Sanguine || Astarion x Reader

You're Alive (At Least as Far as I Can Tell You Are)

Title is from "You" by the 1975!

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In which Astarion has trouble believing and coping after the brief death and revival of their beloved leader.

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In the heat of the Grymforge, Nere's men have proved to be harder foes than you had initially imagined.

As your sword clangs against a foe's battle axe, you hear a scream from your left. An allied dwarf had just been shoved into the burning lava beneath you, and you hear his screams gurgle and muffle as he slowly burns into a crisp.

Your jaw clenches, fighting with a newfound fervor to not end up like that dwarf. You swing and you swing and you swing, with your sword and with your lute, aiding your hits with the magic provided through your tunes.

In your fervor though, you grew reckless.

And, with the immense heat around you, it was incredibly difficult to discern trickling sweat from dripping blood.

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You hear him scream out your name before you can register anything else.

Nere had fallen just a few moments ago and it seems to instill fear within his minions after his death. They fought, but not with the drive and pride they had before their leader's gruesome passing. As a result, they grew sloppy in their fear, making them easier and easier to mow down.

The fight dies down around you, and you crumple to your knees, not knowing how or why you feel so weak.

"Hey, hey, hey," Astarion coos, patting a pale hand onto your sweaty cheeks. You don't know when you landed in his arms, you're just thankful for his touch again. You feel warm in his embrace, so warm, like you could just let go and fall asleep.

There's so much blood, too much, Astarion thinks. When he would be elated to smell your delectable lifeblood, he instead feels immense dread flow through his undead heart.

He's panicking now, his hands shake as he holds you closer to his body.

You don't notice the worried way his eyebrows crinkle across his forehead, nor the way his lips part in distress.

You feel your eyelids become heavy, you want to close them so badly, to rest for a little before returning to camp. But something in you, an innate instinct perhaps, tells you to remain as awake as possible.

"A-Astarion?" You mumble softly, looking up at him.

It pains him to hear your voice to be so weak, an obvious evidence how quickly your life force is slipping away from your body.

"Yes, darling," You see Astarion give you a weak smile, feeling his thumb caress your cheek so sweetly. "I'm here," he whispers. "You'll be alright. Shadowheart is coming, okay?"

He speaks to reassure you, but he can't help but believe his words were meant to reassure himself more. To make himself believe that you can survive this, that you can live.

It was at this moment that he confesses to himself that you were more than a simple source of sustenance for him.

He finds himself caring.

Your left arm falls limp from his grasp, and Astarion could feel his undead heart plummet to Avernus. It makes him clutch you closer to his chest, in a desperate attempt to feel your weakening heartbeat against him.