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Astarion walked into the living quarters he shared with Rosto. He'd been talking to Minthara, making arrangements for another group of Cazador's spawn. Rosto was seated at the table, head bowed over a letter. Astarion walked up behind him and placed his hands on his love's shoulders. Rosto didn't flinch, though Astarion knew for a fact he hadn't made a sound.
"Was Minthara helpful?" Rosto asked without looking up.
"Surprisingly so," Astarion replied. "She's hells bent on getting her birthright back, and quite a few of the more military-minded spawn agreed to help in exchange for refuge once she succeeds. An army of vampire spawn two hundred bodies strong is nothing to laugh at."
Rosto still didn't flinch, but Astarion could hear pride in his voice. "Two hundred? That's quite the progress. That leaves, what, half? Impressive." Rosto turned around and wrapped his arms around Astarion's waist. "That calls for a reward, I think."
Astarion cupped his love's cheek. "Mmm," he murmured in assent. "That's a tempting thought. Did you have something in mind? Besides your gorgeous self, of course." He leaned down and gave Rosto a slow, hard kiss.
When Astarion pulled back, Rosto had that sly half-grin of his on his face. "I was considering something specific, yes." He reached behind himself to the table and grabbed the piece of parchment he'd been reading. "Halsin has written and said there's something he wanted to discuss. With the both of us," Rosto clarified, when Astarion made a bit of a face. Rosto and the druid had been lovers previously, and while Astarion didn't truly mind, he wasn't so selfless as to let his reward be a trip for another man's cock.
"You're proposing a sojourn to the shadow cursed lands as a romantic vacation?" Astarion asked, the disgust dripping from his words clearly conveying his opinion on that suggestion.
Rosto rolled his eyes. "You know very well that we lifted the curse and the land has returned to normal. You were there. You helped." When Astarion didn't respond, Rosto pulled him tighter. "Consider it. I know you can't go in the sun, but it's at least above ground. Trees, grass, flowers. Stars—" Rosto drawled out the last word, and Astarion was tempted to shove him away. Ever since Rosto had found in a book that Astarion meant "little star," (Why he'd needed a book to learn that, Astarion didn't know. He thought it was dreadfully obvious) Rosto had been begging him to let him use 'Star' as Astarion's pet name. Astarion had resolutely refused.
But he had to admit, Rosto had a point. Astarion missed grass and trees and flowers—anything that wasn't a rock or a crystal, to be honest. Open air, away from the needs of Cazador's never-ending spawn—how could he say no?
"Let the druid know we'll come. But this is my reward, so I'm not taking care of those children of his."
The journey wasn't long, but Astarion found it tedious. Travel was much more complicated now that he couldn't walk in the sun. The first couple days in the under dark were not an issue, but once they reached the surface, they were forced to travel at night. Rosto never complained, which annoyed Astarion because that meant he wasn't able to either. His love handled most of the camp duties, as Astarion hid in the tent, and they slept fitfully during the day. The dark, heavy canvas blocked out the harsh rays, but light still filtered through. By the time they reached the Last Light Inn, Astarion was cranky and more than a little regretful he had agreed to this trip.
As soon as they walked inside, they are greeted with the large and affable bulk that was Halsin. Astarion had to admit, even if it was grudgingly, the elf seemed happier than he'd ever been. Rosto gave him a hug, and Astarion nodded his greeting.
"Thank you both for coming. I hope the journey wasn't too arduous," Halsin said. "I've set aside rooms for you both, if you want to unburden yourselves first." Halsin gestured for them to follow. Astarion considered making a snide comment about multiple rooms not being necessary, but he held his tongue. He liked Halsin, truly, even if the large elf was a bit fanatical about nature. He had done nothing to deserve to be the outlet for Astarion's general frustrations. At least, not yet.
When they reached the space Halsin had arranged for them, Astarion was glad for his self-control. While there were multiple rooms at their disposal, there was only one bed. A rather large one, at that.
"Take your time, get refreshed. I'll have someone send up a bath. When you're ready, join us in the main room for food and drinks." Halsin left them to themselves.
Astarion took in the room, which was clean and obviously freshly repaired. "Well this is leagues better than the last time we were here. I distinctly remember sharing my bed with some much less attractive creatures before." He noticed several wardrobes in the bedroom and began unpacking. The sooner his clothes were free of the oppressive pack, the better.
Rosto stretched, working the days of travel from his long limbs. "I'll say. I honestly preferred sleeping on the ground to staying here before." Astarion barked a laugh at that. He wouldn't go that far, but Rosto was a different man than he.
Now that Astarion didn't have the distraction of the road, he was free to wonder exactly what their friend wanted to talk about. "Did Halsin give you any specifics about what he wanted? Have I been roped into some kind of ménage à trois?" Astarion wasn't actually concerned about that possibility. He trusted Rosto more than anyone he'd ever known in his 200 years, not just with his life, but with his body. The man had proven time and time again that Astarion would always be in control of his own choices.
Rosto laughed. "If that's the case, I'm just as in the dark as you are. No, he didn't give me much information, Just said he had something he thought would interest the both of us, and it would be best to discuss in person. Knowing Halsin, it could be anything from a threesome to some strange animal species he's discovered. Why he'd need us for the latter is beyond me, but I trust him." Just then, there was a knock and two strong boys came in carrying a tub. After adding several buckets of boiling water, they left.
Rosto gestured to Astarion, "After you, love." Astarion briefly considered refusing, but the thought didn't last long. He stripped his traveling clothes and sunk into the bath, eyes closed. A long groan slipped involuntarily from his lips. He heard Rosto laugh and flicked water in the direction the sound came from.
As he relaxed, the heat from the water soaked into his muscles and soothed the aches from sleeping on the ground for over a week. He jerked a bit when he felt Rosto touch his head, but settled quickly. Rosto wet Astarion's hair before working the soap into his scalp. Astarion would never tire of Rosto washing his hair, his strong, agile fingers chasing the tension away and calming his mind. When Rosto finished with his hair, his hands traveled down to Astarion's neck and shoulders, kneading and working the muscles there. Astarion sank even deeper into the water, reveling in the sensation. He was starting to become a puddle, one with the water in the tub.
Rosto's slender hand wrapped around Astarion's throat, not choking him but still working the tendons there with his thumb. His soft voice whispered in Astarion's ear, "Time's up, you're hogging all the hot water."
Astarion splashed water in Rosto's face. "Brute. Tell that large friend of yours to send up more water. I'm not done yet." He ran his hands through his hair. "You weren't done yet, either. There's still plenty of me left to rub."
Hands continued their way down Astarion's chest, caressing and appreciating anything they found. "Happy endings cost extra," Rosto said.
Astarion groaned and pushed Rosto's hands away. "You are a beast and a cad," Astarion said. "You know that wasn't what I meant." Rosto pulled his hands away and stood. He walked over to snag a towel and held it open for Astarion to walk into.
"I can't reach any of the rest of you while you're in that tub. Now are you going to get out or will you stay in until you turn into a prune?" Rosto stood, waiting for Astarion to make his decision. He looked up at into his love's eyes, noting the slight hint of feigned annoyance. Deciding he'd been prickly enough for one day, Astarion obliged him. He stood, stepped out of the tub, and into Rosto's arms. Rosto made quick work of drying Astarion, leaving the hair for Astarion to handle. "Go lie down. I'll be there in a moment."
Astarion ran the towel over his head, catching the worst of the water that clung to his curls. When he was satisfied with the feel, he threw the towel to the side and decided to try out the bed. The mattress had been freshly stuffed and smelled of lavender. It wasn't Astarion's favorite smell, but he had to admit it was soothing. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
He had obviously dozed off, because next Astarion knew, clever hands were making their way up the sides of his back. Rosto was straddling his hips, working over the places he couldn't access earlier. Astarion groaned as Rosto's knuckles found the little pockets of stiffness and knots of ache. "Did you really adjust to soft living so quickly? It hasn't been that long since we camped out all the time," Rosto said before he ran his thumb underneath Astarion's shoulder blade and caused him to let out a strangled gasp.
"We were being attacked every other day back then. Sleeping on the ground was the least of my worries. I swore I was going to lose my arm once," Astarion said. "I was also unaware your hands were good for more than just murdering. I would have made better use of them if I'd known."
Rosto's fist rolled up Astarion's spine, causing small popping noises between his vertebrae. "We never would have gotten anything done. I would have been stuck in your tent, your own personal masseuse, and we all would have turned into mind flayers," Rosto said. Astarion couldn't really disagree with him, though it was one of his favorite pastimes.
"Can you blame me? You would do the same in my position," Astarion's cheek earned him a quick spank on his ass. He turned to see Rosto climbing off the bed. "Where do you think you're going?" Astarion said.
Rosto pulled on a pair of pants, long pale legs disappearing under sturdy brown wool. "We shouldn't keep Halsin waiting. Not everyone keeps the sleep schedule we do, and I'm sure they'd like to retire sooner rather than later." Astarion forced down his groan. Rosto was right, even if Astarion would much rather stay in bed and let Rosto work every single kink from his muscles.
"I do so hate it when you're right," Astarion said before making his way to the wardrobe.
When they made their way down to the great room, they were confronted with a veritable feast. There seemed to be part of a boar in the center of the table with all sorts of accompaniments. Halsin waved them over and wordlessly handed Astarion a goblet of blood. When he sipped, he was pleased to find it was fresh, if cold. Astarion was reminded why, despite his fanaticism, he actually liked Halsin. Despite his frequent shape changing, or perhaps because of it, he firmly believed that everyone, humans and beasts alike, should eat as nature intended. Astarion raised his goblet and Halsin responded with a knowing nod.
They took their seats, Rosto having acquired a goblet of wine from somewhere. Both he and Halsin filled their plates, though Astarion declined. He wasn't in the mood for the charade of eating, and the blood was more than filling.
"You've certainly made progress with the inn," Rosto said in between bites. "Much better than the last time we were here." Astarion nodded in agreement.
Halsin chuckled. "It was the most obvious place to start. Most of the other structures are beyond repair-save Moonrise- and we needed the shelter. Lots of the children are bunking together in the rooms, though we've put up several smaller places already. Jaheira sent some Harpers; Shadowheart dropped by at some point. Almost every day someone new comes to see what we've done." Halsin took a bite from an apple, a very pleased look on his face.
"How many children are there? Surely you have more adults to care for them." Astarion looked around— the room was surprisingly empty. But he didn't remember Halsin being skilled enough to create this spread by himself.
"There were quite a few who opted to come with me after the Absolute attack. They've all retired for the night or returned to their own abodes." Halsin leaned back in his chair, still gnawing on his apple.
Rosto raised his goblet. "If we can help while we're here, let us know," he said. Astarion shot him a withering look. This was supposed to be a respite, not another one of his love's noble quests. If he wanted to help needy, ungrateful wretches, he would have stayed home with the spawn. Of course, Rosto ignored his glare, resolutely refusing to make eye contact with him.
Halsin shifted, and Astarion's gaze shifted back to him. "Don't bother yourselves about it. We have plenty of help, and from what I heard you've been doing far too much yourselves. I didn't ask you here to mend fences and raise barns," he said.
Astarion leaned forward, one elbow on the table. "Now that you mention it, why did you ask us here?" he asked. "Rosto read me the letter and the request was—vague, to say the least." This time it was Astarion who caught Rosto's wrath. His solid boot toe connected with Astarion's shin under the table. He ignored it, choosing instead to lift the leg out of Rosto's reach and throw it across his knee.
Halsin wasn't phased, though. "Oh, we have more than enough time to discuss that in the coming days. Settle in, enjoy yourselves. Our business can wait." Halsin pushed himself from the table as he stood to his full height. "Do either of you need anything before I turn in?" He gestured to their goblets.
Astarion looked down and realized his was empty. He ran his tongue along his fangs, trying to decide if he was finished or not. Rosto spoke before he could. "Two more, or just the bottles if that's easier, Halsin. I think we're going to do a bit of exploring before we turn in." Halsin smiled and nodded before walking back toward the kitchen.
"Exploring?" Astarion said. "I think I've done enough exploring to fill several lifetimes. Can't we go back and appreciate that lovely fresh bed we've been loaned?" True, he hadn't woken that long ago, but the quality of sleep he'd gotten on the road had been abysmal.
"We will," Rosto conceded. "But I wanted to take a little jaunt while we could appreciate the changes." Astarion sighed, but his heart wasn't in it. He'd much rather be wherever Rosto was, even if that meant tramping through the brush in the dark.
Halsin handed them a basket with two bottles. Astarion caught a deep ruby hue from one of them. "Sylvanus guide you," Halsin said. "We'll talk more tomorrow." Rosto took the basket in one hand and gestured for Astarion to lead. Astarion set off, not pointing out he didn't have the faintest idea where they were heading.
They crossed the bridge back the way they'd originally come, and Astarion took a left at Rosto's direction. As much time as they'd spent here previously, Astarion had to admit the land was incomparable. Gone were the deep cracks that scored the ground, replaced with gentle rolling hills and ancient oaks that no longer loomed dark and barren. The sound of animals was the most obvious change. Birds flitted in the trees and small rodents disturbed the underbrush. Astarion had been forced to feed on Rosto more than he'd been comfortable with on their first trip. Even the enemies they'd come across had been cursed and inedible.
At the memory of his love's sacrifice, Astarion looked behind him and reached out his hand. Rosto's fingers slid between his, warm and comfortable. "Did you have somewhere in mind?" he asked. They hadn't walked for long, but he was eyeing the basket in Rosto's hand. Thinking about his past hunger had sparked his appetite.
"Not too much further," Rosto said. "I saw someplace when we were on the journey in that I wanted to check out." They continued on in companionable silence until they reached a large tree that sat atop a cliff. Astarion couldn't help but move closer to the edge and peer over, but Rosto plopped down at the base of the tree and pulled Astarion's arm until he was forced to fall into Rosto's lap. Rosto pushed the basket forward, and Astarion poured a goblet of wine for Rosto, then made himself one.
Rosto clinked them together in a wordless toast before wrapping one arm around Astarion, causing Astarion to have to lean back on Rosto's chest. "It was still early when we came, but I thought the stars would probably be spectacular here." This time Astarion did elbow him, and Rosto let out a weak 'oof.' "I can just like the stars, you know. I got rather accustomed to them on our little adventure."
Astarion relaxed against Rosto and turned his eyes to the sky. "I do have to admit, I never bothered to appreciate them in the city. First they were a pale substitute for the sun, and then I stopped looking for beauty anywhere, let alone in the sky. That first night we all camped, well, actually it was just you and I, wasn't it?" Astarion asked.
Waking up on that beach, the blinding light of the sun, and the fear—Astarion tried not to think on it too much. In truth, Astarion tried not to think of most of his 200 years too much. "I remember being afraid, not of you, exactly, but just afraid, and I needed to sit for awhile to settle. I think it was the first time I'd looked up at the stars in over a century. And I was shocked to find myself feeling hopeful." Rosto was rubbing his knuckle along Astarion's midline in a way Astarion recognized as involuntary.
"The grove did have nice stars, didn't it? The underdark has a beauty to it, but I do find myself missing the sky," Rosto said. His voice sounded faraway, like he was only partially paying attention. His love was generally so focused and attentive that Astarion found himself growing anxious.
"We don't have to stay there for long," Astarion said, trying to keep the panic from his voice. The small part of him that said this was too good to be true, that Rosto would grow resentful and discard him, reared its ugly head. He had tried his hardest to squash that part of him, but it proved difficult to remove. "As soon as the spawn are settled—"
Rosto caught Astarion's chin in his hand and leaned over his shoulder to kiss him. It wasn't just a peck, but a slow assault with his mouth and tongue. When Rosto pulled away, he placed his lips to Astarion's temple. "That isn't what I meant," Rosto said. "The location doesn't matter—they all have their issues and their virtues. And you know that wherever you need to be, I will be by your side. I told you that the first night after we were free from the tadpoles, and I have never once regretted that decision."
He paused, and Astarion wished they were in a position where he could see Rosto's face better. "My entire life started when I woke up in that mind flayer pod. Whatever man I was before that—I don't know anything about him. Learning my preferences is a new adventure every day." Rosto said before he leaned down to kiss the small bit of Astarion's shoulder that was exposed by his collar. "I'm sure you can understand what I mean."
Astarion did. For so long, his own preferences hadn't mattered. So much so that he may as well not have had any. And he was learning them as if for the first time as well. He knew he liked long, indulgent baths. He knew he preferred deer blood if it needed to be an animal. He knew he preferred cotton sheets over silk. Silk didn't keep the heat in well enough.
He also knew Rosto's struggles, while they paralleled his, were decidedly different. He'd met Rosto before he'd lost his memory, and Astarion would swear in front of any god who asked that he was the same man. The string of gruesome and grisly murders left in his wake may point to the contrary. But Rosto had no memories of that person, and Astarion hadn't known him long enough back then to give any help. So Rosto was left to find his way forward, shaking on weak legs like a new foal.
Astarion must have taken too long to respond, because Rosto continued. "So to learn that I enjoy the stars—it doesn't mean that I always need to be able to see them. Knowing that I like them is enough."
"As long as you let me know when you discover the things you dislike, also," Astarion said. "Those can be just as important, if not moreso, than what you do like. And I was serious, about leaving the underdark. I know I've given up my life in the sun, but I did survive 200 years in Baldur's Gate without being burned to a crisp. Whatever you want to do once we deal with Cazador's lovely parting gift, I'll follow. I've certainly taken up enough of our time with my needs so far." He sipped his goblet, thankful the self-doubt had calmed.
Rosto was silent for a bit, but Astarion didn't prompt him. They so rarely had the space to discuss these things, he didn't want to rush it. Instead he looked up at the stars as he felt Rosto's chest rise and fall against his back. Eventually, Rosto found his voice. "I've been thinking on that, actually. Well, not so much that as what I want from life. Everything I remember has been panic, run, fight—The Dead Three, the Absolute, the Chosen. Dropped right into the middle with no space to breathe. And now that I have it, what do I do with myself?"
The answer felt so natural Astarion didn't question it before it left his mouth. "What do you want?" he asked.
"Legacy," Rosto replied, with a speed that shocked Astarion.
This time Astarion couldn't help himself. He turned in Rosto's lap so he could face him. "Legacy? Is the giant statue they built of you in the middle of Baldur's Gate not sufficient? It's twenty feet tall." What on earth was his darling boy on about? In the weeks after the battle, they couldn't go anywhere without getting recognized. Even he had gotten sick of the adoring praise, which was something he thought he'd never say. He'd almost envied Karlach and Wyll's escape to Avernus.
Rosto sighed. "That isn't—We all did that. You know that took every single one of us, including all the allies we made. Not to mention I'm the person who started that in the first place. How could I not clean up my own mess?" His face was pained, exasperation reflected in his crystal blue eyes. They didn't generally discuss the fact that Rosto had actually instigated the entire Absolute plot. Who was Astarion to judge, after all he'd done? Besides, if it hadn't happened, Astarion would still be a helpless spawn under Cazador's thumb. Sometimes blessings came in the strangest packages.
Astarion rested his hand on Rosto's cheek. "Look at all you did for us. Wyll, Karlach, Shadowheart, Lae'zel. Me. You saved Gale from blowing himself up, for gods' sake. Mystra was going to chuck him at the Absolute like a smokepowder bomb. Now he gets to tell all those little brats at his school that he knows the man who saved Baldur's Gate. And not just Baldur's Gate, the whole sword coast!" He got a little animated with his hands, and Rosto flinched.
To Astarion's dismay, his speech seemed to be having the opposite effect on Rosto. "You're missing the point, Astarion. That was just survival. I want something intentional, something I build with purpose. Something to show that I'm not a bhaalspawn anymore, something that man couldn't have," Rosto's words were agitated, now, and he'd sat up from his relaxed position on the tree.
Astarion didn't understand what was causing Rosto's distress, but regardless of what was causing it, Astarion wasn't having it anymore. "I'm not missing the point, you're dancing around it," he said. "If you have something specific in mind, spit it out. If not, let's move on as it's obvious this isn't doing either of us any favors." He downed the rest of the blood in his goblet to prevent himself from saying anything more cutting.
Rosto took a deep breath before saying, "I want a child."
Astarion froze, the goblet still raised to his lips. He pulled it away slowly, his brain trying to process what had come out of Rosto's mouth. "Come again?" he asked.
"You heard me the first time," Rosto said. "I want a child. A family. I've never had one, at least, not one I remember. That's what I mean when I say I want legacy." Astarion's brain may as well have been in a jar on someone's desk, for all the use it was doing him. He was used to planning for all sorts of eventualities, making sure he wasn't caught off guard. Yet here he was, completely poleaxed.
He said the only thing that his addled mind could put together. "I can't make a baby."
Rosto opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. "I did know that," he said, finally. "If it was going to happen the natural way, it would have happened by now. We've certainly tried enough."
That was enough to jolt some movement into Astarion's thoughts. "Quite the wit you have there, darling. You should go on a tour, make us some money," he said dryly. He'd meant because he was technically dead, but what good was working sperm to Rosto? He had plenty of his own, as he'd so generously pointed out.
"That isn't the issue," Rosto said. "Gods know there are plenty of motherless babes around Faerûn. Surely one of them would do. But do you want one? I don't think I've ever heard you talk about a child with anything but distaste. You just called Gale's students brats."
Astarion wasn't one for self reflection, as a rule. His life hadn't afforded it much, up to this point. But he thought back on his words, how he talked about Halsin's brood, the Gur children back in the underdark—he hadn't thought overmuch of children, to be honest. Children were just tiny people, and on a whole he hated people. They weren't worse than adults, just smaller. He remembered how Rosto flinched earlier, and Astarion realized it hadn't been because of his overly-dramatic tendency to wave his hands about when he spoke.
He looked up into Rosto's eyes, which were full of trepidation and what might have been a spark of hope. Rosto, his love, his darling boy, had held up his end of the bargain. He'd told Astarion what he wanted. All Astarion could do was answer genuinely.
"Could I have some time? To think about it?" he asked. "I haven't even considered the possibility, to be honest. I still wake up each morning surprised that you've agreed to love me."
A soft smile grew on Rosto's lips. "You can take as much time as you want," he said. "I admit, I haven't been thinking on it for too long. But it just feels right. When I think about a child," Rosto took Astarion's hands in both of his, "a family, with you, it feels right."
Whatever emotion was taking root in Astarion's chest was so oppressive it hurt. He did what he did best and shoved it to the side for later. "In the meantime, I was enjoying our drinks and the stars. Do you think we've had enough serious talk for tonight, or do we need to find some new insecurity to dissect?"
Rosto put his hands behind his head and leaned back into the tree. "I think we can call it for the night. Let's finish off these bottles and head back. I think it's your turn to give me a massage."
Astarion doled out the newly-refilled goblets and scoffed. "I don't remember agreeing to any such bargain. If anything, you weren't done giving me a massage." He settled back against Rosto, glad the discussion had taken a turn back toward the lighter.
Rosto nosed the top of Astarion's ear, causing him to flinch. His ears were always ticklish, a trait Rosto annoyingly did not share. "If you think I missed a spot, I'm more than happy to finish the job. The grass here looks plenty soft," Rosto said.
Astarion laughed sarcastically. "I already spent a week sleeping on the ground to get here. I'm not looking to repeat the experience any sooner than I have to. Now stop antagonizing me and just hold me like you're supposed to." Rosto wrapped an arm around Astarion's waist and kissed behind his ear.
"Whatever you say, love."
Halsin had outdone himself when he set up their room in the Last Light Inn. The windows were blacked out so well that Astarion could hardly tell when the sun rose. Rosto had gotten out of bed before Astarion, but his love had whispered that the sun was still up and he should get more rest. Astarion had been more than happy to obey. Now, though, he was hungry and the clock told him it should be safe to explore the inn.
This time when he left his room, there was much more activity. Children ran around, chasing each other or running from adults. Several of the older children seemed responsible enough to have chores. He couldn't help himself; he imagined one of them running through he and Rosto's rooms in the underdark. Maybe they played with the Gur children, once Astarion was convinced they wouldn't bite.
Fear spiked in his chest. He didn't have the faintest idea what to do with a child. He'd never handled them before his death—he certainly hadn't dealt with them since. The closest he'd been was the girl who showed up at camp, Yenna. She seemed relatively self-sufficient, even knew how to cook for herself. Somehow he didn't think Rosto would want to start with a child that old, though. Would he want a babe? These thoughts were too much for an empty stomach, and he needed to remedy that before he did any serious considering.
He looked around the great room. Astarion didn't recognize anyone, though he didn't know why he would. He saw Rosto sitting at the bar, chatting with Halsin. Astarion wasn't sure who to go about asking for blood, and he didn't particularly feel like hunting for himself, so he walked over.
"We haven't done much with any of the old Sharran buildings. The House of Healing is promising, but it's so far away. And even with the curse gone, that place has a darkness to it," Halsin was saying. Astarion stifled a groan. He was too hungry for a discussion of building renovations.
Rosto saw him before Halsin did and smiled. "Someone looks hungry," he said. Astarion wrinkled his nose, annoyed he was so transparent. "Halsin showed me where they've been storing the blood. Let's go get you some." Astarion thought about making a motherly joke, but remembered their conversation the night before in time to stop himself.
As he followed Rosto to the kitchen, he asked, "So has Halsin mentioned why he wanted us to come out? He certainly has done quite the job of buttering us up. Not a scrap of sunlight made it into our room today. And the blood? Seems like he may be asking a big favor." They walked through the doors, and Rosto beelined to a corner which appeared to be where most of the butchering was done.
Rosto shrugged. "The sunlight is courteous. The blood is a byproduct. Everything they butcher has blood that needs to be drained anyway, right? You know Halsin has always been practical about this sort of thing." Rosto grabbed a bottle from the shelf and handed it to Astarion, along with a goblet.
He poured himself some and took a deep gulp. This seemed to be from an ox. Their blood always had a hit of barnyard and hay that Astarion didn't love. He downed it anyway. "So I'm to take it that he hasn't told you what he wants." He poured himself a second glass, surprising himself with his hunger. He'd had more than a whole bottle last night, and seemed to be downing at least half a bottle now.
"He hasn't," Rosto said. "But you were asleep until just now. I told you, he said he wanted to talk to both of us. He'd hardly tell me when you aren't around." Astarion thought that reasoning was weak, but he downed the second goblet, not feeling like savoring anything just then. He stored the remainder of the bottle back with the rest.
"I'm around now," he said. "Let's go see what our generous host wants." Astarion was tired of waiting; he hated surprises. He hated feeling like he was being buttered up to be taken advantage of even more.
Halsin wasn't in the great room when they returned from the kitchen. Astarion asked around, getting a handful of useless answers until someone said Halsin was upstairs dealing with one of the children. Astarion took the stairs two at a time, Rosto trailing behind him like a kite in the wind. "I don't know why you're so concerned with this. Halsin will tell us when he's ready. In the meantime we should just enjoy ourselves."
Astarion laughed. "I won't be able to enjoy myself until I know why we're here. It's hanging like a sword over our heads, and I won't have it any longer." He could hear Halsin's deep voice from behind a cracked door, and he pushed it open without knocking.
Halsin stood, the smallest babe Astarion had ever seen cradled in his massive arms. The little thing had one thumb in its mouth, eyes closed as Halsin softly crooned. A small pointed ear poked through soft blonde curls.
One of the first things Rosto had given Astarion when they had moved into their quarters was a portrait of himself. Astarion didn't know how he'd gotten it made, as he certainly hadn't sat for any portraits. He suspected Gale had a hand in it. He'd been speechless upon seeing it, his likeness being both familiar and alien. The babe in Halsin's arms may as well have been himself.
No one spoke for several moments. Finally Halsin broke the silence. "Apologies, I needed to come care for the little one. The nurse maid had to go home to tend one of her own." He continued bouncing the babe softly. Astarion began to grow suspicious. He didn't know how to address the fact that Halsin was holding a miniature version of himself.
He cleared his throat. "Halsin, I think it's time that you told us why you needed us to come here." Astarion didn't look over at Rosto—he couldn't take his eyes off the baby.
Unfazed as ever, Halsin said, "As you know, we've been getting a steady stream of children in from Baldur's Gate since the battle. Most of them are older, though we get a fair share of toddlers and the like. Not that many infants. I was able to find a wet nurse for the little tyke, but as you can see, it's not a perfect solution."
The unasked request hung in the air, quickly taking up space in the room. Astarion had guessed it as soon as he laid eyes on the babe. He whipped around to look at Rosto. "You said you didn't know," he hissed. He felt railroaded, manipulated into taking this ridiculous trip. "You said he didn't tell you."
Rosto held up his hands, "I didn't know! I promise, Astarion. I had no idea." He looked as shocked as Astarion felt, but the panic in Astarion's gut held no quarter. The coincidence was too strong. Rosto wanted a child, and here was Halsin with a baby—a baby that looked just like Astarion. How in the sweet hells had they found a baby that looked just like Astarion? The room was too small, the secret too big, and Astarion shoved his way past Rosto and down the stairs.
Anger coursed through his veins, shock and betrayal hot on its heels. How could Rosto have lied about something so important? How could he have made such a decision without consulting Astarion? He couldn't get the image of those white blonde curls out of his mind's eye, along with the way Rosto's eyes had gone wide. Wide because he'd been caught? Or wide because he was also shocked?
As Astarion walked, his anger started to lose steam. Why would Rosto promise to give Astarion time just before he showed up with a baby? Nothing in their history together suggested he would do that, regardless of what Astarion's panic was shrieking right now. And again, how in the sweet hells had Halsin found a baby that looked like Astarion?
Someone brushed Astarion's elbow and he turned, reaching for a dagger he'd forgotten to wear. For the second time, Rosto held up his hands. "It's me. Please talk to me. I swear I had no idea what Halsin wanted. I can show you the letter—I can show you every letter he's sent me. How could I have known he would show up with a baby that looked like me?"
That made Astarion stop. "Looks like you? It looks like me," he said, ignoring the rest of Rosto's protests. Astarion looked over Rosto's slim face, taking in the angled cheekbones and sharp chin. He'd only gotten a glimpse of the wrinkled face in Halsin's arms, but truly, weren't the curls a dead giveaway?
Rosto stared at him, mouth slightly open. "That's your only response to what I said?" he asked. "You're really arguing about which of us the baby looks like. It's not our baby! What does it matter who it looks like?"
Something creaked in Astarion's chest when Rosto said "not our baby." That unnamed feeling from the night before came back, less content than it had been. Once again, he ignored it. "It doesn't matter. What matters is whether you knew. You swear you didn't know? I will call up one of the less friendly gods to extract revenge on you if you lie," Astarion said.
He took Astarion's face in his hands and leaned close. "I swear didn't know," Rosto repeated. "I only worked up the courage to talk to you on the road here. I thought this might be a nice neutral space for us to talk about it. I hadn't told another soul before you. When I said you could have time, I meant it."
Astarion let his forehead fall to touch Rosto's. "I believe you," he said. Rosto took a deep breath, and Astarion mirrored it out of habit. They stood like that, oblivious to whoever was around them, for several moments. Astarion broke the silence first. "We should probably go back upstairs and talk to Halsin."
Rosto pulled back, surprise on his face. "What? You want to go back upstairs—back where the baby is?" Something was in his voice that Astarion couldn't quite place. Was it fear? Surely not.
"If we don't, you won't realize that the baby looks like me," Astarion replied. He wasn't sure what gave him the courage, but he turned to retrace his steps. Rosto followed without a sound.
They found Halsin in the room, exactly as they'd left him. The babe was still asleep, thumb still firmly planted in its mouth. He looked up when they entered, face unreadable. "I didn't tell Rosto why I asked you here," he said. "In hindsight, I probably should have. I can't explain what exactly motivated me, I was mostly working on instinct. I did my best to make accommodations here when I heard a babe was coming, but as I said, we don't get many. The only other one was taken in by a mother who had lost hers in the attack. Then when I laid eyes on him—" Halsin didn't speak what they could all see. "I wrote Rosto the next day, asking him to visit."
Astarion still couldn't take his eyes off the babe. Rosto was the one who spoke up. "Halsin, you can't just offer it up to whoever you like as if it's a stray kitten. We aren't equipped for this. Here at least you have a wet nurse—" Rosto kept speaking, but Astarion stopped paying attention. The little one's thumb had fallen from his mouth, which was left open as he continued sleeping. Tiny, perfect lips forming an "o," the barest hint of a tongue behind them.
He found himself reaching out, involuntarily. "May I?" he asked. Halsin adjusted the babe with one large hand before settling him into Astarion's outstretched arms. He was shockingly light, and Astarion instinctively pulled him closer to his body. The babe turned, burying his face against Astarion's chest. Peace settled over Astarion, the kind of peace he only knew from being wrapped in Rosto's arms. He reached up and twisted one of the blonde curls between his fingers.
Rosto must have stopped talking, because he appeared at Astarion's elbow. He pushed one of the curls away from the babe's forehead, and he didn't stir. "You were right," he said, "He does look like you." Astarion finally looked up, locking eyes with Rosto. His crystal blue eyes shone even brighter than usual, and Astarion realized it was from unshed tears.
The unnamed feeling in Astarion's chest doubled, and he was forced to say what it was. It was joy. He'd felt it before, though he didn't usually bother acknowledging it. Such a feeling was fleeting in his life, and he vastly preferred safety and comfort. Even love was more stable. But holding this tiny babe, their tiny babe, he'd decided, he couldn't deny it any longer. He was radiating joy.
Astarion felt like he could stare at the little man forever. Rosto was apparently the only one who had enough brains to ask questions. "Does he have a name?" he said. "Where did he come from?" Astarion noticed Rosto couldn't keep his hands off either. He reached out with one finger and ran it over the baby's knuckles. The tiny fingers flexed before they claimed it as their own, the fist curling around his finger.
"Our best guess is someone abandoned him. They found him at the gate to the Temple of Ilmater, but they didn't have the resources to handle an infant. Before the attack, they would have, but they lost so many people and needed to focus on rebuilding. No name was attached to him, and I admit I've just been calling him 'the babe.'" Astarion looked up for the first time in a long time and caught Halsin's gaze. A soft smile covered his features, and Astarion swore he detected a hint of smugness. "I thought maybe his parents would like to name him."
Silence stretched through the small room, long enough that Astarion wondered who would be first to break it. Unbidden, a word floated to the front of his mind. "Adon," he said.
Rosto looked at him, confused. "Peace? You want to name the baby peace?" The babe was still holding Rosto's finger, and he didn't seem to want to let go anytime soon. Rosto seemed unbothered, though.
Astarion shrugged. "It feels right. I don't claim to be an expert in naming babies, but that seems to be the most logical way to go about it. Unless you have a better idea?" His chest tightened; he didn't really want to argue about the baby's name, but if he had to, he would.
That made Rosto pull his finger away so he could lightly brush the baby's cheek. "Adon Ancunín," he said. Astarion jerked slightly and pierced Rosto with a look. Rosto shrugged in return, that damned half smile on his lips. "We can't exactly call him 'Adon the Piper,' can we?" At Rosto's comment, Astarion remembered Rosto didn't have a family name, just his assassin's name. That left Astarion's for the babe.
"Adon Ancunín it is," Halsin said. "Why don't I leave you two here for a bit? I know this is new, and I don't intend to abandon you with him—" Astarion stopped paying attention because the baby's—Adon's— eyes opened, and they were bright, seafoam green. He blinked a few times and yawned, causing Astarion's dead heart to somersault in his chest. He barely noticed when Halsin left.
Rosto crowded closer, and in a soft voice he said, "Can I hold him?" Astarion was reluctant to let go, but he knew he couldn't deny him. The babe was just as much Rosto's as he was his. He placed Adon into Rosto's outstretched hands. Rosto cradled his head, holding Adon up so he could see him better. The two stared at each other, each seeming to size the other up. Adon reached forward, his little hand grasping for Rosto's face. Astarion had never seen anything so beautiful.
"He's so small," Rosto said. "He must have gotten your bird bones."
Astarion rolled his eyes. "He didn't get anything from me, you loon. He's just an elf. Most of us aren't overlarge like you and Halsin." Rosto glared at him but didn't comment. Now that he wasn't holding Adon anymore, the weight of everything started to hit him. His knees weakened, and he sat down on the bed. "Are we really doing this? I don't think I've held a baby before now. We still have over 3000 spawn to deal with." Panic washed over him, hot and flushed.
Rosto sat down beside him, shifting Adon so he was cradled in the crook of his arm. Astarion couldn't believe the ease with which he handled him. He seemed as comfortable with the babe already as he was with his dagger and crossbows. "Well if that was your first time, you looked damned good doing it," Rosto said. He was rubbing Adon's chest with one finger, eliciting small coos from him. Rosto turned to lock eyes with Astarion. "I think that's the happiest I've ever seen you. If you think I'm going to let you give that up, you don't know me at all." Adon eyes started to drift closed as Rosto continued to rub his chest.
How had he ended up with this man? Despite the trust and comfort they'd developed, Astarion was still occasionally hit by the sheer magnitude of the difference in his situation. Less than a year ago, he was under Cazador's thumb with no escape in sight. Now, the man he loved was holding what might turn out to be the greatest gift he'd ever received in his life.
Astarion leaned forward to press his lips to Rosto's temple. "I don't know what I did to deserve you." He ran his hand gently over Adon's curls. "Either of you," he continued. Adon turned into Astarion's touch, causing a fist to tighten around his heart.
Rosto covered Astarion's hands with his own. "Would you like me to list all the things, or will broad streaks suffice? We have plenty of time; he's sleeping." Rosto rubbed his thumb over the back of Astarion's hand, and he understood then why Adon had fallen asleep so quickly. Something about the gesture conveyed stability and safety. Maybe it was the confidence Rosto radiated, or maybe he tapped into a rhythm that spoke on a primal level.
"That was mostly rhetorical," he said, a hint of derision in his voice. Accepting praise about anything except his looks still felt like putting on an ill-fitting shirt. Rosto took that as a challenge for the most part, which annoyed and delighted Astarion in turn.
"Mmm," Rosto murmured. "Next time you'll have to make that more clear. If we don't mention your constant support while I fought against Bhaal's urge, or your help with the Absolute, you've still believed in me more than any other person I've ever met. You've been working to help Cazador's spawn despite their—and his—atrocious behavior. Need I go on?" Astarion shifted. Hearing his deeds laid out so matter-of-factly made him sound like a man he was not.
Before he had the chance to protest Rosto's assessment, Rosto settled Adon into Astarion's arms. "Aside from all that, he deserves you. He deserves your faith and support far more than I do, and yet you give it to me without question." Rosto took Astarion's chin in his hand and forced Astarion to look at him. "I'm terrified, too. Somehow more terrified than I've ever been in my life. But I know what I can do with you by my side, and I know we can do this together." Rosto leaned down and pressed his lips to Astarion's.
Adon must have felt crushed between their bodies, because he stirred and let out a small cry. Astarion pulled back, trying to avoid a full meltdown. He'd known somewhere in the recess of his mind that babies cried, but facing down the reality was different.
Rosto jumped up, a look of panic on his face. "I'm going to go find Halsin." He left, and Astarion pushed the curls on Adon's face to see him better. His little eyes were squeezed together, and his nose was wrinkled. Astarion instinctively hushed him, bouncing him lightly in his arms.
Despite the fact that he was alone for the first time with Adon, Astarion felt more calm than he had since laying eyes on him. As he continued to bounce him, Adon's face settled and his eyes opened. His eyes opened, green and sparkling. They found Astarion's, and a grin grew on his little face. "There you go," he whispered. "Nothing to worry about. Your da was just doing his best to make me feel better. He's quite skilled at making people feel better, you'll see."
Adon didn't respond, obviously, but Astarion still felt better for talking to him. He continued on, telling Adon about the underdark, complaining about the spawn. It was nice, having someone to listen, even if Adon had no idea what Astarion was talking about
Soon enough, Rosto and Halsin came back. Halsin laughed when he saw Adon resting calmly in Astarion's arms. "Good to see the new parent panic has kicked in. Though it seems Astarion had it under control."
Astarion fought the urge to gloat. "I think we just squashed him a bit. Next time probably won't be as easy." The other men standing over him made Astarion a bit uncomfortable. He stood just as Halsin moved to the bassinet.
"Should we put this in your room? I know it's probably too much to take with you, but feel free to use it as long as as you're here." Rosto went over, obviously needing something to do, and he and Halsin set to collecting Adon's things into the bassinet. Astarion decided they didn't need his supervision, and took Adon downstairs to the common room.
The next several days were eventful, to say the least. Astarion hadn't needed to deal with 'normal bodily functions' in almost 200 years, but now he was responsible for a little being who didn't do much else. Adon spent a lot of the time sleeping, and since Astarion needed to avoid the sun, the schedule was an easier adjustment than expected.
Diapers, though, were another thing entirely. The first few times, Astarion had been forced to leave the room. He didn't realize something so small and adorable could produce something as foul as that, and in such large quantities. Rosto had made fun of him the first time, pointing out that they'd both been in much more disgusting situations. Astarion had responded that he didn't enjoy muckraking like Rosto did.
The wet nurse came for the first couple days, but Rosto got in touch with Gale and learned a spell to turn cow's milk into a suitable meal for Adon. They quickly abandoned the bassinet for most of the time. Astarion preferred to have Adon sleep on his chest, though Rosto implied Astarion didn't have enough body heat to keep him warm. Astarion hated that Rosto was probably right, but seeing Adon lying against Rosto's bare chest while both of them dozed went a long way to soothing that hurt.
Before now, Astarion would have sworn his life was complete. Yes, dealing with Cazador's spawn was still a pressing issue, but at no point in his 200 years had he ever imagined he'd find someone who truly loved him. Two centuries of abuse and torture didn't disappear overnight, but looking at Rosto and Adon, his family, was doing a lot to heal those wounds.
They left Halsin after two weeks, both of them deciding they had learned as much as they could from the druid. They made their way back to the Underdark, trading off who carried Adon in the sling. He was an astonishingly calm baby, though his start in life was likely much worse than a simple trek through the Underdark.
Once they were back home and Rosto had unpacked everything, they collapsed into their overlarge bed, Adon between them. The little one didn't weigh much, but having him strapped to one's chest was surprisingly strenuous. Almost as soon as they put Adon on the bed, his eyes drifted closed. It took all of Astarion's self control not to touch him. He didn't want Adon to wake.
"I guess this means it's real," Rosto said. He was lying on the other side of Adon, only his pants on. He was lounging back against the pillows, both hands behind his head.
"Are you telling me it wasn't real when he ruined his clothes and mine yesterday? It felt real enough to me." The sensation of the contents of Adon's diaper being pressed against his chest was something Astarion wanted to scrub from his mind. Rosto poorly disguised a snort of laughter. "You won't laugh when it happens to you," Astarion said.
"Well I won't die if I wash him in running water," Rosto piped off. Astarion wanted to smack Rosto, but Adon was between them. "I hated that shirt anyway," he finished. This time Astarion threw a pillow at him, making sure not to disturb Adon.
With a speed and level of skill Astarion would never admit he envied, Rosto rolled over to straddle Astarion. Adon didn't seem to notice, just turning his head toward them as the bed shifted with the extra weight.
Rosto leaned down to give Astarion a long, hard kiss. Adon's presence had already put a damper on that part of their relationship, but now that they were home, they had their choice of babysitters.
When Rosto finally pulled back, Astarion having mostly forgiven him, he reached up to put a hand to Rosto's cheek. "So how do you feel about your legacy now?"
Rosto looked over at Adon, a soft smile on his face. "I'm only saying this because I've got the upper hand right now, but you know I didn't want a family just for my own sake, right?"
Astarion had drifted over to look at Adon as Rosto had, but at hearing that, his head snapped back to look at Rosto. "I'm sorry, you'll need to run that by me again. This was all your idea," Astarion said. He wouldn't change anything for the world, but he didn't like the idea that he had been manipulated.
"Adon was actually Halsin's idea, but that isn't my point. When I meant 'legacy,' I meant something that would last. After I'm dead and gone." Astarion was staring at Rosto, a smartass retort on his tongue. Was Rosto really trying to explain the definition of legacy like Astarion was some illiterate boor? But Rosto kept going. "I just couldn't bear the thought of leaving you alone."
The realization of what Rosto meant hit Astarion in the chest like a thunder wave spell. Rosto meant when he died, and Astarion was still here. Presumably would be here forever, as long as he didn't do anything stupid. Astarion couldn't help himself. He grabbed Rosto's face in both hands and forced his love to look at him. "You are an elf, for gods' sake. You aren't going anywhere anytime soon." He didn't realize there was anger in his voice until it reached his own ears.
Rosto sighed heavily. "I know that. But 'anytime soon' isn't the same as 'forever,' which is how long you could live."
Fear and despair wormed through Astarion's stomach, grinding like rusted gears. "I could die tomorrow if one of the spawn decides they've had enough of me," he said. "All of this is pointless, petty speculation."
Rosto let his forehead drift down to meet Astarion's. "Even so, you can't blame me for taking precautions. At least now, you'll have Adon, and whatever family he decides to make for himself."
"And whatever siblings we find for him," Astarion finished, Rosto's newfound motivation opening his eyes to the long-term plan. "But they will never replace you, my love."
Rosto pulled back and cocked that wicked half smile of his. "That's all I can hope for."