𝕽𝖆𝖌𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕽𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖈e

Belly flipping, she let her mind wander through those memories, tadpoles and bloodshed, urges and victory, sex and… well. She shrugged to herself. Love. Love enough for her to see him happy and free. Love enough to agree to be at his side for eternity.

Love enough to find herself back here at his side after drifting aimlessly apart for years.

Shaking her head, she kept her mind from wandering down that path further.

Busy, stay busy, she scolded herself. Her fingers were combing through his messy curls. His skin was dirty, his hands were clean. He was as sight, the Vampire Ascendant, most powerful Lord in the realms. His efforts must have been so great, he had fallen dead asleep on his patient's bed.

Or, fallen undead asleep, she laughed inwardly.

He had spent himself, that was clear. Exhausted himself… taking care of her.

As she looked down at herself, where he was filthy, she was clean. Where she was rested, he was exhausted. Where he was sapped of unholy strength, she was… healed. The circle in her chest of round and angry red flesh was closed. Her skin was washed and her body was clothed in one of her soft nightgowns.

Tears pricked at her eyes. He was so soft in his sleep, so peaceful and tamed. No witty barbs or half-veiled flirtation. No declarations of possession or games of domination without discussion.

Merelind frowned. Her fingers pulled into his hair, snagging on a snarl that made him grunt.

That face turned on her belly, eyes opening to look at her in a snap. "Merelind," he breathed. Her name was deep, rough in his throat from his exhaustion. "You woke up."

"No small thanks to you, it seems," she replied. Her voice was calm, a little ripple of happiness in it like it used to have. Those memories of their adventures side by side still fresh in her mind. "It's quite the sight, you are, I mean…" she grinned widely to one side, her fang sticking out from the corner. Her fingers reached to trace his jaw. "I could take or leave your chin."

"Ha, good one, darling." Astarion smiled. A real smile. Not the veneer of the Ascendant, not the posturing dominance he donned in public. Just… him. Fangs wide in his gaping mouth, he yawned wide and sat up.

The moment he pulled away, his body leaving hers, a whine slid out from her lips.

Red eyes narrowed as Astarion scanned her with concern. "Pain? What is it, Merelind?" Before it could register, his hand held hers, fingers wrapping around her small, cool palm. "If it is beyond my powers and potions, you know I will send for the best healers in the realms. All of them." Astarion looked at her, that concern was sharp.

Born of fear. It was a twinge in his voice and a fretfulness in his eyes she hadn't seen since… since those nights in his maroon tent before they had set him free. Let him ascend.

Merelind bit her lip and pulled him by his collar back to her, closer than before. So close their lips almost met.

"I'm sorry," she breathed. "I said it before but I offer it to you completely now. The days I spent away from you were cowardly. I was running from my fear to trust you."

There.

Her heart burst open as she kept speaking.

"I was worried to give you more than my heart and body. To give you my trust, to put my unlife in your hands, it scared me too greatly." She paused, eyes darting from where they had been staring at the bedding to meet his crimson eyes.

They… they were wet. Dark black and dilated. But shimmering and red rimmed with unshed tears.

"It… it is I who should be apologizing. I failed to give you good reason to place that trust in me," he huffed. A hand running in his sullied silver curls, and now he was the one to glance away. Ashamed. "I thought that if you could give me your body and heart, if we played enough games of domination and submission… that the trust of your soul would follow." He gave a sad smile. "For that, I am sorry."

His pointy ears drooped, his eyes were wide. Sad. Waiting for her response.

A suck of her teeth, and her face twisted in pain, the pain of seeing how close they had come to happiness, how far they had wandered from it. And now? Hope made her heart patter like an elfling all over again seeing the object of her infatuation.

Mismatched eyes fell to his lips, and she could feel how he caged her, over her in the bed. So very close once more.

"You… could have simply asked, could have said—"

"I could have said 'I love you,' before, Merelind, but I would have been lying." Astarion's face tightened, gaunt and serious as she stiffened at his words. But this time he let them out. All of them. "I thought I knew what to do for you, how to provide and bring you under my care for once. I thought that was love." Crimson eyes drifted to the scars at her neck. "I thought giving you what you wanted, pampering you at my side, making you scream my name in ecstasy was love."

His eyes snapped back into hers, blue and red burning with some nameless intensity. But he didn't let it silence him.

"Then you left, decided cleansing Bhaal's bloodstains was more important than the life I offered you. I was angry. Furious. I tore fabrics and broke glass, I drowned myself in power and wine." He confessed, voice rife with emotions. "But it was only once week after week passed where I could feel you yet in my mind that I rethought what love meant. It was only in the comfort of sensing our distant connection that I finally admitted it to myself."

Her body was wound tight, and hells, he could swear her eyes were glowing, her skin smelling sweeter as she started to sweat.

He would hold out on her no longer. Three little words sliding off his tongue at last.

"I love you."

It was the smallest of gasps, her eyes dropping from how his bore into hers. With haste, with urgency, her hands pulled to the back of his head, fingers in those silver messy curls as she yanked him into a hungry kiss.

Fangs clacked, blood leaked from where their lips caught on their razor points. "Merelind," he growled it, even as his tongue licked at the cut in her lip. The familiar crush of his body caged her in, hands everywhere, pulling at the bedclothes, tearing at her nightgown, stopping at nothing until there was only freckled skin under him in her bed.

Fragments of her gown flew through the air as he left nothing whole on her skin, almost punishing it for coming between him and his Bride.

But even as he lowered his lips to her neck, her fingers pressed to that plush smirk, feeling the drool leak from his mouth, ready to taste her again after so long. But she braced against his advances. "Astarion, wait…"

The Ascendant, most powerful vampire in the realms, second to none, waited on her word. His brows arched, body wound tight, his control only teathered by love for her.

Merelind's eyes flashed, leaning forward as her lips brushed his twitching pointy ear. He was hers to command, hers to care for… hers to love in return. It gave her no small thrill at the realization. And as her voice hummed softly, she purred to him.

"On your knees, darling…"

His lips peeled into a smirk under her fingers, and the faintest rumble of a laugh vibrated against her touch. "As you wish… my love," he called her. And for once, that sultry velvet tone echoed with the feelings of his heart.

Swiftly, he stood from the bed, stripping his clothes still ruined from the fight on the road. They fell on the floor, a messy trail as he moved to the rug before the fire. One knee, then two, he rested on the red plush.

Merelind slid from silken sheets, pulling off her nightgown, treading on silent, supernatural feet to stand over him. Astarion's face was twisted, eyes dilated a black amidst the thinnest red rings of his irises. And then there were his fangs, the undead, ruinous beauty he was, his fangs glinted in the warm toned firelight. "Well darling?" His voice was deep, silken and seductive. Just as it always had, it makes her heart skip in her ribs. "You have me right where you wanted me," he paused to give a shaky inhale as she stopped right before him. His hands curled into fists on his thighs, but he dared not touch her.

"I do," she affirmed, and she lifted her leg, draping it over his shoulder. Bared for him, her sex glistened, wet. Wet for him. Wet because of him. "Say it again, how you truly feel for me, and I'll be your little treat, all flushed and leaking…" her tone brooked no argument. She was demanding, the one in power. "Speak your heart and suck on me, Ascendant."

Her small and lithe fingers gripped his silver curls, yanking him back. A perfect angle to see his whole face, nowhere to hide his feelings in half truths.

And he knew it. His eyes widened, lips murmuring as his hand glided up her one straight standing leg. "I love you," he spoke clearly. No teasing. No flirtation. Just him. "I love you, Merelind," he whispered it, turning his head to kiss the inside of her lifted thigh. "I promise to love you as you deserve… aeterna amantes… until the world falls down…"

His voice rumbled, tongue out as he swept it to part her folds. Warm breath bathed her sex as he lapped again, his moan more silent, more muffled as he worked his way in deeper.

Unhurried, he let his tongue move alone, his hand at the back of her leg, the other wrapped around her gripping thigh.

"Come on, be a good Ascendant now… I know you can give me more," Merelind chided, half-breathless just to feel him in her sex again.

After so long…

"Can? Of course, darling, I can give you more right away. But right now," he paused, crimson eyes flashing up to look into her face. Eyes were darkened with lust, the thin rings of red glowed with his barely bridled power as he willed himself to submit as proof of his love. "I am tasting my little treat, the most decadent indulgence known to man or vampire… his bride born of his blood."

One hand slide to her smooth sex, thrusting two fingers inside. The pressure was exquisitely snug still. Just as he remembered. "I wish to savor her taste like the richness she is to me."

"Oh," she breathed, air forced from her lungs as his tongue crept back in to flick and lick at her clit. His mouth for her pleasure was one thing, but his tongue for his words was another. There was no bravado, no preening and posturing. Just the darkness of his pupils to betray his arousal, and the wideness of his eyes to show just how low his walls had fallen.

How those defenses crumbled before her.

At her airy tone, he pulled back, blinking at her. Lips pursed and pressed to her smooth mound. "You can feel it, can't you? How much I did miss you? How mad I went without you near? Even the mere scent of fresh roses had to suffice as a reminder of you," another kiss, another lick to her clit as he worked her a moment then released.

Another lingering touch of his lips to her navel in genuine adoration of her, then he smirked. Inside her walls, his finger curled, pressing and teasing and scoring his nail right over her secreted bundle of nerves. And just as he knew she would, her body bucked, her walls squeezed, and warm wet arousal leaked down his palm and wrist as she came on his hand near silently.

"Ahh, there we go," he praised, "my good girl, Merelind, Mistress mine." He turned his head, hissing to bare his fangs as he readied to break her skin.

"Ah ah," She gave a caustic hiss herself, hand in his silver curls to pull him back. Resting her leg back down, she jostled him a bit, a roughness she'd always held. Especially with him. Her smile was twisted dangerously as she threw back old lines she had heard from him before. "We ask before we bite. And Mistress says you need to earn a taste of my crimson first. One little climax isn't going to cut it, Ascendant."

"I'm already on my knees for you, darling. What more do you want?" He pouted at her, that edge of bravado back in his silken voice.

So she shoved him, bare foot to his chest to splay him out on the rug. Her spine straightened, her head held high, and she backed herself before the fire in the grate. "Hands and knees, oh mighty Lord. Crawl to me, kiss my feet, and I may yet accept your words as truth."

Astarion gave a laugh at first, fixing his hair with a sweep of his hand, a weak laugh. But it died right along with his question of her sincerity when he met the ice and fire in her red and blue eyes. "As you wish," his voice dropped once more, quiet and genuine. Then he moved towards her. The distance wa short, but the act was profound.

Merelind watched his pale body stalking, low and slow, until he lowered his mouth and pressed his lips to the top of her left foot. Then her right.

"Mm, decently done, my lord, but I think I require more tongue," she purred down at him, lifting her foot to press at his shoulder. She pushed, savoring the way he was beneath her, a willing submission from a man to whom she gave everything. "The least you can offer me is your undivided worship," she added, and to that, Astarion rose to his knees, crimson eyes flashing.

"In any and all ways you so desire, my darling." The Ascendant smiled, fang catching light as it curved crookedly "I'll worship my queen, starting in the humblest of ways." His voice was soft, hands cradling her foot in his hands. Softly, treating it like it was the most beautiful thing he could hold, he kissed her foot once more, tongue darting out to lick it once, twice, before his mouth trailed upwards. He pressed kisses up her calf as he lowered her leg, two feet on the ground.

Warm palms caressed the fronts of both thighs, and just the scent of her arousal yet on them where it coated her freckled skin made his chest heave. Like this, his cock stood at attention from his belly. It jolted and twitched each time her body graced his mouth. "Please, Merelind, I want you," his words were oh so soft.

Pure need made his voice break as her eyes settled on the way his sex throbbed for her, leaked for her.

"I have waited and waited, wanting to be worthy of the woman I love and the woman I also wronged for far too long." Astarion's silken voice rippled, near tears and tight in a way she had not heard since… since he had felled his own horrid Master. And by the pain that crossed his face at his own strident tone, he knew it too.

"Have me, my love, or put me out of my misery, the pain is too great to be near you and not loved by you." The Ascendant held his breath, hands sliding to the backs of her thighs as he pressed his head to her belly.

A sob escaped him, warm tears wetting her core as he pulled himself against her even harder.

"…please, Merelind, I beg you…"

Her heart beat, rapid and hard at his words, his desperation overwhelmed that bond they shared as creature and creator, as Sire and Bride. Her lungs burned as she forgot to breath. Crushing isolation, loneliness, agony: there were not enough words her poor addled brain knew to describe the feeling he unwittingly shared as he hugged her and cried against her body.

A hand lifted to her face, her own cheeks wet with… tears? Merelind realized she started to cry. Sobs that twinned his own came from her chest, and never before had she fallen her knees faster for him. It was a thud as she wrapped her arms around him, his head to her shoulder now as they embraced together before the fire.

"Yes, Astarion," she whispered it, her voice so quiet against his mess of silver curls that she couldn't stop touching. "Have me," she breathed it, angling his mouth to taste his warm breath.

That was enough, control snapping as his hands gripped at her waist and pulled her against his chest. Fangs clacked, catching on lips and drawing blood.

His. Hers. A heady concoction of potent ascendant crimson and the kind born of his own life. Tongues licked and lips pressed and sucked to mingle them into one sweet mix.

"My love," he purred, barely a breath from his lips as he gripped around her shoulders and held her so tightly, a mortal's bones would crack.

Like the quaking of the earth, his body jolted as her small and dexterous hand brushed his belly and wrapped around his cock, making that silken voice catch ragged in his throat. "D-Darling…"

"Only if you want to," she purred into his ear, meaning the words, knowing his own lines by heart from their journey as if they were the lyrics of their own love ballad. "But trust me, you do… want to…"

"You have such a way with words, you know that, my love?" Astarion gasped a laugh, every muscle in his body taut with need. Even his eyes kept themselves from blinking as he looked into her freckled face.

As if he might blink and she disappear again.

A grunt left him as he felt it. Her. That secret recess he could only rememeber in his dreams and meditations.

For decades.

With only a cold bed and the scent of roses to keep him company.

Her berry lips parted just enough to show her deadly fangs. Her own breathing shallow and rapid as she guided him inside.

Walls wet and slick sucked him in, and he fisted his nails into the supple flesh of his own palms, the carpet, anything to keep his control.

Barely held in check.

"Too long," he sighed, red eyes searching her face as he thrust in his cock to the root. "I waited too long for this, and yet, I would have waited a thousand more life times to hear you say you love me."

As if to make his beating heart skip, she smile at him, all the softness she'd kept locked inside was bared for him to see.

And worship.

"I do love you," she replied, arching her back and baring the fading scars of her transformation to him. "I want you to bite me, remake me as yours," she whined as every little shift stretched her out on his cock, her own sex so long without use in this way. "Remake me your true and loving Consort."

His wold spun, his cock gripped where he belonged. His body screamed at him to move, so move he did, but only little rolls of his hips, shallow and easy and gentle.

Her words warmed him more than her sex. Astarion only gave a soft little laugh, his hands coming to craddle her face so he could nuzzle it against his own. "Consort? I think now, I prefer… Bride."

Merelind cried out as he pulled himself out only to fill her up again. "Fuck, Astarion," she keened as her hands flew for his arms, all her own battle-honed strength cut into his pale skin with his nails. The moment his blood welled up, she could smell it, potent and hot and coppery.

Her legs lifted, thighs gripped around his middle as their eyes locked. She wanted this. Him. His love. His blood. His power. His heart.

"More, Master," she let the two words waft near silent in the air between them.

But it sent another jolt down his spine right for his cock buried inside her.

"Then more you shall have, my darling," he crooned, voice like velvet once more. The only soft thing as he began fucking her into the floor, hands coming to grip at her arms, mouth lowering to bite with blunt teeth into her swaying, jiggling breasts. "Perfect, you're perfect," came his breathless pants as he rutted as hard as he could.

Just the way he recalled she liked.

It was too good, too tight and warmed from feeding on his blood. Little pants tumbled from his lips as he had to fight his way inside her, thrust by feral thrust. His body relearning hers, worshiping hers, Astarion's eyes stung with tears alongside his desperate pace.

"Merelind," her name was sweet from his lips, and it made her two toned eyes fly open to meet his gaze.

She couldn't look away now. He was sweaty, and hungry, and scared. He was enthralled to her, she could see it in the way his eyes were wet and wide. She could hear it in the nervous flutter of his heart and the desperate slapping of their hips together. "Astarion," came her small reply, even as his arms wrapped around her smaller, freckled body to crush her to his, an embrace tighter than her skin.

Her mouth pressed to his neck, and she bit. The warm welling of his blood pooled in her mouth, and his grunt of pain only make her sink her teeth in harder.

"Careful, darling," he hissed, not to correctly, but only because he quickly lost control. The pleasure of her bite to him was soon his undoing. He need to knew he made her come for him, made her squeeze his cock and take his spend once more as his. His love.

Her mouth slipped from his skin as she moaned, this angle taking her fast and deep.

"That's it, my sweet, let me hear you filling our palace with my favorite music." A laugh at his debauched command, and he couldn't stop grinning his fangs at her. Hair a mess on the floor, her face streaked in his blood, and her eyes bright with power and yet dark with lust.

This was his love, and he'd have her screaming his name in a moment. Cock twitching, balls screaming at him to release their heavy weight, Astarion's touch seared down her backside. His hands slid to her ass, taking her legs and wrapping them around his narrow waist all the more snug.

"Hells, Merelind," he huffed mid stroke as he slid to the very end of her channel. All the more incensed with want for her, his hips snapped with all his force, kissing his cock's head to her cervix with every thrust. "So tight, like no one has stretching out your cunt since last you let me, hmm?" He chuckled, only earning a set of her nails scraping down his biceps to mark them deep and bloody.

"Hush," she snapped at him, "so what if I did?"

"I'd consider myself most blessed, for it was the same for me," he growled it out, rutting into her faster, her sex so wet, he met no resistance. "Waiting, touching myself to the memory of you and the your favorite scent of roses in the air as the closest thing I had to your skin." His nails dig into her hips, his tempo starting to stutter and grow sloppy and deep. "The torture it was to feel you as my bride in our bond and unable to speak to you without risking your ire, your icy hate." A growling groan slid from his lips. "So I kept away and pleasured myself to the visions I kept of your eyes and freckles and perfect sex rather than risk driving you away forever."

His words knit up every wound she bore, ones cause by him— old fights, ancient battles, misunderstandings—and her one self inflicted injuries. The grip of her hands in his curls crashed his mouth to hers. Fangs clacked, her tongue diving in to taste the sincerity of his confession. "Are you true?" she insisted.

"Yes," he replied instantly, not even a breath between the question and his answer. "Not another. Not until now. How could I when it's you I love? You I bore from my own blood, my bride?"

Her whine echoed off the bedroom walls, and Astarion could swear it even made the fire in grate waver with its force.

But even its volume was no match for the way she came undone. It was sudden. It was violent. It was pure, unbridled passion, all the things she was to him. So wet and tight, her walls pulsed as she trembled beneath him.

"Yes, my bride," he affirmed again, hissing and baring his fangs as he lurched forward one last time. Teeth in her neck, he bit her flesh and ducked her blood, even as his cock rammed to her womb to fill her. Drops of blood drained for spurts of his spend inside her.

The sweetness of her release was divine and decadent. Absolutely worth the wait.

"My… love," she rasped in the last little throes of her pleasure. "M-Master…"

Astarion pulled from her neck, collapsing on her, even as his arms gave out despite all his ascendant strength.

He was nothing if not weak for her. Weak from her.

Her voice seems stuck in his pointy ears, pericing into the shadowed depths of this soul. "Not your Master, not tonight," he hesitated, wondering if he'd finally admit to wishing for a different title on her lips.

Her hand rested on the floor, the plush carpeting was nothing like the lavishness she deserved. The warmth of the fire beside them paled in comparison to the heat of passion that burned between them.

And yet….

Astarion lifted her hand to his lips. Her fingers were strong and deadly, capable of pulling sinews or playing a melody to make one cry on her violin.

"Merelind," he purred her name, softer than cackle of fire or the hush of her breath as she recovered yet from their coupling. "I have something I would like to ask you…"

His voice trailed off, as if preparing the question was a question unto itself. And it was in her mismatched eyes where he searched for his answer.

A single nod was her response.

"My Bride you may be, but you are not… my bride. Not in the most common sense of the word."

Her hand pulled from his, fingers pressing to his lips. "Don't. Don't say it," her face twisted, stricken as if she were sick. He could feel it in their bond, the tremors of fear and mistrust and… excitement. "I cannot survive another round of honeyed words from your lips if they are not sincere."

Even her fingers smelled of roses, the ones staying his mouth. He kissed them, then lowered them gently in his hand.

"Marry me, Merelind." He meant it as a question, her name like the sweetest sound he could utter as he looked down into her face, her blood still on his chin. "I want to marry you, if that is what you want."

Merelind looked at him, hardness in her eyes as she searched the face that remained the most familiar one in her punctured, fractured, formerly tadpoled memory. "Are you in earnest?"

"Afraid so, darling," he tried to laugh. But it was not the time fo frivolous sarcasm. "Will you? Marry me, I mean."

Her body shuddered as she took a shaking deep breath. "I've… been waiting," she barely could speak. "Waiting since the moment I saw you." The words were at once his as much as hers, her head nodding slowly, her hand resting gently in his.

"Waiting to have you," Astarion finished the lines, fangs peeking in a rather bashful grin for the Ascendant. His face lit into a smile, wrinkles at his eyes deepening as he couldn't fight the urge to steal a kiss. "I'll take that as yes, my darling?"

"Yes… my darling," Merelind hummed back, pulling his mouth back to hers, rolling her hips once more where he was still sheathed deep inside her. "Then have me again, husband to be," she ordered, fangs dragging on his lip as she kept her body moving under his—in control even crushed under his pale frame.

"Gods, Merelind. Made to ruin me, darling." He huffed, his body thrusting into hers, the sudden friction barely the cause to his imminent need.

With a sharp exhale, he lifted up on his arms, high above her, feasting on the sight of her basking in her lust beneath him. The halo of her golden brown hair, the ravenous, dangerous shine of her mismatched eyes, he drank in the sight that would be his in name as well as by blood, by undeath. By love.

Astarion's hips moved slowly, her sex so wet already and fucked, and he knew her body. How quick she would be to crash into a second climax. But his deliberate pacing only made her suck her teeth at him.

Disparaging. Teasing.

"Don't tell me you aren't able to go for two, my lord," her lips smiled wickedly. "There once was a time where two was almost something you'd do in your sleep… or mine… if I recall. Almost nightly in your tent." She fired at him. "Don't tell me ascendancy has made you soft, my love."

"Hush, not a sound," he grinned crashing his lips back down on her arrogant, willful mouth. "Not if you want to keep that darling neck if yours."

"I'd rather if it didn't stay in one piece. Bite it, husband to be. It's yours. Your fangs in my flesh, just like how we met." Merelind hummed, riding his thrusts and sucking his tongue to her mouth to nibble.

A growl. A sliding of fangs in her neck, and he gripped all his teeth into her.

Like a predator in rut, holding his mate in place. It was rough, feral.

Just the way she loved it.

He knew it from the first. His own little goddess of murder, so loved and united in their natures, there would be no separation.

He could feel her warm around him, his own body humming with the way their bloods mixed. Mingling and swirling in both their bodies. Not until their spend, his own cock aching to fill her up once more.

Perhaps….

He broke from her ambrosia, letting her black centered eyes see the mess of her on his chin. "You feel your heart pounding? Alive again, my bride?"

He barely broke his rhythm inside her as he took her hand to his chest. "Feel. Feel me. How hot I am…" he laughed, fangs out as he smiles so genuinely. He fucked harder into her, savoring the way her face screws in pleasure. "Like this, I could give you a child, give us a child… Would you like that? A little vampling to raise? To share my name and our bloodline?"

"Do it," she didn't hesitate to say, hands flying to his ass as she tried to pull him in deeper somehow. "If you can… I'm not going anywhere now, not with you loving me… my lord." She snarled the final word, that title she once loathed. Now it dripped sweeter than the taste of his blood from her tongue.

"Yes… YES!" He snarled it, those same greedy tones that still rang in her head from the fated hour they sacrificed his old master to make him this unparalleled creature of power. He picked up the pace inside her, huffing with each thrust inside her to claim her. "Say it again, darling!"

"My lord! All mine!" She screamed it to bounce off the walls of the palace. It ripped through her, the feeling of letting herself be his. To give him those broken and hidden pieces of herself she thought unworthy of sharing.

"And I'm yours," Astarion whispered it, his voice rough and soft all at once, a strange contrast to the roughness of how he took her. His breathes grew harder, little snarls as he rammed into her.

And her body responded. It knew its maker. It's master. She growled herself, the waves of her orgasm stealing the breath she no longer needed as a vampire bride. A Bride.

"Mine!" She whined, her voice scratching at her throat as she gripped into him and around him with all her vampiric might.

It stole him away, narrowing his ancient world down to the way she pulsed around his cock, the scent of her release in the air, and the taste of her blood yet on his tongue. He filled her, stuffing his seed into her warmth, aching to think she was his, and that maybe, just maybe… there would be more.

More to their… family. The word throbbed in his mind even as his cock did the same inside her. At last.

For all the wealth and power he had claimed, for all the influence he wielded and acclaim he had accrued, none of it matter. Not without her. Those past decades had taught him that.

"I mean it, Merelind. We plan our nuptials in the morning. And then, we find out if our bloody, depraved efforts have granted us an heir, hmm?" He purred, running a finger down the center of her body, from the bite marks in her neck, to the full valley of her breasts, to the mess where their bodies were still joined.

"How long until we know, my love?" She asked, blinking her mismatched eyes at him as her own lusty fog cleared.

His mouth opened. Then hung there. "I… I don't know. It's not like I've done this before."

Mer shook her head, smiling as she rolled her eyes at his adorably annoying ignorance. "I'm not surprised."

Astarion planted one more kiss to her lips yet costed in blood. "I do know it'll be the most satisfying thing we do together. Not even the second most satisfying."

His breathe was warm as he exhaled hard. "Gods, I missed you," he purred even as his hands reached for the sponge to lather the rosy soap over her fine and freckled collarbones. "I'm proud to welcome home the hero you are, Merelind."

She frowned slightly, keeping her body still and eyes shut even as he washed her. "A hero that still reeks of horse I believe," she teased, a tired laugh in her chest.

"Yes, but it's… not a bad scent. Not on you, anyway." Astarion returned that quiet laugh. His skilled, roguish fingers sought their way to her wet, unruly lengths, combing in the ends of it that were gnarled and knotted from the wind. "Would you allow me to do the honors?" He asked, that softness in his tone that only her pointy ears ever heard.

At that, she sat up and opened her mismatched eyes of red and blue. "You… you wish to brush my hair? Oh no, my lord." Her heart hammered in her ribs, slow and hard. "I…"

"No lords here," he barely said, scarlet eyes meeting her hesitant stare with confidence. "Just two lovers." He held out his hand, seeking the comb on the other side of the tub. "What we have always been, what we are until the end of time."

Every muscle in her body wound tight like one of his bowstrings from their adventures. Her hand trembled as it reached for the handle and passed it off to him behind her. Wordlessly, he nodded, then twirled a finger for her to turn around.

Merelind obeyed. Right away. Unusual for her. It made him smile to no one in particular. "Your hair has grown longer. I've never seen it down like this, darling."

"I know." She replied, quick and curt. "It's intentional." Her addition was clipped, her throat closing with the swirling emotions that clawed at her chest.

Astarion said nothing else, working the brush in her golden brown lengths. Where it was knotted at the ends, her used his fingers to gently pry the snarls away. "It is done then, yes? You're…" he wanted to say 'home,' but the chill that lingered between them wasn't from her past proximity to the Luskan ice. "You're finished with your mission against your Father for the time being, darling?"

Merelind nodded, her body stiff when she felt his fingers on her scalp, brushing her neck in passing.

He probably didn't even notice the feeling, and she convinced herself to do the same.

"Waterdeep, Neverwinter, Luskan to the North now all are freed. It was a hard fought victory some places…" she dug her fang into the corner of her mouth. "It would have been easier, quicker, fiercer if I wasn't… alone."

There. She said it.

And she felt the tension that seized her sire's arm behind her. Those fingers froze in her hair for the splittest second. "You could have taken servants, soldiers. I'd have given you an undead army if you had asked. It would have been yours." His usually teasing, flirtatious voice was chilled and forced.

"I didn't want them and you know it, my Lord," she replied with equal ice in her tone, ice that was cold and hard to hide the hurt. Another shield to hide her softness behind, like her armor in battle or her khol rimmed eyes and flawless hair.

She could hear his voice waver as he cleared his throat, pain in his tone she hadn't heard for years… since perhaps the Ritual. "You never asked."

"You never offered," came her rejoinder, one she had to force from the place she had kept it locked up tightly for years. "You let me go…"

The silence grew heavy. Not unlike the moments after a battle. When the survivors remained, panting and taking stock that they still stood, when nothing but blood and pain remained at their feet.

And silence.

"I did," Astarion finally said, his fingers leaving her hair to let the long washed lengths hang from her perfect head. "And I have regretted it every day you have been gone from my side."

Tears. There were tears in his voice, that silken tone crumpled and shaking with crying. Merelind turned in the bath, as if seeing his salty drops on his cheeks would make her feel better. Justified.

Even as she beheld them, shining in the candelight, they only made her feel worse. They leaked from his crimson eyes, a sight she hadn't seen hardly ever since they took one another as lovers, since they entered undeath side by side and saved the world against false gods.

Now it was Merelind's turn to let her voice break with the ball of pained emotion that finally rose from her chest.

One she couldn't keep protected and concealed any longer.

"The roses?" She could only manage those two words before she gasped a sob, before her own cool undead tears streamed down her face.

His handsome face was still somehow attractive even as he cried. Plush lips trembled as he smiled in his tears. "Daily. New ones. So they would be here ready for your return."

Her lips pressed tightly together, her fangs digging into the soft flesh of her inner lips.

It was her last attempt to stay as she was, protected, guarded, distant. It would keep her from being hurt again. Least that was what she told herself.

But then he opened those supple lips, his voice tight with anguish, and a single word came from them.

"Darling…"

Merelind broke. All those carefully built up guards and fences and excuses were decimated in the wake of her heart. Arms reached for his neck, water splashing as she threw herself against him. The sharp gold threads screeched her freckled skin, but she didn't care. She liked the pain, especially right now. The silk of his jacket was soaked from her wet body, but Astarion only curled around her.

Perfumes of roses and the sharp scent of bergamot and rosemary blended in the air, and Merelind struggled for every breath.

"I thought it was what you wanted," he murmured, lips brushing her neck as he spoke. "I thought you were through, and I was convinced that my power in the shadows was enough. Domination was enough." He sighed, the faintest scratch of fangs on her neck making her shiver as he spoke. "But I was so very wrong, you know."

Words clawed at her throat, excuses and validations and apologies. But she could say nothing. Too many tears burned in her throat to let the words seep through.

"Stay now," he whispered, lips to the shell of her points ear. "Stay, please…"

Her lips trembled even as she smiled. "How could I say no, you are… my favorite." She laughed through the painful choke of tears in her throat, head turning to press her lips to his. He was laughing too, wet and humored in the rush of their feelings.

"And you, mine. My only, my consort, my treasure." His hands wove into those long golden curls, his lips and tongue licking away the salt of her tears of her plain lips. Even his touch thumbed away the tears where they leaked from her eyes. No black around them to run in tear steaks down her freckled face. She was here.

"I love you," he let those dangerous three little words slide off his sobbing tongue. "That’s what I've waited to have you hear, for years."

Her hair tangled around his fingers, her whole body yanking him forward. There was a splash, the bath water careening over the edge as she pulled him into it.

Clothes and all. He didn't care. She was deadly strong, muscles honed in battle and bloodshed and murder, ones that could probably crush him if she tried hard enough. But it only made him smile harder as he was drenched in the warm waters, his body pressed to hers.

Where it belonged.

"You never have to go alone, my love. My lover forever, my Consort and Bride, until the world falls down around us at our feet."

"You sound so sure we will survive that long," Merelind laughed, sniffing back her tears, comforted by the weight of him beside her. His every word everything she had wanted to hear and had handedly convinced herself had been impossible.

"My darling, have you seen us? We could have every head in a room, not just turn them." He gave that smooth laughter, deep and hard enough for her to feel it rumbling from his ribs into her own chest.

And all the while he held her, brushing his fingers in those long locks. Each time was a silent ask, and caress to comfort. Pursing his lips, he pressed them to her freshly washed face. "Precious little Bhaalbabe, you'll keep your hair down, yes?" He murmured to her temple. "I do so love to pet my pet."

Merelind bit into his shoulder, drawing blood. "Only because you actually asked this time."

He lifted her chin on his curled finger. "And I will never keep my wishes for you silent. Never again. Not if I will lose you."

Merelind looked into his eyes, sincerity, honesty in their red depths. Red like the fresh rose petals he had kept in his vigil.

"I'll stay," she breathed, the words barely from her lips before he was kissing them silent. His wiry frame, heavier with his ruined silks shifted atop her, hands sliding down her smooth and freckled skin.

Merelind's blood heated, but her heart still ached in pieces. The pain of his choices, his silence years ago chilled her arousal, and she pulled back, fingertips pressing to his plush lips. "Astarion, I'm… tired," she replied coolly. That sharpness and distence returned in traces to her voice.

"Of course," he made the words come from his lips, even if his jaw ticked and his eyes couldn't tear from the sight of her naked in the tub. "My precious love, you've had the trying journey," he preened in those haughty tones. The voice of the Ascendant. All pomp and hot air.

And Merelind frowned. "Yes, thank you, my Lord." She snapped her reply, stepping out of the water unashamed. The drops and streams of her bath running off her freckled curves. She knew she was a sight, slowly reaching for a towel, back to her Sire. "I assume you have places to be, people to do… I mean see."

The accusation was not accidental, and it made Astarion bristle in the waters. His hands pulled off his jacket, the cloth ruined and heavy. Standing, his breathing was rough. "I do have business. But none of it would pull me from your side if you didn't insist on pushing me away."

"I'm spent, my Lord," she repeated the excuse as if it wasn't a shallow lie. Merelind wrapped her towel around her, instinctively reaching to tie her hair up. But his soft words rang yet in her pointy ears.

She left it down as she turned to face him. Her eyes caught the strange sight of his face, lined in pain. It was but a flash before it faded into a fanged smirk. "Well then, my love, perhaps I can entice you for breakfast in the morning. Once you're well and truly rested."

Her lip quirked as he folded his wet jacket over his arm, acting like he wasn't dripping a puddle on her floor, running his hand through his silver curls to fluff them back up.

"Not going to make me kneel? Make me ask Master for a nibble?" More little threats from their past danced in her mind, games of power and seduction she didn't have the strength to voice.

"Not tonight. Not unless you're ready for that," he looked down to the floor where his sopping wet clothes dripped audibly. "I told you, I missed you."

His crimson eyes darted once more up to meet hers, a shine of vulnerability in their dark depths. "Goodnight, darling," he purred before taking his leave, a confident stride for the wet squelching sounds he made.

Merelind couldn't help but giggle behind her hand after the door shut, leaving her alone.

Warm, silken… that's how Merelind knew she was waking back in the Palace. Oh, and the scent of fresh roses again. Her face lifted from where it was tucked into her arms, eyes blinking the sleep away as she finally woke.

She could smell the food cooking in the kitchens below. Above all the notes of fresh bread and sizzling meats, one scent called her to finally sit up and fix her long hair.

Coffee. Thick. Dark. Coffee. A wide fanged yawn and Merelind slid herself from her cream silk sheet, dressing in a gown of simple cut, deep in the bodice and the prettiest light blue shade that she adored.

Fixing the lace at the cuffs, she turned to catch sight of her face in the mirror. Plain and simple Mer.

She leaned in, examining her complexion as it was naturally. Blue and red eyes, freckled skin soft to the touch. Her golden brown hair too fell in those unruly waves over her shoulder and into her face slightly.

Vulnerable. Unprotected. This was her bared to the world, ready to be wounded. She frowned, pulling open the drawer to apply the thick swatches of kohl at her eyes and the layer of berry pink to her lips. Only then could she feel the creeping tightness ease in her chest.

The hair was still a conundrum. She had said… well. What did it matter? Astarion had all too often gone back on honeyed promises made softly in intimate moments. Why couldn't she? Those now painted lips frowned deeper as she tied her hair up in that romantic bun. Elegant. And out of the way for battle.

And make no mistake, she was going down to break her fast with the Ascendant. It was close enough to battle, as far as she remembered from before her lonely adventure.

Skirts in her hand and she left her chamber, walking the now bright and gilded halls of the palace. So little had changed, she made note now in the daylight. Servants greeted her with quiet tones, but happy ones. It made her purse. "Good Morrow, my Lady," they all said as if they knew and cared who she was. Merelind looked them in the eyes, convinced all of them would be red, vapid Spawn eyes.

But not one was hazy, distant, or red.

"Good morrow," she replied, swiftly making her way to the dining room.

Coffee and more fucking roses. That's what it smelled like, and given the place that was ready for her at the end of the table, she knew why.

The grandest vase of a good ten dozen roses sat before her place. Grandiose. Ostentatious. "Ridiculous," she proclaimed as she entered and sat down without ceremony to reach for her coffee.

"Hello my sweet," Astarion greeted, his own seat beside her, half hidden by the massive bouquet. But he leaned around it, elbow resting on the table. His eyes watched her face as she drank from the steaming mug. The same expression turned on her pretty freckled face as she drank it. Something akin to the look of ecstacy that comes over her in her peaks. Gods, how he missed it.

Meanwhile, as she enjoyed her drink, Astarion swirled his in his hand, silver chalice simple for his tastes with only slight filagree.

"Bit early to be hitting the bottle, my lord?" She fired at him as she began to eat.

"Bit early to be a brat, Merelind?" The rejoinder left his lips before her could stop it. Old habits, bad habits. His jaw snapped shut as her mismatched eyes flamed at him, head snapping to the side to glare at him.

"Forgive me, my Lord," she spat the title, venom cold in her tone. "I forget your vices are your crutch as you hobble through life." Her chair screeched across the floor as she pushed it back hard. One step, two steps from the table, and Merelind thought better of it.

"Merelind."

Her name was a purr, a soft little request. It made her had turn once more.

Astarion, the Vampire Ascendant, held his drink out for her, the liquid inside as red as his eyes. The coppery scent hit her nose and she could feel a little growl in the back of her throat as her thirst went dry.

"Ah, the vampiric curse sort of vice," she rasped, clearing her throat.

"Take it, my love. Drink." Her sire ordered her, standing from his spot to draw beside her, warm hand pressing the metal stem of the glass into her cold undead fingers. "When was the last time you were properly fed, provided for?"

The question sank down her parched throat to her hungry belly. "I drained every last Bhaalist in my wake." She asserted, even as her fingers closed on the cup.

"Not my question, darling," he murmured, crimson eyes scanning the lines of exhaustion in her freckled face. "Please, let me." Warm, featherlight, he brushed his touch over her hand. Before she could react, the blood touched her lips. Eyes sliding closed, she swallowed and swallowed. Every drink made her warm, made her flush with life again.

She missed it. The beating of her heart. The warmth of her living flesh. And when she opened her eyes, lowering the cup, it was Astarion's sharp refined features that hovered close. Too close. She could smell his cologne so strong, feel his breath on her face, her neck. And those eyes, she could see the play of light and shadow in their crimson depths. "Feeling better?" He asked, his voice rumbling in the air between them. "You do get rather fussy when you've gone too long without a feed," he added, face twisting in that charming roguish smirk.

"I do not, but thank you regardless," Merelind sniffed, a show of derision, even as her mouth smiled.

He relieved her of the cup, his gaze honing in on her lips. And then, he touched her. Warm fingers wiped away the corner of her lips. "Tch, messy girl," he murmured, even as his thumb lingered at her mouth a moment too long.

It burned. His touch. His gaze. It seared into her chest and made everything squeeze firmly shut. Mismatched eyes locked onto his movement, predatory and feline as he brought his thumb to his mouth and sucked it clean in those smirking lips.

"There now, presentable. A good thing too. We have business this afternoon." He flipped his hand as he spoke, refusing to withdraw from her. Then his voice lowered, a sinuous growl from his arrogant, impudent fanged mouth. The air was warm, his scent was strong, the brush of his jacket was palpable as he leaned in to whisper just off her ear. "Unless you give me a reason to stay home? Stay in bed, perhaps?"

Merelind drew stiff, hiding the flutter of her heart and the flip of her stomach in a sneer.

Old habits. Bad habits. Hiding behind sex.

"And leave your business unsatisfied? No, my Lord." Her voice sliced through his seduction, a ring of haughty provocation in it that was impossible to miss. She slid her slippered feet back on the floor, turning for the door, but not before she secured her porcelain cup of coffee.

"You're set on leaving something unsatisfied," Astarion frowned, red eyes dilated and narrowed as he watched her retreat. "You'll join me for the meeting? It's just a jaunt to Candlekeep."

Merelind paused in the threshold, her skirts whispering their silks around her legs at the abrupt halt. Her head whipped around to bare her two toned eyes wide in surprise at him. "When have you ever wanted my presence at such politicking?" She half-hissed, her stomach souring with hazy memories.

The Ascendant put his hands in his pockets and shrugged, his eyes drifting as he picked one of the scarlet roses from the vase beside him, pressing it to his nose. "I told you, I missed you. I told you, I wish you to stay at my side."

His gaze didn't lift from the floor, his thick lashes veiled his eyes.

It made her heart ache, not that she'd let him see as much. Not that she'd admit it, how much it made her stomach flip on itself.

Merelind inhaled long and hard, then exhaled even harder. "We shall see. I give you no word yet."

Astarion's red eyes lifted for that moment, and he bowed. "I understand. Please rest, precious Bhaalbabe," he added, tone instantly playful even as his eyes screamed his anguish at her for the distance she forced upon them. "I'd say vengeful heroes need their beauty sleep but … like I've said, you are perfect now and perfect before. It's difficult to improve."

Those words lanced to her very core, and her feet strode away if only to preserve herself from falling right into his arms the next moment. Those defiant feet kept moving until she was in the garden.

Halting suddenly, her head spun. A sea of reds and whites, pinks and yellows in every direction. Beds upon beds of roses. Merelind's knuckles went white as she gripped her skirt. How long… had she been gone? Certainly not that long. A hum in the air seemed like magic, a song of the Weave like she conjured as a Bard made the flowers open as she arrived.

"Holy fuck, Astarion," she muttered in amazement under her breath. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, a tingle in her mind drawing her attention, and Merelind turned back to the Palace. A shadow looked from the window of the dining room. Tall, gaunt, and even the shadow's hair was unruly and rakishly curled on top.

Merelind reached to pick one soft pink primrose, and then she retreated back to her chambers.

A million thoughts to sort out. And a journey to prepare for.

The spring sun from the morning had vanished. A soft rain pattered on the top of the carriage as Merelind sat alone inside. Her fingers still played with the petals of the primrose she had plucked. Stolen she liked to think. Even if it was painfully clear who that garden was for. Astarion hated flowers. Not good enough for poisons, he had once said.

The walls of the carriage felt closer. And suddenly she realizes just how… close… another rider would be in here.

A mistake. She concluded with the rise of panic in her chest. Her cream gloved hand reached for the door, missing the handle as the carriage door opened. Astarion hoisted himself into the small space just as Merelind withdrew. "Oh!" He called in surprise to feel her so close to him, their faces mere inches apart. "Apologies, darling. Were… were you leaving?"

Merelind's heart was pounding too loud in her ears to hear his question fully, the scent of him saturating every breath. She just burrowed herself into the farthest corner of the coach as she shook her head. "Hmm?"

Crimson eyes narrowed. That racing of her heart was telltale to her surprise, or arousal, or discomfort. Or all of the above.

He said nothing, not even as the carriage jolts forward and startes to roll. But every bump and sway of the coach on the roads out of Baldur's Gate jostled them, their arms bumping slightly. And each time she pulled back from him, Astarion's cool frown only deepened more. He cleared his throat to speak. "I hope that this ride at least is more luxurious than your journeys on foot or on the back of these dumb beasts," his tone was silken, commenting on matters he thoughts safe.

Merelind said nothing again.

"Far better for the Consort of the Ascendant to ride thusly."

Her face turned completely to the window, and even still, Astarion could see her expression sour. "Oh yes, safe and pretty Consort. Ready to be touted on your arm and held before nobility like the prize she is. Hero of the Gate, child of a god." her accusations were not so thinly veiled, her rage darkening her tone. "Hells forbid she ride on the back of some magnificent creatures like a horse, free and powerful and capable of her own fate."

"But you are… free," Astarion interjected.

"Am I? Truth be told?" She growled the words, still not facing him. "I returned for I had no where else to go. I stayed away because I couldn't for one more day be hailed as yours and not… my own. Besides," she clipped her words with a huff. "It's not as if you love me."

The silence between them thickened. It suffocated, choking them both, even as two creatures who didn't require air to breathe.

He swallowed hard, then muttered. "Well, darling, seems your mind has been made up on the matter." And he knocked on the roof of the carriage. "Driver! Stop!"

Merelind looked at him, wide eyed. "What are you doing?" She hissed.

"Giving you the chance to return back to be free, if you wish it. I shall continue by air," a hard set to his jaw, an ice to his tone. "Im sure it will be very dignified for the Ascendant to arrive as a bat, but… needs must."

And then he pushed open the door, stepping down. "Farewell, Merelind."

"That's it?" She sneered, her mismatched eyes narrowing, her fangs bared. "We part ways? I say 'you don't love me,' and you leave me?" That normally musical voice grew shrill.

The Ascendant shrugged his caped shoulders coolly. "Why argue? Your mind is set. And among the many things I do know about you, Merelind, when your mind is set, it's near impossible to convince to the contrary."

Merelind's mouth opened, a finger raised acusingly in retort.

Then something in the forest at the edge of the road shifted. Astarion's nostrils flared, his fangs bared as he rounded. The stench of murder and corpses wafted from the shadows. "Bhaalists," he growled and tore into the underbrush. But not before something sang through the air and smacked into its target.

Merelind looked down, the arrow shaft was bright in the sun. Silver. Blood seeped from the wound in her chest, her undead flesh hissing around the weapon in her skin. "Ast… ar…" she managed before she snapped her jaw shut against the pain that now burned her very soul. Her hand closed around the shaft, her palm burning and smoking where she gripped it.

Only then did she let out a scream from the bottom of her heart. With a yank, she pulled it free from her ribs.

"I'm coming, darling…" his voice was in her hazy thoughts, her world darkening as she could feel the coolness of her blood seeping into the fabric of her gown.

Colder than usual and heavy, her body hit the floor of the coach with a hollow thud.

Sound faded. Her name sounded so far away, her hands were numb, her legs too. And even as someone lifted her head and something warm and coppery flowed into her mouth, she slipped further into the dark.

Luna & Celeste: only children

I’ll be honest, I haven’t gotten too deep into the lore yet on Astarion & Luna’s daughter, but there’s at least a couple of stories I’d love to share eventually, post-Sunlight.

Much like Luna, she’s an only child who inherits nearly everything from her mother except her eyes — which, I forgot to make red for this pic because I got carried away 🤣 Celeste is a complete and total accident, and to her parents, an absolute miracle. She’s also taller than her mother by the age of like, 14. Easily.

Willow & Juniper: eldest daughters

For now I’m only sharing a bit about Juni (and not any other kids they may or may not have), because if you’re caught up on Dealbreaker you know about this name already 😝🫶🏻

Juniper is Willow & Astarion’s edgy teen — she tries her best to grow outside the box of a snobby noble despite her parents’ best efforts to spoil their kids. But she has a lot of the best parts of both of them.

Anyway, we’re a bit past Mother’s Day at this point, but I’m going to tag some folks whose OCs I know are moms / parents 👀 💘 if you feel inclined to do this tag, please do! @pursuitseternal @mercymaker @emmy-and-the-tieflings @israfela1

His breathe was warm as he exhaled hard. "Gods, I missed you," he purred even as his hands reached for the sponge to lather the rosy soap over her fine and freckled collarbones. "I'm proud to welcome home the hero you are, Merelind."

She frowned slightly, keeping her body still and eyes shut even as he washed her. "A hero that still reeks of horse I believe," she teased, a tired laugh in her chest.

"Yes, but it's… not a bad scent. Not on you, anyway." Astarion returned that quiet laugh. His skilled, roguish fingers sought their way to her wet, unruly lengths, combing in the ends of it that were gnarled and knotted from the wind. "Would you allow me to do the honors?" He asked, that softness in his tone that only her pointy ears ever heard.

At that, she sat up and opened her mismatched eyes of red and blue. "You… you wish to brush my hair? Oh no, my lord." Her heart hammered in her ribs, slow and hard. "I…"

"No lords here," he barely said, scarlet eyes meeting her hesitant stare with confidence. "Just two lovers." He held out his hand, seeking the comb on the other side of the tub. "What we have always been, what we are until the end of time."

Every muscle in her body wound tight like one of his bowstrings from their adventures. Her hand trembled as it reached for the handle and passed it off to him behind her. Wordlessly, he nodded, then twirled a finger for her to turn around.

Merelind obeyed. Right away. Unusual for her. It made him smile to no one in particular. "Your hair has grown longer. I've never seen it down like this, darling."

"I know." She replied, quick and curt. "It's intentional." Her addition was clipped, her throat closing with the swirling emotions that clawed at her chest.

Astarion said nothing else, working the brush in her golden brown lengths. Where it was knotted at the ends, her used his fingers to gently pry the snarls away. "It is done then, yes? You're…" he wanted to say 'home,' but the chill that lingered between them wasn't from her past proximity to the Luskan ice. "You're finished with your mission against your Father for the time being, darling?"

Merelind nodded, her body stiff when she felt his fingers on her scalp, brushing her neck in passing.

He probably didn't even notice the feeling, and she convinced herself to do the same.

"Waterdeep, Neverwinter, Luskan to the North now all are freed. It was a hard fought victory some places…" she dug her fang into the corner of her mouth. "It would have been easier, quicker, fiercer if I wasn't… alone."

There. She said it.

And she felt the tension that seized her sire's arm behind her. Those fingers froze in her hair for the splittest second. "You could have taken servants, soldiers. I'd have given you an undead army if you had asked. It would have been yours." His usually teasing, flirtatious voice was chilled and forced.

"I didn't want them and you know it, my Lord," she replied with equal ice in her tone, ice that was cold and hard to hide the hurt. Another shield to hide her softness behind, like her armor in battle or her khol rimmed eyes and flawless hair.

She could hear his voice waver as he cleared his throat, pain in his tone she hadn't heard for years… since perhaps the Ritual. "You never asked."

"You never offered," came her rejoinder, one she had to force from the place she had kept it locked up tightly for years. "You let me go…"

The silence grew heavy. Not unlike the moments after a battle. When the survivors remained, panting and taking stock that they still stood, when nothing but blood and pain remained at their feet.

And silence.

"I did," Astarion finally said, his fingers leaving her hair to let the long washed lengths hang from her perfect head. "And I have regretted it every day you have been gone from my side."

Tears. There were tears in his voice, that silken tone crumpled and shaking with crying. Merelind turned in the bath, as if seeing his salty drops on his cheeks would make her feel better. Justified.

Even as she beheld them, shining in the candelight, they only made her feel worse. They leaked from his crimson eyes, a sight she hadn't seen hardly ever since they took one another as lovers, since they entered undeath side by side and saved the world against false gods.

Now it was Merelind's turn to let her voice break with the ball of pained emotion that finally rose from her chest.

One she couldn't keep protected and concealed any longer.

"The roses?" She could only manage those two words before she gasped a sob, before her own cool undead tears streamed down her face.

His handsome face was still somehow attractive even as he cried. Plush lips trembled as he smiled in his tears. "Daily. New ones. So they would be here ready for your return."

Her lips pressed tightly together, her fangs digging into the soft flesh of her inner lips.

It was her last attempt to stay as she was, protected, guarded, distant. It would keep her from being hurt again. Least that was what she told herself.

But then he opened those supple lips, his voice tight with anguish, and a single word came from them.

"Darling…"

Merelind broke. All those carefully built up guards and fences and excuses were decimated in the wake of her heart. Arms reached for his neck, water splashing as she threw herself against him. The sharp gold threads screeched her freckled skin, but she didn't care. She liked the pain, especially right now. The silk of his jacket was soaked from her wet body, but Astarion only curled around her.

Perfumes of roses and the sharp scent of bergamot and rosemary blended in the air, and Merelind struggled for every breath.

"I thought it was what you wanted," he murmured, lips brushing her neck as he spoke. "I thought you were through, and I was convinced that my power in the shadows was enough. Domination was enough." He sighed, the faintest scratch of fangs on her neck making her shiver as he spoke. "But I was so very wrong, you know."

Words clawed at her throat, excuses and validations and apologies. But she could say nothing. Too many tears burned in her throat to let the words seep through.

"Stay now," he whispered, lips to the shell of her points ear. "Stay, please…"

Her lips trembled even as she smiled. "How could I say no, you are… my favorite." She laughed through the painful choke of tears in her throat, head turning to press her lips to his. He was laughing too, wet and humored in the rush of their feelings.

"And you, mine. My only, my consort, my treasure." His hands wove into those long golden curls, his lips and tongue licking away the salt of her tears of her plain lips. Even his touch thumbed away the tears where they leaked from her eyes. No black around them to run in tear steaks down her freckled face. She was here.

"I love you," he let those dangerous three little words slide off his sobbing tongue. "That’s what I've waited to have you hear, for years."

Her hair tangled around his fingers, her whole body yanking him forward. There was a splash, the bath water careening over the edge as she pulled him into it.

Clothes and all. He didn't care. She was deadly strong, muscles honed in battle and bloodshed and murder, ones that could probably crush him if she tried hard enough. But it only made him smile harder as he was drenched in the warm waters, his body pressed to hers.

Where it belonged.

"You never have to go alone, my love. My lover forever, my Consort and Bride, until the world falls down around us at our feet."

"You sound so sure we will survive that long," Merelind laughed, sniffing back her tears, comforted by the weight of him beside her. His every word everything she had wanted to hear and had handedly convinced herself had been impossible.

"My darling, have you seen us? We could have every head in a room, not just turn them." He gave that smooth laughter, deep and hard enough for her to feel it rumbling from his ribs into her own chest.

And all the while he held her, brushing his fingers in those long locks. Each time was a silent ask, and caress to comfort. Pursing his lips, he pressed them to her freshly washed face. "Precious little Bhaalbabe, you'll keep your hair down, yes?" He murmured to her temple. "I do so love to pet my pet."

Merelind bit into his shoulder, drawing blood. "Only because you actually asked this time."

He lifted her chin on his curled finger. "And I will never keep my wishes for you silent. Never again. Not if I will lose you."

Merelind looked into his eyes, sincerity, honesty in their red depths. Red like the fresh rose petals he had kept in his vigil.

"I'll stay," she breathed, the words barely from her lips before he was kissing them silent. His wiry frame, heavier with his ruined silks shifted atop her, hands sliding down her smooth and freckled skin.

Merelind's blood heated, but her heart still ached in pieces. The pain of his choices, his silence years ago chilled her arousal, and she pulled back, fingertips pressing to his plush lips. "Astarion, I'm… tired," she replied coolly. That sharpness and distence returned in traces to her voice.

"Of course," he made the words come from his lips, even if his jaw ticked and his eyes couldn't tear from the sight of her naked in the tub. "My precious love, you've had the trying journey," he preened in those haughty tones. The voice of the Ascendant. All pomp and hot air.

And Merelind frowned. "Yes, thank you, my Lord." She snapped her reply, stepping out of the water unashamed. The drops and streams of her bath running off her freckled curves. She knew she was a sight, slowly reaching for a towel, back to her Sire. "I assume you have places to be, people to do… I mean see."

The accusation was not accidental, and it made Astarion bristle in the waters. His hands pulled off his jacket, the cloth ruined and heavy. Standing, his breathing was rough. "I do have business. But none of it would pull me from your side if you didn't insist on pushing me away."

"I'm spent, my Lord," she repeated the excuse as if it wasn't a shallow lie. Merelind wrapped her towel around her, instinctively reaching to tie her hair up. But his soft words rang yet in her pointy ears.

She left it down as she turned to face him. Her eyes caught the strange sight of his face, lined in pain. It was but a flash before it faded into a fanged smirk. "Well then, my love, perhaps I can entice you for breakfast in the morning. Once you're well and truly rested."

Her lip quirked as he folded his wet jacket over his arm, acting like he wasn't dripping a puddle on her floor, running his hand through his silver curls to fluff them back up.

"Not going to make me kneel? Make me ask Master for a nibble?" More little threats from their past danced in her mind, games of power and seduction she didn't have the strength to voice.

"Not tonight. Not unless you're ready for that," he looked down to the floor where his sopping wet clothes dripped audibly. "I told you, I missed you."

His crimson eyes darted once more up to meet hers, a shine of vulnerability in their dark depths. "Goodnight, darling," he purred before taking his leave, a confident stride for the wet squelching sounds he made.

Merelind couldn't help but giggle behind her hand after the door shut, leaving her alone.

Warm, silken… that's how Merelind knew she was waking back in the Palace. Oh, and the scent of fresh roses again. Her face lifted from where it was tucked into her arms, eyes blinking the sleep away as she finally woke.

She could smell the food cooking in the kitchens below. Above all the notes of fresh bread and sizzling meats, one scent called her to finally sit up and fix her long hair.

Coffee. Thick. Dark. Coffee. A wide fanged yawn and Merelind slid herself from her cream silk sheet, dressing in a gown of simple cut, deep in the bodice and the prettiest light blue shade that she adored.

Fixing the lace at the cuffs, she turned to catch sight of her face in the mirror. Plain and simple Mer.

She leaned in, examining her complexion as it was naturally. Blue and red eyes, freckled skin soft to the touch. Her golden brown hair too fell in those unruly waves over her shoulder and into her face slightly.

Vulnerable. Unprotected. This was her bared to the world, ready to be wounded. She frowned, pulling open the drawer to apply the thick swatches of kohl at her eyes and the layer of berry pink to her lips. Only then could she feel the creeping tightness ease in her chest.

The hair was still a conundrum. She had said… well. What did it matter? Astarion had all too often gone back on honeyed promises made softly in intimate moments. Why couldn't she? Those now painted lips frowned deeper as she tied her hair up in that romantic bun. Elegant. And out of the way for battle.

And make no mistake, she was going down to break her fast with the Ascendant. It was close enough to battle, as far as she remembered from before her lonely adventure.

Skirts in her hand and she left her chamber, walking the now bright and gilded halls of the palace. So little had changed, she made note now in the daylight. Servants greeted her with quiet tones, but happy ones. It made her purse. "Good Morrow, my Lady," they all said as if they knew and cared who she was. Merelind looked them in the eyes, convinced all of them would be red, vapid Spawn eyes.

But not one was hazy, distant, or red.

"Good morrow," she replied, swiftly making her way to the dining room.

Coffee and more fucking roses. That's what it smelled like, and given the place that was ready for her at the end of the table, she knew why.

The grandest vase of a good ten dozen roses sat before her place. Grandiose. Ostentatious. "Ridiculous," she proclaimed as she entered and sat down without ceremony to reach for her coffee.

"Hello my sweet," Astarion greeted, his own seat beside her, half hidden by the massive bouquet. But he leaned around it, elbow resting on the table. His eyes watched her face as she drank from the steaming mug. The same expression turned on her pretty freckled face as she drank it. Something akin to the look of ecstacy that comes over her in her peaks. Gods, how he missed it.

Meanwhile, as she enjoyed her drink, Astarion swirled his in his hand, silver chalice simple for his tastes with only slight filagree.

"Bit early to be hitting the bottle, my lord?" She fired at him as she began to eat.

"Bit early to be a brat, Merelind?" The rejoinder left his lips before her could stop it. Old habits, bad habits. His jaw snapped shut as her mismatched eyes flamed at him, head snapping to the side to glare at him.

"Forgive me, my Lord," she spat the title, venom cold in her tone. "I forget your vices are your crutch as you hobble through life." Her chair screeched across the floor as she pushed it back hard. One step, two steps from the table, and Merelind thought better of it.

"Merelind."

Her name was a purr, a soft little request. It made her had turn once more.

Astarion, the Vampire Ascendant, held his drink out for her, the liquid inside as red as his eyes. The coppery scent hit her nose and she could feel a little growl in the back of her throat as her thirst went dry.

"Ah, the vampiric curse sort of vice," she rasped, clearing her throat.

"Take it, my love. Drink." Her sire ordered her, standing from his spot to draw beside her, warm hand pressing the metal stem of the glass into her cold undead fingers. "When was the last time you were properly fed, provided for?"

The question sank down her parched throat to her hungry belly. "I drained every last Bhaalist in my wake." She asserted, even as her fingers closed on the cup.

"Not my question, darling," he murmured, crimson eyes scanning the lines of exhaustion in her freckled face. "Please, let me." Warm, featherlight, he brushed his touch over her hand. Before she could react, the blood touched her lips. Eyes sliding closed, she swallowed and swallowed. Every drink made her warm, made her flush with life again.

She missed it. The beating of her heart. The warmth of her living flesh. And when she opened her eyes, lowering the cup, it was Astarion's sharp refined features that hovered close. Too close. She could smell his cologne so strong, feel his breath on her face, her neck. And those eyes, she could see the play of light and shadow in their crimson depths. "Feeling better?" He asked, his voice rumbling in the air between them. "You do get rather fussy when you've gone too long without a feed," he added, face twisting in that charming roguish smirk.

"I do not, but thank you regardless," Merelind sniffed, a show of derision, even as her mouth smiled.

He relieved her of the cup, his gaze honing in on her lips. And then, he touched her. Warm fingers wiped away the corner of her lips. "Tch, messy girl," he murmured, even as his thumb lingered at her mouth a moment too long.

It burned. His touch. His gaze. It seared into her chest and made everything squeeze firmly shut. Mismatched eyes locked onto his movement, predatory and feline as he brought his thumb to his mouth and sucked it clean in those smirking lips.

"There now, presentable. A good thing too. We have business this afternoon." He flipped his hand as he spoke, refusing to withdraw from her. Then his voice lowered, a sinuous growl from his arrogant, impudent fanged mouth. The air was warm, his scent was strong, the brush of his jacket was palpable as he leaned in to whisper just off her ear. "Unless you give me a reason to stay home? Stay in bed, perhaps?"

Merelind drew stiff, hiding the flutter of her heart and the flip of her stomach in a sneer.

Old habits. Bad habits. Hiding behind sex.

"And leave your business unsatisfied? No, my Lord." Her voice sliced through his seduction, a ring of haughty provocation in it that was impossible to miss. She slid her slippered feet back on the floor, turning for the door, but not before she secured her porcelain cup of coffee.

"You're set on leaving something unsatisfied," Astarion frowned, red eyes dilated and narrowed as he watched her retreat. "You'll join me for the meeting? It's just a jaunt to Candlekeep."

Merelind paused in the threshold, her skirts whispering their silks around her legs at the abrupt halt. Her head whipped around to bare her two toned eyes wide in surprise at him. "When have you ever wanted my presence at such politicking?" She half-hissed, her stomach souring with hazy memories.

The Ascendant put his hands in his pockets and shrugged, his eyes drifting as he picked one of the scarlet roses from the vase beside him, pressing it to his nose. "I told you, I missed you. I told you, I wish you to stay at my side."

His gaze didn't lift from the floor, his thick lashes veiled his eyes.

It made her heart ache, not that she'd let him see as much. Not that she'd admit it, how much it made her stomach flip on itself.

Merelind inhaled long and hard, then exhaled even harder. "We shall see. I give you no word yet."

Astarion's red eyes lifted for that moment, and he bowed. "I understand. Please rest, precious Bhaalbabe," he added, tone instantly playful even as his eyes screamed his anguish at her for the distance she forced upon them. "I'd say vengeful heroes need their beauty sleep but … like I've said, you are perfect now and perfect before. It's difficult to improve."

Those words lanced to her very core, and her feet strode away if only to preserve herself from falling right into his arms the next moment. Those defiant feet kept moving until she was in the garden.

Halting suddenly, her head spun. A sea of reds and whites, pinks and yellows in every direction. Beds upon beds of roses. Merelind's knuckles went white as she gripped her skirt. How long… had she been gone? Certainly not that long. A hum in the air seemed like magic, a song of the Weave like she conjured as a Bard made the flowers open as she arrived.

"Holy fuck, Astarion," she muttered in amazement under her breath. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, a tingle in her mind drawing her attention, and Merelind turned back to the Palace. A shadow looked from the window of the dining room. Tall, gaunt, and even the shadow's hair was unruly and rakishly curled on top.

Merelind reached to pick one soft pink primrose, and then she retreated back to her chambers.

A million thoughts to sort out. And a journey to prepare for.

The spring sun from the morning had vanished. A soft rain pattered on the top of the carriage as Merelind sat alone inside. Her fingers still played with the petals of the primrose she had plucked. Stolen she liked to think. Even if it was painfully clear who that garden was for. Astarion hated flowers. Not good enough for poisons, he had once said.

The walls of the carriage felt closer. And suddenly she realizes just how… close… another rider would be in here.

A mistake. She concluded with the rise of panic in her chest. Her cream gloved hand reached for the door, missing the handle as the carriage door opened. Astarion hoisted himself into the small space just as Merelind withdrew. "Oh!" He called in surprise to feel her so close to him, their faces mere inches apart. "Apologies, darling. Were… were you leaving?"

Merelind's heart was pounding too loud in her ears to hear his question fully, the scent of him saturating every breath. She just burrowed herself into the farthest corner of the coach as she shook her head. "Hmm?"

Crimson eyes narrowed. That racing of her heart was telltale to her surprise, or arousal, or discomfort. Or all of the above.

He said nothing, not even as the carriage jolts forward and startes to roll. But every bump and sway of the coach on the roads out of Baldur's Gate jostled them, their arms bumping slightly. And each time she pulled back from him, Astarion's cool frown only deepened more. He cleared his throat to speak. "I hope that this ride at least is more luxurious than your journeys on foot or on the back of these dumb beasts," his tone was silken, commenting on matters he thoughts safe.

Merelind said nothing again.

"Far better for the Consort of the Ascendant to ride thusly."

Her face turned completely to the window, and even still, Astarion could see her expression sour. "Oh yes, safe and pretty Consort. Ready to be touted on your arm and held before nobility like the prize she is. Hero of the Gate, child of a god." her accusations were not so thinly veiled, her rage darkening her tone. "Hells forbid she ride on the back of some magnificent creatures like a horse, free and powerful and capable of her own fate."

"But you are… free," Astarion interjected.

"Am I? Truth be told?" She growled the words, still not facing him. "I returned for I had no where else to go. I stayed away because I couldn't for one more day be hailed as yours and not… my own. Besides," she clipped her words with a huff. "It's not as if you love me."

The silence between them thickened. It suffocated, choking them both, even as two creatures who didn't require air to breathe.

He swallowed hard, then muttered. "Well, darling, seems your mind has been made up on the matter." And he knocked on the roof of the carriage. "Driver! Stop!"

Merelind looked at him, wide eyed. "What are you doing?" She hissed.

"Giving you the chance to return back to be free, if you wish it. I shall continue by air," a hard set to his jaw, an ice to his tone. "Im sure it will be very dignified for the Ascendant to arrive as a bat, but… needs must."

And then he pushed open the door, stepping down. "Farewell, Merelind."

"That's it?" She sneered, her mismatched eyes narrowing, her fangs bared. "We part ways? I say 'you don't love me,' and you leave me?" That normally musical voice grew shrill.

The Ascendant shrugged his caped shoulders coolly. "Why argue? Your mind is set. And among the many things I do know about you, Merelind, when your mind is set, it's near impossible to convince to the contrary."

Merelind's mouth opened, a finger raised acusingly in retort.

Then something in the forest at the edge of the road shifted. Astarion's nostrils flared, his fangs bared as he rounded. The stench of murder and corpses wafted from the shadows. "Bhaalists," he growled and tore into the underbrush. But not before something sang through the air and smacked into its target.

Merelind looked down, the arrow shaft was bright in the sun. Silver. Blood seeped from the wound in her chest, her undead flesh hissing around the weapon in her skin. "Ast… ar…" she managed before she snapped her jaw shut against the pain that now burned her very soul. Her hand closed around the shaft, her palm burning and smoking where she gripped it.

Only then did she let out a scream from the bottom of her heart. With a yank, she pulled it free from her ribs.

"I'm coming, darling…" his voice was in her hazy thoughts, her world darkening as she could feel the coolness of her blood seeping into the fabric of her gown.

Colder than usual and heavy, her body hit the floor of the coach with a hollow thud.

Sound faded. Her name sounded so far away, her hands were numb, her legs too. And even as someone lifted her head and something warm and coppery flowed into her mouth, she slipped further into the dark.