Recovery (Astarion BG3 Fan Fiction)

17: Tunnel Vision

Gale, shockingly, is no help whatso-fucking-ever.

"What do you mean, you have no idea?" Astarion demands. "Isn't magic supposed to be your area of expertise?"

"Well, believe it or not, I've had no use or reason for studying the nature and history of vampiric traditions, Astarion," Gale replies. "If you've questions in regard to the Weave, of-"

"Yes, yes," Astarion cuts him off. "I'll come find you should I seek information on Mystra's tits."

He's already walking away, when Gale calls after him.

"I mean to head to Sorcerer's Sundries when we enter the city gates - perhaps you could find your answers there!"

Astarion pauses.

"It's home to all manner of mysterious tomes," he continues. "This is in regard to the Ascension, I assume?"

"Yes," Astarion lies through his teeth. "Just hoping to find more information on the Ascension."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Aysla is washing up by the river, but no matter how she scrubs, her skin crawls. Like the dirt is underneath it, inside of it, a part of it. Killing the man at the bar did not wash the ghost of him from her skin - just seeing him brought on a feeling of unwashable filth that his death did little to assuage.

It's moments like these where she feels the familiar urge to reach for a drink, or two, or ten.

Despite it being the once bitter vice he allowed her in those dark times, Davidus had always hated her drinking - which did nothing but spur her on further. It served dual purpose, being the only crutch she had to lean on for escape, and a spite to the man that caged her.

But Astarion hasn't ever even asked her to stop. No one has for ages, for once - either out of politeness, or just the common courtesy of deciding to not tell her, as an equal, what to do.

And that has the opposite effect on Aysla. She can see the chest in the center of the camp from where she stands. Full of wine, whiskey, and various snacks and supplies. It would be so easy to reach for it. Everyone else in camp is getting ready; they wouldn't even notice.

But for some reason, the idea makes Aysla feel guilty. As if she would let her companions down somehow? A little voice in her head tells her they probably wouldn't even care.

But then she remembers how Astarion jumped back into her bedroll to cuddle with her, with all the eagerness of a golden retriever. And she remembers what a piece of shit she is when she drinks. And she can't do it.

So she tries something that, initially, makes her want to drink even more; she towels off, finds a soft spot of grass, and sits cross-legged. Then she closes her eyes, and breathes.

Meditating? Praying? She feels stupid, whatever she calls it. But she knows that there's only two ways to reach her deva, if you didn't count dying as a viable option, and that's either sleeping, or this embarrassing sort of quiet, solemn, reaching out of her mind.

It takes her several minutes to focus on the not-focusing. Then several more for her breathing to deepen. Then, when she is finally so deeply tranced that she forgets to keep track of time, she finds it.

She feels the presence in the darkness of her mind's eye.

Hello, old friend - old enemy? Asyla projects the thought from her consciousness.

Images flicker in her mind - she was a child, shaking in her bed after a nightmarish celestial vision she wasn't prepared for - a dream of her dog dying. She wept to her mother before being chastised and sent back to sleep. The dog died a week later in a gruesome carriage incident.