#tiri Goldenroot

[spacebarbarianweird]

Blankie

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

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

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

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

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

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

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

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

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

And he is oh so afraid of doing something wrong! 

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

Tiriel puts away a spoon and kisses his cheek.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

**

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, the blanket is ready.

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

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

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

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

Tiriel takes the blanket out of his hands. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What is he even doing… 

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

He steps back. 

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

“I… I… “ he can barely say anything. 

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

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

“I… I did… I was kissing her.”

“And? “

“I think I shouldn’t have.”

Tiriel laughs. The wave of shame fades. 

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

“And what if she didn't want me to?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I do, my love.”

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

“I think so?”

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

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

305 years later

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, it can't be… 

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

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

Astarion hugs his son-in-law. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tiri..” Astarion echoes.

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

Astarion must be smiling like an idiot. A granddaughter! 

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

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

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

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

**

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just centuries of practice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

**

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

But the blanket smells like home.

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

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

Alethaine feels like the blanket slips off her hands.

“Here, Tiri. Ma nás mára tyen?”

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

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

--

Quenya vocabulary

Ma nás mára tyen? - Do you like it?

Ná! - Yes

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[spacebarbarianweird]

Tiriel acknowledges Astarion's nature both of a vampire and an elf. She loves his soft part. She loves his predatory part. Tiriel gives him her blood, she encourages him to go on a hunt. She never acts all just and fair by not allowing him to kill his prey. But Tiriel also talks to him in Elven, caresses his ears and never interrupts his reverie.

Astarion acknowledges Tiriel’s mixed nature, both an elf and a human. He never stops her from fighting or drinking. Always on her side. Always supporting her. He talks to her in Elven and caresses her ears. Astarion encourages Tiriel to join an adventuring party even if it means he is on his own for a couple of days. Astarion never looks down on her for her low intelligence or inability to read.

When Alethaine is born, they don't try to make her something she isn't. They know she is a predator and never punish her for bringing dead animals home or biting. They don't force Alethaine to act "normal", no one is normal at their home. Alethaine is clingy. She cries for attention. She ressurects the dead animals she brings home. She is a monster and she is taught not to be embarassed by it.

When Alethaine grows she is fine being on her own.

Until she isn't.

Alethaine meets a ranger, a monster slayer. She thinks she has seen him before in some feverish dreams. He looks like a character from an elven legend.

Elren Goldenroot has never belonged. His faher and his clan had died before Elren was born. His mother offed herself out of grief. Raised by humans, Elren has been witnessing the downfall of the elven kind believing the world is close to the end. He hunts down monsters and demons and is very good at this.

He knows how to deal with them.

Elren Goldenroot sees Alethaine Ancunin for what she is. She has a soft and swet side deep under the black fabric. She is good with kids and protect the least fortunate. That her cynicism is superficial. He acknowledges her monstrous side and doesn't cringe if she accidentally bites him. Elren knows she is stronger than him but he doesn’t feel intimidated.

Alethaine knows her beloved's duality. Elven hero, a fighter, a leader. First a warrior, then a king. He is everything people imagine when they read about elves. But he is a monster slayer, a ruthless hunter who has seen the most unimaginable horrors. And that such life is his free choice. Alethaine knows his struggles, his low self-esteem, his lack of confidence. She suppports him no matter what.

Their daughter is named after Tiriel. Tiri is her parents' little fire. She is nothing like Alethaine or Elren but Astarion notices her resemblance to Tiriel. It seems like she even doesn't notice her grandfather isn't like other elves.

The most difficult thing for Astarion is acknowledging Tiri doesn't like macabre and black things like Alethaine. That his dark princess gave birth to the girl who is afraid of the dark and would never go to a graveyard.

Sometimes Astarion watches his granddaughter trancing and he thinks he really enjoys being a grandfather.

[spacebarbarianweird]

I can't wait to read about Astarion and sweet Tiri adventuring together but in the meantime... could you please treat us with a drabble when they see each other for the first time after Tiri is old enough to show her personality? A little girl who would love unicorns being left alone with her sarcastic vampire grandpa for a moment, the only grandparent she has.

You've sent me so many requests and I barely wrote any of them. So here is a treat and a sneak into the future where Astarion finds himself in a company of his granddaughter Tiri (Tiriel) Goldenroot and her pet dragon Aurix!

Astarion's Little Fire

Summary: This story is set 25 years after the events of the Mortal Bounds Series (which I haven't finished yet) and this drabble will be part of the final chapter. Alethaine Ancunin defeats the demons, avenges her dhampir cousins, marries her thiramin Elren Goldenroot, and together they become the first High King and High Queen of the Elves. They name their only daughter Tiriel in honor of Alethaine’s mother - and the red-headed ranger is ready to see the world on her own

Tags: dadstarion, dhampirs, fluff, Astarion's granddaughter

Alethaine's age: 325 Baby Tiri's age: 23

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion watches the night skies. The sea is stormy and the relentless winds howl through Darknest, home of the Blood guild, the unlikely alliance between the few dhampirs left and vampires. Hopefully, none of them are Cazador's spawns. 

Astarion loves being in charge. He loves being in control. He is the oldest of all of them and they watch him with respect.

Astarion opens his arm embracing the cold wind.

340 years of being free. Cazador tortures are left in the past. The years of freedom that followed the Netherbrain’s defeat eventually wiped away the torture of the previous decades.

Astarion was married. He loved his wife with all his selfish, undead heart. Tiriel died. Yes, she did die almost two centuries ago yet Astarion keeps seeing her whenever he trances. It’s always painful to come back to the reality where Tiriel doesn’t even have a grave.

She had red hair.

Freckles.

She was loud and funny. Kind. Loving. Fierce and brave. 

Alethaine, their daughter, is nothing like her. Astairon smiles. He rarely sees his daughter anymore. The cursed elven kingdom separated them. Alethaine followed her husband and her people, and the strong magic of the Isle of Evermeet doesn't tolerate the presence of the undead like himself. 

Actually, Astarion has seen her only once in the last twenty-five years. Alethaine came to Darknest as a Queen, with guardians, obedient to her will. She didn’t need them, but oh, did she love having them around to highlight her new position.

Astaron raised his princess right.

And even his biggest fear didn’t come true! He was afraid his daughter would be alone. That he doomed his princess to a lifetime of loneliness and misery.  But it seems like all elves are created in pairs. For Alethaine the necromancer there is Elren the monster slayer. 

Astarion doesn't like admitting it, but he adores his son-in-law. And he knows Tiriel would have loved him too, should half-elves have been blessed with longer life spans. 

Besides, Elren deserves respect for not being afraid to be around a vampire. 

Suddenly, Astarion's undead feelings stir.

There is someone alive in the castle. Some unfortunate soul has decided to hide from the storm in Darknest. 

The presence of warm blood is like a drug to an addict. Astarion is already sensing the other vampires moving through the halls.

Astarion crawls up the ceiling. None of the vampires would dare attack a visitor (Astarion has standards and the guild has rules), but whoever has come better not tease the dead.

He quickly moves to the main hall.

Yes, the prey is there.

The fireplace casts shadows on the walls. And there are two living creatures.

A small dragon, the size of a cat, sleeps peacefully on the burning wood, snoring like a kitten.

“Oh…” Astarion hears a girlish voice. “Hi!”

The intruder is a young elven girl barely adult enough to leave her home. She is five feet tall and her red hair is loose. A pair of green eyes study Astarion without fear. 

She wears traveling clothes made of the finest elven fabric; her cloak is adorned with elven symbols. The only odd thing about her is a macabre head circlet with a small skull.

The girl’s ears twitch as she puts her bow behind her back. The dragon stretches and jumps out from the fireplace. It crawls up the girl's shoulder and watches Astarion with curiosity.

“Hi,” the girl repeats. Her heart races faster. She starts getting scared. 

The heart…

Astarion jumps on the floor and moves closer to the girl. 

He recognizes this heartbeat though he heard it only once, twenty-five years ago.

When he was carrying a weak and wounded Alethaine back from the battlefield.

The second heartbeat in his daughter’s belly. 

“Well, I suppose only my granddaughter, Tiriel Goldenroot, could break into a vampire castle,” he chuckles.

“It's your castle and your guild and technically I can come without an invitation,” Tiri says.

Atsarion gives out a laugh. All these years he was imagining the first time he would meet his baby granddaughter. What he would tell her, what she would look like.

Tiri opens her arms and hugs him.

She is warm like a fireplace and her heart is loud like a dragon’s roar.

Little Fire, Astarion remembers. Alethaine and Elren call her Little Fire.

The small dragon finally gets bored of sitting in the fireplace and crawls to Tiri.

“Oh, and this is Aurix.” She grabs the dragon as if it were a kitten and pushes it into the Astarion's arms. The dragon seems made of warm stones. “I can stay here with you, right?”

… They spend the next day talking. Tiri listens to all his stories with her eyes wide open, and by the time the storm ends, Astarion has promised her that he will leave the castle and guild to some of his subordinates and would follow her to the mainland. 

Astarion is amused by how much of a vampire Tiri ISN’T. She is mortal, she is scared of the dark and of cursed places. Spiders, skeletons, and skulls disgust her, and Tiri even admits she has never been to her mother’s dungeon. 

“I like the woods,” Tiri says. “O’Su taught me how to survive there if I am on my own. O’si tried to teach me how to identify the undead and the ghouls but… well it didn’t end well,” she adds.

When Tiri gets tired and falls into a trance curled by the fireplace in Astarion’s room, the vampire returns to the main hall where a few of the guild members are already hiding from the sun.

In all honesty, it would be fun to become an adventurer once again.

“Anyone scares her,” Astarion says, “and I will make sure your limbs won’t regenerate. Also,  I am also leaving. Who wants to be in charge?”

**

Tiri thinks she hears the sounds of а bloodbath from below.

Darknest is creepy, but what did she expect by deciding to visit her grandfather? 

What really surprises her is how warm it is inside. 

Of course, the undead and dhampirs are always freezing. Vampires can’t warm themselves up and are attracted to fireplaces like moths to lights. And dhampirs have cold hands. 

Tiri’s mother, High Queen Alethaine, wraps herself in thick black fabric even on the hottest days and she actually enjoyed looking after Aurix’s egg in the fire when he was hatching – meanwhile, Tiri would feel dizzy after a minute spent there. 

Tiri hears Astaron’s voice – he’s encouraging his subordinates to fight. 

The voice causes a memory to materialize – Tiri has started reliving real events only recently and the experience bewilders her.

In this memory, Tiri is only 5 and she’s just had the biggest revelation in her short life.

“O’si,” she whispers to her mother who sits in a chair and is engrossed in some ancient book. 

“What is it, Little Fire?” Alethaine asks, closing the book as if its contents weren’t meant for the child’s eyes. 

Tiri doesn’t answer and crawls onto her mother's lap. Then, she presses her ear to Alethaine’s chest. 

“Why don’t you breathe?” Tiri asks. 

Alethaine caresses her ears. “Well, because I am a dhampir. Do you know what vampires are?”

Tiri gives an answer. Scary creatures, dead slaves to their hunger, cursed spawns of the darkness. That’s what they say in stories.

And then another revelation happens.

“My dad, your grandpa, can’t come here because he is a vampire. He died many centuries ago and ever since he has to drink blood and hide from the sun. My mum, Tiriel, I named you after her. She saved him from his master and they lived together. I am half-undead. That’s why I don’t breathe and can bring you down the tree when you get stuck.”

“But you are an elf!”

“I am. As is your grandpa. You will meet him when you grow up. He is a menace,” she laughs, baring her fangs.

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[spacebarbarianweird]

Mortal Bounds. Part 6. Tel'Quessira nalme

Summary: Astarion and Alethaine finally faces Tiriel's death. The end of the world is coming. Alethaine's future husband Elren Goldenroot finally gets a grip on his life and makes a step toward becoming a hero of the elven kind.

Tags: angst, hurt, grief, father\daughter relationship, widower Astarion, adult child of Astarion, fantasy lore, elves speak Quenya and Neo-Sindarin, the end of the world is coming.

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

This is the sixth part of the Mortal Bounds series. Tiriel dies and Astarion deals with grief and loneliness along with their daughter. It will be the last short fic in the series and the following adventures of Alethaine will be set in a longfic.

Alethaine's age: 200

Mortal Bounds. Part 1. Shall We Meet Again?

Mortal Bounds. Part 2. Death, Worthy of a Barbarian

Mortal Bounds. Part 3. Paint it Black

Mortal Bounds. Part 4. Butterfly

Mortal Bounds. Part 5. The Vampire and the Witch

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

“Elves are dying out!”

Alethaine stops to listen to the murmurs.

“Yes, they are! They say no child has been born in fifty years,” a dwarven man adds. “I am not surprised, it’s not like fairies are prolific!”

The words sound like doom. Alethaine has never considered herself a full elf. She is a dhampir, a spawn of the shadowlands, everything elven realms are not.

But still…

Her ears have that elven, pointy shape. Her eyesight and hearing are sharp and she can easily identify elven melodies. It’s easier for her to express her thoughts in the language of Tel’Quessira.

But they have never accepted her. Never.

But she probably would want to.

“Hey, you!” the dwarf asks. “You are an elf, aren't you? Tell us, what did your kind do to finally piss off the elven gods?”

Alethaine chuckles and snaps her fingers. A skull of shadows appears in the air and flies directly to the dwarf. He opens his mouth and his eyes are full of terror. 

The skull fades away and the dwarf’s companion, an elderly halfling, laughs.

“It’s not elves who pissed off the gods,” the halfling finally says. “Look, the world is in ruins. They say demons, creatures of unimaginable horrors, are coming from the Abyss. Everywhere they step, the land changes. People, halflings, dwarves, gnomes. They change. Their bodies get twisted and become… something else. It is the end of the world, elves probably got affected earlier. Your kind is sensitive to this sort of thing.”

Alethaine would sigh if she could.

Her kind…

To everyone who is not an elf, she is one of them. Every elf she has ever met (except for an old lady called Sylenn who gave her a circlet she’d made for her dead son) was scared of her, hated her, and wanted her fully dead.

I wonder, Alethaine thinks, what happened to Sylenn. 

The dhampir hopes the old elven mercenary has found peace in her tormented soul.

“The whole of Elturgard is now a wasteland! And gods know what is going on there… twisted souls, acid rivers, rifts in the ground. Everyone who gets there loses their mind. Demons are coming from the Abyss and we are all done for! And you know who is at fault?”

Alethaine stops.

“Dhampirs! Those bastards summoned them with their deranged cults! Soulless monsters. They gathered all in one place… and they started killing each other; and now in the dungeons, you can still hear their screams!”

Alethaine feels her undead heart racing. 

KILL KILL KILL.

Her friends, her brother, her sisters, her cousins, all cursed by Cazador’s bloodline, his grandchildren in the dark. Humans, elves, half-elves, gnomes, dwarves… men, women, and others… slaughtered each other.

Gauged each other's eyes out.

Scalped heads.

Ripped tongues out.

Alethaine still sees it in her nightmares. The burning freehold and the dhampirs’ screams were so unnatural that even the necromancer almost lost her mind.

WE ARE COMING WE ARE COMING.

“Oh, lady, are you alright?” The dwarf asks. 

“I… I am…” Alethaine can barely say anything.

Madness. Dhampirs lost every bit of mortality they had and became what they all truly were and are and always will be.

Monsters.

**

Astarion stretches on a sofa like a cat. Well, it’s fun to be back on the Sword Coast after decades spent in Harlua, Cormanthor, and Kara-Tur.

One can visit many places in fifty years.

Especially when in good company.

Astarion smiles to himself. Before, he didn’t know any other company but Tiriel’s, his love and his savior, his life and his heart. She died 70 years ago and didn’t even have a grave he could visit. 

And fifty years ago, he found Alethaine living as a hermit in a distant village far from big cities.

What else was he supposed to do? He made sure she came with him. Alethaine might be an adult (gods, she is already 200 years old), but he is always her father.

So, he grabbed her pale hand and returned to the road.

Yes, he still was limited by his vampirism, but Alethaine is a dhampir and isn’t a fan of sunlight anyway. Right now though, she is out strolling around the city.

Astarion takes out a book  – it’s rather new, describing the strange events that happened in the last century.

Cursed places, demons, unimaginable horrors. Elves are slowly disappearing. Magic is slowly fading away.

Astarion snaps his fingers. Thanks to his elven heritage, he could cast the ignis spell  even as a vampire (though only the tadpole allowed him to throw fireballs and, as a vampire, he is merely capable of starting a fire). But something happened and this ability has disappeared.

Alethaine has also started relying more on daggers and arrows.

Something bad is happening. Something really, really bad.

Astarion puts the book on the bedside table. This house on the outskirts of the town has been theirs for a year,  bought with the money they earned from “vampire hunting”: Astarion would pretend to be a monstrous creature and Alethaine would come to save the poor people from peril.

But like they say, good characters are the ones who know when to stop.

Suddenly, something grabs Astarion’s collar and throws him against the wall. Even his vampiric senses aren't fast enough to do anything.

“What the…” Astarion breathes out.

He’s seen a lot of horrible things. He has fought horrible things.

But this…

This is something else. 

The monster is made of multiple humans glued together. Each of its limbs move independently and its many mouths are open in agony. Acid drips on the floor creating holes in the wood.

The creature makes a growling sound and Astarion jumps to the right to grab a dagger. 

The monster rushes towards the vampire and Astarion barely manages to avoid falling down from the window onto the sunlit street.

He throws the dagger but the skin of the monster seems made of stone and the weapon bounces away. 

“The hells…”

Astarion doesn’t have many options. He can’t run outside. He can’t fight it with his fangs or daggers. He can’t shoot arrows because the space is too small and they wouldn’t hurt the creature, obviously.

Suddenly, the monster sniffs the air and turns its head towards the high ceiling.

Astarion carefully follows its gaze.

Alethaine sits on the ceiling ready to pounce. She watches the enemy carefully and it’s perfectly clear that she has never seen anything like it, whatever it is .

The monster stands on its unnaturally long and thin legs to grab Alethaine, but the necromancer jumps on the floor and stands between Astarion and the creature.

“Horrid Wielding!” Alethaine raises her hand and a black ray of necrotic spell hits her opponent. It screams with the voice of a hundred doomed souls and its parts start shriveling while blood, acid, and gods know what other liquids start gushing on the floor.

Alethaine raises her left hand to cast another spell but something goes wrong.

The spell doesn't work. Astarion finally manages to retrieve his dagger but the wounded creature batters and …

…And throws Alethaine outside through the window. Astarion hears the sound of broken glass and a body dropping to the ground.The monster follows Alethaine outside before Astarion manages to attack him, and the sacred voices of the town dwellers echo in the streets.

“THE DEMONS ARE HERE! RUN!”

Astarion flings to the window and curses the sun and his own nature.

Alethaine lies still on the ground pinned by the creature. Its clawed hand pierces her chest and the dhampir’s blood streams onto the dirty cobblestones.

Asterion grabs his bow and shoots an arrow. Nothing, its flesh can’t be pierced.

The creature dodges to one side and Astarion sees a wounded Alethaine trying to crawl a little to the right before then the monster grabs her again and its disgusting claw pierces the dhampir through.

“NO!” Astarion feels the tears of fear on his cheeks. No, no… His daughter is being killed in front of his eyes and there is nothing he can do but just watch.

He stands on the windowsill. Sun touches his skin with its relentless burning touch but Astarion couldn’t care less. 

“Ignis!” He cries out. Nothing happens. “IGNIS, motherfucker, IGNIS!”

Suddenly, his hands feel like they are being put into boiling oil.

A blast of fire hits the monster and its flesh ignites.

Astarion uses the opportunity to shoot more arrows. One, two, three. The creature’s flesh has lost its protective abilities and it is obviously wounded.

The monster makes a whining sound and rushes away disappearing in the sewer system of the town.

Astarion looks at Alethaine’s lifeless body. He waits till his daughter starts regenerating. She must get up. At least try to crawl inside where he can take care of her – people are nowhere to be seen.

But it doesn’t happen.

She lies still. Bleeding.

Astarion looks at the merciless sun which is oh so bright…

And does that thing he never does.

He goes outside.

His flesh starts burning. He can barely see anything and he feels parts of his skin turning to ash, slowing his every movement, but he is already close. 

Astarion grabs Alethaine, her limp body heavy as he carries her inside. By the time the shadows hide him from the sun he is so weak he drops Aletaine to the floor.

“Fuck… Alethaine…” He mutters crawling to her. “Aletha, princess!”

She is alive. Her heart beats; weakly, but it does beat. But her body is mutilated and the wounds are not regenerating. 

Astarion, feeling how his own body heals, brings Alethaine to her room and places her on the bed. He has to use the dagger to take off her light armor,  uncovering wounds that are obviously infected.

The few healing potions he uses don’t help. Alethaine vomits every time he tries to pour at least some into her mouth and her injuries only worsen.

She is delirious. She cries out for her late mother, then starts whimpering like a child asking to be taken home because she is tired. Then she looks at Astarion, her eyes perfectly clear, and seriously asks where her toy is, the black cat called Ravenskull. 

“Alethaine, I am here, I will help you,” Astarion mutters, even though he doesn't believe his words in the slightest.

“Mum!” Alethaine collapses back. “Mum, it hurts!”

Then she loses consciousness and he sees a thin string of poisonous dhampiric blood streaming down her chin.

He has to do something.

Astarion jumps on his feet. 

Dhampirs might be different from vampires, but there is one thing they both need, although not with the same urgency. 

Blood.

**

Alethaine feels herself drowning in blood. Her dhampir cousin, Theris, cries for her from the red mist.

“Help me! Help me, Alethaine! Where are you? I don’t want to die here!”

But Alethaine can’t say anything to him. Because she is dying too.

Dhampirs are creatures so unnatural they shouldn’t exist. And the demons have come to take her.

But where do dhampirs go when they die?

What god takes them?

Or rather…

What monstrous creatures?

Alethaine is scared. She tries to escape the agonizing places she’s in, but she can’t do anything – she’s paralyzed. 

And then, she realizes she isn’t alone.

She sees the wasteland. Acid rivers, ugly trees, twisted and ruined by unnatural forces. The ruins of the halfling village and its inhabitants, neither dead nor alive, forever merged with each other in a monster made of flesh.

Alethaine hears the sound of a sword being drawn.

The flesh creature notices the enemy and hisses.

An elf in a green cloak stands about ten feet from the monster. His golden hair is braided into a ponytail and his eyes are the color of the daylight skies.

Alethaine has never seen anyone like him. He looks like a character from a storybook, an actor from a play.

No one, even elves, can’t be that …

…Attractive.

Alethaine is sure she’s seen him before, in some other dream, many years ago.

“Well, this is much worse than I thought” He mutters in elven.

No shit, Alethaine wants to say.

**

Astarion goes on a hunt once darkness falls.

He doesn’t care if he gets caught. He doesn’t care if the people he kills are innocent.

His daughter needs to be saved.

Astarion hits people unconscious and drags them to the house where he slits their throats into the bathtub.

A drunkard in fancy clothes.

An old homeless woman.

A runaway prisoner.

A prostitute.

A halfling who got lost in the lower town.

Someone’s perfectly healthy horse - it has so much blood Astrion contemplates if he should have concentrated on horse stealing from the start, but then decides animal blood might not have the healing effect Alethaine needs. 

Astarion hides the bodies in the basement – he will need to sort them out later. 

It’s way past midnight when the bathtub is more or less filled, enough, at least, to submerge an adult elf inside.

Alethaine cries in pain despite being unconscious. Astarion carefully takes her clothes off – it could be embarrassing for her, but first, he is her father (and he’s seen her naked before) and second, there is no one else to ask anyway.

He carefully takes her in his arms and carries her to the blood bath. Alethaine feels weak and helpless, like a broken toy. The wounds are so deep he can see the bones and inner organs. 

Will the blood even help?

He submerges Aletaine in the tub and her body disappears in the red liquid.

The day follows the night once, then once more. By the following midnight, Astarion gets rid of the bodies, throwing them into the river. Any authority who will find them will just shrug them off saying they are the victims of the monster. 

Nobody will look for another mass murderer.

Alethaine is still in the bath, her heart beating steady. From time to time Astarion mixes the blood with his hand, preventing it from congealing.

“You know,” Astarion says. “I have just realized. Today is the day when your mother died.” He sits on the chair close to the tub. “It’s been 70 years. Unbelievable. And…Tiriel doesn’t even have a tombstone.” He wipes away the tears. “You know, princess, I was so scared when we found out about you. I ran away. I left your mother for three days and was thinking about disappearing. But then I came back. Do you know why? Because I saw a father consoling his daughter after an unfortunate fall. I got jealous. I wanted the same. I wanted my own child to need me, to wrap their hand around my neck and complain about a scratch. And you were so small. So innocent. So delicate. So clingy…” He gulps. “My little princess.” He clasps her hands. 

Silence falls in the room. 

Astarion reclines on the chair. Maybe he should take her out of the blood bath? What if she doesn't even look like herself anymore?

Blood makes dhampirs monsters.

He stands up, contemplating taking Aletha out when suddenly…

She sits up abruptly coughing and gasping. 

And perfectly healed. 

“What the fuck?!” Alethaine exclaims.

“Oh, thank gods,” Astarion murmurs. “It’s fine, it’s just blood.”

Alethaine stares at him in shock, completely covered in the red liquid.

“Dad, I see it’s blood. But what the fuck…” She spits and then covers her upper part with her arms.

Astarion tries not to look and hands her a towel.

“I will prepare a regular bath.”

“Dad, has anyone seen you murdering people?”

“Do you care?” Astarion asks. 

“No. I just wonder if we should flee!”

Astarion smiles.

“Don’t you worry, my dear princess, daddy will figure out everything.”

A few days later, Alethaine finally feels herself healed enough to walk outside. Astarion has bought new clothes for her – a long black dress similar to the one she had many years ago when she was young.

Not like she needed more clothes, but Astarion felt a sudden urge to give her something as a gift. 

Like one would to a sick child.

“Do you like it?” He asks for the third time. “I can return it if you want.”

“No, it’s perfect. Thank you, Dad!” Alethaine answers. “Listen… When I was down there… I sort of heard different things… Did I dream it… or were you talking about Mum?”

Astarion nods.

“It’s been seventy years,” Alethains says. “So long and yet so short for us.”

“Yes, princess. That’s true.”

“I saw her ten years prior for the last time,” Alethaine continues. “You went hunting in the woods and I… well…I thought in my head I wouldn't tell anyone in that castle. No one was supposed to see the High Necromancer having… mortal people’s problems. And mom just put me on her lap as if I were five years old and we stayed like that for a couple of hours. Talking. I cried a bit. And I felt so warm and safe. And I  had no idea that was the last time I would see her. It was the last time I would talk to her. The last time she called me Kitten. Kitten…I was 120 back then, the scariest necromancer in the area, the witch who had enchanted the king. And still, someone’s ‘baby kitten’.” Alethaine wipes her tears.

Astarion sits beside her. 

“What were you talking about?” He gently asks.

Alethaine bites her lower lip. “About me. About … my … loneliness.”

Astarion feels his undead heart drop.

“I am lonely, Dad,” she admits. “I thought I could fit with other dhampirs, but look what happened to us. Elves don’t see me like one of them. I belonged with you and Mum. Back then, at home, in Daggerlake. But I am not like you. Vampires avoid me because I can easily kill them. Dhampirs can’t stand each other’s guts, we drive each other insane. Literally. Mum is dead. Daggerlake is gone, devoured by this wasteland or whatever the fuck it is. I am 200 years old. What will the next centuries bring? Am I doomed to live like this?” She asks. “To run away, to change places. To hide what I am? Vampirism is a sickness, theoretically, it can be cured, though no one knows how. But dhampirism is what I am.”

Astarion touches her shoulder. “And what did she say?”

“She said elves are made in pairs,” Alethaine chuckles bitterly. “And I am an elf first and foremost. Maybe, there is another one like me,born from a cursed bloodline. Suffering alone. I went to Freehold because I remembered her words. I thought I would find my ‘pair’ there. But I found only madness. Slaughter. Pain and death. Mum had a good heart, but she was rarely right. And… I miss having home. Don’t get me wrong, I love traveling with you, but I want a place to call my own.”

Astarion wants to say something. But what? It’s his fault that she is like this and he would do anything to help her. 

Even spending another century in Cazador’s mansion if it meant Alethaine could become a full elf, not a cursed half-vampire.

“Princess, will you let me show you something?”

Alethaine nods.

“Find me past midnight then.” He stands up. “I will wait for you.”

**

Alethaine leaves the house and follows the invisible traces left by her vampire father.

He stands by an old oak about two miles from the town.

“Hello, princess,” Astarion greets her and Aletahine notices there is a small tombstone with fresh words on it.

TIRIEL ANCUNIN. 1456-1642 DR.

BELOVED WIFE, MOTHER AND HERO.

The words are duplicated below in Elven. 

“She doesn’t have a grave,” Astarion says. “It can be here then.”

Alethaine takes Astarion’s hand and they stand like that for a while looking at the tombstone.

“I remember I once hugged her so strong, I almost broke her ribs,” Alethaine says. “I felt so sorry I washed all the plates, even the clean ones.” She smiles.

“When I first met her I wanted to manipulate her into helping me, but apparently she would have helped me anyway because that is who she was. A savior, a hero. She was with me at my worst. When I didn’t deserve it. She said I was a choice. A choice she made. And I didn’t want her to be disappointed.” Alethaine feels her father’s eyes on her. “She was afraid you would be lonely, too. We talked about it. And it hurt us that there was nothing we could really do.”

“Dad, it’s alright,” Alethaine assures him. “I have centuries of life ahead. I will sort things out.”

It comes out more bitter than she wanted.

“Well, wherever she is I hope the gods treat her like she deserves,” Alethaine adds. 

They come back to town in silence. 

Alethaine feels much better. The grief she’s been harboring in her heart is finally leaving. In its stead, there is some bittersweet sensation. And the desire to keep living.

They come past the market. Despite the late hour, they notice a working stall with used things set up in the shadow of the city wall. Vases, books, forks, and spoons.

A plushie black cat with huge eyes.

Alethain stops and touches the toy.

“Do you want it?” Astarion asks. 

“I am two hundred years old.”

“I didn’t ask how old you are, I perfectly remember the number. I asked if you want it.”

Alethaine takes the toy in her pale hands. It looks… familiar. Similar to the one she had many years ago.

Astarion throws a few coins on the stall, aiming at the sleeping shopkeeper.

Alethaine smiles caressing the toy’s ears.

“Ravenskull,” she says. “I will call it Ravenskull.”

“Fucking morons,” the tiefling shopkeeper wakes up and the coins drop on the ground. “Pathetic elves, I fucking hate your fairy ears, good thing you are dying out. I know there is justice in this gods-forsaken world!”

The tiefling stands up banging his horns on the edge of the ledge.

“Theris?!” Alethaine exclaims. She can’t believe her eyes. Theris! The annoying dhampir tiefling, the friend of her youth, the one dhampir she really could call a cousin. Brother, even.

And the one she thought had died!

“Oh, that’s you, sister. I knew you managed to escape, but you didn’t even come to my rescue. Fair enough. I wouldn’t have come for you, your problems are your own, not mine. But I am still hurt.”

In a second, Alethaine and Theris hug.

“I missed you, brother,” Alethaine says.

“I missed you too, necrophiliac freak.” Theris presses her against his chest. “Hello, Astarion, you still look the same!”

“And you are still annoying. I thought you were running that… circus with your… who was she to you? Aunt?”

Theris releases Alethaine.

“My beloved auntie Asmodea died fifty years ago. I inherited her cabaret, but I am not a good entrepreneur. Though I know how to run a simpler business. I learned from my mistakes.”

**

The following morning meets them in the house where Theris, hungry like a vampire, eats the soup Astarion has made for him. Alethaine happily chats with him and Astarion can’t get enough of her laughter and smile. 

She is his girl again, bright and happy. 

“So, you two just scare the shit out of people? Astarion, I think we need some diversity here. Imagine what you can do when you have two dhampirs.”

“Theris, we are going to kill each other,” Alethaine says. 

“Oh dear sister, we’ve had so many chanсes to do so. No, I’m afraid we are stuck with each other.”

Astarion crosses his arms. 

“Theris, you are way too pushy for someone who wants to get adopted.”

“It worked with Asmodea. I persuaded her that she needed a nephew-slash-apprentice-slash-free workforce. And I think you need all three, Astarion.”

“Dad, don't listen to him, he is a professional orphan,” Alethaine laughs. “200 years of experience.”

“202, I am older than you.” Theris wraps his tail around the chair’s leg. “So, what do you think? And when bad days come, I can sing in the streets. Alethaine, tell your dad I am really good.”

Astarion shakes his head. “Considering your songs are known through the Western Heartlands, you don't need to persuade me.”

“I tell you, I am a legend. I am the bard of all bards,” Theris chuckles. “And, seriously, Alethaine. Ravenskull?” He points at the toy.

“Unlike someone, I had a good childhood.”

“You like hurting me, don’t you?” Theris hisses.

“My favorite hobby.”

Astarion goes to prepare tea leaving the kids behind.

After all, he thinks later, he made the right choice in saving those vampires.

Theris’s parent was one of them.

**

A week later, Theris and Astarion have packed their stuff.

“Do you really want to stay?” Astarion asks.

Alethaine nods. 

Theris and Astarion have been planning on leaving town for days. Astarion wants to go, he wants to keep traveling. And Theris is definitely up for any shit his uncle is going to commit.

But Alethaine suddenly feels tired.

She wants to stay in this house they bought. Stay here and be a local witch. She will find a job that adequately compensates her talents.

“Someone needs to look after Mum’s grave,” Alethaine smiles. “Don't worry dad. Besides, you two need somewhere to stay when you get tired of frauding people.”

Astarion kisses her forehead. Theris hugs Alethaine goodbye and, together, the dhampir and the vampire leave into the night.

Alethaine remains alone.

She cleans the house, throws away the garbage, and wipes blood and dried pieces of gore. Slowly, the place becomes hers.

She obtains skulls to decorate the shelves and books to read by the fire. Cozy and cute things, including a pink tea set. 

Ravenskull is placed on her bed and Alethaine admires the toy for a while. 

“It seems like I need a full-time job now. Do you think the authorities need someone to talk to the dead?”

She falls onto the bed, her arms wide open.

That’s her home. Where she belongs. 

And it will always be like that.

**

The Greenfields (or what’s left of them)

“Listen, I wouldn’t come here if I were you. This place is cursed!” The man says for the tenth time to his passenger. “Don’t be stupid and leave.”

Elren wraps himself in the green cloak. Echo, his pet lynx, yawns. 

The roofless wooden carriage is far from comfortable, but he was too tired to walk by foot. And the old human man was kind enough to offer a ride.

“No, no, I will do it for free,” he said when Elren mentioned he didn’t have much money. “You are sort of dying out, right? It would be unfair to ask you for money,” he laughed as if it was the most hilarious joke ever.

“That's my home village,” Elren says. “I want to go there.”

“I don't remember elves living in Greenlake!” 

“I am 200 years old,” Elren says. “I was raised by a half-elf and his human wife, my aunt. And I was the only elf there.”

“Oh… Then, my condolences.”

“For what?”

“If you were raised by half-elves and humans, they are all long gone.”

Elren sighs. Yes. They are. His uncle, the half-elven adventurer Leth Moran. Aunty Rayna, the human healer. Their three daughters. Elren misses his sisters even more, but the only thing left of them is his green cloak. Made of elven fabric and adorned with wood elven symbols. The girls made him a great parting gift. 

Then, they grew up, grew old, and died. 

Elren stayed with them when they were old women; he buried each of them. Buried his younger cousins who he remembered as newborns.

“I sort of don't understand your race!” The man keeps talking. “You are dressed like a Wood Elf but look like a Moon one! But your hair is golden, it’s a Sun elf trait, am I right?”

Elren sees no reason not to answer.

“My father was a Wood Elf. He’d died before I was born. And my mother was half a Sun Elf, half a Moon Elf”

“Rather peculiar! I thought you guys didn’t mix with each other. Though, you are dying out. Probably not so many left!”

Elren nods.

All his life, he’s desperately wanted to belong to the elven kind. And it was difficult even though the language was his second tongue. He tried to read, tried to adopt their habits. But he feels himself a ragged doll stitched of different parts.

The golden hair of the Sun Elves.

The pale skin and blue eyes of the Moon Elves.

His yearning for the woods of Sylvanus’s Elves.

His human upbringing. 

He tried to belong. He tried, he really did. But nothing helped. His ex-partner, а blacksmith, laughed at his attempts. Human bastard, that was what he used to call Elren.

Elren sighs. Now that he is far away from his last home, he wonders how he could have so little respect for himself that he allowed others to treat him like that.

But it’s over. He’s done. 

And Elren has finally decided to come back home. Maybe this place will give him some answers.

“Alright, we are here. But be careful! The wasteland is close! And there are demons there! Who knows what they will do to you!”

Elren thanks the human and enters the village.

People look at him suspiciously as he walks through the streets to the ruins of the property his family owned. He barely recognizes anything but suspects all these people are somehow related to the late Leth Morn and his daughters. 

Human lives come and go so fast…

But they are not going extinct, that’s for sure.

It takes Elren some time to find the ruins of the property. There is no sign that  a happy family lived there once upon a time.

Leth and Rayna were the kindest people Elren has ever known and he will miss them dearly no matter how many centuries pass. 

Suddenly, he stops in his tracks, as if something were calling for him.

It's a sensation, barely recognizable.

A calling from below.

Elren kneels.

It’s right there, in the ground.

Waiting.

It takes him some time to find a shovel to start digging. One, two, three, four… The shovel finally touches something made of metal and Elren takes out a sword sheath.

The sheath is rusty and so is the hilt.

No, it can't be.

Echo the Lynx comes closer and bumps its head against the elf’s elbow.

The Sword of Stars. Rilyamacil!

Crafted 20,000 years ago in the forges of Sildëyuir and passed generation by generation in the Goldenroot clan.

The only thing Leth Morn took for Elren when he adopted him. The only thing Elren’s mother managed to save when her husband was killed.

The relic that now belongs to Elren Goldenroot.

He shakes his head.

The sword has its own will, that is all he knows. And should he claim it, who knows what it will want him to do?

Maybe he can hide again? Or sell it? He isn’t a hero. He is a pathetic elf who used to crawl to his heartless lover, begging to take him back. Who allowed himself to be beaten, degraded, humiliated. Who betrayed his own friends a century ago and left them to die while he was hiding in the woods.

No, this sword isn’t meant for him.

The lynx roars when he tries to place the sword back in its grave.

“Echo, look at me. Do I look like a warrior?” Elren says.

All of a sudden,screams pierce the air. Echo wriggles, baring its fangs.

Elren jumps on top of the stone to see better.

A creature that looks like a mixture of a dozen bodies has entered the village and the humans are running away in fear. 

The demon!

Wherever it steps, it brings the wasteland with it – the green becomes gray and brown, the grass dies, and the dead bodies twist.

Before realizing what he is doing, Elren unsheathes the sword.

It’s as rusty as its hilt.

“Well, what did I even expect…” He mutters.

But as he readies to throw it away, the weapon shines with a golden light. The rusty illusions fade, making the Sword of Stars look as good as new.

A violet star is engraved on the hilt. Intricate words in an ancient elven dialect shine on its surface. And the blade is so shiny and clean that it reflects Elren’s face.

Rilyamacil has recognized its master. 

“What am I supposed to do?” Elren mutters.

And the answer ignites in its mind.

“Alae!” Elren exclaims, getting the monster's attention “Daro a vaetho!” 

He assumes a fighting stance.

Yes, he does have a purpose now. 

Elren Goldenroot is to become a monster slayer.

--

Quenya and Neo-Sindarin vocabulary

Tel'Quessira nalme - we are elves. In Quenya this would sound like Quendi nalme (elves we are). Since elves of the Forgotten Realms are known under a different name, I let them have it.

Rilyamacil - Glittering Sword (Quenya). Its Common name is the Sword of Stars but let's pretent it was lost in translation

Alae! - Behold! (Sindarin)

Daro a vaetho - Stay and fight (Sindarin)

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[spacebarbarianweird]

How does Astarion eventually die in your canon?

Oh this is going to be epic!

So, he will travel for a while with his granddaughter Tiri (I will write about those events in the Sunwalker Gift longfic). He will become mortal and live for another 160 years.

Eventually he dies in a battle during a siege of an elven city and the sea takes his body.

His soul is sent to Arvandor where he reunites with Tiriel. Soon they decide to reincarnate though they know they will lose any memory about their love.

A few centuries later two young elves meet together while hunting for an ancient treasure (the quest giver is Rion Goldenroot, Astarion’s oldest great grandson)

[spacebarbarianweird]

I decided to create a separate series for events that will follow Tiriel's death some of the stories will be concentrated more on Alethaine, some on Astarion https://archiveofourown.org/series/4152835 I will write about them dealing with grief, their adventures in Halruaa, will give 'voice' to Astarion's granddaughter Tiri Goldenroot, and... how Astarion becomes mortal!

[spacebarbarianweird]

Forgot! 46, 32 and 70 from the OTP list if you haven't answered them yet pls:)

For Tiriel and Alethaine

Got these questions here ! Send me other questions to answer, I will gladly write it! Astarion x Tiriel

46) Who gets most intense during a fight?

Both! Both can't stop 32) Who’s the first to apologize? Depends. Astarion is often afraid he will be dumped should he not apologize. Tiriel apologizes often first because she knows Astarion tortures himself when he makes mistakes. 70) Which of the two has the most dominant traits, aka., which of the two would their child end up resembling the most? Astarion. Alethaine is almost identical to him, minuc lack of concentration

Alethaine x Elren

Alethaine (High Elf\ Dhampir) is Astarion and Tiriel's baby daughter Elren Goldenroot (High Elf) s Alethaine's thiramin, a ranger from the High Wood and a demon hunter. He is a CSA victim and was raised by his human relatives. After spending a century fighting demons he is chosen as the king of elves.

46) Who gets most intense during a fight?

Alethaine. She easily gets furious. 32) Who’s the first to apologize? Elren. He is a peacemaker and is often ready to let other people win. 70) Which of the two has the most dominant traits, aka., which of the two would their child end up resembling the most? They are both very dominant but baby Tiri (Tiriel Goldenroot) ends up being her dad's copy, barely resembling her dhampir mother