The Quest for Dawn

Chapter 7: Echoes of a Song

The wagon's wheels creaked incessantly, a monotonous melody to their journey. Astarion sat beside Tav, his staff laid across his lap as he listened to the world pass by—hooves pounding, voices shouting, and the wind whispering secrets he could no longer see. Their journey had been a tenday at least, marked by secret rituals. Tavriel would occasionally announce her intention to hunt, a bow slung over her shoulder. Astarion would accompany her, returning with venison, its blood mysteriously drained. The caravan was none the wiser, content with fresh meat and no questions asked. On other nights, Astarion would quietly accept the sustenance offered from Tav's own wrist—a bitter mingling of need and closeness.

Tav sat next to him, her iridescent eyes catching the warm sunlight filtering through the canopy of trees. Every so often, she would hum a soft tune, a melody that tried to dispel the growing cloud of despondency hanging over him. Once the epitome of elven grace and agility, Astarion now found himself gripping the sides of the wagon, feeling every rut and bump in the road as though they were insults from the gods.

The staff, a gift though it was, lay like a leaden weight, its very presence a constant reminder. His crimson eyes might be dead to the world, but he could feel the gazes of other travelers like pinpricks on his skin—curious, pitiable, and some, he suspected, contemptuous. Tavriel sensed the tense line of his shoulders, his downturned head, and felt her heart swell, a curious blend of love and exasperation. She reached out and placed her hand over his, her fingers interlocking with his own, as if to pull him out of the dark crevice of his mind.

"We're nearly there, love," she said softly, knowing that 'there' meant not just Baldur's Gate, but a complex new phase of their intertwined lives.

As they approached the city gates, heralded by the clamor of reconstruction and the stench of both life and decay, Astarion felt an odd combination of relief and dread. Baldur's Gate was both the scene of his triumph and now, he feared, a theater for his humiliation. He could no longer be the dashing rogue who stood beside Tav as one of the Heroes of Baldur's Gate. What was he now? A blind, dependent creature, bereft of the shadows he once commanded? It made him dip his head, in an attempt to hide a snarl that curled his lips.

Yet as they disembarked, with Tav guiding him gently through the throng and toward the familiar, if not entirely welcoming, environs of the Elfsong Tavern, he felt the faintest glimmer of something he dared not name. Hope? Or perhaps the stubborn ember of his indomitable spirit, refusing to be snuffed out.

"Guide me, my star," he murmured, almost involuntarily, as they crossed the threshold back into their uncertain future.

The Elfsong Tavern had been their home for many days during their first arrival together in Baldur's Gate, a time that felt like ages ago now. Tav's mind flooded with memories from that time, innumerable feelings shared between her and all her companions, especially Astarion, the handsome high elf with noble airs and roguish wit.

She remembered the night they had rescued him from Cazador, the sadistic bastard who had enslaved Astarion. Astarion had ruthlessly and rightfully murdered Cazador, leaving his undead corpse to rot in his own dungeons. But on that night, Astarion had also been freed from the threat of slavery, only to be cast back into the shadows, forever cursed as a vampire spawn.

Guilt gnawed at Tav's heart as she led Astarion up the stairs. She watched him use his staff to find each step, and her heart twisted into an ugly knot. It took every ounce of her resolve to swallow back her tears and keep moving forward. This was her fault. All her fault. If she hadn't been so whimsical and carefree, she wouldn't have offered him the sun itself. She wouldn't have compelled him to follow her into the depths of that ruin, in search of a relic that only carried whispers of half-truths.