Her Pretty Little Throat : An Ascended Astarion Fan Fiction

Amara

My love.

I can hear those two words over and over in my head. I'm no more than two steps out into the hall, gulping down air, before I realize what I have done. I can only hope that the other guests were too swept up to notice how I panicked and ran away, making a complete fool of myself.

It's not that I believe those two little words for one moment. We barely know each other, and Astarion has called me so many other things. It's just a turn of phrase; it doesn't mean anything more. It's not possible.

No, I'm not concerned that he might love me. I am terrified of the fact that I could be falling in love with him. To what end?

Every passing day, the palace feels like a home that I haven't known since Rowan died. It's foolish, I know, but it feels like I have been looking for Astarion for most of my life. Maybe not him in particular, but a concept that I have done my best to bring to life. Not a fairy tale, but something real that shares the same hard edges that I possess. The same darkness that I feel within me.

The more time I spend with him I can see why Vesra made her choice. The reason why she sacrificed her life to stay with Drystan. I know the words she didn't say. I've heard of the cost of certain magics that bind the soul. The moment she is released, that soul tether is broken; all those days catch up to her, and she will die.

What would be my choice if I had to make one?

As the sound of my heart hammering in my ears subsides, I can hear soft groans barely audible over the bard's melody behind me in the ballroom.

The hall is a lot darker than it was before, and a number of candles have been snuffed out with good reason. In the dim light, I can still see their forms shifting in the shadows. At the far corner of the hall, tucked into a small alcove adjacent to the stairwell, I see a familiar face. One of the half-elf females, that I don't know by name, is pinned to the wall by a much larger female dragonborn dressed in dark leather. The spawn's glowing red eyes are staring up at the ceiling blindly as stray ruby droplets line her lips and mark her bare breasts while the dragonkin kneels between her thighs.

I let out a soft gasp as the half-elf notices me, her black hair falling down into her face as her head lolls in my direction, beckoning me closer. I shake my head and walk in the other direction towards the parlor in hopes of finding a quiet place to think.

Instead, I see nothing but a tangle of bodies occupying each of the couches—two, three, maybe as many as four people together. The sight of their ecstasy and the streaks of blood on their naked bodies twists something within me, causing my face to heat.

The sexual tension is palpable as I search the other open rooms. The entire wing has been taken over by the sensation, and everyone seems to be drunk on it, ignorant of the world around them. Bodies of all shapes and sizes crash together in a seductive rhythm that seems to coincide with the music, while others have just taken to rutting in the hall, chasing that euphoria.

It reminds me of the effects of fairy wine in old fables, the magical drink said to strip you of all your inhibitions. Sometimes a good whiskey can do the same.

I decide to make my way towards the kitchen, half hoping that Vesra hasn't sneaked away to find some privacy with Drystan amid the chaos.

That's when I hear it.

"Amara." The male's gruff voice draws out my name with his unpolished accent.

I am safe here. I remind myself as I turn to see King standing before me, the side of his mouth settling into his crooked grin. I can tell by his languid movements as he walks towards me that he's already been sampling the wines.