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psalacanthea · 9 months ago

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Fanfic Friday- 7/12

A continuation of this bit of fic! More of Astarion and Zyn post-canon in the Underdark, if they'd met when he was alive.

Herein lies a bit of dealing with the complications of running a city of vampires, and the story of their original meeting, something Astarion has long since forgotten.

here's the first part!

...

Everything was easier with her blood running through his veins.

He could think more clearly, plan more thoroughly, avoid the endless, counterproductive fighting and bickering. Astarion understood now why Cazador had kept them down for so long eating nothing but rats. It was just another method of control. With Zynatheri’s blood flowing through him, he felt above the bickering, able to see past it, to anticipate and subvert it. He felt…cleverer than his siblings.

And that was dangerous.

The desire to be above, to stay in control– it was cruelly strong.

But, for now, it simply made it easier for him to do what needed doing. Insufferable moral problems could be shelved until later, when the sole available willing source of blood wasn’t Zynatheri. He certainly wasn’t going to let anyone else bite her, or even consider asking her to. Especially not remembering the sweet intimacy of it, the soft sound she’d made in her throat when he’d kissed her afterward…

The voice coming from the scrying orb was heavy with wry amusement. “Daydreaming, father?”

“Only a little,” he said, snapping back to the moment. Astarion glanced at the orb in the middle of the table, and then down at the hastily-scribbled sheaves of notes. Gods, so many notes. Pages upon pages of urgent needs. One would think keeping people nominally fed would be appreciated, especially with how long they had suffered, starving, but no~o.

Barely a pat on the back and then the next problem on the ever-growing list.

He might not have taken this responsibility if he’d known it came with so much sheer ingratitude!

“I realize that extending my personal protection doesn’t…sweeten the pot enough to convince people to work in a ruined Underdark city full of vampires. But on the other hand, there’s perfectly good money in it. Even just a few skilled masons would…” He sighed, spinning a hand in the air as he thought. Why was this so difficult? Ugh, why was he doing this the difficult way when they could just kidnap people? “We just had a refugee crisis, surely there’s people desperate for work. We’ll just start scooping up the poorest of the poor. They’ll be grateful! And, having been starving, they won’t ask for as much food, hopefully.”

“You could make it sound a little less predatory.”

“Darling, my dearest reflection,” Astarion sighed, trying not to snap at her for her obsession with wording, of all things. Shouldn’t she be grateful he was being honest? He could certainly offer all sorts of pretty lies if that’s what she preferred. “I am offering refuge to people in need! Not out of predatory charity, but in exchange for work. I’m not even asking them for blood– incidentally, I was talking to your mother about what future commodification of blood might look like.”

“I suppose with your condition it’s inevitable,” she agreed, but he could hear the note of vague unease. “And I’m not judging you for that. As long as you’re being fair and reasonable.”

“I’m not saying that selling your blood is preferable to selling your body, I’m simply saying that there may be those who find it a…welcome change in career.”

Lilithera gave a faint, dubious ‘mmh’, but her voice was only musing. “I’ll talk to my assistant Fredrika. But daily your recruitment list gets longer, father, and eventually money and privacy are going to start being a problem. Now that you’ve…somewhat solved the starvation issue, the next step has to be working on how to feed and protect mortals while you’re looking for immigrants. You don’t have any skilled laborers. You can’t have them starving or being eaten!”

“We can import,” he reminded her, smiling at her ‘hmm’ of agreement. “My people have already excavated half of my claimed district, and we’re turning up more and more tradable goods as we clear out the previous tenants. Precious metals, gems, magical items, cultural artifacts…”

“Don’t you dare sell Drow artifacts to the surface! You need contact with the local Drow. They know how to sustain a population down there, father! Learning to run a farm in the Underdark will do you so much more good than importing food. Convince mother to contact her family– bring whatever important pieces you can find to pave the way.”

“I– what?” he asked, pushing off the desk and turning back towards the scrying orb. Not that her idea wasn’t helpful, but…Zynatheri’s family? “I was under the impression they were all dead.”

“Is that what she told you?”

“Well, she told–” No, she hadn’t. But she’d implied as much. “Wonderful. Slippery little pest.”

“I love mum, I do. But you have to understand trying to get her to do anything difficult is like trying to give a cat a bath. She’ll twist herself in any direction she can to avoid it. And unfortunately she’s spent three hundred years manipulating people. She’s breathtakingly talented at it.”

“You could sound less admiring, dearest.”

“I wish I’d inherited that talent, I’d get so much more done around here. But she did only learn it to avoid responsibility, I suppose…it wouldn’t work for me. Convince mother to parlay with House Tzahane. If for no other reason than you need someone to educate you on how to set up farms in the Underdark. Then you can move past starvation, and start hiring skilled workers to help you rebuild. You can’t afford to import food in the long run. You need to be self-sufficient.”

“She ah–” He might as well ask for help. “She told me to speak to you. Your mother has asked me to-" Gods, it sounded embarrassing, but he might as well just come out with it. "She wants me to court her.”

“No,” Lilithera laughed, voice bright and delighted. “What, actually court her? That’s so out of character. Not saying I know much about mother’s love life, but I’m fairly certain most times it starts in bed and ends the next morning. Every single time. ‘Romance is like fish, little Lily. It goes bad quickly, better to get rid of it before it turns’.”

While he was grateful that Zynatheri hadn’t said anything about his past in that respect, it did make this seem a bit more…well, serious. Which it wasn’t. Was it?

“Both of us are being cautious. Our lives are rather twisted together. All your fault, I think you’ll find.”

“I won’t apologize for being born. At the risk of sounding like mum, you’re the one who didn’t take your cassil.”

“Well, what does she like in these circumstances?” Ugh. “Flowers? Poetry? She wouldn’t say a damned thing, she just told me to ask you.”

“So you’re interested in courting?”

Why did she have to ask? He didn’t want to think about it. “I– I don’t know! I just prefer having her here, and she said that if I wanted her to stay, I had to make it worth her while. She was the one that called it courtship. I just would like her to stop flitting around like a pixie in a panic and keep my hair fixed for me, is that really too much to ask?”

Lily’s voice was uncharitably amused. “Hmmh. Well, I’ll tell you, she likes things she can look at.”

“What does that mean?”

“Flowers, jewelry, paintings, stained glass, curiosities– she has a fondness for pretty things she can just gaze at. And she’s a bit of a magpie, but she’s not picky about how expensive something is. For years her favorite piece of jewelry was a gilt and glass gem bracelet I found in a gutter and gave her to go with her performance costume. When the cheap clasp broke and she lost it, she was devastated.”

“You know, I have yet to get a present from you.”

“Oh hush, yes you have. Oh! She hates diamonds.”

“Hates diamonds? Really?”

“She says they’re gems without any of the joy. She prefers prettily colored things. Especially opals. Quite honestly, for mother I would look at what she buys for you. She’s showing you what she values and likes by bringing them to you in the hopes of making your life a little easier and happier.”

Hmh. That did make sense. “I suppose we’re both fond of the little luxuries.”

“Yes. Oh! She loves animals of any sort, even the creepy-crawly things. When we were in Neverwinter, there was a Lord who was desperate to be her patron. She had no interest, but he had the most beautiful aviary. For a while she strung him along just so she could bring me to the aviary and sit among all the brightly-colored birds. I have some fond memories of that.”

“She is such a little charlatan,” Astarion chuckled, feeling a surge of fondness.

“Honestly, mum is just a free spirit at heart, father. Give her a place to rest and things she loves and she’ll always come back to you, just like she always comes back to me.”

Ugh.

Come back.

That was the problem, wasn’t it? She was always on the verge of leaving, and it felt like there was nothing he could do about it. “It…that sort of trust goes against my nature, darling. I hate the way she always disappears.”

“She’s very fond of you.”

“Fonder than she has been of…other people in her life?”

“Papa,” Lilithera chuckled.

“She told me to ask you! The brat refuses to talk about herself– her favorite tactic is to blurt ‘ask your daughter’ and then flee the room as if her tail is on fire.”

“Mother’s never been in a relationship that I know of. When I was a child she poured everything into taking care of me. Eventually as I grew up I realized she did have lovers, but never for long. She’s always avoided attachment. Honestly, not to be rude, but if it weren’t for me you’d just be another forgotten bedmate, too.”

“No, I’ve gotten that impression myself. She hasn’t had anything nice to say about our love affair so long ago. But…she said I was special to her. I suppose that’s your doing.”

“Just believe her, father. It’s a risk, but what isn’t?”

Hmh. He hated that she might be right. That he might simply have to step forward on faith, without knowing if there was something ahead waiting to catch him. “That bracelet you gave her…what did it look like?”

“Oh, gods, it was so long ago…it was gold, because the gilding flaked. Blue gems? I can’t remember what cut, I’m sorry. But it was pieces of chain between the gems.”

“From a gutter? And she really treasured it so much?”

“Mhmm! I told her it was pretty and blue, like her, and she nearly cried. It was rather cute, thinking back on it. We were so close when I was small…”

It wasn’t regret, precisely, that he felt. Jealousy, maybe, but it was a jealousy that was thick with the rueful acknowledgement that– “I would have been an absolutely awful father. You would have despised me.”

“Perhaps. Not everyone’s meant to be, like grandmother. Horrible woman. Don’t ever ask mother about her unless you’re prepared to hear some very unpleasant things. But we get along now, you and I.”

“Well, yes, after she did all the work!”

Lilithera laughed, bright and delighted. “All the more reason to spoil her, father. You owe her.”

Gods.

"Don't you dare breathe a word of this to anyone. Before you go, darling, about Gale..."

"Oh dear, is it already so late? I'm sorry, Father! I have a meeting with the head archivist! I love you!"

"Don't you d-"

The orb went dull and silent.

Offended, Astarion stared at it, forehead furrowing. Why, the absolute wretch! How dare she flee from the conversation? Well, now he was going to have to tattle on her to her mother.

Zynatheri wouldn't stand for this, and neither would he.

Well, having been bitten wasn’t the worst experience in the world.

Yes, Zyn’s neck hurt, and yes she felt a bit worn and hazy, but other than that she didn’t feel too exhausted. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t lost blood before. Besides, Astarion hadn’t even complained about her stealing his bed for the night and she had books to read, so all in all she was quite fine. He’d make sure the twins were safe.

Even so, she’d Sent to them a couple times, just to check in. Apparently they were having the time of their lives down in the depths of the House, mapping things out for Astarion, hunting for treasure. She would rather not go herself, but she was happy for them that they had. Astarion said he was off inventorying things to be sold off surface-side, which sounded very dull to her. All in all, Zyn had the best lot out of anyone today.

And all for the low, low price of a little blood.

She’d had a bath and refilled the tub for when Astarion returned later, which was enough effort.

Zynatheri was deep into a book of famous Waterdhavian urban myths and murderers when Astarion returned, his footsteps echoing up the barren hall before the door creaked open. She didn’t mind his faintly condescending chuckle as he caught sight of her, lips twitching into a faint smile behind her book. Rugs softened his footsteps as he approached. She ignored him impishly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of burgundy as he threw his coat over the back of the daybed.

“Have you even moved today? Please tell me you ate, at least, you have to get your strength back.”

“I ate,” she replied, eyes reflexively slitting as one of his cool hands rested on her head. Finally she peeked up over the top of her book. He looked…so much better than he had the night before. In fine spirits. “Shall I heat up your bath?”

His eyes were soft, but amused as he gazed down at her. “Soon. Thank you.”

Astarion sat down on the edge of the bed, and she watched as he kicked off his boots, letting out a long, slow sigh. They were a bit dusty and stained. It looked as if he’d had a hard day today. Not that she felt bad for being lazy or anything, of course.

“You must have been running all over the city.”

“I wanted to deal with some issues that have been plaguing me while I had…the energy,” he replied, leaning back on a hand to try and peek at her book. She turned it towards him, and he gave a faint ‘hmm’.

“You mean the blood,” she teased.

His lips twitched up into an amused smile at her words. “Well, there’s no need to be gauche. May I? What are we reading about?”

Pleased he was still willing to let her enjoy some cuddling despite him being annoyed with their discussion last night, she scooted closer to the edge of the bed. As he shifted behind her, laying on top of the blanket instead of under it with her, she leafed back to the beginning of the story. A hand hesitantly touched her hip as he settled, and then wrapped around her stomach at her faint ‘mhm’ of approval.

They adjusted a bit until they got settled, with her tucked up against him, blanket between them, his chin resting on her shoulder. Comfortable, simple. They read together, with him occasionally getting impatient when she took a little too long. Eventually those little annoyances added up, and he tried to forcibly turn the page, which got his hand smacked with the book. Grumbling, he pulled back and buried his face against the back of her neck.

“Read to me,” he demanded, muffled.

Zyn rolled her eyes.

But, well, they were only a few pages from the end and he’d likely had a long day…and she did like the sound of her own voice. Succumbing to the inevitable, she began reading to him in a slow, even voice, picking up from the top of the second page. Languid as a sleeping cat, he relaxed against her neck, letting out a heavy, cool breath.

His hand remained where it was, neither moving nor retreating, lightly cradling her stomach. Tucked comfortably against him, she finished the little tale of dismemberment and horror– terribly sensationalized, of course. Which was utterly unnecessary. Reality was strange enough without excessive embellishment.

At the end of the tale, it turned out to have been a servant of Bhaal after all.

What a predictable outcome.

“I would move on to the next one, but you’ll feel better for a bath,” she said, not just because he smelled a bit musty.

There was a wordless complaint, somewhere between a groan and a whine, his arm tightening around her, hand clutching more possessively. Amused, she let herself be dragged into the cradle of his body, his legs tucking up underneath hers, his other arm sliding under her head to grab her far shoulder. Pinning her in place. The blanket was still between them, though, a thin barrier.

“Or we could lay a bit longer,” she said, not bothering to hide her exasperated amusement.

Much to her surprise, she didn’t get something spiteful in response. Instead, he asked in a quiet, almost embarrassed voice, lips pressed to the back of her neck, “will you be here tomorrow night?”

“Yes,” she said instantly, not needing to think of it. They’d only been here four days, after all. The twins would never forgive her if they left so quickly. “I will be here tomorrow night.”

Only then did he release her, leaving the bed without another word to disappear behind the screen. She forgot her role until he reminded her, poking his head out. Leaning over the side of the bed, she sang her lazy little song to warm his bathwater, tucking herself back into the blankets afterwards.

Only for a few minutes, though.

Once he was relaxed in the water, she left the bed to keep herself from reading ahead without him. Wandering to the fireplace, she poked more cavewood into it– they seemed to have a lot of the stuff right now, cut down from the overgrown city. It wasn’t as if they generally needed it to cook. Or even, technically, to warm up a home.

“Have you thought about exporting cavewood?”

“I don’t know the first thing about how to set up forests,” Astarion replied, in that hazy, languid voice he always seemed to use in the bath.

She finished prodding the fire and stood up, gaze met by the pictures of the children on the mantle that she’d brought. No pictures of him. Zynatheri frowned. She needed Astarion to sit for some portraits. Hmm.

“Lack of knowledge seems to be our biggest hurdle here,” she agreed, adjusting the oval-framed painting of Lilithera’s second daughter. Of the youngest, she was the one who most looked like Zyn– and the one who was least like her. “How did our family make such a contrary child as Portia?”

“It’s unfathomable. I’ve never been contrary in my life,” Astarion lied.

“What color do you want to wear if I commission you a portrait? Violet, perhaps? A rich navy? That would make your eyes look brilliant. But no. We should place you against a dark wall– pale gold and blush with touches of sapphire? Oh.” She clasped her cheeks, imagining it in her mind. Yes. “Magnificent.”

“You know, when you constantly change the subject without warning, people can have difficulty keeping up.”

“Just looking at the portraits. There isn’t one of you, and you need at least a couple,” she mused, head tilting to the side.

“Why, exactly?”

“Well, they’re not family portraits unless you’re there,” she reasoned. “You can just get one done and make copies for the children.”

“There are no pictures of you.”

Well, yes, but… “It seemed a little presumptuous to put a portrait of myself up on your mantle.”

“You spent all day lounging in my bed,” he reminded her lazily. “Could you be a darling and pour me a drink?”

“You have the only proper bed in the city, of course I’m lounging in it,” she said testily, adjusting the portrait one last time before wandering over to his desk. Rothe blood wasn’t much, but it was something. At least he had the luxury of enjoying it in a civilized manner.

Picking up the bottle, she was about to pour into a goblet when she realized it was stained with dried blood. Annoyed, she shifted a glance to the bathing screen. A withering one. Hopefully the bastard felt it.

“Your cup is dirty.”

“And it would take you five seconds to fix that, but you’re using that time instead to complain to me.”

“Or I could pour the blood into the dirty cup.”

“Please don’t,” he said, pained.

“Are you going to clean it yourself after you’re done?”

“Don’t talk to me like one of the children,” he grumbled.

“Don’t act like one of them,” she replied with a laugh, and sang her small cleaning cantrip. With the cup pristine, she poured a healthy measure of blood from the enchanted ewer, not minding the way it steamed. So did mulled wine. Ooh. That sounded nice. “Do you have any wine? Spices?”

“What? Why– yes to the former, I think? Why would I have spices?”

“Mulled wine sounds nice, that’s all. Well, I can at least warm it up and add honey, I never leave home without honey for my wine. Shall I just reach blindly around the screen there, or…”

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen. Don’t–” There was a touch of frustration in his voice. “Don’t treat me as if I’m fragile. Please?”

“Silly viper, I’m trying to let you show me what you’re comfortable with,” she teased him, not minding a bit being invited to infringe on his space. “I know what it feels like to not be allowed to speak up for yourself. When I first started…regaining control of my life, my comfort would change by the hour. We’re complicated things, thinking creatures. You tell me what you’re comfortable with, and I’ll oblige.”

“Sometimes I’m profoundly grateful how careful you are, and sometimes it infuriates me.”

“Yes, I can be irritating.” She broached his space, knowing if she didn’t he might get more upset. “That was nice, having a cuddle together. Could we do it more often?”

All that was visible was his pale, sculpted upper chest and bared shoulders, but even that was distractingly attractive. Archery really did make for lovely muscles. There was something charmingly defiant about his curls when they were damp, disordered from their usual careful coiffure. His eyes had been narrowed, but when she spoke they relaxed, his wet fingers brushing hers, a droplet falling from his fingertips. The contact lingered as he took the goblet from her, their pinkies twining together. There was the slightest tug, a hesitantly hopeful beckon, and she followed it willingly.

Zynatheri sank to the new rug next to the tub, resting her temple against the cold stone basin.

The water splashed softly as he shifted, and then his hand settled on her head, long fingers idly massaging her scalp. Her eyes slitted closed like a contented cat. It felt heavenly.

“Will you read to me if I allow it?”

“Mhmm,” she agreed drowsily.

“Then yes. But I don’t know that it’s enough to make you stay.”

She sighed. It was a bit selfish of him to keep bringing it up like that, but selfishness wasn’t exactly a negative in her books. It might be crucial to his survival as well down here, and she did want that. More than she realized, and not just for the childrens’ sakes. They were both much less…sharp these days, and got along much better than before.

“It’s enough for a little while, at least,” she replied, lulled into a stupor by his languid caresses. “You have time to think of another reason.”

“Or I could just keep doing this.”

“Mmh,” she agreed drowsily. “That would work. But people would make some rather interesting assumptions about our relationship if you did it in public.”

“May I ask…” Much to her surprise he sounded a bit awkward when he trailed off. At her soft ‘hmm?’ he gave a small sigh. “I have to say this so rarely, but this actually isn’t meant as an insult. How can someone have lived for three hundred years and still be so…simple? Live so carelessly.”

She didn’t find it insulting, because he was right. “It takes more work than you might think. I did what I had to. I raised our daughter as best I could, and I’m done. That was enough responsibility.”

“It doesn’t bother you, watching your child– our childrens’ accomplishments outstrip your own?”

“They have them because of me,” she said, happily basking in that fact. All sorts of accolades, but her work had been finished! Quite honestly she loved Lily and her children, and her children’s children, but she despised babies. It was so nice there weren’t any in the family right now. “And now look at you! I gave you a whole city. Where’s the appreciation?”

“I appreciate you very much,” he said, annoyance and amusement clear. “But that doesn’t mean I understand you. There’s no ambition at all in this pretty head, is there?”

“No, ick. Not even a little. No thank you.”

“Strange little baggage.” His fingers wended through her hair, pulling strands from her braid, idly toying as he relaxed.

Contentedly she drowsed, in that half-meditative state she’d perfected over the years. Comfortable, soft, and hazy. Granted, she was leaning against stone and sitting on the floor; that could have been improved upon. But other than that, it was quite nice.

His long, graceful fingers felt nice running through her hair, with the occasional detour to stroke her cheek. Having decided to simply take this as it came, Zynatheri was perfectly happy to let him do whatever he liked; after all, if she’d had her way they would have been in bed ages ago. But that wasn’t what he needed.

She wasn’t sure he knew what he wanted, let alone needed, so she’d let him completely lead the way.

It was a shame that annoyed him, but she found that entertaining as well.

It was probably time, though, to be honest with him about what she wanted. That knowledge did annoy her, partially because it roused her from her very comfortable state, and she knew it would stop his stroking her hair. So she held back for now, mulling it over in her mind.

What was the best way to bring it up?

Probably to just be blunt; it would make things quicker.

When he asked her to reheat the water, that felt like a better time, and she prepared herself as she rose to sit on the edge of the basin. His hand left her head and settled on her thigh as she sang his water back to scalding. Too hot for her. But after his first hiss at the change in temperature, he slumped blissfully, eyes slitting closed.

He sprawled back attractively, fingers resting on the base of his cup, arm carelessly flung out of the bath.

It was amusing how his skin barely flushed from the heat, remaining pristine and alabaster as ever. Well, despite the scars. Content to lounge on the wide lip of the bath, one leg dangling down, she pulled her hair over her shoulder to re-braid, the plait loose and uneven from her long night of being lazy in bed.

As she braided, she hummed, and eventually he shifted to rest his cheek against the side of her thigh, tugging on her arm until she scooted close enough for him to get comfortable.

"Before this goes much further, I should be honest and admit to you that I'm not interested in loyalty," she said, keeping her voice calm and mild.

"Loyalty?" he asked simply.

Hmmh, that was a bit vague. Zynatheri tried again. "I generally don’t let myself get very attached to people. Yes, I have had many friends and lovers that were more than a night–”

“Lilithera didn’t seem to think that was the case,” Astarion interrupted her.

Zyn smirked, voice wry. “So that means I did my job properly. I am a...whimsical person, and I follow my whims. Does that bother you?"

"Stop prancing around the point, please," he said with a tinge of annoyance. He huffed, shifting his head against her thigh so he could glance up at her, ruby eyes narrowed. "Just come out and say it plainly."

"I bed a lot of people," she said, unable to help a small laugh cascading over her words. "And I don't plan on stopping. But it's only bedding and nothing more."

Astarion gave a faint 'hmm', eyes drifting back to the bath. "As long as you don't sow chaos down here, darling, I don't particularly care. Lily, on the other hand..."

"Our girl doesn’t need to know the sort of things you and I get up to, Astarion.”

“Excuse me? Why, I’m a very model of virtue,” he scoffed.

What an absolute liar.

Even when he was alive he was an awful person.

“Sounds like someone wants to hear the story of how we actually met,” she said with a quirk of her lips.

Affront tainted both his voice and expression as he reared back, straightening up in the water. “Did you lie to me?”

“No,” she laughed, leaning down. “I simply didn’t tell the whole truth. Not in front of Lily! She’d be shocked by what a degenerate you were.”

He pinched the end of her nose, smiling when she reared back in offense. “Mmh, now I must know.”

She reached out a hand for his cup, admiring the way he picked it up to hand it to her. The way the stem slid between his fingers that curved up to cradle the bowl actually reminded her of that night they’d met some two centuries before. That realization made the memory sharper, closer to the surface. It would be easier to tell.

“I’m going to get some wine. And maybe a pillow, the edge of the bath is too hard for my poor arse.” Zyn rose to her feet, slipping around the curtain to leave the bathing alcove.

His voice followed her retreat plaintively. “Refill?”

“Yes, that’s why I took your cup,” she chuckled, amused with him. “Does it feel better to sip throughout the day, or to just have one big bite?”

“You know, I’ve never thought about it,” he mused. “I hadn’t really ever had the chance to drink my fill before the nautiloid. There’s just something to be said for experience of having it in a civilized manner, even if it is better straight from the source. It makes the animal blood…more palatable.”

She set his glass down and went into the next room in search of the wine she’d been promised earlier. Dizzying, crowded, stacks of crates, barrels, and sacks were haphazardly left from floor to ceiling with absolutely no rhyme or reason at all. Zynatheri felt the twinge of a headache. How did he live like this?!

How did he find anything?

“Where the hells is the wine?”

“Ah…somewhere on the left wall, in a crate with a missing slat.”

She stared over her shoulder at the doorway, expression flattening. “That’s the best you can do.”

“It is! You’re so understanding, darling~!”

“Remember, if you murder him, Lilithera will be upset,” she told herself, loudly enough for him to hear.

He laughed, the sound both self-satisfied and innocently delighted, as if he were a child playing some impish prank.

It was frustrating how delightful the bastard was. Zynatheri forged into the crates with an annoyed, but determined air. It took her a few minutes to find what she was after, but eventually she located the wine. The crate was stamped with the Zhentarim sigil. Tsk.

What a thief.

Amused, she liberated a bottle from it, turning it over. Not her favorite, but decent enough. It’d do. With a shake of her head, she scanned the mess one last time and turned to leave the room. No door, of course; most of the doors were gone entirely. One day perhaps they’d replace it, but she really needed at least a curtain.

Now that she knew the mess was there, she’d keep thinking about it unless it was hidden.

“I now know the reason you want me to stay. So I keep cleaning up after you.”

“Mmh, that is a nice bonus…but only a bonus, my little fox.”

Zynatheri couldn’t even hold it against him, quite honestly, because after escaping from Menzoberranzan her own cleaning habits had been rather atrocious. Trauma had a way of doing that. Ugh, no, she couldn’t think about that too much or she’d be even more inclined to stay.

Something about Astarion made her want to coddle him.

In lieu of a second goblet, which did not exist, she just worked the cork out with her knife and resigned herself to drinking from the bottle. Not the first time, nor the last. Leaving the corked blade on his desk, she refilled his glass and brought both back to the bath.

Still impossibly, irritatingly alluring, he was slumped in the bath with his eyes closed, a loose, damp curl clinging charmingly to his forehead. Amused, she set the bottle down and perched on the edge of the tub reaching out to lightly brush it aside. One ruby eye cracked open to peek up at her, his mouth still soft and inviting in relaxation.

“Your wine,” she teased, offering him the glass of rothe blood.

With a faint smile he accepted it, their fingers lightly brushing. As he turned to set it aside, she began to rise, only to stall as he abruptly grabbed her by the waistband of her trousers. Curiously, she peeked over at him. He wasn’t even looking at her, but when she tugged at his wrist, he finally glanced her way.

“Where are you going?” he asked arrogantly, as if she didn’t have the right.

“I need a pillow, I told you.”

“Come in the bath.” He gave her another, more forcible tug, stalling when she slapped his arm.

Zyn glared at him, scooting further away despite his pulling on her. “I don’t have other clothes, you pain in my arse. What am I supposed to do when they get drenched?”

“You do have other clothes. Lily sent them for you,” he reminded her, and laughed at her instant scowl. He released her trousers with a flick of his hand, voice dismissive. “Go get your pillow. I want my story time.”

“People pay good money for what you get for free, you know,” she teased him, careful not to knock over her wine as she slid to her feet. “But you always did have a good eye.”

There was a hint of a purr to his voice, intrigue and coquettish interest. “Did I? I’d love to hear about it.”

Hmm. Why not make it a bit more entertaining? Show him why she was worth the bribery it would take to keep her around more often.

Magic, summoned by her voice and the story she began to weave, sufficed the room with illusion to echo her tale. A murmur of vague conversation, the clink of glass, laughter and music filled the air. The surroundings blurred, overlaid by a scene of gilded pillars and indistinct figures dancing and conversing. The flowers in the vases, draped over the windows…they’d been blue and yellow, she thought.

They blossomed in bright bursts of color, adding more detail to the illusory environs.

“It was a party, an event for the younger nobility. Which of course meant it was full of drunken revelry, licentious behavior, and other entertaining things. I myself…” She peeked around the curtain with a coy smirk, lowering her lashes to peek at him through them. “I was there to catch the eye of my target.”

Astarion smiled lazily, finger idly circling the rim of his glass as he watched her through the steam. “The target you were going to kill. But why were you going to kill him?”

“Oh, darling, it’s always better not to know when you’re doing it for money.”

It was very little surprise that he immediately rested his head on her thigh again with a possessive air.

“Which I did, of course, having been…informed of his preferences beforehand.” She took a sip of the wine, wetting her throat. “He wasn’t very interesting to me on a personal level, quite honestly. Boring. But a job is a job, after all. His friend, however, I found quite to my taste. Very handsome. Beautiful hands– actually the first thing I noticed.”

Astarion smirked, lifting a hand out of the bath to stare at it, water dripping from his fingertips, beaded droplets clinging to his skin like polished jewels. “They are nice, aren’t they?”

“Mmh,” she agreed, voice languid and slow. “I was aware that there was a small getaway planned to someone’s riverside estate. Which was, of course, the perfect opportunity to get the job done. I flirted my way into an invitation. To be entertainment, of course, not a guest.”

“I’m certain there were all kinds of entertainment you had planned,” he teased her.

Zyn laughed, unabashed. “I wanted to enjoy myself a little before having to run.”

“Quite understandable, really.”

“Your ‘friend’ was very, very flirty and handsy. You were not. You just watched me with a certain air that told me there were wicked things running through your mind. I have always enjoyed that in a man.”

“You were disguised as usual?”

She wove it out of light for him, a tall, slim figure with vaguely-defined features.

“Mmh. Elven. Long black hair, blue eyes– more regal than my natural state.” It’d been a long time, and she’d had to give up being Zyrenna when Cazador had nearly captured her so many years ago, but she summoned up what she thought was a good approximation.

“By regal you of course mean taller. Not that that’s difficult,” Astarion remarked, smirking smugly at her dark look. He reached up and tugged on her hair, head leaving her thigh. “I prefer you like this.”

“We made a very pretty baby, didn’t we?”

“We did! Let’s never do it again,” Astarion replied.

Zyn laughed, reaching over and playfully tweaking the tip of his ear. A rather rudely familiar gesture. “I agree. I’d never do it again– hadn’t exactly meant to the first time around.”

“Back to my story,” he ordered, resting his chin on her thigh.

Her fingers toyed with his hair, knowing touching his ears any more might get her snapped at. Hair was safe for now, he showed no signs any more of being uneasy with or disgusted by her touch. It might change. Boundaries would be drawn and moved with time; luckily she was very flexible and good at reading people. He could snap and grumble as he liked, it didn’t bother her.

Warnings, not attacks.

She would respect them as best she could.

Figures, little more than shaped shadow, gathered and parted in a dance of gossip and intrigue. The only two forms with any real substance were that elven disguise of hers, of course, and a slim figure in white and crimson.

She couldn't quite remember what he'd looked like back then, but that was all right.

“It was an…interesting crowd. Ambitious, young, pretty. The type of nobles that think throwing money and power around is a substitute for cunning and experience. Sharks snapping at the common schools of fish, unaware of how dangerous the ocean could be even for predators like them,” she smirked, amused by that memory. Lots of money to be made from people like that. Lots of enemies to be made, too. “It was no wonder a single assassin was so successful. It was no wonder I was so arrogant and sloppy.”

“Something went wrong,” he surmised.

Memories might fade, but grudges were forever. “The little bastard drugged my wine!”

Astarion laughed delightedly at her offended tone, the corners of his eyes crinkling in an impossibly charming manner. Grudgingly she laughed as well. It was quite funny in hindsight– she’d never had the temperament for being an assassin; it was just easy money and entertaining. But sooner or later, she would have ended up dead.

Maybe Lilithera had been even more important to her survival than she realized.

“So, instead of making it look like an accident after getting my fun in, I had no choice but to slit his throat and run; trying to find a place to pass out until the potion’s effects faded.” A bright splash of crimson drew eyes back to the illusion briefly, as the vague semblance of their forms playacted out the murder. The recollection irritated her. “What kind of man drugs women who were already planning to sleep with him? What an absolute cunt.”

Astarion laughed with relish, eyes on the pantomime as wel. “Well, from everything you’re telling me…”

“I should have seen it coming? Mmh, I agree,” she said, annoyed. Bloody entitled bastards. A door burst open, a staggering figure in black all but falling through it, struggling to stand. Not injured, but faltering all the same.

“I thought I’d found a safe place. I had not.” The figure in black collapsed, and another, paler one came to stand over it, staring curiously. “It was the bastard’s very pretty friend’s room, it turned out, and apparently highly amused that the entire place was in a panic hunting for me…he kept me safe.”

“You were passed out.”

“Mhmmm.”

“Which meant you were out of disguise.”

“Correct,” she agreed, lips quirking up into a little smile.

“I’d say that sounds ridiculous, but it was me, so…I suppose that makes sense,” Astarion allowed, shifting back to resting his cheek on her thigh, which she appreciated. The chin was just a bit too pointy. “Everyone running around in a panic looking for an assassin all snugly tucked into my bed does sound very entertaining.”

Zyn gave him a very strange look, which he didn’t see. “I didn’t get to that part of the story yet.”

“Metaphor, darling, but I can’t say I’m surprised it was literal as well.”

“Naturally, when I roused we bickered, threatened each other a bit. There was a knife involved. Then, we had sex. The knife was also involved in that.”

Astarion smirked, eyes fixed on the illusion, watching idly as their figures pantomimed the story of their tumultuous meeting. “What fun.”

“Afterwards, blood apparently running a bit too hot, you tried to convince me to murder other people so you could watch. While I was being hunted. Because you’d ‘never seen it before’.”

“Well, you were already there,” he reasoned, as if that was a sane thing to request.

“I declined, but we continued keeping company. Adorable, bloodthirsty, and excellent at taking orders in bed– is it any wonder we got along? I’m talking about both of us, incidentally. We weren’t lovers for long. Perhaps a month? You stood me up one day, so I shrugged and left town, not realizing you’d been kidnapped.” Zynatheri didn’t blame herself for that, of course. What could she have done against a Vampire Lord then? Hells, they’d only managed to kill Cazador two hundred years later because he’d gotten arrogant and desperate.

“And, let me guess. You found out you were pregnant.”

“Mmh. Two years later, I had Lilithera. Sometimes I think about what a forgotten thing you would have been to me without her,” she admitted, gazing at the illusion of her younger self cradling the baby Lily had been. Possibly. It was difficult to say if it was accurate any more; their daughter was two hundred years old, and she didn’t exactly retain her memories as clearly as a high elf might. “Hmmh. How funny the whims of Fate are. Men and gods may try to control it, but it always slips through the cracks in the most unexpected of ways.”

As that seemed a fitting end to the story, she let the spell drift free, edges, forms dissipating into colored light and then nothingness.

They both fell silent for a time, each in their own thoughts.

Eventually she began humming to him again, and Astarion gave a sigh she felt, but didn't hear. His eyes drifted closed, delicate lashes brushing his skin. It made the dark circles all the more apparent, giving his face an arresting fragility at rest.

Astarion could never know how close she was to giving him anything he asked for.

He'd absolutely use it against her.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #tav: zynatheri rivati #astarion x tav #Fanfic Friday #I know it ends a little abruptly but the next part isn't finished <3

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psalacanthea · 1 year ago

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OC Meme

thanks very much for tagging me, @vspin! Sorry it took me so long, I'm in a one-track brain state. :) (art by the best person ever, @tadpole-apocalypse)

name: Zynatheri Rivati. Born Ilethri Zhenafeyl. Many AKAs.

nickname(s): Zyn

pronouns: any/all, afab. if gender is a spectrum Zyn's missing like 1/8th on the masc side.

star sign: whichever one gives you an excuse for being a bitch because that seems convenient to have

height: 4'11" or 5'5"

orientation: Pan

race: Drow

romancing: Astarion

fave fruit: Pomegranate

fave season: Autumn. Not unbearably cold yet, but in Waterdeep as a child, there were more overcast days. She was expected to keep a human schedule, which meant lots of headaches from the sun.

fave flower: Half-blossomed roses, violets

fave scent: Jasmine and vetiver

coffee, tea, or hot chocolate: Whatever's on hand. She isn't picky.

average sleep hours: Depends on where her head's at. Sometimes it's a four hour trance, sometimes it's a five hour sleep. When she travels alone, usually trance.

dogs or cats: she has a big soft spot for cats, but loves them both.

dream trip: somewhere quiet, maybe an empty villa overlooking the ocean, to stay still for a little while without feeling restless and unhappy. if such a thing is possible.

amount of blankets: If her being poor doesn't get in the way? Maybe just one, but one of those giant fluffy duvets she can sink into smugly.

random fact(s):

Genuinely did not believe Volothamp was Volothamp throughout the whole adventure because he couldn't possibly be that stupid. Never meet your heroes.

Is so incredibly lucky that she is just...lucky. Not good luck, not bad luck. Just luck. She cannot win and she cannot lose.

Has had seven step fathers.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #tav: zynatheri rivati #oc memes #thanks for tagging me!#sorry I am slow >.<

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psalacanthea · 1 year ago

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WiP Whenever

I don't know what to say. It's in my head so I wrote it down to try and purge it (but ofc this is a plot bunny so I just gave it more space in my brain). If you want me to continue writing this, please do let me know.

Astarion x Tav, modern au. When you accidentally rescue a spoiled brat on the street who got turned into a vampire last night.

...

There was someone in Zynatheri's bedroom- not unusual, but she didn't remember bringing anyone home from last night's gig.

Eventually, she realized the intermittent creaking and shifting of her mattress was not, in fact, a one night stand trying to sneak out without waking her, but someone kicking it.

One eye slowly cracked open, took note of the thin streak of light peeking between her curtains, and Zyn closed her eyes again. Still daytime. “M’sleeping. See y’self out.”

A high, irritated voice drilled into her brain like a five in the morning construction crew. “Why are you sleeping? You’re marginally elven. It’s been five hours, get up already. Your fridge is empty, I'm hungry, and you don’t have any tea.”

Her mattress was kicked again in an irritable rhythm, like a tantruming child.

Oh, right, she’d accidentally picked up some patriar on a bender last night who'd wandered into the wrong neighborhood and gotten jumped. Great. She gathered up her blanket from under her neck and chest, and bunched it up so she could shove her face into it. “M’nocturnal, sun hurts my eyes. Go home.”

“I can’t go home!” His voice finally penetrated with some nuance, and she realized he sounded…scared. Why was he scared? His voice sharpened. “Now wake up!”

Why was he scared and annoying?

Last night’s chaos and confusion finally filtered in, reminding her of just what the hell was going on. He’d all but burst into her apartment just before dawn, yelling something about being chased. Right. She’d assumed he’d gotten lost slumming it, and had given him a couch and thrown a ward on the door because she was too tired to deal with it.

But now it was daytime and he was still here.

Ick.

Why couldn’t he go– “Dedicated robber. I guess.” Reaching up, she pinched the bridge of her nose, rubbing her fingertips into the corners of her eyes. Ick, eye crunchies. Still not paying attention to him, she excavated them with a nail, flopping over onto her side. “Just go out through the alley, there’s a door marked garbage in the lobby.”

“That won’t stop me from burning!”

Something was shoved into the line of her blurry vision, which she lifted a hand to bat out of the way, only to realize the skin was blistered and peeling. Wait, what? Was that– “Are you burned?” Had he been burned before? She didn’t think so. Well, he was a patriar. “Did you try to cook or something?”

“No, the sun did this.”

Wait, what? Zyn was too tired for this. With a little groan, she reached up and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, trying to banish sleep. Luckily the idiot moved out of her way as she swung her legs off the bed, heaving herself up to sit.

Raking back her hair with both hands, she inhaled sharply through her nose and stood up, feet instinctively avoiding the splintered bit of wood just at the edge of her bed. The landlord kept claiming he was going to finish the flooring. She didn’t care; Zyn got a slight discount because it wasn’t and she needed the money.

Ignoring the tall, irritatingly pale eladrin standing over her like she was supposed to solve his problems, she turned away from the bed and headed for the bathroom. Zyn tugged her t-shirt down over her ass. Avoiding the damaged threshold, she pulled open the creaking bathroom door and headed for the sink. The eladrin followed.

Turning on the tap, she let the water run for a few seconds before splashing her face, the ice-cold water penetrating both mind and body alike, briskly waking her up. There. Now she could be lucid. The toothbrush she definitely needed to replace was shoved into her mouth, and then she set to picking the dried toothpaste off of the mouth of the tube.

“I’m having a bit of an urgent situation here, if you don’t mind.”

“Mhmm,” Zyn mumbled absently, squeezing out a thin ribbon of toothpaste and smearing it over her brush. “I don’t have a spare toothbrush.”

“I. Don’t. Care.”

“You should, it’s important to–” she glanced over her shoulder again, un-blurred eyes finally taking him in. Oh. That’s why she’d let him into her apartment.

His face was long, a little too aristocratic for her liking, but with a very pretty mouth and devastatingly attractive eyes, despite the colo– wait. Narrowing hers, Zynatheri peered into the stranger’s scarlet eyes. Red eyes. On an eladrin.

“Are you half drow?”

He drew himself up, looking offended. Still disheveled, though. “How dare you.”

“Don’t be a bi–” She stopped. Her eyes flickered down to his burned hand. Burned. Red eyes. He’d been standing behind her when she–

Zyn turned back around, staring into the spotty, tarnished mirror.

Only her own reflection gazed back, the doorway behind her empty. Shit. All right, so she’d invited a vampire into her house. Fine, fine, that was fine. But why had he tried to go out in the su–

“So weird question, but those guys that jumped you last night. Did one of them bite you?”

“What are you– yes, if you must know.”

“Look in the mirror.”

There was silence from behind her for a good few seconds, as the stranger had a Revelation. Not wanting to waste time, Zyn took the opportunity to wet her toothbrush and start brushing away, waiting for reality to sink in. Neh. If he tried to bite her he probably didn’t know how, so a swift kick to the balls should settle things.

Luckily she knew a lot of people who were probably okay with being bit by a vampire spawn, but as far as she knew usually spawns weren’t just…able to escape like this. Probably better to hand him off to someone and be done with it before the big one came to claim him. If he really was a spoiled little patriar, his family would probably figure it out.

“Shit,” he said from behind her, voice hushed.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x tav #astarion #tav: zynatheri rivati #wip whenever #it would probably be an early 2000s modern au #just for fun #full magic probably because I like mixing magic and modern #and I never really did it for any of my past aus #if I do get encouraged to write this it'll probably go into the fanfic friday rotation

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psalacanthea · 1 year ago

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WiP Wednesday

Since Durge and Gortash won the Friday poll, I'll pull something out of the other BG3 fic for WiP day. My pace with the new chapter is a little slow, between taking a week off and now dealing with Pain, but hopefully tomorrow I'll be able to focus enough to make some real progress.

From the Astarion x Tav longfic, a little bit of WiP for your amusement. (if you would like to be tagged to do your own in the future, pls let me know)

...

“Well, if you used that sensible mind you keep claiming to have, you’d know that obviously I’m her patron,” Astarion sneered at Shadowheart. His voice relaxed, going lazy and dismissive once more. “And muse, naturally.”

Zyn considered drawing a gigantic curly moustache on her sketch of him. It was rude to interrupt. “My peerage or lack thereof has not yet been shared– please avoid making assumptions about me.” No, this wasn’t right. He looked too…neat and tidy. She grimaced at her sketch, and then glanced back up at her subject. “Could I see a little more collarbone on the left side?”

“I’m not giving it away,” Astarion scoffed.

“Darling it’s for aesthetics, not expression of base lechery,” she begged. “Your neckline is too symmetrical, it doesn’t give me ‘careless dandy’.”

Astarion scowled at her, lifting her stolen goblet as he demanded, “regal! Make me look regal!”

How dare he not trust her artistic acumen.

“Even if your life depended on you appearing ‘regal’, I doubt I could oblige,” she snapped. "You egregious twink."

Shadowheart laughed faintly.

Astarion gasped, lifting a hand to his chest. His not nearly bared-enough chest. “How dare you! I am your patron! I could have you thrown out on the street!”

“Oh please, if there’s one thing upstart would-be nobles need, it’s portrait painters. There’ll be another dozen of you by teatime. You can dictate when you pay me, you contrary piss-puddle” Zyn added shading to his neck, pausing as she glanced up to find his eyes on her. He didn’t look angry, despite the insult. He was smiling. Ugh, that was the wrong expression entirely! “Tilt your chin to the side! Again. I told you to stop moving.”

Astarion sighed in annoyance and rolled his head to the left, hair swaying.

“I have no idea what’s going on, and yet I can’t look away,” Shadowheart said.

She settled down abruptly, pausing with one hand on the ground to snag one of Astarion’s pillows. He made an irritated noise, but didn’t bother retaliating. Zyn’s briefly riled mood flared up again. Why could she have a pillow, but Zyn hadn’t been allowed one?

Traitor!

Zyn glared at Astarion until he glanced away from the goblet of wine he was staring into contemplatively. Her nose wrinkled as their eyes met. The pasty reprobate sighed heavily, eyes rolling skyward.

"What now?"

“You’ll not be welcome in my bed any longer if I catch you giving someone preferential treatment over me,” she threatened him.

“You–" Astarion stared at her in shock, and then laughed, lifting a hand to his mouth. "Aha. Ha!" He dissolved into laughter as he sprawled back onto his pillows, ignoring her scowl.

Zyn slapped her stub of twine-wrapped pencil down on the paper, leaving a crumbled line as the tip snapped. "Stop it."

“Hah! I can’t believe you actually thought that would work!”

“I mean it, this is serious!” she whined as he started laughing over her again, throwing his head back. “You blaggard! That's it. It's moustache time.”

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #wip wednesday #astarion x tav #astarion #tav: zynatheri rivati

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psalacanthea · 10 months ago

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WiP Wednesday

I'm working on things! :) I'm still not 100%, but making progress makes me happy. This is for the game canon f!tav x astarion fic which I am currently working on as ordered to.

Dissonance and Debauchery: The Drama of an Ill-Fated Bard

Some foreplay interruptus for you on this mid-week day. hope you enjoy!

...

“If I say no biting…will that ruin things for you?” she asked curiously. Because, if so, she’d give in to him. Give him the blood. But tomorrow when she was thinking clearly, she’d probably break things off with him. Too transactional for her to have as much fun as she’d like.

“Mmh…” His smile he mused through was stiff at the corners, but it quickly relaxed. Softened playfully. “No, darling, it won’t. No biting, I swear.”

“You are allowed to pout, whine, beg, or in moderation sulk about it,” she said, noting that slight lie in his smile. “But no being snippy, secretly angry, or broody about it. And you’re not allowed to pretend to be fine with it if you’re not.”

Astarion gave her a bizarrely astonished look, leaning back. His forehead furrowed. “What is it with you and making rules?”

Gods, the man was dense. Zyn rolled her eyes excessively and dramatically with her head thrown back, ignoring Astarion’s small sound of outrage at her disrespect. “It is what I enjoy, milord. Only a morally bankrupt man would feel otherwise, so I hesitate to call it a fetish–”

“You sound like Gale when you talk like that,” Astarion said snidely.

Zyn gasped, sitting bolt upright as she shoved him onto his back. “How dare you!”

He smirked up at her, eyes rolling to the side as he splayed out on her bedroll dramatically. She hadn’t been that rough! Zyn glared at him, and his smirk deepened, scarlet eyes a deep, stormy gray in the quiet darkness of the tent.

“I didn’t think ‘moral purity’ was your vice, darling.”

“Oh, no.” Sitting back on her heels, she pushed her hair out of her face, staring down at him. “It’s not about good, it’s about fun, Astarion. And it’s most fun for me when everyone is enjoying themselves as much as possible. I need it. I want to bask in your enjoyment.”

He laughed, arm draping diagonally across her lap, fingers caressing the curve of her thigh. “You’re insane.”

“Please, I need your applause,” she begged dramatically, leaning over him. “I need to know my performance has pleased you! Otherwise what’s the point in play at all?”

He groaned, unoccupied hand splaying across his face, covering his eyes. “Why do I let you monologue? You work yourself up into a dramatic frenzy every time.”

“Your denial of our mutual tomfoolery is hurting my feelings, sweet viper.”

Astarion sat up abruptly– so abruptly that she nearly reared back, eyes wide. As her head jerked back, he followed her, bringing them nearly nose to nose. He didn’t broach the last space between them, but she could practically feel his lips curve up into a smile.

“I’ve indulged your bizarre form of foreplay enough. The lights are off.”

“No~o,” she complained, throwing her head back again.

“The audience is gone,” he declared sternly, but she felt him laugh at her pathetic whine. He threw a knee over her hip, forcing her down on her back as he lowered himself onto her. “All of your incessant disguises and masks are off. And now it’s time for the noisy little fox to leave her stage and occupy her mouth otherwise.”

Zyn couldn’t help the wicked giggle that escaped her. “No masks at all, milord?”

“Mmh,” he mused, tilting his head to the side with a purse of his lips. “No, I suppose that one can stay. Just for tonight.”

She was laughing when he kissed her.

It was fierce and unexpected, her smiling lips claimed with a passionate greed. Melting underneath him, she happily, wantonly threw her arms around his neck. Now this was worthy of interrupting her show. As if in punishment for her 'endless rambling', there was no break in the kiss, no space to take a frantic breath.

He kissed her like the breath from her lungs could bring him back to life again.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #WiP Wednesday #tav: zynatheri rivati #astarion x tav #astarion

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psalacanthea · 10 months ago

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Six-Line Sunday

posting this as self-motivation to finish all the bits left. Hoping to have the new chapter of D&D up tomorrow morning some time <3 Have a lil bite-smooch this sunday afternoon.

“Pretty,” Astarion teased as the kiss briefly broke. His thumb slid up her chin, gently rolling over her swollen lower lip. “Shall I take a little taste, darling?”

Mmh. Why hadn’t he already? “Yes,” she agreed.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, please,” she said by rote, in the split second before her mind caught up. Wait, why was she saying please? Hadn’t Astarion said that he was going to–

Before she could do any more thinking, he kissed her again and made it impossible. Her lips parted reflexively, and despite anticipation she still startled when he rolled her soft skin in his teeth, fangs just barely piercing the inside of her lower lip. The pain came immediately, no more than a sharp sting.

His tongue followed fangs, stroking across the abused flesh in a languid lap, gathering the blood before it could spill.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #tav: zynatheri rivati #astarion x tav #six-line sunday

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psalacanthea · 2 months ago

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The City of Eternal Night- Ch 2

new chapter of the post-canon Drow Bard Tav x Astarion fic here!

The miserable journey through the Underdark finished at last, Astarion and Zynatheri now face their first trial at the gates of the ruined Drow city they seek to claim. No, not the Neogi slavers that have claimed the city gates. Vampire sibling bickering. Again.

But even as they bicker their way towards a united front, of course everything else is going awry.

...

The potatoes Karlach had nearly lost her life to were fine, as was most of the food when Gale wasn't here. Fine, but nothing special. But Zyn had been eating tavern stew for over a century, it was all the same to her. Yes, she could cook, and cook better, but...effort.

Effort was for more interesting things, like thievery or sex.

The three of them were a cheerful group, when Wyll wasn't slipping out to check on the progress of the spawn. Eventually when they seemed to be settling outside of the city, and Wyll headed down to meet Astarion, wearing the ring of invisibility he'd attuned to last night. That was one good thing about the Underdark. When you were forced to adventure down here, as odious as it was, there was plenty of treasure to be found.

Astarion’s arrival quieted things, as he practically collapsed into their camp, Wyll at his heels.

Her own concerns evaporated, as Zyn fussed over him all the way to her tent. It wasn't that she wanted to hide him away, but he seemed abjectly miserable, and she knew there was a quick way she could help. In the quiet dark, she held him as his fangs pierced her neck and his body melted against her. The pain was a small sacrifice.

Last time he'd been much calmer after he'd taken some blood, but this time he still seemed on-edge afterwards, only confirming her worries. Now she was worried about more than if they could survive the Underdark. Could seven thousand vampire spawn actually survive each other? Or were they too traumatized and vicious to even stay together, to protect one another?

If so, saving them had been cruelty itself.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #tav: zynatheri rivati #astarion x tav #astarion #the city of eternal night

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psalacanthea · 1 year ago

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this is for everyone but mostly @tadpole-apocalypse who is of the very correct opinion that Astarion's sibling Petras is in dire need of bullying. I happen to agree, so I took a small break to write something in post-game. :P (is spoilery for my current fic but not hugely)

...

Astarion couldn’t be back soon enough.

People were trying to get Zynatheri to decide things, and utilize her power and parcel out judgments, and she just didn’t want to! The way she’d explained it to Astarion was most sensible. They were making a society of vampires. The politics were going to be corrupt! Why not start the corruption from the top, where it belonged? She’d much rather be his puppet than do work.

And now Petras had showed up, knowing Astarion was gone, and demanded an audience.

She’d already been in the bath, of course, which meant she’d had to heave herself out, throw on some slippers and her robe, and storm down to the meeting room. And then on top of that inconvenience, the part of the palace they did have access to was massive! Enormous ebon corridors where every step echoed, gigantic frescoes of her horrible ancestors and their horrible spider goddess, every surface slick and shiny obsidian. Even the smallest light penetrated far here.

Echoes, too, which she rather thought was the point– every single sound carried.

Dwarfed by the architecture, a clammy bite to the air making her skin prickle, Zyn passed through the hall and into a freshly emptied chamber. The last of the crumbled stone had been moved, the bowed-in stone wall on the left side propped up and tidied up as best as they could. It still looked…rough, but they had seven– six now– thousand vampires to look after. Cosmetics were still a far distant concern.

Before they could try to hire stonemasons or wizards, they had to ensure said professionals wouldn’t be eaten the moment they stepped into the city.

It was rather touch and go.

Passing by a low torch, Zyn clutched at her robe, annoyance turning into frustration and amusement as she mulled over the irritating arrival. Of course. The instant he found out Astarion had left on an expedition to scout further into the city, Petras came to poke at her. After all, she was a surefire way to draw Astarion’s attention.

And Petras very much did want Astarion’s attention, like any annoying little brother.

Not that she knew much about siblings.

In the antechamber outside of the meeting room, a huge vaulted space of ebon columns and recessed ornate sconces of blackened iron, Zyn paused. She tucked her fingers into the component pouch at her belt, searching within until she found her sending wire. Untangling it from the mess, she lifted it to her lips and hummed softly into it until it vibrated in her palm.

Closing her eyes, she sent her voice to her beloved. “Petras has come to try something. Little schemer. I’m going to offend him terribly, so please be prepared. I love you, dearest, so be careful.”

While she waited for a response, she tucked her wire back away.

Astarion’s voice reached her mind within a few moments. “And I love you. If he dies, he dies, but do try to keep him alive? We need him to do the work we won’t.”

He’d managed to just hit twenty five that time! Oh, excellently done. His rhythm and pitch might be horrid at best, but her darling could handle a bit of wordplay.

Steeling herself with that slightest snatch of Astarion’s voice to comfort her, Zynatheri began to do something she had to do so rarely now. She was going to play a part. Glad she hadn’t gotten dressed, she loosened the neck of her dark green, velvet-trimmed robe, letting it slide off of her shoulder, lazy and careless. She tugged out the comb in her hair, letting it untwist, uncoil down to her ankles. The delicate golden comb went behind her ear, contrasting the silver of her swaying hair.

Lazy, idle, uncaring- decorative.

An easy enough ruse.

With the embroidered silk of her robe sliding up her arms, she reached up and pushed open the doors. Normally they were left open because they were so bloody big. Petras must have closed them behind himself, for some petty purpo–

“Forgive me, sometimes I don’t know my own strength.”

The doors were pulled away from her hands, her weight shifting dangerously, and although she knew it would likely aid in making a complete ass of Petras, she still couldn’t bring herself to fall into his arms. Yuck. Avoiding his hands, she caught herself and stepped back, staring at him through the now-open doors.

Gods.

She looked at him critically for just a moment– hair unfortunately similar to Astarion’s again, despite the fact that he didn’t have the curls for it. He was wearing his nicer set of clothes, which should have been respectful, but wasn’t. All it meant to her was that he really was trying something.

“Yes, that’s clear,” she said sardonically. His strength was severely lacking in areas other than physical. A complete lack of charm, for one.

And he wanted to be Astarion?

The very idea was laughable.

Petras stepped back politely from the doors. “I’m sorry, I should have reassured you. There was no reason to hurry.”

Why was he being nice?

Ew.

“I didn’t,” she replied, swanning past him and heading for the far end of the table, where her and Astarion’s seats overlooked the rest.

“So you intended to meet me in…wearing that?”

Hells, she wanted to put a hole in him. Or some lightning. “I wear what I like in my home. Please leave your notions of ‘society’ behind. That world rejected you.” She turned at the head of the table with a flare of her robe, hair annoyingly clinging and twisting.

Gods, right, this was why she kept her hair up or shorter. Ugh. It was so heavy. “I would rather speak of a new world. One that we create.” She sank into her chair, gesturing for him to take his.

Much further down the table.

But instead, in some sort of power play, he walked up the line of chairs, running his doughy hand along each one. Zynatheri tried not to be judgemental, but she was a bit of a snob when it came to hands. His fingers were short, and not tapered elegantly. They were repulsive in a way she hadn’t known she’d felt until they were attached to the man himself.

Now every time she saw someone with similar digits she would have no choice but to be disgusted.

“You cut your hair again. I thought you’d been so determined to grow your hair out, now that you’re a ‘full vampire’ at last,” Zyn said, refusing to be cowed when he leaned on top of Dal’s chair and stared down at her. Sometimes it was difficult being the lone mortal.

“You can’t still be holding a grudge over that,” he said, annoyance touching his face. He even leaned back a little, his body language betraying his attempt to manipulate her by seeming friendly. Well, more than friendly. "I didn't mean to kill them."

"But you did."

Here she’d thought he was coming to whine and threaten, but instead he was attempting seduction. As much as these siblings of her lover infuriated her, she felt a deep and profound sympathy for them all. They had all been harmed in the same ways, and had some of the same behaviors, and she could not help but give them grace. Which was Astarion’s fault. He was the one who had softened her heart to his past suffering, after all.

Was it any wonder that concern now extended to his siblings?

It was a strange sensation, the simultaneous desire to protect and care for them, mixed with the constant desire to cause them harm– bully them– both mentally and physically. Was that what they called…siblings? If so, a great many things she had read and witnessed in her life suddenly made much more sense.

All of that to say, she was worried that if Petras was trying to seduce her, there was something very wrong with him. That was dangerous. The family, co-ruler, victim and tormenter both dynamic they all had was precarious, volatile. If it collapsed, so would their delicate, tenuous grasp on the spawn in the city.

That might mean death for them all.

“Whatever you need, if it’s reasonable, I won’t block you– in fact, I’ll help you. There’s no need for this,” Zyn said firmly, hoping that was all it was. Maneuvering, and not…lust or a desire for her blood. If it was bloodlust she could just smack him silly and not feel guilty. "I have no desire to pretend we're friendly."

A well-placed bit of vicious mockery and she’d have him sobbing.

In response, he leaned towards her, Zyn holding her ground with annoyance as he came closer. When his hand darted out, grabbing her by the neck, she only felt relief. Oh, good. He’d come to do something stupid.

Petras glared down his nose at her. “Listen here, cattle. You’re going to watch your tone and do what I say, or I’ll snap this pretty neck of yours.”

Coming from Astarion that would have been attractive and threatening; Petras just managed sullen and bossy. Hardly impressive. Plus, the cattle thing, which was stunningly unattractive. She stared at him flatly, eyes half-lidded, lips pursing into a line. His hand tightened, fingers pressing into the sides of her neck.

Ugh, no, if she didn’t retaliate he’d ruin choking for her with those shapeless, ugly hands of his.

Rather than say something snide, she gathered her rising anger and breath while she still could, and screamed directly in his face. The thuderwave hit him full-force, and Petras went arse over teakettle, hand ripped from her throat as he slammed into the heavy stone chair and then went tumbling to the black tile, landing heavily on his back and skidding.

“That’s it?!” she demanded, voice fighting with the echoes of her scream. Zynatheri shot to her feet and stomped after him, eyes blazing with fury. “All of this just to do your best Cazador impression and attack me? You pissing malcontent! You whey-blooded simpleton! Astarion isn’t stupid and your plan isn’t clever. He’d uncover what you've done, and then you'll be dead!”

Petras pulled himself up to his elbows abruptly, hair just cut back into his old mimicry of Astarion’s falling into his face, making him look all the more stupid. “I am fully capable of hiding a body!” he retorted, vibrating with pure offense.

Her own fury rose in tandem. How dare he think for even a moment he’d be capable of killing her?! “Even if you failed your way into success, he would never stop until he found out what had happened to me,” Zynatheri retorted, stepping in and kicking him back down to the floor, her hands balled up in her robe. He started to struggle back up but she stepped in, planting her foot and shifting all her weight onto it.

She ground her heel into his chest.

“You will listen to me. Astarion’s survival is all that matters to me, and you being content enough not to do anything foolish is important to me because of that.”

His scarlet eyes blazed, lips pulled into a sour, furious grimace.

“All of us are better off because you are alive, so stop trying to die,” she said, dragging her foot across his chest as she pulled back, heel pressing the whole way. Dropping her robe, she smoothed her hands down her soft hips, glaring down at Petras. “But never forget– you are beneath me.” She smiled, slow and mocking, their eyes holding with a vibrant intensity. “So stay beneath me, or I might notice you when I’m feeling less…altruistic. Your oafish presence offends me.”

His fingers clenched into fists. “How dare you. Let go of me!”

“Let go of you? You are entirely free to go,” she said, gesturing with one hand. “Have you forgotten where the door is, I wonder? What a very poor memory you have, Petras. You attacked me. Don’t play the victim.”

Why the Hells was he still lying on the floor? She wasn’t even that strong, she couldn’t have kicked him hard enough to do any damage. What a dramatic little twit.

Well, if he wasn’t going to leave first–

It was petty to step on his shoulder on her way past him, but she did it anyway. A test, perhaps, to see if he would retaliate, but that was just an excuse. The little arse had annoyed her.

He made a small sound in the back of her throat as she ground her weight into his shoulder, but that was all she heard apart from the soft echo of her own footsteps. When she glanced back at the exit to the meeting room, he had pulled up to sit and was staring at her, rage barely contained. She smiled, sweetly.

“Next time your humiliation will be public.”

Oddly, he didn’t snap back immediately, but the intensity of his stare grew all the more intense and venomous. Perhaps he was learning some self-control. When he spoke at last, it was mocking. “I can wait. Sooner or later, Astarion will tire of playing with his food and you’ll be just as dead.”

Was he trying to get her to smack him around more? Ugh. As if she was going to rise to such poorly crafted bait.

“See yourself out, little brother!” she sang mockingly, spinning dramatically and swanning through the doors.

It was an excellent exit despite the insults he was shouting after her, which she was quite smug about. Zynatheri shuffled through the antechamber, yanking her hair over her shoulder so it would stop twisting around her ankles. Very good, very dramatic, hair like this, but she’d forgotten what a nuisance it was. Well, Zyn might as well go chop it off.

Part of her did regret not teaching the brat more of a lesson, but– wait.

Had he been trying to get her to slap him around a bit more? Was that all on purpose? If so, that meant…oh dear.

Malice and misfortune, of course it was.

Zynatheri knew it was a waste of what power her poor body could handle channeling in a day, but Astarion was gone and she needed someone to share this with. Without him, what was the point in anything? If she couldn’t speak with him, why speak at all?

In her haste, mirth bubbling like a spring, mixed with the delight of sheer horror, Zyn Sent to her beloved without counting the words. “Darling, oh my beloved viper! My sanguine heart. Come home, I’m suffering. I may have just accidentally fed one of your brother’s fetishes. Sorry–”

Her fingers clutched around the tangle of wire in annoyance as she was cut off, lips pursing.

“Well,” Astarion responded in her mind, highly amused, “I suppose curiosity killed my little fox, didn’t it? Poor darling. I’ll be home before you know it.”

Pouting to herself, she went skulking back to her bath to scrub the feel of his hand from her skin. All she could do was hope she was wrong, and hope it never happened again. Zynatheri had a small, sneaking suspicion that this was far from over, however. Gods and archdevils, she wanted to kick the little pissant around some more.

But if he liked it...

Ugh, having siblings was complicated.

#bg3 #Baldur's Gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #Astarion x Tav #Tav: Zynatheri Rivati #Pale Petras

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psalacanthea · 11 months ago

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Vampires, Romance, and Other Dead Things- Ch. 7

a new chapter in the Modern AU astarion x drow bard tav story found HERE! Having set up a counter-ambush to an anticipated attack from the other vampire spawn, now all Zyn has to do is drag his ass onstage. He promised Shadowheart one live show, and afterward they'll draw out the servants of Astarion's mysterious vamp daddy.

But Zyn's used to working alone, and it's starting to cause problems.

...

Certain the Harpers were shadowing her, she’d found a back street that didn’t look like it would damage too much if there was to be a scuffle here. Between a half-dozen old buildings converted into multi-housing units there was an empty lot. There was a No Excavation notice on one of the walls, which explained why it was here. Seemed like this place was over one of the many dangerous structures under Baldur’s Gate.

Maybe caves. Or a drop into the Undercity, like the place by hers she’d dumped Aradin’s corpse down. A scan showed no convenient dumping spots, however. A broken stone bench, a lot of weeds, and a few bags of garbage.

“Hey Vamp Juniors,” she called, stepping dead-center between the buildings, gazing up at the sky. How funny would it be if they were up there, being trailed by invisible Harpers? Stupid vampires. “I’m here for my money! My friends are bringing your guy!”

She stood with her hands in the pockets of her jacket, feeling arrogant enough to do it. They’d cobbled together a pretty good trap. No way they’d figure it out.

“Didn’t you refuse the offer? We were told to get rid of you,” an unfamiliar voice said from the shadows, snide and superior.

He walked out of the shadows with another vampire beside him, scarlet eyes glowing, casual upscale bar look slightly impeded by the…well, by the face. And the hair. They hair was the worst, really, with the poofing, and the– well, it looked like a guy with straight hair had tried to make his look kind of like Astarion’s.

His face also gave that impression, weirdly enough.

Budget Astarion.

Creepy, but also triggering to…certain instincts enhanced by her having reached out and touched misfortune. “I don’t make it a habit to speak with men, they’re too lacking in reason and emotional control.” She turned her attention to the vampire next to him, tiefling woman with scarlet skin. Glowing eyes. Hopefully it meant the vamp daddy could…see out of their eyes or something.

She wanted him to watch.

Angry.

“Do you want him or not?” she asked, noting movement out of the corner of her eye. A trash can lid, jostled, fell to the ground with a thud. Bad luck for them. There were more than two of them, for sure. “And if you try to sneak behind me , I’ll teleport to the roof and fireball this space, so you can either get out here or you can get crispy.”

“Clumsy,” the elven vamp said, voice high and mocking. Almost childish. Okay, maybe she wasn’t the one to speak to. “Sister Dalyria, isn’t that embarrassing for you?”

“Violet, stop,” Great Value Astarion said.

“I was sympathizing. Everyone’s always picking on me,” Violet pouted, crossing her arms under her breasts.

Zyn couldn’t tense up as two more vamps stalked out of the shadows– a wistful-looking elven woman and the long-haired shirtless guy from before. Four was still doable. They were fine. “Okay, so I can see the tropes we’re going with her. Insane child vampire was always a favorite of mine. Bet you’ve got all sorts of creepy dolls!”

Violet glared at her.

“But I can’t quite place you. Comic relief?” she suggested to badly-cloned Astarion.

“Can we kill the prattling bitch, already?” he asked, scoffing and taking a step back.

All of their attention shifted, fast as a hastened monk, as the sound of voices started echoing from where Zyn had come from. All five of them stood poised in silence as the voices and footsteps came closer, people finally emerging from the alley. Astarion was being carried over Karlach’s shoulder.

Through the high of bullying, Zyn felt a tingle of amusement. Of course he’d made Karlach carry him. What a bitch.

“Got him secured?” Zyn called.

“Put me down, you brute~” Astarion called with posture still completely relaxed, voice lilting a little too theatrically. She wouldn’t be surprised if his cheek was propped up in his hand.

How was he a bad liar, on top of everything?

The man was in politics!

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x tav #tav: zynatheri rivati #vraodt #new chapter!#it's 11k!#sob #it's always bullying petras hours here

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psalacanthea · 11 months ago

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Fanfic Friday!

Since the game canon Zyn x Astarion was voted, I worked on Dissonance and Debauchery for my writing time the last couple days! I still can't promise when it'll update, but I have made progress on the next chapter. So here's a bit from it, for all of you that voted!

Astarion x Tav (drow bard), tiefling party night post-coital cuddling negotiations. 1900ish words.

Languidly Zyn accepted the kiss that was being pressed on her, lips swollen and lax.

Astarion stroked a finger from under her lip to down the line of her throat, with just the edge of a nail dragging. It felt nice. Grounding.

“There we are. See? Much better when you’re properly rested and sober.”

Zyn gave an impish little smirk, but couldn’t quite maintain the energy for it. The smirk went gooey. Loose. “And when you’re not in danger of killing me?”

With a long, self-satisfied sigh, Astarion abruptly sat up, pulling out of her line of vision. Turning her head to the side, she watched as he straightened, arms stretching languidly over his head, fingers spread. With a slow exhale he collapsed, arms falling to the bedroll. He tilted his head to the side, hair spilling across his forehead, and their eyes met again.

“You can go now,” she offered lazily.

Instantly his posture stiffened, a wrinkle forming between his eyebrows as he snapped waspishly, “I’m sorry, are you kicking me out of your tent?”

What?

“No, I’m saying that if you want to go, you can go,” she replied, grabbing the discarded pillow from above the bedroll and dragging it back under her head. Gods, her hair was going to be a mess. Hmm, chopping. “I’m not going to try and get you to stay this time. You obviously have no interest in it.”

His lips pursed, thinned, and then twisted to the side before he rolled his eyes to the side. “Stop assuming things about me, it’s irritating. You’re not as all-knowing as you think you are.”

“Mmh,” she replied dismissively. He just didn’t like that she was right, that was all. Maybe up to the shoulders? Higher? Oh, she could be bald. Hmm…

His voice turned ingratiating, which drew her attention back instantly. The actual words, however, were displeasing. “Pet, stop pouting.”

Why would she– “I’m not pouting, and you’re ruining the mood.”

“You ruined the mood when you told me to get out,” he retorted, voice a little sharp as he dropped the facade, obviously annoyed by her refusal to play along again.

Ugh, was he serious? Why did he keep acting as if her drawing boundaries was her having a snit? If he didn’t cuddle, fine. That made them incompatible. “I didn’t say you should get out, I said you could if you liked.”

His hands slapped down on his bare thighs, noisily. Shifting back, his scarlet gaze bored into her, chin lifting so he could assert his superior position by sticking his nose in the air. “Well, I want to stay! What about that?”

Zyn’s cheeks puffed out as she blew them out. “Then stay? I’m not going to tell you what to do, you’re a grown man.” Part of her really didn’t want to say anything, but another part of her was tired of how confusing he was. “Sometimes you make absolutely no sense to me.”

“Oh, you never make any sense to me,” Astarion replied, chuckling grudgingly when it made her laugh, slow and drowsy. “What is it that you want?”

Zynatheri gave him a look of sheer disbelief. “I have been completely upfront about what I want. What do you mean what do I want?” Was he really being this obtuse?

His lips curved into a very ill-timed seductive smile. “Well, darling, if you’re not satisfied…”

“Ugh, you’re doing that again,” she sighed, regally waving a dismissive hand, forcing him to lean back. Gods, did he have no artistry in his sou– oh, right, no soul. “Sex is not just the thrusting bits. Don’t you enjoy the comfort of just…being around another person? Listening to a heartbeat? Feeling the warmth of a body? Brushing someone’s hair, being massaged, counting freckles? Listening to stories? Just enjoying learning about a person.”

“I…no,” Astarion replied, voice surprisingly subdued for a split second. And then it took on a humorous edge. “Maybe I’m just not much of a cuddler. What’s wrong with that?”

“And I’m not used to sleeping with the same person twice,” she retorted, a little sourly. How dare he only take, and not give. That sealed it; if he didn’t cuddle, she was done with him. “This is new for both of us. I am reluctantly forced to admit that…” The earlier incorporeal god botherer had really driven it home. “This little adventure is unprecedented in my almost two hundred years of life. I think you feel the same. So why can’t we both try something new?”

“Not the worst argument. But still…” Astarion gave her a sidelong look, the charmingly tousled state of his hair giving him a rakish air. “Your obsession with pillow talk is bad enough. If I let you cuddle me, I’ll never be free of you.”

Aah.

He wanted to be convinced.

“Trust me, my sweet viper,” she reached up and caressed his chin, a playful little beckon. “I’m not going to be catching feelings.” And he couldn’t, which she had to remember. Vampire. He was undead, he didn’t feel things like other people.

Astarion was safe.

Which was why his next words didn’t bother her. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“I know you’re at least considering giving me what I want– I can see it on your face,” she said, smirking when he rolled his eyes and glanced away. She rolled onto her back, stretching languidly. “Mhmm. Darling, this isn’t a case of me lacking interest in you. I find you very entertaining. But I don’t like sleeping with the same person twice in the first place, and especially not when I don’t get any cuddling out of it. I’m already compromising by not pretending you don’t exist the next morning.”

It broke him, a twitch of a smile touching his lips despite his efforts to keep it back. When her grin widened, wickedly, he reached down and pinched the end of her nose. “You do realize how insane you sound, don’t you?”

Jerking her chin up, Zyn snapped at his hand. Pulling it back abruptly, dramatically, Astarion gave her a wide-eyed look of horrified shock. And then he smacked her cheek, very lightly. Much like he spanked her, it was a little too hard to be a pat, but she’d be exaggerating to call it a slap.

It pleased and amused her that he never treated her as fragile.

Flashing him a wink, she didn’t deny the accusations. “Well, always! It’s part of my charm. It’s up to you if it’s worth it to you or not– I must emphasize, I’ll hold no ill will at all. I’ll think fondly of you. Write a few dirty songs about you. In fact…”

She rolled over onto her side in search of her lute, only to be grabbed and yanked back over.

“Get back here!”

She blinked, sprawled out underneath him as he released her upper arm. He gave a small ‘ugh’ of frustration, tilting his head back, the heel of his hand pressing into his forehead. How dramatic. It made him look extremely pretty, though.

That didn’t mean she missed the lascivious little peek at her bouncing tits, though.

The words ‘don’t touch me’ had yet to make an appearance, in that fretful, almost reflexively irritated voice. She imagined he said it a lot. Not wanting to follow that thought any deeper, though, she set it aside and focused on her reaction when she poked him testingly in the thigh.

Had he put his shield back up yet?

It seemed not, because he just sighed like a diva, raking his hair back and away from his face. She took advantage and threw her arm across his waist, curling up against the side of his thigh and arse. Astarion tilted his head slightly to stare down at her, ruby eye glinting faintly in the hints of light that pierced the cracks in the tent. She wrinkled her nose at him.

“You’ll do it regardless,” he told her imperiously, like the brat he was.

“Do what?”

“Write songs about me. There’s no point hiding it– I make a perfect muse.” His voice lowered to a beckoning purr. “Don’t I?”

She smiled, unabashedly smug. Oh. Did this mean she was winning? “Mmh, I suppose. So you’re…compromising?”

He tapped her nose again. “Just for now, my little fox. To…keep my options open. I haven’t decided if I’m done with you or not yet, and I’d rather be the one to decide if we’re done or not.”

Zynatheri giggled, full of mockery. “Oh really? Is that how this works? You know, I never asked. Why ‘fox’?”

He leaned over her, a hand planting next to her shoulder as he twisted to stare her down from a closer vantage. She made a small contented noise as he sprawled on top of her, enjoying the triumph maybe a little bit more than his presence. But they were both enjoyed.

“Because…darling, you are a smug little trickster who thinks she is the cleverest creature to ever grace this plane.”

Oh, well, when he put it like that…

Zyn nodded slowly in acknowledgement. He was right. Very well, she could add that into her mishmash of identities somewhere. “Mmh, I see it.”

“Just as you call me ‘viper’ due to my deadliness, grace, and–” Astarion glared down at her as her smug smirk widened. “Oh no.”

How dare he leave himself vulnerable for such an attack? If Zyn didn’t take the opportunity, it’d be a waste. “Because you have fangs and you’re cute,” she told him quite seriously.

His expression soured, instantly. “I hate you.”

“I have a book you haven’t read, and a very comfortable lap.” she didn’t bother to hide the luring little purr in her voice.

“Mmh.” Astarion wrinkled his nose. Pushing up onto his forearms, he scooted further down. Before she could ask what the Hells he was doing, he collapsed, face-first, into her chest. It did hurt, slightly, but men could be like that about tits.

“Just because they’re soft doesn’t mean they’re invincible,” she groaned in annoyance as he burrowed in. Irritated, she gently swatted the back of his head. “What are you doing? Awful bloodsucker.”

Much to her great relief, he pushed up on his hands, smirking down at her. “Bloodsucker? Was that an invitation, my little fox?”

“Don’t you dare bite my tits,” she scolded, lifting a finger in front of his nose.

“Mmh,” his eyes left hers, raking down her body. “I do love forbidden fruit,” he purred.

“Decide, you absolute stray tom. In or out?” she sighed, quite over his waffling– even if it was playful now. Instinct had her snapping, before his mouth had a chance to do anything but open, “do not say something sexual.”

Astarion pouted, jaw tight as his mouth closed. Reaching up, he intercepted her hand as it reached for his cheek, flinging it away lightly. Before she could protest, he rolled off of her and sat up again, lifting a hand reflexively to fix his hair.

“I was promised a book and a lap, I believe.”

Zyn smiled delightedly as she sat up, endlessly amused by the snobbish facade. It made him so fun to play with. Addictive, the desire to poke and prod, tease, annoy, anger, seduce…but no. No. She’d just won, she should be gracious.

Let him be the Lordling tonight.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x tav #fanfic friday #tav: Zynatheri Rivati

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psalacanthea · 10 months ago

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2 and 39 for Zyn 😘

from this Tav ask here! (send me one!)

Thanks so much! <3 The full gamut to fucking annoyed to romanced and smoochy, huh? Let's see...

2. Spam clicking on them too many times (i love this one lol)

'Everyone deserves my attention. Don't be selfish.'

'Ugh. I miss traveling alone.'

'I could shine a light in your ear and see it beam out the other side, couldn't I?'

'Cease or I'll scream so loud your head will explode. Poxy wankbungler.'

'STOP. IT.'

39. If romanceable, what lines would they say if a player character prompted them with, "Can I kiss you?"

'Forever, and ever, and ever more, my beloved heart.'

'Everyone's watching, so...absolutely you may.'

'No.' (she grabs you and smooches you when you try to turn away)

'Every kiss is one less regret in my aching heart when you and I are kept apart.'

#lol ty!#i had fun with these #bg3 #tav: zynatheri rivati #iridescentnuances

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psalacanthea · 11 months ago

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Fanfic Friday- 5/3

The poll decreed I must pull out something ridiculously self-indulgent I wrote for myself, so here you go!

Astarion x Tav if they'd met before he was a vampire spawn, and she had an oopsie baby after he disappeared.

Post-canon, trying to build a home in a ruined Drow city in the Underdark while dealing with two separate families- mortal and vampire.

This is NOT kidfic (all children involved are full adults, lol), but rather them reconnecting after she was bullied by their daughter to help kill Cazador so her father could finally be free.

10kish words, SFW. (lmk if u think i should put this on AO3)

Much like the rest of their unnamed city, deep in the bowels of the Underdark, Astarion’s study slash meeting hall was half-ruined, empty, and lacking in livable touches.

He hated it.

Still, they were ostensibly safe, and at least for the moment he had some company to complain at.

“And then– you’ll never believe this– Octavia said that it was Rydell who had insulted the Drow ambassador, and worse still, Dalyria defended her. Everyone knows it was Octavia. She’s not subtle! It’ll be a wonder if they ever speak to us again.”

“The amount of drama a bunch of vampire spawn can get up to is rather impressive,” Lilithera said, voice just a tiny bit distracted. It usually was. She spent far too much time working, something he’d have to talk to Zynatheri about. “Did it cause problems with the negotiations?”

“No,” Astarion sighed, grateful that wasn’t a problem, at least. “Luckily the myconids standing guard kept things civil. It was a spot of brilliance suggesting a bit of– what did you call it?”

“Mmmmmmh, symbiosis?”

“Yes, that. Darling, what in the Hells are you doing that has you so distracted?”

“Sorry, father,” she said, chagrined, voice echoing out of the scrying orb awkwardly as she moved away from her half of the enchanted relic she'd installed for him. “I’ve been buried in that stack of books you had mother bring me– the cyphered necromancer’s journals you unearthed in the grand crypt? I don’t know if there’s going to be anything helpful in them, but they’re still fascinating to translate.”

Anything but that. Ugh. It was his fault for feeding the wizard’s curiosity, he supposed. “Your mother would kill me if you turned to necromancy, love. Especially Drow necromancy. You need to get out more. Get some sun.”

Lilithera laughed, an edge of sarcasm sharpening it. “The irony of being told that by my undead father is not lost on me. I’m trying to help you get out more. I was invited to a Liar’s Night party, though. I haven’t been to Waterdeep in an age, I was considering it. Mother said she’d look after the twins.”

Waterdeep?

Oh no. “Who invited you, exactly?”

“Archmage Dek–”

“Absolutely not! Gale?! Stay the Hells away from that man!”

Zynatheri was going to murder him. Quite honestly he would let her, rather than being subjected to the idea of being Gale’s father in law. Oh gods, just thinking those words made him want to vomit. No, no, absolutely not.

Whatever was going on between Lily and Gale, as her parents they had a duty to utterly sabotage it.

“Father, he’s a colleague! You and mum are utterly unreasonable. I’m a hundred and ninety three years old, a widow, and a mother of four, need I remind you.”

“Mmh,” he muttered with an annoyed purse of his lips, trying to think up an actual, valid argument. She was always so reasonable and logical, it could be frustrating at times. She certainly hadn’t gotten that from him or Zynatheri.

“What is your problem with Gale, anyways?”

“He’s my friend, darling, it feels…wrong. Plus his romantic history is absolutely horrifying, let me tell you. Who would want that for their daughter?”

Who would want the possibility of having Dekarios grandchildren?

Disgusting.

“I don’t think the man that got my mother pregnant and then disappeared has any right to judge me. Speaking of, is mum there yet? She should be arriving soon, shouldn’t she?”

“Who knows with that woman. She’s worse than a stray cat,” Astarion dismissed, despite wondering as much himself. He was still feeling irritated over their argument last time she’d come by, and the fact that she’d gone and disappeared after it– he didn’t particularly mind disagreeing with her, but she always ran away afterward. It was getting frustrating. “How the Hells do you keep her from running off?”

“Oh, I stopped trying years ago. Are you saying…you don’t want her running off?” there was a sly, cunning little note to Lilithera’s voice. That she had gotten from him. Devious brat.

“I’m saying she showed up in my life, saved said life, dropped an entire family in my lap, and then went prancing off into the sunset. Now she only reappears to do incredibly helpful things, and then briefly infuriate me before disappearing! It’s very confusing.”

“Imagine having her for a mother. Have you tried thinking up a reason for her to stay? A task you might need her help with? She might be fickle but she always keeps her word, you know. Or are you too busy pouting and refusing to actually be the one to blink first?”

He rose from his seat, tossing aside the endless piles of reports. The warming bottle Gale had enchanted for him was only half-full, but that was the state of things right now. Food was in very short supply, especially with how the idiots kept losing their self-control and stealing from the rothe herd. And actual thinking food?

Nothing more than a daydream.

Still, at least he was eating in a more…civilized manner these days.

Pouring blood from bottle into glass, he raised his voice. “No matter what I say, you’re going to twist it around in that pretty little head of yours until you’ve convinced yourself we’re pining after one another. She’s a maddening, smug, evil little wretch and just because she confuses me doesn’t mean I’m desperate to learn all her secrets.”

“You’d never know if she were pining after you, anyways.”

Astarion glanced back over his shoulder at the scrying orb, raising his eyebrows. “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

“Father, she knows what you’ve been through. Mother would never make the first move, she’s far too respectful for that; she doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. She told me as much last time I badgered her about you.”

“You really are a meddlesome little pest, aren’t you, darling?”

There was laughter in her voice. “It’s a family trait. When I was a child, before she discovered what had happened to you, I hated you. I was happy you were gone. Now that I know you and understand…well, you’re probably the only person I know of that could put up with her. And vice versa.”

“Stop meddling, love. You’re too pretty to fret over such things, you’ll give yourself wrinkles.”

“You’re only saying that because everyone says I look like you. I should go, I’m having dinner with Portia.”

“Tell the girl I say hello.”

“You’re going to have to get used to the word ‘grandfather’ sooner or later.”

Astarion grimaced, glancing out the window. “No thank you.”

“Ilethra’s getting married. You might be a great-grandfather before you know it.”

He scowled out at the fungus-lit cavern beyond, spite and annoyance simmering. How dare she make him feel old like that? “You’re no longer my favorite. Why did you have to marry a human? At least if your children were elven we’d have more time.”

“If you want another full elven child, I suggest you make one yourself. Ta, father. I love you.”

By the time the words sank in past his surprise, the spell had long since been banished, the scrying orb dark. Still, he glanced over his shoulder, gazing at it as an unfamiliar, but welcome warmth rose within him. She said it so easily, and so earnestly.

He had someone who loved him.

Of course he put his best foot forward with her most of the time, but Lilithera wasn’t a child. She was a fully grown woman, and an intelligent and discerning one at that. He hadn’t tricked her into saying it.

She really, truly meant it.

He wondered if she still would if she knew everything he’d done.

Still, there was no point dwelling on it. Not when he was neck-deep in shit without a shovel in sight. Why he’d thought two centuries of in-fighting and petty conflict could be banished all at once, he didn’t know, but when they weren’t demanding he provide all the answers, his siblings spent all of their time arguing.

They’d lost a good thousand of their people already to death and decampment, which he couldn’t say he felt too badly about. Less mouths to feed, at least. But the others were panicking, worried about the ill-will those that left could be garnering. As much as he hated to agree, they might be right.

Petras was trying to convince him to hire assassins to hunt them down.

As if they had the money for that.

Hells, they’d barely stopped traveling, and half of them were sleeping the days away in holes in the ground. Hardly a safe situation. That was why allying with the myconids had been a spot of brilliance. Still a tenuous alliance, but they were working on it. The Sovereign trusted Zynatheri at least; which would be more useful if the damnable woman would stay. Now, if only they could forge an alliance with the nearby Drow, instead of having to fear they’d be turned on at a moment’s notice…

He really needed someone to talk to about all of this that wasn’t a vampire themselves.

Just to clear his mind, if nothing else.

Unfortunately, it took a full fortnight for the cat to come back.

“Poppy! Lysander!”

Why were all her bloody family members so tall?!

Zyn’s fault, entirely. If she wanted a child, she should have found another drow, but no– no, she’d gone and had a daughter with a high elf. And then, even worse, her daughter had gone and had children with an even taller human! It wasn’t fair, that’s what it was. She was tempted to polymorph herself just to keep up, but after they’d gotten into a scrabble with cloakers earlier, Zyn was feeling a bit low on spellpower.

The twins, of course, were in fine spirits, galumphing along like colts.

“Come on, little mum!” Poppy called back, standing at the top of a narrow cliffside path. It needed widening. Some masonry, supports, and a retaining wall, at least.

She knew Astarion had other priorities, but having a good route to the city would be important. Sadly, she knew as much about road-building as she knew about city planning. Nil.

“I need you two to hold back! We can’t enter the city without an escort, you know this!”

The pair paused at the cusp of the hill, but their backs were to Zyn. She took the incline herself with ill grace, very, very ready to be off of her feet. She despised the Underdark. Zyn couldn’t believe in the past year she’d been down here almost a dozen times. The things one did for family.

Lilithera kept thinking up reasons she needed Zyn to come down.

The girl couldn’t be more obviously trying to herd her parents into a relationship if they tried.

Zynatheri felt…pleasantly surprised by Astarion. Over the years she’d had nothing at all to do with him after locating him. And what Lilithera had told her from her scrying wasn’t enough to make any judgments about what he was going through, not enough to know his attitude about his unlife. When he’d been kidnapped, Lilithera had immediately begged her to find him and protect him, and she’d done her best.

But her expectations of a man who had been tortured and a vampire for two hundred years were very, very low.

So to find him more like the young man she barely remembered than expected was a shock. Oh, he was more confident now, much more traumatized, and far more worldly and mature, but there was still something of that ambitious, fussy, self-absorbed spoiled brat she’d liked so much in him. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t gotten more bitter and nasty over the years, herself.

Life did that even if you weren’t being abused by a vampire.

Zyn finally reached the top of the hill, ignoring the worried look and gracefully extended hand Lysander offered down her. He was a sweet boy, but spent far too much time worrying. It made her feel old.

“Darling, I’m barely even three hundred,” she told him, not bothering to hide the exasperation. “Before long, you’re going to be older than me!”

“That isn’t how it works, little mum,” Poppy said with a roll of her eyes.

The twins couldn’t be more different and yet oddly alike– they both were the most curiously sensitive and caring children she’d ever met, but with a morbid streak a mile wide. But while Lysander turned it inward, with dreamy eyes and a worrying penchant for poetry, Poppy turned it outward, with a ferocity of purpose and a helping hand that preferred to hold an axe. And yet, there had never been two siblings as close-knit as they were.

When Lysander had asked to meet their grandfather, it hadn’t even been a question that Poppy would come along.

Besides, she needed more combat experience.

Together they stood on that precipice, attention naturally drawn to the ruin below them. An ancient drow city, where her mother’s own people had been driven out generations ago in a conflict with the Houses of Menzoberranzan. It looked…better than she recalled from last time, some signs of repairs beginning. Clumsy repairs, mind, but between the vampires’ awkward attempts at masonry and the myconids’ aid in the form of natural fungal structures, it was beginning to look livable.

The multicolored mushrooms glowing against the surface of the ancient, slick black, spiky architecture was a surprisingly pleasant contrast.

“This was once called Arzullnioth. It’s where your great-grandmother’s family lived long before the Spellplague. The Houses of Arzullnioth attacked Menzoberranzan. It did not go well,” Zynatheri commented, starting to lead the way down the slope. “Llolth chose Menzoberranzan, but your great-grandmother’s House was spared her wrath because they sacrificed every first-born daughter to her in a desperate placation. They killed and killed until Lolth bid them stop, with only a single heir left– your great-great grandmother Kiivashti. Thus, they were allowed to flee the city with what remained of House Tzahane. My mother told me of it when I was a girl.” “That’s vicious,” Poppy said disapprovingly, short raven curls bouncing as she shook her head.

“It’s very beautifully sad,” Lysander agreed, amber-and-earth eyes gazing over the cityscape with misty wonder, as if viewing its past. “Did grandfather find their bodies?”

“Well, I don’t know, pet,” Zynatheri said, too well-used to fatalistic minds to be bothered by it. “We can look. Perhaps they’ve found some clues that would point us to where great-grandmother’s family put their dead.”

“Honestly, little mum, I can see why you don’t like your family,” Poppy said with distaste. “Killing all your own children; how evil.”

They walked together down the uneven slope of stone, the remnants of an ancient roadway more visible now. The gate and wall that had closed out the great cavern of Arzullnioth were crumbled, damaged, but it seemed there were sentry myconids patiently standing in the gap where the city’s entrance had been. Proper guards. It was good to see.

The Sovereign Vorm had been busy at work budding, it seemed.

“Flower, we are walking into a city full of vampires, so try not to be too enthusiastic about calling things evil?”

“There’s a difference. I’m not a child any more, I understand,” Poppy huffed, rolling her eyes. “The person who is evil is the one who turned them all. And he’s dead.”

“Righteousness has done just as much wrong, if not more, than those they claim are evil,” Lysander agreed, softly sad.

Zyn fought the urge to scoff at youthful philosophy. It was fine. It was a luxury they had which meant they’d been raised safely and well, she had to remind herself, which was exactly what she’d sacrificed so much for. So that they didn’t end up like her.

The idea softened her momentary exasperation, warming it.

“Ah, I did such a good job raising you,” Zyn self-congratulated, ignoring the pair rolling their eyes at each other behind her.

“Mum had something to do with that, little mum.”

“Well, hells, I raised her, too!”

As they approached the gate, it became clear that the city was still very quiet, only the fungal folk wandering the broken streets. Shit. She’d meant to arrive well after nightfall, but it seemed they were still a bit early. While they took a pause just outside at the shrine of Beshaba Zyn had built, they all did their perfunctory offerings, and then she bid them wait.

“We shouldn’t go in until your grandfather sends someone to fetch us,” Zyn said apologetically. “Stay right here, I’ll go speak to the guards.”

While she dealt with communicating the fact that she needed Astarion to fetch them, Zyn watched the city streets. She could see a few shadowy figures out now, which meant it was probably just past nightfall. Yes, better not to parade the children through the streets in front of a bunch of barely-awake, hungry vampires– that was a recipe for disaster.

After she got her point across and managed to extricate herself– communicating with myconids was simple for her as a bard, but also addictively enjoyable– Zyn returned to the twins to wait. And wait. And…wait.

She was starting to get genuinely annoyed by the time Astarion arrived, and had paced back to the gate to wait, crossing her arms over her chest. Coming down the hill, disheveled and still in the process of fastening his belt, Astarion looked about as annoyed as she felt. When he noticed her and frowned, she lifted her chin and stared him down.

“You know where I live!” he snapped at her as he approached.

“I do,” she agreed, lifting her hands as he bore down on her. “Come here. Your hair is a mess.”

“Yes, well, I was still in my dressing gown,” he fussed, but obediently leaned down so she could fix his hair for him. “Why didn’t you just come u–”

“Hello, grandfather!” Poppy called cheerfully, the twins crunching up to join them.

Astarion straightened abruptly, pulling out of her reach. He tugged down the front of his embroidered jacket, staring at the approaching pair for a moment before turning an accusing gaze on her. She gave a small shrug. Astarion sighed, heavily.

“Don’t take it out on them,” she hissed.

“I know,” Astarion snapped back. Much to her relief, his mask slipped into place. “You must be Poppy and Lysander. I apologize, I hadn’t been told you were coming! Imagine that!” The last two words snapped with pointed accusation.

“Can we not fight in front of them, either?”

He gave her a dour look, and then sighed and stepped past her to greet the children. She kept her peace all the way to the half-ruined palace he had claimed, which amusingly she had realized from the designs of the stonework had once belonged to her mother’s family. Not that she’d mentioned it. In fact, Zyn didn’t think she’d ever brought up House Tzahane’s history here to him– it hadn’t seemed relevant.

Having grown up on the surface, she had about as much connection to this place as a pig did to a plate of ham.

Whatever they would make of this place would be their own.

At any rate, Poppy chattered the entire way, so that filled the silence quite nicely.

As she’d been suspecting, their bright, noisy presence drew a lot of attention as they traveled the shattered streets, something Astarion also seemed extremely aware of. The twins were relaxed, but they were both on high alert. Naturally Lysander was drawn to mooning about every even slightly interesting feature, but Zyn kept her hand close and gave him a bit of a tug every time he started to wander or pause to peek in ruined courtyards or fallen buildings.

He was a bit too much like his deceased mother at times– head forever in the clouds.

As they approached the House, she looked it over with a critical eye. The towers were missing their old statuary and spires, but it looked like he’d managed to get one of the roofs repaired, finally. The gardens that spread before the building were neat and tidy but mostly empty, nothing but dirt, rocks, and old paths, with just enough fungal and bulbfruit foliage to feed the pair of rothes stabled there, tied to the remnants of an old shattered obsidian statue of the Spider Queen.

“Well, this is grim,” Poppy remarked.

“Gardening is a bit low on my list of priorities right now,” Astarion replied, sounding fairly annoyed. “But I agree. Aesthetically displeasing. A state of affairs I’ve had to grow accustomed to. It’s irritating.”

“Why empty it out, then?”

“Half the plants here were aggressive. They kept trying to kill people. I much prefer plants I can use to kill other people. I was unaware kelpies were such an issue here in the Underdark, we’ve had a full half-dozen run ins with the damned things.”

“I’ve never met a kelpie. I’ve heard they’re very beautiful,” Lysander mused softly.

“You would die,” his sister retorted sharply. “Please don’t go looking for them.”

“Drowning seems like a peaceful way to die. Don’t you think?”

“No, love, it involves a lot of choking and thrashing and loosening of the bowels,” Zynatheri said tolerantly, unphased. “The right poison or a beheading will do you much better.”

“Beheading is classic,” Astarion agreed. “But what about you, dear?”

“I’m going to go out fighting. I’ll spit blood in their eye as they run me through,” Poppy said with delighted relish.

“How vicious,” Astarion laughed.

She knew he was irritated they’d come, but Zynatheri was grateful to discover that he respected her requests to keep things like that private. Whether it was because they were virtual strangers to him or not, it was still appreciated. After Ilethra and Portia had gotten to meet him, she hadn’t seen real reason to refuse the twins that wouldn’t have been infantilizing on her part. Just because they were the babies of the family didn’t make them children.

And she couldn’t say yes to Poppy and no to Lysander just because he had a more, mmh…passive personality.

But Hells, she was going to have to keep an eye on him. If they weren’t careful, he’d wander into the middle of town in an open-fronted shirt, reading poetry and looking wistfully melancholic. Then they’d have to explain to Lilithera how they’d gotten her youngest killed.

Or worse, they’d end up with a vampire-in-law.

Silly, lovely boy.

“Let’s try to stay at the House, loves, shall we?” Zynatheri suggested as they wandered into the vaulted front hall, the massive funguswood doors she’d painstakingly magicked back to life cracked open enough for them all to file in.

“No exploring?” Poppy asked, obviously disappointed.

“There’s plenty of exploring to do here,” Astarion said, in tacit agreement with Zyn, which relieved her. “I haven’t been in half the rooms of this place. And on that note, we’re a bit low on furniture, so you may have to break out those bedrolls again. I haven’t the supplies to be a good host.”

“I brought some furniture, and we’re fully provisioned,” Zyn assured him, and smiled at his questioning look. “Lily found me a portable hole. I thought it was high time I brought you some things to make this place a bit more livable, now that it’s survivable.” And because she knew he’d be annoyed and she wanted to sweeten his temper so he didn’t take it out on the children.

Astarion shot her a look of wide-eyed gratitude that made her laugh.

“You suffer more than anyone has ever suffered before,” she teased him.

“Even a single rug sounds like bliss right about now. The floors are always cold despite how warm it is here.”

“Little mum said you like to read, so I brought you books,” Lysander said, attention fixed somewhere among the buttresses. He tripped slightly, staggered, and then straightened up with Poppy’s hand on his elbow, looming over all three of them. “When you have time later, grandfather, Poppy and I were hoping we could speak with you.”

“My docket’s rather full for most of the night– at dinner later, perhaps?”

“Dinner? Dinner’s already passed,” Poppy said with a laugh.

“When you’re a visitor, you have to follow local customs. We’ll follow his schedule. You heard grandfather, he has a lot to do.” Zyn turned her attention to him, raising an eyebrow. “Should I put them in the room you gave me last time?”

“Thank you,” he said simply, already stepping away. “I’ll leave you to it?”

As she’d much rather he processed their arrival away from the twins, Zynatheri left it at that and they parted ways.

It was always such a struggle to keep your damage from infecting those around you. And Astarion? He had a great many scars both literal and figurative. Well, if he got too snippy with them, she could always threaten his life again.

There was always time for murder.

...

Astarion cradled his head in his hand, slumped deep into his chair.

“There is no need to waste energy on a farce of a court when immediate suppression is necessary to our survival,” Aurelia said firmly, with a hint of hurt and frustration in her voice. “We lost another of our brethren today, and–”

Violet sighed in deep ennui, eyes rolling up and to the side as she splayed forward. Resting her pale cheek on her palm, she stared at their tiefling sibling. Her voice dripped with sing-song disdain. “Stop pretending to care. You just want power. You’re afraid giving Astarion judicial power means you can’t be Queen Aurelia. Give it up. Nobody wants you to be in charge, you overbearing, weepy cow.”

“Why are we worrying about a few dead rothes when there’s runaway spawn out there, muddying our name everywhere we go? We need to strike them down! This is about our long-term survival!” Petras snapped, slamming his hands on the table.

Astarion sighed again, well aware Yousen and Dalyria were staring at him expectantly. Of course when Petras said something, he was expected to respond. “And what do you expect us to do in the short term, I wonder?” he asked, head rolling to the side as his hand dropped with an exasperated flourish. “Do tell, brother. Where does the money come from to fund your little hunting escapades? Will we starve while you play? Or are you just trying to get permission to go lurk in the nearest city? Hmm? Do a little clandestine hunting yourself?”

Predictable as always, Petras’ expression immediately stiffened. Idiot. Gods, at least he was still stupid; imagine if he’d actually become intelligent in the wake of freedom.

This all would be even more complicated.

They didn’t have the time for complicated right now, there were some corners that needed cutting.

“There’s no need to overthink it. It’s only a judicial court, and we’re immortal! We either execute people, flog them, or fine them within an inch of their lives. What good will imprisonment do?” Astarion declared, leaning back in his seat to scan across his siblings once more.

Dalyria gave him a look of disapproval, but he ignored it.

“He has a point,” Yousen said sardonically.

“We may not have time for building a code of laws just yet, but we cannot start executing people in the street!” Dalyria protested, tearing her gaze away from Astarion. “If people are afraid they will flee, and the damage already done will worsen. What we need to do is focus on a cu–”

“Cure? What, while we starve to death? The idiots are killing our source of food. They may as well die,” Petras said, giving Dal a look of frustration. When she turned away from him, lifting her chin, he raised his voice sharply. “Don’t ignore me because you don’t like my point!”

“Waaah,” Violet said snidely, rubbing her eyes with her fists.

“What an intelligent rebuttal.”

“Rebuttal? What a long word. Have you learnt to read at last, Petras?”

“Leon?” Aurelia interrupted from the head of the table before things grew any more fraught.

“Do as you like,” their silent sibling said, staring at a polished black stone mural behind Aurelia’s head. Leon’s voice was affectedly bored. “What do they call those spider-drow, Astarion?”

“Driders,” he replied, cautious about the change in topic.

“I found a skeleton of one below my House,” Leon said, voice musing. “Within tunnels surrounding a whole…temple of Lolth. Have we any knowledge regarding Lolth’s opinion on vampires?”

“Necromancy is common in Drow society,” Astarion temporized, trying to search his memory. Did he know that? Had he asked Zynatheri? No, he didn’t think he had, beyond using their dead. “Ritual sacrifice is her favorite activity, I doubt she draws the line at vampires. Just try not to desecrate the temple?”

Being the opportunist he was, Yousen slithered into the conversation then. “Lucky for us you’ve acquired a pet Drow, then. You can ask it.”

“Jealousy is ugly, brother,” Astarion retorted dismissively, waving a hand. Considering how she had chosen to arrive this time, he knew the information would have reached his siblings. He also knew Yousen was ensuring that everyone else was certain to know. Stirring the pot.

Conniving little gnome.

“You should share food with the whole family.”

Fine. He wanted to push? Astarion was more than happy to push right back. “Speaking of pets, brother dear, have you told Violet yet that you were the one who killed the kruthik hatchling she was keeping?”

Yousen went silent immediately, but the silence didn’t last long.

Within moments the table had descended into threats, verbal attacks, and accusations as two centuries of bile spilled over once more. Normally Astarion would have been among them, goading, but being in control for the moment, he only felt a detached sense of amusement. They were so easy to manipulate.

Granted, this wasn’t progress, but at least they weren’t irritating him any longer.

And wasn’t that what really mattered?

As the others attacked one another, Astarion and Leaon observed one another across the table in silence. Their alliance was, and remained tenuous, but Astarion understood his youngest ‘brother’ more now than he had before. What he had done– what he was still doing for his daughter– was completely comprehensible now in a way none of the others could understand.

It also, unfortunately, settled some of his rage and vitriol towards Zynatheri for never rescuing him.

Although he didn’t feel it, that urge to protect a child, he did at least understand it now. It wasn’t fair that his grudge was being ruined with this new comprehension, but oh well. She didn’t need to know he wasn’t angry any more.

If she did, she might feel less guilty, and then she wouldn’t be so quick to placate him.

Eventually, when he made no attempt, Aurelia bullied and tearfully manipulated everyone back into line. They made a few pressing decisions, though the greater one of ‘justice’ remained undecided apart from temporarily being shoved onto Astarion’s plate. Dalyria was the odd one out, determined to give grace and understanding for some reason. He assumed she wanted to pick a fight with Aurelia.

And Astarion also knew she was already experimenting on some of the spawn assigned to her House. Another tidbit to keep in his back pocket. One never knew when it might come in handy to toss out at a necessary moment– no matter how lenient he was towards the three of them, he was also more cautious around his sisters.

Yousen was wholly untrustworthy, Petras was stupid and petulant, and Leon, well…he was only here at all due to bribery and threats.

Things wound down a bit more tense than before, as they always did, and everyone parted ways to go back to secretly trying to manipulate one another. Part of him had hoped being free would mean things would get better, but that seemed impossible unless they went their separate ways. Their scars were all twisted together, making them parts of a whole in an unwholesome and unpleasantly familial fashion. They had been forced to be family, but that was over, and somehow they still were.

Even Leon, though he denied it.

And right now, they needed each other.

He waited until they were all gone before leaving the table himself, knowing none of them would be stupid enough to go skulking through his House right now. Later, when he wasn’t expecting it would be more likely. He did note that Yousen hadn’t mentioned the children, which made him think that he hadn’t known they were Astarion’s mortal relations.

None of the children looked enough like Lilithera to be easily identifiable as his blood, thankfully.

Finally he rose to leave, ignoring the papers and reports. Not now. Now he wanted to relax, as being around family could be exhausting.

“Astarion.”

Hands clutched abruptly at his sleeve as he left the ancient dining room they’d been using as a meeting chamber. Astarion paused with a start, exhausted mind already ready to snap until he looked into Violet’s worried eyes, her lips pulled down into a deep frown. Annoyed, he still tempered his frustration. Not listening to her would just send her into a fit.

“Yes, Vi?”

“Before the meeting over the judicial court, I overheard Petras telling Dalyria that Aurelia wanted them to vote against you.”

Astarion fought the urge to roll his eyes, well aware of the simple attempt at manipulation. “While I appreciate you telling me, dear, you do know that for this to work, sometimes we will vote against each other? Otherwise, what’s the point in making a council at all? I would just name myself tyrant if that weren’t the case.” As much as he hated to admit it.

“Yes, but they’re plotting.”

He tapped the end of her nose affectionately, and she clutched him closer, fingers creeping into the crook of his arm, possessive and spidery. “Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?”

She smiled at him with an innocence that almost hid the wicked edge, ducking her chin, scarlet eyes averting. “I thought you would want to know. I’ve been working very hard on my House. Will you come see it tonight?”

For a moment he nearly, habitually said yes, and then remembered the hapless relatives gamboling around in his House with fearless abandon. Also, Zynatheri was waiting for him. With a smile, he peeled her fingers from his arm, giving her hand a small pat as he released her.

“Tomorrow. I have things to do, still.”

“You mean you’re going to spend time with your mortal.” All affectation and smiles left her face; she didn’t even bother to look hurt or pained. Just cold, and nasty. “I don’t like her.”

“She is the only reason we’re safe down here,” he rejected her simply, taking her arm with a pointed air and all but dragging her to the exit. The last person he wanted to be here right now was Violet.

Once he ensured all of his siblings were gone, he turned away and headed deeper into the House, away from any errant spawn.

Every step echoed.

That echo was constant, a reminder of how empty this place was. When Astarion had sent them to the Underdark and promised to follow, he’d been anticipating a crude camp, a constant struggle, carving a life out of dangerous caverns. He’d even been considering leading them to Grymforge in the hopes of making it livable, but…

To have found this half-shattered, ancient Drow city was beyond all of his expectations, and it was Lilithera and Zynatheri who had made it possible.

But gods was it empty.

Then again, empty was better than how it had been when they’d moved in; stuffed full of monsters, traps, and other dangerous things.

He didn’t blame Zynatheri for preferring to be in his room– it was the only one decorated. Again, thanks to her and her daughter. He should dig something out of the artifacts they’d found to send back to Lily in thanks. Something that wasn’t necromantic. This time.

“Grandfather!”

The word still roused a twinge of unease, and not just because it made him feel old. Because it made him feel dead. It was the same reason he’d rejected Lilithera’s offer to find what remained of his mortal family– that all was so ancient and forgotten he would rather leave it that way. For now. But his own discomfort, well, it hardly mattered to the children.

And Zynatheri had made it rather clear she would murder him if he in any way upset them.

They bore down on him, golden-eyed, energetic Poppy and wistful, distracted Lysander. A continuation of his life, like lively mushrooms sprouting from a dead log. All of them made him feel the strangest sense of rejection and yearning, wanting what they were to him but not wanting to admit what he’d lost. He did try to keep it from them, at least.

His relations were twisted enough without inflicting it on these bright, curiously innocent creatures his mortal life had made.

“Did you sleep well?”

“I’ve never been in a Drow Great House before! Sometimes I forget that we’re quarter drow, it’s not like people see that. They just call you a half-elf and be done with it,” Poppy chattered, beaming at him until her eyes crinkled like Lilithera’s.

“It’s beautiful and lonely,” Lysander opined, untidy hair falling back from his eyes as he gazed upwards. "The walls are full of ghosts, and the floors hold memories of blood."

Poppy grinned with a hint of feral excitement. “We were just going to go find little mum, to see if she wanted to go exploring! Maybe we'll find an ooze.”

Astarion knew by now that there was nothing she wanted less. Lazy woman. “Your grandmother is resting. Under orders. I would appreciate it if you two would head downstairs and survey the second level for me. Take an inventory of what remains. But if there’s danger more than a trap or a few undead, you have to promise to come fetch us at once.”

“We promise,” Poppy agreed earnestly, cheeks dimpling in an irrepressible smile.

“Go on, then. My rooms are just there,” he pointed down the left-hand hallway. “You’ll be able to see the firelight. You have…food and things? Water? Potions?”

“We are provisioned for the journey,” Poppy said, curls bouncing as she nodded vigorously.

He was about to let them go, until a thought struck him, uncomfortable and worried. No. They weren’t truly safe here, were they? Not even in his demesne. It chilled him to think about what Violet would do if she had them in her hands. “If you…see anyone at all. Any strangers. Please come right back.”

“Little mum told us not to trust anyone but you,” Lysander reassured him, those dreamy copper eyes suddenly, and surprisingly intent. “We won’t succumb to the lure of darkness.”

“He means we won’t talk to strangers,” Poppy said, with a hint of exasperation. Grabbing her twin by his upper arm, she started dragging him off. “Honestly! They act like we aren’t grown,” she complained as she pulled him towards the grand staircase in the main hall.

“They have seen centuries; us, mere decades.”

“That doesn’t mean they have to be so overbearing about it,” Poppy complained.

“I’m still standing right here!”

Poppy glanced over her shoulder, pulling down the skin under her eye with her free hand, making a horrible face.

Reflexively he made a face back at her, and her expression shifted into an impish smile.

Bemused, he watched them disappear into the darkness.

Once their footsteps died away, a thin silvery thread of sound drew his attention. A soft, ethereal voice, languidly singing a wordless song. A siren in the shadows. It was the barest beckon, only audible due to echoes and the slight crack of the bedroom door that spilled gilded light into the massive ebon corridor.

A lone figure, dwarfed by the empty and lonesome architecture, he followed that lure.

The austere, icy darkness of the reflective walls and ominous vaulted space faded away as he pushed open the door, the gilded firelight spilling over him. It was warmer within, a spiral of steam rising from the newly-hidden bathtub in the corner. The wood and silk folding screen Lilithera had bought him was in front of it, partially blocking it from view.

What had once been a room empty of everything but an icy stone bed frame and an empty basin was now a living space, hangings on the walls, rugs on the floor. Books and furnishings and a sturdy desk covered in papers, curios. A painting of his family on the mantle. Signs of life and living, tucked into a space that was his.

And before the fire, lounging on the daybed with her nearly-dry alabaster hair cascading over the arm and down to the floor, was the curious creature who had barged her way into his life and gleefully disordered it. A glowing golden glass of brandy was sitting on the floor just under her dangling fingertips, her moonstone eyes vague and distant. Zynatheri was singing to herself, drowsy and soft, blue cheek pillowed attractively on a bright golden pillow, her knees curled up under his burgundy dressing gown. The curve of one soft calf peeked out, her foot pointed off the cushion in a graceful, sinuous line.

Astarion was struck, in the oddest fashion, by a desire to let her do nothing but lounge and sing like a contented songbird for the rest of her life. Avarice wanted her caged, unable to leave so that he could always have this curiously warm sensation, but humanity– if that’s what you wanted to call it– wanted her here like this. A sweetly nested bird with no desire to fly away.

It suited her.

“Are you drunk, little fox?” he asked, amusement spilling over the words.

She startled, knees curling up to her chest, hands clutching the front of his dressing gown closed– as if he hadn’t seen the unbound, ripe curves of her bared chest already. Accusing moonstone eyes turned on him. “You bid me relax, brought me brandy, and I have drunk. I cannot un-drink, or un-drunk.”

“But you can draw me a bath, it seems.”

“I heard you talking to the twins and heated it up, so it’s still warm.”

“Thank you.”

Pushing off the doorframe, he pulled the door closed behind him, knowing there would be a sliver of light in the hallway. Feeling a sudden buoyancy in his mood, he paused while passing by the daybed, leaning over the curving back. She peered up at him, nose wrinkling irritably as he swiped a finger down her cheek, the skin velvety and warm under his fingertip.

Mockingly, he rubbed his fingers together, inspecting them. “Hmmh.”

“I washed,” she said, tartly.

“So you did,” he agreed, smirking to himself.

“There’s a wooden box of bath essences on the table,” she murmured, eyes slitting closed like a contented cat when his hand briefly rested on her head in passing.

The reaction was so soft, so natural, that his mind couldn’t help but dwell on what a more affectionate caress might do. He might as well admit it. Astarion was fascinated by the little minx. Attracted to her. He might be a little more uneasy about that if her two centuries of devotion felt in any way attached to some adoration or sexual desire, but they didn’t.

She’d looked for him for their daughter, not out of love or infatuation. He knew what those looked like. In her eyes he saw neither, just a friendly affection that had been slowly growing with each meeting, much like his for her. But even her disheveled state of sexually charming disarray right now was just relaxation and her feeling comfortable, not any active attempt at seduction.

She was simply a seductive person.

Why was she still here?

Was it really just for the children?

His thumb caught the catch on the richly-scented wooden box settled on a small side table carved with sinuously twisted designs– a decorative table. Such a small, pointless luxury, but one he had now. The box was filled with small glass bottles, and he smelled them each until one struck him. Earthy, woody, relaxed and warm.

Not a scent made to hide anything, just to be enjoyed.

He plucked the oil out of the box, and headed for the heated water. “What do you expect me to wear?”

“I’ll go dress,” she muttered drowsily.

“If the dressing gown is damp I don’t want it.”

He heard a huff, but no verbal response.

The vial poured into the water filled the air with an inviting, rich scent, beckoning him to relax. After today, it wasn’t a lure he could resist. Shrugging his clothing to the floor, he stepped into the deep tub, pleased to find the water scalded his skin, warm to the point of discomfort. Perfect.

Astarion closed his eyes and sighed as he sank into it.

Seconds flowed by, languid, as he let the heat sink into his bones. It felt good. Rejuvenating. The room would normally be empty, but he could hear the small sounds of someone else moving around in his space, filling it with a strange warmth. Her footsteps, breaths, the soft hum.

“Sing me a song, little nightingale,” he murmured, lungs filled with heady steam.

Instantly, but distantly, she lifted her voice in song, a softly lilting little folk tune that was as gentle as it was morbid. Like so many folk songs. Her sweet voice sank into him, relaxing muscles he hadn’t even known were tense.

After so many nights alone in the darkness, working, having her here was a balm to wounds he hadn’t even known were causing him pain.

Her voice wandered closer as she completed the song, some little tune about a woman dying on her wedding day. She tossed his dressing gown over the top of the curtain, followed by a loose pair of pants. Nothing else. He gave a rather pointed ‘ahem’.

“What?”

“Generally undergarments are worn under trousers.”

“Get your own underwear,” she scoffed, making him laugh. Her voice softened minutely. “Don’t worry about your dirty things, Lysander needs to practice his cantrips, I’ll have him clean them.”

“I was under the impression that he was learning wizardry, not bardic arts.” Astarion scooped up the sponge, finally feeling relaxed enough to bother with scrubbing.

“Lily tried, but he just doesn’t have the mind for it. Not stupidity, just focus. He doesn’t like it, so his mind wanders– music is easier for him.”

“Too much of a dreamer.”

“Hmmh,” she agreed softly. “We should let him dream.”

“I suppose it is a luxury we can afford him,” Astarion said, trying to ignore the weight of that statement and the bitterness it brought up. “So what do you think of the twins’ grand plan to reconnect people with their families?”

Zynatheri sighed, the sound trailing off into silence. Nothing but the crackle of the fireplace and soft sloshing of the water filled the air, until she finally blew out a breath between her lips. “I think it has a lot of potential to do good, but also a lot of potential to summon an army of Lathander’s followers intent on wiping you all out. I still think isolation and discreet alliances are your wisest courses until you are stronger. I think that they are…thinking the best of people. I think that they are thinking ‘our grandfather is a vampire, and we don’t care. Why would anyone else?’”

She was absolutely correct. There was no way they could survive a crusade, and any followers of Lathander would slay them on principle. They were vulnerable, and would be for some years as they started slowly creeping past survival into thriving and growing. And they needed those years. Their weakness was a lack that only time and hard work could cure.

No skills, no martial talents, no magic even beyond Leon’s.

Which was why Astarion didn’t feel the least bit badly about blackmailing him into staying.

“I’ll speak to them. Perhaps you and I could think of another outlet for their…youthful enthusiasm.”

“Do you even have the mental fortitude for more problem-solving?” she teased.

He gave an exhausted sigh that made her laugh, slumping back in the bathtub until his head rested on its edge. Astarion closed his eyes. It was a valid question, and the answer was no– but they both knew that.

“I’d like to help, but my knowledge is more broad than deep– I don’t know a lot about logistics. But if it would help, I’d be happy to make a donation. The twins will want to stay for a while, so I’ll have time to recover.”

Was she–

Shock spurred his tongue, water sloshing dangerously as he sat up straight. “Are you offering me blood?”

“It’s the easiest way to help you, isn’t it? I do like things that are easy.”

“I’ve never had someone offer it to me before.” At least not out of altruism. Thinking of that alchemist from Moonrise just made him disgusted, however, so he moved on quickly from thinking about that. And in his current situation… “I’d be a fool to say no.”

“Should we wait until I’m sober?”

As much as he wanted it now, in a desperately hungry way– that uplifting warmth that washed away the eternal fog, that invigorating breath of life… “We should wait until dusk. It’s nearly morning. I’d hate to waste even a drop.”

“It’s funny how you can tell,” she said, and cracked a soft yawn. “In the morn– er, dusk, then.”

The water was starting to cool, and with it his desire to be in it any longer. It was a shame, though. When she wasn’t here, the best he could do would be a cauldron heated over the fire, which wasn’t enough to lounge in, just enough to get clean. But what real impetus could he give her to stay? How could he make her stay and take care of him the way he wanted, the way she owed him for the two hundred years she’d done nothing.

It wasn’t at all true, but it felt true– which was enough for him.

It didn’t matter what he thought, as long as he didn’t say it.

Regardless, Zynatheri wasn’t in love with him, he couldn’t provide for her or offer her comfort that she wasn’t the one giving to him. Asking her to stay would be asking her to struggle. And for what? So he could enjoy her company and the comforts that came with it?

Well…why not?

It wasn’t as if there would be any harm in asking, right?

If she wasn’t willing to stay and indulge him, then she’d simply say no and that would be the end of it. She wouldn’t hold a grudge. Right? Of course that was right, why was he even second-guessing it?

When he finished dressing, she'd pulled herself up to sit on the daybed, leaving space for him. She'd thrown on her loose linen traveling shirt and trousers, bare feet tucked under her, head resting on her arm. He didn't ever think he'd seen her with a fully upright posture.

Always lounging like a cat.

The temptation was near-impossible to resist, and by now he knew she'd allow it.

Astarion was proven correct when dropping onto the seat next to her and slumping to the side only had her shifting her posture, legs dropping to the floor, back settling into the embrace of the fainting couch's arm. Willingly, he let her shift him from her shoulder to her lap, head falling onto the soft pillow of her thighs.

Gods, the damnable woman was comfortable.

“You’re so tired,” she said fretfully, running her fingers slowly through his damp hair as he adjusted himself. “You need to relax more.”

“Two centuries of…spite, rivalry, competition, and puppeteering by our M– by Cazador has made it difficult between the seven of us. They listen to me, of course, but the constant bickering…ugh. Exhausting.”

“Do I make things more difficult for you, because I keep coming by? Would you prefer that I stay a–” She stalled as he cracked open an eye and placed a single finger on her lips. Bemused, she pursed them.

“Yes, I would,” he said.

“Then I’ll go,” she said, posture stiffening, an amusingly annoyed expression on her face.

“What are you talking about?” Despite knowing exactly why he’d irritated her, Astarion pulled a confused expression. A little game. Except...much to his surprise, he was the only one playing it.

Usually she was quick, but he’d forgotten– Zynatheri was drunk.

While her face went through a long journey of utter bemusement, he watched from his very comfortable position, highly amused watching her alcohol-sodden brain trying to function. When she turned a glare down on him, he smirked. The silly creature pouted.

“You’re taking advantage of my muddled head,” she whined, flicking his forehead.

He swatted her away, knuckles smacking into the back of her hand, stinging.

“Owwwwh,” she whined pathetically. “What are you doing? You told me to go away, so I’m going away.”

“You didn’t say go away,” he replied, discreetly shaking his own hand.

“Yes, I did, I asked if you wanted me to go away and you said yes.”

“No, you asked if I wanted you to stay…” he finished by placing a finger on her lips again.

Her pretty moonstone eyes went rounder than usual, lips pursing under his finger out of shock and not affection. Still amusing. Cheeks flushing an unfairly charming shade of purple, she stared down at him. His smirk grew into a wide, amused smile of delight.

Was she actually–

“You’re blushing!”

“No! I don’t blush!” she protested, reaching up and clutching her cheeks. “I’m flushed from drinking!”

“I’ve been lying here wondering if somehow all my charms have gone stale,” he teased her, laughing when she gave a faint ‘hmph’ and turned her face away, nose in the air. He let his expression turn cajoling, amused by her pouty little act. He saw the little peeks she gave him, wanting to know his reaction. Softening his voice, he tried to lure her out with a low croon. “Come now, little fox. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

She shot him a scornful, aloof look, her big silver eyes turning distant. “Are we? Well, friends shouldn’t be indebted to each other, should they? I’ve been raising your non-vampiric spawn for two hundred years, that adds up!”

Offended, but too comfortable to move, he folded his arms over his chest, steepling his index fingers together. “Really? You’re extorting me? I wonder what Lilithera would say if I told her that you said that.”

Immediately she puffed her cheeks, looking mortally, but hilariously offended. Any attempts at dignity flew right out the window. “Don’t you dare! You bully!”

“I’m the bully?! You just threatened me!”

“You were teasing me,” she replied, a little whine to her voice.

What a frustratingly, infuriatingly adorable creature she was.

“You’re impossible to be angry at. It’s annoying,” he informed her, amused by her smile of triumph. And then she went back to stroking his hair, which soothed away any thoughts of continuing the play-fighting. His eyes closed, the rhythmic, affectionate touch soothing and gentle.

His words gained no response, but he had no desire to break the peaceful, calm silence. The fire crackled, her touch wound through his hair, strands curling around her fingers, tugging lightly when she freed herself. It was hypnotic.

She smelled like brandy and night-blooming flowers, a rich, sultry perfume, and her lap was warm and soft as he lounged bonelessly against her. Her embrace was possibly just a little better than the bath. And all of this with the oddest lack of seduction or sexual intent– just intoxicatingly guileless affection. It made him think of Lilithera’s words, about how she would ‘never make the first move’. If she hadn’t by now…

Zynatheri’s velvety voice was soft. “Did you mean that?”

He knew instantly what she was referring to; a shared thought. “I don’t have anything to give you.”

“Hmm?”

“There’s no reason for you to stay even if I had meant it.”

Zynatheri gave another of those soft ‘hmm’s, voice a low murmur of sound. “Do you think the pleasure of your company isn’t a reason?”

“Well, naturally, dear, but usually the company is a means to an end, not the end goal,” he said flippantly, not liking the direction of the conversation.

“Not for me,” Zynatheri replied, voice slow and casual. “I’m a very simple creature at heart, Astarion. I do what I enjoy. I enjoy your company.”

He couldn’t keep the frustration from his voice any longer, the odd uncomfortable anger he’d been feeling all evening when all he wanted was to relax. His voice sharpened, body restless. “There’s nothing down here, don’t you understand that? No fine food, wine, society, no safe audience for your pretty songs but me. It’s dark, cold, and empty. Dangerous. Every luxury I could possibly give you is something you’ve given to me.”

The comfort was unwanted now, meaningless in the face of his internal strife. Astarion rose to his feet abruptly, pacing across the floor with frustration in every stride. He glanced at her, but it only made him feel badly, the rejected hand still in the air, her patient stare. Why was she doing this? Why did she keep wandering into his life only to leave?

It drove him absolutely mad.

Her voice was frustratingly calm. “I feel like even if I said those don’t matter, you’d still feel otherwise. Why is that?”

All of the frustration and annoyance he hadn't felt towards his siblings seemed to have turned on her, rising with the tone of his voice as Astarion whipped around to stare down at her. “Because my mind keeps telling me all I would have to do is seduce you to keep you by my side, and I don’t want to do that any longer! But without that…what? What? What do I have to give you?!”

She watched him from the daybed still, cheek lowering to pillow on her arm, silver eyes turned up towards him. There was the faintest hint of a smile on her face. Infuriating wretch.

“What are you smirking at?!”

“Have you forgotten how to court someone without sex?” she asked, voice teasing him.

It was so unexpected that his anger lost its momentum immediately. She– “Court– who said anything about courtship?”

“Isn’t that what you’re asking? You want me to stay. You want me to sing for you and coddle and spoil and flatter you– take care of you. So…figure out how to make me want to stay, then. And no, I don’t want to sleep with you either. To make me be a part of degrading you in a way you’re finally free of just as an attempt to placate me…I’d never forgive myself.”

“Just– ugh. Just because it isn’t about sex doesn’t mean it’s romantic.”

“No, it doesn’t have to be romantic…but it is,” she replied, fingers splaying against her cheek. “I’m not going to pretend it’s not. You’ve shown me what you have to offer me, told me why it’s not good enough, but I disagree. I like what we have for what it is.”

“Yes, but that won’t get you to stay,” he insisted awkwardly.

“It might.”

Finally he had to avert his gaze, unease overtaking anger. His emotions were confusing, shame and discomfort and disbelief that she was saying it at all. But she was. “You mean that, don’t you.”

“Just think about it.”

He shouldn’t resent something as simple as her standing up, but he did. Astarion knew she was leaving. The last thing he’d wanted was to stew in his own mind like this, but it seemed his mind didn’t care.

“I’m going to go find the twins,” she said, confirming it. “I think if you contacted our daughter, she’d be more than happy to help you. But if you need somewhere to start…” She grimaced, heaving her hair forward over her shoulder. “You could learn to braid. Rest well. I’ll see you first thing in the evening, hmm?”

“I can’t help but feel as if I’m being punished for being honest,” he admitted, despite knowing it wasn’t true.

“I can see why it might feel that way. But we’ve been dancing around in this gray area for a while, so it’s probably time to figure things out. You were right to say something.”

“You’ve done a wonderful job of putting this all on my shoulders,” he pointed out, wishing she’d give him some damned indication of how she felt about it all.

She glanced over her shoulder and stuck her tongue out at him, and then smiled impishly. “How much have I been doing for you lately? Tsk. The nerve of you.”

“Well, how do I know you’re not this sweet to everyone?” He gave her an aggrieved pout, crossing his arms. “Maybe I’m not special.”

“You are.”

“And how many beautiful former lovers have you said that to over the years, I wonder.”

She smiled faintly. “Ask Lilithera. Sweet dreams.”

Well, it seemed she was determined to go. As much as he wanted to shout at her, leaving things on a bad note would make their next meeting unpleasant instead of restful. Right now, those crumbs of rest were all that was keeping him sane.

And he wasn't going to lie and claim he didn't desperately want the blood she was offering.

“Sweet dreams, little nightingale.”

Zynatheri’s good mood was unabated, glancing over her shoulder with a wink at him on her way to the door. “You sound so sulky,” she teased.

“Begone,” he ordered her irritably, throwing himself down on the daybed she’d abandoned.

Despite the fact that this room was no longer empty, her laughter still echoed long after she’d left.

#Fanfic Friday #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x tav #astarion #tav: zynatheri rivati #Astarion starts sending death threats to Gale for trying to date his daughter #there's about 20-30k more of this but it wasn't properly linked up #just in bits and unfinished pieces rn #but if people like it I can polish it up at some point

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