Her Pretty Little Throat : An Ascended Astarion Fan Fiction

Astarion

My eyes skim over the same passage for what feels like the hundredth time.

It's been so long since I've felt this restless, like a caged animal wishing to be sprung free. Though the sensation is different this time because I am the one holding myself captive, not Cazador.

I thought I'd have everything when I killed him and ascended in his place, but no, I just made the cage larger and threw away the key. There are pieces of me still there, tucked against the corner, shaking and wishing for my savior, but she's long dead.

I look over at the book open on my desk, stacked atop others, their pages splayed open invitingly without anything new to tell me. I sigh, and my gaze returns to the one in my hands, reading the damned passage again.

After leaving the half-elf in Vesra's care, I cleaned the blood from my hands and tossed my ruined tunic. Honestly, if only there was a way to get blood out of golden embroidery.

From there, my frenzied mind led me to the library, where I pulled every book I could on Gods and the afterlife before retiring to my study.

Usually the large space feels like it could swallow me, but I have carved out a small bit of peace for myself at the large mahogany desk. I keep trinkets from my adventures in the drawers, just within reach. Even the eyes of the unnamed portraits that line the walls offer me some comfort. They are the only remaining witnesses to all the pain I have endured over the centuries and know just how far I have come.

Still, I have been sitting here for what feels like hours, and I have nothing to show for it. That and the material itself is boring me to tears. You would think that a book about The Gods would be more lyrical and engaging. Instead, these texts drone on in a dry and methodical tone. It feels like I'm listening to Gale, which is odd because every verse dedicated to the God of Ambition reads like poetry.

If I were a god, I'd want my praises sung in erotic verse.

I slam the book closed and reach for another, looking over the spine before cracking it open. This one promises insight into the afterlife. I roll my eyes.

I don't even know what I'm looking for. I don't even know how to put words to what I'm feeling inside.

From the moment I saw her down in the streets, I felt awake. I felt drawn to her in some inexplicable way that felt tied to my very being. Then, I saw her face.

At first, I thought she must be related to Tav in some way, but I know for a fact that my lovely adventurer never settled down. She wasn't the type, and I admired her for that even though I resented her for it just as much. It didn't stop me from keeping an eye on her. Reading about her. I followed her for a few years. I still felt protective of her in spite of the anger.

No, this is something different. That's why I turned to religion. Comforting thoughts of fate and destiny, being owed something from the divine as penance for the way the world has treated you. I have been repaid tenfold and taken much more than I was given since I ascended. Allowing me another chance at happiness wouldn't be a gift; it'd be a punishment.

What am I thinking? Foolishly holding out hope for another chance. She's a stranger, aside from that hauntingly beautiful face. I have spent years thinking about what I could have done differently. I could have expressed myself better so Tav could understand why I chose to do what I did against her wishes.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a figure lingering at the doorway, and I recognize the shock of blonde hair. I do my best to ignore her, knowing how persistent she is. I make a show of reading, furrowing my brow as my eyes drift over the words.