The latest installment in my Baldur’s Gate 3 series about Astarion and my golden boy, Talven Vrinn.
Tav’s angry stare sweeps over the shards of the broken mirror. They glitter feebly in the dirt like so many distant, cold stars. Astarion said he wants to know what Tav sees when he looks at him, but words failed. How do I show him?
Or, an extension of the mirror scene, in which the golden boy, being a sorcerer, decides to Do Something About It.
Cover art by Ria-neearts.
Tav keeps the conversation going in his thoughts long after Astarion has stormed out of camp. He meant every word he said. Made his face open and his eyes vulnerable, but Astarion was blind to it all. Tav only stopped short of telling him he’s beautiful on account of his dismissive posturing, but he would’ve meant that too. It’s Astarion’s beauty that keeps the rising stakes of their journey and the growing pressures of leadership from crushing Tav’s spirit. Astarion’s beauty and the sweet yearning for his company, for which Tav happily trades his very blood even when his body cries for rest and recuperation. But it doesn’t seem to be enough.
His angry stare sweeps over the shards of the broken mirror. They glitter feebly in the dirt like so many distant, cold stars.
Astarion said he wants to know what Tav sees when he looks at him, but words failed. How do I show him?
Continue reading Show him what I seeA new installment in my Baldur’s Gate 3 series about Astarion and my golden boy, Talven Vrinn.
Astarion has had enough of this “party”. He picks up the bag with supplies he prepared earlier and makes for the woods. Passing the last torch, he pauses to take one more look at the camp, just in time for another burst of fireworks. Lit by all the colors of the rainbow, Talven stands on his own near the bonfire. Their eyes meet. Talven smiles at first, then grows serious. He points at his eyes, and then at Astarion. I see you.
Astarion’s stomach flips.
When was the last time his stomach flipped with anything but dread?
Not gonna lie, this one was tough to write. I aimed for the sweet spot between uncomfortable and hot; I believe Astarion could’ve actually enjoyed it, though perhaps not fully. That’s how I felt while writing, and now I wonder if a reader might feel the same while reading?
Read the story here, or on AO3.
Cover art by Emy.
“Just look at them.” Astarion snorts. “Drinking and singing as though they’ve reached Baldur’s Gate already. Like dispersing the goblins means safety, when it just means they’ll be slaughtered elsewhere along the road.” He snorts. The vapid celebration annoys him more and more with each passing minute. The naive little bard with her saccharine tunes, the aged Hellrider with his fatherly concerns, the destitute refugees with their mundane hopes and dreams. Ugh.
Continue reading Party Night“Wait!” Shadowheart cries. “What are you—”
It’s too late. Tav hisses, and she falls silent.
He has cut too deep. Blood gushes from the wound, hot and sticky, dripping on his boots and trickling into his sleeve.
Continue reading Phalar AluveA new story in my Baldur’s Gate 3 series!
“Let me see,” Astarion says.
Still hazy, Tav reluctantly offers the grip of the magical sword.
“No, not that. Your hand, my dear. And the absolute butchery you made of it with that butter-knife of yours.”
Or, Tav makes a blood sacrifice to the goddess of the dancing lights, and Astarion refuses to let it go to waste.
