Chapter Text
It turns out that humanoid blood is surprisingly good.
You’d been a little worried about how the logistics of biting were going to actually… work, but once Astarion presented you with your very own “cattle” and showed you her beautiful, smooth neck, instinct took over. You sank your new fangs into her jugular and drank. And it was delicious. Almost intoxicating. Your senses sang with pleasure long after you’d reluctantly released the woman’s neck, for fear of her meeting a familiar premature end if you took too much blood.
Astarion assured you that the old kennel had been spruced up and that your personal humanoid was being both paid and treated well. You believed him, in no small part because you wanted to believe him. After tasting humanoid blood, you never want to drink from animals again. The difference is like night and day. You don’t want to have to give up this new vice.
It helps that the woman herself, a doe-eyed half-elf with curly hair, seems very mellow about being bitten. You wonder if she had been in such an arrangement before, or if she was just exceptionally skilled at adjusting to new conditions. When you’d tried to strike up conversation with her, curious about her origins, Astarion had gently but firmly steered you off, saying, “You shouldn’t go making friendships with your cattle, my dear. Think of her as more like your… personal servant.”
“But I don’t know her name. What should I call her?”
Astarion had shrugged. “Whatever you like.”
After drinking from her for the first time, you lounge in a haze on one of the balcony railings and soak up the sun. Astarion comes out to see you with a smile on his face. “You’re positively glowing, darling. The sun itself can’t compare to your brilliance. I knew some humanoid blood would be good for you.”
You nod absently, glancing up at him. He’s wearing a red suit with gold embroidery, and it looks absolutely stunning on him. “I feel… good.” And stronger, too. Happier, even.
Astarion approaches you as he speaks. “Now do you understand why I got… lost in the moment when I drank from you for the first time?”
You grin slightly and shake a finger at him. “Hey, at least I didn’t kill her…”
Astarion leans on the railing beside you. “Even if you had, it’d be trivial to resurrect her. In fact, temporary death is in her contract. You may kill her as many times as you like.”
You tilt your head. “What for?”
“Because, my dear—sometimes you’ll just want to bite into someone and drink until the life leaves their body.” At your alarmed expression, Astarion pats your shoulder. “If you don’t understand now, then you will soon. I promise.”
“Is that how you feel about me?” you ask softly, suddenly concerned.
Astarion smirks in your direction. “I won’t lie and say the thought hasn’t crossed my mind… but I’ve already had my turn to kill your body and make you mine, forever… so I’ll refrain from any murderous behavior. …Unless you were interested in that sort of thing, of course.”
You stifle a laugh. “I didn’t really enjoy dying, so… I’ll have to pass on that.”
“Not a problem at all, my darling.” He puts an arm around you and briefly kisses your cheek. “There are many other ways for us to have fun together.”
You loll your head against him, smiling. You feel loose, uninhibited. It’s almost like being drunk. “I love you.”
“And I love you too, my treasure.”
You lean against Astarion and just enjoy his warmth against your cold, dead body. “Tell me how world domination is going.”
This is a favorite topic of his. Astarion talks about the towns he’s already conquered, the number of spawns he’s created, the uncooperative people he’s killed. Strangely, you aren’t bothered at all. Those people should have realized their predicament and submitted to the incoming force. Foolishly trying to fight back cost them their lives.
You decide to speak your feelings out loud. Why not? “I don’t know why people bother to fight back so hard. Do they really think your rule would be so much worse than whatever little and… inconsequential government they have now?”
Astarion stifles a laugh. “If only all of Faerûn was as clever as you are, my consort. I’d have a much easier time conquering the world, and of course, none of them would have to die.” He pauses, considering, before adding, “Aside from the ones we decide to eat. But the loss of a few citizens is nothing compared to all the inhabitants of the Sword Cost. Hardly anyone would notice. I daresay we’d end up killing less people than Cazador did, during his reign of terror.”
“Hm.” Astarion doesn’t talk about Cazador much. Does the topic still bother him? Two hundred years of abuse probably doesn’t heal too easily. “At least he’s dead now.” You pat Astarion’s arm.
“Are you trying to comfort me, my sweet? How adorable. But it’s unnecessary. The old bastard is gone, and I’m here, alive. And that brings me more joy than you could ever know.”
“I’m glad.” You place your hand over Astarion’s, intertwining your fingers over the railing. “I want you to be happy.”
“Well, you’re doing a splendid job of it so far,” says Astarion, which makes you grin.
The two of you gaze out at the horizon in silence for a long, long time. It’s a comfortable sort of quiet. You say nothing, because nothing needs to be said. You try not to take this for granted, that you can stand in the sun and not burn. That you can enjoy all the pleasures of mortal life, and still be with your darling, forever and ever.
Truly, it is a gift. You bring Astarion close and kiss him softly. “Thank you.”
“For what, my dear?”
“For this gift.”
Astarion smiles—he knows exactly what you mean. “As much as I’d love to take all the credit—you helped me greatly in obtaining this power. It was… only natural that I would share it with you.”
“Still. I’m glad that you picked me. Out of all the people you could have chosen…” You trail off, but the end of the thought is clear, You chose me.
“Of course. And I would choose you again, my dear.” He squeezes your hand. The warmth of him is pleasant. “You are something… very special. Seven thousand souls was the price of our union, and you were worth every single one of them.”
“I wonder if all of them would agree with you,” you ask idly.
Astarion barks a laugh. “Ha, perhaps not. But what do we care for their opinions? They’re dead! Ha ha ha…”
You shrug helplessly. “…I guess I can’t argue with that.” A pause before you recall his… his offer from before. “Can I… Can I read your mind?” Before Astarion can even answer, you quickly add, “You said I could. Remember?”
Astarion is quiet for a bit before he answers. “Yes, I did say that. I…” The idea is clearly distasteful to him. The loss of control over what he chooses to reveal. But to your surprise, he finally concludes, “Yes, you may read my mind.” He takes your hand and places it gently atop his snow-white curls, as if a physical touch will strengthen the mental connection. Maybe it will.
“I won’t hurt you,” you promise, still in awe that he didn’t just turn around and deny everything. Do you assume the worst of him? That’s… not very loving of you, is it? He’s been so kind to you, and you respond with mistrust? Slowly, you retract your hand. “…I changed my mind. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“Don’t worry about me, darling,” he says, but his strained expression makes it clear that yes, he is uncomfortable. But he’s hiding it for you. For you.
You love him even more for his attempt to make you happy. But you’re not going to bother him with this silly little whim of yours. You take his hand on the railing again, intertwining your fingers gently. “I don’t need to read your mind. I trust you.”
Astarion breathes a sigh of audible relief, glancing at you briefly. “…I’m glad you do, darling.”
For a moment, you feel him enter your brain, poke around, and then retreat just as quickly. Was he looking for something? But what would he be looking for? …Did you just imagine that in your blood-sated state? It’s very possible that’s the case. “I love you,” you repeat again.
Astarion squeezes your hand. “And I love you as well, my perfect darling.”
He’s done it. He’s convinced you not to read his mind, whilst making you think it was all your own idea. Internally, he congratulates himself for pulling it off. He feels a twinge of guilt for misleading you, but really, was it misleading? He was uncomfortable with you entering his brain—he just showed it in a very obvious manner, to ensure that you would back off. There’s nothing wrong with that.
You say you love him, and you mean it. He means it too, when he says it back. When he says the word ‘perfect’, he means many things. Your appearance, perfect. Your personality, perfect.
Your blind trust in him, so, so perfect.
He’s quite fortunate, to have obtained you as a consort so early on in his new life as a vampire ascendant. After the ritual, he had it all. The only thing missing from his ideal life was someone to stay by his side, to be above all the other spawn, yet still submissive to him. And now, he has you. And you are perfect.
Astarion kisses your neck before whispering, “I’m so lucky to have you.”
He means that, too.