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Ianis was out of bed and taking steps towards the bedroom door before his mind had even woken up enough to realise what he was even reacting to.
Asher was crying. Ianis had known this was going to be a thing; his father had warned him about it and told him it was fine and perfectly natural. All babies go through a phase where they don’t always sleep through the night, where they wake and they cry because they have no other way to express that they’re upset about something, and not because there’s something terribly wrong. But knowing all that didn’t do anything to stop the stab of panic that went through him every time Ianis woke up to those almost-piercing cries.
Even after three months, Ianis was still worried that something was going to turn out to be wrong with Asher. He was, after all, an impossible baby – the result of a hag’s curse; an attempt to make Ianis suffer for spoiling her plans. Men – noted for being born without wombs, for the most part (and Ianis was definitely among that larger number) – weren’t meant to get pregnant. Especially when the other parent was a vampire spawn. But Ianis had, and it had been hard and more than a little terrifying. The hag’s curse had very nearly killed him at first, and even after they had stabilized it Ianis hadn’t felt like he wanted to go through with the pregnancy, regardless of the difficulties of ending it and what it might do to his body. He was only 18 – he barely knew how to take care of himself; how was he supposed to cope with being a parent? And how could he expect Astarion to be involved with him and the baby? Ianis couldn’t expect him to want to stay with him and raise this impossible child that wasn’t planned and which neither of them was sure they even wanted. He wouldn’t even have blamed him if he had run away the moment he’d had the chance.
But Astarion hadn’t run. He’d stayed by Ianis’ side, even after Ianis had made the almost-impulsive decision to keep whatever it was that was growing inside him, just to spite the hag who had cursed him. Astarion had given up a lot to stay with Ianis, more than Ianis might ever have thought was possible, because he loved Ianis and was willing to raise a family with him. And when Asher was born, perfect, healthy and alive, and Ianis had seen Astarion cradling their newborn son, every last moment had felt worth it.
But the crying still made him anxious.
Astarion wasn’t in their bed, Ianis noticed as he quickly put a robe on (because it was cold and because even in their own little home with just the three of them, Ianis still couldn’t feel entirely comfortable walking around naked) although that made sense, as Astarion needed far less rest than Ianis and was, by his very nature, nocturnal. Even so, he still wondered where Astarion was, exactly. Off wandering the streets of the city, as he was sometimes prone to doing in the middle of the night?
Asher’s nursery was literally just across from their bedroom, only a few feet at first, and yet even as Ianis was getting to the door he could hear Asher’s cries start to taper off into hiccups and… coos? The door was ajar as well, and Ianis’ anxiety got a little more pronounced. It was a problem he knew he had and was working on – a near-constant fear that something was going to go wrong and tear his family and his happiness apart.
And then he heard a low voice coming from inside the nursery.
“Hush now, vae,” Astarion was whispering. “You will wake your father, and he needs his sleep since he does so much for us both all day long. There we go,” he continued as the hiccups gradually died off completely and were replaced with coos and quiet gurgles. We do not need to make all this noise, do we? But I understand. It can be scary waking up all by yourself.”
All of the anxious tension left Ianis’ body in a rush, and he almost felt lightheaded with relief for a second with it. He pushed the door open slightly to look inside. Astarion was standing by the window in the nursery, cradling Asher in his arms. The moonlight coming through the window made Astarion’s pale skin and white hair seem almost luminous. He was beautiful. But then again, so was their son. A small hand reached out for Astarion from the blankets Asher was wrapped in, and Astarion leaned in to kiss the chubby fingers gently.
“There we go,” Astarion continued softly. “We will always be here for you, you do not need to worry about that. Right, ivaebhin?” As he said that, his eyes flicked up towards the partly-opened door where Ianis was standing, and he smiled. “You do not have to stand there spying on us, you know,” he told Ianis. “Come in.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Ianis replied as he entered the nursery and went straight over to the two of them, resting his head on Astarion’s shoulder. Asher looked up at both of his parents and smiled, all evidence of his distress long gone now. “I got up when I heard Asher crying, and… Well, I wasn’t expecting you to have gotten there before me.”
Astarion mock-pouted. “Yan, my love, much as I would, could and occasionally have loved to just watch you all night as you sleep, sometimes I get up and do a few things around our home. Including checking on Asher. Usually I get to him before he starts crying, though. We really don’t mean to wake you.”
“You’ve been doing this for a while now?” Ianis asked, and Astarion nodded. “And here I thought Asher was just getting used to sleeping through the night sooner than expected.”
“He does, mostly,” Astarion reassured him, “but some nights are like this. And you already do so much during the day that I can’t help with, and I need far less rest than you do… Plus, I like having this time with him. Just the two of us.”
“I’m sorry I interrupted your bonding time,” Ianis told him. “But I do love seeing the two of you together. You’re an adorable pair.”
Astarion laughed softly. “Do not let that become common knowledge,” he chided playfully, “or my reputation as the acid-tongued, brooding vampiric killer will be utterly ruined.” Asher made a small noise then – not a cry or a prelude to one, but more like a call for attention, and Astarion turned his attention back to him. “Don’t worry, vae, I’ve not forgotten,” he told their son. “We’ll get to it in just a minute.”
“What are you talking about?” Ianis asked. “You’re not teaching him knife tricks already, are you?”
“Don’t be silly,” Astarion smirked. “His eyesight isn’t good enough and he needs to be able to sit up on his own before I start that. No, we’re reading a book together.”
“Oh?” Ianis had definitely noticed the calming effect Astarion’s voice had on Asher, and he loved to see it. Throughout so much of Ianis’ pregnancy, Astarion had been afraid that he didn’t know how and wouldn’t be able to be a good father because, in his eyes, he barely knew how to be a good person… but from the moment he had first laid eyes on Asher, he had been utterly besotted and it was everything Ianis had hoped and more. “Anatomy, poisons or necromancy?”
“The collected works of the Legend of Drizzt Do’Urden,” Astarion replied, still pretending to be slightly hurt, and this time Ianis couldn’t help but laugh. Asher laughed too, apparently trying to join in with his father.
“You’re getting him started on the important stuff early then?” Ianis asked. He knew that Astarion had a secret love of the stories of the legendary Drow ranger, almost to the point of a little bit of hero worship, and that during the two centuries he had been under the cruel thumb of his former master Cazador, one of his very few escapes had been when he had occasionally managed to get hold of one of the written accounts of Drizzt’s adventures. That he was now sharing this with their son made Ianis’ heart swell with even more love for the two of them.
“We’re enjoying the stories together,” Astarion agreed, “although it is somewhat slow going. Asher tends to fall asleep after only a few pages. “He reached down to the side of the chair that was near to the window where he was standing and retrieved a book. A surprisingly muscular-looking Drow with long, flowing white hair posing atop a snow-covered cliff or rocky hill, twin swords in his hands, was on the cover. “We’re still in the early days of his adventuring career, back in Icewind Dale.
“You’ve got a long way to go then.”
“Indeed.” Astarion turned his head and placed a gentle kiss on the top of Ianis’ head. “You can go back to bed, love,” he said gently. “Asher and I are fine.”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” Ianis teased, although even as he did so he was stifling a yawn. Now that the brief adrenaline rush that had gotten him out of bed to begin with was gone, he was aware that he was still very tired.
“Am I not allowed quality time with me son?” Astarion replied, teasing right back. “You are welcome to stay and listen, Yan, but you are tired. You need more sleep than I, and I do not want to see you make yourself sick if you do not get it.” He kissed the top of Ianis’ head again. “Go. I will join you soon, although I expect you to be fast asleep by then.”
Ianis nodded. He kissed Astarion on the lips, and then dipped his head down to kiss Asher on the forehead. The baby giggled happily. “Enjoy your storytime then,” he told them both, before heading back to the door. “I love you both so much,” he said, turning back to them briefly.
“And we love you, ivaebhin. Sleep well.”
As Ianis left the nursery, pulling the door closed but not actually shutting it all the way, he heard Astarion talking to Asher. “Now, where were we? Ah yes – Chapter Three: The Mead Hall. ‘Many miles north of Ten-Towns, across the trackless tundra to the northernmost edge of land in all the Realms…’” Ianis smiled.
Everything was going to be fine.