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He had always been quite the cruel man. Not one for sensitives, nor one for patience, if one were being honest. He’d been a ruthless magistrate, after all. One that excused almost none and was crooked as a snake. So it would come to a surprise that Astarion had a weak spot for children.
Like any other, he’d had thoughts of raising a family when he was a youth. Marry a fairytale prince like figure. Begin to create a home. He wanted something straight out of a book. But, after the events of his capture, the things he was forced to do, there was a level of culpability that made those desires dampen over the years under a cloud of guilt.
Not only had he lured gentle and trusting lovers to the deathly embrace of Cazador Szarr, but he’d brought children—innocent children—to their changing. He’d all but kidnapped them. And, even if it was under the orders of his master, there’s nothing that can erase his actions.
Time was supposed to heal all wounds, but still, he can’t find it within himself to feel like he deserves this life. The babe in his arms, all his own. She’s a source of goodness, a smile on her face, the same pointy ears that identify him to others. Her coos for him are a sweet sound that makes even him feel joy in his usually pessimistic heart. How could he deserve this after all he’d done?
Astarion shifts upon the bed where he’s sat, adjusting so as to hold her better. She fussed quite a bit, even for a baby. But, as her mother says, she’s her father’s daughter—complaining about anything and everything. It’s a point that he agreed upon, despite it being somewhat of an insult to him.
“Why must you cry so early in the morning, love? Give your father a break, won’t you? I’ve no more food to give.” He scoffs with a sigh and shakes his head. “A man can only read a nursery rhyme so many times before his mind goes numb, you know.”
But the child doesn’t acquiesce. She scrunches her face up in discomfort, slightly thrashing her small arms against her father’s chest. The old white blanket she’s swaddled in is almost all but come undone by her movement, much to Astarion’s detriment. He could sew, he could embroider, but Gods know he couldn’t swaddle.
When she begins to babble, a cry coming on, he brings her closer to him. “Hush, hush. I’m here.”
It immediately calms her, her speech turning into a mere breath against him. She’s rather fond of his shirt. It smells of him—smells of her mother, too. It’s the same one he’d worn for years, still embroidered by him by hand. She grabs onto the fabric with a small fist, pulling it and the strings of the v-neck.
“Now, now,” he begins, trying to take her hand off of it as it tugs against his throat, “Let me go.” But she has it firm between her small knuckles. And, from his position with her on his chest, it’s not quite so easy to maneuver her off of him. “Gods, you’ve a tight grip.”
And as if it couldn’t get worse, as he leans his head closer to try and separate them, she takes her other hand and reaches for his ear.
“Ghn! ”
Who said fatherhood was as easy as he dreamed of?
Astarion falls back onto the bed with her on top of him and grits his teeth. “Alright. That’s enough!”
He could’ve been a man, no, a vampire, of considerable power. He could have taken over Baldur’s Gate, had the entire city under his thumb. Yet here he is…fussy child…living in the dark.
But, honestly, it’s a life he’s come to love. One he’s come to cherish.
He relaxes, closing his eyes. There was no use being upset with her. She was but a child. She was needy. She needed him, and he’d give her his all. Every single ounce of love he’d come to make within himself is reserved for her and her mother, alone. This little girl was his and there were no words to describe how this small joy could make even him, so marred by grief and abuse, a man of care.
He places a hand on her back and soothes her, feeling the sheets around her body. Her soft skin is as cold as his own. But at least she could walk in the sun. That’s all he’d ever hoped for her.
“Is this what you wanted? To lay down?”
As expected, she doesn’t respond. It’s not like she could use words, anyways, only an infant of a few months, but the child’s hands release their hold and fall to her sides softly. She’s almost back to sleeping again.
Astarion smiles and breathes, her body raising as his chest does. Everything was stable and everything was fine again. It makes that feeling of guilt go away just for a moment.
He’ll most likely never be forgiven for what he’s done and maybe he doesn’t even deserve this, but never could he imagine how much a life would truly mean to him. It wasn’t so long ago he’d found meaning in his own new life, and with hers, it’s that same feeling of radiance and joy.
He’d share it with his love. With his loves. Both of them, in and out of shadow of the sun. They were his light.