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ayselluna · 5 days ago

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Pairing: Spawn!Astarion x named Female!Tav (my Tav, Evelyn)

Rating: No Rating

Word count: ~5k

Warnings: A little family angst, a little sprinkling of Daddy Issues, but ultimately a lot of Dadstarion fluff

Summary: Rowan, while hard at work training to control his Wild Magic at the Blackstaff Academy under the tutelage of his Headmaster/Uncle Gale gets an unexpected visitor.

A/N: Astarion and Rowan's relationship is actually inspired by my relationship with my mother - her and I were never really a lot alike, but she tried her best to connect with me however and whenever she could. As a kid, I didn't really appreciate it, but I do now and I think as Rowan gets older, he learns to appreciate it in Astarion as well. 💙

Rowan fought that damned hereditary urge to preen, but it was hard when his classmates practically fought each other for a front row seat in the viewing box of the Wild Magic Arena as he readied himself for another round of magic - his final round for this lesson. He despised this side of himself, tried to shove it down as far as it would go. He didn’t want to be like his father, but that was easier said than done when he was a mirror image of said father - the great Astarion Ancunin: handsome and legendary rogue that had saved Baldur’s Gate from The Grand Design of the mindflayers. Rowan had Astarion’s statuesquely straight nose, his defined cheekbones, his strong jaw and broad shoulders - it was all plucked straight from his father’s gene pool alone. The only differences between them were thanks to his beloved mother Evelyn. He’d been granted her rosy porcelain skin and thick chocolate brown hair. His sister, however, had seemingly stolen all his mother's freckles as Rowan had none.

However, there was one difference that was still from his father. His eyes. A silver blue rimmed with bright gold around his pupils - a gift from what was left in his father’s genetics from his life before becoming a vampire spawn.

A barrage of squealing from the viewing box jolted Rowan out of his thoughts and he shook his head, wiggling the slicked back waves of his hair. He glanced towards the sound and gave the group a sheepish wave, trying his best to placate them while not fanning any flames.

“Rowan! Come now - pay attention!” Gale snapped his fingers as he called out to his pupil. “Or do you need a break to tend to your admirers before we continue?”

“Sorry, Professor,” Rowan offered with an apologetic smile as he straightened his spine.

“Alright now, steady your mind,” Gale tapped his temple as he recited his advice. “Enter your ‘Peaceful Plane’ again, hmm?” Rowan steadied his breath, attempting to lull his mind into that happy place Gale had named the Peaceful Plane - a mental state that Wild Magic Sorcerers would enter when attempting to control their magic.

Rowan’s thick, dark brows furrowed, his lips drawn in a tight line as a vision bloomed in his mind’s eye.

The library in the loft of his family’s cottage, his midnight blue armchair lined with silver along the cushions, sitting beside an emerald green one lined with gold. His mother, nestled into that green armchair reading one of her many romance novels, a delicate and wistful smile adorning her rose-pink lips as her mind wandered to nonexistent lands, following the lives of imaginary people.

Rowan’s pulse slowed, his blood pressure dropped, his breathing steady and smooth in cadence… and he began to carefully summon his unruly magic. He felt it bubbling like liquid in a cauldron beneath his skin, felt it sizzle and boil as it attempted to flare, to summon only the Gods knew what - likely a portal to which only the Gods knew where. But his senses remained under his control, his body consciously remaining in a state of peace as he spoke the incantation in that deep-chested voice of his.

“Impero tibi!” Rowan spoke firmly, commanding his magic, willing it under his control as his hands shot out before him, clawing with the effort.

A massive swirl of dark clouds formed over the center of the arena. Rowan fought like all the Hells to hold it to concentrate - the most challenge hurdle for him and his fellow Wild Magic sorcerers. Holding spells under concentration was when the magic tended to react, to flare and Godsdamnit, Rowan could feel it coming on. This was his fifth attempt at this spell today and his heart sank as he felt that magic tug in his belly. His magic was indeed beginning to fight him, trying to free itself from his grip. Desperate to maintain the control, Rowan conjured another image in his mind.

A field of lavender in front of a cottage nestled in the landscape of New Rivington, the formerly-Shadowcursed Lands. There he sat beside his twin sister, Celeste, listening to her rambling about some new adventure, some new friend she’d made, a new routine she’d learned in her dance lessons. He could feel himself smiling as he indulged her storytelling, always happy to know what was going on in her life, his best friend. Her silver hair shone almost gold, practically as gold as her own eyes in the warm sunlight. Her pallid skin flushed beneath her freckles in the heat of the summer afternoon.

Gods, Rowan missed his sister…

Sadness began to blur the edges of the vision, blurring as if tears were filling his silver and gold eyes.

The magic tugged again, yanking on his self-control like a wild beast.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, Rowan could feel the concentration slipping, feel that rope fraying and threatening to snap.

“Focus, Rowan! You can do it!” Gale called out over the sound of massive deluges of sleet beginning to slam into the ground. “The storm is working! You’ve just got to hold on a little bit longer! Hold your vision!”

Celeste. Mom. Dad - wait no, not Dad-

A flare of red magic zapped to a random spot on the gravel just a few yards away - the painfully familiar sign of a portal struggling to come to life as guilt began to fester in his belly alongside the magic. His father should be a happy thought and he knew his mother would be heartbroken to know otherwise. Anything, Rowan - think of anything! A single pleasant memory of your father! He screamed within himself. Flashes of arguments, bursts of annoyances, sizzling impatience and frustration were all he could find until suddenly, a veil of peace fell gently over a scene… a memory he didn’t even know he had…

Moonlight. Crickets chirping. Tall, pale green grass swaying in a midnight breeze.

“Quiet,” Rowan heard his father say quietly behind him, almost as if he was repeating instructions to himself. “This one likes… quiet.”

A frog croaked on the shore of a nearby pond. A dragonfly zipped and halted just in front of Rowan’s face and the smooth, slightly-chubby hand of a toddler, likely no more than maybe a year and a half, reached before his face to touch it. Rowan’s own hand. The insect landed gently on one of his long fingers, flapping its gossamer wings intermittently as it decided whether or not it liked its new perch.

“You really are a gentle little thing, aren’t you?” Astarion asked, prompting Rowan to look up at his father from where he realized he was sitting in his lap. He felt himself smile up at the handsome vampire. Astarion chuckled as he returned the smile, his fangs glinting in the silvery moonlight. “How in all the Hells did I create such a sweet little soul, hmm? I certainly have a thing or two to learn from you, don’t I?”

Astarion gently tapped Rowan's nose, beckoning forth a small giggle from Rowan. The sound widened Astarion’s lips to a full-blown smile, one that crinkled his eyes.

Serenity, safety, pure gentle joy rippled through Rowan at the vision, soothing his very marrow,. Rowan felt his body physically relax once more at this memory he'd never recalled. The red flare of magic disappeared, the portal dying off before it could even form. Just a few more seconds and Rowan would pass his lesson. He had to hold on for just a few more seconds... Rowan returned to the memory, grasping at that serenity once more for just a little longer.

Astarion pressed a soft kiss to the top of Rowan’s head. “Don’t ever change, my little sorcerer.” Astarion whispered. “Stay just like your mother, please. For your own sake…”

“Aaaaaaaand - done!” Gale called out, raising his hand to signal Rowan to release his spell.

Rowan’s body slumped where he stood, releasing the spell and his body from the strain. A breathy laugh escaped him as he panted, propping his hands on his hips as he fought to catch his breath.

Where had that memory come from? It had to have been when he was so very young by the look of his hand - an incredibly early memory.

“Rowan, my boy,” Gale said proudly as he approached, clapping a hand on the young sorcerer’s shoulder. “You’re improving at truly remarkable speeds! I say we up the ante next week, yes? Really give your magic a run for its money!” Gale shook an enthused fist, beaming with excitement at Rowan's progress.

Rowan nodded, his mouth smiling wider now at the pride in Gale’s warm brown eyes. Very little in life made Rowan feel better than making his teacher, his proverbial Uncle, his Headmaster proud.

“If you think I’m ready for it, Professor, then I’m up for it,” Rowan agreed eagerly.

“Splendid! Now - off you pop. It looks like you have someone waiting to take you home for the extended weekend, hmm?” Gale grinned, nodding up toward the viewing box. Rowan’s eyes searched the crowd in the box but it wasn’t until he looked up to the upper level that he saw the figure he hadn’t noticed before - a quite annoying habit of this particular guest. Decadently dressed in a black collared shirt with an embroidered silver vest, black leather breeches and tall black boots, silver curls perfectly coiffed and styled, arms crossed and legs held just slightly apart… stood his father. Astarion.

Almost as if the crowd on the lower level followed Rowan’s eyes, they all looked up and to see the famous vampire spawn standing there. Astarion silently nodded, grinning from ear to ear at the attention as the crowd swarmed him. Rowan watched as his father plastered a mask of humility on his face, humility he knew only barely existed within his father, and greeted his adoring fans.

Rowan’s stomach lurched, his cheeks flushing. How long had his father been there? Had he seen his magic fail those four times beforehand?

Fantastic, Rowan thought bitterly to himself. There goes any chance of any peace for the rest of the day.

“Go easy on him,” Gale whispered, reading Rowan's troubled expression. “He isn’t the one who comes to see you or retrieve you often and I know you don’t care for the attention he brings, but I do know him well enough to recognize effort on his part when I see it.”

“I wish he’d make the effort to be more inconspicuous - for me. Honestly, how is he the most legendary rogue in all the realms with all the attention he commands?” Rowan grumbled, gesturing towards the scene unfolding in the viewing box.

“You’d think it would hinder him,” Gale chuckled, amused. “But when you watch him pick clean the pockets of an entire tavern while simultaneously attracting all that attention, you understand just how talented of a rogue your father really is.”

“Yes, thievery is such a talent,” Rowan said in a mocking tone as he rolled his eyes.

“That’s not his only talent and you know that,” Gale chided him. He huffed a sigh and squeezed Rowan’s shoulder reassuringly. “Look… far be it from me to defend your father so vehemently, but he was likely one of the most valuable and integral members of our party when we took down those mindflayers. He was incredibly skilled in battle, both with his daggers and a bow - as your sister knows having learned those particular talents from him - but he was also the person who healed us most often. He was almost always the last one standing in every fight we entered. Being a survivor is arguably his strongest talent and he chose to use that talent to ensure he never left a single of us behind or suffering in battle. I can't even count the amount of times he could have left us all for dead and he didn't. That’s not something any of us can or will ever forget.”

Rowan sighed, defeated. How could he argue that? Godsdamn Gale for being so eloquent.

“Yes, yes I know - he was a hero,” Rowan admitted. “I do know that. I know he’s not a bad man I just… he’s just so-,”

“Oh, I know,” Gale offered with a small laugh. “Trust me, I get it. He’s not easy to live with and the Gods know I could never imagine what it must be like for you having him as a father - but his affection and loyalty are things not easily earned or kept. Just ask your mother. He loves you so very dearly, I know that he does. Try with him. He does deserve it, even if he doesn’t always act like it.”

Rowan nodded reluctantly, bracing himself for the obnoxious amount of attention he was about to receive as he made his way to the door that led to the passageway back into the school. As he made his way across the arena, he saw Astarion bid Rowan’s classmates a dramatic farewell and head for the door that led back into the hallways of the school to meet his son.

Rowan straightened his vest and ran his fingers through his hair, attempting to reset himself. He thought back to that memory he’d been surprised with and felt like maybe this wouldn’t be so grating… until his father walked through the doorway a few feet away, trailed by adolescents like a Realms-famous bard.

“Please, please,” Astarion laughed performatively. “I’d love to speak with you all but if you don’t mind, I am here to see my beloved son so please return to your daily routines.” A small chorus of disappointing sighs echoed in the group that filed out from the door behind him and suddenly Rowan was so annoyed again that his magic tried to slip out. Rowan panicked briefly and quickly calmed himself before anything embarrassing happened in this already humiliating display.

Astarion approached him and clapped a hand to his shoulder. Rowan tried to ignore the instinct to recoil, feeling guilty at how differently he reacted to the same gesture from Gale not a few minutes prior.

“And how is my incredibly talented offspring, today? Ready to venture home?” Astarion asked, leaning his face far too close for Rowan’s comfort, almost as if he wanted the world to be able to see for themselves what a spitting image Rowan was of his father.

“I was doing great until now,” Rowan growled through his teeth. “Why didn’t Mom come to get me? She doesn’t ambush me.”

“I’m not ambushing you,” Astarion defended himself indignantly. “What? Your mother and Gale are the only ones who can be present when you train? He’s not your actual father, you know.” Astarion sneered, beginning to walk down the hall, not bothering to hide his displeasure. Rowan’s stomach twisted with that guilt again. Rowan, much like his mother, was a terrible liar, and didn’t hide his preference for the presence of his Uncle Gale well enough to foster a good relationship with his biological father - even from a young age.

Rowan took long strides to catch up with his father, fighting the urge to take the bait of an argument.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Rowan offered, somewhat half-heartedly. “I’m honored you wanted to come watch me train and I’m… happy to see you. I am.”

In Rowan’s defense, it wasn’t his fault that Astarion made no effort to adapt to Rowan’s personality, always so ostentatious and intruding in his presence with no respect for the boundaries and discomfort of others. As the son in this dynamic, why should Rowan be the one to adapt to Astarion’s personality? Couldn’t Astarion, as the father, meet him halfway?

After throwing him an uncharacteristically timid look, pregnant with words that Rowan wondered if Astarion was too afraid to say, Astarion spoke in a more level voice, even though it held a begrudging tone.

“You’re very impressive, you know,” Astarion admitted. “You remind me a lot of your mother when you train, actually.”

Rowan’s eyebrows rose, a small burst of pride bubbling in his chest. Astarion held Evelyn in the most esteemed regard, on the highest pedestal - right next to his own, of course. To be compared to Evelyn by Astarion was undoubtedly the highest compliment of which he was capable.

“Uhm… thank you,” Rowan smiled up at Astarion. Maybe he could be an encouraging onlooker if he was capable of admitting such praise. Maybe it wouldn’t be so horrible to have him here. Maybe if his classmates were more accustomed to his presence, Astarion wouldn’t cause such a ruckus each time he walked into the enormous school. “You… you can come more often, if you’d like. Maybe if you could just give me some form of prior notice? Just so I’m prepared for all the attention…”

Astarion chuckled, that trademark rakish grin spreading on his lips.

“Apologies, darling,” Astarion responded, refusing the request. “I prefer to keep you perched on those toes far too much.” But at the sight of Rowan’s smile falling, the smugness of Astarion’s expression melted just a bit. He sighed dramatically, trying to keep the tone of the conversation light, as he always did. “But… I suppose I’ll try my best to be predictable sometimes. As long as it means I get to see you more often and not have you resent my presence.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Rowan countered, returning that rakish grin he’d inherited from the vampire that strolled beside him.

“I don’t know why you think all this attention is for me,” Astarion said, bumping his shoulder with Rowan’s. “You had quite the gaggle of admirers watching you before I’d even arrived.” Astarion wiggled his eyebrows at Rowan. “Aren’t you just a chip off the ole block?”

Rowan rolled his eyes. “It’s just because of who I am, because of you and Mom.”

“I don’t know,” Astarion replied in a playful drawl. “They certainly weren’t excitedly whispering our names, but I heard your name being thrown around quite a bit in that viewing box.”

“That’s just because they didn’t know you were there yet,” Rowan countered.

“Exactly,” Astarion scoffed. “So their reason for being there was you. By the Hells, you’re just as oblivious as your mother. Do you know just how many people gawked at her on our adventures? For not just her power, but also her beauty? Stared at the poor girl like she was a juicy leg of mutton. Which to be fair, her legs are quite-”

Rowan buried his face in his hands.

“Oh my Gods, Dad,” Rowan groaned. “For the love of Correllon, she’s my mother. Could you not?”

Astarion giggled, the trilling sound just as imposing as his presence was to Rowan’s day.

“My point is-,” Astarion continued. “- you need to give yourself some credit for once here, or at all for that matter.” Astarion halted, gripping Rowan by the shoulder and turning him to face him. “You’re a powerful and talented sorcerer, a good man, just as handsome as I am - and I know I sound like a braggart when I say that but we’d both be fools to ignore how physically blessed we both are. You’re quite extraordinary and you have got to acknowledge that about yourself or else what’s the point of it all?”

“Doing good? Making a difference in the Realms and the lives of others with my powers and skills?” Rowan offered, frowning at his father’s advice - completely missing the intent behind it.

“Life isn’t always about others, you know,” Astarion chided him, the parental tone so at odds with the selfish sentiment. But it wasn’t selfish - a concept Astarion was struggling to convey. He smacked his lips as he thought of how to properly articulate his point, looking everywhere but at Rowan. “You’re allowed to enjoy yourself and all that you are every once in a while simply for the sake of pride. Genuinely. It doesn’t cost anyone else a single thing and it’s not out of vanity but… for your own sake.”

For your own sake.

Rowan thought back to the words he’d heard in that memory in the arena.

Stay like your mother, please… for your own sake.

Astarion was trying to teach Rowan a lesson he’d never been able to learn himself: it was okay for Rowan to think of himself for once. To appreciate a moment of pride in who he was. Something Astarion had never really felt for himself - a fact the facade he wore forced Rowan to often forget. His father still battled daily with the urge to despise himself, to think he deserved to be back in the thrall of his old Master or to be eternally burning in the Hells for the pain and suffering he'd caused, even though it wasn't his decision to do so. Astarion didn’t want Rowan to ever forget that Rowan was a good man… and never wanted Rowan to miss out on appreciating that about himself.

But just as Rowan’s ego was just about to have it’s moment in the sun, Rowan’s eyes were drawn to the side, behind Astarion, to see her walking down the hallway towards the two of them.

Liriel practically floated as she walked down the hallway and Rowan’s vision faded to nothing but the sight of her, always mesmerizing him with her presence. Her long, blue-black hair swung gracefully behind her, swaying with each sauntering step she took. Her glacial lavender skin glowed in the dim mage lights of the hallways, her violet eyes twinkling as they caught sight of Rowan. With a childish hope in his heart, he noticed that Liriel didn’t even spare a glance at his father.

“Hi, Rowan!” she greeted him sweetly, practically knocking Rowan out with the beauty of her smile.

“H-Hi, Liriel!” he stuttered.

“I’ll see you in Evocations next week?” She asked over her shoulder as she passed him by, continuing on her path. Her eyes flicked over to Astarion and she gave him a subtle nod. "Hello there, Mr. Ancunin," she greeted Astarion politely.

“Y-you know it!” Rowan smiled awkwardly. Liriel’s smile grew for just a moment more at his confirmation before she turned away, her hair gliding through the air as she spun to walk away from them.

“Great job in the arena today!” She called over her shoulder before disappearing around a corner. But Rowan couldn’t help but respond anyway, even if he was unsure if she’d heard him.

“Thanks!” he called back, waving in her direction even though she obviously couldn’t see him doing so.

When Rowan turned back to face his father, he saw what could easily be described as the most annoying, grating, awful knowing grin on Astarion's face. A silver brow arched before he spoke, his voice now a teasing, sultry purr.

“And who was that delightful and beautiful creature?” Astarion asked, cocking a hip and crossing his arms expectantly. “Is she why you don’t care for all the other admirers watching you in the arena?”

Oh Gods, no. The last thing Rowan wanted his father to know about was Liriel. Only Celeste knew about the crush he’d had for three years now on the beautiful Selandrine Drow. Her name was Liriel Nythsil and she was a Divination witch in his year at the academy. They’d met in their first year and become good friends but as they’d grown older, Rowan had found her more and more beguiling and bewitching with every interaction they had. She was kind, compassionate, intelligent, and breath-takingly beautiful.

“No one! Just a classmate!” Rowan replied, far too quickly. Astarion chuckled through his closed lips and rolled his eyes, terribly amused by Rowan’s reaction.

“Gods, you really are just like your mother,” Astarion said under his breath before speaking again at a normal volume. “Alright, well you can tell me about her when you’re ready to, I suppose. Unless you’ve followed in your mother’s footsteps and told Gale about your romantic interests before myself.”

“Mom told Gale about her feelings for you before she told you?” Rowan asked as the pair of them began walking once more. They were nearing the tower where Gale’s office and living quarters were located.

“My understanding is that it wasn’t necessarily on purpose,” Astarion elaborated as they passed a group of younger students who stared at them in awe. Rowan ignored the discomfort the attention brought him. “She’d unknowingly conjured a vision of me while the wizard was trying to teach her more about the Weave. Gale pressed her about why she’d conjured a vision of me and well… you know what a horrid liar your mother is.” Astarion laughed softly, his eyes growing distant as he delved into his memories of Evelyn in the very beginning of it all.

Although Rowan never understood just how his parents’ love was so undying, so formidable and unbreakable between two people who were so different, he could never deny its existence. All one had to do was watch them together or ask one about the other and watch how their eyes sparkled, how their smiles spread on their lips, the pure love and adoration that emanated from every word they spoke of each other. His parents’ love was the most solid and consistent thing in his entire life. Evelyn’s loyalty and compassion for Astarion was never-ending and Astarion’s devotion and admiration for Evelyn never faltered. It was those moments, watching them together, that he saw the side of his father he could understand being related to.

“Yes, Mom really does have quite the hard time fooling anyone,” Rowan chuckled. They were quiet for the last few moments of the walk, finally reaching the staircase to Gale’s quarters.

“Well I suppose I’ll wait for you in Gale’s chambers for you to finish your classes for the day,” Astarion said, almost awkwardly. “Unless you have any other spectacles scheduled that I can watch?”

Rowan shook his head, rubbing timidly at the back of his neck.

“No, that was my only major practicum for the day,” Rowan answered. “And my classes are done as well. I just need to gather my things, I wasn’t able to between studying for exams last night.” Rowan watched, his brows quirking, as his father shifted nervously from one foot to the other. “Dad? Are you alright?”

“What? Yes! Yes of course!” Astarion responded, confused.

“Is Mom alright? Is Celeste?” Rowan pressed.

“Yes, yes, everyone is fine, I promise,” Astarion repeated. “Cross my heart and hope to die, ha ha!” His shrill laugh was forced just enough for Rowan to notice. Rowan looked at him, expectantly, and unknowingly gave him the same look that Evelyn often did when she knew Astarion was holding something back. At the sight of that look for more than a few seconds, Astarion huffed a sigh of defeat. “I just… I miss you.”

Rowan froze, unsure of just how to respond to the sentiment from his father. Was he dreaming? Was he in another memory he hadn’t recalled before? Before he could even attempt to respond, Astarion continued to speak.

“Look, I-,” Astarion stammered for a moment. “I know it seems like I favor your sister. It’s not lost on me that there’s a bit of an apparent… disconnect between the two of us. But your sister she-she needed me more than you seemed to with her growing up with her special needs, needs like my own. It was easier for me to understand her, for her to understand me in return. And if I’m being honest… It was nice to feel needed.” Astarion stared down at his boots, finding them suddenly captivating as he continued his unprompted confession. “You never needed me. You bonded so quickly with your mother and before I knew it, you were being carted off at such a young age to come train here with Gale and it just… it felt like you might never need me as a father. So I-I didn’t want to impose myself on you - I know that I can be a lot. I didn’t want to poke myself into where I’d be useless. Especially with someone like you, of your character - so much like your mother’s. What could I possibly have to teach you?”

Rowan opened his mouth to respond when he remembered, yet again what his father had said to him in that newfound memory and what it implied. Astarion hadn't wanted Rowan to be anything like him, didn’t want to taint him with whatever horrible parts of himself Astarion was capable of passing down to him simply by exposure. Astarion had kept him at arm’s length from Rowan but never because of who Rowan was. In fact… Astarion did so because he wished to preserve who Rowan was at his core. Because he loved him for it.

“A lot,” Rowan replied, smiling reassuringly at his father. “You could actually teach me a lot, you know. Gale told me what an asset you were to the team against the mindflayers - said you were the one who saved everyone quite often. I thought that was Shadowheart but it sounds like you were always the last man standing.” Rowan hugged his father quite tightly. “You’re a survivor. And I'd be honored to learn that from you."

Astarion hugged him back, with a level of affection Rowan rarely shared with his father. They stood there for a moment and Rowan inhaled his father's scent, suddenly finding it a comforting reminder of home. As he pulled back, Rowan smiled up at Astarion, trying to convey just how much beneath their discord, he really truly loved his father.

“I simply miss you, my little sorcerer,” Astarion said, his voice soft and deep and soothing. "And I don't want to miss out on who you're becoming."

“I miss you, too, Dad,” Rowan replied, smiling just a bit wider.

Astarion was silent for just a moment as he stared at his son. His mirror image.

“You know… you may look just like me, but your smile is by far entirely your mother’s,” Astarion whispered. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Rowan’s forehead with a tenderness that almost broke his heart.

Before Rowan thought he might even shed a tear, Astarion released the embrace, clearing his throat gruffly as he pulled away as if he were resetting his demeanor. He patted Rowan’s back as he spoke again, his more dramatic and playful tone returning.

“Now, go gather your things so we can be on our way. Maybe flirt a little bit with someone on your way back to your dormitory or rob someone just so that we know you really are indeed my child and not just your mother’s,” Astarion grinned playfully and Rowan chuckled in response. Astarion shoved him gently off in the direction of the dormitories. “Alright go on now, your mother and sister are waiting. As am I.”

Rowan smiled to himself as he walked off to pack his things, excited to return home to spend time with his whole family.

Taglist: @paganwitchisis @roguishcat @bikilotta @dianao5 @pursuitseternal @foxiecelery @ayselluna @arianna-irwynarn @hellethil

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ayselluna · 1 month ago

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Astarion craves connection

Lately, I've been thinking an awful lot about Astarion's desperate need to bond with others, especially in Act 1. Not just to seduce you and have sex with you, not just because he wants to secure his place in the party, but because he wants - and surely needs - to connect with people after two centuries of loneliness.

I’m talking about genuine interactions with other people, without the pressure of Cazador’s will, and with interlocutors who are neither targets nor threats. Of course, sometimes it’s difficult to say if he’s only pretending or if he’s genuinely trying to bond with you, but the more I think about it, the more I see it. Just think about all the discussions you can have with him in Act 1. He's certainly the companion with the most evening interactions, and I think there's a reason for it, especially when you know that he's been so lonely for so long. And it's also quite striking given the fact that one could expect him to be much more wary, maybe even paranoid somehow (like Shadowheart), but on the contrary, he shows a real capacity to open up, to share and to relate. It's awkward sometimes, but he's trying, even if he doesn't really understand it himself.

So I wanted to look back at some interactions in act 1 and to have a closer look at them (in no particular order). And it's going to be long. And chaotic.

Take the first night in camp for instance; he opens up about not feeling comfortable sleeping in the woods. Yes, he remains quite cryptic, he doesn't tell you how terrified he is (you can't expect him to at this point), but still... he doesn't know you and yet tells you he's not feeling comfortable here. You don't even have to ask him.

He could have kept it to himself, he could have preferred to let you believe that he's fine.

Nothing forces him to tell you about it. And yet he decides, against all odds, to let you know that he's not so fine. It's implicit and subtle, yes, but it's there. He tries to reach out to someone. He's not good at it, but that's a meaningful step.

And take the stargazing scene, which, to me, is when he really decides to go for his “nice little plan”. But whether this is it or not, he is lying down and stargazing in the middle of camp, and I can't stress this enough: in the middle of camp. He’s not sitting apart, seeking calm and solitude. He obviously expects someone (you) to come and talk to him.

Another meaningful example is his confession if you go to the Underdark before the bite night. In this case, he will decide to tell you he’s a vampire. Nothing forces him to tell you. He admits it simply because he wants to be honest about it – he feels that, at this point, you won’t let him down. He wants to connect with you, despite the risks of such a revelation.

And look at his face when you say it's alright: he’s so relieved! Because you don't drive a stake through his heart, yes, but also because he knows now that you trust him. That he is ok. That he can count on you.

As for the bite scene, it's a little more complicated: He's famished and he wants to know if he can bite a sentient being now that Cazador can't control him. Of course, doing it without your consent is a terrible move (I tend to believe his idea of personal boundaries is quite fucked up at this point, but that's a topic for a another post).

But if you accept him as a vampire, he trusts you to trust him enough to ask for a snack. Which, to me, is not only related to his burning hunger. This mutual trust, again, is something he desperately craves. Because it means your partnership is not superficial. And when you let him bite you, you prove him that trust can exist between the two of you (even if he's already planning to manipulate you, because people are complicated and full of contradictions).

Then you have the scene when he asks you who you'd like to bite. IMO, it's one of the most relevant scenes concerning his need for connection. Of course he’s flirting a little, he probably has already been scheming his nice little plan. But come on, if it was only about seducing you, I think he would have chosen another topic for the conversation… I mean, honestly, you don’t usually flirt by speaking about other people’s blood (except for all the Durges around, but he doesn’t really now about that yet).

No, beyond the flirting bits, this man is desperate to talk about his newfound freedom! for the first time in two hundred years, he can feed on all kind of beasts, whenever he wants! Of course he's excited and want to ramble about it! Imagine you've been feeding on rotten and unseasoned garbage for weeks and suddenly you can taste all kind of different spicy food, wouldn't you want to share that experience with someone? To ask them what kind of food they prefer? To imagine how this or that would taste?

Astarion is curious, he says it himself, and he wants to share his curiosity with you. Because he appreciates your company. Because he wants to share something with you, the open-minded companion who accepts him as he is. Astarion is not just teasing you, he's enjoying speaking to you "in the spirit of theoretical questions".

By the way, if you refuse to have this talk, he disapproves. Understandably!

You just turned down his first attempt to connect, to have a playful conversation, without any pressure. Of course he is disappointed! He thought you'd understand after you let him dine on you.

But if you play along, he approves whoever you pick, and gives a little comment of his own according to the companion you choose. And each answer reveals an attempt at bonding, it's always positive, even when he wouldn't have picked the same companion.

Even if you choose him.

And even if he’s already performing for his nice little plan, don't forget that it’s the first time he can really choose and decide to flirt and seduce. He feels somehow that he has to seduce you, because that's how he learned to survive, but nobody is actually forcing him to, for the first time in 200 years. So many reasons which make me believe that this discussion isn’t a performance, not completely at least, and that it's not just about his plan. It's about bonding and having a little fun.

By the way, during that scene, he calls you a friend. Is it genuine? Maybe not at this point, but I take it as wishful thinking. Whether he acknowledges it or not, he wants friends, or at least a friendly interaction.

He used the words 'friends' before, in an even more sarcastic way: The morning after the bite night, when you decide to keep him in the party after the revelation. Here, he’s not talking about you in particular, but about the whole group, and half of them are particularly wary of him, some of them are lowkey threatening him (and right before this, he told you he was scared anyone would turn against him - he still is). Without you, they would have at best kicked him out of camp.

This "friend" is ironical because none of them is seeing Astarion as a friend right now. So he deflates it with irony. Likewise, when he asks you to sleep with him the first time before the party, the “trusting friends” is ironical since you just called him out on his potential bullshit - and he knows it. It's a defence mechanism he uses each time someone sees him as a threat.

There's another "friend" in Act 1. During the "drunk scene".

This part sounds much more genuine to me. He's intoxicated, and he greets you with a "my friend" and a little laugh that makes him sound very giddy about it. If you listen to it, it doesn’t sound like he’s bitter, or manipulating.

Even the dev notes indicate that he must look “very happy".

At this point he really begins to trust you. It seems to make him happy to believe that you could really become friends. And being intoxicated helps him drop the mask a little, he's more himself: Playful, silly, displaying a sheer need to talk with someone. (look at this silly goose)

But being intoxicated also helps him open up about his past, about the torments. About his bitterness and his belief that power is the only way to be safe. About his biased vision of the world, of heroes, of power structures and responsibilities.

IMO he really needs someone he can talk to, someone who would listen and understand, if he's not sure how to do it, if he can do it, if you can be that person. He's "drunk", he needs to vent, and he vents to you.

This need to communicate, to connect with someone is even clearer when you play Durge, since he seems to relate a little more to your character. First things he tells you after you recruited him shows that he observes you and notices something is off, but it seems to be comforting to him.

As if he was thinking "thank goodness I'm not the only one who's a mess. Maybe they'll understand." And a few days letter, he comments on your state.

Not only he worries about you, but he also wants to understand what's happening to you. And if that's not a proof that this man wants to connect with others, I don't know what you need.

He has a hard time acknowledging it himself, with that little "do take care of yourself" which sounds a little awkward. And it makes sense, that must not be the kind of things he's used to say to anyone. Hence the silly little bow.

According to your answer, he can also appear to be very supportive, telling you to not fear who you are, accepting your quirks just (like you accepted his). Partners in crime. He's not alone in this.

And don't get me started on the fact that he doesn't refuse to tell you about his past. Despite his little remark on you insisting “about exhuming the past”, you don’t actually have to insist to make him talk about it. Comparing to Shadowheart, he willingly tells you about Cazador, about him being slave and very soon after you learned he's a vampire. You just have to ask, he opens up. He complains a little but he talks, for the first time in so long he's found someone he can talk to, someone who's willing to listen. And the more he trusts you, the more he tells you, without you having to insist.

I could go on for ages with examples: How he approves if you decide to tell Eithel about the tadpole in the grove. He doesn’t trust the old lady, but he clearly wants the two of you to have fun.

How he confesses that you are "his first". I don't think he's lying about it. After all, being completely unexperimented in term of biting people, it's not exactly the image of "the sexy vampire" that he usually tries to display.

Not to mention that he seems quite embarrassed about it. His body language gives him away. He's looking away, clearing his throat.

And why would he tell you if not to bond with you?

It's not about seducing you, it's about opening up a little and talk about his experience. He's already trying to be honest with you, because it's the first time in so long that he can allow himself to be honest. His face is particularly vulnerable when he admits it after he killed you during that first snack.

Should I also mention the fact that he never installs his tent in a lonely corner like Shadowheart or Lae'zel or even Wyll sometimes do? He's always, at least, close to another companion, if not in the middle of camp. Of course, it could be a question of feeling safer if the others are around, but I nonetheless think it's quite telling about his need to belong within this little group of weirdos. Likewise, a certain number of banters in Act 1 indicate that he does want to have innocent interactions with the group.

And finally, let's go back to the beginning, when you first meet him. As soon as he realises you're not an enemy, he drops his guard, relieved to have found another survivor. He obviously didn't expect you to invite him to join - it didn't even cross his mind because who would want him as part of a group? - but he quickly accepts to join "the herd". Not being alone anymore could be a good idea, right?

You could expect that after two hundred years of slavery and torment, one would be much more wary, keeping to oneself, keeping their distance with the others. But not Astarion, no. Because whether he admits it or not, he craves companionship. He craves attention - not for his looks, but for his individuality. He craves acceptance.

He joins you, first installs his tent in the centre of camp, he makes himself useful for the group, he wants to talk to you almost every night, he tries to bond with you in the most awkward ways and shares his enthusiasm for his newfound freedom. Yes, he wants to seduce you to make sure you won't let him down, but beyond that, there's a deep need for bonding, and to feel like he belongs somewhere. And if at first he probably thinks he only belongs in your bed as a good fuck, through all your interactions he begins to understand that he belongs beside you as a partner, as a friend and simply, as a person. He needs emotional support, he finds it in you, and even finds himself capable of giving emotional support. You trust him, and this trust is precious because it means you see him as a valuable person, not just a Swiss knife or a pretty thing. And it means he can trust you too. And it also means that, maybe, the world isn't as cruel as he was made to believe.

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