#Sword at Sunset | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spacebarbarianweird · 2 months ago

Text

Blankie

Summary: Astarion makes a blankie for Alethaine (and she, surprisingly, remembers it even centuries after).

Tags: dadstarion, dhampirs, fluff, visions of the future

Alethaine's age: 8 months old (and 305 in the second part)

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Alethaine looks at Astarion with her pitch-black eyes. Her lower lip quivers as she gets teary with every passing moment.

“Oh no,” the vampire mutters. “Did I do something wrong?”

Alethaine stretches her arms to him and Astarion lifts the dhampir up as the girl nuzzles into his chest using her father’s white shirt as a napkin.

“Princess,” Astarion caresses her back. “What happened? “

He feels a rising panic. Alethaine is only eight months old and the whole experience of parenthood is so new and weird to him that he barely knows what to do with the toddler crawling around the house and demanding all his and Tiriel's attention.

And he is oh so afraid of doing something wrong!

“Tiriel.” Astarion approaches the red-headed half-elf who’s busy cooking a stew for herself and the baby. “I definitely did something wrong, but I don't know what”

Tiriel puts away a spoon and kisses his cheek.

“If you had done something wrong, she would not have ruined your shirt,” Tiriel bends towards her daughter and touches her left ear, so elongated and different from hers. “Kitten, did you just miss Daddy?”

Alethaine makes a weird sound which is easily interpreted as an agreement.

“She wanted you to hold her,” Tiriel smiles. “You are doing well, Astarion, trust me. I talk to local women a lot and they keep telling their husbands that even a vampire is a better father than them.”

“I am afraid to hurt her,” Astarion says. “I am afraid I will do something unacceptable, something that will leave her damaged… “

As he worries, he presses Alethaine closer. The girl has a loud heartbeat, but her chest doesn't move, her breath stolen by dhampirism a few months ago.

A half-undead baby. The primal source of Astarion's anxieties and joy.

“Astarion,” Tiriel says, her focus back on the simmering dinner. “I have a request for you.”

“Anything you want, my sweet,” Astarion leans towards her to inhale her scent.

“Could you make a blanket for Alethaine? Not a regular one, though. One with a toy stitched on it? Like you know… She can sleep under it and hug a toy. I saw it at Nandaek and Ruligith’s house, and I thought that thing was really cute.”

“I am sorry, I can hardly imagine what you mean,” he laughs.

Alethaine suddenly has enough of being held and demands to be put down. Astarion complies and the toddler runs up to the wall to watch a spider crawl up the ceiling.

“And I think we need more pillows,” she adds.

Astarion blames either his lack of imagination or Tiriel’s eloquence and decides to go straight to the neighbors, a Dwarven couple who also live in the underground part of the town. They are both of Duergar descent and prefer the caves to the woods and mountains.

Rutha is the same age as Alethaine, but she still cannot walk and mostly sits in her cradle. When Astarion enters, invited by Ruligith, Rutha watches him carefully as if feeling the guest was not a regular visitor.

“Tiriel keeps mentioning this blanket and I am more than willing to make one for Alethaine, but I have no idea how it's supposed to look!”

Ruligith approaches her baby and takes the blanket out of the cradle. Rutha makes a fuss even though she was barely touching it.

“This one?” The dwarf hands the blankies to Astarion.

It is rather small, more like a big napkin but enough to cover a toddler head to toe. It is crocheted and a tiny bear is stitched to it.

Well, of course, Alethaine would not enjoy a bear nor soft pink colors. It needs to be pitch black and the toy… a bat. Yes, a cute bat will do!

Astarion thanks the dwarf, wishes Rutha a good night (as if she were an adult lady), and goes looking for a crochet hook. He mostly prefers needles and threads, but there is something meditative about working with such a simple tool.

He finds a small market in the central square on the surface part of Daggerlake. The seller doesn't even question why someone would need so much black yarn but decides to give a lecture that spokeshaves would be better.

When he finally returns home, Tiriel has already had dinner and is cleaning the table on the side where Alethaine sat.

Astarion gives Tiriel a kiss and goes straight to the fireplace to make the blankie.

Astarion finds stitching so relaxing that he gets completely lost in the moment. Soon the black blanket is ready and it is time to make the bat. It is a bit more difficult since he has never crocheted toys.

Intrusive thoughts keep appearing despite all his concentration. Pathetic, miserable, useless. Deserving to be beaten and punished. Astarion keeps crocheting faster, hoping the thoughts will leave him.

It’s like a dark storm. No reason to fight it, it will kill you. You just need to wait till it goes.

Finally, the blanket is ready.

Astarion adores his work. Will Alethaine remember having it? Or she will soon ruin it and forget all about it?

He stands up and goes to the bathroom where Tiriel is bathing Alethaine in a small tub. Thanks to the dwarven pipes, there is always hot water in the town, a luxury even by Baldur's gate standards.

Alethaine starts laughing, baring her fangs when she notices Astarion entering the bathroom.

“Hello, princess!” Astarion says. “Look what I made for you!”

Tiriel takes the blanket out of his hands.

“It is so beautiful,” she says. “And you made it so fast!”

“Well I am a fast learner,” he chuckles. “My ancestors were named Ancunins for a reason, the ones who learn by hand!”

Astarion wraps Alethaine in the new blankie and warms her up.

He unwraps her and wipes the toddler dry while the girl laughs and tries to grab the little bat.

Astarion kisses the girl's cheek. Then he kisses her chest and shoulders. Alethaine giggles feeling her father's cold lips and tries to grab his curls.

“Aren't you the sweetest baby?” he chuckles, grabbing her little body. The feelings of awe and excitement overfill him. Such a small and delicate creature, such a lovely girl. Astarion plants kisses along her belly and hands and then a wave of shame hits his mind like the darkest tide.

He lets go of Alethaine who is very unhappy with his sudden mood swing.

What is he even doing…

Can a father kiss his daughter like that? Or he has just ruined something important for his daughter, or done something inappropriate?

He steps back.

“Is anything wrong? “ Tiriel asks, coming to the room with fresh clothes.

“I… I… “ he can barely say anything.

Tiriel puts a black onesie on Alethaine and covers her with the blankie. The girl immediately hugs the toy.

“What happened in those few minutes I was away?” Tiriel takes his hand.

“I… I did… I was kissing her.”

“And? “

“I think I shouldn’t have.”

Tiriel laughs. The wave of shame fades.

“Astarion you are her father, of course, you can kiss her!”

“And what if she didn't want me to?”

“She would show you. Astarion, listen, I know almost every form of intimacy is tainted for you, but there is nothing wrong with kissing your daughter as long as she doesn't mind. A couple more years, and she won't let you do it anyway.”

“I have seen fathers who… “ he can’t finish the sentence. For some reason, the atrocities men of every race occasionally do to their own children now feel much less understandable.

“Astarion, don't wind yourself up, please,” Tiriel smiles. “She will remember her father being attentive and kind and she will demand it from every man she meets in her life. And she grows fast so use this opportunity to squeeze her.”

Astarion feels shame again now because only in his sick head caring for a baby could gain a perverted connotation.

“Astarion, do you trust me?” Tiriel whispers.

“I do, my love.”

“Good. Do you trust me to believe you are a good father?”

“I think so?”

“Good. Because you are,” she smiles and tugs him closer. Alethaine is already asleep.

Astarion leans to kiss his baby’s forehead. The dhampir smiles and presses the crochet bat closer to her chest.

305 years later

The storm clouds are so dark that it feels like night above Darknest, the castle home to an unlikely alliance between vampires and dhampirs, the Blood Guild, .

Astarion studies the list of requests. Running a castle isn't an easy job, but he likes it.

After the war with the demons that were turning the vast lands of Faerun into a wasteland, there was nothing more satisfying than managing a property.

It is over, he reminds himself. The abyss is sealed. The world has changed and Astarion barely recognizes the maps and towns – but, well, every victory has a price.

He knows he is witnessing the end of one era and the beginning of another.

Astarion remembers an elven army like the world hasn't seen in 10,000 years. He remembers the hordes resurrected by Alethaine marching through the cursed wastelands right into the abyss’s maw. He remembers the Blood Guild’s vampires and dhampirs joining the fight because they all had more in common with mortals than demons.

Alethaine was heavily wounded in a fight. He was not sure, but it seemed like the necromancer had fallen down from a great height. When the battle was over and the demons had faded into oblivion, Alethaine’s husband, Elren Goldenroot, tried to go search for her even though he had been wounded too (not surprising considering he led the elven army, slaughtering demons with his sword Rilyamacil). Astarion ordered him to stay put and soon found Alethaine at the foot of the mountain.

She may have been one of the strongest necromancers. She may have been a dhampir. For fuck’s sake, she was the High Queen of Elves chosen alongside her husband to rule what remained of Tel’Quessira.

In that moment, she was his helpless daughter barely alive and covered in ash and dirt.

Astarion remembers how he knelt beside her and how he prayed to hear her heartbeat, only to hear two.

It shocked and mesmerized him so much that he just sat with Alethaine in his arms listening to the second heart.

He brought Alethaine back to safety and then had to retreat back into the shadows. When the darkness fell on the world yet again, the elves had already left for the Isle of Evermeet, their kingdom in the seas protected from the demons and the undead by a strong veil of magic.

Astarion doesn't even know if Alethaine got better. If her pregnancy ended well. The mere thought he could be a grandfather right now weirds him out.

“Astarion,” Theris, his so-called nephew, a tiefling-dhampir he co-founded the guild with, enters his room. “We have guests.”

“Who?” Astarion asks. The Blood Guild has a lot of clients, but rarely anyone is so bold as to come in person. Usually, mortals send letters asking someone to meet in a neutral place.

“Come and see,” Theris says and disappears on the high ceiling.

Another annoying thing about dhampirs. Those fuckers are almost invisible to vampires.

Astarion goes to the tower which belongs to the dhampirs and is used for the rare mortal guests.

No, it can't be…

The elf in traveling armor smiles when Astarion enters the room.

“Nice to see you, Astarion!” Elren smiles. High King of elves or not, he is still the monster slayer and folk hero he used to be.

Astarion hugs his son-in-law.

“I—I am happy to see you. Though I expected someone of your standing to travel with a whole troop!”

“I have ten archers with me, but they all waited in the safety of the camp. I decided not to put them at risk.”

“So you think you are safe here? "Astarion chuckles.

“I have been killing much scarier things than vampires, Astarion. And Alethaine is a much more intimidating presence than anyone here.”

“How is she? "Astarion asks. " Is everything all right? “

Elren smiles. “Yes, she is great! Well, she can't enter the druidic groves and there are dozens of them on the Isle, but she also built a whole dungeon for her dark arts and I guess we are protected from anything thanks to that. And… Tiri already tries to steal my arrows,” he adds somewhat proudly.

“Tiri..” Astarion echoes.

“Oh, I am sorry! You have a granddaughter. Alethaine called her Tiriel. Tiri. She has red hair, the color of fire, and blue eyes.”

Astarion must be smiling like an idiot. A granddaughter!

Elren proceeds to talk about the baby elf. That the first thing she tried to do once she managed to make any coherent movement was to run away to the woods. That she rarely cries, but is easily scared by anything necromancy or monster-related. That Mordo, a skeleton butler Alethaine made out of three people she hated, now has to live in the dungeons and never leave them. That she, the oldest child on Evermeet, has already befriended all other elven toddlers on the Isle. That she speaks both Elven and Sylvan but keeps mixing them together and sometimes Alethaine doesn’t understand what she wants.

“Listen, if it is no bother for you…” Elren finally says. “Alethaine told me that when she was a baby you made her a blanket with a crocheted toy. And she wonders if you could make a similar one for Tiri.”

“Of course! But considering what you told me about her, I doubt she would enjoy a black bat.”

“She likes dragons, “ Elren smiles. “And the color green.”

The green blanket turns out perfect. Astarion adds golden symbols to it – protective runes and simply beautiful things. He wonders how his granddaughter looks. She is definitely not similar to Alethaine, the pale dhampir. A mortal redhead girl with blue eyes of her father, who tries to steal arrows and wants to explore the world around her. Who clings to her mother demanding attention but avoids dark and scary things at all costs.

Then, Astarion proceeds to crochet a little dragon. He doesn't have to rush. Elren said he will come back with his people in a week, so he takes his time.

God-forsaken elven magic that doesn't let Astarion go to his granddaughter and see her in person! He feels like he is being left out and deprived of a very important thing in his undead life. But you can't have everything. Besides, Tiri will grow up soon… And maybe she will even remember the blanket he has made for her.

Elren comes back in ten days. Now his archers wait for him by the castle walls – they want to sail to the Isle before winter starts and the waves get too high.

“You look more like yourself,” Astarion laughs seeing his son-in-law. His cloak is torn, his armor is missing the right shoulder pad and a deep cut crosses his cheek; Elren looks exhausted.

“Yeah, you know, fighting something ten times bigger than me is definitely out of my comfort zone,” he says. “At least I don't need to worry about who will ensure my armor is neat and clean.”

Astarion hands him the blanket. Elren unfolds it and watches closely the runes and the toy.

“Astarion, I hope you are aware of how truly talented you are.”

“Just centuries of practice.”

“I doubt I will be able to do anything remotely close to this even when I am 800. Thank you! Alethaine will be thrilled.”

“I made it bigger than the one she had so Tiri won't grow out of it any time soon.”

Elren puts the blanket in his sack and hugs Astarion goodbye.

“Listen, if it was up to me I would invite you to live with us.”

“I know, Elren. But truly, that elven kingdom of yours would be boring to me”

“True,” The High King of Elves presses his right hand against his heart. “Cuio vae, Astarion.”

Alethaine presses the blanket against her face. It’s made of different types of yarn and Darknest is half a world away from where Daggerlake used to be.

But the blanket smells like home.

It’s the color of wet green and has intricate golden symbols all over it. The little dragon is detailed and reminds Alethaine of her childhood plushies, also made by Astarion. Thanks to the fact she’s finally learned how to reverie, memories of her long life are back and she even remembers her childhood even though elves usually forget everything that happens before 50.

Elren thinks that’s because they were raised in human communities, though Alethaine would place her bet on her human ancestry.

Alethaine feels like the blanket slips off her hands.

“Here, Tiri. Ma nás mára tyen?”

“Ná!” Tiri wraps herself in the blanket and goes to check on Elren who is in a deep trance after a long journey where he and his warriors barely had any rest.

“Don’t disturb him,” Alethaine asks. “Come on, Little Fire.” She lifts her daughter up and kisses her forehead. “Let’s put you to sleep.”

Quenya vocabulary

Ma nás mára tyen? - Do you like it?

Ná! - Yes

@tugoslovenka

@herstxrgirl

@herdarkestnightelegance

@vixstarria

@not-so-lost-after-all

@marcynomercy

@theearthsfinalconfession

@starlight-ipomoea