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thedreamlessnights · 9 months ago

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Someone to shed some light - pt. 9

Astarion x gn!Reader

{series masterlist}

Synopsis: As you and Astarion settle into life in Baldur's Gate, more complications arise.

Warnings: Mentions of blood and death, description of a vampire bite, and some brief suggestive thoughts.

Word Count: 6.9k

A/N: I bring you more whiny prince Astarion! A pinch of jealousy, a smidge of potato peeling, a dash of terrible news. What else is new? Hope you enjoy! Comments and reblogs are very appreciated!

When Cal first caught you and Astarion in the woods, he told you that you’d changed. You hadn’t believed him, of course. If anything, it’d been him that changed. Working for Calthir, pressuring you into a position you didn’t want, never seeming to hear what you said. None of that seemed anything like the Cal you knew, but there he stood, and he’d done it all.

Maybe he’d been that way all along, and hidden it well. Or, maybe, you just hadn’t noticed who he really was.

There’s one thing you’re sure of: he’d been wrong about you. That day, you were who you’d always been, despite everything. Despite Erelin, despite the freedom taken from you, despite the position forced into your life. You were yourself, and that knowledge was a comfort. The last piece remaining when everything else was gone.

But you can’t say the same of yourself now.

No matter how much you’d like to.

These days, instead of lingering comfort, there’s nothing but a twinge of emptiness: something lost, never to be returned. It’s been so long since you’ve felt like an actual person that being treated like one feels… wrong. You feel wrong.

A warm bath. A bit of privacy. A glass of wine with friends. All of these things used to be normal and even expected in your life, but they feel like luxuries - like shining jewels you don’t dare touch, lest they turn out to be an illusion.

You’ve already caught sight of Calthirian soldiers searching the streets, and although it’s unlikely they’ll find you or Astarion here, knowing that Aris is already in the city is disconcerting. You’d hoped that you’d have a little more time to shake her.

And Cal… gods. You don’t even want to think about what they might have done to him. The mere image of his face in your mind has your stomach churning. But he’d made that sacrifice so you could get away. So you could be here, safe and free. It’d be a waste not to partake in some basic luxuries while you can.

And yet, here you are. Not partaking.

Pacing the floor.

When you’d been at the table with the others, a glass of Elverquisst in hand, something had gone very wrong. Mid-conversation, your breaths suddenly wouldn’t come out right. They were erratic, too shallow, air rattling around your lungs. You felt… strange. Out of place, even though you’ve shared a drink with Karlach and the others more times than you can count.

When you weren’t able to stand the feeling any longer, you’d left them all downstairs to enjoy their wine, muttering an excuse about needing to unpack. None followed after you. You were grateful. You’d needed a moment away - a moment to compose yourself, to sort out this strange sensation.

But considering that your hands are still shaking, you’re doing a shoddy job of pulling yourself together. And you’re still not quite sure what happened, or why you felt that way. All you know is that it’s the same feeling that plagued you when you watched Astarion talking with the guards. An unease that you can’t quite shake.

Maybe it’s the quiet.

This house is not silent - Karlach’s presence alone guarantees that - but it’s quiet, at least in comparison to the last few weeks of Calthir. No roaming soldiers, no barked orders, no clinking armor that keeps you up in the night. No forced meetings, or agony over your position, or terror that Astarion won't be there when you wake.

It’s peaceful, this chaos of Karlach’s home. It’s safe.

But that peace and safety you’ve so often longed for feels… unsettling now that it’s finally yours. You don’t trust it not to shatter at any moment. And, hells, when you finally glance into the mirror on the wall, you almost don’t recognize the person you see.

Your appearance is wild. Feral, even.

The look in your eyes is desperate and haunted. Your skin is spattered with dirt, littered with a number of ill-healed scrapes from the trees, and there’s even still a leaf or two caught in your hair. Hells, you’re a complete and utter mess. Why hadn’t anyone said anything?

It’s not as if you could have known what you look like - Calthir hadn’t been carrying mirrors around the woods. Astarion’s been looking impeccable all this time. Maybe it’d been foolish of you, but you’d assumed the same of yourself. Or, at least, somewhere in that realm. Decent, or presentable.

It was too much to hope for, apparently.

How does he do it, anyhow? There’s scarcely a moment where Astarion doesn’t look flawless. A natural state of gracefulness? A side effect of vampirism? A perk of royal blood you unfortunately never received?

Whatever it is, you’re envious, and you very much need a bath.

At your request, Gale is kind enough to summon up some hot water for you. It’s not long before you’re sitting in a steaming tub, scrubbing the mess off your skin with a strong, herbal soap. It’s nice. Soothing. A moment completely alone, which has been a rare occurrence in recent months.

And yet, it still feels wrong.

You’d always assumed that once you were back in the city, you’d return to life as usual. A laugh or two about what had almost been as the years went by. A moment spent reminiscing about your brief turn as royalty. Your sham of a loveless marriage.

But this isn’t that, and it’s not even the fact that Astarion is here, rather than with his mother. It’s that you don’t seem to be you anymore.

Something in you is fundamentally altered. Shifted. Knocked off balance. You’ve spent the last few months dreaming of being here, and now that you are, you can’t even appreciate it. What’s wrong with you?

Or - gods - more accurately, what’s left of you?

All that remains of your old self lies in pieces - the ghost of you, spread out among your past, haunting you in the present. It lurks in the dirty bath water that floats around your shoulders. It’s sprawled alongside a broken carriage; pacing around Erelin’s palace; standing frozen in a tavern.

Watching as Cal tells you to run, helpless and afraid.

The memory hits you like a blow to the stomach. Cal’s eyes, crinkling as he smiles. The panic, the fear, the anguish. Flickering torchlight, and the glow of the moon through the trees.

You don’t want to remember. Your hand stills from its scrubbing, clinging onto your soap as if it might save you, but the images flood into your skull nonetheless. Stinging tears press their way into your eyes, coursing down your cheeks as you squeeze your eyelids shut.

Don’t think that way, you tell yourself. He might be alive, held prisoner in the camp, valuable because of his connection to you. Then again, perhaps not. Aris likely wouldn’t have cared about that. She’d have made an example of him instead.

Still, he might have gotten away. Why couldn’t he have? Cal is quick and strong, and he has his spells. The Calthirian soldiers hadn't shown up in the city until late this morning - if they’d found him earlier, wouldn’t they have immediately followed? Yes, he could have run, just as you had. He could have made it to the city.

He could be alive.

The tavern. If there’s anywhere he’ll have stopped by, anywhere he’d have left a note telling you he’s alright, it’ll be there. You’d love to return more than anything, but with Calthir on the streets, you can’t go. Not yet, at least.

The tavern had been your home, and if Erelin had known that, Aris will, too. You can’t exactly waltz up to the place they’re most likely to look. You don't even dare to look for a tailor, despite desperately needing one. None of your clothing fits.

Every outfit you have is stained and torn, covered in dirt or blood or both. Some outfits pinch, and others lay much too large on your frame. They’re not quality, and most of them are your remaining pickings from the Zhentarim. Only a few provisions from Calthir remain. You’d left most of your good clothing behind.

Wyll had offered to loan some of his clothing to Astarion earlier, and now that you think of it… they’re probably sorting that out now.

You should go see them. You’ve hid away long enough.

Once you’re dried off and dressed in your cleanest outfit, you head downstairs and find that your prediction had been right: Astarion is trying on Wyll’s clothes, and he’s not exactly looking thrilled.

The outfit he’s in fits well, and it looks stunning on him - as most things do - but you’ve seen his clothing throughout your wedding and honeymoon, and you know that this is not his style. His glum expression agrees.

“Astarion, you look amazing!” Karlach tells him, nudging his soldier. “Want to take a look in the mirror?”

“I’d rather not,” Astarion replies quickly, turning to face Wyll. “Really. You’re the Blade of Frontiers. The son of a duke. You don’t own clothing with any degree of comfort?”

To Wyll’s credit, he only smiles. “I’m afraid that even the sons of dukes don’t have the luxury of a royal tailor. These clothes will have to do.”

Astarion glances at you in annoyance, and you give him what you hope is a reassuring smile. “You look nice. Really - you pull the look off.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” he says. “And that outfit doesn’t fit you at all, dearest.”

He’s right, of course, but you feign offense all the same. “Isn’t my husband supposed to flatter me?” you ask, laying a dramatic hand on your chest.

He tilts his head. “Tut-tut. I thought honesty came first, darling. But if you’d prefer that I lie…”

“Aw, soldier,” Karlach says, squeezing your shoulder. “Don’t listen to him. You look great. We’ll figure something out for you, yeah?”

“Gods below. I can’t take this any longer,” Astarion grumbles. "I’m getting us some decent clothing.” With a spin of his heel, he marches out of the room, shoulders squared in determination.

You follow after him, and when you realize where he’s going, well. It isn’t the worst of ideas.

Gale’s tent sits in the corner of Karlach’s living room, a glimmering display of gold and purple, bigger on the inside than it appears. The moment you follow Astarion through, you’re greeted with the fragrance of rosewater and honey: light and sweet. Books cluster around all corners, surrounding a large, very plush bed, and candlelight fills the space with a warm glow.

Gale sits on a nearby chair, reading a book. It briefly crosses your mind that if he were ever to be transformed into a tent, it would most certainly look like this.

“Wizard,” Astarion says without an ounce of decorum. “For the love of the gods, tell me you know some spells to make us new outfits. We’ll need good ones, naturally: quality fabrics, long-lasting craftsmanship, embroidery that ideally doesn’t look like it’s been made by a child. I’ve been dressed in the equivalent of parchment for weeks now. I can’t take it.”

Gale, without lifting his eyes, simply turns the page of his book. “The name is Gale, if you don't mind, Astarion,” he replies coolly. “And I’m afraid that if you’d like extravagant clothing, as you’re asking for, you’ll need to see a tailor. Should you need anything simpler, or enchanted, however, I’m happy to assist. I could always cast an illusion on any clothing items you possess-”

Astarion lets out a noise of exasperation. “Really, Gale. How difficult is it to conjure up a decent shirt?” he exclaims. “It’s not as if the two of us can stroll around town. Calthirian soldiers are searching for us as we speak! Would you prefer we be killed on the streets?”

“Ah,” Gale says, finally looking up. “Well, if that’s the problem, then a disguise spell should suffice. I’ll ensure that your measurements stay the same, of course. A few modifications, perhaps an additional measure of protection…”

“We’d appreciate anything you can do,” you chime in. “Thank you, Gale.”

You shoot Astarion a pointed look, and he sighs. “Yes,” he says, sounding like it’s physically painful for him to force the words out. “Thank you so very much.”

Gale ignores him, marking his place in his book before he rises to his feet. “Let’s see,” he muses, tilting his head as he examines the two of you. “Yes, this should work wonders. You may feel a slight warmth as it takes hold, but don’t be alarmed. It will pass.”

He murmurs a string of words that you don’t understand, then twists his hands in a quick series of movements. Just as he’d said, a layer of warmth folds over you like a hot bath, sinking into your skin until the sensation disappears. When it’s over, Astarion is staring at you in shock, eyes wide as he takes you in.

“Any complaints, Astarion?” Gale asks him.

Wordless for once, Astarion shakes his head, swallowing hard before he looks away.

“Very well,” Gale says. “Your turn, then.”

He repeats the verbal component of the spell, then the somatic, and a faint glow rises from his hands before settling over Astarion - golden light that envelops him like a glittering cocoon before it finally fades, leaving a dark-haired human where he’d been standing. You’re looking for any familiarity in his features, but Gale has done his job well. Only the shape of his now-grey eyes remains.

His face is round and softened, his hair thick and straight. Healthy, glowing skin, flushed cheeks, freckles spread along the bridge of his nose. Same height, same frame, same expressions. Different… everything else.

Handsome, but not Astarion.

No wonder he’d been staring; the change is jarring. Every movement he makes feels like him, but looks anything but. You give him a coy smile, and the corner of his mouth tugs up in response. Yes. Still very much Astarion.

“Well?” you eventually ask. “How do I look?”

He tilts his head. “Different,” he answers. “But - like I said, not awful. Just… strange.”

You roll your eyes. “Thank you, kind sir.”

“My pleasure, dear. Honesty, remember?”

Gale, meanwhile, seems to be admiring his work, looking you both up and down with a smile. “Even I wouldn't recognize you,” he remarks. “I’ve added some underlying protection, just in case. Anyone who sees you won't recall your face. And,” he adds, handing you each a small stone, “if you get into any trouble, use this to communicate. I’ll be on the other end. I’m hoping the two of you can stay out of danger, of course, but we’re better off safe than sorry.”

You tuck the stone away into one of your pockets, then give him a smile. “Thank you again, Gale,” you tell him, reaching out to lightly squeeze his arm. “I can't tell you how much I appreciate it.”

“Oh, I’m always happy to help,” he replies. “If there's anything else you need, I’m here to assist.”

“Anything but a decent outfit, apparently,” Astarion says. His voice is steely, and when you turn to look at him, his gaze is fixed on your hand - still placed on Gale’s arm. You immediately let go, but he’s already turned away.

“Well?” he asks, making his way to the tent’s exit. “Are we ready?”

“Astarion-” you start, but he’s already gone.

Gale smiles, shaking his head. “I’d suggest you follow him,” he says, his voice filled with mirth. “Another moment with me, and I’ll be shocked if I make it through the night.”

You hesitate, trying to find the words for an apology, but he gives you a light nudge forward. “Go on,” he says. “I quite enjoy living, if it’s all the same to you.”

Biting back the urge to laugh, you finally push out of the tent and find Astarion waiting near the front door. He’s holding your cloak, and when you approach, he swings it around your shoulders. Your breath hitches as cold fingers brush against your neck, fiddling with the clasp, eyes determinedly not meeting yours. Then he swings the door open, offering you his arm.

You take it.

Outside, Wyll and Karlach are leaning against the front of the house, chatting about something or other.

Karlach stiffens when she sees you leaving her home, straightening up and narrowing her eyes. “Hey! What in the hells are you - hang on. Is that you, soldier? Astarion?”

“Gods above,” Wyll says, grinning. “I didn't recognize you, either! Let me guess: the two of you are off to see a tailor?”

“Gale helped us out,” you reply. “What do you think? Did he do a decent job?”

Karlach squints, her tail flicking as she observes you. “Yeah. Out on the street? Never would have known it was you,” she says. “Be careful, yeah? Wyll and I are off to pick up some ingredients for dinner tonight. Shouldn't take very long.”

“I’m always careful,” you tell her, and she laughs.

“Of course you are,” she replies. “How could I forget?”

Astarion shifts, clearly impatient. “We’d better head out,” you tell them, giving a wave. “See you later!”

“Stay safe!” Karlach calls back.

As soon as the two of you are off, the wind hits, and hells - it’s colder outside than it has been in ages. The longer you’re in the chill, the worse it gets. Even just a minute or two has you fighting not to shiver, and movement isn’t doing much to warm you up. Moisture hangs in the briny air, dampening your skin like sweat. The wind that howls past is bitter and harsh, and although you’re grateful for the warmth of your cloak, Astarion’s touch is still icy on your arm.

Gods, it’s strange to look at him, expecting to see a silvery set of curls and instead finding straight black hair tucked behind his ears. Grey eyes, rather than red. What color were his eyes before he’d been turned? Dark, like his mother’s? Green? Blue? Grey, like they are now?

You picture them all against the memory of his real face, but none of them seem to fit.

You’re mostly letting him lead you along, weaving through the crowds, but Astarion seems to know where he’s going. You’d nearly forgotten that he knows this city as much as you do. Maybe better than you do, now that you think of it.

That look he’d worn when you touched Gale… you’ve never seen it. Not on him, at least. It’s incredibly selfish of you, but there’s a small, smug piece of you that hopes he’s jealous.

You and Gale have never been anything more than friends, but Astarion doesn’t know that. All he knows is how happy you’ve been to see your friends. Then again, perhaps he simply doesn’t like Gale. It’s not unbelievable.

Still… who knows what he’s thinking. Maybe you’d read the situation entirely wrong.

Your thoughts fade into dust as Astarion stalls, shoving a door open with his free hand before tugging you in with him, and the warmth of a tailor’s shop floods over your chilled body like a pint of warm mead.

The room is fresh and inviting, filled with the scent of mandarin, green tea, and a hint of salt. The fabrics around you are lush and bright, dyed in every color you could possibly think of, and the outfits displayed are extravagant enough that they could easily pass at a royal ball.

This is certainly not the type of shop you’ve ever set foot in. Back when you worked at the tavern, you’d have been afraid to even glance at one of the window displays, should your gaze somehow damage a product you could never pay for. Needless to say, the sparse coin you’d picked from the Zhentarim is not anywhere near enough to cover clothing like this.

“Astarion,” you hiss, pulling him closer so as not to attract the attention of the other shoppers. “We can’t afford this!”

“You can’t afford this,” he says, dangling a heavy coin pouch from his fingers. “I most certainly can.”

You balk at the sight, quickly shoving the bag under his cloak. “Put that away before someone sees and robs you blind! Where in the hells did you get that kind of coin?”

He grins. “My mother. Where else?”

“You’ve been carrying that around with you this whole time?” you ask. “Since the carriage? And you didn’t think to mention it?”

He gives a light shrug. “I couldn’t exactly spend it while we were marching through the forest, darling. Don’t worry - I’ll pay for yours, too.”

You’re about to argue with him further, but a booming voice cuts you off.

“Welcome, welcome!” it calls. The two of you turn to see a dwarf, dressed in a beautifully-embroidered suit, standing in front of you. “Figaro Pennygood at your service,” he continues. “How may I help you today?”

“My partner and I were just looking at getting a new wardrobe,” Astarion answers immediately. “You wouldn’t be able to assist us, would you?”

Figaro’s smile freezes in place as he takes in the sight of your clothing. The rips, the dirt, the quality. “Well - that is… er, you see…”

“We’ll make it worth your while,” Astarion adds, once more letting the coin pouch dangle from his fingers.

“Oh, of course! Very good, sir. If you’ll just follow me…”

He leads you into a back room, and Astarion flashes you a grin. It pays to be rich, you suppose.

A few hours later, the two of you return to Karlach’s home with several new sets of clothing, and thankfully, yours aren’t anywhere as lavish as you worried they’d be. Instead, they’re perfectly fitted and extremely comfortable, neither of which you can complain about.

Astarion’s wardrobe is somewhat akin to what he would have worn in the palace. Functional clothing, but still expensive. Velvets and silks, wools and linens, all fitted with dyes or detailed embroidery. Royalty isn’t flashy, or gaudy. The quality speaks for itself.

At least, that’s what Astarion told you. Multiple times.

Once the two of you have put everything away, you both head down to get your disguise spells removed. You won’t need them any longer, after all. It’s still too risky to make the journey to the tavern.

The moment you set foot inside Gale’s tent, Astarion’s hand moves to rest on your waist. There it remains, the weight of his hand seeming to scorch every inch of skin it touches, until you finally leave.

Then it shifts to your lower back.

Later that afternoon, Karlach pops her head into the doorway of your bedroom, asking the two of you to join the group downstairs and help with dinner.

“Help?” Astarion asks once she’s left. “What in the hells does she mean, help?”

“It’s simple,” you assure him. “Peeling potatoes, cooking meat, that sort of thing. Since we’ll all be eating, it only makes sense for everyone to pitch in.”

You know he’s not thrilled, but it really shouldn't be all that difficult. Even for a prince.

Astarion raises a brow, staring at you for a long moment before his gaze finally sinks down to your neck. You have to wonder if he can see your pulse hammering under your skin. “Darling-”

“Yes, I know, Astarion,” you quickly interrupt. “You won't be eating. But they don't know that, and you’ll look much less suspicious if you help. And,” you add, “you can drink from me afterward, alright?”

“Oh, is that how it is?” he practically purrs, leaning closer. “I help you with your chores, and you’re my treat afterward for being so… good?”

“No,” you reply firmly, despite the fact that your cheeks feel like they’re on fire. “You can drink from me whether you help or not. All I’m saying is, if you don't want them to suspect…”

“Fine,” Astarion sighs, as if he’s Faerûn’s greatest hero for taking on this clearly and utterly terrible burden. “I’ll help your little friends, since they can't do it themselves.”

As it turns out, Astarion is a skilled potato peeler.

Should it be a surprise, given his dagger expertise? The rhythmic slide of his fingers pressing against the hilt is entrancing. Your cheeks warm with every neat slice of skin, every clean, controlled motion. Soon, you’re frozen in place, distracted by the deft movements of his hands, the nimble scrape of the sharp knife.

You know all too well how those hands feel, trailing down your-

No, you think firmly, cutting off your train of thought and forcing yourself back to your task. This is not the time nor the place.

Still, you can't say you don’t know why this is happening. His jealousy seems to have sparked something inside of you, to have lit a flame that won’t go out.

It’d been difficult to think of such things when you were held prisoner by Calthir, when nights were filled with anxiety and nausea and days were full of pounding sun and aching feet. In the midst of it all, sex and attraction had fallen to the sidelines. A kiss here or there. A flirtatious comment that faded into nothing but wind.

Now, partially safe and mostly unburdened, it’s all too easy for the memories of that night to pull to the front of your mind. The feeling of his mouth pressed against yours. The way his lips had fluttered down your neck. The icy sensation of his teeth in your skin as your pleasure had pulled closer and closer, as your blood poured into his mouth and his hips had rolled against you…

Gods, pull it together!

You shake the thoughts away and viciously go back to chopping the onion in front of you. You’re desperately trying to convince yourself that Astarion isn't staring at you, but the presence of his gaze is like an itch under the skin. Can he tell? Even now, several feet away, can he hear the flutter of your heartbeat quickening? The rush of your blood?

A minute or two later, you finally gather the courage to look up, and find him staring at you dead-on. And, judging by the look he’s giving you, he knows exactly what you’re thinking about.

“Careful, darling,” he says softly. “We wouldn’t want you holding a knife while you’re distracted, would we?”

You clench your jaw and ignore him, even though your hands are shaking.

When the meal is finally prepared, only four of you take a seat at the table. Astarion spoons some food onto a plate and mutters something about eating in his room. All of you watch him go - Karlach with some disappointment, Gale and Wyll with some suspicion.

“I take it he’s not a fan of potatoes?” Gale asks.

“That’s it. I’m officially wounded,” Karlach says, frowning down at her food. “I know my cooking isn’t exactly up to royal standard, but are all princes this hard to please?”

After a moment, you realize the question is directed at you. Your voice chokes - you have to clear your throat to respond. “I - I’ve only met the one.”

“Right,” Karlach replies, grinning. “Almost forgot. What kind of food do they have in those fancy palaces anyway?”

You shrug, looking down at your plate. “Honestly? It isn’t much different than this.”

“Is that so?” Wyll asks, raising a brow. “He’s quite the picky eater, then. I haven’t seen him have a bite to eat since he’s arrived. Not counting the wine.”

Gale hums in agreement. “He’s certainly missing out on a delightful meal.”

“I’m surprised he helped us prepare it,” Wyll adds. “I half-expected him to throw a tantrum at the very thought.”

The conversation is lighthearted and teasing, but the comments still sting - even if they’re not directed at you. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, swallowing the food you’re chewing like it’s made of parchment.

“He’s really not all that bad,” you tell them. “Everything is just… new for him. He’s not used to any of this.”

“Of course,” Gale says. “And, it seems, he’s very worried we’ll infringe on your marriage. Or, at least, that I will.”

Your cheeks go hot. “Gale-”

“What’s this I’m hearing?” Karlach asks. “Astarion is jealous?”

Gale smiles a little, pouring himself more wine. “Oh, yes. I’m still partially convinced he’ll attempt to kill me as I sleep. He has a chilling gaze, truly. Daggers for eyes.”

“Very funny,” you say, stabbing your fork into your potatoes. “At this rate, I’m inclined to let him kill you. In fact, I’ll personally ask him to do so.”

Karlach snickers into her hand, badly covering it with an unconvincing cough. Wyll doesn’t even attempt to hide his laughter. You ignore them and reach for your wine.

“I don’t think he needs to worry, really,” Karlach, leaning back in her seat. “He’s a catch, soldier. I see the way you look at him.”

Your cheeks have gone so warm, you’re frankly surprised there isn’t smoke coming out of your ears. It’s all you can do to set the wine down and bury your face in your hands. “You’re all very helpful.”

“Indeed we are,” Wyll says, a gleam in his good eye.

You shove the rest of your food into your mouth as fast as you can and clear your plate, retreating up the stairs with as much dignity as you can. Laughter follows you all the way up to your room, where you step in and shut the door behind you, drowning it out.

Astarion is sprawled out on your shared bed, sprawled out and waiting for you, a book in hand. When he sees you, he sets the book down and sits up.

“Changed your mind, darling?” he asks. “Or are you here to share that lovely neck of yours?”

“I haven’t changed my mind,” you reply, hoping your voice sounds stronger than your composure. You take a seat in front of him, and this time, you barely flinch when he touches you. Every trace of his skin against yours seems to linger, marking your skin with invisible ink. His lips meet your neck, and then the sharp sensation of teeth hits.

Your body shudders in response, and he grips you tighter - holding onto your shoulder. Gods. Every time, it’s like he has to force himself to tear himself away. As if he’d like to keep going, and never, ever stop.

Maybe Karlach was right about him having nothing to worry about. He could be in a room with a hundred other handsome men, and you’d still only see him. He could be rooms away, and still plague your thoughts. Even though you know where it leads, you’re almost tempted to let him drain you dry.

When he finally pulls away, a shaky breath escapes you. Relief, maybe. Disappointment. Blood trickles from the fresh puncture marks on the junction between neck and collarbone, and he’s quick to swipe it up along his finger and lick it up.

Which is what he’s doing when the door swings open and Gale steps in. Licking your blood off his fingers as you sit there like a complete idiot, frozen in place, blood still dripping down your shoulder.

Gale’s eyes widen. “I knew it,” he hisses, pointing a finger at Astarion. “A vampire spawn. You, my friend, are the very epitome of one.”

Astarion quickly wipes his mouth and leans back, pasting on an air of relaxation even though you can see the tension knotted in his shoulders. “If you’re planning to stake me, wizard, please do so sooner than later. I’m a very busy man.”

Gale blinks in surprise. “Stake?” he exclaims. “I’m quite the open-minded individual, thank you! And I certainly don’t plan on - on staking you, or anyone else in this house!”

Wyll must hear the commotion, because he appears just behind Gale. “Hold on, what’s this about staking?” he asks. His gaze lands on your neck, and he takes a step back. “Ah,” he says. “I suppose… I should have known.”

When you speak, your voice is frantic. “Please, if everyone will just relax-”

“What?” comes Karlach’s voice, back behind the others. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

She pushes forward, and it takes her a moment longer than it had for Gale or Wyll. Her eyes sweep over your neck, then Astarion’s face, then back to your neck, then finally to Wyll. After a moment, she lets out a surprised laugh.

“That’s why you weren’t eating?” she exclaims. “I thought you just hated my cooking!”

“But what about the sunlight?” Gale cuts in. “I’ve seen you in direct daylight. You should’ve been burnt to a crisp!”

“Gods,” Astarion says, clearly overwhelmed. “I don’t know. My mother had some… magical device implanted in my brain while I was asleep. I know next to nothing about it.”

Gale’s eyes light up. “A magical device capable of protecting you from the sun?” he asks. “Would you mind if I inspected it?”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Astarion replies, tone suddenly stiff. “I’ve had quite enough of people rummaging around my skull.”

“Of course,” Gale answers instantly, stepping back. “My apologies.”

In the meantime, Karlach’s expression has darkened. You see her hands stray toward the engine in her chest for just a moment - an engine that’s been stable for years, but will never replace the heart that was taken from her.

“Did they… ask to do that? To put that thing in you?” she asks softly.

“No,” Astarion answers. His voice is tight. “They didn’t.”

There’s a long beat as she processes what he’s said.

“Well, fangs,” she starts, her voice a little shaky, “you’re alright with me. No issues here.”

“So long as I don’t wake up with sharp teeth at my neck, there’ll be no complaints from me, either,” Gale adds.

“Nor I,” Wyll agrees. “Your secret is safe with us.”

“How sweet,” Astarion says. “Now, was there anything else?”

“Er - yes, actually,” Gale replies, his expression going solemn. “My apologies for the interruption, but we’ve received some bad news. I think you both should hear it. Would you mind joining us downstairs?”

Astarion rises first, offering you his hand, and you take it. He pulls you up and guides you down the stairs, following after the others. You’re more than happy to let him do so, given the bout of lightheadedness from the blood loss.

The two of you take a seat, and the grim expressions all of them wear do nothing to ease the rising dread in your gut. Your mind instantly starts spinning up the worst scenarios, weaving them into a million little horrors. Your hands go clammy, and even the feeling of Astarion at your side does nothing to calm you.

“We’d have liked for the two of you to have more than a few hours of rest before discussing the war,” Gale begins, his brow creasing in concern, “but certain events have made prolongation unwise.”

You straighten up. “What is it? What’s happened?”

Wyll clears his throat. “My father has been named a traitor to the Sword Coast,” he says. “Not an hour ago, the queen issued a notice for his arrest on the grounds of treason. Working with the enemy.”

The blood drains out of your face. “Oh gods, Wyll-”

“It’s not as dire as it seems,” Wyll gently cuts in. “We’ve received word from someone internally, and from the sound of things, the guards haven't been able to find him. In fact, no one has seen him in weeks. Wherever he is, he’s well hidden.”

A sigh of relief escapes you. “I know you told me you didn't think he would work with Calthir. Do you still believe that?”

“Not willingly, at least,” Wyll confirms. “It’s possible he’s been taken hostage and forced to cooperate.”

Gale nods. “Which brings us to our next point of subject.”

“Karlach and I mean to infiltrate Calthir’s inner forces,” Wyll explains. “We’ll be disguised, of course - with my father named a traitor, it’s not safe for me, either. But as long as he’s out there, as long as the queen means to force him to stand trial, I cannot stay put. I must find out where he’s hidden. If it’s as I suspect, and he’s not acting of his own accord, then we’ll free him.”

The room seems to spin underneath you. “What?” you exclaim, planting a hand on the table. Gods, there it is again. That feeling. The strain of your lungs. The blur of your vision. “No. Absolutely not.”

“You aren't the only one involved in this, you know,” Karlach says. “Trust me, soldier, I understand how you feel. But this is our city, too. Wyll’s family.”

“But you’d be putting yourselves at risk,” you point out. “There's no guarantee anyone will trust you in the first place, and even if they do - what if you get caught? They’ll make an example out of you! Torture you, try you for treason, kill you!”

“I know,” Wyll says. “But I cannot sit back and let this happen. Too much lies on my father and his whereabouts. Whether he’s with Calthir or not, I need to know. I need to find him.”

Your voice is starting to grow frantic. “And what about me? What about Astarion? Are we supposed to sit here twiddling our thumbs as you’re all out there risking your lives?”

“I suppose that’s up to you,” Gale says. “Another shapeshifting spell wouldn't go amiss. Whatever the case, I’ll be trying to communicate with some elder wizards. In times like these, their support will be more than helpful.”

Astarion leans forward. “I, for one, would like to know where my mother is and what she plans to do,” he announces. “If I can eavesdrop on her guards, find out their plans, I can locate her. For now, it’s entirely possible that she thinks Calthir is holding us hostage. I do know this: she wants to avoid war as much as any of us do, but she won’t hesitate to attack if she thinks I’m in danger.”

Your hands are shaking under the table like a leaf in the wind. “We just got to safety, and you want to run back out there again?”

Astarion’s eyes narrow. “If you think we’re safe anywhere in this city, then you’re not paying attention,” he snaps. “It’ll be a miracle if he hasn’t already seen us.”

You shake your head, casting a hand over your eyes. A headache is beginning to form, coursing a sharp pain through the crown of your skull. You force yourself to take a deep breath despite everything. “When is this happening, Wyll?” you ask. “Tomorrow?”

“At first light,” Wyll responds. “We can’t afford to wait. There are already alliances being made. The longer we wait, the more will rise. I’ll say it plainly, Astarion: I have no love for your mother. But from everything I’ve heard, I don’t trust Calthir, and they’re gaining support. People already think my father is involved. Cazador Szarr has pledged his assistance to their cause.”

At the mention of Cazador’s name, you and Astarion both flinch.

Gale’s brow creases at your reactions, his eyes flickering between the two of you. “Well? Anything you’d like to share?” he urges.

The three of them really should know, but you’re not sure how much you’re allowed to say.

“Astarion?” you ask softly.

Astarion takes in a sharp breath, swallowing hard before answering. “Lord Cazador Szarr is a vampire lord and an enemy of my mother,” he explains. “Now that there's an opportunity, he’s making his opposition known. If he’s pledged his forces to Calthir, there’ll be more that follow. And, of course, there’s the small matter of him being my old master. Now that I’m out of my mother’s hands, now that I’m back in the city, he’ll be hunting for me with everything he has.”

“Calthir struck a deal with Cazador,” you add. “We found proof. They would hand over Astarion in exchange for help in the war. It’s why we left the way we did. But now that he’s gone, I have no idea what they’ve offered him.”

“Great hells,” Wyll curses. “The more I hear, the worse it gets.”

Karlach shakes her head. “No offense, soldier, but your people sound like pricks.”

You manage a small smile. “I’m with you on that, unfortunately.”

Gale taps his fingers on the table, ruminating over something. “I’ve heard stories of this Cazador,” he says. “None of them pleasant. Are you sure you’d rather be out in the streets?”

Astarion nods. “Better to find my mother than to sit here waiting for him to find me,” he replies. He glances over at you, and you find a fierce determination in his eyes. “I’m going, darling, with or without you.”

For a moment, you picture yourself - pacing around your room, terrified that you’ll be met with the news of their deaths. Astarion, Gale, Wyll, Karlach. You can’t afford to lose any of them, but you can’t stop them. And you refuse to stay here alone, helpless to save them.

“Fine,” you relent. “I’ll come with you.”

Astarion gives you a half-hearted smile, and the tension finally leaves his shoulders. “Just so you know,” he says, “I have absolutely no intention of dying again.”

tags: @amica-aenigmata-naboo @sadslasher13 @peachy-possum @the-lonely-abyss @maddiedrmr @starved-kitten @catching-fire-in-the-wind @aoirohi

#astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x tav #bg3 x reader #astarion fic #mywriting

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claraxbarton · 5 months ago

Text

23-24 NHL Season Recap: Jo and Nate

I dunno who needs or wants this, but I was doing some research for my outline and, well. If anyone wants or needs a full season recap of the Jo and Nate show, here you go:

September.

9-24 preseason against wild lose 3-4 none of the big guys play.

9-25 preseason against vgk 3-2 win. Jo 1a. Nate doesn’t play. AT HOME.

9-28 preseason against the wild. Lose 2-4. None of the big guys play.

October:

10-1 preseason game HOME vs Dal. win 4-3 OT. Jo 1a. Nate 1a.

10-3 preseason game IN DAL loss 1-3. Jo does nothing.

10-5 preseason against VGK. 3-4 loss. Jo 2a. Nate 1g.

---------------

10-11:1st game of the season is in LA against the kings. Nate scores 1st goal, Jo gets assist. Jo also gets a penalty for holding.

10:-14 IN SJ. Avs win. Jo gets ANOTHER holding penalty.

10-17 win in SEA, nothing from Jo

10-19 HOME opener, against CHI, nothing from Jo again. (Nate gets a goal).

10-21 HOME against CAR, Jo -1; Nate another goal - and cross checking Penalty. SCRAPPY game:

10-24 IN NY against Islanders, another blowout, another nothing from Jo. Another goal for Nate

10-26 IN PIT. Lose 0-4. Sid scored the 4th goal. Nate had a penalty. Jo went -1 (Nate went -3).

10-29 IN BUF. Lose 0-4 AGAIN. Nathan got a 2 and A 10???!!! BUDDY WTF. MUST research. Jo -1.

Nate -2. OH DUDE. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jK31uHvabsc So Cale gets hit,

no penalty called, Nate loses his shit and says SOMETHING and gets the penalties.

November:

11-1: HOME against STL. Jo a healthy SCRATCH. They win 4-1. Nate gets 2As (so does Cale)

11-4 IN VGK. LOSE 0-7. Jo back in. Goes -3.

11-7 HOME vs NJ, win 6-3. Nate goal and assist. Jo nothing.

11-9 HOME vs SEA, lose 3-4. 3pt night for Nate. Jo scratched.

11-11 HOME vs STL. lose 2-8. Jo gets an assist. Nate is -2 on the night.

11-13 IN SEA win 5-1. Jo gets a goal - his 1st as an Av. 3pt night for Nate, including assist on Jo.

Also another Jo penalty for hooking.

11-15 HOME vs Ducks win 8-2. Jo penalty for holding. 2as for Nate

11-18 IN DAL 6-3 win. Jo penalty for high sticking. Nate penalty for holding. Jo -1, Nate +2

11-20 IN NASH 3-4 loss. 2pts for Nate. Jo has nothing.

11-22 HOME vs VAN. 5-2 win. 1g1a for Jo. 1a for Nate.

11-24 IN MIN 3-2 win. Jo penalty for tripping. 1a for Nate.

11-25 HOME vs CAL 3-1 win. Goal for jo assisted by Nate. Nate has a goal also.

11-27 HOME vs TB (former Jo team #1): 4-1 win. 2as for nate. Jo is +1 on the night.

11-30 IN ARI 3-4 OT Loss. 1G for nate. Nothing for Jo.

December

12-2 IN LA vs Ducks 3-4 SO loss. ALEX KILLORN ON DUCKS! He tied it up to SEND IT TO OT.

Jo 1st up in SO, no goal. Killorn next up, no goal. Then Nate no goal. Leo Carlsson goal

12-3 IN LA vs Kings 1-4 loss. 1a for Nate. -1 for Jo.

12-5 HOME vs Ducks 3-2 win. 3pt night for Nate. 2pt night for Jo. He assisted on Nate’s goal and LOCs

12-7 HOME vs Jets 2-4 loss. Nate 1g1a. Jo -3 on the night.

12-9 HOME vs PHIL 2-5 loss. Nate gets 1g BUT Nate also called for interference, PHI gets PS and

scores.

12-11 HOME vs CAL 6-5 win. 1g1a Nate. -1 Jo.

12-13 HOME vs BUF 5-1 win. Nate 2a Jo 1a.

12-16 IN WIN 2-6 loss. 1g Jo. both he and Nate -1.

12-17 HOME vs SJ 6-2 win. 2as Jo. 2g2a Nate plus a slashing penalty.

12-19 IN CHI 2-3 loss. 1a Jo, 1a Nate.

12-21 HOME vs OTT 6-4 win. Jo assists on Nate’s 1st Goal. Nate gets 4g1a.

12-23 HOME vs ARI 4-1 win. Nothing for Jo. 1a and high sticking for Nate.

12-27 IN ARI 4-5 loss. Jo 1g, Nate 1g1a.

12-29 IN STL 2-1 win. 1a Jo

12-31 HOME vs SJ 3-1 win. 2a Nate. hooking penalty Jo.

January

1-2 HOME vs NYI 5-4 OT win. Jo 1g1a. Nate 1g2a.

1-4 IN DAL 5-4 OT win. 2g for Jo. 2g1a for Nate.

1-6 HOME vs FLA 4-8 loss. 1g Jo, 1a Nateside note Matty had 1g3a and 4minutes for roughing.

1-8 HOME vs BOS 4-3 SO win. 1a for Nate. Jo was on ice 28 minutes. Only Nate, Cale, Mikko and

Toews for longer than him.

1-10 HOME vs VGK 3-0 win. 1a Jo. 1aNate

1-13 AT TOR 5-3 win. Jo 1g1a. Nate 1g1a This is the game they were down 0-3 end of the first and JO is the one to start the comeback. Nate gets the GW goal.

1-15 AT MONT 3-4 loss. 1a Jo. 1a Nate. 1ST game back against last former team.

1-16 AT OTT 7-4 win. Nate 1a. Jo -1.

1-18 AT BOS 2-5 loss. 1g Nate. Jo -2.

1-20 AT PHI 7-4 win. Jo slashing penalty. Jo 1a. Nate 2g2a

1-24 HOME cs CAPS 6-2 win. Jo high sticking. Jo 1a. Nate 4g1a. ANOTHER DICK TRICK

1-26 HOME vs Kings 5-1 win. Jo 1a. Nate 1g1a.

February

All Star. Sid wearing Nate’s hoodie

2-5 AT MSG/RAGS 1-2 loss. Nate 1g.

2-6 AT NJ 3-5 loss. Jo 2s. Nate -1 on night.

2-8 AT CAR. 2-5 loss. Jo tripping. Jo interference.

2-10 AT FLA 0-4 loss.

2-13 AT CAPS 6-3 win. Nate 2as and hooking penalty.

2-15 AT TB 3-6 loss. 1a jo. 2a Nate.

2-18 HOME vs ARI 4-3 win. 1a jo. 1g1a tripping for Nate.

2-20 HOME vs VAN 3-1 win. 1a Nate.

2-22 IN DET 1-2 loss. Nate 1g. Jo tripping TWICE

2-24 HOME vs TOR 3-4 loss. 3a Nate.

2-27 HOME vs DAL 5-1 win Jo 1a. Nate 1g1a.

2-29 AT CHI. 5-0 win. Jo 1a. Nate 1g1a.

March

3-2 AT NAS 1-5 loss. 1g Nate.

3-4 HOME vs CHI 5-0 win. Jo 1g1a. Nate 2g2a

3-6 HOME vs DET 7-2 win. Jo 1g1a. CALE HAT TRICK NIGHT. Nate goal 40 and 3a.

3-8 HOME vs MIN 2-1 win. 2a Nate.

3-12 AT CAL 6-2 win. Nate 1g1a.

3-13 AT VAN 4-3 OT win. JO OUT. Nate 1g1a.

3-16 AT EDM 3-2 win. Jo takes penalty shot and misses. Jo 1a. Nate 1a.

3-19 AT STL 4-3 win. 2a jo. 1a Nate.

3-22 HOME vs COL 6-1 win. 2a Jo. 1g1a Nate.

3-24 HOME vs PIT 5-4 OT WIN. THIS GAME. 1G3A for SID. 2G1A for JO- including the OT winner.

1g2a for Nate including on both of Jo’s goals.

3-26 HOME vs MTL 1-2 loss. 1g Nate.

3-28 HOME vs RAGS 2-3 SO loss. Nate interference.

4-30 HOME vs NASH 7-4 win. 1g1a Jo. 2g2a and interference for Nate.

April

4-1 AT COLUM 1-4 loss. Talk about April Fool’s Day…

4-4 AT MIN 5-2 win. Jo hooking. Jo 2g1a. 1g2a Nate.

4-5 AT EDM 2-6 loss. PERRY scores 1st goal of game. THEN JO SCORES, assist from Nate.

4-7 HOME vs DAL 4-7 loss. 1g Jo. 2a Nate.

4-9 HOME vs MIN 5-2 win. 3a for Jo 3g for NATE 1A

4-13 HOME vs win 0-7 LOSS. Nate hooking.

4-14 AT VGK 3-4 OT loss. Nate 1a.

4-18 HOME vs EDM. PERRY. Nate 1a. 2nd period JO gets the skate cut on his thigh. IS OUT

PLAYOFFS.

4-21 AT WIN. Jo still out. 6-7 loss. 1g Nate.

4-23 AT WIN. Jo still out. 5-2 win. 1a Nate.

4-26 HOME vs WIN. Jo still out. 6-2 win. 1g 1a Nate.

4-28 HOME vs WIN. Jo still out. 5-1 win. 2a Nate. (was this the fight game???with all the blood?)

4-30 AT WIN. Jo still out. 6-3 win. 2a Nate.

May

PLAYOFFS ROUND 2

5-7 AT DAL Jo still out. 4-3 OT Win. 1g1a Nate

5-9 AT DAL. Jo still out. 3-5 loss. Nate delay of game.

5-11 HOME Jo still out. 1-4 loss. 1a Nate.

5-13 HOME JO IS BACK. 1-5 Loss. Jo assists on the 1 AVS goal.

5-15 AT DAL 5-3 win. Tripping penalty jo. 1a Jo. 1g1a Nate.

5-17 HOME vs DAL 2-1 2OT loss. Jo 1a and 29 minutes played.

23-24 season: career high goals for mac, assists and points. Played all games.

23-24 season: career high points for Drou. Career high assists. Most games in a season at 79.

June

6-27: NHL awards in Vegas. Nate gets the Hart AND the Ted Lindsey. He says to media that Jo is his favorite teammate he has ever had.

July

July 1: Jo gets re-signed for 1year at 2.5mil.

#jonathan drouin #nathan mackinnon #23-24 nhl season #colorado avalanche #natejo #avs

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