Work Text:
Once upon a time there was a young elf who, after a terrible incident where he was assaulted and almost killed by a gang of Gur, was turned into a vampire by the self-proclaimed ‘master of all evil’, the Vampire Lord, Cazador Szarr.
After his turning, Astarion was forced into servitude and the only interactions he was allowed besides with his master was when he was made to seduce and lure unknowing people back to the Szarr palace for his master to feed on while he was made to make do with dead rats and bugs.
If Astarion were to disobey in any way there would be a harsh punishment; beatings, starvation, cutting, isolation. The isolation was the worst.
One night when Astarion was on his way to fetch another poor unfortunate soul for his master he got almost run over by the horse drawn cart of an old woman, falling and ripping his doublet in the process.
The old woman had profusely apologised as she helped him up, insisting for him to come with her to her cottage not far up the dirt road so she could fix up his torn clothes. Astarion tried to refuse at first, fearing what his master would do to him if he didn’t manage to bring someone back, but eventually caved, agreeing to go with her if she would be quick.
The old woman had been overjoyed, practically dragging him onto her cart and prattling away about how it has been so long since her children had come to visit, how she misses spoiling them, and how she recently became a grandmother.
When they arrive at her quaint cottage, she sits him down in a far too soft armchair and puts on a kettle before grabbing a basket with various dyed wools, comparing the colours to the one of Astarion’s doublet whilst continuing to make conversation with him.
When she finds the closest match, the kettle starts whistling and she pours two cups of tea, handing one to Astarion and keeping one for herself as she sits by an old spinning wheel and gets to work.
Astarion doesn’t drink the tea, he can’t consume anything but blood since his turning, but still feels a sense of comfort from the warmth of the cup. Listening to the old woman talk isn’t that bad either.
The warmth of the cup mixed with the smell of the tea, the soft chair, and the sound of the old lady’s voice and the soft creaking of the spinning wheel puts him in an almost hypnotic state of calm. He hasn’t felt like this in years.
After spinning enough thread, she asks for his doublet and expertly mends the tear. When she is done it’s like it was never torn to begin with.
When Astarion ‘finishes’ his tea, he poured it in a plant when she wasn’t looking, she waves him off, telling him to come by any time.
Astarion continues what he was let out of the palace for, the kind spinster in the back of his mind.
After that night he stopped by the cottage every time he was on his way to town, the old spinster welcoming him with open arms and a hot cup of tea waiting for him.
Unfortunately, Astarion should have known he was not meant to have good things.
Cazador had become suspicious at his spawn’s increasing change in character, he had become more calm, less jittery, and decided to follow him, not at all liking what he saw.
The next time Astarion visited the cottage it lacked the familiar warmth it usually had, a cold chill running down his spine when he entered. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t my pathetic excuse of a spawn. So, this is what you have been doing while you should have been doing what I sent you out for.”
Astarion feels sick to his stomach, fighting every instinct in his body to turn around and face his master instead of running away. It’s not like he could go far anyway.
“Master, I-” He tries to explain. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. You broke the rules Astarion.” Cazador tuts like he is scolding a child. “Although, maybe your new friend here would like to hear an apology, you are the cause of her impending death after all.” He roughly pulls out the old spinster from behind him. “Go on.”
Astarion takes a shaky breath. “I- I’m so sorry. I never meant for this to happen.” Tears start rolling down his face. “Oh, hush child. I know, and I forgive you.” She is crying too now. “I am sorry too, one day you will receive all the love and kindness you deserve, Astarion. I promise.”
Cazador interrupts them with a sound of disgust. “What a sickening display, that’s enough out of you.” He grabs the spinster by the sides of her head and with one swift movement jerks her head to the side, breaking her neck with a sickening crack.
A pained noise escapes Astarion’s mouth, a cross between a sob and a gasp, his hand quickly coming up in an attempt to prevent more noise from coming out. Tears are streaming down his face when Cazador harshly grabs it, stepping over the dead body of the spinster.
“Now, what to do with you, hmm?” Cazador looks around the room, his gaze landing on the spinning wheel in the corner. “The isolation always had the biggest effect on you, hadn’t it? A month in the dungeon should suffice. But what about future offences?”
He walked over to where his staff stood propped up against a wall. “If you break the rules again,” The staff begins exuding a lime green light, the air growing thick with magic. “, you shall prick your finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel and fall into a dreamless sleep, never to awaken, trapped within the darkness of your own mind.”
Astarion falls to his knees. “NO, please master I beg of you, have mercy!” Cazador scoffs. “Mercy?” He pretends to think about it. “Fine, I’ll be merciful, you have been bringing me my prey as I ordered, despite your… escapades.” Cazador inhales sharply. “All right, I’ll give you a chance to break your curse.”
The staff brightens again. “Your curse shall be broken by receiving a true love’s kiss.” The light fades and Cazador grabs Astarion’s face again, smiling down at him. “As if you could find anyone that will be able to love you.”
Astarion spends the following month in the dungeon. His cell is small, cold, and moist. He feels utterly and absolutely alone. That is, until he falls asleep. Ever since that unfortunate night he has been having a strange dream.
He is dressed in formal clothes, dancing on the clouds with someone. He can never remember anything about this person when he wakes up, except the overwhelming feeling of love he has for this person.
Every day, it’s the same dream, and every night, it’s the same nightmare.
The dream continues when Astarion is let out of the dungeon. Part of him is happy it stayed; the dream provides him with the only comfort he has in his forced servitude. Another part is upset, because the dream reminds him that this will always be what it is, a dream.
Years later, Astarion is on his usual way to town, practicing his memorised lines as he walks. Lost in thought he suddenly gets pushed into the ditch. “HEY, watch where y-”
“I AM SO SORRY, I don’t know what got into him, are you hurt?” Astarion looks up, rubbing his head, squinting as he watches his, apparently unwilling, assailant jump off their horse, rushing to his aid.
You pull him up. “Are you hurt?” You repeat, looking the stranger in his ruby eyes.
Huh, there’s something familiar about him.
The two of you stare at each other for a moment, lost in each other’s beauty while trying to figure out if you’ve met before.
Astarion breaks the silence. “Uh, no, I’m fine.” You are confused for a second before remembering your question. “Oh, right. That’s good.” You reluctantly let his cold hands go. “Say, how about you let me buy you a drink?” The question spills from your lips before you can stop it.
He has an odd look in his eye. Was that too forward? “Uh, to make up for my horse pushing you down!” Astarion takes in your question. On the inside he’s panicking. Who is this person? Why does he feel this way? Pull. Yourself. Together!
“And what makes you think I would accept a drink from a stranger? For all I know you could be a murderer, waiting for a moment of weakness before you strike.” The words come out just as he had practiced, smooth, flirtatious. He regains some of his confidence, only for it to be completely shattered again by the laugh you let out. “Oh, but we aren’t strangers!”
“Aren’t we?” Astarion is sure you’ve never met before, he would have remembered, yet he can’t shake that familiar feeling. “No, we’ve met before, once upon a dream.” It’s corny for sure, calling him the man of your dreams. But he is, isn’t he? You’ve had that same dream since you can remember.
Astarion is stunned. No, they can’t be- but maybe? “Right, how could I forget.” He lets out a nervous chuckle, deciding to just surrender to the moment. “I’ll allow you to buy me a drink, but I want to know your name first.” You smile and tell him your name; he repeats it before telling you his.
With that the two of you go off to find a tavern. You spend the whole night talking, drinking, and dancing. It’s almost too good to be true.
Astarion wants this night to last forever, but alas. The sun is coming up soon. He had to get going if he didn’t want to get burned.
“Same time tomorrow?” He smiles at you. “I’ll see you in my dreams before then, darling.” He kisses your hands and departs for the palace.
When Astarion enters the palace, he is met with an eery humming sound coming from above. In a daze, he follows the noise up several flights of stairs, to a room in a tower he’s never been before.
The room is empty, except for a spinning wheel, seemingly spinning on its own. Astarion feels an uncontrollable need to touch it. The humming is almost deafening as he gets closer, reaching out his hand.
With a hiss Astarion pricks his finger on the spindle and immediately feels woozy. Tearing his sluggish gaze from the bead of blood on his finger, he notices a dark figure standing in the doorway before everything goes dark.
Astarion doesn’t show up the next night, or the one after that. Your dreams have also stopped. Whispers have started circulating throughout town about a cursed palace. It’s not much to go on but considering it all happened at the same time you take it as a clue.
You start asking around, learning that the palace belongs to the feared Vampire Lord, Cazador Szarr, and that he hasn’t been seen since the supposed curse. With that information you take off, with your trusty steed, strong armour, and a sharpened sword, ready for anything you might find.
The first thing you notice is the plant life. What once must have been beautiful roses have overgrown the palace, its thorns digging into the stone, making sure nothing can get in, or out. You hop off your horse, unsheathe your sword and start cutting away at the thick stems. With some effort you manage to clear an entrance and enter the palace.
“Either you are incredibly stupid to try and break into a cursed Vampire Lord’s palace, or that snivelling worm actually succeeded in making someone fall in love with him, which would also not make you the brightest.” Startled you turn to face who you assume to be Cazador. “You’re talking about Astarion.” You grip your sword a little tighter.
He laughs manically at you. “Look at you, his knight in shining armour! I’m almost rooting for you, almost. But to truly win me over you’ll need to defeat the dragon first, of course.” You don’t like where this is going. “Dragon?”
He laughs again, his eyes now glowing a lime green. His voice starts sounding distorted, deeper than it was. His bones start shifting and he begins to grow.
You sheath your sword and take off, not needing to see what is happening to know he is turning himself into a dragon.
The ground shakes beneath your feet as Cazador follows you, letting out a growl and flapping his giant wings.
You find yourself in a ballroom, catching your breath you quickly formulate a plan. The tall room has several pillars holding up the ceiling, a staircase ascending to a balcony that overlooks the room, intricate banners hanging from the balustrade. You can make do with that.
With that thought, Cazador bursts through the entrance, taking down the door and part of the wall with him. Quickly you run for a pillar, managing to hide behind it right when Cazador sends a burst of fire your way, the flames just barely missing you. You try and slow your breathing, waiting for his next move.
Impatient with his now giant body, Cazador smashes his tail through the pillar, forcing you to start running for the stairs. You almost make it until a giant clumsy claw scratches at your arm, ripping off the armour. You scream in pain and stumble to escape up the stairs, just barely missing the next fire burst from Cazador’s mouth. You make your way to the balustrade and pry off a banner, grasping the heavy fabric close to your chest.
Your lungs are burning, beads of sweat are rolling down your face, and your arm hurts like hell, blood dripping down the limb, mixing with your sweat. Shakily you stand, facing the dragon.
You throw the banner at Cazador’s face before he can blast more fire at you, forcing him to stop and swat away the fabric so he can see, but he isn’t quick enough. You use the balustrade as a step, jumping to the dragon’s face, unsheathing your sword in the process and stabbing the dragon through its shout.
The both of you go down, you roll away with your sword as soon as you hit the ground. You shakily get up, watching Cazador starting to shrink, clawing at his face. He may not be dead, but he’s definitely incapacitated for a bit. Good enough.
You sheath your sword and rush back to the now destroyed entrance, running through hallways and up stairs until you finally find what you came here to find.
The tower is almost empty, a wooden coffin sits nailed shut in the middle. You use your sword as leverage to break open the coffin. Inside lays Astarion, cold, not moving, not breathing.
You are too late.
Tears roll down your cheeks as you cup his face. “I’m sorry.” You whisper tearfully before pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.
You stay there for a moment, your forehead pressed against his, until you feel his chest start to rise and fall. Confused you press your hand to his chest, feeling the steady thumping of a heartbeat. You watch stunned as his eyelashes begin to flutter and he opens his eyes. No longer are they ruby, but sapphire instead.
You mutter his name in disbelief. He looks at you with a dazed expression his hand coming up to hold yours. He feels warm.
Astarion slowly sits up, running his tongue over his teeth before looking at you in shock. “You’ve broken both of my curses?” You laugh nervously. “What can I say, I’ve always been an overachiever.” He laughs too, squeezing your hand.
“C’mon, let’s get out of here. You’ve been here long enough” You pull him up and the two of you stumble down the tower, almost exiting the palace before you hear a gargling sound.
You turn and are met with the sight of Cazador, back in his usual form, crawling towards you on the floor, his face covered in blood. The viscous liquid dripping down his neck and onto his expensive shirt.
Astarion looks from his former master to you, a mix of rage and grief thundering behind his eyes. You unsheathe your sword for the final time, extending the weapon to Astarion. “You can do with him as you please.”
Astarion takes your sword and stalks over to the bloodied vampire on the ground. He grabs Cazador by the hair, turning him over to face him before stabbing. Astarion drops the vampire and uses two hands to drive the sword through his former master again, and again, and again. Eventually he stops, Cazador long dead, dropping the sword as he lets out a tortured scream. Astarion is sobbing now and covered in blood.
Carefully you move to kneel next to him. The second you put your hand on him he flings himself at you, crying into your shoulder as he releases the grief over all those years of torture and abuse.
Eventually he calms down and you both get up, exhausted as you leave the palace. You help him on your horse, who miraculously stayed through all that, and start riding back to town.
You stop only briefly to watch the sunrise, Astarion closing his eyes and basking in the sunshine, knowing that the two of you will now be able to continue to live happily ever after.
The End.