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His Star - His Queen [Chapter 8 - Changes]

Who you are - Who you're not - Who are you?

Summary: From parents one week, to a jeweler and a business meeting the next, the Ascendant has been very busy. And you've done your best to play the part of a reluctantly behaved consort.

But for how long before the lines blur?

Link to the Tumblr Chapter Index

Warnings/Advisories: Blood, a reference to violence, the Ascendant is very creepy again, possessive behavior, implied SA throughout, emotional and psychological manipulation.

A/N: This took a million years because I kept adding to it. There's a lot that's going to be happening soon. If we were on a rollercoaster together, we're nearing the crest of the high-drop. Thank you everyone for your patience. Please enjoy and forgive the sweat and blood all over the place. I edited as much as I could but there's so much I'll probably be making post-upload edits for awhile.

Chapter is 8,516 words.

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈-

You find a twisted comfort in the warmth of the blood on your hands, as it decorates your arms like a piece of art and adorns the lovely little dress of various pastel colors you had been dolled up in all day.

It doesn't change that you don't remember what happened. One moment, you stood there with this peculiar, yet charming, elderly couple. Conversing with them, as they understood they were not your real parents. But they held onto the hope that you could still be a family together.

You weren't sure if you felt guilty for never telling them outright the truth of your parentage, or for the haunting screams that echoed in remnants of memory in your mind from the savagery inflicted on them in the name of your father.

Savagery that you can't remember.

But is splattered across your arms and across the room.

At some point, it seems you had attempted to infuse your glass of water with the taste of the woman's bloody finger, only to lose interest and abandon the finger in the glass. And the red, very dead eyes of the man seemed to pierce into your unwavering stare, forever frozen in a state of terror.

They were so happy to see you. So sweet. And in return for their boundless affection, you unleashed an unfathomable storm of brutality. The echoes of violence reverberated in your skull, drowning out the once rich sounds of laughter. The scent of blood and fear hung heavy in the air, mingling with the lingering aroma of freshly baked cookies that the mother had brought with her, along with a story of how she commandeered the palace kitchen. It was astonishing that his spawn hadn't erupted into a chaotic frenzy yet. You had no doubt they were the parents of the other you. You were willing to play along, at least for their sake...

"Oh dear. Now just look at this mess..." scolded a familiar voice behind you, by the door, though the tone was more amused than annoyed. His footsteps creating a soft thud as he approached then appeared beside you. "Is everything alright, my love? What happened?" he asked, worry lacing his words. Crouching down, he met your height, his hand brushing against your arm, grounding you in the chaos - with genuine concern etched on his face. From the corner of your eyes you caught his noting the pool of scarlet blood your knees have been bathing in, seeping into his expensive dark wood floorboards.

His fingers delicately pushed aside the blood-streaked strands of hair from your face, somewhat sticky with blood. "Did they hurt you?" Astarion presses, but his tone remains gentle.

You shake your head; the motion accentuated by the soft rustle of your hair brushing against the surface of your shoulders. Wrapping your arms around yourself. "I... No, but..." you pause, the words catching in your throat. Astarion's gaze meets yours, his eyes searching for answers. "Astarion, I don't have parents..." The words leave your lips softly, like a whisper carried by the wind. "Not like you know them." You take a deep breath, the coolness filling your lungs, as if it could somehow ease the weight on your shoulders. Despite your desire for him to know as little about you as possible, this is a secret that can no longer be kept safely. If you ever could.

Astarion studies you, his brow quirks in curiosity. Yet he refrains from mocking or making a witty comment at your expense. "Care to elaborate on that for me, pet?" With a gentle touch, he reached for your arms and guides you to your feet.

Whispering with a tremble that betrays your inner turmoil, the kind that's drowned out by the beat of your own heart thundering in your ears. "I... I'm a Bhaalspawn..." The words taste like a secret - heavy and dangerous, surrendered to the silence between you and meant for his ears alone.

Despite his composed demeanor, you can't help but notice the subtle tensing of his body, a slight stiffness that betrays his reaction to your words. A faint scent of tension lingering in the air, like the crackling of electricity before a storm. "I see," the silence punctuated only by his murmured response, his voice carrying a contemplative tone.

To your utter surprise, he pulls you, your body caked in sticky crimson blood, into his arms. His once immaculate red and black suit becomes stained with the dark, viscous liquid. His embrace tightens around your waist, constricting like a vice. "My apologies, darling. I should have weighed the differences between you and her more carefully." He croons, his voice low and velvety.

Rather than attempt to push him away, sneer, bite, hiss... You simply let your shoulders relax and your eyes gently shut. Like a warm blanket on a crisp autumn morning, his scent embraced you, equal parts familiar and entirely different. You shouldn't be doing this. What would your Star think...?

But you can't think. Your arms ache and your hands pulsate, likely from the repetitive actions of brutally bludgeoning the lovely couple into a mangled pulp resembling a tomato soup. Your wicked heart rejoices in the kills, feeling a dark and twisted satisfaction, a sickening feeling that emanates from deep within your chest. A profound self-hatred arises for harboring a sense of fulfillment that you realize has quietly found its home within you.

Astarion's arms tighten, his touch firm yet gentle. The sound of his steady heartbeat fills your ears as he pulls you nearer to his chest. "You're discontented with your blood," he murmurs the words, a statement rather than a question. "I'll explore what can be done, though I suspect I may have an answer already." Determination fills his voice, slender fingers threading through your hair.

"Ensure that dinner is served in my bedchamber this evening." Astarion commands, his piercing gaze sweeps over the bustling crowd of servants and guards at the door.

A half-elf servant's eyes dart nervously as he observes him. "But the guests--"

"Serve them in the dining hall as planned. Ballar will excuse our absence, and I will handle the rest in the morning," he snaps, his impatience palpable as he gazes down at you. His eyes emit a soft glow that is strangely captivating rather than terrifying. He replies impatiently as he looks down at you, eyes glowing red but soft and not all-consuming. Simultaneously, the shadows lurking in the corners of the room begin to slither towards you, their movements silent yet eerily mesmerizing. Gradually, they envelop both of you, plunging you into an abyss of darkness.

It's a strange feeling, like a gentle and chilly breeze that dances across your skin.

Then the shadows recede and you, still standing in his arms, find yourself transported to a room that dwarfs the familiar confines of your own. If opulence could be a room, this would be it.

A gentle, feather-light kiss lands on the crown of your head, sending a shiver down your spine as your attention shifts to Astarion. "I will draw a warm bath for you," he murmurs, his voice a gentle serenade that caresses your ears. "Feel free to explore the bedchamber to your heart's desire. We'll be sharing it in time, after all." With those simple words, he releases you from his warm embrace, and you watch as he gracefully glides behind you, his footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. Your eyes trace his every movement until he disappears behind a simple wooden door.

Though choosing to ignore his reasons, you take him up on his offer - kicking your bloody shoes off and allowing your bare feet to tread the warm, burgundy carpet throughout the space. The centerpiece of the room is the large, fourposter bed. Framed in mahogany and adorned with intricate reliefs depicting events in history... is that... the netherbrain?

Of course, only the finest silks and velvets, deep shades of red and purple, adorn the bed. Above, a canopy of rich, embroidered fabric drapes down, adding to the sense of regal splendor.

On one side of the room a large bay window, framed with heavy velvet curtains in royal blue and embroidered gold, overlooks the bustling city and distant sparkle of stars flitting above the Sword Coast. A plush window seat, adorned with soft cushions, inviting you to take a seat to relax and think, or perhaps finish the book you've been enjoying the past few nights.

The walls are artworks and tapestries, some magical and depicting wondrous scenes, others more mundane in comparison. With some of these concealed by ominous dark sheets. Between them, shelves, cabinets, dressers of dark wood you presume hold treasures or the like.

A grand fireplace dominates the other wall, its mantle exquisitely carved, a show of incredible craftsmanship. It's fire alight and casting a warm glow over the room. Nearby, an elegant writing desk equipped with fine parchment, inks and quills, very well used by your estimation, and framed by two wall sconces. The room is bathed in a soft, warm glow from the lights of the crystal chandeliers and wall sconces, creating an enchanting and regal atmosphere.

The creaking of the door beside the fireplace catches your attention and you're greeted by the sight of a shirtless Astarion, hand extended and beckoning you. "Come, love, it's ready." He says, smiling warmly when you accept and cross the room toward him.

He takes your hand and walks with you into the room, steamed slightly from the warm water and guiding you around the large marble bathtub to a shelf lined with various scented oils and soaps. "I believe we have the vanilla and amber oil you've taken to using lately, if that is what you'd like tonight." Astarion offers in a calming rumble of his chest as he steps behind you. His fingertips graze your skin as he unbuttons the dress for you, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

Normally, you would smack his hands at the mere thought of him undressing you. But you're so... tired. And drained... and all you want is to clean off the blood caked on your skin.

So you simply pluck one oil after the other off the shelf, examine the selection with some mild interest while Astarion does most of the work taking the dress off you until you need to lift your arms or legs to get it off completely. In the end you settle on a cinnamon and honey scent, one he acknowledges with a silent nod and subtle smile.

It dawns on you, as he turns away with the oil, that he intends to join you in the bath... right as you realize he's as naked as you are. He returns and replaces it on the shelf before retrieving a bar of soap next.

He guides with a hand on the small of your back to the tub and eases you both into the warm water.

Just like that, you find yourself naked and immersed in a hot bath with a twisted version of Astarion, a tyrant of a ruler over... is it just Baldur's Gate or the entire Sword Coast? And to your surprise, he makes no move to touch you like that. Instead, he focuses on helping you wash in a somewhat comfortable silence.

Even as he washes the blood from your hair and face, his hands remain appropriate. He asks a few questions about your urge but nothing beyond the standard array of curious ones to better understand it - as well as what memories you do have of your life.

Then he asks you the burning question. "Did you enjoy your meeting with the cockroach today, my pet?" The Ascendant calmly asks as he sets the soap aside.

He chuckles at your tense reaction, brushing his fingers through your wet hair. "Of course I would know, darling. It wasn't much of a reach." As his arm snakes around your waist, slowly dragging you into him.

"And you're not...?" you cautiously inquire, anticipating his reaction, whether it be anger or irritation.

"It doesn't concern me." Astarion answered, his voice carrying an air of nonchalance, "he can try all he likes, but no matter what he does, his efforts will never be enough to steal you away from me."

His choice of words had you contorting in his grasp, twisting to meet his gaze. "Remind me who stole me first?" You bite and narrow your gaze at him.

Astarion's piercing scarlet eyes, shimmering with an unexpected tenderness, meet yours, locking in an intense gaze. As his hand, radiating warmth, delicately caresses yours beneath the soothing embrace of the fragrant bathwater, the soft sound of water gently lapping against the sides of the tub creates a serene ambiance. Leaning closer, his presence alone almost whispers lovingly to yours, "One day," he murmurs, his voice caressing your ears and easing your worries despite your reluctance to part with them, "everything will become clear to you, my love."

You want to say it was him who started what happens first... but deep down; you lack certainty. All you know is what follows. Your lips meld with his, the taste somewhat of metal and fine wine. The sound of your heart pounding in your ears intertwines with that of your shared breaths between kisses. As his hands trace the curves of your hips, a gentle tug brings you onto his lap, his arousal grazing against your thigh as you settle. Your hands find their place on his chiseled chest, feeling the sculpted muscles beneath your fingertips.

In the depths of your thoughts, faint whispers echoes in the recesses of your mind, begging you to stop this. Growing louder and more frantic as his hands guide you into a tantalizing grind on his thigh. But it's the soft, intimate sounds that escape your parted lips as you press them against his, filled with longing and anticipation, that abruptly shatter your daydream, causing your hands to instinctively push against him.

One of his hands holds firmly holds you close to his body, while the other hand playfully teases one of your breasts, his fingers tracing delicate patterns that make your skin tingle with anticipation. When his lips withdraw from yours, a path of soft kisses awakens your yearning, as his breath, filled with warmth, delicately sweeps across your neck. Every touch, every nibble, creates a captivating blend of anticipation and desire that floods your senses. You can feel the gentle graze of his fangs, a delicate reminder of his primal nature, as he tenderly kisses and nibbles with his teeth. The friction of your instinctive grinding against his firm thigh creates a captivating sensation that is gradually consuming you. Just as you begin to comprehend the severity of the moment, he confidently lifts your hips, leaving you helpless to resist the pull of desire...

____________________________________________________________________

Well... at least this time you're not waking up naked with him. Like you do most nights as of the last nine days.

As you wake up, you find yourself nestled against his strong, muscular body. Soft morning light filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the room. Your cheek rests against his chest, feeling the warmth radiating from his skin. His arm draped over you, while his fingertips delicately trace patterns along your back. Their touch seeping through the fabric of your nightgown and sending a soothing sensation through your body. The faint ache in your muscles reminds you of the passionate evening you shared with him, lingering memories of him between your legs while you sat on the edge of his writing desk. However, the soreness is much milder compared to the first time. Perhaps it's the result of spending the past tenday in his constant, inseparable presence.

Sensing you're awake, his other hand gently weaves through your hair, nails tenderly caressing your scalp. "Good morning, beautiful," his voice reverberates in his chest, rumbling against your ear. You sense he doesn't expect or require a response from you, allowing you to bask in the moment's serenity. Succumbing to the blissful sensation of his fingers caressing your scalp, you let your eyelids flutter closed, prolonging the quiet embrace of comfort and ease.

Once more, guilt gnaws at you for succumbing so easily to the Ascendants' advances. Even though he forcefully brought you to climax in the hallway yesterday, pinning you against the wall, you were able to resist him for a longer time than how quickly you've given in to his embrace just now.

But you can feel something shifting in you, something wrong. Try as you might to fight it, ignore it, deny it, you're reaching the point of reluctantly admitting you are powerless to it. But that doesn't mean you're close to giving up. Once you can slip away from the Ascendant's side long enough, you can approach Elowen about using the sending stone to communicate your progress. Maybe even an update from the resistance on the "extra help" they promised you'd receive soon.

During your brief moments alone, you convinced her it was best for her to hold on to it. Malacai and Astarion were already constant shadows watching your every move. Yet every so often, he includes another "steward" to your company. But you've played the role of warily agreeable "consort" since the night he learned of your bhaalspawn blood.

Astarion continuously parades in one wedding planner after the other, and you reluctantly comply... kind of. Each time you suggest leaving the palace, it predictably spirals into an argument. But perhaps if you can persuade him to allow you to leave with the stewards trailing behind, he might become more inclined to acquiesce.

Until then, you have spent most of your days learning your own body language and manipulating it in a large, public setting to wordlessly communicate that you are, somehow, a superior breed of creature. You haven't been a fast learner, to put it mildly, but Malacai and Astarion were far from discouraged.

Gently opening your eyes and lifting your head, you meet his eyes, watching you. "What is it to be today? More dress design arguments? Wine tasting? Or simply soak in the warm embrace of sunlight?" You ask, a playful tone in your voice. His eyes flutter closed for a moment, a contented purr escaping his lips. "Mm, that last one is rather appealing," he admits, his voice filled with a lazy anticipation. "Especially if you're included."

"Do I have a choice?"

The slip of your tongue cleaves through the silence like a sharpened sword through a goblin. A storm begins to brew behind his eyes as they gently open, his previously serene facade breaking away like a cliff-face succumbing to the relentless sea. Silence slithers into the void left by your words, taut and thickening the air akin to that of a dense fog. "Obedience is a matter of choice, darling. It can be as easy or as arduous as you decide. And we've gone over a few times already how pleasurable it can be," he responds, his voice low and resonant.

As you rise, disentangling yourself from his body, he props himself up on his hands. "We have little on our agenda today, save for a jeweler whom I had Cirrus summon, and I have a meeting later in the evening. So if bathing in the sun after breakfast is on offer, I'm all pointy ears."

"Where? That indoor courtyard across from my room?" You ask curiously, tilting your head.

"No," he says with a disdainful tone, his face contorting in disgust as he visibly pictures the place in his mind. "That place is a ghastly eyesore." The words carry a hint of mockery as he sneers. "Perhaps, with your personal touch, you can breathe life into the space, hmm?" His smile emerges, accompanied by the sound of a gentle chuckle. Leaning in closer, he plants a soft, affectionate kiss on your cheek, leaving a lingering warmth. With that, he gracefully rises from the bed and heads towards his wardrobe.

The sight of pants, neatly folded and hanging in the closet, makes your heart sink. The varied colors and textures evoke a sense of longing within you. Oh, how much you miss the feeling of slipping into them, the smooth fabric against your skin. "Can I please wear pants again?" you ask, your voice tinged with yearning, unable to fight the pout that tugs at your face.

Astarion glances over his shoulder, the soft rustle of fabric filling the air as he effortlessly slips into his clothes. Today, his attire is elegantly understated, with tailored, dark grey pants that hug his legs and a sky blue shirt that accentuates his refined features. The ends of the sleeves and the collar are delicately ruffled, adding a touch of whimsy to his ensemble. "Darling," he replies, his voice gentle yet persuasive, "it's simply not fitting for a woman of your esteemed position." He turns to face you, his gaze filled with a captivating blend of sincerity and allure.

"But I'm the future wife of a godking, no? Who can say besides us what falls within and below my status?" This is possibly the first time you are using this nonsense for your benefit.

With a playful chuckle, he raises his eyebrows and surrenders by holding his hands up, saying, "As my lady wishes, so shall it be." As you open the wardrobe, he glances at the array of exquisite gowns, some purchased and others uniquely designed for you. "I'll have a tailor and seamstress called upon next, then. But will you consider that on some occasions it is better for you to wear one of these instead?" Arching an eyebrow, a subtle plea to you.

"Fine, as long as I at least get to wear pants consistently around the palace in private."

"That sounds eminently reasonable to me, pet." Astarion smiles, passing by you with a kiss to your head, leaving you to pick out a dress for the day.

Once the matter is settled, you follow closely behind him, your footsteps muffled by the plush carpeting as he leads you out of the lavishly adorned bedchamber and into the expansive hallways. As you walk, the scent of polished mahogany and the delicate fragrance of freshly cut roses fills the air, creating a harmonious blend of richness and beauty. Servants scurry about, their hurried footsteps echoing on the gleaming parquet floors.

Your eyes catch a group of them, their brows furrowed with effort, struggling to lift a massive ornate frame, shrouded in a pristine white silk sheet, off the wall. Their stifled grunts intermingle with the gentle rustling of the fabric. It's not the first time you've witnessed such a scene, but this time, you decide to halt your steps and observe. Curiosity piqued, you inquire, "Overhauling the decor, Astarion?"

He too takes notice of the scene. There is a flicker in his eyes, a fleeting moment of something indescribable that vanishes before you can fully comprehend it. "Something like that," he mutters, his gaze lingering on the servants for a moment before he turns to face you, a warm smile playing on his lips. Offering you his arm, silently telling you it's time to move on.

Despite the strong urge to ignore and walk past him, you reluctantly give in and hook your arm around his, feeling a mix of annoyance, resignation and a sense of begrudging obligation. And the two of you continue on your way to breakfast uneventfully.

__________________________________________________

Although smaller than expected, you'll agree that this balcony, adorned with delicate flowers, where he has had you lounging, has a pleasant charm to it. As you reluctantly let yourself unwind, you nestle beside him, feeling the softness of the plush bench, with its velvet upholstery, contrast his firm body. The gentle breeze caresses your skin. As you gaze upon the bustling harbor, the vibrant colors of the boats and the glimmering water paint a picturesque scene before you. The melodic songs of birds in the distance and the muted chatter of the city below blended together, creating a comforting lullaby.

He made sure you ate enough to satisfy your hunger, and now you feel your breakfast sitting in your stomach like a rock.

Your eyes peel away from the view to admire the vampire lord... god... His eyes, closed in peaceful contentment, reveal his trust in your presence. With his head slightly tilted toward the blue sky, he savors every ray of the sun, his face bathed in warm golden light. The vibrant hues of his pale skin, illuminated by the sunlight, create a captivating contrast. The scent of him enveloped you: bergamot, rosemary, and frost, intermingled with the crisp morning air. You're not sure how long it's been since he ascended, though he once mentioned that the previous you had passed away a century and a half ago. No matter how much time has passed since he secured his ability to walk in the sun, he still clearly adores basking in it.

The sight of him, so vulnerable and yet so strong, almost fills your heart with a comforting warmth for him. "Why do you need me if you have all this at your fingertips?" Your voice remains hushed, careful not to disturb the restful mood. Absentmindedly finding your hand on his chest, gently caressing it through the fabric of his shirt.

His warm hand settles gently over yours, the tips of his fingers lightly brushing against your skin. As his captivating crimson eyes open, he gazes up at the vast expanse of the sky, fluffy white clouds drift lazily across the vibrant blue canvas. "All of this power, all of these riches, they are meaningless without you by my side. If it weren't for the hope of being reunited with her, I would have simply scorched Toril, reducing everything, even the stars above, to mere ashes that would cascade upon my skin."

You feel a slight twitch in your ears, and your brows furrow in confusion. "I'm not her, Astarion," you say, your voice carrying a soothing tone and preemptively comforting. "Just as you are not mine." You hope to harness the tender atmosphere around you, using it to comfort him and create a productive conversation.

Unexpectedly, a gentle smile spreads across his face and you can feel his arm slide around your waist, securing you in his embrace. "I know."

Suddenly, the peaceful moment is shattered when the double doors leading into the morning room swing open. A dwarven man in a tailored suit, with a hunched back and a noticeably small stature - even for his race, eagerly approaches as you both sit up.

"Ah, his Almighty Majesty, Godking Ancunín and his betrothed! An extraordinary honor to be in your exalted presence!" He exclaims and bows his head with a wide smile, his thin silver hair glistening in the sunlight.

Two servants and Malacai stand outside the doors. "I am Eldon Greybeard, of the illustrious house Greybeard! Humbly and graciously at your service!" he introduces himself. His voice projects confidence and carries a hint of excitement.

Beside Eldon, three young ladies stand, their faces flushed with exertion. They struggle to balance the weight of the large, cumbersome trunks in their delicate hands. Beads of sweat form on their brows as they try to maintain composure. Eldon's quick movement startles one of the girls, her wide eyes reflecting surprise and relief as he yanks a trunk from her delicate grasp.

Deciding to take that as your cue, you separate yourself from Astarion, who stands up from the bench with you. Effortlessly commanding the shadows lurking in the corners of the balcony, where the sunlight cannot reach. With a mesmerizing control over the darkness, he simply pivots the bench to face the doors. In a tender gesture, he takes your hand and interlocks your fingers, while the dwarf pops the latch to the trunk and flips it open, revealing its contents.

Proudly, the man spins the polished mahogany case around with a gentle creak to display its contents. Bracelets, glimmering in an array of colors and designs, catch the light, their intricate make and materials captivate the eye. The subtle scent of polished gems, worn leather and delicate metal. The Ascendant vampire, his crimson eyes locked with yours, as he guides you both to walk around and sit on the bench. Returning his gaze to the dwarf, his voice cut through the air with a dismissive tone. "We've no interest in these."

Eldon's eyes flit between the bracelets then you and forces a small chuckle. "Yes, of course, my apologies." Then he carefully closes the trunk and sets it aside. With a simple point at the other girl, she sets down the one she's carrying, and he swiftly opens it for you while Astarion releases your hand to slide his arm around your shoulders.

Arranged meticulously in orderly compartments, a multitude of rings sparkle and shimmer under the golden sunlight. "Judging by the ring size your messenger provided, each of these rings should fit the queen's finger flawlessly," Eldon proclaims with a hint of pride. A confident grin spreads across his face, as if reflecting the sparkle of the rings themselves.

While you were indifferent to viewing the selection from where the trunk sat on the ground, the vampire lord effortlessly beckoned one of his servants with a mere flick of his hand. Obediently, the servant grasped the trunk and positioned it before you both. The sight of the servant's pale, trembling hands gripping the trunk contrasted with the dark, weathered wood. The subtle creaking sound of the trunk being hoisted tickled the air. Allowing you to see every detail of each ring clearly and with ease.

You're half expecting him to pick one for you, but he remains eerily silent. His eyes glide over the options, examining them intently, but his hands remain motionless, refusing to reach out and touch any of them. "Astarion?" you inquire, curiosity tinged with a hint of confusion.

He meets your gaze, his piercing red eyes locking onto yours offer a blend of amusement and affection, and shakes his head slowly. "It's your ring, my treasure." The sound of his voice is soothing, melodious in your ear. With a gentle smile playing on his lips, he whispers, "Pick one, pick two, pick them all if it pleases you." His hand, warm and comforting, caresses your shoulder, sending a shiver down your spine.

Awkwardly, you find yourself gazing back and forth, your eyes tracing the intricate details of each ring. Part of you still yearns for that black band, adorned with scattered silver and blue gems. The memory of it tugs at your heartstrings. But you know deep down that you could never tarnish the purity of that memory by wearing it as your engagement ring to him.

Chuckling, an impish glint dances in your eyes as you delicately raise the cool, smooth silver band, feeling its weight between your fingertips. The silver gleams in the light, captivating your attention, even though you typically have no interest in jewelry without practical or magical value. As you gaze at the ring, a hint of amusement tugs at the corners of your lips, finding it a tad on the nose to wear when you're engaged to a vampire lord, yet undeniably adorable.

"Really, darling?" With a playful tone, Astarion inquires, his voice laced with feigned annoyance as he gazes at the ring you're holding up, allowing him to see the intricate design—a round ruby, nestled within the claws of a bat. Its eyes, adorned with two smaller rubies, seem to shimmer with a mischievous gleam.

Refusing to look away, your eyes hold on to his as he playfully rolls his own in a mock display of exasperation. The sound of his chuckle sends a shiver down your spine, a delightful sensation that lingers, much as you hate to admit it. Finally, unable to resist, he takes the ring from your outstretched hand, examining every intricate detail for himself.

As he carefully scrutinizes the ring, the balcony becomes alive with a hushed energy. The air carries a palpable sense of anticipation, entwined with the delicate fragrance of roses in a nearby vase. Your heart dances with a blend of exhilaration and jitters while you anxiously await his final decision.

Astarion gently places the ring back into your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. With a slight nod, he signals for Eldon to continue showcasing his collection. As the dwarf busies himself, his back turned to you, a tall Elven man gracefully emerges from the shadowed corner of the balcony. You couldn't help but notice the way he stood, hands clasped behind his back, and the lingering scent of a peculiar scent that seemed to permeate the surroundings. "My sincerest apologies, my revered Godking," he says, his voice filled with deference. "I humbly request a moment of your undivided attention."

A look of irritation crossed the Ascendant's face as he rolled his eyes. "By the hells, Ballar," he muttered, his anger evident in his tone.

"It is regarding a certain pest problem."

His arm stiffens around your shoulders, causing a slight discomfort. An uneasy silence settles over the atmosphere. Then, following a tense pause, he starts to rise from his seat, his movements betraying his restlessness. Just as he starts to rise, you reach out and gently grasp his arm, bringing him to a sudden stop. "You know what, Astarion," you say, your voice wavering with hesitation and uncertainty, "I think I'd prefer some time alone to gather my thoughts. About what you said this morning, and moments earlier." You suggest, a silent plea echoing in your heart, hoping he understands the turmoil within you.

Reluctantly, he nods in agreement with an unenthusiastic expression. "Just" his subdued acquiescence barely audible amidst the stillness "don't stray for too long, pet." A hint of caution lacing his words,

Feeling relieved, you hand the ring back to him and gracefully get up. The soft rustle of your clothes mixes with the faint murmur of voices drifting up from the bustling city below. The fragrance of blooming flowers that adorn the nearby flowerbeds dances in the air, mingling with the crisp, refreshing breeze that caresses against your skin.

Excusing yourself from the ornate balcony, you feel a sense of liberation washing over you. Malacai moves to join you, but with a subtle wave of your hand, you motion for him to remain behind. Finally alone, you relish in the silence, craving the chance to collect your thoughts amidst the cacophony of emotions that swirl within you.

Unconcerned with Astarions' instructions, you meander purposelessly through the palace, your footsteps echoing through its grand halls, the intricate tapestries and glistening chandeliers catching your eye. Echoing through the wooden floor in the halls, the soft sounds of distant footsteps create a soothing environment.

As you walk, you can't help but flex your right ankle from time to time, checking the tightness of the shackle. Sure enough, it's still there. Honestly, what a surprise - surely it would have slid down your ankle and freed you already.

Your sarcasm, thankfully, hasn't diminished at all.

What else could it possibly be used for, you wonder? Preventing you from leaving without permission is a likely bet. But It can't just be a means of forcing you to remain seated.

Gods above, you wish you could explain the shackle in the scant messages you've been able to get through the sending stone. Its full utility remained elusive, yes, but you could sense it would pose a formidable obstacle to whatever plan your Star had devised to get you out of here.

You're not sure how exactly, but you find yourself in the alchemist's office if the myriad of variety of plants were your first guess, their leaves reaching out towards the sunlight that streamed through the dusty windows. Empty glass bottles glint in the soft light, lining the shelves in the office. The workbench is a chaotic mess, with scattered papers and spilled substances. A distinct earthy aroma, with undertones of herbs and potions, wafted through the air. Your fingertips brush against the rough surface of the tables as you navigate further into the room, a sense of curiosity guiding your steps.

One plant catches your eye that you don't believe you've ever seen before. A large, worn tome sits adjacent to it, left open with a stunning rendition drawn on the right page, while the left page refers to it as the Slumberthorn vine. The text explains that these despite its deceptively soft appearance; the leaves are razor sharp and laced with a powerful toxin that can swiftly induce sleep in even the strongest, heaviest of humanoids.

You ponder the idea of the toxin entering the bloodstream, but the text clarifies that the toxin's potency is such that it works directly on the skin. Skillful distillation of the toxin can yield a powerful anesthetic, but the process requires expertise. The idea sparks a faint curiosity, but you quickly dismiss it. You never cared much for poison or the like, even in the depths of your stunted memory.

Why let a poison have all the fun your hands could have?

A memory comes to mind from your first day here. When that woman threw the broach, narrowly missing your face and leaving a small, shallow cut on your cheek. How quickly the Ascendant materialized in the room. Perhaps it was the distinct fragrance of your blood that permeated the air, reaching him from a considerable distance. Or maybe...

You lowered your gaze to your ankle, fixating on the shimmering silver and gold hues of the small band that smoothly encircled your skin. It had become all too familiar, the constant, subtle, gentle weight of it pressing against you, that you couldn't escape. If he possesses some kind of magical connection to the band, enabling him to track your every move, this experiment might just be worth a try. Escaping from the confines of the palace was your only chance at freedom. Perhaps this... precarious experiment would prove worthwhile in the end.

Undoubtedly one of the most foolish choices you could make, and that's saying a lot. With a careless gesture, you grab the book, shutting it with a resounding thud. Without purpose or direction, you fling it nonchalantly over your shoulder; the book flying through the room before landing elsewhere with a soft thump. And before doubt can creep in or hesitation can take hold, you gingerly press your finger against the leaf, feeling its soft and smooth surface. Instantly, you feel the minuscule razor-sharp barbs beneath your fingertip, poised to pierce your skin, yet you keep your hand steady.

Instinctively, you pull your hand back as the room abruptly plunges into darkness, leaving you disoriented. The world around you begins to spin, causing a whirlwind of blurred images. Struggling to maintain your balance, you take a cautious step back, the faint echo of your racing heartbeat fills your ears. Suddenly, a wave of weakness engulfs your body, causing your leg to buckle beneath you before giving out. With a desperate attempt to stay upright, your other leg follows suit, and you're vaguely aware of falling onto your side.

You shift onto your side, nestled in his frigid arms, glimpsing your vampire lover behind you in the bed. The dimly lit bedroom in the elfsong tavern envelops you both, shadows dancing on the walls. A symphony of scents dances through the air. The lingering scent of aged wood and a subtle hint of candle wax, which mingles harmoniously with the soothing aroma of bergamot, rosemary, and a gentle whisper of aged brandy that is unmistakably him.

You aren't surprised when his sharp red eyes lock with yours, a silent understanding passing between you. The blankets wrap around both of you, cocooning you in their comforting embrace. Your legs intertwine with his, creating an intimate tangle beneath the covers. With tenderness, you lift your hand, feeling the coolness of his cheek as your touch meets his pale skin. "We'll get through this, my love..." you whisper, your voice a gentle melody in the quiet night.

His eyes flutter closed as your fingertips gently glide over his chiseled, smooth chest, accompanied by the soft sound of his contented sigh. "I know, my star..." he murmurs, his words barely audible, the sound blending with the gentle rhythm of your breathing. His eyes, filled with unwavering resolve, find yours once more, a silent promise reflected within their depths... and...

Suddenly, your body jolts forward, disoriented as you awaken. The cold, hard floor beneath you goes unnoticed in the initial moments, your vision still blurred. As you struggle to regain your senses, a distinct aroma of musty old books and damp earth fills the air. Gradually, as the dimly lit room gradually comes into focus, your groggy mind registers the presence of the vampire ascendant kneeling beside you, his hands firmly gripping your shoulders, shaking you awake. Through the haze, you hear their gasp, a combination of concern and surprise. "Hells, Tav, what's gotten into you?" their voice echoes in your ears as they pull your dazed body into their strong, crushing embrace.

You refuse to let on the dream you had, though you risk playing it over and over again in your mind. If you had to choose between living every day of the rest of your life with this... mockery of the man you love. Or relive that night before Cazador over and over with the real Astarion...

Well... at least you answered one question.

...Slumberthorn vine toxin doesn't need to break skin to be effective.

____________________________________________________________________________

"Remember, you are merely an observer..." He reminds you for the millionth time and deliberately ignores as your eyes roll again, though you do motion to him that your lips are sealed.

Upon returning to the balcony with him, the jeweler was dismissed until a more suitable time. But you weren't in any mood to play the obedient "consort" any longer, and you adamantly refused to put on the ring, which, of course, ignited yet another heated argument.

Needless to say, you were itching for the day to conclude. Why did you even need an engagement ring when everyone knew by now who you were? More like what you were.

You both enter the sitting room without acknowledging the two guards standing watch outside, their presence nothing more than an afterthought. But you still freeze in place when you step through the doors and enter. Astarion teases - his mischievous voice fills the air and sends a thrill down your spine as he playfully remarks, "It's not the first time the staff have cleaned viscera, my sweet." You stand there, completely awestruck by the sight in front of you. The room, once a gruesome mess, now gleams with pristine cleanliness, not a trace of blood or severed fingers left behind.

Your eyes were so fixated on the transformation that you failed to notice the presence of two figures standing near the couch and table, their dark robes flowing and white masks concealing their identities. As you take in the familiar attire, memories flood your mind, reminding you of a certain friend and the House of Grief.

You glance at Astarion and realize he is purposefully keeping you behind him. Though you sense no danger, it's as if he's merely sending a message. "And what news do my kingdom's resident Sharrans bring? Progress on the Unamina?" He inquires as he slowly crosses the room, with you close behind.

One of them locks their arms behind their back. "Indeed. The mother superior herself departed some time ago in search of the necessary components and sent word of her success. Now all that remains is a suitable location." They spoke confidently, their partner extending their gloved hand and offering a wooden case for protecting a scroll.

Astarion's eyes light with an expression you can't read and don't like. His grin proudly displaying his fangs as he, a tad too quickly, accepts the scroll case into his hands. "Wonderful! And what of her return? How soon should I have the carpet rolled out?" He chuckled, tucking the case under his arm closest to you. This wooden case was far from ordinary; it possessed an air of magic, with its shimmering, decorative adornments. Somehow sinister and foreboding in nature...

"Soon. Two days, perhaps three." The other replied, clasping their hands in front of them. "It was far from simple to procure the scroll. The Nightsinger will expect adequate repayment from you, Godking Ancunín, for utilizing her faithful in such a way."

"It is only because of my grace that her church thrives in my kingdom. The least she could do was loan me her toys for this little treasure hunt of mine." He mutters, rapidly losing interest in the Sharrans as he lifts and studies the scroll case in the chandelier's light above his head.

You could feel their eyes studying you from behind their creepy white masks, if only for a moment. "The Mo—"

Astarion tightly tucks the case under his arm again, his piercing glare locks onto the pair. "Tell her," he commands, his voice commanding yet smooth, "to come straight to the palace upon her arrival. I'll ensure preparations are made that she receives a worthy welcome." He gracefully pivots on his feet, the sound of his expensive shoes clicking against the polished wooden floor. "Our business here is concluded," he declares with authority. "Please see yourselves out." With a snap of his fingers, the two guards outside stride inside, seemingly already aware of their orders.

Like you have all day, you shadow Astarion, but not before you steal a quick glance over your shoulder at the two Sharrans. Of course, you have a myriad of questions. What were they doing finding... whatever that scroll is? Why would the Sharrans and the Ascendant work together at all? Could Viconia still be alive and in charge of the Baldur's Gate cloister? Did your alternate self help this world's Shadowheart kill that bitch?

Shadowheart... you miss her terribly. You miss all of your companions, but you formed a deep bond with the cleric.

It's been a century and a half since the other you died, so who knows how long it's been since the Absolute crisis. You vaguely recall that Halsin has also passed in this world, but you can't remember how exactly you know that. Unless Wyll and Gale found means of prolonging their human lifespans, they've likely passed on. Same for Karlach and her engine, and Lae'zel - assuming your favorite Gith didn't return to the Astral Plane. Shadowheart was about fifty years old when you met her. On average, half-elves can live for about a hundred and fifty to two hundred years. If, and it's a significant if, she's still alive, she would be in the twilight years of her life. Assuming assassins or the like haven't taken her out.

Gods, this is so depressing...

The sound of the door closing echoes in the room, snapping you back to the present moment. You realize you're back in Astarion's bedchamber. Where you've been sleeping since the night he learned of your urges.

He carefully placed the case on a dresser that was pressed against the wall, creating a soft thump. He fumbled through his pants pocket to retrieve the small box and extended the ring toward you. You turn away, arms crossed, and he lets out a deep, exasperated sigh. "What do I need to do to sway you into wearing it?" Astarion asks, vexed by your behavior.

Nothing. There is absolutely no chance that I will ever wear it - is what you want to say. That you picked one out at all means nothing. It was just a cute ring...

Frustration boils within you, leading you to flail your arms aimlessly for a brief moment as you grapple with your inner turmoil. What you want to say and what would make sense are in opposition. "You... you never even took the time to propose to me properly!" you scoff, glancing away and tightly crossing your arms once more.

"Properly?" He inquires, his tone laced with bewilderment rather than frustration, as he cocks an eyebrow.

"Yes... Unless you consider forcefully taking me against my will as your bizarre idea of a romantic gesture..." You have absolutely no clue what is coming out of your mouth. Why are you acting like this?

Astarion's eyes twinkled with amusement as his lips curled into a smile filled with... happiness, then carefully placed the ring on the dresser next to the scroll case. "Very well. Perhaps I'll organize something of that nature while you're away tomorrow."

Now it's your turn to be puzzled. He can't possibly mean what you think he means... "Apart from your momentary lapse of judgement today, I have been pleased to see improvements in your behavior, and I am inclined to recognize and reward your growth. We can go over the particulars after you've rested." He explains with a calm and patient demeanor, taking measured steps towards you. Shrugging off his shirt and tossing it carelessly to the floor.

His feather-light touch delicately brushes against your cheek, sending a tingling sensation through your skin. His slender fingers leisurely trace a path downwards, their gentle caress leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. Eventually, they settle beneath your chin, cradling it affectionately. Tenderly, he lifts it slowly, bringing your lips closer to his, the minuscule distance between you teasingly suspended.

"You wouldn't dare run from your home - would you, my queen?" he murmurs, his voice a velvety purr that resonates deeply within you. You shiver at his words... the accusation they carry. Toying with you, he continues. "That would be very foolish, wouldn't it, pet? You are mine. Completely and unequivocally. There is not a rock in all of Toril you could hide under that I would not find you, darling." His voice is dripping with a honeyed sweetness that conceals an underlying threat.

Then he closes the miniscule distance between your lips. Sealing his words with a gentle, sweet kiss. Amidst the tender exchange, you manage to blurt out, "What's in the case?" Each word escapes between the fleeting kisses.

Astarion's lips curl into a smug smile, their warmth grazing against yours, creating a soft and lingering touch, accompanied by the faint sound of his satisfied sigh that tickles your senses. With a delicate gesture, his fingers caress your skin, gently tucking a few stray strands of hair behind your ear. An arm encircles your waist, creating a tender embrace that simultaneously holds a hint of possessiveness. As he pulls you against him, you can feel the strength in his touch, both gentle and forceful and it sends a shiver down your spine. Then, he whispers, his voice laced with determination, promising, "The means to ensure nothing can ever take you from me."

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈-

Batstarion ring? Sad dream? A potential way to cure your bhaalspawn-ery? Sharrans? Mysterious scrolls?

A lot to chew on this chapter.

…So previous Tav was NOT a Dark Urge… Hm.