#I guess I mean it’s still my Tav so tavstarion works right? lol

[snowfolly]

❄️☃️❄️

Thaaank you Vix! I’ve got so many ideas for it and I’m really hoping it’s going to be a super fun, silly sexy story (and in hindsight I probably shouldn’t have made it so dark to start out with but it’ll be fine 😂)

(Also bc the link to ao3 didn’t work above I’m dropping it here)

A Silver Tapestry

Chapter 1: The Wrath of God

After the ice demon, Astarion, attempts to assassinate a god for his master, he finds himself bound, once again, to yet another deity.

His punishment is to serve the God of Winter for a time unknown to him, and his hours are filled with mundane tasks until the day that the god, Taliesin, asks the demon to spar with him.

Sparring leads to something much more than daggers at held other another’s throat, and they must learn to navigate romance with restraint as they fall hopelessly in love. However, all is not perfect, as Astarion must be freed from Cazador's grip before the time on Taliesin's binding curse is up, or he will have to return to the devil — which will not only tear him away from his divine lover, but certainly result in his death.

Taliesin must move carefully to avoid letting the entire winter realm, and perhaps the entire world, fall to ruins for the sake of liberating his beloved.

Or

A love story about a god and the demon that tried to murder him.

(Expect Whimsy)

CW: Violence, Pain (Astarion is Punished for attempted murder and has a bad time.)

Read on ao3 Here

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Astarion’s stomach twisted into a sick knot of dread as he was led shackled and shambling to gaze wide-eyed upon the face of a god — one that he had tried rather unsuccessfully to murder only hours prior.

Early morning daylight softly backlit a wall of snow, which was falling steadily in an open space behind the lord of the winter realm. It threw his throne into partial shadow as motes of mage light drifted around his darkened form, bathing him in an ominous cerulean glow.

The god sighed dramatically, sprawled across his throne in an absurdly casual position — his legs dangled lackadaisically off of one onyx armrest as his elbow laid on the other; he propped his head on his hand as he regarded Astarion — who he clearly thought to be no more than a pissant — with weary disinterest.

Astarion swallowed dryly, realizing the god couldn’t even be bothered to sit up straight to judge him for his crime, lowly frost demon that he was… and this did not bode well.

At all.

“On your knees,” the deity murmured as the wall of snow behind him abruptly gusted into the room with an intense howling rush.

It whorled around Astarion from the ground up, and he gasped as the air was violently snatched from his lungs by a wind so frigid that he was certain they'd be ruined to ice. Cold typically didn’t bother him, not like this — he was a godsdamned frost demon, after all — but this was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. It was freezing torment, sending his entire body to chills and causing him to panic as he closed his eyes and struggled to breathe.

Was this it? Would he not even be able to speak to the deity before he died? Was this to be his end? He’d known this was a futile task, but he hadn’t had a choice! Cazador had commanded him, it wasn’t fair, but it never was…

“Fall to your knees, demon,” the god repeated with more vitriol and less tedium in his tone as Astarion’s eyes flew open to realize that the assaulting blizzard had been halted as quickly as it had been set upon him — and yet somehow he remained standing. Before he could properly gather his senses, the gauntlet-laden hands of godsknights unceremoniously grabbed at his shoulders, forcing him to fall to his knees with a sickening crack and bend low in prostration before their lord.

Astarion wasn’t at all sure how he could perspire after being nearly frozen alive, but a drop of sweat fell from the demon’s brow before it froze in midair. The tiny pellet of ice clinked against the marble floor and he took a deep breath to still himself, casting his eyes down as his mind raced, attempting to fathom a way out of the rather bleak situation at hand.

It was a rather futile attempt.

There was simply no way he could escape. He had no weapon — nor would he be able to use one if he did — his hands were bound tightly behind his back, and his ankles were tethered just as securely. His magic had also been dispelled so he could use no incantation to attack or remove his iron shackles, and even so, what chance did he stand against two armed knights and a god? He grit his teeth, for he had not a snowball’s chance in the summer realm.

This undignified moment was likely to be the last in his pathetic life — and pathetic though it was — he did not want it to end. He was not ready to die. Especially not like this!

At least in the pitiful life he led under Cazador he could still hold onto hope… but being damned by a god wouldn’t even allow him that meager respite. His soul would be lost forever to wander in the shadow hell. Darkness would become him, he would feel no passion, no joy, or hope — only the agony of biting cold and sorrow, of endless loss and shadows. Forever.

Astarion had come close enough to assassinating the divine being before him, and he had no choice but to face any punishment that the lord saw fit — and the frozen hell, grim as it was, was a likely outcome…

“Wake up!” The god said, snapping his fingers as Astarion’s eyes darted up once more to face the source of his inevitable end.

“Assassin! I was going to ask your name but that matters not, foul creature such as you are. Pray tell though, Fool — what daft bastard sent you to murder a god?” the deity asked contemptuously, still not deeming it worth his time to move from his lounging position. Astarion swallowed nervously before he cleared his throat to speak. He knew that the god knew exactly who had sent him, but alas…

“The Lord of Ice…”

“Oh my! You’d be clever to address me by my title, Fool,” the god said in annoyance as he flicked his wrist dismissively, and one of the knights roughly pressed the butt of his spear into the back of Astarion’s neck, forcing him to bow lower before their liege.

His title, though? This god had many monikers… Lord of Snow, Your Resplendence, Your Magnificence, God of the Winter Realm, Taliesin — so on and so forth.

If the situation wasn’t so dire he’d come up with more interesting epithets, but it’d be more shrewd to try and weasel himself out of eternal damnation. It would likely do him no favor in the end, but Astarion figured it would be best to grovel, kiss a bit of ass and address several of the lord’s stupid titles.

“Resplendent Lord of Snow, God of the Winter Realm, Taliesin,” Astarion managed in a quavering voice as the godsknight gave him another smarting blow on the back of his neck, causing Astarion’s crystalline horns to knock painfully against the marble floor. He felt one crack and he grimaced as some shards of it fell, tinkling like broken glass near his eye. “The Lord of Ice and keeper of the Frostlands, Cazador, my m… master, sent me.”

“To what end?”

“Well… to slay you,” Astarion said in confusion. Just what in the lower hells were Taliesin’s motives? The deity already knew this information, why was he posing questions as if he did not? Was it all simply to humiliate Astarion further?

“Damned devil. What have I done to slight Cazador this time? I extended my goodwill to him, inviting him to my little fete for the first time in centuries and he couldn’t even be arsed to make an appearance!” The god scoffed. “Is it a coincidence, Fool, that he sent an assassin on the same night?”

Of course it wasn’t.

“My master saw… well — he saw the invite as an insult, Your Resplendence. He’d said the summon to dine and be merry with a sworn enemy was the… the height of disresp…”

“Naturally he would, the fuckwit,” the god said sharply, cutting Astarion off. The demon stared blankly at the floor which lay scarcely an inch below his nose. His tail flicked anxiously as his eyes followed the veins of gray streaking haphazardly through the white marble, and he realized that this could be the last thing he’d ever see. How pathetically glum…

“What does Cazador wish to accomplish by sending a lowly demon to try and kill me? Again. Any thoughts on that rather preposterous maneuver, expendable one?”

Astarion knew that his master had sent many other demons to attempt to end Taliesin’s life in the past, well before his forced servitude, but none of those failed assassins had ever returned to his master’s keep. Cazador’s motivations were just as much of a mystery — what did he wish to accomplish, sending them to die?

“I do not know his intentions for those he sent in failed attempts on your life in years past, Your Resplendence. He ah… my master simply gave me the order to take your life,” Astarion said, recalling that the devil had gone nearly mad with rage since he’d gotten the invitation months prior. Rants regarding Cazador’s hatred for Taliesin were nothing unusual, but the tirades had gotten more and more frequent in the weeks leading up to the event.

The devil would often take his anger out on his imps and demons, throwing bottles of wine at them, having them whipped… and well, torturing them one way or another. Even if Astarion was sent back to his master, his fate would likely not be much better than the one he now faced. Cazador also had the capability of damning his soldiers and servants, casting them into the shadows — he’d seen it done to a steward once, and it certainly was not a pleasant end.

“Did he wish for you to take my life in an attempt to steal my full divinity?”

“Y… yes,” Astarion stammered. He thought that motive was clear — the soul stone meant to capture the god’s divinity had been taken from him, along with the rest of his possessions aside from the clothes on his back when he’d been thrown behind bars. The intention for the assassination was not hidden — and why else would Cazador be so adamant about ending the god? The devil was not subtle about his resentment of Taliesin, who held dominion over the entire realm — including ‘his’ Frostland.

“I see,” the lord murmured, as Astarion took another deep breath. It was nonsensical to even question the god’s interrogation, though. He was prodding and poking for something.

“Did you know, Fool, that your craven master had endeavored to assassinate me — desperately, I might add — for centuries before giving up and sending expendable little demons like you to try and do what he can not, and never will. So I commend you, Fool! You're the first of his flock that has ever come close to fulfilling his laughable dream. Good fucking job!” Taliesin’s wrathful voice reverberated sinisterly through the immense chamber as his diatribe ended, causing Astarion to flinch and flatten his ears against the painful echo before a deafening stillness fell upon the room.

His eyes continued to follow the streaks of gray in the marble, and the frost demon’s heart pounded out of his chest as he waited for something to happen — anything.

There were eight branches on one vein, and one of those veins held capillaries of another eight.

A killing blow, a word of death, racking pain, or the promise of eternal suffering — anything. But seconds wavered into minutes, and minutes turned into what felt like an eternity — and there was only lingering, dreadful silence.

If he wasn't so close to the veins, his eyes would adjust and he could probably see even more jagged branches coming off of the capillaries.

He did not want to die, the gods and devils only knew that he did not want to die! But this fraught suspense would surely end him, and perhaps that would be okay. He couldn’t be damned if he’d just go ahead and die of terror, right?

How many veins of gray streaked the marble in this immense throneroom? The branches would outnumber the stars, surely…

“What to do with you, what to do?” the god said finally, startling Astarion back into the moment as the sound of footsteps made their way toward him. He closed his eyes tightly, fighting tears as sweat continued to drip from his clammy brow, and the footfall stopped just before his pitiful hunkered frame.

“Look up at me.”

Astarion raptly obeyed, lifting himself from his deep bow to stare up wide-eyed at the god. Despite his short stature, he was, without a doubt, the most intimidating creature that Astarion had ever witnessed. There was an aura of intensity swirling about him, furious and radiant in its command, and Astarion’s body began to tremble in response.

Taliesin stepped closer, standing above Astarion with his arms crossed over his partially bare chest before he bent at the waist to get a better look at the demon, leaning in so that he could see every freckle on his divine face, the delicate ring on the left side of his nose, his thick eyelashes surrounding… oh gods, his eyes…

It’d been too dark during the attack so he hadn’t noticed those horrible, wonderful eyes.

It was as if they contained the winter itself — molten silver flecks fluctuated and sparkled within pupilless irises of shadow, deep fuschia tinted — no, aubergine… then indigo. The colors continuously shifted like fog within black onyx — mesmerizing and terrifying in equal measure.

Despite Astarion’s fear, he couldn’t help but find himself in awe of the divine beauty that Taliesin possessed as he tilted that lovely, timeless face, studying the demon with pinched features — as if he was observing something foul and small. Nothing more than vermin. Less than vermin.

"I could make you serve me for a decade or ten — centuries even! Or I could change you to a carrion crow, damned be your wings for I would pluck and cage you. Then you could never attempt to end me again," the god said, thumbing his chin and tilting his head to the side in a deviously playful way that sent a fresh shiver of trepidation down Astarion’s spine to the tip of his tail. Taliesin's face brightened as if he’d suddenly realized something wildly profound, and his large, frilled ears perked up, sending his many earrings jingling as he cocked an eyebrow. "But by all rights, I should kill you, send you to exist eternally in the Frozen Blight. Yes?"

Astarion’s thrumming heart skipped a beat as his stomach sank nauseatingly. That was it. That was the name of that damnable hell that he was bound for at any moment.

“Yes,” the demon whispered in reluctant agreement, ears lowering in defeat. As much as he hated to admit it, he should be killed for this transgression. There was no way of talking himself out of this one — he’d held the poisoned dagger to Talisin’s throat. An indignant, stray tear ran down his cheek as the god clicked his tongue.

"I suppose that I’ve decided a proper judgment for you, then," the lord finally announced, his tone barely above a whisper as he placed the back of his thumb under Astarion's chin, raising the demon's face to stare at him even closer — perhaps to get a good look at the person he was about to damn for eternity, or perhaps it was to relish in his abject horror and humiliation. The frost demon's lip quivered as those hauntingly beautiful eyes bored into his, and his mind shattered in terror as they instantaneously went entirely silver.

Gods and devils, this was it.

This truly was the end.

Astarion's gaze remained locked with Taliesin’s for moments or centuries — he could not be sure, and to his astonishment dilated pupils appeared as the irises imperceptibly changed to a muddy purple — soft and…. sweet? The god smiled, lopsided and sheepish as the iron shackles binding the demon grew uncomfortably frigid before they began to loosen in a flurry of mist.

Astarion was dumbfounded. Was this some sort of sick game? What in the godsdamned hells was happening?

"I must apologize in advance, demon — for this is going to hurt," the god of winter said in a genuinely apologetic tone, and Astarion's mouth fell agape as his shackles clattered deafeningly to the stone floor.

His eyes flashed an unsettling silver once more, and Astarion flinched as the god gently cupped his cheeks in his hands — hands that were far warmer than the demon had expected — and he was suddenly enveloped in the same gently swirling mist that had released his fetters moments earlier.

Taliesin bent in even closer to Astarion in a strikingly intimate way — almost as if he was going to kiss him — causing his heart to skip a beat as the compelling scent of cedarwood, rose and black pepper flooded his senses. His skin prickled as the god passed up his lips to whisper into his ear, his breath cold and mint and tantalizing...

“Witness me,” Taliesin whispered, and Astarion experienced sudden, blinding white light and harrowing pain encircling his throat.

Astarion’s stomach tightened into a ball as excruciating tendrils of agony crawled over the tender flesh of his neck, searing and stinging as his nerve ends were set sickeningly alight. He could not move to claw at the affliction nor could he scream in horror, for he could not catch his breath or gather his mind to do so. Tears streamed down his cheeks as his knees gave out, and his existence was naught but torment. He could not take it anymore — there was no way he could withstand this suffering, gods … there was simply no way!

Words in a language he did not know came from somewhere far, far away before he heard the common tongue spoken once more — ‘I’m truly sorry’, it said, as his vision ceased entirely, and then there was no sound at all. There was no sense of smell or any more pain, no enveloping cold or the warm hands of a god — there was only darkness.