Work Text:
The city of Baldur’s Gate glittered under the pale light of Selûne and her Tears, casting a silvery glow over the snow-dusted streets. The air was alive with the hum of celebration as noble and commoners alike gathered for Simril, the Winter Solstice. It was Nightal 20, and lanterns glimmered like stars in every window, their golden lights dancing against the frost-covered window panes, and the scent of mulled wine and spiced pastries drifted through the cobblestone alleys.
Celine stood at the edge of a small shop’s balcony, leaning against its railing. A thick fur-lined cloak draped over her shoulders as she gazed over the festivities below, though the cold still bit at her cheeks. However, none of it could distract her from the laughter and music rising from the streets below. The garlands of holly and ivy adorned shop windows, their deep greens vibrant against the frosty backdrop, and the warm and inviting lights of every doorway and pane.
Inside the shop, she could hear the velvety voice of her lover; Astarion’s voice mingled with the shopkeeper’s, smooth and airy like a winter melody— clearly, he was enjoying himself. Celine had noticed that he had begun to show interest in other things since they had finished their adventures and started a little home life of their own, finding what made him happy and what he was interested in doing once again. Watching him re-discover himself was fascinating, and she was grateful to be able to be by his side as she did.
‘ He always did like to shop… ’ she thought, her breath puffing out like a cloud in the cold night air.
She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders a little tighter as a chilling breeze swept through, rolling against the cobblestone pavement with a flurry of snow. She watched a group of children twirling in the snow and playing, their laughter bright and vibrant on the crisp night. There was a temptation to join them. How her fingers itched to strum at her lute or her mandolin, maybe even her violin or lyre— something to join the carousing revelers in their gaiety.
Simril was a time for warmth, music, stories, and merry-making. As much as she adored the thought of performing for the crowd bustling below the balcony, she couldn't bear to tear herself away from the shimmering beauty of the snowfall. The flakes fell on her cheeks, melting against her warm skin, and she closed her mismatched eyes to enjoy the sensation. Something about the frigid air made her appreciate the warmth of the hearth waiting for her at home but delight in the changing seasons and appreciate that she had lived to see the seasons turn.
Behind her, the door to the shop creaked open, and she turned to see Astarion stepping out, a bundle of neatly hidden gifts in his arms. His crimson eyes gleamed in the lantern light surrounding them, his pale skin glowing in the pale moonlight of the snow-covered night. As he watched her, a knowing smirk crossed the rogue’s lips, his perfectly trimmed eyebrow arching.
“Enjoying yourself, my lovely Winter Rose?” he asked smoothly.
Celine let out a soft guffaw, her breath puffing into a cloud again. “Winter Rose? That’s a new one.” She commented, her lips twitching upwards in a smirk. She leaned against the balcony rail more as her gaze swept over him, her voice becoming light and teasing. “And here I thought I heard you saying you hated the crowds at Simril. Yet here you are, looking rather pleased with yourself.”
“Well, what can I say? I have excellent taste— in both gifts and company.” He stepped closer, brushing a snowflake from her cheek before he presented the packages with a flourish. “Perhaps I enjoy the hunt too much to deny myself the hunt of finding the perfect present. And these? Perfection, my Darling.”
The bard’s eyes rolled, and she turned her head so Astarion wouldn’t see her softening smile. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”
“Ah, you say that, but we both know you adore me,” the vampire spawn shot back, his smirk widening. “Now, shall we? The snow’s getting heavier, and I’d rather not be buried before you are able to marvel at the brilliance of my gift-giving.”
Celine laughed, stepping down from the balcony to join him. Together, they left the shops and started down the cobbled streets toward home, the snow swirling around them in snowflakes that grew in size and intensity. Music and laughter followed them as they left a path in the fresh, untouched snow, Celine’s arm linked with Astarion’s as they walked.
“Doesn’t the city look alive tonight?” Celine asked as she leaned into him more, their steps muffled by the fresh snow.
Astarion chuckled, a playful smirk still playing on his lips. “Alive is certainly one word for it,” he answered, though his teasing tone lacked its usual bite. “Though,” he turned to look at her as they walked, his smirk softening into a smile. “I think the moonlight suits you far more than it does the city…”
He adjusted the gifts in his arms, glancing as Celine blushed and turned her head away. Her dark skin flushed, and her cheeks warmed suddenly. She suddenly stopped to linger at the edge of the bustling street, distracted by the twinkling lanterns and lively crowds. Astarion watched her for a moment, affection sparkling in his eyes as he regarded her playfully.
“Darling, it’s freezing, and here you are, practically ready to dive into this revelry and madness. Have I not earned some reprieve from the frostbite tonight?”
Celine turned as her lips curved into a mischievous smile, her fingers dancing along the edge of her cloak. “Oh, but Starlight, look at it ! The snow, the lights, the music — how can we just leave? Simril only comes once a year, you know.”
“Ah, but at home, we have a warm hearth and a pot of mulled wine simmering for us to enjoy,” he countered, stepping closer as his blood-red eyes gleamed with amusement. “Or have you forgotten the appeal of our far more private celebrations?”
Laughing, the half-drow tilted her head as though weighing her options. “Hmmmm…” She paused before chuckling again as Astarion’s expression fell flat. “Oh, stop. It’s not that I don’t enjoy our cozy little nest,” she teased, her breath fogging again in the chilly air, “but just listen to that music! It’s practically calling my name, begging for a performance from the great Thousand Harmonies!”
He sighed, feigning exasperation as he leaned against a nearby post, his gifts still nestled snugly under his arm. “Celine, Darling, it’s cold outside . And I, for one, do not intend to turn into some sort of vampire-sicle so that you can strum a merry tune for a gaggle of overexcited partiers.”
“Oh, come now. Don’t tell me the infamous Astarion is afraid of a little snow?” She placed a hand on her hip, her expression one of playful indignation.
“Not afraid, simply unwilling,” he quipped, his lips quirking into another smirk. “My delicate constitution is better suited for heated conversations and softer surroundings. But you—” he gestured to her with an exaggerated flourish with his free hand— “you’re determined to play the winter minstrel, aren’t you?”
Celine clasped her hands together dramatically, bowing deeply before him. “I am but a humble servant of the season, compelled to bring joy to all via music and entertainment. I don’t make the bard rules. I just follow them.”
“Oh, since when were you one for following rules?” he asked, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a teasing murmur. “Because from where I stand, it seems like you just want an excuse to show off in front of an adoring crowd.”
“And if I do?” she shot back, her tone playful. “Is that such a crime? Shall we show me off in the pillory in the town square and bring shame upon my need for an applause from time to time?”
Astarion laughed softly, the sound rich and filling Celine’s ears with a velvety richness. “No, not a crime at all. But consider this, my love— why not save that radiant charm for the privacy of our own quarters? I promise the audience there will be far more… appreciative. ”
Celine blushed again, sighing as she rolled her eyes and tried to stop herself from grinning. “You’re utterly impossible .”
“Oh, hush,” he chided playfully, holding out his free hand. “Now, shall we? Or must I carry you away like this winter wind?”
Celine’s mismatched gaze lingered on the festivities for a moment longer before she sighed, slipping her hand into his. “Fine, but only because you’re insistent. But just know you owe me a dance.”
“Ah, well then,” he drawled as he pulled her closer and led her toward home, “who am I to deny such a request when it promises such a fine evening ahead of me? After all, it’s far warmer dancing together in the privacy of my home.”
They walked through the snowy streets, their banter warming the cold night as the sounds of the Simril Festivities faded behind them. The snow picked up, the flakes coming down like a blanket, and Celine felt herself shiver until the sight of their home came into view.
The door to their quaint home creaked open, and the warmth of the hearth greeted them like an old friend. Snowflakes clung to their cloaks as they stepped inside, brushing the winter cold from their shoulders. A soft meow drifted to greet them as a fluffy white kitten padded into view, its bright blue eyes watching them expectantly. Not far behind, Celine’s white and pastel pink spider familiar, Qorna, descended from her favorite perch near the mantel, her delicate legs clicking on the floor as she scurried to meet her mistress.
Celine shrugged off her cloak and hung it by the door to air dry, as Astarion did the same. She watched as the kitten and spider approached them and chuckled slightly as she crouched to greet them.
“Well, it seems we’ve been missed,” she remarked, scratching the cat behind his ears. “Hello, Siern. Were you holding down the fort for us?”
Siern purred in response, weaving between Celine’s legs before hopping onto the mantle and Astarion’s shoulder, a common thing the kitten had taken to doing. Astarion chuckled, scratching under Siern’s chin.
“Well, he’s certainly earning his keep, unlike a certain spider who still insists on redecorating the corners of the house,” he teased, bobbing his head a bit toward Qorna.
Qorna’s eyes glittered mischievously as she chittered and tilted her head, almost as if she understood and relished in Astarion’s feigned annoyance.
Celine laughed, shaking her head. “Qorna is an artist, Astarion. You cannot fault her for wanting to create and decorate. Besides, her webs catch more than flies.”
“Indeed,” Astarion quipped, placing the gifts he carried onto a nearby table. “Now, Darling, if you’ll be so kind as to prepare dinner, I must see to some… pressing matters.”
“Pressing matters, is it?” The bard raised an eyebrow, folding her arms across her chest. “Wrapping my presents, perhaps?”
The rogue smirked, unrepentant. “Exactly. A great deal of effort has gone into the selection and purchase of these wonders, and I will not have you ruin the surprise by peeking before I am ready.”
With a laugh, Celine waved him off and headed toward the kitchen. “Fine, fine… but don’t take too long, or Qorna and Siern will find them first.
As Celine set to work preparing a venison dinner, the scent of roasted meat and seasoned vegetables soon filled the air, mingling with the crackling wood of the hearth and the spices of the wine in the pot, simmering slowly to the side. Astarion walked into the room just as she set the table, his expression pleased and relaxed. The sight of him so at ease warmed her heart; each day, she saw him realizing that the weight of his previous life was gone, and day by day, he stood straighter and with more confidence. It was a precious gift that the season of Simril made Celine even more grateful for…
They dined together, sharing laughter and stories as the snow continued to fall outside their window. Astarion regaled her with tales of his more outrageous escapades, ones that the memories didn’t hurt him or make him relive his days with that monster, that Cazador…
After dinner was shared and conversation had faded, Celine began to clear the table, and Astarion rose to retrieve a small, ornate music box from a nearby shelf. He wound it carefully, and a gentle melody began to fill the room. Turning to her, he extended his hand, his eyes glinting with mischief and affection.
“Would you do me the honor of a dance, my Darling?”
Celine paused, her breath catching at the romantic gesture. The music swirled around them almost like magic, alluring and inviting her in. “You’re full of surprises tonight, Starlight,” she murmured gently, taking his hand with a smile.
The vampire spawn pulled her close, his movements graceful as he led her in a slow, swaying dance across their living room. The firelight cast golden hues across the sharp yet gentle features of Astarion’s face, and for a moment, the world outside their home disappeared. Siern slept upon the mantle above the fire, and Qorna had taken to a ceiling corner nearby, both watching their owners with a fondness in their eyes. This was their Simril— their moment of peace and joy despite their lonely and miserable pasts.
As they danced, Celine couldn’t help but marvel at the way Astarion’s expression softened, the way it was nearly childlike in its wonder. He was free to feel, to live, to enjoy, and she had never seen him so radiant. He was practically glowing, and it warmed her heart to see him like this.
“You look so radiant… you look happy ,” she murmured, her voice filled with quiet, sincere awe.
He looked down at her, his smile gently, warm, and genuine. “I am… and it’s all because of you, my lovely Songbird.”
They continued to dance, the music box’s melody weaving around them like the swirling snow outside. The gentle sway of their dance brought them closer, the warmth of the fire and their close bodies lulling them into a romantic rhythm. Astarion’s hand lingered at the small of her back, and his other hand held hers with an almost reverent touch. Their eyes met, and the moment began to build.
Celine leaned into him ever-so-slightly, her voice soft as they continued to twirl and sway around the living room. “You’re not so bad at this, you know…”
“Not so bad?” Astarion teased back, his head leaning into hers. “Darling, I’m positively spectacular , and you know it.”
The half-drow laughed, her smile lighting up her soft features, but the laughter faded into something softer as his gaze caught hers. Before she could tease him further, the vampire spawn leaned down, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss that was both tender and lingering.
It wasn’t rushed, nor was it demanding. Instead, it was filled with a quiet, loving intensity— a promise wrapped in the warmth of their hearth and home. Celine melted into it, her hands resting gently on his chest as the kiss deepened. It was slow and gentle, without any pressure to go further. When they finally parted, her cheeks were flushed, and a content smile quirked on her lips.
“Well,” she murmured, breathless, “that was unexpected…”
“Unexpected?” he grinned, his tone playful but his warm smile reaching his eyes and filling them with warmth. “I think you were very much expecting it… and waiting for it eagerly.”
With a roll of her eyes, Celine chuckled and stepped back, the spell of the moment giving way to the comfort of their usual and playful banter. “Come on. Let’s not let the mulled wine go too much longer, or it’ll just be mulled grape juice, and it’ll be a waste.”
They moved to a set of comfortable chairs near the fire, with a small table between them. Each took a goblet of mulled wine. The rich, spiced aroma filled the room as they sipped, and the warmth spread through them comfortably.
“This life…” Celine began softly as her fingers idly traced the rim of her goblet, “It’s calm… it’s peaceful. Sometimes, I can’t believe it’s ours .”
Astarion leaned back in his chair, a soft smile spreading on his lips. “It’s a far cry from what either of us imagined for ourselves, isn’t it? But I must admit, this life suits you— it suits us .”
She smiled at him, her heart swelling with gratitude for this quiet happiness they’d found in each other. But then, a spark of mischief lit up her expression, and she set her goblet down. “Speaking of surprises… You need to go do something for the next hour or so.”
With an arched eyebrow, Astarion’s crimson eyes glittered with mischief, and his lips curled into a sly grin. “Oh? Sending me away, are you? And what do you need to do in that hour, I wonder.”
“Wrapping your presents, obviously. You’re not the only one who is an excellent gift giver— I think.”
“You think?” Astarion blinked, watching Celine’s face light up in a soft, shy blush.
“I— The only presents I’ve ever given were the things I gave you and the others when we were journeying together…” The bard admitted in a soft murmur. “Anyway, out with you, unless you’d prefer to ruin the surprise?”
Sighing dramatically, Astarion rose from his chair and motioned with his goblet. “Fine, fine. I’ll find some way to amuse myself. Perhaps I’ll bake something utterly divine to pair with this lovely wine.”
Celine’s laughter rang out, filling the cozy space. “You’ll be baking? Go on, then. Impress me with your baking skills.”
“As you wish, my Love,” he replied with a flourish, rising gracefully before he headed toward their kitchen. “But don’t be surprised if the house smells like culinary perfection by the time you’re done wrapping.”
Celine shook her head, smiling as she gathered the gifts to wrap. Looking over the presents she had gathered the month before the season, she smiled at herself. She felt proud of the thought she had put into every gift for him.
About an hour later, she carefully tucked the last ribbon into place, securing it atop a neatly wrapped gift. The small pile of presents sat beside her, each a token of her gratitude and love for him. She had never had the chance to spend Simril with anyone, always spending it alone as she watched the warmth of the other homes and felt a pang of jealousy in her heart. But now, not only did she have someone to spend it with, she was spending it with someone she loved wholeheartedly. She stretched her arms above her head, letting out a soft sigh of satisfaction as she admired her handiwork.
Astarion’s voice broke the quiet, as teasing and velvety-rich as ever. “Are you done yet, my dear? I was almost beginning to wonder if you’d fallen victim to a particularly mischievous roll of ribbon.”
Celine turned, smirking at the vampire lounging elegantly on his chair with a goblet of mulled wine in his hand. “You’re just impatient because you can’t wait to see how you’ve outdone me.”
“ Outdone ?” He placed a hand over his chest dramatically as if he had been falsely accused of a grave crime. “I would never be so competitive during a season of giving. Though ,” he added with a sly smile, his fangs glinting in the firelight, “I do hope my gifts will render you speechless.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Astarion—” she teased, rising to her feet and gathering the carefully wrapped gifts. “But perhaps it will earn you first dibs on unwrapping.”
He raised a brow, intrigued. “Then, by all means, let us begin. The mulled wine pairs perfectly with a touch of suspense. And, of course, my pain d'épices is also a lovely addition.”
Celine took a whiff of the air, the rich aromas of the spiced cake filling her senses, warming her more than the mulled wine had. "Hells, Astarion... it smells amazing."
"Why, thank you, Darling. Now... let me cut into it, and let's begin."
Celine handed Astarion his first present, a small, neatly wrapped box with a golden ribbon. He tilted his head as he carefully unwrapped it, his pale fingers peeling back the paper as if savoring the moment. When he revealed the silver comb and hairbrush set, his expression lifted in genuine surprise.
“You have impeccable taste, my Darling,” he remarked, holding up the comb to examine the intricate engravings. “Though I imagine this is more for your benefit than mine.”
Celine laughed, sipping from her own goblet of mulled wine. “Perhaps. But don’t act like you’re not already planning to spend hours preening yourself, my Starlight.”
He chuckled, setting the comb aside as he reached for another gift. “Touché, darling. Now... let’s see what else you’ve found for me.”
As they exchanged gifts, the room filled with laughter and the occasional gasp of surprise. When Astarion unwrapped the magic hand mirror created by Mirglim, his face lit up with genuine delight. “A mirror that actually reflects me with a magic image? Truly, this is the best of sorcery.”
Celine smiled warmly, her heart swelling as she saw how much thought and care had gone into his reactions.
"Now, love... open this one," Astarion murmured with a warm, rich tone, handing her a large boxed present.
As she unwrapped it, she noticed it was a holding box for a lyre. She was overjoyed to receive an instrument from him, but he urged her to go on and open it further. As she opened the box, her breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight before her.
The lyre was a vision of ethereal beauty. Its frame was carved from silver birch wood, shimmering and pale, and it held a faint, opalescent sheen as though kissed by Sehanine Moonbow's silver light. The arms of the lyre curved gracefully upward like dual crescent moons, inlaid with delicate silver filigree that traced the moon's phases. Each was studded with tiny moonstones that caught the light and glowed faintly, even in shadow. The soundboard was carved with motifs of stars and night-blooming flowers; their intricate patterns nearly seemed to come to life. Across the top of the lyre, a slender band of mithral shimmered faintly, etched with the flowing Espruar script of elvish blessings to Sehanine Moonbow— words of protection and prayers for inspiration. The strings seemed spun from silken threads of silver and enchanted mithral, made to create tones that resonated with an otherworldy charm as if plucking the threads of dreams themselves. At the base of the lyre, a crescent-shaped charm hung delicately, inscribed with the symbol of Sehanine Moonbow— an upturned crescent moon pierced by a thin arrow.
Celine recognized it almost immediately from tales that her brother, Farryn, had told her once they had begun to talk to each other honestly. Her fingers trembled as she lifted it from its case. The room fell quiet as she stared at it, her expression unreadable until she whispered, “You found it. My mother’s lyre…”
“I did,” Astarion murmured, his tone softer than usual. “It took no small amount of effort, I assure you, but… I thought you’d like to have it. Your grandfather thought it should go to you...”
Tears glistened in her eyes, but she blinked them away, laughing to dispel the tension. “Well,” she said, her voice thick with emotion, “I suppose this means I’ll have to compose something truly magnificent for you in thanks.”
“Darling,” Astarion purred, leaning closer, “everything you create is magnificent.”
As the evening continued, so did their gift exchange, the small pile of unwrapped gifts dwindling. For Astarion, there were luxurious clothes crafted by Farryn, a locket with a picture of Celine inside, an engraved dagger for his collection (with the engraving “To the one who found freedom and made it his own”), a collection of rare law books from when Astarion was practicing law, and a stunning portrait of him that Celine had commissioned by Jelenneth. For Celine, there was matching jewelry, a perfume for her he had made himself, rare poetry, tales, and sheet music from other realms, and an enchanted locket that, when opened, would play him humming a song she had penned for them when their journey had ended, and beautiful clothes fit for a woman of nobility.
With a soft smile, Celine handed Astarion one of the last boxes, her expression tinged with warmth, excitement, and maybe even anticipation. “This one,” she stated quietly, “might mean a little more to you than the others, though.”
Astarion was intrigued, so he delicately took the package. It was larger than the others but flatter, beautifully and meticulously wrapped in dark crimson paper with a silver ribbon. His hands hesitated before he unwrapped it, but he knew something profound and life-changing awaited him.
When the paper fell away, he found only an ornately embossed folder sealed with a wax stamp bearing the official insignia of the council of Baldur’s Gate. Confusion flickered across his face as Astarion glanced at Celine. “What is this?”
“Open it,” she encouraged gently, her warm smile still in place.
Breaking the seal, Astarion pulled out a thick parchment. His crimson eyes scanned the elegant handwriting, and as realization dawned, his hands trembled, and he held a hand to cover his mouth, holding back the tears that wanted to fall from his eyes and the sob that wanted to escape his lips. It was an official document bearing Duke Ravengard’s signature and the signatures of the council members, reinstating House Ancunín— his family name— along with his status as its head. More than that, it acknowledged him as a person, not the undead puppet of Cazador, but Astarion Ancunín, an individual with rights and recognition.
His breath hitched, and he tried to speak but found the words caught in his throat. His gaze darted to Celine, his expression vulnerable and raw. “You… did this?” he finally managed, his voice a forced whisper.
Celine nodded, her mismatched eyes shimmering with emotion. “You’ve spent so long being treated as less than what you are. First, by Cazador… then by laws that deemed you as less than a person because of what he turned you into. I thought it was time for that to change. This document… it’s proof. Proof that you’re not just some shadow in the night or some figure in the past. You’re Astarion Ancunín, and the world will once again recognize you as such.”
Astarion stared at her, his usual suave demeanor entirely and utterly stripped away in this unguarded and pure moment. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt seen— not for what he could do, not for what he had been made to endure, and not even for who he had been at one point. He was being seen for who he truly was . A small, sharp laugh escaped him, disguising the sob that he was still fighting back. “I… I don’t know what to say, love…” he admitted, his voice breaking.
“You don’t have to say anything, Astarion,” Celine replied softly, placing a hand on his. “I didn’t do this for praise… I did this because I knew what it would mean to you…”
His crimson eyes glistened as he traced the lines of the letter with his fingers, his sharp features softening with a vulnerability rarely seen. “You’ve given me something I thought was gone forever,” he said quietly, his gaze locking with hers. “Thank you.”
“It’s no more than what’s rightfully yours,” Celine whispered, leaning in slightly.
For a moment, the room was silent, save for the gentle crackling of the fire and the occasional sound of Qorna and Siern playing in the unwrapped papers that littered the floor. Then, with a breathless laugh, Astarion set the letter down and pulled Celine into a tight embrace.
“You’re incredible,” he murmured against her hair.
“I know,” Celine teased softly, her voice warm and light, earning a laugh from him in return.
They stayed like that for several minutes, just holding each other and listening to the crackling hearth. When he finally let go, Astarion leaned back, trying to put on his familiar sly grin though his eyes remained misted with emotion.
“You have me worried my gifts failed in comparison to this,” he commented, gesturing to the letter.
Celine smirked, her fingers brushing his as she handed him another goblet of wine. “Oh, I don’t know. You’ve surprised me plenty tonight, already…”
There was another break for comfortable silence as Celine stretched lazily, her feet tucking beneath her on the plush chair as Astarion poured himself another glass of the mulled wine they’d been sharing. The crackle of the fire was the only sound, and the Siern and Qorna had returned to their perches to fall asleep. It was a peaceful moment, shared comfortably between two lovers in the comfort of their home as the winter squall flurried and blustered outside their windows.
But thoughts have a way of wandering, especially on nights like tonight.
“I wonder how Leora is doing,” Celine murmured wistfully, breaking the silence. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the stem of her goblet as she shifted in her chair. “This is her first Simril. I imagine Shadowheart is doing her best to make it magical. We’ll most likely see her tomorrow, though…”
Astarion chuckled in a sound that carried both fondness and warmth. “Shadowheart must have her hands full. Between a githyanki egg she is raising as she waits for Lae’zel to return and Leora, I’d wager she is praying for more patience than anything else tonight.”
Celine laughed, picturing Leora shyly and awkwardly lighting candles for the gods and Selûne under Shadowheart’s watchful eye. “And yet, I’m sure they’re finding peace and happiness tonight in their own way tonight. Leora is stronger than she realizes, and Shadowheart is very patient. I am sure they are enjoying their night together.”
“And what of Lae’zel?” Astarion asked, his voice turning thoughtful as he gazed into the flames. “I imagine she’s not relaxing by the fires with Shadowheart on this holiday night.”
“No,” Celine agreed softly. “She’s likely still alongside Orpheus, fighting for her people. I doubt there’s much rest for her, but…I know she’s found pride in the path she’s chosen.”
Astarion swirled his wine with a smile as he thought of the rest of their friends. “Gale and Jelenneth, on the other hand, are likely celebrating in a much different fashion. Newlyweds, a child on the way— good gods, can you imagine the fuss he must be making over her? He was always a worrying sort of person, and now he has a child on the way to worry about.”
Celine laughed after sipping her wine. “Oh, absolutely. Gale always has had a flair for dramatics. And Mirglim? I bet he’s holed up in some workshop, enchanting trinkets for them both. He’ll visit us soon, too, with some shiny new surprise.”
“And what of Wyll and Karlach?” Astarion asked. “Think they’ve made it back to the Gate for the holiday?”
“I hope so, even just for a while. I still can’t believe that amulet that Mirglim made worked… I’d like to think they’re sitting together, recounting their victories with a pint in hand.”
Astarion leaned back, resting his head against the chair. “It’s strange, isn’t it? To think of all the places we’ve been , the people we’ve met , the things we’ve done , and the lives we all lead now.”
Celine nodded, her thoughts briefly drifting to her brother. “Even Farryn. It’s strange to think I have an older brother, and to have a relationship with him now. He and Mara seem happy, though. And his business…” She gave a low whistle, shaking her head. “For him to be a successful fashion mogul is also insanity to think about.”
“And then there’s Halsin,” Astarion said. “Rebuilding the shadow-cursed lands. It's a noble task, but I wonder if he’ll find the peace he’s looking for and if he will ever truly forgive himself for what happened to those people and what happened to Thaniel. And to you.”
“What matters is I got out of it safely. And Halsin has Loreis and Valeria by his side, so I think he will be just fine. Loreis is also a strong druid; Valeria can make anything better with her fantastic cooking. Gods, I miss her stews and her breakfast porridge.” Celine replied, thinking of their friends.
“And Minthara?” Astarion arched an eyebrow. “Has she clawed her way back to her precious House Baenre yet?”
With a smirk, Celine’s eyebrow quirked up. “I have yet to hear anything, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s halfway there. The Drow don’t celebrate Simril, but… I can’t help but think about her today. Even if she annoyed me to the lowest levels of the Hells and back.”
They fell into another comfortable silence, sipping from their respective goblets. The fire was crackling between them, and Celine glanced out the window. Somewhere out there, Minsc was undoubtedly in the middle of some heroic escapade, Jaheira was finally enjoying a well-deserved break, and Wyll and Karlach were finding a moment of peace in the heroic endeavor of taking on the hells.
It was comforting to think of in a way. Their paths had diverged, but the bonds they had forged remained strong, like links in a maille weaver’s hands, coiling and closing and riveted together forever like rings crafted into the finest chainmail armor.
Celine reached for Astarion’s hand, squeezing it lightly. With a warm smile on her face, her mismatched eyes sparkled in the firelight. There was enough wondering tonight; tomorrow, they could wonder further.
Astarion leaned back in his chair, his long legs stretched out, his goblet of wine still lazily held in his free hand. “Well, my dearest, I believe we’ve outdone ourselves this Simril. This sets a high bar for our holidays going forward.” He gestured vaguely at the scattered presents with a smirk. However, his expression softened as his gaze flickered to the letter reinstating House Ancunín, still resting on the table beside him, its text nearly illuminating in the firelight.
Celine chuckled as she rested her chin on her hand and admired him. “It’s not about outdoing each other, Astarion, or trying to do better the next year. It’s about… moments like these. Moments where we’re free just to be, exist, and enjoy .”
Tilting his head, the vampire’s grin faltered ever so slightly as her words sank in. “Moments like these,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. He set the goblet aside, looking at her fully now. “I’d almost forgotten what it feels like to have nothing to prove… not having to seduce my way into people’s lives, no masks— just… this …”
Celine’s heart softened at his words, and she tenderly brushed a lock of silver hair from his face. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, Astarion. You never did.”
He didn’t speak for a moment, but he squeezed her hand in his, his thumb brushing softly over her knuckles. Then, with an almost shy smile, he looked down. “I don’t want tonight to be about anything more than… just holding you. This is the first Simril I’ve spent not well— not hunting. Not pretending. Not... throwing my body at some stranger because of Cazador's orders... And I’d like it to stay that way.”
Celine’s chest tightened with affection, her voice tender as she replied, “Then it will. I expect nothing from you but your love, Astarion, my Starlight. That’s more than enough for me.”
His gaze lifted to hers, his blood-red eyes mingling vulnerability with gratitude. “You make it sound so simple,” he whispered, his voice catching in his throat.
“It is,” she answered, kissing his cheek softly. “Now, let’s get ready for bed. I think we both deserve a bit of rest.”
He chuckled softly as he stood and helped her stand, still holding her hand. “Rest, my darling? You’re the one who wore me out with all this celebrating and merry-making.”
Laughing, Celine stood up and shrugged. Together, they tidied up the scattered wrapping paper and tidbits from their evening, Astarion holding the paper with his reinstatement close to his chest for a moment. After they were finished, they retired to their bedroom; the warmth of the hearth fire followed them, its glow faint but steady.
As they settled into bed, Astarion pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her waist as he buried his face in her hair. “Goodnight, my darling Songbird,” he murmured, his voice soft and content.
Celine snuggled closer, her hand resting over his heart before she felt his hand resting over her own. Her eyes closed, and she wistfully sighed. “Goodnight, my Starlight,” she whispered, a soft smile on her lips.
The first rays of the morning light seemed to cast a softer golden glow in the room the following day, gentle but bright from the snow that lay on the ground in mounds of perfect clouds of white safely away from casting rays of light on their bed. Celine stirred beneath the warmth of the blankets and her lover, the previous night's memories still lingering in her mind like a pleasant dream. It was a beautiful Simril, one that she would never forget. She felt the comforting weight of Astarion’s arm draped over her, his presence steady and reassuring beside her.
Her fingers twitched as she realized his hand was resting over hers, their fingers lightly interwoven. She smiled softly, her heart swelling as she savored the quiet intimacy. It was in these moments that she felt most at peace and at her happiness, for these moments were the times when they were the truest to themselves.
Something felt different this morning, though. A peculiar weight was on her finger, just beneath Astarion’s hand, and she frowned softly as she shifted her hand to free it from his grasp; as she did, a soft gasp escaped her lips.
On her left ring finger rested a diamond ring framed by two flawless rubies, their rich red hues gleaming in the soft morning light. It was elegant and perfectly fitted.
“Good morning, my love,” Astarion’s voice was low and velvety, still rough with sleep as he propped his head on the pillows to watch her. His blood-red eyes glinted with warmth and mischief as he caught her staring at the ring. “Do you like it? It was the present I looked forward most to give you.”
The bard’s lips parted, and there was a rare occurrence— she couldn’t find the words for what she was feeling as she lifted her head to meet his gaze. “Astarion… this— is this—?”
His smile softened as he tenderly and softly brushed a lock of hair from her face before his fingers stroked her cheek softly. “It is,” he murmured, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “I had it made for you.
Celine felt her throat tighten, her emotions threatening to overflow. “Why now?” she whispered in a barely audible voice.
With a soft chuckle, the vampire spawn’s hand found hers and held it gently. “Because every day with you feels like a gift I’d never thought I’d have… and because I can’t imagine another day where I cannot call you mine in every way possible. Celine, my love,” he paused, his crimson eyes locking onto hers with a soft vulnerability that made Celine’s heart ache tenderly, “will you marry me?”
For a moment, the world held its breath, the only sound being the faint rustling of the morning breeze through the snow-heavy branches of the trees outside. Celine’s lips trembled as a tear slipped down her cheek but was followed quickly by a warm and radiant smile.
“Yes,” she whispered, then with more passion, “Yes, Astarion Ancunín. I will. I will marry you!”
His grin widened into something brighter and more radiant than she had ever seen, and he leaned down to kiss her. The kiss was soft and tender, sealing their new and loving promise. They lingered there, the kiss filled with unspoken words and unmeasurable joy.
As they broke apart, Celine rested her forehead against his, her laughter soft and breathless as tears silently fell down her cheeks. “You really are full of surprises, aren’t you?”
Astarion smiled, his hand still resting over hers, his thumb brushing against the ring affectionately. “Only for you, my darling.”
And so, they held each other on the bright, quiet winter morning. The world seemed a little softer, a little brighter, and the future that waited for them seemed all the sweeter.