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thedreamlessnights · 7 months

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Someone to shed some light - pt. 2

Astarion x gn!reader (Upcoming NSFW)

{series masterlist}

Synopsis: During your honeymoon, you learn that the prince is much more than meets the eye.

Warnings: Blood drinking, brief mentions of nausea, neglected parenting. Brief, non-graphic descriptions of injuries. Insinuations of abuse.

Word Count: 7.4k

A/N: Thank you all so much for the support on the first chapter! This idea has taken over my life and I'm so happy to see that you all feel the same way about the concept of Prince Astarion. All the comments truly made my day and inspired me so much, so thank you! Without further ado, enjoy chapter two!

You’ve been infected by this place from the very first day.

You hadn’t realized it then, standing in front of Erelin with shaking hands, swallowing down a feeling that you couldn’t quite describe. It was nothing as simple as loss, or raw as grief; not large, or sharp, or invasive. Just a small, quiet numbness that you couldn’t pinpoint the cause of. Not at the time, at least.

You certainly hadn’t known that it would spread through you like a disease. Little pieces of aching, eating you away from the inside out until you became one big, empty thing. And yet, now that the feeling is whole, it’s become all too clear. Now, as you lay in a warm bed with a stranger at your side, you can finally place it.

Your own life is being robbed from you.

One by one, experiences that should be yours, that should be special, are stolen away. They’re replaced by memories that are boring, or empty, or tainted. Occasions that come without an ounce of substance. Your wedding… gods, it was meant to mean something. It was supposed to be a day shared with someone you care about, not someone you barely tolerate.

And now, here you are, about to be dragged off for your honeymoon, and it feels more like an extended form of torture than time spent with a loved one.

Granted, none of this is Astarion’s fault. He’s lost just as much as you have from this whole affair, if not more. Still, that knowledge doesn’t stop the sensation of loss. It’s bad enough to not be in control, but it’s so much worse knowing what could have been.

Even before the sun rises, the thought disrupts your sleep, keeps you awake in the early silence. Perhaps you should let it go, but you can’t bear to discard the pieces of your old life so easily. If you’d had your way, your wedding would have been fun. Dancing, singing, laughing - real laughing, that is. Cal would have given a toast, and you wouldn’t have had to lie about being in love. It would have been the truth. You would have just been allowed to be. You and whoever it would have been, that is.

Gods, the only time you’d really even felt anything of substance yesterday was during the kiss. And you hadn’t meant to. It had just… happened. His hand on your jaw, your hand fixed tight to his shirt. It’s not even been a day, but you already know one thing for certain: that small, sweet taste of something real is going to drive you mad for the rest of your life.

You’re almost grateful when a knock comes at the door, even though you don’t move. You’re warm and entirely comfortable, and getting up means talking and feeling used and a number of other things that you can’t quite force yourself to face yet. Then another knock comes, louder this time, and the person next to you stirs.

From his side of the bed, Astarion sits up, swearing under his breath. “Yes, we’re up!” he calls, his voice tinged with sleep.

Footsteps echo down the hallway, and despite his promise of being up, Astarion slumps right back into bed. He looks… peaceful, almost. Mussed hair. A completely relaxed face. You’d like to join him in sleeping, but you don’t dare. He may not be afraid of his mother, but you certainly are.

When you finally get to your feet, you find that the servants have left you an outfit in the nearby closet. You’re halfway through getting dressed when - from the sound of it - Astarion finally gets out of bed, letting out another round of curses. When you emerge from the curtain, he’s combing his hair, not bothering to use the mirror.

The mirror that… isn’t there, you realize. There’s not one to be found in the entire room, not even on the vanity. Do they want you to go out looking like a mess?

Astarion doesn’t seem concerned in the least. He grabs a change of clothes, slips behind the curtain, and looks as pristine as ever when he comes out. You envy him and despise him all at once.

After a short while, another knock sounds at the door before it flies open, revealing a very tired Erelin. Dark circles rim her eyes again. She moves slowly, grimacing - as if the very act of having her eyes open brings her pain. “Good. You’re dressed,” she says. “Come along now, you’d better eat. The carriage will be here soon.”

Once you get to the kitchens, you start shoveling food in your mouth to get out in time. Astarion, meanwhile, disappears. You’re not sure where he goes, but he doesn’t return until after you’ve eaten. When he gets back, he says nothing to you, and you suppose it’s not any of your business. Which doesn’t stop you from wondering where he’d gone.

After being shoved into the carriage along with some pre-packed suitcases, you and Astarion mostly sit in silence. He looks deep in thought, and you have no idea what to talk to him about. You’re not sure if you even want to talk to him. After a while, he pulls out a book and begins reading, and you curse yourself for not thinking to bring anything to keep yourself entertained.

You haven’t the faintest clue where you’re going. Wouldn’t it be better for everyone if you knew? Is Astarion in the dark just as much as you are, or has his mother been giving him the privilege of actually knowing what his life will look like?

A sudden flare of anger tears through your chest like a heated dagger, and you have to clench your hands into fists to avoid doing something you regret.

You hate this. All of it. How powerless you are to it, the loss of the control you’d once had. Two months ago, you were waking up in your own home, going wherever you pleased, never being told what to wear or how to act. Now you’re stuck in this world, being used, ignored, or having your skin practically scrubbed off, and for what? A selfish political move? A kingdom you’ve never even seen?

These rebels - they’re putting their lives on the line with their displays, but can the kingdom of Calthir really represent something worth that much risk? You don’t even have a clue. Perhaps if you’d been raised with a better knowledge of it, but no, Cal had taken special measures to keep you in the dark . You’re really only certain of one thing: if the queen had wanted you to marry her only son, then she must have been scared. These can’t have been miniscule protests. There must be something larger at hand; a movement, or uprising.

You’re curious about what these people are like, but you’re far more interested to see what they would think of you. Would you disappoint them? Do they despise you for having taken the safe route - for choosing this life over torture, or dying for a kingdom you’ve never known?

Yet… Erelin hadn’t wanted to kill you. She’d still had a use for you then. What would happen if that use suddenly went away, now that it’s been put into motion? You hadn’t considered it when you were in front of her, honestly. You’d thought only of survival, because that’s all you’ve ever really known. How to take care of yourself.

So what would happen if you were to swing open the door of the carriage and jump? To run as fast as your feet could carry you, hiding among the woods until finding shelter?

You have nothing with you but the clothes on your back - the ridiculously heavy ones. Not exactly an ideal for sprinting through the woods, and that’s not even mentioning all the other factors. No weapons, no supplies. It doesn’t seem like a coincidence that it’s been set up that way.

Still, you do know your way around plants, and you can track and hunt. You could probably pick up some meals here or there. You doubt Astarion would really care if you left. He’d probably be delighted, in fact.

But would it be enough to get by? Could you outrun her men, hide your tracks well enough to get away? Would you live a life of freedom, or would she drag you right back? And for the love of the gods, why hadn’t you thought about this before getting married?

It’s like you’ve been sleeping for the last month. You’re finally awake, finally aware of what a full life of this will mean and just how suffocating it is. You want nothing more than to jump out and never return, but the side of you that wants you to survive rather than live is holding on by its nails.

For a long while, you consider it - adding up your skills in your mind as if they’ll reach a threshold that says, alright, jump, you’ll make it through. But the threshold doesn’t exist. There is no ‘right’ number of skills that will tell you whether or not you’ll get away, or if you’ll make it out there and find your freedom again.

“You shouldn’t do it, you know,” Astarion tells you, stirring you from your thoughts. His book has been set on his thigh, and he’s watching you intently. He couldn’t possibly know what you’re thinking. Could he?

You force your expression into something nonchalant. “Do what?” you ask.

“Run.” He tilts his head, analyzing your expression as he drums his fingers on the book’s cover. “You are thinking of it, aren’t you? She’d never let you get away.”

You don’t have to ask who he’s referring to - though, part of you wonders whether he’s trying to scare you. His loyalties surely would lie with his mother over you. He could be trying to get you to stay, knowing that your disappearance will cause her a massive headache. Or… knowing that you actually have a chance to get away.

When you say nothing, he shakes his head. “Don’t be a fool, darling. She took your blood. It’ll be used to track you, and she won’t be so polite when you get dragged back. She can’t stand when something of hers gets taken away.”

You’re so repulsed by being described as something of hers that your nails dig into your palms, stinging at the already-raw flesh. Erelin doesn’t own you. You aren’t… some trinket of hers. Gods. Can you even believe a word Astarion is saying? Your head is telling you that he’s lying for her, but… for some reason, your gut is telling you it’s the truth.

Then, a horrific thought crosses your mind.

“Will she hurt you if I go?” you ask.

He scoffs. “Her cherished heir?” he asks mockingly. “She wouldn’t dream of it. It’s you she’ll hurt, dearest, not me.”

A million questions run through your mind as you stare at him, trying desperately to decipher his motives. “Then why say anything? You don’t care what happens to me.”

He tilts his head. “How very true - I don’t! So glad we’ve gotten that out of the way.” He pauses. “That being said, this carriage ride is incredibly long, and if you jump out and run, it’ll take even longer. We’ll have to stop the carriage, the guards will have to get off and find you - oh, and they will find you, by the way. In the meantime, I’ll have to sit here, waiting even longer for your ridiculous debacle to end. So, pretty please, spare me your little escape, and just keep put, hm?”

His words sink in slowly, seeping through you like poison. Spite has never been so potent. It floods your senses, settles on your tongue with a strangely metallic aftertaste, washes over your vision in a sheen of red. Your hand places itself on the door handle of the carriage and almost, almost, tugs it open, wanting nothing more than to make him sit and wait.

Gods, he’s intolerable.

Still, you have the feeling that your opening to escape has come and gone. You’re not exactly keen on getting tortured, so... another time, maybe. When you have a better chance at survival. For now, you don’t dare to speak to Astarion again, lest you bite off your tongue in anger - or worse.

When the two of you finally arrive at your destination, a guard opens the door for you. Behind him, a cool breeze floods into the stuffy carriage, and you’re more than happy to jump out and follow as long as it means getting away from Astarion.

This place is so large you can hardly believe it exists. Thick stone pillars form the foundations of a giant building, looming in the midst of thick brush. There are trees as far as the eye can see, and birds sing in the distance. You can hear a stream somewhere near - you’ll have to take a look around, if they let you. You have to admit, this place really isn’t so bad.

If only Astarion wasn’t here.

The next few days pass by quickly, half decent and half miserable. The guards let you take walks as long as you’re in clear sight, and you spend most of the time in an open clearing with your feet dipped into the nearby stream, reveling in the plant life around you. You start sneaking things, too - foods that’ll keep for a while, a silver necklace, a knife from dinner. It’s not very sharp, but it’s better than nothing.

The miserable bit comes any time you’re forced to spend with Astarion, which - unfortunately - is a large amount of time. The guards take you both into town, and the two of you walk through the shops arm in arm, pretending that you don’t hate each other. His pet names become more pointed. You often fantasize about digging an elbow into his ribs. You go to bed at an early hour to avoid speaking to him, and you ignore each other in the mornings. It’s better that way.

A few days into this schedule, something strange pulls you from your sleep. Half-awake, you just manage to register the soft, nearly imperceptible sound of Astarion slipping from the bed. You keep your eyes closed and remain silent, listening to the whisper-quiet sound of his footsteps before the door creaks open and clicks shut.

And where are you going, Astarion? you think to yourself. It’s much too late for any remotely normal activities to be taking place out there, but you aren’t in much of a mood to move. For a few minutes, you lay in bed, waiting for him to return, but when your eyelids grow too heavy to keep open, you decide that it really isn’t that important to you.

He’s back in the morning, and you don’t mention his absence.

The next night, though, your growing curiosity demands an experiment: staying up to see if he’ll leave again. It takes hours of waiting in silence, trying to keep your mind active so you don’t drift off. You think about everything you possibly can: Astarion, Cal, your home. Erelin, the wedding, Astarion. Damn him. If only you could wipe your mind clear of him and be done with it.

Just as you’re about to give into sleep, he finally stirs.

He slips out of bed like a ghost, nothing but the whisper of sheets and soft, cautious steps. Has he been doing this every night? Is it a form of strange royal ritual? You wouldn’t put it above him or Erelin to be bathing in blood to keep forever young, honestly. But when the door creaks shut behind him, you shoot up, wide awake and heart pounding like a drum.

You really shouldn’t follow him. Gods - of course you shouldn’t. Who knows what the hells he’s up to, or what he’d do if he catches you. Still… the image of him in the gardens, bloody and imperfect, hasn’t left your mind for even a moment since you’d met him. Not fully.

The unsaid question churns like an itch in your mind, never finding any relief and never, ever waning. If what he’s doing now is any explanation for that, then you need to know. Your feet are on the floor before you know it - you’re following after him like someone possessed, gingerly shutting the door behind you. Well, if nothing else, this should be interesting.

Astarion is already much further down the hall, stepping quickly and lightly, and within moments you’re trailing him - which is not an easy task. He’s surprisingly stealthy and you have to keep a healthy distance, ducked into the shadows and desperately trying to keep quiet. The air is so cold that your teeth nearly start chattering, and all the moving around you’re doing barely helps.

What is he up to at this hour, sneaking around like this? And where in the hells are all the guards? They’d been there earlier, staring at you as if warning you not to try anything. Now, they’re all missing. Or… posted somewhere else.

When you realize he’s headed straight into the forest, your suspicions triple. You even pause a moment, frozen as you take in the dark shadows of the trees. There could be any number of things in those woods, and you’re not dressed for any of the possible occasions. Then again, neither is he, and you don’t want to have come all this way only to turn back now.

Apparently, your self-preservation is particularly lacking tonight. You keep following.

Astarion treks through the woods with velvet tread, slipping nimbly across the branches and roots. Your feet mirror his movements as best as you can, but it really is a marvel how he moves like that. When he comes to a sudden stop, you’re forced to shield yourself behind a tree and wait it out, praying you won’t lose him.

For a moment, there’s only the faint howling of the wind and the rustling of leaves. Then, a sharp squeal. Your hands start trembling. Your mouth goes dry.

As you finally find it in yourself to look, it takes a moment to find Astarion among the shadows, the silver veil of moonlight that streams through the leaves. When you do, you just about bite off your tongue trying not to make a noise.

Below him is a dead boar, and - well, he’s drinking from it. Or, to be more specific, drinking its blood.

Something in you gives way. Your ears ring, and your body shudders - a dark realization churning deep in your gut. Something else, too. A strange sort of heat, coursing through your veins. You have to lean against the tree just to avoid slumping to the ground.

As soon as you’ve gained an ounce of sense again, you hide yourself completely, press your forehead against the dry, rough bark, and try to gather your thoughts.

Astarion. A vampire. Well… it’s one thing. But he also happens to be the prince and heir to the throne, and that’s what’s making this realization so impactful. If people got word about this - if they found out what he really was - gods, there would be… riots. An amount of protest you can’t even fathom. No wonder Erelin’s been hiding him away. No wonder the wedding was full of pompous idiots - people who wouldn’t even consider putting two and two together.

Really, when you think about it, this answers a lot of your questions: why he never eats with you, why he’s so cold to the touch all the time. Why his shirt collars are so high and stiff on his neck, and no mirrors ever seem to be in your room. Gods. You’re pathetic. All this time you’ve been thinking about him, studying him from the sidelines, so how could you have not connected it sooner? Gods.

Still… it’s insane. Absolutely insane. And there are several things which don’t add up, frankly. For one, he’s able to stand in the sunlight without burning up. You’ve seen that with your own eyes. If he’s really a vampire, then how does that work?

But who knows - all those tales might be myths. After all, you’ve never actually met someone who could verify their truth. Maybe… maybe you’ve got it all wrong. Or, maybe, you’re simply dreaming.

You decide to chance another glance around the tree, but when the forest comes into focus, Astarion isn’t there. The only thing that remains is the sudden, bleeding silence, the boar’s corpse, and the moonlight.

Well, shit.

As you stare at the empty space, wondering if he’d noticed you, a strange sensation trickles down your neck - one you can only just place the feeling of.

You’re not alone.

Without another thought, you take off running. The wind whips past your cheeks, as stinging as ice in the forest’s chill. Adrenaline floods through you, fiery and restless in your veins, dulling down the rest of the world. The outside world and the inside of you are brutal contrasts - fire and ice, melding into your skin. You’re just thinking you’ll make it out when something locks around you from behind, knocking you off balance.

You hit the ground hard, tumbling against the dirt and dry roots, scraping your knees and drawing a vicious sting, and immediately push yourself back up. Something in your leg twinges, but it fades. Then, a pair of hands grab you, and despite the incredible show you make of punching, kicking, and squirming, Astarion has you pinned against a tree within moments, breathing heavily.

“Enjoying the show, were you?” he asks.

You attempt to kick him again, and quickly find your leg pinned against the tree, too. “Settle down,” he instructs.

Once it’s clear that he has you completely trapped, you relent into his grasp and try to calm yourself. “You’re a vampire,” you say breathlessly.

“Guilty as charged,” he purrs. “Any other obvious statements to make, darling?”

You struggle to get away once again and he presses harder against you, his face inches from yours. “Careful,” he murmurs, leaning toward your ear. “I bite.”

You can smell the fragrance on him. Bergamot. Rosemary. You hate him.

“Let me go,” you demand, struggling again in vain.

He tilts his head, studying your face in the darkness. “No, I don’t think I will,” he says. “I want to know what that pretty little head of yours is up to.”

You take in a deep breath, attempting to slow your thoughts into something coherent. “Does your mother know?”

He scoffs. “Of course she does. She’s the one keeping my… ‘condition’ hidden.”

“Who else?”

“Oh, her advisor. A few servants. The guards. Why?”

“But… you can walk in sunlight. How?”

“So funny you should ask,” he says. “You see, I went to bed one night, cozy as can be, and woke up the next day unable to move and in blinding pain. Turns out, my mother had some form of magical object placed in my head. But now, I can go in the sun, cross thresholds all I please, and break all sorts of other vampire rules. Convenient, isn’t it?”

You stare at him in horror. “I thought you said she would never hurt you.”

Something flickers across his face for a moment before he’s back to scowling. “Yes, well,” he says. “That depends on your definition of hurt, doesn’t it? To her, she’s doing me a favour. Making me… ‘normal’ again.”

Anger coils in your gut, hot and dark - but for the first time, it’s not directed at him. “And to you?”

“What I think doesn’t matter,” he says. “Not to her, and not to anyone else.”

“That’s not true,” you respond.

“Of course it is. All that matters is that she gets what she wants.”

Your jaw clenches. “I… I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t you run from her, then? The guards don’t follow you around like they do with me.”

“Run?” he asks incredulously. “Gods. Didn’t you hear what I was telling you earlier? She can’t stand having something of hers taken away. And I, darling, just like you, happen to be on that list.” His weight on you loosens a little. “Besides. I’ve had quite enough of running for my tastes, thank you.”

So he has run. That must have been how he knew what you were thinking about. But if he’d run, and it wasn’t from his mother… “Then who did you run from?” you ask. “And - your mother clearly isn’t a vampire. Who turned you?”

His hold on you tightens almost imperceptibly. “That,” he says, “happens to be none of your business.”

He finally releases you, analyzing you for a moment as he steps back. His exhale comes out in a sharp rush of air. “You should go back to the room,” he says. “I wouldn’t run if I were you, but… you already know that, don’t you?”

There’s a long beat as you try to decide how to answer him.

All thoughts of running have faded to the back of your mind. You’re intrigued, horrified, and who knows what else, and with the way your mind is spinning, you barely know how to speak, much less pick yourself up and make a break for it.

“Alright,” you finally reply. You hesitate for a moment, turning to look back at him, and he doesn’t meet your eyes. “Astarion…”

“Yes?”

“I… I’m sorry for what happened to you. Really, I am.”

He doesn’t react, even though you’re watching for it like a hawk. “The way you’re shivering, you’re going to catch something, you know,” he replies. “I’d rather not have to explain to my mother why you died of hypothermia.”

He’s right. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, you’re shaking like a leaf. And… you have no idea what else to say. Without another word, you trek back to your room as if in a trance, and find yourself asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow.

Astarion is absent the next morning when you wake, but you find him on your usual visit to the clearing, basking in the sun. His head is tilted back, his eyes are closed, and he looks, frankly, like a sleeping cat sunbathing under a patch of sunlight.

How long had he gone without feeling the sun on his skin? You can’t even imagine it. It sounds completely miserable. No promises of life-long youth or power could ever get you to sign that away - though, for some reason, you get the feeling he hadn’t had much of a choice.

“Nice place, isn’t it?” you ask, taking a seat a few feet away from him.

With a sigh, he opens his eyes and straightens up, propping his arms over his knees. “You know, my sweet, following people around is typically considered to be rude.”

“You’re in my spot, actually,” you inform him. “Ask the guards. I come here all the time.”

“Is that so?” he asks. “In that case, deepest apologies. I’ll only intrude a little longer.”

He goes back to sunbathing, and the two of you sit in silence for a while. You take to your usual habit of dipping your feet in the stream, running your hands over the soft ferns nearby. When you glance back at Astarion, you find him watching you.

“I wondered what the hells you were doing in the gardens that night,” he muses. “Fond of nature?”

You give a light shrug. “I’m fond of anything that gets me away from that castle. I couldn’t sleep that night.” You hesitate for a moment, hands going still among the ferns. “As for here, well… it’s the same thing. I can’t stand being cooped up in there, so I come out here and sit.”

“And what a charming little spot you’ve found,” Astarion replies. “I suppose I’ll have to be faster next time around.”

You shrug. “I might consider sharing it if you behave, you know.”

He quirks a brow. “Oh? And what does this ‘behaving’ involve, exactly?”

You lean forward, gesturing loosely. “Not being a… how should I put this. Devious bastard?”

He smiles, flashing a hint of his fangs. “Darling, that happens to be my best feature.”

Have you never seen his fangs before, or had he never smiled with his teeth? You can’t quite recall, but it must be the latter.

You huff in response, skimming your fingers along the surface of the stream. You doubt he really cares about this place, but he had looked very comfortable sunbathing. Is it something he does often? If you were in his position, you’d be in the light as much as you could.

“The first time you went in the sun again - was it strange?” you ask him. “I… can’t imagine what it must be like. Only knowing darkness.”

He tilts his head, mulling over the thought for a moment. “Well. I was rather afraid I’d be burned into a crisp at the start, but - once that’d passed, it was…” He pauses, measuring his words, and his expression softens, as if he’s reliving the feeling of it now. “It was nice. I hadn’t felt warmth on my skin in years... I could scarcely believe it. Sometimes, I still think I’m going to be burned alive.”

Something deep in your chest aches for him, locked in the dark for who knows how long. Had his mother forced him out into the sun? Had they even known if the object in his brain would actually protect him?

“Can I ask you something else?”

He gives you an amused look. “You already have, but do carry on.”

You go back to running your hands through the ferns, gently tugging the plants against your fingers. “Do you ever wish they hadn’t put that thing in your head?”

His brows rise, and that softness briefly runs over his features again. A flash of genuinity. “I…” He shakes his head. “You’re a nosy little thing, aren’t you? No. Of course I don’t. Being in the dark, having to be invited in… it was miserable. I’ve never felt better. Naturally, I wish they’d asked first.”

“Then why didn’t they? It benefits you more than them, doesn’t it?”

He fixes you with a pointed look. “Asking is not something my mother is used to.”

Before you can formulate a response, Astarion sighs, getting to his feet and dusting away stray flecks of grass and dirt on his trousers. “On that note, I suppose I’ll see you later. I’m sure they’ll be driving us into town and parading us around again.”

“Wonderful,” you reply dully. “I can’t wait.”

He smiles again. “My dear, neither can I.”

It’s only a few days later that the two of you wind up in the carriage ‘home’ again, waiting out the long journey back. Once again, you have no entertainment for yourself, but your thoughts occupy you. Astarion naps and reads, mostly.

Until the carriage comes to a sudden stop, much too early. He opens his eyes and sits up, looking out the window with sudden interest.

“Is it too much to hope that we’re already there?” you ask.

“No, we can’t be there yet. Something’s happening,” he replies. He leans closer to the glass to see, and clicks his tongue. “Well, my sweet - looks like we’re taking a detour.”

“A detour?” you echo. The view outside your window shows absolutely nothing, and you’re itching to know what’s happening. You prop yourself up to your feet, hunched over in the tiny box, and just as you lean over him, the carriage suddenly jolts - sending you tumbling straight down into Astarion’s lap.

Then, the horses start running like the gods themselves are chasing them, and everything turns into a state of sheer chaos. You’re trying to push yourself off of him, he isn’t helping you at all, and every sharp curve of the road sends you straight back where you started.

“You know, darling, if you wanted to sit in my lap, you could have just asked,” Astarion tells you.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you tell him, grimacing with effort as you try to push off of him again. “Astarion, will you help me?”

His hands finally grip your waist, and you can feel their chill even through the fabric of your clothes. Then, as you leverage your arm on the side of the carriage to push away from him, he lifts you off - neatly placing you on the seat. Only, the carriage tilts again, and this time you find yourself smushed into his shoulder.

Astarion curses under his breath, bracing against the carriage wall. “Really, you’d think they were trying to kill us!”

You shut your eyes, letting out a huff. “How do we know they aren’t?”

“Because if they do, my mother will most certainly kill them.”

The wheels are rattling now, bouncing along what must be cobblestone. Acid churns in your stomach, threatening to make an appearance - but, if you are determined of one thing, you will not throw up on Astarion.

“What if we got kidnapped?” you ask, swallowing hard. “What if the guards are dead?”

“Trust me,” Astarion says. “I would have smelled their blood.”

It isn’t very reassuring, but it’s something.

It seems like hours that this goes on, but it can’t be more than a few minutes before the carriage finally slows and rolls to a stop. You fling the door open and stumble out, gasping in fresh air and trying to settle your stomach.

“Apologies for the, er, rough ride. We had a change of plans,” the guard says. “Urgent orders from the queen. We’re to keep you here until further notice.”

You only see where here is when you straighten up, looking around. This place could not be more of the opposite from where the two of you had just come from - no trees, no greenery. It’s a small stone building in the middle of a deserted alleyway. You’re somewhere in the city.

“Did she happen to say why?” Astarion asks.

The guard shrugs. “Confidential information, I’m afraid.”

He throws his hands up in frustration. “Of course. What else did I expect?”

With a sweep of the guard’s arm, the two of you are ushered inside. And so begins the worst part of your honeymoon.

For the next several days, the two of you are locked inside with the guards. The building is hot and stuffy, and there’s no reprieve in any of the rooms. You’re not allowed to leave, not even momentarily, and there is nothing to do.

Most times, you find yourself pacing around, wanting to rip your hair out in frustration. Astarion seems to feel the same, although he keeps his distance from you. The loneliness only makes the suffocation worse.

At night, you toss and turn, aching for any amount of freedom. It’s bordering on unbearable. If the guards weren’t on such high alert, you’d make a break for it, but there’s no doubt you’d end up skewered rather than free. The only good thing about being here is that you end up adding two things to your little bag of stolen objects: another knife (a good sharp one, this time), and a small flask of whiskey for the unbearable moments.

The food they serve is bland and stale, but you’re at least being fed. Astarion, as you come to realize, is not so lucky. There’s not a living creature to be found in this place that he could feed on. Even the rats stay away.

You only notice it a few days in - the restlessness in him, the way he can’t seem to stand being around you. The dark circles under his eyes, and his unusually quick temper. He’s starving. And, if the guards have noticed, they’ve done nothing.

Had Erelin even thought of how this would affect her son? Does she even care? What kind of a mother is she, leaving him like this, keeping him like a prisoner? The thought of her lounging around in silk robes, any food she wants at the tip of her fingers, is enough to have you scathing.

Well, if she won’t do anything, you will. You just have to figure out how, considering that Astarion avoids you like the plague as of late. In the meantime, you’ll think of what to say.

For the next few days, you two dance around each other. You don’t want to overstep or press his boundaries, but he seamlessly spends as much time away from you as he possibly can. He even sleeps in a different room. When he is with you, it’s in front of the guards - which is most certainly not how you’d like the conversation to go. So you wait.

Until, one night, in one of the empty bedrooms, you finally manage to corner him. Or, at least, you enter it without him immediately leaving. It’s progress, at least. You shut the door behind you and try to ease the shaking of your hands.

You’d had a whole spiel planned out about how he shouldn’t be treated like this, how you would like to give his mother a piece of your mind, about how you’re happy to give him some of your blood, but the sight of him wipes it clear from your mind. What instead comes out is this:

“Astarion, I… um. Are you hungry?”

As soon as the words are out, you find yourself cringing. Gods, of course he’s hungry. That’s why you’re here!

Astarion turns to look at you, wearing an expression that’s incredibly unimpressed. “Why?” he asks sharply. “Planning to bake me a treat?”

You fold your arms over your chest, fighting the urge to sigh. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, Astarion, but I do happen to have blood.”

For a moment, he actually looks… stunned. His brows raise, and his expression softens up as he stares at you, as if he’s somehow imagined the words. “Hm? I - of course I know that.” He scowls at you, then, after a moment of hesitation, softens again. “It’s just that… well, people aren’t usually keen on me taking that blood.”

“You could have asked me,” you point out. “We are married.”

Astarion tilts his head. “Darling, I honestly didn’t think you’d agree,” he says, taking a step toward you. His gaze is inquisitive, intrigued, and most of all, slowly growing dark with hunger. “Need I remind you - you did run from me in the forest.”

Your cheeks burn, but you manage to spit out the words. “I ran because you caught me spying on you, Astarion, not because you’re a vampire.”

He tilts his head, suddenly looking incredibly smug. “Oh, so you admit it? That you were spying on me?”

Gods, this is not going well.

You bury your face in your hands for a moment and take in a deep breath, collecting yourself. “Alright. Yes, I was spying on you. I woke up when you were leaving one night, and I was curious. Are you satisfied?”

“I think I am,” Astarion answers, smirking as he looks at you - the cat who ate the canary. “You were saying?”

You scoff, shaking your head. “I was saying that - that I have blood, and… gods, Astarion! You know what I was saying.”

“I do,” he replies, stepping closer again. Close enough to wonder if he can hear your heart racing. “Honestly, I didn’t think you had it in you,” he continues, his eyes lingering on your neck before moving up to your face. “Volunteering like this. But if you’re sure…?”

Despite the slight shiver that runs through you, you keep his gaze. “I’m sure.” It’s all you’ve thought about for the last few days, after all. You’d much rather go through a short little bite than watch him suffer any longer.

“Well then,” he murmurs, and his tone has turned smoother, deeper. Almost… sensual, you realize, suddenly feeling like you might melt away into nothingness. “Let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?”

He motions to the bed in the corner, and you slink over to it like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs. You really, really shouldn’t be affected by this. By him. Usually, this sort of thing wouldn’t work at all with you. For some reason, he’s different.

Or, just very, very good at it.

The bed is soft when you stretch out on it, trying your best to relax as the silky sheets slide against your fingers. Astarion sits next to you, leaning onto his side and propping himself over you.

Your heart starts pounding even harder.

“Don’t worry,” he says in that same sultry tone, skimming his knuckles over your jaw. “I’ll be gentle.”

As if that’s supposed to help you relax.

He leans in, and you barely have time to register the ghost of his breath against your skin before his fangs sink into your neck.

The pain is sharp, stinging, and cold - spreading through your skin like a shard of ice. It fades away after a moment, leaving nothing but the slight pull of your blood leaving your body, and - more noticeably - the feeling of Astarion over you. However intimate you’d imagined this would be, it’s a hundred times more. Every little sensation is intensified to the point that you can barely breathe.

He’s all you can think of. You’re acutely aware of the hand that lightly grips your shoulder, then slowly slides up to support the back of your head. The smell of him is everywhere now, heady and enticing as he leans further into you. And… there’s the knowledge that the taste of you is on his tongue.

Gods, you almost don’t want it to stop.

Almost.

Because beyond everything else, there’s a growing numbness that frightens you. A… coldness. Like something in you is slowly being stolen away. You’re just about to ask him to stop when a loud metallic crashing rings out just outside of the closed door and sends you flinching into his teeth. Astarion comes back to himself and gently pulls away, breathing heavily.

Slowly, he sits up. For a moment, there’s only silence, and you’re worried that - well… You’re worried about a thousand things. That something had gone wrong. That it hadn’t been enough. Or, maybe, that something is so very wrong with you that it’s seeped deep into your blood and tainted the taste.

When you push yourself upright, a faint wave of dizziness washes over you, blurring your vision over as your head swims. The sensation passes quickly, leaving behind only a slight throbbing in your skull. You’ve felt much worse in your life.

“Are you alright?” you ask Astarion, your gaze sweeping over him as if it might help you read his thoughts.

“Alright?” he repeats breathlessly. He swipes his thumb over the corner of his lip, letting out a light, airy laugh. “I - I’m more than alright. That was… amazing. I feel strong. Happy.” He pauses a moment, catching his breath. “Gods, I… I don’t know the last time I felt like this.”

His cheeks have the faintest bit of flush when he comes out of his euphoria, finally seeming to actually see you. You like that flush, but not as much as you like the way he’s looking at you. He regards you in a way you haven’t seen before - almost admirable, if you didn’t know better.

His head tilts, and he leans back, resting a hand on the bed to support him. “I have to admit… you’re full of surprises.”

For some reason, your cheeks turn as hot as the hells. Was this room always this stuffy? You can’t even remember. All you can recall is Astarion’s cool, soothing touch against your skin. Fingers skimming over your jaw. His teeth in your neck.

Gods, you’re done for.

“Am I?” you manage to ask. “Good ones, I hope.”

“That,” he says teasingly, “remains to be seen.” He glances at the door, frowning, then slowly gets to his feet. “Well. I’d better go see what that noise was. We wouldn’t want our guards in danger, after all.” He hesitates for a moment, his back facing you, and when he speaks again, his tone is soft. “This is a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.”

And with that, he leaves the room.

It’s only about ten minutes later that you’re finally able to move.

tags: @awesomebabyyoda

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion fic #baldurs gate 3 x reader #mywriting

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