Sanguine || Astarion x Reader

A Past Life

In which Astarion remembers a figment of his past life— his life before Cazador, before vampirism.

Or, elves have terrific memory and Astarion could only remember the torture he endured for centuries. This time, however, he remembers something... nicer.

NOTE: I'm brushing up on my Forgotten Realms lore so please forgive me if it isn't 100% accurate.

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It is said that elves are known to suffer an eternal curse, that being their memory.

Elven souls are known to work differently among other creatures. That was why there were always so few of them.

There simply weren't enough elven souls to go around. The number of elven souls created since their ancestors rebelled has always been the same.

In their reveries, they relive all the memories of their past lives with perfectly recalled details.

That was why it concerned you so much when Astarion told you one night that he can't even remember the color of his eyes before he got turned.

It was an elf's curse to remember everything in perfect detail, to remember all the lives they lived before living their current life.

Astarion has been cursed with the same predicament.

He can recall in perfect detail everything Cazador has ever done to him. Every bit of torture Godey has punished him with has stuck with him each and every night he rested for his reverie.

It's odd, Astarion notes, how he can't remember every soul he surrendered to Cazador. Perhaps, that only shows how badly he was treated, how utterly disgusting his time was as a slave for him to strictly remember the pain and suffering he had felt.

You woke up before he did, some time in the afternoon. Ever since Astarion's fate had been claimed by the shadows again, you've grown to naturally become more and more nocturnal like he was.

Astarion has scolded you more than a few times for this. He's chastised you on why you'd choose to spend your life in the shadows when you weren't confined to it like he was. Your answer remains unchanged, no matter how many times he tells you to live your life in the Sun.

"I love you, Astarion," you'd never fail to say it every time he gets upset when he thinks he's holding you back from enjoying your post-tadpoled life. "I don't mind the darkness, when I have you to light up my day."

"Eugh," Astarion would sometimes reply with a sneer on his face. "Since when did you get so corny?"

You'd then fondly place a kiss on his cool cheek and wink, "I only learned from the best."

Where there should be streams of sunlight, there is simply darkness. It's almost funny to think that the heavy velvet curtains hung around the house were more expensive than the majority of your furniture. You insisted, anyway, to invest in thick curtains for Astarion's maximum safety.

You were the hero of Baldur's Gate, what's a little gold spent compared to your massive pile (which you'e hoarded since trading with Arron from the grove).

You sigh wistfully at the sight of your lover beside you. Gorgeous as can be, he meditates peacefully tonight, a luxury he can't always afford, so it takes everything in you not to rouse his reverie with your affection.

You settle on rubbing gentle circles across his smooth skin. You trace lazy patterns on his shoulders, trailing them down slowly to his biceps, to his forearms, until you reach his nimble hands. Your fingers play along his pulse point, revelling in the lack of any heartbeat.