Her Pretty Little Throat : An Ascended Astarion Fan Fiction

Astarion

It's been nearly a tensday since Amara killed King.

That night, after her bath, I had her move into my quarters. I told her it was out of necessity for when Matthias decides to make his move and that I needed her close so that I could protect her, but the truth is something entirely different. The connection between us has grown much deeper since she spilled blood, much to the point where I feel like something inside of me begins to wither and decay when we are not close.

It means at night she falls asleep in my arms and wakes up in the morning with my hands gently stroking her hair or, more often than not, my face buried between her thighs.

I watch her from across the library, the wood from the shelves digging into my back as I rest against them. I should really be paying more attention to the book in my hands, but I am driven to distraction by her presence.

We've been searching the library every day for some clue as to what the Sigil or Moria is and the story of its namesake. I can tell it's bothering her, searching for this needle in a haystack with the added weight of King's death resting on her shoulders. I wonder if I made the wrong choice by letting her kill him. I wanted to rip his heart out and present it to her, a small token of my devotion, though I have not moved to say those three simple words. A literal heart might have been just as impactful.

Then there is the curse that has yet to show itself in any meaningful way. Part of me wants to try to reassure her and remind her that touching the artifact might not have the same effect. Matthias has been in possession of the thing for months now, and he still lives. Though I know it takes a lot to kill a determined wizard, they will do anything to stave off death.

Amara slams the book closed, the sound filling the large room. She winches, cradling her bandaged hand to her chest.

"Darling." I close my own book, turning and replacing it on the shelf. "Don't you think you should take a break?" I ask.

"I just don't know how an artifact can exist and be so dangerous to anyone it touches without there being something expressly written about it." She says, pushing away the book she was reading and exchanging it with a much larger and older tome.

"I could just gather up every thief and black market trader in the city and torture them until they tell us everything that they know." I shrug, tilting my head as I watch her struggle to keep the cover of the new book open under her injured palm.

"No," she grits out, squeezing her eyes closed for a moment. "They might not know more than we do, and the only person who might have any familiarity with the artifact is trying to kill you."

Not the only one. I think to myself, but Gale is impossible to contact, and the vast difference in the way that time passes where he is means that it could be days, years, or even decades before he honors me with his godly presence once again. I ponder the thought that perhaps Gale is also trying to kill me through his sheer indifference.

I cross the room to where she is sitting and lean over, plucking the book from her grasp and setting it aside with the others. She looks up at me, her eyes alight with the same curiosity that I admire. I revel in the fact that I can still keep her on her toes.

"Come, my dearest." I say, gathering her uninjured hand in mine and urging her to stand.

"Astarion, we don't have time." She says, her voice almost cracking halfway through.

"I think you will find, my darling, that all we have is time." I say, tucking her hair behind her ear as she stands and looks at me with those amber eyes. "Now, what is really bothering you?"