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â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
One of my favorite things about Astarionâs story is that there is absolutely no push for Astarion to forgive or understand his abuser.Â
Itâs true that we get a small glimpse into Cazadorâs past, where we learn that he was once a victim in the centuries-old cycle of vampirism and abuse, but thatâs all. It serves its purpose as showing that vampirism is a trap and warning of what can happen to Astarion if he goes through with the ritual, but does not excuse Cazadorâs actions or go out of the way to make us feel sorry for him. The player may feel some sympathy for Cazador or they may not. None of the companions express any sympathy for him, Astarion doesnât waver in his resolve to destroy Cazador despite learning of his past, and there are no options from the player to push any understanding or forgiveness on him.
Honestly, I find this refreshing. Getting a little personal here, but experiencing generational trauma both in my family and with my partnerâs own horribly abusive dad, weâve been told âoh, they didnât know any betterâ, âthey were abused tooâ, âyou have to forgive themâ, etc., more times than I can count, but the fact remains that even though our âCazadorsâ were victims, theyâve moved on to causing pain themselves and have shown no genuine remorse. The game accurately shows that there is a point where a victim becomes a perpetrator and can become beyond redemption. I love that Astarionâs end of breaking the cycle does not include him forgiving or feeling sorry for Cazador, but with catharsis and closure that many survivors donât get in real life.
Iâll end this little ramble with a screenshot from an interview with Neil in which I appreciate his take on this topic. Link to full interview here (try to overlook the typos in Astarion's name, lol). And with a GIF of one of my favorite moments in any media, ever.
infinite. ancient. divine. dream of the endless was not made for comfort. he was born from stories and starlight, solitude stitched into the lining of his very being. even among his siblings, he is the most distant, the most unknowable, forever mourning what slips through his fingers. but one night, when the dreaming grows too quiet, you follow the ache in the air to find him weeping in the shadows of his throne. he tries to push you away. tries to hide the break in his voice, the stars falling from his eyes. but you donât leave. you kneel beside him. you stay. and for the first time in an eternity, dream allows himself to be held.
CW: themes of depression, emotional breakdown, isolation, crying, touch-starvation
it was nearly silent in the dreaming.
not just quietâsilent.
too silent.
the kind of silence that doesnât settle but suffocates.
youâd walked the long marble halls without direction, guided only by instinctâor maybe by some deeper tether, something sewn between your soul and his. you hadnât seen him in days. not since heâd returned from whatever distant corner of the realms called him away.
youâd asked lucienne, but she had only cast you a sorrowful glance and said gently, âhe needs time.â
and you knew what that meant.
he was grieving again.
when dream grieved, the dreaming changed.
colors dulled. light faded. the air grew thicker, heavy with some old pain no one but he could name. the castle itself responded, growing taller, darker, colder, walls shifting to protect its broken master.
and yet still, somehow, you found your way in.
his throne room loomed like a forgotten cathedral. vast. hollow. drenched in shadow.
and there, slouched at the foot of his own dais, sat the king of dreams.
barely recognizable.
his normally statuesque posture had collapsed inward, limbs folded messily beneath him like heâd forgotten how to sit like a god. his head hung low, black curls veiling his face in a tangle of sorrow. his robes pooled around him like ink, soaked from the rain pouring in through the shattered glass dome above.
the stars werenât visible.
and that alone told you how deep this went.
you stepped closer on instinct, the soles of your shoes whispering against the floor. he didnât move. didnât speak. you werenât even sure heâd noticed you.
and then, his shoulders twitched.
a tremor. a breath.
and thenâ
a sound.
broken.
a sob cracked through the stillness like lightning. not loud, but raw. hoarse and breathless, as though it had clawed its way out of him against centuries of resistance. you stopped in your tracks, heart catching in your throat.
like a man who had run out of ways to keep the ache buried.
you approached slowly, kneeling down beside him. your presence shifted the air. made it warmer, softer.
and finally, he moved.
he didnât lift his head fully, but tilted it just enough for his pale, tear-streaked face to be visible. the wet lashes, the trembling lips, the slight widening of his eyes when they met yours.
he looked wrecked.
and then came the shame.
his hand jerked upward to cover his face, fingers digging into his temple as he turned away.
âyou should not be here,â he rasped, the words scraping against his throat like gravel. âthis is not how youâre meant to see me.â
your chest ached.
âwhy not?â you whispered, shifting closer but not yet touching him. âwhy shouldnât i?â
âbecause i am not meant to be seen like this.â he sounded angrier now, but it wasnât directed at you. âi am⌠not a man. i am not soft. i am not supposed to break.â
âbut you have broken,â you said gently.
his breath caught.
and another tear spilled.
you let the silence stretch. not empty silence, held silence. silence with space for him to feel.
then, carefully, you reached out.
your fingers brushed his sleeve.
he tensed. visibly. sharply.
âplease donât,â he said quietly. âi⌠i do not know what i might do. i do not understand what this⌠is.â
you nodded. your voice was barely a breath.
âthen let me help you understand.â
it was tentative at first.
you slid closer until your knees touched. you didnât force him to look at you. you didnât pull him into your arms.
instead, you offered them.
you opened your hands. your body. your warmth.
and waited.
for a long, aching moment, he didnât move.
but then his hand lowered.
his eyes met yours again, and you swore the universe tilted.
not because of the power behind them.
but because of the fear.
raw, trembling, human fear.
âi do not know what i have done,â he whispered, âto deserve you.â
his voice cracked in the middle of it, brittle and filled with disbelief.
you exhaled, slow and steady.
âyou donât have to do anything to be loved, dream. you just have to let it in.â
and that was what undid him.
not the kindness.
not the nearness.
but the invitation.
like a bridge held out with trembling hands, and for once, he stepped across it.
he moved toward you slowly. carefully.
his head bowed like he was afraid to meet your eyes again.
and then, with the fragility of ancient marble beginning to fracture, he leaned into you.
his body pressed to yours like a wave curling against the shore.
your arms wrapped around him without hesitation.
one hand cradled the back of his head, fingers weaving into his rain-wet curls. the other splayed across his back, feeling the tension in him begin to tremble and dissolve.
he melted.
not all at once.
first his shoulders slumped. then his arms came up slowlyâshakingâuntil they gripped your sides with desperation he didnât know how to name.
his face buried itself into your shoulder.
and then he wept.
truly wept.
his sobs werenât graceful. they werenât poetic or restrained. they were shattering.
they came in waves, great wracking gasps like the sea dragging out grief centuries deep. you held him through every quake. you whispered soft nothings, murmured affirmations that didnât need to be understood, only heard.
âiâm here. iâm not going anywhere.â
âyou are not alone.â
âyou donât have to carry this by yourself.â
you kissed the crown of his head.
you pressed your cheek to his temple.
you held him.
and slowlyâŚ
the sobs faded.
not completely. not gone.
but gentler. less jagged.
his breathing evened.
and for the first time in what may have been millennia, dream of the endless allowed himself to rest.
not just sit. not just exist.
but rest.
in your arms.
in your kindness.
in the love you offered freely, without condition.
and there, in the stillness, beneath a sky that finally began to clear, dream whispered so softly you almost missed it:
ââŚthank you.â
and maybe, just maybe, he meant more than he knew how to say.
the dreaming didnât have mornings, not truly.
it wasnât bound by time, not the way the waking world was.
but even soâŚ
something shifted.
light filtered into the throne room like mist through stained glass, soft and pale and silver-gold, stretching in gentle bands across the floor. the rain had long since stopped. the sky above, once dark and empty, now shimmered faintly with distant stars, pale in the early quiet.
you stirred slowly.
your limbs were stiff from staying curled in the same position for hours, still cradling the body of a god who had finally allowed himself to collapse.
dream hadnât moved.
he was still curled into your side, head resting just beneath your chin, dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. his breathing was deep and steady, each exhale a whisper against your collarbone.
he was asleep.
or as close to sleep as a being like him could ever get.
you shifted only slightly, enough to press your hand to the center of his back, grounding him there in your hold.
and still, he didnât wake.
his body was warm against yours. heavier than youâd expected, like sorrow made flesh. but softer, too. more real like this than youâd ever seen him before.
and thenâslowlyâhe stirred.
you felt it first in the way his fingers twitched where theyâd been loosely wrapped around your waist. his body tensed for a moment, like he wasnât sure where he was.
and then his voice, low and hoarse, against your skin:
ââŚyou stayed.â
you didnât move.
âof course i did.â
he lifted his head slightly, enough to look at you, but not enough to leave the shelter of your arms. his eyes were still shadowed, rimmed with the remnants of grief, but there was something softer in them now. not quite peace. but⌠an echo of it.
âyou held me,â he said, voice low and uncertain, like he was repeating a memory he didnât believe could be true. âi⌠wept. and you did not look away.â
you gave him a faint smile, brushing your fingers through his hair.
âthatâs what love looks like.â
he blinked at you, like the word itself was foreign.
âi do not understand you.â
you let out a soft breath, half-laugh, half-sigh.
âi know.â
he looked down, ashamed again, but only for a moment.
âi am not used to being witnessed,â he murmured. ânot like that. not⌠undone."
your thumb traced slow circles at the base of his neck.
âmaybe thatâs something you can learn.â
his eyes flicked back to yours. curious. vulnerable.
ââŚwith you?â
you smiled, soft and sure.
âif youâll let me.â
another silence fell. this one different. full of things not said, but not hidden. things being felt instead of feared.
and thenâslowly, hesitantlyâhe reached for your hand.
his fingers curled around yours with such care, as if he thought you might disappear.
and when you didnâtâwhen you laced your fingers between his and squeezed gentlyâhe exhaled.
you felt it all the way down to your bones.
not just the breath, but the release. the surrender.
he wasnât healed. not completely.
but he wasnât hiding anymore.
âthe dreaming,â he said softly, looking out the cracked skylight above, âis quieter today.â
you tilted your head.
âbecause you are.â
he nodded, a slight, grateful movement.
âi⌠rested,â he admitted. ânot just in form. in spirit.â
his eyes found yours again.
âyou gave me that.â
you leaned in, forehead pressing gently against his.
âthen keep letting me.â
he closed his eyes at your touch, his hand tightening around yours.
and for a long moment, there was nothing but warmth between you.
not divine. not celestial.
just human.
quiet. real. shared.
he didnât want you to leave.
you realized it gradually, not because he said it (dream didnât yet have the language for needs like that), but because he kept finding ways to stay near.
after that long, quiet morning curled up on the throne room floorâhis face buried in your shoulder, your arms around his slow-breathing frameâhe didnât return to his throne. didnât resume the formality that usually wrapped around him like armor.
instead, when he finally rose, he offered you his hand.
his fingers were hesitant, loose at first, as if he didnât expect you to take it. but when you didâwhen you curled your hand gently into hisâhis hold grew firmer, thumb brushing lightly across your knuckles.
âcome,â he said, voice soft and steady.
you walked with him through the Dreaming.
not as subjects and ruler.
not as human and god.
but as two people sharing a space neither of you wanted to let go.
he led you into a smaller chamber youâd never seen before.
the walls were tall and pale, draped in soft, celestial fabric. moonlight drifted in from no visible source, and the air smelled like memory: parchment and petrichor, crushed petals and something faintly like his skin.
it wasnât the library.
it wasnât a throne room.
it wasnât anywhere formal.
just a room built for rest.
he didnât speak much as you settled in.
but he stayed close.
closer than usual.
when you sat on the edge of the dream-couched bed, he followed. not beside you, not right away, but near. hovering, cautious.
as if still afraid he was dreaming you.
eventually, you looked up at him and opened your arms again, this time without asking.
just offering.
quietly.
and just like before⌠he came.
this time, he didnât cry.
this time, he held you.
his arms slid around your waist, his head resting lightly against your shoulder. he didnât bury himself like before, didnât shake or tremble, but he melted all the same. like the shape of you was something he could finally fit into. like your presence gave him permission to exhale again.
âare you⌠all right?â you asked after a while, your voice a hush in the stillness.
he was silent for a long moment.
then:
âi do not know,â he answered. âbut i am no longer drowning."
your hand moved to his hair, gentle as moonlight, and his eyes fluttered shut.
âgood,â you whispered. âthatâs enough for today.â
he pulled back slightly, just enough to look at youâreally look at you.
âyou do not realize what you have done,â he said, voice low and reverent. âwhat it means that you stayed. that you chose me.â
your brow furrowed, and you brushed a thumb beneath his eye. âdreamâŚâ
âi am not easy to love,â he said, voice soft but unwavering. âi am distance. i am duty. i am solitude, in every sense. but with youââ
he paused, searching your face.
âwith you, i feel⌠close to something i thought i had lost.â
you reached for his hand again.
and this time, he laced your fingers together.
he didnât let go.
âiâll keep choosing you,â you said simply. âeven when itâs hard. especially when itâs hard.â
his lips parted like he wanted to speak, but the words faltered.
instead, he leaned in.
his forehead touched yours. gently. deliberately.
you stayed like that for a long, quiet stretch of time.
breathing together.
existing together.
finally, he spoke again. softer than breath:
ââŚstay with me. here. in the dreaming.â
your heart stilled.
he had never asked before. never dared.
âyou want me here?â
he nodded, once. ânot as a guest. not as a visitor. but⌠with me.â
you reached up and cupped his jaw.
and when he leaned into your palm, you swore you felt the stars shift again.
âokay,â you whispered. âiâll stay.â
he closed his eyes.
and for the first time in an eternity, the king of dreams smiled, not for the world.
not for duty.
but for you.
umm okay so i doo think i mischaracterized him quite a bit, but that's primarily because im not used to writing characters with his personality! he's very stoic and complex so i apologize if it doesn't quite fit him, i just adore dream and wanted to write something. i will work on being more flexible with differing personalities like his though!
anyways, i hope this was enjoyable and thank yeww sososo much for reading!!!
