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thelikesoffinn · 7 months

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„Astarion ending as the Vampire Ascendant is the correct ending for him, because it is what he wants.”

That is a claim I’ve been seeing pop up more and more often these days. And I think it’s both a very bold and a very odd claim to make.

But first things first: Hello, I’m a licensed social worker! So far, I’ve worked with children, refugees and youths with behavioural issues stemming from bullying and or abuse.

Please be aware that I will be mentioning different kinds of abuse, coping mechanisms, and victim/abuser relationships. If any of this is difficult for you, don’t force yourself through it. My jabbering about a traumatised vampire is not worth your wellbeing, not ever.

I will, however try to stick to Astarion and not use other examples. If, in any case, I do use a non-Astarion example, I’ll add a warning beforehand so that you can skip the part. And I’ll make it clear what will be discussed in the next bit, so that you have a chance to skip it entirely.

This is an effort to make this as accessible as possible for everyone that wants to indulge on a mad woman’s rambling – and I know there’s a few people that like this sort of stuff!

And, uh, there's obviously spoilers for all three acts. Serious spoilers, even.

Before I can get into the whole ‘why Astarion didn’t really want to ascend,’ we need to understand him a little more. And to understand this pretty boy’s brain, we first need to understand the gist of what we’re talking about when we throw around the word ‘abuse.’

“Abuse” is when someone is treated with cruelty, violence, or neglect – often to bad effect – on a regular basis. Repetitively. Check’s out for Astarion, I’d say, but we all knew that already. I mean, if one thing was obvious, it was this.

1. Astarions Abuse

Next we need to look at what kind of abuse Astarion faced over his long years of torment, seeing as different types of abuse will have different effects on the victim.

Not that that is anything we have to worry about with him – Astarion won the abuse lottery, to put it bluntly. In a horrible game of fate, he got everything. He himself indirectly mentions all the types of abuse he faced, albeit never using the correct terms.

The first we properly notice – fitting, seeing as it is often the most obvious form of abuse – is the physical abuse. Astarions scars are probably the biggest tell Larian could shove down our throats, only underlined by Astarion’s tale about the night itself. About how Cazador ‘misspelled something’ every time he flinched or screamed and had to do ‘many corrections. On top of this, Cazador locked Astarion up for months on end and tortured him – or had him tortured – on a regular basis both as a rite and as a punishment.

Next up, we have the fact that Astarion was forced to basically prostitute himself repeatedly. This is what we call sexual exploitation.

“I spent two hundred years using my body to lure pretty things back for my Master.” – Act 2

Two hundred years is a long time, filled with great many people. Now, we don’t know how many of those people actually tapped into the sexual exploitation and how many he could just lure back with other means, but the fact that it happened a lot is undeniable.

Next we have a form of abuse that we often disregard in adults: Neglect. It sounds odd, I know, saying that a fully grown adult was neglected. They can care for themselves, can they not?

Well. Yes and no.

Adult neglect is proceeded by the condition that one adult has to lean on another adult to fulfil their needs for whatever reason. This could be anything, from disability to income-based issues.

Seeing as Astarion had absolutely nothing, while Cazador had everything, we can assume this was the case. Cazador had the house, the money, the power. Astarion owns but one pair of clothes, assumedly, that he has fixes over and over again. Fair to say, that’s pretty neglectful. (And it’s one more reason to shower the guy in pretty armour and camp clothes. Go ham, people.)

Last we have the form of abuse we actually get to witness later in the game – emotional abuse.

Once again, it’s undeniable that this happened. Especially since we’re all seeing it in the flesh upon meeting Cazador in his crypt.

“Have you no respect for yourself?”

“I strove for perfection in all things. Even those as imperfect as you.”

“A pity you amounted to so little, despite my efforts.”

“A pathetic little boy who never amounted to anything.”

All Act 3, Crypt

Here we have just a few examples of things Cazador throws in his face. It’s like reading a textbook on emotional abuse, this one (and it’s definitely a reason to throw hands).

Blaming the victim, keeping their sense of self and their self-worth as tiny as possible to make them cower and flee. A true classic.

This pretty much shows that Astarion suffered all forms of abuse we commonly see and it is implied – once again by Astarion himself – that at least a few of those instances were ritualistic.

Now, what does that mean exactly? Well, I fear I need to use a real example here, so please skip the next paragraph.

Ritualistic doesn’t refer to a proper ritual – it can, but that’s mostly a thing for those in a cult. So, we’re not necessarily talking about a ‘Vampire Ascendent Ritual’. A husband, beating his wife every evening after his third bottle of beer is also called ritual abuse. It happens regularly. It is part of a routine. Both parties know what will happen.

I can’t find the exact quote, so I’m working of my memory here, but at one point he said that when Cazador invited him to eat and he said yes, he would be served a putrid rat. If he said no, he’d be beaten.

The way it was phrased made it clear that it happened more than once and that Astarion clearly knew what would happen. So, this can be classified as ritualistic abuse.

2. A Note on Conditioning and Compliance

By default, abuse victims are conditioned to behave a certain way or in a certain fashion. This is a natural response to avoid further abuse.

In Astarion, the thing we see most often is his inherent need to please. Not literally, he doesn’t mind being an arsehole. But he initially feels the need to follow Tav’s orders, even if they go against his own wishes.

This can be clearly seen in the conversation with Araj Oblodra. Astarion very clearly doesn’t want to bite her. He doesn’t. But he will do so, if Tav tells him to. This behaviour is not conscious – he doesn’t know why he does it, he just does – and it is to be expected. This is how he kept himself save for two centuries, so of course he will fall back into his usual pattern when the pressure is high.

This goes hand in hand with the fact that most abuse victims don’t fight. Maybe initially, but not after long term abuse. Especially not after two fucking centuries.

This is true in Astarion – offered by his ‘siblings’ during act 3 and unhappily acquiesced by the man himself. Astarion stopped fighting and, once again implied, cowered, and did as he was told in order to survive.

3. The Astarion we know and love

Obviously, all that abuse does have an impact on our vampire boyfriend. He shows various common signs of abuse and just like with the forms of abuse, Astarion raked every coping mechanism he could find. (Not really, but it feels like it.) It’s also important to note that nearly all of the following things happen inwardly. Astarion is not one of the victims, that tries to rationalise and minimise the actions of his abuser. Quite the opposite, actually.

I’ll note from the beginning, that rationalisation will not be covered in this bit, as most examples will be important later on. But he definitely does it.

One of his biggest skills is to hide every ounce of fear or hurt behind sarcasm and snarky theatrics. He doesn’t seem to hide his anger much, though, so that’s something! Our boy is cool with anger, not so much with being afraid.

“Ahahaha, now that you mention it….I might have done…that.” – Act 3, regarding the Gur children

“The thing that will decide my fate forever more? Yeees, it’s been on my miiiind. Why?” – Act 2, regarding the Ritual

And there’s many more instances that prove this. Honestly, half his dialogue is sarcasm, so it would really be too long to get into and we all know what I mean, right? We have alltalked to the guy before. It’s obvious that he’s sarcastic to a fault.

This goes hand in hand with his penchant for defensiveness. I would personally state that he’s simply not really good with guilt. When talking about fear, he usually just opts for sarcasm or avoids the topic completely, but guilt especially has his defences going up. This is also when he’s most likely to shove all the blame off to Cazador.

“Don’t look at me like that. Cazadors orders.” – Act 3, Crypt

“I just did what I had to!” – Act 3, Crypt

And don’t get me wrong, he does that anyway. And with good reason. Astarion didn’t have a choice for the most part, but he’s still easy to shove things off.

This kind of connects to his penchant for denial.

Astarion doesn’t really like to talk about most things. He firmly believes he is an ‘action’ sort of person that just does instead of plans, which invertedly just means he’s great at pushing the thinking stuff away. He also likes to get rid of stuff, so that he doesn’t need to face it ever again.

“I never want to see these little scraps of misery again. The world doesn’t need to know my shame.” – Act 3, about the children

And yes, this partly rings true. He’s probably ashamed and doesn’t want anyone to know what he’s done. But it’s also very clear that he himself simply doesn’t want to face his own actions, something that is just underlined by his extreme willingness to red rid of the other spawn.

As mentioned by Astarion himself, he’s big on manipulation. I mean, I don’t think there is much explaining necessary. The guy is willing to do a whole lot in order to get what he desires – which mostly revolves around safety and survival, to be honest – and he’s not really shy about it either. And that’s despite the fact that he doesn’t really like intimacy – especially in form of sex.

It’s not a secret that Astarion is not big on sex and anything surrounding it. This goes far enough for people to consider him either ace or ace coded.

A claim that, personally, I’m not super in line with.

Now, it’s not entirely wrong and if this is your head cannon I’m surely not going to stand in your way – but on a larger spectrum, I think he’s more traumatised than ace. And while those go hand in hand sometimes, it’s a bit difficult for the ace community if you attach traumatised characters to them because it can fuel a whole lot of stigma that is honestly neither needed nor wanted. But I digress!

If it comes to his own behaviour, he’s great at minimising his mistakes. Honestly, he’s a master of minimisation. A very obvious and famous example would be:

“’Killed’ feels like a…strong word. Not many corpses have your vigour.” – Act 1, after killing Tav

Astarion. You literally sucked poor Tav dry and left them flopping around, cold, and dead. Killed is exactly the right word and we all know it.

“Quite the deviation from my usual routine. Capture, not lure. I didn’t bring them in with sweet rolls or anything.” – Act 3, Gur Children

This is another attempt at minimising what he did, if a bit less obvious because at this point there isn’t much he can say. But at least he didn’t sexualise the gur children, right? They’re still spawn but whoo, at least that didn’t happen.

The next point would be dissociation, which is extremely common in abuse victims – of all forms of abuse.

Astarion himself mentioned certain moments that could be classified as dissociation over course of the story, which is probably the coping mechanism I personally expected the most.

The pale elf has a penchant for violence, but he’s not entirely shameless or abhorrently vile, which gets clearer the more the story progresses. So, two hundred years of forced prostitution, torture and doing whatever other horrible things? Yeah, I’d be more surprised if he didn’t dissociate.

Examples of that would be:

“A moment of disgust to push myself through and then I could’ve carried on, just like before.” – Act 2, after Araj

“I felt nothing the moment I handed them over.” – Act 3, Gur Children

“Did you enjoy it? It felt like you weren’t fully there.” – Act 1, Tav after Sex

The latter is generally more of an assumption than actual prove, but with context it does make sense.

The last common sign of abuse we find in our boyfriend would be his low self-worth. It’s a consistent trait that stays over the course of all three acts, noticeable in many different conversations.

We can see it in his reaction to wanting to break up before finishing his story. We can see it in his genuine surprise when Tav picks him over any of the other characters. We see it in his insecurity whenever Tav asks to sleep with another character. He’s fine with it, but he still worries their decision to sleep with someone else is based on something he did.

It eases up ever so slightly after Cazador is dead, but even then he’s still struggling which is once again perfectly illustrated if you try to break up with him.

“Oh shit. I- Did I do something wrong?”

That is the first thing he asks and I think it speaks for itself. He genuinely doesn’t believe he has much to offer and for Astarion, it’s likely that Astarion will always be the problem.

4. "Oh, I tried them all none of them answered.”

Another big thing that’s important to note, is that Astarion was never saved. No one came to save him from Cazador. There was no darling boy on a white steed riding into that castle to rescue him and princess carry him away. Not even the gods answered his desperate calls.

So, he never received any kindness or luck. To him, the world seems as cruel and horrid as before because he didn’t have the chance to experience goodness in two centuries.

But worse than that, he didn’t even get to save himself. Astarion didn’t stand up to Cazador, he didn’t run out of his own might.

He was beaten to near death and ‘saved’ by Cazador, who would become his abuser.

He tried to save someone and, in turn, was locked up and starved for an entire year.

He was abducted by mind flayers, i.e., saved from Cazador, only to end up tadpoled and on the cusp of getting a fancy, squiddy beard.

Anything that’s good, any kindness, any selfless action…it all came with a ginormous price tag.

5. Over the Course of the Story

Astarions behaviour changes a whole lot over the course of three acts – which is important once we talk about his quests climax – so let’s review what we’re working with!

Act 1 Astarion is guarded as fuck. The man has walls around him that are so high, even the gods can touch them.

A lot of his behaviour in act 1 revolves around staying save and staying liked. He lies, manipulates, and flutters his lashes in order to get what he wants and needs. Instead of asking, like Wyll, Karlach and Gale do, Astarion uses all he has to offer to get by. He is still very much in survival mode and tries to weasel his way through an unfamiliar situation with familiar methods.

On top of that, and most notably, he’s absolutely not fond of kindness or selflessness.

#I saved a child and now my boyfriend is mad

Here, we are most likely to gain disapproval for doing the decent thing – unless you sent him outside for a minute whenever you’re being a good person.

And I’d assume that this is because of two things.

First: The very traditional ‘Why not me?’

As I mentioned before, Astarion wasn’t saved. He hasn’t experienced kindness in a very long time so seeing that the world is literally filled with kind people is hurtful. Why didn’t anyone save him? Why was he left to his own devices for so long? Why should he care about others when it’s so clear that no one ever cared about him? No, dead to all of them. If he didn’t get it, neither will they.

“And what am I owed? What about the injustices I suffered? Am I not entitled to anything?” – Act 3, Crypt

“I was in the prime of my life when I was turned. Everything was taken from me too.” – Act 3, Crypt

And secondly is the fact that, as I mentioned, goodness always has a price. And it’s one most people won’t be willing to pay. That’s how his life has been, so why would theirs be different?

This is precisely why Astarion may disapprove of kind actions, but he mostly neither approves nor disapproves if Tav asks for payment. That’s just how the world works.

Once you venture out into act 2, after getting to know him a whole lot more, he starts to mellow a bit – if only towards Tav.

“He’s afraid, so afraid, of everyone but you, who she should fear the most.” – Sceleritas about Astarion

His approval is a lot easier to gain – or at least keep! – and he tends to approve of some more proper actions. He doesn’t throw a fit if you promise to find Mol, he approves of Tav being kind to His Majesty, of saving Aylin and he even approves of Durge apologising to Isobel after threatening to rip her to pieces.

He's slowly starting to open up, allowing Tav to see some parts of him he previously kept hidden. He accepts their offer to help, if hesitantly and, by god, the man starts experimenting with boundaries.

The social worker in me is shedding tears at this. It’s my favourite thing to see in my clients and it’s no different here. Yay to saying no!

Of course, it’s still a bit hit or miss. If Tav urges him to bite Araj, for example, he will only to later notice that he didn’t fucking have to. He recognises this on his own and he calls Tav out on it. Just like he calls them out on not helping him with his Orthon quest.

Good job, chap. Good fucking job.

And the growth-train won’t stop going even as we reach act 3.

In act 3, there’s not many things he disapproves as of right now – those he does, mostly have to do with how Tav treats him and not with anyone else. In fact, he’s more likely to approve good behaviour now, like giving Yenna food or money.

And yes, we need to consider that this could simply be because he gets used to Tav’s behaviour and just learns to roll with it. But it’s also highly likely that he notices that there’s truly good people around. At least one person. And that person is not only good, no, they’re in the process of helping him break free once and for all.

They’re helping him save himself.

By act 3, he has learned that he can absolutely say his piece where Tav is concerned and he’s more likely to disagree with them on certain things. It’s seen during a lot of small dialogue that he’s no longer terribly afraid to be honest with them, willing to listen and talk and he’ll ask for help if he needs it.

“I can do this. But I need your help.” – Act 3, Crypt

Something that can be viewed both positively and negatively is that he’s definitely loyal to a fault. He will stick by Tav’s side, no matter what.

“I really hoped we could avoid being pawns for a dark god, but here we are, I suppose. I’m with you, my dear, wherever this might lead.” – Act 3, After Jaheira confronts durge

As I said, this can be both positive and negative. On one count, it’s a recipe for disaster, seeing as he could be waltzing into a really bad situation for Tav alone.

But on the other side…this is a man who only cared about himself because that is the only person he could afford to care about. He needed to survive. He now has enough room to breathe and the capacity to care for someone else and I’d be inclined to count that as a good thing.

6. The Crypt

All the progress he made in act 2 and 3 is nearly tossed into the wind as soon as the crew enters Cazadors castle.

It’s not an immediate thing, of course.

At first, Astarion tries to stay light and simple and he hides behind flippant tones and relaxed faces. The way he recounts this is almost comically disinterested and the façade is actually quite good.

It’s start’s cracking after we meet Godie, one of the people who tortured him on more than one account, but he mostly manages to remain as upbeat as one can honestly expect for the first half of the journey.

All that, however, is done for the very moment we meet Sebastian. His mask not only slips, no, it full on shatters and there’s none of his apparent lightness left.

Which, of course it does.

The man is suddenly faced with years and years and years of victims. Innocent, unlucky people he lured back to his master over two centuries. People he liked, people he pitied.

“It’s sickening, seeing them again.”

It’s basically a room filled with guilt, exclusively for Astarion. And, as we mentioned before…Astarion is not great with guilt.

The guilt, however, is not where it ends.

No, he’s also faced with reflections of his own past. The spawn pose as reminders of what he did, sure, but also as reminders of what he was.

Weak, desperate, hungry.

There’s an abundance of images of his worst moments, reflected back at him in the thousands. It’s probably like staring into a funhouse mirror, but instead of seeing yourself in a funky way he just sees everything he so desperately doesn’t want to be.

“It should be [who I am]! I don’t want to be like them. They’re pathetic, horrible…”

He’s forcefully made aware of how darn weak he can be, which claws at all the wounds he’s barely had time to close. Something, he of course won’t admit if asked.

“THEY DO NOT [remind me of myself]. That weakness in me is dead, IT’S DEAD. I have a higher purpose.”

The high pressure of the moment brings out all of his act 1 traits in but a few moments. You can pretty much watch how he starts to shut down mid conversation, one of his old walls snapping back into place to remove himself from the situation.

Thing is though, walls usually become a bit brittle after disuse. Especially when talking to a person you don’t usually want to wall out.

Or, in his case, when talking to Tav.

After meeting Sebastian, Astarion shows extreme reactions to Tav nudging any of his weak spots. His reaction varies on whatever choice you make, but it ranges from aggression to defensiveness, to denial and even to downright begging Tav.

“Don’t hate me. I just did what I had to. I swear I did what I had to.”

This probably the most shocking out of all of them, since that is not something we got to witness before. The begging is likely a mixture of intense fear of losing Tav, his low self-esteem and pre-Tav behaviour, since we can assume that Cazador made him beg more than once.

Another old coat he puts back on would also be the least surprising of them all.

Manipulation.

He falls right back into it, using Tav’s affection to get what he want if we trigger the right action.

“If they die and I ascend, I won't have to rely on the parasite to walk in the sun. I'll be free. Truly completely free. Isn't that what you want?”

This, to me, was probably the biggest tell that Astarion was back in survival mode. He’s panicking, for fucks sake, and who can blame the guy? He’s back. He’s about to face down his abuser.

Of course he’s fucking panicking.

Panic leads to an increased craving for safety and, in his case, power. This is why he clings to Tav, why he begs them to love him still. And this is why he jumps head first into the rationalisation pool.

“I will need to sacrifice them all if I want to perform the ritual. - [You can save them.] – What’s the point? They're as good as dead! I thought they were dead. If they are unleashed, they will cause incredible carnage. […] They must die. Better they serve a purpose.”

Another textbook example.

They must die anyway. They’re basically dead. No need to save them now. They’re dangerous, I’m doing the right thing by sacrificing them. I already thought they were dead, so it’s not changing anything for me. They’re a lost cause and I deserve all this power. I deserve it, because I suffered and nothing will change if they die.

So, seeing as we already spoke about his usual behaviour in act 3 – behaviour he showed after we allowed him to breathe and be himself for a while – I think we can fairly easily conclude he’s not thinking straight.

Astarion is right back in survival mode, where all that matters is he himself. If it weren’t for the seven thousand spawns, he might have moved through this more gracefully, but seeing those tipped the scales and Astarion is absolutely losing it.

Remember that for the last section, per favore.

7. The Ascension

“Astarion wants to ascend and Tav manipulates him into doing what they want.”

That is basically the essence of what people often claim and I can’t help but shake my head at such a blatant disregard of everything he has become. This is completely ignoring the change and growth he has gone through over the course of their journey.

Astarion wants to be free. He wants to be safe. That does not mean he wants to ascend.

And the claim that Tav manipulates him into doing anything is even more baffling. We are all aware that Tav is not manipulative by nature, yes? That is entirely on you. You decide who your Tav is.

And then let’s remember: Astarion is panicked. He’s afraid and he’s not thinking straight. His abuser is on his knees before him and he still feels so weak. And there’s seven thousand spawns that need handling.

Astarion is very much not okay right now.

In fact, reading his thoughts just proves this theory.

“You can see the fear in his eyes but also the hunger. The thick smell of blood in the air and the promise of power being so close is intoxicating to him. All he can see is the power of the ritual and the freedom that power brings. The freedom to do anything. To be anything.”

Tav, however, has none of those problems. They can actually see beyond the current situation and they are fully aware what the consequences are. Astarion is not. As we previously established, Astarion is a doer. Not a thinker. He didn’t think this through, not at all.

The only thing Tav is doing – the persuasion roll – is reminding him of the very real consequences he is facing. The consequences he hasn’t thought about before.

"I know you think this will set you free, but it won't. This power will trap you, just like it trapped Cazador."

And that is the kindest thing Tav could do in this situation. They’re not bodily dragging him away from Cazador. They’re not even telling him to not do it. They’re just offering him the truth. He can do with that information whatever he desires.

“Astarion cries when he doesn’t ascend, that just shows that it was the wrong choice.”

A hare-brained point that I thankfully have only seen once so far.

That crying? That is healthy crying.

That is him, crumbling under the stress that suddenly dissipates. That is him mourning two hundred years of torment. That’s him letting out feelings he hasn’t been able to for centuries.

And, for the love of god, try to put yourself in his shoes.

Two hundred years of torment, ended in but a moment.

Astarion was abused and tortured for so long, afraid for so long only to see his tormentor die just like that.

Cazador died within a moment and all Astarion needed was a darn blade. Of course he fucking cries.

Seeing how pathetic a being the very core of your life’s misery actually is hurts. It hurts like hell because not only are you finally free – free! – no, you’re faced with the fact that this pile of nothing, the thing that’s bleeding out right in front of you…this was what tortured for so long.

This thing hurt you so much. That guy took everything from you, everything you once were, and broke it again and again and again over years.

You were so scared of this thing.

And yet he has the gall and the gumption to die just like that.

It was so easy.

And yet you suffered for so long.

8. Evil Playthrough?

An evil playthrough is really a different setting altogether.

All of this, as you can probably tell, is really only applicable on a good playthrough. Realistically speaking. I’m not sure how the game mechanics handle it.

On an evil path, Astarion never really gets to experience kindness and goodness. Evil Tav will just prove him right in his believe that the world is a vile and cold place, meaning that he realistically would be more inclined to actually want to ascend.

9. Final Conclusion

I think all of this should be enough to make it clear that no, ascended Astarion is not the best ending for the guy. In fact, it is probably the worst. Because it’s just him, running away. He’s running into a lonely and cold state of being, where cruelty and power lord over everything else and he’s running because he’s terrified of being hurt again. He’s running despite desperately wanting to stop running.

“I'll spend the rest of my life running watching the shadows, never feeling safe…no, this has to happen. Here and now.”

And, the worst part is: Nothing about Astarion is left after he ascends. Even his tone of speaking gradually changes, his theatrics fading. He’s slowly losing himself, until there’s nothing but an evil caricature left.

So, in the end, ascension will have proven him right.

That version of him is dead.

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate #baldurs gate #bg3 #astarion #the dark urge #tav #astarion romance #astarion ancunin #astarion and tav #bg3 act 1 #bg3 act 2 #bg3 act 3 #act 3 #act 2 #act 1 #araj oblodra

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pursuitseternal · 2 months

Text

“Use Your Words:” but Astarion prefers action 🔥 nsfw prompt fill: he’s your only companion.

Astarion x F!Reader | E | 3.6K of seductive smut

Anonymous prompt fill: what if he was your one and only companion? I also imagined, what if he discovered you write smutty things about him?

Summary: Your only companion has grown distant after you’ve turned his advances away once. And then Astarion finds your writing, your fantasies and imaginings that give him the inkling you’re not so against his advances as you once were 🔥

CW: wounded-pride vampire, yearning fulfilled, elegant prose about his whiff, banter and seduction, caught in flagrante the next morning…

Ao3 Link | Bites Series on Ao3 |List

Night falls, another evening to yourself as Astarion treads into the forest of the Mountain Pass to hunt. Perhaps your body would finally relax if you had allowed for more company on your journey to finding a healer. Sometimes, you question if you might see that Cleric of Shar or that Wizard again on the road forward. Perhaps this time you would agree… or even beg them… to join you. For days it has been only you two, you and the… vampire. He had made himself known, what he was known, awhile ago it seems.

You almost wish you had one more person with you to keep watch on him during those long, dark hours of night when he was the one on watch.

Of course, he fed on you nightly or daily, an act that ensured he stayed strong enough to protect you, even as you ran around bloodless the next morning. But, after that first night, you insisted he only feed when you are awake. There’s nothing, no one to hide his nature from.

Your camp is quiet, just a humble tent he makes each time in case of rain and two simple bedrolls by the fire. He hunts for your meat, bringing you back fresh kills, even if they are mostly drained already.

While your days are filled with adventure and bloodshed, your evenings are quiet.

Except for that one, a tenday ago already or more. When he suggested that he could give you a little something in return for the daily feeding you allotted him.

Your stomach had knotted, not unlike the way it does every time his fangs pierce your flesh, every time his lips and tongue suck you down over dinner by the fire. When you eat, so does he….

But that night he offered to taste more of you than the veins of your wrist.

No, you had replied. Flustered. Hasty. Head swimming from blood loss as your blood still dried on his chin. It wouldn’t be safe, too risky, too dangerous… too, too.

“A pity,” he had whispered before sliding away to keep watch first that night. “You look delicious in the moonlight…”

Since then, he had built so many walls, found so many excuses to keep himself busy during those quiet hours after dark before you slept. He kept every book you had looted, insisting that perhaps these were more helpful than any plans you had for finding a way to Moonrise Towers. When he wasn’t hunting, he was reading… or feeding…. Or if you caught him from the corner of your eye, glaring at you with some sort of mix of hunger and fear and resentment.

And you… you had taken to writing and drawing with quill and ink in a small leather book you purloined from the Monastery yesterday. Tonight, he turns from the mountain trails, two rabbits already prepped for roasting in his hands. He is silent. Something once so uncommon between you two. His hands work quickly to hang them over the fire, the scent of them cooking making your stomach growl. Astarion isn’t much of a cook, but he does at least continue to give you the consideration of a good nightly meal. His eyes look down at you, his gaze goes from sharp and bitter to… surprised.

“What the hells are you doing?” he demands, that voice just as silken as he judges you as when he tires to seduce you.

You shrug, pulling the small book against your stomach. “Nothing… not really….”

“Come come now, I bring you a brace of rabbits, you could at least reward me with some entertainment….” His eyes shift as he lowers himself to sit beside you on your bedroll. Something he hasn’t done since you rejected him. And you can tell, by the way his tongue rolls, he’s teasing you with just what kind of entertainment you insist on offering him.

Or denying him.

“I’m… not sure,” you hem in hesitation. And for as much as you know in your brain you should lean away as he encroaches on your space, you just… can’t. You missed that easy company he gave you. Before he suggested more. Before his naming you delicious had settled in your brain as a daily moniker you could almost hear him thinking as he drank from you still.

Oh yes, that was what he wanted. You swallow loudly, keeping the journal between your thighs, rolling up the cuff of your nightshirt for him to drink from your wrist. He catches your hand in his, a soft cradle to his fingers, thumb stroking up the sensitive gooseflesh of your inner wrist. As if he were trying to find the perfect spot to bite.

As if he didn’t always bite in the same place.

Before you know it, that small book is pulled from your hiding spot, his velvety voice peeling giggles as he cracks it open where your quill rests. But then he freezes.

“You’re writing… poetry?” He gives you that rakish look, that canted brow and quirking lips, even as you try to snatch it back.

You growl, aggravated. He’s just too quick and too dexterous to fight fair. “Music, if you must know… though I am no bard… just with words.”

He casts a look at you, one of pure judgment, “So, poetry, darling.”

“Does it matter? It’s mine,” you huff, reaching across his lap for your book. He doesn’t waste a second, using your frustration and your momentum to flatten you out over his thighs.

And over other parts of his anatomy you… well, ones you had been observing perhaps more since his advance on you that night.

He presses his elbows into your back, points digging between your shoulder blades. “Your words choice is impeccable… gods, when was the last time I read anything with the word effervescent in it… or nefarious…” he pauses; leaning forward to put more of his body weight into where he prods your back. “Oh my, you little scribe of humble poetry… who is this who ‘you wish to inhale the scent of petrichor from his skin?’”

His voice fades quieter. And your stomach sinks as you can feel his pride curling stronger inside him. “Oh, I had no idea darling… and here I was, thinking you just kept me for my looks and that I bring you food for a warm meal each night.” He leans back on his palm, your book still in one hand, and that blastedly smug smirk on his sharp features. “I had no idea you wanted to smell the fresh earth scent on my skin till dawn.”

You cringe, rising back up to your knees. Mortified that he read your drabbles, your little ways of occupying your thoughts, with him so… distant. And you, so alone.

“How long would you let yourself keep pining for me? Yearning for the scent of my skin on yours, hmm?” He smirks so twistedly, his fangs flash in the firelight. “All you have to do is ask, pet.” He gives you a cheeky grin, proffering the book back towards you, “unless…” he yanks it from the tips of you fingers. “Unless you wanted me to find your lustful prose… In which case you might be an even more masterful seductress than I gave you credit for, darling.”

“Give it back….” You whine. Irritated and annoyed. And your skin grows hotter by the second the more those crimson eyes stare into yours.

“Ah, ah,” he taunts and flaunts the book in your face. “I know you are more gifted with words than that. What if we play a game? Let’s see just how prettily you can plead to have this book back in your possession… unless there is something else you wish me to give you?”

“I….” You swallow. Your belly cries out yes, yes there is something else. Your reason however still nags at you that it is too dangerous.

That he is too dangerous.

“I think it might be best if we just eat and go to bed, Astarion,” you whisper. But even your own ears aren’t convinced by that timid tone.

“You think…?” he purrs, setting the book right at the top of your lap. Pushing it against your body. “Sounds rather uncertain for a wordsmith.”

You can’t help the way your eyes flutter shut, feeling his breath down your neck. Cold… like the mountain wind that carries his scent to your nose. That earth-laden scent of his skin masked by his fragrances of sharp citrus and mellow herbs. His hand barely brushes the top of your thigh as he withdraws, not an accident with his skilled hands. And all you're left with as he rises back to his feet is the true night breeze chilling your skin and the scent of roasting meat over the fire.

Astarion smiles to himself, all arrogance and seduction, using his dagger, one you hope is clean, to carve off the freshly cooked rabbit. He places it in the bowl with his own fingers, only looking up at you to lock eyes as he languorously licks the juice from those pale digits.

“You know,” he starts to muse, eyes cast into the night sky. The perfect picture of wistful. “We could have been quite the pair, you and I, aside from the obvious prowess in battle thus far. There’s much about one another I’m sure we would… enjoy… getting to know, many layers of ourselves we could peel off one another….”

You sigh, and he hears it, head snapping down to give you that look like you’re his next meal served up as prettily as the one he starts bringing in your direction. “Shame you haven’t capitalized on two such offers now.”

“Tell me, just how much are we alike? Can’t be that much if your advances have failed twice…” you smirk, feeling a little bratty edge, a naughty tone in your voice.

It makes him smile, and wrinkle his nose in insult all at once.

He settles near you, not so close as before. Waiting for you to pick at your food first before he can reach for your wrist. Instead his eyes seem fixed on your mouth, watching as your fingers place your food inside, the way you suck them clean after each bite. “Alike?” He finally speaks after a swallow and a shift of his body. “No, I think we… complement one another, though we may be completely opposite. You love to write. I love to read. You can't help but follow your instinct to give aid to nearly everyone we encounter, and I keep us going ahead on our adventure regardless. You speak with justice, and I can swindle and rob.” He grins, finally leaning closer to wrap his cold fingers around your wrist. He tugs you, more forcefully than usual. Resting your palm against the hard planes of his chest. “We go well together, lots of give and take…. I can give… if you can take it, darling”

You almost choke on the food in your mouth, his hand landing square in your back, slap after slap as you try to clear it completely.

“I don’t think words would bring you so close to death, darling,” he continues, giving you room to grab your water and drink from the glass neck of its bottle a few times. “I mean, I was hoping I might bring you to a little death, but not that close to that kind…”

You groan. Shoving your wrist in his face you throw him a withering glare. “Please, you think you’re so skilled with your tongue…”

“…and other parts of my anatomy, yes.”

You smack him with your arm in the chest. “Fine, given you know my little secret, that I love words….”

“…not to mention your ever-growing lust for me since you’ve realized your mistake, that secret too.”

Another smack in his chest, this time he half catches it, holding your extended arm tightly.

“Why don’t you use some words instead and tell me what you would do?”

He brings the tender flesh of your wrist against his lips, eyes half closed as he speaks against your skin. “I’ve never been one for poetic flattery as a tool of seduction and a means of conquest.” He runs his tongue up to your palm. “I’m rather limited in where I can demonstrate…” he flashes his eyes down the collar of your nightshirt, “unless you wish to grant me a larger sample?”

“Use your words first…” you simper, “then perhaps if I’m convinced.”

“I’d rather make little words and sounds cry from your lips instead…” he rasps, skating the edge of his fang back down your arm. A little, breathy moans slips from your mouth, and you feel him laughing. “That’s right, darling. You’re delectable, delicious…” the wet breadth of his tongue sweeps back up to your hand. “You’re tantalizing and succulent….” Your thumb slips into his mouth as he toys with it around that devilish tongue. “Luscious and mouthwatering… even if I wasn’t a Spawn I would no doubt hunger for you night and day….”

You have slid closer, close enough for one of your legs to dart between his muscled thighs. Fingers grip into your thigh, pulling that leg higher, right into the peak of his lap. He’s still caressing inside your wrist, his thumb working one way, his tongue another. You can hear your own breath quicken, your pulse deafens your ears to any sound but your heart and the wet sucks of his mouth.

Just as the swirling rhythm of his tongue threatens to sweep you away with it, his teeth bite into your wrist. The slice of pain through the heat and tingling bliss that gathers in your core shed pleasure exploding from your core. His eyes flare wide, watching as you can’t break your own stare from his mouth on your wrist, on the feeling of your blood melding with his own body.

“Now… you’re a writer of sorts, so im sure you’re familiar with all sorts of flowery terms for all of life’s… delicacies. For instance,” he pauses to drink down more of your blood from your wrist, “imagine all that I did on your poor, unsuspecting wrist but instead…” he pulls you by the wrist until your chest is flush with his, your breasts, unbound under your shirt, rising and falling with your rapid breath. “Imagine I’m… diving for your most precious pearl. Delving into your treasure trove before I… plow your fertile garden.”

“Maybe you should shut your mouth and leave the poetic words to me,” you hiss, barely annoyed and definitely flustered by the sensations in your folds his words alone have stirred.

“Maybe you need to make me shut my mouth, darling,” his hand wraps around to the small of your back. “If you want this, darling, but, given your poetic musings, we both know you do….”

“We both know it, do we?” you pout a bit, a little sneer on your lips.

Suddenly you're laid out in your back, his arms caging over your, thighs pressing on the outside of your own. You laugh, “You’re obscene, Astarion…”

“Come on now, we’ve already established I want you to call me so much worse than that, little poet,” he smirks down on you, taunting mercilessly as you squirm beneath him.

“Shouldn’t we…” you eye your surroundings.

“Why don’t you just forget about all this madness for tonight, let me show you just how complementary we can be, darling.”

You wrap your arms around his long, graceful neck, and pull him down to crush you into the dirt, into your bedroll. Night passes impossibly fast, a dance of limbs and undulations that last the night. You only pause for a drink and to stoke the fire to keep your skin warm against the freezing mountain air. You lose count how many times he takes you, on his fingers, on his tongue, speared relentlessly in every position on his cock.

Your brain is numb from pleasure, your neck numb from his bites, your nipples aching from his lips and well… the rest of your whole lower half strains as you grip your thighs around his waist one more time. His fingers claw into your hips, locking you firmly in place as he thrusts into you. The way his hips grind each time, you’ve already lost yourself in one more wave of sweat and pleasurable fire down your nerves. From the grunts on his breath, he’s not far behind. Astarion’s hips snap quicker, harder. Deeper. Until he’s shuddering and collapsing on your frame for a final time. His sweat covers your skin, and you do breathe deep that scent of wet earth as if it were your own perfume. One more stilted pant and he pulls out of your swollen aching, overused folds.

With a deep recovering sigh, he starts to lift the blanket from your bed… but you catch it, tucking it back around his shoulders. “I was… thinking… it’s cold in the mountains. And…” he rolls over to face you, sharp face furrowed even sharper, skeptical as you finally use your voice for more than moans and screaming his name and how good he feels. “…maybe since you’re already so cold, you could stay?”

He pauses, a bit rigid as he perches halfway out, away from you. Halfway close to you.

“Please, Astarion, it’s cold, and I am warm. There would be no better place for you to rest than between the warm campfire and me….” You leave the offer gently in the air. Rolling on your side to face him, you wait and watch his thoughts flicker behind those crimson eyes. Uncertain, unsure. As if, despite being the consummate lover he had always bragged about being, this was his first invitation to sleep with someone.

Just sleep.

To keep him warm from the mountain air.

Blanketed in all manner of heat for once.

Slowly, he slinks back beside you, perched on his side like you are, his face trying hard to remain just as self-assured. Even though you see his eyes dart, as if waiting for you to change your mind.

“Relax, Astarion,” you whisper, taking the top blanket and wrapping it over the high crest of his shoulders. Tucking him in. “I feel more than complimentary with you now…” you tease. “And you were right….”

“Of course I was,” he huffs dramatically as he lays on his back beside you, head turning to flash you a devilish look. “You’ll have to be more specific though; what was I right about?”

“Actions were definitely more fun than just using my words….”

He chuffs a laugh, exhausted and spent and wet from how much of you he’s consumed, blood and arousal still staining his chin. You slide a tinge closer, slotting your body beside him, wriggling yourself in that small space between his arm and chest. Ever so slightly, his hand finds your elbow, bringing it over his chest as his breath deepens for his trance.

He seems happy, contented. Your world reduced to only you two, the only beings in Faerûn it seems, sharing one bed. And you wonder for a moment why you ever turned him down before.

Sleep claims you quickly… but dawn finds you somehow faster.

“Ahem,” a deep voice startles you awake, your eyes flying open to find three faces staring down on you in your bedroll.

You in your bedroll naked… and not alone.

That Druid from the Grove, you almost forgot you told him to join you if they could find you, he smiles at you, a bit cheeky and a bit good-humored. And your cheeks are searing hot. Astarion has already bolted up to sit, dagger in hand from somewhere he had it, just in case.

But he’s already lowered it to the earth at the familiar visitors.

“We did say we would come find your camp in the Pass, didn’t we?” the Druid Halsin chuckles in that big baritone of his.

The other two beside him, the Wizard… Gale and that Cleric whose name has already slipped your sleepy memory look far less approving of catching you on full display after your night’s activities.

“Well, you’ve found us…” Astarion bites acerbically, letting his full annoyance color his silken tones. “Make yourselves at home, if it pleases you.”

He lays back down, tucking himself half on top of you, that long, lean arm of his caging over your bared chest, squashing your breasts beneath it.

Your voice finally returns, even as mortified as you feel for that moment. “Plenty of supplies and food in the trunks.” You try to wave in that direction, but his arm clutches harder, a smile of his lips playfully pressing against your cheek.

The prick.

“Well I certainly hope you have some clean bedrolls,” that Cleric sasses back.

“Feel free to take mine,” Astarion barely lifts his head to call after the three. “Seems I won’t be needing it any longer,” he purrs, pulling you closer to warm his undead, chilled skin.

“You probably will,” you shake your head as you give your reply.

“Not when I can simply give you another demonstration to convince you otherwise,” he smirks, hand slinking fast and nearly imperceptible until it finds the still-slick mess of your night’s pursuits between your thighs.

You give a huff of a laugh, “Do you forget it isn’t just us two any longer?”

Your vampire shrugs. “A boon and a pity in some ways, which reminds me….” A mischievous smirk on his lips before he brings your wrist to his mouth for another suckle. “You will obviously give them the night watch now instead… won’t you?”

You laugh, chiding and yet pleased all at once. “Only if you convince me, and if you use your words this time.”

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