Back in the camp, Astarion let Shadowheart heal his arm and shoulder. It seemed he'd suffered a hundred different injuries since they'd met near the crashed nautiloid. As they walked toward the campfire, the rest of the team—Halsin, Jaheira, Karlach, and Wyll—welcomed them with big smiles. Scratch circled the party, barking excitedly and wagging its tail, but it was the sound of thudding paws and clacking claws that brought joy to Astarion's heart.
"Squeaky, you fiendish spawn of the nine hells!" He crouched with stretched arms, and the owlbear cub nuzzled him with his beak. "Yes, yes, that's quite enough," Astarion said, chuckle dying under self-awareness. "Let's not make it weird, feathered buddy."
"If only we could capture a picture of them," Shadowheart said to her blonde girlfriend. They were holding hands in a sickening display of affection, a harsh reminder that he was merely backup for bad days.
At least he got two blood draws out of that fling with the cleric. Swallowing his jealousy, he fluffed up Squeaky's feathers. At least he wouldn't abandon him on a whim. Meanwhile, Waterdeep introduced the two helpful drow to the party. Somehow, Bing-Bong had brought the mother's body to the camp as well.
Out of pure curiosity, Astarion asked Shadowheart about the imp's timely arrival. She showed her palm, where Raphael's imprint was already fading.
"The devil gave it two uses—reverse death energy and summon Bing-Bong. I couldn't tell anyone about it or the magic would've fizzled."
She'd played those moves well—better than himself, maybe. Afterward, they sat together for an early supper of omelets, olives, and salami, served alongside red wine, and beer for Karlach. Tales of Ketheric, Balthazar, the Githyanki patrol, and Raphael filled the evening air, although Astarion kept his words to a minimum. Yes, he loved getting attention, but the recent adventure left him... reflective. His eyes kept drifting toward Shadowheart, who was sitting with her hip touching Tav's, laughing at her every dumb anecdote and smiling at each inane joke.
It made him feel like a vampire spawn again, ephemeral and easily discarded... Stupid emotions! He sneaked away from the campfire and found a nice ledge to sit on, overseeing the lake. Nearby, Baldur's Gate sprawled like a giant, filled with dancing lights, bustling crowds, laughter, and groups of unsilenceable pedestrians.
A glass of wine offered the best company, filling his undead innards with loving warmth. He raised it bitterly. "To another day in this weird, tadpole-enabled existence, darling." Still, that beat seducing prey for Cazador's fangs.
Someone's cute ass landed beside him—Zelnira. He gave the drow girl a brief glance. "You have potential as a marksman or an assassin. Your father should send you to the academy in Menzoberranzan."
The words might've meant little to her, but he used a warm tone. Zelnira hugged his arm and gazed upward with adoring red eyes. The hunger immediately urged him to exploit her naivety. One bite, and he'd drain her veins until only a dry husk remained.
Astarion had a calming sip. "Run along now, darling. This spot is reserved for melancholic adults."
The edible drow brushed his hair instead, oblivious to his intent. Another show of affection, and it would be difficult not to dig his fangs into her delicate neck. He drank again from the wine, soothing the murderous desire. "Look, Zelnira, you're sweet, but I'm not the kind of man you want to—"
The drow laid a finger on his lips. "You... pretty."
Bite, drain, enjoy. Oh, for the love of Loviatar... He offered her the glass. "Yes, I'm amazing, but we're just sitting here—nothing else."
She accepted the wine, and Astarion used the chance to slide away a little. At the campfire behind them, Jaheira was hanging on Halsin's oaken arm, pining in vain for his embrace, and Wyll recited a poem to Mizora. She, too, looked at Halsin, who was talking—as usual—about his boring fascination with nature.
Life's cruel twists.
Frustration struck at Astarion, twisting his hands into fists. He gazed at the drow girl, who was soaking her lips with wine, and for a brief moment, she looked like Shadowheart. He shut his eyes, calming himself before he'd do something atrocious.
"Your father is looking for you."
His inebriated attention shifted to the real cleric, who approached them holding a big glass of aromatic red wine, a black evening gown flattering her every curve. Zelnira returned a pout.
"Swiftly now; we've opened a portal for you." The cleric gestured toward a glowing gate. Bing-Bong was hovering beside it, intoning foul, demonic words, and Waterdeep was speaking to him, looking frustrated. "No, not Avernus! They don't want to go there."
"Yes, Avernus!"
"No, Bing-Bong, the Underdark. Drow belong in the Underdark."
The imp scratched his little hat, twisted his mouth, and grinned. "Avernus?"
Their fruitless exchange didn't seem to deter Shadowheart, who lifted Zelnira by her arm. "Time to go. It will take you home, eventually."
The young drow stuck her tongue out, then she leaped on Astarion, planted a wet kiss just at the edge of his lips, and said something he imagined meant 'call me.' He rubbed the spot while she ran over to her father. The two waved goodbye and crossed the gate, hopefully not to Avernus.
Astarion let out a disgruntled groan. "I almost bit her."
"My blood wasn't enough for you?" Shadowheart said, sitting beside him.
"More than enough, darling. You taste... divine."
"Thank you... I think."
The hunger had two sides, though—the physical, which got satisfied, and the emotional, which meant the bite made him want more of Shadowheart. Not wanting to expose that vulnerability, he emptied his glass and tossed it into the distance. It shattered near the lakeshore, beside a couple of Tiefling children, who yelled in protest.
"Shut up before I give you an actual reason to complain!"
They responded with slang swears that made no sense. Astarion reached for his crossbow, only to recall that General Thorm had destroyed it.
"Relax." Shadowheart put her hand over his, gently. "We've just won several encounters against great odds."
"But they don't know that!" he said, pointing at the dumb kids. Sometimes wine made him fighty.
"Isn't it enough that I do?"
Astarion stared, dumbfounded, as Shadowheart leaned forward and planted her moist lips on his mouth. A wonderful, reassuring warmth filled his body, shutting off his rage and pain. He closed his eyes.
"FOOLISH ISTIKS." A second booty landed beside him. "Wasting your time again."
Shady raised an eyebrow at Liz. "Wasting?"
"HE CANNOT FERTILIZE YOU!"
Astarion smacked his forehead. "Neither can Tav, you know."
"YES, MORE FRUITLESS T'RAC." Lae'zel looked back at the camp. "The oversized druid and the supplicating spellcaster are virile."
Did she mean Gale or Wyll? Astarion scratched his head while Shadowheart buried hers in her palms. "Go away. I just want to enjoy this night!"
"I'm trying to protect your ZAI, your Honor!"
The cleric raised her mostly empty wineglass. "Don't make me spill this on you!"
"You two were so much hotter when you were kissing," Astarion said. It stopped them both, so he continued. "Baldur's Gate must have nice hot baths. How about we visit them together, without mentioning, er, babies?"
"Or eggs, in her case—"
"DO NOT MOCK OUR SACRED EGGS!" Liz said, reaching for her greatsword.
Apparently, it was up to him to be the bigger person. "Darlings," he said, laying a hand on each furious woman, "let's not bicker on such a perfect night. We still have to defeat Gortash, Orin, and—hopefully, Cazador."
"AND VLAAKITH!" The Githyanki said with a raised fist.
"And Shar's Mother Superior," Shadowheart added.
"Must we? I've heard she's hot." They looked at him weirdly; Astarion coughed into his fist. "Either way, plenty of tough enemies await us, so let's save our fury for them."
The girls nodded. Crisis averted. Near the fire, Tav had just punched Wyll in jest, knocking him out cold. Scratch rushed to lick his face, and Mizora burst into a guffaw.
Lae'zel shook her head at the sight. "TAS'KI! Hand over your fermented istik drink."
Shadowheart obliged her with an amused smirk, and the Githyanki emptied the glass in one gulp.
"Hardcore," Shady said. "So, what's next?"
Liz smashed the empty glass on the rocks. "HONOR AND BLOODSHED!"
Astarion rolled his eyes. "I prefer delving into the depths of depravity—excluding bear sex."
"That only happened once!" Shadowheart said, her cheeks turning redder than Raphael's. "I mean, I sort of pushed Tav into trying it, but she spat hairs out for two days afterward."
Astarion peered at Halsin. The buff druid had put Jaheira to sleep with his stories. He kept talking while she lay snoring on his arm. Near them, Waterdeep was sitting outside his tent with that creepy eyeball tome, seemingly absorbed in whatever unsettling words it contained.
"Either way, darlings," Astarion said, putting on a mischievous smile, "I think interesting times await us in Baldur's Gate."
Shadowheart laid her head on his shoulder. "Together, I feel like we can take on anything."
A moment later, the Githyanki leaned on him as well. Smirking, he wrapped his arms around the women. They gazed at the starry night sky in silence, the crackling campfire and the nearby city's lively sounds filling the cool air. Soft paws approached them—Squeaky. The friendly cub cuddled by his feet, letting out an owlish purr.
Astarion gave him an affectionate head pat. Yes, their next adventure would be glorious.
*** *** ***
Thanks for reading my BG3 fanfic!Writing it was quite the fun journey. I hope it was an entertaining read and that the generated images enhanced the overall experience. If you enjoyed the story, please leave a star or two. Those always help 😊And do let me know if you're interested in more.