Chapter Text
These days are not as grand of adventure as before with a tadpole in your shared heads, the looming danger of the Chosen Three, and the Elder Brain. Nothing as exciting but still adventurous with twists and turns.
The latest adventure you take is with a new goal: a cure for vampirism.
With no tadpole or dark ascension, Astarion is once more bound to the shadows, however, he is not alone with a tormentor. He has you, his equal and wife.
As he rests in the open coffin inside the carriage, a cover around the back to keep the sun out, the owlbear curled up on top of his stomach, you guide the two horses along the path returning to Baldur's Gate.
A few letters to you from Jaheira telling about the restoration of the pride of the Storm Coast is going well.
"Finally to be able to take a proper bath." The luxury of the city you sorely miss and were spoiled by during the month Astarion refused to leave without actually enjoying part of the heroic celebration the city held for your group before parting ways.
"Drina," The voice in the carriage calls out, "Please tell your mutt not to keep licking my face, agh." Though he tries to sound displeased, the laugh that follows tells all: he is enjoying himself back there.
"Oh, be nice, he's just excited." Teasing the vampire as he groans.
The world is brighter these days; sure there are moments when the brightest dims, yet it doesn’t change the wonder you find with Astarion.
Heroes of Baldur’s Gate, Goblinslayers, and many other titles are too long to remember.
One grand adventure ended to start another adventure with your lover, husband as Shadowheart had blessed your wedding to the vampire.
What a messy, fun, same-night wedding that was. A fond memory with many others from that night.
How long has it been? Drina smiles thinking about it as the carriage ride through the countryside is peaceful and quiet. Well, as quiet as Scratch is going to let it get before he starts trying to get Astarion to play with him. The bard smiles as Astarion groans from his slumber in his open coffin as Owlbear chirps at his brother as if telling him to stop. The white furry dog barks then whines as he moves to the front of the carriage where his other caretaker sits guiding the horses. The human woman pets him behind his ears as the dog lays down with his head on her lap.
“Don’t worry, once we are home you can play with him all you want.” Your sing-song voice caused the dog’s ears to perk up and his tail wagging with excitement.
The days traveling from the deepest parts of the Underdark to Baldur's Gate have been informative.
The search for the cure and allowing Astarion to once more walk in the sun have to be discovered and need to be properly studied.
Kanchelsis, the God of Vampires and Debauchery. It is a deity both Astarion and yourself have never heard of, plus Astarion has never heard of vampires worshiping anything outside of themselves. This is… Something.
Your beloved is eager to rip into Cazador's library to find anything of use.
While you… Need to find a doctor.
The other reason for returning to the Gate is because something is wrong. Maybe not grave but worrisome. The symptoms weren’t anything you hadn’t dealt with before, humans are known to get sick easier than the other races of Faerun, but it persisted.
The first one was fatigue, you couldn't keep up in fights like you used to. Astarion had to make up for it much to your dislike and to his concern.
Next came the nausea. Eating very little or able to hold in very little food. You were getting weaker and weaker.
Humans are fragile creatures, versatile but fragile compared to others. As you grow older, Astarion remains the same… You understood Isobel in that part of her relationship with Dame Aylin.
Yet, you are still in your prime years. So why are you getting so sick?
Being the Underdark you thought might have an effect, makes sense yet you were there for weeks when trying to get to Moonrise Towers.
The many ideas that seem to dance around a concept you are not sure if you want to be the answer.
Pregnancy—Which should be impossible!
Listen, as much as you would rather not think of the logistics and differences between a vampire and a literal undead creature, Astarion technically falls into that category. Perfectly a preserved mortal gifted immorality by no longer being alive.
There should be no way possible for him to impregnate you, as you reason in your head.
Scratch tilts his head curiously at the sight of your face looking distressed, his nose touching your hand, "Aw, don't worry. I'm fine." Petting him a few times before keeping your eyes on the road.
A bright sunny day in the Storm Coast is a beautiful sight, one you hope to share with Astarion once again.
The road to Baldur's Gate is comfortably silent though your mind is buzzing with excuses rather than facing what possibly is the truth behind your condition.
Are you… Are either of you ready if indeed you are pregnant?
.
.
.
.
.
Upon entering the outskirts of the city, you make a slight detour as Incognita had suggested if you arrived at the city during the day. There is a secret underground tunnel that leads directly to the Crimson Palace, something she discovered while going through her disowned Uncle Cazador's things.
A zombie greets you, one of the zombies you helped free from that bastard necromancer, a bow as he is pleased to see you. Astarion finally is sleeping now and you join him in the coffin as the path is long to reach the lower city. The furry companies around the coffin watch the surroundings as they guard you both. The zombie guides the carriage.
"You're tense." You sigh as Astarion's eyes are still closed but he can feel your weight on his, "Is something the matter, Drina?" His arms around your waist keeping you close, intimate, his nose breathing in your scent. His body basking in your sunbathed warmth.
"It's nothing to worry about," Yet. "Do you think anyone will recognize us?"
"The heroes of Baldur’s Gate? Nah, not at all. Not like we saved their lives ten times over."
"Of course." Chuckling. "You should rest. You've been up all this morning."
"And who's furry child is at fault for that, hmm?"
Your heart skips a beat at the simple word of ‘child’, the thought of a child jumping on him to wake him up to play. It is so domestic , so calming to imagine a peaceful settled-down life.
“Drina?”
“Oh, hmm?”
“Seems you need to rest too, my love.” A hand petting your messy hair.
The rest of the ride you both are silent, his soft breathing is the only way you know he is actually resting. You soon sleep drawn into a dream of a peaceful life.
Two kids, both with brown hair, giggling as they ride the fully grown owlbear as they pretend to slay dragons and beasts. Astarion is in the shade shouting for them to be careful. It is a different life, a life where his white hair is being grown out as his rich dark brown hair is replacing the white. His skin is full of color and his eyes a pretty hazel brown.
Alive, he looks alive because a cure has been found.