Chapter Text
“Darling, this place is a mess,” Astarion sing-songed as he stepped over yet another dusty pile of parchment almost as high as his knees. “I never expected to find your home to be a hoarder's den. Your bags and trunk are always so meticulously organized.”
Lilthae shrugged. “It’s been almost a year since anyone has been in this place,” she reminded him, her voice roughened by the musty air of her months-long abandoned house. Checking again that the sun had truly set, she began pulling back the heavy curtains in the kitchen to open the windows to the cool night air. At least until dawn, they could enjoy the crisp breeze and clear out some of the oppressive atmosphere. Astarion had recently lost his ability to walk in the sun, due to the defeat of the Netherbrain and subsequently the loss of the powers granted by the tadpoles in their heads. While Lilthae felt relief, knowing she (nor any of their friends) wouldn't be turned illithid, she felt a pang of sorrow that her vampiric lover would have to sacrifice his day-walking until they found another solution. He seemed to be taking everything in stride, but she knew he was struggling with his decision to stop the ascension ritual that would have given him immense power (at most probably the sacrifice of his soul). It was the right decision, Lilthae had no doubt, but as with killing the 7000 spawn (save for his six brothers and sisters), she knew the two of them would wrestle with the morality versus the practicality of both decisions. Their journey from the Nautiloid to Baldur’s Gate had forged love and friendships, but it had also involved agonizing decisions that were going to have emotional consequences that none of their party had really had time to think about, much less learn to accept. In the week since they had saved Baldur’s Gate, Lilthae had been dreading going back to something resembling normal for this reason alone. As she and Astarion walked to her modest townhouse between the Eastway and Brampton districts of the city, Lilthae almost felt as if she were jumping out of her skin with unease. It wasn’t the thought of sharing a home with him that made her nervous, but the recent and previous versions of themselves they would have to navigate together. She doubted anyone in the group was completely devoid of secrets no matter how much they had shared.
Once the battle was over, the party members that remained in the city had made their way back to the Elfsong Tavern to celebrate their victory, lick their wounds, and decide how much of the fallout from the events of the last several months were going to impact not only themselves, but their families and the Sword Coast as a whole. The chaos surrounding the deaths of Archduke Gortash, Duke Ravengard, and several Peers was most certain to cause a power vacuum, but Wyll was hopeful that he could use his father’s influence and his own good reputation to secure his father’s seat in the Parliament of Peers and eventually a place on the Council of Four. The losses of his father and his magic were the cost of breaking his contract with Mizora, but Lilthae could see that even though his sorrow was great, Wyll Ravengard was going to make Baldur’s Gate a shining example of perseverance. She, Astarion (though reluctantly), and those that had stayed behind with them had all promised to use their newfound fame and fortune to aid him with that task. Of course fame was fleeting and fortune was a bit of an overstatement, but for now public sentiment was with them and Lilthae hoped to use as much of that goodwill as possible to help those affected by the war with the Absolute. Even Lae’Zel had promised to return from her crusade (in Orpheus's name against Vlaakith) if the need arose. There were many refugees still seeking shelter, missing and dead citizens, and destroyed homes, businesses, and buildings to keep them all busy for months. Halsin had led a band of orphans (some from the war and some not) that he’d rounded up over the last week to the now curse-free Reithwin Town in order to bring some sort of normalcy to their lives. A few families and citizens looking for a new beginning went along with him to try to restore and resettle the area. Astarion had made a quip wondering if Halsin was actually starting a nudist colony, but the druid only smiled and assured the rogue that everyone would be appropriately clothed, when company visited anyway. Jaheira and Minsc had returned to her home in the city, the two of them working to repair the damage to the Harpers and root out the rest of the Zhentarim, who most certainly had more strongholds and hidey-holes than just Baldur’s Gate. Citing the need to check on his mother, Gale had left almost immediately for Waterdeep, but he’d promised to return within a fortnight. Tolna, the prickly curator of rare tomes at Sorcerous Sundries, had been so grateful for the help with Lorroakan (and saving the city, of course) that she’d invited Gale to pursue any book he wanted in her collection. Rolan had also offered the wizard a chance to look over Ramazith’s tower and to help him complete his training. While Gale had said he’d be staying with Wyll when he returned, Lilthae suspected he wouldn’t be leaving the tower long enough to eat or rest. She made a mental note to invite him over for a meal once in a while. Shadowheart seemed to be contemplating her next steps. The cleric had been through many changes over the last year, finding her parents and then losing them again, rejecting Shar, and accepting Selûne. Lilthae was amazed she was still functioning and seemed content, but what were their group of adventurers if not survivors? Shadowheart had spoken of looking for a small cottage near the city in the future, but for now, she had an open invitation from everyone to their homes. Currently, she was staying with Wyll in the Upper City. Astarion thought there was more going on than friendship. Lilthae, however, was certain that wasn’t the case, as she had seen Wyll’s face when it became clear Karlach was going to allow herself to combust instead of face Avernus again. It would be good for the two of them to support each other in their grief and new beginnings. And Karlach… Well, Lilthae couldn’t think about Karlach right now.
“I thought you’d have more instruments,” Astarion said, pulling Lilthae out of her thoughts. At some point he’d wandered upstairs. She followed the sound of his voice to the smaller, extra room that had become storage, though there was a small guest bed shoved in the corner under a window.
“I’ve told you, I’m an actress, not a bard,” she laughed, knowing he was feigning ignorance about the two just to tease her. Moving to open the two windows in the room, Lilthae’s foot hit a frame that was propped facing the wall and a large painting noisily hit the floor, sending dust and papers across it. “Shit,” she muttered, ignoring the mess for the moment, to pull back the curtains and get air flowing on the upper storey. Before she could stop him, Astarion was already turning the frame over to have a look.
The portrait was masterfully done, she had to admit, even if she had never wanted to see it again. Throwing it out had seemed like a slight to the artist and a waste of the coin that had been spent on the commission. Maybe hundreds of years from now, she’d be forgotten and it would just be some novelty in a junk shop. Or, Lilthae thought, she could donate it to the theater. Authentic props were always welcome and this portrait had been completely authentic at the time… to her anyway. Lilthae moved to stand next to Astarion and silently took in the details of the painting.
The gilt frame was ornately carved with vines and lilies. The portrait itself showed a slightly younger (or less careworn, at least) Lilthae dressed formally. She looked at the viewer in 3/4th profile wearing a simple, but lovely, underdress of cream and gold brocade. The overdress of cyan velvet that complemented her eyes almost perfectly had a high collar embroidered with delicate pink lilies. They matched the flowers in her upbraided silvery-white hair. It wasn’t a full length portrait, the depiction ended just below her waist where she clutched a book in her hand, a lily matching the ones in her hair used as a place marker. A small smile just tinged one corner of her closed mouth. That smile was now forever marred with a scar from a rapier-welding goblin during their journey. It wouldn’t show on stage, with the distance and make-up, but Lilthae was still getting used to the idea of having real battle scars instead of just stage effects. She actually had to blink, not quite recognizing this half-drow in the portrait as herself. She’d been told she was beautiful, her pale silvery-blue skin a subtle compliment to her pale hair and cyan eyes, but she rarely felt it. After all, half-elves were not unknown, but being a half-drow and not fully part of the human or elf experience always made her feel other . It was the best word she had to describe it. Other . There were times, though, when she thought about what others saw and she hoped her true self captured just a bit of the delicacy and wit this artist had bestowed on her. Astarion exhaled in appreciation and then raised his hand to his chin as if looking over the portrait with a critic’s eye.
The ache of the woman she wasn’t any longer dissipated as Lilthae laughed and rolled her eyes. “Well?” She asked, inviting her lover’s appraisal. “I know it isn’t an Oskar Fevras original to delight the Patriars, but I think it’s a good likeness. Or it was.”
With a hum, Astarion leaned the painting back against the wall, facing outward this time, to continue his assessment. “Fevras is an idiot, and only marginally talented,” the rogue said, but added mischievously, “though it seems this painter may be just as foolish.”
“Why do you say that?” Lilthae asked, genuinely confused.
“My sweetheart, he had the chance to chronicle that wonderfully bountiful bosom of yours for all eternity, and he chose to hide it under a collar that goes all the way up to your pretty ears. I’m positively offended,” he sniffed in disappointment.
She knocked her shoulder into his arm playfully, biting her lip around a smile and rolling her eyes dramatically. “It was my wedding day,” Lilthae protested, laughing. “Despite the prevailing stereotypes about actresses, I was well-bred enough not to show my assets to everyone in the middle of the Temple of Ilmater!” With an exaggerated sigh of disappointment, Astarion left the room and walked across the hallway toward the larger, master bedroom.
He knew that Lilthae had been married… and now she wasn’t. She hadn’t offered the party much more than that. Or if she had, Astarion hadn’t been privy to the conversation. He wouldn’t say he wasn’t terribly curious, but most things tended to come out eventually and Lilthae had been very understanding about the secrets others kept during their journey. Most likely she and her former spouse had simply separated. As a matter of fact, during his hunting nights over the most recent years, he had seen Lilthae and her husband (also an actor) both on stage. The man had been handsome, a human, Astarion recalled vaguely, although seeming a tad full of himself. What had been the man’s name? Eddard? Aegon? Actors in Baldur’s Gate seemed to accept work around the city as roles demanded, and Astarion didn’t particularly follow their careers. But he had recognized a few of the regular performers across the different taverns, inns, and theaters from which he’d lured Cazador’s victims. There had even been a performer or two among the 7000, he was certain. The transient lifestyle of the actor or bard made them desirable targets. Flopping down on a dusty chaise in the master bedroom, Astarion tried not to think about the possibility of Lilthae having been one of Cazador’s spawns, either by his own or his siblings’ machinations. It did no good to speculate in this way and the rogue had decided doing so would only hinder any healing on his part. He had enough guilt as it was without adding things he hadn’t done on top of it.
Lilthae entered the room and began to open curtains and windows. She sneezed as the cross-breeze from the spare room disturbed the dust on the bed hangings. “I think I have some clean sheets for the bed,” she said, “But, I think hiring someone to clean thoroughly might be my priority tomorrow. One of the girls at the theater might like the extra coin.” It wasn’t that she didn’t think she and Astarion wouldn’t be able to make the months-vacant house comfortable, but it was more about expedience and perhaps not wanting to confront the life she’d been pulled away from so suddenly when the Nautiloid literally abducted her from the street. They had done enough for the well-being of others in the last few months. Surely hiring someone to dust and tidy wasn’t an indulgence. Lilthae sneezed again and gave Astarion a small smile as she flopped on the chaise beside him with a huff. “I never thought I’d see this place again,” she said as she snuggled into his chest, snaking her arms around his torso. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders with a squeeze. A small kiss was pressed to her ear in sympathy, but Lilthae didn’t look up at him. Staring into the ashes of the fireplace in front of them, she wondered if there was anything that could be used for wood until some could be purchased in the morning. Anything left in the pile outside of the kitchen door was certainly unsuitable after a year in the elements. Astarion’s voice once again pulled her from her thoughts.
“Well, it's a good thing we were victorious, then, darling,” he said lightly, trying to read her mood. Finding the effort to be mostly without success, Astarion lapsed into silence, the sound of rustling leaves on the masonry outside and heavy drapery sliding along the bedposts inside was rather calming. Lilthae, too, said nothing and a few moments passed where Astarion was dangerously close to imagining what her life had been like before him as he took in the bedroom around them. It would be a bright room if all of the curtains were opened during the daytime, not that he could enjoy it. The large fireplace along one wall surely kept things cozy in the winter, an ideal place to read if one stretched out on the chaise that faced it. The bed was large, if currently dusty, with bottle-green hangings that matched the bed covering. The headboard was placed against the wall that separated this townhouse from the next. Lilthae’s home was on the end of the row, thankfully, so it only shared one wall with neighbors. Across the room, next to the fireplace, was a door to the small outside balcony that looked over Talanker’s Lane and afforded a view of the Blade and Stars Inn. At least if he ever got bored, there would be entertainment available from the comings and goings at the inn. For a moment, Astarion thought Lilthae had fallen asleep, until she adjusted to look up at him.
“I should find clean bedding and some wood for the fire,” she sighed. Though she intended to adjust her schedule to his nocturnal one, she could feel herself growing tired. Thankfully, if she went back to acting, Astarion’s need to trance and stay indoors during daylight should complement her schedule well. At least until they found a way to give him back the only gift from the tadpoles that had been truly missed. Thanks to their adventuring, Lilthae knew that she’d never have to worry for funds again and would only perform if she wanted to. This would afford her and Astarion all the time they needed to search for something to either cure him, or make the effects of being a vampire more manageable. She felt she owed him this. Cazador Szarr hadn’t left anything behind to mitigate Astarion’s condition and not for the first time Lilthae thought how objectively stupid it was for the vampire lord to place 200 years of hopes into one ritual that required so many moving pieces. After everything she’d been through, she knew that though the man was dead, it didn’t mean that the hurt he’d caused just stopped. Astarion deserved something good for the selfless decisions he’d made. Lilthae felt partially responsible for him not going through with the ritual himself. She couldn’t feel regret for stopping him, but it didn’t mean she wanted Astarion to never see the sun again.
“I can find something to burn,” Astarion offered as they stood from the chaise. “You certainly have enough paper laying around.”
“Scripts,” she clarified. “And let’s not burn those until I decide what I want to keep. There may be some dry wood in the kitchen by the door.” Lilthae briefly had an image of Astarion knocking on the neighbors’ door to borrow kindling as if he were asking for a cup of flour and it made her smile. She was about to tell him this when the sound of three loud, precise raps traveled up the stairs from the front door. Lilthae glanced at Astarion and raised her eyebrows questioningly. Lips pressed together in a small frown, he shook his head to indicate he wasn’t expecting anyone. It wasn’t extremely late, though the sun had set some time ago. “Maybe Gale made it back early?” Lilthae offered over her shoulder as she descended the stairs, Astarion a few steps behind. If it was the wizard, his timing was characteristic as always. Couldn’t they have one night without someone needing something from them?
“Tell him to come back tomorrow,” Astarion said loudly as Lilthae opened the door, knowing that if it was Gale he’d not mistake the irritation in the rogue’s voice. He’d opened his mouth to add something about an inn being right across the street, but the quip died on his lips when he saw their visitor.
“Gauntlet Fountainhead,” Lilthae said, her intonation a statement more than a question. She heard the odd cadence of her own voice “Um…. won’t you come in?” Gesturing into the front room, she shifted aside for the Flaming Fist to pass and made brief eye contact with Astarion, who seemed surprised as well.
“Devella, please,” the constable insisted with a smile as she stepped into the room with an acknowledging nod to Astarion who still stood on the stairs.
“Won’t you sit?” Lilthae asked. Her voice came out higher than she expected. Gesturing to the sofa and chairs that took up most of the front room of her home, Lilthae closed the door behind Devella and sat in the chair closest to the door.
Astarion was on alert instantly. He could hear the sudden change in Lilthae’s heart-rate, and felt the palpable change in the atmosphere. Something about Devella had sent her into a panic. Sitting on the side of the sofa that was closest to where Lilthae was perched, Astarion tried to meet her diverted eyes. She was nervous. Why? For her part, Devella smiled and seemed oblivious to Lilthae’s distress. He had no opinion on the woman one way or another. She was competent at her job (which couldn’t be said for most of The Flaming Fist), and when their party had worked with her to catch that nasty dwarf murderer, Astarion thought he’d detected a mutual respect in Lilthae and Devella. Maybe even the beginnings of a friendship. What had caused the change in Lilthae, he wondered?
“Oh, no thank you,” Devella replied pleasantly to the offer of a seat. Her demeanor was definitely more relaxed than Lilthae’s and she seemed oblivious to the anxiety she was causing. “I only have a moment. I wanted to give you a little time before I brought you this news. I went to the Elfsong and they told me you’d returned to your home just this evening.”
Lilthae nodded shakily, and forced a smile. Her eyes flicked briefly to Devella, but she made a point not to look at Astarion whose gaze she could feel boring into her from where he sat, attentive to her every reaction. He had to know she was hanging on by a thread. There was only a moment of awkward silence before Devella continued.
“I have an update on your husband’s murder,” the constable said, quickly adding, “we don’t think his death was part of the Bhaal cultist murders after all.”