The Quest for Dawn

Chapter 2: My North Star

For some time afterward, Tavriel and Astarion were caught up in more questions than answers. The quest was clear, but the way forward was a fog of mystery. Baldur's Gate lay half in ruin, with the Elfsong being one of the few places that had been left unscathed during the harrowing battle against the wicked ilithid empire. When the red dragons fled, their proud riders upon them, the last of the nautiloids destroyed, the people of the city were left to scrape through the rubble and rebuild.

Astarion had left behind his home, all too glad to walk away from the palace that had been nothing more than a prison for him in his previous life. Tav had spent her time traveling light before she was snatched up by the nautiloid, and did not have any one place she had called her own. The room they rented at the Elfsong had, in its own way, become a temporary home for them both. Neither of them were bound to it, nor were they bound to their lives as they had been. The life of an adventurer was still novel, Astarion admitted to her, but once he'd had a taste, it seemed he was not so willing to let it go. It was freedom. With Cazador dead and gone, his so-called siblings traveling through the Underdark to lead the hordes of spawn they had released, Astarion was driven by a new purpose.

To walk in the sun again; a vampire's forbidden dream. Traveling by night provided safety for Astarion, but it was simultaneously fraught with peril. Where their previous adventures had counted among them a small band of capable adventurers, this time they traveled as a pair. They had each other, their wits, and extraordinary talents - but they were just two now.

Five days of traveling, and Baldur's Gate was miles away from the camp they made. They had the luxury of horses this time, tied to the lower limb of a tree next to the small clearing by the river. Following the Coast Road south to Candlekeep had felt like a sound plan. The small breakaway streams from the river flowing south provided water for their horses - but camping next to it warranted all manner of irritations. For Tav, at least. The bugs that lingered and flew through the air in clusters reigned terror on her skin. Astarion seemed quite unaffected, though he was amused to watch her little dance of havoc, swiping and spitting when insects swarmed her head.

"They're just bugs, darling," he drawled, unable to hide his grin.

Tav couldn't seem to help herself, waving her hand about her face and spitting again. "That way," she pointed past Astarion, farther away from the river's bank. There was a convenient outcropping of rocks where their tent could be set. The rocks would provide opaque cover for them toward the east, making sure the opening faced north. They couldn't risk any cracks of sunlight filtering through. The walls of the waxed canvas provided enough protection for him while they waited out the daylight hours. Tavriel was thankful, and though Astarion might not easily admit to it - so was he. Begrudgingly, of course.

The better part of their travels had been spent worrying about these things; when the sun was about to break into dawn, where to build the tent, which way it would face. It was all rather tiresome, but neither she nor Astarion would admit to it. They were set on this path to remedy such inconvenience, after all.

Their bedrolls had been unfurled inside the tent, the soft furs and leather the only luxury of comfort they could reap out in the wilds. No one ever said adventuring was comfortable , but in its own way, it was. The campfire crackled merrily, casting a flickering orange glow around the site. The warm light of the fire danced against their faces, dispelling the chill of the night air.

Tavriel, her bodice and boots traded for the loose comfort of a chemise, sat with a relaxed grace. Her eyes sparkled like the stars above, equally entranced by the night sky as the man beside her. Astarion, his usually battle-ready appearance softened without his studded leather coat, seemed to blend seamlessly with the night. A plain shirt, its collar undone, revealed a tantalizing glimpse of his chest. Tavriel found him magnetic like this—his strong, lithe frame imbued with a vulnerability that his armor concealed.