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The worst part of being a vampire spawn isn’t the constant hunger nor the weakness to the sun.
Rather, it's the immortality.
Most would scoff at Astarion for such a belief. His younger self surely would have as well. If anything, immortality is the only benefit from this damned arrangement, the sole light among the perpetual darkness.
After all, there are no drawbacks to eternal life until you have everything to lose.
Despite his affliction and tormented past, Astarion’s been happier than he could have thought possible since that fateful day he was abducted, and it all stems down to one influence: Tav.
She’s cheerful, patient, and kind—everything he’s not. He can’t believe how lucky he is to be graced by her presence, her attention, and her love.
One moment, they’re both young and dumb, high on the adrenaline and exhilaration of surviving what could have surely been the world’s end.
The next, Tav is confident and poised, her grace befitting of a woman of her stature. That doesn’t stop her ever-present smiles, nor the gentle lines that crease her eyes and cheeks.
Soon, her hair has turned grey and her skin frail and wrinkled, while Astarion remains the very man he was centuries ago, not a hair out of place. It’s a stark reminder of her mortality and his lack thereof.
She implores him, touch and words impossibly tender, that should he wish to love another, she wouldn’t mind. Astarion scoffs at her like it’s the silliest sentiment she’s ever stated; he’ll be with her until the very end.
And the very end it finally is.
Somehow, despite all the signs, Astarion never thought such a day would come. He always pictured himself the first to die, oft in an attempt at staving off her death. A life without Tav is unbearable, unimaginable, unlivable.
But live on he must.
The signs of her departure are clear as day: the way her body no longer thirsts or hungers, the haze in her eyes, and most alarming of all, the pattering, off-beat fluttering of her heart in her chest.
Astarion’s favorite song is coming to its final note.
They’re both aware. It won’t be long now.
At Tav’s behest, Astarion takes her weary, fragile body in his arms as gently as he can muster and brings her to where she soon will rest.
It’s been ages since he last saw his own grave, yet it seems as if little has changed, almost as if the cemetery is a moratorium in time itself. The surrounding grass is slightly taller, and his headstone’s etching is more weathered, but otherwise, it’s as if nothing has changed.
Except for Tav, the intrusive thoughts in his head echo. The most important change of all.
With all the care in the world, Astarion lowers Tav into the grass, sitting her back against his headstone. He takes his position next to her, helping her head rest against his shoulder when her body fails her.
Tav looks up, her eyes fixed on the sky. It’s a beautiful night, the full moon just beginning its descent among a smattering of twinkling stars.
For all its beauty, Astarion wishes more than anything that she could witness one final sunrise. It’s what she deserves, rather than sulking in the shadows.
A weak finger shakily pokes at his side, so light he can barely register the sensation. He turns to see Tav smiling at him, as smitten as can be despite the way it clearly strains her.
“You’re pouting,” she teases. “What is it this time? Is the grass staining your pants? The night too cool for you? The present company not good enough?”
The final question, as obviously lighthearted as it is, knocks the wind out of Astarion’s sails. “Gods, no. Never.”
Curiosity shines in Tav’s hazy eyes. “What’s upsetting you, then?” There’s not even the slightest inclination of the unease that renders Astarion’s body near immobile in her words.
How can she be so nonchalant? Astarion can’t wrap his head around it.
“You’re dying,” he answers simply, without his usual flair. Tav weakly shrugs, the gesture so pitiful that Astarion can only tell by the way her shoulder brushes against his chest. She shakily reaches a hand out, and Astarion brings it to his cheek, ignoring the way it’s far too cold against his porcelain skin.
“Death finds us all eventually, now’s my time. I have not a single regret—don’t give me that look, I could live a thousand lives, and never would I choose to live without you. There’s nothing to fear.”
Her surety should reassure him, but instead it sends fear pulsing down in his spine. How pathetic is he to be afraid when Tav is so fearless in her own death?
Astarion’s good at hiding his emotions—though nowhere as good as he used to be, thanks to Tav’s kindness and patience—yet they rush out of him like a flowing river.
He chokes, a singular tear staining his cheek. Tav’s hand presses ever so slightly firmer against him.
“There’s nothing to be sad about. You’ll do great things, Astarion, with or without me. If you must mourn, wait until I’m gone. For now, we live,” she says with finality.
He could never deny her, least of all now.
He should be at peace given the calmness of the night and the comforting sensation of her body pressed against his, but his mind runs a mile a minute, hyperaware of Tav beside him and unwilling to take his eyes off her for even a second.
Tav, by contrast, is as peaceful as Astarion’s ever seen her.
Too peaceful, even, given the way her eyes begin to close, unwilling to flutter back open. Panickily, Astarion shakes her awake; he can’t lose her just yet.
There’s so much to say and so much to do. She can’t leave him like this.
One of her eyes opens, though the other remains tightly shut. She coughs, wheezy and feeble, before giving him what he imagines would be a smile were her muscles to cooperate.
“It’s time,” she whispers. Astarion’s grip on her tightens, almost painful, but she doesn’t complain.
“No! No!” Astarion repeats, frantically shaking his head. “There’s so much for us to see, so much for us to do! You can’t leave me, not yet. Please, Tav,” he begs, his heart bare for her to see.
Gone is the poised, confident, and pompous playboy, and in its place is a broken man coping with the loss of his better half.
“But I must,” she whispers against him. “Promise me you’ll live on for me.”
“But—”
“No buts,” she insists, stubborn until the end. “I’ll see you again when it’s your proper time, and not a second before. Now, I have one final request of you.”
“Anything,” Astarion answers immediately, awaiting her next words with bated breath. “Anything for you, my love.”
With the last of her effort, Tav props herself up, neck splayed out just the way he used to like it before it became too dangerous for him to feed on her. His eyes widen.
“I…I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he hesitates.
“Your fangs, natural causes…what difference does it make? Please, Astarion, it’s been far too long. Grant a dying woman her final wish.”
The need in her eyes burns into Astarion’s soul, and the last of his resolve fades. Truth be told, there’s little else he enjoys more in the world.
Astarion nods, too choked to properly speak, as he brings his lips to her hair, her forehead, her lips, and finally, to her neck. He can practically feel the feeble thrum of her blood against him.
“I love you,” he whispers against her, a confession he’s made thousands of times yet is no less meaningful. “So much.”
“And I, you,” Tav repeats, a distant twinkle in her eyes as she nudges Astarion forward.
The pulse at her neck is nothing like he remembers it, all saggy skin that tears far too easily instead of smooth splendor, but after taking a moment to immortalize Tav in his mind, he bites down anyway.
Her blood tastes of bile, of illness, and of death. It’s nothing like the saccharine sweetness of his greatest addiction, yet he continues to suck as Tav becomes stiller and stiller against him.
The sourness neutralizes, then turns sweet. She tastes of thankfulness, of elation, of love, and of fond memories. As her lifeblood floods his mouth, the past courses through his mind.
Astarion gored but victorious in battle, his grin as wide as can be. Their first house together, the keys clanking in her trusty grip. Astarion cuddled up with their dog, the very picture of peace. A languid night in bed, Astarion a gentle surety atop her heated body. A kiss, tender and loving, with just a little fang, pressed against her lips.
They’re her memories, not his. Her final gift to him, he realizes.
The dam breaks, tears flooding from his eyes onto Tav’s broken body as he greedily takes each memory in. They’re almost overwhelming, yet they’re not enough.
Astarion’s in heaven, until suddenly, they stop. His mouth dries, and the pulse beneath him beats one final time before pausing forevermore.
For the first time in countless years, Astarion is truly alone.
His fangs withdraw from her yielding flesh, and he brings his lips to hers, their foreheads gently knocking together. One last kiss, while her lips are still red.
Whether it lasts a second, a year, or an eternity, Astarion knows not. No matter its length, it could never be enough.
There’s no denying biology, however, and soon the pinkening hues of the sky start to prickle at his eyes. His time in the open nears the end, and there’s still so much to be done.
He works with all the fervor of a possessed man—a man in love—and soon there’s a hole at the foot of his own grave.
It’s wrong to see Tav fill its cavity rather than him. She deserves the world, and yet all she has is dirt and weathered rock.
He cleans her body as best as he can and arranges a bouquet of flowers in her grip. His hands, shaky and unfeeling, carve at his headstone until her name nearly gleams with his blood.
The sun begins to peak over the horizon, and his skin begins to burn. It occurs to him that it would be incredibly easy to follow her to death’s embrace. All he’d have to do is mourn at her grave for a while longer.
The idea is tempting, far more tempting than any he’s had before. Still, he forces himself onto his feet, burying Tav beneath the ground forevermore, before retreating from the dawn.
Tav’s taught him what it means to live.
It’s time Astarion lives on for her.