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“Hmm… Darling? What are your exactly trying to do?”
Ellith’s fingers froze around Astarion’s wrist, and their eyes moved up to meet his gaze, uncertainty dancing in the golden irises. “Isn’t it what people usually do?”
A frown on his pale brow, Astarion tilted his head. “Do people randomly wrap their fingers around another’s wrist? I suppose they do, when they plan on dragging them somewhere. Or behind closed doors, if they are into such… practices.”
“No, no, no…” Ellith protested, pulling away from the vampire spawn. “That’s not.. not what I had in mind.” Keeping their hands for themselves, the bard shook their head. “I meant… couples. And I’m not talking about the ‘behind closed doors’ part.”
Astarion’s confusion increased dramatically, and he studied his partner for a moment. “Couples? What about them?”
Ellith was obviously struggling to express what they had in mind. “When they want to be… sweet.” They stuttered, fingers fidgeting the bedspread. “I watched them in the streets and taverns. They do things like that.”
Astarion’s confusion was growing deeper by the minute. Ellith could so cryptic sometimes, which was unusual for a bard with such a witty tongue. Through the weeks, Astarion had come to suppose that although they display the most eloquent skills for strategical purposes, or when it came to seduction, they could barely find their way through the lexical field of affection and endearment. As if their vocabulary didn’t extend beyond those lines. What he didn’t know was if that was a question of habits, of reserve, or if they genuinely didn’t know the dialect of those uncharted territories, and how to deal with its terminology.
“But it’s…I’m not sure how to do it.”
“Give me a second, sweetheart.” Astarion raised his hand, as to ask for a break. It was uncharted territories – they really didn’t know. “You have been observing people to learn how to be with me?”
“How to be sweet with you.”
Silence fell above Astarion’s bed, and behind the makeshift curtain that protected them from the curious glances of their companions, everything seemed to stand still for a moment.
“I appreciate the effort.” Astarion whispered, leaning on the bed so that this elbow, pressing against the mattress, was right beside Ellith’s hipbone. “But I don’t really get what you mean… you can already be quite adorable.”
“No… yes. What?” the stuttering words tumbled down Ellith’s lips through a succession of gasps. “I am not adorable, Astarion. If anything, you’re the adorable one.”
The vampire spawn chuckled, his free hand toying with the fabric of his lover’s dress. “Only you are a sick enough to call a monster adorable, darling.”
“I’m no less of a monster than you are.”
Another silence, longer this time. Astarion’s fingers now perfectly still.
Somehow, they both knew it was true. Or at least, it had been true once.
With a heavy sigh, but his gentle smirk never leaving his lips, Astarion stared into Ellith’s eyes. “Then I suppose we should both agree that monsters can become lowkey adorable.”
A smile was tugging at the half-drow’s lips, and Astarion could easily tell that they were trying to repress it. But with the new shine in their eyes, the way they creased at the corner and the slight blush on their cheeks, it became obvious that Ellith was genuinely touched by the statement. And no matter how hard they might try to deny it, Astarion knew better than anyone else, better than Ellith themselves, that the bhaalspawn wasn’t devoid of tenderness.
Astarion reached out, his hand finding its way to Ellith’s jaw as he leaned ever closer. Just one soft, almost chaste kiss on their lips. Nothing more, but it still felt perfect. Enough. And he didn’t pull away, keeping his nose softly pressed against theirs. His hand moved slowly from jaw to ear, and his fingers started to toy with the earring that connected them. “You were sweet once. Innocent.”
They breathed against his cheek, almost leaning. Astarion could feel their smile growing against his skin, but when Ellith spoke again, the sad notes in their voice were unmissable. “Chances are I had already killed when you met me back then.”
“Don’t expect me to blame you for that, my love.” He replied with no hesitation. He wasn’t sure how to express it, but when he thought about it now, about those people who would use and abuse such a young teenager, it made him nauseous. He would have slaughtered them himself. “If you killed back then, it was a question of survival.” He eventually whispered. “It doesn’t make you less innocent.”
The laughter that slipped through Ellith’s lips was bitter, but not exactly cold. “You’re delusional, Astarion.”
“Am I, now?” He asked, pulling away with a frown on his brow. He didn’t like the implications of that statement. Not only for what it implied about Ellith, but also for what it said about him. He knew Ellith all too well now, and his feelings for them weren’t blinding him. In fact, he was much more used to being the one wearing the blinding smile. “Darling, you are not as deceptive as you would like to think. And in case you need a reminder, you have no power over me and my undead little heart.”
With a roll of their eyes, Ellith sat up on the bed. “I do not want to have any power over you. I thought that was clear enough.”
“Then why do you keep on assuming that you do? That you can delude me?” His voice sounded more irritated than he had expected it, but that irritation was, he realized, nothing new. They already that sort of discussion a couple of times, and they had always ended with the both of them shrugging the matter off because why in the world would they bother themselves with power struggles now, when both of them aimed for freedom?
“I do not assume anything, Astarion.” Ellith shrugged, and they sounded at least as irritated, although their voice was colder now, coldly practical. “I simply have watched you treat me like I am no threat to you. Treating me like I’m just another victim of your unfathomable charm.”
The words cut deeply, sharp shards of reality plunging straight into his chest.
“Treating you like…” He repeated in a painful breath, as he rose from the bed with a succession of quick, nervous movements. “How dare you?”
Ellith sat still, their face unreadable but the shine in their eyes could no longer to be seen. “I am just being realistic.”
“No. No! It has nothing to do with being all pragmatical and realistic. Enough with that, Ellith!” He snapped, his irritation turning into something else, something that tasted bitterer, like disappointment. “Spit it out, darling. Why in the hells do you believe that I see you as one of those fools.”
“Because you did once.” Ellith’s was tensing, their first clenching on the bed and their veins showing beneath their skin even if their voice remained low.
“And I apologized!”
Astarion couldn’t believe it had to come back to this. To his stupid little plan which, even from the start, had had no reason to even exist. He had come clear with it. Ellith had understood back then. They had said it didn’t matter because they hadn’t expected anything from him in the first place.
The bard shook their head, slender fingers pinching the bridge of their nose. When they spoke again, the voice was even quieter, but no less sharp. “It’s not about that. If there was something to forgive, it’s been forgiven a long time ago. I am talking about the way you still perceive me, yourself, us. Like you’re still the predator and am still a confused, lost mess of a whore.”
“Shut up.”
Astarion had barely heard himself, his cold skin burning with a new kind of anger, fuelled by a pain he wasn’t familiar with. That of his heart breaking.
“I won’t.” Ellith answered defiantly, darkening eyes staring into his face. “Because you need to acknowledge that I am not a victim. I was never a prey. I am the one holding the knife and I never needed the Urge to dig it into flesh and guts. And it could have been your guts, your flesh, all along.”
A bitter, provocative laughter stole the remaining air in his lungs. “Where was your dear knife the night I first dug my fangs into your flesh and almost killed you? Who was the monstrous assassin you pretend to be when you practically let me bleed you to death?”
They stood up, clad in complete silence for a moment, but kept their chin proudly high and their face emotionless – except for the eyes, filled with a dark gleam which Astarion couldn’t decipher. He knew he had hit a chord, but he couldn’t tell which one.
“Why did I let you?” Ellith took a few steps to close the distance between them. “You already know the answer. And you do not like it.”
They were painful right. They let him because they enjoyed it. Not just the blood, or the familiar feeling of death hanging above them as they lied beneath him, drained and sore. Ellith enjoyed it on a more sensual, intimate level. The level that he then had used to wrap them around his little finger in a way he loathed now.
But the more he thought about it, the more he wondered who manipulated whom back then. And he positively hated it. He hated that they could make him question his own perception of what had happened, and of himself.
“Stop twisting the truth to make it fit your narrative, El.” He hissed, venom upon his tongue.
They sighed dismissively. “I am not trying to trick you into believing my narrative. I am not trying to look tougher than I am.”
Astarion had to repress another spiteful laugher. Ellith was a bard, and they wanted to be the main character and the author of their own story. It didn’t take much effort to see it. But it was his story too. And he knew the previous chapters as well as they did. “Then admit it, darling: You are not pulling any string in this, and you never did.”
“This?” Ellith’s voice suddenly dropped, confusion painting their stern features. “You mean ‘us’?”
“I mean whatever the heck this mess is.” Astarion gestured clumsily between the two of them, as if roughly depicting their bond. He was half expecting another snap from Ellith, or worse, and before he could realise it, he was taking a step back, instinctively defensive. Not that he was afraid of them - of course not! – but they could be unpredictable, and… Astarion wasn’t exactly fond of it.
But Ellith just stood there, their confusion turning into something somber. The frown on their brow wasn’t aggressive, but the way the corner of their lips was turning down wasn’t a good sign either. And their silence felt even more ominous than their bitter retorts.
“You wanted this mess to be something, Astarion.” They replied after a moment, their voice still carrying disruptive notes. “You wanted it to be real.”
“I did. When I thought you had a clearer vision of who I am. Of who you are.”
He instantly regretted his statement, aware that it wasn’t exactly true. He didn’t really know who he was back then after all.
Ellith turned their head to the left, obviously trying to avoid meeting his gaze.
Had he gone too far?
“The more I learn about myself, the least I know myself.” They whispered hesitantly crossing their arms against their chest in a defensive way. “But there is one thing I know: I am no gentle lamb. You are not exactly safe with me. And I am not like those fools who fell for your smile.”
A heavy, poisonous sigh left Astarion’s lips. He couldn’t believe Ellith was still convinced that he would still compare them to his targets. “Oh darling… How wrong you are.” He murmured through his scoffing, mirroring Ellith’s position.
Their quiet answer appeared through one single glint in their eyes, and a raising eyebrow, inviting him to elaborate. After a short hesitation, Astarion obliged them.
“I do not compare you to those buffoons, but even if I did, darling, it wouldn’t change anything: You are far less of threat to me than they ever were.”
Ellith tilted their head, their silence filled with growing curiosity. Astarion wasn’t happy with the turn of the conversation, nor was he comfortable with the subject. But if he wanted Ellith to understand, he had to reveal those parts of his past that should belong to oblivion.
They weren’t all gentle fools.” He admitted, his voice barely a whisper now. “Actually, most of them were… not half as sweet as you have been with me.”
And suddenly, as he spoke the truth about his previous targets, Ellith’s stern and inquisitive expression shattered, much to Astarion’s surprise. He had never really told them how some of his so-called victims had hurt him, if only because he didn’t think it mattered anymore. Ellith was supposed to be beyond that. They weren’t like them, but he didn’t expect them to give a damn about what those bastards did to him.
He tried to brush it off with a shrug, but as he spoke his voice started to break. “Drunkards, horny brutes, wannabe criminals… Honestly, darling, nothing about you remind me of them…”
Ellith didn’t seem convinced, given the way they tightened their arms around their own frame.
“Except, perhaps, for that night when you tried to eviscerate me.” Astarion added with a cynical smile.
He meant it, nonetheless. Ellith had never ignored his consent. Even at the beginning, when everything was so unclear, when he was unclear with his own boundaries. He couldn’t remember a single time when they overstepped and trespassed the blurry, grey lines of his own conflicted desires. Because they never did. Even when they let him feed from them for reasons that were more carnal than strategical, they never forced themselves on him.
As for the Urge, he knew all too well that it wasn’t who they were.
A sad smile tugged at Ellith’s lips. Astarion could almost taste their hesitation as it hanged in the air between them, until they spoke again. “What a mess.”
Something stirred in his chest. Apprehension. Fear.
Was he losing them? Or should he decide to walk away. To believe them and keep himself away from the danger Ellith pretends to embody?
He wanted them. Wanted to be with them, despite the risks. He believed in their capacity to fight the Urge. After all, how could Ellith not defy their father when he had been able to step out of the grave Cazador had dug for him?
The bard made the first step before he could even begin to acknowledge the dilemma, choosing for both of them as they unfolded their arms in one sharp movement and headed towards curtain that separated them from the outside world. “This is nonsense.”
Astarion had barely the time to register what was happening when Ellith disappeared behind the heavy fabric, leaving him alone with a heavy headache and a sore heart.
All of this because they had started to be what? Sweet? Tender? Gentle?
Ellith stuck their tongue out, remorse and regret gnawing at their guts. That would teach them to even try to do something… sensitive.
They were but a fraud, pretending to outmatch the person they used to while they know it’s impossible.
And perhaps… this was but another sign of the inescapable state of their legacy. Perhaps they’ll never be able to become something else. Someone else.
If only Astarion could understand, if only he could see the thick layers of darkness they carried within them, instead of believing that they were just some sort of lovesick puppy, or worse, the antihero who plotted for the mind-flayers to deliver him from Cazador’s grasp.
But if he did see it, he wouldn’t stay, right? If he could apprehend the danger their sheer existence represented, he would, rightfully, keep himself safe, far away from them.
The bard dug their face into their hands. They hadn’t yelled but their throat was sore, as if soaked with acid. Tightening. Like their chest.
If Ellith had ever had a heartbreak, they had no recollection of it, and the intensity of the maelstrom of emotions that gripped at their soul in this moment almost made them choke. A word rang through their mind, a word which has never really been part of their vocabulary. Even the songs which so often danced on their lips, that word never appeared. Banned from their existence, from the sonnets and rhymes.
And now it was echoing in their mind, like a siren howling.
Love.
Keeping their eyes shut tight, Ellith tried to calm the pace of their heartbeats. The simple idea of losing Astarion made them sick to the core. A sickness which felt all too real now that they were so close to losing him.
Losing him for the best. For his safety.
Love.
How could they love when they were made for destruction?
Hadn’t they known, from that first night when Astarion confessed his feelings, that it was but a beautiful dream. The idea of them together, another fantasy that would just keep them going forward for a while, until the inevitable happened.
Just a beautiful story for books and songs, to make a fool’s heart weep. But they had let this fantasy grow and take up too much space in their daily routine, and now as it beginning to fester with the threats of their own blades, they knew they should burst this abscess.
Love.
Something so painful and ugly couldn’t be called ‘love’.
When they opened their eyes, their heart was still beating fast, and the sunlight flowing from the windows was too bright. They blamed it for the tears prickling at the corner of their eyes.
They quickly wiped them off, jaws tensing as the heavy pressure on their chest increased. As if Bhaal’s shackles were closing around them again. A familiar feeling. A tainted memory of what used to be.
And yet, something alien. Not once before had they been so afraid of being alone. But the idea of hurting him was even more terrifying. The risk was too real, whether Astarion wanted to acknowledge it or not.
Love.
Biting back a bitter sob, Ellith stared at their knives, sheathed on the table. How long before they spill the blood of innocents again? How long before they reached for the heart of the people they’ve come to trust, and who trusted them in return?
“Monsters are not supposed to cry.”
Astarion’s voice startled them, and Ellith turned around with a jump to see him stand a few feet away from them, in the middle of the room. For how long had he been standing there, watching them struggling with themselves?
“They aren’t.” Ellith simply nodded, unwilling to let him see their distress, although they knew Astarion wasn’t a fool.
“And yet, here you are, darling. Crying.”
Astarion’s voice was somehow playful, but sharp, bitterness coating the edges of his words. In his eyes, defiance and wariness were twirling hand in hand.
“I’m not crying.”
He scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. “Sure.”
They were staring at each other, uncertainty hanging in the air. If Astarion was hurt in any way, he kept it well hidden, as far as Ellith could tell. Perhaps he wasn’t hurt at all. Perhaps he had expected this to happen too, prepared for the inevitable.
“The thing is…” He mused, moving his hand as if following the melody of his own voice. “If monsters don’t cry, and if you you do cry, it must mean you’re not so much of a monster.”
It shut them up, making them unusually quiet. The image of Astarion’s tears, the day he freed himself from Cazador, the day he killed him, invaded their mind. His tears back then weren’t useless. Tears were never useless. They had learned it on that dreadful day. Tears could heal, and tell a story of their own.
But their own tears? Ellith wasn’t so sure. They felt too sour to become a cure.
The bard swallowed the painful knot hanging in the back of their throat before mumbling quietly. “Speak for yourself.”
“You are an idiot.”
Ellith wanted to snap back with an insult of their own making, but they repressed the urge. That one, at least, they could still control.
“At least I am not lying to myself.” They retorted, voice cold as ice, as they walked a few paces away, if only to evacuate the reviving burst of emotions.
Astarion remained still, watching them with a surgical eye.
“Idiot.” He repeated.
A new form of frustration was rolling withing Ellith’s stomach as they watched his unblinking face, handsome features chiselled in marble-like skin. A dismissive hiss rolled upon their tongue.
“What?” The vampire spawn asked, raising but one eyebrow.
“What what?! Don’t you just stand there. Say something!”
“I already said what I had to say.”
And he stood there, a smirk on his lips. Provocative, defiant. Not playful anymore.
Now confusion was bubbling up to merge with Ellith’s irritation. Astarion didn’t come here just to insult them, did he? Unless… this was really the end. And that was how he wanted to make it real.
Love.
Pinching their lips, their heart tightening, Ellith raised their chin with pride. “Just leave, then.”
“No.”
Speechless again.
How did this man managed suck the words off their mouth so easily. With just a glance. A breath. A blink.
After moment that seemed to last an eternity, Astarion finally took a few steps forwards and sat down on the bed. Ellith was eyeing him from the corner of their eyes, cursing the damn silence that was still enveloping them and which made voices in their mind even louder.
And for once, the voices didn’t whisper “murder”.
It was still the siren’s voice. A much more pleasant one. And yet it rang like threat.
Love.
“What do you want?” They finally asked to better silence the voices, and they surprised themselves with their tone, much softer than the harsh growl they had planned.
Resting on his elbows, Astarion titled his head and a new glint was shining in his eyes. Amusement.
“You’re adorable when you’re confused, you know.” He almost cooed.
“Shut up.”
The words had escaped Ellith before they could realise it.
“I thought you wanted to me to say something.”
A new wave of irritation. Only he could rile them up like that. Because only he knew how to.
They growled.
“Why don’t you use real sentences, darling? You have been uncommonly… laconic. It’s disturbing.”
The remark made them jump backwards. Not only because it was true, but mostly because the bard had no idea what to say, teared in two by contradictory desires. And the more they looked into his eyes, the more the tension increased.
Love.
They could have got addicted to the siren’s voice. But it was a lure, wasn’t it? Murder was hiding behind it… wasn’t it? It was just another shape for the Urge, and soon it would whisper 'kill' again... right?
“I am not adorable. And I am not an idiot. I’m being realistic. And you should too, Astarion, before it’s too late.”
“Bullshit.” He scoffed, not leaving his relaxed position on the bed, even as he took a deep breath. “Look at yourself, El. You have spent the past few weeks convincing yourself that you were a heartless assassin. Ever since you’ve learned about your… lineage, you have been deluding yourself, pretending you could be nothing else that what he decided for you.”
“Because that’s what I am.”
“No!” Astarion suddenly sat up, his handsome features carved with a sharp frustration. “Enough of that, now. You are being the thickest idiot if you keep on believing that you’re nothing more than whatever Bhaal planned for you to become!”
Ellith froze. They had seen Astarion angry before, they had witnessed his frustration, his pain, his rage and they had heard threats spilling from his lips. But nothing would have prepared them for the way he was looking at them right now. To the voice that was rolling upon his tongue with determination and ire.
“I will not let you ruin everything now.” He added through a hiss. “Not after what we’ve been through! I won’t let you ruin us because you refuse to fight him!”
“I try! I try and try every fucking day, Astarion!” Ellith yelled back immediately, almost instinctively. “Do you really think I want to become this? To become his again? Do you really believe I don’t shiver with dread each time my fingers start to shake around the hilt of my knives? Each time I got to bed, ignorant of what might happen in my sleep? Why do you think I wanted to be sweet to you earlier? Because I am fucking trying to not become a monster!”
They paused, breathless, their body tensed and sore with a pain they couldn’t name while Astarion stared, calmly listening to their outburst.
When they spoke again, they weren’t shouting anymore, but with those tears streaming down their cheeks, they could no longer pretend they couldn’t cry. “And it doesn’t work. It never works.”
Silence. More tears. A sob.
“Here it is, finally.” Astarion sighed, lying back again, propped up against the bedframe. “Mask down. It was about time, darling.”
Through blurry eyes, Ellith could only decipher the contours of the vampire’s face, but they knew he was still staring at them. His words hit a chord, hitting deep at that part of them which they struggled to reach. They tried to say something but the words got lost somewhere between a whimper and a plea.
“Go on.” Astarion whispered, although that sharp determrination had not left his voice, and the ghost of satisfied smirk was toying on his lips. “It is working right now.”
Ironically true.
Ellith was crying. Weeping. They didn’t know when or why it started, nor could they tell when they had cried for the last time. But the tears were real, and not as sour as they could have expected. Tears that kept them away from the monster they thought they were.
Astarion let them cry. He let them evacuate the tension, the fears, the frustration and doubts. On their own.
And somehow, Ellith was grateful for his non-intervention. It wasn’t his fight, even if he had pushed them to fight it.
It seemed there would be no end to it. Messy, sticky, ugly cries held back for too long by a stubborn pride and a fathomless need to keep control. Unfamiliar fluids dripping from their eyes and nostrils. Not that they really cared about it. Body fluids were just another kind of body language.
They didn’t know how long it lasted, but when their sobs started to subside, their throat was even sorer and their eyes and cheeks itching, their lips were dry and their nose irritated.
Astarion picked a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it out. When Ellith took it, they noticed how serious he looks, although the determination was still fixed on his features.
“See…?” He asked as Ellith rubbed their eyes. “I am pretty sure Bhaal never expected his beloved spawn to burst into tears. And yet, you did cry your eyes out, darling.”
Ellith couldn’t help but chuckle through their subsiding whimpers.
Love.
“That was quite the show.” He added with a teasing smirk, to which Ellith replied by throwing the wet handkerchief back at him. Astarion snapped it away with a wince before leaning on his side, completely relaxed now. “Oh, don’t be so sore. You are so adorable when you cry. I would have held you, but this is a new shirt, and we don’t want to smear eyeshadow on such delicate fabric, do we?”
That lovely, playful glint in his eyes was back with his smirk.
“Bastard.” Ellith cooed in return between two hiccups.
He grinned, sharp fangs flashing behind his lips. Proud of himself.
Love.
Still dismayed and confused, Ellith took a few deep breaths as they gathered their own shattered thoughts. “A few tears won’t deliver me from the Urge, you know.”
Astarion nodded. He looked calm, almost too peaceful given the circumstances, his slender body stretched out on the bed. “Still, if you needed a proof to confirm that you are more than a heartless Bhaalspawn, you have it now. I, for the record, didn’t need such evidence. You do have a heart. And a warm one. I can hear it. I’ve always had.”
They did have a heart. And it was beating faster than ever right now. Ellith placed both their hands against their chest, as to feel it, to feel themselves. “You mean a heart that requires more blood…”
“Ellith…” Astarion frowned dramatically as if he was about to scold a stubborn child. “I’ve watched you for weeks, months. I know you. I tend to believe that I know you better than you know yourself.”
The bard rolled their eyes, mimicking Astarion’s dramatic attitude. But they didn’t cut him off.
“You may not be the embodiment of self-righteousness and tenderness, El. But who cares?” He looked straight into Ellith’s eyes, the moment suspended. “I don’t, for what it’s worth.”
“It’s worth a lot.” Ellith immediately replied. “An awful lot.”
The smile he gave them this time was imbued with something new, something so warm and hopeful that Ellith could feel their own legs trembling.
“Very good, then.” Astarion purred. “It wasn’t so difficult.”
Love.
But also fear, again. Doubts, again. The imperious need to keep him safe. Away from themselves.
Ellith sucked on their breath. The heart was beating, but sharp were the splinters digging into it.
“Astarion… Whatever is between us, we need to end it.”
A frown came to disturb his beautiful, hopeful smile as he sat up. “Oh shit. I - did I do something wrong? Why? What's changed?”
Ellith looked down at their feet, naked on the floor, as usual. They refused to look at Astarion’s face now growing increasingly panicked, crimson eyes filling with that damn beautiful vulnerability they had learned to cherish.
“Don’t tell me it’s because I just watched you cry or—”
Ellith raised a hand to cut him off, keeping their eyes on the ground. “I'm so worried I'm going to end up killing you one day.”
They didn’t need to look at him to feel the gears rolling in his mind. And the gravity creeping between them was all too obvious now. A gravity which Ellith appreciated. Especially after what he had said earlier, when he had dismissed their concern, refusing to acknowledge the threat they represented.
They heard him sigh. Taking his time. Gathering his thought. Taking in the statement.
“I may be guilty of a bit of embellishment here and there - but I'm no liar.” Came his answer, the last answer Ellith had expected. They raised up their gaze. He quickly caught their eyes with his own, and the bard shivered. They never thought of him as a liar, but they knew all too well how one could lie to themselves to better protect their sanity.
But the way Astarion was looking at them right now was keeping them quiet.
“When I vowed we'd save you: we will save you.” He added, his voice soft but confident, that sweet determination still painted all across his face.
A painful heartbeat. A silent gasp. A storm of gratitude within their chest.
“This little adventure of ours has taught me that we can't let our lives be ruled by fear. Or else we never really live. I'm not afraid. Not of you, not of your darkness, and not of our future.”
Oh.
A new kind of urge rose within them: that of holding him. Tightly. Of never letting him go. Bathing him in their own shadows just to make sure they will become a shield for both of them. For better or worse.
And yet, Ellith needed to protest. He should be afraid, listen to his fears when the risks were so great. They needed him to understand the harsh reality of their current condition. Who knew what could happen before they could be ‘saved’?
“I could end us both, you know.”
The statement was raw. Their voice hoarse.
A thoughtful hum buzzed in his throat. And when he spoke again, his voice had grown even more serious. His eyes more vulnerable. “Cazador used his tortures to strike terror into me. But I've rarely been more afraid than on the night when I feared Bhaal had claimed you for good.”
Guilt stroke again, like an arrow right through their heart. Nothing in the world would ever erase it. Ellith knew it, they knew they could become – or maybe was in the past – worst than Cazador himself. That simple idea made them want to puke.
“But I trust you won't kill me.” Astarion admitted softly, confidently, and this time his words were followed by an affectionate chuckle, the kind of which that always made Ellith’s heart burst with delight. “And if you do, then I've gotten sloppy and probably have it coming.”
He was smiling. Fondly. And there was that familiar glint in his eyes, in his smirk. Something playful, and yet obviously honest. Painfully honest.
A huge wave of relief washed over Ellith the moment they heard his words. He wasn’t delusional. Had never been. He knew Ellith could become a threat. He just refused to make a fuss about it.
And after all, wasn’t he the bravest, strongest person Ellith had ever met (as far as they could remember)? If someone could survive the violence of their Urge, it was Astarion. How could they even doubt his capacity to handle it? To handle them…
Speechless again, Ellith nodded slowly, unable to put back on any new mask of invulnerability. Unable to hide how grateful they were feeling right now. Torn open, exposed as never before, solely for the eyes of the man who never doubt them. And that was not only new, but also terrifying.
Whether Astarion noticed it or not, he slowly raised one hand, offering it to the troubled bard. After a few seconds of hesitation, Ellith took it, and immediately found themselves pulled on the bed against the vampire spawn. He kept their hand in his, the other arm sneaking around Ellith’s waste as to keep them from running away.
“You're so sweet.” Ellith whispered, positioning themselves next to him.
“I am. And beautiful - not enough people mention that.” He answered, dramatic and yet oh so honest. Relieved even. As if Ellith had just pinpointed something he was craving to reveal. A smile creeped up.
Love.
Love.
Love.
He tightened his grip around them and whispered with a conniving tone. “I'm not going anywhere.”
Perhaps that was all they needed. His acknowledgement of how dangerous they could be. His determination to stick around, no matter what. Just to remind Ellith of how brave he was. Just so they could stop thinking he was deluding himself. In any case, Astarion was making it clear: he had no intention of letting them down. No matter the risks. And he knew all too well about those risks.
Ellith reached out to rest a hand on his chest. “You must teach me how, then. How to be sweet. At least as sweet as you.”
“Easy.” Astarion chuckled. “Let me show you, darling.”
He wrapped both his warms around their frame, cold fingers tracing the ribs poking through their skin. Ellith relaxed against him, taking notes of all of his movements. Before long, Astarion was nuzzling the crook of their neck, silver locks tickling their chin and ear.
Was that all it took to be sweet? It was hard to tell, but there was no denying how good it felt.
“Are you performing right now?” Ellith asked, although they were almost purring with delight.
They felt Astarion go still for a moment, as if he was considering both the question and the answer. “With you?” His breath tickled Ellith’s earlobe. “Never again.”
Turning their head to look at him, Ellith rested one finger against his chin, gently and quietly asking him to look up. “For real?”
“Dangerously real.” Astarion nodded, and there was no deception in his gaze. “Unless you keep on pretending to be the monster you’re not. In that case, I might try to manipulate you again, you foolish slut.”
The affectionate slur made them scoff through an awkward smile. Because that statement, Ellith knew, was true, raw, and it meant the world to them.
Love.
The bard’s finger slowly moved from his chin to his lips, tracing the graceful lines of his face until they felt a shiver run across his skin. His lips trembling.
“I’m sorry!” They instinctively whispered as their movements stopped in their tracks. A wave of panic invaded them, and they cursed themselves for overstepping a fictitious boundary.
Astarion stared at them and very slowly, he started to shake his head, before reaching for their frozen hand. “Keep going, darling. It feels good.”
Love.
Ellith could almost feel their own heart swelling. Just like it had swelled that night in the graveyard. When he first told them he loved them. They hadn’t really known how to answer that night. It had felt too much like a dream. A mirage. A delirious fantasy after a rush of adrenaline. But it was more than that, they could see it clearly now.
Encouraged by Astarion’s smile, they let their finger explore his face, their touch soft and reverent, as if he was the most precious thing in the whole world.
Maybe he was.
“Did they hurt you badly?” Ellith asked in a quiet breath after a moment of sheer adoration, as his former confession hit their heart again. “Those people you brought back to him...”
Their fingers were still now, resting softly on Astarion’s temple
The vampire spawn dropped his own mask. There was no tear in his eyes, but an unfathomable sadness. And pain. So much pain.
Ellith slid just a little closer, not enough for their bodies to touch, but just enough for Astario to feel the warmth of their skin. They knew they couldn’t force him to talk, didn’t want to, no matter how much they wanted to know. Needed to know, just to make sure they would never hurt him like they did.
“They… didn’t hurt me as much as Cazador did.”
Silence. He wouldn’t say more about it. Not yet at least. But it was enough. Enough to taste his pain and absorb it.
Their fingers moved from temple to hairline, until they find their way to his scalp, lost in the silver locks. Astarion tightened his grip on their hipbone and waist.
There were so many things Ellith wanted to tell him, but the words were stuck in the back of their throat, and they soon realized that they were useless anyway. What mattered was what they could do, or keep themselves from doing. What mattered was how they looked at each other, and what they could see in each other.
That’s why they just nodded, fingers playing lazily with his hair. It felt so soft, like silk glinding beneath their skin. They could have done it forever.
Astarion leaned in the touch, a quiet moan humming from his throat.
“Don’t you ever say you cannot be sweet, darling.” He whispered, nuzzling into their hand. “You’re doing so well…”
Ellith gave a smile, still worried and so very careful, as if they were holding a newborn with hands made of thorns. “I don’t want to hurt—”
“Shut up and keep your hand in my hair.”
“but I…”
“If you stop I will tell Jaheira that the Urge took the better of you. Now keep going.”
It didn’t take much more for Ellith to oblige him is a scoff. If their movements were a little bit awkward from time to time, they nonetheless relished in it, slowly running their fingers through Astarion’s hair, fingernails gently scratching his scalp until he let his head fall and rest against the bard’s collarbone.
It did feel sweet.
Unreal and yet so real.
Astarion breathed softly against their skin before pressing a few kisses right at the middle of their cleavage. “Your heart is still panicking, dear.” He noticed, and his lips brushed against their left breast.
“It’s not panic.” Ellith mumbled, once again taken aback by this unpredictable man. “Just surprise.”
Astarion hummed again, pressed another soft kiss, his tongue delicately flicking over their sweating skin. “You taste like… Are you nervous, dear? … quite unusual.”
“What do you mean?”
“You usually taste like over confidence.” He grinned before giving another playful lick.
“Aaah!” Ellith shuddered, not with discomfort, not even with lust, but with something much warmer.
Love.
They managed to catch their breath. Despite that voice in their mind, despite their weakening, shuddering body. “You just watched me cry like a babe, Astarion. You can’t expect me to feel over-confident right now.”
Astarion snickered against their skin, gave a little bite which drew a quiet gasp from Ellith’s lips. “Hm. Such a pathetic cry-baby you make.” Another bite. “How dare you call yourself a leader, hm?” And a third one.
He was provoking them. Ellith knew it. And they couldn’t blame him, on the contrary. They could barely manage to keep their body still under their teasing nibbling, until they finally managed to get a grip on themselves. Their hand slid from his hair to his jawline, and they gently pulled his face up. “Are you trying to make a point? Just to let me know that I am, indeed, unable to resist you?”
Astarion flashed a grin, fangs grazing right above their heart. “What did you expect, my sweet?”
Releasing their gentle grip, Ellith lied down back against the mattress with a scoff that sounded more like one of their usual mouth farts. One of their least attractive habits.
Astarion chuckled nonetheless and moved up so his lips could hover above their pouting mouth.
“You cannot help it, right?” He teased. “You do have to make a fool of yourself each time things are getting serious.”
With a shrug, Ellith rested their head on the pillow, accepting Astarion’s weight above them. “A good story always needs a fool… or two.”
Astarion burst into laughter, the handsome wrinkles at the corner of his eyes creasing in the most expressive way. “I hope you do not expect me to play that part, dear.”
“I thought you wanted it to be your story too.”
“Sure! But I was expecting a more consistent role!” He retorted with a roll of his eyes, his voice reaching a higher pitch. “That of the lovely rake, for instance.”
Of course, he would. But if Ellith was perfectly honest, they would have admitted that the part of the hero would suit him better. In any case, they couldn’t deny that Astarion deserved the lead role in this adventure. “Alright, I shall let Volo know about your artistic preferences, Astarion. With a bit of luck, he’ll give you a few epic lines.”
The snort that echoed in his throat was no more subtle than Ellith’s previous puff, but it sounded all the more genuine. “As long as he doesn’t make me look like the stereotypical vampire lover.”
“You know he will.”
The bard didn’t need to look down at their body to know Astarion had left quite a few marks on their skin, but his fangs hadn’t pierced the flesh and there was no actual bleeding. They didn’t mind the marks, nor would they have disapproved of the blood. But at least the bedsheet would remain stainless tonight… as far as they could tell.
Astarion rested his head against their bruised breast, his ear searching for their heartbeat. Ellith was still very much confused by this kind of genuine intimacy. Not that they didn’t like it, on the contrary, there was something absolutely delightful in that newfound peace. But they needed to get used to it. And they could easily imagine that such intimacy was also very new to Astarion, even if he was already better at giving into it.
Ellith accepted the slight feeling of awkwardness that numbed their limbs, let it wash over them, but it quickly subsided as their bodies melted against each other.
Love.
“Mmmh…” Astarion hummed solfty, his cold breath gliding over Ellith’s skin. “No matter what you might think, no matter how much blood on your hand, you are good for me, darling.”
The smile which crept onto their lips was unavoidable. “Am I? Well, who knows, perhaps I’ll eventually become the embodiment of self-righteousness and tenderness.”
Astarion let out a stream of laughter. “Let’s keep that for your next stage performance, shall we?”
“Fair enough. I’ll just have to find the appropriate audience for that. I suppose our dear Blade of Frontiers might not be much entertained by the show.”
Astarion’s melodious chuckle tickled their skin once more, awakening a trail of goosebumps in its trail.
Love.
With one hand in Astarion’s hair, the other one sliding along his arm until their fingers found his shoulder, Ellith finally let themselves relax entirely.
A long moment passed, during which none of them talked. There was only the song of Ellith’s breathing, their heartbeats drumming through their body.
“Hey, Astarion…?”
“What is it, my dear?” the vampire spawn mumbled, his voice imbued with what sounded like bliss.
“You know what?”
He sighed with a little too much emphasis, before repeating his words, his voice reaching a higher note. “What is it?”
“I think I’m in love with you.”
A chuckle. Melodious. And that look in his eyes when he briefly looked up at them. Rare, precious. Vulnerability. Followed by another sigh. Peaceful this time. “Idiot.”
His head fell back against their chest.
Ellith breathed quietly against his hair, a serene smile on their lips. “Bastard.”
