#vaeri (lamby)

[arzen9]

There Is a Light That Never Goes Out

Having defeated Cazador, Lamby and Astarion have a conversation back at the Elfsong.

Rating: M

Pairing: Astarion x Original Female Character

Tags: Trauma, Vampire Spawn Astarion, Vampire Ascendant Astarion, Canon Compliant, Nightmares, Spoilers, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Other Additional Tags to be Added

One Shot, 2.1k words

“That was unexpected, I think,” Shadowheart says. Lamby shoots her a look, but she doesn’t take the hint. “I didn’t think anyone, even you, could have talked him down from sacrificing those souls.”

“Give Fangs some credit,” Karlach chimes in, and Lamby is grateful for it. “I think he wouldn’t have done it, even alone.” She puffs up her chest proudly. Shadowheart purses her lips together in a straight line.

“Where is he, by the way?”

“Upstairs.”

While Lamby, Karlach, and Shadowheart sit at a table downstairs in the Elfsong, chosen for them by Lakrissa, Astarion is upstairs. He had made his way over shortly after they returned from the Szarr Palace and told Lamby he wanted to take a bath. She had buckets of hot water sent to the shared room and gave him space. Time.

Frankly, she didn’t know how to comfort him right now. She wanted to be next to him, but would he want that? Lamby trusted that he would tell her if he wanted her close, but then again, would he be able to considering everything that went down earlier that day?

“You’re brooding,” Shadowheart observes and takes a sip from her pint, a few sizes too big for her delicate hands. “It’s unbecoming of you.”

“She’s right,” Karlach says and licks along her upper lip to remove the foamy mustache her drink gave her. “It’s normal that you’re worried about him, but wouldn’t he tell us if he needed something?”

“I can’t be so sure,” Lamby mumbles to herself. Wyll and Lae’zel slowly make their way over to their table, looking a bit worse for wear. Everybody is tired. It is evident in the way they carry themselves, the clouding in their eyes.

But all Lamby can think about is how Astarion is feeling. Does he regret not going through with the ritual to ascend? Contrary to what Karlach said, would he have done it if he was left alone to his devices? Is it her fault that he will eventually have to return to the shadows, a vampire spawn till the end of time?

She needs to stop. This isn’t about her. If anything, she feels proud of Astarion. Faced with the worst fragments of his past, surrounded by all that he wanted nothing but to run away from, he stood in that horrible place filled with the smell of blood and the promise of deliciously corrupted power and chose a different path. Thinking about it makes Lamby’s heart swell with admiration for him. He has endured unimaginable horrors and yet never lost himself in the process. How can one not be fascinated by that?

She thinks back to the night in the Shadow-Cursed Lands she spent tied up, doing her absolute best to go against her urges that yearned to tear each perfect sliver of Astarion to pieces. How gently he looked after her. How he called her cute when she was slick with sweat, reduced to a growling, salivating creature. She knew she loved him then— when Sceleritas told her what would happen that night, she knew. She was in love with Astarion.

That much has not changed. Lamby doubts it ever will.

Wyll takes a deep breath as he sits down. “We did a good thing today.”

Lae’zel nods. “Astarion is free from the shackles of his master at last. Should he not be here to celebrate?”

Lamby looks at her hands facing the ceiling on her lap. She can feel the gaze of her companions on her scalp. What can she tell them?

“Maybe later,” she finally says. “Right now, he needs some rest, I’d wager.”

A lean tiefling with magenta hair tied in a sleek ponytail approaches their table and leans toward Lamby.

“He’s asking for you,” she whispers.

Lamby looks at her, surprised. He must have told someone through the dumbwaiter. “Thanks, Lakrissa.”

She gets up to her feet so fast that the table shakes, and she puts her hand on it in an attempt to stop the shaking. She offers a shy smile to the group and turns to make her way upstairs, her steps quick and deliberate.

She would have gone upstairs to check on him regardless, because unfortunately she is impatient, worried, and stubborn. But he called for her, and she is glad.

Lamby stands before the door to their shared quarters and straightens her back. Astarion should see her strong. She has no qualms about being vulnerable with him, but right now, she needs to be strong. For him.

She knocks before opening the door slightly. “Astarion?”

He doesn’t respond to her, but Lamby can see his back. He’s standing in front of the table beside their bed (their bed, Lamby flutters). He’s holding something, but she can’t see it.

She walks over to him slowly. Like approaching a wounded animal. He wouldn’t like it, if he knew. He doesn’t like it when she treats him as if he’s made of glass. But she means well. Hells, she means well.

“Lakrissa said you called for me.”

He doesn’t turn to face her, but Lamby sees the coil in his shoulders relax slightly. He lets go of a breath he doesn’t need to be holding.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt anything downstairs,” he says, and there is no hostility in his voice. No trace of teasing.

“Of course not,” Lamby says. “We wanted to give you time.”

“I have nothing but time, it seems.” He finally turns to face Lamby, and now she can see that he has been holding his shirt all this time, the ties on the front undone. His hands are shaking.

“Can I help you with that?” She knows it’s easier if she asks.

He nods and pulls the shirt over his head. Lamby walks over to him, closer, so that she can tie it for him. They look at each other for a moment. His beautiful eyes meet hers, those red orbs that never seem to lose their shine. She catches a whiff of his signature scent— rosemary, bergamot, and brandy. It makes her smile. It’s him, no matter what.

Lamby starts with the ties of his shirt, and she is sure Astarion can hear the thump of her heart. It tends to do that, whenever she is close to him. Doesn’t have anything to do with physical attraction or desire, nor her dark urges yearning for his crimson on her skin. It’s that warmth in her chest, the worry, the fear, the happiness. The hope.

While she’s busy with the ties, he gently places his chin on the top of her head. The gesture surprises Lamby for a moment, but she pushes forward.

He knows she wants to ask him how he is. He also knows that she’s only holding back because she knows him. Better than anyone, perhaps. She knows not to ask, because even he doesn’t know how to answer that question right now.

“All that I lost today. All that I gained,” he says into her hair. “It’s all too much.”

She finishes up with the ties. “For what it’s worth, Astarion, everyone is proud of you.”

He lifts his head to look at her. “What about you?”

“Hm?”

“Are you proud of me?”

“What matters to me is that you’re happy with the decision you made.” She holds her ground. If nothing else, Lamby wants him to feel confident in his choice. Back at the ritual, when their tadpoles connected, all she saw was his infatuation with the idea of power, the ability to protect himself, and her. She wants him to know that he doesn’t need anything but to be Astarion.

“I’ll have to get back to you on that,” he says with a subtle scoff. He sits down on the edge of the bed and looks at Lamby. “How… How are you?”

She keeps standing right where she was. “I’m not entirely sure.” It is an honest answer. “Worried about you, for one thing.”

“That much is obvious from your face, darling.”

“It never was my strong suit to hide my emotions.”

“No,” he agrees. “No, it wasn’t.”

With a sigh, he plops down on the bed, legs still dangling off the side. Lamby looks around the room, unsure if she should leave him alone.

“Can you come lay with me for a while?”

Only then does Lamby realize she’s still wearing her armor, still covered in blood and dirt from their fight with Cazador.

They can always request clean linens, though.

She removes the outer layer of her armor and leaves it on the floor before lying down next to Astarion. She rests her head on her right arm to look at him, and he turns with his whole body to match her gaze. He looks ethereal like this, hair still damp, the sun shining through his silver curls let in by the window right behind.

“Would you have let me go through with the ritual? If I had insisted, in the end.”

It’s not an easy question. “It wasn’t my choice to make,” she says. “In the end.”

“The others think you talked me down, don’t they?”

Lamby averts her gaze for a moment to look up at the ceiling. “Shadowheart certainly does.”

“Maybe she’s right,” he mirrors her, joining her in gazing up at the ceiling. “You remind me that I have a soul.”

“You do have a soul,” she assures. “A beautiful one.”

“I’ll take your word for it, little lamb.”

“I believe that you made the right decision, Astarion,” she says, looking back at him. “You chose the more difficult path, yes, but so what? Once the brain is dealt with, we can look for a way for you to walk in the sun again. Magic is a dime a dozen. There must be a way.”

“We?”

Lamby searches his handsome, tired face. He genuinely looks surprised.

“You know what I want.”

“A life in the shadows,” he says. “For me?”

“Do you remember what I told you, after we got rid of that orthon?”

He does but lets her continue anyway.

“I can spend eternity just sitting with you. Nothing else needed.”

“Spoken like a true lovesick fool,” he tries to conceal his smile.

“You know what I am,” she says, and he considers what she might mean. Bhaalspawn? Fearless leader? Ridiculous do-gooder? Ferocious fighter with the heart of a kitten just fed?

No. Something else. She reaches out to him, slowly. Asking, assessing. He appreciates and hates it at the same time. She shouldn’t need to ask for permission. But all that he has been through in the past two centuries, it’s… It doesn’t just go away, now that Cazador’s dead. But she’s right. Astarion can be better than him.

“Little lamb,” he says and meets her touch halfway, tangling his fingers with hers.

“No,” she smiles. “Take another guess?”

He brings her hand up to his lips, smiles between them. She’s wearing the ring they found by the House of Healing still, just like he’s still wearing his. “Mine,” he whispers.

“Yes, “she says. “Yours.”

“I guess it’s not a bad bargain,” he jokes, and she swats at his arm with her free hand. They giggle together.

And they both know— they will be okay.

Astarion can hear how her heart beats. A steady rhythm, a pattern exclusively formed for him. Her smell, lactonic and innocent under the dried blood of his tormentor. She is consistent in her contrasts. Bhaal’s own flesh and blood that promises to do good, with a touch so gentle you’d never expect the same hand to deliver a killing blow. Her curious whimsy when she finds something small and shiny. The divine reverence she kisses him with. The sharpness of her words, the sweetness of her blood.

She has given everything to him. Shared. A partner— an equal.

He will do anything to not lose that.

“Maybe we should join our friends for a bit,” Astarion says, his lips still pressed against her slender fingers. “Won’t do to deprive them of our presence too long, don’t you think?”

“Are you sure?” Lamby asks, voice laced with concern.

“I’ve wallowed enough to last me a lifetime. Besides, a little wine for both of us might be a good idea.”

She smiles at him, and there it goes again— that warm, gripping feeling that makes him feel alive. He is starting to understand what it might be.

“Oh,” he starts as they get up. “There’s something I want to show you tonight, if that’s alright. It’s not far.”

Lamby nods. She would follow him anywhere, and he knows it.

He must tell her. The feelings that he never thought he could feel. That radiant warmth of hope. Rebirth.

He would follow her anywhere, and she needs to know it.

[arzen9]

thank you so much for the wonderful piece!!💓

Commission for @arzen9 of their Tav and Astarion ! 💕✌🏻

✨️ Commission info | Art tag ✨️

[arzen9]

Daybreak

The Nosferatu OST was released, and I was compelled to write this while listening to it.

OR

Lamby has a nightmare the night before they face Cazador Szarr.

A/N: I know I haven't published anything in a while, and I apologize. Life has been A LOT lately, and I truly didn't have it in me to write, but I WANT to, and although my uploading schedule won't be regular I will continue to create because I love this game and the brainrot continues. This will the the first of a few one-shots to come involving my main OC from BG3, Vaeri (or Lamby, as she prefers to go by) and Astarion. These one-shots will be mostly canon compliant and contain my takes on various events that take place in game. As always, thank you so much for your time if you read, and I always appreciate any and all feedback! 

Rating: M

Pairing: Astarion x Original Female Character

Tags: Trauma, Vampire Spawn Astarion, Vampire Ascendant Astarion, Canon Compliant, Nightmares, Spoilers, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to be Added

One Shot, 1.2k words

Lamby finds herself in a strange dream.

There’s a room bathed in sunlight, a shrine with two goblets and scattered rose petals, and a mirror adorned with delicate silver ornaments.

And there’s Astarion: her love, her life.

He’s leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest. There’s a smirk painted on his handsome face, and Lamby’s inclined to return it if only it didn’t feel so… Wrong.

Astarion’s eyes slowly move to the mirror, and she follows his gaze.

That’s when she realizes: she has no reflection.

One of her hands flies to her mouth, and just as she feared, something sharp pricks at her finger, draws her blood.

A fang.

“No!”

“Why don’t you admit that you’re afraid of what I am, darling? You are deeply, deeply afraid. And that’s why you can never fully love me. And that’s why I need to keep you chained up.”

Sure enough, looking at her ankles, she can see the silver circles just as bright as she had expected to see the sun when she woke up. She is shackled.

“This isn’t you, Astarion.”

“But what if it is?”

One second, he’s standing in the corner of the room, and the next, he is right in front of her. His speed makes her gasp, equal parts shock and fascination, as much as she hated to admit. Is this the power of the Ascendant?

He grabs her face, and his touch isn’t cold anymore. The pressure he applies makes her lips part, and he slides his thumb into her mouth, pressing down on her tongue.

“I can tell,” he says, all poisoned honey. “You hold your breath while I speak. You await my command.”

Lamby wants to retort, but his grip is iron, and all she can do is salivate around his finger.

A part of her is furious. Humiliated. Bhaal’s Chosen should rip the Vampire Lord’s throat out, bathe in his innards.

Isn’t this what Father would have wanted?

She tries to turn her face away. Looking at him does nothing but fuel the fire of her darkest urges. Heat pools in her lower abdomen. Tears burn in her eyes.

This is the worst of both of them.

With newfound vampiric strength, Lamby's hand wraps around the Ascendant’s throat, but he only smiles.

Astarion retracts his thumb from her mouth and wipes her spittle on her cheek.

“We do what we have to survive, don’t we?”

Lamby jolts awake, gasping and frantically searching her surroundings, looking down at her hands. The hands that wanted to harm Astarion. Her Astarion.

It’s still dark in their room at the Elfsong, only rays of silver moonlight illuminating the room, almost liquid.

“Little lamb,” he whispers as gently as possible, and Lamby takes a deep breath, released from the nightmare. “I’m here. You’re alright.”

He runs a hand through her hair, and the gesture calms her down immensely. She moves her body to be closer to him. Her gaze is tired under wet eyelashes.

“What did you see?” he asks.

“You,” she answers.

“Should I be offended that this is how you wake up from a dream containing me?”

“It wasn’t you, exactly. You were the Ascendant.” She enunciates the word with heavy disdain.

“It’s simply a dream. Nothing more.”

“You’re right,” she says and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Astarion. This is not me trying to influence your decision.”

He doesn’t have to look into her eyes to know she’s telling the truth because Lamby is probably the only person he fully trusts. But he does anyway and finds an undecipherable pain in her usually cheerful gaze.

“It feels impossible, almost,” he says. “The fact that I will need to make such a choice after not having a say for so long.”

With her thumb, she draws little circles on the skin connecting his thumb to his index finger. It’s soothing.

“You won’t be alone,” Lamby says.

She’s right. For the first time in forever, he is not alone. Which makes his decision only more complicated.

“Astarion,” she whispers, moving even closer to him so their foreheads are touching. He closes his eyes with the softness of the gesture, senses all-consumed by her presence. Her warmth, the beat of her heart, the steady movement of her chest with every breath.

“No matter what, I want you to know I’m with you. Even if…” She falters. He opens his eyes and sees the tears she’s trying to hide. “Even if I don’t necessarily agree with the decision you might make.”

Her warmth. The beat of her heart. The steady movement of her chest with every breath.

She would give it all to him, just like that. And he would take it.

It takes a while for Lamby to fall back asleep, but she does, holding Astarion’s hand. He wants to tell her that, although he has only taken so far, he only wants to give, give, and give her everything that he can. And he will tell her.

He won’t tell her, however, that the sudden connection of their tadpoles had stirred him in his trance, and he had seen everything. Every second of her nightmare, they both stood as the villains of their love story.

But how can they have forever if he can’t grant her the gift of immortality? And how can Astarion accept that he’ll one day lose her? What if ascending is the only way?

He saw her reaction to the scroll they found at Jaheira’s hideout. Her soft features tainted with deep concern; dark blonde brows knit together. Jaheira, of course, ever the careful observer, noticed how her face contorted at the discovery.

“What’s on your mind, cub?” she asked Lamby.

“That scroll,” she pointed at it. “A druidic ritual, is it?”

“Have your eyes set on the future, hm?”

Lamby didn’t respond for a while. It was apparent that she was trying to conceal her curiosity from Astarion.

  “Are you thinking of using it?”

Jaheira looked at her, then, a fleeting sadness in her eyes. She turned her gaze to Astarion, then back to Lamby again.

“I understand not being content with the amount of life given to you, cub. I do.” For a moment, Lamby almost looks… Annoyed, but lets Jaheira continue. “Unfortunately, like you said, it is a druidic ritual.”

“And I am no druid.”

“Alas.”

They had gone on with their day, Lamby and Jaheira walking side by side for most of it, discussing something in hushed voices. But Astarion kept an eye on the little lamb, and at night, when she thought everybody else was at rest, she locked herself in the bathroom. Astarion was the only one who heard her cry until first light.

To know she wanted eternity with him, to want the same exact thing without the power to make it happen, weighs heavily on Astarion now.

But it seems that he does have the power. If he completes the ritual of the Ascendant instead of Cazador, eternity with Lamby would not be a tragic dream anymore. And who would miss his siblings, so what if he had to sacrifice them? They would be serving a better purpose this way.

Then Astarion considers Lamby’s nightmare. Through the tadpole, he could feel what she felt, face-to-face with that strange version of him. It didn’t feel like they were in love at all. Obsessed with each other, desperate to possess, sure. But love?

Are they in love?

The Astarion of not so long ago would think of love as nothing but a weakness. But now, looking at this hot-blooded creature holding his hand like it is her only lifeline, love feels like a strength instead.

The only thing left to do is make a choice. His choice.