Her Pretty Little Throat : An Ascended Astarion Fan Fiction

Amara

I pace back and forth across the length of the study. I'm barely able to remember the moments between now and when I felt Saffie's body grow lighter in my arms until there was little left of her but a vague shape of ash on the floor.

The ghost of Astarion's strong arm across my shoulders still remains. It and the sound of his voice just outside in the hall as he speaks to Drystan in hushed tones ground me. As does the feeling of the floor under my bare feet, all of my senses are stripped away to those simple points.

I'm only able to catch bits and pieces of the conversation filtered through the steady crackle of the fireplace, but I know what they're talking about.

What happened to Saffie wasn't an accident. It was a clear declaration of war from the Enclave, something that Matthias didn't have the strength to do in person last night at the party.

In this moment, I'm reminded of how much of an outsider I am. I don't belong here with him. I cannot take up arms alongside a coven of vampire spawn against a group of wizards. I'm pretty good with a blade, but only in the shadows. I would be nothing more than a liability, a distraction that could get Astarion injured or worse.

"Come nightfall, I want you to station guards across the perimeter of the grounds. I will make sure the wards are in place." Astarion says.

"That might not stop them. Do you think you should summon your wolves?" Drystan asks.

"Not yet. I don't want to startle."

I glance over out of the corner of my eye, watching Astarion's mouth as he continues to speak, though I cannot hear him. The carefully curated mask he wears has returned. He looks every bit the leader as he did before—a king in his castle. Almost untouchable. In that moment, we feel worlds apart, and I feel mine starting to crumble.

"Amara."

At his stern tone, I stop walking and look over in his direction.

"Dearest, do please sit down." He inclines his head towards his desk, the command more like a caress.

There. I can see the concern behind those words. I was beginning to think everything that happened between us was just a dream after being tossed into this waking nightmare. Even though my body still carries the memory of our joining, The way my thighs feel slightly tender from where he gripped them. If I look, I might see the beginning of a bruise in the shape of his fingertips. With every step I take, I feel the dull ache between my legs, a reminder of his passion.

I need to keep moving just to hold on to that memory for a bit longer. I want to return to those moments of the world being torn away until it was just us. I want to cling to him and feel that possessive feeling in his movements to keep me there beneath him. Close to him. I want to go back to where I was possibly cherished for all that I am and move farther away from the current reality we see before us.

Astarion is afraid. He wouldn't admit it, but I see the way his mood has begun to wear along the edges. I have seen that look in my own eyes time and time again. The days when I didn't know where my next meal would come from or if I would even be alive in a tensdays time after Rowan died.

I take up my pacing again.

From the moment I stepped foot inside the palace, I regarded it like a fortress, some impenetrable prison meant to keep me in. I never thought there would be a reason to keep anyone out or the need to defend it. Until now.

Vampires are supposed to be immortal; it wasn't until I felt one succumb to her true death in my arms that I realized how fragile their existence really is.