Thank you for your point about how Ascension "fixes" Astarion, because I can't believe so many people miss it while arguing that the Spawn route is trying to "fix" him!
Astarion wants to ascend mainly because he thinks it will fix him. He thinks he's broken and weak and that this is the only thing that will change that. He's asking you to fix him. And, to me, the dialogue options we get are telling him "You are enough and you don't need this." That's the opposite of fixing! That's accepting him for who he is, as he is!
I was an EA player, and one thought I kept having in anticipation to full release was "damn, we're probably going to be offered a cure to vampirism as the good ending and him becoming a vampire lord as the evil ending. I wish they kept him as he is, I love him exactly for who he is." and I'm glad that that's in fact what they did offer in the Spawn ending.
Eh… dear anon, apparently trying to “fix” someone only works on a moral level. And in any case, it’s always easier to see someone else’s flaws rather than your own—especially when there’s such a sharp division as them and us.
It must also be said that AA fans lean a bit too smugly on existing narrative categories.
Which, however, are not meant to criticize, but to describe certain narrative strands within a video game, literary, or television product, etc. Their connotation should be neutral and not used as a weapon.
Let’s take a look at them:
"I Can Fix Him" Trope – a character, usually female but not necessarily, is convinced they can “fix” or redeem a problematic, dark, or dangerous character through love, patience, or devotion. The object of this redemption is often a bad boy, a redeemable villain, or a damaged anti-hero.
Beauty and the Beast Trope – the oldest, most archetypal concept: love and understanding as the key to transform or “soften” a monstrous or brutish figure, whether literally or metaphorically.
Redemption Through Love – a variant in which a character’s moral redemption comes through a romantic relationship, often emphasizing the sacrifice and care of the other person as tools of transformation.
Broken Bird / Woobie – when the character who needs “fixing” is hurt and vulnerable beneath a tough exterior, prompting the other to care for them.
In short, "I can fix him" is a modern, tongue-in-cheek trope with deep roots in the myths of “romantic redemption” and “love that saves.”
As you can see, Astarion’s redemption arc can easily fall into these categories, so when we talk about Spawn Astarion it’s not entirely wrong to say you want to “fix” him—but not in the derogatory way AA fans usually mean when they use it to belittle the non-Ascension path, and especially the players who choose it. As if they were moralizing busybodies forcing Astarion into a role he doesn’t want, just to push him to conform.
I’ll stress this: I can fix him simply refers to that type of story and dynamic in a medium — a shorthand to immediately convey what we’re talking about and what one might enjoy within the work. Enjoy, yes. And let’s all repeat it together: games exist to entertain and bring enjoyment, not to give someone an excuse to be a pain in the ass.
But the real question to ask is: can love truly save or fix someone? The answer is: yes and no.
Very simply put, in the case of a real person subjected to a “real-life Cazador,” it can take only a few weeks to trigger deep, hard-to-reverse changes — but the longer the exposure, the more the trauma becomes integrated into the person’s very identity, eventually shaping in a lasting way how they see themselves and the world. A single extreme episode can be enough to create PTSD or other long-term consequences if it is intense, humiliating, or life-threatening enough. Years of systematic control and abuse (as in Astarion’s case) almost always produce a complex picture: C-PTSD, dissociation, entrenched cognitive distortions, attachment trauma, and possible structural changes in the brain linked to chronic stress.
If we take an “Astarion” in a realistic sense — a person who has endured years of prolonged abuse, coercion, isolation, and both physical and psychological violence — healing is neither simple nor quick, and it cannot be reduced to “finding love,” as it often happens in fiction. There are a few essential conditions, without which the risk of remaining trapped in old traumatic patterns stays extremely high.
The first is safety — a definitive separation from the abuser and their environment, plus a protected setting where the survivor can regain control over personal choices and spaces. In real cases, this may also mean legal protection or a protected identity.
Next comes stabilization, which means working to reduce the hyperarousal typical of complex trauma: constant anxiety, hypervigilance, flashbacks. Before directly tackling traumatic memories, it’s crucial to learn to manage physical and emotional reactions, using grounding techniques, breathing exercises, mindfulness, or early-phase approaches such as EMDR.
Only then can one move to the core trauma work: specialized therapies like trauma-focused CBT, EMDR, Somatic Experiencing, or attachment-based approaches. The goal is not to forget, but to integrate the trauma into one’s life story without letting it continue to dominate identity.
A critical step is rebuilding identity. After prolonged abuse, the trauma hasn’t just hurt — it has shaped the way the person sees themselves and behaves. It becomes necessary to explore desires, values, personal goals; to learn to say “no” and set boundaries; to discover who they are outside of the role imposed by the abuser.
Here, healthy support networks play a key role: relationships that are not based on power, debt, or control. These can be genuine friendships, survivor support groups, or bonds where vulnerability is met with care rather than punishment.
Finally, there’s autonomy and reintegration: developing practical skills to live independently, building meaningful projects (work, study, creativity), and regaining a sense of mastery over one’s life.
All of this takes time — years, not months. And with the awareness that there’s no “going back to how things were before”: the goal is to learn to live fully despite the trauma, not to erase it.
If someone with a history similar to that of a “real-life Astarion” does not receive adequate support, they can develop and maintain maladaptive behaviors toward both others and themselves.
Some of these are defenses learned during the abuse; others are ways of coping with unprocessed pain. Most of all, they are automatic behaviors that the person acting them out does not always recognize as maladaptive or as a product of trauma.
In Astarion’s case, we can see the tendency to lie, manipulate, and seduce even against his own instinctive refusal, his indifference to the suffering of others, and his inclination to take advantage of people’s weaknesses for his own gain — all of it always and only aimed at ensuring his survival.
So, for someone like Astarion support is fundamental. No one can make it entirely on their own. Whether Astarion ascends or not, he still needs Tav/Durge to be there, walking beside him step by step.
To protect him. And not because Astarion truly needs that protection, but because Cazador has spent centuries making him feel so powerless that he now believes he cannot protect himself.
This is a crucial point: Astarion is not weak.
He believes he is weak.
Now, as I’ve outlined before, in the real world this would mean accessing professional figures, specialized rehabilitation centers, pharmacological support, and whatever else is appropriate for each type of issue.
In Astarion’s case, in a fantasy world where such options don’t exist, the only thing to rely on is the relationship with those around him — their understanding, acceptance, and support.
And let’s remember: a strong network of family and friends is fundamental for anyone who needs to heal.
Because fixing might be fine as a way to describe a certain narrative trope — but not when we’re talking about real people or situations that require a degree of sensitivity.
And here we get to the crux of it — the painful distinction from case to case — which ultimately answers the big question: can love heal or not?
The truth is, no one can heal without an intrinsic motivation or need — an internal drive that comes from the person themselves.
External pressures simply do not have that same driving force.
The world is full of examples of people who destroy themselves right in front of the powerless eyes of family and friends, no matter how much professional or personal support they might have. This isn’t by chance, unfortunately. And it’s a path that drains not only the person who’s struggling but also everyone around them.
As terrible as it is to say, there really are “lost causes” — people who refuse to acknowledge the problem, people who recognize it but cannot react or won't, and so on.
But there are also those who do find that strength — who have the will to work on themselves, to change, to save themselves, to grab the hands extended toward them and pull themselves out of the tunnel.
And for them, it’s always worth showing up and fighting.
In these cases, yes, we can talk about love that helps — not love that saves.
In the other case, sadly, there’s the reality of love that waits in vain, or that lets go — not easily, but for self-preservation.
Coming back to Astarion and his redemption arc, I believe he fits squarely into the category of those with a strong internal drive for change. Which direction that takes is for the player to decide.
Within him, light and shadow coexist — two incredibly powerful forces that make him a morally gray, multifaceted character. And I’d argue, a profoundly human one.
As players, we have the chance to nurture one side or the other.
The point is not to force him into values that don’t belong to him, but rather to draw out what he already has inside.
The error lies at the root: treating Astarion as a flat, one-dimensional character — purely evil and selfish to the core, with no other possibilities or capacity to do good.
From that perspective, of course refusing the Ascension feels OOC. Naturally!
Astarion: You sound surprised - I'm capable of doing the right thing from time to time.
Quoted word for word from the game.
Astarion is exactly like the other companions in BG3: ambivalent, with two very different endings for a very specific reason.
A person who is truly convinced or evil to the core would never let themselves be talked out of it by the leader of their group right at the finish line (and I’m leaving romance out here deliberately, because someone might argue he’d only do it for love) — let alone approve of it once the idea of ascending is abandoned.
Someone actually went as far as to claim, with absolute certainty, that Astarion couldn’t care less about the 7,006 souls trapped in Cazador’s dungeons! Which is simply a lie. All it takes is playing through his quest once to see it’s the exact opposite—or, you know, actually talking to Astarion about it instead of totally skipping the interaction with Sebastian and the Gur children, or just going straight for the dialogue option that basically says: don’t get distracted, stay focused on your goal.
Here’s the final interaction—quoted word for word again—between Astarion and Tav/Durge after speaking with both groups of prisoners:
Tav/Durge: What do you plan to do with all these prisoners?
Astarion: I’m not sure—I’ve been weighing my options. On one hand, they’re the key to my unlocking eternal power and freedom. On the other… well. It’s my fault they’re here. Yes, it was Cazador’s command, I had no choice, but… it seems now I do.
Tav/Durge: I’m sure you’ll make the right decision.
Astarion: I’m sure I will—whatever the hells that might be.
Here, you can see that Astarion is solely determined to ascend. I even put it in bold to make it clearer. I mean, it’s obvious he’s sure—absolutely sure—about what he’s going to decide, he’s basically already chosen, he says it plain as day, right? He’s going to hand over the prisoners’ souls to Mephistopheles so he can become the Ascended vampire. Period.
Naturally, I’m being IRONIC. Heavily. And I’d like to stress that in this case Tav/Durge is using completely open-ended dialogue choices for Astarion, ones that don’t hint at or push him toward any specific answer, but instead give him full freedom to express himself either way. And here, Astarion is actually questioning himself—he’s having doubts, remorse, and all that. He’s genuinely weighing his options.
Which doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to ascend! But many people stubbornly insist it’s the only thing he wants. Well, it’s not. It’s just one of the options on the table, not the only one.
And of course, there’s also the matter of why Astarion wants to ascend. Personally, I’m with you on this one, anon—it’s been two centuries that Astarion has been literally powerless, bound to his master’s will.
Cazador made him feel dirty, useless, weak, pathetic, and so on. Astarion’s self-esteem is shattered—below zero. So yes, he believes that by ascending and gaining power, he’ll finally be someone. He’ll finally have no one to fear, because no one will ever be able to touch him again.
Here he literally says it again. Everything else is secondary — Astarion’s driving force is fear. Everyone emphasizes it: Cazador, Scleritas, the Perception check during the ritual, and Astarion himself in his own line:
Astarion: One last thrust, and I’ll be free of you.
I’ll never have to fear you again.
And if I complete the ritual you started, I’ll never have to fear anyone. Ever.
Everything revolves around fear. Every one of Astarion’s actions, every strategic choice, even his desire to ascend. This isn’t “if I complete your ritual, I’ll become a god on earth” — that’s not the ultimate goal. The ultimate goal is to feel safe. Free from Cazador, free from fear itself.
At the brothel, during the scene with the nymph Naoise Nallinto in Astarion’s original run, his personal choice when offered “here you can be anything you want” isn’t power, wealth, respect, etc. It’s safe. Period. It’s crystal clear. Even here:
Astarion: I’m doing this for you, too, you know — to make sure we're both safe. Forever, for good.
Tav/Durge: All that matters to me is that you’re safe.
Astarion: I know you do. It matters to me, as well. I want to be able to protect you, too.
These particular lines really tug at my heart. Astarion doesn’t recognize his own worth, his own strength. He believes the entire world is an extremely dangerous place inhabited only by threats. And he thinks that to protect his love, he must look for means outside of himself—because as he is now, he’s not enough. And that’s heartbreaking. The fact that, to me, no one points this out to him—especially his love—is even sadder and more painful.
It’s like saying, “You’re right, you’re weak, you won’t survive otherwise, and you won’t be able to protect me the way you are” (as if it were even his sole responsibility to do so—this toxic version of masculinity doesn’t sit well with me either). So, "don’t worry—once we get the chance, we’ll “fix” you so you’ll meet expectations".
Basically, it’s confirming the distorted view Astarion has of himself—the very one Cazador drilled into him.
And it’s no coincidence that in the spawn ending, in the graveyard scene, Astarion brings that concept back up with Tav/Durge: I feel safe with you.
Which does NOT mean — for the love of Almighty God and every saint above, below, to the right, and even to the left — that Astarion needs Tav/Durge to protect him. That’s bad faith reading, trying to tack on extra meanings that don’t exist and don’t hold up.
It means that when he needs to, Astarion can allow himself, within the relationship, to be vulnerable, to be imperfect, to even be weak, without fear of being judged, hurt, humiliated, or abandoned. He can simply be himself, with all his wonderful flaws. Loved unconditionally.
And this is directly tied to the concept of “being seen,” which I’ve also talked about HERE. It’s subtle, but not that subtle, and it runs through Astarion’s entire narrative arc from start to finish—just like the concept of the “gift.”
In the mirror scene, Astarion will ask Tav/Durge what they see when they look at him, because he wants to know how the rest of the world sees him. He’s not talking about his appearance, despite the lack of reflection. Later on, it’s Tav/Durge who asks Astarion how he wants to be seen, and the vampire spawn will simply answer that he wants to be seen as a person, not as some great and powerful vampire lord.
As the pressure mounts—drawing closer to home, to Cazador, the temptation of the ritual, and his siblings hunting him—Astarion pulls back, telling Tav/Durge he can’t be what they see in him: that he’s more than just the vampire. More than the monster. And once the ascension is refused, the circle closes—whether Astarion is in a romantic relationship with the player or not.
In a friendship path, he’ll say, the morning after the ritual, that Tav/Durge saw something in him—that he could truly be the person they were talking about in Act 2, and not the monster he thought he was in Act 1. In the romantic path, he’ll say it outright: that he feels seen. In his entirety, in his depth—adding that Tav/Durge was patient with him and cared about him the whole time.
And I’ll repeat: these are all aspects that were already part of Astarion, he’s been capable of doing good from the very start, even if he doesn’t know it. The player simply chose to bring them to the surface and value them over what the alternative path offers.
And there’s more—because in the morning-after conversation, Astarion will say to Tav/Durge, just to bring us back to the main point:
Astarion: You did more than that. You believed in me.
Believed I was enough just the way I am.
Here it is, plain and simple: You believed I was enough just the way I am.
That’s the point — in the non-ascension path, nothing gets “fixed,” regardless of the trope you reference. Astarion stays the same. Just as he is. From that point onward, he’ll have to heal on his own, with the means he’s always had and some he’s only just rediscovered — like genuine connection with others (who, in this case, aren’t just cattle). And those means are certainly far greater than he ever thought.
In the radiant hopeful ending, Astarion doesn’t become a saint. He’s no villain like in the ascension path, but rather an antihero — still a morally grey archetype, full of flaws. He remains a thief, he kills sentient beings to feed, he still enjoys violence, and he takes payment to kill — like a hitman.
So what the hell are we even talking about here? Just because now he also enjoys instilling hope in people’s hearts instead of fear? And would that even be a flaw? MEH.
The thing is, that power is like armor he puts on—and a rather heavy one, if we think about what he has to do to get it—but inside, in the ascension path he’ll still be the frightened boy Cazador spoke of. Ascension removes a vampire’s flaws; it “fixes” them physically, if you will. Nothing more.
You can see it, for example, in the brothel scene with the drow twins, where there’s not a trace of pleasure in finally being the one receiving attention rather than the one giving it. You can see it in the way he declares Tav/Durge the only person he can trust. And he can say that because he’s made sure they can’t betray him — by turning them into his spawn. To me, that’s a double-edged insurance policy, because Tav/Durge is the very reason Astarion suddenly finds himself in a position of power. And they’re also the person he loves. Which makes them, simultaneously, a threat in the form of a powerful ally… or competitor. And, of course, the person he literally can’t live without.
So, by making Tav/Durge his spawn, he kills two birds with one stone: he removes a potential enemy who becomes a valuable asset in his arsenal (his right hand), and at the same time, he secures — forever — his beloved anchor figure.
All because, deep down, he’s scared shitless, even in the robes of a powerful vampire lord; and fear, after all, is where paranoia takes root. AA is no exception, and it shows from the very start. “But don’t wander too far — not that you’d ever dream of it, would you?” Or: “[…]but you should go. Mingle, chat, laugh, have fun, my love — and if our friends drop any interesting secrets, bring them right back to me. Until then, I’ll be here — but don’t fret. I’ll be watching. I’ll always be watching.”
In his original ending, AA is already planning to kill his companions before they could even become a threat. That’s how much he trusts.
And here I have to digress for a moment, because there’s another concept I really can’t swallow. In the “good” ending, not only does Astarion get “fixed” by that moralising abuser Tav/Durge, but apparently he also becomes totally dependent on them. REALLY? I’ll definitely analyse this better when I replay the ascended route, but for now I can already point out something.
Isn’t AA completely, irreversibly dependent on his consort? Especially in the interpretation given by his most fervent supporters! In this case, Tav/Durge is degrading themselves to stay with a piece of shit like him, who isn’t worth a damn. The only way AA can avoid losing them is by binding them in an unbreakable blood bond, for eternity, one that excludes anyone else from the equation. The consort is the only “special” and “good” figure in his life — the only one he can trust, the only one who truly cares about his well-being and happiness, intelligent, perfect, beautiful — someone he cannot live without, to the point where neither eternity nor power would have any meaning without them. Let’s remember that in this case, Tav/Durge hasn’t challenged Astarion’s distorted view that the world is an awful place full of people ready to kill him—they’ve practically scorched the earth around him until they were the only one left. There isn’t that beautiful scene:
Astarion: You’re the only one. The others don’t have a heart like you. You are you. No one is like that.
Tav/Durge: The world can be a wonderful, kind place, Astarion, when you find a home in it.
—or— There are many others like me who will care for you, if you’re willing to care for them.
And even though Astarion is reluctant to admit they’re right, he approves of what Tav/Durge is saying. He approves, because the idea appeals to him. The idea reassures him.
But, back to the consort and the AA, if the vampire bride theory were true, they’d even be telepathically inside each other’s heads, for god’s sake! It’s a toxic relationship, a fusion of two individuals who are no longer separate, but locked in a very dangerous symbiosis.
In clinical psychology, for example, we could talk about traumatic attachment, or a “trauma bond.” It’s a dynamic where the relationship becomes both a refuge and a prison. On one hand, the loved one is seen as the only source of safety, comfort, and validation. On the other, precisely because they’re so central, they’re also perceived as a potential mortal threat: if they were to betray, leave, or change, the person’s entire emotional system would collapse.
In Astarion’s case, the bond with Tav/Durge in the Ascended version mirrors — even if less overtly abusive — the one he had with Cazador: it’s an insecure–disorganized attachment, where fear and need coexist and feed each other. His solution isn’t to heal the core wound, but to lock down the relationship with an irreversible pact: turning Tav/Durge into his spawn. It’s an act of control and protection at the same time — a strategy that, in his mind, reduces the risk of abandonment while also cementing mutual dependence.
This kind of bond is extremely exclusive and symbiotic: no one else truly matters, and the other person becomes an extension of the self — irreplaceable and indivisible. In psychology, it’s considered a high-risk condition, because loss (or even just the threat of loss) can trigger anger, paranoia, or extreme behaviours. And the most interesting — and tragic — part is that, in Astarion’s mind, this isn’t “toxic love” at all: it’s love in its safest, most reassuring form, the only model he knows and the only one that feels reliable to him.
I want to stress that, for me, exploring this kind of relationship is perfectly valid within the safety of a fictional narrative. However, hearing people claim that Spawn Astarion — who embraces the vulnerability of a relationship that leaves room for the possibility of separation and all that comes with it — is “completely dependent” on Tav/Durge just because he doesn’t have a mansion, fancy clothes, and a pile of gold is downright exasperating. A 12th-level adventurer is not weak, doesn’t need a babysitter, eats perfectly well, and can damn well do whatever he pleases.
Anyway, I’ll save a deeper analysis of AA and his relationship with the consort for when I have more to work with, but for now I’ll just say this: like you, anon, I’m really glad there’s an ending where Astarion remains almost exactly as he was when we first met him. I’m not a long-time player, and I never tried the EA, but to me the radiant hopeful ending is perfect. It doesn’t magically solve all of Astarion’s problems, but it leaves plenty of space for him to grow as a person—and just as much room for us to imagine what comes next. Who knows? Maybe one day he’ll get a ring that lets him walk in the sunlight again, or even stumble upon a miraculous cure for vampires. <3
