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dancingbirdie · 6 months

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I Promised You (Chapter 2)

Here it is! The second/final part to this fic request I received. I worked SO hard on this, and I'm super proud of how it turned out. I hope you all enjoy!

I'm thinking about doing a possible epilogue with a dash of smut and domestic bliss but it's just a thought at this point. Let me know if you'd be interested in something like that!

Rating: G

Pairing: Astarion x GN!reader

Word Count: 4.5K

Warnings/Tags: mentions of unconsciousness, cheeky banter, domestic life, FLUFF, angst, post-events of BG3, potentially problematic levels of self-sacrifice by reader.

***

The three of you agreed it would be best to wait until the next morning before you attempted the spell. It irked you, having to wait yet another night, but you recognized the soundness in the logic. A good night’s rest and complete sobriety were more prudent, especially attempting something as audacious as this.

You knew you wouldn’t be able to rest without the aid of a sleep potion, so you downed a bottle in one swallow before forcing yourself to crawl into bed. Not long after, Astarion joined you in the four-poster you shared, lying on his back and staring vaguely at the canopied silks above you. You turned on your side toward him, trying to gauge his expression.

“If it doesn’t work —” he began, breaking the silence.

“It will,” you affirmed in an ironclad tone.

Astarion nodded absently, his train of thought undeterred.

“But if it doesn’t… I want you to know that it won’t be the end of the world,” he finished, turning his head to look at you.

You stared at him dubiously, quirking a brow.

“I’m serious,” he insisted. “I know you. I know how hard you push yourself. And I know that if this somehow doesn’t work, you’re going to blame yourself for it. If you’re even still here to know if it doesn’t work. Gods,” he grimaced, turning to stare up at the ceiling again. “I still can’t believe the two of you have convinced me of this.”

“I appreciate your assurances, darling, but they’re not needed. I know this is going to work… I can feel it in my bones,” you smiled, reaching for his hand over the covers. Your fingers intertwined easily. He lifted them to plant a kiss on each knuckle.

“Nevertheless, I wanted it known. I don’t want you crawling on your hands and knees begging for forgiveness if it fails. The very idea that you’re even willing to try this for me is more than enough.”

“I love you,” you murmured, squeezing his hand. Your eyelids began to droop. You could feel the beginnings of the sleep potion taking effect.

“And I love you, my darling,” Astarion returned, sidling closer and wrapping you in his arms.

You fell asleep to the sensation of him kissing the crown of your head.

***

You roused from sleep to the chiming of the first morning bells, your senses on high alert.

It was morning. It was time.

You peered over your shoulder to see Astarion still lying beside you, his eyes closed in meditation. You reached a hand behind you to poke him, gently, in the side.

He scoffed but kept his eyes closed. “Keep those jabby little fingers to yourself, pup.”

“Just seeing how alert you are” you teased.

“Don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours. I’m perfectly aware of my surroundings,” he quipped.

“Good, good… That means you’ll be expecting this!” you laughed as, all at once, you half-jumped, half-clambered on top of him, pinning him to the bed.

He hadn’t been expecting it, if his annoyed cries of outrage were anything to go by.

“Unhand me, you little beast,” he cried as he attempted to pin your arms to your sides. “Have you gone completely mad?”

You giggled as he wrestled you into compliance, grinning mischievously as you sat atop him.

Seeing your expression, he huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Honestly,” he chided. “Can’t you ever just behave?”

“Where would the fun be in that?” you smirked, leaning forward to capture his lips with yours.

He squawked in surprise at your suddenness before leaning in to kiss you deeper.

After a few moments of heated embrace, you broke from the kiss, both of your breathing a bit ragged.

“Gale will be here soon,” you murmured. “We best get dressed.”

“Bah. Don’t mention him when I’ve got you straddling my lap like this,” Astarion grumbled.

You laughed but wiggled your way off of him anyway. He growled his disapproval.

“It’s almost time,” you whispered excitedly, darting across the bedroom to fish some clothes out of the dresser.

Astarion turned to recline on his side, head propped up in one hand, watching you from his vantage point on the bed. Piddling about the room as you were, you failed to notice the look of sincere worry splayed across his features.

“Yes,” he murmured. “Almost time.”

***

Gale arrived shortly after the two of you had dressed and descended the stairs to wait in the den. Per usual, all the curtains in the cottage were closed, preventing any sunlight from creeping into the rooms. Or any prying eyes from peering in. Not being blessed with dark vision as you and Astarion were, Gale muttered a string of curses as he stumbled into an overgrown houseplant you had been nursing, nearly invisible in the gloom. Astarion suppressed a laugh while you murmured a series of apologies and began moving hurriedly about the room, lighting candles to help the wizard see a bit better.

Anticipation skittered across your skin and through your body as you helped Gale prepare for what was to come. You conjured a cot, gathered some medical supplies, and laid out some blankets for when you inevitably passed out. Meanwhile, Gale set to work on warding the room to prevent any collateral damage to the cottage or neighboring houses should the spell go awry. You tried to avoid glancing at Astarion, who was perched in his reading nook, one leg bouncing with nervous energy. You hoped that if you just carried on, business as usual, it would make him less inclined to call the whole thing off. And, too, he despised being coddled in front of an audience, even if it was your old companion Gale.

Finally, finally, all the preparation was complete. You turned slowly to survey the room. Formerly the den, it now resembled a half-hospital ward, half-wizard’s keep with all the furniture shoved aside to one corner, a cot and medical supplies positioned in another, and a sizable runic circle drawn in chalk in the center of the room. You had everything you needed. Now, it was just time for the spell.

“Do you feel ready?” Gale asked carefully, observing you taking in the room.

You turned to him and smiled.

“Yes. I’m ready,” you answered. Confidence bloomed in your chest as you walked forward to take your place in the very center of the runes. Then you turned to Astarion.

“How about you, darling? Ready?” you asked, reaching out for his hands.

You could see the anxiety in his eyes, rounded as they were, but he nodded once and rose with preternatural grace to walk forward and take your hands. You both stood stock-still, facing one another.

Despite being on solid ground, in the comfort of your house, it suddenly felt like you were on the precipice of something incomprehensible. This home, this room where you had shared so many wonderful memories, was now a liminal space. Whatever was to happen, neither of you would be the same afterward. It was a heady feeling, the awareness that you were about to walk headfirst into cataclysmic change.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Whatever happens. I love you.”

“And I love you,” you returned, smiling broadly. “Whatever happens.”

With a final reassuring squeeze, you slipped your hands from his. Closing your eyes, you rested your palms on your diaphragm and began to take a few deep, concentrating breaths. Centering yourself for what was to come.

When you opened your eyes again, you felt ready. Calm. Assured.

“Let’s begin,” you intoned. Both Gale and Astarion nodded wordlessly.

With your eyes locked on Astarion, you reached into the well of magic within your body, drawing up power slowly, methodically. You began channeling it through your fingers. Almost as though they were doing it on their own accord, your hands lifted to begin performing the spell’s gesticulations, your wrists twisting and fingers curling with perfect precision.

Then, in a low but strong murmur, you began to recite the required incantation in Celestial. It was a lengthy script that you had spent months memorizing and practicing in order to pronounce the words flawlessly. The words poured from your lips in lilting, seamless tones as you continued to shift your hands and maintain your gaze on Astarion standing before you.

After a few moments, the candles you had lit around the room snuffed out in unnatural synchrony. The runes encircling the two of you began to emit brilliant white light. While they touched you as well, the rays seemed to direct themselves intentionally toward Astarion, bending so that every bit of him was illuminated from head to toe. The light left him unharmed, however, washing over his skin like a gentle caress. The effect left him looking like a veritable angel. You committed the sight to memory, glorious as it was.

It carried on like that for some time, uninterrupted, but you reckoned you were nearly halfway through the spell when you felt a sudden shifting within you. The sensation of your magic changed. What had once felt like open channels coursing through your body was now beginning to feel more constricted. Like something was compressing your power.

Sweat began to bead on your forehead, and your bones began to ache as though your entire body were being drained of all its energy. Distantly, you realized that one of your knees was also beginning to buckle. But you couldn’t stop now. You knew from your training with Gale that if you paused, if you faltered in the incantation or hand movements even once, the spell would be ruined. And there would be no second chances.

Refusing to be deterred, you pushed with all of your might against that fatigue, willing yourself to maintain your focus on the spell. On Astarion. On the look in his beautiful eyes. Was it just your imagination, or were they starting to look a bit different?

Just as you began to feel your second knee buckle, a strong pair of hands braced around your shoulders. Holding you up, providing you support. You couldn’t break to look behind you, but you didn’t have to. You knew it was Gale. Your kind, long-suffering companion. Your closest friend. You trusted him. You knew he wouldn’t let you falter.

Sustained by his added support, you managed to utter the last remaining lines of the incantation. Your arms were heavy and growing lethargic, but you willed your hands to finish the final movements. You could feel you were on the verge of unconsciousness. Your magic was screaming in your veins to relent, but you bullishly forced your body into compliance.

You will not fail, you chanted in your mind. You promised Astarion this would work.

Finally, finally, the last syllable fell from your lips. As the room descended into hushed silence, you felt your magic give one last, desperate surge before abandoning you completely. The shock of it caused you to lose all remaining strength, catching Gale by surprise as you slumped gracelessly to the floor.

You lay there with eyes wide open, but you could barely take in your surroundings. Everything appeared to be covered in dark, gauzy film. You could hear rustling around you, above you. Then a pair of hands were grasping your face. You couldn’t make out the words they were saying to you.

In your last few seconds of consciousness, you could have sworn you saw a pair of startling blue eyes peering down at you, concerned.

Funny, you thought in a delirious stupor, none of your friends had blue eyes.

***

“Vital signs all look to be in safe ranges. Their magic is completely depleted, but that will resolve itself over a few days of rest.”

Astarion listened to Gale’s explanation, but his eyes never wavered from your face. It was so foreign, seeing you like this, wan-faced and unconscious. Of course, he had seen you injured before, but no wounds had ever rendered you so still and lifeless. It felt utterly unnatural for you to be this motionless, when you were usually such a tumbleweed of frenetic energy. The anxious, nonsensical part of him was itching to shake you awake, will you into consciousness by sheer brute force.

“Astarion, did you hear me?” Gale’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Yes.”

“They’re going to be completely fine.”

“Yes.” Astarion replied absently, eyes never leaving your face.

“Astarion.”

“What?” he hissed, finally lifting his gaze to the wizard. His voice had as much bite to it as a rattlesnake prepared to strike.

“The spell worked,” Gale smiled.

“I– I know,” Astarion replied, peering back down at you. “My fangs are gone, I think.”

He paused, swallowing thickly, before continuing. “I can’t feel them anymore. It just feels like regular canines now.”

“Don’t you want to take a look?” Gale asked cautiously.

Astarion’s eyes flitted up to meet the wizard’s gaze and then back down to your sleeping form.

“We don’t have mirrors in the house,” he replied in a timid sort of tone, sidestepping the question.

“I can conjure one. Here–” Gale paused, then began murmuring a few phrases in a language unknown to Astarion.

After a moment, an ornate, floor-length standing mirror shimmered into existence in the center of the room. Astarion flinched, staring at it, caught between two diametrically opposed urges to flee from the room and sprint toward the mirror. How was it that both feelings could exist simultaneously in his body, a distant part of him wondered.

“Go on,” Gale encouraged. “See for yourself.”

Astarion glanced down at you one last time before releasing a shaky breath and moving from the side of your cot to the center of the room. He approached the mirror at an angle, so that he couldn’t yet see his reflection. If he had one.

He knew he should just charge up to the blasted thing and see for himself whether it was true, that the spell had completely worked. But something about the mirror just felt more real, more meaningful, than the notable absence of fangs in his mouth. And that made it a thousand times more intimidating. Seeing his reflection for the first time in over 200 years? It was something he had only dreamed about for decades and decades. Astarion didn’t know how he would bear it, if he stepped in front of that mirror and saw nothing but the back of the room reflected.

He knew Gale was watching him surreptitiously as he tried to maintain his composure. He really did not want to break down completely in front of the wizard, no matter how good a friend he had been to you both over the years.

Finally, clenching his eyes shut and with a grumbled “Fuck it, just look” to himself, Astarion sidestepped to stand fully in front of the mirror. He opened his eyes.

And then he was watching himself open his eyes.

His beautiful, cerulean blue eyes.

The jaw of the face he saw in the mirror dropped, mouth opening in shock. His jaw. His face. It was his mouth he was watching as it opened.

He could scarcely believe what he was seeing. Slowly, he raised one hand to his hair. The mirror image tracked his movements. He watched himself as he threaded his fingers through his curls. His silver, perfectly coiled locks. He marveled at how they laid so carelessly posh on his head, giving him a tidy yet windswept sort of look.

His other hand lifted to touch his jaw. His eyes tracked his fingers’ movements in the mirror as they traced the sharp cut of his jawline. When he turned his head, he noticed the puncture marks on his neck were nowhere to be found. Not that he had ever seen them, of course, but he had felt them. Those warped indents left over from Cazador’s brutal transformation process. Many of his unfortunate victims over the years had commented on how barbaric the scars appeared against the otherwise perfect skin of his neck. But looking at himself now, nothing remained on either side of his neck than spotless, alabaster skin.

His eyes darted wildly about his reflection then, barely able to comprehend everything he was seeing. His unblemished, pale skin. His full lips. His refined patrician nose. His sharp cheekbones. His delicately pointed elven ears. His perfectly defined brows. The thick, dark lashes that surrounded his eyes. Blue eyes. The broadness of his shoulders. His trim waist. His lean yet muscular legs. The way his physique alluded to a subtle but powerful amount of strength.

He was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. And he could see it for himself now, for the first time in centuries. He could see it all for himself, those things his former lovers had praised him for. The things you complimented him on. The features he caught you ogling time and time again.

And then, he felt something truly remarkable inside his body. A sensation long since forgotten but now returned to him in full force, as though it had never left. His heart was beating in his chest. Pounding, in fact. Almost as though it would blast a hole right through his ribcage.

It was overwhelming, exhilarating, and stupefying all at the same time. And suddenly, like a swift punch to the gut, the magnitude of it all wrenched the very breath from his lungs. He crashed to his knees, watching his reflection as he slumped before the mirror.

A strangled cry clawed up and out of his throat as his mind twisted itself in knots, trying to accommodate this reality alongside everything else he had known and experienced before. He felt altogether too much and nothing at all. Tears poured from his open eyes as uncontained sobs wracked his body.

Amid his emotional outburst, Astarion registered a gentle hand against his upper back. A solid presence against his side. Gale. Dear, sweet Gale.

Distantly, he realized the wizard’s hand did not feel like a searing heat against him anymore. In fact, he felt no warmer than Astarion felt. Like their body temperatures were near equal. Before, that had only ever happened when his spawn siblings or Cazador had touched him. But now, he was as warm as any other living being.

Living. Being.

Before he could seriously reconsider it, Astarion crushed Gale in an embrace as he continued to weep, the need for companionship and solace a sudden ache within him. The wizard held him with all the comfort and compassion a friend could offer, rubbing his back in soothing circles and murmuring words of assurance.

Finally, after some time, Astarion peeled himself away from Gale’s embrace. He dried his eyes on the cuff of his shirt and attempted to restore some remaining ounce of his dignity. Gale sat quietly next to him, affording him some companionable silence to gather himself.

“Ahem,” Astarion coughed, attempting an air of normalcy. “Th-thank you, Gale.”

“Think nothing of it, my friend,” Gale responded with a gentle smile. “Truly, I am so happy for you.”

Astarion nodded, peering about the room, his eyes landing on the mirror once more.

“It still doesn’t feel real,” he murmured, watching himself speak the words.

“Well, you could always take the test one step further and walk outside,” the wizard suggested.

“No,” Astarion shook his head, glancing back at you, asleep in the cot. “I want to wait until they wake up. Do it together.”

Gale nodded in understanding. Peaceful silence permeated the room once more.

“Gale?” Astarion asked after a few moments.

“Hmm?”

“If you tell anyone I wept on you like a newborn babe, I’ll fucking kill you.”

A hearty guffaw erupted from Gale’s mouth at Astarion’s words.

***

Consciousness rose up in you slowly, as if emerging from a deep body of water. You felt around the sheets blindly, realizing you were back in your bed. Strange, given the last thing you remembered was slumping to the floor before Gale’s feet.

Had the whole thing been a dream? Your mind reeled at the thought.

Then you hesitantly reached down, reached inward, for your magic. The result was immediate and evidence enough: your well of magic was not nearly as expansive as it had been before. What had once felt like a reservoir the size of a lake now felt akin to a pond. Still potent, but a much smaller resource.

That’s okay, you reasoned to yourself. It will all be worth it, if it worked.

You refocused your attention to your surroundings, peering around the room for any sign of Astarion. You had no idea how much time had passed. It could have been hours or days later for all you could gather.

After a few moments, you heard the door creak. Your eyes darted over to the sound of the noise, and you watched as Astarion cautiously entered from the hallway. At the sight of you awake, he paused in the doorway to look at you.

His eyes met yours. Blue eyes. Dark, cerulean irises.

Then he gave you a broad smile. No fangs. Perfectly normal, elven teeth.

Suddenly you found yourself unable to see anything as your vision blurred behind a rush of tears. It worked.

It really, truly worked.

Your arms outstretched, you beckoned to him, childlike, wanting nothing more than to feel him close to you. Astarion huffed a laugh as he crawled into bed with you, pulling you into a warm embrace.

Laying your head against his chest, you began to weep anew as you heard his heart beating against your ear for the first time. A reliable, strong thump-thump, thump-thump. It was, without a doubt, the loveliest sound you thought you had ever heard. Astarion said nothing, just held you as you cried tears of pure joy, of relief, into his shirt.

After some time had passed, you finally detached yourself from his chest, putting enough distance between yourselves that you could truly take in his changed features. You noted the absence of the puncture wounds on his neck. You stared unabashedly at his gorgeous eyes. Tentatively, you reached a hand out to part his lips with a finger. He chuckled as he surmised your intentions before opening his mouth slightly to allow you to see his perfectly normal-looking canine teeth.

“Have you gone outside yet?” you whispered in a scratchy tone, your voice rusty from lack of use.

“Not yet. I was waiting for you, darling,” he smiled.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Oh, about a day and a half, I’d say,” he replied. “Your snoring has been absolutely egregious, by the way,” he continued, a wicked little smirk gracing his mouth.

You smacked him lightly on the arm. “How dare you!” you cried with mock outrage. “I cure you of vampirism and this is the thanks I get?”

“You cured my vampirism, not my cheeky personality, darling,” he teased, but then grew more serious. “Speaking of which, how are you feeling?”

You squeezed his arm in assurance. “I feel fine. Still a bit weak, but I should fare better after some food and a little fresh air.”

“And your magic?” he eyed you carefully.

You paused, biting your lip.

“Don’t sugarcoat it, darling,” he warned.

“I think it took a lot from me. Permanently, that is. My well of magic feels much smaller, but it’s still enough to defend myself with, if the need ever arises.”

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. The look on his face was one of utter guilt.

“Don’t be. Astarion, look at me,” you beseeched him, clutching his face in your hands. “I would do nothing differently. I’d give it up all over again for this. To see you cured. This is a gift.”

He let loose a halfhearted laugh. “I think it should be me saying that last bit rather than you, my dear.”

“Are you kidding? Think of all the blood I’m saving myself now that you’re finally cured,” you quipped, winking at him.

A true, hearty laugh bubbled past his lips. “Leave it to you to say something so crass during such a serious moment.”

“But you love me,” you cooed, leaning in for a kiss.

“Always, my darling,” he returned, pulling you closer to him as his mouth descended upon yours.

***

The first morning rays were peaking over the horizon when you cracked open the cottage door to peer outside. Your gaze wandered across the rolling hills beyond the main thoroughfare, catching glimpses of the herdsmen and farmers who were out beginning their days’ work. They were the only other folks up and moving about at this time of day.

You took in the cloudless sky, painted with beautiful pastel smatterings of oranges, pinks and blues. The air was pleasantly misty as a gentle breeze washed across your face, bringing with it the subtle scent of chimney smoke from neighboring houses.

It was, by all accounts, an incredibly mundane morning. At least for everyone else besides you and the pale elf lingering behind you on the doorstep.

“Are you ready?” you asked, looking back at Astarion.

His gaze was trained on the sunlight beginning to peak over the hills. He nodded absently, allowing you to take his hand in yours as the two of you began strolling down the road.

His fingers were tense as they interlaced with yours. You could tell his body was priming itself to flee at the first sign of discomfort. It was knee-jerk survivalist behavior. You knew it would subside after today, which is why you remained a silent, comforting anchor of support by his side.

As you continued to walk, the two of you took in the comforting signs of life around you. The smell of fresh bread baking in someone’s oven. The bleating of a family’s goat. The quiet clucking of hens in their coop. The laundry hung out to dry. You watched as Astarion took it all in, his eyes wide with wonder at being able to see this side of living once again. He hadn’t been able to witness it since the tadpoles in your brains had been destroyed.

By the time the sun had fully risen above the horizon, you and Astarion had made it out of the little town. You were walking along a well-trod path through the hillside when the morning light swept across your skin. You felt Astarion flinch at the sensation, his fingers squeezing yours in a vice-like grip. You paused your walking, turning to face him instead.

He was gorgeous, half of his face limned in the gentle warmth of the sun. His eyes filled with such hope and happiness it threatened to rend your heart in two. You watched as he looked at you and then down at his hands, flipping them over, studying them in the light. Noting how they didn’t burn or blister.

“See? It’s real. You’re cured,” you whispered, smiling up at him. His blue eyes met yours.

“A whole lifetime of this,” he murmured, returning your grin. “Of you. Of the sun. Of living,” he emphasized, taking your hand and placing it over his heart. It was beating like mad beneath your palm.

“Here’s to all of it then, darling,” you replied before capturing his lips with yours.

***

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