"oh Astarion is SOOOO effeminate" wrong. You are judging Astarion by human genders. Astarion is first and foremost a high elf and by high elf standards he is actually INCREDIBLY masc. Other high elves look at him and he reminds them of that one annoying straight guy in their elf-economics (elfenomics if you will) class in elf-college who loved playing devil's advocate. And then they see him kiss a guy and they almost die of shock.
Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here
Summary: After some banter between Astarion and Jaheira goes too far, you (Tav) take some time to remind Astarion that he is so much more than a pair of fangs.
Tags: POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Fluff, Comfort, Vampire Spawn Astarion, set in Act 3, Astarion is Bad at Feelings, Blood, Blood Drunk, blood as a coping mechanism
A/N: Thank you to everyone who voted for this banter in my last poll! This was a fun one c:
Word count: ~3.2k
Walking through the streets of Baldur's Gate is always an adventure with your group– a particularly fraught adventure on this day, as Jaheira and Astarion seem hellsbent on trading barbs.
It had started out playfully enough, with a snide remark from Astarion, "Oh that building used to be a delightful little sweets shop about a hundred years ago. Though I suppose the crone would remember that, wouldn’t she?”
Jaheira, used to remarks about her age, often being the one to start them, was ready with a quick quip back, “Was that before or after your hair turned gray? With my old age, I can never remember.”
Astarion visibility bit back a remark about this being his natural hair color when you glared back at both of them. “Could we focus a bit please? You two can reminisce after we’ve seen to this latest bloody basement.”
One trail of blood, a disgusting array of corpses, and a piece of clown later and the two of them were at it again.
“Jaheira,” Astarion had started in a light tone– a clear indicator that he had no intent to focus. “Have you considered taking on the role of Dribbles the clown yourself? The makeup might help cover all those pesky wrinkles.”
The druid had snickered, appreciating the comment, and shot back, “I think you would be better suited to the role, given you are already a fool.”
That time, Karlach had interrupted, “Don’t either of you dare! No one could replace this Baldurian hero.”
“Which is exactly why we’re helping to piece him back together,” you’d confirmed with a nod. “Besides, you’re both cranky enough to make the children weep.”
“Darling!” Astarion had gasped, an offended hand on his chest. “How could you say that about me?”
You’d ignored his question, instead choosing to deposit a quick kiss on his pursed lips. A soft, effective bandaid that left the man with crossed arms and a reluctant smile.
Moments later, you were ushering the group out of the building and into the city. Insults forgotten, everyone began trudging the familiar path back to the Elfsong to clean up.
Now, along this very path, you hear Jaheira strike up a new conversation with Astarion– one that has your ears perking up, even as you continue to lead the way ahead.
“It seems that you and our leader are closer than ever,” the woman observes, a smile in her voice.
There’s a moment of silence, and you can practically see Astarion’s suspicious expression in your mind’s eye as he assesses the situation. “Yes, you could say that,” he finally replies. “What can I say? I am, after all, quite charming.”
“I am glad it is your non-vampiric charms our friend has fallen for, Astarion.” A short, thoughtful pause follows before she asks, “It is, isn’t it?”
“Of course,” Astarion responds, his voice reaching a comically high pitch– one that almost makes you laugh. You want to hear this conversation more than most though, so not a sound escapes your lips. The vampire scoffs before he continues. "Is it so unbelievable that they would simply like me?"
There’s a clear hesitation as Astarion’s words hang in the air.
You wonder why Jaheira isn’t responding, what her expression must be– but before you can turn around to find out more, Astarion is speaking again.
“If you insist on prying,” he starts, clearing his throat a bit pointedly. “Perhaps you’d care to join us. And see how much we enjoy one another.”
The insinuation in his tone is almost enough to have you spinning around– teasing Karlach or Shadowheart is one thing, but Jaheira? Gods, you can feel the heat rising up your neck– “Why?” Jaheira snaps back. “Do you require some instruction on how the deed is done?”
“I’m sure even I could learn some new tricks from an old veteran such as yourself,” Astarion replies, mirth shining through in his tone.
Wait, is he actually inviting her?
You know you need to stop this conversation before it mortifies you any further. “Stop it, both of you!” you say, turning your head back, trying your best to keep a stern, not-at-all embarrassed expression on your face. “We don’t need the next installment of ‘Love at First Knife’ getting any more convoluted.”
There’s some grumbling from Astarion, an amused smile from Jaheira, and a chortle from Karlach, but otherwise your group makes it back to the Elfsong without tearing each other– or their clothes– apart.
__
That evening, Astarion slips away.
It’s not an unusual occurrence– some days his hunger is harder to ignore than others, on some you hadn’t found nearly enough evil to suck dry. Ultimately, he never wanted to take too much blood from you, so he chooses to forage as he has taken to calling it.
As a result, you think nothing of it at first, settling into bed after dinner with a book propped between your hands. After all, Cazador is dead, and Astarion is more than capable of taking down some of the most fearsome enemies in the city– he should take all the time he needs to himself.
But the hours pass, and Astarion has yet to return. The candles around you begin to dwindle, words begin to swim on a page you haven’t turned in quite some time, and sleep slowly but surely starts to drag your eyelids down.
It has almost claimed you when the door to your shared room at the Elfsong slams shut. You hear groans from around the room as those who were similarly drifting off to bed are shocked awake, everyone expecting yet another unwelcome visitor. You almost don’t have time to react before an armor-clad vampire lands atop of you.
You do react though, instinctively striking at the man with the spine of your book, a loud ‘thwack’ letting you know that your contact was true.
“Oof,” Astarion mutters, now fully splayed across your torso like a stretching cat. “Darling, must you be so violent?”
“Astarion?” you ask, putting down your book, shaking off the beginning throes of sleep as you realize what’s transpired. “Weapons down everyone, it’s Astarion.”
After a few affirmative grumbles from around the room, you turn your attention back to the vampire, “Are you alright? Did you get injured?”
“Mmm,” he murmurs, burying his face in your blanket, and rubbing at the spot where you’d hit him. “Nothing's the matter. Everything is perfectly dandy.”
His words slur though and something seems to be amiss. His movements are fluid, his body weight is completely and utterly relaxed onto you.
Almost as if…
“Are you… drunk?” you haven’t seen him like this since the bear he drank near the grove. When you’d asked him the question then, he’d shrugged it off– but it was certainly the closest to drunk you’d ever seen him.
“Not strictly speaking, no…” he drolls, tilting his head slightly to stare at you with one eye. His cheeks are flushed, a telltale sign of his recent feeding, and his eye is glazed over, its blissful sheen telling you all that you need to know.
“Have a good dinner, did you?” you ask, smiling down at him wearily. You can hardly fault him for indulging, especially after the couple of weeks you’ve had.
He chuckles, his one visible eye crinkling a bit. “Oh yes. A rather large bugbear. Hardly knew what bit him.”
You run a hand through Astarion’s hair, and respond, “Well done, my sweet, bloodthirsty vampire.”
Normally, such sweet words of unabashed flattery would elicit a smile, a laugh, maybe even a kiss– but tonight Astarion freezes under your touch, his eye going wide before he tucks his face back into the bedding.
“Astarion?” you ask, your previous worry about injury now promptly replaced by a worry of a much deeper hurt.
“It’s nothing,” he mutters, voice sounding distant.
You scratch at his scalp, a bit, trying to encourage him back toward you. “Love, you know you’re a terrible liar. What’s wrong?”
He gives a soft, annoyed huff– an endearing, drunken noise were it not for the fact that he seems determined not to look at you. And continue to crush you with the full weight of his body.
“Astarion,” you say again, with a bit more emphasis, shaking his head a little with your next scratch. “If nothing is truly wrong, I will wake up Karlach. You know she would love to see you in this state.” As if to punctuate your point, a snore sounds from a few beds over, where you know the barbarian slumbers.
“Please don’t,” he murmurs, finally turning around to look at you fully.
You’re surprised to see his eyebrows furrowed, his lips turned down in a truly melancholy frown– always an expressive man, it seems that Astarion’s intoxicated demeanor is twice as exaggerated. Cute, you think. But also concerning. “Love,” you whisper, running a hand along his face. “Talk to me.”
Astarion hesitates, his watery eyes wincing as he debates his next words. Those same red eyes show an unexpected amount of vulnerability– all that bugbear blood is keeping his expression open, his entire face a rosy hue. His mouth opens, closes, his body shifts, and he fumbles with the latches on his armor as he thinks. You simply lay there, playing with his curls until he’s ready.
When he finally speaks, his words take you by surprise.
“You don’t just like me because I’m a vampire… do you?”
“What?” you ask, eyebrows raising in disbelief. Surely, you misheard him.
“You know,” he continues, waving a hand about the air. “My vampiric charms. The fangs. The blood sucking. The mysterious allure?”
“Why in the nine hells would you think that?” You reach a hand out to grab his, tugging on it gently to try to get him to sit up.
Astarion’s eyes drift away from you, but he does sit up, legs draping over your stomach. “Just… because of something Jaheira said.”
Oh. The conversation you’d been eavesdropping on.
“Do you mean what she said earlier? On our way back to the Elfsong?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him.
“Well, yes,” he mutters, still not looking at you. “Though I can’t help but notice you haven’t answered my question…”
“Astarion,” you start, releasing his hand, only to place it on the slightly flushed skin of his cheek. “No, I do not only like you because you’re a vampire.” Your words are firm, leaving no room for misinterpretation.
His eyes meet yours again, and still you can see so much doubt, so much unmitigated fear. “Are you certain? You truly do seem to enjoy it when I bite you.”
“Well, that’s true,” you admit with a small wince. It does feel rather… good when he bites you, it would be a lie to say otherwise and, besides, you’ve told him as much before. “But that’s not why I like you, you fool.”
Astarion’s bottom lip slips into a small pout and he moves away from your hand. “You’re not very convincing, you know? Especially when you call me a fool.”
You scooch out a bit from under him, leaving your legs under his. With all of the severity in the world, you reply, “If it makes you feel better, I’m a fool too.”
“You are?” he asks, curious despite himself– easily falling for your little trap.
“A fool for you.”
The noise that escapes him is half groan, half chuckle, and his mouth pulls into a lopsided little smile that you’re not certain you would have earned were he not a bit blooddrunk. “Gods, how the hells did I fall for you?”
“Now you’re asking the right questions,” you respond with a smirk on your face. When you place a hand on his knee, the smirk turns into a small smile. “But I’m being genuine– I don’t like you because you’re a vampire. And before you ask, I don’t love you because of your vampirism either.”
He gives a small huff. “Well, Jaheira made it sound as if there wasn’t much else to care for.” An uncharacteristic admittance from him– normally he would brush off such a statement with a proud declaration of how phenomenal he is. But it seems that Jaheira’s words cut deep– and that blood has loosened his lips.
“Jaheira, despite all of her many, many years of experience–” you enjoy the full laugh that elicits. “simply doesn’t have my refined taste. There are so many reasons to like you, love. In fact, vampirism doesn’t even make the list.”
“Oh, you’re keeping track, are you?” he asks, folding his arms and body over his legs and smiling up at you.
“Maybe,” you murmur, leaning forward toward him. “Would you like a sampling of reasons?”
The look he gives you then is hopeful, but more than a little dread slips through in his shining red eyes. When he answers, his voice is barely above a whisper. “Only if you mean them.”
This withdrawn, unsure Astarion isn’t a common sight to you, but, like every other facet of the man before you, he’s no less lovable. So you lean forward, placing a kiss on his pale forehead, and say, “I mean them with my whole heart.”
“Then… I suppose I ought to be lavished with them," he murmurs, and you spot the blush intensifying over his cheeks, now also coloring his ears.
Coupled with his fluid, inebriated state, his heart laid bare before you, you want to scream the reasons from the roof of the Elfsong, if only for him to believe you. But, as it is, the soft snores of your companions keep your voice hushed, your face close to his as you begin.
“Let’s see… should I start with the first thing that stood out to me?”
He hums in agreement, and closes his eyes, as if preparing to listen to the sweetest tune known to the entirety of Faerun.
“Well, it started with your first lie, I think,” you start.
Astarion gives a disapproving groan, but doesn’t open his eyes.
“My dear, you said you said you had a ‘brain thing’ cornered– I hope you know the smile on my face wasn’t from confidence,” you say with a new, fond smile at the memory. “I just knew from that moment on, you didn’t much care for what others thought of you, as long as your goals were met. A kindred spirit. Or so you said that day.”
At that, he reopens his eyes. “That’s not true.”
“We’re not kindred spirits?” you ask, an unexpected tinge of hurt blooming in your chest.
“That’s true,” he says, balming the hurt quickly. “It’s not true that I don’t care what others think of me. I do. Well, maybe not everyone.” His eyes dart toward Gale’s bed and you stifle a snicker. “But I certainly care what you think of me.”
You look into his crimson eyes, a bit clearer now than when you began talking– the blood seems to be working its way through his system. His words come from a place of honesty, not a lack of inhibition.
“Then, let me assure you here and now,” you murmur, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. “I think–” Another quick peck on his lips. “you’re the funniest–” A kiss to his nose. “the most deft–” A brush of lips against his temple. “creative, endearing, brave–” Each word comes with a kiss along his jaw. “man I’ve ever met.”
Astarion’s eyes look at you, his face still for a moment as he considers your words. When he finally speaks, it’s a quiet, choked up question, “Oh, is that it?”
“Would you like me to keep going?” you ask, lips perched just above his eyebrow, ready for another round.
He shakes his head ever so slightly. “No– no need or you’ll be here all night, surely,” he says, posturing as best as he can while still looking at you with fearful eyes. Almost as if your candid praise is simply too much for him to bear.
It may be too much, and you’re not one to push it.
“Very well,” you say, pulling back. “But I didn’t even get to how good you look covered in blood…”
The man gives a light laugh at that, some of his nerves melting before praise he understands– his appearance is a source of comfort, one that brings him back to himself. “Oooh yes, I do look dashing in red, don’t I?” he purrs, a content smile forming on his face.
“That you do,” you assure, with your own warm look. You wish he would accept all praise this easily, but you suppose this is all you can do for now.
So little of what matters to you is his vampirism, his looks… but for a man like Astarion, for whom a kind word felt like a double-edged blade for two centuries? Well, you’re reminded that regardless of how many times you may tell him, whether now when he’s a bit fuzzy around the edges or when you’re in your cups, he may never truly believe you.
No matter, you suppose. I’ll simply keep finding new ways to show him how much I care for him…
“So Jaheira was kidding, right?” Astarion asks, sitting up and finally beginning to remove his leathers.
You nod, moving to help him remove his greaves. “Naturally. I thought you’d been enjoying the conversation, actually.”
“I had been,” he replies, thoughtfully. “But the more I remembered how sinfully you shiver under my fangs…”
He’s dodging before you can so much as flick his ear. “Excuse you. Is that any way to treat your most reliable source of sustenance?”
Astarion smirks as he leans away from you in the bed. “Oh darling, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. After all, you can’t help it.”
“Astarion–”
“Ehem!” You hear from somewhere behind you. It’s followed shortly by Shadowheart’s annoyed voice, “Would the two of you please keep it down? Some of us are trying to rest.”
If by ‘rest’ she means ‘reach the end of her copper novel’, then you suppose she’s right. Either way, you whisper back, “Sorry, I was defending my dignity.”
“What dignity?” she murmurs back. “And in case you’re wondering, you’re both utter fools.”
Oh great, she’d heard everything.
“Shadowheart, were you eavesdropping?” Astarion asks, crawling over you to glare at her from the edge of your bed. He’s half-dressed and still somewhat out of sorts, so you just lean back against the pillows and accept your fate.
“Is it really eavesdropping if I can hear it all clearly?” the cleric says, and you hear her book snap shut. “Besides, Astarion, if you really needed someone to reassure you, you should have asked me.”
“You?” he asks, incredulously. “And why should I ask you?”
“Because,” she starts, and you can hear her wicked smile in her tone. “I can confirm without a shadow of a doubt that there’s no such thing as ‘vampiric charm.’ I’ve never felt less charmed in my entire life.”
You can sense Astarion is just about ready to light Shadowheart’s hair on fire, so you tug him back down from the divide. “Thank you for that clarification, Shadowheart,” you call, biting back a laugh. “And I’m starting to realize none of us really have private conversations, do we?”
“No, we do not,” you hear Gale reply from a few beds away.
With that, Astarion gives an exasperated sigh and the two of you finish removing his armor in silence.
When you’re both finally ready for bed and you whisper to him, “Goodnight.” Shadowheart, Gale, and Wyll all respond, “Goodnight!”
I love how many post there are about how tragic it is Astarion can’t remember anything before Cazador when canonically he was a piece of shit before he was turned.
Like I love this bitch but you know he was making shady back alley deals with people like Cazador before he was turned & his family hated him.
That’s probably why his grave wasn’t taken care of. There was no one who cared enough to mourn him.
Postgame!Astarion who outright tosses out all the letters from across Faerun requesting the great hero of Baldur’s Gate for their own problems. Any letters addressed with anything other than your name is immediately chucked into a trash bin sitting idly by the front door just for that purpose. You’ve given up on telling him it’s okay—that you're alright with helping out once in a while. But he’s adamant, fussing as he refuses to allow you to drag yourself back into another insufferably long adventure when you deserve to rest. He drags you away from the bin back to your shared bed that he finds awfully comfortable.
Postgame!Astarion who takes up a lot of hobbies with his newfound freedom from his master—some of which escalate into full blown businesses. His hobby of perfuming, for one, alongside his skills in sewing. He only makes things for you in the beginning, but when other ladies begin to take notice of your alluring scent and beautiful garments of clothing, they rush to ask you of its source. But since he can't stand out in broad daylight, you take down note of everyone’s measurements and act as the middle man. He never actually meets his customers, but he likes to give each of them personalities in his head based on what they want. They're scary accurate.
Postgame!Astarion who still sleeps with his dagger close by. He doesn't need it to be under his pillow as it used to be, but he keeps it in the drawer beside his bed. He knows he has no use for it anymore, but knowing he has some form of defense lets him sleep a little lighter.
Postgame!Astarion who practically clings to you on mornings you have to leave for daylight, hoping you'll give up on whatever plans you had and just come back to bed. You do listen more often than you'd like to admit. But on days when you manage to pry him off your waist, he's extremely dramatic about it. When you return home, he has a frown on his face, arms crossed and perched on the couch like a mother waiting for her teenage daughter to return from a late night party. He huffs for a couple minutes as you change into something more comfortable. But when you kiss his forehead, asking if he wants to go out on a walk, he’s all grins and smugness again.
Postgame!Astarion who never falls asleep before you, opting to watch your breathing instead since it's not like he needs to sleep anyway. He confirms you're here. He confirms you're real. He confirms he’s not dreaming, and that he won't snap awake in a few moments to the cell in Cazador’s palace.
Postgame!Astarion who adopts/cares for the cat you bring home one day. He says he hates the damn thing, but you can tell they're the closest of friends just a few months in. He makes his newfound friend a fresh wardrobe to match his own. When you question him about it, he gets flustered and scoffs, spitting out nothing but hatred for the cat but having them sit on his lap.
Postgame!Astarion who worries. He worries that you'll be taken away from him. He worries his past will come bite him in the ass and take the payment for his crimes in the form of his very lover. He knows you'll die, while he continues to traverse the realms as a faceless entity. But he doesn't even want to think about that right now. He's more concerned you won't have as much time as possible at his side. When will you leave? When will you tire of him? When will the universe decide he no longer deserves you—or maybe he never deserved you in the first place. Does it even matter? Maybe—maybe this was all just temporary, and—
He feels you tuck your head into the crook of his neck. And here, he decides he doesn't want to spend the time he does have with you worrying over something that hasn't happened. That's a bridge to be crossed some other time. And by then, he's sure he’ll do anything to keep what remains of the sun in his life.
All six tarot cards collected! 🌿 I decided to use white accents on elements that have an important symbolic role in each character's stories. My favorite picture out of the six is probably Karlach's card. And what do you think? Which card do you like best?
baratheonpilled
jacobvanloon
discoholicmusic
theartofmadeline
stormborns
tangentwithtanner
izzy806
titsay
yousharknotpass
germansingergirl
romaincrisis
