#vampire spawn tav

A soft kiss on your forehead and the feeling of the bond reopening, unfurling like the petals of a flower in your head is what rouses you from your trance. Astarion does not typically close the bond any longer, even when you trance, but he wanted to be sure that you would not be sucked into any of his nightmares so close to your wedding day.

“Get up, lazy girl,” he taunts, brushing your hair back and tucking the wayward strands behind your ear. He lets his finger trail down the ridge, which earns him something between a groan and a moan.

Your eyes open lazily to see Astarion in all his splendour. His hair is mussed from sleep, not yet combed and coiffed to perfection, and his waves tumble about heedlessly. He yawns, the early morning sun glinting along the edges of his fangs, and his eyes are still heavily lidded.

“It’s hardly even sun-up, Astarion,” you whine, curling into his chest and hiding your face away from the ever-brightening early morning light. “The ceremony isn’t until this evening. We can sleep for a few more hours. You cannot possibly need all fucking day to get ready.”

“You deserve perfection,” he purrs, twisting his fingers into your hair and massaging your scalp. “And perfection takes time.”

“You are perfect,” you coo, placing a soft kiss on his chest with a sigh. “And it has nothing to do with your physical appearance.”

With the beating of his heart under your palm and the heat from his skin sinking into the cool of your own, your trance beckons on the borders of your consciousness.

Astarion clears his throat awkwardly. “I’m… uh… I may be a trifle too nervous to trance.”

The sleepiness recedes like a swiftly moving tide, and you sit up and take his face between your hands. “Are you having second thoughts? If it’s not what you want, we don’t have to do this, Astarion.”

He leans into your touch, closing his eyes, and you feel the wash of comfort he feels through the bond. The tension melts away from him, his shoulders relax, and the pinch in his brow eases. He nuzzles your palm and places a kiss on it before reopening his strikingly ruby-red eyes.

“Don’t be so foolish.” Astarion scoffs while his arms encircle your waist, and he pulls you into his lap. “Of course I am not having second thoughts. Good Gods, Illyria.”

“I just want you to know you have the option,” you assert, keeping your intonation tender.

“As much as I do appreciate the sentiment, I want this more than I have ever wanted anything in my very long life,” he insists. Astarion gently picks stray strands of hair out of your eyelashes, brushing them away. “So little in my life has actually been my own, and even less of that has ever meant anything, but this... Gods. This means everything to me. You mean everything to me.”

He looks askance, his eyes falling away from yours. “For so long, I never had anything to lose, and now I stand to lose so much.” Astarion lets out a long exhale. His brows downturn at the ends in a sombre expression. “I am... frightened.” He finally forces the word out in a rush. “I am scared that one of these times I will lose myself and I will be lost. For good.”

“Astarion,” you start, bringing your palm up to cup his cheek, but he catches your wrist and cuts you off.

“Listen to me. If that should happen, if I am truly gone, I need you to promise you will run, get as far from me as you possibly can, and never look back.”

It’s not a promise you’re willing to make, even with his eyes that plead, and you shake your head. “I can’t promise you that, Astarion. What I can promise is that I will do everything in my power to make sure that doesn’t happen. I would not lose you to Cazador, and I will not lose you to this.”

You still haven’t told him about the deal you made. Every time you mean to bring it up, the confession will not unlatch from your tongue. The words stick in the back of your throat, like being caught in a spider’s web.

“Gods, you always were unbearably mulish.” Astarion laments with a sigh.

“I prefer to think of myself as adorably willful,” you quip, trying to lighten the mood. You rack your fingers through his hair and let the tips gently ghost down the edge of his tapered ear.

It earns you a delightful shudder, and he readjusts you on his lap with a highly arched brow. “Trying to distract me, are you? Naughty girl.”

“Is it working?”

Astarion shifts you once more, bucking his hips up and grinding his hardening desire against you. “Indeed it is, my love,” he purrs erotically. “We should get you fed, yes?”

Before you can answer, Astarion cants his head to the side, offering his neck with a smile that seems to be all heart. The offer of blood and the sight of the vein pulsing nearly make your strike like an angry viper, but you’re getting better with restraint. Instead, you curb that desire, lean forward, place a chaste kiss on his warm lips along the angular plane of his jaw, and rain them slowly down his neck.

His hands come to your hips, strong fingers firmly pressing into your skin. Your fangs pop through Astarion’s flesh with as quick of a pinch as your unskilled self is capable of. The groan that hums from Astarion is not one of pain but of need.

Blood quickly fills your mouth, breathing vitality into you with every swallow of the rich, salty sanguine poem. It is a call to prayer, the heavens chanting against your tastebuds, and good Gods, you worship on the alter of his neck in moans.

“Just like that,” he breathes. “I will tell you when to stop.”

Astarion’s guides your hips in a slow rock, back and forth, dragging your increasingly wet folds leisurely up and down his pulsing erection. He angles his hips so the head of his cock runs across the spot you need it most with every swipe. You can barely focus on both sensations at once, and blood starts to glide a trail down his chest.

He whines, a sound you do not often hear from the Ascendant, and his fingers slip between your folds to start teasing the border of your pining clit. You whimper, your eyes fluttering closed momentarily at the staggering sensation, and your hips buck, trying to persuade his finger to quicken their gentle circles and swipes.

With every shift of your hips, you feel the velvet of his length, throbbing and so very hard, nestled between your lips. His hips buck, rutting against you, seeking the friction that his cock is begging for.

You realize, perhaps a little belatedly, that he hasn’t requested you stop, but his heart rate is beginning to sound slightly irregular. You withdraw your fangs, sitting back on his legs with your brow creased in worry.

Astarion gives you a droll, half-smile, his eyes appearing slightly glassy and dazed.

“Shit,” you murmur, pressing your hand against the wound even though the skin is already beginning to knit itself back together. “You should have told me to stop. This isn’t a good day to have you laid up in bed because I drained you dry.”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “What would you have me say? You’re as distracting as you are wet. You’ve made a positively delicious mess of my lap.” Astarion glances down at the trail of blood that’s made it to his mid chest. “And my chest, it seems. Messy thing,” he tuts.

Astarion’s fingers wrap behind your neck. He pulls you to his lips, shuddering excitedly when his tongue slips in and he tastes himself on you. His free arm wraps around your waist, guiding you to your back. Hooking your knee with his, he pushes your legs apart further before sitting back on his heels and taking a moment to look down at you sprawled out and panting for him.

He fists his erection, giving himself a slow stroke from root to tip, and then taps the head of his cock on your swollen bud. A sudden jolt of intense pleasure sparks through you with every strike, making you squirm. His eyes lock with yours, and he slides lower, grinding himself against your entrance but never sinking in.

“I would do it all again, you know,” he leans over you, lining up. “Those two centuries of darkness and torment, if I knew that you were on the other side of it.”

“Astarion,” you wheeze as he slides himself inside you inch by inch, rocking his hips to work you open. You gather enough presence of mind to shake your head. “No. Don’t say that.”

“Not saying it doesn’t make it any less true.” He presses your legs apart, sinking himself deeper with every stroke. His forehead presses against yours, his hips moving quicker with every pass. “I love you, and I have loved you for far longer than I cared to admit, even to myself, but I cannot love you gently.” As if to make his point, he pulls out most of the way, delighting in the way you whine at the loss of fullness, and sinks back in to the hilt with a fierce snap of his hips that makes both of you gasp. “I will love you totally and completely, and perhaps a little madly, for eternity.”

He angles himself, and once your breathy moan and a tight clench around him confirm that he’s succeeded in hitting that perfect spot inside you, his pace shifts from a slow grind to a more vigorous tempo that leaves you seeing nothing but white hot pleasure and his intensely red eyes that bleed into you.

You want to tell him you love him and that it’s okay if his love is a little mad, a little possessive, a little dark, because your love for him is not for the feint of heart. There is no limit to the lengths you would go for him, and that in itself is a frightening prospect. But your words are lost in pants and moans, the sound of skin smacking skin, and tangled limbs.

So you reach out and touch his mind, requesting him to open himself to you further, and let snaps of memories flow freely, allowing the emotions behind them to be fully felt. You give him glimpses of how his laughter infects you with feelings of warmth and how you would do anything to hear it. How his smile makes you melt into a puddle of pure affection. How his voice is your favourite sound. How your devotion is unlimited, transcending the bounds of time and space.

Astarion quietly whines as the memories embrace him, his hips stuttering and faltering in their pace. He kisses your forehead, your cheeks, along your jaw, your collarbone, and every place he possibly can, as if his lips cannot stand not to be on your skin. Your legs wind around him, tugging him close, and your hips rock to meet his every thrust.

The drag of him against your sensitive walls, the decadent fullness, and the heat of his panting breath in your mouth are too much to bear. Your pleasure builds, your core clenching around his every pump.

But your pleasure is not the only thing you can feel. You can feel his as well. The tightness and overwhelming ache of pleasure in his belly, the urge to release, building rapidly to a delicious acuteness as he tiptoes toward the precipice.

Hells below. It’s intoxicating to know just how intensely he desires you, how you fill him full of pleasure so profound that he cannot think straight, the waves of euphoria that bleed through the bond as your bodies move as one, connected as one, feel as one.

“Illyria,” he pants with urgency. “F—fuck. I’m—“

The words are lost, but you don’t need them anyway. “Come for me,” you whisper against his ear.

His lips crash against yours, his tongue sliding in, and he lets go, his cock pulsing and releasing streams of hot seed deep within you. His pleasure tips you over the edge of your own climax, and your walls spasm and massage his length, drawing every last drop out of him that he will give you.

Astarion collapses on top of you, nestling his head in the crook of your neck while you stroke his back. You’re careful touching his scars, paying close attention to both the bond and his body language, but Astarion only relaxes further into your touch.

Neither of you move for a long while after the throes of your orgasms subside, content to remain enveloped in each other’s embrace.

He nips your collarbone lightly. “There, now we are both a mess.”

You scoff, but kiss his forehead and tousle his hair. “I would not have made such a mess if you had just kept your hands to yourself.”

“Oh, darling,” he giggles with a disapproving click of his tongue. “Wherever is the fun in that?”

The mirror of the vanity gleams back at you empty — always and forevermore, empty. You glance outside at the descending sun. The ceremony is mere hours away, and you still haven’t begun to get ready. Various implements have been laid out on the shiny mahogany table before you: hairbrushes, combs, ties, and hairpins, some regular and others with small diamonds glinting on the ends. On the other side, lip sticks, eyeshadows, liners, and every other cosmetic you could ever ask for in every imaginable hue.

Your fingers grasp a comb and run it through your long hair, but you have no idea how you’re going to do anything with it. You can put it up or leave it down, but any intricate style is beyond your capabilities since you cannot even see what you’re doing.

You want to look beautiful. Of course you do. It’s your wedding day. Gods know Astarion will look perfect with not a strand of his silvery hair out of place or a wrinkle in his suit, and then there will be you, standing beside him, looking like you do not belong with someone so captivatingly handsome.

You wonder if he will be embarrassed and are suddenly extremely thankful that at least you won’t embarrass him in front of all your friends. Were you pretty? You used to be, you think, but what about now? Your skin has lost its once sun-kissed golden hue, and your eyes are no longer the bright colours they used to be.

You glance back up at the mirror once more, hoping against hope that, for at least today, you might be given the reprieve of its scorn, but you are not that fortunate. Its reflective surface continues to dismiss you.

Tears prick your eyes in frustration, and they sail to the villa’s ceiling while you wrack your fingers through your hair. How in the Hells are you going to manage this?

“Little love?” Astarion taps on the door before letting himself in. He had been adamant that he wanted to get ready in separate rooms, if only to give some normalcy to the event. “What’s wrong, Illyria? I can feel your distress. Do you… Do you not want to do this? We can still cancel.”

“No!” You bark in a cracked cry. “It’s not that.”

Astarion crouches down, turning the little vanity stool toward him with ease. Black velvet trousers hang loosely around his waist, but he is otherwise undressed. He places his elegant fingers underneath your chin, gently guiding your gaze up, and thumbs away the tears crawling down your cheeks from the corners of your eyes.

“Tell me what’s troubling you.”

You think about deflecting, lying even, but he will know if you do, so you settle on the truth. “I don’t want to embarrass you, but I don’t know how I will do my hair or makeup since...” You gesture toward the mirror. “I cannot see myself.”

Astarion glances at the mirror, and a forlorn look makes his eyes downturn as he sees his own reflection, but not yours. “Listen carefully, love. You could never embarrass me. If you walked out in a paper bag with your hair a mess, you would still be the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. But I do have a surprise for you.”

Astarion beams, his fangs on full display, and opens the door. “You’re late.”

Your brows furrow, and you try to incline your head to look around the doorframe to see who in the Hells he is talking to when you hear Shadowheart’s voice. “Could you put some clothing on, please? Gods, Astarion. This is not how you should walk around when you’re expecting guests. Where is your decorum?”

He grins roguishly and lopsided, slightly canting his head with a shrug. “My, my. Selûne has turned you into quite the little prude, hasn’t she?”

Shadowheart scoffs, pushing past Astarion while giving him a pointed look. “Get out,” she orders.

Astarion’s brows rise at the direct order, a small spike of anger raising his hackles. You can hear his thoughts. How dare she order him around. He does not take orders from anyone any longer. There is a melody in the background. It sounds like iced rain pelleting through wind-whipped trees.

You nearly jump out of your chair to calm him, but he takes a deep breath, and the twisting thoughts and song fade away into barely a hum. He collects himself almost instantly, adopting his typical easy confidence.

You reach out to him in your head. “Are you okay?”

He doesn’t even glance at you, turning away as Shadowheart closes the door, but answers immediately. “I’m fine, my treasure. I will see you soon.”

“Thank you for this.”

“You are most welcome.”

Shadowheart smiles ear to ear, taking quick steps toward you, and you almost recoil. You cannot remember a time where you’ve seen her look so excited. “A certain vampire told me you might need help getting ready.”

“That certain vampire has been incredibly thoughtful lately,” you muse.

“Oddly so,” Shadowheart agrees. “Can I come close? It will be a little hard to do your hair and makeup if you cannot stand to have me near.”

You laugh. “He fed me. You should be safe unless you accidentally cut yourself.”

“Don’t cut myself, or my best friend might eat me… again.” Shadowheart nods with a wry grin. “Noted.”

Shadowheart’s hands hover over the implements, quickly glancing at the mirror that only recognizes her presence. She frowns, runs over and tears the sheets off the bed, and shrouds the traitorous mirror.

She grabs a brush and begins to gently drag it through your hair, working out the knots. “So, how do you want your hair done?”

Your forehead wrinkles as your brows pull down. “Honestly, I didn’t give it much thought. I… just never thought I would be here.”

“You never thought you would get married?” Shadowheart’s brow arches. “Truly?”

“I didn’t think about it much when I was mortal, and then there was the Netherbrain, I became a vampire, and...” You sigh, shutting your eyes against the memories that claw at your limbs and beg you to join them in a basin of despair. “Well, you know what happened then.”

Shadowheart rubs your arm and gives your shoulder a squeeze. “I have an idea. Do you trust me?”

“I trust you, Shadowheart,” you grin, and the tips of your fangs peek out of your lips just slightly. “Do your worst.”

Shadowheart sets to work, using all the brushes, combs, pins, and ties at her disposal. She twists locks of hair around her finger, pinning them into place.

“I have an odd question.” She breaks the silence. “About your vampirism.”

“Oh? Intriguing. Ask away.”

“How exactly do you feed? Is it like a bite holes and suck on them sort of thing, or are your fangs similar to straws?”

You burst out laughing, and you can hear Astarion howling from the room next to you. Clutching your aching abdomen, partly due to having her so close but mostly due to the blistering laughter that’s making your eyes water, you turn toward her. Shadowheart looks stunned and glances at the wall where Astarion’s laughter can still be heard.

“I mean,” you try to speak between breathy laughs. It’s a blessing you don’t really need air because you would surely be suffocating. “You are welcome to examine my fangs if you would like to check, but it’s a bite and suck thing.”

Shadowheart crosses her arms, a hairbrush still clutched in her hand with her nose sticking up. “It’s not that funny, you two.”

“It’s a little funny,” you tease her.

She huffs but chuckles softly, shaking her head. “That’s the last time I ask you anything about your vampirism,” she taunts with a crooked grin.

Shadowheart grabs a cloth and hands it to you so you can wipe the tears off your cheeks and dry your eyes. She gently tilts your head up and begins to swipe eyeshadow on, but having her so close in front of you, her wrist right under your nose, is starting to eat away at your restraint. You can smell her blood in her veins and hear it gush with each beat of her heart. It sounds like an orchestra to your sharp hearing, and you begin to grimace, digging your fingernails into the stool.

“What is it?” She asks.

With your vampiric speed, you swiftly move to the other end of the room and plaster yourself against the wall. Your lungs thirst for air they don’t require, but you hold your breath.

“I just need a minute,” you say tightly with a thick swallow.

Astarion’s voice drifts into your head. “I can compel you if you wish, but this will be the last time I entertain this.”

There is a keen edge to his timbre. You know it makes him uncomfortable. Even now you can feel his previously calm emotions metamorphose into a tumultuous blitz where you can hardly tell one from the other as they flicker through your mind too quickly to comprehend. You might not feel them or even know what they are, but Astarion feels them all with an intensity you can’t begin to comprehend.

You hate that you don’t possess the self-control and are once again forcing Astarion to do things he’s uncomfortable with, but what choice do you have? No amount of blood will fill the empty hole in your stomach, and you have already slipped and nearly killed Shadowheart.

“I’m sorry, Astarion. Do it. Please.”

His reply is only the command. “You will not feed on thinking creatures. You do not feel hunger.”

“What just happened?” Shadowheart asks.

“Sorry?”

“Your eyes.” She frowns. “They glowed for a moment.”

“Astarion compelled me, and before you worry, I asked him to.”

You take a deep breath of pure relief, ease away from the wall, and back to the stool. She starts doing your makeup again, but you note the lines of worry that crease her forehead and thin her lips.

Shadowheart lowers her voice. “That’s a dangerous game to play, Illyria.”

Though she is whispering, it’s not nearly quiet enough. Astarion will be able to hear her loud and clear. You point to your ear and then to the wall to indicate that he can, in fact, still hear her. Her eyes round, but she nods her understanding. Shadowheart isn’t wrong. You’re playing a dangerous game, but that’s what your life has become, hasn’t it?

Just one dangerous game after another.

“I trust him,” you conclude with conviction.

Shadowheart gives you a quick side look that you know means she’s not quite done talking to you about this, but she will let it go until you find yourselves in a more private setting.

“Look up,” she instructs, and your eyes sail to the ceiling.

You barely feel Shadowheart run the liner along your waterline or use her pinky to smudge it slightly. She holds lipstick after lipstick up to your face before deciding on a colour and handing it to you. At least this, you don’t really need much help with. The colour is a reddish coral that you’re not entirely sure about, but you put it on anyway.

Shadowheart peeks outside, closing the blinds quickly when the sun hits you. She looks horrified for a moment. 

“I’m safe, Shadowheart. Astarion is near. The sun won’t hurt me,” you remind her.

“Sorry. I guess I got used to you.” She halts her speech immediately.

“Being allergic to the sun?” You finish her train of thought for her with a reassuring smile.

“Yes.” Shadowheart quickly goes to the wardrobe where your dress is hanging. “We better get you into this. I think it’s nearly time.”

Pulling the curtains back, you glance outside. The sun is low, spitting fiery reds, burnt oranges, and halcyon pinks into the sky like watercolours across a painters canvas. It is indeed almost time.

You will be married to Astarion within the hour.

You slip out the satin robe, and Shadowheart helps you into your gown. Her breath hitches when she sees the scars on your back, as it does every time, and you have to clench your jaw and shut your eyes against the sensation of her hands rubbing over them while she does up the various buttons and laces.

“Do you know what they mean yet?” She asks softly.

“No.” You shake your head. “Astarion has scoured every book he owns, making several trips to the palace, but he’s not found anything that resembles them yet.”

“They must have some sort of meaning.”

“Yes, but they are unfinished. We can only hope that makes whatever they were meant to do useless.” You shrug. “We can’t know for sure.”

Shadowheart turns you around, steps back, and gives you a once-over. “You look beautiful, Illyria. Truly. You clean up rather well.”

You half laugh, half snort at her comment, but smirk at her jeering. “Really?”

“Really,” she confirms. “Astarion is a lucky man.”

You glance down and look at the dress. The bodice hugs your curves flawlessly; each diamond is pristinely polished and catches the sunlight, filtering it into prismatic hues. For some reason, the seamstress added moonstones to border the swirling pattern of the lace, and the silvery light they emanate gives the appearance of silver-spun stars.

“I should probably get going,” Shadowheart says, picking up her bag.

“No,” you object, reaching out and grabbing her forearm before you have time to think. “I think you should stay if you want to.”

She looks around a little unsure. “Will Astarion be okay with that?”

You don’t doubt he heard your offer, but you ask him anyway. “Can Shadowheart stay?”

“Of course, my love. She’s most welcome to join us.”

“He doesn’t mind.” You assure her and offer an easy smile.

Shadowheart beams, putting down her bag, but then she looks at her clothes with a ruffled brow. “I have nothing to wear. I didn’t bring anything else.”

“You can wear what you’re wearing, but if you would rather wear something else.” You walk over to another wardrobe and open it. It’s filled with various fine silk dresses and opulent gowns to modest trousers and shirts, and even some robes. “You can take your pick.”

She shifts through the dresses until she pulls out a light blue silk dress and looks to you for permission.

“It will look beautiful on you.”

You watch Shadowheart hurry around, slipping into the dress, running a brush through her hair, fixing her makeup, and you cannot help but find entertainment in the hurried scattering. You’ve hardly ever seen Shadowheart act like this. She’s usually composed, calm, and a little bit stolid.

You’ve never felt closer to her than in this moment, and your heart swells with affection but also guilt, because even though you’ve been compelled, there is a small part of your brain that continues to see her as prey.

Did Astarion ever watch you running through the battlefield and be tempted to give chase just like you are now? Is this a vampire thing or something more sinister? You would like to believe that it’s a vampiric instinct. After all, the living are technically the typical fare for your kind.

The other possibility is much more sinister.

“I’ll see you out there?” Shadowheart suddenly asks from the doorway, breaking you from your thoughts.

“Yes. I’ll be right out.”

The quartet has started playing the soft music, signalling that it’s just about time. You shake out your arms, take several deep breaths, and pace for good measure to expel some of your nervous energy.

You hear a groan, the slight moan of hinges on the door, and then a light rapping on yours before Astarion walks in.

“Apologies.” His eyes are downcast, and his fingers curl and uncurl. “I know I said we should not see each other until you walk down the aisle, but...”

“Astarion.” You approach and slip your fingers under his chin. When he will not allow you to guide his eyes upward, you instead lean down and catch his eyes anyway. “It’s fine. Look at me. Tell me what’s wrong. Are you…? Do you need to go?”

“No,” he’s quick to spit out, his eyes finally coming up. “I just… Bloody Hells.”

He fidgets with the cuff of his suit, huffs exasperatedly, and you see the problem. You take his hand carefully, pop the buttons he was struggling with through, and then take the teardrop ruby cufflink from his trembling fingers and secure it.

“Thank you.” He takes a deep breath. “I missed you.”

Your brows pinch. “You were in the next room.”

“I hardly see why that matters.” Astarion leans in, buries his nose in your hair, and inhales deeply, pulling you close. “Every second away from you is agonizing.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I may embellish a little here and there, but I am no liar.” Astarion leans away slightly to look deeply into your eyes. “I really did miss you.”

You kiss his cheek and cup his face with your palm. His hand comes up to cover yours, and he leans into your touch. “You look positively exquisite.”

He takes your hand, forcing you into a small twirl, and you giggle. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“I have an idea,” he taps his temple. “I believe you can see through my eyes using the bond we share.”

The sensation of Astarion removing barriers he’s erected feels much like a dam when it opens its doors to allow water through, and you are hit with everything all at once. It’s overwhelming at first, painful even, but the pain fades as you adjust. He’s not let you into his mind quite like this before. It’s almost unfettered access to every thought, every feeling, and even memories, if you were so inclined.

But this is a sign of trust, and you will not betray it by rifling through his most intimate thoughts, so you focus on seeing through his eyes. If it’s like anything else that has to do with the kinship, your intent should simply translate into being.

You blink, and all of a sudden you’re looking down at yourself. You’re taken aback for a moment. Your body jerks slightly away, and you have to reorient yourself. It’s the first time you’ve been able to actually see yourself since you were turned.

By the Gods. I am terribly pale!

Taking your time, you scour every detail of your face and commit it to memory. How long will it take me to forget again? You look at your cracked scarlet eyes and the colours they were before peeking through in splotches and slivers. You take in your dress, your hair, and your makeup, and tears threaten to spill, but you swallow them back down.

You release his sight back to him, blink, and you’re once again staring at your husband.

“Well?” He asks expectantly.

You lean into his chest, your palms flat against him. “Thank you.”

His arms encircle you once more. “You’re welcome. I suppose I should get out there. I will see you soon, yes?”

You nod, releasing him. “I’ll be right behind you.”

You stand in the inner foyer, waiting for your music to start. There are roses everywhere, of every shade, and they fill the air with a sweet scent. You’d peeked earlier and seen the arch being set up. Well, it’s less of an arch and more of a circle, which you decided was more appropriate — circles are never-ending, eternal.

Shadowheart scampers in to see you pacing around in a circle, and she grabs your arms. “Deep breaths, Illyria.”

You snort. “I am dead. I don’t need to breathe.”

She snorts in reply. “Don’t be sassy. Deep breathes, and stand still! You’ve made a mess of your train.”

She crouches down, quickly spreading the delicate lace back out so that it flows as it should instead of being all twisted up. You take the deep breaths, though they do little to calm your nerves.

Shadowheart clasps her hands around your arms. “Don’t pace, or you’ll wreck it. Your music is about to start.”

You don’t know why you feel the need to make sure, but you ask anyway. “Is he?”

Shadowheart nods. “He’s out there waiting for you.”

You can only muster enough presence of mind to nod, and Shadowheart dashes back out to take her place wherever that is. The music starts to pick up, and you stand there for a few nerve-wracking minutes until it shifts into your song.

It’s time.

Steeling your nerves, you take one last deep, useless breath and walk toward the open doorway.

The sun strikes your eyes first and leaves you blinded until your eyes adjust. As your vision clears, the aisle comes into view. Rose petals are scattered across the terrace, the circular archway has been hung with sheer drapery that sways in the slight breeze, and the quartet plays beautifully off to the side as well as an artist sketching away that you were not expecting.

Astarion stands with his hands clasped together behind his back, his face warmly neutral until he sees you, and it transforms into a tender, nervous smile. Your eyes link with familiar, vividly crimson pools that invite you to get lost in them. Time seems to halt its perpetual march forward, the gears grinding to a stop just for you.

All your uncertainty, worries, and problems seem to just slip away from you. None of them matter. Not that the Hells await. Not that you still have yet to tell Astarion about the deal you made. Not that time is running out. It’s like all of that ceases to exist, and you are left with the only thing that does matter.

Him.

Your mind barely registered the drag of your dress, or the breeze in your hair, or the way the sun warms your skin. You take one step, and then another, and then another, carefully so as not to trip. Walking in heels isn’t exactly something you’re accustomed to, and it’s been brought to your attention that you’re a “clumsy thing,” as Astarion so lovingly puts it.

With each step, Astarion’s smile widens, and you’re brought closer to him. His eyes are wide and shiny, unshed tears catching the dying light of the sun. Memories play out in your mind’s eye — strong arms around you and a shoulder to lean on when you were so tired after battle you could barely walk back to camp. Nights spent laughing in the shelter of your tent. Cuddling by a roaring campfire. The soft press of lips to your forehead as you faded into your trance. The aroma of bergamot, rosemary, and brandy — the scent of home. You can hear the gravelly sound of his voice when you sought him out, always first to hear his thoughts, quips, witty remarks, and even those godsdamned roguish insults.

You blink, and the tears begin to fall, gliding down your cheeks. A few more steps and you’re in front of him — your fate, your destiny, your thiramin.

The only thing that has ever truly mattered to you and likely the only thing that ever will.

Yours. Once lost, but brought back together by the threads of fate.

His smile fades, replaced by a gaze that is equal parts affection and limitless devotion. Astarion takes a step closer, swallowing hard, and holds his hands out to you. You place your hands in his.

You stand side by side as the priest of one god or another recites the rites. The words are mostly lost on you, just a garbled sound in the background of the drumming beat of Astarion’s heart.

You try to keep your eyes ahead, but you cannot help but sneak little glances his way. His silver hair, perfectly styled with not a strand out of place, is cast in a golden glow that makes him look otherworldly. His raven-black ensemble with dragons up the breast is perfectly smoothed—not a crease or crimp to be seen.

Perfection. Exactly like you had envisioned.

Keeping your eyes ahead, you reach out, and Astarion responds, slipping his trembling hand into yours. You give his hand a reassuring squeeze. His lips quirk up slightly, crinkling the corners of his eyes, but he keeps his gaze trained ahead.

“Lord Astarion Ancunín, do you take this woman to be your wedded wife?”

He turns toward you. His eyes are round, wet, and painfully striking in their vivid warmth. He grins, his eyes falling to your clasped hands, and then back to you. “I do.”

Shadowheart approaches with a velvet-wrapped box, opening the lid and offering it to Astarion. He thanks her, to your great surprise, and takes the ring out. The band is delicately twisted silver and black. You faintly see an inscription running around the underside of the band, but your eyes are too misty to read it.

“I didn’t prepare a fancy speech or elaborate vows. I thought it better to speak from the heart. I am admittedly not good at this, feelings, or public declarations of love.” He fidgets with the ring. “I had long had any faith in people, in Gods, in life purposefully carved out of me when you came along. Truthfully, I wasn’t very fond of you at first. I’d lost the ability to care for anyone, and I certainly never expected anyone could care for me. You met my ice with your fire at every turn. When I tried to push you away, you were still there waiting for me to come to my senses.

“You treated me like a person right from the very start, trusted me, which honestly was an objectively stupid thing to do, darling. I grew to love you frighteningly quickly. You melted the ice in my heart and taught me how to love again. I cherished every second we spent together, even when it was curling up and sleeping in the dirt.

You see me. Really, truly see me even through my darkness. I am safe with you. Whatever the future holds for us, I do not intend to lose that. I vow to love you with a depth that not even the stars can fathom. When it gets cold, I will be your warmth. When life is too loud, you can bury yourself in my silence. When you are hungry, I will be your sustenance.” You exhale a small laugh, and he smirks and winks. “I will love you long after the last stars have faded from the sky and the world is bathed in darkness once more. I will always love you.”

Astarion takes your hand, slipping the ring onto your finger easily. His voice cracks with emotion. “Ai armiel telere maenen hir.”

He clears his throat and straightens up, discreetly wiping a tear from his cheek with the back of his hand.

The same question is levelled at you next, and Astarion seems to be tense as he awaits your response.

“I do.”

As soon as he hears you utter the words, he exhales in a lengthy, drawn-out release like he’d been holding his breath the entire time, and his shoulders relax.

Shadowheart seems to pop up at your side, nearly enough to make you jump, bringing your focus back. You take the ring, and your fingers glide over the smooth metal, feeling the etching inside of it. Astarion’s eyes jump down to the ring, and he looks at it hungrily.

“I never had a family. There was never anyone to tuck me in or kiss me goodnight. I was alone for most of my life, and at some point, I guess I started to believe that’s how it would always be. I accepted it. I wasn’t supposed to be in Baldur's Gate the day the nautiloid took us. I had only stopped there to get supplies and had planned to leave the same day, but then something made me stay. I cannot even recall what it was anymore. It scares me to think that if I had left like I planned to, I would never have found you. Despite the threat of turning into a tentacled monster, I’m glad we were taken that day, as strange as it sounds. It brought us together.”

Your brows pinch. “I’ve never been one who put much faith or thought into Gods and fates. I never gave any credence to destiny. To be perfectly honest, I thought it was all bullshit. But now I stand here with you, and I can’t help but feel this was meant to be — that our meeting wasn’t mere chance. When I met you on that beach, before our shared plight connected us, it felt like my soul recognized yours. I saw a home that I had been homesick for all my life in your eyes, even with your dagger pressed against my throat.”

Astarion chuckles lightly, and you look up at him. He gives you an encouraging nod. “There are no words that adequately express how much I love you. I could say the cliche things like I love you more than life itself, which I think is rather obvious at this point. The truth is, my love for you is unfathomable, unquantifiable. There are no lengths I would not go for you. I vow to love you eternally. Know you are cherished, cared for, safe, and seen, always. I will be your sanctuary. Allow me to be the place your heart finds shelter and peace. I vow to be your light in the darkness, and I will always bring you home. For as long as we exist, I am yours.”

You grab Astarion’s hand, and he holds it up for you, trying to keep his quivering fingers still enough so you can slip the ring on. He smiles, though it looks a little odd, warring between nervousness and excitement, with neither side winning. Tears sway on his lashes, and wet trails glisten down his cheeks.

The ring slides on his finger with no resistance, sitting perfectly as if it were always meant to be there.

Astarion doesn’t wait for the priest to acknowledge it. You vaguely hear being pronounced husband and wife, but the rest is lost when Astarion instantly wraps you in his arms, tugging you close and catching your lips. You lean into the kiss, into him, desperately trying to press your bodies closer together. His tongue teases your bottom lip, and you open for him. The approving groan rumbles deep in his chest, and you visibly shiver as electricity seems to run down your spine.

You very nearly whine out loud when he pulls away, but catch yourself quickly. He keeps his arms wrapped safely around you while he thanks the priest for his services and dismisses him.

Shadowheart runs up. Her makeup is smudged down her face. “I never thought I would say this, but Gods, I am so happy for the both of you.”

Astarion shoots her a pointed look with an arched brow.

“Yes, even you, Astarion,” Shadowheart half teases, half reassures him. “Thank you for letting me stay. It was beautiful.”

He still does not know exactly how to take Shadowheart’s genuine gratitude. “You’re, uh, welcome?” It sounds like a question. “We are planning to stay here for the night. If my wife has no objections, you’re welcome to stay and join us for some wine—”

The thought is abruptly cut off when you and Astarion hear a commotion, a clattering of boots running up stairs. Both of your heads swivel towards the sound.

Shadowheart cannot hear it and arches a brow, but follows your gaze. “What is it?”

“We’re not sure,” you answer, and go to move forward, but Astarion pulls you back.

“It’s the wizard,” he snarls, teeth bared.

There is no time to react to what he’s said before the villa door bursts open, and Gale comes running in red-faced and huffing. He’s wearing his robe, with his quarterstaff slung across his back, and you instantly tense.

How in the hells did he find you?

“Illyria!” Gale shouts, sprinting onto the terrace. “Don’t do this! You can’t marry him!”

“Gods, Gale,” you growl, but your panic is increasing. If something is going to set Astarion off, it will be this. “Give it a rest. There will never be anything between us. I love him. I want to marry him. I did marry him. It’s done.”

You know it’s harsh, but it needs to be said. Whatever ideas Gale has gotten into his head need to be ceased.

“You don’t understand!” Gale points accusingly at Astarion. “He’s compelled you. He’s poisoned your loyalty. None of this has been your choice.”

“You did this!” Astarion grabs Shadowheart’s dress, heaving her forward roughly. “You led him here!”

“No!” Shadowheart tugs at Astarion’s wrist, but you know she has no hope against his strength. “I would not do this, Astarion. I swear on Selûne. This is not my doing!”

“Astarion.” You grab his wrist, squeezing with enough force that if he were mortal, you could have broken it. “Shadowheart wouldn’t do this. Let her go. Please.”

He shakes violently as his grasp on Shadowheart loosens and tightens until he finally manages to pry his hand away. His eyes flash so quickly you cannot make out which is which from one second to the next. Astarion notices the rising panic in your expression.

“I’m trying,” he grits out with a pained desperation in his voice.

You turn toward Gale with your brows pinched, magic swelling. “He has not compelled me, Gale! I’m here because I want to be here. I am with him because I love him. Why can’t you accept that?”

Gale straightens. “I can prove it.”

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things.

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

This is the longest chapter yet in this series! You can consider it my apology for the last chapter, which was short 🤣

Astarion:

“You are cordially invited to celebrate the inauguration of Lord Enver Gortash.

A masquerade ball will be hosted this evening, wear your best attire.

Location: Wyrm’s Rock Fortress

Attire: Masks mandatory

This invitation should be presented upon arrival, to ensure access is allowed.”

You read the letter aloud and sigh exasperated, flinging your hands down to your sides another letter falls out from the envelope. Quickly you snatch it up and begin reading it out loud.

“My dearest Ally, Tav,

It would delight me to have you at my side for this special occasion, I have left you a gown with Figaro, he tells me you are well acquainted.

My one request is to have you until the end of the first dance, you may then break away to mingle should you wish to do so.

Yours loyally

E”

You scoff and place the letter down on the table. “That’s hardly enough notice at all. I knew he was delusional, but really? As if we would even entertain letting you out of our sights for even a moment." You turn to Tav and the rest of the group as they all look around uncomfortably. "What? What am I missing?" You arch an eyebrow at your lover.

"Well, Astarion, we are still his 'Allies'. We can't afford to not give him what he wants, lest we raise any suspicions," her voice is soft as she nervously plays with her hands. "I know it is asking a lot to let me do this, however, it's just for show and it's one dance. Then I will come straight back to you, I promise." She walks forward, takes your hands and you feel a slight tremble in hers.

"Yes, well, it may just be for a little while, but need I remind you that we have been having some rather rude interruptions of our own from my siblings? What if they are there? Even if they're not, what if Gortash wants you for more than just a dance?" Your voice raises in pitch slightly near the end of your question, and you feel the anxiety settling in the pit of your stomach. Are you… jealous? Nonsense. You have nothing to be jealous of… what can Gortash give her that you can't?

Well, I suppose he could give her riches, power beyond measure, and… protection… he would be able to protect her. Something I have not been capable of thus far. You stop yourself and push those thoughts deep down. You'll deal with them later.

“Fine. If you want to parade around all evening with Enver then who am I to stop you?” The words come out sharp and you watch her wince at their sting. You exit the room to your sleeping quarters and fall back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling you feel your chest tighten as you think about her in someone else’s arms.

___________

Tav:

As you stand there, you try to compose yourself. You will deal with him later. He is being very childish right now, and perhaps he needs a moment to collect his thoughts. For him to even imply that you would spend all evening with Gortash is ridiculous.

“Gale? Would you mind accompanying me to Facemaker’s Boutique?” You turn to the wizard who seems a little too happy that you had chosen him for this task. Perhaps Shadowheart would have been the better choice but Gale… you were close with Gale, he was a dear friend to you who had always taken the time to listen when you needed to be heard. You needed some time with a trusted friend and Gale was the most trusted.

"It would be my pleasure," he says, bowing slightly at the waist. As the two of you exit the Elfsong Tavern, you make your way towards Figaro’s shop. “He’ll be okay. I think he’s jealous of Gortash's interest in you,” he calmly says, trying to ease the tension.

“He has nothing to be jealous over. It is ridiculous to imply that I would stay a moment longer than needed at Gortash’s side.” You bite out. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. I just want to get this over with.”

Gale offers you a smile as he places his hand on your shoulder and gives it a soft squeeze. “It’s alright Tav, you don’t need to explain yourself. Let’s get through this evening and go from there, however, I believe we should have an escape plan in case any unexpected situations occur.” His face darkens with concern. “There is a sigil that can lead us back to camp, but reaching it may be challenging. I came across an amulet that allows the wearer to cast a Dimension Door spell, I’d like you to wear it that evening. I will feel more at ease knowing that you have options.”

“Thank you, Gale, you are a good friend… I am glad I pulled you out of that rock.” You smile at him and place a hand on his arm, he nods and returns a smile as the two of you arrive outside Facemaker’s Boutique.

After about half an hour of small talk with Figaro, you and Gale have made your way back to the Elfsong Tavern with your mask and dress. Gale had chosen dress clothes and a mask for himself.

You decided to buy Astarion an outfit that would complement your gown, along with a matching mask. You hoped that this would help him move past his reservations.

You spend the rest of the day washing your hair, helping Shadowheart choose between two dresses, and running through plans of escape if anything were to go wrong.

“Grab whoever is closest at the time, use dimension door to get to the sigil and then use said sigil to return here safely… did I get that right?” You sarcastically look at Gale, this is the third time he has made you repeat this plan. He raises his hands and says “Alright, I am satisfied.”

Rolling your eyes, you excuse yourself and make your way toward yours and Astarion's room. You open the door slowly and cautiously only to find the room empty. On your pillow is a piece of parchment with a note in his handwriting.

“Gone for a bite to eat - I will see you at the celebration. - A”

Sighing you place his outfit on the pillow and scribble a note back on the other side.

You retrieve the bag that holds your dress and open it. It is probably the most beautiful item of clothing you own. The dress is form-fitting, hugging the curves of your body with a slit up the left side, long sleeves, and a shallow v-neckline. It's nothing too scandalous nor too conservative. The colour is a deep midnight blue, but as the fabric moves, it shimmers silver as if Figaro stitched the stars themselves into the material. Your hair is loosely braided, and you have opted for a pair of silver sandals with ribbons that crisscross their way up your calf, stopping just below your knee. The amulet Gale has given you is a silver chain with a single ring-shaped pendant in the middle. Finally, your mask takes the shape of an owl bear’s face, the colour matches your dress, a midnight blue and shimmering in the light.

As you leave the room, you encounter your companions in the shared quarters. All eyes are on you, and you swear you see Gale’s face flush as he says, “You look wonderful.” You give him a small nod of appreciation and announce that you will be heading to Gortash for the first half of the evening and that you will meet them there.

You take the sigil to Wyrm’s Rock, present your invitation, and proceed to Gortash’s private quarters. Softly you knock on the door and hear him call out on the other side “Who is it?”

“It’s Tav, I figured you wanted to enter the celebration together. I can wait out here if you need more time.” You keep your voice calm even when your stomach feels like it might cave in.

“Oh! What a brilliant idea. The people need to see us united. Let’s talk business shall we?” He crosses the room and opens the door. He has opted for his usual all-black colour palette, however, his mask is a deep red in the shape of a skull. He places his hand on the small of your back and guides you inside. This is going to be a long evening, you think to yourself.

__________

Astarion:

The hunt wasn't very successful, but you managed to corner a small boar. It would do for the evening. Back at the Elfsong Tavern, you return to your room, on the way you hear the rest of your companions laughing as they get ready for this evening’s festivities. You stalk your way to the bedroom and find it empty. Walking to your bed you see the note has been scribbled on and placed atop an outfit and a mask. Picking up the piece of parchment you see her handwriting and it reads:

“Came to give you this to wear tonight - I look forward to seeing you I love you.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you place the note down to pick up the outfit she had bought you and begin to dress. No one has ever bought you something this extraordinary before, hells, no one has ever bought anything new for you. The top is a dark blue, detailed with constellations on the front, the sleeves are long and the fabric is a soft silk. The trousers are cool-toned grey with one black stripe running down along the outside of the legs. The mask is an owl bear’s face, the colour a midnight blue but when you shift it in the light, it shimmers like the constellations on your shirt. You find a pair of black leather boots that you recently purchased and slip them on. For good measure, you tuck one dagger in the side of each boot and make your way to the group.

“Well, don’t we all look ravishing?” You say leaning in the doorway. “I believe it’s time to go now, let’s not keep Tav waiting too long, hmm?” You take the sigil to Wyrm’s Rock, your companions arriving seconds later and you make your way in.

As you enter the hall, you scan the room, searching for her. You spot her standing next to Gortash, near his throne. Gods, she's beautiful, you think to yourself. Your eyes take her in, the form-fitting dress hugs her body in all the right places. Your eyes roam down her figure and gods above the slit exposing her left leg sends a rush of blood to your core. Her dress a deep midnight blue is a stark contrast to her fair skin but it complements her, as the fabric moves you see shimmers rippling across the fabric they look like… constellations. You glance down at your shirt and realise what she has done. It's her way of showing you that she is yours—the matching colours, the embellishments, and the matched masks.

The moment is soon over as you watch Gortash place his hand on her lower back as he whispers something in her ear. You watch as she throws her head back in a laugh returning a smile to him.

"I need a drink," you announce to your companions. Stalking over to the refreshment table, you grab two glasses of wine, quickly downing the first in one gulp. You have nothing to worry about, you know that she is just playing the game with him but yet it makes your blood boil. Let’s just get this over with, you think to yourself.

Suddenly, the room grows quiet as the first song begins to play, marking the start of the festivities. You watch as Gortash leads her to the floor, his arms encircling her waist, pulling her into a tight grip as he sways to the music with his body pressed against hers. You feel as though you might be sick at the sight of it.

After what feels like a lifetime the other guests join in creating a sea of swaying bodies. You grab Shadowheart by the hand and pull her towards the dance floor.

“Astarion what are you doing?” Her face was visibly shocked. “I am taking back what is mine.” You growl as you twirl and sway your way through the crowd. Alliance be damned you will not allow him to hold her any moment longer.

You are now dancing alongside them catching part of their conversation. Gortash leans to her ear and speaks boldly, “We could be good together, you know? Your talent for persuasion, my ability to rule with an iron fist. Not to mention you are absolutely mouth-watering.”

“I’m flattered Gortash, however, mixing business with pleasure is never a good idea.” She quips back earning herself a wicked smile from him. “You may change your mind, think on it.” He says with a sly smirk.

He pulls back, taking her hand and twirling her in a spin. You expertly intercept, spinning Shadowheart in Tav's place, a quick apology escaping your lips. She looks back at you with daggers in her eyes, while Gortash flashes a wicked smile, his eyes gleaming at the silent challenge you have just issued.

Tav looks up at you, and before she can say anything, your mouth crashes down on hers. Parting her lips, you slip in your tongue; the kiss is sloppy and hot with passion. She pulls away, breathless. "Astarion, what has gotten into you? We cannot afford to make another enemy right now.” Her eyes scan your face, gripping her hand you sweep her away out to the balcony.

“Astarion what is wrong?” Her voice is softer, laced with concern.

“His hands were all over you. The way he looked at you. The way you laughed with him… He can offer you riches, power… protection” You whisper, “I cannot compete with that. Who am I compared to that? A helpless spawn who has brought you nothing but trouble.”

"I'm not asking you to compete, Astarion. There is no competition, and even if there were, you would win by a landslide." Her voice is soft as you place your hands on the railing and lean over the balcony to look down.

She walks up to you and wraps her arms around you from behind, resting her head between your shoulder blades. She softly speaks, “Do you want to know the moment I knew that I had fallen for you?” She says as she pulls back her arms laced around your neck, you give her a soft nod.

"At the blighted village, when we heard that ogre and bugbear rutting in the barn, everyone else turned up their noses at my suggestion to open the door. But you looked at me with a devilish grin and asked if you could interrupt them. As soon as you kicked that door open, I knew a life with you would be filled with mischief, fun, and excitement. I realised I could be myself around you, and you would just jump right in with me, no questions asked. I was so right about you. Life with you so far has been entertaining in the best possible way. Even with me becoming a spawn, we get to do this forever. I used to dream of finding ways to be with you eternally, but I didn’t have to go searching—it found me. I refuse to let this change be something negative. No, it is a gift."

You stand there still looking out over the cliffs of Wyrm’s Crossing letting her words sink in as she continues. "You're too hard on yourself, you know? You are amazing, you just haven't been allowed to shine.”

You shift around to face her, dropping your gaze to meet her eyes. "And do I… shine?" your voice is soft, and you hate how pathetic it sounds.

"You are the brightest star in my skies," she whispers, taking your hands in hers.

Closing her eyes, she opens her mind, utilising the tadpole. As you connect to her thoughts, she shares everything that has happened between the two of you. You witness it all through her eyes, seeing yourself as she sees you. Your throat tightens at the images that play between your interlocked minds, and for the first time, you believe that you are worth something. You have spent too long dead in the box Cazador placed you in, it’s time to start living again.

You place a soft kiss on her cheek and pull her towards the sound of the music holding her close to you as you sway in time with the ballad. Your hands slide down her waist and rest themselves on her backside, she twists her face to yours her eyes flashing with mischief.

“This dress is dangerous, little love. I can’t wait to see it on the floor of our room.” You bend down whispering in her ear as you rake your lips along her jaw.

___________

Tav:

His lips trace hot kisses down your neck and you don’t care about where you are anymore, all you care about is his touch.

“TAV. TAV! It is time to go NOW” Gale forces himself into your mind. Your head snaps up and Astarion tenses, his body already on high alert. You glance around the room taking in your surroundings and in all directions you see a few glowing red eyes under the masks of attendees all making their way through the crowd to you.

“Astarion- .”

“I see them. Don’t worry.” He cuts you off holding you close to him. His hand glides down his side and reaches into his boot. One of the spawns reaches his side, Astarion slams his dagger upwards into its body and it disappears in a cloud of red ash. The crowd separates in a panic as the other spawns run towards you. Another appears to your side, Astarion pulls you away propelling his dagger into their neck and again they vanish.

Gortash sees the commotion, orders the steel watch to intervene and the machines start making their way to aid you. You lock eyes with him and he gives you a small nod.

You grip Astarion’s shirt and he glances down at you “Quod dice face!” you yell and the two of you are teleported to the sigil where your party awaits.

“We can’t keep running like this! It needs to end Tav! It has to end.” You scan his face and you can see he is tired, tired of running… tired of these games.

“I know… I know. We go back to the Elfsong now, we take the evening to plan, gather the supplies and rest. In the morning we will leave.” You rarely use this tone however they have appointed you their leader and lead you shall. Running and avoiding was only making matters worse, the time has come to take action.

You find yourselves back in the main area of the shared quarters, everyone has their roles assigned to them. Shadowheart is readying her healing potions and antidotes, Gale is preparing spells that he thinks will be the most effective, Karlach has asked Lae’Zel to help sharpen her blades and you and Astarion are running over the layout of the palace. There is only one entrance so the element of surprise may be an issue but you will work with what is given.

After a few hours of everyone preparing you have decided to call it a night, all of you need rest for tomorrow. Your companions head to their beds for the night as you and Astarion make your way to your shared room. You start to remove your dress and you feel his hand fall on yours.

“Little love, I still want to take that dress off of you.” He whispers into your ear and a chill runs down your spine. Slowly his hands glide up your arms as he pulls one arm out of the dress at a time. He trails kisses down along your neck and across your collarbone as he pulls the remainder of your dress down until it lands in a pool on the floor.

“You are so beautiful.” He kisses your cheek. “So thoughtful.” Another kiss to your lips. “So strong.” His lips graze your neck. You release a soft moan and tilt your head to the side allowing him better access. “… and so, very generous.” He breathes and sinks his teeth into you, he pulls you into him with one hand placed on your stomach holding you in place. His other trails down your body and his fingers slip between the folds of your heated core. He groans against your neck in appreciation of your readiness for him. He works his finger in slow lazy circles around your swollen bud, the sensation teases you most delightfully.

After the third pull from your neck, he releases his bite and kisses the little puncture wounds. He is still rubbing tantalising circles in you as he guides you back to the bed. Just before he settles the both of you down he shifts below you and lands on the mattress placing you on top. His fingers never missing a beat, he places two fingers deep inside you while he rubs the pad of his thumb against your sensitive bud. He angles his head to the side offering you his neck and slowly you bite down hearing his breath catch. As you take your first pull of his blood into your mouth your body catches fire and you start riding his fingers. Stars appear in your vision, your breathing becomes shallow and you shatter into a wave of pleasure.

“Hmmm, good girl.” He says as he brings his fingers to his mouth cleaning them off slowly as you watch him. He folds his arms around you and kisses you deeply, “Let’s rest now little love, we have a big day tomorrow.”

You nod and inhale his scent… sleep finds you shortly after.

_________________

Astarion:

Petrichor and cinnamon, you breathe her in as the morning light trickles in through a crack in the curtains. She lies sleeping on your chest and you watch her head rise and fall with every breath you take. You need to succeed today, you have so much you want to experience with her, you want to build a life with her, have a home with her… hells you would start a family with her if it were possible. You’d find a way to make it possible. You want to give her everything and more.

You place a soft kiss on her forehead and she stirs awake. “Good morning, lover.” You say teasingly as a goofy smile spreads across her face.

“Good morning… lover.” She plants a small kiss on your neck and cuddles herself into you. A moment later she sighs, “I suppose we need to get up now.”

“Yes, but today is the start of a new beginning, my love.” You peel yourself out of bed and begin dressing in your leather armour. She follows you reluctantly putting on her armour that is quite similar to yours, black leather pants, a black leather top and boots that sit just below the knee. You chuckle to yourself, matching murder outfits…how cute.

As the two of you make your way to your party you hand her a glass bottle with some blood you had saved from your most recent hunt. You share it as a top-up, last night’s blood sharing was more than enough but you would rather be safe than sorry.

You find yourselves standing at the entrance to the palace and you hear a soft click. “Well, that’s suspiciously welcoming.” You open the door cautiously and find… no one. You all enter the building standing in the foyer taking in your surroundings.

“So this is it. I’m home. There’s the same fading carpet, the same tasteless art… nothing’s changed, but gods, everything feels different.” You look around the building feeling anxious.

“What’s it like being back?” She asks placing a hand on your back.

“It does feel strange, breaking into your own home. Especially if murder is on your mind. Then again this is hardly the strangest thing we’ve done together. Although it could be the most satisfying. Well, the second most satisfying…” You give her a playful smile as her cheeks flush.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” She asks softly her eyes searching yours with concern.

“Oh, I’ve never been less sure of anything. But if I don’t face him now, I never will. We’ll spend the rest of our lives running, watching the shadows, never feeling safe. No, this has to happen. Here and now.” You pull her into a hug.

Today is the day you take back your life. Today Cazador will get what is coming for him. At the end of this, it will be him on his knees begging you to show mercy… and just as he taught you, there will be no mercy for the weak and pathetic.

You wanted me here? Well, here I am you bastard. Today I will hear you scream in pain, you will die at my hands.

_______

As the carriage carried them onward toward Waterdeep, the City of Splendors and its moonlit harbors that had once stirred boyhood dreams in his long-forgotten mortal heart, Olazor stole glances at Lady Dusath. He wondered how much of the world she had truly seen beyond Baldur's Gate's walls, how long her existence had been confined to the oppressive tapestried prison that Cazador disguised as luxury.

She had never accompanied Lord Szarr to any formal affairs at his own estate, always seeming tethered invisibly to their chambers. "I do not weary easily, Lord Damaris. If I'm anything, I'm resilient," she had said, and Olazor chuckled in kind, the sound of it rumbling like distant thunder in the dim confines of the carriage. "I have no doubts of your resilience, Lady Dusath. You have survived far worse company than mine," he replied, the words laced with veiled truth. It was an admission of his own shadowed appetites, the reputation tailored to him as cleanly as his well-cut coat, no matter how graciously he smiled. Yet he sensed the sinister edge beneath her own charm, that subtle darkness flickering like black silk through pale cloth, drawing him with the same cold fascination that had driven him to unearth forbidden artifacts and pry open ancient tombs. Elbereth carried her fractures like the many beautiful jewels he'd collected, and he, a connoisseur of the hidden and imperfect, felt that pull to add to his collection. He made no effort to hide his appraisal, just as she studied his broader frame–the powerful chest and shoulders honed not by spawn labor but by his own frontline endeavors, legs toned from centuries of action rather than indolence. He shifted closer, crossing one long leg over the other so his nearer shoulder offered a steady place for her to rest her head if she wished, the air between them thickening with unspoken hungers.

She could feel each time he looked in her direction. Could sense the rake of his eyes down her silk-covered form, starting at her wine-colored gaze and moving deliciously slow to the hourglass of her hips. In a nonchalant gesture, she leaned back just enough to expose more of her shape, one plush thigh crossed deliberately slow over the other to squeeze the two together, her raven curls cascading down snow-white shoulders dusted in freckles from a previous lifetime of sun and exploration. Every inch of skin bared was for him to admire, to appraise like the fine jewels and ancient relics he kept hidden in his own manor. Cazador would ignite at the thought of such gawking, and Elbereth relished the idea of his anguish each time she allowed the thin strap of her form-fitting gown to slither down the round of her shoulder, or the slit caressing her thigh to rise just enough to expose the feminine curve of hip.

"How you managed to convince him to let me leave with you is a miracle I fear my mind will never comprehend. I suppose I should sing your praises through the streets," she muttered, and that crooked smile of his deepened, dangerous and heart-stopping. "Sing if you wish. I've never minded being the subject of a ballad," he chuckled darkly, eyes flicking briefly to the passing landscape before returning to her. "Cazador is… predictable when one knows which strings to pluck, Lady Dusath. I merely played the tune he bends to–one you may yet learn to pluck yourself. Influence is an art, and I… I would not mind teaching you while you remain a guest in my hold." His hand lowered brazenly then, gripping the soft meat of her upper thigh through the silk, claws dimpling the yielding flesh in a possessive squeeze that tested its give and sent a clear message of intent.

Lord Damaris was temptation wrapped in velvet and poise and Elbereth was endlessly challenged to peel away the layers until she found the monster she knew lingered beneath. The very creature she'd locked eyes with as he devoured the beating heart of a woman at Lord Szarr's table, crimson staining the thin lips she so desperately ached to taste. The thought alone was enough to cause her to shift in her seat and by the gods there was a part of her that hoped he was still watching as she did so. Perhaps this yearning made her no better than Cazador himself - A lustful gaze for someone other than the man she was set to marry in a few months time. But Cazador had done more on a regular basis to shatter her than she could ever attempt in return. With that thought in mind, she allowed the faintest smile to cross her glossed lips and settled in for the long trip to Waterdeep. The days that followed blurred into a rhythm of nocturnal travel and careful concealment as the carriage pressed onward, the journey spanning nearly twenty nights under starlit skies and veiled moons. They spoke in low, intimate tones during the long hours, conversations weaving between shared histories and lighter observations: the architecture of distant spires glimpsed on the horizon, the subtle politics of rival lords, the rare beauty of a blood moon rising. Olazor shared fragments of his expeditions, tales of cursed relics and forgotten cities, his voice a velvet rumble that invited her to open in return. Breaks came sparingly: momentary halts for fresh air where they walked the shadowed tree lines, the cool night breeze stirring her skirts and his coat. Hunting occurred under cover of deeper darkness, Olazor slipping away with predatory grace to secure sustenance–swift, discreet feeds on lone travelers or woodland stragglers, ensuring they left no traceable trail that might alert patrolmen on the paths they travelled. He returned each time with a faint flush to his pale skin, offering her a share or the quiet companionship of satiety, their bond deepening in these stolen, vulnerable moments. The carriage became a world unto itself, shoulders brushing, legs occasionally entwining in the sway of the road, building a slow-burning tension that neither fully acknowledged nor dispelled.

Lady Dusath usually despised the chilling cover of night, cursed eternally to stick to darkness and shadow when she craved the heated kiss of golden rays on her pale, freckled skin. But at Lord Damaris's side, cooped up in the mostly comfortable confines of a carriage that bumped and wobbled over paths she'd never been given the opportunity to explore, she didn't quite mind the seemingly endless darkness that coated the atmosphere in a cloak of midnight blue and white hot glimmering stars. It was tolerable. Bearable. Might she even say enjoyable. Days blended into one another until she'd lost track of time entirely, their conversations soothing the antsy ache to stretch her legs and roam unfamiliar stretches of forest outside of Cazador's gates. When intimate mutters died down to comfortable silence, she'd chance a glance at Olazor's visage to take in the sharpened angles and softness he seemed to only allow her to witness. The breadth of his chest and shoulders casted elongated shadows beneath the dim lanternlight of the small cabin, bathing Elbereth's form in a darkness she found oddly comforting. Though he radiated no warmth, she still found herself cozying up to his side to listen to his stories of travel and relics and a life so wondrously free she almost felt a little jealous. They talked of life, death, vast expanses of cities Elbereth had thought she'd never have the privilege to explore, each story drawing her closer to Olazor's orbit, each uttered word solidifying her interest.

When it came time to stop and search for food, Elbereth lingered back by the carriage, both enamored by Olazor's speed and efficiency and discouraged by her lack of ability to contribute. Her meals, though few and far between, had been handed to her ever since her heart ceased its beating and her skin chilled to ice. She'd no skill in the hunt, no knowledge of when or how to kill cleanly. Still, Olazor offered his catch as if it were perfectly natural to share with the spawn, his own rosy cheeks and satisfied grin urging her to indulge until her belly ached and her own complexion took on a pinkish hue. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt truly and completely full. No uttered thanks could possibly compensate for such an offering, yet Olazor seemed wholly unbothered by the transaction, a gesture Cazador wouldn't be caught exchanging with the very woman he'd sought to bind to his name for eternity. Instead, she simply pressed in closer once they boarded the carriage to continue their journey, her head rested on his broad shoulder, one dainty hand finding the back of his own to trace the bulging veins there, the featherlight brush of a foot against his shin. Gentle acts of intimacy that, she hoped, showed even a glimpse of her immense gratitude for his kindness.

After several such nights, as fatigue and the road's monotony pressed in, Olazor directed the driver toward a modest inn nestled along the trade route, a sturdy, timber-framed establishment with warm lantern light spilling from mullioned windows and the scent of woodsmoke and roasting herbs hanging in the chill air. Ivy clung to its stone foundation, and the surrounding forest loomed protectively close, offering shadows for discretion. He paid for two separate rooms with the effortless grace of nobility, coin exchanged between hands without fanfare, though the weight of his gaze on Elbereth as he did so carried heavy insinuation: a gentleman's respect masking the deeper desire to draw her closer, to offer affections and touches Cazador's gilded prison could never provide. Escorting her up the narrow, creaking staircase to her assigned chamber, he carried her trunk with ease, the muscles of his arms and back shifting visibly beneath his fine coat. The room was simple yet comfortable–plush bedding on a heavy oak frame, a crackling hearth casting golden flickers across worn tapestries depicting forest hunts, a small window overlooking the misty woods. He set her belongings aside with deliberate care, then closed the curtains to obscure any daylight from peeking through the windowpane the following day, turning to face her in the intimate space.

The carriage slowed to a stop and the spawn lifted her head just enough to peer out of the small window, catching sight of the inn that sat shrouded by night and tree cover. Her limbs ached from the extended period of time in the small space and once she stepped out of the cabin and into the open air, a heavy sigh left her lungs as she tipped her head back to inhale the scent of pine and evening fog. Hearth smoke and ale traveled on the breeze to accompany the earthy tang of forest the closer they walked toward the swaying lanterns of the quaint inn. She'd never been more grateful for the sensation of dirt beneath her bare feet, the thin silk flats she'd packed in her trunk long forgotten. Gold was exchanged quickly and in a beat, they were making their way up the long staircase toward the upper rooms, Olazor carrying the bulk of her belongings while she kept the small silk pouch tucked close to her side. Her eyes wandered straight to the flex of muscle in Olazor's back, the weight of her trunk seemingly featherlight the way he carried it so effortlessly over one shoulder. Again, her mind began to traverse darker scenarios - Just how easily he could carry her over his shoulder, limbs limp and body pliant beneath his dominating hold. How effortlessly he'd toss her onto any surface sturdy enough to withstand the pent up fury they both carried in their souls. Breath caught behind her ribs and she swallowed thick around the lump that had formed at the base of her throat, her salivary glands gone haywire the more her thoughts twisted into filthy fantasies. Olazor led El into the small room designated just for her, his tall frame crossing the threshold to place her trunk down beside the decently-sized bed nestled against one of the walls before sauntering further into the space to close the curtains over the small window. If she any pulse, it would be fluttering at the sight of him now. She wandered into her quarters and took a moment to examine each piece of décor - Tapestries lining the walls depicting forest hunts, a hand-made quilt freshly washed and draped over the plush mattress that sat atop a deceptively ornate oak frame, pillows fluffed by the wrinkled hands of the old inn-keeper downstairs. On the opposite wall, a hearth crackled low, warm and inviting to bones chilled by much more sinister forces than the night air. Each aspect was far less lavish than she'd been accustomed to, but all comforting in their own quiet, simple ways. Olazor's voice cut through the silence, stirring El's mind once more

"We'll rest here for a day," he murmured, voice low and resonant in the firelit quiet. "Only five nights more until Waterdeep. Once we arrive, I'll ensure you have every comfort at my manor–far freer than what you've known. I would be honored to tour the city with you, to show you the bustling docks at twilight, the hidden corners where true nightlife stirs beneath the moon. And… Should you desire time to explore alone, the streets are yours." The words hung between them, laced with promise, as he lingered near the door.

The spawn's hands busied themselves with removing her jewelry as she listened to Lord Damaris speak, first the gold necklace with a single ruby teardrop pendant, her thin, delicate fingers carefully coiling the chain as she placed it in the small silk pouch. Next her earrings, rubies cut into facetted flowers, each one tucked safely into the pouch alongside her necklace. "Only five nights? Mm - I suppose time quickens when one is truly comfortable in their surroundings." Lady Dusath winked in Olazor's direction, playful and light, the pouch in her hands gently discarded on one of the small bedside tables. "As much as the idea of exploring anywhere alone sounds wonderfully tantalizing, I'd find it more enjoyable to traverse the landscape alongside someone that knows its splendors well," El glanced over her shoulder at the large figure stood in the doorway now, her shoulder dipping just enough to allow the strap of her gown to fall sideways. The other followed, and soon the garmet was barely hanging onto the swell of her breasts.

As he offered his final goodnight, his feet refused to carry him away. Instead, he stepped closer, an imposing yet magnetic presence that filled her personal space, not with threat but with an undeniable force of proximity and want. Towering above her petite, shapely frame, he drank in the oil-slicked curls framing her face, the delicate scatter of cinnamon freckles across her pale cheeks, and then raised one clawed hand, gently tilting her chin upward to force her wine-dark gaze to meet his own. "Sleep well, Lady Dusath," he said softly, the baritone in his voice threaded with dark provocation, "though I confess… the thought of leaving you here alone tests even my considerable restraint. There are far sweeter ways to pass these stolen hours… ways I would gladly demonstrate, should you wish to learn."

One small, pale hand lifted upward to brush a strand of onyx hair away from Olazor's face, the bodice of her gown shifting to expose the thin red lace underneath. "Your restraint is admirable, Lord Damaris," El's voice dropped in volume, an intimate whisper shared between two unbeating hearts, her fingertips crawling toward the back of Olazor's neck in order to anchor herself closer to his chest, "Who am I to deny a teacher the opportunity to enlighten a willing mind?"

Every night spent reliving that evening in the rose garden, every moment lost to Cazador's cruelty when all she craved was Olazor's affections, led to this.

He held her there, suspended in the charged silence, the heat of his breath ghosting her skin, every inch of him radiating control laced with invitation, but he never closed the final gap. The choice, for now, remained hers still–ever since the night she left him wondering by the fountain of their moonlit walk.

Elbereth raised up onto the tips of her toes to even partially meet the vampire lord's height, the hand at the back of his neck gliding back down toward his chest before falling away entirely as she let a cool exhale coast past his lips. Then she took a careful step back, allowing the red silk clung to her form to slide downward until it pooled at her ankles to expose the red lace underclothes that left little to the imagination. She stepped out of the garment, each step calculated in their speed and precision, her small frame swallowed by the space around her as she stared back at him. A devilish smile tugged the corners of her lips upward as she backed herself further into the room, a flick of her gaze toward the lanterns extinguishing their flames, leaving only the orange glow of the flickering hearth to illuminate the space. Piercing orbs of red shown through the darkened room as she reached behind her head to let her hair down from its neat half-up arrangement, black curls cascading down her shoulders and back in a waterfall of oil slick and raven feathers. There she stood, bathed in shadow and hearth-light, temptation wrapped in red lace and desire that could be felt cities away with one palm outstretched to the towering man positioned statuesque in the center of the room. Sin and seduction. A serpant poised to strike, though blissfully unaware of the much larger dangers that lurked nearby. Words left unspoken only thickened the air around them and each breath grew more and more difficult than the last.

"Show me, Lord Damaris," El breathed, her gaze never faltering no matter how intimidating his shadow had become. "Show me what others cannot."