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He is grateful the rest of the camp, save the animal companions surrounding Yenna and the Hallowleafs, have taken to occupying themselves for the time being. No one is in the suite to intrude on Solace’s processing. The tiefling’s stuttering sobs would have had everyone coming over to comfort them in every way they didn’t want.
Solace... cares too much.
He has known this for a while, but he can no longer ignore how it hurts them. They are distraught, clinging to him as the ghost of their past self tells them to mourn the man they intend to kill. The tiefling's body, so recently manhandled by Gortash, melts into the vampire's, and surrenders to his care.
Astarion has no words to offer. No kindness he can share other than holding them as they scream the secondhand sorrow of a man who died for nothing. Solace’s furious tears pour down their face, their hands shaking as they cling to his lapels. He wraps his arms around their shoulders, his lips pressed to their hair line; where Gortash did not kiss them.
“I can feel his memories. Zealir’s.” They moan into his chest, tears staining his skin. His chest aches at the admission; his quiet hope that they had felt nothing for Gortash proved false. He hums in acknowledgment, soft and comforting. It’s all he can do. Solace’s mind has never been their own, it seems. First the whispers from Bhaal, the tadpole and The Emperor, and now the ghost of the man they had been.
“He was terrified. He wanted to be with Enver and knew… Astarion, he knew it wasn’t possible. He knew his father would never let him live. Zealir loved him so much he let Orin kill him! He wanted to love him and he knew it wouldn’t work!” The pitch of their voice rises, sharp and hysterical. Scratch is distracted from playing with Yenna, his head tilting at the sound. The dog seems to understand that he isn’t wanted and returns to Yenna, visibly paying attention to the distressed paladin all the while.
“Breathe, Solace. Focus, darling. Darling Solace. You are safe, you are free. You are you, Solace. My darling paladin. The person who saved me from Cazador and myself. You are not the person Gortash remembers. You are not. Please understand. None of us, none of us would be here without you.” He gently leans away from the tiefling, his own tears slipping down his face as he finally, finally tells this tiefling who he sees when he looks at them. The last few days have been abysmal. Packed with heartache and pain, but with what has happened on this day, Solace needs to know who they are. Who he has seen build themselves anew.
“I would be dead in Cazador’s ritual. Gale would have exploded himself for Mystra. Shadowheart would have killed Nightsong and unmade herself in Shar’s image. Karlach would have died to Wyll. Wyll would have lost his soul forever to Mizora to save his father. Lae’zel would be Vlaakith’s devoted slave. Halsin would be dead in a goblin camp days before his home was razed to the ground. Jaheira? Minsc? Aylin? Isobel? The tieflings? The harpers? Those gnomes you insisted on saving? Where would dozens, hundreds of people be without you, darling?” He watches the tielfing’s face shift as he speaks. Heartbreak. Denial. Anger. Reluctant relief. Sorrow. Pain. And finally, exhaustion. They buckle under their own weight, knees giving out against him, their warm, almost burning hot chest against his. He guides them to a couch, gently sitting them down, a chaste kiss onto their scalp. He kneels before them, a hand cradling the left side of their face, keeping their hair from hiding them. Their eyes are blank and empty as the sorrow and horror builds in them.
“You are not who he remembers, Solace. You do not have to be. These memories… I would never tell you they are meaningless. They are the memories of someone so similar to you and entirely different. Look at me, please.” Their black and silver eye almost glares at him when he states he sees a similarity between them and their past self. The prosthetic, comparatively lifeless but still attempting to convey irritation.
“Solace. Consider yourself away from your past. What is the one thing you have consistently done?” He waits for a moment, allowing them the opportunity to respond if they wished. Their brow creases, not understanding what he is trying to say. He offers his free hand to them, their trembling fingers holding his hand against their thigh.
“The first thing you did when we met, Solace. Do you remember?” They nod slowly, confused and suspicious.
“I… told you to stand back while I took care of an Intellect Devourer?”
“Exactly so, darling. Even when you had no reason whatsoever to trust I needed help. Even when I wrestled you to the ground, and truly I have no idea how I managed that, to be perfectly honest,” He hears a miserable laugh leave their lips and he takes the moment as a sign he’s doing this right.
“Even when I held a blade to your throat, you wanted to help me. You were scared and didn’t know me but you wanted to help. As you did with Gale, Lae’zel, Shadowheart, the entire tiefling grove. You have done exactly one thing without fail, my darling Solace; and that is help people. That, Solace, is who you are. To a fault, I might add.” The tiefling’s lips tremble, and he is unsure if they are fighting more tears or a smile or both.
“I do not know what you recall from your past self. I know only the ache of forgetting. I cannot tell you it will never hurt again, darling… but I know you are not what he remembers. I know you are who you choose to be. You are Solace. A tiefling paladin beholden to no god. You are a child of Bhaal no longer; because you loved us so much you chose to die rather than be a puppet of murder . You have been raised by the apparent senechal of death himself to do what you have always chosen to do: fight the evils no one else can. You are not who he remembers, my darling.”
Solace weeps, wrapping their arms around his neck and pulling him close. Their foreheads press together, their skin warmer than normal, as usually happens when they are forced to confront their emotions. He holds the back of their neck with a cold hand, soothing them as best he can.
“What do I do with the grief I feel, Astarion? It's not fair. To either of us. Him or me. He died to save the man I desperately want to kill. A slaver. A monster. And I feel… sad."
Their voice is hollow, aching with a sorrow that is and is not their own. He presses his lips to the back of their hand, reverent, worshiping the person who saved him from himself and so many others.
"It meant nothing in the end. Zealir's death means nothing. Gortash is still going to die, and Zealir will be forgotten. Another fucking victim of Bhaal. Meaningless bloodshed." He can almost taste the bitterness in their voice. The anger and heartbreak. Even after being reborn, they find new things that Bhaal stole from them. He can't let it slide by as if they're correct.
"Now that's not fair. I've been in your head, darling. I felt his feelings too. He felt trapped. Desperate. Afraid. He didn't want to be used. Doesn't that sound familiar? Darling, you damn near looked Bhaal in the eye and told him you wouldn't be used. You did what Zealir couldn't. You got free. It wasn't meaningless, Solace. His death allowed you to live. To be free. How could that be meaningless?"
The tiefling sobs and clings to him, pulling him onto the couch, curling into his side. For a while, it is all they do, quietly cry, curled on their side, their head on his thigh for a pillow. He cards his hands through the paladin’s hair, slowly, calmly. Their skin is burning hot, but slowly cools as he touches them, his skin leeching their warmth from them. When they speak again, their voice is calmer. They are not seconds from breaking under the weight of the revelations from Gortash. They have had time to consider the phrases he had used.
"He talked like I was a… weapon. His favorite assassin. I shouldn't be surprised, really. Tyrants don't share power. I… Zealir, even if they were married, was never going to be an equal. Gortash wanted… wants, the chosen of Bhaal. His pet murderer. Something he can use." The paladin sighs, perhaps feeling something like sympathy for their old self.
"He wouldn't love me. He wouldn't love someone who isn't useful to him. The moment he finds out I'm not his pet assassin anymore… He’ll send every soldier and Steel Watcher after us. If he thinks for even a moment that I won’t go back to him.”
There is the complicating factor in all of this. They had been free to walk the city for days because Gortash trusted Solace to eventually work with him. And now that Gortash felt he had a claim on the tiefling? Now that he had seen what Solace had allowed him to believe as proof of Zealir’s continued existence? Astarion would not put it past the man to command the tiefling’s presence, and he would doubt that the tyrant would accept that they simply did not want to join him.
“I think I’m stuck on thinking about how Zealir loved him. Why he did.” The tiefling’s voice is lost in thought, no longer focused on the idea that Gortash might send the city to kill them if they’re lucky. He’d laugh if he could focus on anything other than what seemed to be impending doom.
“He died to spare Gortash from Bhaal. He let Orin attack him because… he loved him. He loved him and everyone he ever loved died at his hands, Astarion. I… if I had awoken to you butchered like Alfira, and I understood it was because Bhaal had known I loved you… I think I would have gone insane. The idea that there could be no one, no one other than Bhaal to dedicate myself to, no form of care or kindness I could show or expect… Of course he gave up. Of course he dedicated himself to Bhaal.” Solace stands up, eyes unfocused as they once again begin to pace. He doesn’t get up to stop them, content to watch them parse their feelings from a distance. Their tail flicks behind them, deep in thought.
“You can’t, you can’t take every good thing from someone and expect them to just… be normal. Gods, Zealir never stood a chance. That poor man. He was so alone, and he clung to the one man who Bhaal seemed unable to force them to kill… because even if, even if they aren’t married in the eyes of a god or whatever either of them thinks marriage actually is or whatever, Gortash still called him husband. That… the weight of it. The significance. The claim that gives one to another…
“There was care. There was vulnerability. Soft feelings. One’s that Father hates. So why would Father allow him to feel them for the Chosen of his rival? Unless the way the plan had to go, the plan designed by Gortash and Zealir, made him indispensable to the last. And even then, even then! Zealir knew he couldn't do it! So he let Orin kill him! Kill the part of him he knew could never fight Bhaal.”
Solace turns to look at him, eyes bright, hopeful, happy. He hasn’t seen this kind of pleasant emotion in a while, and he doesn’t want to ruin it by admitting he doesn’t understand what there is to be happy about. Solace is close to dancing on the balls of their feet, tears spilling down the sides of their face, ruining their makeup, but they do not care.
“Astarion! Zealir is dead! Zealir is dead! He’s dead and I’m here! Think about it!” The tiefling is giddy, vibrating with joy and terror, slowly slipping into a much too familiar saddened expression. Their next words are softer, bordering on mournful.
“Zealir died to save Gortash. He didn’t want to kill him. But…” Solace takes a deep breath, heavy tears rolling down their oddly expressionless face.
“It isn't just about him. Zealir was trapped. Scared and used. He wanted to get away from Bhaal, from the constant murder. I… I think he was always," Solace gestures to themselves, face frustrated and sad.
"I think… I was always Solace. I… was just a person who… wanted to care about people, damn it. And Bhaal made me kill everyone I cared about until… Zealir cared enough to finally let go. Or finally saw a way out. It’s weird. I don’t really know what he felt other than… being trapped. Used." Their face twists into a pained, thoughtful expression, a trickle of blood from their nose to their lips. Astarion stands, offering them a cloth, and they wipe their blood from their face.
"I remember being furious at Bhaal for allowing Orin to do it. All the times he forced me to kill and he let me just…" Their hand raises, gesturing as if letting something fall or be released from their grasp. Allowing dust or ash to fly away in the wind. Their eyes have been unfocused since they stood up from the couch, but they focus on the vampire spawn before them, as if realizing something about him.
"I think… that's it really. I think that's all it is. The outrage at being so disposable. Being tormented and used and ultimately thrown away like a piece of trash. As soon as your usefulness has reached its end, you're thrown out with the rest of the garbage." They reach for his face with a hot hand, smiling at him with open, naked affection and care. It feels… good, as well as almost violent in its ability to strip him to his core. His unacknowledged fear of them getting bored of him or having no use for him after this is over; laid bare in his eyes as they look upon the vampire spawn they saved from self destruction.
“I never wanted to be his Chosen. I never wanted to be so desperately alone that Gortash was the only one I could even barely safely care for. I wanted to love. And be loved. And I knew I couldn’t do it as I was. I wanted to be free so fucking bad I let my sister butcher me in the hopes I wouldn’t have to kill the only person who even halfway cared. I… have always been Solace. I am the part of Zealir that refused to die. I’m the one who didn’t give up because I was worth saving. Even through everything I must have done, must have survived in the temple… I am kind. I am loving . I deserve better than fucking Gortash. And you know what, Astarion?” Their lips curl into a wicked smile and he knows his expression twists into a mask of barely concealed fear. He can't help it. It's an automatic thing, to fear a smile like the one they level at him.
“I have better. I have you. I have the man who loved me so much he believed I wasn’t a monster, even when my wicked past was revealed. Even when I didn’t believe in myself, you did. You held me together when I wanted to break into a million little pieces, you told me I deserved to do better. To be better. And I will never be able to stop loving you. I will always love you. Not because you’re useful, but to be clear, you absolutely are. I love the man you are, Astarion. I love you because of you. I would like to kiss you now.”
He laughs and embraces the tiefling and kisses them until they are breathless. His chest is warm as they press themselves against him, sobbing in equal joy and misery. His arms cradle them, trying to give them all the love they have been starved of in their life. He would give them all the love he knows how to, as long as they wanted him to. The love they have for the other is not built on how useful the other is, but simply because they chose to love each other. It is not a tactical alliance. It is not manipulation. For the first time, both of them understand what they mean when they say they love the other: You are worth caring for despite what you are going through. They are worth caring for even when they are struggling. Even if they could do nothing for him, he would love them.
“I don’t know how I’m going to be when we kill him, but I will never love him. I love you. I love you. Explaining this to everyone is going to be a fucking nightmare.”
It certainly would be, but he would be with them, and maybe it would be easier that way.