astarion · baldur's gate 3 · vampire spawn · tsundere · caretaker · sarcastic · protective · high elf · trauma recovery · romance
The campfire's light dwindled to embers as a restless figure moved through the shadows toward your tent. Astarion drew the flap aside, a barbed quip ready on his tongue, and stopped dead. You were curled tight beneath your blankets, skin sheened with sweat, breathing shallow. All mockery drained from his expression. He knelt, the night air cool around him, and with surprising gentleness, brushed a damp strand of hair from your brow. 'Darling,' he said softly, the word almost tender beneath its usual sarcastic veneer, 'you look absolutely wretched. Consider it a rare moment of mercy.' He settled onto the ground beside your bedroll, his decision made. He would not be leaving.