Recovery (Astarion BG3 Fan Fiction)

19: Good Bones

"Lord Gortash seems to really have an aching desire for our allyship - yours in particular," Astarion mutters. "I think he wants a bit more than to ally with you."

They had shown up not 10 minutes earlier, guns blazing, before the Chosen of Bane had talked them down; his reasoning was that they would never be able to defeat him there as his Steel Watch stood guard, nor could they defeat Orin without his help.

Karlach had nearly told him where to stick his alliance - but then she saw Wyll's father, Duke Ravengard, at the far end of the hall, and she knew it would have to wait.

Had Karlach not wavered, Aysla would have continued to lead the charge; but without her - the one person who was owed her vengeance upon Gortash more than anyone - Aysla let it go, opting for the temporary alliance.

She's chewing on the inside of her cheek, seated poutily in between Karlach and Astarion, with Wyll on Karlach's other side.

The hall is full of decadent, useless people watching a decadent, useless man put on a crown. As the ceremony drones on, Gortash looks to them with frequency, glancing in Aysla's direction pointedly.

And Astarion hates it. He hated it Fraygo's Floghouse, he hated it at Sharess' Caress, and he hates it here. He hates watching the eyes of stupid, po-faced brutes rake over Aysla.

Aysla finally looks up from her shoes, and stares right back into Gortash's ruddy face. Then, she leans into Astarion's shoulder familiarly. She takes his hand, the one closest to her, and places it on her knee. "That's too bad."

She looks at Astarion and bites her lip.

A cord of something both familiar and strange pulls him to her tautly. The attraction is always there, but now, so much time having gone by without having her, it's something like possession; something like need.

"And why is that?" he breathes. No one can hear them over the chatter of the crowd.

He looks at her willful face. He looks at her eyelashes, her gaunt little cheeks, her pointy chin, and her sweet, pink little mouth. He ought to kiss her here, he thinks. Gortash's coronation will pale in comparison to the crowning of his lips on hers. He wants them all to see.

Can't they tell their stares are not wanted? Can't they see the invisible tether between the two of them? Can't they see her heart in his hands?

She brushes his jaw with her nose. If the lords and ladies of the court find it scandalous, the lords and ladies of the court can go fuck themselves. "I belong to someone already."

Something clicks for Astarion then. His mind flashes to the times when he had her before - his cock in her mouth, his hand between her legs. Would it still feel tainted to couple with her, now? Or would it just feel right?

She says she's his.

He removes the hand she placed on her knee and puts his arm around her chair. He leans into her space. "How far is this Abbadon Manor in Brampton you spoke of?"

"Um - quite a ways away - maybe an hour's walk?"

He pulls out a scroll of Haste and smiles wickedly. "Let's get going then, darling."

"Now?"

"Wyll and Karlach can fill us in. Fuck this coronation."

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

When they reach Aysla's house, she pauses at the front door. "Um - wait here."

"Really? We came all this way for you to tell me to wait here?"

"Just give me five minutes!"

She runs inside, and slams the front door.

Aysla's house is more of a cottage, a tiny thing, but she was house-proud regardless. She had purchased it on her own, with her own money, after 6 years of working at The Counting House bank. She had been glad she didn't sell it when she met Davidus too. It had served as her safe haven afterwards, and it made for an excellent depression cave.