. Forcing it down his throat. Wyll's skin was cold. Wyll was never cold. He prayed it wasn't too late. Wylls eyes opened, staring up at him as his skin started knitting back together.
“Get out.” He instructed. As forcefully as he could as he felt tears staring to prick his vision.
Wyll grabbed his rapier stabbing the creature twice through the chest, the second strike only just connecting as it leared over them before he disappeared into magical mist.
Astarion screamed as the troll tore through his armour. Claws once more slicing through his body over and over and over and its teeth crushed into his neck. He cast a spell. His body dissipating and appearing feet away before throwing a fireball at the creature, watching it scream in agony as fire licked around its face and it burnt to ash. Thankfully, he didn't hit any trees, though at the moment that was the last thing he could think about.
His eyes darted for Wyll, seeing him barely holding himself up on a tree.
“What the hell was that!” he yelled as he walked over. “What was wrong with you? You nearly got yourself killed!”
“I’m- I'm fine,” Wyll stammered, his teeth chattering just as they had when his spell failed. Astarion grabbed him. Forcing him into a hug just to remind himself that somehow despite it all, he was alive and here and they made it out, even if by the skin of their teeth.
He was freezing. Actually freezing, shivering in Astarion’s arms, and suddenly everything clicked into place. Astarion pulled Wyll out of the hug to look him in the eye.
“You're freezing to death! You're fucking freezing to death and you didn't bother to tell me! Just barged into a fight without thinking to mention the fact you can't fight in this state!” he screamed.
“I can fight. We killed it didn't we?” Wyll objected but even then his voice was faltering.
“That's not the point. Summon the mansion. Now,” he demanded. It was a nifty little trick Wyll had learnt. A magical shelter in a demi plane complete with everything they could ever need while traveling and magical servers to wait on Astarions every whim.
“I can't. I used too much magic in the fight,” Wyll explained. Fucking ex-warlock. Wyll still hadn't fully beat the habit of using his most powerful abilities at the first sign of a fight.
“Teleport us then. I don't fucking care where we need to get you help now,”
“You're hurt,” Wyll murmured. His ability to stand and keep his eyes open fading with each moment. He wasn't in any state to draw a ritual circle right now. Astarion would have to do it himself. He raided through Wyll’s pack, pulling out his notebook and starting to scour through it
“You can heal me when you aren't about to fucking collapse, “ He stated as he finally found the page. There were, of course, no notes saying which sigil led where. Whatever, he'd just pick one. They were all near civilization anyway. He selected one at random and started tracing it into the snow, “Just focus on not dying until I'm done. You will never be able to make it up to me for this complete cluster fuck if you're dead,” he shot a fire bolt at a nearby log. “Huddle next to that,” he instructed and Wyll, to his credit, obeyed.
When Astarion had finished,, he walked over to his useless fiance and slung his arm around his shoulder to help carry his weight and walked them over to the sigil. Wyll murmured an activation phrase and they disappeared in purple light.
They arrived, unfortunately not in civilization but on a small farm that was still blisteringly cold. It was at least a familiar farm and would have what they need. Astarion walked up to the door cursing the fact he couldn't just break in and hammered on the door.
“LET US IN ASSHOLE BEFORE I BURN YOUR STUPID FARM DOWN!” he yelled. It wasn't long before a woman with long white hair flowing down her back, loose rather than in its usual braid and a familiarly sour if sleep deprived look on her face.
“Astarion, it's the middle of the night,” Shadowheart complained.
“I'm aware that's why I'm outside and not burning to death,”
“What the hells happened to you two?”
“Fucked up troll and the fact I'm marrying an idiot now please let us in before the fool dies,” Wyll’s body was heavy on his shoulder, he was barely supporting any of his own weight now, drifting in and out of consciousness.
“Fine, you can come in,” she groaned. Astarion shuffled inside, depositing Wyll on the couch as Shadowheart threw a firebolt into the fireplace and knelt beside him.
The farmhouse was as cozy as ever. Full of rich wood tones and soft plush furniture.
Astarion took his usual seat beside the couch, moving the fluffy white cat that he was quite fond of though he refused to learn its name lest he have to learn the names of every one of Shadowheart's million pets. The beast complained but recognised him and with a handful of scratches in that spot he really liked he was happy instead just take his seat on the vampire’s lap.
He grabbed a nearby goblet that had been carelessly left on the side, cleaned it with a little cantrip and then poured in some of his blood reserve. Drinking some so his wounds could knit back together as he started casting mending on the tears in his armour.
“Is everything alright? I heard Fangs,” Karlach‘s voice came as she descednded down the stairs. Her eyes fell on Wyll barely consious on the sofa, “What the fuck happened?”
“Hypothermia, “ Shadowheart stated, after her examination of Wyll who perhaps was less deserving of Astarion’s knowledge of his name than the cat.
“He didn't tell me and then he almost died,” Astarion complained. “Could you do me a favor darling and sit next to him? I think he needs it,”
Karlach obliged immediately, the concern in her face blatant as she sat on the sofa, wrapping her arms around her best friend the same way she did Clive to try and use some of the heat from her engine to keep him warm.
There was a glow of moon touched magic for a solid minute around the patient as Shadowheart cast a handful of spells. By the time it dissipated, his fiancé's wounds had been patched up, though clearly the exhaustion had finally won out as he was slumped against Kalrach snoring softly.
“His body temperature is back to normal,” Shadowheart explained. “But you guys better not make a habit of this. I needed a lot of magic to fix him up and some days I do actually need it for other things,”
“I was hoping not to,” Astarion grimaced.
“I'd ask about the fight but some of us actually have to do work in the morning so I'm going to bed,” she continued as she got to her feet. “If he’s sleeping I guess we're stuck with you until sunset tomorrow. Karlach’s got the spare bed so you'll both have to live with the couch,”
“The couch will be fine darling. I don't want to move him anyway,” Astarion's eyes fell back on Wyll's peacefully sleeping face, free of pain or concern and looking somewhere between oddly adorable and stunningly beautiful even with the few fresh battle scars joining his old ones. It suddenly became a lot harder to stay angry at him, though Astarion was going to try.
“I should probably head off too. He won’t sleep as well slumped on me. But I expect a kick ass battle story in the morning, “ Karlach demanded with a soft yawn. Gently prying Wyll off her shoulder as she got up and stretched.
“Always,” Astarion smiled. And then suddenly once more the two of them were alone. The only sounds being the crackling of the fire, the gentle purring of the cat on his lap and Wyll's snores.
Astarion relinquished his chair back to the cat and walked over to Wyll, positioning his head against the couch arm in such a way that his horns wouldn't strain his back. He then grabbed a blanket from a basket near the fire to drape over him and knelt down beside the couch taking Wyll’s hand, now back to its normal warmth, and prepared to take a perhaps unneeded watch.
***
Wyll awoke to a soft blanket draped over his lap. The first thing he noticed was the feeling of Astarion being absent from his side, but he quickly noticed a familiar cold hand laced in with his fingers and another gently running through his braids. They were both safe then. He didn't need to worry.
He allowed his eyes to flick open. Revealing himself to be on… Shadowheart's couch? He had no idea how he got there but he'd awoken in far worse places. He searched his memory for where he'd last been.
He remembered snow. Blistering chill, dead trees, a dire troll and then pain. An awful lot of pain. After that it was all a little unclear. His body still ached from the fight but he couldn't feel any unhealed wounds. Shadowheart must have fixed him up.
“Star,” He murmured. Trying to announce his consciousness.
“I'm here,” Astarion hummed with an uncharacteristic gentleness. He turned to face him.
“The troll, what…” He faltered, his mind still swimming a little from exhaustion, words escaping him.
“You went into a fight with Hypothermia and nearly got yourself killed, “ Astarion accused, though that underlying softenness was still there, sharpened only by his desire to do so, “I barely got you out.”
“But the village-” he began but Astarion cut him off.
“Is fine. I finished the thing off. That doesn't matter. What matters is that you didn't tell me you were sick and just barged into a fight you couldn't handle,”
“I had to. It couldn't wait. The troll could have hurt more people if we didn't kill it,”
“It could have hurt you!” Astarion snapped. “It did hurt you. It nearly… we didn't have scrolls. It wasn't supposed to be a hard fight. If I had been a second too late then you,” he swallowed. His eyes darting downward, “You can't scare me like that,”
“I didn't think it would be an issue,” he admitted.
“Well, it was. But I suppose we did make it so just don't do it again. How are you feeling?” Wyll's first instinct was to dismiss it. To say he was fine and that it didn't matter. That they should head out for their next quarry. But there was something in Astarion's gaze. A fear that for once manifested as softness rather than his usual sharp words. Maybe he needed to take care of Wyll right now.
“Sore,” he admitted, “And tired. It might be a day or so before I'm up for a new hunt,”
“No,” Astarion stated, “No we are not hunting. Not at this time of year. You're human. You aren't designed to hunt at night in the dead of winter. Not without putting yourself at risk. Most monsters hibernate at this time of year anyway and the ones that don't can be left to adventurers with the benefit of the sun,”
“But-” Wyll started. There were so many victims even in the winter and if they weren't there then they might get overlooked. People could die if he wasn't there to protect them.
“You are not fighting me on this. I won't let you put yourself at risk like this again. We can go back to saving orphans once it's warmer,” Astarion’s face was steely in a way Wyll knew was hopeless arguing against.
“Okay,” Wyll conceded.
Footsteps started coming from upstairs as Shadowheart walked down and greeted them before heading to the kitchen to make breakfast. Karlach and her parents followed soon after and the farm house became brimming with activity.
It was almost nostalgic. Familiar to the days they spent at camp together with everyone working through their morning routines. The only thing missing was Gale slaving over a fire and the white noise of Lae’zel’s sword on her whetstone.
Over breakfast they recounted the adventures they'd been having since they last met up. Including a detailed description of the fight with the dire troll that filled in the holes in Wyll's own memory. Finally the topic moved to their next plans.
“So if you aren't going to adventure for a few months, what are you going to do?” Shadowheart asked, gesturing with her forkful of egg.
“I don't really know,” Wyll admitted.
“You could go stay with your dad,” Karlach suggested.
“Midwinter is coming up next month. I'd have thought you'd want to spend it with him anyway,” Shadowheart added.
Wyll didn't really know how to answer that. The truth was he hadn't considered it at all. Getting to celebrate Midwinter was such a distant memory that he'd long since forgotten to keep track of it.
The fact he was no longer exiled wasn't something he was quick to forget but it still wasn't quite intuitive. The fact that he could just go and see his father, stay at Ravengard manor again whenever he wanted as was his birth right just hadn't crossed his mind.
Adventuring with Astarion was different than when he worked as the Blade alone. He didn't have to fear a cambion watching his every move and he also was never quite so desperately lonely, but the work being so similar didn't help him remember that he no longer had to do it. It was a choice now. He could just go home whenever he wished.
“I suppose we could,” he answered.
Midwinter with his father had always seemed so magical when he was a boy. The city full of lights, the manor decked to the nines in decor. Feasts and balls, markets and gifts. It might be nice to experience that again. To meet back up with the extended family he hadn't seen in nearly a decade now and stopped considering reaching out to. It would be even nicer to share it with Astarion.
“What about your family, Astarion?” Shadowheart’s mother perked up. “Are you planning on visiting them for the holidays?”
“No,” Astarion stated, almost choking on his mouthful of blood. “No, my family aren't particularly interested in the… festive,” Wyll wasn't quite sure how true that was.
Between the thousands of spawn in the underdark surely some were going to ask that the vampire settlement have a celebration. The Gur children at least.
But visiting the underdark was always a sore subject. It was something that needed to be done at some point, though Astarion would take whatever opportunity to make that point as far in the future as possible.
He was running from it, that much was clear, but Wyll didn't have much desire to make him stop. The sheer number of bad memories they held for him was unthinkable. Even if they were all just as much victims of Cazador as he was, it didn't mean he would want the reminder.
Every spawn he caused to be turned was a deep source of guilt and a not inconsiderable number had raped him. Some unknowingly, others less so. His siblings there was some rapport with at least but they likely held the worst memories of all. There could be healing and comradery to be found there, but Wyll didn't blame his fiance for not wanting to risk seeking it out.
“You know, “ Astarion continued, “I actually can't remember ever celebrating Midwinter. Not beyond having to listen to a handful of drunks crooning off-key carols in a tavern,” Wyll felt his heart tug a little. It made sense of course but still there was something so incredible about his own memories of the holiday, it was a shame Astarion didn't have that. Perhaps they'd just have to make some now they had the chance.
“We'll spend it with my father,” Wyll confirmed, far more certain now. “It’ll be good for you to meet my extended family before the wedding,” yet another thing they were putting off.
They would do it at some point. Wyll knew this was the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He was certain of it. It was just not something he wanted in writing just yet. He could be forgiven for needing a small amount of time before being ready to sign a life-long contract and it wasn't like Astarion was making any moves to set a date any time soon either. Their engagement was more a statement of intent. He wanted a wedding. He wanted the commitment of marriage and a ring just… later.
“Give them some time to prepare the garlic,” Astarion grinned.
“I was thinking more, ‘letting them get used to your charms,’” Wyll answered.
Once they finished up breakfast. Wyll set about sending off a few magical messages.
The first he sent to the village, letting them know their troll problem was solved, though he apologised for not being able to tell them in person.
The second he sent to his father. He had drafted it out first to make sure it was within his word limit and not because he wanted to make sure it sounded perfect. He breathed deeply and cast the spell.
“Father, Astarion and I are taking a break from adventuring due to the season. We were wondering if we could visit until early Ches? Wyll,”
Two words came back.
“Very well,”